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Hedonist

By: Abelard7



Chapter one: One night stand.

I broke a nail in my hurry to open the envelope. I had got it! My first London job.

I was buzzing with excitement all the way to work. I had got it! Silly really, it was not my first job, nor did I need it. I have enough money of my own not to need to work to live, but I needed to work to keep my mind active. The first thing I did once at my desk, was to write a letter accepting the job. The second thing was to write a letter of resignation, quitting the job that I was in. Then I tried to concentrate on work.

I was called 'upstairs' about an hour later. They were sorry to see me go, blah, blah.

It was their fault that I was leaving, they had been my only employer since uni, but I had started work at the head office, in Edinburgh, my home town. It was a promotion they said, but it would mean moving to the Liverpool office. The job was fine, but Liverpool and I just did not gel, so I decided that it was time to move on.

The day dragged. I decided that I ought to celebrate. That evening. I called one of the big hotels in town. Not the one with the best star rating, but the one with a reputation for a good restaurant.

" A table for one please. At eight o'clock."

I usually eat much earlier, but dinner at eight sounds sophisticated. Table for one? I was unattached. That was my problem with 'The Pool'. My attachments had been very short term. There must be a few good men in Liverpool, but I had failed to sniff them out.

Oh, I had plenty of men. Many of them good fucks, fine for a one nighter, or even for a week or two, but more than that? No luck. So I would celebrate alone, but in fine style.

Work over. Back home at my (rented) flat, I bathed, applied my make-up and dressed in a sexy green cocktail dress. Under it I wore my new undies. A 'waist cincher' they call it. Not that my waist needs cinching. It is just a very sexy thing to wear. It is like a Basque, but without the bra cups. It has boning, to lift and support the breasts (not that they need support) and suspenders to hold up stockings. A miniscule thong completed the underpinnings, all in pale green. Very high heels completed the 'available' look.

I looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. I was ravenous. Should I try to change the booking to a bit earlier? No. I was determined to stick to my plan. I did call the taxi though, and asked them to pick me up at seven, not seven-thirty, as arranged. I would have an aperitif or two, at the hotel bar.

I hauled myself up onto a bar stool and ordered a drink. The place was almost empty. To my right was a glamorous looking woman, alone, with a tall drink in front of her. To my left was another glamorous woman, also alone, also with a tall drink. Like bookends, I thought. After about ten minutes or so, one of the women left her seat and went over to the other. Their eyes had not left me since I had arrived. I began to feel uncomfortable.

They both came over to me, one on either side. One of them leaned in close and spoke softly;

"Fuck off. This is our manor."

I was startled, I did not have a clue as to what had upset her. The other joined in;

"We pay for this beat, peddle your arse elsewhere."

I decided to do the opposite and stayed put. I looked for the barman for support, but could not catch his eye. One of my antagonists took hold of my arm, just above the elbow, and squeezed hard. It hurt.

"Leave me alone," I said, "you're hurting me."

The other woman took a grip on the other arm, I could feel tears starting. What offence had I committed?

"Darling, sorry I'm late, can I get you another drink?"

The horrible harpies melted away, to opposite ends of the bar. My rescuer was tall, well dressed in a good suit, but no tie. About forty I guessed. The barman was there at last. My rescuer ordered a drink for himself and added, indicating my still almost full glass;

"And another one of those for the lady." Then to me;

"Let's sit at a table."

He took my arm, gently, and steered me to a table well away from the bar, sitting next to me on a low sofa. I thanked him, adding that I had no idea what he had rescued me from.

"They are both prostitutes, they work this bar. Non-working single ladies sit where we are. They thought that you were muscling in. I presume that you are not hooking?"

I saw the funny side of it. I suppose that I did look like a whore. On the high bar stool, my short skirt was probably revealing plenty of stocking-top, perhaps more.

"No. I'm just here for dinner." I explained. But then, mischievously;

"How much would you be willing to pay?"

"To them? Twenty quid perhaps, but I suspect that you are beyond price."

I liked him. He was in Scouseland on business and staying at the hotel. He too, was dining in. Perhaps we could share a table? Of course we could. He was a bit old for me, but quite dishy. Amusing and well spoken. My nipples hardened, my cunt moistened. I had had older men than him. And enjoyed it.

We had an excellent meal, he insisted on paying. There was an awkward silence. Was he going to ask me? I made up his mind for him.

"Is your room comfortable?"

He smiled and stood. He placed his arm around my waist and steered me to the lift. Our first kiss was in the lift. He placed both hands on my arse cheeks and pulled me against his erection. The lift pinged it's arrival. The kiss was broken. Our second kiss was in his, very comfortable room. His fingers found the tab of my zip and slid it skilfully down. He stepped away. The dress fell in a pool around my ankles. At arms length he admired me. My stiff nippled, bra-less tits pointing straight at him.

"Sweet Jesus, you are stunning." He gasped.

He took me in his arms again, kissing me again, his hands roaming over the material of my corset.

"This can stay on, I think." He said.

His fingers found the thin string of my 'hardly there' knickers.

"But we won't need these." He added, sliding them down over my hips.

I stepped out of them and sat down on the edge of the bed, reached out and undid his trouser belt. He helped, tearing off his clothes. Then he was on me, showering me with kisses, feasting on my tits. He kissed his way down to my belly. My belly-button was hidden by the corset, so the first bare flesh his lips encountered was just north of my trimmed and perfumed bush. I spread my thighs for him and his mouth made shocking first contact with my dribbling cunt. Heaven.

He was very skilled with his mouth, kissing and licking, probing with stiffened tongue. And not just my cunt, his tongue was pushed deep into my arse-hole. I could not stand much more. Nor did I have to. He had avoided my clit so far, but he now took the slippery little bud between his lips and sucked hard. I came like an express train.

I was lying across the bed. I shuffled myself around so that I was North-South, lifted my knees and spread my thighs as wide as I could. An invitation surely more clear than just words. My lower mouth was begging to be fucked. He knelt between my thighs and lay on top of me kissing me on the mouth over and over again. He moved up. His prick would need no guiding, my cunt was acting like a homing beacon.

But it was not to be. His tip brushed along my wet slit, but avoided the hole. He kept moving up. So it was to be my mouth to enjoy his hardness first. I moistened my lips instinctively. But he stopped, his prick lying against my breast-bone, against my beating heart. One throbbing organ against another. Okay. Tit sex is good too. I used my hands to push my tits up and around his shaft, forming a tunnel of flesh for his pleasure. I was half-sitting, propped up by pillows, with my head resting against the head board. I looked down at the head of his prick peeping out from it's prison of soft breast-flesh. He was making very small fucking movements.

Suddenly, he gave a little gasp and released a torrent of spunk. I just had time to throw back my head to avoid getting a face-full. The first powerful spurt hit the point of my chin, splashing onto my lower face, I instinctively licked it from my lips as the first spurt was followed my many more, landing on my stretched out throat. It felt hot, despite the heat of the room.

I don't mind come on my face, but I don't like it to go up my nose. For as long as I could remember, I did not like water up my nose, I have to pinch my nose closed if I jump into a swimming pool. Fear of drowning. And as much as I like spunk, I have no intention of drowning in it!

He had finished his come. I let go of my tits, releasing his now deflated organ. He apologised, saying;

"Sorry. That was not supposed to happen."

"Nothing to be sorry about," I replied, as long as there is some left."

"I might be able to find some more." He grinned.

His spunk was beginning to go cold. I looked down at what he had deposited. Because of my raised up position, it was running down over my tits. Or to be accurate, one tit. I must have been on a sideways slant as well as an up and down one. My right tit had escaped his hosing, my left was covered in creamy-white, it looked like one of those icing sugar coated buns. But the still stiff nipple was poking up through the icing, like a cherry on the bun. I placed a hand beneath the tit and raised it up. At the same time, I lowered my head and stuck my tongue out to lick the stuff from where I could reach it. I licked up what I could, and finished by sucking the nipple into my mouth.

He was sitting astride my waist. He cock was recovering already. He leaned down and kissed my spunky lips, then dismounted, lying next to me on the bed. He handed me a tissue to mop up the remainder of his spend. I cleaned up and headed down the bed to his groin. Without question, the best way to get a man hard again is to use mouth-to-cock resuscitation.

I kissed the re-aroused tip, again tasting his semen. I opened my mouth and throat and sucked in as much of his length as I could. He gasped and thrust upwards, forcing the rest down my throat. This ploy is impressive and delights a man. But it's not sucking, it's more like sword-swallowing. I drew back, leaving a manageable amount in my mouth and began sucking him like a lollipop. I soon had him squirming, but I did not want to risk making him shoot off again. I had other plans for his second coming

I mounted him, crawling up his body and using my fingers to guide his hardness into my, by now, very wet and hungry slit. It felt wonderful to be stretched full of him. Impaled and pegged into position by his meat. I leaned forward, dangling each tit in turn into his mouth and began to fuck him.

He soon took over, pulling me against him with his arms around me, then exploring my body with his hands before grasping my buttocks and pulling me firmly onto his stalk. He seemed to be reaching new depths inside me, he was well endowed, but not excessively so, his ability to fill me so completely was simply technique. My clit was grinding against his pubic bone, sending pleasure shocks through my body, but it was more than that, I could feel little tremors rising from deep inside, like the pre-rumblings of an earthquake.

I ought to explain that up to then, I had never come with a cock inside me unless accompanied by external stimulation, either from my lovers fingers or my own. This felt very different. Exciting, but a bit frightening. I was losing control.

Suddenly, he rolled me onto my back, keeping his cock inside me all the time. Now he had me in good old missionary position, able to make harder, deeper thrusts into my seething insides. The tremors resumed, they had not really stopped. His tip must have been battering against my cervix, his thickness pulling and pushing relentlessly at the lining of my cunt and his pubes pounding against my clit like a jack-hammer.

From deep inside, waves of uncontrollable pleasure swept me. It felt like every fibre was climaxing. I think that I must have fainted for a few seconds. When I came to, it was over. He rolled off, panting. I could feel his gift running out past my cunt lips. He must have poured prodigious amounts into my clasping sheath.

He raised up on one elbow, still struggling for breath, and cupped a hand over my sex.

"What do you keep in there?" He gasped. "A milking machine?"

I just smiled. Truth was, I had no idea what had happened. Even allowing for my few seconds of unconsciousness, I knew that this had been a quite extraordinary coupling. For me, a whole-body orgasm.

I got up from the bed and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. I did what I had too, then removed what little clothing I had left. Both stockings were ruined. The Basque/waist cincher was soaked in sweat and spunk. I had a quick shower, then returned to my new found super-fucker, naked, fresh and perfumed.

On the bedside table was a bottle of Pol Roger Champagne and two flutes. Where had they been hiding? Or was room service really that good? It mattered not, it was just what I needed. He opened the wine skilfully. No popping of the cork, just a discreet hiss. We each drank off a glass in one, the toast was to bigger and better orgasms, and more of them!

It took time to be ready for round three. He must have been drained and I still felt woozy. Not from the champagne, but from my still tingling nerve-endings.  I lay with his arm around me. With his other hand, he began to caress me. Naked now, he was able to explore what little had been hidden by my single garment and my stockings. As his hands wandered, so did mine. I began to gently stroke his burgeoning erection. 

"Do you make your wife come like that?" I asked.

He smiled. I noticed that he had a crooked smile, one side of his mouth smiled more than the other.

"I'm divorced." He replied. "And no. She never came like that. In fact, I have never seen anyone come as powerfully as you did."

My turn to smile. But I did not tell him that I had never come like that before either. He leaned over me, his mouth now covering the ground explored by his hand. Lots of attention to my erect nipples, licking, sucking, kissing. Now onto my tits, making me squirm with new found desire. Down, down. Tongue in my belly button, a miniature replica of the larger, wetter orifice lower down. Then his mouth was on my cunt again, rediscovering every fold, this time with less urgency.

I stopped him long enough to squirm round so that we were 'tète a queue'. I drew his fine cock deep into my mouth again. I licked and kissed it from tip to root, I kissed his balls and sucked each of them in turn, then licked and kissed my way back along the thick underside ridge, ending with his knob in my mouth again.

"Careful," he said, "I want to fuck you again."

That was what I had hoped. He moved behind me, right way up now, and pressed his body against mine. We were on our sides, like spoons. I reached between my legs for his cock and guided it into me again. He fucked me slowly, gently. He pulled me up so that we were in the 'doggy' position and continued his slow, deep penetration. I laid my chest down on the bed, pushing my arse up so that he could fuck deeper.

He began to speed up. Faster, deeper, faster, deeper. Then he stopped. He placed his mouth close to my ear and whispered;

"This may be my last shot. How would you like it?"

It took only seconds to decide. I replied, nodding towards a bottle of hand cream that I had noticed on the bedside table. 

"Up my arse, use that as lubricant."

He reached it without disengaging from my cunt. He leaned back, still connected, and dribbled the cool cream onto my coccyx, where it ran down my crack, pooling in the tight pucker of my anus and against the junction of his cock with my cunt.

He drew slowly out of the hole he was in and pressed his tip against the clenched ring of the less-used hole. He pressed, I relaxed, he popped inside, I squealed.

"Are you alright? He asked.

"Yes. Do it. Bugger me hard. Shoot your spunk up my arse."

Was that me? I wanted it like never before. I like it up the bum occasionally, but I really wanted him there, spurting into me. He obliged. He went slowly at first, building up speed until he was ramming me at full speed and with full power. I felt like all my feelings were concentrated there, my entire body screaming to be used and abused.

He was doing me deliciously, but there was no friction on my clit and I wanted to climax as he had his. I reached down, intending to rub myself off, then had a better idea. This was a night for new experiences.

I pushed my thumb into my juicy cunt. Through the thin dividing membrane, I could feel his prick as it reamed my arsehole. He whimpered, he could feel it too. I pushed my fingers between my legs and spread them so that two fingers were either each side of his piston. I could now squeeze against his shaft as it moved in and out of me. He gave a great roar and fired shot after shot of his boiling spunk deep into my entrails. When he had finished thrusting, e drained and soft, he withdrew gently and collapsed sideways onto the bed, exhausted.

I had to make another urgent visit to the bathroom. When I came out he was asleep. I dressed and quietly slipped out of the room, down the stairs and out to one of the waiting taxis.

In the short ride to my home, I re-lived the evening. He had rescued me from the high-stool whores, wined me and dined me and had fucked me to near oblivion. I had repaid him by sneaking away like a thief in the night. I did not even know his name! I seriously considered going back to him. But decided against it. It could not be the same a second time.

Besides, in spite of his denials, he was probably married. The best men always are.

Hedonist BBW Mom



Hi, people. Have a new one here. This is a little longer than my usual work, but I feel it is worth the time. A lot of work went into it, and I hope you all like it. This story contains a lot of buildup, but it is really sexy. If you love big beautiful women, READ ON! 

This is a work of fiction, all people and places are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

As always, your comments are appreciated. 

*******

Dean McCarthy was so glad to be going home. It was going to be great to be back in the good old U.S., as corny as that sounded. He had been in England for six years, four attending “university,” as they called it, and two as a junior procurer for one of England’s biggest, and some said best museums. His job had been to buy rare and priceless works of art. His travels had carried him all throughout Europe. He had seen every major city in Europe: Paris, Lisbon, Amsterdam, Prague, and Madrid. His job had ended when the primary focus of his museum had shifted from purchasing works of art to restoration. He had been offered a more than generous severance package. 

He decided to use the money to take a vacation. He had decided early on that he did not want to go alone. He had no steady lady friends in his life, so his choices had been rather limited. He had called his mom, Rosalyn, and asked her if she would like to go with him. She had said she would love to, and asked him where he panned on going. He replied that he had not gotten that far yet and wanted her to book the trip for anywhere she would want to go. She had called back a couple of days later, letting him know that she had already mailed his tickets and the itinerary. 

As he boarded the jumbo jet in London, he thought about his life. His dad, the owner of a nationwide furniture store chain had died when he was just one year old in a freak heart attack. So all of his life, his mother and he had been alone. They had been left more than well off because of his success. She had been a constant fixture in his life, and leaving to go to college in England had been the hardest thing he had ever done. However, going to school in England had been one of the best things he could have done. 

He had left a five foot eight string of a boy, one hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet, unsure of himself, and unpolished. He had changed great deal. For one thing, physically he had changed. He had shot up over three inches in a late growth spurt and had put on more than one hundred and twenty pounds of muscle, although as of late he had added a couple of pounds around his middle, which he felt softened out his body, giving him a more mature, natural look. 

At six foot one and close to three hundred pounds, with large, muscular arms, wide shoulders, and a strong, deep chest, he knew he cut an imposing figure. He had been polished socially, he was no longer shy, and awkward, he was no longer afraid to admit what he liked and to go after it: he loved big women. Really big women. He was not sure when his taste in women changed from the skinny supermodel to the big beautiful woman, but he was thankful for that day. He loved women that were over 350 pounds. He loved everything about them, the softness, the way they walked, the touches. 

He fell asleep soon after the meal and the rest of the flight passed rather uneventfully. He arrived in Jacksonville International Airport sometime after seven that evening, and had checked into the nearest hotel, a Clarion right at the airport, passing the night away quickly. He got up the next morning feeling rested. He had breakfast, and went to do a couple of errands before his mom got there. He found the largest bouquet of exotic flowers he could find. He also got a large box of boutique chocolates (her favorite). He arrived back at the hotel and went to the lobby to wait on his mom.

When he saw her, he yelled out in exuberance, “MOM!”

She looked at him as if she did not know him, and then recognition lit her face. “Oh my God, Dean, is that you?” She asked moving towards him. 

He caught her in a tremendous bear hug, scooping her off her feet, which was quite a feat considering she weighed over four hundred pounds. He put her down and they stood in the lobby looking at each other. He, six foot one, two hundred, ninety-five pounds, her five foot eight, four hundred, thirty-seven pounds. They had both grown, but his growth was more dramatic. 

“My goodness Dean, look at you,” she said, rubbing his muscular bicep. “When you left, you were as tall as me and as skinny as a bean, you have grown into a bear of a man. She scanned him; button up, short sleeve casual shirt, jeans fashionably tight across the crotch, and brown, modern shoes. “And I must admit, I haven’t been picked up like that since I was a little girl,” she said.

“Well Mom,” he started “you would be surprised what some exercise can do. And you look fantastic yourself, you are beautiful.” With that, he picked up his blushing, giggling mom in his arms again, showering her with noisy kisses on both cheeks. 

He put her down and looked at her again. She was gorgeous. Her red hair shimmered like rubies. Her emerald green eyes with the tawny, golden highlights, her flushed cheeks, her freckles, almost lost in her golden tanned face. Her shoulders, breasts, prominent in her tight t-shirt. Her wide hips, her thick juicy legs, shown off to full advantage by her snug Capri pants. Her feet in flip-flops, toenails painted green to match her eyes. He realized with a start that he was checking out his mom as if she were a potential date. A quickly suppressed thought said that maybe there was more to his love of big women than he had thought. He ushered her into the lobby where he had stashed his luggage. 

“Hey Dean, who is the hot chick for whom you got flowers and candy?” she asked.

He laughed and said “Only the most beautiful woman in my life,” presenting her with the flowers and candy. Her intense blush was so rewarding. She grabbed her gifts and they headed out to the limo she had rented, bellhop in tow with his luggage. They were soon in the limo and on the way down 95 South to Fort Lauderdale. 

Rosalyn had planned this trip by car, so they could have some time in private to catch up. It was a great ride. Rosalyn settled in, opened the chocolates, and asked him to fill her in on what had been going on recently. As he talked, he found himself more and more distracted by watching her eat the chocolates. The way she savored every bite. The way she licked the errant bit of caramel off her lips and fingers. He realized with some amazement that it was turning him on. Watching the blissful look on her face as she ate was turning him on. He wanted nothing more than to feed her himself. To feel her tongue swirl the chocolate off his fingers. To lean in, kissi… He banished the thought quickly. What was going on with him? Why was his mother all of the sudden a sexual being to him. 

She told him about what she had been through, a bout of depression, then acceptance of her size, and eventually a celebration of her size. She was not trying to gain weight, but she was not trying to lose it either. “Whatever will be will be,” she said.

Dean found that he liked her attitude and definitely her celebration of life. It was great to see his mother so happy. They rode, surrounded by their own chatter; he ended up on the floor of the limo, giving her a foot rub. He was enjoying giving as much as she enjoyed receiving. Unbelievably, he felt himself start to harden in his pants, he was careful to keep her foot away from the swelling in his pants. The look on her face, almost rapturous had him so turned on. He felt himself being swept away in a river of emotions that he really had no desire to resist. 

The five-hour trip to Fort Lauderdale flew by. Soon they had arrived at the hotel, the Galleria Doubletree, and they were quickly checked in. They arrived at the room to find that it had a queen-sized bed instead of two full sized beds. Dean was about to protest, when Rosalyn said laughingly, “Oh, its all right. I would love to sleep in a bed with such a handsome hunk of a man. 

He assured her that he did not mind. They were settled in, and she urged him to get into the shower so that he would be ready for dinner. One thing he had not thought about in years, but was grateful for now was Rosalyn’s almost casual attitude towards nudity. She was a true nudist and did not mind going in the buff. He only remembered when she removed her clothes and started walking around in a pair of cream satin thong panties and a matching bra. 

When she bent over, her wide, plump ass facing him to get something from her suitcase, he unconsciously drew in a sharp breath, taking in the scene. She looked up at him with a funny look on her face. “Didn’t I say get into the shower young man,” she said jokingly.

He smiled and hurried for a quick shower, and dressed in a tweed jacket, shirt, tie, and slacks, and came out of the bathroom looking like a new man. She whistled appreciatively when he came out. He laughed and sat on the bed watching her move around the room. He had not imagined how sexy she was. Her breast hung heavy, truly massive, and barely contained by the silky bra. Her belly hung sexily below her breast. Her hips were wide and her ass was amazing. It was large and shapely. She jiggled enticingly as she walked. The rolls of soft fat had an almost hypnotic rhythm. 

He felt a heat generate in his pants. He could feel himself coming alive. He covered his burgeoning hard with his jacket, retrieved a small package from his bag, and told her that he would meet her downstairs. About half an hour later, she walked into the lobby, and his breath caught in his throat. 

She was stunning. 

She wore a tight fitting, light blue body sheath dress that hugged every curve. Her fiery red hair cascaded in elaborate curls, framing her face perfectly. She walked with poise and confidence, shoulders pushed back, swaying seductively. Her shapely legs shimmered in her hose, her feet in tall high heel shoes, with straps cinched around her ankles, matching her dress perfectly. 

He rose, slightly unsteady on his feet, and walked to her, wordlessly and proudly offering her his arm. They walked out of the hotel, to the waiting limousine. Jack, the driver, spoke on the intercom. “Where to folks.”

Dean answered, “You know about this area don’t you?”

“Sure sir,” the driver said, “what would you like to know?”

“Just take us to the best steak house in the area.”

“Hmm, ok sir, that would be Reggianno’s.”

“That sounds good Jack,” Rosalyn said. 

After they had pulled off, Dean pulled the small velvet box out of his jacket. “Mom, this is just something I picked up while I was in Europe, and I could think of no more deserving woman than you,” he said, handing her the box.

She took the box with a look of skepticism in her face and opened it. Her look changed completely when she saw what was in the box. She pulled out the platinum necklace set with three carats of diamonds, and the one-carat diamond ear studs. “Oh my goodness Dean,” she said breathlessly, “I cannot take these, they are much too valuable.”

“Nonsense Mom,” he said, emotion betraying the coolness he was trying to portray. “You have been everything to me in my life. With my job, I was included a living bonus, so I saved up a lot of money while working. I got a really good deal on them through an antique dealer I know personally, and I would love for you to wear them.”

She was choked with emotion, tears in her eyes. “Oh son, I do love you,” she said pulling him into a hug.

“I love you too Mom,” he said, kissing her neck.

They hugged for a long time. When they pulled apart, she had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “If I did not know any better, I would say you were trying to court this old fat chick,” she said with a look in her eyes that said she might not entirely mind.

He returned her look, “I just may be,” he said, meaning it more than she knew. She broke into an infectious laugh, and they ended up in each other’s arms again. After wards, he helped her put on the necklace, and she put on the ear studs. She looked gorgeous in them, as he had known she would. 

They finally arrived at Reggianno's, which was more in Miami than Fort Lauderdale. The restaurant was small and quiet, with elegant lighting. They sat down at a table with a great view. He ordered a bottle of champagne to start them off. Their server came back with the wine and they ordered their meals. Rosalyn ordered salad, a huge three-pound lobster, a sixteen-ounce steak, fries, and corn on the cob, and creamed spinach. 

Dean was impressed with that order, he was a big eater, but knew he could not finish all of that. He settled for lobster, steak, and the fries. They talk and eat slice after slice of buttery garlic bread while waiting for the food to arrive. It arrived after a while and they began to eat. He was spellbound watching her eat. It was as if the eating was transformed into an act of intense eroticism. 

The way she savored her food was SO enticing. It was as if he could feel the pleasure she was feeling, and it was turning him on tremendously. He felt his cock awaken in his pants. Soon he was hard, his phallus trapped and throbbing painfully in his slacks and bikini underwear. She took the corn on the cob, juicy, and slick with butter. He almost came when she began to eat it, running her tongue over the butter slick length of corn. She licked her fingers when she was done, and he rearranged himself discretely, trying to get some type of relief. 

They finished eating dinner and Rosalyn ordered an entire New York style cheesecake. He watched enraptured as she rolled the velvety smoothness of the cake in her mouth. She ate most of the pie by herself, and was ready to go. He had to look at the piano player and count backwards before he got soft enough to stand. 

They walked hand in hand out of the restaurant to the limo. They sat quietly in the limousine, very close. She had her head on his shoulder; he had his arm around her. He tried to distract himself, but was soon raising a hard. He told the driver through the intercom that they wanted to stop at the beach and take a stroll. 

They stopped and got out of the car, removing their shoes. They waked hand in hand on the stretch of white sand, the full moon reflecting on the nighttime waves. “Mom,” Dean said earnestly, “since I have been back, I my love for you has grown. I have always known what a special lady you are, but it is just blowing my mind how much fun it is to be around you.” He still hid the depths and the heights to which that love had grown, but it felt good to air out some of his feelings.

“Oh Dean, I know you love me, and I love you too.” She leaned over and kissed him slowly on the cheek.

They soon finished the walk and headed back to the limo and to the hotel. When they got back in the room, Rosalyn scampered into the bathroom and took a quick shower. Dean undressed down to his snug bikini underwear and sat on the bed watching television. Rosalyn came out looking like a dream. He knew she had always had a casual attitude about being undressed, but it was still a shock to see her come out in nothing but a towel covering her hair. 

Her massive breast hung down heavily, rosy pink nipples almost seeming to be begging him to kiss them. Her belly looked so soft and inviting. He could see a hint of red pubic hair below her belly. Her hips looked like they were made just to be held. She took the towel off her head, running it through her wet hair one last time. As she dried her hair, her body jiggled alluringly. He felt himself hardening in his briefs and hastily pulled the cover over himself. She came to the bed playfully.

“Hey guy. What are you trying to hide under there? “She playfully began to yank at the covers. This was not helping at all; their playful tussle had him completely hard now. Finally, she yanked the covers off him and they both stopped with an intake of breath. He was amazingly hard and barely contained by his gray cotton underwear. The cut of the brief had his package on display. It had tented, pulling away from his body, clearly not made to contain a ten-inch, rock hard cock. The tip of the tent was dark, a testament to his arousal, and there were other stains from his previous arousal. His balls, big, heavy, and firm, hung out of the bottom where the material had gapped away from his body. 

Rosalyn recovered the quickest. “Well son, looks like you need to get a handle on that thing before it gets away from you,” she said, her voice thick with amusement. 

“What do you mean Mom?” he asked.

“Oh come on son, I think you need to cum before you go to sleep.”

Dean was amazed, and turned on to hear his mother talk like this, but he did not interrupt. 

“I have adopted a new philosophy, or rather expanded an old one. The human body is beautiful, truly a gift from above. It, and its functions are not to be hidden, but to be celebrated,” she said with conviction. “I have always been a nudist, and now I consider myself a hedonist. I have joined a group of other, like-minded people. 

Many of us are people of means. We have bought a resort, a fat nudist resort, and that is where we are going for this vacation. I want you go get used to celebrating your body. I know I do. I was going to masturbate before I went to bed, but did not want to do it in a hotel bathroom. I feel that there is nothing wrong with us masturbating in front of each other, the only thing I was worried about was how to bring up the subject, but you seem to have brought it up just fine.” 

She walked over to her suitcase, reached in and retrieved an eight-inch vibrator, and came to the bed. Dean had listened to her declaration with his mouth open. He could not believe it. It was like some type of a dream, although he felt some misgivings. On the other hand, the prospect of masturbating in front of his mother and having her do it in front of him had him unbelievably turned on. 

“Dean, do you need anything like pornography to masturbate with?” she asked him hesitantly.

“No mom,” he said huskily, “I am already turned on enough as it is.”

“Well good then, turn off the TV and we can get to it.”

He turned off the television and she turned the radio to a soft music station, dimmed the bedside lamp, and began to rub herself un-self-consciously. He watched her raptly. Both of their breathing had quickened. With some trepidation, be started to rub himself through the material of his underwear. Rosalyn was pinching her nipples and had a hand between her legs. 

Emboldened by her bravado, he removed his underwear and began to stroke himself slowly. Her eyes closed as her fingers busied themselves on her clit, the other rubbing the now activated vibrator along the lips of her pussy. He spread pre-cum along the head of his cock using it for a natural lube and began to stroke himself in earnest. 

She was working herself into a fever pitch, and in little or no time was cumming noisily. Her jagged moans sent him over the edge. He felt his toes curl as his cock expanded. Rope after rope of glistening sperm shot from him, some, incredibly splattering loudly on the headboard, on his head, face, chest, belly, and finally dribbling out all over his hand, cock, and balls. 

He opened his eyes to find Rosalyn looking at him with a look of surprise, and then she began to laugh. “I was about to ask if you had enjoyed yourself, but clearly, you had a great time.”

Her laugh was infectious. “Mom, I have to say, I am surprised by this new attitude, but, I like it a lot.” He went and got a wet towel, cleaned up the mess and they soon fell asleep. 

Rosalyn had set the alarm because they had to wake up early to be in Port Everglades by 6:45, so that they could make the “ferry,” which was really more of a mini-cruise. They got up, took showers, packed up, and headed down to the limo. Dean was glad that the driver had a copy of the itinerary and was professional; otherwise, they might have been late.




Hedonist BBW Mom



They arrived at port, and boarded the substantial ship without incident. After they had boarded, they went to the VAST breakfast buffet. Dean sat across from his mother and watched her eat plate after steaming plate of food. The absolute sensuality with which she ate was astounding. She enjoyed each bite as if it were her last. A huge three-egg omelet stuffed to bursting. Forkful after forkful of steaming, golden scrambled eggs. Strips of bacon, sausage patties, and links. Golden brown hash browns. Buttered rolls, toast with jam, biscuits, and cinnamon rolls, bananas and cantaloupe. The way her tongue caressed each bite sent shivers through him. He had only made one trip, because after the first plate, he had produced a tremendous hard on. He was glad he had loaded up on the first trip.

They wandered the huge ship hand in hand. They explored, laughed, and talked. Dean was amazed at how the time seemed to fly by. He was also taken aback by how much everything about his mother seemed to turn him on. The set of her head, the way she walked, the way she smelled, the perfume of her hair, the small, intimate touches. He realized that he was falling in love with her. 

They visited the on ship casino, danced in the disco, and had lots of fun. They went to lunch at twelve; Dean watched her polish off a twelve-inch steak sandwich, an order of fries, and a milkshake, enjoying the same himself. They arrived at Grand Bahamas Island at one, and were soon loaded into a cab, on the way to the Belleza de las Aguas resort, or more simply, Belleza’s.

He was amazed at how fast and dangerously the talkative cabby drove. She flew through the curvy roads like a woman possessed. She was tour guide, and driver, almost negligently pointing out points of interest on the frightening drive. Dean was glad when they finally reached the gates of Belleza’s. After a stop at the intercom, the gates opened and they pulled up to the main office and receiving area, a modern building seeming out of place in the dense greenery.

Rosalyn introduced us to the beautiful plump black girl at the desk as Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy, implying that we were married. We were given one of the honeymoon cabins along the beach. We made our way to our cabin, following the hostess, whose name was Rebecca. 

Even though there were nude BBWs all around, he had eyes only for Rosalyn. They arrived at the cabin, really a small house complete with kitchen, and a huge bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. Rebecca asked if they would like to place a dinner order for their room, or go to the dining hall. Rosalyn picked up the menu by the television and ordered for them. 

"Bring us two large pizzas with the works, no make that three. And some hot wings, onion rings, fries, and two extra large strawberry milkshakes." Rebecca repeated the order back word for word and left to place the order. As they unpacked, she told him a little about the place. "We investors made sure that we had the best chef available. Our staff can do any meal, but I am in the mood for junk food."

She went into the bedroom, and began to remove her clothes. He stripped as well, but quickly left and went exploring the cabin, hoping to avoid surprising the wait staff with a hard-on. He found the fridge was fully stocked, including many different kinds of beer. He popped a Newcastle and continued to explore. This place was huge. It had a master bedroom with a giant king sized bed. There was a large, flat-screened television in the living room and in the bedroom. He walked outside, enjoying the novelty of being naked in the sun. There was an outside breakfast nook, and a large, triple reinforced hammock. This place really was a paradise for fat people. 

By the time he walked back into the house, the food had already arrived. They had laid it out in front of the TV. Rosalyn was coming out of the bedroom; they sat down and began to eat. The television was tuned to some movie, but all of his attention was Rosalyn. She was eating with gusto, devouring chicken wings, fries, onion rings, and finally, she ate a whole pizza by herself. It turned him on so much as she licked her fingers, taking in more and more food. 

His hard-on was obvious in his naked state. She noticed it and commented, "Goodness Dean, you are rock hard. Looks like you need to cum again; I guess you are just excited by seeing all these pretty BBWs here. Well, we do not want you to get blue balls, and I could use a little relief myself. Why don't we go into the bedroom, have a good cum, and get rested for tomorrow.”

He agreed and followed her to the bedroom. At her suggestion, they sat across from each other in the comfortable reclining chairs, so, in her words they could “watch each other and enjoy the experience more, on a purely physical level.” Dean had no problem with this. They sat facing each other, and Rosalyn began to tweak her nipples. 

Dean’s hand crept down to grasp his phallus at the base. He watched her eyes go wide and heard her breath catch as the he swelled and pre-cum leaked from the tip. Likewise, his eyes went to her pussy, her sweet, sweet pussy as she spread the lips, running her finger along the slit. She brought the finger up to her mouth, tasting herself. He shuddered at the look of pleasure on her face. 

With one hand, he cupped his balls, and with the other, he stroked along his length. She was teasing her clit, her eyes intent on his cock. He was stroking himself faster and faster, his hand a blur on his rod. She cried out with the release of orgasm. He felt his start at his toes. Like a fire, swept through him. He arched his back and the orgasm ripped through him. Cum shot from him, a glistening trajectory carried it across the feet that separated them, splattering all over Rosalyn, from her flaming red hair, to her hot wet pussy, she was covered in cum. 

Once again, she began to laugh. “Dean you have to understand, I am not laughing at you, but you must understand, you cum so much and so hard, it is ridiculous,” she said laughingly.

“Oh, I know Mom,” the amusement barely contained in his voice, “When I am really excited, I cum buckets.”

Rosalyn laughed, scooped up some of the cum from her tits, tasted it with a smile, and then went to take a shower. She came out, all wet and sexy, drying herself with a towel. As she sat on the bed, Dean went to grab a shower. By the time he came out, she was asleep. He crawled into bed, snuggled up besides her, and fell asleep soon himself. 

He awoke with a startled cry from Rosalyn. 

“Dean, go pee. You are poking me to death with that thing.”

He opened his eyes to find himself cuddled with her, his hard grinding into her thigh. He extracted himself, emptied his bladder and came back to bed, still hard. 

“Well Dean, you ready to go to the beach?” Rosalyn said. “Oh goodness, are you still hard? You cannot go to the beach like that. You need to cum before we go out.”

He sat on the bed, his leg touching hers, and eagerly began to stroke himself. When it looked like it was taking him to long, an exasperated Rosalyn literally took matters into her own hands. She reached over, grabbed him firmly, and began to stoke. 

“Come on baby, cum for mamma.” She only got in a couple of good strokes before he exploded, covering both of them. After they had both showered, they headed to the beach. 

The small private beach was filled with nude and semi-nude fat people. He had never seen so many happy fat people before. They settled into a couple of chairs and Rosalyn asked him to rub tanning lotion into her back. Almost before he had even touched her, he was hard again. 

He rubbed lotion into her wide hips and soft ass, her back and legs. By the time he was done, he had a throbbing wet hard; he was leaking pre-cum like a faucet. Rosalyn looked up and saw his hard on, and chagrinned look and made a connection. 

“Dean, are you having feelings for me?”

“Oh, mom, I tried to deny it, but I am falling in love with you. I know it is wrong, but…”

“Well, I seem to have fallen for you too,” she said emotionally. “Lets go talk about this back in the room.”

She gave him her bag to cover himself and they made their way back to the room. They barely made it to the bed before they were wrapped in each other’s arms kissing. She could feel him pressed up against her. Hot, hard and wet. He was not going to last long this first time. 

She lay back, pulling him on top of her. She spread her legs, guiding him into her sopping wet pussy. He slowed down once he entered her, keeping his strokes, slow, long, and strong, his balls slapping against her gently. With one hand he began to play with her breast, with the other, he grabbed one of her legs, pulling it up, and putting it on his shoulder for better entry. 

Rosalyn saw the advantage of having such a strong lover. He thrust like a champion, and was putting her in positions her husband had not been able to do. She was soon cumming hard on his cock. The feel of him driving into her, as a piston was indescribable. She moaned and screamed in a release she had not felt in years. 

The feel of her pussy clenching on him sent him over the edge. He came in great gushing waves inside of her. 

He said that he just had to taste her. Ignoring her reluctance, he lay on the bed and she sat on his face, forming a 69. Her thighs were like heaven. He was surrounded, but the heat and enclosure between her legs was comforting. He began to eat her voraciously, enjoying her every bit as much as she had enjoyed her food. He lapped up their combined juices and licked her clit until she started to moan. 

She took the rapidly swelling head of his cock into her mouth, tasting herself and cum. She sucked him until he was firm and juicy. She had cum more today than any day in recent memory, but she had to have him in her now. She turned around and impaled herself on his cock. 

The pressure of her dropping on him was amazing. It was like, well, heaven. She slammed home on him, again and again. She screamed and a string of ramblings came from her as she came. He was not far behind. His cock swelled inside of her, and his balls drew in tight. He came like never before. He continued to cum until he was drained and cum ran freely out of her. 

They both collapsed onto the bed, berating heavy, but sexually sated. Rosalyn suggested they get a little nap, then order a late lunch, and have a little more fun. 

The End

Once again, your comments are more than appreciated. Feel free to write to me and let me know what you think. If you like the stories let the authors know it. Your encouragement often keeps them going. Thanks for reading. 



Hedonist Ch. 02



Chapter two.

Some history.

Despite the debauchery of last night, I was awake early, crackling with energy, as is normal for me after a good sex session. Far from being tired, I am energised by sex. I was at my desk early, only to find that I could not access the computer files for the project I had been working on. When I tried to find out why, I was told that my security clearance had been revoked, due to my resignation. I was handed what I consider to be clerical work, normally done by lower grade workers. I was insulted. I asked if I could leave now, rather than have to work out my notice. I was told no, but that I had seven days accrued leave due to me, I could shorten my notice by that amount if I wanted to. I decided that I could be as uncooperative as them, I would take time off to suit myself. I had some house-hunting to do in London, I would use my leave to do that.

I did try to concentrate on the work I had been given, but it was boring compared to what I was used to. I spent most of my time on the web, surfing for accommodation in London. I was glad when Friday came. Last day. Tomorrow I would go shopping in Manchester.

My mind rolled back to the years I had spent in Manchester at university. I owed a great deal to the town, my education, even my life...

*****

My name is Clare. I an five foot six. Other dimensions are a bit misleading, suffice to say that I am slim, well proportioned but with 'C' cup breasts, which are pretty much self supporting, one boyfriend described them as 'torpedo tits'. I have pale skin, some freckles and red hair, which includes my pubes. I keep that area well trimmed, but I would not shave it off, my 'burning bush' drives men wild. I was born in Edinburgh An only child to what you would call 'elderly parents'. I had a happy, conventional childhood. My parents were quite well off, so I had a good education and easily won a place at the university of my choice, Manchester, reading economics and European languages.

I was an ugly child, right up to my late teens, so even when other girls my age were beginning to take an interest in boys, I was ignored by them. I am now considered to be something of a beauty, but was a virgin until I started at Manchester.

At first, sex seemed clumsy and messy. I suppose many females would agree. But I stuck at it and became competent. At least, my partners kept coming back for more. It was usually me who dumped them, about three months was enough to have me wanting a different cock. So many men, so little time! But one at a time, I was not a bed-hopper.

I soon developed a reputation for being a good cock-sucker and an even better wanker. I quite enjoyed my power over men, able to reduce them to pleading wimps with, quite literally, a flick of my wrist. The sight of spurting spunk fascinated me. Still does.

The death of my parents changed me. They were on holiday in Israel, 'The Bible Lands'. Their car was targeted by an Israeli ground attack aircraft, as a training exercise, but the pilot accidentally released a live missile which vapourised their car. I had no remains to bury. I had no other relatives, apart from an uncle in Australia, my father's older brother. He came to the memorial service, but scurried back to Oz as soon as he could. I was on my own.

I did not cry. I felt no anger or loss. I just felt numb. I started to drink too much and increasingly turned to casual sex, trying to fuck my grief away . At parties I would take on any man who wanted me, often in front of an audience, the more the merrier. Oddly, my studies did not suffer, I found it easy, but it was a senior lecturer who suggested that I take a year off, to 'sort myself out'. She, (the lecturer was a she,) said that I would be welcomed back after a break, but that the college authorities were concerned about the effect I was having on my fellow students. She also told me that, behind my back, they called me 'Spunk-bucket'.

So I took a year off. I could afford it. I had sold the family house, for an astronomical sum, and the Israeli authorities had paid me a significant sum as compensation. Compensation? Where can you buy new parents? The money was meaningless, but it did give me complete freedom do what I wanted.

I rented out the small flat that I had bought and turned up at Manchester airport with a small bag of belongings, my passport and enough plastic cards to access money as and when needed. The first flight available was to Malaga. So I took it. At the back of my mind was an idea that I would go to where my parents died. Malaga was closer than Manchester. It would do.

But then I started to have cold feet. 'What was there to see in Israel? A crater?' I took a room in a cheap Hotel. Give myself time to think. Stay off the booze though, that was not the answer. Not far away was a bar, frequented by holidaymakers of all nationalities. I took a job there, serving drinks to others. No alcohol for me, but there were plenty of men!

I had my pick, but was not all that choosy, quantity rather than quality.

After two weeks, I began to be bored. The crunch came one night after the bar had closed. I had allowed myself to be steered into the alley behind the bar, by a good looking, but very drunk Norwegian. I leaned back against an overflowing rubbish skip, removed my knickers and hoisted my skirt around my waist to allow access to the part that he was most interested in. I had to guide him in, but he was good and hard. He fucked me with long hard strokes. It felt good, but as usual, did not lead to the Earth moving for me. That would come later, courtesy of my own fingers.

We were not alone in the alley, opposite there was another couple, in a similar situation, her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, his bare arse pumping rhythmically. But as my fucker emptied his load into my accommodating cunt, the girl opposite threw her head forward and vomited over her lover's shoulder, onto the already filthy road.

That was it. Time to move on. I thanked my Norwegian for his services, replaced my knickers and knocked on the back door of the bar. The owner was still there, cleaning up and re-stocking. He lived in the flat over the bar. I told him that I would not be coming back. I liked him. I probably would have fucked him were it not for his very jealous wife and business partner. He persuaded me to do "Just one more night." I agreed and made my way to my lonely bed. I did not masturbate that night, my mind was filled with seeing that other girl puke up all the drinks she had had.

I slept late next morning, then went for a last look around Malaga. I ate a good lunch at one of the better hotels and went back to my room mid-afternoon. I intended to settle my bill, including tonight, and to leave as soon as I got up next day. I had no plans other than to leave. At the reception desk there seemed to be an argument going on. It turned out not to be an argument, just a guest trying to book a room. But he spoke no Spanish. I offered my help. In addition to my native English, (actually Scottish!) I speak French, German, Italian and Spanish. The guest was Italian. He wanted a room for one night only, but needed to pre-pay, as he would be leaving very early. It was soon settled. The guest thanked me and asked if he could buy my a drink, by way of a thank-you. He was quite a hunk, but I refused. I was working soon and determined to leave early myself. I paid my bill and went to my room, showered and put on the white, low cut, full skirted dress that was my 'uniform', then headed for my final evening's work.

The bar was quiet, just a few early revellers taking advantage of the low-priced early drinks. After ten the price doubled. After about an hour, my hunky Italian walked in, recognised me immediately, and took up residence on a bar-stool close to my 'station'. We talked off and on, when I was not serving drinks. It turned out to be a very quiet evening. Apparently, the girl I had seen puke, ended up in hospital having her stomach pumped. The police had called at the bar, word had got around and the punters were going elsewhere. My Italian, Gino, was a long distance truck driver. He had to collect his vehicle at six next morning and drive it to Naples. Suddenly, I had a plan.

"Can you take a passenger?" I asked.

He jumped at the offer. I was in no doubt about how I would pay my way, nor was he. The journey would take four days, he slept in the cab, was that okay?

I wanted him. My mind ran riot over the things we would do in that cab. I could feel myself juicing. I wanted him right now.

Miguel, the bar owner, read the situation perfectly. It was close to midnight anyway, but he leaned close and told me that I could go now if I wished. He also took advantage of our closeness to have a good feel of my arse. The first and only time he had touched me. I thanked him, said goodbye and under his wife's withering gaze, gave him a kiss on the mouth.

Gino and I hurried back to our hotel. In his room, I seized the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. I stood in pants and shoes only. As usual no bra. Gino let out a stream of Italian superlatives and tore off his shirt, buttons popping. His jeans followed, allowing his huge prick to bounce into view. My turn for superlatives. He was gorgeous. Dark skinned, built like an athlete, black hair over most of his body, like an Olympic gorilla. Best of all, waving at me was the biggest cock I had seen, complemented by a pair of balls that would not have disgraced a horse.

He pushed me down on the bed and showered me with kisses, all the time complimenting me on the perfection of whatever he was kissing. When he got to my panty-clad pubes, he bit the front of the skimpy garment and tore it off with his teeth. For too short a time, he licked my dripping twat, then moved over me, between my widespread and welcoming thighs and without needing to be guided in, drove his mighty cunt-stretcher into me. I yelled, he went to pull out again but I trapped him by wrapping my legs around him and urged him to continue.

It was a frantic coupling and one which in record time, gave me a rare orgasm without the need for fingers. He too, came almost immediately. With a great roar he released a torrent of Neapolitan cream into my clasping quim, driving deep into me with each subsequent spurt.

He rolled off, panting. We were soaked in sweat. I could feel his generous offering running out of me to soak into the sheet. He stretched out an arm, inviting me to nestle against him. I did so and reached for his now deflated, slippery snake, Very soon it was hard again. I moved down to take it into my mouth, but he stopped me, asking instead that I mount him. I did so with pleasure, this time I held his length and allowed it so slowly slide into me as I lowered myself onto it, savouring the thickness and length. He began fucking up into me, I held onto the bed-head for support as his thrusts threatened to throw me off. We soon reached a mutual rhythm as he shafted me with long violent strokes. Faster and faster, harder and harder. I released the headboard with my left hand, so that I could use it on my clit, wanting to come again, this time as his fountain erupted up me. And then the bed broke.

We were uncoupled by the violence of the breakage, but unhurt. Our second coming had been postponed by shoddy hotel furniture. We both went into fits of laughter.

"My room?" I suggested.

Both naked, we crossed the corridor to my room, where we resumed what had promised to be a memorable fuck. This time the encounter reached it's natural conclusion, with another helping of cream being spewed into me. I did not come again that night, but Gino did. Twice more. Both into my cunt, I did not get to find out if his monster would fit in my mouth. At least, not until the next day.

We crept out of the hotel at about five-thirty next morning, found a taxi and made our way to the port. Gino's lorry had been there being loaded overnight. I was not permitted to go into the port, I had to wait at the gate. It was raining, so the security men allowed me to shelter in their 'rest room'. It took ages for Gino to complete all the paperwork. The guards took turns to see if I was alright, bringing me coffee, then biscuits, then a magazine, then to ask if I needed the bathroom. It was all an excuse to ogle my bra-less tits, displayed to advantage under a tight tee-shirt. I thought about the fine fucking I had had last night and hopefully, would have again soon. This made my nipples stick out, much to the delight of my two admirers.

At last Gino was back. His truck was enormous. A low-loader with a large, streamlined container strapped to it. I never did find out what the load was, Gino said that he had not been told, but to guard it with his life. I was, however, more interested in the loads that I hoped Gino was going to deliver to me. Frequently.

The journey was a delight. The high driving position allowed me to see far more of the countryside than is possible from a car and the cab was equipped with every conceivable comfort. We drove non-stop all morning, then pulled into a truck-stop for lunch. Nothing like the 'greasy-spoon' cafes that serve as truck stops in the UK. This one served food that would have done credit to a good restaurant. I allowed myself a couple of glasses of wine and was feeling horny by the time we got back to the truck. In the air-conditioned comfort of Gino's cab, I expected, and wanted, another helping of his magnificent cock. But he refused.

"Rest now, fuck tonight." He said.

I was disappointed, I had expected regular servicing, but he was in charge. For now at least. Another non-stop drive along mainly non-motorway roads followed, for some reason Gino avoided motorways unless forced onto them by 'obligatory route' signs. But it was on a main highway, at a well equipped service area, where we eventually stopped for the night.. After parting to shower in the rest rooms, we met up in the restaurant for a light meal. Then it was back to the truck, which Gino had converted to a sleeping area.

We stripped naked and started to kiss and caress. Whereas our first night had started with a frenzy and finished with gentle tenderness, this night was the opposite. Gino gently kissed his way down my willing body, paying special attention to my tits, until his mouth was on my cunt. He quickly brought me to a shuddering climax, then climbed over me and slid his torpedo into my wet slit. We fucked lovingly, Gino clearly wanted to make it last. When he tired of being on top, he rolled over, taking me with him, so that I could ride him. I could sense his crisis building. I moved my lips close to his ear and asked him not to come yet, but to let me suck him off.

Few men can resist such an offer. Gino rolled over to allow me access to his straining tool, now wet with my juices. I slowly slipped my lips over his bulging knob and sucked it gently. Gino bucked his arse of the couch, pushing more of his length into my mouth. I could not deep throat him, he was just too big, but I tried very hard, enjoying every second of it. He could not bear much of my skilful sucking, he warned my of his impending orgasm and seconds later it was gushing into my mouth and being gulped down my throat. I sucked and licked him clean, then slid up his body to kiss him. He turned his head away. Not until I had rinsed my mouth with water would he kiss me on the mouth, not wanting to taste his own spunk. How macho is that?

He needed time to recover and asked if I would mind watching some porn on his TV. Of course I did not mind, I enjoy good porn. I nestled under his arm, he covered us with a light blanket and ran the video. Italian porn is not much different to British porn. It usually ends the same way, with a showcase ejaculation by the hero or heroes, usually over the face of the leading lady. The second sequence soon went anal, the male 'actors' taking it in turn to sodomise a fragile looking blonde, then wanking themselves onto her buttocks. Gino turned to me and asked if I 'did Greek', a term which I was unfamiliar with, but could not mistake. I had tried it with vibrators, but had never had a real prick pushed up there. After some consideration, I replied that I had not, but was willing to try, if that was what he wanted.

Oh! He wanted it alright. I was nervous. Could his huge cock go into my tight virgin anus? It took several attempts and a great deal of lubrication for just the tip to gain entry, and I shrieked in pain when he at last popped in. He moved slowly, gaining depth with each stroke until, amazingly, his balls were against the top of my thighs. Only then did he began to ream my arsehole with fearsome power. It hurt like hell, but I was loving it. At last he came, with a great animal roar he spurted jet after jet of spunk up my clenching hole. He pulled out and slumped onto the bed beside me. In seconds he was snoring gently. Alone, I pushed a finger up my arse and felt his come inside me, then using the stuff as lubricant, I strummed my clit to a final orgasm before falling asleep myself.

We were on the road early next morning and the day followed the same pattern as the one before. In retrospect, it could not have been any other way, he had a job to do, I was a passenger and his plaything. Before falling asleep, he fucked me twice, once in the purpose-built place and then in the newly opened one. Then he was snoring. The idea of being a trucker's whore had seemed glamourous, now it had become boring. By lunchtime on day three, we would be somewhere near Cannes. I decided to bail out there.

Again an early start. Driving mainly east, the sun was pouring through the windscreen, the air conditioning was struggling. I peeled off my T-shirt and enjoyed the feel of the sun on my bare tits. As we overtook and were overtaken, other drivers seemed to enjoy it as well. I began to feel horny again. I decided that I would leave Gino with memories that would stay with him always.

I struggled out of my jeans and pants, placed my feet on the dashboard, legs widespread, and began to masturbate. Anyone who looked into the cab could see my display. It was so dirty that I almost fainted when I came. Gino could not keep his eyes off me, we were in grave danger of going off the road at times, but it was very exciting. Little did he know that there was more to come. To be specific -- him.

I sucked my juice off my fingers, then, still naked, knelt on the floor of the cab and unzipped Gino's jeans. It was a struggle to free his big boner from his clothes, but I persevered and took his engorged tip into my mouth. I sucked him off as he drove and was rewarded by a massive flood of his come into my lusting mouth.

I left his limp cock hanging out of his flies and put my clothes back on. By the time we pulled off for lunch, I was decent. I told Gino that this was the end of the line for me, thanked him and jumped down while he was tucking his tool away. At the petrol pumps was a taxi, just finished fuelling. The driver agreed to take me to Cannes straight away. I could still taste Gino's spunk on my back teeth.

*****

I spent nine months travelling around mainland Europe, just being a tourist and having my little 'adventures' with anyone who took my fancy. None of my experiences are much worth writing about, but I was able to satisfy my need for regular fucking. I made two trips back 'home', that is, to Manchester, partly to check on my flat, which I had rented to students, but also to replenish supplies of contraceptive pills. It was a big and unpleasant surprise therefore, that I discovered that I was pregnant.

It was a strange pregnancy from the start. Not that I had any previous experience of pregnancy, but having missed a period, a pregnancy test showed negative. I tried twice more, with test kits from different manufacturers. Still negative. When I missed my next period, I decided that a visit to a doctor was required. I decided to head home again, this matter needed my native language.




Hedonist Ch. 02



I became ill on the flight back to Manchester, collapsing in the aisle, fortunately next to a doctor returning from holiday. There was an ambulance waiting on the tarmac when we landed. Not that I was aware of it, I was comatose for over a week.

I had an ectopic pregnancy, complicated by also having contracted a sexually transmitted disease. When I came to, I had been aborted. I was very ill, I almost died. Which is one of the reasons why I am fond of Manchester.

The experience brought my wild lifestyle to an abrupt halt. I resumed my studies, was awarded a double first and was head hunted by my current, soon to be ex-, employer. They had been my father's employer and, unknown to me, had been following my progress through university.

My appetite for sex soon returned, but now I have monthly check-ups at a private clinic.



Hedonist Ch. 03



A few days later I was on the way to London, house-hunting. It was Sunday. I had arranged viewings on the following Monday and Tuesday. I was booked into a good hotel. That night I ate early and went to bed early. The next day I saw several flats, but none of them appealed. I had managed to get a ticket to a west-end show that night, a cancellation, so it was Tuesday evening that I found myself alone after dinner and needing fucking. Masturbation would not be enough. I thought about my last hotel encounter and wondered what would happen if I sat alone at the bar, were London hookers as territorial as those in Liverpool?

I hoisted myself onto a high stool, making sure that my stocking-tops were just visible. There were two obvious professionals sitting at the bar. I was dressed in my siren dress, complementing it, as usual, with very high heels, stockings and suspenders, with French knickers this time. No bra. The working girls made no demur, one even gave me a conspiratorial nod. She would probably not have done if she knew that I give it away.

I soon attracted a punter. An overweight German who had indulged in to much deutch courage. I told him that I was waiting for someone. He wobbled over to one of the other girls and they left together, having struck a deal. Another man soon joined me, offering to buy me a drink. I did not like the look of him. He was English, good looking in a gangsterish way, and that was the problem. He looked cruel. Again I said that I was meeting someone. He scored with the remaining bar-girl. I hoped that she would be alright, but such people, including myself, learn to look after themselves. Casual sex is risky for a woman, but the risk adds to the enjoyment. I was not prepared, at least not just yet, for domestic dinner, telly, then a 'dutiful-fuck-with-the-lights-out.

By nine-thirty I was in the bedroom of a good looking Canadian, here on business. He had been very charming in the bar, but he turned out to be a bad choice as a partner for what I needed. He fucked me alright. Twice. But he was only interested in his own pleasure. I did not come. After his second orgasm he fell asleep. I dressed and went to my own bed, where I finished the job with my own fingers.

I was back in London again the next weekend, more house-hunting, this time successful. That night I tried my luck at the bar again, although this time I was in a different hotel. The bar was quiet. At the far end was another woman, engaged in conversation with a fit looking young man with very short, crew-cut hair. On his own between us was another crew- cut, sipping his drink and watching the couple intently. I knew that he had seen me come in, but so far there was no acknowledgement of my presence. I too, watched the couple at the far end. Crew cut number one turned our way and shook his head slightly. Crew cut number two then approached me.

"What are you drinking?"

I let him buy me a drink. Crew cut one left the other woman and took a seat next to the one just vacated by crew cut two. Whose name, he announced, was Bryce. He and his 'buddy' were US Marines, in London for a little 'R&R'. I asked what he thought of London.

"Okay I guess," he replied, "lots of tourist stuff, but not good for hot action. Hamburg was better. Hell, even Paris is better."

What did he mean by 'hot action'?

He took a long pull at his drink and explained.

"Chuck and I like to share. That includes women. Woman rather, we like to share a woman. The Hamburg bar-girls will take on two at a time, but here in London we have lucked-out so far. Would you take on the two of us together?"

It was an attractive idea. I had never had two men at the same time. Although I had tried it at uni. Unsuccessfully I must add. We were all a bit drunk. They had taken turns to fuck me and then left. I would not describe the encounter as 'hot action'.

"I'm not a hooker." I replied.

The look on his face was priceless. A mixture of dismay and embarrassment. He spluttered an apology.

I went on;

"But that does not mean that I am averse to hot action. What are we waiting for?"

In the lift, Bryce took me in his arms and kissed me, pressing his erection against my belly. His 'buddy', Charles, or 'Chuck', pressed his hard-on against my back and slipped his hands between my body and Bryce's, so that he could grope my tits while he dry humped my backside. They were both quite tall, one erection reached my sternum, the other reached the small of my back. Promising.

In the room, again one in front and one behind, one unzipped me and the other slipped my dress off my shoulders, letting it fall on the floor. My bra followed, again a joint operation. They both stepped back to admire what they had revealed, then shirts were ripped off, buttons flying, in a race to be first naked. I dropped to my knees and waited for the first prick to be offered for my oral attention. It was a draw. Two fine erections vied for my mouth. I went from prick to prick, trying not to favour one over the other. I was enjoying this.

Charles was the first to cry enough, he must have been very close to losing it and obviously had other plans for his first delivery. He pulled away and put his hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet and pulling my mouth away from his friends cock. They led me to the bed and laid me on it. I pulled my knickers down and tossed them aside.

"On or off?"

I asked, indicating stockings. They replied in unison;

"Off."

They lay one on each side, the three of us completely naked. They each latched onto a nipple as two hands stroked down my squirming body towards my centre. They were clearly used to working as a team, Charles used fingers of his left hand to spread wide my outer lips and Bryce gently pushed a finger into the exposed hole. If it was to check whether I was ready, he was not disappointed, I was streaming. He withdrew the now dripping finger and placed the pad of his fingertip directly onto my clit and began a very gentle rotating motion.

I had a stiff prick in each hand, but I was unable to do them justice, they were simply handles to grip while my orgasm hit. A mouth on each tit and a skilful finger on my oily button drove me to an immediate and powerful climax.

I was still coming as Bryce hoisted himself between my thighs and slotted his meat into my clasping slit. Thinking back to it, Charles must have guided him in, although I was wet and wide enough to be an easy target. Being filled by his thick cock simply moved my orgasm up a notch and I squealed in delight as he began to fuck me hard and fast. He can't have made more than a dozen or so strokes before he gave a grunt and thrust jerkily into me as his seed pumped from him.

He withdrew immediately and I felt suddenly empty, disappointed, but not for long. Charles took his place as seamlessly as relay runners passing a baton. But there were two batons, the second one sliding easily into a hole lubricated with Bryce's spunk, and now back down from my peak, I could concentrate on enjoying what seemed like part two of the same fuck. It was not to be. Like his partner in sex, he fucked me like machine, grunting out his ejaculation in a few deep thrusts.

They knew what they were doing. The first fuck was simply pressure relief, the foreplay would follow. I have been told that some men actually wank themselves off before going on a hot date, so that they don't lose it as soon as the date gets her hand around his prick. What my two synchronised studs had done was clearly preferable. I was sure that they both had enough for seconds.

As soon as Charles had finished, Bryce popped the cork on a bottle of Champagne and filled three glasses. We lounged against the headboard and sipped the refreshing wine. I asked where they were stationed and what they did, but no information was forthcoming. I took a mouthful of Champagne, held it in my mouth while I went down and drew Bryce's limp dick into a fizzing oral embrace. He stiffened instantly. I repeated the trick on Charles, he too, came back to attention. Time for round two.

Without disengaging his prick, Charles swivelled round into a sixty-nine position, each of us lying on our sides, and began to lick my still spunk-wet clit. Bryce positioned himself behind me and guided his own missile back into my cunt, making delicious long, slow movements in and out of my sheath. Charles' tongue must have been very close to his friend's balls as Bryce thrust in. Clearly they were very good friends. I was not complaining, the combined tongue and tool attack soon had me gasping into another climax.

When my spasms finished, Bryce put his mouth close to my ear and asked;

"Do you take it in the ass Babe?"

I hate being called Babe, or Baby. Annoyance began to well up in me.

"Yes, do you?"

I thought it, but did not say it. My mouth was full anyway. Without losing contact with Charles' fine prong, I managed an;

"Mmm -- hmm."

Bryce disengaged and gave his friend a sharp slap on the arse, causing him to pull away from my mouth and also to remove his own mouth from it's task.

"On you back buddy," ordered Bryce, "sandwich time."

Charles did as bid, his erection pointing at a spot somewhere above the bed-head. He took it in his hand and pointed it more at the ceiling.

"Climb aboard." He invited.

When I realised what they had in mind, a thrill of fear and excitement swept through me. I could feel goose-pimples despite the heat of the warm hotel room. I lowered myself onto Charles' offered prong, guiding it with my fingers. Fully impaled, I leaned forward, offering my other hole to Bryce. He smeared something cold onto my stretched anus, lubricant, which was quickly displaced by something warm, the straining tip of his prick. With an ease which to this day, surprises me, he slipped easily up the tight passage of my arsehole until his balls rested on Charles'.

Stuffed. Filled to bursting by two fine thick pricks. Double-fucked. What a mind-blowing feeling. They remained still for a few seconds, then began to power into me, one in as the other drew out, then both in at the same time. My body became one big erogenous zone, I was all clit, I wanted more, harder, more pricks, fuck me, keep fucking me, fill me with boiling spunk, shoot it up my cunt, shoot it up my arse, fuck, fuck, fuck, don't stop, I want a prick spunking into my mouth as well. I felt Bryce began to jet his come up my arse. 

Bryce had had his second coming into the normally private recesses of my bum-hole, I remembered that much. I asked Charles if he had come also, he shook his head. Would he like me to suck him off? Does it rain in England?

I gave him the Champagne treatment again and used all my skill to give him a memorable climax. Bryce moved down and watched closely. Mouthful of bubbly, mouthful of cock. Mouthful of bubbly, mouthful of cock. Until Charles declared his imminent eruption. I took his spunk in my mouth, the salty taste displacing the sweetness of the wine, then swallowing the mixture with pleasure. Champagne and spunk. What a cocktail. What was it called I wondered? Someone must have given it a name. Both ingredients come out of the container in a rush. 'Fucks Fizz' perhaps?

I sensed that the evening was ending. Pity, I was still good to go. I discreetly enquired if they had more ammunition. They looked at each other. Presumably, the professional girls they were used to, had collected their earnings and said goodnight by now.

"Possibly." Said Bryce. Will you wack off for us, so that we can watch?"

"You want me to masturbate?"

They nodded. I thought about it. Why not?

"I will if you will." I said. "I'll 'wack off' for you if you both give me a show afterwards, give me a spunk-shower."

They liked the idea of that. I like to watch a man pleasure himself. I know my own body better than anyone and I know just how to give myself maximum pleasure. A man must be the same. And oh! How I like to see spunk fly.

I slid down the bed and spread my legs as far apart as I could. They reversed themselves so that they could get a good view. They were both fully erect and each of them wanked gently as I started my devotions.

"Don't come until after I have." I cautioned them. They both mumbled agreement.

I spread my flaps with my fingers and began to probe deep into myself with two fingers, occasionally pulling out and offering my honey to one mouth or the other. I probed and pulled until I simply had to finish it. I strummed my clit, fast but gently, just the way I like it. My juices were running out of me, trickling down my bum-crack. I frantically burnished my bud until I had a massive, noisy orgasm.

"Awesome." Said Charles.

"Unforgettable." Said Bryce.

"Your turn." Said I.

As good as their word, they positioned themselves one either side, kneeling and began to wank. Now it was my turn to be awed as they fisted their stalks faster and faster until their hands were a blur of speed. I could not resist allowing my hands to stray once again to my crutch as I joined them in their race to a climax. I kept my arms straight and used them to push my tits up and together, provided an irresistible target for their emissions. Eventually they started to come, I'm not sure who was first, I was almost carried away by my own pleasure, but when the first hot spurt landed on my left nipple, I snapped out of my reverie in time to enjoy what I had asked for.

They must have been depleted, each having already delivered two loads, but there was an impressive amount left in their semen stores. Almost in slow motion, the pearly stuff rained down onto my quivering body. Face, tits and belly were spattered with thick streaks of spunk. Awesome. Unforgettable. The boys squeezed the last few drops from their punished pricks, then, using their wanking hands, they performed a 'high five' and chorused;

"Semper Fi!"

I managed to stop myself laughing, I thought that they only did that in action movies.

I retrieved my scattered clothes and headed for the bathroom. I took a quick refreshing shower, dressed and went to say my thanks and goodbyes.

"Can we have your number, for next time we are in town?"

I refused of course and took my leave.

I was going to enjoy living in London! I had made the right decision. A step in the right direction.



Hedonist Ch. 04



Chapter 4: Taking care of business.

My new job was all that I had hoped for. It was for a long established investment bank. Old fashioned, in that it was still in the city of London, very close to The Bank of England. The chairman was a Duke! He had resisted the temptation to follow other banks when they moved to Docklands. I had my own spacious office and plenty of interesting work.

I had been there about a month when I was summoned to the Chairman's office. Had I done something wrong? I was shown straight in to his office by his Secretary.

The chairman, Sir Charles, stood when I entered and waved me to a chair.

"I hear that you have settled in nicely. Coffee?" he asked.

"I think so, and yes please to the coffee." I replied.

He poured the coffee himself and brought the steaming cup to me, then sat on the edge of the desk.

"I would like you to do something for me." He continued.

"Yes, of course." I replied.

If he had asked me to drop my knickers and bend over his desk, I am not sure how I would have reacted. But that was not the plan. He indicated a large-ish briefcase. Attaché case style.

"I would like you to take that to my son Alexander. In Paris."

How odd. Why could that not be done by a courier? But a trip to Paris sounded good.

"Certainly," I replied, may I ask what it contains?"

He smiled. "Five million Euros"

I spilled the coffee. I felt as though a cold hand had been thrust into me and gripped my stomach. I was speechless. Sir Charles explained:

"Sometimes a bank like ours has to make deals 'off the record'. This is one such deal. It will have to go today, there is a Eurostar train which will take you there directly. You may return straight away, or stay in Paris over the weekend, at our expense of course. A little bonus for you."

As a fairly senior employee, I had to keep a 'crisis kit' at the bank. This comprised a change of underwear, a clean blouse, necessary toiletries, and my passport. I had nobody at home who would miss me, nothing to stop me from being a female James Bond for a few days. Today was Thursday. Friday and Saturday in Paris, then a train back on Sunday afternoon. Why not? I said that I would.

"But that is a great deal of money, and you are putting a great deal of trust in a new employee."

"You have been thoroughly vetted. The only other senior staff that I would trust are married. Although they would agree to the task, they have families to consider." Sir Charles explained.

I nodded my agreement. How would I recognise Alexander?

"He will recognise you. As I said, you have been thoroughly vetted. My secretary will arrange the ticket. If you decide to stay over, the hotel also. She will give you some money for the trip and a company credit card, use it to buy more clothes and whatever else you need for your stay. The train leaves in just over an hour. Keep the case with you at all times, even when you have to 'pay a visit.' Enjoy Paris."

Thirty minutes later, I was being driven to St. Pancras in Sir Charles' Mercedes.

The journey went without a hitch. Customs were not interested in my bag of money, which I could not have opened anyway, there was a combination lock and I did not know the numbers. The bag was larger than my own personal possessions bag, but still surprisingly small. Almost before I could catch my breath, I was standing on the concourse of Paris, Gare du Nord. Feeling very vulnerable.

A voice beside me said;

"Clare?"

I turned to the source of the voice. There in front of me stood my mystery lover from Liverpool. For the second time that day, my stomach was gripped by that cold fist.

"I'm Alex Copemore. Sir Charles is my father."

***

He took the case and steered me, on very wobbly legs, to a coffee bar. I was in shock. I heaped sugar into the cappuccino ordered for me.

"I can't stay," said Alex, indicated the money. "I have to do something with this. Take a taxi to the hotel, put everything on the card. Meet me in the bar at seven tomorrow, have dinner with me at least. That's all. No pressure. If you decide to take the next train home I will never mention our previous meeting. But at least have dinner with me." 

He grinned. "Don't sit AT the bar though."

He stood, kissed me on the cheek and was gone. I had not spoken a word. Of course I had hoped for an 'adventure' or two in Paris. But him! I could think of no other man who I would rather have in my arms, in my bed, between my thighs pumping torrents of aristocratic come into my commoner's cunt. But however appealing the prospect, there were complications.

He was a colleague. My boss in fact, but still a colleague. I had made it a rule never to fuck a colleague, not to mix business with pleasure. And the bank also had rules about fraternisation. Opening my legs to him, again, could mean the end of my career at the bank. I had twenty-six hours to make up my mind.

Twenty six hours later I was waiting for him in the hotel bar. I still had not decided. I would listen to what he thought about the situation. I had spent the day shopping. Shopping in Paris, in April, with someone else's credit card! There was trust! In fact I used it sparingly, using my own money to buy masses of clothes and associated frippery. I was dressed ready for a night of sex. My body was saying yes, my brain, no. Under the black dress was black underwear, trimmed with coffee-coloured lace. See-through hipster shorts, and of course stockings and suspenders.

My heart missed several beats when he walked up to me and again, chastely kissing my cheek. Over the meal, I have no recollection of eating it, I explained my situation.

"Your own rules are your decision," he said, "but I am a director of the bank, if anything happens to my father, the bank will be mine. The rules are what I make them. Whatever you decide, your job is safe. As for me, I would resign my position just to be able to kiss your cunt again." 

My kissable cunt decided for me.

"Take me to bed." I simpered.

We stood side by side, not speaking, not touching, waiting for the lift. Nor did we touch in the lift. It seemed surreal. We both knew what was going to happen once we were behind closed doors, but we treated each other like strangers. In the room, his room, Alex (at last my mystery lover had a name) took me in his arms and kissed me. It was a lovers kiss, not a 'quick, get your knickers off' kiss. Only the pressure of a rigid column of flesh against my belly betrayed his passion. The wet gusset of my knickers betrayed mine, but he was not aware of that. Yet.

We broke the kiss, he removed his jacket and I slipped out of my dress to reveal my new sexy underwear. We kissed again, this time he pushed me back against the side of the bed and I fell across it. He knelt at the side of the bed, spread my legs, pressed his face against my crutch and inhaled, sniffing me like a dog. It was unbelievably erotic, completely animal.

Then he opened his mouth wide, placed it over the entire of my crutch and gently breathed his hot breath into my moist gash, inflating it like a balloon. I cried out it surprise, what an amazing sensation, truly a blow job.

He sucked me off like this, through the filmy mesh of my knickers. I could feel every kiss, every nibble, every stroke of his skilful tongue. He was unable to penetrate me with his tongue, but I did not need it. The pressure on my clit, combined with the mind blowing thought of being orally serviced while still clothed, brought me off very quickly.

After finishing me off so deliciously, he stood and removed his shirt and pants. His erection strained against the front of his shorts. I lifted my backside up off the bed and removed my soaking wet knickers. Doing so, I noticed that the room curtains were still open. The window was at the side of the bed, the side that my head was resting.

"Curtains." I ordered.

He looked up, postponed removing his last clothing, and came around my side to shut out the outside world. Private now, he pulled his shorts down, revealing at last his pumped up organ. I licked my lips at the thought of gulping it down my throat, but he chose to deny me that pleasure for a little while longer. He knelt again, this time at my head end and kissed my other mouth, then moved to my tits, sucking hard on each nipple before returning his lips to mine. Against my lips, he said quietly;

"Touch yourself. Let me taste you on your fingers."

I did as he asked, pushed my left middle finger up my slippery hole and offered the wet digit to his mouth. He sucked it clean an demanded more. Two fingers this time and again he feasted on my juice.

"More, more." He demanded.

This time I wiped my fingers across my own lips, he kissed them clean with his own. Then I transferred my essence to each nipple in turn. He cleaned each, lovingly. Each time I reached into my cunt for more juice, I lingered, enjoying my self-penetration. I realised that this was his intention, for me to masturbate for both our pleasures. The bastard had brought me here to fuck me, but was making me wank myself off!

I was happy to comply. I stopped feeding him and used both hands to satisfy myself, the fingers of one hand thrust deep up my fuck-hole, the middle finger of the other hand to massage my oily pleasure-bud to a screaming orgasm. Now I gave him both hands to suck clean.

"Now take it from the source." I suggested.

He moved slowly down my body, paused to kiss and lick whichever morsel he chose, until his mouth was at last on my gaping maw. His quivering prick hovered above my mouth. I reached up and took it gratefully into my cock-hungry mouth, sucking him deep. As he sucked my only partially sated pussy. I fed on his meat, using all my skill to please him. Very soon. Too soon, I sensed that his own climax was close. My next one was some way off, but I had had two already. This was for him. I held tightly onto his shaft to prevent his escape and sucked hard. His thick spunk erupted into the back of my throat, spurt after powerful spurt jetting into my mouth. He must have been saving it for me, there was a huge amount of the earthy, salty tasting delicacy. I drank it down gratefully.

Spent now. At least for the time being, he climbed onto the bed. I removed my stockings and sussies, and lay alongside, snuggling up very close.

"So," I said teasingly. "Daddy's a Dook?"

Alex smiled his crooked smile and nodded.

"What does that make you." I continued.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? The son of a Duke must have some kind of title?"

"It's complicated." He said.

I gently took the very tip of his damp foreskin between finger and thumb and used it to lift his limp prick, letting it fall back onto his belly.

"We have time." I quipped.

He sighed and began the explanation:

"Yes, my father is a Duke. An inherited title which he hates. He believes that a man should be judged by his deeds, not his inheritance. But he is sensible enough to acknowledge that the wealth that came with the title, comes in handy. And that there are many people who do believe in the so-called 'aristocracy'. So he uses the title as a means to give him leverage as a businessman.

He was the second son of the previous Duke. He, the previous Duke, was killed in an air crash, along with his first son, my uncle. This is not the first time that what is called; 'The Copemore curse.' has struck the family. In fact my father is the longest surviving Duke since the title was bestowed. He is sixty, all the Copemores look older than their years.

I too, am the second son. I have an older brother, Charles junior. He is called a Marquis, he will inherit the title from our father. I am allowed to call myself 'Lord Copemore'. But I only use the title to get theatre tickets an tables in good restaurants. I'm just Alex."

It took a while to absorb all this information. All the time, I had been coaxing his droopy weapon back to being a cannon. I said;

"And I thought that I was about to be injected by aristocratic spunk. I'm disappointed."

"It's not inferior." He replied. "On your back common wench, prepare yourself to receive the royal sceptre."

He entered me with ease and what seemed like familiarity. He was above me like this for the entire fuck, which was long and loving, and ended with him inducing another mega-come in me, right from deep inside. Only then did he anoint my cervix with yet more precious fluid.

We both fell asleep then. I awoke several times, I was not used to having anyone in my bed for anything other than sex. I eventually got up to pee. It was light outside. When I returned from the bathroom, Alex, still asleep, had rolled onto his back. The sheet had slipped off. He was naked. I knelt at his feet, sitting back on my heels. He was beautiful. How could that little wrinkled sausage give so much pleasure, I wondered. And what were these super-nova orgasms which he, and only he seemed able to produce in me. I could only assume that they were the 'vaginal orgasms' that I had heard about. Perhaps I had only ever had 'clitoral orgasms'? Who cared? I would take them as they came.

I found myself aroused at the thought. I was juicing freely. Alex was still sleeping. My fingers slid down to my junction. Another little wank could do no harm.

Of course it was not just a little one. Eyes closed, picturing Alex' lovely cock doing the fucking, I finger fucked myself to a big one.

When I opened my eyes and they swam slowly into focus, I found myself looking at a fully erect prick, not a limp one. I looked up at his face. He was smiling his crooked smile, his grey eyes twinkling in the early morning light.

"You were watching!" I accused. "I thought that you were asleep."

He lunged for me but I avoided him.

"Payback time." I informed him. "I've shown you mine, now you show me yours."

He raised his eyebrows. "You want me to masturbate?" He asked.

"Yes. And no faking. I want to see it squirt."

If only men could fake it. I know that some women do. I do not. I come for my own pleasure, my lovers come for theirs. At least, that was the case so far. No commitment, just selfish gratification. A woman can fake orgasm because she does not ejaculate. I know that some women claim that they do, but I am not convinced. Ejaculation is the only thing that I envy in a man. I do not experience penis-envy. As the old joke says; With what I have between my legs, I can have as many pricks as I want. If only on loan!

He had started his ministrations. With a firm, right hand grip, he stroked the loose skin sheath up and down his shaft, his purple tip showing more on each down stroke. Faster and faster he moved, until his hand was a blur. Then, with a grunt, he erupted. Four, five, six jets of warm, pearly come leapt out at me, splashing on my thighs. The last weak spurts running lava like, down his punished shaft onto his gripping fingers. I clapped his efforts. I love to see spunk leap. Alex had not disappointed.

He reached for me but I avoided him.

"Later," I said, "I'm hungry."

We had the classic French breakfast -- warm croissants, with apricot jam, washed down by coffee, served farmhouse style, in large handle-less cups, like soup bowls. We spent the day doing touristy things. He was wonderful company. We ate out that evening, at a small restaurant in Montparnasse. No tourists there, locals only. We taxied back to the hotel and were in bed quite early.

We kissed and cuddled for ages, building up to what promised to be more spectacular fucking. Eventually, Alex declared;

"If I don't get to fuck you very soon, I'm going to lose it."

I rolled onto my back, lifted and spread my legs, pulled my pussy wide open with my fingers and replied;

"All yours."

He placed a long kiss on my clit and said;

"Turn over, I want to make love to your back."

I obeyed, lying face down with my legs widespread. He pushed my legs together and starting at the soles of my feet, did just what he said; made love to my back. He stroked, massaged, kissed and licked every square centimetre of exposed flesh. When he reached my neck, he started back down again. He spent a long time kissing my buttocks, then pushed his tongue into the cleavage, questing for the tight bud of my anus, which he penetrated deeply with his tongue.

I wanted more of this and spread my legs to afford better access. He feasted on my arse-hole, kissing, licking and sucking at the tight valve until I could stand it no more. Alex sensed my impatience and turned his attention to my neglected cunt, repeating the treatment on this other hole, but occasionally moving back to the tighter one to swirl his clever tongue around it. He seemed to be avoiding my yearning clit. Perhaps he could not reach it in this position? But no. Anticipating my need yet again, he suddenly sucked the quivering bud between his lips and sucked hard. I came uncontrollably.

I felt him kneel between my thighs and pushed back and up to facilitate entry. He pressed his tip against my anus and pushed. No lubricant this time. And none needed. He slipped effortlessly into my rectum, paused for me to get used to his presence, then began to bugger me with considerable force. He did not last long, soon I could feel his seed jetting into my intestines.

He rested a while, his bulk heavy on me, then began to gently thrust again. He had lost none of his hardness, could he come again so soon? His actions answered my unspoken question. He pulled his prong from my ravished arsehole and replaced it up my dribbling cunt. This time he placed his legs outside mine and forced them closed, so that I was clamped tight around his cock. This was how he fucked me for a second time, stroking deep into my welcoming centre.

This time it took much longer for him to reach his pleasure peak. In fact I reached mine first, then he quickly pulled out and straddled my prone body. I turned my head to see what was happening. He was furiously wanking his wet prick. As I watched, he came with a roar, spitting spunk the entire length of me, from arse to neck.

I don't remember falling asleep. I awoke after an hour or so, needing to pee and to remove our sticky juices from my lower regions. It seemed comfortable now, having someone else in my bed and I slept well until it was light. I gently pulled the covers off Alex, just to admire his fine body. On an impulse, I leaned forward and took his soft prick into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, able to take the entire thing into my mouth. I could taste his spunk and my own cunt-juice on it and I revelled in it.

Soon, it began to swell inside my mouth, until I could contain it no longer. I looked up at Alex' face. He was awake.

"The worlds finest alarm clock." He said sleepily.

He pulled me on top of him and we cuddled this way, his hands kneading the cheeks of my arse. I reached down and fed his erection into my wet slit. He began to push up into my body.

"No," I commanded, "let me fuck you."

He obliged, I did all the moving, working myself off against him. After my come, he tried to roll me over so that he was on top, but I resisted. Gripping his wrists, I used my weight to pin him to the bed and rammed myself against his hardness. I was wanking him with my cunt. He came powerfully, sending spurts of his precious stuff pulsing into me. When I had drained him, I released his wrists and leaned down to kiss him. I murmured into his ear:

"Perhaps some time, I will tie you to the bed and milk you for every drop."

"I will hold you to your promise." He replied. "There is going to be a next time then?"

I did not answer. He was the best man I had ever met. I felt that I could trust him completely. If he wanted to tie me up, blindfold me and use me for his pleasure, he could. It would be my pleasure also. Was I in love?

Today was Sunday. We had seats booked on an afternoon train, but we had time to spend a little more time enjoying Paris. We went to the Louvre. It's free on Sundays, so it was crowded with Parisians. We pretended that we were locals, enjoying the throng, speaking only French.




Hedonist Ch. 04



Then we were aboard the train, speeding through northern France. Would this be the end of our affair. I wanted him, but I had no intention of being the boss's mattress. I could hold down a career on my own merit.

Mid-afternoon. The flat fields of northern France zipped by. In a little over an hour we would be in London, heading our separate ways. I wanted him again, one more time. It might be the last. The train was almost empty. The toilet perhaps? Or even right here in full view? No, the toilet would be safer. I moved close and spoke softly;

"I want your cock inside me. Now. Follow me to the loo."

I pushed past him and headed for the toilet, hoping that it was not engaged. I not only wanted, but needed him, my juices were flowing freely into my gusset. The little room was vacant. I locked the door, stripped off my knickers and waited with pounding heart for his knock. "Tap-tap." It came. I opened the door and pulled him inside, kissing him hard. I sat down on the toilet seat, undid his belt and zip and extracted my prize, which I sucked deep into my hungry mouth, devouring him.

"Don't make me come," He protested. "I want to come in your cunt."

I stood and pulled my skirt up around my waist, bent down and steadied myself against the washbasin, parted my legs and pushed my arse to him.

"Do it then." I gasped.

The lights in the small cabin came on and the window went dark as the train shot into the tunnel. He entered my tunnel simultaneously, thrusting home forcefully. The darling reached round me and found the slippery nubbin of my clit, strumming it as he pumped hard into my clasping sheath. Somewhere deep under the English Channel, I came. It would be fair to say: "Like a train." Alex must have been waiting for my climax, as almost immediately, he began to pump come up me.



Hedonist Ch. 05



"He" and "I" became "We".

Our relationship had no effect on my job at the bank. There, my world was my desk. Alex' desk was the world. He did not even have an office at the bank, on the rare occasions when he was there, he used the boardroom as an office. His job was to be the front man for the bank, all over the world, so I rarely saw him at work.

It was very different away from work, when he was in London, we spent every minute of our free time together. Not just in bed, although there was plenty of that, we were a couple, we did everything together.

About a month after Paris, I was called to Sir Charles' office.

"Please take a seat Clare. Coffee?"

Not bad news then. I sat. I accepted coffee.

"I asked you to come in to have a little chat about you and Alexander. I approve. He has little interest in the day to day running of the bank, but he enjoys gadding about the world. It was not always so, it began when he and Caroline, his ex-wife, were divorced. She took their two boys away to America, to Boston. He missed them very much, as do I. The gallivanting was a substitute.

Some of his deals have earned significant profits for the bank, but he was taking more and more personal risks. Many of his associates are unlikely to be found at a Buckingham Palace garden party.

You have changed that. He now spends more time in the UK and I think that he is very fond of you. I also know that you have independent means, so are unlikely to be interested in him for financial gain.

I'm suggesting nothing. I just wanted you to know that there need be nothing clandestine about your relationship.

Oh yes! And I am promoting you. You will do the same job as now, but you will have a new designation and an increase in salary. Neither Alexander nor I wish to lose you."

About three months after Paris, Alex invited me to spend the weekend at the Copemore family seat in the country. His brother was there, on leave from the army.

The house was quite stunning. The grounds covered hundreds of acres of parkland. I could get used to this!

Alex took me riding, something that I had never done, but turned out to be a natural horsewoman. We stopped by the lake, in the shade of oak trees and made passionate love in the open air. After giving me several orgasms and fucking me twice, he asked me to marry him.

Me, married! It had never crossed my mind. One man? One cock? But I was crazy about him. At that time all I wanted was to be near him. Then again, was I a suitable person to marry into aristocracy? I expressed my reservations.

"I think I love you Alex. I can't be sure because I have not experienced love before, but I can't have children, things that I have done you might not want to hear about and I have been used to changing partners frequently. In fact I have fucked practically every man I have fancied, which number hundreds. I'm not sure that monogamy is for me."

He replied that he already had two children, did not want more. He wanted a fuck-buddy, not a brood mare. He too, had a past that would not impress the Archbishop. As for infidelity in the future, who could say? We would deal with it as it happened.

I noticed that he said, AS it happened, not IF.

I said yes.

Dinner that night was a black tie affair. There were many guests, some of whom I recognised and some I had heard of. Quite a gathering. When the meal was over, Alex stood and tapped his wineglass for order. The crowd grew silent. I knew what was coming and found myself blushing.

"My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen." he announced. "I am delighted to be able to tell you that, this afternoon, I asked Clare to be my wife, and that she has agreed."

After a few moments of silence, the audience applauded. Sir Charles proposed a toast to me and with me squirming in embarrassment, the great and the good of British commerce drank to my health.

Things moved quickly. I had to sign a pre-nuptial agreement, preventing me from inheriting anything, but adding considerably to my growing, virtually untouched fortune. We were married, at the house, a month later. It was a civil ceremony, but I did get to wear a white wedding dress. Alex' two sons flew in from Boston, I got to meet my stepsons! And Alex' mother came to the wedding, from her home in southern France. Even she approved. We spent our wedding night at the house, before flying to New York next day for a short honeymoon.

Then the Copemore Curse struck.

Charles the younger had come over from Norway, his current army posting. On the way back to his unit from the airport, his taxi was hit by a train on a level crossing and he was killed instantly. We spent just one night in New York, flying home as soon as we could.

Sir Charles, Charles senior, never returned to the bank. He died two weeks later. Everyone agreed that despite what it said on the death certificate, he had died of a broken heart. As for me, I had gone from being just Clare, to Lady Clare, to Marchioness, to Duchess, in the space of a few days.

Poor Alex. He had lost his father and his brother and had inherited the responsibility of a title and a bank. Neither of which he wanted. He told me that he intended to sell the bank, or at least to merge it with another. He had no desire to spend the rest of his life in meetings. Our sex life was good, but it had lost the vivacity which characterised it.

It remained that way until a suitable partner was found for the business. A Dutch merchant bank, also long established. It would be a merger, not a takeover. Alex would be a director, but would have no executive powers. I too, was to be a director! We travelled together to The Hague, to sign all the agreements. Now we were free of responsibility, rich, and still young!

Alex had insisted that we stay in Amsterdam.

"The Hague is boring." He declared.

That night in the hotel, the fire and passion of our early days returned. Alex was like a man who had been denied women for years. Fist he licked my cunt until I came twice, then he wanked me to another climax, only stopping when I begged him to put his cock inside me. Once there, he fucked me until I was sore, then soothed the soreness with a fountain of spunk. His cock was still hard. He turned me over and pushed it up my arse, fucking me that way for an even longer time before squirting another generous load of come into by bowels. Finally, he sucked me again, this time in sixty-nine. As I managed one last orgasm, he spurted a few thin dregs down my throat. The next day we slept until noon. He had me wank him off before he would get out of bed. My Alex was back!

We did touristy things all day, before returning to the hotel for dinner. After dinner, and quite late, he took me to;

"A little club that I know."

A sex show in fact. He must have booked our table. The place was quite small and cramped, and full of punters. We had a table front and centre, with probably the best view in the house of the large, sunken stage. More arena than stage. Act one was a female singer. She wore a long, but completely see-through dress and sang what we were told, very sexy songs, just to warm up the audience. Neither of us speak Dutch, so it was wasted on us, but the rest of the audience loved it. Alex and I did not need warming up, he had insinuated his hand up my skirt, down my knickers and had two fingers up my leaking cunt. I, in turn, had fished out his prick, which I wanked gently in time to the music.

Act two was a lesbian show. A young woman, dressed as a waitress with a short black skirt and frilly white blouse, had somehow broken the rules and had to be punished for her sins. Punishment involved a spanking, on her bare arse. Then she had to suck the cunt of her superior before being vigorously fucked with a massive strap-on dildo. During the cunt-suck, Alex leaned close to me and whispered;

"Have you ever tasted pussy?"

"Only my own, as you know." I replied.

Act three was a man on man exhibition. They were dressed in monks habits, which they soon shed and then displayed some very un-ecclesiastical habits. First they sucked each other's cocks, then one bent down to be buggered. We had a clear view of a large stiff cock being rammed forcibly into the welcoming bum-hole of his victim. The bugger-ee also had a large hard prick which at first, waved about as he was sodomised, but then the bugger-er reached around, took hold of it and wanked it as he fucked. It ended with the buggered and wanked monk, shooting spunk impressively, all over the stage. It was, in fact, the only semen seen that evening. Either monk 1 shot it up the arse of his partner or, more likely, faked it. As the actor shot his come out for the benefit of the audience, Alex concentrated his wanking on my clit, and I too, came. Alex the removed his fingers from my knickers, rinsed them in his jenever gin, and drank my health with the resulting cocktail.

"Have you ever tasted cock?" I asked.

To my astonishment, he nodded slowly. He would not be questioned further, and after a short break, the final, star act began.

The house lights snapped off, then came slowly back on. On stage were a handsome black couple. Stark naked, except that she wore high heels. They were both completely hairless, bald heads and bald pubes, which accentuated their nudity. The began to dance a Tango. The Tango is a sexy dance even when fully clothed. This was sensational. They were good at it too. It was fucking, standing up, to music. He very soon became erect, he was enormous, women in the audience gasped at the size of his immense tool, which he showed to advantage in the dance movements. She too was displayed by the dance, when his hands were not sliding over her lithe body, she was pushing her pelvis towards the audience, revealing the pink gash between the dark brown lips of her gaping cunt.

The dance ended with her impaled on that monster cock, her legs firmly around his waist as he paraded her around the audience, showing their coupled parts. He then carried her to a bed in the centre of the stage. I had been so captivated by the show that I had not noticed it. He laid her on her back and began to fuck deep into her. Then he rolled her onto him and fucked with her on top. Finally, he placed her on all fours on the bed and fucked her doggy-style. I was wetting myself. How I wished that it was me being fucked. My loving husband was by my side, but given the chance, I would have jumped at the opportunity to experience the feel of that huge, polished ebony cudgel inside me.

They took their bows, to wild applause. Then the woman addressed the audience. We of course, had no understanding of what she was saying, but most of the audience did, and a buzz went round the room. Then there was a voice from behind us;

"Here." It sounded like.

Again there was applause, as a large blonde woman made her way through the tables and onto the arena. The black dancer spoke to her. Apparently asking her name and where she was from.

"Helga. Von Deutschland."

I understood that much. The black woman helped Helga to undress. We were going to have audience participation! Helga's dress was removed, then her bra and finally her knickers. She was left wearing just stockings, suspenders and high heeled shoes. She was slightly plump, but in an attractive way. The audience were whistling and calling "Bravo". She was led to the fucking couch, where the man lay on his back, stiff cock pointing skywards. The black woman gave his cock a little wank, then rolled a condom onto it. Believe me, that condom must have been specially made. His stalk looked like a traffic bollard. Helga was helped into position, then the black girl guided the monster prick inside her. She groaned as it stretched her. Astonishingly, she managed to engulf the whole thing. I was entranced. Perhaps it could have been me. If only I had spoken Dutch. The man began to move up into her, the audience began a hand-clap in time to his thrusts. Faster and faster he thrust until Helga screamed out in passion and slumped over him. She had come. In full view of the audience.

The woman helped Helga to remove herself from the man's, still erect, vaulting pole. They took a bow, to wild applause from the audience, then the man led Helga off-stage, the woman scooped up Helga's discarded clothing and followed. The house-lights came up and an announcement informed us that the show was over.

It was only a few hundred metres from the club to our hotel, we walked it in silence. We got ready for bed, also in silence. It was only after a vigorous fuck, we were both very turned on by the show, that there was conversation. I was tucked up against Alex, his arm around me, my hand gently caressing his soft cock. I spoke first;

"Do you think that Helga was a genuine member of the audience, of a plant?"

Alex laughed.

"Could be either. If nobody volunteered, there would be no show. Perhaps she was genuine, but they probably have a back-up. We will never know. Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless we go back tomorrow and YOU volunteer."

"Me? Offer myself for a show fuck? Suppose I was accepted?"

"Would you not have changed places with Hula tonight?"

Actually, I would. The thought of riding that great black prick had made me almost wet myself.

"And you wouldn't mind?" I queried. His answer was heart-stopping;

"I would pay to see it."

I fell asleep thinking of being fucked to oblivion by, not just one, but many, huge black cocks. Perhaps I might call Alex' bluff.

Over breakfast next morning, I tested Alex' offer.

"We can go back to the club tonight anyway, you can decide there. The choice is yours."

We strolled back to the club after lunch, we needed to check that the Tango dancers were performing that night. During the afternoon and early evening, the club was a conventional lap-dancing set-up, the show did not happen until ten o'clock, six days each week, and yes, the show did vary each night, but 'they' would be performing tonight.

"Tonight would be good for you," Added the receptionist. "tonight is English night."

It turned out that on alternate nights, Dutch was spoken, alternating with German, French and English. Tonight was English.

I was pre-occupied for most of the day. If I was single, I would have no hesitation, I do have a strong exhibitionist streak, which Alex was aware of. But to perform before my husband? How would it affect our relationship?

Still undecided, I dressed for what might be my debut as a sex-show star. A dress that would come off easily if unzipped, no bra, lacy shorties and, of course, stockings. Hold-ups, suspenders might get in the way. I rounded off with the highest heels I had. I was ready. Would I go through with it?

Alex had secured the same table as last night, ringside. The show was much the same as the previous night. The singer wore a different dress, topless. She had good tits. The audience loved it, at least the men did. I thought that she looked as though she had put her dress on back to front. The songs were clever, funny and sexy, describing in explicit detail what she did with her lovers.

Act two was the lesbian show. Same two women, but this time they were dressed as nuns. Act three was man to man, different men and this time they were soldiers. Then it was Tango time. I pushed my chair back so that I would be able to move quickly when invited. I was going to do it! My nipples were like small stones, the gusset of my knickers was soaked and my heart was beating furiously somewhere up near my throat. I don't remember the dance, or the subsequent show-fuck. All I remember was the female dancer asking if any member of the audience would like to experience; "The biggest cock in Holland."

I stood and shouted "yes" simultaneously, knocking over my chair in my haste. No going back now. The woman asked my name, I gave her a false one. She undid my dress and let it fall. The audience cheered and whistled. I decided to play them. I took a tit in each hand and shook them at the crowd. My knickers were removed and I was led to the stake. At least, that was what it looked like. The man was lying on his back, holding his prick by the base, pointing it vertically like a space rocket on countdown. The little condom teat was the escape tower. The woman helped me to climb astride him. I guided the tip against my dripping hole and slowly sank down onto it until I engulfed the entire length.

Then the fucking began. He held onto my hips and made slow deep thrusts at first. I was stretched like never before, the great piston touched everything inside my cunt as he drove it in and out. I felt an orgasm building, too quick I thought, I leaned forward on his body to change his angle of attack, but this brought my clit against his shaven but bristly pubic bone and the climax shuddered through me. It was one of my better comes. 'A milking machine' variety. The stud looked into my eyes, startled. Then with a gasp, his spunk was spurting into the rubber sheath.

He pulled me closer and said softly:

"That's not supposed to happen."

The woman touched my shoulder and helped me disengage. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the filled condom. They each took a hand and led me to the front of the stage to take a bow. The man held the condom up like a trophy, much to the delight of the audience. The woman leaned close and said;

"That's not supposed to happen."

The lights dimmed and I was led off-stage, to their dressing room. A stage hand followed with my discarded clothes.

I dressed and was offered a seat and coffee.

"Your partner will collect you." I was informed.

They were both English, Paul and Anita, married and had been performing at the club for three years. He had never before climaxed on-stage.

"His cock is public, what it produces is mine." Said Anita.

"But he's never had it in so efficient a wanking machine."

Said a voice behind me. Alex had joined us.

We parted friends and I walked, rather unsteadily back to the hotel. Alex was silent. I was worried that when it came to the crunch, he had not wanted to share me. Would he just roll over and go to sleep? I need not have worried. Once in the room, he dropped his pants, lifted my skirt around my waist, pulled my knickers down and fucked me vigorously from behind. Nor did it end there. In bed he fucked me in several positions, filling me twice more with his spunk before falling asleep, spent. 

The next morning I asked if last night was alright.

"You were fantastic," He replied. "Every man in the house was coming in his pants. And most of the women I suspect. What about you. Would you do it again? Did you enjoy it? Did it hurt?"

I had not thought about it hurting. It hadn't. Looking back, it had not seemed such a monster. It occurred to me that when we took our bow, Paul was not much taller than me and I had towered above Anita. They were both small people, making his prick seem bigger. Alex said that small women were favoured in the porn industry for just that reason. Not that Paul was exactly under-endowed, he owned the biggest prick that I have had the pleasure of, before or since. The guy could find work as a tripod!

And yes, I had enjoyed it. I told Alex that I would do it again if conditions were right, but first I had to pay him back. I wanted to watch him fuck another woman.



Hedonist Ch. 06



I did not have to wait long to pay my debt to Alex.

He had a friend who owned a small art gallery, we were invited to the opening of an exhibition of; 'Primitive African Art.' This was a private collection of artefacts from a small country in West Africa. A former French colony. Much of it was highly erotic. I was examining a display of carved ebony phalli. Five of them, ranging in size from about four inches long to about nine! And with girths to match. The accompanying label said;

"Used for ritual defloration of virgins in preparation for their wedding night."

No explanation for the range of sizes. I sensed a presence alongside me and turned to look at my fellow voyeur. Voyeuse in fact. A tall, beautiful black woman.

"That would bring tears to your eyes." I quipped.

"The small one or the big one?" She retorted. We both laughed. I introduced myself, she was Anya and she was a native of the country featured, but was attached to their London embassy.

"Why are there five differing sizes?

I asked. Anya replied;

"The ritual takes place over five days, starting with the smallest and working up. If you'll excuse the pun."

She spoke perfect English, with a very slight French accent. She had luminescent black skin. Really black, the blackest I have seen. Her hair was short and had not been straightened, fitting tight to her like a swimming cap. She wore a scarlet cocktail dress and matching high-heels, but I could imagine her in the national dress of her country. She was obviously proud of her origins. If I could get her together with Alex, it would be quite a spectacle. I decided to test the water. I nodded at the collection of hymen-breakers and said;

"Did you..?"

She laughed.

"No. I lost mine the natural way, but I'm told that the custom still exists in some remote villages."

We circulated together, she had come alone and was the token representative for her country. The exhibition was not large, most of the guests seemed more interested in the free-flowing drinks than the art. Alex joined us and I introduced Anya. My heart was thumping at the prospect of seeing them naked together.

"I think I've seen enough, can we go?" I suggested. Alex nodded. I turned to Anya.

"Will you join us for coffee?"

Anya agreed and we left together. When Sir Charles died, we moved into his house and inherited the housekeeper/cook and the chauffeur/handyman, although we did update the Mercedes. We headed home in comfort. With Anya's agreement, we dismissed the chauffeur for the rest of the evening, Anya would take a taxi home. Bill, the chauffeur, and his wife, the housekeeper, lived in, in what used to be stables, a mews, with a flat for them and garaging for three cars. Both of them were on call most of the time and were paid very well for their service.

I headed for the kitchen to prepare coffee, Anya asked for the bathroom. I showed her to the guest room, on the same floor that we were on. It has an en-suite bathroom. When she was gone, I spoke softly to Alex;

"How about her, as payback for Amsterdam? Would you like to fuck her?"

"If she's agreeable, yes, of course I would." He replied.

Anya appeared in the bedroom doorway. The red dress was gone. She was naked except for the red, high-heeled shoes. She looked like a full-sized ebony statue. Both Alex and I were speechless. She was gorgeous. Anya spoke first;

"I don't imagine that we're here for coffee. Who's first?"

She turned and got onto the bed, spread her legs and began to gently stroke the dark pink gash between them. Alex tore off his clothes and joined her on the bed. He kissed the full lips of her mouth, then turned his attention to the large dark buds of her nipples. He slid his hand, very white looking against Anya's dark skin, down her belly to her gaping slit and began to finger-fuck her.

I was not sure of my role in this, if I was going to be a spectator, I wanted to be close. I peeled off my own clothes and joined them on the bed, lying on my side, raised up on one elbow for a good view. Alex moved his caress to her clitoris, rubbing it with slow circular movements. It always does the trick for me, and did so for Anya. She gave a little cry and shuddered through her first orgasm. Alex kissed his way down her body until his mouth was on her cunt and began to guide her to her second coming.

I reversed my position on the bed so that I could get a good view. Alex was licking Anya's gaping twat from arsehole to clit, her juices were flowing freely. And so were mine. I slipped my left hand down to my crutch and slipped two fingers into my cunt, drew out some of the juice and began to masturbate, quickly bringing myself to a little come. Alex was now probing deep into Anya's hole with his clever tongue. I came again, almost immediately. He then turned his attention to her prominent clit, which was standing up like a tiny prick. He licked and sucked the stiff organ until she came with a series of strangled cries, writhing on the bed. I brought myself off yet again as she peaked.

Anya was lying low on the bed. Alex was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed with Anya's legs over his shoulders. He moved her legs off him and down to the floor, then sat back to admire the gaping, dark pink, black lipped hole that he had been feasting on. Anya sat upright and beckoned him towards her, Alex stood and moved towards her, his rigid prick destined for the other dark pink, black lipped hole which promised so much. I groaned as Anya's lips engulfed his straining staff.

Anya sucked him with great skill, the hard white column of manhood disappearing ball-deep into her hungry mouth, then out almost to the tip, so that she could use lips and tongue on his glans. Alex must have been hard since Anya appeared nude in the bedroom doorway, surely he could not hold back under such an onslaught. Would he come in her mouth? Or did he have other plans for his limited supply of his precious semen? He took hold of Anya's head and tried to pull away, but she had other plans. Placing a hand firmly on each buttock, she pulled him deep into the sweet trap of her mouth. With a roar, Alex fired his first shot into the back of her throat. I could sense the pulses of come as she held him to her, accepting the lot.

I had been wanking the whole time and I came yet again as I imagined the thick spurts of my husband's spunk coating her teeth.

She released him and Alex stepped back, temporarily spent. For the first time since the torrid session had begun, Anya turned to face me, opened her mouth so that I could see Alex' spunk lying in the bottom of her mouth, which she the closed as she swallowed his offering slowly and sensuously. She then suddenly leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. She used her weight to push me down on the bed, her tongue probed my mouth, her right hand cupped and squeezed my left tit.

She broke the kiss, leaving me breathless. I could taste Alex' spunk from her mouth. I was shocked. I had not expected this. She was there for Alex to fuck. I had not at that time had a lesbian experience, I was most emphatically a man's woman.

"He will be no good for a while, our turn to have some fun." She said, licking her lips.

(She didn't know Alex!)

"I don't do women." I replied, lamely.

"Pas de problem," She retorted. "I will 'do' you. Lie back, think of England and enjoy."

With that, she pushed me back down onto the bed, kissed me again and this time, snaked her hand down to my sodden cunt. She moved her hand over my vulva and slipped her middle finger into my arse, well lubricated by my free-flowing cunt juice. Her thumb pushed into my cunt, she then closed her hand, gripping me tightly by my two holes. I was powerless. Nor, I realised, did I want to be. I could enjoy orgasms at the skilful hands of this sexy woman. It would be a bonus, she was supposed to be Alex' treat. Alex had moved round to the side of the bed so that he could watch my lesbian debut seduction. He was slowly wanking his recovered cock. He was not going to stop the show.

I relaxed. Anya disengaged her thrusting fingers and began to rub my clit with just the pad of her thumb. Her mouth alternated from my mouth to one or other of my rigid nipples. Her leg was over mine, holding me open for her hand to do it's delightful work. I could feel her own wet, gaping slit against my thigh. Despite my previous, multiple climaxes, she quickly drew another one from me. It was I who was left spent, not Alex.

But Anya had not finished with me. Just as Alex had done to her, she kissed her way down my body to pleasure headquarters, my still twitching cunt. She opened her mouth wide and enclosed the entire cuntal area, sucking it into her wide mouth. I bucked my arse from the bed, dislodging her, but not for long, she renewed her onslaught on my, now slightly sore, lips and clit. Again I came, but Anya did not let up, she continued licking up and down the length of my slit. She moved her left leg so that she was straddling my face. We were in the classic sixty-nine position and I knew what was expected of me. Her own wide gash, wanked, sucked, but as yet, un-fucked, hovered over my face, just inches from my mouth. Was I actually going to suck another woman's cunt? Was I brave enough? I could smell her arousal. Strong, but not unpleasant.

I opened my mouth and licked my lips, still unsure. A drip of Anya's juice dripped from her hole straight into my mouth, making the decision for me. I stuck out my tongue and licked at the source of the drip. The taste was different from the smell, more subtle, complex like a good wine, or perhaps, seafood. In for a drip, in for a slurp. I raised my face to her swollen lips and sucked them into my mouth, as she had done to me. My tongue probed deeply, licking up and down the slit. I found her clit. Not difficult, it was about twice the size of mine, then drew my tongue along the wet slot, tentatively probing the tight pucker of her anus. She shuddered into an orgasm. I had done it! 

And I had enjoyed doing it. So much so that went back for more. In her climactic throes, Anya had relaxed the onslaught against my own punished pussy. I could concentrate on pleasuring her. I made my tongue as long and stiff as I could and pushed it into her hole, only to have it pushed away by Alex' recovered and demanding prick. I watched as the entire length slid up into Anya's depths. She moaned in delight as the rigid organ stretched her. His cudgel could reach places that were out of reach to my tongue. But I could still lick her clit, and in doing so, could lick Alex' balls and the underside of his shaft as it emerged, wet with her juice, from Anya's welcoming cunt.

Anya came again, I could feel the spasms of her cunt as the climax ripped through her. Then I was forced to relinquish my tonguing of their conjoined flesh as Alex' thrusts became more violent, more uncontrolled as he raced towards his own crisis. He suddenly stopped, pushed deep inside Anya. Almost as though he had realised that his coming would be the final act of the evening. But he was too late, with a roar, he pushed further in as his first powerful spurt raced towards Anya's cervix. Now I could see his spasms, four, five, six of them as he pumped his tribute into Anya's sheath.

He pulled out quickly, limp. A dribble of his come, mixed with some of Anya's, ran out of her ravished hole onto my face. I put out my tongue to collect the exotic cocktail into my mouth. Anya stood up quickly and headed for the bathroom, emerging a few minutes later, fully dressed.

"I'll show myself out." She announced. And she was gone.

Alex and I prepared for bed in silence. In fact it was not until after breakfast the next morning that we spoke about the previous evening.

"Thank you for Anya." Said Alex.

"My pleasure." I replied. "It really was a pleasure."

"Did you enjoy it." He continued.

A long pause.

"Yes."

"Would you do it again?"

Another long pause.

"Eat cunt, or share you?"

"Both."

An even longer pause.

"Yes. I would. What had you in mind?" 

Alex smiled his crooked smile. I guessed that some devilish scheme was developing. He explained:

"Before we were married, I belonged to what I suppose you would call a swingers group. A group of people who meet just for sex, either by swapping partners or as a group. I have been under pressure to introduce you to the group. You already know some of them, but not in that way. It started after my first wife left me and coincided with a surge of HIV cases in heterosexuals. People were scared. Someone, not me, decided that if we stayed as a group, we could lessen, even avoid altogether, the risks of unprotected sex. So the Twenty-one Club was formed. That was simply the address where, over dinner one night, the idea was spawned.

In our fairly inebriated state, we drew up a set of rules. It was to remain utterly secret, any coupling had to be in the open, or with the knowledge of the respective partners in the case of contact outside of the monthly meetings. And if any of us had sex outside the group. It had to be protected.

Things have moved on since then, it is possible now, to obtain protection, to be immunised against the worst kinds of sexually transmitted infections. The treatment is expensive, painful and risky and is only available at one clinic in South Africa. Some of the drugs used are not approved for use anywhere, even there. So it is also top secret. Ashley, the pilot, who you have met, found out about it in South Africa, the route from London to Cape town is one of his regular runs.

So for the group, condoms are not required wear for recreational sex. With anyone, anywhere. I can't catch anything and I could only act as a vector, pass infection from one person to another, if I went from one partner to another without a short break and a good wash. So you have always been safe. If, last night, I had gone straight from Anya's cunt to yours, there would have been a risk. Also, if Anya had tried to put her cunt in contact with yours, I would have stopped her."

I thought long and hard about this sudden rush of information, questions formed as I pondered.

"Why don't 'they' develop the treatment for everybody?"

"They probably will eventually, but currently, no country on Earth could afford it, and there are as I said, risks."

"What risks?"

"If you decide that you want to join the Twenty-One club, I will explain them. One is guaranteed sterilisation, so that would not be a problem."

"How do I join? Tell me more about cunt-to cunt sex, and is this club where you tasted cock?"

Alex laughed.

"I thought that you would be interested. There is a meeting on Saturday, I will get you an invitation. But we will both be spectators only. This meeting will be interesting for you, a couple will be initiated on Saturday. As for your other questions, wait and see."

"How many members are there?"

"Never more that twelve men and twelve women. At the moment there are ten men, not counting myself or the novitiate, and eight women, again not counting Saturday's new girl. They may not all be at the meeting, most of the members have careers, but they try to make an effort for an induction."

He firmly ended the discussion;

"Now. Enough questions. Buzz off to your Spa thing and let me make some calls."

I belong to a health club. Very exclusive, females only. A gym, a pool and all manner of beauty treatments available. I try to spend two half-days a week there, keeping in trim. Because it is ladies only, there is usually much nudity. I suspect that only the lezzies go nude, as part of their pick-up routine. How would it appear to me now, now that I had sampled sapphic pleasures?

The 'spa thing' is a good place to think. Your body may be being exercised, pummelled, cooked or rubbed, but the mind is free to wander. And mine did.

Did I want to go back to a multiple partner life? Variety is good.

Would I get more sex. Probably not, the more I thought about it. I probably get as much as possible from one man, we fucked so much that it was hard to see where Alex would get more spunk from. Partner swapping would mean more partners, but if Alex was away shedding his load into another woman, there would be less for me. So my net semen intake would not necessarily increase. That was pity. I am a spunkoholic. I love the stuff. The only pang of jealousy that I felt when Alex was with Anya, was that she was getting his come instead of me. But hang on. I would be free to take donations from men outside the group. More sex then.

Thinking about made me want it. I was naked. I was being massaged by a very attractive young woman. I needed relief. I rolled onto my back and spread my legs. My pussy was wet and pouting, a fact not un-noticed by the masseuse.

"Would madam like anything else?" She asked, looking straight up my gaping cunt. "A more intimate massage perhaps?"

I nodded. My mouth was dry. She wanked me expertly, smothering my lips and clit with massage oil. She had me shuddering with pleasure in a matter of minutes. I thanked her and moved on to my next treatment. I was seeing this place through new eyes.

I masturbate a lot, at least twice a day in addition to whatever happens with Alex. I was in no doubt that my libido runs on overdrive most of the time. Yes, of course I wanted to join the twenty-one club. The sooner the better.



Hedonistic Worship



He saw her most days; their schedules overlapped. When he returned from his night shift, she left for work. Some days, as the elevator opened on their floor, she'd be there, waiting. They always shared a smile, but they never said more than hello. She'd often whisper, "fuck," when she'd just missed the elevator, and while she waited, she'd tuck in her shirt, or put on an earring, or comb back her short hair. She dressed smart: tight-fitting skirt, ironed shirt, stockings, practical shoes, and librarian glasses. Occasionally, she'd wear a dress, the playful kind, and on Fridays, she sported jeans, which suited her particularly well.

Her name was Clare—he knew that from her post box in the foyer—and he often fantasized about her when he masturbated.

On Sunday, he did his laundry in the building's basement. To pass the time, he played Angry Birds on his phone while making idle conversation with Harold, a life-long tenant with a sailor's disposition, and the only other early bird doing washing.

To his surprise, Clare descended the stairs into the laundromat, struggling to carry two baskets. He'd never seen her here before; their brief encounters were strictly a weekday affair.

"Here, let me help," he said, taking a basket from her. She was barefoot, and wore a t-shirt and shorts.

"Thanks. My mum's machine broke," she explained.

"Your mum still does your washing?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Jealous?"

"Not at all. I love spending my Sundays here with Harold," he said. "Isn't that right, Harold?" The old man, being hard of hearing, didn't acknowledge.

Clare's smile transformed into a delightful grin. Without makeup, he noticed her freckles for the first time. Why does she cover that up, he wondered?

While Clare sorted her laundry, he couldn't resist spying on her. She wasn't wearing a bra and her nipples protruded, pointedly visible under her shirt.

She caught him staring and looked down at her breasts. "Sorry," she said, looking somewhat mischievous and not at all self-conscious.

"No," he said. "I shouldn't stare. But I... I like it."

Clare's eyes brightened. "Really?" She watched Harold, who was reading a book, and then she stepped up to him. "What if I like that you like it?"

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly lifted his hand to her chest. Clare made no attempt to stop him. He brushed her left breast and she shivered visibly. Using his index finger, he started circling around and over her nipple, hardening it further.

A door slammed.

Harold had finished a load of washing.

Clare looked at the old man and then back at him. She grabbed his hand, said, "Come," and led him up the short flight of steps to the elevator where she hit the button in quick succession.

He pushed her against the doors and kissed her. She tasted of spearmint. This is really happening, isn't it? The doors parted and they stumbled into the elevator. He pushed number 6 and turned around. Clare stood in the corner, half-lifting herself up on the handles. She bit her lower lip, looking disarmingly naughty. He rushed to her, pulled her close, and resumed their necking. With one hand, he grabbed her thigh and with the other, he ardently cupped a boob under her shirt. She nipped his lip in response.

DING.

Clare led him to her flat and into her bedroom. He wanted to undress her, but she resisted. "No. You first." He stripped off his shirt, shoes, and socks. She helped him out of his trousers, and then she was on her knees before him, rubbing her face on his boxers and against his hard member. Without ceremony, she yanked his pants down and offered him a wicked smile before licking his manhood all along the shaft. "Jesus." She gripped his cock, put it in her mouth, and sucked. He held her head, more in an effort to steady himself than anything else. Thank God I've got a condom in my wallet, he thought.

When Clare concluded her oral kindness, she shoved him onto the bed and stood over him. She crossed her arms and pulled her shirt up, slowly exposing the round bottoms of her shapely bosoms. The fabric caught on her pink nipples, lifting her breasts for an instant before they bounced free. Next, she undid the button of her denim hotpants, turned around, and tugged the shorts down until it surrendered to gravity. Facing away, wearing nothing but canary yellow panties, Clare was a portrait of his desire. Her striking dimples of Venus somehow made her all the more alluring. Moving in a sensual slow motion, she proceeded to slip her undies off, bending lithely forward as she did so. With hands on the floor and knickers around her ankles, he got a healthy glimpse of the lip-line of her sex. She straightened and turned to face him, showcasing a carefully trimmed triangle of dark pubic hair.

He jumped up and lifted her onto the bed, causing her to giggle in delight. Laying over her, he kissed her neck and shoulders. Next, he sucked and played with her tits, first the one, then the other, and while he did this, he moved his hand to her groin, gently tickling her skin on the way. She opened her legs to him, and he caressed her cunt, drawing circles with his middle-and-ring finger. While he maintained this massage motion, he returned to kiss her until they were both breathless. After this, he advanced down to her inner thighs, pecking her body with his tongue and lips as he wandered, and then, at journey's end, he spread her legs as far as they could go. Using his two thumbs, he parted the folds of her vulva to expose the wet button of her womanhood. He rhythmically licked around the nub, letting her get used to the sensation. Her soft moaning thrilled him and his dick twitched reflexively in answer. Gradually, he escalated the intensity of his service until he finally just licked hard and fast, straight up over her clitoris. With each flick of his tongue, her tummy tightened.

"Fuck me," Clare pleaded. She reached over and opened her bedside table drawer, retrieving one of her own condoms which she tossed at him with distinct urgency.

Sitting on his knees, legs apart, he pulled her close. After tearing the metallic packet and rolling on the ribbed latex, he rubbed the head of his cock through her slit, and then, he entered her.

Clare gave a small yelp. She felt warm and tight. Overcome, he thrust deep from the start, again and again, holding her legs tight as the tempo accelerated. A pleasurable tingling soon built up in his groin. Not wanting to spend himself too soon, he slowed down, and leaned forward to find her mouth again.

They turned over and Clare straddled him. She allowed him to suck her nipples and then flirtatiously pulled away so that they were just out of reach. Stretching back, she squeezed her thighs, and started moving them with the grace of a belly-dancer. He grabbed her ass with both hands and moved with her motion. She worked on her pleasure with eyes closed. Her face contorted with each penetration. Her moaning was no longer polite. Beautiful agony.

"I want you to finish me from behind," Clare demanded. She dismounted and proceeded to stand on all fours.

A more inviting scene he could not remember. He gripped Clare's thighs and fucked her as hard as he could. After a couple of thrusts, she started to orgasm. Her primal groans culminated in a near-hysterical, breathless sort-of-laugh. He felt and saw her pleasure too, through the rhythmic grab and release of her pussy that was mimicked by her clenching ass. He had come too, of course, in a series of disabling and gratifying spurts that felt so fucking good.

They remained frozen, amorously exhausted—a woman and a man bowed, one over the other, in mutual hedonistic worship.

Their laundry remained forgotten for the rest of the day.