Sex and the Stranger

Oscar continued teasing me with his meat, leaving it just out of reach of my mouth. ‘You really are a cock-starved slut, aren’t you?’ he said.

I was ready to admit to anything if it meant wrapping my lips around that hunk of meat. ‘Yes. Now give this cock-craving slut something to suck on!’ It was a turn-on to call myself that, to be that.

He laughed and said, sincerely, ‘We’ll give you all the cock you can handle.’ He finally got close enough for me to suck him down, which I did with relish. Getting done at both ends was something else.

They lasted much longer this time around, Hank fucking me through another series of orgasms. I hadn’t come this much in years. But even he couldn’t last forever and finally shot inside of me. As soon as he was finished he pulled out and I felt empty inside. I was about to beg Oscar to take over from Hank when I felt a pair of hands on my hips and a hard prick shoved into my cunt. Confused, I released the cock in my mouth and turned around to see, to my amazement, Jack. He had a firm grip on my hips as he picked up where Hank had left off. He wasn’t the only one either; next to him were his fellow interns, Todd and Ron, who were already naked and pointing their hard-ons at me like guided missiles waiting for the final launch codes to destroy something – my pussy.

Now I understood what Oscar had meant about giving me all the cock I could handle. I wanted to complain to the guys for not clearing this with me first, but I couldn’t get mad at them, not with the way Jack was fucking me. Three more cocks were just what I needed. In gratitude, I returned to Oscar’s shaft and really went to town on him. He blew his load, but I didn’t have an opening available for long because Ron got up on the table and fed me his cock.

Now the gangbang was really on. I was a gangbang slut, just like in a porno movie. I wondered if I would feel shame later on. I didn’t feel shame at that moment and I knew if three, ten or fifty more guys showed up, I would take them all on.

&nbs

p; The five of them took me in just about every combination possible over the course of the next hour. Ron, Todd and Jack came in my mouth twice, and Oscar and Hank managed one more time each. My mouth and throat were coated with the semen of five men, the tastes mixed together like some kind of nasty cocktail, and I felt my stomach filling up with their splooge. I thought about those urban legends of cheerleaders sucking off whole football or basketball teams and having to get their stomachs pumped because of too much semen. Maybe this was no myth after all?

But I could handle it. I could swallow more baby batter if it shot my way.

The interns were ready for more, but by then I was pretty worn out and begged off. Any protests were quickly squashed by Hank. Not wanting to anger their supervisor, the three younger guys thanked me for a great time and headed back to the picnic. Oscar and Hank were gentlemanly enough to stay with me until I got back some of my wind.

I knew I was a mess, covered in sperm and sweat. I knew I had some raunchy rancid sperm breath. Luckily, a part of the lake that was out of view of the picnickers was nearby. A quick dip in the water washed off all the obvious evidence of my gangbang. Even so, I was walking gingerly thanks to the pounding the guys had given me. It was Oscar who came up with the idea of saying I had strained something playing volleyball. Hank offered me some gum he had.

‘Gum to hide the come,’ he joked.

We all laughed.

We returned to the picnic, from different directions, five minutes apart. I stood around by a tree and thought about what I’d just done. I still didn’t know if I felt guilty because if the chance came – if, say, the three interns found me and whisked me away into the bushes – I would let them, and I would love it. The only thing I was concerned about now was what my husband would say about my prolonged absence.

It turned out I had nothing to fear since he was so drunk he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how long I had been gone or if I was even there. I sat next to him, informing him that I was sincerely glad he was having a good time, since I was having one as well.

We stayed at the picnic another hour before heading back home, Steve thoroughly drunk. I helped my husband to bed, no longer irritated with him since my itch had been scratched quite well and good.

Moondance

Rose de Fer

Fallen leaves crunched beneath Natalie’s feet as she jumped down from the stile. A neglected path led her to a small copse of trees with an informational sign about the Six Maidens. A handful of damp and out-of-focus postcards were on offer for 50p each, along with a badly drawn map of the site. An honesty box stood impaled on a post nearby but Natalie brushed past it, ignoring its request of a pound for entrance. Such places should belong to everyone. Even though the stone circle was on private grounds, she wasn’t visiting the grounds. Just the stones.

She’d only been here once before, but she remembered the way easily enough. The path wound its way up the hill, through tangles of brambles and nettles, until it opened on to a clearing at the top. She felt like a jungle explorer picking her way through the undergrowth. All she needed was a machete to slice away the thorny branches that tore at her clothes. Half an hour later she crested the rise and saw the lichen-encrusted stone circle ahead.

It wasn’t a well-known or popular site and it was certainly nowhere near as awe-inspiring as Stonehenge or Avebury. It was tucked away on a muddy hill that was difficult to find and even more difficult to get to. But its obscurity and isolation were part of the appeal for Natalie. The site rewarded those who made the journey with a spectacular view. The valley spread out before her, showing off the ravishing colour palette of October. The sun was just beginning to set. Natalie shrugged off her rucksack and began to unpack beside the large recumbent stone at the centre of the circle.

As with most megalithic sites, no one knew the purpose of the Six Maidens. The informational sign hinted at ancient sacrificial rites performed on the altar stone, but Natalie supposed that was mainly to sex it up for any tourists who ventured far enough afield to visit the site. The six upright stones faced inward, leaning towards the altar as though drawn to whatever magic had taken place there hundreds of years ago. Natalie unfolded a red blanket and spread it over the altar. Then she carefully laid out her things one by one. Candles, goblets, wine.

By the time she had finished the full moon was on the rise, glowing like burnished copper in the sky. The light transformed the stones, painting them with fantastic colours as though clothing them in gowns of fire. It was a perfect night for the ritual.

Natalie poured some Cabernet into a goblet and arranged the candles along the rim of the altar. They quivered in the slight breeze, throwing eerie shadows against the stones. Leaves had gathered at the feet of the weathered Maidens like scarlet snowdrifts and small animals scurried through them, unable to conceal their presence.

Natalie took a sip of wine and began to unbutton her dress. She wore nothing underneath. The night was chilly against her bare skin but she would be warm soon enough. She kicked off her shoes and stepped forwards, gingerly placing her bare feet on the ground. Mud squished beneath the covering of leaves as she began to dance. There was no music but the sounds of the night – the crunch of dry leaves beneath her feet and the whispering of trees in the breeze. The moon hung low in the sky like a giant eye, watching her.

She made shapes against the standing stones with her body, undulating her arms, arching her back, moving sinuously through the leaves. As a child she’d had a handful of ballet lessons, but any knowledge she’d gained had long since worn off. She simply followed her body, going where it wanted, moving as it dictated. It was like being guided by an external force, as though she were at the mercy of a powerful but benign puppet master.

Natalie had always imagined that the sensation of being naked outdoors would be scary. Instead, she found it liberating. Exhilarating. Even though there was no one to see her she felt watched by a thousand eyes. The crisp air against her naked skin, the cool mud between her toes … all of it made her feel primal and wildly sexual.

She didn’t really believe all that stuff Rhiannon had told her, that dancing naked under the full moon in an ancient site would show her the face of her true love.

‘Oh please,’ she’d scoffed. ‘I’m not after true love. Frankly, I’ll settle for a good shag!’

But in the end it had seemed such a lovely and slightly transgressive idea. How could she resist? Rhiannon had taken her along to coven meetings, read her Tarot cards and given her amulets and totems over the years. And while Natalie never really felt the presence of anything otherworldly, the pagan mindset appealed to her. She liked the idea of a religion that celebrated nature and sexuality instead of focusing on guilt, shame and fear.