Stag/vixen

The following is just a story. These people are just a figment of my imagination. I'm certain there is a couple or many couples that fit this mold or one of the other million molds. The way I look at the "Lifestyle" if you want to call yourself Santa Clause, I'll refer to you as Santa. It's not our job to tell other human beings who they are or what they are. As soon as we realize that we'll find a lot more understanding in our lives and maybe less hate.

The STAG And The VIXEN

By Jay Cameron

*THE VIXEN*

Women are like flowers. Some bloom in the morning when the sun comes out to caress them with a kiss of lifegiving light. Within those rays of light, the unseen stimuli that awakens the life and blood of the flower.

To show off to the world, that flower will bloom and spread it beauty for all to see. We all marvel and smile. Once those petals are open, the air around is thrown into a vortex of aromatic sexuality.

For this flower to survive it must depend on the flower's ability to draw a transporter of its lust to another flower. But there's something more you need to know; when the object of our daily desires begins to rest, another flower awakens. Yes, I didn't realize it till I saw it. Late in the afternoon, around four o'clock, a late bloomer joins the visual and aromatic dance. It was given the name as truthful as it sounds. It's called "The Four o'clock". During the day, it could pass itself off as an inconspicuous green leafy plant. But as the sun goes down this stalwart of our world comes out to shine, spreading its petals and opening up its aroma to the night.

Like most of us, we don't see the word "romance" hidden in the word "aromatic", but it is there. Hidden in the language of our subject...Samantha the Vixen, and Snake the Stag

When I was ten years old, or even seventeen graduating from High School, I would have never thought I would become what today, I call a Hotwife or a Vixen. That's right, I'm the Vixen half of a complicated, but extraordinarily strong and loving relationship with my husband. It's not a fetish .... being a Vixen. I just learned to like a variety of sex partners.

Every man kisses a woman differently. Every cock feels different. Every man touches you differently, some better than others. There are several I wouldn't touch with that ten-foot pole everyone talks about. When I was younger, I took little time deciding who I was going to give "it" up to. Today, or at least until recently, I took plenty of time in making my selections. All men have a few things in common; they like to fuck, jack off and they all like to have their cock in a woman's mouth. Fortunately, it's one of my favorite things too.

If you're a man, count the number of women you have been with .... sexually, in your lifetime. I would hope, the women reading would do the same. As for me, I don't count anyone or anything, I just enjoy the experience. And that's what it is...an experience.... a thrilling experience.

It turns out people, and that includes "you", the reader, begin life as a new computer right out of the box. The operating system is already installed (someone with a higher paygrade installed that feature). But from that point on, programming is added. From the time you learn to crawl, to the day your body is put to rest, you are adding to that computer.... you; no one else. When I say you, understand that at any point from beginning to end, you are the person allowing this programming change to take place. Oh, other people try, but you are the one that presses the "install" button.

Now that we have a basis on which to build. Let's get started with the Stag/Vixen lifestyle.

My roots are European, and I carry my name proudly. For the purposes of this story, I will refer to myself as Samantha. I'm an inch over five feet tall, I have red hair, and have a body that will stop a train. I know that because several men and some women, have told me.

My younger sister and I grew up playing every sport in school. Because of our interest in running faster and jumping higher, we both had to stay in good physical condition.

When I finished High School, I went to a local community college. Because money was tight, I took various jobs to help pay my way. One day, while working out at a local gym, a workout friend (the woman on the stepper next to me), whose husband was a professional photographer, asked if I would consider doing some modeling. I agreed to see what it was like, so I showed up at the designated time and place.

It was very exciting. People buzzing around me like I was very special, helping me with my clothes, my face, my hair, but always the goal was to show off my shapely figure. I took to this like I was meant to be some other person. I wore clothes and bathing suits that I would never wear on my own. They were revealing to say the least.

I was only able to model part time. I had school. At that time advancing my education was more important than anything. Don't get me wrong... Boys are the same everywhere, they will spend a week's pay if they think they might get laid. Let's just say, I had other goals in mind.

I had been sexually active in school. Nothing changed in college. As time passed, I began to think of, and dream about sex all the time. A tough trick for a girl wearing glasses. I mean real glasses. I have an eye problem. I've been told there's no fix, so I just had to learn to live with it. So, to this day, whenever I have my picture taken, I hide my glasses somewhere (I know some readers won't understand, but it's true).

There are some interesting stories of how I got to this point, but there's one event I remember vividly.

I had been contacted about a bathing suit shoot on a private beach. I was almost nineteen at the time and still naïve about the real world. I had to travel in my POS (piece of shit) of a car to get to the photo site. I would have to stay in a hotel with a few other girls and the crew. Well, the hotel turned into a motel, and there were five girls, including myself, and four guys on the crew (two were much older, and one kid looked like he was still in middle school. The fourth guy would get any woman's panties wet (he turned out to be gay along with one of the old coots). I don't think any of us had time to think about sex. The girls were rushing to get ready. We were helping each other with our hair, our outfits, and makeup.

Anyway, we had been at this thing all day, for three days, when it started to rain during the final hours. The photographer wanted to get some shots with the girls in the rain and so the day got even longer.

During this three-day event, I noticed a woman standing on the edge of the beach with her big floppy hat shading her from the heat of the sun. Behind her was a wooden walkway leading to an old Georgian-style house standing above the site. On the porch of this house there looked to be someone sitting in a chair. I had noticed him or her on the first day. The woman came down from the house, every day just after our lunch break and stood there just watching. It had to be boring. The whole event sure was a drag to me.

At some point while I was in the make-up tent (if you want to call it that...just three sides), she came into the cover, and we began to talk. It was just girl talk. I'm certain we didn't solve any of the world's problems. But as the day, and the shoot, was getting close to an end, the rain was coming down harder and harder.

On this day, it went on till I was called out by the photographer for my rain pictures. When he was satisfied, he had taken what was left of his film, everyone crowded into what little cover we had. It was then, mother nature showed she was pissed. A gust of wind lifted the tent cover clear, and anything that wasn't tied down was either gone or ruined.

Before the big blow, I had put on a pair of shorts, and was struggling with a top that barely covered my boobs. At least I had a little coverage. Everyone headed for the parking lot, but my new friend grabbed my arm and told me it was much closer to her house. Wanting desperately to get out of the wind and the rain, I took off running after her.

With each step I got closer and closer to that person sitting on the porch, and I wasn't surprised to see it was a man in his early forties. He was the husband, of my new friend She had told me they were "snowbirds" from Chicago. Never having been to the cold, cold north myself, I was intrigued.

Running up the steps to the porch, (I couldn't let a forty-year-old woman beat me) I was caked in wet sand. My hair was filled with it, and I knew I looked a complete mess. To add insult to my dreadful appearance... I was wearing the latest style of glasses. If you look back twenty plus years, you can imagine my embarrassment; even as I look back on it today.

Anyway, his name was Dean and she had introduced herself as Dolly. Dean, a very tall man with a runners body, and had the beginnings of grey hair around his temples and down his sideburns. Dolly was ..... Well, Dolly's was perfect. She was perfectly coiffed, a figure to die for, and before the rain and the wind, had been sporting a lovely shade of brown hair, styled into a ponytail, and tied on top in a bun. It was perfect for her features and style. I did love the color. In fact, I have had that shade of brown, streaked with blondish accents several times over the years.

Anyway, Dean was thinking ahead when he greeted both of us at the top of the stairs with a towel for each. After a chorus of, "oh thank you, Dean," from both of us, I was invited inside. We were shaking from the cold, so Dolly picked out some clothes for me from her chest-of-drawers and showed me to the bathroom shower upstairs.

I must have been in the shower for a long time. I had to get all the sand, makeup and a ton of hairspray washed away before I could join the others. With the rain still falling, but the wind calming down, I was invited to join them for a great meal Dean had prepared earlier. It turned out Dean had several talents, and the kitchen wasn't the only one as I would soon find out.

With little chance of getting to my car without getting wet all over again, I joined my new friends in their family room. I sat on the sofa with Dean, and Dolly flitted around making certain our drink glasses were filled, and the snack tray on the coffee table was too.

There seemed to be no subject taboo to the three of us and with the drinks and the conversation moving more and more to a sexual tone. We relaxed and seemed to be alone in the world. I saw Dean nod his head toward Doly and I was suddenly filled with apprehension. Dolly went around the room dimming some lights and extinguishing others. She stood next to her husband and watched as he began to force himself on me. At first, I had both my hands and arms pushing his chest as he began kissing me. His skill at how to kiss a woman was tearing down my defenses, and soon I was pulling his face to mine. I glanced up at Dolly standing next to the sofa watching. She just smiled and walked over to the stairs leading out of the room and upstairs.

What in the world had come over me. Was it the drinks or the uncensored conversation. A man, with his wife in the room, was kissing me with more passion than I had felt with all my past boyfriends, and she was only steps away.

His hands, now free of my resistance, were under the tattered sweatshirt massaging and twisting the hard pointed nipples of my breasts. Before my mind could adjust to the situation, my shirt was gone, and Dean was now kissing and licking at the vortex of my passion. He knew all the right moves, and before I could save myself from the passion of his onslaught, my body was jerking and thrusting at each intrusion to my lust. There was no way in the world I would even consider the premature ending of this sexual collaboration.

There seemed to be a disconnect between my brain and my body. Whatever he wanted of me, I would gladly give. When I opened my eyes to the one-eyed monster resting against my cheek I grabbed and devoured him as fast and as determined as a woman can. I wanted to set a record or achieve some sort of sexual goal. It took only a minute or more of teasing, licking and then impaling my face on this cock to get my reward. As the molten lava of his groin crossed the back of my throat, I felt a joy somewhat new to me. I had given this kiss to many of my younger and less experienced lovers, but this was the first time I had given a man that special kiss, that special joy, that gift of thank you for your loving passion I felt on this night.

But that was not the only joy that night in the house on the beach gave me. As Dean and I caught our breath from the rigors of our sexual entanglement, I could feel the loving touch and kisses of Dolly moving up both our bodies.

Later, ... much later, the three of us lay with arms and legs clutching each other in their giant bed. This was probably the best, or at least most exciting night of my life. Or I thought so, but I found out there were many more and even more exciting nights to come.

*THE STAG*

I hate to do this, but I must agree with my wife when it comes to how we got to this point in our lives. Everything that has happened was nothing like we expected. I was an Eagle scout. It seemed like every day was just another day in the life of the All-American Boy. There wasn't a thing I wouldn't do for my family, my neighbors, or my country. Most of the time no one had to even ask for my help, ... I was just there, ... ready to help. As every Scout knows.... "On my honor, I will do my best, to do my duty, for God and my Country............"

What do you call an All-American boy? Growing up, we all had nicknames. There was a guy named Moose. I had another friend called Spike. Bonehead was my best friend. Because of an incident with a pet snake I let hang around my neck, I got the moniker of Snake. It wasn't all that bad because he, or she or it, was my pet. But when the name stuck...I just accepted it and let everyone believe what they wanted. Girls would smile, and other boys would just leave me alone. The incident was just as simple as my pet slipped off my shoulder and ended up wrapped around my waist on the inside of my clothes. The best way to retrieve it was to open my fly and gently pull the snake to safety. The laughter of my buddies lasted a long time and I just got accustomed to the nickname.

Hard work and dedication were rewarded with a full ride scholarship to college. The blessing of a body that held me strong and tall, I was fortunate enough to meet a girl... Please forgive ... I met a woman. She might have been a foot shorter than I was tall, but we both knew we were meant to be together.

Here I am, my very own version of Captain America. I had the woman of my dreams, a life-plan we both considered achievable. Most of all we, together, had the backbone, love, and drive to do whatever it took to reach that goal. Don't get the wrong idea, we knew our goals were difficult but reachable.

.... Then, things began to happen in the world I couldn't ignore. For the first time in my life, I was not in control. Instead of using up that college money for its intended purposes, I jumped ship and joined the Army. Before you could say, "Humpty-dumpty," I was dragging my ass through the sand. It wasn't the sand at the beach....it was the sand of the dessert.

We arrived at our disembarkation point and I saw things I had never known. You don't have to believe me, but one of the first things I saw was a baboon fucking a dog. But that was just the beginning of things. Before we were being shipped home, I saw things no human should have to see. Children being held up as human shields, thinking we wouldn't fire our weapons. The body parts all around after a friend stepped on a mine, and many of the sights and sounds I see flashing back to my mind as I slept; if you can call it sleep.

Soon, the only part of the day, or the week that was important were the days when someone yelled, "Mail-Call!" I Knew I would have a letter or package from my girlfriend. She sent me what I called, "Hurry Home" pictures. She had been doing some modeling part time, and she never forgot me. There were always photos of her wearing as little as possible. And when the guys in my group were down in the dumps about the loss of someone or bad news from home, I would let them see one or two of her more exciting photos (it gave me a chance to more than just brag a little).

As time when on, more and more the guys were chiding me with comments about if I couldn't keep up with her, they would step up and take a bullet for me. We would always laugh it off. That's how close we were. I never thought anything about it, (at least out loud). When we were able to get some time to rest and I would get to close my eyes, visions of her filled my dreams, pushing the horrors I saw every day to the back of my mind. The first thing I did when we got back in the "good ole USA", I was on a knee and she was yelling, "yes, yes, yes" through her tears.

The wedding was beautiful. She had everything she wanted. We joke about it to this day, that she got me. She lies to me and says, "that's all she wanted." In reality, her parents got "us". We moved into a makeshift apartment over the garage. It was just a big room with the possibility of adding a bathroom and that was it. We made the best of it for two years as we worked to finish our schooling. I got on with a neighboring Police department, and she went to work with more jobs than I could handle. But she did handle it, and all the other stuff you hope your wife can do. It was a juggling act that I would never attempt. Long gone were the days of the lady of the house standing over a stove. On second thought, that's exactly what her mother did day after day.

I couldn't believe how much I loved this woman. We went to college together. We went to the gym together. We jogged, we raced each other, and pushed each other for our lives to be better, together.

However, there was one habit I couldn't get out of my thoughts. The one thing that persisted the most was my beautiful wife with another man. All those suggestions and the joking around, from the guys in the foxholes, and tents in the desert were trapped in my mind. As hard as I tried to flush them from my thoughts and dreams, they were still there...hiding, but most times only haunting my dreams.

I didn't hide anything from my wife. She knew something was wrong when I woke her up in the middle of the night wet with sweat and whispering her name in a panic. I wasn't yelling. It was like I couldn't speak, but I was making enough of a fool of myself to scare the shit out of her. She held me and soothed me with her soft voice. It was as though I were a child frightened by a monster under my bed. I soon told her everything. I was not about to go through my marriage and keep the truth from her.

The following day was Sunday. Instead of going to mass with her parents, we drove to the beach and emptied our lives out onto the sand and let them be washed away with the tide. When the day was over, and we were both content with our confessions, we laid together in bed, her head on my shoulder, and we fell asleep holding hands. The next morning when we awoke, we had not moved all night. We were still holding hands like there was no night. But there was a new day.

*THE VIXEN*

I studied Fitness and Nutrition in the first couple years of college. My husband couldn't tell me enough how proud of me he was, and how beautiful. I looked forward to his comments. He was pushing me to continue my passion for a shapely and toned body I would be proud to show off. Why not? ... Everyone told me it was already perfect. So, I decided, with the Snake's permission, to enter a "Body Building Contest," just to see the behind the scenes of what young women had to go through to compete. I learned a lot.