Hawk was a bad boy, and just looking at him made my pussy gush. That was the first time any person had that effect on me, and it changed my life. Although his name was Dale, everyone called him Hawk, a truncated version of Hawkson, his last name.

I’d become something of a serial girlfriend in my quest to find love, and I was, as usual, between partners at that moment. I’d gone for almost three weeks without hooking up, not from lack of willing bodies, but because I was looking for somebody different, perhaps even better. Dale was better in some ways, all of them sexual, but far worse in others. Nonetheless, he set my flesh on fire, and I just had to have him.

I was dressed to prowl, in a skimpy, gossamer skirt and cleavage-revealing top, my hair and makeup stylishly crafted with the intent to ensnare a willing lover in my web of debauchery. With my car needing an oil change, I stopped at a local auto parts store to pick up a new filter and oil before heading out to find some cock, and his 1995 Harley Softail Custom, in Harley-factory yellow, was in the parking lot. I stopped to admire the gleaming chrome and powerful V-twin engine.

“If you play your cards right, I’ll give you a thrill ride,” the cycle’s owner said, emerging from the parts store.

He was tall, well-muscled, and had shiny, black hair that ran past the collar of his leather jacket. His grease-stained Levi’s were tight, showing a nice worn spot where his impressive package protruded. He wore black leather biker boots and the obligatory Harley T-shirt. What really melted my core was his intense, dark eyes; they sparkled with confidence and mischief. 

I wanted him, plain and simple. I didn’t want to date him or become his biker-babe girlfriend or sit up all night and talk about our feelings. I wanted to fuck him hard and wildly. As soon as I saw him, a thousand thoughts ran through my head.

You’re a self-labeled slut, Krystal, don’t be shy. Just go over to him, grab him, and tell him that you want his cock. You’re fucking hot enough that you can get away with it. Your ass looks sexy, and your shirt is so slutty that your nipples can be seen from space. He’s a biker! Just go over there and be your slutty fucking self. He’ll fuck you, and you know it.

That millisecond-long mental rant, the voice of passion within me, took all of my worry over being labeled a slut and shunted it aside. 

People will insult and degrade me for being a slut, if I do that. My voice of reason had a good argument.

Fuck what everyone else thinks! my inner slut screamed. No matter what you say or do, people are going to treat you like a cheap slut. You may as well enjoy the benefits. 

Yeah, my voice of reason agreed, a slut with benefits.

I smiled at him and stared right at his crotch. “A ninety-five, Softail? 1338 CCs? Are you sure your iron horse has the balls to carry two riders? I can always wait for one with a big engine. I like them big, massive… and hard.”

He smiled at that, brazenly scanning the contours of my body. I found myself sticking my tits out in response to his glance. I bent over his cycle, sticking my ass out, swaying it back and forth as my hands caressed his motorcycle.

“Does it vibrate a lot?” I asked. Of course, it rumbled like thunder; it was a Harley. I just wanted an excuse to show off my perfectly-contoured butt.

“Hell, yes, it does.” He pointed to the name patch on his jacket. “I’m Hawk, and this horse, here, is the most exciting thing you have between your legs.”

“Doubtful.”

I smiled at him, my face conveying the overwhelming lust boiling under my skin. Taking the initiative, I swung my leg over the seat, taking extra precautions to flash him my fiery pussy. Hawk licked his lips when we saw the downy fire of my neatly trimmed pubes.

“Prove it.” I moaned.

“Got a thing for bikers?”

“Not really, just bad boys in general. So, hop on and thrill me.”

“Just like that, huh?”

I shook my head, opened my purse, and tossed a wrapped condom at his feet. “Now, or never. What? Horny girls scare you?”

“Get ready for the ride of your life.”

Dale was arrogant, charming, and one kinky motherfucker. He started up his Harley, revved the engine so hard that my entire body vibrated, and we peeled out at a dangerous speed. As soon as we’d hit touring speed, I tightly wrapped my arms around him, caressing his chest, one hand dropping to fondle his dick. His cock swelled under my caressing.

“Keep that up, and I’ll pull over and fuck you like a trashy slut.”

“Next right, then! Be quick about it. I’m fucking horny, and this is your lucky day.”

The road wound to and fro, leading off to a seldom-traveled byway that had a few parks here and there. While he searched for a spot, I took advantage of a straight section of road to release my grip on Hawk and pull off my scandalously skimpy top. My bare tits pressed against his leather-clad back made me feel like such a trashy whore that I could barely keep my fingers out of my cunt. Only two or three cars passed us, all headed in the opposite direction. One of them did a double-take, nearly causing a spontaneous orgasm.

“There,” I pointed. “There’s a small parking area on the left that nobody ever uses.”

He followed my directions and turned off the bike after revving it so loudly that birds took flight. He turned to face me, surprised that I was topless.

“What’s the big hurry, little slut?”

“Horny! Now, fucking make me cum.”

I laid back on the seat, spreading my legs around him and lifting my skirt to give him access.

“What’s your name, slut?”

I shook my head to the negative, grabbing his scruffy, black hair and pulling his mouth to my volcanic pussy.

“Slut will do, for now. If you’re good enough, I’ll give you my name, afterward.”

Dale’s oral talents were amazing. His tongue, writhing and whirling, slammed over my clit, making me moan, then crisscrossed back and forth down my sodden, swollen lips. Wielding his pink appendage like a cock, he stabbed his tongue into my sex hole, swirling it about. Then, his tongue retreated, licking down to my asshole until my hips started bucking, only to repeat the maneuver until my body melted. 

Hawk, as he was nicknamed, wasn’t satisfied with giving me only one, incredible, intense orgasm. As soon as my orgasm began, he added fingers to my convulsing cunt, heightening the intensity. He fucked me with his hand, all while the waves of intense, horny bliss crashed over my flesh. Then, as soon as I could breathe, he redoubled his efforts, getting me off twice more.

I threw my quivering, nearly nude body off his cycle and lay on the grass. “Fuck me!”

He smiled, stepping out of his pants and revealing a yummy, hard cock. It was just slightly larger than average. Approaching me, he leaned down, roughly kissing me on the mouth. I could taste my juices on his lips, and he smashed his mouth over mine, his tongue invading my oral cavity. I felt his fingers wrap around my hair.

“Not yet, bitch,” he snarled. “Suck my cock, you fucking slut.”

Dale didn’t wait for me to get up; he pulled me, by the hair, into a kneeling position and crammed his hard shaft into my mouth. He needed no prompting from me, and he jack-hammered his cock into my mouth, brutally humping my mouth. Hawk brutalized my face, fucking it so hard that his thrusts gagged me and threw my head back.

“You love it, you fucking whore. I see you fingering yourself. Suck it good, slut.”

The very last vestiges of attempting to become a normal, sane person fled me at that moment. Hawk was such a bad boy that his attitude toward women was very caveman-like. To him, I was a pretty body with holes to fuck, nothing more. As pathetic as it may sound, I loved it. I’d read about men being so overcome with desire that their lust and primal mind take over, their physical needs consuming them.

Dale fucked my mouth, slamming his cock down my throat, calling me all sorts of dirty, vile names. 

“Bend over the bike, slut, and beg me to fuck you.”

I played along.

“Please fuck me with your hard, big cock, Hawk. I need to be fucked. Give it to me. I’ll do anything!” 

”Yes, you will, you whore. You’ll do whatever I say.”

Dale didn’t care about my needs, desires, or even what I liked. He just forced my head down further, pressing it against the motorcycle’s seat, and crammed his hardness into me with a single thrust. I felt used and abused, which was exactly what I needed. 

Later, I realized that, in addition to wanting to be a total slut but still treated with kindness and respect, I needed a lover that knew how to drive me past the point of no return, until my physical, horny needs became my entire universe. I needed to be consumed to feel free. Hawk forced it, which wasn’t how I wanted things, but his means justified my ends. All I could do was surrender to the amazing fucking I was receiving; I gladly did that, moaning and fingering myself as he punished my greedy cunt.

“You’re just a horny, fucking slut, aren’t you? I might even make you my main bitch. Would you like that? Do you want to be my girl?”

“Shut up and ravage me.”

His hard cock drove into me with a violent fury. I could feel his body slamming against my ass, pushing my body against the cycle with every thrust. Bent over the seat of his Harley as I was, my hand easily crept between my legs, and I alternated between fingering my clit and stroking his shaft and balls as he brutalized my leaking pussy.

“On your fucking knees, slutty bitch. Open your mouth.”

After a plethora of guys that were too timid to take the initiative, I loved being on the receiving end of his brutal, degrading hate-fuck. He was treating me as a disposable slut, and it gave me multiple orgasms. I realized that what I truly wanted, sexually, was to be desired more than anything else on the planet. Although he was rough, rude, and almost abusive, my soul screamed for more.

“Give me your cum. I earned it!”

Dale had pulled out of my dripping pussy, forcing me to my knees. He stood over me, stroking his hard shaft, telling me what a slut I was.

“Cum on your fucking slut, then. Give me your spunk.”

“Here it comes, bitch.”

He shot stream after stream of jizz all over my hair, face, and tits. I was so horny that all I could do was finger my gushing twat, moaning while I begged for more. He shoved his cock back into my mouth, harshly using my mouth to clean his cock. I grabbed his firm butt and pulled him deeper into my mouth.

I rode back to my car covered in cum, still topless, and stroking his cock in an attempt to get it hard, again, so I could have more. Hawk was drained, and I felt as if that was the best fuck I was ever going to have in my entire life. All the walls and hurdles I’d built up in my psyche, the ones that kept me from letting loose, were demolished under his forceful domination.

I sped home after that, masturbating while I drove. I didn’t even make it inside the house, and lay on the garage floor, fingering my cunt for almost an hour. A part of me tried to resist the primal, all-consuming feelings of bliss, but nobody had ever fucked me like that, before. After more orgasms than I could count, all those endorphins in my system made me believe that I was in love with Dale. I even screamed out, “Krystal Hawkson,” during a particularly intense release.

Dale and I lasted for almost two entire months. That was a new record for me. Because I believed that I was in love with him, I didn’t see all of his flaws. Misogyny, arrogance, conceit, insecurity, and a fear of women’s power all combined into an abusive, domineering personality that got off treating women like trash. During sex, all of that created a fantastic lover, pounding me into blissful oblivion. When our clothes were on, though, I still received that same treatment. That wore my tolerance of his childish arrogance very thin.

What I loved about Hawk was that his perverted kinkiness knew no bounds. As much of a slut as I felt I was being, he truly opened my eyes. In a bar, he once just lifted my skirt and started roughly finger-fucking me in front of everyone. He was rough, but the taboo, degrading thrill of being used while others watched, was incredible.

In private, he’d use and abuse me on a whim. Whenever he felt like it, he’d cram his cock in my mouth and fuck my face. There was nothing sexual that he wouldn’t do to me, which I loved, but his attitude soon outpaced the hot, horny, incredible sex. There were even a few moments when his maltreatment made me nervous. I was never scared, but I came very close on more than one occasion.

I knew I had to stop seeing him, but the sex was just so good that my pussy didn’t want that. Luckily, one evening, as I was building up the courage to break things off with him, Hawk introduced me to his new girlfriend. That’s the polite way to phrase the event. He used me for sex and kicked me to the curb when he found somebody he liked better.

We were supposed to meet at some quasi-biker bar, and, when I walked in, he had his hands all over some slutty brunette. She was dressed like a cheap whore, cooing and sighing, her hands all over my boyfriend. Her lack of class was so prevalent that she’d need a classier wardrobe and a complete makeover before she could pass as a skanky, low-rent stripper.

“I’m Candy,” she proudly said, giving me a venomous stare. “Hawk’s all mine, now. He doesn’t need a slut like you, anymore. He has me.”

“You heard her, bitch,” Dale sneered at me. “She takes it up the ass, so you’re fired.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s cool,” I sang out. 

Bimbo Barbie went back to worshiping Dale, and I turned on my heel and walked out. I mentally thanked her for solving my conundrum for me. I was free of his abusive, belittling insecurities.

My attraction to bad boys got me in a lot of trouble over the ensuing years. To me, their edginess, rebellious attitude, and willingness to let loose and get wild held infinite appeal. Fucking a bad boy is usually an adventure, and the sex is more intense, wilder, and much more satisfying than “nice guys” afraid to pummel my wet cunt with furious abandon.

Unfortunately, the type of men who weren’t intimidated by my wanton sexuality were always the ones that were too immature and so insecure, deep down, that instead of being dominant, they became domineering and controlling. Hawk was just my first brush with danger. I loved the thrill, but the treatment I received had severe, negative effects on my self-image.

After Dale, I went on a promiscuity rampage. The thought that slutty sluts will never find happiness began to grip my mind. Still, I remained hopeful. In the countless number of romance novels my mother donated to me—after she’d fingered herself to oblivion over them—the heroine always had to endure misery before she found her Prince Charming. I had faith that somehow, some way, perhaps, someday, I’d be able to live happily ever after.

Of course, I couldn’t find my true love if I didn’t look. I knew how to find people; I just needed to find the right one. That search led me to Melody. She was a Goddess-send, and her husband also had a formative influence.

I was living in a state of constant shame. My heart’s desires ran counter to what I saw as a healthy relationship or personal sanity. My mind craved the lusty attention I received from acting like a horny slut. I dressed to provoke impassioned attention, and I was becoming more and more sexually outgoing. My heart also wanted somebody to appreciate me for the person I was. I’d discovered that, like nature, which is everything all at once, I needed it both ways.

If somebody was into me because I’m a sexy, horny redhead who loves to fuck, I’d begin to feel unappreciated and used for sex. When somebody appreciated me for my mind, creativity, or warm, jovial personality, I began growing concerned that I was no longer attractive, because why else would they not want to tear off my clothes and take me? Vanity, self-centeredness, and the wreckage of my emotions combined with my immaturity and inability to maintain a relationship. I was having all the sex I could ever hope for, but the state of my heart was dire.

I’d taken to flashing my soaked pussy quite often, never once receiving a complaint. That day, I’d gone to a big-box bookstore, the type that seems to populate every mall in America. It was late afternoon, and I was seated in one of the reading areas in a comfy chair, idly perusing my possible selections while I teased the patrons. One man, in particular, seemed to be very responsive to my exhibitionism.

He was slightly older, in his late thirties, and handsome. Clean-cut, with well-groomed, short hair, and piercing, blue eyes, he wasn’t my type, but he was sexy enough to maybe play with. He saw me spreading my legs and paid close attention to me, after that. It became a wordless game between us. He was fully aware of what I was doing, and I think he knew that could tell that his eyes were on me, not the shelves of books he was pretending to memorize.

He was a willing voyeur, respectful enough not to ruin the moment, but bold enough to let me know that he appreciated my efforts. Our eyes met, sporadically, and his knowing smile made me want to torture him. We played our flashing game for several minutes until a very attractive blond woman, maybe forty or so years old, sat across from me. She was dressed very classy in a sexy, Bohemian style, so enticing that my already-wet pussy churned out more ultra-heated nectar.

“That man you’re showing your lovely cunt to is married,” she said to me. “I should know; I’m his wife.” 

I panicked. My thighs immediately snapped together, and I looked at her with all the sincerity and guilt I could muster.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean anything, I swear. I was just getting some innocent kicks…”

My voice tapered off as she nodded at me, smiling broadly. I knew that look. It was a lusty, knowing gaze.

“Show me,” she whispered, looking about to ensure nobody else was in the vicinity. “You like to show off; let me see.”

I looked around, my jaw agape. Did another woman, claiming to be married to the man I was flashing, just ask to see my promised land? My nipples jumped to attention, sticking out, and I could feel inferno-like heat spread throughout my body. Mentally shrugging, I opened my legs a little, feeling as if I were about to be beaten by a jealous wife.

“Wider,” she soothingly said. “You’re a natural redhead. I like that. You’re wet. Pity we’re in public. That’s enough. Close your legs, you horny, little slut.”

The way she called me a slut sent shivers down my spine. I sighed, feeling my entire body slump into my chair. She had this safe, permissive aura about her; something in her tone, body language, and facial expressions put me at horny ease.

“Tom,” she shouted to the man I was flashing. “Get over here.”

The sexy man, Tom, blanched, looking guilty. Nonetheless, he approached, but with all the enthusiasm of a man marching toward his execution.

“This is the dirty, little slut that’s been flashing you?” she inquired. He nodded.

She turned to face me. “We’re going to go get some dinner and fuck. Want to join us?”

“Umm.”

“Yes or no?”

“Did you just ask me to join you in a threesome?” 

She nodded. “I’m Melody, and you already know Tom.” She extended her right hand, which I took and shook, politely. “Join us?”

After some very brief conversation, we paid for our books and left together. I was nervous, but they were both extremely nice, highly intelligent, and sexy. Dinner was a lavish meal at the restaurant at their hotel. She was a professional artist, and he was some sort of corporate motivational speaker. They were also kinky swingers who only played together. In town for only a few more days, they were out shopping, Melody buying art books, before dinner. Then, they’d planned on hitting the local clubs for some sexy action, but happenstance just put me directly in their path.

Melody was simply gorgeous. She had large, firm breasts, a tiny waist, and long legs. Tom was a quintessential manly, career man. I found them to be an almost perfect combination of sultriness and intellect. A feeling similar to horny, physical arousal, washed through my core, only increased a few times over. I was incredibly horny, eagerly anticipating my first threesome. The two of them, obviously very much in love with each other—even deeper in lust—were mentally arousing me. 

Innuendo and sexual discussion permeated our dinner conversation, but there was more to it than that. I felt acknowledged, seen, and appreciated. The anticipation, the treatment I was receiving, and the jovial atmosphere had me hornier than I’d ever been. 

“That man over there is staring at you, Mel,” Tom said to her.

“I know, honey. It’s because I took off my panties in the restroom, and I’m flashing him my coin slot. It worked when Krystal did it to you, and I’m just trying it out.”

“Check, please!”

Slightly intoxicated, I followed their luxury sedan into the bowels of the city. They didn’t merely have a hotel room; they had a full suite with a walk-out balcony that overlooked the city. My house was very nice and expensive, but their hotel suite was decadent and affluent. I was offered some wine, which I took, and some recreational pharmaceuticals in the form of a white powder, which I declined.

“I love the view of the city from up here,” Melody said to me as we bent over the balcony’s railing, looking down at the city. 

We toasted to our meeting, then, she gave me the rules she and Tom played by. I found that refreshing. I grew up amid swingers, and the ones that had rules they both abide by were always the ones with the strongest relationships.

“Here’s how this works,” Melody began. I listened, drooling over her body. “Oral is fine, no matter what, but, if you want to fuck my husband, we use condoms. Don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with; this is all just for fun to keep our marriage spicy. If you feel nervous, disrespected, or uncomfortable with anything, just speak up.”

Tom busied himself in the suite while we chatted. I was feeling a connection with them, so I wasn’t as nervous as I probably should have been. The lights inside dimmed, and soft, romantic music poured forth from the television’s speakers. Melody pulled out a very used weed pipe, lit it, inhaled the smoke, and then offered it to me.

“What’s in that?”

“Just some pot. Drug-free? No offense meant, but no apologies, either. I like to get a little lit before we have sex. It makes it so much more pleasurable.”

I took the pipe and the lighter. “No, I smoke a little weed and do some other stuff, just nothing hard.”

“Except cock!”

“Hey,” Tom called from inside. “What are you two laughing about?”

“Nothing big, honey.” She made a funny face, holding up two fingers close together. We burst out laughing. 

“Tom’s fantastic but not what you’d call well-endowed.”

“Mom always said that it’s not the size of the wand, but the magic in it, that counts.”

“Smart woman. Let’s go inside. I think you could use a full-body massage to relax.”

That sounded like a good idea to me, so we walked back into the suite.

“Mel,” Tom said, looking us both over. “You know how sexy you are, and that I think you’re the most amazing woman alive, but you, Krystal, are one sexy woman.”

“I know,” Melody purred. She put her hands on my body, running them all over. “I can’t wait to get my hands on her.”

“Patience, Mel. I called room service for some bubbly and food.”

“I promised Krystal we’d start with a massage.” She turned to me. “Get on the bed, and I’ll show you how a real slut gives massages.”

“Wait!” I climbed onto the bed because a massage is always welcome. “You call yourself a slut?”

“I’m an ex-stripper slut, through and through, babe. I crave sexual adventure and Tom, here, is more than happy to be my partner in sexy crime.”

“Oooh, mmm,” I moaned. Her touch was warm, electric, soothing, and arousing, all at once. “How do you cope with everyone making your life miserable because you’re a slut?”

“Look, honey. Nothing anyone else says or thinks has any bearing on me. If you have more fun than them, happen to be prettier, or enjoy lots of wild sex, everyone’s going to tear you down, so they feel better about themselves. They’re jealous because I’m getting the sex they fantasize about; that’s all. I consider it a compliment.”

What she said made perfect sense to me, at least academically. Melody just seemed to be so powerful and at peace with her behavior that it blew me away. Of course, her smiling husband, drooling over seeing his big-breasted, sexy, blond wife rubbing her hands all over my flesh, helped her be at peace, I’m sure. Knowing one isn’t alone and loved, goes a long way toward having a positive mentality.

“Oh, that feels so good. Do my legs and butt, please.”

Melody, still completely dressed in her sexy gypsy skirt and blouse, straddled my prone body, sitting on my legs, and ran her hands under my shirt to access my back more easily. Her hands kneaded my flesh, making me melt. At my request, she began concentrating on my butt, flipping my skirt up.

“That’s one incredible ass you have there. I’m serious, Krystal, that’s the second-best butt I’ve ever seen.”

“Second best?” Melody teased. “Whose ass is the best.”

“Why, yours, of course, Mel.”

“Liar,” she whispered, softly.

“What was that, Mel?”

“I said, ‘I love you.’”

We both giggled, but my giggle turned into a moan when her hand moved to my pussy, and she lightly traced her long fingernails over my soaking cunt.

“You can grab her ass if she doesn’t mind,” Melody told her husband. Her fingernails were still running up and down my swollen, overheating pussy lips, feather-light touches that made me hump my sex against the mattress.

“And lose this view? I’d love to, and I will. I just want to watch, for now.”

Melody gloriously tortured my aching, needy body. Her soft, expert caresses relaxed me somewhat, but a slow, horny fire began burning inside me. All of that intense arousal I’d been feeling increased exponentially. My entire body was tingling in pre-orgasmic bliss.

Eventually, she turned me over onto my back and began repeating her lovely, blissful massage. By then, I’d spread my legs, leaking sexual nectar onto the bed, so she could get my inner thighs. Melody exposed my breasts, gently pulling my shirt off.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Room service,” a male voice called.

Melody stopped, grabbing a blanket to cover me with. Smiling seductively, my face a mask of wanton passion, I shook my head to the negative and replaced her hands on my hot, writhing flesh. “I didn’t say for you to stop,” I mewed. 

Tom went to answer the door, and his wife got the sexiest, most mischievous look on her face that I’ve ever seen. Her fingers left my undulating, impassioned abdomen and plunged between my legs. One of her delicate, feminine fingers penetrated the erupting volcano between my legs, while she used another digit to flick my clit. I moaned, then heard the door open.

“Here you are, sir,” the man’s voice said, very professionally and politely. “We have your champagne, three glasses, sandwiches, strawberries, and…”

The bellhop’s voice tapered off when I moaned, “Oh, fuck, that feels so good.”

Melody, still dressed, was finger-fucking me to orgasm, in plain sight of the room service guy. I hazarded a glance his way, and his eyes were riveted on me as he drooled, slack-jawed. I moaned once more, too far gone to care. Besides, I like being lusted after, and this was just a new level, more intense and so fucking dirty. I waved at him, then turned my attention to the blond bombshell who was quickly skyrocketing my libido toward pure bliss.

I heard the hotel employee and Tom conversing, but I didn’t pay them any attention. The door closed and the sound of the deadbolt being latched snicked through the air.

“Cum for me, slut. Show me how hot you are. Do you like getting fingered while you’re being watched? I know you did. Your nipples are so hard, right now, you dirty bitch.”

Melody lived up to her name, playing my pussy as if it were an instrument, and she a virtuoso. Very quickly, the lusty pleasure grew so intense that my entire body was writhing all over the bed.

“So… fucking good! Fuck! I’m cumming.”

My back arched so deeply, my entire essence overwrought with horny pleasure, that it nearly snapped. Hot torrents of lust-fueled ecstasy incinerated my soul. I came so hard that my wailing convulsions lasted for longer than a minute. Of course, Melody, being a dirty, greedy slut, made certain to extend and elevate my impassioned state.

When my orgasm crested, she stopped fucking my undulating pussy, and she ceased fingering my clit. She kept her fingers buried in my hole, and she pressed her palm against my throbbing nub. When my hips bucked up, she pressed her palm down firm, her fingers thrusting inside of me knuckle-deep. When my body slammed downward, she released pressure and pulled her fingers out, slightly. Melody took an incredible orgasm and launched my heart-rending pleasure into space; my entire soul ceased to exist. Only bliss remained, coming in brutal assaults and languishing waves.

Then, rather than stop, she lowered her head, crawling between my legs, and began softly kissing my still-cumming pussy. When I could finally open my eyes, her light blue eyes were gazing up at me, her mouth clamped over my mound. As my body reconstituted itself, I grew aware of her tongue, gently, softly, and lightly swirling over my clit.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Oh, fucking fuck. I’m going to cum, again.”

My pleas were obeyed; she did not stop. Melody slowed her oral assault long enough to shift position, so she could finger herself, then she renewed her feasting on my saturated fuck hole. I looked over, seeing that Tom had disrobed. His body was muscular, with a hairy chest, but not too hirsute. He was lean, and his muscles were very pronounced. His cock, hard and erect, was a bit on the small side, not that it mattered.

I won’t lie; I love a big, thick cock. When the shaft is long, it can penetrate all sorts of places that drive me insane with pleasure. If the penis is thick, that girth stretches your interior walls, and the rubbing sensation all around the circumference will melt your brain in six thrusts or fewer. If he’s both thick and long, I become a wailing, dirty-talking, grunting, animal, insane with cock-lust.

However, the length and girth of the member are only a bonus; it’s the person that makes all the difference. I’ve had far too many hung, shitty lovers, and I’ll take a guy that knows how to fuck over another with a huge cock and an ego problem. Guys who are hung tend to think that’s enough; it isn’t. So, to put the endless debate to rest, penis size both does and doesn’t matter—Schrödinger’s cock.

Tom was an amazing, intelligent, sexy man, and he had a hard cock. That’s all that mattered. He watched us, his wife eating my cunt and me writhing all over the bed in sexual fervor.

“Stick your cock in her mouth,” Melody moaned. She was furiously fingering herself, the sounds of her wetness sloshing in time with her thrusts.

“Is that okay with you?” Tom asked me.

“Fuck my fucking mouth. Pound my face while your wife licks my pussy.”

Tom approached me, his hard shaft bobbing with each step. Rather than just thrust his meat between my lips, he stood there, gently stroking my hair and lightly caressing my flesh. Taking the initiative, I reached out and pulled his hard gift to me, wrapping my mouth over the head. Melody chose that moment to plunge her fingers back inside my drenched cunt, making me choke on his cock.

“Cum for me, you slut.” she urged.

Melody was moaning and sighing into my sex, her body convulsing in pleasure from her masturbatory efforts. Her husband stood there, allowing me to savor his hot, quivering flesh in my mouth. I had a man feeding my hunger for cock, and his wife was pleasuring me at the same time.

Melody’s pace stuttered momentarily as her body reacted to her self-love. With her tongue still flying over my clit and her fingers intensely fucking me, she had an intense orgasm that was a beautiful thing to behold. Her body rocked back and forth so much that her orgasmic spasms pushed her mouth over my pussy with notable force. That triggered another orgasm within me, and my moans and epileptic flailing triggered Tom’s.

Not knowing or caring what to do, I continued fucking his cock with my mouth, feeling the hot spurts of cum fill my mouth and coat my tongue.

“Oooh… aah… don’t… fuck, fuck…swallow. I want some jizz.” Melody’s voice was a passionate, moaning shriek. Still possessed by the throes of her intense orgasm, she climbed over me, placing her face near my mouth and Tom’s orgasming cock. 

I plunged my mouth over his deflating cock, milking every last drop of cum from the tip, pulling my mouth off with a popping sound. Melody pounced on me in an instant, moaning into my parted lips, her tongue darting over my face and plunging into my mouth. Her hands molested my willing body as we kissed, Melody greedily licking the cum off and out of my mouth.

“Get your cock up again, so you can fuck us!” 

Taking a break, the three of us drank champagne, smoked some more, and snacked on the recently-delivered food. An hour or so later, which seemed like just a few minutes, we were at it again, this time lasting all night. Tom was an amazing, considerate, and perverted lover. Melody was simply wild, kinky, and such a horny slut that I found myself pondering the benefits of being in the sluts-only club. More so, they were happy and deeply in love. I felt privileged to be in their orbit.

Tom’s work kept him away during the day, and Melody and I hung out together for the following three days before they had to return to their home state. She was witty, charming, strong, and highly sexual. Our days would be spent talking as if we were old friends, shopping, and dining together, and our nights were filled with endless sexual adventure and debauched kink that I hadn’t even dreamed about.

Those two lovers, Melody and Hawk, had a durable impact on my mindset. Dale, despite being a domineering, woman-hating ruffian, allowed me to experience the sort of sex I craved. Without his harsh treatment, I’d never have realized how brutally I love to be fucked, or that complete surrender to my slutty impulses made me happy. Dale was the first person to ever fuck me and leave me satisfied. 

Melody also allowed me to see the bright side of my sluttitude. She was invulnerable to the nasty, condescension of society, basking in their spite. She also mentored me, in an offhand way, over those few days. Being with her and seeing how happy she was with her life inspired me. Sexual pleasure, to her, was simply that. It took several years for me to reach her point of sexual evolution, but I was eventually able to divorce the emotions and feelings of possessiveness that accompany romantic attraction from the primal joys of fucking.

Months passed, and my confidence and faith in myself began to grow. The judgmental gazes of strangers no longer crushed my spirit. They still irked me, sometimes bringing me low, but I began to cease caring about other’s opinions of me. I still had a long way to go, but my worst bits were seemingly over.

To be continued…