|
Early in my sluthood I was overenthusiastic. I'm not
a gang-banger by temperament. One man three times a night appeals more to
me than three men once each a night. But excess is probably necessary for
a girl to find her sexual balance.
I'm American and was living and working in a small remote country in
Africa. I was 35, and only a few months before I had quit saving myself
for marriage and long term relationships. I'm a successful, well-dressed
career woman, bespectacled, big-boobed, and, alas, rather plain in looks
and personality. Prissy, I've been called. Little do they know!
It was a party on a hot night in a small apartment. Six men and four
women. All the others were Peace Corps volunteers in from their rural
homes for a monthly weekend of rest and relaxation in the city. It's tough
out there for the PCVs. Sex with the locals is not recommended so they
come to town with a lot of pent up emotion. I was probably the oldest
person at the party.
This party had no spark. We lounged around the small living room and ate
lasagna and drank wine. The spark finally came when two men got into an
argument about the Southern Cross -- the constellation. One said you could
see it; the other said you couldn't. We went out on the small terrace to
settle the argument, turning out all the lights in the apartment to
achieve maximum darkness and visibility.
All ten of us stood clustered together and scanned the skies. No Southern
Cross. So, in consolation, the losing man gave us a five-minute lecture on
the origin of the cosmos while we sweated in the hot tropical night. As we
started to go inside, somebody said, "Leave the lights out. Let's dance in
the dark."
That sounded like a good idea. We cranked up the stereo and in the total
dark we reeled and rocked around the living room, moving from each to
another quickly, coming together to feel the sex of your partner, and then
sashaying away to find another. The air conditioner labored and failed to
keep down the temperature.
A girl cried out, "I'm going to dance topless." A boy followed suit, "And
I'm dancing bottomless." The topless girl swirled by me and the bottomless
boy found the clasp on my halter top and loosed it and then he untied the
string around my neck and my breasts swung free. Bottomless boy
disappeared in the dark, and it was a naked sweating woman in my arms who
pulled off my shorts and whose finger found its way inside my vagina.
We were singing and dancing, touching, but seeing nothing in total
darkness. A boy and I came together for a slow dance, his erect penis in
my groin, probing back and forth while I helped him with my hands on his
buttocks. My tits were slick with sweat. I didn't resist as he maneuvered
me to the sofa against one wall. I laid down and he reclined over me, his
penis finding its way inside me. The others were still dancing, brushing
against us as we lay on the couch, my legs wrapped around him, his ass
pumping hard. (Peace Corps volunteers are all tested for AIDS, so I felt
somewhat secure in abandoning my usual insistence on safe sex.) .
This boy had a very short, thick penis that he drove into me frantically
with all the sexual tension of a long dry spell. He cummed before I was
ready, one of the longest and hardest climaxes I have ever felt -- five,
six, seven spasms and I sensed a large flow of semen. I like to feel a man
cum.
He didn't linger more than a couple of minutes and was up again and off
into the dark, seeking another partner. Somebody had turned off the
stereo; the dancing had ended; the sex had begun. A couple was breathing
hard on cushions on the floor an arms length away from me. The others had
disappeared, although I could hear noises around the apartment.
I listened to the sounds of sex as I laid there in the dark. The girl on
the floor was a squealer. Cum was dripping out of me onto the sofa.
Suddenly, a man was standing over me. He reached out and felt me, his hand
finding my breasts. "Becky?" he asked. I giggled. My big tits enabled easy
identification.
He started to lie down with me, but I said, "I gotta pee first. Let's find
the bathroom." Together, blind in the dark, we stepped over the couple on
the floor -- now quietly locked together -- and felt our way into the
bedroom. Another couple was in the bed, grunting and groaning. In the
bathroom, I sat down on the toilet and pee and cum surged out of me,
making a disconcerting loud noise in the now-quiet apartment. My boy stood
in front of me holding my hand, his penis at the level of my mouth, and he
began to hunch back and forth.
I wanted to be fucked to a good climax, but I'm all too amenable to a
man's desires, so I took his dick in my mouth and sucked him while I sat
on the toilet. I held him behind his knees with my hands and felt his
knees buckle as he cummed. While I still had his limp penis in my mouth he
said, "I want to fuck you."
That's what I wanted to hear. I was still looking for an orgasm. "Let's
find a place." But when we got back to the couch, it was occupied by a
madly-hunching couple as were the cushions on the floor, as was the bed in
the one-and-only bedroom. Where to go? The terrace.
There was no place to lie down on the terrace. After a couple of
experiments we found that the only way for him to penetrate me was for him
to stand on the ground, amongst the flowers, while I sat on the elevated
terrace and wrapped my legs around him. With gymnastics and cautious
movements we could stay connected -- and in fact I achieved a very
pleasant orgasm as he stood there driving his penis into me.
Boy number two and I separated. Satisfied, I began to creep around the
apartment looking for a place to sleep. I was getting ready to lie down on
the bedroom floor on a pillow -- along with two sleeping men already there
-- when the couple in the bed said, "You can sleep here with us, Becky."
They didn't have to ask twice. I snuggled in, covering myself with a
sheet.
Sometime in the night, I woke to find man number three mounting me. "Well,
why not?" I thought. The couple beside me was snoring peacefully. I
scooted down to the end of the bed and spread my legs with my feet on the
floor and my lover half-stood and half-reclined over me, thrusting a large
penis into my soaking wet pussy. Climax soon followed for both of us, the
ecstasy heightened by our attempt to avoid waking up our bed partners with
violent movements. I knew who my first two partners were; I never figured
out who was number three.
Well, that was my night. Next morning, we all woke up naked and searched
around the apartment for our clothes. We were a little embarrassed --
especially the other three girls. It appeared that two of them had paired
up for the night; the other girl -- the first one who had pulled off her
blouse -- and I had serviced the other four men. Three for me. How many
for her? two? three? four?
That was the only time in my life I've had sex with three different men in
one night. Nothing wrong with that, if it's your thing, but it's not
really me. I take my men one-by-one for the most part. One at night; one
in the morning; one in the afternoon. Twenty single male Peace Corps
volunteers lived in that country and over the next year I fucked 15 of
them. The other five were gay. |
|
|
