Screwing in anger

[Mr Fixit]

Even though several years have passed since our spectacularly acrimonious divorce, I can still look back and remember fondly some of the fun times that Lisa and I experienced together.

One of our traditions was to ask each other what fantasy we would like to have realised on our birthdays. In another story – “Be Careful What You Wish For” – I have given an account of what transpired the year I expressed a desire to be ravaged by sex-starved Amazons. Now it’s time to relate what happened the year Lisa said she’d like us to spend an evening with a swingers group.

It should be noted that Lisa’s fantasies often outran her sexual capacity. We would watch porn together occasionally and she’d talk up her plans to do with me whatever we’d seen actors doing on the screen. But somehow we always fell well short of anything remotely inspiring.

Apparently, I was the major obstacle to our sexual happiness. According to Lisa, my dick was too long, too thick and too enthusiastic for comfort. Now, I’m not claiming to be hung like a horse. Believe me, I’m no John Holmes. But nor do I have any cause to dread comparisons in the men’s change-rooms.

Anyway, let’s return to the not-so-distant past; a time when I had a wife who was apt to moan if I fucked too vigorously or too deep. As for oral sex – well, forget it. In the first place she did not enjoy having me go down on her – “undignified” she called it, like dogs sniffing at assholes – and, in the second place, she outright refused to go down on me.

“Gross” was her favourite word where oral sex was concerned, and she had trouble appreciating my foreskin too. Apparently, all the males in her family were cut at birth and she blithely assumed that I’d be happy to undergo the knife too. Maybe I would have if there’d been any guarantee our sex life would improve, but circumcision wasn’t going to make my dick any shorter or slimmer. And my balls would still smell like balls at the end of a long day.

So, there I was with an unsatisfactory sex life. And then – out of the blue – Lisa suggested swinging. I think she hoped that partner-swapping might sap my over-enthusiastic libido. I also think she hoped that mixing with a nice group of people might enable me to see how civilised people copulated; people less animalistic than me. I didn’t really care what the reason was. If I was to be given license to fuck good-looking and horny dames, then that was fine by me.

 

[Mr Fixit]

I got hundreds of hits when I searched for swingers groups. I culled the list drastically, eliminating those outside a ten-mile radius of our home and those which permitted single, unaccompanied guys to participate. Then Lisa ran her eye over my short-list and suggested I leave the rest to her.

Thus it was that one never-to-be-forgotten evening we rocked up to the Van Schuyler residence.

Lisa was – by her standards – quite enthusiastic. She assured me that the Van Schuylers were nice people, members of the Country Club, well-educated and well-heeled.

‘Fucking’s fucking’ I commented. ‘No matter how well-educated and rich a person is, Lisa, a fuck is still a fuck.’

But I promised not to say anything that uncouth in our hosts’ hearing. I promised to behave. The truth is I was quite nervous and doing my best to show some bravado. I had no idea what to expect. I’d seen what passed for partner-swapping on the silver screen, but I had a feeling that real-life might not run so smoothly.

It was a nice house. It was a very nice house. More of a mansion really.

I parked my old Ford at the side of the long drive. It depressed me a bit that our vehicle was by far the oldest and crappiest of all the cars assembled.

The house was brightly lit, which surprised me. I think I’d been expecting subtle lighting that might encourage shy people to drop their inhibitions – and their pants. I was also taken aback by the music that was playing. It reminded me of my parents’ parties when I was a boy. Bouncy pop seemed inappropriate for a sexual romp.

Before we’d had a chance to ring the bell, the front door was opened by the lady of the house – Mrs Van Schuyler. Well, that’s who she said she was. My first impression was that she might be our host’s mother. But no.

Mrs V was what I can only describe as matronly. She was awesomely girdled or corseted and had a pouting pigeon bosom. Her make-up was perfect, but it could not disguise the sad reality that youth had fled. I’m not being mean when I describe this woman. I actually enjoy the company of senior citizens. But I won’t feel any desire to fuck one until I’m a senior cit myself!

We were led into a vast entertainment area – what some might call the Great Room – and introduced to Mr Van Schuyler. This all took place well before the advent of “Family Guy”, but I swear Mr V was a carbon copy of Mr Pewterschmidt! I didn’t like the guy at all. I hated the way he leered at Lisa almost as much as I hated the way Mrs V was eying off my crotch.

Foolishly, Lisa and I had decided to dress sexy for our big night out. My wife’s breasts were on high beam in a plunging top and her shapely legs were accentuated by a very short skirt. Mr Van Schuyler’s eyes had trouble deciding which part of Lisa to dwell on.

As for me, well it’s hard to hide my package at the best of times, but the skin tight jeans I wore did nothing to hide my plum-sized balls. And Andy Junior was jutting out proudly too. I’m not a grower. I’m a shower. My flaccid dick is sizeable even before it is teased to its full eight inches plus. Hence Mrs V’s difficulty in meeting my eye. She was too busy ogling my bulge.

Drinks were eventually thrust into our hands and we were exhorted to mingle.

I had already been dimly aware of the other people present. It was about as raunchy a crowd as one might find at a Bridge Club. There seemed to be no one under age fifty – forty-five if I’m generous.

I grabbed Lisa’s elbow and attempted to steer her into the entry hall. But she was immovable. She seemed to have been struck by lightning.

‘Let’s get out of here before anyone croaks’ I hissed.

‘Have you ever seen such a beautiful room?’ was Lisa’s reply. ‘We’re moving in the right circles, Andy.’

I wanted to point out that the only circle I wanted to move in was a tight snatch, but my wife was oblivious to all this. It seemed she was overwhelmed with thoughts of having “arrived” socially.

While she twittered away about magnificent flower arrangements and elegant furniture, I frantically assessed options for making a graceful exit.

Call me fussy. I just wasn’t up for geriatric sex.

But I hesitated too long. Suddenly Mr Van Schuyler attracted everyone’s attention by tapping his wine glass with a spoon.

‘It’s time folks’ he announced, sounding a bit like a moderator at a high school debate. ‘I’m sure we’ve all had enough wine to loosen us up a bit. I think it’s time to dim the lights and go wherever our fancy takes us.’

He urged his wife to do the honours and Mrs V moved to operate the dimmer switch.

As the room darkened, there were a few titters of laughter from the women and guffaws of delight and anticipation from the menfolk.

I made another attempt to get Lisa’s attention.

‘Let’s get out of here’ I urged.

But it was useless. She was a pillar of salt. I could almost hear her brain cells contemplating a future filled with afternoon teas and candlelight suppers with the upper crust.

 

[Mr Fixit]

I practically leapt out of my skin when I felt a hand at my groin. One of the guests had crept up behind me and snaked her arm around my waist.

I turned to face my assailant – for that’s what I considered her – and, even in a dim light, it was obvious that she was a good twenty years older than I preferred.

I almost bent double to avoid her intrusive fingers, but she was not to be deterred.

‘Mmm. Aren’t you a big boy?’ she murmured.

I looked to Lisa for assistance but she was already being groped by Mr Van Schuyler. And she didn’t seem to mind. Maybe she felt obliged to cooperate with this meal ticket to upper crust acceptance.

I, on the other hand, suddenly minded very much. I was appalled and angry that this old fart was caressing my wife’s tits and sliding a hand up her skirt. I did not want this mausoleum piece to poke his aged dick into my wife’s body.

Most guys will know what I mean when I talk about angry sex. There are times when anger seems to run a direct conduit to my groin; times when my cock is inflamed with anger; times when I desperately need to ejaculate in order to clear the rage from my mind. If Lisa was happy to be groped by Father Time, then I might as well have my way with this old broad who so admired my assets.

So I grabbed the woman – by now she was unbuttoning my fly - and I ruthlessly crushed her against the wall, thrusting my rock-hard dick against her bony pelvis. She was not dismayed. Maybe it had been a long time between drinks. To my horror I felt her mouth on mine and the flicker of tongue. Somewhat absurdly, I prayed that she didn’t have dentures.

‘Come with me’ she whispered, taking my hand and leading me down a hallway and then up a flight of stairs.

She obviously knew the lay-out of the place. She opened a doorway that led to a dimly lit bedroom, but the room was already occupied. The sounds of sex assailed my ears. I moved to back away but the woman grabbed my dick and pulled me inwards.

‘There are two beds’ she hissed.

 

[Mr Fixit]

Moments later I was standing beside a bed with my briefs and jeans around my ankles and my admirer’s lips around my dick. The other bed hosted a man and a woman who were fucking doggy-style. They ignored us completely. After a quick glance at the guy’s flabby ass, I decided to ignore them too.

For a middle-aged chick with a fair few miles on the clock, I have to admit my companion gave good head. No, that’s damning her with faint praise – she gave excellent head.

It had been a long time since my junk had been so rapturously welcomed. She deep-throated me without gagging; she fondled my balls; she drew back her head to probe my foreskin with wicked darts of her tongue; she grasped my buttocks and squeezed them worshipfully; her hands roamed up and down my thighs; and, all the while, she moaned sighs of deep approbation.

Every now and then, she even managed a few words.

‘Ooh, such a glorious big fat dick!’ she breathed.

‘... and your balls ... so big ... so heavy ... so beautiful!’ she panted as she took time out to give each one a glorious tongue-bath.

‘... and a foreskin ... my first ever ... I love it! she declared as she extended her tongue to probe and tease my prepuce.

My junk appreciates praise. All this admiration made my cock even more determined to find some moist crevice to ravage.

The woman stopped worshipping me long enough to stand up and remove my shirt. She seemed as determined as I was – so single-minded that she ripped several buttons loose. And then her tongue darted across my pecs and spent time polishing my nipples.

All the while, the other couple kept up a chorus of slapping, whimpering and gasping sounds. It was bizarre and not at all what I’d expected, but I was nonetheless incredibly aroused. The room reeked of sex and heedless lust.

I abruptly pushed my new-found playmate backwards and, with a high-pitched giggle, she landed on the bed.

I shucked off my shoes, socks and jeans and launched myself at her like the wild animal she was hoping for.

If ripped clothes were part of her game, then I adopted the same rules. I grabbed the neckline of her blouse and ripped it from her slender torso. Her bra went the same way; as did her skirt, which I hastily shimmied down her legs. She wore no stockings – just a tiny wisp of underwear. This too I ripped asunder before zeroing in on the cleft between her thighs.

I was craving cunt. I needed to touch it, taste it, feel it. My preference may have been for young meat when I set out for this party, but I was now more than happy to sample some vintage pussy.

This was a woman who kept herself in shape. She may have been a bit skinny - and her breasts were far from perky – but she was limber and well-groomed. Her legs and armpits were shaven and her snatch was freshly waxed with just a small landing-strip above the entry.

Maybe women juice up less as they get older. Certainly, it was a bit on the dry side down there, but I soon remedied this. In a trice, my tongue was inside her, lavishing attention on her clit and drenching her aperture with saliva.

Her hips rose to meet me. She smelled somewhat sweet – it was obvious that she’d sprayed herself with some sort of pussy freshener. Within a few moments, this artificial fragrance was washed away and my face luxuriated in the natural odour of a woman’s most intimate place.

If I’d thought the other couple in the room was a bit noisy, my playmate soon took over. As I ate at her core, her cries and moans went from moderate to crescendo. She shrieked her pleasure to the rooftops.

‘Fuck me! Fuck me!’ she screamed.

But my mouth continued devouring her. It had been a long time since I’d last had a pussy to scour, and I was determined to eat my fill. Nothing could deter me – not even the copious squirt that drenched my face; not even her desperate pleas that my cock trade places with my tongue.

Finally - when her cries had become a series of ragged, exhausted sobs – I turned my attention to fucking this ecstatic and anorexic nymphomaniac.

I grabbed her legs and bent her almost double. Her ankles rested behind my neck. The drenched strip of pubic hair invited my cock to make a landing. But I was not yet done with the preliminaries.

However much my dick longed to plunge into tight warm wetness, I restricted it to a series of small darting movements instead. I pressed the engorged head into her just far enough for my foreskin to peel back a little. Looking down, the knob seemed even bigger than usual as it briefly emerged from its covering before sliding back into hiding.

‘Oh God. Oh God. Fuck me. FUCK me! Please’ she begged.

 

[Mr Fixit]

So I took pity on her and abruptly plunged myself into her with a force that knocked the breath out of her lungs. The noise of my ball-sac slapping against her was like a thunderclap. I rested there for a few seconds. I twitched my cock. The head nodded. The shaft throbbed and flexed. The woman found sufficient breath to scream her appreciation.

‘I’m going to pound you till you cry for mercy’ I growled.

‘Oh, yes, yes, yes’ she cried.

But I suspect she was not familiar with my brand of pounding.

I won’t bore you with every detail. As I’d said to Lisa earlier that evening: “A fuck’s a fuck”. And I’m sure I simply emulated the technique of men throughout time as I plundered my companion’s twat.

She had a surprisingly tight snatch. I could feel her insides protesting as my dick bucked and heaved its way. I set up a monotonous rhythm of fast and furious pounding, pausing occasionally to tease her with just the tip of my cock nudging at the entrance before plunging balls deep once more. Each time I was close to blowing my load, I forced myself to remain still until the crisis had passed. I edged my way to what I hoped would be an epic explosion.

Towards the end she was begging me to finish. She was hysterical. Tears flowed from her eyes and snot ran over her cheeks. Her mouth was permanently open in a kind of silent scream. I decided enough was enough. I could no longer withstand the urge to ejaculate.

I plunged into her one last time and kept still until the moment arrived. I could feel the walls of her vagina pressing against me like a million tendrils of pink velvet. And then it happened. Endless spurts of cum flooded her insides. I made minimal movement. I could feel my cock-head enveloped in juices. I imagined a warm white pool of jizz some eight inches inside my partner.

When I finally withdrew, a few drops of cum trailed out of my dick and landed on the bed sheets. I still held her fast as I pushed her legs further backwards. I wanted to inspect the damage.

Her cunt lay agape and a few glistening beads of liquid trickled downwards. Not much. I knew the bulk of my load lay deep inside. My cock was still engorged and I briefly considered another coupling. But a noise from the other side of the room distracted me.

I had been so intent on fucking that I’d forgotten the other couple in the room. I glanced across at the other bed. The flabby guy and his equally well-upholstered companion were seated on their bed and their gazes were riveted on my gleaming and still rampant dick.

I didn’t want to be admired or lusted after by this couple. It embarrassed me that they had enjoyed a front-row seat and an opportunity to check out my heaving junk. I could hardly complain that my privacy was being invaded. I doubt that there is usually much privacy at a swingers’ night.

 

[Mr Fixit]

So I grabbed my jeans and the ruins of my shirt and fled the scene. I didn’t bother with my briefs, socks and shoes. The old broad could keep them as souvenirs. I just wanted to find Lisa and head home.

I looked back into the room before closing the door. The flabby guy was now positioned between my sparring partner’s legs and his head bobbed between her thighs as he harvested the cream pie I’d left for him. My cock grew harder. It thrilled me that my juices were being tasted by another. No way would I ever taste another guy’s cum, but I was OK with someone tasting mine.

It took me a while to find Lisa. I flung wide every upstairs door - disturbing a great many couples in the process – but there was no sign of my wife.

Downstairs, I found a few intertwined people in the living room but Lisa was not amongst them. I heard voices murmuring low from the direction of the rear garden. It was a mild night and the French windows leading to a patio were wide open.

And that’s where I found Lisa and Mr Van Schuyler. They were fully dressed – or so it seemed – and seated at a small table sharing a bottle of wine.

Lisa treated me to one of the tense automatic smiles she used when socialising. Mr V was more vocal.

‘Well, here you are at last. Hope you showed Gwen a good time, young man.’

So that was her name. I’d just fucked a middle-aged woman called Gwen. I felt less of an animal now I could put a name to the snatch I’d just vacated.

I ignored Mr V. I simply told Lisa it was time to go home. But she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to interrogate me first.

‘Where are the rest of your clothes? Why is your shirt ripped? Have you been fighting?’

‘No. Everything’s fine. Forget about my clothes. I want to go home right now.’

‘You seem a little angry, son’ Mr V commented.

‘And rude too’ Lisa chipped in.

I wanted no further discussion. I wanted to leave and never return. My own transgressions were one thing; finding Lisa all cosy and alone with our creepy host was quite another matter.

Anyway, I took a seat at the table and Mr V offered me a glass of wine. I was on the point of accepting when I noticed that Lisa no longer had a pair of panties under her skirt.

I chose to view this as the last straw. I stood up abruptly, sending glasses spinning to the ground. I grabbed Lisa’s hand and virtually dragged her through the house and into our vehicle.

All the way home she bitched about the shoes she’d left behind. She also said she was mortified by my rudeness.

‘Fuck your shoes’ I yelled. ‘And fuck politeness too. I want to know what became of your knickers. Your shoes aren’t the only things we left back there.’

After that we didn’t speak again. The rest of the drive home was completed in stony silence and I slept in the guest bedroom that night.

 

[Mr Fixit]

There were a few days of frosty silence before my wife and I finally spoke.

I was full of undifferentiated rage. I was angry with myself – ashamed that I had enjoyed the wildest fuck of my life with a complete stranger; with poor menopausal, skinny Gwen who was probably still aching all over. I was angry with Lisa for getting us involved with swingers in the first place. And I was furious with her for having shown her pussy to creepy old Van Schuyler. I was the archetypal chauvinist. Lisa’s peccadillo by far outweighed my own loutish behaviour.

I was to discover that nothing of note transpired between Lisa and our host. Apparently he could no longer get it up long enough to penetrate anyone. But he liked to look. And he liked to touch. He had very politely asked Lisa to remove her knickers. He had inserted a finger or two, but nothing more.

Meanwhile he had fiddled a bit with what even Lisa described as a “very small dick”. She was a bit scornful about his endowment but she praised his manners and mentioned that he was, of course, circumcised. But, most of all, Lisa was bewildered by my anger about the whole affair.

“What were you doing while I was being sociable?” she asked.

“I was doing what people normally do at such an event. I was fucking. I was fucking an old broad, Lisa. And, you know what? Even though she was a skinny old nympho, she didn’t complain about my cock being too big. She sucked my dick and my balls like an expert. It was fantastic. And she didn’t complain about me slamming into her. Burying myself balls deep. She LOVED being fucked by me.”

“It was a huge mistake going to that party, Lisa, but it taught me that I am not a man to be disdained. I don’t want to be half a man. I want a sex life and a woman who loves what I am. I don’t want to be made over or cut down to size.

There wasn’t much more to be said after that. Lisa and I never shared a bed again and we separated a few weeks later.

She eventually became a free woman. Free to be a frigid social climber. Free to consider sex as something to be endured.

And I was freed too. As was my dick. I am now free to fuck women who enjoy sex. I am free to be proud of my dick as it romps in an insatiable mouth or pussy. I am even free to consider sex with guys too – I’ve had a few offers - but I have yet to take the plunge.

 

[ramsgate18]

Awesome tale and glad you came out on top in more ways than one, cant like the fact ur names mrfixit and u titled this screwing in anger conjured up a very different image

 

[deleted269122]

delightful - as usual

 

[pgt21]

Really hot and well written story!