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Every story has a beginning and my tale of perverted depravity is no exception. It’s easy to think that it began when I first met Erin, who later would become my wife, and partner on my lust-filled journey of mutual discovery. Or perhaps when we turned to kink to revive our flagging sex life, or even when we moved into the spacious four-bedroomed house in leafy Cheshire.
But the real beginning of my tale was fifteen years before that. The seeds for my twisted leanings were sown when I was a mere teenager. I thought I had seduced Holly, entranced by my witticisms, good looks, and half-a-bottle of half-inched vodka. On reflection, she had ensnared me, smirking as she rolled her hands over my virgin body.
It was my first time; I did not know how powerful sex could be and my lust for all things female had been amplified not sated by lingerie catalogues and dirty magazines. My hormones were rampant, my self-control non existent. I thought about sex morning, noon and night. Yet, my peers and I thought of Holly as the dirty creature. She was the one with the reputation. She was the one who had slanderous tales scrawled over the bog walls at school.
But that summers day, I became a man. Less Cider with Rosie, and more Vodka with Holly, but my three-day-old relationship with the feisty college girl saw my virginity stolen by the experienced missy. From the moment we stepped onto her driveway, to the pinnacle of my climax in the expansive forest overlooking our town, she was in total control.
And she knew it.
And she acted it too. The undressing of my clothes, so I stood naked in front of her, surrounded by trees and ferns in a secluded spot by the reservoir. She had a sharp intake of breath, eyeing my pasty eighteen-year old body tattooed with lumps, bumps and bruises with a wry smile.
I remember closing my eyes as I shivered in embarrassment, scared that she would laugh at the dreadful effects of puberty on my untaken body. I had no rippling muscles or brutish strength; I had no experience or confidence.
The sweet aroma of pine filled my nostrils as her fingers traced over my skin, trembling at her light touch caressing my bare flesh. I jolted as her finger slipped over my cock, and our lips gently touched. “Bit small,” she moaned. Our eyes met. “But I’m sure you can be … some fun.”
My cock withered with her simpering yalova seks hikayeleri observation; she sexily discarded her clothes to reveal a scintillating figure that will remained forever ingrained in my memory. Nothing can compare to her sexiness at that moment. Seconds later I fumbled at foreplay and then she pushed me onto the forest floor to mount my stiffening cock.
Warmth like nothing I’d ever experienced: an awesome power reflected in her eyes as she rode my bare prick with desperate and unrestrained horniness. A single-minded desire to extract my orgasm from my virgin soul as her hands pushed my shoulders into the earth and her hips smashed her cunt down onto my cock.
At yet, between the pants and groans, squeals and cries, she belittled my prowess. “Should see David Marsden’s cock. It’s fucking huge, size of an elephant. Massive. And Brent and Robert between them had been screaming for days. And Mr Barker after school …” And so on.
She knew what she was doing; her eyes fizzled mischievously as her body ground against my manhood. Reminding me she was not mine. Telling me, the sex was not special to her.
The intense urge to fill her cunt with my seed was overwhelming, the deep thrusting of my hips to meet her rhythm was instinctive. I was on edge, my face screwed and my pants desperate and short.
She smiled as my cock pumped the first wave of cum into her pussy and my lover gently rode my dick as I savoured the unbelievable ecstasy flowing through my body. Without a word, she stood up, pausing only to wipe herself with her fingers.
She made me suck her fingers dry; it tasted weird.
But every sex session was followed by cunnilingus as I would go down on my lover after our activities. She said it was the price to pay for bareback sex, but I just loved to see her orgasm and scream. I promised Holly I loved her. I think I probably meant it.
Alas, I was eventually to find that Holly was also entertaining three other men on the side although I ignored my suspicions of her indiscretion for several months. I was happy to get my weekly dates of friendship and regular doses of rampant sex if I ignored any evidence that our relationship wasn’t exclusive.
Until I confronted her about it.
“Of course I have other boyfriends,” she laughed, dismissing my concern with ease as she slurped her McDonald’s milkshake. “You don’t do all your shopping at one shop, why should I only have one lover?”
She almost resenting having to explain herself but detailed her never-ending infidelity over our nine month relationship. Emotionally it was too much: sleeping with my friends was damaging to my confidence, screwing my elder brother was crushing.
But she never saw anything wrong with it. I ran out of the fast food outlet and released my frustration in the woods, screaming at the trees as I thought of her. I cried; angry at myself and her. I returned home to hear the familiar lustful sounds and desperate squeals coming from the bedroom I shared with Joe.
I walked in on them; watching as Joe’s buttocks drove his bare cock into the eighteen-year-old who until so recently was my girlfriend. I froze, watching my elder brother fuck Holly.
We fought that day; we punched the hell out of each other until we had no more energy to give. I just couldn’t cope with her infidelity, but in my heart of hearts I had always known she was unfaithful. Every day I had seen the evidence and ignored it, and everyone at my college had known and whispered behind my back. Every time we’d had sex she’d dropped hints.
I guess I had dreamt of a fairytale romance. If I thought she was exclusive to me then she was, but I’d always known that she had needed many men to satisfy her. In truth, the rampant sex made her happy, and I had always known this.
And I learnt as I got older that the role of both partners is to provide a relationship basis that both sides can get satisfaction from and at that moment, I was enjoying my dates, my friendship and my sex with the young lady and she was enjoying playing the field.
Who was losing out, exactly?
Unfortunately, I didn’t realise that then, and it would take over a decade for me to get over my fears of non-exclusivity. Years to get over the idea that my loved one was getting sexual pleasure from strangers, from friends and from my own kin.
After we split up, Holly continued to see my brother and my friends; she tried to explain she liked me as a partner and as a friend, but she liked the sex she got from everyone else too. She couldn’t choose between those two and didn’t want me to make her. She wanted both, but I just felt a lot of hate and betrayal towards my ex-girlfriend. I knew Joe continued to see her occasionally, but I ignored this and just tried to repair the relationship with my elder brother. We never talked about Holly to each other from that day we fought; a wound best left unopened.
Six months after our unceremonious breakup I met Erin: a bubbly, beautiful girl who swept my wavering fears of sexual competence away with a playful giggle. She made me feel special; abandoning her wild days of partying and promiscuity to spend time with me. And ten years, two kids and a mortgage later, we were still together.
Only, there was something missing. In the first few months of our relationship we couldn’t keep our hands away from each other and my girlfriend hardly went a day without several orgasms. Yet, as the years rolled past, sexy encounters in bed became rarer and rarer.
I faced the prospect of her cheating, or worse still — losing her — and one night we sat down to talk about our future. Her new job as a corporate account manager at an expansive gym was dominating her thoughts, and I was a distant fourth after the children, her job and her hobbies.
We talked, and we promised to make time for each other and the following weekend, she presented a “BDSM beginners kit” to the bedroom. A suggestion from a friend.
It felt weird to be tied up, restrained as her flimsy flogger worked a dozen strokes on my backside. I wasn’t in control at all: it was like all those days and nights with Holly as she dominated our relationship and the sex. It was exhilarating as my sexy wife pranced around me, laughing as her hand rubbed the reddened buttocks. It felt so very natural.
For us both. And that night became the start of our journey into kink; she enjoyed dominating me, smacking me and sadistically bringing me to cries of pain, and I enjoyed the sensual contact and feelings of helplessness.
In the months that followed we explored our sexuality every Sunday night at what felt like a breakneck speed, reading and learning about a dozen new ways of playing with each other during the week and putting them into practice at the weekend.
But most of all, I loved ceding control. I adored her taking what she wanted and denying me what I begged for. I endured ruined orgasms, savoured her cunt with my tongue until she could take no more and placated her every whim.
We were flying, we thought we were well on our way to a wonderful sexual adventure.
And yet, as I now know, for all the mild spankings and ritualistic teasing, our kinky journey had barely begun.
To do that, we had to move house.
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