As Addison spoke with the restaurant hostess, I watched a group of people near the bar – three men and a woman. They were all attractive people but that’s not what held my attention. I saw, even from several yards away, the glimmer in her eye and heard the lilt in her voice. I became her, just for a few seconds, because the situation she found herself in was the one to which I often masturbated: one woman surrounded by men. I envied her and wondered if her evening would turn out anything like my fantasies. For her sake, I hope they did, for I held little hope that mine would ever live up to my own imagination.
Please understand that I am not disappointed – not really – that I am not likely to live out my three-to-one ratio fantasy where every man wants to fuck me and, because all of them are irresistible, I give every man that opportunity. In fact, in my fantasies, everybody is dying to experience what’s under my unprepossessing clothing and, for some reason, I am eager to reveal it.
In real life, though, I am pretty but shy. I am the quintessential good wife with the requisite number of children (two), the charming house (mortgaged), and the attentive husband (when he’s not preoccupied with his job). As I watched the men in the restaurant usher the lucky woman to their table, my mind wandered to a place it shouldn’t – a place very much at odds with the anniversary dinner I was about to share with Addison.
But Addison had encountered someone he knew and was shaking hands and exchanging greetings, so my mind had all the permission it needed to reconstruct the evening according to my wanton and forbidden fantasies. It would have to begin, I decided, before we left the house that night . . .
“Are you sure this is what you want me to wear? I feel kind of slutty.”
I stand before my husband in a mini-skirt and thigh-high boots. My long blonde hair hangs in graceful waves around my shoulders. I know I look great but my usual look is not quite so blatantly sexual. I need his assurance.
His eyes sparkle. “Perfect,” he replies. “Everybody who sees you will wish they were me.”
He kisses me and runs his hand along my thigh. I kiss him back, enjoying the precious time we’ve arranged for ourselves this weekend. The weekend babysitter has just arrived and, after dinner at Butterfield 8, we are off to cloister ourselves in the Peninsula Hotel downtown. I can’t wait to have him all to myself, with no screaming children and no obligations.
Butterfield 8 on a Friday night teems with hipsters, curiosity seekers, and those who want to be seen. The food is only one of the reasons we like to patronize the place – the spectacle of humanity never fails to disappoint. Even the wait staff provides unwitting entertainment.
As we make our way through the crowd to check in with the hostess, I avert my eyes from all the stares that come my way. My outfit turns as many heads as Addison predicted, and though I am accustomed to admiring glances, drooling stares are relatively new to me. I’m not sure I’d want it every day of my life, but for tonight, it is strangely invigorating.
Addison speaks with the hostess as I look around. My eyes widen when I caught sight of Jeff and John at the bar.
“Addison!” I nearly shout to be heard over the din of the crowd. “Look over there! Jeff and John are here!”
“Well, let’s join them! Our table won’t be ready for a few more minutes.”
Neither of the men have ever looked at me the way they do tonight. I am reminded of those cartoon wolves, the ones with the gleaming eyes and teeth. I giggle at their stares as I approach.
“What the heck are you guys doing here?” I say, giving them each a hug.
“We’ve gotta eat, too, you know,” Jeff says, laughing. “With Amy gone, I have to fend for myself.”
“Most men would just open a can of tuna,” I tease. “I didn’t realize Donna was gone, too. . .” I say to John.
“Yeah – visiting Bruce and Jane down in Tampa.”
“So, we’ve got you all to ourselves,” Addison says, grinning.
“You look stunning tonight, Lena,” Jeff observes. John agrees. I bask in the attention.
The air in the bar changes for me at that moment. A hush seems to fall, as if somebody had thrown a thick blanket over the crowd to muffle the dull roar. I look from my husband to Jeff to John and back again. My imagination is surely working overtime. It is just a coincidence that they are here. Without their wives. Assessing me like I was prey. I had to know for sure; my fantasies are too good to be true.
“Did you guys know we would be here?” I ask Jeff and John.
Addison answers. “Yes, honey. I thought we’d surprise you.”
“So we’re all having dinner together?”
“And whatever else comes up,” Jeff winks.
My heart races. My pulse pounds in my ears. Addison stands there, beaming, proud of me and eager, apparently, to share me with his best friends. Amy and Donna virtually never travel without their husbands, so the situation is a once-in-a-lifetime set of circumstances. I am suddenly very aware of my pussy.
“Taylor,” comes the growl of the hostess. “Table for four.”
As we walk to our table, men and women turn to watch me pass. The attention fuels my confidence – I walk taller and even sway my hips as a result of the multitude of gazes. I am a high fashion model on an exclusive Paris runway, secure in the knowledge that I strike awe in my audience.
The women are especially disconcerting. I read envy in their eyes and slowly realize that a woman with three men is indeed an enviable situation. I savour their stares and let my eyes linger on their men, just for fun.
I’ve never been so wet in my life.
We are seated at one of the restaurant’s best tables, a banquette that faces the centre of the room. The men let me slide in first and all I can think about is being careful not to leave traces of my moistness on the leather cushions.
I can barely focus on my menu. The talk among the men seems harmless enough but I can’t concentrate on that, either. John decides I need a drink. I don’t hear what he orders for me. When the waitress returns with a tray of drinks, she puts a pink concoction before me and leans in toward the table.
“A pretty drink for a pretty lady,” she purrs, winking at me. She is tall and voluptuous, a short-haired blonde pixie with innocence long ago lost. I smile back, uncertain how to flirt with a woman.
“Whoa, you got it goin’ on tonight, Lena,” John declares after the waitress leaves. “Even the women want a piece of you.”
“I’m sure she flirts with everybody,” I say, trying to sound dismissive but smiling at my own excitement.
The men laugh uproariously and Jeff touches my hair. “I think she’s hot for you.”
“Well, I’ve got enough to handle right here at this table,” I joke.
Addison orders dinner for me and when the waitress delivers it, she addresses me directly. “How are you doing tonight, sweetheart? Was that drink okay?”
“Oh, yes. It was fine. Thank you.”
“Good. Beautiful women should always be kept happy,” she says, running her tongue slowly over her lips before sauntering away.
“If she could, she’d take you right on this table,” Jeff teases. I am too embarrassed to respond.
“I have an idea,” John whispers to me. “Why don’t you go to the ladies room and take off your panties? I’m sure they must be soaked by now, anyway.”
Out of habit, I look at Addison, whether for support or defence, I am not sure. Not having heard John’s suggestion, though, Addison only looks at me sweetly and smiles, raising his eyebrows in eerie encouragement.
“Go ahead. You know you want to,” John urges.
“Would you excuse me, John? I need to go to the ladies room,” I announce so the table will hear me.
“Of course,” he replies, sliding out of the booth to let me out.
My walk to the restroom leaves me tingling and shaky. Heads still turn, eyes still stare with longing. Am I dreaming? What kind of night is this? I am so wet, I truly believe my juices are running down the insides of my thighs.
Inside the stall in the restroom, I lean against the door, close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. The broken lock prevents it from staying closed, so my weight against it is the only way to ensure privacy.
Should I really take my panties off? My skirt is so short. Should I risk it? Is John telling the table right now that I am in here taking off my panties at his request? I like it, damn it. I like knowing they are talking about me, getting hard for me, fantasizing about what they’ll do to me. Maybe they’ll even share their plans with the waitress!
I slip out of my damp panties, forgetting to hold the door shut. As it creeps open, I look up to see the waitress standing there with a cigarette, smirking as she watches me. My pussy throbs. Nobody else is in the restroom and a heavy silence hangs between us. I stare back at the waitress at first with shock but then with intrigue. I open my mouth to speak, but to say what? Spew curses at her? Politely excuse myself? Invite her into the stall? My mind is a jumble of erotic possibilities.
I freeze, panties in hand, the hem of my skirt around my waist. Oh, God, I wince. Why don’t I invite her in? Why do I behave like a frightened suburbanite? Just as I start to speak, the waitress turns around and casually walks out.
My panties hang in limp defeat from my motionless hand, as if I’ve tried to signal surrender with them but the other side hasn’t been watching.
My drink sloshes around in my stomach and disrupts my thoughts until I can think of nothing else to do but return to the table. Wadding the panties up into a ball, I stuff them into my tiny purse with a sigh.
I stifle a big giggle as I walk past the curious diners. My pussy tingles with arousal, especially now that it is free. I like having this new secret – no, these two secrets! – safely tucked into my mind. Hello, I imagine myself nodding at the gaping clientele. Yes, it’s true that there’s even less between you and my pussy than ever before. And, by the way, I almost had sex with a woman! Cool air circulates under my skirt. It really does feel better to have those panties off!
I make eye contact, almost accidentally, with a beautiful Italian man dining with a woman (his wife?). His dark eyes assess me so completely, I almost lose my balance. I can’t remember the last time a man so thoroughly undressed me without laying a hand on me. His companion shoots me a venomous stare.
As I slide into the booth to join the three men, my skirt threatens to rise above the line of propriety. I don’t trouble myself about it. My damp thighs are drawn to the leather seats. I have a sudden urge to smear my juicy centre on the seats as I slide . . .
“Well, you were gone much too long,” Jeff says when I am back in my place.
“Did you talk about me?” I venture, giving in to the giddiness that hovers on the edge of euphoria.
The men laugh. “Oh, yes,” John assures me. “But it was all positive.” They laugh again. He puts his mouth close to my ear. “Did you do what I asked you?” I nod discreetly.
“Is everything all right?” Addison asks. He senses I am not completely myself.
I feel myself blush. “Well, a weird thing happened.”
Eyebrows go up and heads lean toward me.
“Our waitress was in there.”
I pause. The men wait. Finally, Addison says, “And?”
“I think she was looking at me.”
“What do you mean ‘looking’?”
“You know, through the door.”
I can’t tell them what really happened – I don’t want to sound as culpable as I know I am.
“Did you like it?” Jeff asks, smiling.
“It was just weird.”
But I can’t get the scene out of my mind. And when the waitress brings our dinners, this time staring boldly at me without saying a word, the men take notice. The silence amplifies the woman’s obvious interest in me.
My internal temperature rises and I increasingly feel as if I am sitting in a puddle. Wet and fidgety, I poke at my food mostly to distract me from everything else I am feeling.
To make matters worse, the handsome Italian makes no attempt to disguise his fascination with me. Every time I look in his direction, his dark, velvety eyes are staring at me. I can only imagine how outraged his companion must be, both at him and at me, but what can I do about it? Apparently, John has a solution.
John’s hands are suddenly groping my knees, though his gaze is fixed forward; on the Italian, in fact. He says nothing, but firmly takes hold of my nearest knee and pulls it toward him, forcing me to open my legs. The man’s gaze immediately shifts from my face to my crotch.
I am so stunned by John’s actions, I don’t have time to react. He’s not only helped himself to my body but put it on display for another man to view. I’ve never in all my life exposed myself in public, let alone to a stranger. How much of my pussy can the Italian see? What must he think of me?
For the second time that night, I am amazed to discover that shame quickly dissolves into excitement. I like being the object of so much lust. Yes, there was a certain amount of power in it but also a liberation unlike any I’ve ever known. Look at my pussy! I want to purr at the Italian. Isn’t it pretty? What would you do with it if I let you have it? And how I wonder what he would do with it.
Despite my clothes, I might as well be naked. I’ve been laid spread-eagled on the table and am relishing every moment. In my mind, all sex flows from me. My body vibrates like a guitar string strung too tight and strummed incessantly.
Thankfully, the Italian is worldly enough not to flinch at the sight John forces upon him. Though he lingers on what is between my spread thighs, he shifts his gaze before his companion follows it. The corners of his mouth turn upward just long enough for me – and John – to know that he’s seen my glistening pussy and enjoyed the opportunity.
Neither Addison nor Jeff seem to be aware of what John has done. They eat their meals, blithely unaware of anything for the remainder of the evening. Their provocative banter continues while I virtually drip for the Italian.
After the men finish their dinners and I explain that I just didn’t have much of an appetite, they decide to skip dessert.
“I prefer to take my dessert at the hotel,” John says. “Behind closed doors and over a period of several hours.”
“So, how are you feeling?” Addison finally asks, breaking the silence on the way to the hotel.
“Fine,” I reply. My grin is unstoppable.
I know he wants to know what I am thinking. He probably wants to hear that I am excited or looking forward to what is ahead of me tonight. But no words can adequately describe the incredibly delicious anticipation I feel. Where can I begin to tell him about the whirl of thoughts and emotions inside me at this moment?
“Fine? Is that all? This from a woman who’s going to be fucked silly by three men who think she’s the most beautiful female on the planet?”
I smile at his enthusiasm and eagerness to please. His erection is very obvious. Even his voice is somewhat breathless. “Yes,” I say. “Just fine.” The car seat practically steams from the heat of my pussy.
John and Jeff lounge comfortably in the Peninsula Hotel lobby. Addison has driven quickly and not encountered much traffic – how do John and Jeff arrive so much sooner? Based on the twinkle in their eyes, I can only assume that the power of the libido has overcome the limitations of their respective cars. They get to their feet when I and Addison enter the lobby.
The woman at the reception desk smiles in that warm but detached way that customer service people are trained to do. Once the four guests have all collected before her, however, her somewhat vacant smile morphes into something else. As if reading the group’s intentions, that familiar spark seems to light her eyes. Everybody’s colour is a bit deeper, their voices slightly higher.
“May I help you?” the strikingly attractive woman asks.
How have the gods conspired to put so many beautiful women in my path tonight? Not only are they beautiful, but they eye me with the kind of wanton desire I’ve only fantasized about. Everybody seems to sense that I will be fucked by three different cocks. Rather than judging me a wanton trollop, people are drawn to my unleashed sexuality. The circumstance somehow affirms my sexual nature – if I am courting three cocks, I must surely be worth fucking.
The receptionist gives me the once over but it is unlike the kind of cold assessment I am used to getting from women. This one feels more like the one I got from the voluptuous waitress. My skin tingled.
“Yes, you can help us,” Addison says as he turns to me. “Why don’t you tell the nice lady what we want, sweetheart?”
My body temperature climbs several degrees. I hesitate, looking from one man to the next, hoping to be rescued, but all three of them smirk in response. My shyness peels away from me in layers, falling to the floor like unnecessary clothing.
“We’d like to check in, please. The name is Taylor.” My throat is too dry to swallow.
“All four of you?” The pretty brunette asks with a tilt of her head.
“Yes,” I say slowly and more quietly. I don’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on by this woman’s implied assumption. I can’t even look at the men’s faces – their amusement is palpable.
The receptionist types something into her computer and accesses the information she seeks. “Oh, yes. The honeymoon suite.” Her smile lingers long after she speaks. She writes something down, then retrieves the key to their room from the cubbyholes behind her.
Handing the key to Addison, she says, “Enjoy your stay,” with so much implication, I blush from head to foot. As the men walk away, the woman discreetly slips a small note card across the counter to me. Wordlessly, I take it and turn away.
On the way to the elevator, I pause to look at it. It reads “Fuck’em each once for me.”
The heat among the four of us approaches the incendiary level by the time we reach our suite. I will always remember that it is Addison who approaches me first, kissing me softly over my face and moving to my lips with sensual slowness. As his mouth meshes with mine, hands explore my body. Zippers unzip, and fabric slides along my skin. Hot breath caresses me.
Though the room isn’t dark – someone flips a wall switch when they enter the room – I can’t discern faces at first. As all of the men touch me, I become a goddess under their worshipping adoration. I feel loved, desired, profoundly sexual.
Several hours pass in a blur of unrestrained hunger. Cocks penetrate my pussy and my mouth. Tongues dance over my tits, coaxing my nipples to their fullest. The men take turns with me, each one lovingly fucking my brains out. I hear myself shouting with pleasure and know I am as much out of my body as I am in it. I can’t stay inside myself – the euphoria surpasses my capacity to withstand it.
There is a pause in the action sometime around midnight. I lose track of all orgasms, my own as well as the men’s. Addison slips out for a pack of cigarettes and suddenly my lust mixes with panic. It is one thing to give myself to these men when Addison is present but quite another to enjoy them in his absence. I am a schoolgirl, considering the ramifications of giving one a blowjob or letting another eat my pussy. Having my husband gone, even for a little while, makes me feel naughtier, which in turn makes me wetter.
I let myself focus for the first time tonight. To my delight, I discover that Jeff is hung like a horse. His big, thick cock mesmerizes me as he approaches and still glistens from my juices. I am vaguely aware of being penetrated by something large but don’t realize exactly who has wielded the object of my pleasure. Now I know it is Jeff and don’t protest at all when it is apparent that he is taking me again.
“I’ve been hard ever since Addison proposed this whole idea,” he confesses as he holds open my thighs and pushes himself into me. As I gasp, he continues. “I just can’t believe I get to fuck such a beauty.” He rams me hard, as if punctuating his comment. I admire his muscular physique that now shines with a thin film of sweat. I am consumed by the urge to run my palms over every developed contour of his finely shaped body.
Seconds after he sprays yet another round of come onto my tummy, John moves in to take his place. If Jeff can be defined by his size, John’s claim to fame is his exceptional hardness. He has yet to orgasm and we’ve all been fucking for more than two hours! His endurance captivates me as I see that his rock-hard member has a mind of its own.
“All I could think about was having you to myself,” he says as he kisses the insides of my things. “I want to please you until you can’t stand it any longer.” His mouth tickles my clit. Even the way he licks me makes me feel that I have powers even I don’t understand. He brings me to orgasm quickly and the moment the tremors subside, he slips his throbbing erection inside me and pumps away. Addison walks in on the scene.
Having him see me get fucked by someone else, someone he knows and has even encouraged, makes me spread my legs wider. I catch his eye and hold it, revelling in the excitement on his face. John fucks me incessantly – so long, in fact, that the other two men can no longer contain themselves. Addison feeds me his cock, which I accept gratefully. Jeff stares at the scene and beats off, spraying his stuff on the bedsheets.
I don’t know when we all fall asleep. Time has become meaningless many orgasms ago. Light dapples the sheer curtains and I turn languidly to greet the morning. Our bodies lay like rag dolls across the two beds and I smile with the memory of the previous night, knowing it will never be like this again, that the moment I return to predictable but loving monogamy, all I will have is this masturbatory fodder and an indelible smile.
“Honey? You okay?” Addison said to me, shaking my shoulder gently. He thought he was jarring me from some kind of reverie or daydream, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d just thoroughly screwed him and his two best friends. My panties were wet and I was sure my eyes were glazed over, but I managed a smile and came back to the reality of Butterfield 8. For two, not four.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I would have introduced you but then we never would have gotten rid of the guy. He probably would have joined us for dinner!” Addison said as we headed for our table.
I fought the urge to tell my husband that I could take as many men for dinner as he was willing and able to provide. Maybe I’ll work up the neve to tell him on our next anniversary.