Before my divorce I thought I’d had it all worked out. I was 41. The second of my two children had just gone off to university, and, although I had felt a little sad I was also excited by the possibilities of this new phase in my life. My husband and I had often discussed what we would do when the kids left home. I was looking forward to the prospect of revitalising our marriage, which had become a little stale and predictable.
I was 21 when I married John. I had just finished at university and John had just finished medical school. He was very keen to get married and start a family. Looking back, I was far too young to get married but my mother was all for it, regularly reminding me what a good catch John was. I became pregnant straight away, gave birth to my son and then, 18 months later, my daughter was born. I stayed at home for the first few years but when the kids reached school age I managed to get a part-time teaching job. I had been a good wife and mother; supportive, caring and loyal. And now, here I was, looking forward to an exciting future, to a time when John and I could concentrate on our own needs. Then my whole world caved in.
I’ll never forget how I found out John was having an affair. He’d come in from work one evening, and put his car keys and phone on the kitchen table so that he could take his jacket off. As he was doing so there was a ring on the doorbell. He went out to answer the door, leaving his phone on the table. The phone made a noise. I thought it was a call so I picked it up to answer but it was a message notification. I don’t know what made me do it, because I’d never been even slightly suspicious, but I opened the message. It read:
Can’t wait for that delicious cock. Looking forward to Friday – Mel.
I felt nauseous. I put the phone down and moved away from it. John returned, complaining about cold callers, I made an excuse and left the room. I locked myself in the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath, trying to work out what was going on. Who the hell was Mel? I remembered, some months ago at a Christmas party, being introduced to an attractive woman who was about ten years younger than me. Her name was Melanie. She was a physiotherapist. Was it her? At that stage I was too shocked to be upset.
After I’d composed myself I went downstairs and listened to John blather on about work while I served up his tea. Later, I told him I had a headache and felt a little sick and that it would probably be sensible if he slept in the spare room.
‘Of course, darling, of course,’ he said, then added, ‘Oh, by the way, did I mention I’ve got a late surgery on Friday?’
Bastard, I thought. ‘You work too hard,’ I said. ‘You’ve had a number of those surgeries lately; can’t someone else do some?’
‘Unfortunately, love, I’ve got to cover for Richard. He’s come down with the flu.’
I lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, trying to figure out how long John had been having an affair, who this other woman was, and what had made him do it.
The next day I rang John’s practice and asked if I could book an appointment for the Friday evening surgery. I was told there wasn’t one. I then asked if Dr Richard Marks was available and was told he was with a patient. I felt queasy.
That Friday at about 5 p.m, I parked outside John’s practice, just in sight of his car. He came out at about 5.15. He stood by his car and took out his mobile phone. Moments later, my phone went off.
‘Hi darling, I’m just ringing to remind you I’m doing a late surgery, so don’t make any tea.’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten,’ I said, as I watched him talking to me. ‘What time will you be home?’
‘That’s a bit late, isn’t it?
‘Well, I’ll have to write up notes and lock up. I may be a little earlier.’
‘Okay, love, don’t work too hard.’
‘I won’t disturb you when I get in. I’ll sleep in the spare room. Love you.’
I watched him get into his car and then followed him. About ten minutes later, I turned into the car park of a motel. John got out of his car and again used his phone. He began to laugh and then turned around and spotted a white Mercedes. Out of it stepped the woman I’d been introduced to at the Christmas party. Melanie. She was decent looking, though nothing special, but she’d made the best of herself. John walked towards her and they kissed, passionately. I felt angry and humiliated. I watched them walk into the motel then drove back home.
When I got home I sat in the living room of my empty house and burst into tears. Everything in my life had come crashing down. I spent the evening sitting on the sofa, in a trance. I went to bed about ten and lay in the darkness until I heard John come in at about midnight and go to bed. Eventually, I fell asleep.
The next morning, when John came down for breakfast, I confronted him.
‘So, how long’s it been going on?’
‘You and Melanie. How long have you been having an affair?’
He looked stunned, but remained composed. ‘About six months. I was going to tell you.’
‘Soon. How did you find out?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Do you love her?’
‘I think so.’
‘Do you love me?’
‘Of course I do, he said, but his eyes spoke differently.
‘Do you want a divorce?’
He nodded. ‘I think that’s best.’
Despite my resolution to stay calm, my eyes filled with tears. ‘What happened to us? I thought now the kids had grown up that we could get closer, spend more time together.’
‘Claire, we don’t have anything in common. Our marriage is utterly boring. When was the last time we had sex?’
‘But you never seem interested, you always seem too tired. You never initiate anything.’
‘Neither do you.’
The discussion deteriorated into a nasty argument. Accusations and insults were thrown about and John packed a bag and left. I rang him later and asked him – begged him – to return. I said we could work it out. He wasn’t interested. The argument had given him the excuse he needed to escape. I spent the day aimlessly wandering around the house feeling lonely, anxious, angry and hopeless.
Over the following days I never heard anything from John. I visited my parents and told them my marriage was over. My mother was shocked. She asked what I’d done. My father was annoyed. I don’t think he’d ever really taken to John. ‘You were always too good for him, love. That’s why he was so desperate to marry you; he was scared he’d lose you. He knew you were too good for him. You could have had anyone you wanted. You were beautiful and you still are.’ My dad hugged me and I burst into tears.
I still needed to let the kids know but I thought I should speak to John first, so that what we told them was consistent. I left a message on his phone. He called back and said he’d come over. I think I still harboured fantasies of him coming to his senses, asking for forgiveness, and making up. I had expected him to be a little downcast and depressed now he’d had time to consider what he was throwing away. But when he turned up he was breezy and upbeat. He was wearing new clothes: trendier, younger. They didn’t suit him. He told me he’d moved in with Melanie.
‘I thought she was married?’ I tried to hide my hurt.
‘She was. She got divorced a few months ago.’
‘The bitch hasn’t wasted any time, then.’
‘Claire, I know you’re angry but it’s not Melanie’s fault.’
This set us off on another argument which ended with John throwing up his hands in exasperation. ‘I’ve seen a solicitor; you’ll be getting a letter. It’s not worth talking any more until you’re in more of a reasonable mood.’ He left.
And so I told the kids, and was further upset that they seemed to take it in their stride. Their lives were only just beginning, I reflected bitterly, while mine had all but ended. I called the school to tell them I had flu and spent the next two weeks slobbing about, eating too much and feeling sorry for myself.
The support I needed came from an unlikely source. I live in a street where people are on nodding terms and, although friendly, generally keep themselves to themselves. About ten houses down there’s an attractive woman who lives by herself. She’s about my age. I would describe her as a voluptuous redhead. John used to steal sneaky looks at her whenever we saw her in the street. Her name’s Fiona and she’s an accountant.
WhileI was off sick, feeling sorry for myself, I bumped into Fiona at the local post office. We made polite conversation and then she asked me how John and the children were. I don’t know whether it was because I felt dowdy and inadequate next to her but I suddenly felt very vulnerable and burst into tears. Fiona put her arm around me and took me for a coffee at a nearby café where I spilt my heart out.
‘So, do you want him back?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think you’ll have a hope in hell until you start making a life for yourself.’
I was jolted by her bluntness. ‘It’s easy to say that when you’re in a comfortable position,’ I sniffled, resentfully.
Fiona smiled. ‘I used to be like you, and I wasted a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. It took me a long time to realise that things weren’t going to be different unless I made them so.’ She reached across and put her hand on top of mine. ‘Listen, if you want, if you really want, I can help you.’
Still a little resentful, I said I’d think about it. Shortly after, I made an excuse and left, feeling foolish and angry for having opened up to a relative stranger. I felt exposed and pathetic.
As the days progressed, my resentment toward Fiona turned to guilt. She had only been trying to help and I recognised, with some shame, that my self-pitying was doing me no good at all. One evening, I summoned up the courage and went and rang her doorbell. It didn’t seem to be working so I knocked on her door. There was no reply but I could see there was a light on in the back of the house. Although it was dark it was only 6 p.m., so it was possible that she hadn’t returned from work. Alternatively, if she had some music on, she might not have heard my knocking. I decided to go to the back of her house to see if she was in.
It was pitch black, and it took a bit of fumbling with the gate latch before I let myself into her garden. I could see that no one was in the kitchen as the curtains were drawn back. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement. I looked to my right and saw, through some French doors, the figure of a woman. It was Fiona. She had a glass of wine in her hand. I thought I’d confirm that she was with someone and if so then leave and return another time. I was aware how difficult it is to see into the dark from a brightly lit room so I moved closer to the house, fairly confident that I wouldn’t be seen. I manoeuvred myself behind a small potted fir tree which was just in front of the French doors. I could now see clearly into the room.
Fiona was standing side on, in front of a log fire. She was wearing a dark green, backless, halter-neck evening dress. It was well cut and simple and showed off her curvy, Amazonian figure beautifully. Her red hair was piled on top of her head, leaving her neck exposed. Two men were also in the room. They wore black dinner suits with white dress shirts and black bow ties. They looked very sophisticated. One of the men moved behind Fiona and stood in front of the fire. He picked up a poker and prodded the fire a couple of times, causing the embers to burn more brightly. He put the poker down and then bent his head down toward the exposed small of Fiona’s back. He ran his tongue up the length of her back and began nuzzling her neck while his hands reached around and fondled her breasts. Fiona put her glass on the mantelpiece and leant back into him. The other man also put his wine glass on the mantelpiece and moved toward Fiona. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her mouth. Fiona put her arms around his neck and eagerly responded, pressing her mouth to his. I should have left them to their privacy but the scene transfixed me. It aroused me.
The man behind Fiona was now fondling her bottom. He unzipped his trousers and pulled out an erect cock. He hoisted her dress up over her bottom, pulled her panties down and entered her from behind. She broke away from the man she was kissing to let out a satisfied groan. She then resumed her kissing with even more vigour while grinding her bottom back onto the cock of the man behind her. He responded by pumping into her, his hands gripped on either side of her hips. The man kissing Fiona reached down, unzipped himself, and eased out his cock which was plainly in a state of arousal. Fiona took hold of it, broke away from his embrace, looked over her shoulder and said something to the man who was fucking her. I could see her face and neck were flushed with excitement. The man eased out of her, leaving his cock swaying excitedly.
Fiona led the man in front of her, whose cock she was still gripping, to an armchair where she beckoned him to sit down. She turned her back to him, gathered her dress to her hips, and lowered herself onto him. She then rested her hands on the man’s knees, leaned forward, and began gyrating her hips. The man whose lap she was on held onto her hips, locking himself into her. His face was a picture of ecstasy. Fiona pushed herself up, leaned back into her lover and whispered into his ear. He hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her thighs back, fully exposing a glistening pussy, stuffed with an engorged cock.
Fiona pointed a finger at the man by the mantelpiece and then curled it in a beckoning motion before pointing toward her pussy. The man approached her, dropped to his knees, and pressed his head between her legs. I had never witnessed a sex act, never mind anything like this. A woman impaled by the cock of one lover whose lap she was on, her legs spread wide, dangling either side of the armchair. while another lover was orally pleasuring her. She then used both hands to caress the head between her legs while the lover whose lap she was on undid her halter neck and released her magnificent breasts, which he began to fondle. I could hear Fiona’s cries as they became louder and louder. I watched her shuddering and bucking as she appeared to be having multiple orgasms.
Eventually, sated, Fiona pushed the head from between her legs and checked her wristwatch. I heard laughter as she exclaimed her surprise at the time. The lovers began to tidy themselves up. I assumed they must be late for something and, realising they would soon be leaving the house, I carefully withdrew and returned home.
The moment I got in, I took off my trousers and panties, lay on the sofa, and began to masturbate. I was already wet with arousal and it didn’t take long before I was enjoying the most intense orgasm I ever remember having.
As the evening wore on my thoughts kept returning to that intensely arousing threesome. Later, as I lay in bed, I heard a car parking down the road. I hopped out of bed and looked out of the window. I saw Fiona entering her house with the same two men. One of them had his hand on her bottom. I felt a stab of envy and returned to bed, acutely aware of my own sorry situation. She really was a lucky bitch.
It took a couple of days before I decided to return to Fiona’s. Fortunately, she was in and alone.
‘I’ve come to apologise,’ I said, as soon as she opened the door. ‘You were so kind the last time we met and I acted like a self-pitying cow. I’m so sorry.’
Fiona smiled and invited me in. She led me through to her kitchen and motioned me to a seat at her breakfast bar. She went to the fridge, took out a bottle of wine, plucked two glasses from a cupboard and then joined me.
After a couple of glasses we were chatting and laughing like old friends.
‘You know, you really are very attractive,’ she said and then paused. ‘Can I be honest?’ I nodded. ‘You could do with losing a few pounds, getting your hair done, and buying some new clothes. Get out of the mourning mode and start doing what you really want to do.’
‘I haven’t got a clue what I really want to do,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve spent so many years raising a family and looking after my husband’s interests.’
‘Then it’s high time you started thinking of yourself and what you want. No one else will. Do you remember when I said I was once like you?’ I nodded again. ‘I wasn’t being pitying or condescending. I spent three years with a man who steadily undermined my confidence. He had a couple of affairs I found out about, but such was my self-esteem I forgave him and carried on being his dogsbody. Eventually he got fed up with me and left. I didn’t think I could survive without him.’
‘Wow,’ I said, ‘I would never have believed you could have been in that position.’
‘It took me five years – five bloody years – to recognise my own worth. Five years,’ she repeated to herself, shaking her head, clearly incredulous.
‘So what happened?’
‘Well …’ She reached into her handbag, shuffled around and pulled out a business card which she handed to me. ‘This changed my life.’ On the card was printed the letters A.A.A.H! and a telephone number.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a company run by a very astute businesswoman. She runs a course designed to help women to realise their potential.’
‘And how does that work?’
‘It’s a four week residential course. During the first week, they strip you bare. Basically, you own up to all your insecurities. For the next three weeks, with their help, you rebuild yourself and explore your sexuality.’
‘How much does it cost?’
‘Seven thousand pounds.’
‘Seven thousand pounds!’ I repeated, astonished.
Fiona smiled. ‘Looking back, I would have happily paid three times that. It really did change my life.’ She gave me the card. ‘Think about it, it’s a possibility. You said earlier that you had hoped to revitalise your marriage. Well, to hell with that, why don’t you revitalise yourself? I promise you, you’ll surprise yourself if you do.’
The following day John turned up. I hadn’t seen him for a few weeks. I was still in my old pyjamas, unwashed and without make-up. I felt hideous.
‘Sorry to call unannounced,’ he said, breezily. He’d come to pick up some of his old tools from the garage. ‘I’ve got to do a bit of DIY,’ he said. ‘Mel’s expecting a baby!’
He delivered this bombshell as though it was a surprise birthday present. I was flabbergasted, and gave a sickly smile. ‘Congratulations. Well, you know where the garage is. I must get on. I’ve got an appointment in an hour or so,’ I lied.
‘OK.’ He began to leave the room but he paused. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you really have been decent about all of this. I know it was a shock, but I’d hate for us, after all we’ve been through and with the kids and all, not to be able to remain friends.’
‘Well, I don’t really have much choice, do I, John? I can’t pretend I’m not devastated. I still can’t quite believe it’s happened. I can’t believe you’re having a child with another women when a short while ago we were planning our future.’ I felt my eyes filling with tears and had to fight back the urge to launch myself at the smug bastard and scratch his eyes out. I managed to control myself ‘I want to get the divorce done and dusted as quickly as possible, get the house sold, sort out the finances, and leave things as amicably as we can.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ He went out to the garden to sort out his tools.
I went upstairs and looked out of the window. Across the road, John’s new partner sat in his new Range Rover. I watched him carry his tools across to the car and drive off, laughing, without a care in the world. It was then that something clicked in me. I examined myself in the wardrobe mirror and I remembered what Fiona had said. ‘It’s high time you started thinking of yourself … no one else will.’
Later that day, I visited the local gym, arranged an induction, and subsequently signed up with a personal trainer. The following week I had a couple of training sessions. I felt better, as though something had shifted. A month later, I was attending the gym four times a week. I’d lost ten pounds and felt marvellous. Some of my confidence was returning. Enough for me to fish out from my handbag the business card Fiona had given me. Nervously, I dialled the number. ‘Hello,’ a voice purred, ‘treble-ay-aitch. How can I help?’
‘Is that AAAH?’ I said, stupidly.
‘A friend recommended you ‘
After a friendly and reassuring chat, the lady I spoke to said she could send me a brochure but I threw caution to the wind and signed up anyway. I trusted Fiona, and besides, once the divorce settlement was agreed I didn’t foresee a problem with finances.
Two months later, on a Monday morning, I was sitting in a beautiful country house in the heart of Sussex, listening to an opening address by an attractive, middle-aged lady.
‘Welcome, ladies, this course will change your life. I named the company A.A.A.H for several reasons. The letters are the first letters of the names of four Greek goddesses: Athena, the goddess of wisdom; Artemis, the huntress; Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and Hera the queen of the gods, who represents power. We should cultivate all these aspects of our femininity. The name is also onomatopoeic. It sounds like that moment of understanding aaah, and also that wonderful feeling when you’re filled with cock. Aaaaahhhh!’ she sighed, loudly. I felt myself reddening and shifted, uncomfortably, in my seat.
‘That’s right ladies, you go ahead and feel embarrassed. This is what this course is all about. Sex! Sex underpins and drives everything in life, and the women who have understood that, from Cleopatra to Marilyn Monroe, have wielded great power. Most women haven’t got a clue when it comes to sex. Most women lead unfulfilled lives …’
I was sitting with nine other women whose ages ranged from about thirty to mid-forties. They all looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I think we were all wondering whether we’d made an awful mistake.
But we hadn’t, and, as promised, the course changed my life.
The first week revealed to me how coy, repressed, self-conscious and apologetic I was – and not just about sex. Like many other women, I suffered from a general lack of confidence. I realised what a bland and uneventful sex life I’d had. Basically, I discovered that during the whole of my adult life I’d always opted for safety.
The course examined every aspect of sexuality and femininity. We were taught how to dress, how to move, and how to apply make-up. I changed my hairstyle to a shorter, more sophisticated look, and learned how to reshape my eyebrows to highlight and focus attention on my eyes. We were taught how to talk, how to flirt, seduce and manipulate. Educated men came in to discuss what turned them on and what turned them off, and confident, professional women, from burlesque dancers to high-class escorts, came in to reveal secrets and tricks of the trade.
We were encouraged to make practical contributions at each level of the course. One of the most daunting assignments was when we had to develop a striptease and perform it in front of a group of men – not just once but several times, in order to refine and perfect it. ‘Come on ladies,’ we were urged, ‘express your unique personalities through your glorious bodies!’ I found this excruciatingly embarrassing at first, but it became wonderfully liberating. It was during those strips that I discovered what an exhibitionist slut I could be. From a demure, two-minute performance during which I whipped my clothes off as rapidly as I could and disappeared behind a screen, I developed a prolonged twenty-minute show and encouraged various men to remove items of my clothing. I revelled in the attention. I was absolutely stunned by the effect I could have on men and the effect their reactions had on my self-confidence.
If I had to choose, I think my favourite part of the course was the day that was given over to fellatio, a practice that I’d richly fantasised about but only self-consciously indulged in. This part of the course was taken by a former escort, Natasha, who had a wicked sense of humour.
‘We used to have a saying, darlings. Never bite the gland that feeds you. Be gluttonous by all means but be gentle.’
Under Natasha’s watchful eyes we practiced on dildos, while she offered us practical advice. She talked about different cocks; how to use the mouth, hands, eyes (“men love some slutty eye contact while your mouth’s full”) and even hair! There were so many ways to intensify pleasure. Everything was approached with a healthy dose of humour, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much. At the end of the day she brought in a well-hung hunk and shocked us all by giving a practical demonstration. I watched, entranced, as Natasha laid him down and expertly worked on his beautiful cock until it sprayed semen, causing us to laugh and clap with excitement and admiration. I found the experience a complete turn-on. I couldn’t wait to practice. The course had awakened my sexuality.
We were given plenty of homework. This consisted of a series of dates with different men.
‘These aren’t tests, ladies, they’re for you to enjoy and to look at ways you can improve your skills. There’s no need to be nervous.’
Needless to say, we were. Me especially. I hadn’t been on a date since I was 18. At first, I fumbled and mumbled my way through dinner, but as the course progressed my confidence grew and I became adept in the skills of seduction and flirting. I looked forward to the dates with anticipation. There was no question of having to indulge in any sexual activity, but the men had been carefully chosen. They were handsome, charming, and good company. Sex was almost inevitable.
It happened for me during a date on the third week of the course. I’d bought some new clothes, having been awakened to their effect, not only on men but on the wearer as well. I’d dressed for the evening in stilettos, sheer, black, seamed stockings and suspenders with a matching red lacy bra and panties. I wore a simple, silk, three-quarter-length skirt and a plain blouse, open at the neck to reveal an enticing amount of cleavage. The outfit was simple but very well cut and showed off my figure beautifully. I felt confident, elegant, and very, very sexy.
When my date arrived I opened the door with nervous anticipation. I was jolted by an instant attraction. He was in his late thirties to early forties, about six foot tall, broad shouldered, and had dark hair and dark brown eyes. He looked as though he’d been in the forces, and he was tanned and fit.
He introduced himself. ‘Hi, I’m Tony.’ Before I could speak, he added, ‘Wow, you look fantastic!’
‘Thank you,’ I said, closing the door behind me. I had already decided I was going to fuck this man and the decision made me feel giddy with excitement. He led me out to the car and opened the door for me. I bent over to put my handbag on the floor of the car before getting in. I could have done this after I’d seated myself but I knew that by bending over he would have a perfect view of my lovely hips and firm bottom (You see? Before, I would never have described myself in such flattering terms). I sat in his car and crossed my legs, knowing that the silk of the skirt would tighten across my thighs, outlining my suspenders. I pulled my seat belt across my front and feigned ignorance in being able to fasten the clasp, at the same time giving him a decent glimpse of my breasts as I leaned over and struggled, ineffectually, with the seat belt.
‘Here, let me,’ he said, and I saw his eyes flicker from my breasts to my thighs and felt the knuckles of one of his hands brush over my suspender strap as he fastened my seatbelt. My calculated actions were carried out in a perfectly natural manner; subtle signals that Tony was subliminally registering. What fun this was!
The restaurant was lovely, although I wasn’t particularly hungry – not for food anyway. I was thoroughly turned on by the thought of being fucked. I decided to play some more. I looked up from the menu.
‘Would you like a whore –?’ I asked, innocently.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Hors? Hors d’oeuvres?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, yes, I think I would like one of those.’
‘Mmm, I think I’ll skip the starter,’ I said, eyeing the rest of the menu. ‘.Mmmmm –’ I looked up into his eyes ‘– I do like cock.’
‘Cock … coq au vin …’
This time he laughed loudly. ‘I see,’ he said.
‘What do you fancy?’ I asked, still playing the innocent.
He looked up, mischievously, from his menu. ‘Breast and thigh. I think they’re my favourite part of a bird, covered in a white, creamy sauce.’
I giggled. ‘It must be hard …’ I said. ‘All those choices?’
He laughed again. ‘It is hard, very hard … but I think I’ll settle for the game bird.’
We had great fun peppering our conversation with innuendo and several times we were in fits of laughter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with a man.
As we began the drive back to the country house there was an electric silence. The atmosphere was charged with sex. I put my hand on top of Tony’s leg and left it there for several seconds and then began to stroke the inside of his thigh. I felt his cock, which was already plump, growing in response to my soft strokes and I gently scraped my nails over it.
He groaned. ‘You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’
Music to my ears. ‘Keep going,’ I said. ‘Your flattery’s storing up lots of treats for you.’ He put his foot on the accelerator.
I think it was then I realised I didn’t need to try and flirt or seduce; all I had to do to attract men was to be myself. It was simply a matter of self-confidence. It was something the course had given me. Fiona was right; it had been worth every penny.
When we arrived at the house I showed Tony into my accommodation. ‘Sit down. I’ll go and get some drinks.’ I went into the bedroom, took off my skirt and blouse and bra, and put on a silk wrap which barely covered my bottom. I went back into the room and stood in front of him with my hands on my hips. ‘Can’t find the drink,’ I said. ‘Would sex be OK instead?’
Tony didn’t smile. I could see he was too aroused. I walked up to him, bent down to kiss him, briefly, then stood up, turned around, and bent over.
‘Be a gentleman and slip my panties off, would you?’ My wrap had ridden up over my bottom, leaving him an unimpeded view. I heard him gasp and felt his hands fumble a little as his excitement got the better of him. He eased my panties down over my stockings and stilettos. I stepped out of them and walked over to an armchair. I turned around, sat down in the chair, crossed my legs and looked at him.
‘Do you know there was one meal that wasn’t on the menu?’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘what was that?’
His nostrils were flared and his mouth slightly open. His lust was plain to see. I slowly uncrossed my legs, spread them wide, and pulled them back, resting the heel of a stiletto on each arm. ‘Juicy pussy,’ I said, moving my hips, provocatively, up and down. I pointed a finger and beckoned him to me. ‘Come and feast on me, darling, come and eat me.’
He staggered over to me, drunk with lust, and fell between my legs. I held his head between my hands, smothered his face with my pussy, and squirmed with pleasure.
‘Oooooh, that’s it, just a bit higher, Oooohhhh, you are a hungry boy, that’s it, a little harder.’
I must say, he was damned good. He brought me to a glorious orgasm and had me trembling and shouting with pleasure. Eventually, I pushed his head back and told him to stand up. I undressed him, undoing his shirt to reveal a gorgeous torso, and then peeling off his trousers and shorts to uncover fine, strong legs and a beautiful cock; full bodied, erect and proud. It was irresistible. I knelt down before him and indulged myself. I don’t know how long I spent caressing, licking, and sucking, but eventually Tony let out a cry and I felt him grip my head as his warm, salty juices filled my mouth. I swallowed, greedily, and licked the glistening purple head of his cock to catch any remaining juicy tears. I stood up and kissed him and he licked my neck and ears and breasts as though they were coated in nectar. I kissed his chest and licked and nibbled his nipples and ran my hands over his body, gently scraping my nails on his flesh.
It wasn’t long before I felt his cock hardening again. I broke away from him, took hold of his cock and led him into the bedroom. I climbed on the bed and, hungry and wanton, got down on all fours, raised my bottom in the air and begged him to fuck me. I felt Tony climb onto the bed and his hands caressing my bottom before they gripped my hips and, oh my God, I was completely filled by cock. Its smoothness titillated and teased and set my insides alight and I cried out obscenities as I gripped the bed sheets and shook and shuddered. I felt him thrusting harder and harder and he placed one hand on my shoulder and one under my belly and tightened his grip as his hips ground into me and he grunted and groaned as his orgasm consumed him.
That night was the real turning point; it was the AAAH! moment in every sense of the word. I felt like a goddess.
I had two more dates during the last week.
The second date was Max. When he knocked on my door I answered by sheepishly poking my head around the door.
‘Max,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘Ready for a great evening?’
‘Oh Max, I’m so sorry, I feel a bit too tired to go out tonight.’
His face fell. ‘Oh, OK,’ he began.
‘I wondered,’ I interrupted, ‘whether we could have a quiet night in?’ I opened the door and enjoyed the look of surprise on his face. I was wearing a red, see-through robe made of a light sheer mesh that was secured by a satin tie at the waist. The robe covered the first third of my thighs and brushed the tops of my latest acquisition – a pair of thigh-length, black leather boots that perched me on five inch spiked heels. I held out my hand, which Max took, and gently pulled him into the room. I guessed Max was six foot. I’m five foot six and my heels made me almost the same height as him.
I closed the door then put my arms around his neck. ‘I would have loved to have gone out tonight, Max, but I’m afraid I just feel too highly sexed. I need your help to release all this sexual tension. Do you think you could do that?’; I felt his hands on my bottom.
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, reassuringly. We kissed and as his hands pressed my bottom to him I could feel his hardness. He began to kiss my neck as his hands roamed over my body. He was highly aroused, and his lustiness made him rougher, his actions more urgent. The effect I was having on him increased my own arousal. I took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. I helped him undress then pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him, my head above his cock, my legs straddling his head. We explored each other for some time and Max gave me several orgasms as his mouth worked wonders on my pussy. Eventually, Max turned me on my back, pushed my legs apart, and began to fuck me, in a steady, controlled way and I wrapped my legs around his waist, gripping him to me. As he became more passionate he pushed my thighs back so that the calves of my leather-encased legs were resting on his shoulders, and he pounded in to me until he let out a guttural cry and I felt his body, rigid and shaking, as he poured himself into me.
Spent and exhausted, he rolled off me. ‘You are something special,’ he said, still panting, ‘and I just love the boots.’
‘I could tell.’ I laughed.
As I watched him getting dressed I had an idea. It was the last night of the course the following evening and I’d wanted to do something special – go out with a bang, so to speak. I asked Max if he had an evening suit. ‘I’ve got one somewhere. I can dig it out. Why?’
‘Oh, you’ll see.’
When Max left I called Tony and asked the same. I had asked them both to be at my place at 7 p.m. the following evening. Neither knew the other was invited.
The following evening I put on an evening dress and waited expectantly. might
Max turned up first, followed, ten minutes later, by Tony. Each brought a bottle of Champagne and both wore evening suits. They were plainly surprised to see each other. I served the Champagne and then told them why they had both been invited.
‘You know this is my last night before my course ends. You’ve both given me so much pleasure that I wanted to thank you tonight, but I also wanted to ask you if you could fulfil a fantasy.’ I explained that I’d once seen two men dressed in dinner jackets, making love to a friend of mine. ‘It really turned me on and I was hoping that you would help me enjoy a similar experience. I shall quite understand if you feel that this would be too awkward or embarrassing.’
The two men looked at each other. They smiled and nodded simultaneously in their eagerness, which made us all laugh.
That evening I enjoyed the best sex I’d ever had. Being kissed, fondled, caressed and penetrated by two men added another dimension to lovemaking. And the emotional sensations I experienced enhanced the pleasure. I took initial control, directing their actions to suit my needs, which gave me a tremendous feeling of power and dominance. But eventually I became subservient, a willing slave to their lust. When Max and Tony left that evening I was completely fucked, in all senses of the word. I slept like a baby.
On the final day of the course we reviewed what we’d learnt and shared our experiences. We each wrote a list of our goals and made resolutions. My goals were to visit two new countries a year and to start my own business. I resolved that the world would be my oyster and that, for the men in my life, my oyster would be their world. I got a round of applause!
When I arrived home I had a bit of catching up to do. I’d kept in touch with the kids when I was on the course but I’d ignored all other messages. Now I worked my way through them. There were a few voicemails from John. I gave him a call. He asked if he could see me as he wanted to discuss getting the house on the market. I told him to come round the following morning.
In the early evening I popped round to Fiona’s. She opened the door, stood back, and whistled. ‘My God, you look awesome. I can’t believe the difference.’
We chatted over a coffee. I told her all about the course and we compared notes.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely fantastic. I’ve never felt better.’
‘I can see that. Your husband will fall over himself to get you back,’ Fiona assured me.
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? His girlfriend’s pregnant – she has been for some time> He wants to marry her.’
‘Oh Claire, I am sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said, ‘it’s the best thing that could have happened to me. I’m not interested in him in the slightest. I can see so many possibilities – why the hell would I want to go back to a drab old marriage?’
Fiona laughed. ‘Well, my grandma used to say if you want to get over an old man, get under a new one.’
‘I already have – two as a matter of fact.’
Fiona raised her eyebrows. I told her about my dates with Tony and Max.
‘Wow, good for you.’
‘There’s also something I need to confess to you.’ I told Fiona about the time I had called and then gone into her back garden where I’d seen her with her two lovers and how aroused I’d been. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I concluded. ‘I should’ve left but I just couldn’t help myself.’
Fiona smiled. ‘No problem. Glad I put on a good show.’
‘It was more than that,’ I said, and went on to tell her how I’d recreated the scene with Max and Tony,
‘I’m flattered. Perhaps we should consider a foursome sometime?’
‘I might just take you up on that,’ I said, unsure whether she was joking or not. The thought gave me goose bumps.
The next morning, John called round. When I opened the door he was plainly shocked. He couldn’t stop himself from looking me up and down.
‘You look … nice,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ I smiled. I took him through to the kitchen and made him a cup of tea while we spoke about selling the house. Every so often I would catch him furtively eyeing me.
‘I must say,’ he said, when our conversation was ending, ‘you seem totally different … You’ve changed – not just physically, but you seem like a different person.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I replied, amicably. As John was leaving I said, ‘Oh, you’ve still got a set of house keys, haven’t you?’
‘Well, could you show any estate agents around next week? I won’t be here.’
‘Oh,’ he said, clearly attempting to conceal his surprise. ’Why not?’
‘I’m in Paris next week.’
‘Paris? What are you doing in Paris?’
‘My boyfriend’s taking me.’
John looked stunned. I shut the door and smiled to myself.
About five months after that conversation I arranged a 21st birthday party for my son. The house had been sold and the completion date was in a few weeks’ time so there was no need to be overly worried about keeping the place tidy. I also wanted the party to be a bit of a celebration of my own. For me, leaving the house officially marked the closing of one chapter in my life and the opening of another. So I decided to be extravagant. I hired a marquee for the garden, arranged a disco, and got caterers to provide buffet food and manage a bar.
I was lucky. When the day arrived it was one of those beautiful autumn days that turned into a balmy evening. I decided to wear the same outfit I’d worn on that first date with Tony: stilettos, sheer, black, seamed stockings, a silk, three-quarter length skirt and a plain blouse, open at the neck to display plenty of cleavage, of course.
I’d invited John and Mel. I had long got over any feelings of animosity and was, quite frankly, indifferent to their situation. Besides, it would have been churlish of me to leave John out when it was his own son’s 21st.
John arrived without Mel. I briefly greeted him and then left him to mix with other people. Later, he cornered me when Tony had gone to the bar to refresh our drinks.
‘You look fantastic,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten how stunning you were.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, nonchalantly. ‘How are Mel and the baby?’
‘Oh, she’s pretty much tired all the time, that’s why she didn’t come tonight, even though we’d arranged a babysitter.’ A sulky look crossed his face.
‘Yes, I remember those days,’ I said. ‘I don’t envy you. I wouldn’t want to go through that again.’
‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I’d forgotten what a grind it could be.’ He nodded over to where Tony was standing at the bar. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’
‘One of them, yes.’
‘One of them?’ he queried, failing to hide the irritation in his voice.
‘Yes, now I’m free of all my family commitments I’m making the best of life.’ He looked petulant. ‘Is anything the matter?’ I asked.
‘Well, I was just wondering why you weren’t like this when we were married.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, innocently.
‘You know – the way you dress, the way you look, the way you act … If you’d been like this when we were married we would probably still be together.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly John. You said it yourself; things had got stale and boring.’
I leaned forward and put my hand on top of his. I saw the lust in his eyes as they rested on my cleavage. ‘I was devastated when you left me, John. But you were right, our marriage was stale and our divorce turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me. For the first time in my life I feel truly liberated. I’ve rediscovered my femininity.’ I lowered my voice and spoke, conspiratorially, as though he were a close girlfriend. ‘I’ve also discovered how much I love sex and how hot men find me.’
He looked shocked and gutted. And all I could think was, get over it.