Bad Beth and Beyond

When I told George, thoughts of what might have been did wonders for his recuperation. He was hard as glass in minutes and splitting me open missionary style. He fucked me like a wild man for about fifteen minutes as I just lay there, a sponge for his passion. I must have come five times. And we both knew the others could hear every stifled scream and muffled moan.

By then the beers had gone warm, but we drank them anyway.

I could go on, but you get the idea. We tried every position we could think of, taking short naps only for one of us to wake the other by sucking or probing or licking. I gave as good as I got. I've had many passionate nights since, but that still ranks as one of the top ten. And while my first Black cock has certainly not been my last, I've stopped thinking of them as special or different. They're cocks, and I like cocks.

I ran into Hakeem a couple of years later when we shared a stats class. We chuckled about the refrigerator raid. He confessed that it had fueled his fantasies for weeks afterward. So naturally we got together for an extended fuck session. I learned that he would have won the dick-bragging rights hands down.

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The Roots of Coincidence

By this time I was married and I'd been, I guess you'd say 'active' for a couple of years, with quite a bit of time in the game.

I said my number is still in double digits, so you can figure with all the fucking I've done there must have been repeats. True, and there's more than one story there.

I have rules. Like, I never fuck anybody else in my home. Even when Don's away at some law conference (golf junket) his bed remains free of strange semen. It's partly respect, mostly caution. I guess I don't deserve many points for that, but it's still my rule. Another rule: no cameras, ever. I have no rule about condoms. I probably should, but bareback is much better for everyone so I just don't care.

I also hunt my cocks far from places and people we might know. A couple of my women friends may suspect I'm not as strictly moral as I appear in church, but my secrets stay secret. Out of simple, rational self-preservation I avoid areas where Don's golf buddies or colleagues might congregate. This means I spend time a couple towns away, in clubs and hotel bars and taverns near airports and other joints catering to transients and travelers.

But while I have fucked plenty of men I'll never see again, a lot of travel isn't random. Salespeople have routes, consultants have patterns. And so I have, I guess, regulars, guys I'll hook up with every so often. It's never prearranged, but we may find ourselves in the same lounge on the same day and recall that we clicked.

Of course, randomness can produce coincidence. Sometimes a Tom and a Jack are both at the same bar at the last place we met. They might get to talking, as men do, about sports and the women they've had on the road.

I could say I don't remember exactly when this happened, maybe some brunch in July or evening in March a few years ago, but that would be a lie. I know the very day and hour, because it marked a turning point in my adventures, opened a door I wouldn't now shut for anything.

I was nursing a midday mojito in the atrium lounge at a Hilton thirty miles away, wearing a classic light summer dress that showed off my slim (not skinny!) legs and hinted at the swell of my breasts. I didn't present even a little like a pro, so the management let me be.

Middle of the day isn't prime time for sex trolling, but I knew lots of traveling men used this hotel as a base, and I was itching for some dick, fresh or familiar. I spotted Jack, who I remembered fondly as an avid pussy muncher, just as he spotted me. I raised my eyebrows and he raised his glass.

We chatted a bit, just long enough to convince everyone this was a casual meeting with no agenda, friends happening on each other at lunch. Then with a tilt of his head he flashed me four fingers and I nodded back.

Old hands at this, we made our separate ways to fourth floor room. We knew what we wanted and there was no rush. We made out for a little bit, my hand straying to his clothed cock, his hands stroking and cupping my breasts. The heat increased until as if at a signal we broke it off and casually stripped. He helped with my silky bra, pausing along the way to suck and pinch my sensitive nipples. I slipped his boxers over his protrusion, getting in a quick suck of my own along the way.

Jack was as good at eating me as I remembered -- nibbling, pulling and scrounging for my clit with vigor and intent as I squirmed and humped his fingers. I flipped around and slurped his cock just long enough to get him ready to penetrate my now-sopping cunt.

He wanted me doggy. No objection here. His dick reached all the places it needed to. I had a too-quick climax, but Jack wasn't done. He plowed into me with determination, finally coming deep inside me with a groan just as I reached a third peak. This was what nooners were all about. With a mutual sigh we collapsed onto the bed, rolled apart and drifted.

Jack heard the gentle rap on the door before I did. We both perked fully awake, me with a WTF look, he with a sly grin. I knew something was up when he went to the door without asking who was there. I scootched back and tried to cover my nakedness with a sheet, but only got halfway before the door opened and a man I recognized stepped in with a matching sly grin.

"Hi Beth, remember me? I sure remember you. Damn, you look good naked." I did remember Tom, we'd done the same thing at this hotel before. That made him a 'regular' like Jack. And if I remembered correctly, his prick was somewhere in the 90th percentile and he knew how to use it. But, really, what the fuck?

I'm no genius but I can add. Sometime since my last visit these two had met in the bar and ended up comparing notes about the hot redhead they'd each screwed here. And in a cosmic concurrence, they were here today at the same time and they'd spotted me trolling again. I later learned they'd flipped a coin to see who would hit on me, then play out this scenario. A fucking coin flip, that's what I'd become. I suppose I could hardly complain.

After a moment's thought I dropped the sheet. I figured the worst that could happen is I'd get fucked again by a guy I'd fucked before, and I liked fucking guys. I didn't work out all the angles, but in the end it wouldn't have mattered. What actually happened was not that I got fucked by another man. I got fucked by two men. And let me tell you, that's not the same thing at all. At. All.

"Ok guys, I get it. Tom, you're the only one wearing any clothes here. I'd be happy to help you fix that. C'mere, let's get you naked, if you don't mind showing Jack your dick. I seem to recall it's a nice one."

Jack looked on as Tom added his clothes to our pile. My mouth was right there when his blooming boner popped out and his briefs hit the floor. I think even Jack gaped at the sight of it. Top 10 percent for sure, over 8 inches of man-flesh, thick as a salami and twice as smart. I dove on it.

I sucked him to full strength and indicated that he should return the favor. I know a lot of guys don't relish the thought of eating a cream pie, especially when it's not their cream, but Tom didn't hesitate. Jack's load was mostly deep inside, but enough oozed out that Tom couldn't avoid it. It's not like it had anywhere else to go. He ate me like a trouper. His talented tongue quickly had me grunting out another climax.

Tom then rose over my supine form, fished around in my slick folds with that sausage, and pushed in. Even as loosened as I was from the earlier sex, it was a tight fit. I groaned in appreciation as he pumped into me with increasingly powerful strokes.

Until now Jack had been a passive observer, lazily jacking his revived cock as Tom took control. Now, though, he knelt beside the bed to knead my tits and nip my nips as Tom thrust into my burning cunt. Tom encouraged him. Hell, I encouraged him. The extra stimulation put me over the top for the, how many-th time? I expected Tom to shoot into me quickly, but this is where the story takes its twist.

"She's got another hole, Jack. Nobody has to sit this out. You ever done a sandwich?" He was asking Jack, but we both answered no. My excursions into anal hadn't been especially pleasant. Still, I was never much of a "no" girl. When the time is right I usually go with "ok, fine."

Tom's cock never left my pussy as we slued around on the bed. I was on top facing him and he clutched me close to his chest. In that position my back end was poking out toward Jack, my asshole spread and exposed, with Tom's dick firmly tucked in the sweet hole below.

"I... I've never done this," said Jack. "Can she really take this? Will it be too much? Won't it hurt?" I had some of the same questions.

"Naw, shit, she'll get into it fast. Trust me, it's something every woman wants, even if they never get to try it. C'mon, get hard and slick up. Take up some of our juice, smear it on your pecker and around her pucker."

I could tell Jack was a little squeamish about touching Tom's cock where we were joined, but that's where the goo was, so he manned up and grabbed a glob. He rubbed it around my asshole, working it in with one finger, then two, until even I was urging him to hurry up.

I was unprepared for the sensation. It was like nothing I'd ever felt. Each hole had been fucked before, with varying results, but both together? That was new, exciting, and just a bit nerve-racking. Not painful enough to make me want to stop, but enough to remind me that this was happening here and now.

Tom had kept up a rocking motion during all this, aiming to keep his cock stiff and both of us on edge -- not that I needed it. He paused long enough for Jack to slowly wedge himself into my bowels. It seemed like he was two feet long. The pressure from the two cocks was intense.

Once Jack was seated Tom eased us into an alternating motion that left me breathless. One cock in, one cock out, repeat. I was constantly full and constantly stimulated. I didn't last half a minute before exploding into a paralyzing climax, not just from the stroking but from the whole scene, the whole depraved, stimulating and overwhelming scene of which I was the star, the center, the cunt and the asshole. I didn't stop coming until first Tom, then Jack let loose and flooded gouts of semen into my stretched holes. I only stopped then because I'd squeezed out their softening cocks. Nobody volunteered to lap up the slime oozing from my ass.

I think this is what heroin must be like. The first time is so good you spend the rest of your time chasing the memory but never matching it. I've done doubles since, and more, but this was the time that started it all, and nothing else has ever had that magic.

Not even the second time an hour later, when Tom had me face away and squat my asshole onto his dick. He leaned me back by cupping my tits and directed Jack into my still-twitching cunt. I make it sound easy, but believe me, it took some work to get that monster in my ass. Yes it was fantastic, and yes I came a lot, but it didn't have the same edge.

We left that day after showering (alone -- I couldn't let them at me or I'd never get home), with promises that we'd do this again. But no numbers or last names were exchanged, and fate hasn't yet brought us together again.

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Money, Honey

You might assume that for any reasonably attractive woman, picking up a man in a bar is child's play. You'd be right, if she had no standards. The devil is in the details, and the venue matters. In a typical dive or sports bar, you have to sort the duds from the gems, fend off drunken assholes without them getting violent, and have a place nearby to fuck. I don't prefer sex in cars, but it happens. I've done it in back rooms in dingy bars, sometimes serially because the barman wants a tip to open up. Fun when you're new, with an element of danger, but any charm quickly wears off. So I don't hunt in 'nabes' any more.

Hotel lounges avoid many of those problems -- drunks can still be obnoxiously persistent, and Mister Right may not be in town that day. But when you do get a hit there's always a comfortable bed and a shower.

I prefer midday to nights but it's a tradeoff. Afternoons are mostly good guys, business travelers or office types on a long lunch, but the pickings are slim. In the evening, selection is high but the pros are working. As you may know, it's not always easy to tell a classy whore from a wholesome young thing like me just out for fun.

So one night at the Omni, this happens. My clothes were nice but not overtly sexy or flashy. I had on my usual minimal makeup, just something to draw my green eyes out of my pale skin. I didn't think I looked like a working girl, but as I said, neither do some of the working girls.

I slipped onto a stool and ordered something not too alcoholic -- I don't need liquid courage and I like my wits about me. For the eleventy-sixth time I got the eye from the bartender as he set down my glass.

He leaned in. "Hi honey, I'm Ricky. If you're working tonight I can be your friend, but there's a bar tax." He wanted a few bucks to vet customers and steer the vice guys away. I used to get indignant but now I just feign surprise.

I flashed him my wedding ring. "Me? You think I'm a prostitute? Wow, I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered. Guys would pay to have sex with me? Really?"

He stepped back and put up his palms. "Hey, no offense, my mistake. Enjoy your drink. But..." as he leaned in again, "for the record hell yes."

I don't know why this time something clicked. I motioned him back over and slid over a folded fifty. "Tonight, just tonight, let's say I'm open to suggestions." I was tired of battling the pros and wondered what it would be like to not have to play the seduction game. Yes, I'd technically be a whore, but I guess I could put my take on the collection plate next Sunday or buy Don a set of balls. I mean, you know, like Titleist or Maxfli.

Ricky steered my first customer to the next stool, a tipsy shlub with a stupid grin I ordinarily wouldn't have looked at twice. He didn't blink at $500, so I mentally jacked up the price for next time. I could afford to price myself out of the low end since I didn't need to work.

We went to his room, got naked and got busy -- just a quick suck and fuck. I was cleaned up and back at my stool in half an hour. Word got around. I was taking average-Joe cock in various positions for the next two hours, and a couple of thousand richer. I only got off once for all that, but the quantity and variety were interesting. I blew guys who'd never have made my usual cut, and got a few nice surprises. Along with some not so nice ones, of course, though I'd been lucky not to have met any of the real crazies we all know are out there.

I got a few dirty looks from the usual talent. One mumbled that I was killing their trade, but no one threatened or tried to stop me. Just working girls together. I did skim the cream, but there were still guys who couldn't afford the tariff, so there were johns to go around.

It should have been a one-night adventure, a quick dash to the dark side, but the simplicity, the no-nonsense transactional nature of it, plus the ego boost from discovering I could command top dollar, had me taking another stab at it a few weeks later.

Ricky got another fifty, and I soon had suitors. This time I asked for $750 and gave myself a mental high-five when a hot guy in a Brioni suit didn't bat an eye. He got the works (well, not anal, I'd ruled that out) and got me off too, so, bonus. He told me what a great fresh fuck I was and asked for my number. I hadn't planned for that. I wanted to keep this separate and on my terms, so I politely declined. I'd definitely fuck him again for free though, in another time and place.

I thought I had a handle on the gig, but then, something new. A nervous guy of about 25 wearing a convention badge that identified him as 'Nelson' invited me to his table, where five more guys just like him were struggling to keep their eyes in their sockets, ogling me almost slack-jawed. A princess among the toads.

"So, Meaghan [I didn't mention that, did I?], Ricky said you, you know, provide, ah, services. To guys. For money. Hard to believe, a stunner like you, but... is it true? And if so, what's the going rate?" Ever practical, these engineers.

"Well, Nelson, I do provide certain services, as you put it. Most men think I'm well worth my fee. You can have what you've been staring at for $750. That's one time, cash in front, whatever it takes to get you off." I was pretty sure that would scare them away, but remember, I didn't really care. It was never about making the rent.

A series of gulps and glances went around the table. I could see them mentally checking their wallets and coming up short.

"Is there... is there like a group rate?" Ha. He wanted the convention special. Points for nerve, anyway.

I still didn't think they'd bite, but I was having fun. I gave a pretend frown and said, "Um, I guess I could do $600 each to move things along. But time is money, guys. If you're not players I have to get back to the bar."

They seemed to come to some mind-meld conclusion, because there were nods all around. They huddled for a minute. "So, Meaghan, we'll have to hit the

ATM to get the cash together. Ten minutes, OK? And, um, what exactly do we get for $600?"

I didn't hold back. "I'll suck and fuck each of you, in turn, one time. You can decide if you want it in private or not, it's all the same to me." As I said that I started to juice up. The thought of doing six guys in a row was hot, but the idea of doing it with all of them watching was way hotter. I really hoped they weren't too shy.

They were back with the cash in no time. We went up by twos and threes so it didn't look like, well, like what it was: six horny dudes and an expensive whore heading to a gang bang. I asked Nelson to be my escort.

This was a suite hotel. Every room had a living space and a king bedroom that opened up with double doors. The boys (yeah, they kind of were) settled onto couches and looked at me expectantly. They didn't know I had no more experience at this than they did. Money changed hands and my now-stuffed clutch went into the room safe along with all their phones. No cameras, ever. I set the combo.

"Drinks from the mini bar? Want to loosen up a little?" God knows I did. Someone got ice and someone else found a glass. I tipped in a tiny bottle of cheap bourbon. We tried to make small talk but everything trailed off after a sentence or two. They weren't here to talk.

I set my glass on the coffee table. "OK, I'll start. If you have some music..." One guy proudly linked an iThing to a Bluetooth and just like that an insistent beat filled the room. Stripping music, maestro.

What I was wearing wasn't designed for a striptease. I swayed and dipped and spun, but this dress was more of a standing still and reaching around deal. I motioned for Fred (for fuck sake they still had their _badges_ on) and he joined me in sort-of dancing as he lowered the zip. I shrugged off the dress. I was left in just a lacy bra and thong panties. I knew I looked hot, and seeing the lust in their eyes and watching them rub their crotches was making me horny as hell too.

Fred stuck around, stroking my body, kneading my breasts and rubbing my pussy through my panties. The others felt left out so I invited them all up. If you've ever had six guys working you over, pinching and gently biting your nipples, probing your ass crack and pussy lips, you know what a treat it is.

"Time you gentlemen got into it. Condoms over here if you want them [no one did]. Nelson, you get first crack. C'mere, drop trou, lose the boxers. I know you've got a big one for me. Don't let these dudes intimidate you. Show them how a real man takes a woman." Please let's keep it open, I prayed. I really wanted all those hungry eyes watching me get fucked over and over. "C'mon, all of you, get naked."