Three Men in One Night
Publish Date: Apr 1, 2008
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Early in my sluthood I was overenthusiastic. I'm not a gang-banger by temperament. One man three times a night appeals more to me thn three men once each a night. But excess is probably necessary for a girl to find her sexual balance.
I'm American and was living and working in a small remote country in Africa. I was 35, and only a few months before I had quit saving myself for marriage and long term relationships. (See my story: "I Become a Slut.") I'm a successful, well-dressed career woman, bespectacled, big-boobed, and, alas, rather plain in looks and personality. Prissy, I've been called. Little do they know!
It was a party on a hot night in a small apartment. Six men and four women. All the others were Peace Corps volunteers in from their rural homes for a monthly weekend of rest and relaxation in the city. It's tough out there for the PCVs. Sex with the locals is not recommended so they come to town with a lot of pent up emotion. I was probably the oldest person at the party.
This party had no spark. We lounged around the small living room and ate lasagna and drank wine. The spark finally came when two men got into an argument about the Southern Cross -- the constellation. One said you could see it; the other said you couldn't. We went out on the small terrace to settle the argument, turning out all the lights in the apartment to achieve maximum darkness and visibility.
All ten of us stood clustered together and scanned the skies. No Southern Cross. So, in consolation, the losing man gave us a five-minute lecture on the origin of the cosmos while we sweated in the hot tropical night. As we started to go inside, somebody said, "Leave the lights out. Let's dance in the dark."
That sounded like a good idea. We cranked up the stereo and in the total dark we reeled and rocked around the living room, moving from each to another quickly, coming together to feel the sex of your partner, and then sashaying away to find another. The air conditioner labored and failed to keep down the temperature.
A girl cried out, "I'm going to dance topless." A boy followed suit, "And I'm dancing bottomless." The topless girl swirled by me and the bottomless boy found the clasp on my halter top and loosed it and then he untied the string around my neck and my breasts swung free. Bottomless boy disappeared in the dark, and it was a naked sweating woman in my arms who pulled off my shorts and whose finger found its way inside my vagina.
We were singing and dancing, touching, but seeing nothing in total darkness. A boy and I came together for a slow dance, his erect penis in my groin, probing back and forth while I helped him with my hands on his buttocks. My tits were slick with sweat. I didn't resist as he maneuvered me to the sofa against one wall. I laid down and he reclined over me, his penis finding its way inside me. The others were still dancing, brushing against us as we lay on the couch, my legs wrapped around him, his ass pumping hard. (Peace Corps volunteers are all tested for AIDS, so I felt somewhat secure in abandoning my usual insistence on safe sex.) .
This boy had a very short, thick penis that he drove into me frantically with all the sexual tension of a long dry spell. He cummed before I was ready, one of the longest and hardest climaxes I have ever felt -- five, six, seven spasms and I sensed a large flow of semen. I like to feel a man cum.
He didn't linger more than a couple of minutes and was up again and off into the dark, seeking another partner. Somebody had turned off the stereo; the dancing had ended; the sex had begun. A couple was breathing hard on cushions on the floor an arms length away from me. The others had disappeared, although I could hear noises around the apartment.
I listened to the sounds of sex as I laid there in the dark. The girl on the floor was a squealer. Cum was dripping out of me onto the sofa. Suddenly, a man was standing over me. He reached out and felt me, his hand finding my breasts. "Becky?" he asked. I giggled. My big tits enabled easy identification.
He started to lie down with me, but I said, "I gotta pee first. Let's find the bathroom." Together, blind in the dark, we stepped over the couple on the floor -- now quietly locked together -- and felt our way into the bedroom. Another couple was in the bed, grunting and groaning. In the bathroom, I sat down on the toilet and pee and cum surged out of me, making a disconcerting loud noise in the now-quiet apartment. My boy stood in front of me holding my hand, his penis at the level of my mouth, and he began to hunch back and forth.
I wanted to be fucked to a good climax, but I'm all too amenable to a man's desires, so I took his dick in my mouth and sucked him while I sat on the toilet. I held him behind his knees with my hands and felt his knees buckle as he cummed. While I still had his limp penis in my mouth he said, "I want to fuck you."
That's what I wanted to hear. I was still looking for an orgasm. "Let's find a place." But when we got back to the couch, it was occupied by a madly-hunching couple as were the cushions on the floor, as was the bed in the one-and-only bedroom. Where to go? The terrace.
There was no place to lie down on the terrace. After a couple of experiments we found that the only way for him to penetrate me was for him to stand on the ground, amongst the flowers, while I sat on the elevated terrace and wrapped my legs around him. With gymnastics and cautious movements we could stay connected -- and in fact I achieved a very pleasant orgasm as he stood there driving his penis into me.
Boy number two and I separated. Satisfied, I began to creep around the apartment looking for a place to sleep. I was getting ready to lie down on the bedroom floor on a pillow -- along with two sleeping men already there -- when the couple in the bed said, "You can sleep here with us, Becky." They didn't have to ask twice. I snuggled in, covering myself with a sheet.
Sometime in the night, I woke to find man number three mounting me. "Well, why not?" I thought. The couple beside me was snoring peacefully. I scooted down to the end of the bed and spread my legs with my feet on the floor and my lover half-stood and half-reclined over me, thrusting a large penis into my soaking wet pussy. Climax soon followed for both of us, the ecstasy heightened by our attempt to avoid waking up our bed partners with violent movements. I knew who my first two partners were; I never figured out who was number three.
Well, that was my night. Next morning, we all woke up naked and searched around the apartment for our clothes. We were a little embarrassed -- especially the other three girls. It appeared that two of them had paired up for the night; the other girl -- the first one who had pulled off her blouse -- and I had serviced the other four men. Three for me. How many for her? two? three? four?
That was the only time in my life I've had sex with three different men in one night. Nothing wrong with that, if it's your thing, but it's not really me. I take my men one-by-one for the most part. One at night; one in the morning; one in the afternoon. Twenty single male Peace Corps volunteers lived in that country and over the next year I fucked 15 of them. The other five were gay.
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