Helena

by Leo Barton

  What an agonizing week that was. I spent my time half-dreaming of you and half regretting my inevitable departure from Gregory's life. In those last days I noticed what a sweet man he was, how kind, how attentive. I knew that there was no going back, that any attempt I made to reconcile my mind with the idea of resuming a normal life with him would be mere procrastination.

  How the past seemed to betray me, as I recalled all our shared memories, the tender details of our daily domestic love, the laughter we had shared, the wealth of kindness and tenderness that he had shown me.

  Seeing him off at the airport, I broke down. Oh, the irony! He thought I was sad because he would be away for two weeks, when I was bereft because I knew that I was leaving him for good, taking the most terrifyingly momentous step of my life, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Knowing that I was seeing you that night helped me a lot. I put all my bitterness, my frustration, my sadness into anticipating the events of the evening, temporarily freeing my mind of the guilt-ridden sadness I felt.

  The moment that I saw Gregory walking through the departure gates, I left Heathrow and took a tube into the centre of London and went on a shopping spree, buying slinky dresses, stockings in silk and nylon, suspender belts, satin slips, lacy bras. I spent over two hundred pounds, another fifty on my hair and make-up, and returned to my flat, bathed myself and tried on the array of clothes I had just purchased.

  I could not believe the change in me, as I stood gazing at myself in the full length bathroom mirror, my breasts plumped up in a decorative lace bra, the full shape of my curvy hips ringed in a scarlet suspender belt, sensuous stockings attached. I wanted to caress myself, to touch between my legs, but I didn't. I knew that it would be more exciting to wait for you.

  After we had made love that last time, and because you knew I couldn't stay long, you took me outside and we went for a coffee. I told you then what I wanted. I wanted to explore the darker side of my sexuality. You seemed overjoyed at the prospect of initiating me further into carnal pleasure.

  "I'm having some friends around next Saturday. Why don't you come?" You had taken my hand in yours as you spoke.

  "What friends?"

  "Oh that will be a surprise, but I can guarantee that you will enjoy yourself more than you have ever done in your life."

  More than I had ever done in my life! No wonder I could barely wait, that my rampant imagination brought forth all sorts of interesting characters and lurid ideas.

  It was exactly what I needed after the horrible scene in the airport: the confirmation that I wasn't making a mistake, that I was doing exactly the right thing. Gregory had been so touched by my tears constantly reassuring me as we stood by the metal rail near the departure gate that he would be all right and that two weeks would pass quickly. As the automatic doors had opened he turned back and mouthed an 'I love you', to me. I had to get that out of my system. The hours waiting seemed endless, then finally seven arrived. I ordered a taxi, still feeling a little self-conscious about my persona, frightened of being seen by somebody who knew me.

  I could tell how surprised you were to see me in my new garb, your eyes bulging at my curves delineated by the black dress, the buckles of my suspender belt perceptible through the stretched material.

  "Wow! Helena."

  Jean-Claude and Simone were seated on the sofa, Frank with a huge joint perched between the lips, lounged on the armchair. It was a little awesome to take everything in all in one go. First, the subdued lighting in your room made me feel like I was walking into a completely different place. I realized then that I was relying on the familiarity of your room to bring some calm to my nervous excitement. And then the people: Jean-Claude looked so gallically handsome that night, with his long flowing hair, his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, showing a triangle of firm, tawny flesh, his limpid eyes so piercing, so perfectly blue. There was Simone, Jean-Claude's beautiful French wife, so elegantly dressed, her honey-blond hair flowing down to the white straps of her plain, low cut cream dress, the enticing dark curve of her fulsome cleavage visible above the velvet. And then Frank with his thick tousled hair, flecked with the first signs of gray, his mature good looks, his confident languid posture and the casual clothes. You know what I mean, that kind of effortless bohemian look of his. And then the freshness of Adele, your young Austrian be-jeaned student, probably, although she didn't look it, as nervous as I was at what was going to happen to her.

  You took me into your small kitchenette, briefed me about your guests, and then kissed me passionately on the mouth. I helped carry the plates of food into the living room for you, that you had prepared for your little party.

  Frank spoke first, flashing a quick conspiratorial smile at you, Freddie:

  "So you are Helena. You are beautiful!" he said rising from his seat, leaning over me, brushing his lips delicately on my cheek.

  Jean-Claude, equally the gentleman rose too, smiled and offered his hand: "Pleased to meet you," he said a little awkwardly, then gesturing towards his wife he introduced Simone, who smiled showing her dazzlingly white even teeth. Adele shouted over her greeting, flashing her brown eyes in my direction.

  No, it wasn't a disappointment, every individual had their separate charm, their appeal, it just seemed like a hundred other meetings or parties I had attended with Gregory. There was nothing in that first introduction that indicated the sensual pleasures I had anticipated. I remember you coming to sit at my side as I occupied the remaining armchair, pouring me a drink, taking my hand in yours, exerting a comforting, reassuring pressure; as Frank told us various anecdotes about college life, Adele strident outsider thinking that she was getting something like insider information.

  As I drank my wine steadily, I felt my face tingling with excitement, my face suddenly fixing on Jean-Claude, the tingling sensation spreading between my thighs.

  Clever Freddie and your fondness of potions. I had wondered why you poured out of a demijohn and not the bottle. Ridiculously, I had thought this uncharacteristically prissy of you. Little did I know. Everybody was in on the act apart from Adele and I.

  Frank had been in deep conversation with Adele, their light laughter filling the room. His hand had casually almost absentmindedly begun stroking her hair, his lips occasionally brushing her cheek. Suddenly he got up and kneeled beside Adele, her bright eyes watching him, her plump breasts heaving in her unexpected excitement. Jean-Claude, sitting between Adele and his wife, calmly reached over his hand and began stroking the young student's face.

  Adele started to look a little bewildered. Lust burned in her body, but her sense of modesty, of decency even, held her back. I recognized my own restraint in the confused expression of her face. I know that you later told me she had visited you many times before and was as interested in her own sexual exploration as I was, but I could see that she was momentarily perturbed by both her sudden lustful feelings and the attention she was beginning to receive from the two men. Simone kneeled between her legs and casually began unbuckling the younger woman's belt.

  I am sure that I would have been aroused anyway, even if you hadn't laced my drink with an aphrodisiac. It was thrilling to watch the young baffled girl; baffled being seduced like that.

  Jean-Claude, having placed his hands under her plain white tee shirt, yanked it over her plump breasts and licked the exposed bulge of white flesh fringed with white lace. Frank, who had stood up, was now prodding his erect cock against the cheek of the girl's face.

  Watching such a scene, I felt my hand automatically reach down to stroke my engorged pussy lips through the lace of my panties. You stood up too, Freddie, pulling me off the armchair, and then pulling me onto your lap. Your fingers slid up my thighs, the tips first brushing my stocking top along to the tender inner flesh of my thighs, then slid under the lace, locating the hard knot of muscle with maximum ease. You began steadily stroking my clitoris. It all happened so quickly, one moment you were sitting down on the floor beside me, the nex
t I was sitting on your lap as you stroked me. It had all seemed to be one great fluid action.

  My arms stretched out as my hands gripped the arm of the chair. Adele was licking the base of Frank's shaft, Jean-Claude was cramming voluptuous mounds of her white flesh into his mouth, sucking on her breasts hard, dragging his teeth along the porcelain skin to bring them to the thick rosy tips of her breast. Simone had yanked Adele's jeans and panties from her, parted the girl's legs and was tracking the length of her pussy lips with her long dexterous tongue.

  I was glad that your rhythm on me was so steady, because if you had increased the pace I would have come immediately.

  Adele was kneeling on the floor now, facing me and you, Jean-Claude and Frank either side of her. As she held one cock in her hand she would slide her mouth down the other in ardent movements of her head, Jean-Claude still massaging her breasts as she did so, Frank was clasping her head, propelling her onto first his cock, and then later, Claude's. Simone kneeled behind her, lapping on her sex, her finger at first deliciously, slowly tracing the area of flesh between her vagina and anus and then pressing down on the aperture of Adele's bottom. She slid her finger into the tight opening, and began to jab hard at the sensitive inner flesh, Adele jerking with each rough poke.

  I could feel myself coming but I wanted to hold off my pleasure until I could have a cock inside me. I was fighting against the maddening rhythm of your jerking, watching as Adele swivelled onto her back, so now we had a view of her glistening pussy. Jean-Claude levered himself beneath her, the head of his mighty cock momentarily rubbing against her tumescent pussy lips, before he angled his body in such a way to insert his tool between. Frank by this time had retrieved a cushion for Adele's head and holding his rod by the base was slowly sliding in and out of Adele's mouth as she grasped him hard around his buttocks.

  I had never seen anything like this before in my life. It was so fantastic to watch Jean-Claude pumping in and out of Adele, his cock slicked in her juice, and then to see Simone lean over and lick the length of his shaft as Adele tried to manoeuvre her hips to press down harder onto his thick meat.

  Adele could not resist the intense pressure of orgasm now that Simone had begun to manipulate her clitoris with her tongue, flicking at it, before sweeping the meat of her tongue over the hard nodule as Jean-Claude continued to mercilessly shaft her. She came screaming in the agonized ecstasy of her climax, violently jerking her lower torso, her muscles gripping, locking tight as she squirmed on Jean-Claude's tool.

  I really thought that I was going to come at that moment, especially when I saw Jean-Claude withdraw from her and ejaculating his seed around the flesh of her clitoris; then Frank having raised Adele's head was now thrusting himself to orgasm too. A sudden jerk and he had locked the girl's head between his hands to shoot his seed down into the rawness of her throat. Watching her neck, I could see her swallowing down all his semen.

  You must have known that I was about to come, Freddie, because suddenly you withdrew your hand from me, just as I felt the sensuous itch of your stimulation build up inside me and begin to surge through my body. But as I hadn't come, I was desperate. Simone came and kneeled between my legs as she had knelt between Adele's and began to employ all her expertise, flicking her tongue over the swollen lips of my sex, not enough to make me instantly climax, but to slowly increase the intensity of my pleasure.

  And now suddenly it was my turn, all the attention was focused on me, apart that is for you. Freddie, who had crept behind Simone, raised up her skirt, levered her panties down and was now pistoning into her moist cunny flesh. I could see your face tensing a little more with each thrust of your steely cock. But me, I had Adele's mouth on mine, then her tongue snaking inside, the taste of her saliva mingling with Frank's spunk. Jean-Claude and Frank kneeled either side of me. They had pulled the straps of my dress down over my breasts, and lowered my bra cups, each one taken a nipple in their mouth, nibbling on me, biting gently on the tight knot of my teat. Frank sneaked a hand down the other side of my panties, first tickling me, then grabbing my buttock in his hand, pushing his finger further onto the tender outer flesh of my anus, while Jean-Claude stroked his hand across my pubic hair.

  There were so many different centres of pleasure, each erogenous zone itching with desire. At last I could feel myself coming as I saw you Freddie, taking your twitching cock out of Simone and shooting your load onto her buttocks, forcing her mouth harder onto me. I spasmed under their constriction, their tight control, first clenching my thighs around the honey-blond of Simone's head, then slightly slackening before pressing harder and harder onto her, looking down into her clenched eyes as she reached her climax.

  It was strange to describe the atmosphere between us all afterwards. Initially there were lots of smiles, lots of openness and caressing, but soon the previous amiable banter started again.

  A little later we went to a bar on the corner of the street. The place was dense with smoke, loud music pounded in the background. It was the sort of bar I had often seen but infrequently been in: all done in aquamarine, a parquet floor, and uncomfortable fixed stools that we all sat on around the bar.

  I know you were a little worried about me then, thinking how quiet I was, wondering if some sense of guilt was washing over me. I know that I was quiet, but not guilty: Gregory was as far away from me in my thoughts as he was in actual distance. I was shy. There was only Adele who seemed as inexperienced as I was. For the others, as I am sure it was for you at that stage, pleasurable though I'm sure the experience had been, it had not quite had the momentous impact that it had certainly had on me. I had never even passionately kissed a woman before and there I had been spread out in the chair and french-kissed by Adele as Simone had licked and sucked on me.

  Maybe everything was happening too quickly. No, I am not saying that I regretted anything that had happened. I had been so terribly excited, but, as I said, no Damascus-like conversions. You had thrown me in at the deep end, and I was wondering whether I would be able to swim.

  You wanted to know what I was thinking. As you walked to the bathroom, you stopped by my stool and asked me. I told you nothing special, but what I had been reflecting upon as you asked me was my usual Saturday night with Gregory. A meal at about nine, a bottle of wine, a couple of hours either watching the television or going to the local pub as we had done the previous week, and then in bed by eleven. Maybe there was a kiss and cuddle, a chat, occasionally an argument, a little bit of lovemaking and then to sleep. I was a long way from there. I was not backsliding. I knew what I had to do and what I had already done was the only plausible thing that I could have done, and that I wanted to do, but the full immensity of it all was beginning to hit me. I was here at the watershed, at the outset of a new and probably dangerous future; a future that forsook everything. That was why I was quiet: I knew that everything was for real. I was no longer a mere protagonist in one of my fantasies.

  Jean-Claude sat beside me and in his lovely charming way told me about his village in the south of France, inviting me to visit him amongst the Cezanne hills and the lush countryside. He was a writer of children's stories and he told me some engaging tales that he had written. I remembered what he had looked like the moment after he had come. There had been something delightfully childish about him.

  Freddie, for all my doubts, my uncertainties, my fear of the future, as I sat next to Jean-Claude, I could feel myself getting excited again, wanting to take his hefty cock into my mouth. Maybe this was the appeal to me of sexual abandon: it clarified, it simplified, it reduced all the complexity, even if it was only for a fleeting moment to the physical need of the body. I looked at Jean-Claude and craved him, wondering how something as precious as my desire could be wrong. What asses we make of ourselves when we hide our true emotions!

  I wanted Jean-Claude very badly, but the person who intrigued me the most was Simone. I couldn't believe, as she sat beside me after telling me that she was a speech therapist, that only one hour
after her head had been buried between my legs, we were amiably talking shop as I explained to her the type of speech problems many of my students had.

  Although it wasn't so long until we both settled onto the subject of sex, after Simone had asked me why I hadn't brought my husband along. I told her my long story, how I was on the verge of leaving him, because I was so sexually unfulfilled. I told her how he couldn't have stood a scene like the one that we had just participated in, that it was against every principle he believed in. She nodded sympathetically, telling me about her first husband:

  "I was the same as you, I think," she began to tell me, "frightened of experience but desperately tempted by it. But my husband was not so kind as yours, not so sympathetic. He fucked around a lot. One day I turned up at the flat. My lecture had been cancelled and I wasn't expected until much later. He wasn't expecting me. He was fucking one of his students. My husband was a teacher. The girl couldn't have been more than eighteen. She was kneeling on the bed and he was screwing her from behind, how can I say, in a more unconventional place than he had ever screwed me.

  "I suppose I should have been angry, and I suppose I was momentarily, but the anger passed. I realized as I stood watching them how curious I was, watching his cock piston in and out of the voluptuous girl. She was beautiful, this girl, had long black thick wavy hair, a beautiful figure and the most perfect silky skin.

  "I stood in the doorway standing so still that they couldn't hear me. I, too, had been on the verge of leaving him, unsatisfied as I was with many aspects of our life together. It was not only our sex life. However, suddenly, almost in a flash of self-realization, I thought, conversely to what most people are expected to think, that his betrayal could actually be our salvation, because it might lead to a greater openness in our relationship, more experimentation, and naively I thought, it might actually broaden our love."

  Simone continued, punctuating her story with occasional sips of wine.