I have to thank him for the situation I was in.
He humiliated, cheated and threw me away like a dirty oil rag. To prove him wrong I decided to do something I would never have done in a million years. I was really a shy, reserved person that believed that a woman’s sexuality is holy, only to be exchanged for security by marriage to a wealthy man. He called me prudish because I would not wear a bikini, calling me a cold fish when I refused to let him stick his finger in my vagina. He said I was heartless when I did not want to accommodate his penis in my mouth. The more I tried to explain my ethics, the more he flirted with other women.
He always came back, begging me for forgiveness. Like a fool I took him back, too scared to be alone. Until last Sunday, that is. I could not take it anymore. We were at one of his friend’s houses to watch a game on TV, BBQ and to catch a tan next to their swimming pool. During the game, everyone consumed a lot of alcohol. Then things started to get out of hand. The girlfriends of his friends were drunk and walked around topless. I saw that the men had a tough time concentrating on the game with all the naked tits swaying before them. I kept my dignity in my fashionable one-piece swimsuit and an oversized T-shirt.
“Come on Sandy,” he said. “Show us your tits. Don’t be such a party-pooper.”
“I am not your slut,” was my defense.
One of the sluts juggled her tits in his face and grabbed his manhood. He didn’t bat an eyelid, or thought about me for a nano-second. He took her tits, sucked on her nipples and let her fish out his penis. Suddenly all the attention was directed at my boyfriend and his slut, the game forgotten.
“Suck him! Fuck her!” came the encouragement from the crowd.
I was totally shocked. By this time, the other girls were naked, engaged in various inappropriate acts. The slut didn’t wait for more encouragement. She dropped to her knees between his legs and took his erection into her mouth. I saw his eyes growing bigger and his mouth wide open. She quickly removed the rest of her bikini and sat on his penis. I couldn’t take my eyes off the depravity that was happening. Never in my life had I seen such an orgy of lust and debauchery. My emotions and my body betrayed my dignity. I was aroused by the fucking and yet quite upset. How could anyone cheapen themselves like that? What about their shame?
And yet, I felt my vagina freely releasing her wetness. My own modesty betrayed me as I sat fascinated by the spectacle happening around me. I saw a girl with a penis in her vagina, while she sucked on another man’s manhood. My boyfriend was still fucking the slut. Another man had his face between his girlfriend’s legs, licking her vulva. Sanity prevailed and I stumbled out the den of depravity. On weak knees I walked the six miles back to my apartment in town, my emotions in tatters.
Angry and frustrated I tried to reason with myself: Was human sexuality so wrong that I would not let my boyfriend (now my ex) touch my pussy? Or that I wouldn’t kiss his cock. Did the sex upset me or was it because I didn’t get any?
The weekend after the orgy, I went to the photographic studio of my beautiful artist friend, Chantelle. I wanted to capture my own growth to sexual maturity on camera. We were roommates at Varsity, she the artistic blond and I the geeky brunette. Chantelle tried then to persuade me to relax my narrow-mindedness and enjoy my female sexuality. She told me that my prudishness would bring me heartache and deprive me of much pleasure.
She was right.
Time would tell.
Chantelle had her studio set up as an office, with a desk, a chair and filing cabinet. In real life, I was a very successful project manager with my own business and she thought that it would be the ideal place for me to let go of my inhibitions. She even helped me choose the right sexy underwear and the dark grey business suit. The skirt was very short. So short, in fact, that if I bent forward my black thong and maybe my pussy would be visible to any observer. The white blouse I wore, was two sizes too small and the two top buttons were open, exposing my black lacy bra. My full firm breasts wanted to burst out of the confines of the material, barely managing to hide the top of my dark nipples and areolae.
I was very uncomfortable in this revealing outfit, but Chantelle’s professionalism and her sexy presence relaxed me a bit. For the first thirty minutes of the photo-shoot I had to be behind the desk, leaning forward to show my cleavage and expose my tits to the camera. I also had to sit on the desk to show the split in the skirt, revealing my legs up to my thighs. The first piece of cover that I had to remove was my blouse.
“Okay Sandy, unhook your bra, lean forward and let those beautiful tits fall into your hands,” instructed Chantelle. She knew what sexy was and how to make me do things. I wasn’t so sure.
“Can’t we take a break here?” I asked anxiously.
“Are you pulling out? Don’t you trust me?”
“Isn’t it too revealing?”
“I can always open a bottle of cold white wine to help you relax,” said Chantelle as she started removing her own top. “It might help you if I’m also naked.”
“No,” I said. “I have to do this on my own.”
Wine might suppress my own inhibitions and a naked Chantelle would certainly push me to remove all my clothes. But it would never be my decision, and being intoxicated with wine and lust would dull my own free will. Would I ever release my true self if my sexuality were always in the service of a man? Or was my body a gift that I could share with others. On the other hand, I could lose everything; my business, my reputation, my self-image and my friends.