Three Two Times Once

TWO TIMES THREE

The title of this tale sounds like some sort of new math. Let me explain how it came to be true.

It is the story of the sexual adventure I experienced while we were vacationing in Canada. It was a one-time fling with a stranger that I still remember vividly years later.

SEDUCED:

I'm Claire, my husband is Roger. We were about ten years into our marriage when we were on vacation in Quebec, Canada. We drove up through the Finger Lakes Region of New York, visited Montreal and Ottawa and then spent a couple of days in Quebec City. Roger is an avid fisherman and had scheduled a day to try his luck in one of the northern lakes. I have gone with him a once or twice, but I find fishing incredibly boring. I can catch the nicest salmon in about five minutes in the super-market. But it's good for him to get away and relax. He has a stressful job. It gives me some time alone too so I can do some of the things that only I like to do.

Roger had booked the fishing trip up into the sparsely inhabited forest to the north. He left before dawn and would be back late that night. I planned to sightsee around the city and look at some shops, have a nice lunch and relax.

I was in the downtown area of Quebec City and had visited a number of shops. I was just browsing, looking at antiques, art and Canadian crafts and such. In one of the stores that sold all sorts of nice things, but nothing you really need, I was helped by a nice young man, who showed me some of the ivory and wood carvings done by the Inuit people. He spoke with an intriguing French accent. He was very nice and I bought one wood carving of a walrus with ivory tusks. He explained that the ivory was taken from dead animals and they only sold things that were blessed by various environmental and indigenous advocate groups. I didn't ask the young man's name, but he was a charming fellow with a nice sense of humor.

I left the store and walked out into the street. There was a vendor selling coffee and tea. I bought a large Styrofoam cup of tea and was paying for it when it started to rain. Before I knew it, the light shower turned into a deluge. I was wearing just a light cotton summer dress and I was soaked to the skin in about a minute. I was looking for a place to go for shelter when the young man from the craft shop appeared with an umbrella.

"Let me help you get out of this rain." He said with his French accent. For some reason, women like to hear men with European accents.

I accepted his offer and moved under the umbrella. He led us to a small cafe a bit back from the open street area. We huddled under the awning of the shop. In my hurry, I had left the tea I'd bought at the vendor's stand. The young man introduced himself, Paul. He kindly offered to go retrieve my tea. I took a seat at an outdoor table under an awning and waited for him to return.

It took a few minutes longer than I expected until he came back with my tea and a cup he had bought for himself. "I had them remake yours. It had gotten cold with the rain. Do you mind if I join you until the rain stops?"

"Of course not. You are very nice."

We had a nice conversation. I told him I was a tourist from Virginia. He had visited there a few times, he said, on business. He was a buyer for many of the local businesses and his job afforded him the opportunity to travel quite a bit. He was an independent buyer and supplied a chain of tourist shops that I had seen in a few locations. He was in his early 40's, divorced with no children and no current love-interest. We kept talking for close to half-an-hour. His stories of his travels and strange things he had seen were very interesting and amusing. He was a real talker and I loved his accent. I thought I could listen to him for hours.

He noticed that I was shivering. My dress was soaked. The weather had cooled, but was still very damp.

"You should change out of that dress. You'll catch pneumonia if you don't"

I agreed and asked if there was a store that sold women's clothing nearby.

He said, "There are a few stores, but they are very expensive and there is not a very big selection of styles and sizes. I have a dryer at my apartment which is just a block from here. I could fix you some tea while we dry your dress."

Now, I'm no dummy. If my dress was going to be in the dryer, what would I be wearing?

He sensed my concern and said, "I have some robes and sweatshirts that you could wear while your clothes are in the dryer."

Now he was talking about all my clothes, including my underwear. I wondered if I could trust him. My intuition told me I should be wary, but I agreed to go with him.

We walked about two blocks to an apartment building and went in, going up to the second floor. His place was very small, a combined living room and kitchen with a bedroom off to the side. There was also a balcony overlooking the street and a small bathroom.

Paul gave me a choice of a robe or a sweatshirt. I chose the robe and went into the bathroom to get out of my wet dress. I took off my dress and then realized that my bra was wet too. I had a choice, dry the bra or wear it wet. I chose to dry it. While I was removing the bra, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was in my early-thirties, still in good shape. My boobs still stood up okay. My figure had recovered some after two babies. I raised my arms over my head to make them rise. My husband likes that.

I had another decision about my panties. They were damp. I would be wearing a robe, so it wouldn't matter what was underneath. I took off my panties, then my shoes and socks. I was naked, except for my jewelry, my wedding and engagement rings, my earrings, a necklace and three loop bracelets. I put my jewelry in my little purse and was wearing just my rings. I opened the door enough to throw my clothes out for Paul. I heard him pick them up to take to the dryer.

I used a towel to dry my hair. I watched my breasts jiggle in the bathroom mirror. Being naked in a strange man's apartment was highly erotic. I was feeling a little tingle in my groin. Then I picked up the robe. It was a white terrycloth robe, like they have in expensive hotels. But when I put it on, I realized it was not one of those robes. It was nice material, perhaps a little too small, and it did not drape to my ankles like the hotel robes. It only came to mid-thigh, at least six inches above my knees. Instead of feeling cozy in a big oversized robe, I was pulling the small robe tightly to keep me from being exposed. Oh well, I thought, I'll just have to be careful.

When I emerged from the bathroom in the small robe, I asked whose it was, since it obviously didn't fit Paul. He told it belonged to 'an old girlfriend'. I commented that she must've been smaller than me. He nodded but said I looked better in the robe than she did. That led to a brief conversation about his romantic life. He said since his divorce six years earlier, he'd had many girlfriends, but had never found anyone he liked enough to marry.

Paul had put my clothes in the dryer and was making tea and grilled cheese sandwiches. We talked while he tended his culinary efforts. When the tea and sandwiches were done, he invited me to sit on the little balcony overlooking the street.

It was a delightful spot and I became intrigued with Paul's running commentary on the things that were happening and the people we were watching. While I was watching, I lost my focus on keeping the robe tight around my legs. It had fallen open and when I noticed that it had, Paul was surreptitiously looking at the parted robe and the 'show' I was giving him. The robe had fallen to the side of my legs and my thighs were exposed. More importantly, my pussy was uncovered. I had my knees about a foot apart, but it was enough to give Paul a view of my pubic triangle and the slit of my pussy.

"Oops. I'm sorry." I said.

"Sorry for what?" He asked.

"The robe was open and I was showing you little too much of me."

He said, "Please don't cover-up. You are a beautiful woman and I like looking at you. Consider it my reward for helping you today."

I don't know why I did it, but I let the robe fall away and I briefly spread my legs so he could have a nice view of my pussy.

I was nervous, so I stood and went to the rail on the balcony. Paul was beside me, pointing things out and making jokes and observations about some of the people he regularly saw. I found myself relaxing and enjoying his sense of humor.

I was standing there watching when Paul surprised me by getting behind me and putting his arm around my waist. He pulled me closer and put his face into me, lightly kissing my neck and shoulder. I shouldn't have been surprised. I had gone to the man's apartment, stripped naked and let him look at my pussy.

He was kissing my neck and I was uncertain about what to do. He had been so nice, got me out of the rain, was drying my clothes and had made lunch. I didn't resist and when his hand reached around and went into the top of my robe, I gasped. I don't know if it was resistance or pleasure. He put his hand on my breast. He lifted it to feel its weight and squeezed my hard nipple between his fingers.

I said, "I don't think we should be doing this. I'm a married woman."

He replied, "I know you're married. That's what makes this exciting for you. A man, a stranger wants you and you have a chance to be with him without anyone knowing. We'll never see each other again, but I'd like to have a wonderful afternoon and I know it's something you will always cherish."

I said, "How do you know I'll cherish it?"

He said, "To be taken by a stranger, a man with a strange accent, to have him worship your body, thinking only of your pleasure for one afternoon. There is no commitment, no concerns about your life, finances, world events, work, or anything else, just an afternoon of pleasure."

He was convincing. At any rate, I had not stopped him from fondling my boobs. He had turned me to him and had his arms under the robe and around my back. His hands were caressing the bare skin on my back and roamed down to the rise of my ass. Then he was leading me inside the apartment. He turned us toward the bedroom. The robe fell from my shoulders. I was naked with a man for the second time in my life and now this sexy stranger was leading me toward his bed, intending to make love to me. I was enchanted with the idea and his appealing reasoning. It would be a one-time thing. I would let this man take me, make love to me for one glorious afternoon.

I was on the bed. He had pulled down the blankets and had removed his own clothes. I looked at his penis. It wasn't large or anything, just a normal sized penis, I guess, based on my limited experience with penises. But his was erect. It is exciting to have a man get an erection over me.

He moved between my legs, limiting foreplay to preclude me changing my mind. He gently spread my legs and hovered over me. I felt his prick probing around my crotch, and then it just slipped inside me. I obviously was wet down there so his prick just slid into my vagina. Just like that, he was fucking me. His cock felt good; it filled me. I squeezed him with my vagina muscles and looked into his eyes, seeing his lust for me. The way he moved his hips and pumped his penis was different than what my husband did. The different pace and style were erotic and I knew my pussy was getting wetter. His face was in my breasts; then he was kissing me. My senses were being overwhelmed. It felt so good.

Then, he went down on me. I whimpered when his prick pulled out of my vagina. He gently kissed his way down my body. His lips were on my nipples, then my belly, stopping at my navel. He moved down to my bush. I didn't and still don't shave my pussy. Roger likes my hairy pussy, so I keep it wild and scruffy for him. But now, another man was enjoying the scent of my perfume in my pubic hair. I always put a spray of perfume on my pussy as a lure for my husband's nose. Now, Paul's nose was nuzzling my bush and I loved it. When his tongue touched my clitoris, I arched my back and groaned with my first orgasm. Paul took my labia lightly in his mouth and flicked his tongue over the valley between the ridges. He moved his tongue around my vagina opening and then put it inside me. I pulled his head into my crotch, wanting to pull his face inside my cunt. He was marvelous at eating my pussy. My husband is pretty good, but Paul seemed to be an expert at how to get a woman to come using just his tongue. I was wetting his face with my juices. He was sucking on my cunt and swallowing my cum.

While I was gasping for breath, he moved back up and pushed his prick inside my incredibly wet cunt. I continued to come as he pumped away. He held me in his arms and fucked me like nobody had ever done before. It wasn't fair to compare his fucking prowess with Roger's. Paul was obviously much more experienced. He did some things in way that I have never forgotten. Even years later, I remember him sometimes when I'm being screwed or eaten in a particular fashion.

I was panting, out of control with sex. Paul looked at me and said, "I want to come inside you. I want my cock to feel the flesh inside you when you sense me coming."

I didn't object and soon, he came. I felt the warm fluid gush in my vagina and up into my uterus. He continued to pump for a few moments. Some of his come squeezed out of my vagina and dripped down over my crotch onto my ass. I truly relish the feeling of a man's cum oozing out of my just-fucked cunt. He kissed me tenderly and rolled off of me.

We were both exhausted. I must've dozed off for a while. I woke to find myself under the covers, still naked. I saw Paul out in the kitchen. He looked sexy, wearing shorts, nothing more. I walked into the kitchen. He had closed the door and the drape to the balcony, so there was no need to cover my nakedness.

This man had seen physical aspects of my body that even I had never seen. When a man puts his face in a woman's pussy, he is seeing something that she has never seen herself, except maybe in a photo. The intimacy of a man eating my pussy is much greater than screwing. He's able to see inside me, touch me, put his tongue or his fingers into my vagina; taste my female juices; while he is focused on the most private areas of my body.

He had made love to me, and I wanted him to do it again. It was evening and I had a few hours until I needed to be back at the hotel.

There was a knock on the door. Before I had time to even look for my robe, Paul opened the door. It was a guy delivering dinner. I was just standing there, naked, while he put the bags of dinner on the table. He got an eyeful of me. I really didn't care. I was developing a liberated attitude about exhibitionism. If he wanted to look at my naked body, let him. I'd never see him again and if it gave him a thrill, wonderful.

The dinner was some French cooking of vegetables and veal, accompanied by a nice bottle of wine Paul had in his refrigerator. We ate. I stayed naked. Paul dropped his shorts and joined me. I was transfixed at the sight of his cock. It bobbed up and down and swung to the side when he was clearing the table. I had only experienced one cock, Roger's, so seeing another one was fascinating. I don't know why. Cocks are not at all attractive. Like cunts, they are built for action and efficiency, not for show. Regardless, I had to take it in my mouth. I motioned for him to come to me. I leaned forward and proceeded to put all my effort into giving him a first-class blow-job. He'd been sucked by experts, I'm sure, but he was definitely appreciative of my valiant efforts to make him come. I was rewarded by a spurt of his semen into my mouth. I like the taste of cum. He tasted different somehow from my husband. I wondered if there were women who were 'cum-tasters', like there are 'wine-tasters'. "Paul's cum was tangy, with a hint of almond, etcetera."

We took a shower together. We soaped each other's bodies and we made sure the other's genitals were completely clean. We dried, but didn't dress. My clothes had been finished in the dryer hours ago.

We went back to the bedroom. As we laid side-by-side under the covers, I asked him, "Do you do this often? Pick-up married women and screw them."

He said, "I prefer the term 'make love' rather than vulgar terms like screw or fuck."

I laughed and said, "Well, I'm sorry about the language, you fucked me. There was love-making, but you fucked me."

He laughed and answered my question. "Actually, it's my favorite thing in the world. To get a married woman in my bed is a particularly rewarding challenge. There's nothing like it."

He went on, "It's thrilling for me from two perspectives."

"What are they?"

"I enjoy the love-making. For me, it is really a tremendous accomplishment to make a woman come, to get her to let loose of all her inhibitions, to overcome all the things she's been taught about being modest during sex. To have a woman writhing with my mouth on her pussy or my dick inside her, is the ultimate high for me. It's like climbing a mountain or winning a race. It takes patience to seduce a woman, particularly a married one. The pleasure is in the journey, not just the final accomplishment."

"What's the second reason it thrills you?"

He said, "I find it incredibly rewarding to make love to a married woman, a woman who has pledged her fidelity to her husband. To seduce her; to get her to abandon her vows and let me take her, is a fantastic high."

"Wow!" I said. I was reflecting on his comment. He had seduced me, rather easily. He had seduced me into breaking my vow of fidelity.

He continued, "Just think. A man has his woman, his wife. It's a primitive thing. He's the only one who strips her naked, the only one who gets to make love to her, to put his penis in her vagina and squirt his seed into her womb. To take her, to get her to abandon her faithfulness is a unique accomplishment. I don't need for the husband to know I've made it with his wife. It's nothing against the husband. It's doing something, reaching a very difficult goal. To get a woman to give it up. To be the second man, after her husband to put my semen in her womb, to enjoy the carnal pleasures of her body, that's the really rewarding accomplishment."

"How many married women have you had?"

He said, "I believe you are number nine. That seems like a lot, but it's actually a select group." He laughed. "You have been seduced by Paul, a master at making love to women. I'd be in the hall-of-fame if there was one."

I laughed at that. "What would be the categories? Maybe best cunnilinger."

He suggested, "Most stamina as determined by the number of times a guy comes in one night."

"What's your record?"

He said, "Coming two times is usually all I can do."

I looked at him and said, "Want to try for a record."

He rolled me onto my stomach. He used his fingers to spread my ass cheeks and get a peek at my asshole and my eager pussy lips. He put some lubricant on his cock and slid it into my pussy. The slick lube created an incredible feeling as he fucked me.

He continued to pump away at my pussy for a while. Then, I felt his finger probing my tiny asshole. He slipped the tip of his finger inside me while his cock filled my pussy. It felt good.

He asked, "Have you ever done anal?"

I said, "What? Are you kidding?"

He said, "I want to try it with you. I promise I'll be gentle and won't hurt you."

Roger had tried my backdoor once a year or so after we were married and it didn't work. It hurt and it's not easy to put the dick in the back hole. It easily slips down and finds its proper home in the pussy.

"We tried it once, but it hurt, so we quit." I said.

He said, "Well let me show you how."

"Why do I need to learn that?"

He said, "So you can teach your husband how to fuck you in the ass."