Back In The Game Ch. 03

Finally, my smoothie is ready and I walk toward the exit. I look around at the women with their smoothies, sucking on the straw, absent-mindedly playing with it as they text on their phone.

There are so many beautiful women here, in the world at large and I can't help but think what it would be like to fuck all of them. Each woman, each mind, each pussy, each ass, all of them unique. The grip, the tightness, the wetness, the depth, the vigour, the energy, the expert touch. Those that will fuck your brains out and those that will tease you until you can't take it, then tease you some more.

If only we could just fuck with impunity, with freedom. You see someone you like, and within minutes you're fucking, as common as a handshake. The exploration of each other's bodies for the sake of pure, physical pleasure. Then go on our separate ways, satiated, fulfilled.

I had hoped to see my Asian gym obsession here, but no such luck. The women here were mostly 20s, mostly blonde, mostly white. All radiating that energy that is inherently fuckable. Christ, I would have eaten each and every pussy in that room had I the chance, would have made my way from table to table like an ice cream parlour tasting session.

It wasn't that I only thought of women as sex objects, but at times like this, it was all I thought about. It had been a long time since I'd gotten laid, which had, at least in some part, been a conscious choice on my part.

The last breakup hadn't gone well. I'd found her being railed by her co-worker and my boss, or rather her co-worker and my boss, lest there be any confusion. I came home early one evening from a business trip in order to surprise her, but as I entered the door I heard the moans. At first, I thought she was watching porn, but then I heard the creaking of the bed and then I knew, though I didn't want to believe. I moved quietly to the stairs and hoped she was going at it with aplomb with a new sex toy, but as I began to ascend I heard the men and recognised their voices.

I opened the bedroom door and there she was, tied to the bed posts, arms above her, legs akimbo, her head twisted to one side, sucking my co-worker's dick, as my boss ploughed her sopping wet pussy.

She made eye contact with me, shock and fear in her eyes, but she kept sucking that dick. My boss, noticing her expression turned to look at me, and without missing a thrust, said

"Good job on the McKenzie project. You gave it to them good."

Then he winked at me and turned his attention back to fucking my wife.

So, you could say that the whole experience had soured my view on the whole relationship thing. But lately, things had started to change. I couldn't tell whether it was because I was over it, or because I was veering steadily into the midst of a mid-life crisis, or maybe my balls were just so full of cum that I couldn't think straight, but now all I wanted to do was fuck.

It was all I thought about, 24/7.

Every time I saw an attractive woman, I wondered what their nipples looked like, how they maintained their pubic hair, how their pussy tasted, how their asshole would quiver when I caressed it with my tongue.

It was getting out of control. Everywhere I went I ended up in the midst of one sexual fantasy or another. Fucking, blowjobs, ass-play, in bed, in bathrooms, in public spaces, in the middle of nature. Hell, sometimes I'd see two women walking down the street together and picture them in the middle of a 69, their tongues caressing each other's clits, as fingers explored pussy and ass, and I sat there watching, evaluating, a connoisseur of the greatest of arts, cunnilingus.

There was no doubt in my mind, I had to get laid. It was a medical emergency. I had to get my dick sucked, get my dick wet, lubed up and slipped into a tight asshole, take her from behind, reverse cowgirl, missionary, in the bushes, the library stacks, the back of the theatre, sitting on my face, begging for my dick, in her hand, in-between her tits, or if not big enough, working myself as she lays back ready to take my heaving load, until, finally, stream after stream of red-hot jizz shoots out over her tits, into her mouth, dripping down her chin, wiping it with a finger, tasting it, swallowing it down, begging for more as if she could never get enough.

Then rest, aloft in a post-coital glow, until we are ready to go again, eager, willing, desperate for each other's bodies as only exists in the early days of fucking.