What Aty Did

Chapter 1.

I was suspended by my wrists from the ceiling of the 'play room'. I was about to be sodomised with the largest penis in the room. And I was rather looking forward to it.

My enforced pose was not uncomfortable, the wrist-cuffs were of soft padded leather, they held my arms about three feet apart, most of my weight could be taken by my legs if I stood upright. My restraints had been arranged so that I had to remain in a 'Y' shape, if I parted my legs, my weight would transfer to my arms. So I teetered on the five inch stiletto heels of my diamanté studded shoes - all I was wearing - apart from the blindfold.

What was uncomfortable, was the waiting - part of my 'forfeit' of course - anticipation before participation. I could hear the clink of wine glasses and the chatter of my tormentors.

"Just get on with it," I muttered.

But the waiting gave me an opportunity to reflect on how I had come to be in this position:

My name is Kate. I was born in 1975, as was my husband, Nick. Same town, same hospital in fact, and the same year, although three months before I was popped out. Nick is my third husband, but before, in between, and even during my marriages, there had been a lot of men. I have not kept count, book keeping is not one of my strengths, but I think that it would be safe to say that I was a centurion well before my first marriage. And yes, I have cheated on all of my husbands.

My infidelities were never intended, but my first marriage turned bad very quickly. I need sex, lots of it. I was not getting it at home, so what's a girl to do? After the divorce, on the grounds of my infidelity, the cheeky sod, I returned to my previous, (Natural?) promiscuousness. My second marriage lasted longer than the first, but not by much. He thought that I was oversexed. I don't remember any complaints from before our wedding, but he was unable to keep up with my demands. So once again, I went elsewhere to have my itch scratched. I, like many before my, began to suspect that humans were just not designed for monogamy. I met Nick before I was divorced. Nick was very different. He too was still married, but like me, was in the expensive and time-consuming process of disentanglement -- divorce.

We met at a party, we were introduced by the host, a mutual friend, because he knew that we both came from the same town. Nick's parents had left when he was small, otherwise we would have been at school together. But now here we were, full circle. I felt a strong attraction to him from the start, Nick was everything anyone could want in a man, good looking, well spoken, intelligent and amusing. I felt like a teenager again, I was tongue-tied, unable to make proper conversation. He must have thought that I was weird.

That night in bed, I could not get him out of my mind. And not just because I fancied him as a sex-partner, much as I did. My heart seemed to be beating more strongly and I had a strange feeling in my stomach, a sort of fluttery feeling. Could I possibly be in love?

When I first started work, I was placed under the wing of a woman old enough to be my mother, but so different from my real mother. Molly was an earthy south-Londoner, at first I thought that she was foul-mouthed, but gradually realised that the four letter words that she used were always sex associated, they were not used as swear words. On the same day that I joined the company there was another newbie, a young man who seemed to think that we were somehow in competition. And he was going to win.

It upset me at first, but when I confessed this to Molly, she said;

"He is no better than you, he thinks he is because he has a cock between his legs, but with what you've got between yours, you can have as many of those as you please. Just do your job and see if I'm right."

After that she became my friend as well as my mentor, and sure enough, under her guidance I outstripped my nemesis, he was asked to leave after a year. Molly and I began to take lunch together and she taught me much more than how to do my job. She loved sex, she would arrive in the morning saying that she had little sleep the night before,

"We were fucking 'till dawn."

Her husband, a fire-fighter, lived life for the moment. He also had a high sex-drive, they fucked most days, several times on weekend days, when they didn't fuck she would;

"Suck him off and drink his spunk," or "Wank each other senseless."

He was, she said, very good with his tongue. She also;

"Liked it up the arse."

She told me that I should not settle for nappies and a mortgage, if I was careful I could have it all, money, good sex, anything that I chose.

She had been married previously but he had died young. She missed him still, her 'new bloke' was good, but her first had been exceptional. I asked how he died.

"Heart attack," she replied. "My fault I suppose, he was fucking me at the time. I was on top, I have always liked 'cowgirl'. He had already come twice, but I wanted more. I suppose you could say that I fucked him to death, but at least he died happy. I loved him to bits."

I asked how I would know when Mr Right came along.

"You will just know." Was all she would say.

Was Nick my Mr Right? Oh yes.

The day after the party, my mobile 'phone rang - 'Unknown caller'. It was Nick. I had left the party somewhat the worse for drink, without knowing anything other than his name. He had asked our host for my number, could we meet again? We dated a couple of times, then I took him to my bed. He was dynamite. For three hours with no more than a break for the loo, we sucked and fucked. Condoms of course for the fucking, but he filled several until we ran out. He also came twice in my mouth and again when I gave him a goodnight wank and sent him away, I was exhausted. He was insatiable.

We became regular lovers and eventually stopped using condoms. He came in such quantities that I could feel him spurt inside me, he was a sex-superman. He claimed that it was all my fault, that I inspired him, that I was possibly the most fuckable woman on earth.

One rainy Saturday afternoon, we tested his repeatability. He fucked me eight times in six hours, coming each time. He had to rest for all of the next day though.

Oh yes, he was my Mr Right. We married as soon as we were able.

Why then , did I cheat?

We had a blazing row about something so trivial that I can't remember what it was about. It was a Saturday and we had been invited to a housewarming party at Nick's boss' new house. I made it clear in no uncertain terms, that Nick would be going by himself. But we had never before had such an invitation, surely it signalled that Nick was 'on the up'? It would have been churlish of me to jeopardise any chance of promotion. I decided that I was a good enough actress to convince his boss that I was the supportive wife.

I stayed by Nick's side, playing 'the little woman', until I felt that I had done enough. Formalities over and fuelled by drink, guest were starting to circulate. Nick and I agreed to circulate separately, i.e. get as far away from each other as possible.

I drank too much, Champagne -- the world's most effective knicker remover, and flirted with every man present. I ended up trapped in a corner by an absolute hunk of a man whose name was Richard. I don't know what we talked about, lust was overpowering memory. I fancied him rotten. Suddenly, he looked around, checking that the coast was clear, then kissed me. Very quick, a stolen kiss, but I could feel his erection against my belly as he did it. My nipples stiffened.

He said that he was going to excuse himself and leave the room, I was to follow after an appropriate delay. There was no sign of him in the hallway, there were several rooms off including the downstairs loo, but that was in constant use and there were people in all of the other rooms. Except one. Richard's head appeared around the door, then his hand, beckoning me. The room was normally used as a study or home office, but was being used as a temporary cloakroom. The desk had been pushed against the back wall, in front of it were two hanging rails on wheels, hired for the event and overflowing with coats. Richard pulled me behind them, they would provide cover should anyone enter the room. As a further precaution, he switched off the light.

We kissed properly, he cupped my buttocks and pulled me hard against his stiff cock, grinding it against me. Then he worked my skirt up until it was around my waist before returning to my now naked bum. I was wearing the skimpiest thong, there was just a shoe-lace between my buttocks. A suspender belt held up my sheer black stockings. His fingers found the straps framing my backside. He groaned and muttered;

"Sussies, you sexy little cunt."

I am not little. And normally I would have objected to being called a cunt, I have one, I am not one. But at that moment, that is exactly what I was -- a greedy, hungry cunt, desperate to be fed.

I fumbled for his belt. He helped. I unzipped his flies and fished out his rigid cunt-feeder. It felt perfect for my needs, and he was probably as ready as I was, but just to make sure that it was fully primed, I dropped to my knees and sucked it into my mouth. Yes, it would do. He warned me that it was ready to fire and I reluctantly let it slip from my lips, I had a place more needy than my mouth. He slipped my knickers down and I stepped out of them, then he lifted me so that I was perched on the edge of the desk. I spread my legs wide, took his prong in both hands and fed him into my juicy slot.

He drove it home in one thrust, causing me to yelp. He shushed me, then began to pump. He fucked hard and fast, just what I needed. It must have been less than a minute until he was emptying his load into me, biting my shoulder to mute his cries as he spurted. He softened quickly and slipped out, kissed me once more and told me to wait a few minutes before following him out.

I spent those minutes in the dim light looking for my knickers, but did not find them. Either they were hooked up in someone's coat, making an interesting find for them, or more likely, my stud had taken them as a souvenir. Annoying. They had not been cheap. My first destination was the loo, to inspect the damage. There were teeth marks on my shoulder that would take some explaining.

When I emerged from the loo, someone was about to leave and was collecting coats from the cloakroom. We had had a narrow escape. I went back into the room to collect my coat, making another quick knicker-hunt, now with the light on, but without success. There was a silk scarf tucked inside the arm of my coat, I wrapped it around my neck to conceal my love-bite, then carried my coat into the big room, found Nick and told him that I wanted to go.

In the taxi home, Nick was bubbling with excitement, he thought that the party had been a great success. He put his arm around me, kissed me and thanked me for supporting him. I then feigned sleep, resting my head on his shoulder. He placed his hand on my thigh, thankfully over the skirt. If he had put his hand inside, his fingers would have encountered a sticky, just-fucked prize.

I managed to slip into bed without revealing the badge left by my knee-trembler. We always both sleep naked so that there is nothing between us but love. I turned my back on him, he pressed himself against my back, ready for his congugals. I muttered that I was too tired, he fell asleep cuddling me, I lay awake feeling very guilty.

The next morning, the enormity of my actions hit me with a bang. Unprotected sex with a stranger. It would take weeks before I knew if there was any damage other than a love-bite. How could I keep it from Nick? We had sex of some kind practically every day. When my main road was closed for monthly maintenance, I used my hands or mouth as substitutes. And nearly always naked. I had no option but to come confess. To come clean about being dirty.

My news did not go down well. At first, Nick laughed, thinking that it was just a turn-on. I showed him my mark. He was silent for several minutes, then left the room. A few minutes later, I heard the front door close, his car started and he was gone in a shower of gravel. He returned very late, going straight into the spare bedroom and closing the door. I did not see him again until he left for work, much earlier than usual, we normally caught the same train. He put his head around the kitchen door and said;

"You'd better get yourself checked."

Then he was gone.

I found the number of a private clinic close to where I work, they were not yet open but I kept trying, eventually getting an appointment during my lunch-break. The initial test showed clear, but the full test would take two agonising weeks.

I knew all about the waiting, I had done it before. I am fully aware of the risks from casual sex, I had always taken precautions, but there had been a couple of mistakes and I had travelled this route before. But they had been during my putting-it-about years, never while I was in a steady relationship, so by using condoms, my sex life was barely interrupted. Would Nick forgive me enough to do this? I bought two dozen large-sized condoms in the hope that he would. I did not want to lose this one, he was not replaceable. And I loved him.

He was not back in time for dinner that evening, returning after ten. I told him my news, he grunted and went to bed. In our bed this time, I was hopeful. I slid naked into bed beside him and told him that I had bought condoms, or if he preferred, I would wank him off. He grunted again. Was that yes or no. I got my answer in a most unexpected way. He pushed back the duvet and wanked himself off, catching his cum in a tissue. Then he turned his back on me. A very original way of punishing me. And it hurt.

After that, life returned to normal, apart from no sex. Of any kind. If he was wanking, he did it in private. I tried his trick, lying by his side and masturbating, but I was ignored. At last the results from the clinic arrived, I was clear. I told Nick my news, but he just said;

"Good. Get it done again to be sure."

By the time the results of the second test arrived, we were back together. Still no sex, but we had talked about how to celebrate a clear result. On the Saturday following the news, we would have a fuck-fest. It would be like starting all over again. I could hardly wait, not since I had first lost my virginity had I spent so long deprived of cock.

I prepared a special dinner, we had wine with it. The whole meal was foreplay. We did not get to the dessert. Or rather, we were each other's dessert. Nick took me by the hand and led me upstairs to our bedroom. He unzipped my dress and helped me remove it. We had dressed for dinner, not black-tie, Nick was in slacks and a smart-but-casual shirt, I had worn a cocktail dress. Beneath it was new underwear, I had made sure that Nick had not seen it until he undressed me. I wore what to me seemed to be a cross between a basque and a teddy, not remotely frilly, it was constructed from sheer black chiffon, with vertical ribbons, more like a cage than a garment. Four of the ribbons extended to form suspenders, supporting sheer, black seamed stockings. The thing had a half-bra, providing platforms for my tits, but not concealing them. Sheer, see-through knickers that had no practical purpose whatsoever, and high heeled shoes, completed the outfit. If I had added a mask and a riding crop, I could have passed as a dominatrix.

But domination was not my plan, tonight I was the submissive, I would do anything Nick asked. If he had wanted to fuck me with the wine bottle, wide end first, I would have meekly spread my legs. This was unlikely to happen, but I made a mental note of the idea for future use.

Nick stripped off completely and gently pushed me back onto the bed. He parted and lifted my legs so that I was spread for his use. He opened his mouth wide and placed it on my nylon covered cunt, and gently blew warm breath into me. I squealed with delight at the feeling of being inflated. He sucked me off through the knickers, causing me to climax powerfully and noisily. I almost fainted with pleasure at the release of four weeks frustration.

He moved above me, his cock bristling with lust and told me to pull the knickers aside so that he could enter me, and filled me with his lovely big, very hard cock. He fucked me steadily like this for ages, the edge of my knickers must have chafed his shaft as he drilled it into me, how he managed to keep from coming, I will never know.

He rolled onto his back, taking me with him and without uncoupling. The fuck resumed, this time with him pumping up into me. At last his resistance failed, he gave a gurgling noise and pulled me down, impaling me completely, keeping very still. I felt his seed spurt, long powerful jets of his precious essence flooding me.

In my lust drugged mind, he was releasing all of the spunk saved up from four weeks abstinence, I imagined it to be too much for my tightly packed cunt to take and it spilled out, running down over his balls. I felt a familiar tingle from somewhere deep inside, rippling out to affect my whole body. I was coming, just by having Nick's cock inside me. It had never happened before. This time I did pass out.

My eyes swam back in to focus, taking in my surroundings. I was slumped on top of Nick. I raised my body up from him, looking into his brown eyes, and said faintly;

"I came."

"I noticed," he replied gently.

Not right then, but I have since calculated that I must have been fucked between three and five thousand times since the first time. I had never before achieved orgasm through penetration alone. I had been close, but always failed to reach the summit. I had come with a cock inside me many times, but always with help from my fingers or those of my fucker. I have no problem coming from oral or manual stimulation, be just from fucking? No. I know that this is the same for possibly more than half the sexually active female population, but it was nice to have left their ranks.

I had known when I first met, that he was the one, just as Molly had foretold, but any lingering doubts had just been washed away on a wave of spunk from the man I loved dearly.

I was in a daze, he was speaking;

"Bring it back up here," he said.

I smiled knowingly and a shiver of pleasure coursed through me. He wanted to lick me again, this time with his cum running out of my hole. He loves it, I love it. How many men will do this? He was the only one I had known who would happily drink his own spunk.

Part of our very close, and I believed very strong relationship, was openness. Everybody masturbates, why not share the experience? As pleasant as it is as a solo pursuit, it can be better still with an audience. I often encouraged him to rub himself off for my pleasure as well as his own, enjoying the power of his ejaculations, either just to watch, or to enjoy the sensation of the warm stuff spattering some part of my body. I also masturbated for his enjoyment, often we did it together.

He had told me about his early sexual development when he would bring himself off, catching the resulting flood in his mouth. He had done if for me at my request. So he was familiar with his own taste as he slurped it from my vessel. I came yet again.

This time we rested. And it was time to remove my ruined knickers.

I owed him a suck, and this was our next act. I love his cock in my mouth. It's big, but manageable. A goldilocks zone penis -- not too big, not too small, but just right. For me anyway. Just over six and a half inches long and over one and three-quarter inches thick. A good mouthful. I sucked his balls and rimmed his arse before making sure that his next delivery of love-juice was fired into my mouth. I drank it as though it was the finest wine.