While I waited in the hotel lobby to meet her, I reflected on what had drawn me to this.

I fully understood that I would be one of a small number of men Catherine would choose for her pleasure. Within perhaps an hour of first setting eyes on her, I would become intimate with her. I thrilled to the recklessness of the situation, and her. It was always about the woman. Knowing that this woman would be enjoying a group of us was the irresistible force.

Yet I knew in my heart that it was my own wife whom I wanted to be among those men. That was the source of my longing and desire.

I had met my wife a little later in life, and in that first flush of passion and intensity, she told me about her previous lovers. As we enjoyed concerts, movies, dinners around town, we bumped into men who she had slept with. I lost count after the first ten.

Her experience, and appetite, had overwhelmed me. I made love with a fierceness new to me. I wanted to claim her as my own, to be the best, the first at whatever I could with her. I fucked her relentlessly, I sodomised her and I swamped her with pleasure. My mind ran wild at the imaginings of her. My cock was stiff whenever she was near.

Of course, it was the thought of her with her other lovers that excited me. I wanted my wife to be sluttish, promiscuous, wanton, debauched. As she once was.

But she would not have a bar of it. She had turned a corner in her life, and settled into monogamy, and we tapered off into a quiet routine of occasional, barely satisfying sex.

Then I saw Catherine’s ad; found myself waiting in the bar to talk with someone, in whose high-heeled shoes, I wanted my own wife.

Catherine was composed, quite lovely, elegantly dressed, and overwhelmingly desirable. I was one of the chosen three, along with the man who was organising the evening. The Arranger.

I went up to Room 319 at the appointed time, and joined the other three men in suits, and took a glass of the offered champagne.

Catherine came out from the bedroom alcove, dressed in an outfit that screamed lust, celebration, and unfettered womanhood. She wore six inch blood red high heels, the black tight bodice, pushing up her creamy white breasts. The black silk stockings and suspender belt drawing men’s eyes to that white soft band of exposed thigh.

The tiny, tight g-string, bulged with the softness of her shaved cunt. It was the usual, but it was an offering worthy of all the gods on earth.

We looked in total disbelief, and each man would have traded his soul, and sold his family into slavery for the pleasure that her costume promised.

Catherine began a slow dance with The Arranger. Within a few minutes she slipped her hands down to his belt, unzipped and gently freed up his erect cock. They danced slowly together, his hands gently holding her shoulders, her hands, her elegant white hands, stroking his cock.

The other three of us watched in awe. I placed my drink on the bar, tapped The Arranger on the shoulder, and he nobly swapped places with me. She looked at me through narrowed, dreamy eyes, and took my face into her hands, and kissed me so gently, so deeply, I swooned.

My hands reached own toward her belly, stroking down further to her slit . As I did this she ended our kiss, and simply, directly, looked into my eyes, as my fingers found her smooth, slippery, and wet cunt. We moved quietly for some minutes, she looking into my eyes, my fingers caressing her clit, and her cunt.

I felt a tap on my own shoulder, and the second suited man took my place. I joined The Arranger, his cock exposed and erect.

The third man relieved the second. Catherine looked into his eyes, released his cock, and swayed to the music, one embracing him, one fondling him.

We stared at Catherine. What sort of woman is this? Brave, assured, adventurous, full of erotic urgings, and full of promise.

You see, she had crossed the line, the line drawn between the daily struggles of men and women, and had chosen a path of total pleasure removed of all restraint. The thing she kept, was control. With The Arranger’s help, Catherine had ensured that whatever happened was of her choosing. She made the choices: she chose men, not just one man, total release before restraint, lust before love, pleasure before duty.

This was something all of us understood, such was our oneness that night, us four men, and Catherine, in our own, private world of pleasure.