She'd found the orgies a disappointment. Not at first, of course, at first, she'd been overwhelmed by the debauchery on display before her headset-clad eyes. Certainly, they were everything that the message boards and pop-up adverts had promised. A pit, she could think of no better word, filled with taut, tanned flesh entwined in every conceivable combination of sexual possibilities.
The bodies themselves rippled with perfection. No saggy flesh here. No wrinkles. No pimples. No grey streaks or artificial hair dyes. No premature baldness or moles or birthmarks or blemishes or acne scars. A universality of bountiful breasts and finely honed pectorals, of six-packs and bulging biceps, of sinewy tree trunk thighs and shapely calves, where every face was chiselled and every eyebrow had been plucked and shaped to faultless arcs of enticement.
Which is not to mention the sexual organs. Plump, smooth, or meticulously manicured cunts offered as split, juiced, fruit for the vista of tumescent, swollen poles that thrust demandingly forth from every male groin. A vision of nymphs and satyrs all conjoined in a heaving, thrusting, moaning, screaming, pleasure-sheened, mass of limbs and body parts.
She'd dived into the morass, almost literally, filled her hands and mouth with hard shafts and purring pussies. Found the twin fuck holes between her wide-flung thighs taken and tended, used and abused, her own pleasure a cacophony of mewling sobs echoing in her ears and thrumming violently through her flesh. Skewered by dildos, consuming cocks, feasting on any cock or cunt presented for her drooling, gasping mouth to savour, her anal star tongue-lashed and phallus ravaged, her breasts suckled and devoured, her own juicy, plump, perfect, sex offering a pulsing, gripping, excursion for every passing tourist.
Yet all she found was emptiness. Amongst all the cum-coated bodies she became lost and alone. Even as she writhed in near-ecstatic release, as her muscles clenched hard, as her breathing became laboured, and as the dopamine high flooded her brain, she felt herself disengage from her pleasure-blessed avatar and retreat into the curled, imperfect husk of her actuality. Which was what lead her to Bill.
Bill was older. A silver-haired fox. Quietly spoken, oozing charm and sophistication. Manners and mannerisms, that's how she thought of him. Solicitous and attentive. Tender and thoughtful. They'd started with a 'romantic date', a dimly lit, bijou bistro with red checked table cloths and candles in wine bottles, seventies retro-chic, everything a far cry from the hurly-burly fleshiness of the world of virtual hedonistic orgies.
He'd held out her chair so she might sit, complimented her on her outfit choice, her hair, her smile, demured to her choice of wine, regaled her with anecdotes, made her feel alive and wanted and valued. Made her feel as if she were the only person who had ever existed in all of eternity as his fingers lightly grazed the back of the hand she'd rested on the tablecloth. He'd insisted on getting the bill, held her coat so that she might shrug herself between its folds, and taken possession of her body with a possessive arm about her waist as he lead her back to his waiting bed.
His lovemaking had been tender and considerate. His every caress focused on her pleasure, her needs, her desires. His hands smoothing across her skin as he pressed himself into her waiting wetness. His tongue teasing at her blood-swollen nipple as she arched her back, wrapped a leg around his cautiously thrusting buttocks as his length slid back and forth between her slippery lips. He'd fucked her with a steady fluidity pushing her upwards towards her crescendo before pulling back to leave her sobbing against his snowy-haired chest. Taking her rising to her peak again and again as his lips pecked at her skin.
She'd allowed him to manipulate her around the bed, gradually morphing from one position to the next, his cock never far from the dripping wound of her sex, until, eventually, straddling him, head thrown back, his manhood buried deep within her sopping embrace, she'd gripped his length with her pulsing muscles until he'd spurted his heated salty pleasure to coat her juice slick walls.
Yet even as she'd cum, even as she'd doused his fire with her own, she knew that this would be no more than an adventurous entanglement. Just another playday, playmate in a world filled with possibilities.
She allowed it to drag on for a fortnight. Answered his messages, agreed arrangements, ensured her availability to avail herself of his unwaveringly sensitive attentions. And they'd fucked, maybe not like rabbits, but possibly like rabbits that have enjoyed a bottle of wine and a nice meal and pleasurable conversation as an appetiser for their carnal desires. Really the only questions remaining were when, where, and how to end it. She was still dithering when he piqued her curiosity by asking whether she'd ever swung.