At a bed-and-breakfast that caters to swingers, everyone leaves their reservations at the door.
On a Thursday afternoon about a year and a half ago I drove down a long paved, driveway with my longtime girlfriend, Kia, sitting beside me. The closer we got, the more it seemed we were traveling back in time a century or two. The blue and gold Victorian mansion we approached was huge. Its multiple gables, scalloped shingles and two enormous turrets shone brightly in the sunlight. The house had looked impressive on the inn’s website, but seeing it in person was something else. Kia gestured toward the conifers lining the driveway.
“Those must be the yew trees they mentioned on the site,” she said.
“Oh, the trees are a thing?”
“Duh, George. Didn’t you read the details online? There was a whole history there.”
“I was too busy thinking about the history we’re gonna make,” I answered.
Okay, straight up: Kia and I are swingers. We’ve been in the scene for a decade, and we’re always looking for opportunities for new sexcapades. I’m an average Joe of 41. If people are attracted to me, it’s because of my fun-loving personality. Kia, though, is a stunningly beautiful natural blonde of 34 with a trim, athletic body. Lifestyle friends tolerate me. They adore Kia.
A few years ago, we began seeing ads for this inn. They popped up on lifestyle-friendly sites. Then we began hearing about it from Jen and Del, a swinging couple we’ve been friends with for several years. They lived only 50 miles from this spectacular Queen Anne-style bed-and-breakfast. Del described its elegant rooms, immaculately landscaped grounds and endless opportunities for naughty fun. The inn had once been the home of a local timber baron. Located just off a major freeway in the Pacific Northwest, it’s situated a few miles from a big casino, with several hotels and a convention center nearby.
Kia’s job is what had brought an opportunity for us to stay within this hub of activity. She works in hospitality, and a major trade convention was scheduled at the center that week. We live about 300 miles away, but when we realized that the inn was located near the convention center, we made a plan: Kia would attend a few meetings at the conference, and we would see what trouble we could find at the inn after hours.
The large, ornate front door was propped open as we approached the entrance. Inside we found the establishment’s hostess, Ella, seated behind a mahogany writing desk. Having seen her picture on the website, I recognized her immediately. She was a cheerful, buxom blonde. Her fuzzy sky-blue sweater showcased her curviest attributes. She was well into her 60s, but still a knockout.
“We’re Kia and George,” I said. “We spoke with you on the phone.”
“Welcome, my dears!” she trilled. “You couldn’t have picked a more gorgeous day to visit.”
We chatted awhile, but she said nothing about swinger stuff. Jen and Del had explained to us that Ella and her husband, Phil, kept the sexier components of the place on the down low. The website billed the inn as “a place where loving couples can rekindle the flame.” That tended to keep families with large broods away from the premises. Still, unsuspecting “vanilla” couples sometimes showed up at their doorstep.
Del stressed that discretion was the name of the game. Yes, lusty shenanigans went on behind closed doors, but those doors were made of heavy oak. The walls were 99 percent soundproof. A full-tilt orgy could be happening one suite over, but you’d likely never hear a peep.
We’d hoped Jen and Del could join us that weekend, but they had family obligations. Their daughter had a high-school speech tournament that week, and they were signed up as drivers and chaperones. “Another time,” they told us.
Our first afternoon was uneventful. After we unloaded our things in a commodious, beautifully appointed suite, we drove to the convention center. Kia registered for the conference, then we checked out the casino for a half hour or so and enjoyed cocktails and dinner. It was late when we got back to the inn. We felt sexy in the huge bed with its luxurious linens. My tongue tickled Kia’s sweet clit, then she reached for her vibrator and brought herself to a quiet orgasm. She sucked my cock for a while after that, but I was just too sleepy. We both drifted off into contented slumber.
About 6 a.m., I remember vaguely hearing Kia’s alarm, followed by the sounds of her showering, dressing and heading off to the conference. I remained pretty much dead to the world until about nine o’clock when I woke up thinking about breakfast.
In the dining area downstairs I found a chatty couple who seemed to be in their mid-70s. Ann and Walt quickly introduced themselves. Soon a short, wiry man of about 60 appeared to take my breakfast order. I recognized him as Ella’s husband, Phil.
“Glad you found the joint!” he said enthusiastically. “I met your better half this morning. Sorry she didn’t have time for breakfast with us. Lovely lady!”
Soon three newcomers joined us: an attractive 20-something couple and a 50-ish single man, who turned out to be a longtime friend of Ann and Walt. The young couple — Gina and Brett — were both short of stature. Gina was an Italian-American brunette, with a killer body and a gorgeous mane of wavy hair. Brett, on the other hand was fair-featured, with a wrestler’s build.
We all got to know one another as we enjoyed the leisurely, elaborate breakfast. Ann and Walt were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary.
“We wanted to go somewhere really romantic,” said Ann. “The brochures don’t do justice to this place, do they?”
“I’m their chaperone on this trip,” said their pal Perry, with a gleam in his eye.” I can’t let them get into trouble they can’t handle.”
“You see what we have to put up with?” said Walt. “Perry expects us to have lights out at 9:30. He doesn’t want us to have any fun at all.”
Gina and Brett were also celebrating a wedding anniversary: their first.
“We thought about visiting colonial Williamsburg,” said Gina. “This place sounded a lot more… interesting.”
I kept wondering who among us knew about the sexier side of the inn. Nobody said anything explicit, but every sentence spoken over breakfast seemed as if it were laden with innuendo.
As we finished eating, we all agreed to meet at one o’clock near the pool at the back of the mansion for some sunbathing. There was also a large hot tub on the adjacent deck.
“If you didn’t bring a swimsuit, we can take care of you,” said Phil.
“I’ve fallen for that line before,” said Ann, giggling. “I won’t say what happened.”
The pool turned out to be larger than I’d expected, and the lush landscaping around the deck was as impressive as the rest of the place. Soon we were all sprawled on beach chairs, soaking up the late-spring rays. All, that is, but Ann and Walt, who shaded themselves under a striped umbrella and were forever applying sunscreen to their arms and legs.
Apparently, Gina and Brett were sun worshippers as well as gym rats. Their bronzed, toned bodies could have belonged to magazine models. Gina was enticing in her zebra-striped bikini. I lay on my stomach to hide the erection that her near-nakedness had provoked.
“He let go with a loud guttural sound as he exploded in her pussy.”
Perry, who’d taken the deck chair beside mine, told me all about Ann and Walt. They had been best friends of his former landlord, who was now deceased.
“They’re quite the adventurers,” he added. “Don’t let their ‘grandma’ and ‘grandpa’ exteriors fool you.”