Chapter 2 — Swing Party. - Part 1 (2)

The party was held in a hotel located in the city center, in a private suite separate from the main building.

After calling ahead, we entered and found a spacious room that resembled a small apartment—complete with a large living area and two bedrooms.

There were five couples attending, all seemingly locals from the surrounding area. One by one, they arrived as the time approached, and we exchanged greetings.

Everyone lived within one to two hours of the city.

People in big cities can enjoy a certain level of anonymity, but those from smaller towns often feel more at ease traveling an hour or two away to attend such events—freed from the fear of being recognized.

For convenience, here's a quick introduction of the people involved (since names are necessary for storytelling):

David Kim and his wife: people we already know.

Thomas Park and Julia: the hosts. Julia is Thomas Park's partner, a Brazilian woman.

Michael Choi and Emma: among the male attendees, Michael Choi was the most strikingly handsome. Emma was 34—her face wasn't classically beautiful, but she had an incredible body. About 165 cm tall, with a golden blonde allure.

Andrew Jung and Claire: he was tall, she was glamorous—especially her chest, which was the largest among the women.

Eric Yoon and Hannah: both 43, remarried, with a five-year-old child. Hannah worked as a nurse.

We started with casual conversation—talking about life, work, the city. Everyone shared their beer and wine, sipping as we spoke.

Our English is decent, but keeping up with a group conversation of this size was challenging. It's completely different from one-on-one dialogue.

Eric Yoon and Hannah had just returned from a cruise in the South Pacific. They raved about Fiji—especially the sex they'd had on the ship, which they said was absolutely mind-blowing.

Soon, the talk shifted naturally—life stories, travel, and then, inevitably, sex.

While the others had some experience with this kind of swing party, my wife and I were newcomers. All eyes turned to us, questions focused on our curiosity, our boundaries, our expectations.

Swinging, some said, was like a sport—light, physical, more about bodily pleasure than emotional connection. Others described it as a way to spice up a long-term relationship.

As the mood warmed, the host announced the start of the lingerie show.

We'd been informed in advance via email about the lingerie competition and a men's contest, so my wife had brought two sets of daring underwear.

One was a thong she'd bought recently—its front split open at the crotch. The other was a regular thong.

The living room lights dimmed, turning soft and sultry, and the women began to emerge one by one from the bedroom.

First was Julia. She stepped out in a matching bra and thong—her skin a warm bronze, the white fabric striking against her tone. The thong was classic, barely there. Applause broke out.

Next was Claire. Clearly confident in her body, she wore only a thong—no bra. The tiny scrap of fabric struggled to cover her crotch, smaller than a palm. I wondered how it even stayed on, clinging to her full hips and round backside.

Then Hannah appeared. Her outfit was bold—a corset-style piece I didn't know the name of. It hugged her torso like a structured top, tied tightly at the sides with ribbons, reminiscent of something from a dominatrix's wardrobe. Red, of course. Paired with a red thong, it was stunning.

Emma followed. She wasn't flashy, just wearing a simple bra and thong, but her figure was breathtaking—slim, toned, almost delicate, like an East Asian beauty. Earlier, she'd mentioned feeling self-conscious about her small breasts, but there was nothing lacking. In fact, her proportions were perfect—elegant, not overwhelming.

Clearly proud of her body, she began to dance—graceful, sensual, like a professional stripper. She twirled her golden hair, accentuating her silhouette, then slowly peeled off her bra and thong.

When she stood fully naked, a loud cheer erupted.

Her shaved pussy was perfectly shaped—neat, smooth, undeniably attractive.

Finally, my wife stepped out. She walked shyly, hesitantly, in the thong with the split crotch and a matching bra.

She swayed gently to the music, then suddenly turned her back to the room. She arched her hips forward, bent at the waist, and grabbed the sides of her thong—pulling it wide open.

Her bare, shaved pussy sprang into view—pink, tight, perfectly exposed.

Everyone gasped. The men roared in approval.

With that single move, my wife became the star of the night. Even the other women gave her a thumbs-up.

Now it was the men's turn. We weren't sure what kind of competition this would be—but we had a pretty good idea.

All the men were told to lower their pants and stand. Then, each partner was instructed to help her man get fully erect.

After a few minutes, all of us were hard.

Then Julia stepped forward with a measuring tape, as if conducting a physical exam. This was going to be awkward—for me especially.

"Thomas Park: 7 inches long (about 18 cm), 5.5 inches in girth (14 cm)."

The women gasped.

"David Kim: 5.5 inches (14 cm), 5.3 inches (13 cm)."

Out of politeness, there was still a soft "wow" from the group.

"Andrew Jung: 7.5 inches (19 cm), 6 inches (15 cm)."

Louder cheers this time.

"Eric Yoon: 6 inches (15 cm), 5.5 inches (14 cm)."

The reaction was noticeably quieter.

"And finally, Michael Choi: 8.7 inches (22 cm), 6.5 inches (17 cm) in thickness."

The women erupted. Michael Choi had looked like the alpha male from the start, but now, with his pants off, there was no doubt. He was the king.

The other women couldn't hide their interest—eyes lingering, smiles a little too warm.

At first, I'd been nervous—how do you just start having sex with strangers? But after drinking, talking, laughing, and going through the lingerie show and the absurd penis contest, we all felt like old friends. We joked openly—even about our partners' bodies.

Eric Yoon and Hannah mentioned they'd met Michael Choi and Emma at a swing party in another city a year ago.

When Hannah said to Emma, "You know my husband's on the smaller side, right?"—everyone burst into laughter.

Now, we all sat around—women still in their lingerie, men with pants down—chatting freely, legs open, bodies on display.

The pairings were obvious just by the way people looked at each other.

Our eyes met with Andrew Jung and Claire. Michael Choi and Emma were clearly drawn to Eric Yoon and Hannah. Thomas Park and Julia, as hosts, seemed to be staying out of the action—for now.

The first rule of the swing party was simple: Yes means yes. No means no.

If a woman said no, it was final. No pressure, no nagging, no guilt.

Andrew Jung looked at my wife and asked, "Want to go into the bedroom and talk?"

She glanced at me. I nodded.

"Yes," she said.

We were paired. Our couple with Andrew Jung and Claire.

The two couples moved into the bedroom.

The second rule: if you close the door when entering, it means private—no one else comes in. But if the door stays open, others can enter—either to watch or join.

We didn't know that rule.

And we didn't notice that Andrew Jung, entering last, had left the door slightly ajar.