0 comments/ 7192 views/ 0 favorites Questions By: stormchaser_ This is the first time I have publicly posted anything that I have written. I know that it is not what you would normally see. Any feedback/suggestions are welcome as I would like to become better. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Stormchaser ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That was really good. It has been some time since I last heard from you. I hope that everything is going well and that you are in good health. I have been in one of those moods today. Where everything kind of seems surreal. Kind of like I am an observer who is there in the middle of the action but not really a part of it. It is weird. I feel like writing, stories, filled with hope and dreams and glimpses of worlds never before seen. Then the mood passes and I feel that door to the world I have seen, slowly close and seal itself, never to be opened again. Footsteps echoing hauntingly down a deserted stone hallway. Reverberating and bouncing from wall to wall down to the depths of myself, to that small scared, never shown self. Filling me with unknown longing and wonder. Sometimes, when I am walking outside I will simply stare at the world around me. It is funny how we can live our whole life without ever really living. To simply exist. I sometimes wonder if I am truly meant to be something in this world. I always seem to look at things so much differently than everyone else. I smile when others are silent, I laugh when no one is around...I am different. When I am all alone I feel as though I am mere inches from some great truth that I am supposed to find and understand, but can never reach. As though the path I am following is of my own making and yet, not at all, at the same time. I wish I knew what to do. The human mind is indeed the most amazing and powerful of computers. Transient and temporary though it is. It is very powerful. The most unnerving of questions that this computer can pose is "why?" Why do we do what we do? Will anything but our own advancement come of it? We go from one mundane task to another yet never really accomplish anything of importance. I do realize that importance is merely a matter of perspective. Walking along the sidewalk ignorant to all that surrounds us, seems not important at all, yet to the ants upon which we trod, it is a matter of life and death. When is it, that we will become the ants? What will we do when it does come? Yes, indeed the human mind is a powerful computer, but to what ends? To what ends? Greater gifts have never been given than those conceived in the mind, nor greater crimes. Slowly, we bob, just barely above the surface, adrift in a fathomless sea of doubt and self-pity. Awash in our own ignorance, we choose not to see the truth and to learn from what has happened, instead we lower our eyes and blunder through life committing the same mistakes our father's and their father's fathers made. Will it never end? Will we never understand? The most powerful thing in the world is indeed love, nothing has ever made more good or caused more grief than love. All things can be justified in love, and yet through its pale blanket, nothing is seen at all. Truth can be turned to lies and lies to truth, the beautiful made ugly and the blind to see. Yet, all is lost until we love. But what do we gain? Love, this inescapable force that surrounds and permeates our very being, what is it? Is it a product of our desire to mold the world around us so that we appear more than we really are? Love, an ethereal thing that is as beautiful as a shimmering rainbow reflected in the awed eyes of a child, as cruel as the cold bite of steel in flesh. Must we always pass through trial and tribulation before we experience it, must there always be a moment of truth before it surrounds us? So full of questions, unanswered merely because they remain unasked...it is said in ancient journals and books of scribes much better than I, that the brave die only once, but a coward dies many deaths. Is it worse to see one's dreams dashed against the cold stone reef of reality or to never have dreamt at all? Still more questions. The footsteps slowly echo into nothingness and all is as it was. Quiet as a pond, undisturbed as the morning dew. Slowly I drag myself back to the surface. Pulling the threads of reality back around my heart, building once more the walls that will forever make me different. That set me apart. But is it truly so bad to be different, I think to myself as I become more of myself and at the same time less than I was. For in its own way isn't everything different? I allow my facade to crack into a quirky grin...will these questions never end? I ask myself once again... Questions About Literotica Since, I have been writing on Literotica, now, for five months, I am taking this moment to review my Literotica experience and in reviewing my experience, I have some questions and have written this essay in the hopes that those who write and/or who read the erotic stories posted here can help me with answers. Numbered below, I have written several questions and have included some plausible answers that I imagine as being the correct answers. If anyone has answers to my really important questions, please feel free to leave a public comment. Pardon me for one second, please. "No, please, can you just give me a few more minutes before you put the straightjacket back on and lock me away in the rubber room, again. I just want to finish this one essay, er letter that I am writing to, Literotica, uhm, I mean my dying mother." Sorry, that was just, uhm, the newspaperman collecting. "Yeah, thanks for not throwing the newspaper on the roof, this time." Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah... 1. Why do we write and read stories on Literotica when most of us are not typically the perverted, pornography surfing type but are hard working family people, maybe even some who of us are religious and regularly attend church? Not that perverted, pornography surfing types of people cannot be hard working family people and/or religious. You know what I mean. "My husband, I am so proud of him. Instead of going out to bars, picking up women, and staying out late, he stays at home and is upstairs on the computer reading, writing, and improving his mind," said the happily married, forty-something year old wife of her husband, an accountant. "Really? That's great. I wish my husband would improve his mind like that. When he is not out getting drunk at the bar, he is at the strip club, and when he stays home he surfs the net for pornography," said her jealous friend who just bailed her husband out of jail for peeing in public and exposing himself to passing women. "Oh, not my husband, matter of fact, he even reads and writes poetry that he submits to some literature site hoping to win some money for our children's college education." "Is he any good? Can I read some of his submissions?" "I'll ask him. Honey, when can I read one of the stories that you have written?" "Uhm, not now, Baby, maybe after we are divorced." 2. Why, when we tell someone that we are a writer, albeit a writer on Literotica, do we get embarrassed when they ask us what we write? "A writer, huh?" My old classmate, Gary, from high school looked at me with a suspicious eye. "Wow, no kidding." "Yep, I returned to school and earned my bachelor's degree from Northeastern University in English with dual minors in Writing and Literature. Then, I attended Emerson College for two years and earned my MFA." "I'm impressed, Freddie. So, have you been writing long?" "Nah, I just started. I've only been writing since January but have already submitted more than 80 stories and 47 poems." "You write poetry, too? That's awesome." "Yeah, I enter the contests that they have on this site but I haven't won one, yet. But, I did receive a green E, an Editor's Choice endorsement, for one of my stories, Celebrities: Insert Name." "I am so proud of you for turning your life around. Now, I feel like the fool for believing that you were still the same loser that you were in high school. Back then, we all figured the only thing that you would win is a permanent place on the sex offender's list. We even took a poll of when you would be arrested and for which sex crimes against women that you would be arrested. Boy, you were really perverted." "Well, you know, people change," Proud of my academic success, I smiled and said "And now that I have a Master's degree—" "So, tell me, what do you write?" "Hey, look at the time. I have to go. Nice talking to you." "Freddie, just give me the name of the web site." "Bye." 3. Why do we think that our stories are going to be the best stories ever on Literotica before we submit them? "Geez, this story is the best story that I have ever written. I cannot wait to submit it to Literotica. Actually, I bet that I could get this published and that they could make a movie from this story. I can see myself now, dressed in a black tuxedo, no a green tuxedo to go with my green E that I wear to the Oscar's. Maybe, I'll see if Hilary Duff or Cameron Diaz will accompany as my escort. Maybe, once they discover that I wrote the award winning box office bonanza movie, Sex Crazed, they'll finally answer one of the hundreds of fan letters and e-mails that I've been sending her all these years. I can just see it all now..." "And the Oscar for the best screenplay made from an original, albeit story posted on Literotica, Sex Crazed, goes to...Freddie!" "Wow! I don't know what to say. I'd like to thank my mother for giving birth to me and for having sex with me later in life. I'd like to thank my dog, the only friend that I have in the world. And we need to end the war in Iraq, send our troops home, and spend our money on our own country instead of wasting our money on other countries and on people who hate us. God bless America!" Meanwhile, back to reality and to my one furnished room with the one 40 watt light bulb that hangs from the middle of the ceiling. "Just let me read it to myself one more time before I submit it. Wow, that is a great story. I laughed. I cried. I'm going to print out two copies of it. One copy to have it laminated and to put it in my permanent story binder and the other copy to frame and hang over my bed. I just want to read it out loud one more time, this time to the dog. Rover, come. Daddy wants to read you his story, again. Rover...Rover...I'll give you a cookie. Rover? Geez, I forgot, Rover died last year." 4. Why do we think the stories that we post on Literotica suck after reading some of the other stories that appear on Literotica? Geez, I thought my story was really good until I posted it. Now, with a score of 1.75 and dozens of hateful comments, I should have written that she was my sister instead of my girlfriend. That one change would have made my story hot, really hot. And I should have written that she had a shaved beaver instead of having a bushy one. Oh and what if I made her a nymphomaniac, too? I'm going to write the next story about my mother, only it is difficult to write about a mom when I am an orphan. I don't even have a sister to write about. I know, I'll write the story as a piece of fiction. Only, do they allow fiction on Literotica? I know that it is supposed to be erotic literature, but nowhere does it state in the guidelines that it has to be true erotic literature. So far, all of my stories have been true accounts of my life, as are all of those really hot stories that those writers write on Literotica are true, aren't they? 5. Why do we think that we will win every contest we enter on Literotica? Man, I just know that this story is the winner. I can feel it. I am so certain that I am going to win My Sister's Secret Sex Scandal Contest that I'm going out to celebrate and spend my contest money, as soon as I submit it. Meanwhile, every day, I check the progress of my story chomping at the bit until the contest ends. "Geez, my story was the first story entered. I hope no one else enters the contest and I win by default. Hmm, maybe my story is so good that I scared off the competition." Several days, later: "Well, I'm still doing okay and there are only a dozen stories submitted. I have a good chance at winning. My score is still fairly high." Several more days, later: "Geez, the bashers are tanking my score. What can I do? What can I do? I know. I'll call everyone I know who has a computer. I'll send them the links to my story so that they can vote." The telephone rings. "Hello, Ma, yes, it is no mistake. I sent you the link to the story to vote for it. No, nothing is true in that story. No, I did not sleep with my sister. No, I never spied on you undressing and, gross, I never saw you naked. No, I don't masturbate to the sound of your voice. No, I am not masturbating now. Geez, Ma, please don't read the story, just vote for it. Okay. Vote 5, not 1, this time. Five is the high vote and not #1. Yes, I know that it is the opposite of the voting ballots when you go to the voting polls and push out the chads. No, Ma, it's not smut. It's just, uhm, experimental writing that I have to do for school, yeah, that's it, to pass my creative writing course. So, I need for you to vote 5, okay? Bye, Ma." The telephone rings, again. "Hello, Father O'Malley. No, it was no mistake that I sent you the link to my story. I am sorry, please forgive me and I will say extra prayers at confession, but I am in a really tough position. You see, I entered this writing contest and I was so certain that my story would win that I already spent the prize money and now— What's that Father? You can't vote for my story because you have already entered your own story in the same contest on Literotica and are hoping to win, too, because the church needs a new furnace. You're kidding? You're not kidding? So, which story is your story? Oh, the one with Sister Mary Francis with Sister Josephine and you. Oh, my God, Father, how could you? Seriously? It is a true story? The criterion of the story, Father, was supposed to be about your sibling sister and not about a Catholic Nun, and that kind of Sister. I read that story and you are going straight to Hell, Father, straight to Hell. Oh, yeah, well, I'm not voting for your story either. I don't care if the furnace doesn't get repaired and I have to leave my coat on in church. Good-bye." The day before the contest ends, forty-eight stories appear on the contest board and they all have received very high scores, already, from their network of friends voting for their stories and the contest closes before the bashers have had a chance to read or vote on their stories. My story, the first story entered finishes in last place while Holy Sisters by Father O'Malley wins the contest. 6. Does anyone ever get discovered and make big money from submitting stories on Literotica? "Ten minutes to show time, Oprah," said the stage director. "She's not in her dressing room," said the production assistant. "She's upstairs with Doctor Phil and Robin." "Upstairs? Why? It's ten minutes to show time." "They are reading Freddie's new story that was posted on Literotica today." "Geez, I left the Jerry Springer show because he got many of his ideas for shows from that no talent hack, Freddie, and now Oprah and Doctor Phil are looking to do the same? This is crazy." "By the way, she wants you to arrange him to fly out to Chicago from Boston. She wants to meet him in person." The production assistant leans in closer to the stage director. "Don't say anything to Stedman and/or Gayle but I think the guy turns her on with his stories." "You're kidding." "I heard her talking to Tyra Banks on the telephone yesterday about asking her to have a threesome with Freddie." 7. What do the owners of the Literotica site look like? I imagine them being sisters, twin sisters, and looking like the Barbie twins, Shane and Sia. Only, I imagine them being a lot older but still looking kind of hot when you see them from a distance of about a ¼ mile. Remember that movie, Death Becomes Her with Goldie Hawn, Bruce Willis, and Meryl Streep. Well, I imagine them looking like that and having their appearance enhanced through plastic surgery and their facial image restored by special makeup that works much like Spackle. I figure that they are virgins who never got married, have lived together all of their 80 years, and bicker constantly over which story earns a green E. I imagine them being voracious readers and loving erotic literature even though one could never imagine the words cock and pussy coming out of their mouths. I imagine them laughing at this and not banning me from writing on Literotica. Questions and Answers QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong === I arrived at my office the next day to find an envelope on my desk with my name written on it in neat, if rather florid, handwriting. It read "Robert" which was slightly odd because everyone at work calls me Rob. My ex-wife used to call me Robert, although it was invariably done sarcastically, and occasionally Jake might continue his mother's tradition by using my full name as a punctuating barb on the end of an already prickly sentence. I opened the envelope and found a wad of photocopied papers inside. There was a brief note, in the same ornate handwriting, which read, "From a fellow butt monkey". I felt the blood drain from my face. What was this? I glanced around, to make sure nobody was close enough to me to see what I was looking at, and quickly leafed through the papers. They seemed to have been photocopied from various magazines, although one was obviously a copy of a health leaflet aimed at gay men, similar to the one my doctor had given me. The theme throughout was mouth-to-anus contact between men. There were diagrams showing different ways of rimming; information about how to do it safely; articles on its biological significance and cultural history; plus a list of websites -- some of which I recognised from my own explorations -- giving further information for newcomers to the field. I quickly put the papers back into the envelope and stashed it into my jacket pocket. I would go through them, but not here. I looked around again to see if anyone was watching me, hoping to assure themselves that I had retrieved the papers. There was Matt bending to retrieve something from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet -- Jesus his arse looked hot in those dark blue trousers -- and Lance munching on a muesli bar as he flicked through his e-mails. Neither of them showed any interest in me. I switched on my computer and mentally worked through other possible contenders while I waited for the operating system to load up. The note read, "From a fellow butt monkey," so whoever had sent it clearly shared my interest in other men's backsides. In any case, to have amassed such a collection of articles on the subject showed that they were, if anything, even more fascinated by rimming than I was. Perhaps someone had noticed me checking out his arse and had seen the effect that it had had on the front of my trousers. It was a long shot, but I guessed it was possible that someone might have been astute enough to put two and two together. Or perhaps someone had seen me peering at the men who exposed their backsides while they urinated in the gents at the end of my corridor. Could it be that all the time I thought I had been discreetly checking out arses through the wash-basin mirror, someone instead had recognised his own fetish in me? The computer loaded up its desktop and a small speech bubble appeared with a popping sound from the taskbar. One of the toner cartridges hadn't been properly installed in the printer. It had been doing this ever since Bradley, the technician from the IT department, had scrambled around beneath my desk trying to fix it. Ever since I'd had my face pressed against his backside while he was on all fours. Ever since I'd been caught -- I suddenly realised who my fellow "butt monkey" was. It was Cameron. It had to be. At the time he'd caught me nose-deep in Bradley's butt cleft, I'd wondered why he hadn't reacted to what he'd seen me doing. It turned out that it was because he was just as heavily into it as I was. Straight-laced, family-guy Cameron liked to get his face stuck into other men's arses! Wow! I felt a rush of excitement that I had found a fellow rimmer right on my own doorstep. I had a strong urge to take a wander around to accounts to flash Cameron some kind of acknowledgement that there existed a bond between us. I wanted to let him know in as subtle way as I could how much I appreciated the hand -- or should that be tongue? -- he had outstretched towards me. But no: I decided I wouldn't. I'd make no response but instead would wait until I'd looked through the material he'd given me. Then I'd think about what I wanted to do. === That night, while Jake was occupied upstairs on some of his college assignments, I got to work looking through the papers in the envelope. The line drawings depicting different rimming positions didn't teach me anything I hadn't already seen on the internet or constructed my own masturbatory fantasies about. They seemed to have been photocopied from a gay variation of 'The Joy of Sex' and showed a bearded man outstretching his tongue towards the backsides of other men who were variously bending forwards, squatting over him, standing up and lying down on their backs with their legs widely splayed. A close-up showed the bearded man's tongue reaching forward between his friend's buttocks, with curved arrows to show he was making circular motions around the anus. The diagram reminded me of something from one of my old Physics textbooks. I wondered whether circular motions in the clockwise direction were found to be more stimulating in the Northern hemisphere while anti-clockwise ones were preferred south of the equator. I thought that if I were rimming the man in the drawings, I'd prefer him to be bending forwards so that he could fully expose his arse to my face and I could sniff and lick his nuts as they hung between his legs. I'd certainly enjoyed that position with the lad in the public toilet, even if he'd been frustrated that his cock wasn't being given enough attention. If I were being rimmed, though, I thought I'd probably like to squat over my companion so that I could masturbate myself comfortably while he tongued my hole. That position had worked well for two of the men I'd had intimate contact with so far, and I looked forward to experiencing the same sensations myself. The brief description accompanying the drawings described rimming as a "mainstream fetish". I found it a little disappointing that my one and only claim towards sexual aberration was considered mainstream. Folding the pictures away, I went on to read a letter from a 'Questions and Answers' column which looked as if it had come from a page in a women's magazine. The letter had been highlighted with a yellow-green marker pen to distinguish it from others ranging across such topics as the best month to transfer dahlias from one's greenhouse into the garden and to whom a complaint should be addressed regarding the amount of litter left in bus shelters. The highlighted letter, from a Mrs Watling of St Albans, read: "I heard a reference to 'rimming' last night on the Graham Norton show on BBC-1. At the risk of sounding awfully fuddy-duddy, may I ask what exactly 'rimming' is? Is it similar to 'tweeting' which my nephew sometimes mentions, but about which I confess to being similarly in the dark?" Miriam, the lady who had been assigned to respond to such diverse questions, replied: "Dear Mrs Watling, I can't enlighten you about 'tweeting', but I do know that rimming is an important part of jam making. While the fruit is boiling, the scum that rises to the surface has to be removed by decanting it over the rim of the saucepan -- hence the term. Having missed the programme, I am not sure why one of Mr Norton's guests might have referred to this process, but I'd wager it was done in a tongue-in-cheek way." I chuckled as I put the article back in the envelope. Tongue-in-cheek, indeed. Miriam knew rather more than she was letting on, the sly old bird. The next photocopied page speculated about the incidence of male-on-male rimming throughout history and cited decidedly spurious allusions to the practice in historical documents. It claimed, for example, that the church had condemned the brutal medieval king William Rufus, son of the Conqueror, as "dissolute" on account of his interest in the effeminate male courtesans he had populated his royal residence with. While that much may have been true, I thought it stretching the case somewhat to suggest that ecclesiastical records which stated that he "fed on that which is depraved and vile" and had "tasted such ungodliness which man should not know" could be taken to mean that the king was a notorious butt-licker. I skipped through the rest of the largely implausible claims, spending a few moments to smile at some of fourteenth century poet Geoffrey Chaucer's supposed references to homosexual rimming in his 'Canterbury Tales' ("the landowner's tongue had peculiar itches/ for what his manservant hid 'neath the seat of his britches") and excerpts from old admiralty records which showed that the practice was apparently rife among sailors. The last of the articles was far more interesting and had been taken from a fairly respectable scientific magazine. It proposed that, in our murky evolutionary past, men had started taking an interest in each other's backsides around the same time that we had started walking upright. Monkeys, it noted, are agile enough to lick their own bottoms and in doing so exploit the antiseptic properties of saliva to clean an area which is vulnerable to infection. When humans started walking on two legs, changes in our spines and pelvises meant that we lost the ability to reach our own behinds with our tongues and so we started to lick each other's instead. "Such a potentially unpleasant activity between early hominids required a biological reward to ensure that it was regularly performed," the article continued. "In males of the species it is likely that this reward took the form of sexual excitement. Previous studies have found this sexual response to still be evident in modern human males very soon after mouth-to-anus contact is made between them." The author went on to quote a series of experiments which he called the "Baltimore study". In this, pairs of heterosexual male volunteers, mostly undergraduate students, were placed in a room, told to undress and then filmed as they were instructed by the experimenter to perform various sexual acts on each other. In all cases, the men involved had expressed no interest in homosexual sex and indeed some of them had stated that they were repulsed by the idea of sex with their own gender. The Baltimore study had found that, while activities such as kissing, fellatio and mutual masturbation had elicited mixed responses from the men, the act of anal licking had, in spite of an overwhelming expression revulsion at the prospect of performing this act at all but especially on another male, produced "a dramatic lengthening of the penis" in every case. "The man performing the act of anal licking," it noted, "became far more sexually excited by what he was doing than the man whose anus he was licking, and their penile reactions were invariably reversed when the two of them were told to change places." "In most cases," it went on, "licking another man's anus triggered such an intense arousal in participants that they had their partner bend lower and parted their buttocks in order to maximise the area of contact. Many of the men felt compelled to rhythmically stimulate their lengthened penises while their faces were so positioned and in some trials, this penile manipulation was taken as far as issue. Furthermore, one pair of volunteers became so aroused that the men attempted penile penetration even though they had not been instructed to do so by the experimenter." The thought of these lads licking each other's arses and wanking themselves off had brought on a rather dramatic lengthening of my own penis and I fumbled with my underwear through my trousers to conceal it as well as I could in case Jake came down from his room. Oh, to have been able to volunteer to take part in such an experiment! And to have been paid for it! I thought I would probably have been the guy who'd wanted a taste of the "penile penetration", although in my case it wouldn't have been "attempted" -- I'd have been in there like a shot and rogering his arse as quickly as I could! The article went on to extol the virtues of rimming between men as a means of engendering healthy emotional relationships. "It is an important part of our evolutionary past and we should embrace it as such," the article recommended. The author was especially keen, for some reason, that men should be taught the art of "concurrent mouth-to-anus intercourse" -- science-speak for an anal sixty-nine, I figured -- to promote fraternal bonding and unity. The author envisaged a distant past in which tribal men spent weeks together on hunting expeditions, leaving the women and children back at the encampment. He proposed that the men would pair up to lick one another's backsides, and would embrace in a sixty-nine position with their heads between each other's legs. "Finding themselves sexually excited by the act they were performing on one another, they would no doubt rub their aroused penises between their entwined bodies and move back and forth against each other until they had achieved mutual climax. Thus, this act of anal licking would have provided a dual function during periods when the men were separated from their females. On the one hand, it would have promoted good sanitation, while on the other it would have provided the men with a means of sexual release, avoiding the need for homosexual penetration which brings with it issues of dominance and hierarchy." The article concluded by suggesting that it would be natural and healthy for brothers to pair up together to encourage intimacy between them and to curb their adversarial competitiveness. I thought of my own brother, Richard, who was a few years older than me. We'd never got on well and perhaps adding a sexual dimension to our relationship might have done us the world of good. I couldn't see it happening though: he'd always been so self-righteous and judgemental, acting as a spy for my parents as I'd been growing up and only too ready to grass on me for doing anything which he saw as a sexual impropriety. He'd enjoyed telling me that my own large genitals were abnormal and regularly repeating my oft-told mother's advice that I shouldn't play with myself. If he caught me or heard me trying to discreetly masturbate, he'd tell my parents and he and his equally pious friend Aiden Pratt (prat by name...) would snoop around my bedroom looking for girlie magazines and semen-soaked tissues. He always seemed too pure to masturbate himself and was very guarded about showing his own penis which I assumed was of more "natural" proportions. So I grew up thinking that, not only was I some kind of freak in the trousers department, but that I had a peculiar sexual appetite as I seemed to need sexual release so frequently. He used to say, "I know you can suck yourself! If I ever catch you I'll tell mum, because that's the worst thing you can do! She'll probably have to take you to the priest or something." While it was true that I could suck myself -- my cock was certainly long enough and my back flexible enough -- I didn't really like the feel of it and so I hardly ever did it. But I couldn't understand how Richard knew I could do it and thought maybe he'd been spying on me at night when I'd been experimenting sexually. I seemed to spend years in constant fear that he'd catch me with an erection or, worse still, in the middle of gratifying myself. If I stayed in the bathroom too long, he would be knocking on the door, making insinuations. If I woke up with a morning hard-on, I'd have to carefully conceal it before I left my bedroom lest my brother had some spiteful quip to make about my "deformity" or my "fat bell-end". One afternoon everything changed, though. Barging into his bedroom, after only a perfunctory knock, I found him and Aiden together on his bed, masturbating together with their trousers and underpants around their ankles. It turned out that couldn't have picked a more opportune moment to burst in on them like that. My brother and his friend weren't just having a wank together: there was rather more to it than that. Richard was in mid-orgasm and, with an arched back, was gulping down the semen which was spurting from his enormous-looking cock, the bloated head of it filling his mouth with every thrust. Aiden was watching my brother pleasure himself in fascination, one hand pounding at his own much smaller erection and the other working back and forth between Richard's legs. At the time I hadn't realised what he was doing: only now did it dawn on me that he was most likely fingering my brother's arsehole as he wanked himself. On entering the room, both of their faces swung towards me, their expressions horrified. But Richard was too far gone to stop what he was doing: he continued sucking the semen pumping from his cock as he stared at me wide-eyed, his huge organ seemingly determined to empty its load into him no matter who had joined his audience. Aiden withdrew his arm from between my brother's legs and cupped both hands around his own erection in an attempt to hide it. When his cock had spent itself, Richard withdrew it from his mouth, staring at me intently with white gobs splattered across his face. His cock, which looked enormous, flopped onto his stomach as it began to soften with white dribbles still oozing from its massively swollen head. The stem of it seemed as thick as his wrist and his bollocks were fat and distended like a couple of ripe plums. Although his genitals seemed so much bigger than mine at the time, I dare say that as adults we would probably be pretty evenly matched. He barked out, "You can't tell mum about this!" I'd slowly smiled. "Why ever not?" Aiden had chirped up, "It's not what it looks like, okay?" Richard had turned to him with annoyance. "Of course it's what it looks like, dipshit! How could this not be what it looks like?" Aiden got off the bed and started pulling his underpants and trousers up. Richard swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge of it wiping the cum from his face. His cock was still lolling upwards even though his erection was abating. He muttered, huffily, "She wouldn't believe you, anyway. Do what you like." I held my nerve, fully aware of the power I now had over him. "Do you really want to risk it? Mum knowing that you drink your own spunk... that you get up to this kind of stuff with other lads...?" Yanking his briefs up and packing his cock and balls into them with some difficulty, Richard glared at me with venomous eyes. I went on, "I won't tell mum, but you've got to get off my case... okay?" Richard's stark expression softened slightly as curiosity seeped in. "What do mean, 'get off your case'?" "I mean, I don't mind what you guys do -- you could be screwing each other for all I care -- but you've got to leave me to do whatever I like. And you've got to stop saying my dick's so big... yours is even bigger." Richard had nodded. "Okay... and you won't tell mum?" I nodded. Pulling his trousers up, he'd said, "And we're not screwing... me and him..." Aiden had chipped in, "Yeah... we haven't done that yet." Richard had turned to him and said, gruffly, "And we're not going to do that, okay? There is no 'yet'!" Aiden had nodded quickly but I suspected he was a little disappointed that the line had been drawn. Richard and I never spoke again of what I'd caught him and Aiden doing that afternoon. Suffice to say, he was never again on my back about anything sexual but beyond that our relationship never improved. We haven't spoken for years: the last I heard he'd got married to a girl he met at university and they'd emigrated to Australia. By now he probably has a couple of kids out there; Jake's cousins who he doesn't even know about. Questions and Answers I put all the documents back into the envelope and stashed it back into my jacket pocket. I'd considered showing Jake a couple of paragraphs from the article about how butt-licking could be an evolutionary throwback to help him understand why it might make me feel as it does, but I decided against it. It was the sort of information he might guilelessly work into a Biology assignment and I had no desire for a second embarrassing conversation with one of his teachers. I poured myself a glass of wine, put an Andre Rieu CD on and sat back down to think about what I would do about Cameron. As he'd made the opening gambit by sending me the envelope, it would now be up to me to make the next move. I'd have to invite him out for a drink after work; try to make it sound casual even though we'd both know what it was about. It would be good to discuss rimming with someone who was obviously quite actively into it and to hear about some of his experiences if he was willing to share. I wondered how he'd discovered that he enjoyed other men's backsides: whether, like me, it was an interest he'd stumbled across recently, or whether it was something he'd been harbouring for years, perhaps since long before he'd married or even before he'd started dating girls. I wondered what kind of stuff he liked doing with guys. Maybe he was a purist and his interests were confined entirely to reciprocal butt-licking. It could be that he had accepted his enjoyment of rimming on the basis of the biological arguments presented in the article he'd sent me, but that he regarded other, more blatantly homosexual activities, as being out-of-bounds. The literature he'd sent me certainly bore no suggestion that he might enjoy things like mutual oral stimulation or anal penetration, but perhaps he had deliberately not included references to these activities in case they were a step too far for me. He had, after all, simply stumbled across me sniffing another guy's bum: he had no idea how far my curiosity had taken me nor of the array of fantasies I had been mentally exploring. It suddenly occurred to me that Cameron might have made contact with me in this way as an attempt to orchestrate a sexual encounter between us. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. He was an attractive guy with an athletic build and was probably a few years younger than me, but I hardly knew him. It would be awkward between us. I'd have to invite him over one night when Jake was at his mum's but, beyond that, I'd have no idea about what to do. Would I offer him a drink so we could sit downstairs for a while making small-talk about work and the weather? Or would we just head upstairs to undress in my cold bedroom and then get on the bed with goose-bumps to contemplate each other's limp cocks? With a woman, things like this would just flow for me. We'd have a few drinks, have a cuddle on the settee together, one of my hands would head towards her breasts and she might work her fingers up my thigh. We'd kiss and I'd caress her; she'd knead my cock through my trousers or play with my balls. Then we'd stumble upstairs together, fall onto the bed and I'd finger the wetness between her legs while she released my aching manhood from my fly. Events would follow an effortless and spontaneous sequence and within no time I'd be inside her, filling her with my large organ and feeling my balls thumping between her legs as she moaned and writhed. With Cameron -- with any other man -- there could be no kissing and cuddling beforehand. Even if he wanted it, I wouldn't. So that would remove the natural element of foreplay and with it the opportunity for us to become aroused together and for the sensuality between us to gradually build. I had to face it: it was extremely likely that we would indeed end up facing each other's shrivelled penises on the bed, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do. Maybe we'd fondle each other to try without success to coax our flaccid members to harden; maybe we'd try working our floppy organs against each other, like the positive ends of two batteries failing to make a spark. More likely one of us would kneel on the bed while the other rimmed him and let the smells and tastes we both found so exciting stir his cock into life. Then we'd swap places so that we were both erect. And keep swapping places -- rimmed becoming rimmer, both of us masturbating without touching the other -- until the first of us climaxed. Then we'd change places one last time until the other man achieved his orgasm. We'd clean up and get dressed, probably making small-talk again, and then I'd show him out. And at work afterwards, we'd no doubt avoid each other for a while, until one or other of us felt horny enough to approach the other for a repeat butt-licking and cock-stroking session. It all sounded rather... well... bleak. Jake came into the room, stretching and flexing after being cooped up working at his desk, and plonked himself down on the couch. "Any sport on?" "Have you finished all your assignments?" He nodded. I don't really know why I bother asking. I tossed him the TV remote control and switched off my CD. He flicked through a dozen or so programmes until he found some snooker on one of the Sky Sports channels and then looked over at me. "Any good?" Ronnie O'Sullivan was playing against a young Asian-looking guy I didn't recognise but I nodded. If nothing else, it'd be nice to watch the two of them bending over the table to reach the difficult shots. "Fancy a drink of anything?" he asked. "I'm gonna get a coke." I passed him my wine glass. "There's a bottle already open in the fridge door." While he was getting the drinks, I thought again about what it would be like to invite Cameron over for sex. I found it difficult to move beyond the image which was now so firmly lodged in my brain: that of us facing each other uncomfortably on the bed, our cocks dangling ineffectually between our legs and both of us unsure about what to do. I'd have to suck him. Even if he was limp, that might ignite the spark which could get things going between us. I'd done that with Guy and it had worked a treat: even with the guy in the public toilet, it hadn't been too unpleasant to have his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. Jake brought me my wine and sprawled out on the couch slurping noisily at his coke. He let out a barely-stifled belch. Decorum had never been his strongest suite. While Ronnie O'Sullivan was systematically and mercilessly clearing the reds from the snooker table, I got to wondering if I could think of ways to introduce a bit of foreplay into my encounter with Cameron. There must be some way of starting things off for the two of us while we were drinking and chatting, so that by the time we got to the undressing stage we'd both be rock-hard and raring to go at each other's backsides. I would feel too awkward to sit close to him on the settee and so a bit of mutual crotch groping, which might get the ball rolling as it were, would not really be a possibility. I thought back to how things had developed between Guy and me. He'd got excited talking about his experiences watching other men have sex on the oil-rig, and then I'd started getting turned on hearing him masturbate. Perhaps something like that might start warming us up: a chat about our experiences with other men. Mine would be comparatively brief at this stage: I could tell him about Guy (without mentioning his name, of course) and about my experiences in the public toilet and at the adult learning centre. But he could probably tell me a lot of other stuff and it was likely that if whatever he told me involved mouths being applied to bums, it would soon have my cock making a noticeable mound in my trousers. Jake breathed in sharply as O'Sullivan missed what had seemed like quite a straightforward shot. His opponent approached the table nervously while O'Sullivan slumped dourly back into his chair. It occurred to me that, even without the kissing and cuddling I was comfortable with in my heterosexual experiences, it would still be possible to introduce a bit of spontaneity into my homosexual encounters. I would just have to try and be confident: a pat on the bum, for instance, or a seductively delivered compliment about how hot his arse looked in those trousers. That kind of thing. I just needed to remember that we were both here for the same thing and that, even without any kind of romance between us, we could still get sexy with each other. Jake interrupted my musings by laughing out loud. He gestured towards the TV on which Ronnie O'Sullivan was staring across at his opponent who was bending over the table, lining up his cue to attempt an awkwardly-positioned brown ball. The way the camera was positioned made it look as if O'Sullivan was focussing intently on the younger man's backside, mesmerised by his buttocks which were flexing as he strained to achieve the angle he needed. Jake said, "I think he's one of your lot, dad. He must be a... I dunno... do guys like you have a name?" I smiled. "I saw the term 'butt monkey' written somewhere..." Jake laughed, picking up his drink. "Yeah... that'd fit! Ronnie O'Sullivan's a butt monkey!" He gave the term 'butt monkey' a rather salacious emphasis. "I think it's just the camera angle, Jake. His eyes are on the brown." Jake splurted his drink with a burst of laughter. I looked at him with feigned-disapproval. "The brown ball." He recovered himself and dabbed up the dribbles he'd made. Still chuckling, he said, "Anyway, I think our Assistant Principal must be a butt monkey. He was staring at the Principal's arse all the way through the morning briefing yesterday. And I wasn't the only one who noticed." "Backside, Jake." "Uh?" "Backside sounds less vulgar than arse." Jake went on, ignoring my suggestion, "You could see he wanted to get his face stuck in there. He was licking his lips." "Well, maybe a lot of guys have that interest. I mean, going by the amount of stuff about it on the internet --" "I don't think I could ever get into it," Jake cut in. I nodded. "Yeah, well I'd have probably said that at your age. In fact, I'd have probably said that just a few months ago." "I mean," Jake went on, "what if the other guy farted? When you had your mouth right on his... you know..." I threw him another look of disapproval, this time rather more genuine. I didn't want to get into another question-and-answer session with him about a topic which was not, I was sure, anywhere in Good Parenting Magazine's list of suggested father-and-son conversation topics. I said, adding an edge of impatience to my voice, "I don't think that's very likely..." "And what if he accidentally --" "Enough, Jake!" I snapped. He shrugged huffily. "I'm just trying to understand..." "Yeah, well it's bad enough that you know I like doing this stuff, without me having to explain how it all works. I don't even know myself... I just did it that once, remember." The less he knew about what else I'd been up to, the better. "You must have thought about it, thought. Thought, you know, 'What if he's hairy down there?'... 'What if he hasn't wiped properly?'" "Jake -- I'd fully expect another bloke to have a hairy backside, and if there are issues about wiping, well that's something I'll just have to deal with at the time. Now can we drop it?" Jake nodded and flicked his hair out of his eyes in a swift movement which reminded me of his mother in her younger days. "Sorry," he muttered, "I'm just interested." "Yeah, I know. But it's private stuff. I don't ask you about what kind of stuff you fantasize about and you wouldn't ask me all these questions about the stuff I get up to with women..." Jake smiled. "Okay, fair enough. No more questions." We turned back to watch the snooker and I realised that there was no way it was going to be finished by the time Jake should be going to bed. === After reaching a compromise about how much of the snooker match Jake could watch with an early start at college the following morning, the two of us had gone to bed just after eleven. I'd lain awake, hearing but not listening to the quiet rhythmic creaking from Jake's bed next door, wondering again what it would be like to have a man in my own. I tended to prefer petite women and for sex with them to be gentle and passionate. How different would it be to be with a man with a similar stature to me and who would prefer our sex to be more strenuous and physical? His skin would feel rougher, his hair coarser. His body would be hairy and muscular, his smell musky and masculine. His throbbing erection, the reddened head of it swollen and dribbling expectantly, would seem urgently demanding, almost threatening in its need for gratification, compared to the less striking signs of a woman's arousal. Would our sex be focussed around penile stimulation; would we rub our erections together, masturbating them as one organ, with our balls swinging pendulously against each other? Or would we be drawn towards anal penetration, fingering and tonguing each other's arses, bending and squatting against each other? Would I mount him as he lay on his stomach, and work myself into him as I held him close to me with my arms around his chest and shoulders? Would I fuck him like that, reaching down to fondle his oozing erection as I did so? Or would I take him standing up, like I would have buggered the lad in the toilet stall? Have him bending over in front of me as I held him by the hips? What if he wanted to fuck me? Now there was a thought. I had occasionally, especially when I was younger, considered what it might be like to be penetrated by another male -- what guy hasn't mused about such possibilities in the quiet of the night? However, such imagined scenarios had always been driven by hypothetical necessity -- such as the unlikelihood of finding myself in prison -- rather than sexual curiosity. I'd never really thought about the mechanics of taking a man inside me -- how he'd get his cock into me or what it would feel like to have my arse invaded in such a way. I'd just imagined him on top of me, grunting into my ear and panting against the back of my neck as my bunk creaked and groaned with the rhythm of his hips against my buttocks. I'd wondered how long he'd take to climax inside me, and whether he'd obligingly roll over when he'd finished to let me use his slimy passage as he'd used mine. How long would it take me to get used to trading favours with other men? And how sweet would a woman's body feel on my eventual release? Now I allowed myself to envisage what it would be like to actually have a guy fuck me rather than picturing the two of us just sweatily writhing around together as if we were in a made-for-TV sex scene. I focussed my thoughts on what it would be like to have a man actually working his erection into my backside; the sensation of his fattened cock-head pressing hot and expectant against my puckered entrance, and how it would feel to have to open my anus up, just like I do when I'm fingering myself, to allow it to slowly push its way into me. I imagined having to bend forwards and open my legs wider to allow him to ease his stiffened shaft up inside me, and having to push my arse back against him while he held me firm at the hips. I formed a mental picture of myself on all fours with Cameron behind me, slowly working his cock inch by inch into my arsehole which was slick from the saliva his tongue had so liberally applied to it. For some reason, he seemed like the kind of guy who would be well-endowed and I visualised his long, thick erection stretching me open as he pushed it deep inside me. He'd sigh from the feel of my hot, tight tunnel gripping his organ as I received him, and I'd look over my shoulder towards him and we'd grin at each other as our bodies became joined. The image was one I'd seen countless times on the internet -- an almost stereotypical depiction of gay sex -- and yet now, here in my bed, I seemed to see it from afresh, and surprisingly attractive, perspective. I felt my cock beginning to stir deep in the folds of my pyjamas, awakening to begin its slow ascent, just as a triumphant succession of mattress squeaks from Jake's room betrayed that his had just surmounted its own white-capped summit. It would feel good to have Cameron inside me; to hear his cock slurping back and forth and to feel his nuts banging against mine with every thrust. I'd push back against him, working with his rhythm, opening my legs as wide as I could to get all of him inside me. I wondered how his cock would feel in my innards when he plunged it so far into me that his pubes would tickle my buttocks. Would his balls be as large as mine? Would they swing heavy and low in his nut-sack when he was fucking, just as mine do, like a couple of boiled eggs stretching a sock? I reached into my pyjama fly and squeezed my organ which was becoming quite hard in response to these thoughts. I was surprised that the prospect of being fucked by a man was having such an effect on me; I suspected that my hand would soon be taking up from where Jake's had left off. Gently easing my foreskin down across my fattening cock-head, I imagined Cameron on top of my back; his large hairy chest rubbing against my spine as he drove in and out of me. His arms would be around me and his breathing rapid and hot against my neck. He would reach down to wank me as he buggered me, his hips making clapping sounds against my buttocks with each thrust of his swollen cock. My anus would be stretched around his thick shaft; my rectum would be squeezing the fat, swollen cock-head as it pounded away inside me. He might be grunting to me about how hot my arse felt, how tight it was. And I might be calling out for him to ram his cock into me; to fuck my arse harder. I hitched my pyjama bottoms down and started gently masturbating my still hardening cock, hoping that Jake would now be sleeping contentedly after his own exertions. I imagined reaching around with both hands and grabbing Cameron's buttocks, feeling them flex in time with the pounding of his cock in and out of my arse. I'd push my fingers into his crack, still wet with my spit from where I'd hungrily rimmed him, and try to work a couple of fingers into his hole as he fucked me. He'd gasp to show that he liked that and his rhythm would speed up slightly. We'd push ourselves upright and kneel together on the bed, him behind me, his hips still thumping against my cheeks and his arms still wrapped around my chest. The air around us would be thick with the sexual fug we were producing: sweaty and anal in equal measure, we'd both be excited by its rich and delicious odour. I used my free hand to reach between my legs and began to gently finger my arsehole -- an act which was now commonplace when I masturbated. After sliding it in and out a few times, I withdrew it and brought it up to my nose. This would be the exhilarating smell of our sex: the heady smell of me being butt-fucked. With this thought, my cock rapidly hardened and lengthened to its full size and I began stroking myself more quickly. Squirting some KY on my finger for lubrication, I returned finger to my hole and started sliding it gently in and out, gently rubbing my large bollocks with the heel of my palm as I did so. Moistened from the jelly, my finger started making slurping noises as it moved in and out of me. Now I really did hope Jake was asleep! Developing a steady rhythm in and out of my anus, I imagined it was Cameron, driving in and out of me. It would feel so good to be physically joined to another man like this: his cock being consumed by the tunnel of my eager backside. It would feel right and natural to have him pleasure himself inside me: I couldn't understand why it had never occurred to me before how great it would be to have another man take me like this, using my arse to grip his excitement as he bucked his hips back and forth. Questions and Answers Now that I was becoming used to regular anal masturbation, I worked three fingers together into myself and started sliding them in an out of myself as deeply as I could. I took up the same rhythm as my right hand beating up and down my cock, enjoying the wet sounds of my bunched up fingers as they fucked me. I imagined Cameron having me like this: lying on my back with him kneeling between my legs, sliding in and out of me beneath my loose, large balls. I thought at first I might be put off by feeling feminised by the position -- after all, this was the position I most liked women to be in when we were making love. But I soon figured that this homosexual version of the missionary position would be sufficiently different from its straight equivalent to have a unique appeal of its own. For a start, how could I feel feminised with my cock, aching in its extreme state of arousal, raised so prominently between us and swollen to an almost bestial thickness? How could Cameron think of me as a woman when he had my large pair of knackers bobbing around in his pubes every time he thrust into me? And how could either of us imagine this as heterosexual lovemaking when the intoxicating smell from our exertions made it so brutally clear that this was a man's gaping arse being fucked? Now stroking myself as fast as I could and fingering my arse with long rapid thrusts which were stretching my hole wider than it had ever been, I imagined Cameron climaxing inside me, wondering how it would feel to have his hot juices squirting up into my bowels. There'd be squelching noises from my anus as his semen was pumped into me and my arse-crack would feel wet from where some of it would leak out of my hole from the thrusting of his cock. He'd be grunting like an animal and I'd be grabbing at his buttocks, pulling him into me with all the strength I could muster as his balls emptied themselves into me. My own cock started spewing, soaking my pyjama top with thick gobs of semen. I kept pumping my shaft, expelling the copious gushes of liquid from my fattened cock-head and enjoying the feel of my rectum clenching and unclenching around the deeply buried fingers of my left hand as it enjoyed its own, less visible, orgasm. As my orgasm subsided it occurred to me that, if I were to climax when I was being fucked, my companion would feel the muscles of my bowels giving his cock a thorough work-over as he held it inside me. It would be like my bum was wanking him off: he might actually start cumming himself from the sensation of feeling his organ gripped so firmly by my delicious rectal spasms. Surely this was too fortuitous to be just a quirk of biology? Surely this proved that men were meant to enjoy anal sex together? Why else would my bowels squeeze so tightly when my cock was spurting, the muscular rhythm exactly harmonized to stimulate the thrusting girth of another man's shaft? It was like my backside fully expected that I would have a companion's organ buried deep up inside it and was doing its best to ensure we shared a joint climax together! When I'd fully spent myself and had squeezed the last beads of cum from my softening cock, I pulled my three fingers out from my arsehole and grabbed the box of tissues from my bedside table to clean myself off. In spite of how much semen I'd produced, my balls still looked just as large and bloated inside the loose, hairy bag of my scrotum. No doubt they'd need a further release come the morning. I changed my pyjama top for a dry one and then settled down to sleep. I wondered again why this fantasy had never occurred to me before. Why, as a curious teenager, I'd dismissed gay sex as something other people did and had focussed my masturbatory energies exclusively on feminine attractions. It now seemed so obvious that sex for me had been diminished by the absence of a male presence: all the times I'd had sex with women seemed boringly predictable in comparison with the prospect of having another man in my bed, the two of us armed with our wonderfully-versatile cocks. That's not to say that I wanted to give up on heterosexual sex: I just realised that there were many other experiences with my own gender which I could enjoy in addition to it. I resolved to talk to Cameron the next day and invite him out for a drink after work. Maybe, on Friday night when Jake was at his mum's, he'd be here with me and we'd be enjoying doing some of the things I'd fantasized about; certainly the rimming if not the rest. My cock started to respond to the prospect of that and so I tried to empty my mind to help me drift off to sleep. As I began to relax, I realised how sore my backside was from where I'd prized it open and assaulted it with three fingers. How the hell might it feel on Saturday morning? === Next story: Candid Cameron === Questions Answered My girlfriend Marie and I enjoyed reckless getaways from our homes, from our jobs, from our lives. Life should be fun, right? We really knew how to ditch work and other realities. We'd go away, fuck until we were sore, then we'd rest, fuck some more, and go back home to recuperate and deal with the rest of life. Quite unexpectedly, our last getaway had turned into a frat-house orgy, and it brought out a side of Marie that I'd never seen before. For one, it was evident that she had a lot more sexual experience with guys than I had previously thought. She had technique that would rival a pro, and she had stamina. How naïve I'd been to think that she was an innocent, inhibited intellectual. She had demonstrated a bi-side of her that I never would have dreamt was there. Marie was always a highly assertive woman, but she had acted quite the submissive to a dominatrix. I had always known that Marie kept personal secrets very, very well. On the other hand, she made no secret of the fact that she had always been attracted to older guys – like me, for instance, I'm fifty-two. She boasted that at seventeen she was dating a thirty-two year old guy. Beyond that, she told me nothing, other than that the twenty-plus year difference between us was "nothing" to her. How old had her lovers been, I wondered. I tried my best to contain my questions. She was very private, and she would have resented it if I had tried to pry information out of her. Instead, I mentally reviewed every scrap of information that she had ever given me. I constructed a profile, so to speak. She was raised by an unassertive mother, an alcoholic father, and a drill sergeant grandfather that overcompensated for his ne'er-do-well sons. One was an alcoholic, the other was a perpetual adolescent, ever enthralled with cars. No, she had not been sexually abused, but she had been the only girl among lots and lots of male energy. They had lived on a ranch, and she was surrounded by lots of crude jokes and stories. She had seen animals of all kinds (and a few humans) copulating. She was extremely bright, and she learned from everything she encountered. She gave up her virginity at seventeen thanks to her older suitor, but she had experienced sex in other ways even before age eleven. She had played with herself, and, of course, she had watched the animals. She knew male and female rutting behavior like the back of her hand. She raised dogs until the hormones hit in adolescence. Then, the alpha dog on the ranch would aggressively try to mate her. She said he would growl at any human male that came near her day or night. She was having increasing difficulty keeping him from mounting her, and his ever-ready dog cock was beginning to tempt her more than she'd like. That was the end of male dogs for her, and they literally had to put that dog down. Although she had great rapport with animals, she had lost all respect for parental authority when her drunken father jacked off the family dog in front of her and her mother. Her mother would have ignored it, but my girlfriend knew it was time for a divorce. They continued to live with the paternal grandfather (the real alpha male of the household) and my girlfriend was subjected to military discipline. This included a lot of barked orders, and discipline that was merciless. Marie got several pants-down spankings when she was way too old -- like, age fourteen. (I can only imagine what the old man saw between his granddaughter's legs as he reddened her ass.) Kinky as that was, I thought it was a significant key: She was used to submitting to older male authority during astoundingly intimate moments. That probably accounted for my luck with her. I didn't think that I would have had a chance with a twenty-eight year woman when I was hitting fifty. Still, I had nothing to lose from asking. My line wasn't much better than, "You wanna fuck?" I didn't know it until later, but Marie had already been trying to seduce me, so she was way ready. She said, in that meek, coy voice she gets when she's sexy, "I guess." And the rest was history. Marie was prudish and demur during the day, and really, really sexy in bed. She did everything: Oral, anal, bondage, etc., and she did it really well. She didn't drink too much or smoke. She was brutally honest. On the other hand, she didn't say much. I always knew that there was lots, and lots that I didn't know about her. So what had I seen at the orgy? I had learned four things. One, that she would participate in an orgy. Previously, I had thought her to be a very private and modest person. Two, that she seemed very experienced at getting guys to cum. She could use her hands, mouth, cunt, or ass – once, she even used her feet on me. Three, she demonstrated a technique that was new to me. When the guys were screwing her ass, she had reached behind and she had masturbated them while they pumped away. Four, she could get it on with women, in particular, she did a great job as a Sub to a Dom mistress. Normally, she had little respect for persons of her own gender. I wanted to ask questions and learn more about her history, but I knew not how. I waited and waited. I never lost my curiosity. One day, I saw an opportunity. Something we had talked about prompted her to say, "You know me -- I like older guys." We were relaxed. We had time. "Like, how old?" "How about thirty-two when I was seventeen?" I knew about that one. "That's only a 15-year's difference. I'm twenty year's older than you." She thought about it, and decided to give a serious reply. "Probably, say, forty-years. I'd have been about twenty, they were in their late fifties and early sixties." I was astounded -- not just at the age difference -- she had said, "they," as in plural. Just what-the-hell was she doing when she was twenty? I tried to keep cool. "Any women?" I said in my most nonchalant voice. "No. I was never attracted." I was relieved, but then she continued, "Until, you know, that time at the hotel. You were going to take me back there, remember?" She made it seem so matter of fact. She wasn't joking. She was serious. "I remember. I will." I didn't want this to distract me from my earliest questions: How old? Where? What? When? So I said, "Did you say, 'they' were in their sixties? How did you meet guys that old? Were they college professors?" She laughed, and said, "You really want to know, don't you? Well, sit tight, this ought to be one of the Canterbury Tales!" What Marie told me knocked me on my ass. My sweet, sheltered, prim and proper girlfriend had been introduced to swinging when she was twenty. It suited her very well because she was among mostly couples in their late thirties on up, and they were, in her words, "housebroken." They were mature. They made no demands on her. She didn't have to date. She wasn't tied down, and she was always the center of attention because she was young but socially mature. What my girlfriend didn't say was that, at age twenty, she must have looked like sex-candy. Marie always had a girlish figure – she still did. She knew all the tricks of animal husbandry from the ranch, and she was squeamish about nothing sexually. She liked older guys, and she liked male energy in general. I wondered: Had she learned all of that through swinging? Swinging at age twenty with couples in their thirties was only a ten to twenty-year difference, not a forty-year age difference, so I asked her to work out the math. In that matter-of-fact tone she adopts when serious, she said, "When you're single and swinging, you don't want to get stuck with the same couples. You mix it up, and it turned out that the real die-hards of the club were older, like, couples in their forties and fifties. There were few single women in that category. Most of us single women were younger." Listening to this, I was beginning to get worried. I just had to ask the question that should never be asked: "How many guys do you think you slept with?" The question didn't even faze her. She started to do think out loud. "About ten ... " I was greatly relieved. "... yeah, about ten at a party." Oh, shit! Sleeping with ten guys at a party, and she probably went to more than one party. "And about one party a week ... " I interrupted, and said, "Right, once a week." "Well, sometimes you'd jump to another party, so, maybe, say twice a week." This was agony. How long had she kept this up? "I didn't do it for that long," she said, "I was done with it when I was twenty-two ... twenty-two or twenty-three." Shit! That was a hell of a lot of guys in two or three years. That meant, if she slept with those guys, then, indirectly, I had slept with a hell of a lot of guys. "But not every week, right?" "Of course not, I got sick once, and I was laid up after an accident – that kind of took me out of commission for a while." Fuck! What kind of sick? STD? What kind of accident? From something kinky? Rough sex? "Relax. I spun out in my car and banged myself up pretty good, and once I got pneumonia. What's with the paranoia? You wanted to know. This was before AIDS, and people that are into swinging tend to watch out real carefully for STDs, if you know what I mean. You'd use condoms until you got to know someone." Okay, I thought, settle down and listen to her. Let's just say, conservatively, that she had sex with ten guys a week, maybe just forty-weeks a year, for two to three years. That's 800 to 1200 guys! But wait, some of those were repeats. So, let's make it roughly, say, oh I don't know, maybe 200 to 600 different guys. Shit! I had no idea! This is more than I had ever expected to hear. I'm never going to sleep with her again! On the other hand, I've been sleeping with her for years, why stop now? Okay. Okay. I had to calm myself down. I had more questions to ask about this age thing and her technique. "You were telling me about the older guys?" My girlfriend sighed. Now, as she talked, she seemed nostalgic. "Yeah, I definitely gravitated toward older and older guys. They take really good care of you. They take their time, and they appreciate you. It makes you want to do anything for them. They're sweet!" Sweet for you, I thought, but they look like wrinkled raisins to me, even if I'm one of them. It seemed so perverted -- a twenty-something and a sixty year old -- but I listened to my girlfriend. Okay, right, she found them, "sweet." She continued on. She was really getting into it. "I guess I fell for them when I was sucking on this guy's shriveled cock until it got hard, and then it came in my mouth, and the guy was so touched that I took the time and hadn't moved on and hadn't given him a hard time – it didn't hurt that he reciprocated and went down on me, and that he kept going down on me after I came and came, like, ten times! Guys like that would give you money, too. They had lots of it, and I had none. It wasn't prostitution, just money to help you get by. There were times, though, when guys would ask for something special and were willing to pay big bucks – I always turned them down, though." "Ask for something special? What do you mean by that?" "You can be so naïve sometimes! Like, enemas, shitting on a plate, getting pissed on. Stuff like that. There's worse stuff, like rough sex and snuff, I guess." Here, I had just gotten to thinking that swinging was just a bunch of middle aged people having vanilla sex, and I hear my girlfriend describing stuff only a whore would have to put up with. "I didn't do that stuff, well, a guy gave me an enema once, but that's practical. I didn't take money. The only big money I took was when these really old guys took me away from a party to a private party and wanted me to spend the whole night. I told them I had to get home because it was the last day to pay my rent on time. They drove me to my apartment, peeled off $500 for the rent. Boy, were rents cheap in those days! When I got back the next day, I noticed that one of them had left another $500 on my kitchen counter. There was some fooling around at my apartment, but they didn't want to party at my place, so they drove me back to an expensive hotel, which turned out to be a good idea." "Who were 'they'?" "Well, that was my first and last time with those guys, so I don't know their names, but what you really want to know is how old they were, right?" Busted! "Yeah, right. Tell me." "Those guys were easily over sixty, but not seventy." "Those guys?" "I told you, I don't know their ... oh, how many ... about three or four. I thought it would be easy taking on three -- no, I guess it was four old guys -- but I was wrong." "Why? Did you get hurt?" "No, no! I told you, guys like that are so appreciative and considerate. The only inconsiderate thing was that I was the only woman. That was good on one hand because they didn't ask for any girl-girl stuff, but I didn't get any sleep. You know, a lot of old people are insomniacs, and they kept me up with them. One or two of them might doze off, but then the others were up. I, on the other hand, never got to sleep. They fucked me until I was upside down -- probably literally." Her talk about old people having sex with a young woman was making me sick. I'm an ageist. She's not. But, I was the one that had asked, and it was only fair that I listen respectfully. "Would you mind telling me what guys like that do with a twenty-year-old?" "That's a funny question coming from you! Think about it: Not much different than what you do." That was fair, now all I had to do was think: What do I do in bed? Well, I do just about anything I can get away with. But, I thought, they might have done something I had never done. "What else, besides what I do?" "Well, they wanted me to dance a lot. I've never done that for you. And they liked to watch me masturbate a lot. And one of them liked me to call him "Daddy" -- you wouldn't like that. And, oh, when we were still at my apartment they had me shave my cunt while they watched – you really wouldn't like that!" That's true. Making a woman look like a prepubescent girl was a real turn off for me, even if I had never seen it, except in porn. "Any kinky sex?" She thought about it seriously for a while, and that worried me, but then she said, "Just the usual kink. Fingering me in the butt, one in my ass, one in my butt – their cocks, I mean, not their fingers. Licking my butt – I wouldn't lick them, but one guy kept trying to get me to do it. Oh, and a couple of the guys liked to jerk off on my face so that they could see it -- so that I could "wear" it for them, they said. I wasn't supposed to wipe it off. Usually, I don't like that, but they were so sweet. All of this took a really long time, by the way. You know, old guys and retarded ejaculation. This was before Viagra, and it took these guys a long time to get it up, and then a long time to cum. I jerked a lot of cock that night! It must have taken a half-an-hour each for those guys to cum on my face, and then I wasn't looking, and one guy got it right in my eye so I had to wipe it off," "Before the night was over they had to send out for – actually, they had the concierge bring up – more lube. You know me. I always like lots of lube – lots and lots of lube. I did feel like a whore, though, when the bellboy brought in three tubes of lube and I was in a room with four old men, but this wasn't whoring – I had a friend that did whoring, and that's a whole world different. I'd never do that!" Remind me, I thought, just what the difference was, because I really didn't know. She had pretty much convinced me that she was a whore when she was twenty, at least on that night. Let's face it, the guys might have been "sweet" but they had paid her a thousand bucks a night to use her as their whore. But the goal of tonight's discussion was to find out about her predilection for old guys – and about that sexy, obscene, jerking off technique -- so, I asked about her "technique." "Oh that! I didn't think you'd noticed." She was obviously referring to the frat house orgy. "Yeah, I guess I did learn that from the old guys. I only did that when I was sore and they were taking too long to cum – same thing that night at the party." She called it a party. I called it an orgy. "At the party I was getting pretty sore by the third or fourth time I got screwed in the ass." I had only counted twice but, then again, she had started ahead of me. "A long time ago, I figured out that if I jerk guys off while they're doing me, they cum faster. It's really important when they're doing my ass. I guess it works with young guys as well as old." I don't think she realized that it was also a highly pornographic sight. The sight of a woman jerking off a guy into her own asshole was, well, pornographic. It was real whore-slut-skank type behavior. "Was there any downside to swinging?" My girlfriend thought about it, and said, "I guess there was, because I stopped and I never did it again." "What happened?" "Nothing, really. Well, the last time was a pretty weird experience." Uh-oh, I thought, I'm not sure I want to hear this, but I had asked for it. "What happened that time?" "It was the last few times, actually, that got pretty weird. I was getting tired of the same old couples, and they were trying to hook me up with new couples or single guys, but it's a pretty tight circle, and there wasn't much new out there," "One day, this guy calls me up and invites me to this swinging party that I used to go to a lot but hadn't been to in a while. He comes over to pick me up. He wasn't my type. Probably about fifty, fifty-five, and definitely not sweet, but I was looking forward to seeing old friends at the party. Only we didn't go that night. He said he couldn't take his eyes off of me, that he couldn't keep his erection down to go out in public, and that he just had to have me right now, and blah, blah, blah. We'd 'play' some, and then we would go to the party. I had some misgivings, but he said to consider it as sort of a warm-up," "So, I let him grope me, and then I thought we'd get going, but he had other plans. He pushed me to my knees and had me suck him to 'get us wet.' He meant get him wet -- I was definitely not getting wet! Then he had me get up from my knees, take off my panties, and get on the couch. He stuck it in and screwed me for a while. Pretty standard stuff. Fortunately, he stopped pretty quickly, but then he said, "Get up, and bend over the couch." I was still in my black dress, and I started to take it off as I got up. I was pretty sure I knew what he wanted, and I didn't want to get it dirty. He said, "Leave it on!" I hiked up my dress, and I bent over the couch. Sure enough, he started to shove it up my butt. That's when I realized he was really large! Not long, but really thick. I said," "I don't think it's going to fit." He said something like, "Don't try to flatter me, Bitch," or "That's what they all say." "No, really, it's not going to fit. I'm pretty dainty down there." "Well, it's going to fit tonight!" "I thought, I better get some lube and I better get it quick! Fortunately, we were still at my place, so I said," "Yeah, it'll fit if we lube it up real good. My hands will feel great, too." "Frankly, I was trying to avoid having to take something that thick, but he was no dummy." "Yeah, your hands will feel great, but it's still going up your butt!" (About this point in her story, I was really confused about what made this different than rape, but my girlfriend hadn't couched it in those terms, nor did she do so as she continued.) "I began to realize that I didn't like him, but that I liked his commanding ways. He was going to get what he wanted, whether I wanted to or not. It was the same with the boys at the party the other night. Under those conditions, I don't have to think, all I have to do is follow directions and I'm going to get screwed. None of that game playing and posturing like at swinging parties," Questions Answered by Red The biggest reason for doing this essay isn't because I think everyone out there who is reading this is interested in me or even really wishes to know anything about me . . . believe me if you know me . . . I'm anything but conceited and full of myself. The reason for it is because as some know I'm in the Survivor Contest here on Literotica and my personal goal is to write in every category. Reviews and Essays are one of those categories. I will do reviews later I'm sure, but for now I'm writing this essay about me. With that said, let me ask you to back click and go no further if you think this is an essay on erotica adventures that I have led in my life . . . it isn't. This is an essay about RedHairedandFriendly and perhaps a few things you've wondered about me will be answered . . . perhaps not. Call it "thinking highly of myself" or "being full of myself" or just plain . . . "full of shit" but hey . . . you don't have to keep reading either. The most popular question I'm asked is: Are your stories from real-life experiences? The answer to that is a simple, "No." I have not ever had a 3-some, 4-way or dressed up in men's clothing pretending to be a man . . . unless you want to count the times I was a kid and had to play the Prince who rescued the Princess, but come on . . . I had three sisters growing up and no brothers; one of us always played the good guy or the bad guy. So to make it easier on everyone. The only stories that are taken from real life situations are: Car Ride , which is a story about my first and second blow jobs and Helpful Whispers, and the ONLY part of that story that's true is controlling the tear drop, the rest is all fiction. Car Ride Caress is a wonderful story and it is one that my husband and I often think about. Especially when we are heading to my mom's and we take that county road and remember how young we were. I can picture it in my head how we were that day in the car, how nervous and how worried I was he'd think less of me if I gave him a blow job. Funny, I'm sure not nervous now. Helpful Whispers starts out similar to an experience that happened at High School friend's graduation party. I had a crush on this boy named Noel. He was so cute, black hair, black eyes, you couldn't ask for a sexier Mexican to come knocking at your door. He was a god His father was a Psychiatrist and he did show several of us the trick with the crystal teardrop, but that was it; the rest of the story was just something that came to mind. Another question I'm asked is: What is your ultimate fantasy? I answered this honestly to someone once and they laughed at me. It is a simple one I guess . . . at least compared to some fantasies I've written and/or read. I want what many folks to want. I want a 3-way. One man, two women. I know... simple. I don't need public sex. I don't need a rape fantasy. I don't need suspended from a ceiling and flogged, though I wouldn't pass that up either. A nice 3-way with a woman that I trust and a man I trust. That of course leads to the question... Would the man be your husband? Realistically? My husband would hog tie me to the bed, before he let me participate in a threesome with or without him... again... being tied up isn't a bad thing. So, if my husband would be willing then yes with him. What woman? Well, we are talking Ultimate fantasy right? Angelina Jolin or Jeri Ryan ( the actress who played Seven of Nine on Star Trek: Voyager ), would do just FINE Now, if hubby isn't part of the action, realistically I wouldn't participate, but again FANTASY So, I could toss Harrison Ford, a young Sam Elliot ( he's let himself go these days ), Vin Diesel... oh and Wesley Snipes or Denzel Washington... Hell, there are just way to many men to list, so I best just move on . . . Where do my ideas come from, is another question I am often asked. I can honestly tell you I don't sit around and think about sex all day long. Surprised aren't you? My ideas pop into my head from out of the blue usually. In the story The Drive-In, I was at the Drive-In with my family and had lots of free time till the movie started, so I dug out some paper from my husband's folder, that he happened to have in the van at the time, and started writing. I pitched that story, but it left me thinking. The next morning I started writing and I didn't stop except to make a trip into town for something... I have no clue what it was, because the story was on my mind. I had to get home to write it. When I did get home three hours later, I sat down and it was like the world didn't exist. I wrote through the night and into the wee hours of the morning. When I was finished, I read it line by line in order to edit the work. Now, I can answer another question... THIS is my favorite story. The Drive-In is the only story I have ever written that made me come while I wrote it, and I didn't bother taking my hands off the keyboard to have those orgasms. But as I wrote them I experienced them. My breathing became ragged. My skin was flushed. The scent of sex radiated from me and I knew what was happening. There were times when I wrote that story that my fingers were shaking. It was my first of many new things to write about and I really wanted to do my best, so I tried very hard to concentrate on the characters. This was my first group sex story as well as my first lesbian story. I wanted it to come across erotic, fun, romantic, and yet a bit of innocent too. A lot of people relate to a character in this work and I think I do too. I think as I wrote it I was Abby. I could go on and on about this story, but I won't. Are any of my stories based on fantasies I have? Yes, there are. The series 24 Hours started from a conversation I had with a good friend from Literotica. We both thought of how nice it would be to have just 24 Hours where a person could do what they wanted and live a life they wanted and no one would get hurt or be affected once the time was over. The comments I received from readers told me that many online couples would have liked to have just 24 hours, in the end though... one has to ask is 24 hours enough? Another story is Goodbye that is a phone conversation between parting lovers. This story was important to me. I wanted the reader to be able to tell who was saying what, so I appreciate Literotica for taking the time to make sure that happened. I didn't realize at the time that I was using the wrong tags to make the lines appear in Italics, so someone out there took the time to fix it for me. During the Storm is also another one I wrote that was a new style and I hold dear to my heart. This is a letter that was written because the writer could no longer talk to her partner online because of a thunderstorm moving in. It too deals with Italics and again a big "Thank you" to the staff at Lit. With the story Hot and Ready I was driving home when I saw two young men and their friends on the porch of a log cabin. It was a hot summer day and they were shirtless. I thought that it would be nice to just drive up and "play" with those two handsome young men. But, I didn't... at least not in reality. Where is the strangest place you've had sex? I get this question a lot. Strangest place? The riskiest my spouse and I have ever had sex, because he is the only one I've ever had sex with... is behind my parents' barn, on a blanket at night. Wow... how many fantasies did I shatter with that answer? Why did you start writing erotica and how long have you been writing? I have been writing since May 2005. A friend from MSN chat mentioned gave me a link to Literotica and said I needed to read up on fetishes and see if I had any. I never did get around to reading fetishes, but I did read one Humor/Satire story and one Non-Human story. I also glanced through a couple more and thought to myself. . . "I think I could write this." I then wrote: Never Again, which is a story about a wife who seduces her husband and quickly followed it with Finally His, Finally Hers, which is a story of a police officer and a college intern. I will not sit here and tell you they are my finest works. They are full of errors and perhaps one day I'll go through and edit or rewrite them. I have learned a lot since starting this new path I'm on and I'm enjoying it. One of the greatest things I've gotten from this experience is the wonderful letters from fans. I am touched when someone writes me and asks me if I'll write a story for them. Yes! I will write a story for someone, but I don't agree to all stories. If I don't think I can truly portray the person(s)' fantasy then I will apologize and turn them down. My greatest pleasure is trying to write something for someone else. Penny's Passion and Pleasures 1-3, Mark's Party and Alex's Lessons series are stories that I wrote for a Lit. fan that asked me to portray a woman that looked like her exploring the new bisexual desires she was having. In the end I asked this fan's husband if I could write something for him and Mark's Party was the result. A Fantasy Realized 1-3 and Mike's Journal are also two readers' requests. Two different readers. One story is based on newly discovered bisexuality and the involvement of the husband later and the other is about the desires one husband had kept hidden until his wife discovered his secret. I could go on forever when it comes to writing. I enjoy it so very much. I have written in different genres, and a big part of that is because of the Survivor Contest. When I started writing this, I only had three more categories to go: Illustrated, Lesbian, and Group. Right now I don't have a clue what I'll be writing for those, but I hope you find it naughty. In September 2005, I had a box inside me open up. I hadn't written a word of poetry since the age of 12 and then it was only for a school assignment. Suddenly out of nowhere I started spitting poetry out. I don't know why... I don't know what spurred it, but something did... or perhaps someone. My poetry ranges from silly Devil's Journey to very painful Pain Cuts Deep. I try to express what I am feeling and usually that is in rhyme. I've tried free verse... I haven't mastered it yet. But I'll still write poems. When I am sad, it usually takes three poems to get me back to my perky self. Audio stories I haven't done a lot of. They say the creator is their worst critic and perhaps that's the case when it comes to me listening to my own work. I don't think Audio stories will ever be my crowning glory. Finally... I saved the best for last, or if you have lasted this long... the end is in sight. What turns you on? Oh... see what happens when you wait till the end. I wish I could say I've experienced all these things that turn me on, but I can't. What I'm going to tell you are things that turn me on and things I think I would like to try. I love it when my husband runs his fingers through my hair. I can't tell you how many times I have "threatened" to cut it, just so he'd run his fingers through it. I did cut it all off, once. He doesn't go out for donuts when I'm at the hairdresser's anymore. Kiss the back of my neck and I will melt. Tingles will run up and down my spine and even my sex will feel a welcoming wave of delight. Back kisses... OMG! I love back kisses. When you can feel the heat of your partner's breath against your skin, but they aren't yet making contact... and then suddenly they do. I moan and ache for more. Oral sex... My favorite position is 69, what a beautiful number. I love giving and receiving. What more can I say about it? It is hot. Steamy. Erotic. Wonderful. Orgasmic. I get so lost in the emotions that roll through me that I get a bit vigorous in my sucking and well... sometimes I have to be reminded... I have teeth and I need to open wider or slow down, I usually open wider. I love being on top! I love to control the moment. The sensations are more intense too. I can move fast or slow. I can stop when I wish and then quickly start again. Of course there is always that nipple play and clit teasing that can happen. Very nice! My least favorite is doggie style. There isn't a lot of pleasure in it for me. I know many folks like it, but I just don't. I prefer the missionary to this position, but my husband does enjoy it, so I will have sex with him in this position. If I work in fantasies that I like then I can usually come if I stimulate my nipples or my clit. My favorite fantasies to use during sex: Yes. I, like millions of other people in the world, imagine something in my head during sex that adds to my pleasure. It is usually the 3-way fantasy. Lately though I have used a fantasy that involves me being tied up. I enjoy playing the Dominate/submissive fantasy in my head and my husband is slowly opening up to experiencing this with me. I find it rewarding and he knows this. It has taken a lot of patience on both our parts to admit that sometimes... the same ol' way of doing things isn't always the best. This is just a glimpse into my life. There is more to me. I am a mom and a wife, a daughter and a friend. I'm a lover and a writer... (isn't that a song lyric?) No matter what though, I'm me and until someone finds a cure for that, I'll always be me, RedHairedandFriendly. Questions Answered "We didn't go to the party that night. He came over every night that week so that we'd be 'familiar' with each other, he said, by the next party, which was in two weeks. The second week I would answer the door naked when he rang. I pretty much expected to get bossed around and get screwed in every hole again, but he didn't touch me that night. Nope, he brought over a friend that was very 'excited' to meet me, and he was also going to the party at the end of the week – the implication was that we, too, should get familiar. So that guy screwed the hell out of me. The next night, another friend, but that night they both screwed me, including an awkward double penetration," "I thought it strange that he hadn't brought over any of my old friends yet, but I thought it was just coincidence that I didn't know those two guys. The next night, he comes alone and says that we almost 'forgot' to practice something. He spends the next hour trying to fist fuck my cunt, and it took a full hour to get it in. It was quite clinical, but I had heard of other women doing that, and now I knew I could do it, too. It didn't do anything for me that first time, but since then, it's been a real mind blower!" I thought, hell, we'd never done that, and it sounds like she's done it more than once, we should try it. I didn't interrupt her, however, because she wasn't done with her story. "Did you make it to the party?" "We did, but it was not like I expected. People were nice to me, but they weren't outgoing or including of us. The guy pretty much had me to himself, although at one point he fisted me – he was showing off -- and that got the attention of pretty much everyone there. It stimulated a lot of wanking and cumming all around us. When we were done, the hostess came over and took me aside. She was all, like," "How have you been, it's been a long time, and who are you with?" "I thought, that's strange, he'd been here more recently than me. Surely, she knows him and his friends. The hostess said, "What friends?" "I told her about the two guys, but that they hadn't shown up at the party yet. The hostess said, "Oh, honey, I've never seen your date before in my life, and I asked everyone else here at the party, and no one else knows him either. I'm willing to bet that I don't know his friends, either." Well, as I listened to my girlfriend, I felt sorry for her. Apparently, so did the hostess. My girlfriend said that the hostess suggested that she spend the night, and they sent the guy packing. She slept with the host and hostess, and she had sex with the host. The hostess asked her if she wanted some girl-on-girl, but my girlfriend had said, "No." I reminded Marie that she had liked the come-on from the clerk at the hotel. "That's different. She was commanding. At this party, the hostess just asked me – if she had commanded me, who knows, I probably would have eaten her." "What happened next?" "Nothing. I pretty much dropped the swinging scene. It was kind of a humiliating finale. I wasn't as confident as I used to be after that, and you have to be confident to be into swinging. That was pretty much it with "old" people – until you." "Really?" "Pretty much. Sometimes guys at work would try to date me, or guys on an airplane. Like I said, I'd pretty much turn down anyone under thirty, then it was under forty, now it's, like, anyone under fifty." "How did the dates work out?" "Not well. The older guys on planes tended to be drunk and boring. I'd be sitting there, getting all horny in anticipation, but still bored out of my mind. Then, in the room, I'd cum, and they'd be, like, taking forever. They'd take too long to cum – even for me. I'd have to think up ways to help them cum faster. Like, if I started talking dirty about myself, or if I said that they were too big and that they were hurting me -- that would get them going faster every time. But, after a while, it wasn't worth the delay and the shower at an airport hotel," "At work, they were mostly older engineers and contractors. No matter how old they were, they were just immature. No sense of humor. No sense of tact. Just dinner – sometimes not even that – and then fumbling in the car, or they'd make me blow them in a taxi just to show off, and then awkward scenes back at the apartment. I usually couldn't wait for them to leave. Sometimes I'd embarrass them enough so that they'd shrivel up and go away, but I've got to admit, sometimes I went down on them or I let them screw me just to get it over with." "Were you ever raped?" "Nope, never. On the other hand, I've probably slept with guys that I wouldn't have because they would have done something to me before the night was over, but I wouldn't call it rape – just bad taste on my part – sometimes literally. Heck, one contractor literally tasted like garlic in his semen." That was it for me. I couldn't take anymore. She sensed that I was reacting negatively, but I said that I was tired and that it was enough for tonight. I thanked her for telling me so much, but inwardly, I wished that she hadn't. I had to get back home, anyway. As I left she said, "You're going to be thinking about this aren't you?" And she was right. I couldn't get it out of my head that my girlfriend had been a whore, even if she hadn't gotten paid. But she wasn't a whore. It was swinging, and "dating." It was a legitimate experience. I knew I had to work this out, but it was hard. I began to avoid her. Then, I realized that I was alienated because I hadn't shared those experiences with her – otherwise, I'd have been cool with it. I had never done the swinging scene. Then the big idea hit: Go to a swinging club with her! Marie turned that proposal down flat. "No! Besides, what they say is that the men initiate reluctant partners, and then the women don't want to quit when the guys do." I took this to be a veiled threat: Get her back into swinging and she'll like it, and I won't. I got a devious idea: Let's make it so that she doesn't like it. Knock the bitch down a peg or two. Invite a couple of my friends over, and see just how much humiliation she can take. No, bad idea. Too angry, and I've got to face my friends after she's gone – better make it strangers. Go to Las Vegas, enlist a couple of horny guys. Pick out young, energetic guys, and put her through her paces. Far fetched as it was, that's exactly what I pulled off. We had a "getaway" in Las Vegas. The theme of that trip was in keeping with "anything goes in Las Vegas." She had already agreed to do whatever I wanted (actually, she always does, anyway.) For instance, she'd pretend she was my prostitute the whole time. She'd dress in short skirts and chokers (if I bought them -- she'd never be caught dead in them otherwise.) Oh, and she'd wear mascara (normally, she never does.) And that's what we did. We spent the first day in catch-up mode, fucking our brains out. The second night we went out and gawked at the sights. Nobody on the street seemed interested in us, more particularly, they didn't seem interested in my girlfriend. I was getting depressed, but then I realized that the bars we passed were looking out onto the street. There were lots of guys looking out on the passersby, no doubt checking out the women. My girlfriend was getting tired of walking the streets, so to speak, so I picked the next available bar – nearly below our hotel -- and I said we needed to get something to drink. I got us a booth, and left her to get drinks. I dawdled, and watched the guys checking her out. I returned with the drinks. She said, "Where's the water?" "It's a bar. Drink up." I got up to go for more drinks, leaving her alone again. I dawdled. I noticed two guys at the bar clearly checking her out and talking about her. I acted like I was trying to get the bartender's attention, and I sidled up to the two guys. I didn't hear anything obvious about my girlfriend, so I said, "I see you've been checking out my date. She'd appreciate the attention." I thought, what the hell, go for it. So I said, "She's a mother-I'd-like-to-fuck if ever there was one." Actually, she had never given birth, but the metaphor struck a chord with these guys. They were agreeing and grunting, "Oh yeah!" "Fuck yeah!" They seemed to find lots of use for the word "fuck." These were my kind of guys. "If you want to fuck her, I'm sure she'd appreciate it. I've basically bought and paid for her, but I'm older than you guys and she's worn me out. Time she got worn out. You two look like you've got some stamina. Our hotel room is right above us. You in?" I didn't expect to be turned down, and I wasn't. "Fuck yeah!" they said. What they lacked in eloquence could be made up by zeal, I thought. "Well, you gotta know so things about her or the deal is off. One, don't ask her anything. She'll freeze up and get uncomfortable. She's shy. Just tell her what to do and when to do it. The bossier, the better. Be commanding. On the other hand, this is really important, don't fuck her until she's ready. Get her ready by kissing her neck, rubbing her tits, and her cunt, that sort of stuff. Just a finger or two in her cunt, not far, but if she's really, really wet then she's ready and you can fuck her, but you have to use lots of lube, even if she's wet. If she gets dry, she'll stop the whole thing. And be careful not to hurt her or she'll have you out of there in a second!" They were all ears, but I was afraid they were possibly too drunk or too dimwitted to remember all this. I knew I was giving to many directions, but I wanted this to work. "Same with her butt. Go really, really slow, but once you're in you can fuck her like a rag doll. Gotta use condoms. She'll freak otherwise, and the deal is off. Never, never get cum near her cunt – she's fertile." True, I thought – not a problem for me, I had a vasectomy, but with younger guys it added some tension. "You can cum in her mouth, on her face, in her hair, or up her butt, but never in her cunt. Actually, use a condom in her butt, too – she's clean, but sometimes she's allergic to cum and she'll get the farts really bad." Now, how to explain it to my girlfriend? Well, I couldn't come up with anything, so I just said to the two guys, "Follow me." I stopped by the booth, and got Marie, and we were out the door, onto the street, and into the lobby of the hotel in no time. Marie kept looking back, wondering why two guys were following us. All I said was, "They're with us." When we all got in the elevator, I knew it was going to be an uncomfortable ride, so I said, "Don't look at them, it's not polite." She looked down. Ding. We got off, I unlocked the room door, and I sort of shoved Marie inside. I held the door for the gentleman. I got us drinks. I nuzzled Marie's neck and rubbed her bare arms. I got behind her and spooned against her. I kept telling her to look down. She was acting very submissive. I waved the guys over. We encircled her, and we let nature take its course. I pulled her clothing off. I reminded her not to look up at them. That seemed to help her relax. They really started getting into it once she was standing naked before us. I could tell because, besides, "Fuck yeah," and "Fucking alright," they had stripped and they had erections. I got the lube and squirted some on their hands (I wasn't going to touch their cocks) and onto my own hand. I lubed up my girlfriend. I made it obvious that I lubed inside her cunt and that I gave extra special attention to lubing her asshole. She must have known what was coming. I suggested that she should kneel down, close her eyes, and open her mouth. That, too, suited her just fine. The guys needed no instruction. They started fucking her mouth, one after the other. It was an amazing sight. She knew exactly what to do. The fact that they were strangers seemed to make no difference. She sucked them fast, she sucked them slow, she sucked them deep, and she sucked them until they came. Then she did something she had never done to me. She sucked on one guy's balls. Clearly, I was seeing that old swinging behavior. I had no idea it would be that easy. They made her lie down and they fucked her cunt. She was beginning to get vocal, and she moaned softly. One guy rolled her over and he made like he was going to fuck her ass. It would have been hard in that position. Marie didn't say anything, but she seemed to know exactly what to do. She got up on her knees and presented her butt to him. I had to admit: She really knew how to do it. She looked back at him – actually, back at his cock – as if reassessing the situation. You know, heights, angles, and trajectories. She was clearly a pro at this. Then she scooted over to the couch, hopped up, and put her knees on the cushion and her head down. She couldn't have made it clearer if she had wiggled her butt. It was obvious what he was supposed to do. He stood up behind her, and he had a clear shot at either her cunt or her asshole. Of course he chose her asshole and, in that position, he slid right in. She made excited grunting sounds, and she reached back to grab his cock. The guy grabbed her arm, and he reached for the other. (I thought, so much for her technique!) He pulled her arms back for leverage as he thrust up her butt. She really responded vocally to that, and she made crying and wailing sounds, but there was no doubt that she was very, very turned-on. She made a beautiful sight: Back arched, head thrown back, poised on her knees, arms pinioned by a guy butt fucking her like there was no tomorrow. She must have been getting looser. The guy slipped out. He started to take off his condom. I shook my head, "No," and he kept it on, put it back in, and screwed her butt some more. She yelped when he reinserted, but her arousal picked up again very quickly. The other guy had been left out. He was sitting on a wing chair watching. I motioned to the couch and pointed to her. I pointed to her mouth, cunt, and ass in that order. I tapped the guy screwing her ass on the shoulder. He got the point and stopped. I didn't have to say a word. The seated guy talked roughly to Marie. "Crawl over here, Bitch!" She started to look at him with an expression, like, who's telling me what to do, but she thought better of it. She complied so submissively that it sort of made me sick. She did crawl over, and she started going down on him with her mouth, even though he hadn't given her further instruction. I was actually jealous at that point, because I could imagine only too well what her warm, sucking mouth must have felt like. She pulled off to breathe, but then she would masturbate him with her long silky fingers. It was almost like affectionate foreplay. He stood up and moved behind her. She, still kneeling, laid her tits on the chair. She reached back and separated her cheeks for him. Or was it for her? It was a highly erotic sight. Both her cunt and her ass were slightly agape, and they beckoned for penetration. She looked like some kind of scabbard to the cock-sword positioned by her ass. He stuffed himself into her asshole. He hadn't put on a condom. She stiffened, arched her back, and I thought the deal might be off. He shoved her back down. She didn't come up again. Then, he was pumping away. She wasn't resisting. She began making that "Oh. Oh. Oh," sound. She reached back and grabbed his cock. She must have known then that he didn't have a condom on. She reached around with her other hand and held her ass cheek. She started jerking him off with that two-handed technique while he fucked her ass. The guy didn't disappoint me. He said aloud, "What a fucking whore!" I thought so, too. Then, it was time. I gestured to the other guy that he could take his condom off. He made a big show of ripping it off, but I'm not sure that she even noticed. I squirted lube directly on his cock, and he immediately started stroking himself. He got really large. I tapped the other guy on the shoulder, and gestured, "Hurry up." I couldn't believe how fast he pistoned in and out of her ass. I didn't think that it was possible. Marie got a concerned look on her face, but it was clearly a pain/pleasure thing. She made spasmodic grunting sounds and said, "Oh my god, oh my god," over and over again. The guy bellowed as he came. Marie shuttered. Clearly, the bitch had orgasmed from an ass fuck. I motioned him out. The second guy was always the mouthy one, and, still stroking himself, he said, "I'm going to fuck the shit out of you, Bitch!" The odd thing is, he kept talking and he hadn't moved. My girlfriend broke her silence, and said, "Fuck me! Fuck me!" She sounded desperate. That got him to fuck her. He slipped easily into her ass, despite the fairly large size of his cock. He taunted her, "Fuck my cock, whore. Take this you piece of shit." He'd ram it in hard, and stop, ram, and stop. Finally, he rammed her ass to the hilt and he held it there. His face turned red, then he exploded with expletives. Undoubtedly, he unleashed a great load up her butt. Marie had been still for most of that fucking, but when he froze, she began to buck and jerk like she was getting electrocuted. Another orgasm! I motioned him away. We all watched her asshole slowly shrink close while she lay panting like a dog – it was like watching a sunset. I didn't know if she'd react to their cum or not. I sat her up. I got her water. I suggested that we all dress, but I barked at her, "Not you!" She was amazingly upbeat, and she said she felt great. She looked relaxed. She said, "Thanks, guys!" I thought she had been treated pretty roughly, but it seemed to agree with her. She was relaxed and in that post-orgasmic glow. Just when I thought nothing was going to happen, I noticed that she suddenly put her legs together tightly, and she sat rigidly upright. I said, "It's time to say goodnight to our friends." I got up. Marie stayed seated. The guys got up and they grabbed their pants. That gave me an idea. "That's not nice, Marie, thank them for the nice time before they leave." I half-dragged her off the sofa and onto her knees while I mimed unzipping my fly to the guys. One guy got it immediately. He pulled out his cock and stroked it a few times. Like before, she crawled right over and sucked on it without command. I told the other guy that he should get one last look at her cunt before he went. He went to the business end of my girlfriend. Her legs were together, so I literally grabbed on a knee and pulled. He grabbed the other knee to spread them apart. She would have fallen on her stomach, except that her mouth was pinned to the other guy's cock. In that position, she nearly choked on it. Then it came. One loud wet fart, followed by several fartlets. She stopped sucking and started to get up. I pushed her head back down on the guy's cock. She farted loudly again. I grabbed her arm and stood her up. I said to her, "Does someone need to use the bathroom?" She looked eager. "Then escort our friends to the door." She looked utterly mortified to have farted in front of them, but she did as told. I hastened them to finish dressing and get out. She kind of followed them around, helping to get their remaining items. She made several little farts. The guys did a great job of guffawing over her farts while they dressed. Marie lost the lightness in her demeanor. I could see that she was deeply embarrassed. I opened the door, and motioned her over. I told her to say goodnight to the guys. A couple was walking down the corridor and they could easily see my naked girlfriend holding the door for the two guys, now fully dressed, as they approached the door and left. Inwardly, I relished how humiliated that must have made her feel. I turned and went into the bathroom. I had to pee, but I really wanted to delay her trip to the bathroom. I finished, flushed, and rejoined my girlfriend. She was pacing, and she headed for the bathroom. I was still in the doorway, and I gestured like I was going to hug her. She looked at me kind of defeated, and said, Questions Answered "I have to go to the bathroom." If looks could tell, I'd say she knew she was not going to get permission. I just said, "Give me a hug first. Okay. Now, come here," and I beckoned toward the toilet. It was just the two of us, now, but she had never really farted in front of me before. She shuffled over and gingerly began to sit on the commode. She was farting as she began to sit. I took out my cock and I stroked it like it was a Billy club in front of her face. She started to say something, but she stopped as my cock entered her mouth. Her hands came up to grab my cock, but I said, "No hands." Her hands dropped to her sides. She looked up and gave me a questioning look while her lips enclosed around my cock again. She didn't move. She waited. She closed her eyes. I knew more cum must have been trickling out of her holes. I reminded her that I hadn't come yet. She nodded that she understood, and she started bobbing up and down on my cock. I took my time, savoring the feeling of her mouth. Finally, I said, "It's time." She kind of wiggled in anticipation, but she lost her enthusiasm when I grabbed her chin with one hand and the back of her head with the other hand. She knew she was in for trouble, and I didn't disappoint her. I started using her mouth vigorously. She gagged several times, and she would involuntarily whip her head back off my cock. I slapped her affectionately and returned my hand to her chin. I pulled her closer to me. I pistoned in and out faster and faster. She gagged again and jerked away. She looked like she was not having a good time, but I said, "This is fun. You're farting the cum of two strangers, and you're giving me a 'no-hands' blow job. Having fun?" Incredibly, she nodded, and mouthed the words, "Fuck, yeah!" over my cock. "Would you like me to get someone else to fuck you tonight?" Again, she responded with a nod and a half-intelligible mumble. "Yeah!" She was enthusiastic. She was really getting into this. I slapped her lightly across the cheek and said, "Then let's get this whore cleaned up again." I turned on the shower. I could hardly believe that she was game for another go-round, so, to be sure, I said, "Just keep you mouth shut unless there's a cock in it, and don't look at me or anyone else." Instantly, she looked down. She knew how to play this came. I adjusted the shower, and I began to rinse her down. I stuck my finger up her ass. No resistance. I stuck two fingers up her ass. None. Nada. Then I stuck all, but my thumb up her ass. Open highway. I was astounded. I said, "You've been ass fucked a lot in your day haven't you?" She started to look up, and then remembered to keep her head down while answering, "Yeah, I guess." I mentally vowed to make the next go-around even rougher for her, but I wasn't sure how to do that. We went into the same bar, but it seemed pretty tame. We left. We walked another half-a-block, and passed an alley. I backtracked, and took the alley. Everything in Las Vegas is well lighted, so it wasn't private, but it was just off the beaten path. I had the instinct to wait. As if on cue, three teens came around the corner. The looked like they were older than eighteen, but not much. It turned out two were nineteen and one was eighteen going on nineteen. One of them had a birthday, and they had come to Las Vegas to get laid and drunk. They had little success so far in getting liquor, but their luck in getting laid was about to change. I gestured to them, and pointed to her. Marie literally groaned, and looked away, very embarrassed, no doubt. The boys hadn't said anything yet. I slapped Marie lightly on the cheek and I pointed to the pavement. She looked down. The boys came over. I said, "Looking to get laid?" Predictably, they responded with a chorus of, "Fuck yeah!" They were drooling over my girlfriend. I assumed they thought she was a whore. "Well, today's your birthday!" That brought laughs from all, because it was one of their birthday's. I thought, let's not complicate this, so I said, "Lucky day, then it's free. Follow us." I grabbed Marie's hand and pulled her along at a pace uncomfortably fast for her high heels. Like before, she turned around to see if they were following, although I didn't. I just assumed they would follow, and indeed they did. Now, it was my turn to feel awkward while taking the elevator with three teens and my girlfriend. These guys could not plausibly buy a room in this hotel. Other passengers got on and got off. One of the three put his hand on Marie's breast. That emboldened the others. One groped her butt cheeks. One ran his hand up the inside of her legs. More passengers got on. The women passengers kind of frowned their disgust. That slowed the teens down very little. Marie, bless her heart, remembered to keep her mouth shut and her eyes down. The male passengers didn't hesitate to check Marie out. She wasn't making eye-contact, and these kids were pawing at her. One of the male passengers couldn't resist dabbing his hand between her cheeks when a teen hiked her dress up again. The guy brought his hand up to his nose and the others in his party snorted with laughter. She didn't look up. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was a whore. I had always kind of suspected it, except that, in keeping with her account of her past, no money was changing hands tonight. She was doing this because she was a slut and she liked it. I hoped to disabuse her of that attitude before the night was through. We got off on our floor. I led the way. Two of the guys now pulled her along by her hands and arms. They were happy to have her as their sex toy. The other was extremely immature. He swatted at her butt with his hands and giggled as we walked the corridor. We got into the room, closed the door, and I said, "You can pretty much do anything you want to her, but I forewarn you, I'm hungry and I'm going to dinner in an hour so get to it." They jumped on her and they jostled one another trying to get at her. She was knocked down or fell down, and she half propped herself up on the coffee table. They hadn't bothered to get her dress off. One of them was trying to shove his cock down her throat, and that impeded the guy that had slid her dress up and ripped off her undies while trying to shove his cock into her cunt. The sound of ripping must have gotten to the immature guy. He grabbed her dress at the neck and pulled hard. My girlfriend looked alarmed at the idea of losing a dress. It didn't give way easily, and she was pulled across the coffee table. She looked like a slab of meat with the three teens around her. I had to intervene. "Everyone, stop! Take off your clothes." I turned, and I went to get the lube. Like my girlfriend had always said, she needed lots and lots of lube. Marie was the slowest to undress, and I helped her as I sat the tube of lube down on the coffee table. I shoved it over in the direction of the closest hard cock, and he needed no further instruction. Marie started to get up to hang up her dress. "Where do you think you're going? Lie back down, and shove some of that lube up your ass and cunt!" She resumed her position on the coffee table. I put the tube of lube in front of her hands, and I took her dress and tossed it on the floor. She took a finger-full and reached back to her ass, and under to her cunt. She was too slippery to make much progress, so I said, "You lube him," gesturing to a nearby cock, "and I'll lube you." Her hands went around a cock. The third guy immediately came over to get in on the action. The first guy watched me lube her up. It looked like he could barely wait. I separated her cheeks and lubed her up good while she stroked lube on the other two cocks. She looked ridiculous sprawled on her stomach across the coffee table with her hands masturbating guys that were way too young for her. I thought to myself, "Good!" I was afraid that they were losing their aggressive edge, so I said to Marie, "Where do you want them to fuck you?" and I shoved a couple of fingers in her asshole just to give her a hint. She said, "In my ass. In my ass." (I thought, she didn't need to repeat it. This was a shared fantasy, after all!) "And how do you want them to fuck you?" I moved my fingers in and out rapidly. On cue, Marie said, "Fast and hard." Great, I thought. That should get them going. I looked at the guys and gestured, "have at her," but I intoned, "Don't draw any blood – seriously, any blood and I'm calling the cops – but you can treat her pretty damn rough short of blood." Marie looked at me, despite our agreement, and her look said, "Have you lost your mind?" I simply reminded her aloud, in front of the guys, "You keep your mouth shut unless there is a cock in it, and look down." Her eyes dropped to the floor. I motioned to the guys again. The immature guy broke the ice. He impulsively spanked my girlfriend several times. He laughed with glee when she jerked and yelped in surprise. I said, "She likes that!" He renewed the spanking. I mimed spanking my own hand very rapidly, and he began wailing away on Marie's behind. She was squirming and protesting as best she could, but the other two objected when she pulled her hands off their cocks. One got up and literally pushed the immature guy aside. He shoved his cock in and started jack hammering away at my girlfriend. From my position, I couldn't tell whether he was in her cunt or in her ass. As I went to separate her cheeks to look, the immature guy made a flying leap and knocked the guy fucking Marie down across her back. She grunted, as his cocked must have speared in even deeper. I thought, "This is unreal." I said, "Hold it boys. There is room for everybody." I said, to my girlfriend, "Get up." She backed up, still impaled on the guy's cock. She turned around as if to say, "Excuse me!" so I had to remind her to look down. He pulled out anyway, and she hobbled her way over to the sofa under my guidance. I motioned for one guy to sit down. I put my girlfriend on her knees and said, "Suck him!" She looked particularly slutty as her head bobbed on the head of a cock on a guy way too young for her while the other two watched and salivated. I said to her, "Sit on his cock." She turned around, and lowered herself. Her old training must have kicked in, because she steadied his cock with one hand and she didn't miss alignment with her cunt. I said, "Wrong hole," and then added, gratuitously, "Bitch!" She looked startled at those words, but she slid up, moved forward, and then slid back down on his cock in one smooth movement. I thought, good! She's still very, very loose. I pushed her back onto the guy's chest. She grimaced, as the guy's cock was very rigid and unbending. I motioned to the guy next to me to get into her cunt. He was in, and they both started moving. I motioned to the third guy (the immature guy) to put his cock in her mouth. He gave that maniacal laugh and started fucking her mouth. He had no sense of rhythm or tact. He poked out her cheeks, he gagged her throat, and he'd slip out and was all over her nose and face. She broke our rule and looked at him with a look like, "What-the-fuck are you doing?" Mostly, though, she was grunting, whining, and making animal-like noises. It was hard to tell which cock was having the stronger effect on her. I reminded them that I had to go to dinner, and that they'd better hurry. That had the desired effect. The motion picked up in frequency. Now, Marie was making sounds of either distress or greater passion, it was hard to tell which. I said, "Switch." They knew what I meant instantly. Shuffling of bodies, and they were at it again. I said, "Switch" and they moved into the third combination. I said, "Free-for-all" and I let them do whatever they felt like. They moved her around like a rag doll. She never protested. They never hit her, and they never really treated her rough, other than giving her a vigorous fucking. I realized that I actually was very hungry and that they were not nearly done breaking her down. I got an idea. "Tell you what. I'll order room service for dinner, and give you a little more time." No one was listening -- just lots of grunts, slaps, slurps, and gagging going on. Of course, I could have just called room service, but I wanted to see what they'd do while I was gone. I dressed, and left the room, slamming the door behind me – otherwise, I wasn't sure they'd notice. I asked for a room service menu at the front desk, and I actually ordered up a dinner for Marie and me. They would deliver it in twenty-minutes. (I almost asked them to make it later than that.) I went back upstairs. I waited by the door, but I could make no sense of the noises. After a few minutes of waiting, I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, but no one came to the door. Then lots of footsteps. They were running in the room! I thought: We're going to get kicked out for this! I used my key and opened the door. I was confronted with quite a spectacle. Marie was standing, held in the arms of one guy. She was kind of slumped over on his fingers as he masturbated her. The others were across the room. She was sweating. She looked like she had just run over there. The guy shoved her into the middle of the room. The two other guys raced to see who would get to her first. One of them wrested her away from the other, and then he was feeling her up. They ignored my return, just as they had my departure. They were on a hunt. Marie had a fatlip. Her hair was disheveled. She was sweating profusely. She had a feral look in her eye. One guy shoved her to her knees and she started to suck his cock. (I thought, so she knows how to play this game, too.) A second guy tackled him, and his cock was ripped out of her mouth. The third guy grabbed her up, and literally tossed her on the couch so hard that she bounced off it and landed on the floor again. The guy that had been tackled was up, and he was on her in an instant. He was fucking her like there was no tomorrow, and she was thrashing around. She was really into it. (I had been right to find some virile youth!) The immature guy came up and he slapped her face a little harder than a love tap. I got the impression that he liked to do that too much. I thought, that was probably how she got the fat lip. (It wasn't. She later told me that she had bumped into an elbow "accidentally.") I had to intervene. I said to the guy that was uninvolved at the moment, "Are you going to let him treat a lady like that?" "Fuck no!" He hauled off and slugged the immature guy in the arm and neck, which got a response of, "Why'd you do that?" Lucky Marie, I thought, she had three guys fighting over her -- when they weren't fucking her. These guys had way more testosterone than I had counted on, but I did seem to have had the effect on my girlfriend that I had hoped for. She was a wreck. She wasn't crying, but she wasn't having a leisurely swoon from gentle love making either. I said, "Hold it everyone. Room service is bringing up for dinner for two, so you three are going to have to go, but before you go, I think she needs to be nice to you to make it up to you. You each get to ask her for anything you want before you go and she'll do it, and, she gets to ask for anything." Marie spoke up first, and said, "I want them all to leave." "That's against the rules. You and they get to think up what they're going to do you sexually, now, hurry up!" This last comment was to all of them. Predictably, one said, "I want to fuck her ass again." "You have to say that to her, and she has to be nice to you." He got the point, and he looked at her and said, "I want to ass fuck you," and he laughed nervously. My girlfriend looked like a mad witch. Her hair was askew, her mascara made rings around her eyes. She was seething with emotions, but I couldn't tell what those emotions were. She shuffled nervously and said, "Get it over with," but she didn't move. He had to position her on her hands and knees. She submitted dumbly. I went to get lube, but then I thought, the hell with it, it appeared that they hadn't used any since I left, anyway. The guy shoved his cock up her butt and started pumping away at a leisurely pace. I reminded him that room service was coming. He picked up the pace. I went around and looked at my girlfriend. She gave no sign of emotion as he pumped faster and faster. She made an occasional guttural cry or whimper. On the other hand, she couldn't stifle a big shutter when he came in her ass. He pulled out, and she turned around to face the others. I said, "Who wants what?" The immature guy said, "I want to punch her tits." I thought: Where the fuck does this guy get this stuff? "No, you can't punch her tits." I'm sure my girlfriend was very relieved, but then I thought I'd tease her. "You can slap them." The idiot giggled and smiled. My girlfriend covered her tits. "No, you can't do that either," I turned to my girlfriend, "Is there something else you'd suggest?" "He can fuck my mouth again." "But it's his turn to choose, and if he wants to slap your tits, take your hands down, or, if there's something else you'd like him to do, tell him." My girlfriend got the point: Better make it good a choice. She lowered her hands and turned away from me and toward the immature guy. "You can cum on my face." I thought, boy, she could really read this guy's desires! The immature guy started jerking off with blinding speed. He came quickly. She jerked backward after the first glob hit her forehead. "Now, it missed your face!" I scooped some up off her chest and rubbed it across her mouth and face. "Okay, that's enough. We've got one more request, don't we?" The last guy said that he wanted to fuck her in the ass again. "That request has already been taken. Make another." He said he didn't have another request. "Well, then, we'll make it a different sort of ass fuck." Marie had a questioning look on her face. I positioned her so that she was sitting on the sofa with pillows behind her back. Her crotch was near the edge. I shoved the coffee table back and motioned the guy to his knees in front of her. This time, I motioned for him to lube. He lubed up his cock. I pulled Marie's knee toward me. The guy on the other side pulled the other knee toward him. The double opening of her cunt and ass was revealed. The guy needed no encouragement. He leaned forward, and he was up her ass. She groaned, and mewled and made all sorts of animal sounds. I thought, let's make this even more difficult for her. "Now, I want you to look at him, not down." To him I said, "Tell her what she feels like." He could barely talk, however, because he was beginning to piston in and out very quickly. She was looking at him with a look of passion. His mouth was open, but nothing came out except grunts. Her mouth was opened, and she grunted in time to him. She got a look of even greater passion, and she reached out spontaneously and grabbed him around the waist, holding him to her as he picked up speed. She started to cum, and she looked tortured as she orgasmed. I said to her, "Masturbate him." She placed her hands on his shaft and they got slippery with the lube. She started stroking him as he pistoned in and out of her ass. He hadn't cum yet, and he looked at her fiercely and started yelling at her, "Bitch! Bitch! Oh you fucking Bitch!" Her eyes locked on his, and she was cumming again. She stroked her hands faster, saying, "Oh! Oh! Oh!" to his invectives. Questions Answered He came big time, and she came again. I thought she was going to faint. As he fell back, she looked down between her legs and she saw what must have been nine inches of cock slide slowly out of her anus and through her fingers. Her rectum clung to the shaft of his cock like an obscene kiss. She began to relax her torso, but her ass stayed agape without shutting. I thought I saw a look of deep passion across her face. I had to hurry because room service really was coming. I asked her to say what she wanted. She couldn't think of anything. (I didn't think she could even talk, at that point.) I had to suggest something. "Do you want them to pee on you?" I don't know why. It was the first thing that came in my mind. She already had ropes of cum across her face and hair, and I didn't think that they could cum anymore. I expected that she had already taken quite a few loads up her ass and cunt. She was likely to start shitting from all the cum, anyway, and the shower seemed an appropriate place. She didn't respond, but she didn't object. I wondered if she had done this before. I led her by the hand off the couch and into the bathroom. She stepped into the shower. I made her kneel. The guys just watched as a submissive bimbo did what she was told. They didn't realize that they were bimbos, too. "Don't just stand there, piss on her." Only then did they jump into gear. It took a surprisingly long time for one, then the other, and then the last to get a stream going. On the other hand, I relished the fact that she had to wait. I can only imagine that she dreaded it, but what did I know about what she thought tonight? In short order, she was drenched. The door bell rang. I told the guys to get dressed and get out. I said to Marie, "Wait here." I let room service in and I pointed to the coffee table, which, to my surprise, was lying on its side. The room must have smelled of sex. The jar of lube was still open and clearly visible. The waiter was an older Hispanic guy. I thought: Oh well, waiters have seen it all. The waiter straighten the coffee table and he moved his cart closer. The three guys were going around the room looking for their clothing as they dressed. I realized the waiter must have thought we were a bunch of twinks, and I couldn't let that stand! I went into the bathroom and grabbed Marie. She was in a bad shape. For one thing, she hadn't moved. She hadn't made an effort to dry off. Except for the smell, it looked like she had just taken a shower, so I grabbed a bathtowel and pulled her out into the room naked. Now, the waiter could see that we were with this ... what ... with this whore. Marie didn't say a word, she just held my hand while the waiter finished. I motioned for her to sit on the couch. I offered her the towel and she wrapped herself as demurely as she could, but her matted and cum-streaked bush was clearly visible to the waiter as she sat. The guys were nearly out the door by the time the waiter was hemming for the tip. I said to my girlfriend, "Thank the guys." She started to get up, but I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. She said in a weak voice, "Thanks, guys." One of them yelled, "Thank you!" and they closed the door behind them. I fumbled around in my pockets for a tip, and I was truly embarrassed to be short. Of course, I could have put it on the tab, but I said to the waiter, "I'm sure you've been through this before. If you'd like, I'll step out and the lady can give you the tip." The waiter said, in the most formal tone, "Well, thank you very much sir." He made no effort to leave. I walked to the door and stood outside for the second time that night. It takes a lot longer than you'd expect when you're waiting for a guy to cum in your girlfriend's mouth. Eventually, the door opened and the guy wheeled his cart out and nodded his goodbye with a serene look on his face. I re-entered the room and Marie was slumped on the floor between the couch and the coffee table with her head on the couch. I wasn't quite sure how they had done it, so I asked. She said that she sat on the couch and gave him a blow job, but that he took too long. She had him sit, and she kneeled so that she could stroke him into her mouth until he blew. She said that he got very aggressive and rough with her as he was cumming. (I thought, if it was rougher than she'd been treated so far, then that was pretty rough!) Her eyes watered as she continued. His cum had tasted foul, she said. She went to grab a napkin off the coffee table and his hand shot up to her throat and he began to choke her. He shook her and said angrily, "Don't touch the table!" (Of course he'd say that, I thought. It was his job to makeup the table, and she was a whore whose job it was to swallow his cum.) "Swallow it, Bitch!" and he had held her jaw shut tightly with his hand and he looked fiercely in her eyes. She said, "I almost panicked, because it was really thick and it wasn't going down easily. His grip was too tight on my neck. I haven't been choked like that in a long time. I thought he was going to hurt me." I thought: Remind me what's the right amount of tightness when I choke you, Bitch! – I've never done that to you. Who else has? Marie said that, then, he was nice to her, again, and he had said formally, "Thank you very much," while he zipped up. Marie said to me, "I never want to do that ever again." I wasn't sure if she meant tipping the waiter, or getting gangbanged twice in an evening. I'd had hoped that she would have felt done with all of it, but I had seen her rebound so well from such shitty treatment tonight that I suspected she meant only that she didn't like bartering sex for a tip. We ate dinner in silence. I didn't know about her, but I didn't want to go through sex with strangers again. I was thinking of leaving her for good that night, but I remembered how great it had been up until then. Finally, I realized that she was showing me what she wanted from me, and that I was the one that was slow on the uptake. It was up to me to make the next move. I saw clearly now, that she expected me to be commanding and in control around everything sexual and without limit. I thought to myself: I can do that. I grabbed Marie by the chin and said, "As long as you do everything I want, and when I want, in private, then that's the last of group sex." In that meek, submissive voice, she replied, "I guess," and she smiled coquettishly. Questions, Answers & Consequences Authors Note: I wish to thank readers for their voting and comments on my previous submissions. It certainly keeps me motivated and thinking outside the square. I've written this story in a different style would appreciate any feedback. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I've enjoyed writing it. Regards Bazzza * Jonathon Rowland Dillon, better known as JD to his friends stepped out onto the asphalt as the heavy doors clanged closed behind him. He took a deep breath, held it in and savoured it. It was so different from the stale fetid air of the prison that had incarcerated him for the last two years, and which now stood only feet behind him. A sense of relief and freedom overwhelmed him as he gazed out into the winter twilight before him. Suddenly, headlights were switched on and a vehicle moved slowly from the car park towards where he was standing. JD recognised the limo as it swept around and stopped next to him. He smiled as a massive figure uncurled itself from the driver's seat and approached him. "Hey Monty, its good to see you man." JD said as he held out his hand. The six foot five, African American grasped JD's hand in and embraced him with the other. "It's good to have you back, we've missed you." JD managed to extract his hand from Monty's vice like hand and embraced his good friend. "Shit, you've lost some weight." Monty suggested as he pushed JD back to arms length and looked him up and down. "Yeah, shit food and a bit of exercise. How about you get me out of this shit hole. You know where I need to go." Minutes later, JD was sitting eyes closed in the rear of the limo listening to the silence. It was the first time in two years when there were no doors banging, someone coughing or people yelling at each other. Removing his favourite bottle from the built in mini-bar, he poured two large fingers into a glass. He swilled the aged malt whisky in his mouth before swallowing it. He thought how lucky he was, he had been sentenced to twenty five to life for murder, only doing two was a miracle. JD was an enforcer for Charlie O'Hara, one of the powerful crime bosses in the country. His duties were to manipulate un-cooperative people to do things they really didn't want to do by any means available to him. In extreme cases, that could include the elimination of a person and the disposal of their remains. It was something that JD had done many times before and was very good at. The trouble started when JD had whacked a Gilbert Morris on O'Hara's orders. Gilbert had been involved in money laundering for O'Hara, when he was investigated by the Fed's for something completely unrelated, he had struck a deal to give up O'Hara for a reduced sentence. JD whacked him at the first opportunity and his body now lay deep under a new section of the interstate road four hours drive away. The Fed's were extremely agitated when their star witness disappeared from right under their noses, and left no stone unturned to get to the bottom of it. Eventually, they got wind of JD's involvement and successfully charged with him Gilberts murder. Without the body, the prosecution relied on circumstantial evidence and numerous untruths. Fortunately, O'Hara was a good employee and launched an appeal against JD's conviction. Through intimidation and bribery of witnesses and other informed people, the conviction was overturned and JD was now a free man. Before the limo hit the main road, JD asked Monty to pull over somewhere quiet. JD removed his clothes and replaced them with those that Monty had left on the back seat. JD smiled as he put on the silk shirt and tailored trousers, while they were a little too big, it still felt real good. To finish it off, he slipped on a pair of Italian black leather ankle boots. Good clothes and shoes had always been one of his passions. Discarding his old clothes on the side of the road, he signalled Monty to move off. JD then located the big Colt automatic handgun in a compartment behind the front seat; it was his favourite choice of weapon. Removing the clip, he checked the action and then returned it to its ready state. He was now ready to set things right, closing his eyes he began thinking how close he was to fulfilling his dream. Three hours later, the Limo began to close on the outskirts of the city, JD asked Monty to drive through the main drag rather than take the ring road. The traffic was nearly at a standstill but JD didn't mind one bit. He watched people happily going about their business, young lovers holding hands, parents with children, groups of people socialising and having fun. JD watched and thought how two years of his life had been taken from him, and now it was time to make amends. Someone was about to pay the price. Another hour later, JD stirred from light slumber as the limo left the road and began winding up a long tree lined drive and stopped outside a substantial three story house. After placing the Colt in his jacket pocket, JD stepped out of the limo and approached the driver's window. "Better come inside with me. I'm a little out of practise if you know what I mean." JD suggested. JD stepped back as Monty opened the door and stepped out. Monty was a lower level enforcer on O'Hara's payroll. He was ten years younger than JD and looked up to him as the master. They had worked together on several jobs, they not only enjoyed each others company, but more importantly, they trusted each other implicitly. JD had witnessed Monty ending the lives of others with his massive bare hands on more than one occasion. Even though he sometimes appeared to be a genial giant, he wasn't a man to be trifled with. They approached the front door and rang the bell, seconds later it was opened by the man they had come to see. "Hello Tony, remember me?" JD greeted the old acquaintance. Tony Branner stared at the two men on his doorstep, his heart thumped as he realised that what ever JD and Monty had come for, it wasn't going to be good news. "Well, aren't you going to ask us inside?" JD and Monty made themselves comfortable in the huge living room while their host poured drinks for them. JD stared at the extravagance of his surroundings and compared it to the bleak cell he had just left, he cursed silently and fought to control his anger. "So, what brings you to my humble abode?" Tony asked as he handed over their drinks. Before JD could answer, a door opened and in walked Melanie Branner. She was what JD would describe as a trophy wife, stunningly beautiful looking every bit the beauty queen she had once been. She married a man twenty years older, not for his looks or love, but for his power and his money. For Tony Branner was a powerful man, a trusted advisor for O'Hara's financial empire. He was responsible for not only the legitimate side of O'Hara's empire, but also the more lucrative underworld dealings. Melanie looked over at the two visitors, the older one looked familiar but she couldn't place him, the other looked like another over muscled hoodlum. As they didn't hold any interest for her, she turned with the intention of leaving the room. "Please don't leave us Mrs Branner." JD suggested. "My business here tonight may concern you." Melanie turned and looked back at JD; she answered with a haughty smile and moved towards the drink cabinet. JD watched her closely as she poured herself a drink and sat down. JD turned to Tony, "So, Tony, you must have heard the good news of my release." he said. Tony smiled, "Yes I did. It's great news. We're all very pleased." JD took a sip of his whisky before he carried on, "Well, I'm pleased too. Trouble is, I wanna know how I got fingered in the first place. There weren't too many people who knew about old Gilbert, probably no more than five. I've been thinking about who might have been a bit loose with their tongue. In fact, I've of thought nothing else while lying in my nice comfortable cell. For some reason, you're name is at the top of my list." Tony's face fell, the accusation and the implications were clear. "Hell JD, I've never said a word to anyone. I'm not that stupid." JD thought about it, "How about pillow talk Tony? Ever mention anything to Melanie about business?" JD watched Tony's face as the implication sunk in, he could see the fright in his face as he turned to his wife. JD intuitively knew he'd got it right. JD turned to Melanie. "Do you know who I am?" She stared at him and shook her head. "Names Jonathon Dillon, most people know me as JD. I got locked up on a murder charge a while ago. Ring any bells? You might've heard Tony mention it, if you did, did you talk to anyone else about it?" She stared at JD with hard eyes for a few seconds, "I don't see its any business of yours what I discuss with my husband or my friends." JD could feel the anger rise; it didn't go un-noticed by Tony who was now coming to grips with why JD and Monty were at his house. "Jeezus Melanie, what have you done?" She glared back at her husband and laughed, "I've done nothing wrong. I'll do what I want and say what I want to whoever I want. Don't fucking lecture me." She sprang out her chair and headed for the door; JD removed the Colt from his pocket and placed it on the arm of the chair in plain view. "Stay where you are, I've not finished with you." JD told her. She laughed sarcastically, "What are you, an old jailbird with a gun? I'm terrified, why don't you just play your gangster games without me." It took JD a few seconds to return the smile, it just made it plain easier for him. He had nothing against women; in fact he really enjoyed their company. He just hated women who rose above their station on the hard work of their husbands or someone else, and then abused the privilege. Jail time had made him hard, there were no favours inside; you just did what you had to do to survive. He stared at her beauty, a black dress that hugged her figure just below her knees; her shapely calves flowed down to black slinky shoes. Not having been close to a woman for a long time, her presence both intrigued and excited him. "Take off your clothes." he said. She threw back her head and laughed loudly, "Not in your wildest dreams. I'd rather die first." JD smiled as he raised the Colt and in a fluid action pulled the trigger. The explosion echoed around the walls as the heavy slug tore through the huge chandelier not far from her head. Shards of glass flew in all directions, luckily just missing her. The slug carried on through ceiling and into the cavity above nicking a plastic drain pipe from the bathroom on the next level. The resulting leak would cause major damage in the following months, but it was of little consequence now. Melanie screamed as the glass fell around her, Tony jumped up to her aid but sat down again as the barrel of the Colt swung towards him. She screamed at JD, "You stupid fucking bastard, I could've been cut to ribbons." "Take your clothes off. I won't tell you again." She turned to her husband for help; he shook his head, "Do as you're told if you want to get out this in one piece." It was only then she realised the gravity of the situation, and a few long seconds later, her face lost its confidence. Stepping away from the glass covered carpet, she kicked off her shoes. Reaching behind her, she unzipped her dress, pulled her shoulder straps down and let it fall to the floor. She was braless and her breasts stood firm and pert. JD's first thought was implants as they were too big to stay that upright by themselves, but they were still the nicest breasts he'd seen for a long time. His eyes lowered to take in her narrow waist and curved hips, a black G string covered her pelvic mound. Her thighs were full then tapered down to delicate knees. He savoured her beauty for only a few seconds. "All of it." he said. Melanie turned away as she slid the G string down her thighs and then turned back to face JD. Her pubic mound had been trimmed to a small strip of brown hair about an inch wide, her pussy lips just visible below. JD looked her over before dragging himself out of his chair; he walked over to her and ran his hands over her smooth breasts. She shivered at his touch and looked him in the eye, but quickly looked away from his dark unflinching eyes. "Tell me, did you ever mention my name to any of your friends in relation to the disappearance of Gilbert Morris?" It took a few seconds before she answered, "Probably, but I don't remember who." JD caressed her nipples and felt them harden, "Did you not think it may have been just a little stupid to blab off about your husband's business affairs?" She shrugged her shoulders, "Dunno, never really thought about it?" "Well it's time you learnt a lesson about the difference between stupidity and common sense. On your knees." "Please no, I'm sorry." she pleaded realising what was in store for her. JD raised his free hand to her shoulder and pushed her downwards, once on her knees he undid his trousers and let them slip to the floor. Removing his now hard cock from his boxers, he presented it to her closed mouth, "You'd have been better off to use your pretty mouth for this rather than discuss Tony's business with your friends. Next time you think about discussing Tony's activities with anyone, just remember back to this moment." JD placed his hand behind Melanie's head and guided it towards his cock, her mouth stayed closed until he placed the cold steel of the Colt against her cheek. He then felt the warmth of her mouth engulf the head of his cock, in his excitement he began to push back and forth and she soon gagged. "Take it easy." she said as she gripped the shaft and began to slowly suck him. Not having touched a woman for so long had been hard on JD. He enjoyed their company, their fragrance and the soft feel of their bodies. He was a considerate and passionate lover; he liked the challenge of seduction and making his partners sexually happy. There was nothing more satisfying in the whole world than watching a lover enjoying themselves and going through the throws of an orgasm. Until now, he'd never forced his intentions on any woman, but at this present moment he was past caring. How many times had he masturbated in his cold cell fantasising about his old conquests? And with the nagging thought that he may never have the pleasure of lying between a woman's warm thighs again in his life time? He pulled away from her mouth as he felt the stirring of an orgasm, guiding backwards to a chair he got her to sit on the edge. "Nooo." she cried as he spread her thighs wide and knelt between them. Melanie tried to struggle, but JD held her tight as he looked at the sight before him. Her open thighs were firm and shapely leading up to her pussy. Her pink lips were smooth and hairless; the tip of her small clitoris just visible. JD could feel her warmth and sense the scent of her sex. He slipped a finger into his mouth for lubrication, then stroked her pussy and parted her inner lips. His finger slowly disappeared inside and explored her tight pussy. He felt no remorse as she began to sob. "Can you imagine what its like to be locked up for twenty three hours a day in a cell that's probably smaller than your walk-in wardrobe? How do you think I felt at the thought of being locked up for twenty five years? All because you couldn't keep your big mouth shut. Do you not think that it would only be fair to let me use for body for the loss of two years of my life?" "I'm sorry. I know I've done wrong, but please don't do this. Please don't fuck me in front of Tony." JD laughed, "He needs to see what his big mouth has resulted in." JD then moved forward and placed his cock between Melanie's pussy lips, he rubbed it up and down before slowly pushing into her. It took a few seconds before he was in all the way, he then began to move back and forth inside her. He raised his gaze and caressed her breasts. He was right about her breasts; a small scar was visible under each breast where implants had been inserted. For the next few minutes, JD took the time to enjoy Melanie's tanned body. At first, he was almost embarrassed at his anaemic white body against hers. He lifted her thighs over his shoulders and pushed deep inside her, she lay eyes closed and motionless at his assault. He closed his eyes for a while and relished the sensation of his cock sliding in and out of her, how it hugged the head of his cock near her lips and the warm wetness as it plunged inside. His eyes would then feast on her pussy, how her juices made the contrasting pinks skin of her inner and outer lips glow. How her inner lips would appear as he pulled out and then disappear as he pushed his in. He enjoyed removing his cock completely and where her entrance stayed open as if to encourage its quick return. Then, the excitement of her warm pussy began to overtake him and he was unable to stop himself ejaculating deep inside her. Seconds later, he knelt back on his haunches and watched his cum run down her lips and onto the chair and floor. It was then that the post orgasm depression set in. He stared up at Melanie's face, her face expressionless and her eyes still closed. He felt robbed at her lack of emotion and began to search for other options. JD turned to Monty who was watching from another chair, he gave him a wink and then nodded towards Melanie. Monty smiled and stood up, making sure that Tony was not going to cause trouble, he began to remove his clothes. He stripped off his shirt leaving his dark wide shoulders, barrel chest and heavily muscled torso bare. He reached down and removed his shoes before lowering his trousers. Then Melanie opened her eyes and realised what was about to happen. "No no. I'm not letting any nigger stick his black cock into me." she said trying to get out of the chair. "Tony, for fucks sake do something, I don't want him to fuck me." JD held her down as Monty slid his satin boxers down and exposing his cock. It was rock hard, with the exception of a large pink head, was darker in colour than the rest of his chocolate coloured body. He grinned, flexed his muscles and then began stroking his cock as he looked down at Melanie. "This is gonna be a real treat for you. You know what they say, once you try black, you never wanna go back." "Tony, stop him. Keep him away from me." she cried as he approached her sitting position. Monty moved between her thighs. Being a big guy, his cock didn't look big or out of proportion until he closed on Melanie. Then it became more apparent when she tried to push his cock away, it was as easily as thick as her wrist. He moved closer and rested his cock on her navel while exploring her body with his hands. While he was excited of about what was going to happen, it was also her punishment. He was certainly going to prolong his pleasure and her punishment. He asked JD to pass over her discarded dress from the floor and then wiped her pussy with it. He then slid a thick finger inside her and tweaked her clitoris with his other hand. "My my, this is a tight little pussy." he commented as he lined his cock up with her pussy. Melanie squirmed but Monty held her tight, his cock slipped between her lips and after a slight adjustment it began its work. She gasped and threw her head back as Monty's cock made its grand entrance inside her. JD stood close by and watched as Monty expertly worked way inside her. When closing on its full length, she reached down and placed a hand against his chest attempting to limit Monty's intrusion. "Please no, it's too big. Take it out." she begged. "I don't deserve this, it's not right." He eased her hand away and continued, slowly and gently. She lay looking at him with wide eyes. Then Monty pulled out of her and lowered his mouth to her pussy, his tongue flicking across her clitoris. Thinking it was an opportunity to escape, she attempted to wriggle away, but Monty was too strong for her. He then slipped his cock back to the hilt inside her. Questions, Answers & Consequences Her back arched under the onslaught, "Nooo, please stop." she moaned as Monty began to work his cock into a long slow rhythm. Melanie's face contorted each time Monty's balls slapped hard against her buttocks, whether it was pain or pleasure was a good question. A few minutes later, Monty pulled away and stood up. Taking Melanie by the hand, he pulled her slowly to her feet and took her place sitting in the chair. Her legs parted as she moved astride his legs and moved above his cock. Monty's hand appeared and guided his cock as she slipped slowly down his torso stopping only as she felt it approaching her pussy. She gasped as she slipped down its length. He pulled her forward so he could suckle her breasts, the angle giving both her husband and JD a perfect view of her pussy. Her pinkness was stretched wide and tight over the fullness of his dark cock. His big hands around Melanie's waist moved her up and down as she dropped her head to his chest as if to hide herself. Tony felt helpless and ashamed to see his wife suffer, but he knew what JD and Monty were capable of. He knew that both Melanie's and his lives hung in the balance. They were truly expendable, any attempt by him to stop what was happening would be foolish and futile, and would no doubt only make things worse for them. If Melanie got away with only being fucked, she should be thankful. Monty then lifted Melanie from his cock and turned her around facing her audience. Again Monty lowered Melanie down onto his cock; she frowned as she took him in. Her feet were now off the ground and were unable to control the depth of his entry. She lifted her feet to his thighs and eased herself off his cock a couple of inches. Placing his hands under her buttocks to support her, Monty began to lift her up and down his cock. She didn't resist or help him, but endured his cock without complaint. Melanie's thighs were parted providing a good view of proceedings, her pink wet lips spread wide hugged his cock tightly. Her juices were running down the base of his cock leaving it slick and shiny. Her eyes opened and settled on JD, he grinned and winked at her. He saw the flash of fury in her eyes as she turned to her husband. It was a look of hate, embarrassment and despair, and didn't go unnoticed. JD broke his gaze from Melanie and turned his attention to Tony, he stepped over to where he was sitting. He was slouched down in his chair and wide eyed of what was happening to Melanie a few feet away. "Well Tony, what sort of compensation is worth two years inside?" Tony shifted his nervous eyes to JD, "I don't know. I can let you have fifty thousand." JD pretended to think about it before answering, "You've got the number right but the decimal point in the wrong place. I reckon five hundred thousand is about right." JD could see the shock in Tony's face." "Just think about this." JD said. "O'Hara gave me the go ahead to whack both of you if you were responsible. His concern is what else has been discussed and what about the future risk. You might not think it, but I'm actually doing you a favour. Give me a hundred a month and it will be in my vested interest to keep you alive. Call it consulting costs. After all, I've got to convince O'Hara that you're an asset and not a liability. You'll agree that I'm a much better friend than an enemy." Tony knew the he had little choice and nodded, "Okay, I'll do it." JD patted him on the back, "That's the idea Tony, we can still be friends. Tell you what, why don't we make it official. Let's write it up in your office." JD escorted Tony to his office, after opening a floor safe, Tony handed over a wad of notes which was pocketed without counting. After all, friends can always be trusted. Then JD got Tony to document an IOU for the remaining four hundred thousand to be paid in monthly instalments of one hundred thousand. After both signing it, they returned to where Melanie was entertaining Monty. Melanie was now sitting back in the chair while he knelt between her parted thighs; JD stood close and watched the proceedings. Monty was teasing Melanie's clitoris with his hand as his cock made short shallow thrusts inside her. Her pussy was visibly wet and JD was surprised to Melanie responding to Monty's attentions. She was pushing back against his hand, her was head thrown back and her eyes closed. JD watched how her hands clutched the arms of the chairs as she began building up to an orgasm, her breathing deep and erratic. Monty looked up at JD and grinned, and got one in return. Melanie opened her eyes and saw JD grinning down at her; she looked for Tony and saw him standing nearby watching her. She reached for a small cushion behind her and placed it over her face to hide her obvious embarrassment. A minute later, she raised her buttocks high from the chair, Monty's cock slipped out of her pussy, but his hand continued teasing her clitoris as he inserted a finger inside her. She soon began to shake and quietly whimper as an orgasm washed over her. Seconds later, she lowered herself back down to the chair and Monty wasted no time in sliding his cock back into her. She lifted her feet from the floor and wrapped them around her waist pulling him deep inside her. He began pumping hard and fast into her, her sopping pussy slurping noisily with each stroke. Soon after, Monty gripped her knees, pulling them forward he then eased her legs over his shoulder. She moaned loudly as he leaned deep inside her and then began moving in and out of her, their bodies slapping noisily together once again. "Fuck this is good." Monty commented as he sweated over Melanie. Her eyes opened and she stared expressionless at Monty as he pounded her body. Suddenly he slowed and gripped her thighs tightly, his face transformed into pure ecstasy as he ejaculated deep inside her. He removed his cock and examined his handiwork. Her pink pussy was wide and swollen, his cum slowly oozing from her and down onto the chair below. Monty leaned forward and slipped his cock back inside her. He noticed her mouth turning almost into a grin as he slipped deep inside. Seconds later, he slipped his cock from her pussy for the final time and wiped it on the strip of curly hair just above. As he stood, he slipped his hand under Melanie's head and lifted her into a sitting position. He lifted his cock in front of mouth, "How about giving it a clean. Don't wanna get my new satin boxers dirty." Melanie opened her mouth without hesitation, took the messy head deep into her mouth and sucked gently as her hand stroked the shaft. She then licked down the softening length of his cock. Once satisfied, Monty stepped away and blew her a kiss before beginning to dress. Melanie watched Monty for a few seconds and then looked over at Tony and JD. She dragged herself out of the chair and approached her husband. She stood close and looked at him. Suddenly, her hand slapped Tony's face hard and then a second time, the cracks sounded like pistol shots. Caught by surprise, Tony reeled under the unexpected onslaught. "How could you just sit there and watch them do that to me? What sort of husband are you?" Tony just stood and glared at his wife, they stood eye to eye for a few seconds until she turned and stomped out of the room. JD watched with great satisfaction, with the first instalment of hundred thousand dollars in his pocket and an IOU for another four, he was pleased with himself. "Where do you want to go?" Monty asked as they walked back to the limo. "A drink with the boys, or straight home?" "Home I think Monty. I'll catch up with the others tomorrow." It was only a fifteen minute drive from Tony's mansion to JD's apartment. Monty flipped JD a cell phone and told him it was untraceable. JD dialled the only number stored in the phone, it rang four times before it was answered. "O'Hara." came the gruff unmistakable voice. "Charlie, it's me." The voice softened, "Hi JD. How's my boy?" "Okay, it's good to be out of that place." "You been to see Tony?" "Yeah. I was right. A case of pillow talk and loose mouths." JD said. "You'd think they'd know better, especially him. What's the prognosis?" O'Hara asked. "He's still walking, but I've clipped his ticket for five hundred grand. He can pay it off." "You're getting soft. The moneys yours, you've sure as hell earned it." "Thanks, but you'd better make sure he doesn't skim it from you." "He won't." O'Hara said firmly. "What about his bitch?" "Well Charlie, it's been a long time without a woman. I gave her a workout while Tony watched. Then I let Monty loose on her, I think she sort of enjoyed it towards the end." O'Hara chuckled, "I wish I'd been there to see that. She's always been a stuck up tart. " "If you ask Monty nicely, I'm sure he'll be pleased to repeat the exercise, although Tony might need a little convincing." O'Hara laughed and then got serious, "JD, I want you to know how pleased I am that you stayed true to the family. There was never a doubt that we'd have to worry about you. You'll find your bank account looking healthy and I've got a little something more tucked away for you." "Thanks Charlie, I appreciate that." "Cause things are a little hot around here with the Feds; I've booked you on a flight to the Caribbean. You leave tomorrow afternoon. I'm sure you can put up with a month or two of sun and surf." JD's heart lifted, "Sounds good." "Booked you into the best hotel and everything will be laid on. I've got friends down there that'll look after you. Main thing is you get a good rest and don't get into trouble, cause when you get back you're gonna be kind of busy. The Feds may take the trouble to put a tail on you, but I doubt it cause its too far away. You just need to be careful. You okay with that?" JD laughed, "I think I can handle it." It wasn't long before the limo stopped outside his apartment, he got out and took in his surroundings and was pleased nothing much had changed. Monty got out and stood close to him, "You okay, or do you want me to come up?" JD smiled and patted his good friend on the shoulder, "Nah, its okay. I'm kinda lookin forward to a bit of comfortable solitude." Monty retuned his smile as JD pulled the wad of notes and peeled off ten grand. He stuffed into Monty's pocket before he could stop him. "What the fucks that for?" Monty asked as he removed the money and pushed it back at JD. "It's for being a friend and my eyes and ears while I was away. If it wasn't for you I'd have never found out about who blabbed." Even in the poor street light, JD saw the flash of anger in Monty's face. "Being inside's changed you. Friends help out cause they want to, it's not about money." JD realised that he had offended Monty and was quickly ashamed, "Sorry Monty. Inside, nothing was for nothing and everything had a price. I just gotta get used to being outside again and among friends." Monty grinned, "It's okay man, anyway I'd do it all again for another crack at Tony's wife. She was something else." "I'm not sure I would." JD replied, he then laughed and after punching Monty lightly on the shoulder, turned towards his apartment. The apartment was still how he'd left it all that time ago. It had recently been tidied and stocked with food. His favourite black cat was soon purring around his legs just to welcome him home. He opened the curtains wide and pulled a comfortable chair up in front of the wide balcony window. The cat jumped up on his lap and made its self comfortable before offering its chin for a scratch. For hours, Jonathon Rowland Dillon sat and watched the world move far below him. He stared at the still unwavering lights of houses and street lights, and the constant moving headlights of vehicles. He considered how his world had changed in twenty four hours. Twenty four hours ago, he was in a world of constant noise and only the darkness of his cell to keep him company. Now it was deathly quiet with only the purring of the cat under his hand, outside the world moved before his eyes. He stayed awake as the sun rose slowly above the grey ocean and the world in front of him transformed into a new day. He was not the man he used to be. He would be more careful and vowed to enjoy what life he had in front of him. He was now in a far better place, and it felt good.