I recently wrote a story called "The Surprise" - a non-consensual story with a twist. I deliberately picked a vague title, and so I will try and write a different tale under each of Literotica's twenty-five writing categories with the same inspiration over the next year. This is Number Seven.
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My wife wasn't wrong to leave me; I was bisexual, and she wanted monogamy. While I adored her figure, with her perky breasts and amazing butt, I also needed to play with my gender. During a sales visit to London, I attended a gay bar with a public playroom, and sucked on my first cock. That experience opened my eyes, and for three years, I maintained my marriage as I sought male sex partners for anal and oral sex. My world tumbled down when she discovered my FabGuys and Grindr accounts, and the truth came out.
We agreed to split amicably, which was far more than I deserved, and she took ownership of our six-bedroom abode. I had an excellent job in our family firm and settled into a four-bedroom detached house in a small village in east Cheshire. Close to the motorway, railway station and with splendid views of the countryside, my cul-de-sac property was an ideal home for me to rebuild my life.
As a thirty-five-year-old, I wanted sexually available men and women of a similar age, and there were little of those in the surrounding area. However, I still travelled to Manchester, Stockport or Chester for dates, and the scenery around my village was fantastic. I lived close to work, and could drive to our Mancunian factory three days a week, and work from my home office on the other two.
Six months after moving into my new property, I had the bushes and shrubs removed from my front garden and replaced them with small low-maintenance plants; I was never much of a gardener and the five trees had roots that were encroaching on the sewers. My neighbour complained.
A month later, I changed the three-foot high fence in the back garden with bigger replacements, and planted conifers in front of them. I wanted my privacy, and my neighbour whinged.
During Pride Month, I flew the horizontal striped flag from my upstairs window. My neighbour protested and as chair of our local parish council, he officially wrote to me to advise that "perversions should not be advertised where children could see them."
I ignored his pathetic baiting, but more and more I felt I didn't fit in to the village life. There were cliques, clubs and societies that were not welcoming to new members. I needed a more cosmopolitan environment. A few Tinder and Grindr dates, with the inevitable culmination of the rendezvous in the bedroom for a one-night stand, couldn't sate my wanderlust. I wanted more and looked at a few houses available on the property market nearer to the city centre.
Towards the end of the summer, a guy who I'd met a few times from FabGuys contacted me. Twenty miles away, in a small town in Cheshire, was the country's biggest all-male sauna, and they were hosting an infamous sex party. He had two tickets and his friend had dropped out. Did I want the spare ticket?
The Horse Fair is a simple but sordid concept. It is an orgy and attendees purchase entry for one of the three roles. Firstly, the "stable lads" guarantee the safety of the participants by ensuring everyone uses condoms and lube. They are also responsible for directing the play and arrive at the party first. The "mares" are guys who like to bottom. The stable lads hood them, strip them naked and restrain them. Lastly, the "stallions" are men who top, and they enter the party to sodomise and use the mares. Anonymously. The event is pure sleaze, and it sounded wonderful.
Simon's spare was for a mare.
Feeling lonely and a little isolated with my life, I leapt at the chance, and met Simon in a layby. I traded one ticket for the forthcoming event for £20 - the face value - and a blowjob. His smooth cock slipped effortlessly between my lips as my tongue worked his glans. The 40-something avid cyclist owned a juice bar and his cum was the sweetest, tangiest delicacy in the county; I always adored going down on the health freak.
The following months were busy at the family firm, and the Horse Fair slipped from my thoughts. Previous trips and parties where I could explore or enjoy my sexuality had preyed on my mind for weeks leading to the event, but with new orders flying into our company, I immersed myself in my work.
I had a busy Friday in mid October, but arrived home at 4pm. Excited, I douched and plugged my arse, ate at the local pub and then drove across the county to meet Simon in the car park of the all-male sauna. I'd been to the former working men's club before and the vast two-storey building catered for hundreds of men at the same time.
He greeted me in his hoodie and sweatpants. "You're early!" I said. "Stallions aren't allowed in until seven thirty!"
"I've got a mare ticket! Like you!"
"I thought of you as more of a stallion than a bottom!"
He laughed. "You've always had me with your lips around my cock, begging me to come in your mouth!" The versatile juice bar owner followed me into the venue, and we swapped our tickets for entry to the vast sauna. We walked to the expansive changing rooms, chatting. Butterflies danced in my stomach; it had been a year since I had attended an orgy, and nothing of this scale.
The rules stated we had to be nude from the waist down and, apart from a pair of plimsolls, I stripped naked. I was not the only guy to have a plug in, and I removed my sex toy, placing it in a bag with my clothes.
Over fifty guys of all shapes and sizes crammed into the changing room, stuffing their garments and possessions into the lockers. A few wore harnesses or tight T-shirts, but most were naked. The atmosphere was jovial and light-hearted; I had my butt squeezed several times by passing attendees as I chatted to my fellow mares.
A railway worker, a schoolteacher, a diversity officer and CEO conversed about geopolitics, football and the state of the roads. The only real thing we had in common was that we were about to be fucked by a stampede of stallions, eager to sate their horniness with our bodies.
A dozen men in sports wear walked to the front of the rowdy, boisterous changing room. A stout, bald-headed man shouted for silence, and then introduced himself before stating the rules once more.
My heart pounded as the reality sunk in. Mares were to be hooded and could not remove their hood for the duration of the event. They were to service all cocks, until nine, when it became a free-for-all orgy until the small hours.
As he spoke, they passed white hoods around the group of men, and at the end of his speech, we had to slip the thin sack over our eyes. A few minutes later, a pair of hands tied it behind my head, fastened my wrists together with zip ties, and then led me into the sauna.
We walked past a room where pornography was playing. I heard the groans and squeals, as well as seeing the brightly coloured light masked through the thin cotton. The softly spoken stable lad guided me up a flight of stairs and told me to "wait here." I felt a table at thigh height and I instinctively rested my palms on it, stretching my calf.
I heard movement. I could taste anxious excitement in my mouth, as there were steps around me. Other mares, certainly.
