Claire’s Story

It was not supposed to be a bad day. My divorce from Dillon was official. My boss rewarded my mentoring of a newbie with a penthouse suite for the company’s annual meeting. The shadow of where my wedding ring had been disappeared. Now, I was officially single. Plus, I’d lost the weight I intended to lose.

The new-found freedom from my decade of being faithful to a now-I-know philandering ex was a foregone conclusion.

I thought, “One day soon, I deserve a good day and a great night as well.”

“Yeah,” I thought. “Now comes the who, what, where and when?”

The latter of the w’s might be very soon. Stories abound of women hooking up with guys in hotel bars and having bone-shaking sex. I seriously doubted how many times that happened in real life, but I was ready to give it a try.

Not today or tonight, though. Work was only thing I could concentrate on, as the trite quotation goes, “With great honor comes great responsibilities.” My daydreams of sexual release and my search for reverie and peace would have to wait.

However, (and there is always a ‘however’), things were going downhill. I was not prepared for the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune coming for my body and soul.

True, my divorce was final, but Dillon was still the go-to lawyer in my company’s firm. Not only did I see “Dillon” and our last name on a daily basis, but I also had to speak with him on a professional basis.

My lawyers had warned me to do nothing wrong: no sex, no gambling, no immoral conduct. I was getting a substantial settlement, but any misbehavior would queer the deal and leave me penniless.

Business necessity usually meant I called Dillon.

Usually, I started with something like this, “This is a professional call and I want no talk of anything else, other than the file Mr. Biaggio sent you yesterday.” I had to break it off in him or Dillon would start talking reconciliation and wooing me back.

When I redirected he called me a slut or an ice cold bitch. He was tacky enough and ask, “So, who are you fucking now?”

The genesis for this was my fault as well. Our pillow-talk marriage bed fantasies involved him watching me with other men while I was screaming rapture-induced vulgarities.

Both my husband and my imaginary lover called me names and ordered me around with “You are only a slut, a whore, fuck-meat for any man. Crawl over here and do what you were born to be.”

Yeah, we both got off on that, but we both knew it was purely pretend. I was, as I said, forever faithful to my marriage.

Not good! Bad and not going to get better when he reminded me of my fantasies. Despite that kind of talk, I never, ever strayed. Dillon, however, did.

My bad day got worse with Angie. Angie was no longer my trainee. I had mentored this new girl to the point where she could survive on her own: find her own leads, develop a client base and become independent. I taught her the tricks of the trade and a few fine points.

Imagine my surprise at the General Conference when Mr. Biaggio (We call him Mr. Beeg.) announced, “Angie will be the manager of our new branch office in California.”

I wanted that job because I was ready for it, had earned it. Plus, I could be further away from the ghost of a ten year marriage.

I eschewed trolling our hotel bar and was too tired and pissed off at Mr. Biaggio catch a cab somewhere else. I stayed close.

I called for room service, “Please send up a bottle of good red wine.”

An hour later, after a hot soak, I was quietly sipping a nice merlot. I could be alone in my suite for a well-deserved pity-party.

Dillon introduced me to porn. He liked to watch people fucking and sucking and engaging in all kinds of sexual activities and sometimes, perversions. Surprisingly, I got into the habit as well.

Tonight, I could relax in my hotel room and lose myself in someone else’s fantasy.

In this film on the hotel television, I watched a couple eating crabs at a roadside diner.

“No Way!” I shouted at the screen. Their names were Dillon and Clarese. Too damn close for me.

Begrudgingly, still cursing my bad omens, I watched.

I predicted the plot line. When the couple returned to their car, it wouldn’t start.

A nice looking gent who had been their waiter volunteered, “I’ll drive you home and you can come fetch your car tomorrow. I guarantee it will be safe here overnight.”

The idea of a threesome entered my little foggy brain. It would have to be two guys and me.

I resolved, “No ‘other woman’ would be my completion.”

Also, if ever I did it with two guys, no ass action. My sorority sisters had convinced me of that a dozen years ago.

Back to the movie:

Pornographers flag at good dialog, so it wasn’t long before the scene shifted to the couple’s home. Clarese was sitting between the two men. After a few drinks she started kissing one man, then the other.

She got comfortable in the middle. She got two tokes for each gent’s one. The smoke and the wine and ambiance led to her getting really comfortable.

“Ooh, hubby,” she whispered. “Do you mind if I play around a bit?”

“Not at all,” said her husband. “What do you want?”

She replied, “I want you to take off my panties and show this fine young man what a sweet pussy you own.”

Fast forward to her jerking both dicks at the same time.

Finally, she yielded herself to the new fellow doggy style, while sucking her husband.

I muttered to myself, “This is what we liked to watch.”

The movie’s close-ups were almost real, convincing.

To no one I said, “The spittle is running down her husband’s pole. Every time the new dude slams into her, her mouth swallows more and more and hubby’s dick gets wetter.”

One more sip of wine and I was keeping time with my own fingers to the human music on the screen.

My climax was enough to relax me. I dozed.

Later.

I woke up to an alarm. Morning already?

“Jeez, it’s morning!”

“No, wait. That’s the fire alarm! Holy shit.”

Sweats donned in a few seconds. I grabbed my pocketbook and went for the door.

Mr. Biaggio’s room was across the hall. Our keynote speaker team was in the room next to my boss. The two wunderkinds came out at the same time I did.

“This is for real. Let’s get out of here,” I heard one say.

Then Biaggio’s door opened and out came Angie. Our new Branch Manager was dressed in nothing but a top sheet worn like a toga that barely covered her sleazy baby-doll pajama top. Her nether-regions were showing, almost.

I yelled at her, “You can’t use the elevator in a fire. Take the stairs.”

She yelled back, “I’ve got to get back to my room downstairs.”

Chaos reigned. One of us physically turned Angie toward the staircase door. She just stood there.

I pushed her to the exit door and gave her my last piece of advice. “Move or burn.”

She moved.

I went down the stairs next, then Brad and Jake, the guest speakers. Such gentlemen my hall mates were.

Angie disappeared two flights down.

Brad, Jake and I were outside for about ten minutes. The aroma of freshly mown grass blended with the steak place next door, enhanced with after-shave and wine. Sexual pheromones began to take over.

Angie tried to join our group but the she-devil in me was polite but icy.

My unspoken message, “Go somewhere else, you cheating bitch.”

The fire drill was over quickly.

We filed back into the lobby and milled around. The hotel manager announced that we could take advantage of an open bar and buffet. He said, “Stay up as long as you like. I’ll keep the staff here until regular closing time, Two A.M.”

“No brainer!” we three agreed.

Brad chimed in, “The firm is footing the room bill. Let’s have a party!”

With a wink in my direction, Jake said, “We can go anywhere and do anything for another three hours, at least.”

We got our complimentary drinks and adjourned to our bench back on the patio. The weather was balmy, so the two guest speakers and I sat, watching the moon travel overhead and the fire trucks rumble up and rumble away.

My guys were personable. Brad was the taller of the two, a black man under thirty; he talked shop.

His sidekick, a short, muscular guy, was more of a flirt. I flirted back. I let Jake hug me, ostensibly to keep me warm. I snuggled into his body as we sat.

I complimented Jake, “Gawd. Your muscles are huge and rock-hard.”

Brad, not to be outdone, settled on my other side.

I cared not that Mr. Biaggio was avoiding me. I was off duty and he had been caught.

I thought, “He will be lucky if I don’t squeal to his wife or an investor.”

Angie disappeared into the crowd. (She showed up the next morning at the breakfast buffet, still avoiding eye contact.)

It seemed longer, but we three were back on our floor within an hour of the alarm going off.

Brad said, “Now I am wide awake.”

“Me too,” I replied.

Cute Jake said, “Me three.”

“Awe shit, shit, shit!” The two guys were not happy. It seems that the electricity had been restored to one side of the hallway (mine). My little green tally light worked fine. The men’s side was dark.

Mr. Beeg ambled up, assessed the situation with a shrug and went back downstairs.

I said, “Good night, boys.”

I let myself into my room and closed and bolted the door.

I thought, “Hmm? Do I want to have sex? Sex with two guys maybe?”

I unbolted the latch and opened the door a crack.. My two guys looked relieved.

“C’mon in,” I said, “I’m not ready for bed, yet.”

If they caught the hint, they didn’t show it.

We pulled some little bottles out of the fridge. Brad took off down the hall with the ice bucket. Jake went foraging the other way.

A gentle tap, tap and I let them back in. Jake had dashed down to the bar and lifted an armload of beer and small bottles of red wine.

I excused myself and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

When I returned, the guys were on either end of the couch, watching the television screen.

The hotel television was on, still tuned to the porn channel. The ‘movie’ had recycled and was almost where I’d left it.

“Oh, wow!” Brad was the first to notice the show.

“They just left a seafood restaurant,” Jake said.

“Not exactly seafood, just crabs. And it was a roadside diner,” I replied.

As soon as I said that, I regretted disclosing to two men that I had been watching an X-rated movie.

I was still pissed at my boss that he had obviously traded sexual favors for Angie’s promotion. He must have been fucking her when the alarm went off, judging by her hurried exit. I decided that if my luck was going to change, I would have to take charge.

Men and women watch porn in a different way. Men pretend to notice dialog, scenery, blocking. Ladies just wait to see the guy’s dick and identify with the lady.

I moved closer to Brad, the black guy, just to tease Jake the white jock.

Brad was bold. He leaned in and put his hand on my far cheek. He pulled me a bit closer.

Never having been with a black guy, I started to imagine and hope for more.

My new dark friend whispered, “Let’s be patient with the old man here. Get him another drink and sit nearer to me.”

I thought, “Funny. These guys are best buds, but still compete just like males in the jungle, trying to be the one to fuck the female.”

I did as I was told and got Jake a drink, playing coquettish hostess to the max.

I sat down closer to Brad. My new friend leaned in again, but this time, he kissed me. I had forgotten how long it had been since I was kissed like that. Not much tongue, but just enough of his tongue tip to circle my mouth.

I returned the favor and upped the ante with deep tongue and pushing my tit into his chest.

The threesome on the screen were at it as well. Clarise straddled the waiter and kissed him. He unbuttoned her blouse. The husband helped by getting up and removing the unbuttoned blouse. When he unsnapped her bra, the waiter wasted no time in grabbing one breast and licking it like a lollypop.

Brad and I kissed some more and he went for my bra. I let him.

I whispered just loud enough for Jake to hear, “What are we going to do with your friend here.” I meant Jake, but Brad put lifted my hand and put it on his growing erection.

Brad answered my question, “This is my friend. Take care of him, then you can worry about the white guy.”

I let massaged the bulge and mentally took its measure.

I was sober enough to keep measuring while I looked him in the eye, close up.

More talk from me, “We still need to decide what to do with your partner. How about this?”

I flopped back to the middle of the couch, still rubbing Brad. Jake took the hint and lifted my top.

“Beautiful. Beautiful. Brad, Look at these perfect tits. They are begging to be touched.”

Both men descended on my chest. Brad was the gentle one, spreading my near tit at the nipple, so that the nerve endings were more exposed. He breathed on it, licked on me to moisten the tip, and then blew on it.

I exhaled, “Jesus, Brad. You chilled my tit cold and hot as fuck.”

Guys love to hear women talk dirty.

Jake took that as permission to do whatever he wanted with the other breast. He attacked it. I was startled and scared at first, fearing he was going to hurt me. He did bite me, leaving a mark just above the nipple.

Jake’s muscular body took over. He was devouring both tits now. Brad stopped long enough to ease himself out of the way.

While Jake was pleasuring my breasts, I watched Brad disrobe. He was a bit chubbier than I thought at first, but his dick was large and getting larger.

I stood in front of Jake and did a strip-tease. My parents had a record from the sixties called “The Stripper”. I recalled the tune tried to dance to it in my head.

I remembered a woman-centered talk show where the audience was anonymously polled as to what they would shield from a man’s eyes first. A lot of women said they would cover their bottoms first, even if it meant showing some breast tissue. So I took off my bottoms and panties first.

I spread my legs and pulled my pussy lips apart.

Pushing my hips forward and asked, “You like what you see, Jake?”

He responded by lifting his butt up and slipping off his pants.

“No underwear?” I asked.

He shrugged and said, “We all had to get dressed pretty quickly back there. Remember?”

I could barely hear the ‘remember’ because his sweater and shirt around his face muffled the question. Jake was naked, now sitting at the end of the couch, wearing nothing but a grin.

Off came my top and I was nude. I straddled him and kissed his mouth. When we came up for air, I nuzzled into his neck and shoulder.

I felt Brad’s hands on both tits, massaging me and lifting my tits up and making cones of them.

He said to Jake, “Take one.” With that, Brad lifted it up, milked it and offered it to Jake.

My jock took my tit and sucked on the nipple, letting it pop out from his lips and return to it.

“Too much, too soon,” I groaned.

I slid down onto my knees. Jake’s pole was waving in the air, a drop of pre-cum just emerging. I leaned in and took the head into my mouth. Jake was not overly large. Even now, rock-hard, his dick was maybe six inches long. One vein meandered back and forth from base to crown, the bulge traveling at least nine inches on a six-inch dick. The aroma was musky, not offensive, but rather manly.

I thought, “This man’s aroma I could sleep with a long time.”

I channeled Clarese sucking her husband, going deeper with every stroke. After six or seven bobs, I was all the way down to his balls. I felt that familiar stirring. I tried to prolong the action by licking his balls, moving my hands along the outside of his hips.

Meanwhile, Brad was persistent. My ass was out there, bare and inviting. Brad stroked my back, then my backside. His paws cradled the cheeks of my ass and I realized he was right behind me.

Brad’s fat fingers explored my bottom. He ran his fingers over my exposed labia. I tried to move slightly away because I was not ready for a snake to enter my hole. He settled for moving an upright hand over my cunt. Then he put his outside fingers on my pussy lips and I rocked back to receive fingers deep.

Jake wanted my lips on his dick and nothing else. He was as insistent as Brad persistent. I complied.

I dreamily asked him, “You want a blow job?”

I returned all my ‘giving’ attention to giving Jake a blow job. My ‘taking’ attention was focused on my taking Brad’s beautiful fingers.

“So this is what a girl can do with two guys, give and take.” I made a mental note to record that bit of wisdom.

Jake took over. While he was all the way in my mouth, the crown of his dick at my throat, he grabbed the back of my head with both hands. My hands were cupping his ass cheeks. I pulled up as he pushed down. The dick slipped into my throat and I felt the first spurt.

Jake’s fingers hit my g-spot.

I couldn’t stop. The itch was too strong. I had to cum. “Fuck. Fuck me. God damn.”

I realized later that fingers had gotten me off twice tonight. The third time was going to be done right, by a big dick or two pounding away at me.

Jake pushed me further down, grunted and spewed a second burst, then a smaller third. He was done.

I have a trick Jake had not seen before. As his dick got smaller, I kept it in my mouth, swirling our juices around his dick. I am able to use my tongue to lap up and down a man’s pole. A few strokes and I could feel that young shaft grow again.

I was teasing.

I stood up and took Brad by the hand that had just gotten me off. I kissed it, inhaling my own essence.

I had to stand on tiptoes to kiss him and say, “Let’s go to bed.”

He needed no coaxing. I decided that Jake could figure it out and join us. But for now, I was going to please my big black stud.

Brad watched me I lay down on the bed, on my back. He smiled as I moved my feet apart and raised my pussy up, gyrating it as I did with his fingers inside me.

I looked up at him and said, “I want to be your fuck-toy.”

The big man knee-walked from the foot of the bed. I raised myself up enough to watch the bulbous head rub against my pussy. He leaned forward enough for me to feel that head against my opening.

I grabbed his hips with both hands and pulled him toward me. He shoved hard.

I moved a bit and whispered, “All the way in?”

Brad answered “No.” with another shove of repositioning and dove deeper into me. Our groins rubbed each other.

Then he began to move. His dick poked upward and I felt every glorious inch as it parted me. As he pulled out, his shaft angled down and when the bottom of his dick-head rubbed against my g-spot, I almost lost it.

Brad did this and felt me shudder. Next thrust, he held his dick all the way inside me and rocked sideways, to the left then to the right.

I reciprocated by pushing my hips against him, to the left then the right.

That last down stroke did him in. He shuddered, shook, screamed and clenched my torso. One mighty push and he climaxed.

My big lover lasted a bit longer but gradually we knew he was done.

When I opened my eyes, Jake was standing over us, pulling on his own erection.

As Brad got up Jake said, “I want you.”

Freshly fucked but not-yet-climaxed I said, “I need you, too. My cunt is wet with Brad’s cum. I don’t care.”

Jake took over, again. “Turn over and stick that beautiful ass in the air.”

I obeyed.

My white lover showed no hesitation at having sloppy seconds. He seized my hips and rubbed his pole around my fuck hole.

We were one in an instant. My more muscular lover showed me no mercy. He leaned over my much smaller body and grabbed my tits, milking them, tweaking them as he pushed into me.

The grinding intensified, with Jake’s movements like a jack hammer. I got the feeling I was a fuck-doll for someone else. I put my head down on the pillow to elevate my ass even more.

“I want more,” I yelled.

Jake grabbed me by the hair and pulled. The natural response is to obey and push back. My man could lean back on his haunches and attack me by a different angle.

That is all it took for me to yell, “Jeezzee. That is so strong! Powerful. Whoa! Godddamm.”

Jake followed me a heartbeat later.

Anyone watching the show would have been puzzled by what I did next. I was lying between two naked men on my bed, fucked well and reveling in the rapture. I started to giggle, then laugh out loud.

Unison question, “What is so funny?”

My answer, “My bad, bad, bad day just ended good, good, good. First threesome, first black man, first sex in almost a year. Yeppers, a good day indeed.”