Why I am a Bull Ch. 05 - Grace

You're probably wondering where we went from here. I did. Eva was amazing; super sexy, smart, and I wanted her. The endless encounters we had merged together into what would turn out to be the most intense period of my life. Stories of her huge capacity to both give and receive sexual pleasure would fill a volume of it's own.

I could tell you about her impending wedding - how I was installed as the best man and belittled Ian, her husband, in front of all his family and friends in a speech dripping with innuendo, and later relentlessly pleasured myself with her body on their wedding night. I could tell you how Ian regretted his weakness in letting me into their life.

But that would be delving far too far in to fantasy land. Of course I wasn't invited to the wedding, which was a good thing. I didn't want to ruin their lives, no matter how much Ian might have fantasized about it. He was the kind of man destined to be the seed of his own destruction. Bulls who think they are going to replace the cuckold aren't bulls, they're potential husbands. I didn't want to be a husband, and nor could I have been. I was never going to give her the kind of life she was used to, or deserved.

I continued to see Eva - sometimes with Ian, sometimes not - often in bursts of passionate desire three or fours times in a week or so, followed by a hiatus when I guess they had work, plans, responsibilities and a lives of their own.

In reality, that made it about the most real relationship I'd ever had. All my other conquests were girls I met at pubs or parties, where I'd held their gaze just a little longer than normal, talked about them and not me, and deployed my charm and smile as way of letting them know I wanted them; as the opening salvo in the battle for their bodies, where they would inevitably surrender and I would complete my victory between their legs.

Like the time with Eva at the party, most of them didn't know in advance that they were going to lie down and let me fuck them like an animal in heat, but very few lasted more than an hour once the offensive had begun.

But always, once I'd had them, I moved on pretty quickly. Like many men, I liked the variety and newness of sex with a stranger, but more than that I liked that they didn't really know me. I remained an enigma or fantasy for them, even as I was squirting semen into their bodies for the second or third time in a night. They were fucking an imaginary perfect man. I know that more than a few of them hoped they'd be the one who could secure such a fantasy for themselves forever - but I hate to disappoint, and so never gave them the chance.

I did continue to see Eva and Ian after they were married for almost 18 months. However, when she fell pregnant, the truth is I couldn't continue. She didn't say whose it was, and I don't even know if she knew, but I knew I'd be unable to keep things focussed on me and her with those sort of questions in the background. I wanted what was best for the kid, whether it was mine or not, and Ian had the means to ensure it.

I always wanted to do what was best for my kids, I just didn't want to do it myself.

There was no "break up". We just managed to not make a date stick, and eventually the attempts stopped. We occasionally exchanged a "hi, how are you" message, and I did catch up with Eva around 7 years later. She was still stunning and very, very desirable. Maybe more than when I first met her. A little more weight maybe, but she carried it very well, especially on her hips and bust. She was impeccably tailored and made up in a way that made her look like the ultimate MILF. Money can buy a lot.

Eva said Ian was doing well. She said she'd had a few flings but just like me it had been to meet her physical needs, and she didn't seem to have pursued any other relationships. I didn't meet her children, so never had to guess if the eldest looked like me, and she never ventured an opinion.

I felt privileged that I'd been her lover of choice for 2 years, and that was that. No loose ends, just a journey of discovery and happy memories of nights filled with desire.

But it had left me with a problem. I found that the ease of bedding strangers lacked the frisson of fulfilling such a singular need. Where were the girls who weren't secretly hopeful that I was "the one"? Where were the girls who had found "the one", so I could just indulge in pure pleasure, and maybe have her partner give me a helping hand in life? Where were the men who were so desperate for me to paper over their cracks that they'd indirectly provide me with the lifestyle, money and status it looked like I already had?

You might, at this point, wonder if I'm just a grifter who's out for himself. I've wondered about that myself, but I never set out to profit from peoples' unhappiness or dissatisfaction. In fact it's the opposite. I thrive when when making women happy and satisfied, even if only for one night. So like life, it's all one big exchange. Humans are social, and sexual, animals.

I couldn't help but recall Eva's comment about swingers' clubs and middle aged women, which I equated with married (not entirely accurate, but a good enough guide). There was a new club in London, let's call it "Perishing Pussies", with the slogans like "live your best sex life" and "liberating women worldwide" (Google it, if you're unsure). There were flyers in the cooler clubs in London, and the slogans worked on me. I was definitely up for both of them.

For those who don't know, PP has a pretty strict, and essentially shallow, but necessary policy regarding single males. Good looking, polite, well-behaved, and of course the ability to perform like a pro in public. I can honestly tell you that a lot of men can't manage the last bit, but my experiences with Ian and Eva had cured me of any stage fright. Following what seemed like countless emails and an "interview", I was invited to party on a cold November night.

I arrived and took a look around. It was mainly partnered women, who had clearly already got their husbands to accept their desires, or whose husbands who fancied a different woman for a night and whose women were too timid to object. I'm sure some of the couples had equally adventurous ideas, but the inequitable ones seemed more common. There were a few single women, but I daresay they were either performers, professionals, recently separated or just intrigued and not looking for sex.

The evening started with a "masked ball", but following the kind of theatre I hate (gongs, speeches, costumes), turned into a veritable fuck-fest.

It was a goldmine.

I took my time, walking around surveying the writhing bodies. I think the most striking thing was the silence. I don't mean the quiet - there was plenty of noise, I mean no one was talking before, during or after sex. It was mechanical, like a porn movie with no plot or characters, shot for international distribution where the images had to do all the talking.

I decided on my mission. I wanted to find a man who would further my interests. Let's be straight here - money, maybe a job - things were kind of lean at home, and the fee for PP wasn't low. I knew my strengths and I knew how to play to them.

For the first time in my life, I'd use my charm to seduce a woman via her man.

Neil was watching his wife being spit-roasted by two younger men as he stood at the bar. It only took me a few minutes to work out who he was. Occasionally, another man would come and talk to him, and there'd be some exchange, before he raised his hand toward Grace, his wife. Sometimes the man would approach the trio and stroke or touch, but they were far to busy to stop and invite another to join in. It was obvious, at least on first sight, that Grace was the more sexually adventurous of the two of them. She willingly and actively sought to act provocatively, prostrating herself to make penetration as easily available as possible.

Although Neil watched her intently, he tried hard to look uninterested, occasionally pretending to check his watch or look around. He was fully clothed and held on to a tumbler of whisky. He wasn't there to play, he was there because he liked watching his wife play. They were I'd guess around 40. He had all the trappings of a man with wealth. I could tell he wasn't a fake. After all, I'd know how to spot one.

I approached him, giving no clue as to my knowledge of his connection to Grace.

"I thought this was meant to be a classy kind of party, but that woman is the cheapest whore here. In fact the cheapest whore I've seen in a very long time." I said as I stood next to him.

He kept looking at her, sipped his drink and said, "You think?"

"Sure, look at her. The drool on her face. The marks on her arse. The sounds she makes as that cock batters her throat. The way she arches her back to give easy access to her holes. She really can't get enough. I've been around quite a bit, but that bitch would have me for dinner. No wonder her husband brings her to parties, the poor guy must be exhausted! It looks like those two are struggling to give her what she needs."

"And what does she need?" he asked.

"Obviously a proper banging - she looks desperate to come. I'd guess she needs to feel she's desired. Because she doesn't she's substituting sex for desire, and it's not getting her where she needs to be. Those two will lose interest as soon as they've emptied in her, or before if they're saving themselves for someone they actually want. Then she'll be looking for more. I've seen her with at least three other men this evening, and she's never satisfied. She's clearly happy to let her inner slut off the leash in the hope of relief. Her husband probably loves her, but doesn't desire her like he used to, so he's trying to outsource."

He turned to face me, pausing for a second to take in this young, good-looking, cocky stranger who seemed to think he had all the answers.

"I'm her husband." he said coolly.

I feigned a pause - a fraction of a second - and a look of embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to judge. I thought you were just watching. Steven, by the way" and I held out my hand.

"Neil," he shook and gestured toward the threesome, "and that is Grace. And you're right, she is a whore. She's always looking for men. But you know, you have to give the special woman in your life what she wants."

"Wow. Never has a name been more inappropriate." I quipped.

He chuckled. "You're a joker. You don't bother to work out she's with me, call her a whore and a slut, tell me what she wants and needs as if you know her, then take the piss out of her."

"True, but I'm pretty certain I'm right. Get her cleaned up and I'll show you. I'd happily make Grace feel amazing. When I'm done with her, the slut will be banged into next week."

"That, I'd very much like to see." he said, almost salivating that a stranger was going to degrade or take something from her in some way. Or at least have a go at doing what he no longer either could or wanted to do.

The truth is, "powerful" men thrive on competition. That challenge was one Neil was bound to take if the opportunity arose. He couldn't resist - his ego demanded he test me so he could prove his superiority, as well as satisfy his lust. It was my job to create such an opportunity, and Grace was just one more thing he'd use to prove his point.

Neil was very different from Ian. Not a submissive cuckold, but something I now know is called a "stag" - a man who uses and directs his wife's sexual power for his own ends; to see her used for his own titillation. Sometimes stags join in for a threesome - an altogether more wholesome affair - but Neil was more distant. More controlling.

We sipped our drinks and watched Grace like you'd watch an wildlife movie. I could almost hear Attenborough narrating the whole scene. As predicted, after another 10 minutes or so of switching positions and trying to get her off, the guys looked at each other, slowed and withdrew. Their solid erections demonstrating they wanted something better than our Gracie, or at least for the night to not yet be over. She pulled her lingerie and tiny, sheer vest back over her body, struggling to regain her composure after being led up the hill and down again, never reaching the summit.

Despite what you may think, these clubs can be cruel places for women. The vetting of single males means that, as in most walks of life, the men make the choices. The high availability of women and the fact that most men can only perform once or twice in a night mean the girls are actually the product, not the carefully selected men.

(Incidentally, I've subsequently found there are clubs that have worked this out and have "greedy girl" nights where the men significantly outnumber the women. If you're a woman looking to fulfil a fantasy, it's there that you'll be able to exercise real choice and real power).

She disappeared, I guessed to clean herself up and appeared at Neil's side a few minutes later.

"Wow!" she said, "That was great, those guys were so hot."

I said nothing, and studied her. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, almost reporting back to Neil for his approval, or trying to get him aroused. As she was talking to him, I looked her over. For 40-ish she was in pretty good shape, even with smudges of makeup all over her face. The kind of woman who, unlike Eva, wasn't improved by makeup or clothes. She had a genuinely natural beauty - very feminine, almost like a Victorian painting, with a vulnerability I found engaging. And of course a deep sexual frustration that oozed from every orifice. Literally and figuratively.

"I'm glad you're having fun, darling." Neil replied. "Would you like me to find you a new playmate?"

He sounded more like a pimp than a play partner.

"Um, maybe in a few minutes, I could do with a cool drink."

"Allow me." I interrupted. She turned, having not really paid me any attention in the half-light. "What can I get you?"

"Oh, just a lime soda, thanks." I turned to the barman and ordered. She was still looking at me when I turned back. The female gaze can be easy to read. Grace liked what she saw. She was horny and a good-looking man had just done a small, simple thing for her. We were at a sex party. I could have had her there and then if I'd been impatient, but I had longer game to play.

"This is Steven," Neil said, "he's something of an amateur analyst."

I handed Grace her drink. As she drank, I asked her, "Does Neil pick all your playmates?"

"Yes, pretty much. It's surprisingly time consuming, and you can imagine giving out my phone number to strangers isn't a good idea - they send me all sorts of demands but rarely fulfil any!"

I was touched by her openness. I think my relative youth meant she felt the need to share her 'wisdom' and 'experience' of the scene. I found her voice really sexy - quite high, but soft. Surprisingly girly. In a different environment she'd have come across as the kind of woman who sings to herself while doing chores and smiles at the beauty of the world around her.

"So what would I have to say to him to get a recommendation?", I asked her.

She giggled. "I have no idea! I think he'd want to know things like: What you'd like to do to me? How you'd feel doing it?"

I'd picked well. Neil wanted men to do things "to" her. He wanted to watch her do them. He didn't want to do them himself.

"How about, if I said I know of a sex act you can't do?"

"Hahaha. Honey, at my age there's very little I haven't tried. Right darling?" I could tell from her tone and smile she was very certain. It almost felt mean to trap her like this. Neil smiled his agreement as he raised his glass to his lips.

"Neil, are you game?" I asked him

"I'm with Grace. You seem to like to throw out challenges, Steven, but I think you underestimate her."

God, he was starting to irritate me. He made her sound like a competition pony. I had to tell myself to stay calm.

"Before you both prove me wrong, can I just ask you, Grace, if I'm right, will you take me out on a date, and Neil, you'll do a forfeit if Grace fails?"

"Hahaha" she had a great laugh, "really? You want to go on a date?"

"I do. I think you're special, Grace, and I'd like to get to know you better."

"Deal." they both said, with Grace enquiring, "so what's this impossible sex act you are proposing?"

"I'd like you to give me a blow job, right here, while Neil tells you you're the perfect wife."

They looked at each other. "That's it?" their expressions said.

I untucked my shirt, unbuttoned it and proceeded to unzip my fly. I'd dispensed with underwear as it seemed pointless at a swingers party, and my semi-erect cock was exposed to her. She got to her knees, running her hands down my hard torso, and within seconds of her lips touching the head, it swelled to its full size. Grace moved around it trying to find an angle of entry, "Neil?" I said, "what were you about to say?"

"Come on Grace, darling. I know you love sucking cocks... You do, don't you... Come on Grace, don't let Steven here embarrass us..."

He continued to try to encourage her. He told her I'd love it, he said if anyone could do it, she could. He stroked her hair and tried pressing her head on to my cock, but there was no way she was going to get it in her mouth, just like Eva and every other girl who'd tried. It was just too thick.

"Come on, darling, it's not like you've not sucked off loads of men before!" he chided her. Maybe if he hadn't made it sound like she'd let them down, like it was somehow her fault, he might not have deserved what was coming. His idea of describing the 'perfect wife' filled me with contempt. For him the 'perfect wife' seemed to be about real-life pornography.

After a minute more struggling, I gently guided her up by her arm and said, "so, I think Neil has to do a forfeit, right Grace?"

She kept looking at my throbbing cock, now pointing to the heavens following her constant attempts to engulf it, "Yes, I guess he does. Sorry Neil."

It was time for Grace to hear what she really needed to.

"I think we're going on a date Grace, and I think we need to explain a few things to Neil. First thing, Neil, your wife needs to cum. Grace, you sit on this bar stool, and Neil, get on your knees and be a good husband and eat her out."

In silence they both complied. Grace with happy abandon - she almost skipped up on to the stool with a huge smile - Neil in stoic silence. It wasn't the sex act he objected to, it was my confirmation that I'd been right and he'd been wrong.

"And while you're down there, I'd like you to try and remember all the cocks that have been up there before you tonight. Five was it? Six?"

He got to work while I gently kissed and caressed Grace's face, cradling her between my chest and thick bicep as she leant into me. She couldn't help but stroke and fondle my now almost painful erection.

"What a bad husband you've got Gracie," I said softly, "but don't worry, we'll get him back on track. We'll work on him together and he'll show you he really does care about you. He's been pretending the other men are about you, Gracie, but we both know the truth, it's about him. He likes it, so you do it to win his affection, but he's a bad husband. Well, from now on, you'll do what you want, and he'll just be grateful you're you."

She gazed into my eyes me as her breath sped up. I gently talked to her and stared back into hers, touching her face with one had and gripping her waist with the other. Her faltering attempt at a hand job let me know she was wrapped up in her pleasure, unable to focus on the job at hand, so to speak. Her face and chest flushed and finally, with much encouragement and gentleness she reached orgasm, shut her eyes tightly and a series of small gasps left her ruby lips. I swear I saw a tear fall from her eye.