consternation. The ironic tone of his earlier question disappeared as soon as he looked at my face. I really did look like a woman who had been fucked. Eyes tired but grateful, lips ever so swollen by kisses and bites and an overindulged body that had lost its social remoteness.
The “where have you been?” triggered an avalanche of questions: who had I been with? what had I done?
The more he spoke, the more he was overtaken by fear. Without even providing him with any answer I was already assuming a dominant position, watching him shrink with every passing moment. I was no longer afraid and could observe this man who was my husband with detachment, even with curiosity. How could I ever have been physically content with this man for so many years? I was now resentful for the cold years when physical desire had faded to just being a memory. So, in a spirit of vengeance, to test him also, I decided to tell him everything, with nothing left out and invited him into the salon and ordered him to sit, facing me, behind his desk.
I confessed that I had had an adventure with two men I had met at an art gallery opening.
My husband’s face froze and I was unable to read any of his feelings right then. It was as if he was discovering a new woman he had never truly known. All of a sudden, all his certainties were falling apart. His voice all muted, he continued his interrogation.
“But what actually happened, you didn’t go with them together, surely?”
“I did, one in my cunt and the other in… my mouth then… in my bum.”
My honesty and poise affected him even more than if he had witnessed the act. I saw him tighten his fists but, visibly excited, he still wanted to learn more. I knew from that very moment that power had shifted from him to me.
“Did you know when you followed them, what they were expecting of you?” he stuttered.
“Of course. Each one as they rubbed against me whispered into my ear what they would do to me. I was both embarrassed and flattered by their lust.”
“What did they say?”
“The first man was just about thirty years old. He was short but well proportioned. He hadn’t said a single word before he moved against me. I could clearly feel the tip of his cock against my leg. I’d noticed him a few times already moving around the art gallery and had found him handsome. I don’t know what came about me but I pressed hard against him to confirm I could feel his cock and didn’t mind him rubbing against me.”
“But what did he say to you?”
My husband couldn’t contain his excitement.
“He said: ‘I’d love to split your luscious middle-class arse open while you’re sucking my friend off.’ His lips barely moved next to my ear, but the faint breath that came from him was already making me wet with desire. He rubbed himself against me even harder. ‘Once you’ve expertly lubricated him, he’ll slide underneath you to fuck you.’ There was a smoothness and a lack of aggression to his vulgarity. Without even thinking, I asked him: ‘Where is your friend? I’d like to feel his cock against me too.’ ”
My husband’s patience exploded.
“Sophie, how could you ever say something like that?”
“I wanted that man, so why not his friend too if he was pleasant enough? Why be a hypocrite and wait for another day to gift myself to the other man?”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Why should it be disgusting to provide pleasure to two nice young men and get some in return? Would you consider it healthier to masturbate while watching your porn tapes?”
Once again I’d defeated him, and he would rather suffer and know more than order me to be silent. I continued:
“Jean-Marc introduced me to his friend Yvan. He was a very young boy, not quite twenty. He was quite beautiful and his youthful features were fascinating. I could have been his mother. I was proud of the fact they desired me. I felt young and was entertained by the envious looks of the other women surrounding us. Yvan moved towards me, his two arms outstretched as if he was about to lead me onto a dance floor.
“She looks really hot; we’re going to have great fun. You warm her up a bit more and then come and join me at the bar,” Jean-Marc said.
Yvan took me in his arms as if he had always known me. I didn’t even try and avoid the hard bump of his cock as it brushed against me. I could feel he was hard. As much in defiance as in provocation, I swivelled shamelessly against his young cock. His voice was very soft, still tinged with echoes of childhood, but his erotic vocabulary was way beyond his age.
“So what was he telling you?” my husband interrupted me.
“Do you really think I should let you know? You’re already so agitated.”
Sitting behind his desk, I could guess my husband was touching himself, but I pretended to ignore the fact.
“Yes, Sophie, tell me everything.”
“OK,” I sighed, “but you asked for it. Both Yvan and Jean-Marc were whispering sheer filth in my ear, like ‘You’ll chew on my balls to get me hard again after I’ve discharged into your clammy hole.’ These salacious words they had probably said to hundreds of women before no doubt were making me crazy. For the first time in my life, I felt like a slut and I kept on pressing my parts against his cock. Yvan said that if I continued he might even come right there and then, and as a precaution moved slightly away from me. We joined Jean-Marc at the buffet table.
“Once we had reached the table, he took my hand in his and positioned it against his cock and said quietly in my ear: ‘Look how hard you’ve made me, it’s full of come, all for you. We’re going to feed you well, you pretty slut. You’re going to love it.’
“His impudence was electrifying me and I daringly moved the envelope one step further.
“ ‘I’ll have you spitting into all three of my holes, you pretty things. You’ll throw up a white flag once my tongue gets working on you.’
“Yvan smiled in admiration and caressed my arse. I did not stand back when he moved one of his fingers into my arse hole, pushing the material of my skirt into it. I groaned, still holding on for dear life to Jean-Marc’s cock, indifferent to all the people around us in the room who meant nothing more to me any longer.
“Jean-Marc indicated it was time for us to go and we were soon in his car. Yvan sat me in the back. As soon as we drove off, he kissed me eagerly and took hold of my breasts in both his hands. My own hands liberated his cock and I began steadily jerking it off while playing with his youthful balls. Jean-Marc loudly encouraged me.
“ ‘Milk that dong, you fat cow, suck his cunt juice out.’
“His driving was erratic, he was in a hurry for us to get back to his place. I could no longer hold back; I had already swallowed Yvan’s cock to the hilt a few times while fingering myself. I felt like a young girl again, all excited, with her very first lover, my lust flying in all directions.
“In the elevator taking us up to Jean-Marc’s flat, I caught a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror and I decidedly looked beautiful, young and flushed. They roughly placed me between them and took turns rubbing their cocks against me. I moaned wordless sounds, begging for them to take me. We exited the elevator, the men pulling me out each with a finger stuck inside me.
“Once inside the apartment, I rushed towards Yvan, whose cock was sticking out of his trousers. I crouched on all fours so that my arse was well exposed and sucked him with savage glee. Jean-Marc brutally pulled up my skirt and viciously pulled the elastic of my garter belt aside and let it slam back against my thighs; it wasn’t that painful but the sharp sound it made was exciting. I heard him undress behind me. I craved for him to take me with no warning, just to feel his hard sex penetrate me before I could even feel the approach of his body. Yvan pulled his cock out of my mouth, about to come. He left the room, leaving me there on all fours. Jean-Marc forbade me to look back and ordered me to ‘polish your cunt to warm yourself up’.”
Having reached this part of the story, Sophie was increasingly overcome by excitement; she couldn’t help rubbing her legs against each other in search of further pleasure. She was intensely living the evening all over again and had banished me from her world. I had already come in my trousers. Feverishly awakened by my ejaculation and my wife’s violent story, my own cock refused to lie down as I listened to her with fascination.
“He handed me a bottle of rose wine, a long and cold bottle, and I was summoned to fuck myself with it. The initial contact with the icy neck of the bottle saw my flesh contract and only served to increase my frenzy. Yvan was back and was verbally encouraging me: ‘Yes, fill that pretty pussy, cool it down for me.’ I had only introduced
