Claire's Story
Jessie has already told you how Michael and I seduced her, and how she became the third partner in our marriage. And yes, we're married, more or less. I'll tell you about that later.
For me, it all started when I met Michael at an art show at the museum. He seemed to be something different from the other men there. For instance, he'd take longer than usual when examining a painting or a statue, instead of taking the usual cursory glance and then moving on to the next piece. I took the liberty of striking up a conversation with him about one of the paintings, and it was apparent that he'd really studied it, finding details and nuances that I'd missed. I asked him if he was an artist or art dealer or teacher, and found to my surprise that he actually worked as a salesman for a chemical company. I also noticed that the ring finger of his hand bore the traces of a tan line where a ring had been. Well, I was always on the prowl for single men, so I asked him if he had time to get a drink with me.
I should explain: I never was inhibited in my love life. From the time I was in college, I'd have a date every weekend, and it would often lead to a tryst in bed. "To get a really deep appreciation for sex," I once read, "you need to have fucked at least fifty lovers." Well, I'd had that many by the time I was twenty-five, and was well on my way to my next fifty. And more than a few of them were women, starting with my sorority sisters. I saw cocks of every shape and size and color, and learned what they felt like inside me. And I explored dozens of cunts, learning how different they were, and how each had its own intoxicating flavor and areas of sensitivity.
Those were crazy days! I remember one night in particular. Our sorority had received an offer from a nearby fraternity house for one of us to be an "honored guest" at an initiation ceremony...a bukkake ceremony. There would be financial compensation, and no touching involved. There were no takers. I bet Michelle fifty dollars that I would do it, and she accepted the bet.
That was how I found myself at the frat house door at exactly ten o'clock. I was dressed in a bathrobe, flipflops, and bright red lipstick. And nothing else. They led me into a room lit with candles. I saw an army cot in the middle of the room, standing on a sheet of plastic covering the rug. And the cot was draped with a shower curtain. Standing around the room were between two and three dozen young men, all naked, and all stoking their very hard cocks.
I slipped off the robe, kicked off the sandals, and lay down on the cot, face up and draping my lower legs off the cot so that my pussy would be exposed. Somebody put a pillow under my head, and the games began. Each boy would come forward and ejaculate onto me, most of them aiming for my face, my tits, or my pussy, although a few shots went astray and hit my arms or legs or belly. Most of the guys wanked themselves, although two guys wanked each other. I figured that they were gay, and that while the sight of a cum-covered naked girl didn't do much for them, the feel of another man's hand on their cocks certainly did!
It was all over in a half an hour. I stood up and pirouetted with my arms lifted high, giving them all a last look at their handiwork as they clapped and hooted. Three boys slipped on pants, sweaters, and shoes, and shame-walked me back to my sorority house, still stark naked except for my flip-flops. At that hour, there weren't many people on the street, but those few got an eyeful!
As I walked through the door, the cum still trickling down my body, they handed me my robe and a fat envelope. I counted it later...six hundred dollars. Each boy probably chipped in a twenty. My sorority sisters looked at me dumfounded, and then they applauded as I bowed low. Michelle handed me a fifty-dollar bill, which I stuffed into the donation can at the bar. This made me very popular with the rest of the sisters, and established my reputation as the Slut Queen of the sorority.
"Can somebody give me a towel?" I said. "I've gotta get this cum out of my eyes."
Stephanie grabbed a towel from the kitchen and handed it to me. "You need more than a towel, Claire! You need a shower!"
"Wanna take it with me?" I said as I dabbed at my eyes. She started to unbutton her blouse as she kissed me, licking a little of the sperm off my face.
And that's how we ended up under the same shower head a few minutes later, washing the sperm from my body. It was strange -- this was the first moment of actual intimacy in an evening of erotic stimulation, and my pent-up horniness was enough to give me an orgasm in the shower and three more later in Stephanie's bed.
My motto was...and still is..."Get out of your comfort zone once in a while." I tried nearly everything once, if it was legal: an orgy, nude beaches, even a little bondage. I don't regret a bit of it, though. It gave me confidence, and license to explore the limits of my libido. I came to love my own body, every inch of it. I even came to love my breasts, although I'd fretted about their small size during my adolescence and wondered if they were ever going to get bigger. (They never did.)
Threesomes? I had them from time to time. I generally preferred being with a man and a woman, or two women, rather than with two men. With the guys, it was just one of them fucking me, followed by the other one fucking me, then the first one again. They seldom had any interest in each other. And I hadn't yet developed a taste for being fucked in the ass, so the whole double penetration thing didn't do much for me.
But when it was with a lady and a man, the dynamics were different. The guy would fuck one of us girls, and then it would be our show, making love until the guy recharged and fucked the other girl. It was we women who controlled the situation, not the man, who was willing to wait until we felt the hunger for cock again. And the woman was usually better at bringing me to multiple orgasms while the man was recovering, usually by cunnilingus, which is something most men rush through rather than savor.
And when it was all women, our goal was to keep each of us as close to orgasms as possible, and time it so that we all came at the same time, and sustain the orgasms for minutes and minutes. Those were the best ones!
I'm telling you all this not to brag about my promiscuity, but so you'd know that I'd had about as much sex as I wanted up to then. What I lacked wasn't orgasms but love...real love, meaning a commitment and a feeling of worth. And lately, that had been bothering me. I was wondering if it was even possible to find such a relationship, and whether I had to give up an active sex life to find it.
And I also began to lose faith in birth control, or rather in finding a method that I could live with. Over the years, I'd used a variety of birth control pills, and each one would start screwing up my system after a while. I switched to an IUD, but it gave me cramps worse than anything I'd had during my periods. I was allergic to latex, so condoms were out. Diaphragms and foams were messy. And even though I was checked for STDs all the time, I worried that not all my partners were clean, too. So I became very, very selective in the people I fucked.
There was another stipulation. Most of the men would eventually insist on monogamy, at least for me. They didn't like the idea of sharing me with other men. "Listen to me," I'd tell them. "Don't ever ask me to fake an orgasm, or to fake fidelity. I won't do it. Take me as I am, or leave me." And most of them would leave after a month or so. The ones that didn't ended up in my "little black book," along with a lot of lesbian and bisexual women, and I would continue to see them for a hot fuck once in a while.
But all this time, I was looking for an ideal man to love, a man I actually looked forward to seeing in the morning, a man who didn't mind my straying occasionally in search of new cock or pussy, a man who didn't have STDs. A man who didn't have a family from a previous relationship. And, what the hell, let's go for broke...a man who wasn't fertile. I figured that my chances of finding such a man were a billion to one.
So when I went to the bar with Michael, my hopes weren't very high. But as we drank and chatted, I noticed that he was checking all my boxes. He'd had a vasectomy, and hadn't fucked anybody since his marriage dissolved. When I asked him if he minded an "open relationship," he told me that he really hadn't had much sexual experience, and that anything would be fine with him. When I pressed him further, he admitted that he'd been a virgin when he married, and was practically a virgin now. His wife had demanded only the missionary position, and refused to take it farther.
He was honest about his lack of sexual experience, which was a pleasant surprise, since most men would rather die than admit that they weren't Casanovas in bed. Yes, he'd had a kid, but the boy had died young, so there weren't any parental obligations. Now that he was single again, he said that he wanted to "catch up" on life. More women, more sex. But he said that he, too, missed having a relationship with a woman he could truly love rather than just fuck. "I've had a taste of being really close to a woman's heart, even though it didn't end well," He confided. "I need to have that taste again."
"Well, let me propose something," I said. "I'd like to fuck you, but there'd be no strings attached. First, let's just see if the chemistry's there."
