I blamed Victoria Braithwaite.
My lover's best friend from University was the individual who introduced my future wife to the sexual freedoms that lots of ladies fantasise over, but few women ever experience. The nymphomaniac showed her a lifestyle that was mysterious and exotic, exhilarating and addictive. Once Clare had discovered the libertine arrangements, the naïve student had rapidly fallen in love with the lewd and immoral life. Victoria led Clare astray, two years before I had even met the woman who would become my fiancée.
During Victoria's first year at University, she subsidised her education with lucrative employment. Rich businessmen, desperate for a teenage dominatrix to dominate them, paid handsomely as she provided sexual services unavailable in the city's massage parlours. The nineteen-year-old exchanged two hours of her time and unfettered access to her whips and paddles for four weeks of rent money. If her clients wanted a prostate massage, a fucking with one of her strapons or another less vanilla service, then that was even more profitable for the student. She had experience in this area, and her youthful looks, confidence and talents offered significant earning potential.
By the time Victoria reached her second year, she had a regular clientele of submissives, and provided sexual domination to travelling businessmen in hotel rooms. The young dominatrix also escorted them to sex clubs, parties, and BDSM dungeons, and never told her temporary boyfriends or fuck buddies about her extra-curricular activities. She never cared if they found out. Her body, her rules, her freedom to do whatever she pleased.
Victoria and Clare met in Clare's first year of University, and during Victoria's second year of her degree. At the time, Clare was a studious innocent, with just a couple of serious long-term boyfriends to her name. The two women may have been opposite personalities and different academic years, but they became close friends, and Victoria was keen for her new confidante to spread her wings, enjoy new experiences and enter her sordid world. Clare resisted. That resistance crumbled when the two students moved in together at the start of the next academic year; they rented a two-bedroom flat in a suburb popular with students in South Manchester.
A few weeks into my second year, as I was giving Paul regular handjobs, Clare accompanied her friend to a sex party, without the permission or knowledge of her long-term University boyfriend. She went to watch and chaperone her flatmate. Safety in numbers, Victoria promised her, but the hedonistic opportunity proved too much. Clare disrobed in minutes to use the hot-tub, and during the evening, she fucked three guys. She sipped the overflowing pussy of a stranger and spanked another. At the end of the night, she traded phone numbers with several more deviants. That four-hour experience changed her forever. She became hooked on sexual liberty and promiscuity.
Since that event, none of Clare's boyfriends had exclusivity. Dwayne, Michael, and Julian fucked the concept of monogamy out of her. She dived headlong into the lifestyle and became as rampant as Victoria. Clare exchanged her steady boyfriend for an address book of fuck buddies, conquests, short relationships and one-night stands.
Until she met me twelve months later. By then, Victoria had graduated, but the sexual freedom and casual sex had been engrained into Clare's soul. A cancelled train at a remote station meant we took shelter in a filthy Waiting Room. Signal failure on the tracks became an opportunity for conviviality and chivalry. I lent the short brunette my coat in the cold, draughty shed, built adjacent to an exposed platform, and carried her heavy suitcase, which she later revealed was full of BDSM equipment and Latex clothing, to her halls of residence when we reached our destination. We exchanged phone numbers and had a proper date two days later at Chester Zoo.
We met again the following weekend, and the weekend after that. Then she told me her secret over a caramel latte at the city centre cafe. Clare Alice Brownlees partook in wife-swapping and sex parties. The strumpet adored one-night stands and turning her partners into modern cuckolds. The rampant slut had a cohort of men, whose tastes ranged from vanilla sex to full-on male-submission.
She thought her admission would dissuade me, but she was wrong. However, she was not prepared to enter a proper relationship with me. She liked me, but didn't want to date me. I was not -- in her words -- the girl for her. My lustful brain thought otherwise.
Our student residences were less than a hundred metres apart. Our paths kept crossing, and after our umpteenth unplanned chat in the street, the cafe, the supermarket, the station or the off-licence, she invited me to her flat. I quickly became another of her sexual partners. Barely a day passed when I wouldn't at least feast on her clit and probe her crotch with my tongue. I'd always dined out on foreplay, and Clare adored my selflessness in the bedroom. She had five orgasms every time I had one.
But I wanted more that just being a regular provider of cunnilingus, conversations and post-coital cuddles. I hoped the closer we became, the less she would need her other male friends.
The reverse was true. The more we saw each other, the more desperate she needed to screw others. I had to accept Clare's sex drive if I wanted to date Clare. And I wanted her. More than anything, and a few weeks after that first trip to the zoo, Clare and Jon became an item.
Not exclusively together. Clare was allergic to monogamy, and I not only had to agree to that fact, but relish it. I had to adore watching Clare expressing her sexual freedom, and I had to support her in everything she did. And every person - man or woman - she did.
She attended sex parties with her kinky friends. "A girls' night out" meant she was going on "the pull" and Clare rarely didn't come home with another. A few times we had threesomes, but mostly I had third-hand accounts of how her latest lovers had brought her to ecstasy. The thrill of the chase combined with the novelty factor.
We experimented. A lot. Some things really worked for me, like the discovery of my prostate and the less intense side of female domination. Many a time, she tied me to the bed, whipped my rear and then plundered my asshole with her strapon, leaving me breathless and with a wet-spot on the duvet.
I never knew I could orgasm without my cock being touched until her favourite strapon became my favourite sex toy.
After we graduated, we moved from Manchester to Bristol. A West Country firm offered Clare a good job in the city centre well before her graduation, and I found a local software developer who needed a junior programmer. We rented a little flat in the suburbs and had a fun-filled, enjoyable existence.
I was in love, and the offer of marriage was sincere. She rejected me. Not once, but three times, as she didn't believe I could accept her sexual choices in the long-term. She didn't want to leave the lifestyle and believed that marriage would force her to do that. There would be no "forsaking all others." I promised her we would base our marriage on an open relationship, and that I wanted to wed the girl I had fallen for, not change her. Clare was perfect as she was.
Every week, I watched virile men and sexy women screw my girlfriend in hotel rooms, clubs and in our bed. We had threesomes with male and female partners that explored her bisexuality. I was even the designated driver as she went out clubbing to find one-night stands.
Each time with a smile on my face and a hard-on in my trousers. Her domineering attitude to her sexuality was infectious. I loved seeing her choose her partner and hear her reach orgasm after orgasm. I was infatuated with her stories of travelling to Manchester to stay with Victoria and her new, older, very submissive husband.
