Trinity Ch. 02

I told Paul about my 'hooker' thing - something I'd never mentioned to anyone. This was a heavy one, but I guess quite a few girls with my kind of background have fantasies of this type. I saw myself in a sleazy room somewhere in a vast city. The room was softly suffused in a crimson light. I was spread out buck naked on a bed, legs apart, mascara'd to the eyeballs, my hair strewn wildly over the pillow and boy! was I being had! I was having my brains steadily fucked out by one thick, dripping cock after another. No names, no faces, just a succession of sweating backs, pumping buttocks, powerful, muscled male bodies grunting away, pounding me, stiffening as they thrust in deep and injected floods of cream into my womb. The bed was sodden with cum, my whole body was full of it - the mixed cum of a hundred different men. The room was saturated - totally saturated - with an almost suffocating smell of sex. Then I would get up from the bed, kneel down and ravenously suck cock - one cock after another, clasping the buttocks of the men I was servicing, feeling them twist and grip my hair as they roughly forced their cocks right down my throat, holding my head rigid as they pumped their sperm into me. I carefully swallowed all that sperm, every drop, digesting the whole mixture, making it part of me. And an important part of this fantasy was that the whole thing was being filmed on video camera. The sight of me having my brains fucked out would be sold in all the porn shops in the city, infecting a million alien desires - all those other poor jerks who'd never actually get to fuck me, to feel and smell my delicious, fragrant body. But they'd all see me on video and jack off a thousand times. I'd be responsible for millions of male orgasms, for a vast river of cum. I'd be part of that great sisterhood of hookers throughout the city, a single, vast, secret, female body spread out the hidden corridors of the city. We take in all the secret sorrows, miseries and desires of the male - as well as a hell of a load of cum!

I think Paul almost got a heart attack when I first started talking crap like this, but to tell the truth, I knew he might be shocked and carefully edited out some of the details I've just told you - especially the blowjob bit, which we'd never actually done together properly. I was beginning to see that that's the way a lot of men are - they want something, but when they get it, it really hits them hard and they can't handle it. They think we're full of some kind of big 'mystery'. I dunno. I think for both sexes it's better not to probe - better not to open that 'seventh door'. You know the story of 'Bluebeard's Castle'? If you don't - get it and read it.

So I reined myself in a bit from then on. The version of this fantasy I created for Paul was that we'd agreed to rent me out for a night to some rich, oversexed guy. The encounter would be filmed for Paul's benefit. I'd talk about this fantasy while jerking him off. There's actually a movie somewhere out there about this. But the real trouble about this whole fantasy thing, about the teasing games we had, was that I just couldn't keep a straight face. I'd just burst into helpless fits of the giggles, especially when he seemed shocked. Maybe that was my safety valve.

But the voyeuristic thing with Paul gradually got more serious. He began discussing the possibility of a threesome involving another guy, or one with another girl, or even a foursome with another couple. Now the thing is, as I've said, I have fantasized from time to time about having two men at once - I'm not sure there's any woman who hasn't - but this is a pretty dangerous thing to do in a marriage. Threesomes, foursomes or any other group sex may work fine for many people, but there's always the danger of things getting out of control and of someone getting hurt. Of course it's a really sexy fantasy - a great one - as long as it remains that way.

Besides, I wasn't interested in sharing Paul with another girl. By this time we'd moved to North America, doing post-grad work at a major university and living in a small apartment in a high-rise near the campus. There was this dark-haired, brown-eyed, pale, skinny chick at the school I knew he fancied and who'd been hitting on him - one of his students. She was a looker all right, I had to admit it, but that was all the more reason why I just couldn't bear the idea of watching Paul and her together. You see - I'm the jealous type.

Nevertheless, Paul kept on nagging me about the threesome thing, and what with his insistence, the photos and his rather elegant erotic drawings (one featuring me and I think you know whom), the idea began to turn me on - I mean really turn me on. I just couldn't help it. If this was what he really wanted, if this was what would satisfy him, why not? Hell, it would be a really horny experience for me too, provided it was the right kind of guy and things didn't get out of hand. I discussed it with him seriously and we decided we'd go for it. The problem was - with whom? By now I was getting a wet crotch thinking about who was going to be the lucky guy to get me next. A couple of mutual friends of ours came round at different times and we began working on them, but I always spoiled it. The fact was, although I liked them, they were such hopeless jerks that the very idea of having sex with them made me burst into giggles. That really upset them (and Paul too). Needless to say, things cooled off because of this and we just forgot about it for a while. Then when it finally happened, it struck like lightening.

I'd a part-time job working in a shop down in the street just beside our high-rise - part of the building really. We didn't need the extra cash. I just wanted to broaden my knowledge of the language and get to know the locals. It was a Monday evening as I remember - the final week of November. This guy came in. He was tall, lean, dark-skinned, with very piercing, black eyes and straight, close-cropped black hair. There was an elegant, sexy sway to his body, and as he casually sauntered down the aisles I just couldn't take my eyes off him. Then I felt the boss glaring at me.

So this guy came up and paid for his stuff. As I was giving him his change I tried not to look at him, but he gently took hold of my fingers, then released them and ran a single finger in a circle over the back of my hand. I felt an electric tingle and looked up at him, straight into those coal-black eyes.

I guess I can't really write about this without sounding corny, Yes. I went weak at the knees, my heart started thumping away, I felt dizzy, my crotch went damp and all that crap. Lust at first sight, they call it. Or body chemistry or something.

"I'm Robin," he said, grinning.

"And I'm Ela - with one 'l'," I said, looking back at him, trying to be casual and 'sultry' at the same time but not sure how to do it. God! I thought, please don't let me start stuttering, stammering, giggling and throwing my arms about, like I always do with guys I fancy. Not now, please. Luckily, other customers were queuing up behind him glaring at us, saving me from making an idiot of myself. The boss looked like a Japanese tragic mask. End of scene.

"See you around babe," he said.

"Hope so - I'm on tomorrow morning, by the way," I said in a low voice, with that 'seductive' smile of mine I've been told turns guys on - very restrained, lips slightly apart, eyes steady. I felt I was being penetrated as I said it.

"OK, see you here then," he said casually.

I thought my insides were going to burst open like John Hurt's in that 'Alien' movie. 'Excited' doesn't quite describe how I felt. 'Exhilarated' was more like it. No, thank God, I hadn't flipped, I'd kept my cool. But what was I doing? Bad girl, I thought, bad girl, flirting like that. But it's such fun, isn't it?

So next day we met for coffee after I'd finished work, and I eased up with him. We zapped through our life histories and backgrounds. He was of quite mixed descent - part native American, part oriental, part Irish and part something else - Jamaican or something. Whatever it was, it was a cool mix as far as I was concerned. He seemed to have drifted round the whole continent, from Tuktoyaktuk to La Jolla, working here and there as a chef. He also wrote a lot - stories, poetry and so on, and had published some stuff. I told him about Paul, how we both got where we were and so on. The fact that I was married didn't seem to phase him one bit. We just gabbled away, oblivious of everyone else, eyes locked, faces so close we were almost breathing into each other.

He'd been married, had a kid - a little girl. He'd led a bit of a wild life after they'd split and seemed to enjoy telling me about it. From what he said, cunts seemed to slip on and off his cock like rings on fingers. I'm not exactly sure what he was trying to do, but if he was somehow trying to turn me on it was working. He seemed to read me like a book.

"For me, you're Rob, not Robin." I told him. "You don't dig for worms, you're a bird of prey."

I proposed we meet up the next evening with Paul and go out for a drink or something. He agreed, of course. My panties were soaked when I got home.

That evening I told Paul I'd met this rather cool guy down in the shop, but didn't elaborate on any details, or dare mention the coffee meeting. Paul was intrigued - as I knew he would be. I'd never told him before about any men I'd been attracted to since we'd met. He eagerly pressed me for more details, but I carefully downplayed the attraction bit for the moment. I felt I was walking on thin ice, so only suggested that Rob was 'kinda interesting' and that Paul might like to meet him. He agreed, and no, I wasn't even thinking at the time of what you may think I was thinking about - well, not consciously at any rate.

Wednesday night. It was unseasonably mild for November, so we dressed lightly. We met up with Rob down in the street and went for a stroll down the 'Sin Strip', checking out the bars. I could see Rob and Paul were eyeing each other up, doing the macho thing. I thought I'd better defuse anything silly, so I suggested, just for a laugh, that we pop into one of the strip clubs. We did. No, I 'd never had any lesbian experiences, but I can and do get turned on by girls - and these were really great. Actually, they were delicious. Of the three of us, Paul, Rob and I, I think I was the one getting most turned on. I desperately wanted to be one of those strippers - to do what they were doing, to strip carefully and slowly in time to that raunchy beat and gradually expose my luscious body, buck naked, vulnerable, richly smelling of hormones, tits sticking out, cunt dripping, legs apart, hips thrusting, before all those leering men. It was a variant of the hooker thing. Those delicious kids would be my sweet, oh ever-so-sweet sisters. Hell, what a way to earn extra cash! Beats that fucking shop any day.

We got to talk to some of the girls and I told them how great I thought they were. And yes, a couple of them were actually post-grads like me. They invited me to join them any time - I had the body for it, they said - all I had to do was learn the routines. Paul wasn't amused. Rob seemed to know quite a few of them. I was beginning to think 'Sin Strip' was 'his territory'.

We went to another bar for a drink afterwards and began to get really canned. We got talking about sex and Rob started boasting about the number of chicks he'd fucked, the number of virgins he'd broken in and so on - I think just to taunt Paul in some way. It turned out he'd 'known' a couple of the strippers we'd met - in the Biblical sense, if you get me. As we got steadily more and more canned, Rob and I started fooling around - flirting, giggling and so on. Paul was watching us like a hawk, but didn't seem to mind. Then he sort of broke in and started this intense conversation with Rob. Like I said, it was quite a warmish evening. I was wearing light shoes - no socks or anything, and I'd already eased my shoes off in the bar. I stretched out one of my bare feet under the table and began caressing Rob's leg. He turned and grinned at me. Paul didn't notice anything. I moved my foot up to Rob's crotch. Yes, there was a decent bulge there and I began working on it with my toes. As you'd guess, what with Paul's fetish, I'd become pretty expert with my feet by now. I watched Rob starting to breathe heavily, struggling to keep up some kind of 'intelligent' conversation with Paul. He reached his hand under the table and began caressing my foot, pulling it into his crotch. He unzipped his fly. My toes reached in and felt this swollen, bald, questing, head-like thing - something like that thing that bursts out of John Hurt's chest in 'Alien'. It was warm and moist. I began working on it with a bit of help from Rob, fixing him with my eyes, my tongue sticking out slightly between my lips. Paul was busy lecturing away about something. I wanted to get both feet up into Rob's crotch and really bring him off, but then somehow I just couldn't keep it up. Paul was being so fucking serious, so totally oblivious of what was going on under the table, the whole thing was just so fucking ridiculous, I suddenly burst out into another fit of the giggles. Rob understood perfectly and also burst out laughing. We were both absolutely fucking helpless for several moments. Paul was looking from one of us to the other, very po-faced, totally mystified. It only made things worse. We fought for breath, gasping desperately, tears streaming down our faces. I can't remember the explanation we finally dug up - something about something really witty Paul had supposedly said. Vanity's a cool thing. He swallowed it. We exchanged phone numbers with Rob and went home.

That night I told Paul that Rob turned me on - that we'd had this 'thing' in the shop when we'd met. I was quite delicate about it, careful to work it into a playful, fantasy game, jerking Paul off while I crooned on about how great it would be to have Rob fuck my brains out while Paul watched. I'm sorry to say I burst into laughter again as he came and had to work pretty hard to soothe his feelings.

It hit me in the morning - what the hell did I do the other night? What the hell was I thinking about? But the more I thought about it, the more I just had to have Rob fuck me. I just had to try him out, even if just once, just for the record, just to get him out of my system. This was what Paul had wanted after all, wasn't it? And since I really loved Paul, the best way would be the threesome thing. Look's like it's going to happen after all then, I thought. It would be the best way. I had a vision of me stretched out naked on our bed. That cock of Rob's had seemed a real whopper, from what I'd felt with my feet. I imagined it penetrating me while Paul watched, then thought of their two male bodies pressing against mine, of their cum mixing and mingling in my cunt. I felt an intense surge of sheer, burning lust and my cunt started dripping again. I felt dizzy and faint. Steady, I thought, steady, take it easy. Let's go carefully, let's not fuck this up.

I couldn't see Rob on the Thursday - I had the whole day in school - but I rang him up and suggested we go for coffee the next morning, when I knew Paul would be out. Rob agreed of course, but strangely enough, he told me that Paul had rung him up as well and wanted to go for a drink with him that evening. Fine, I thought, the two guys had better get to know each other if they're going to share my body, but I still needed to talk to Rob on his own. I told him not to tell Paul we were going to meet the next morning. He understood.

Friday morning - and there we were back in the café.

"So what's up with Paul?" Rob asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Doesn't he see what's going on with us?"

Then I told him - everything about Paul's fantasies, about mine, about how Paul wanted to watch me get fucked by another man.

"He must be fucking crazy," Rob said. "Hell, if you were my wife I'd be so fucking jealous of you."

"Yes, but I'm not your wife - I'm his. The thing is, do you want to fuck me or not?" I couldn't believe what I'd just said. There was a pause.

"You like me, don't you?" I said in a low voice, feeling real tense inside.

"Hell babe, of course I do, I think you're terrific."

"Well then?"

"You know I do, babe," he said softy, looking at me intensely.

"Well, this looks like the only way we're gonna do it. Wanna come round and join us tonight? Say about seven?" I looked at him steadily, resting my chin on one hand.

"Well ... you bet! But are you sure Paul's really up for this?"

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure. Just come up for drinks and we'll play it by ear, OK?"

"OK."

I've never been so tense and nervous in my life as I was all that afternoon. What the hell was I doing? What was I going to do to Paul? My conscience started playing hell with me. I got round it by persuading myself that after all, he was only coming up for drinks, nothing more. Nothing had been set yet. 'Coming' for drinks. I sniggered. So where else is he gonna come? I got a fit of hysterics - and an acute attack of wet crotch.

I prepared a variety of snacks - including a lot of steak tartar. Steak tartar's great with cold vodka - and it gets you horny, believe me. This had always been one of our favorites - Paul and I had actually been guzzling steak tartar and vodka when I'd proposed to him - yes, it had been me!

I checked our supplies - booze - plenty, food - plenty, cigs - more than enough. I got out some decent raunchy albums I could really rock and roll to, then reached into our hiding place in the kitchen and pulled out the dope tin (marked 'lapsang souchong' of course) - we still had some decent sensemilla left over from a trip to Tijuana. I rolled three joints, then got myself ready for the evening.

I showered, blow-dried my hair, then put on a pair of tight blue jeans - with a broad belt buckle to emphasize my hips. No panties. Why bother? I thought. Then I chose a white T-shirt. No bra either. I wanted my nipples to stick out. I made myself up to the eyeballs, crimson lipstick included, and shook my hair loose. Oh, and no shoes, I decided finally. I always feel more horny going barefoot. And easy on the perfume. Too much kills the smell of pheromones, whatever they say. When I'd finished, I looked at myself in the mirror, hands on hips and gently swinging them from side to side, pelvis thrust out, lips slightly apart, the tip of my tongue just visible. Yep, a real fucking horny slut was staring right back at me. Christ! I thought. What's Paul gonna think when he sees me like this?

As evening drew on, panic set in again and I poured myself a stiff drink - then another and another. I chain-smoked and paced around the room, then went to the window and looked across at the other high-rise opposite. Many of the people opposite were real exhibitionists - leaving their curtains fully open so all of us on this side could watch them balling each other. No doubt they could see us too, although I always wanted the curtains shut when Paul and I made love. It was real entertaining, mind you, and we liked watching. We had a set of binoculars, which came in pretty handy.

And as I glanced across I could see that it was another lively night. Quite a few of them were going at it full tilt over there. Hmm, I thought, pretty hot stuff - could be a neat way to get the three of us started. I began pacing about again.

Yes, Paul was startled when he saw me, but when I told him Rob was coming up he was staggered.

"You mean he's coming up here?" he panted as if he was about to come.

Then I opened my big mouth again - I just can't help it.

"I don't know about 'coming' just yet - take it easy!" I burst out laughing.