Helena Read online

  "If you're sure?" I asked.

  "Of course we are," Jack said. "Come on luv."

  I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for. It would be so easy. I didn't have to do anything. I just had to let the course of the evening take its natural progression. They would do the rest. I would let them do exactly what they wanted with me. How many times had I fantasized about such an event? How many times had I dreamed of having three men give me their attention, and for me to give them mine! Of course, I was frightened. They were strangers, but the danger of my situation added fire to my already aroused body.

  They led me inside the house and then ushered me into the living room. I had already discovered that it was Bruce's parents' house, who were conveniently away on holiday. The room seemed, at least aesthetically, cluttered to me, the sideboard contained too many ornaments, the floral print sofa clashing violently with the red and gold whirls of the patterned carpet, an enormous television stared at me accusingly from the corner of the room.

  "Do you fancy a whisky, Helen? We've only got lemonade, but there's some ice cubes if you want." Jack said peering at me. I noticed a tattoo on his arm, some kind of snake furling around his forearm that I hadn't noticed before. All the men were well-built, even Bruce, but Jack looked the strongest of the three.

  "Thanks, that would be lovely."

  Jack went to fetch my whisky, followed by Phil. Bruce remained a moment in the room, but tongue-tied and embarrassed he quickly went to join his more experienced friends. I could hear their murmuring voices from where I sat perched up in the centre of the sofa, but I could not make out exactly what they were saying.

  All three returned together. Jack and Phil sat either side of me, Bruce in the armchair next to the television. They attempted to make friendly conversation. I had to explain my romantic situation: yes, I had a boyfriend but he was down in London studying. I had to listen to them tell me about their work. All three were mechanics, none of them had a girlfriend, although Jack, apparently, was divorced. The anticipation was killing me. I felt so excited, waiting, wondering how they were going to do it. How they were going to make a start on me. I could see fear in their faces too, worried that at any moment I might get up from my seat and go.

  It was Phil who initiated, his leg brushing against mine increasingly rigorously, as I told them about my studies. I saw a glance passing over me on the sofa, some prearranged signal perhaps agreed in the kitchen, and then Phil reached over and took my hand in his own.

  "You're very beautiful, Helen. We all fancy you." It was Jack who spoke as calmly as he could, looking into my eyes, as Phil's hand clasped my breast through the white satin of my shirt, sending an electric charge pulsing through my body. I didn't look at him at all, my eyes resting firmly on Jack all the time, as Phil continued to squeeze my breast, sneaking his hand through to the cotton of my bra.

  "I think you're all handsome too!" I inanely said to show how willing I was.

  The whole situation seemed so unreal, as if I was the spectator in one of my fantasies, as if it was only happening in my mind's eye and not in reality. It was a wonderful feeling. Almost the sensation of being taken care of. I was like a child again, defenceless against adults, completely in the charge of these rough men, stroking me, caressing me with such gentle sweetness, so languidly, so slowly, with almost avuncular tenderness.

  Suddenly, everything changed, speeded up from the sensuous slow motion of my consciousness. Bruce stood up to dim the light, Jack's strong hand gripped me by the nape of the neck, pushing his thick tongue between my willing lips. The tongue seemed to swirl in my mouth; then a hand began to undo the buttons of my blouse. I felt the chillier air of the room, then the presence of Bruce's eyes resting on me, and then a hand around my ankle, another pulling down the cups of my bra, taking my breast and tweaking firmly on the hard tip of my nipple. Jack, still clasping me in a nuchal grip, began to pinch hard on my other breast.

  There were too many sensations to feel, too many caresses, a hard hand sliding up my calf, past the knee to the soft flesh of my thighs, a sharp hot pain in the tumescent tips of my breasts, a rough palm stroking my middle, sneaking under the waistband of my skirt, brushing against my curled pubic hair.

  Everything happening so quickly, so violently, sent my heart racing with an unknown excitement. Never in my fantasy world, no matter how keenly imagined, was it as exhilarating as this, nor so savage. There were too many incidentals I had never considered: the pungent sweet aroma of aftershave and hair gel and tobacco smoke; the aroused heavy breathing of the three men; the sensation of not so much being undressed as unravelled.

  No, I had never imagined this, never imagined that in my submission to these three men that I would feel such a sensation of power. They were taking me, but in some way I felt by submitting to their will, I was taking my life by the scruff of the neck. All that had been over-contrived, all that was insipid and compromised about me was being pushed aside by my compliance in my rough seduction.

  My firm breasts were being sucked on hard; my skirt had been raised above my bottom; I could feel the coarse material of the sofa on my bare skin. A finger had pushed aside the gusset of my panties, a tongue had sought the moist centre and was lapping at the engorged outer lips of my sex, sweeping up in broad strokes, the warm saliva mingling with my own juice. How many times had I wanted Gregory to do that, to lick me and suck on me just there? How many times I had fantasized about having a rigid tongue on me pushing down so vigorously?

  My hands pressed down hard on the skulls of the two men as they continued administering to my breasts. I felt my face flush red in my excitement. Jack unclipped my bra from behind, while Phil unzipped my skirt and Bruce pulled down my panties, the cotton tickling my leg as they fell to my ankles, the blouse pulled from around my shoulders and discarded behind the sofa, my flat shoes removed from my feet. I was completely naked in front of them, their eyes purveyed my body with pleasure.

  Jack unzipped his trousers and perched himself on the arm of the sofa, and with his rough, callused hands, pulled me over to him, so that my elbows rested on his lap, inches away from his already hardened pole, the dome glistening in the half light of the room. He grabbed me again by the neck, pulling my mouth onto his steel hard rod. My tongue slipped onto the slicked head and licked the warm moist meat of his cock up to the slit at the top, down to the veined ridge below. I furled my tongue all around the solid circumference of his shaft, before parting my lips and sliding an inch down the oiled crown. He grasped my head in both his hands and began to propel me up and down on him. His hard hands pushing me down past the ridge, his tool rocketing up and bouncing off the upper roof of his mouth before I learned how to accommodate him further inside me. I'd never had a man in my mouth, Freddie. It was so exhilarating to slide up and down on him, to feel the pressure on my head driving me further down his thick shaft.

  And all the time that I sucked on Jack, Phil and Bruce explored the rest of my body, Phil's head was somewhere beneath, pulling my hips down on top of his mouth. He had found my clitoris and taken the fleshy bud between, first his lips and then his teeth, grazing me gently, arousing me beyond belief, his finger sliding in and out of my quim, pressing against the fleshy walls, deftly locating and then manipulating the most wonderful sensitive areas inside.

  So as I sucked on Jack, my head in a vicelike grip, and as Phil sucked on my clitoris, probing the fleshy interior of my sex, Bruce massaged my buttocks, kneading my fleshy rump with his young hands, before parting the cheeks, and pressing against the outer flesh of my most secret of openings, sliding his finger inside me. I shuddered with pleasure as each individual stimulation of my most erotic places overlaid one another.

  Fingers slid in and out of both my orifices. I could feel the exquisite pleasure on both sides of the thin dividing membrane; as Jack's hard tool swelled even more inside my mouth.

  An orgasm was building up inside me, pushing through into my consciousness, the culmination of each stimulation
of my body. It started with a little shiver but instead of passing through me crescendoed, permeating all my tingling flesh, now the intensity was no longer located in one part of me, but in all of me, my whole body tensing, arching, clenching.

  As Jack ejaculated in my mouth, his seed gushing, exploding inside me, before slipping down my virgin throat, I climaxed, my head jerking against the rough constriction of their hard hands, my body contracting in its exquisite pleasure. Each contraction sent another sensual wave that seemed to suffuse my entire being, my orgasm prolonged by the merciless continuation of their rough stimulation, until I thought I would die in sexual ecstasy.

  Eventually I slipped off Jack, but Phil immediately replaced him, thrusting his shaft between my lips, the taste of his sperm mingling with Jack's. Simultaneously I felt Bruce's virgin cock pressing against my labial lips, pushing into the sheath of my quim, his frenzied thrusts as rapid as machine gunfire. His sturdy hips slapped off the blushing skin of my fleshy buttocks, my hips clasped tightly in his hands.

  Jack took my head in his hands again, this time pushing me onto Phil's shaft, while Phil reached underneath him and took my nipples between his fingers and pinched hard, stirring my body again into sexual arousal.

  Bruce came inside me, shooting his seed high up inside me. I felt his warm meat twitching inside me, thrusting further and further up as he jerked in his spasm.

  Another change. Bruce pulled out of me, Phil slipped off me, and Jack pulled me pitilessly to the floor, dragging the sensitive skin of my back along the carpet, scorching me, then he pulled my legs up so high that my knees pressed firmly into my chest, purposefully letting his scrotum dangle down to my mouth.

  I could see Bruce and Phil now examining my most intimate places, Phil's massively erect tool in his hand as he stroked his erection, and parting my engorged labial lips, squeezed the enormous dome of his shaft between them and into my itching vagina. He grabbed my legs from Jack and splayed them out so far that my bottom was lifted from the floor as he violently propelled me onto him, my back rubbing against the coarseness of the carpet.

  I felt another orgasm coming. Jack had begun manipulating my already swollen nipples with his fingers as I took a testicle into my mouth. I could feel my skin being flayed on the carpet, the pain adding a further intensity to my pleasure, as Phil manically thrusting inside me jerked his abundant seed against the walls of my vagina, grunting as he did so, his nails digging into the reddening skin of my inner thighs.

  Another orgasm, as delicate, as precious, and as overwhelming as the first coursed through me. I shut my eyes tight to feel each immense shiver of my spasm.

  I didn't even have time to recover before I had been shoved onto my knees, Bruce's pole prodding against the side of my face, Jack, kneeling behind, sliding back inside me, Phil leaning over me squashing both my breasts in his hands.

  I licked the length of Bruce's tool, settling at the base, and manipulating the sticky crown with my fingers, nibbled on his young flesh at the base of his shaft.

  Jack was different from the other two. His hands gripped me as firmly, but he thrust inside me more leisurely, almost languorously, his big rod pushing more deeply inside. He would pull back so the head of his mighty shaft almost came out of me before he thrust it in.

  I thought that I had reached the end of my pleasure, that I had exhausted myself, but the steady slow rhythm of Jack's strokes was sparking another orgasm. Gradually he increased his pace, but at the same time rotated me onto his steel hard shaft so every inch of flesh and muscle felt the hardness of his cock. He had no difficulty in locating the most sensitive inner area, his hard tool pressing against it with each thrust.

  As Jack thrust harder and deeper into me, Bruce had taken his member in his hand and was now masturbating furiously, angling his shaft down into my face. As his seed spurted onto the cheeks of my face and across my mouth, my lips automatically parting to taste his cum, Jack came inside me too, propelling me to another fitful orgasm, which seemed even stronger than the preceding two. As my vaginal muscles clenched around Jack's tool, my hips pressing tight against him, a violent charge raced through me.

  When Jack pulled out of me I collapsed onto the carpet, and lay there in my satiation, as my orgasm eddied away, little ripples of pleasure muting to a contented glow.

  As the afterglow of my orgasm died in my body, my shame grew. What was I doing there, lying naked in such an abject state with those men, who now all looked incredibly stupid and ugly staring down at me. If they hadn't looked so victorious, and I hadn't felt so vanquished, then I might not have felt so bad. It was the feeling that instead of any tenderness, any grace, the afterglow tenderness and grace that you always managed so well, Freddie, they looked as if they had somehow taken something from me. What a pathetic country England can be with its snobbery and its inverted snobbery. I felt so terribly middle class, a victim of working class prejudice. They no longer saw me as a mutual pleasure seeker, nor as someone who had been amenable to their pleasuring, but as a silly middle class girl who had been stupid enough to let them have their wicked way.

  Now I was frightened; I gathered my clothes, as they smirked at me, comfortable in their collective superiority. I got dressed quickly and made for the door.

  "Don't go, Helen," Jack pleaded. "We want some more fun."

  My heart beat in fear. I felt sickened and nauseated by what I had done, but still like the little sheltered country girl that I was, I remembered my manners.

  "I'm sorry, but I have to," I said not daring to meet his eyes.

  "See you around then." His farewell echoed by the other two.

  I closed the door and sped back to my house.

  I didn't sleep that night. How could I, Freddie? There was such a mixture of emotions in my head. I couldn't so quickly forget the intensity of my pleasure but nor could I dismiss the keenness of my shame. Tossing and turning on my bed, my back red and aching, my body exhausted and sore, I wondered if I was going mad. What had happened to the thoughtful, modest girl I was? What was becoming of me? I had let the genie of my sexual life out of the bottle and it was frightening. My life seemed to be spiralling into chaos. I had lived by order and now there was no boundary, no restriction. In short, Freddie, I had looked into the abyss of my sexual hunger and it had terrified me. I wasn't ready, Freddie, not then.

  So what did I do? Of course, I put the genie back into the bottle as quickly as I could. The next morning, bleary-eyed, weary, frightened, I decided that I must restore order. I thought of Gregory, of his kindness, of his goodness, of his undoubted love for me. I would never tell him, could never tell him what had happened. It would be something so completely beyond his comprehension. I could only live with myself if I never ever let the genie escape again. I chose the order, comfort, and the reassurance of companionship, bland though it might have been contrasted against the fire of my sexual need.

  I phoned Gregory at nine in the morning, my hand shaking on the telephone, my voice quavering. I poured my heart out to him, told him that I had been crazy, that I loved him so much, and that I wanted to live with him forever, and that nothing else mattered as much as that. Gregory was elated, and there and then proposed to me over the telephone.

  It was such a comfort, such a balm to my soul, my life was back on track, no permanent damage had been done. I could forget what had happened. I could dedicate the rest of my life to my husband.

  I thought that I could forget, I really did, Freddie. I nearly did until you came along. I nearly did.

  The time has come, Freddie, the time has come.

  Chapter 3

  So, as you know, I settled down with Gregory. Daringly, feeling we were snubbing convention, we even lived together for two months before tying the knot.

  Terrence officiated at my ceremony so my father could give me away. It was a happy day for everybody, including me. I felt my life had a purpose, a direction. I could banish all those thoughts from my nocturnal bed now that I shared it with Gregory.r />
  Our sex life didn't improve greatly, but that was secondary next to my deep satisfaction with marital life. I felt at last a bona fide member of the grown-up club, as if marrying Gregory had been the last rite of passage to adulthood.

  Gregory, now a vicar, did not take on a parish as everybody expected he would, but instead got a post lecturing theology at university, the same university where I studied to be a teacher, specializing in special needs education.

  The first six months, although hectic with all the studying and training I had to do, were blissfully happy for us. Our relationship seemed to both broaden and deepen. I realized, if I had never known before, what a good man Gregory was, and how lucky I had been to catch him.

  Both of us took to metropolitan life, rejoiced in its exciting diversity. I especially enjoyed discovering the various nooks and crannies of London that I hadn't previously known. We constantly made plans for the future, talked vaguely about having children and maybe working abroad for a couple of years. We made a lot of friends too at the university, and although neither of us was rich, we were very content with our lifestyle. We even believed, for some mysterious reason, that we were leading something of a bohemian life.

  I confess this now, Freddie. As I was not totally satisfied with my sex life, I still occasionally pleasured myself, if I had an hour or two, if Gregory was at a meeting or at work and I was studying at home. I would normally take a glass of wine into the bathroom with me and luxuriate in the water, sipping on my wine, my hand eventually seeking out my clitoris.

  It no longer perturbed me that I stimulated myself in this way. I had accommodated this aspect on my life into some notion of the complexity of my character, of human beings in general. So, perhaps there was less shame in the actual activity, but what was harder to comprehend was the increasingly extreme images that I employed to bring me to climax. Occasionally I would think back to my rough encounter on that night, dismissing my distaste for the odious men by replacing their faces, although not their actions, with more handsome men, remembered from college or tube stations or my casual daily encounters. I also often elaborated on the events of my finals night, sometimes multiplying participants, sometimes introducing female characters aiding their humiliation. Some images of degradation I tried to fight, but I couldn't. In that final moment of climax they would flood my mind, be unleashed from my unconscious and it seemed there was nothing I could do to prevent such a deluge of debauched imaginings.