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 Ankara rus escort 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.
I exhibited nothing other than excitement and encouragement for her need to express her nymphomania. It was Clare. It was her personality. It was what made her the woman I loved and adored. I relished her dominance. Bigger whips, larger strapons, rope and handcuffs. They added vibrancy to our sex life and colour to my flesh. They introduced me to new experiences and untold pleasures.
Witnessing the New Year’s Eve Greedy Girls Party, where twenty naked women entertained over a hundred drunken men, was a delightful torture. The chastity cage that she had made me wear for the event prevented any chance that I could enjoy my girlfriend at the debauched occasion. I watched as she gleefully enjoyed every stray touch, every delicate flick and forced kiss. I salivated as she returned the snogs of others with erotic abandon, sliding down the shirtless male bodies to fish the stiff pricks from trousers and shorts.
The teasing was unreal. To see the love of my life ride so many cocks from leering, drunken louts, while loudly orgasming was a tonic to my arousal. It was what I had to appreciate, if I wanted a relationship with Clare. My nostrils clogged with the sweaty, nasty scent of hedonism, as the odours of sexual exertion, the pungent, sapid aromas of cum and the smell of overpowering lust filled the large sex club.
I longed to slip my lips between the delicate thighs of my girlfriend, or feel her warm mouth envelop my straining, caged dick. I wanted attention. I wanted to be part of her games and contribute to her fun. Instead, Clare ignored and humiliated me. I was present to provide drinks and chaperone my lady to meet the needs of other attendees. My role was to be the unfulfilled partner, desperately horny and completely unsatisfied.
There were several husbands, fiances and boyfriends in the same position as me. They whipped a handful of the submissive ankara ucuz escort cucks at the end of the night. A few ladies made their cuckolds service other men as their partners watched on. Clare pegged me with her largest strapon, and we went home, both with sore, plundered and satisfied orifices. She denied me any release for the entire weekend. Pure torture, deliciously delivered by a sadistic sexual addict.
Other evenings and nights were less humiliating. For over a year, a threesome became a weekly occurrence. We had a single neighbour who loved being part of a spit-roast with my girlfriend. She always came when his stiff Norwegian prick drilled into her sopping hole, while she lavishly teased my balls with her tongue.
As our relationship progressed, her sexual affairs increased. I found my job exhausting, and I slipped into a role of being a cuckold, rather than a sharer. Clare had a half-a-dozen men and a couple of women she regularly called upon – including work colleagues, tradespeople, fitness instructors, an actress and a local businessman.
Our relationship had never been stronger, but she played without me more and more. Before leaving the flat for a rendezvous, Clare loved to insert my favourite buttplug into my bum. The pressure in my butt was a constant boost to my horniness as I thought about my girlfriend’s slutty evening.
However, she was keen to go further, explore more, and introduce me to new experiences. Given my love of prostate play, Clare became desperate to explore my bicuriosity, but the right opportunity hadn’t presented itself. At the time, many of her bulls were strictly straight, and did not want the cuckold involved in their shagging.
Nine months after moving to our rented flat in Bristol, she arranged an evening out with one of her less frequent partners. He was a tall, muscular man, with a deep-set eyes and a penchant for the expensive things in life. Richard oozed masculinity and class, with complete confidence that came from his successful career and effortless sex appeal.
He took my partner on a double date with another bull and hotwife at the theatre. At Richard’s insistence, I spent the evening with the other cuckold, a sales analyst called Joseph, in our flat. We watched Netflix and ate takeaway, while the prosperous men entertained and dined our women at the exclusive Bristol venue. We spoke about our women and openly speculated at what stage of the seduction our partners were at. Clare went out without any panties on, and that wasn’t forgetfulness.
When Clare and Richard returned home, the clock had passed midnight. My tipsy girlfriend had clearly fucked. Her make-up was askew, and her partners had left her hair ruffled. There were cum stains on her dress. There was a beaming smile on her face.
She giggled when she saw us in our lounge. “Bored, boys?” She hung on the arm of her lover and blew me a kiss. The twinkle in her eyes said so much. “Go on, make them do that game. I want to see it. The one you were talking about over dinner.”
“What game?” I asked, and Clare just sniggered, and draped her arms around the smart, muscular businessman.
Richard smirked and shook his head, as he looked at the wiry Joseph and me surrounded by takeaway boxes and beer cans. He strode over to Joseph and pushed him on his back on my couch. “You, on top of him, mouths to cocks.”
“What?”
“Sorry, mouths to dicklets. The one who doesn’t come, gets to fuck this slut. The one who does come, gets fucked by me.” He smiled at my expression. Clare swooned at his dominance. Joseph had played this game before. I could tell from his eyes, and from his knowing grin. Any resistance or strength melted next to the confidence of Richard, the imposing bull.
Clare had recounted Richard’s bisexual tendencies. She had eagerly told of his boastful tales of seducing the wife and degrading the husband. As long as he was “the top”, he enjoyed himself. He needed to be in control and plough his tool into others. Clare fell for his power, seduced by his spell.
It wasn’t the first dick to have grazed my lips: doing 69 with Clare, as a stiff cock skewered her cunt, had happened before, but this was a different proposition. I had never fellated another man. I had never sucked another prick. Joseph’s erect cock, exposed by dropping his shorts to his knees, was a veiny tool with a bulbous head. He possessed a hairless crotch, and he groaned into my pubic hair as my tongue glided over his damp member.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the situation that caused me to fellate Joseph so readily. Perhaps the bicuriosity, that Clare had repeatedly demanded I explore, was stronger than I realised. This was a leap forward from cheeky licks during our threesomes. Never had I done this before. Never had I willingly wrapped my lips around the stiff cock of another man.
Until that moment.
I tried to focus on ankara yabancı escort what Clare had always told me, remembering her technique for giving head. I closed my eyes and cradled the base of his glabrous prick with my right hand. My tongue probed his sensitive head, sucking in the pre-cum that oozed out of his slit.
Warm, velvety flesh, like a soft rubber, and unlike anything I had tasted before. My tongue glided and slipped over his cock, and my lips flowed down his shaft. I needed to satisfy my curiosity and hit my gag reflex. I felt a warm pair of lips envelop my member.
As he sucked my cock, he bucked his hips. Saliva dripped across my face, and down his tumescent tool, as I hurriedly fellated him.
It was my first time, but it felt natural. I didn’t know him, but I didn’t care. I heard the sniggering comments from Clare, and felt the firm hand on my butt cheeks, smacking my exposed skin with a sadistic chuckle.
I was their plaything and their entertainment. We both were. We were playing their little game to amuse them. It was degrading, but I loved it. I adored that first dick with every pore in my body. I loved sliding down his cock and tasting his manly saltiness. I loved feeling the engorged prick touch the back of my throat and hearing him grunt underneath me. I worshipped that cock, like I worshipped Clare’s cunt.
The bisexual cuckold was no stranger to sucking cocks. His experience was an advantage, and the humiliating feelings and thoughts swilling around my psyche, along with his cocksucking talents, were too much for me to bear. It was too erotic. Never had another man been so intimate with me. Never had I been so intimate with another man. I couldn’t control my lust. I couldn’t hold back any longer. With every slide of his mouth over my turgid prick, I got closer and closer to the edge.
Every touch of his lips was pure heaven. Every slide of his prick over my lips was just as delightful. I panted, deep into his hairless member, as my crotch tightened. I groaned with his cock in my mouth and whimpered as my thighs trembled.
An orgasm like no other. A climax that shuddered through me, and reached every muscle, every sinew and every pore of my body. A tide of intense energy that swept and cascaded over me and saw wave after wave of cum fired into Joseph’s mouth.
He kept sucking. He never missed a drop, massaging my erupting erection. The blasts of semen hitting the back of his throat didn’t trouble him. It wasn’t reason to pause or to stop, but merely to sweep his tongue across the sensitive head of my engorged prick.
Richard’s booming voice dragged me to the present. He stood in front of me naked and massaged his giant tool to a full erection. “You said you pegged him,” he asked my partner as I slowly untangled myself from Joseph. She giggled and pushed her unruly hair behind her ears.
“Often,” she admitted. She reached into her handbag to pull out a black bottle of lubricant and offered it to me. “You’ll need this.”
Richard slapped her hand. “You do it,” he demanded. “You get your boy ready for a proper cock.”
Those words were a punch to my ego and amplified my arousal. Richard pulled me to the armrest of the sofa and pushed me over the cool leather. Her fingers parted my buttocks, and she slowly removed the black buttplug from my anus.
I shivered as a cold, watery sensation dripped into my hole. I had never been fucked before. Dozens of sessions with Clare’s strapon dildo were all the preparation I had for Richard’s oversized tool invading my backside.
I may not have known how his fucking would feel, but at that moment, I wanted it. I craved it. I wanted Richard to exert his dominance. I needed Richard to invade and plunder my ass.
My submissive tendencies overrode everything. I was not in control and that drove my desires. Perhaps I had never really been in command of my sex life from the day I met Clare. But as she gently massaged my whorl and slipped a lubricated finger inside my a butt hole, it drove it home.
I really wanted this. My spent cock, pressed against the cool leather armrest, strained as my mind swam with desperate lust. I craved this new experience. I longed for Richard to use his dominance over me and my girlfriend. I yearned for his thick dick to slide into my virgin asshole and plunder it.
Like no man had ever done before.
Richard lubed his own condom-clad prick, as Clare’s fingers glided and massaged my hole. I enjoyed the familiar feeling of fullness and of pressure inside my butt. I savoured those feelings of helplessness as she gently worked the lubricant into me.
My heart pounded as she withdrew. Two firm hands gripped my waist. A stout erection touched my rosebud, which opened under gentle pressure. I whimpered. Too much. Too many sensations overloaded and overwhelmed me as his cock slid into me. Splitting me. Filling me. I gasped and squealed.
“I’m barely in,” Richard laughed. “How big is your strapon? He’s panting!” My humiliation swirled around me. My body went hypersensitive.
I was at his mercy. His fingertips dug into my skin as he leveraged his tool into my asshole. My butt craved more, and I cried out as the enormous prick filled me. And my eyes, focusing on my one-true love, who witnessed my deflowering with a grin.