Helen Benson was a slut - she would be the first to admit that small detail. Even from her tender teenage years, as soon as she had discovered how well her body reacted to being touched, she couldn't keep her hands away from herself. She had developed early. Her body swelled in all the right places and she quickly discovered that her blossoming breasts were very sensitive. Alone in her bed at night she would explore her newly discovered sensuality. Her fingers would play with her immediately erect nipples, delighting in the thrills that caused her breath to sharpen and her lower regions to moisten.
Helen quickly discovered boys. In her teens she would date almost anyone that asked her and invariably would end up at the end of the date in the park or some dark alley with her top up and her panties down. She had developed a strong sexual appetite and was also fast developing a reputation as the school slut. But Helen didn't mind the names that the other girls whispered behind her back. Her breasts were now full and heavy and she prided herself on wearing low-cut tops to show them off. The boys all seemed to stare at her and, as she passed them, she would wink or throw them one of her cute, disarming smiles as her pendulous breasts wobbled sexily beneath her blouse.
The first time that Helen had sex was on her eighteenth birthday. She had cum many times before, of course - by her own fingers and by those of countless spotty youths - and she was also no stranger to the feel of male sperm. But her proper first time was disappointing. It had been in the woods at the back of her house on a sunny Saturday afternoon. As usual, the lad had wanted to play with her large breasts and, being very amiable to this idea, Helen had divested herself of the entire top half of her attire and had laid back to enjoy her young lover's attention.
At first it had been good - as it always was when her breasts were touched and her constantly hard nipples sucked - but she could sense the lad becoming more and more excited. Quickly she raised her skirt and tugged her panties down. Her broad thighs spread under the warm sun as she pulled the boy down towards her. Her hand fumbled with his zipper and finally freed a modest but angrily erect cock from the confines of his pants. The lad had lain over her. She could feel the tip of his weapon pressing urgently against her wet sex. Her arms had encompassed him, her lips whispering words of encouragement into his ear. She cried out as he entered her, the hard intrusion penetrating her and at last turning her from a girl into a woman. As the initial pain subsided and Helen prepared herself for her first full sexual experience, she felt the boy tense up between her legs. She heard him gasp. Helen let out a disappointed sigh. She knew what was about to happen and was fully prepared for the warm emission as it squirted deep up into her vagina. The coupling was over before it had really started and after an embarrassing few seconds while the two lovers dressed in silence, Helen walked home unsatisfied and alone.
But all that was twenty years ago. As time went on, Helen became no less of a slut. Unperturbed by her first, disappointing sexual experience, she began to search out older and more experienced men. She baby-sat regularly for a neighbour and, although the husband was not particularly attractive to her, in the car as he drove her home, Helen would persuade him to stop in some dark, leafy glade and make love to her. She found Mr. Pringle to be a considerate if unimaginative lover, but at least he was able to fuck her to orgasm before he pulled out and came himself into a tissue.
But Helen wanted more. More men and more sex. It soon got to the stage where she was sleeping with just about every man she met. She had almost been through the entire male staff at the office where she worked and was still looking for more.
And then came the accident. The fall from the ladder when she was thirty years old shouldn't have had such an effect; the bones mended and the scars faded, but Helen's personality had changed.
Frank, the male nurse that cared for Helen hadn't really been aware of her previous life and so didn't notice so much of a change in his patient. But he could see something in her that he liked. The weeks of care and therapy turned into months and then into years and Frank and Helen became closer and closer. It seemed to Frank that this woman was everything that he had always wanted; attractive, caring, intelligent and with a pair of breasts to die for - but she seemed to have lost some interest in sex!
The couple were married by the time Helen was thirty two years old and Slowly Frank brought his bride out of her sexual depression. As every month passed Helen seemed to become more and more sexually active. To her, she was returning to her old self, but to Frank, only slightly aware of his wife's previous promiscuity, It was almost a dream come true.
In fact, as the years went on, Frank was beginning to wonder if he had married a latent nymphomaniac. There seemed little now that Helen wouldn't do in bed - or anywhere else in the house for that matter - and often, Frank would return home from work to be greeted by his naked wife sitting on the sofa and masturbating furiously with her fingers or a large vibrator.
It came as little surprise then, when on his wife's thirty-eighth birthday, Frank asked her what she would like.
"Oh, nothing really, darling." she commented airily, "I have everything I want right here!"
"Really? Everything?"
Frank watched his wife's eyes lower as she stared demurely at her feet.
"Well......"
"Yes? Come on, baby, Tell me what you would like."
"No, you'll hate me."
Frank smiled. He could almost sense what was coming. For some time he had been aware that Helen was not completely satisfied with his modest performance in bed and the modest proportions of his marital equipment.
"You want another man, don't you?"
Immediately Helen looked up. "Oh, Frank! I'm so sorry..." she said tearfully, "Forget it...just forget it, okay!"
"Actually, I think it's a great idea!"
Again, Helen looked up and Frank could see loving gratitude in her teary eyes.
And so the die were cast. Helen's birthday was the following day and so Frank had little time to organise things. A professional seemed the best idea, and after a few phone calls the whole thing had been very easily set up. Frank had asked if Helen would prefer to be on her own and had offered to go out for the evening. But Helen wouldn't hear of it. She had insisted that he remain in the house, and it was agreed that Frank would secrete himself in the downstairs bathroom while Helen entertained her "guest" in the lounge. This suited Frank very well; if truth be told, he was very excited at the prospect of seeing his wife getting fucked by another man.
The following evening Helen had dressed sexily for her encounter. A short purple skirt covered her thighs, a white top and white panties. She had decided, under her husband's insistence, to go braless and barefoot.
The shrill tones of the doorbell broke the silence and Frank turned to look at his sluttily dressed wife. Helen nodded and rose from her chair. Frank did likewise and, walking into the bathroom, closed the door to quietly. He left it on the latch so that a small crack of light streamed into the otherwise dark room. He shivered involuntarily. By pressing his eyes up against the crack he could see his wife leading a tall, muscular looking man into the lounge.
Helen and the tall man were chatting idly as they sat on the sofa. Frank could make out that the man's name was Clive and that, as he was paid by the hour, it would probably be best if they got started straight away.
Frank watched his wife smile and nod her head in eager agreement. Clive leaned over and helped her remove the white blouse that clung to her melon shaped breasts. The material was almost transparent and for the last hour Frank had been looking at his wife's large tits and developing quite an erection.
Helen shrugged her shoulders and allowed the thin garment to fall to the ground. She laid back in anticipation, a broad smile across her face as she bared her breasts to the stranger.
"I bet you like your nipples sucked?" Clive asked. His voice seemed deep to Frank and thickly accented.
Frank watched his wife lay back and nod again as her lover's head slowly descended towards her already hard nipples. He heard her gasp as one tight bud slipped easily between the man's lips and he grasped the other between his fingers.
As Helen started to moan out her enthusiasm, Frank knew that this stud was good at his job. He could clearly see Clive's lips locked around Helen's pebble-hard nipple and watching in fascination as the man used his fingers to encourage the other bud to swell and redden visibly.
Clive's lips stayed firmly attached to Helen's nipples as he slid his hands down to her smooth thighs. Helen's white cotton panties became visible as her short skirt was pulled slowly upwards. Frank could hear his wife's moans increase in pitch as her arousal built. Her legs flopped open and her back arched. Frank had no idea that she could experience so much pleasure from having her nipples sucked, but, more than that, he realised, his wife was feverishly working her way towards an obvious orgasm.
