Five Times: Fourth Time

This is the fourth of five accounts I’d like to share with you about my experiences between 2008 and 2016. This account takes place between 2011 and 2012. Previous accounts can be found here: <a href="https://www.solotouch.com/user/MrBrightside/stories/" target="_blank">https://www.solotouch.com/user/MrBrightside/stories/</a> As with my previous entries, these events really happened. However, this account covers almost a year, so I’ve combined some of the experiences in order to avoid repetition and keep the story to a reasonable length.

***The traffic was worse than usual, and it was already dark by the time I arrived at her house. I unlocked the door, dropped my car keys on the side-table, and took off my shoes. I dumped my rucksack at the foot of the stairs – I’d take it up later – and I wandered down the hall.She was waiting for me in the living room. She was already naked, of course. She was always naked on a Friday night. The light was on and the curtains were open and the television was playing a music channel. She was sat on the sofa, and as I entered the room, she gave me a huge smile and motioned for me to sit beside her. I brushed my fingers through her dark-red hair, kissed her, then helped her to undo my belt and pull down my trousers.  She spread her legs for me – she knew I couldn’t refuse anything when faced with her beauty – and she picked up her vibrator, rubbed it between her wet labia to lubricate it with her juices, then switched it on and pressed it against my cock. I slipped my finger inside her, savouring the way she clenched me tight, savouring the pulsations from the vibrator, and I came over her lap.  I leaned against her, trembling. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close, held my face to her breast, stroked my hair. ‘I love you, Dee,’ she told me. ‘I love you too,’ I replied. Then Emile spread her legs further apart and pressed my head towards her lap, and I kissed her until she came.***

That was a typical Friday night. Sometimes she’d be in the kitchen, preparing a snack; or she’d be in the bath; sometimes, on hot evenings, she’d wait for me on a blanket in the back garden. She would always be naked, and more often than not she’d be masturbating, and she’d always greet me with a smile and treat me to an orgasm. ‘It’s my way of telling you how much I’ve missed you all week,’ she would say.  I worked as a probate solicitor in Winchester, so from Monday night to Thursday night I would stay at my parents’ house. On a Friday afternoon I would get away from the office as early as possible and make the four-and-a-half-hour drive to Emile’s home in Liverpool. We’d spend the weekend together, and then I’d leave late Sunday or early Monday for the drive back to Winchester, in time for work. 

Emile lived with her brother Isaac and their father. Their father spent most of his time in London for work and I only met him twice in all the time I was seeing Emile. Their mother lived in Paris. Both Emile and Isaac had been born in France and had lived there until their parents separated in 2006, and then came to live in England with their father. Emile and Isaac were very close siblings; with their father staying in in London for most of the week, they spent much of their time together and Emile was quite protective of her little brother.

When our relationship started in 2011, Emile was eighteen – a year younger than me – and Isaac was fifteen.  During the summer of 2011, Emile had visited her mother in Paris, then spent six weeks travelling around Europe. We’d first met at a hostel in Amsterdam, and since then we’d texted and called one another regularly. The distance between Winchester and Liverpool made it difficult for us to meet up regularly, so I saved up for a car, passed my driving test, and I’d spent every single weekend since then with her. 

Emile was beautiful. I still look back now and wondered why she settled for me – she was like a supermodel and could have had any guy she wanted. Their mother was white and their father black, so Emile and Isaac both had gorgeous, soft caramel-coloured skin. Emile had wide brown eyes and a cute heart-shaped face which was framed by curly dark-red shoulder-length hair. She had a tattoo around her neck which looked like a choker necklace. Her breasts were medium-sized, round and full, with small brown nipples. She had a flat stomach and the neatest, most beautiful pussy – her kitty, she called it – that I’d ever seen.  Topped by a narrow, dark-red landing strip, she had full outer labia which concealed her inner lips, leaving just a tight slit. Just picturing her slit was enough to make me hard. I loved watching her become aroused, watching her lips swell and slowly separate; I loved the way she’d spread herself for me, revealing her inner beauty; and the way that, after I’d satisfied her, her lips would slowly relax and close, settling back to a narrow slit which made me desperate to open it and start over again.

On Friday 14 September 2011, the day after I passed my driving test, I drove up to Liverpool and spent my first evening with her. We kissed; she took my hand and took me to her bedroom; and there she took me, and took my heart. Afterwards, led beside one another in the crumpled, sweaty bedsheets, she told me she loved me. She told me she wanted us to be together. And she told me she wanted us to have an open relationship.

***‘What the fuck does that mean?’ asked Martin. We were chatting on the phone, he from his university dorm in Bristol, me from my bedroom in my parents’ house. Following our holiday in Amsterdam a few months before, we hadn’t spent any time together. We tried to chat on the phone at least once a week and we’d usually combine it with ‘downtime’, which is what we called the masturbation sessions we shared when we were younger.  Usually we’d speak about girls (typically, Martin would describe his latest conquest in graphic detail) but Martin’s love-life had been somewhat lacking of late, so I was browsing Pornhub and jacking off whilst we spoke. ‘Well,’ I explained, ‘basically we can play around – that means show ourselves off, masturbate with other people, even touch other people – but we’re not allowed actual sex with anyone but each other.

‘You’ve finally had sex?!’ Martin asked incredulously.

‘Yeah. Also, if we do play with others, we have to tell each other about it afterwards.’ 

‘Tell me about sex with Emilie, man!’ Martin sounded genuinely excited, almost like he was proud of me. ‘Go on! She’s, what, five foot five? Red-brown hair, brown eyes, usual number of limbs…’

‘I’m not sure I want to,’ I said. ‘Like, it’s personal.’

‘What? Aw, Dalziel, I always tell you about my girls.’ He sounded genuinely disappointed. ‘I always share my experiences with you. Hell, I even shared Kathy with you.’

I felt really uncomfortable, and the comment about Kathy really hit home. Martin was right – he’d always been willing to share everything with me, and yet now I was in a position to share something of interest with him, I couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry, man,’ I said. ‘Really I am. It’s just… Emile’s amazing. I want to keep her to myself.’ 

There was a long silence. Eventually, Martin said: ‘If you really feel that way, do you really see this open relationship working?’ He wasn’t angry or sad or disappointed; he sounded calm and genuine. Like he really cared for me. ‘Don’t let yourself get hurt by this,’ he said.***

I didn’t have to wait long for Emile to take the first step in our open relationship.  On a Saturday morning in mid-October, Emile went shopping with one of her friends from work. They were gone for most of the day, and I was in a bad mood because, having spent all week working in Winchester, I had been looking forward to spending the weekend with my girlfriend. I moped around the house and, when she still hadn’t returned by early evening, I opened a bottle of wine and settled down in front of the telly.  Emile got home about half-a-bottle later, with her friend in tow. Emile said that they wanted to go upstairs and try on the new clothes they’d bought. I hadn’t eaten much that day and I was conscious that I was a bit tipsy, but I introduced myself to her friend and offered to prepare them some drinks. I don’t know her friend’s actual name, but she called herself San after the character in the Princess Mononoke anime. She was very pretty, around the same age as Emile, with a short strawberry blonde bob and long bangs. I went into the kitchen and poured a couple of glasses of wine, and I imagined them undressing one another in Emile’s bedroom. I was just about to start rubbing my cock through my shorts when Emile came down to show me one of the dresses she’d bought. It was short and, as she gave me a twirl, she quickly lifted up the hem and flashed her butt. ‘Wow, I really love it,’ I told her. ‘Have you got any others you’d like to show me?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she replied. ‘Come on up, I’ve got a couple more to try on.’

I spent the next thirty minutes sitting on Emile’s bed, watching the girls put on a fashion show for me. They’d go into the bathroom to change, then strut down the hallway and parade around the bed, give me a twirl, then make their way back to the bathroom for their costume-change. Most of their clothing was fairly conservative – long dresses, bootcut jeans, a long winter coat – but after we’d finished the first bottle of wine and started on a second, they became more daring.

‘The next thing I want to show you,’ shouted Emile from the bathroom, ‘is my new bra.’ And then the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. Strictly speaking, I really should have noticed her bra because that was all she was wearing; instead, my eyes were glued to her pussy as she walked towards me. As she walked around the bed I reached out and stroked her butt. I could feel my cock hardening in my shorts. Instead of returning to the bathroom, Emile sat on the bed beside me. ‘San bought some new underwear too,’ she said. ‘Wanna see?’  I didn’t answer – I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or a joke – so I just reached down and put my hand in Emile’s lap, letting my middle finger rest along the slit where her labia met; she felt swollen and wet beneath my touch.

Because of the wine, I don’t remember precisely how the next part played out. I recall San showing off a short nightdress and a couple of items of lingerie, but the next clear recollection I have is of her sat on the bed opposite me, entirely naked. Emile was knelt between us; she had pulled my cock out of my underwear and was masturbating me in long slow strokes with one hand, and had her hand pressed against San’s mound with a couple of fingers buried inside her. San had fairly small breasts, but they were bell-shaped and hung low on her chest. Her nipples were small and pink and she pinched and rubbed them between her fingers as she ground against Emile’s hand; I followed her lead and stroked my own nipples. I’d never really played with my nipples before, and I was surprised at how good it felt to caress them – a sort of tingling feeling which was so different – yet so complementary – to the tightening in my balls and the intense pulse in my shaft and hot band of pleasure around the crown of my cock.

San’s eyes were fixed on mine. I tried to maintain eye contact but invariably my gaze was drawn to her breasts and what I could see of her pussy behind Emile’s hand. When San closed her eyes and started whimpering, and the wet sucking noise of Emile’s fingers in her cunt became louder, I knew I was going to blow.vvBut somehow – I don’t know, maybe because of the wine – I held back long enough to watch San raise her hips, thrust herself against Emile’s hand, and give out a long, deep bellow as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Then, clinging to Emile’s fingers as she withdrew them was a thick ribbon of San’s juices; Emile lifted her hand, and brought it towards me, and draped it over the head of my cock; and for a moment, San and I were connected by that strand of love-juice which stretched from her pussy to my cock; and then my mind reeled, and my body tensed, and I let myself go. 

In that moment, sprawled on the bed, spent and happy, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have a girlfriend like Emile. I remembered Martin’s warning that an open relationship might not be good for me. Sod that – what the hell did he know?***

Over the next few months, Emile and I continued to explore and enjoy one another intimately. We continued to masturbate together regularly; we had sex occasionally too, but the main sexual focus of our relationship had always been masturbation. Our favoured middle-ground between the two involved me rubbing the head of my cock against her clit – the sensation of her little bud rising and pulsing against me as she came was exquisite and indescribable. We knew exactly what turned each other on, and knew exactly how to please one another.

Despite our ‘open’ relationship, I never took the opportunity to play away from home – I was infatuated with Emile and didn’t need anyone else. And as far as I knew, Emile never did either. During those first few months, we were always together during intimate experiences with others, and Emile was always the one to initiate them.  One example which sticks in my mind occurred on a late February afternoon in 2012, on the sort of clear winter day where the bright sunshine lulls you into the false belief that summer is on its way. Emile and Isaac had dug out the sun loungers from the shed, dusted off the spiders and cobwebs, and set them out on the patio. One of Emile’s friends (I can’t remember her name – it was something like Sally or Sarah) came over and, although it was frosty, we all sat outside in our coats and scarves. Isaac even got a little fire going in the chiminea, but it wasn’t long before it started to snow, and we abandoned our loungers and took refuge indoors.

Sally-or-Sarah was around the same age as Emile. She was short and curvaceous – she had large breasts that looked almost too big for her body, wide hips and a plump arse. Her hair was dark brown, long and straight, and she wore glasses with thick black frames. There was something cute and geeky about her that appealed to me, and Emile clearly knew it.  Isaac switched the telly on and we all huddled on the floor in front of it, under a thick blanket. I was in the centre with Isaac to my left and Emile to my right. Sally sat in front of Emile and leant back so she could rest her head in Emile’s bosom. Isaac kept flicking through the channels for something decent to watch, and eventually settled on a Disney cartoon. Meanwhile, Emile discretely reached under the blanket and put her hand on my crotch; slowly, maddeningly slowly, she unbuckled my jeans and unzipped my fly; then she cupped my soft cock through my shorts and gently squeezed it.  As I started to stiffen, I noticed Isaac staring out the corner of his eye at the growing bulge in the blanket. I turned my head towards Emile and whispered, ‘You gotta stop, Isaac knows what you’re doing.’ She giggled, said something that I couldn’t hear, and then took a proper hold of my cock and started to pump it.  Sally grunted. ‘Hey, Emile,’ she said, sitting up, ‘stop fidgeting.’ I smacked the back of Emile’s hand, and she stopped and withdrew, just as Sally shuffled sideways, pulled away my blanket, and leant back in my lap. ‘Hopefully you won’t move about as much as your girlfriend,’ she said. I had a full erection by this point, and as Sally reclined against me, it pressed into the middle of her back. She half-turned her face to me as if to question it, then stopped, looked forward towards the telly, and sort of wiggled against me as if making herself comfortable. 

I glanced at Isaac. He was still watching the film, but he had a big grin on his face as though he knew my predicament. I turned to Emile who was stifling a laugh. ‘Is Dee’s lap comfier than mine?’ she asked Sally. Sally nodded; it was only a small nod, but her whole body seemed to shift and I could feel my cock rubbing against her. She had a thick jumper on, but she was between me and the blanket and my cock was poking out of my jeans, covered only by my underwear.  Sally stretched, shifting again in my lap. Unable to help myself, I pressed forward with my hips, grinding against her. Emile took my hand, gave it a squeeze, then placed it on Sally’s shoulder. ‘Dee gives the most amazing back-rubs,’ she said. I glanced at Emile and mouthed the words ‘What are you doing?’ but she just laughed again, reached over for my other hand, and placed it on Sally’s other shoulder.  Sally squirmed in my lap again, and said, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, I’m a total back-rub-slut.’ She leant forward, and I was suddenly aware that my erection was now visible, sticking out of my trousers and straining against my boxer shorts, and that Isaac was staring at it.

Sally quickly peeled off her jumper, revealing a black bra which didn’t look big enough to contain her breasts, then leant back into my lap.  I didn’t dare look at Isaac, but I glanced at Emile and she nodded. Alright, I thought, and I started to caress Sally’s shoulders. She immediately pressed even harder against me, against my cock, and I was now conscious that it was only separated from her by the thin layer of my underwear. I could even feel a small wet patch forming as I started to leak precum. Emile put her hand on my arm and smiled at me in encouragement, and I carried on massaging Sally, and Sally carried on rubbing her back against my cock.  I think it would have stopped at a massage if Emile hadn’t been there to goad me, but I worked through the knots in Sally’s upper back, and in the tops of her arms, and then I let my hands wander around to the front of her shoulders, then to her breastbone; and by then Sally was grinding herself against me so much that my cock escaped from my underwear and started to rub against her skin.

Sally had given up all pretence that this was just a back massage, so I pulled her closer to me, reached down over her shoulders, and slipped my hands inside her bra and cupped her breasts. Her nipples felt huge and hot and hard beneath my fingers, and I fondled and gently pinched them.  Sally put her hands upon mine, clenched them tight, then dragged them away from her breasts and down towards her crotch. I had to lean forward to reach as she led my hands over her mound. She unbuttoned her trousers, pulled them down slightly, and took one of my hands in hers and shoved it inside her panties. My fingers brushed through her pubic hair as I searched for her lips. She shifted, parted her legs a little, and suddenly her wet labia were sucking at my fingertips. I wished I could see her beauty, but from above and behind her I couldn’t see past the swell of her breasts.  I heard Emile say something, and then Isaac stood up and left the room. I glanced at Emile; she leant forward and kissed my forehead. ‘Everything alright?’ she whispered, and I nodded, but she understood what I needed. She knew that I didn’t get off solely from sexual contact; she knew that I craved visual stimulus too. Emile stood up, pulled down her trousers and panties, and then sat back down beside me with her legs spread wide.  For a minute or two she sat like that, not moving, just watching me finger Sally, watching Sally rub against me; and then, as Sally’s pussy sucked more hungrily on my fingers and my cock started to pulse uncontrollably, Emile reached down with both hands and parted her lips, opening her caramel slit to expose her delicate pink cunt. And that was enough for me.  When we’d finished, I leant back, exhausted and deliriously happy; and Sally sighed contently; and Emile gave me another kiss on my forehead.***

When Sally left, I took a shower. Afterwards, I wrapped a towel around me and wandered downstairs. Emile was in the kitchen with Isaac, preparing dinner. Emile winked at me as I entered. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’ she said. 

I blushed and just said, ‘Yeah.’ I didn’t want to say too much in front of her younger brother.  Emile and Isaac shared a quick glance, and then Emile came over to me and held out her arms as if to hug me. Then, suddenly, she reached out and pulled my towel off me and ran around the other side of the breakfast bar.  ‘Emile!’ I yelled, and I chased after her, laughing. There I was, running in circles around the kitchen, chasing my girlfriend, with my cock flopping about and slapping against my legs. Emile stopped by the back door, yanked it open, and threw my towel outside.

‘Go get it,’ she dared me.  I looked at her as if she was insane.

‘No chance,’ I said. ‘Look, it’s still snowing. Absolutely no chance.’ 

Emile grinned wickedly. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you’ll just have to stay naked then. That alright with you, Isaac?’ 

Isaac laughed. ‘Fine with me,’ he said.

Needless to say, I didn’t go out in the snow to get my towel, but neither did I hang around the kitchen in the nude. I went upstairs and got dressed. Later, when Emile and I were in bed, I asked her why she’d taken my towel. ‘It was just a joke,’ she said. 

‘Fair enough,’ I replied, ‘and it was funny… but it was a bit awkward in front of Isaac, don’t you think?  Emile wrapped her arms around me and held me close.

‘He gave us some space earlier, when Sally was here. I wanted to return the favour.’ She could tell that I didn’t understand.

‘Look,’ she explained, ‘surely you’ve noticed the way he looks at you? He’s gay. I wanted to show you off to him.’

I was surprised. ‘What? I never knew. I thought he had a girlfriend.’ 

Emile shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, he has. But he’s gay. I think he has a girlfriend just so he fits in at school.’ 

I stroked Emile’s hair. ‘That’s really sad,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I could do stuff like that, just to fit in, just to please other people.’ 

Emile buried her face in my shoulder and wrapped her legs around my waist. ‘I definitely couldn’t,’ she said.***

As winter turned to spring, Sally-or-Sarah visited us a few times and I met more of Emile’s friends. I don’t remember all their names, but I can picture them: there were the twins who were identical in every feature, except for the shape of their labia; a pale girl with frizzy auburn hair and an even frizzier auburn bush; and Connie, an old-college-friend of Emile’s who came to stay with us for a fortnight and slept in our bed and woke me each morning with a blowjob.  And each time I met another of Emile’s friends, and they stripped naked for me or masturbated with me or gave me a blowjob or let me eat them out, it made me believe that this was exactly the life I craved and precisely the relationship I wanted. 

It wasn’t until July 2012 that I had my doubts.  There had been an accident on the motorway and it had taken far longer than usual to make the Friday afternoon journey from work to Emile’s, and it was almost midnight by the time I arrived. Emile was waiting for me in bed with her vibrator buzzing between her legs, but I was so exhausted from the long drive that, even when Emile used the vibrator on me, I wasn’t able to maintain an erection. She hugged me until I fell asleep, and when I awoke the next morning, she had a hot bath waiting for me. ‘I’m going to make sure you’re well looked after today, my tired little baby,’ she told me. ‘Isaac’s staying with a friend, so we’re not going to bother getting dressed this weekend.’ She took me by the hand and we walked, naked, to the bathroom. I led back in the warm bathwater, and Emile knelt on the floor beside the bath and washed me. She paid particular attention to my cock, and soon I had a full erection. I was just about to ask her to get in the bath with me when the doorbell rang. Emile leaned over, kissed my forehead, then kissed the tip of my cock. ‘I’ll see who it is,’ she said.

‘Hey, put your dressing gown on,’ I called after her. I didn’t want the postman or some random stranger to get an eyeful of my girlfriend. ‘Hey, Emile,’ I called again. ‘Make sure you put some clothes on, alright?’  Emile didn’t answer. I gave it two or three minutes before I decided I would get out of the bath and find out who was at the door, but then I heard Emile coming up the stairs, so I relaxed back in the warm water.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ she said as she entered the bathroom. She was still naked. I was about to complain about her answering the door without any clothes on when a dark-haired girl joined us in the bathroom. I was very conscious of my erection poking out of the bathwater. I quickly covered it with my hand.  Emile introduced us. ‘Dee, this is Pippa. Pip, this is my boyfriend, Dalziel.’ 

Pippa gave a shy wave. ‘Hi,’ she said.

She was short and extremely slim, almost anorexic, with long black hair which reached her waist. I guessed she was probably in her late teens. She was solemn-looking, with tortoiseshell-framed spectacles which made her look like a schoolgirl. Oh yeah, I thought. This was definitely a girl I’d like to see naked.  ‘And this,’ Emile said, ‘is Tim.’  What? I looked up, and sure enough, in the doorway behind Pippa was a guy. He was around the same age as me, tall and well-built, with spiky blond hair. I took an immediate dislike to him: I was suddenly insecure about my appearance; I didn’t like how fit and toned and muscular he looked; but mostly, I didn’t like the fact that he was able to see my girlfriend stark naked. In fact, he was staring at her now, his eyes glued to her breasts. At least Emile was stood with her legs close together, so her kitty was mostly hidden.

‘Pip and Tim are friends of mine from college,’ Emile told me. ‘We’ve known each other a long time.’ And then, to our guests, she said, ‘We’re not planning on getting dressed today. Feel free to go au natural. And don’t blush and pretend to be innocent, Pip – you were always the first one naked when we had our college circle-jerk-and-squirt parties.’  I wanted to know what Emile meant about those parties, but now wasn’t the time. Tim was already undressing, and I began to feel more and more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him – just like he couldn’t take his eyes off Emile’s breasts. He flung his t-shirt in the corner, pulled down his trousers and underwear at the same time, then stepped out of them, before crouching down to remove his socks. As Tim stood up, the first thing I noticed was his powerful build: he had a well-defined six-pack and muscular arms… but that only held my attention for a split second, because then my gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to his cock.  I’d always been fairly proud of the size of my cock, especially when it was flaccid: soft, it was just over four-and-a-half inches long, with decent girth; stiff, it was even thicker, though only about an inch longer.  Like his chest, Tim’s pubic area was totally hairless. His soft dick hung heavily between his legs; it must have been about six inches long, circumcised, slightly curved. Fucking hell, I thought, with a hard-on it would be huge. I looked down at my cock, which, due to the discomfit I was feeling at the current situation, had subsided beneath the surface of the bathwater.  I looked across at Emile. I felt embarrassed, jealous, upset. She caught my gaze and blew me a kiss, oblivious of my feelings, then turned back to Tim. He was stroking his cock and it had already begun to harden. Emile adjusted her stance, parting her legs slightly – I sighed unhappily as her slit became suddenly visible – and Tim’s eyes suddenly dropped to her crotch and his stroking became more frenzied.  I sank back unhappily in the bath and closed my eyes. I wished I wasn’t there, wished that I could sink beneath the water and disappear. I wanted to tell them all to leave me alone. I wanted to turn back time and stop Emile from inviting Tim in, stop Tim from having seen my girlfriend nude. I felt powerless. I felt like crying.Then I felt something brush my foot. I opened my eyes. Pip was straddling the side of the bath, with one foot in the water and the other on the bathroom floor. I glanced across at Emile and Tim; Emile was just stood with her hands by her sides, and her legs, thankfully, closer together again, whilst Tim was masturbating with a speed and intensity that bordered on the superhuman.

Sod it, I said to myself. I refused to think about Emile and Tim. Pip had hoisted up her skirt to reveal lacy black underwear. It was partly see-through, and I could see the fine dark hairs of her bush. She looked at me over her spectacles and said, ‘Hello Dee, it’s nice to meet you.’

‘Um,’ I said. I sat up in the bath, which brought my face only a few inches from her crotch. I could smell her musk. ‘Uh. I mean, hi. Hi Pip.’ I felt cool air on my cock – in a new lease of life, it had stiffened and was once more protruding from the bathwater. From here, I could still see up her skirt. And she could see my dick, pointing eagerly at her.  Pip started to lower her underwear, but I reached up and put my hands on hers. ‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Save the best for last. Take off your top.’

She said, ‘Okay mister,’ and started to unbutton her shirt, starting from the bottom. Bit by bit, her shirt opened, revealing a pale, totally flat stomach, a pierced belly button, and then, finally, the almost negligible swell of her small breasts. She had no need for a bra. Without asking, I reached up and cupped her tiny mounds; each fit easily within my hand. I caressed them for a few moments, and Pip sighed serenely, and then I withdrew so I could look at them again. Although she was almost flat-chested, her breasts came to a slight, conical bulge, and were tipped a pair of baby pink nipples; my caress had excited them, made them stand firm and proud.  ‘You’re so small, so thin,’ I said. I blushed, then added, ‘And pretty.’  She nodded, smiled, looked away as though embarrassed. ‘That’s what Tim likes,’ she said. (At the mention of his name, I couldn’t help but glance over at him – he was leaning back against the wall, still masturbating maniacally, whilst Emile was sat on the floor, caressing her breasts with one hand and stroking her kitty with the other. STOP IT, I thought, but I didn’t know if I was telling myself to stop looking at her, demanding that she stop touching herself, or begging the gods to stop this whole farcical episode).  And then Pip’s hands were hoisting her skirt up around her hips, then tugging at the waistband of her panties. She lowered them a fraction of an inch, paused, then said, ‘So, mister, am I allowed to take these off now?’  I laid back a bit further in the bath, made myself comfortable, and took a firm hold of my cock. It was throbbing in anticipation of seeing Pippa’s beauty. ‘Yes, yes. Do it, show me, I want to see.’

She lifted her foot out of the bath and stood on the bathmat next to me. She turned away from me, then bent over, proudly displaying her narrow arse. (Bending brought her face down close to Emile’s, and I heard Pip say something like, ‘Whoa girl, you’re really working that pussy hard,’ but I closed my ears to it, let the rest of the room fade away, and focussed all my attention on the sight of Pip’s butt and the building excitement in my cock.) And then, in one smooth motion, Pip tugged her pants down, all the way to the floor, and stepped out of them. For a long moment she remained bent over; she reached behind and placed one hand on each slim cheek, and then suddenly spread them, revealing a glorious rear-view of her pussy and her anus. Then, just as suddenly she let go, straightened, and turned on the spot. She lifted her leg and straddled the side of the bath again, then reached down and parted her labia with her fingers.  Oh lord, this was the moment I loved, the moment when a cute girl reveals her innermost beauty. And Pip’s beauty was something to behold. She had a full triangle of dark pubic hair, but it was trimmed extremely short and didn’t hide anything. Her puffy outer labia were parted; at the bottom, near her opening, her inner lips were almost non-existent, but they became fuller as they joined to form a prominent clitoral hood.

I sat up in the bath, and Pip thrust her hips forward, and I kissed her cunt, long and hard. I was still tugging at my cock, and the excitement was building to a crescendo, and her taste and texture was exquisite delight. My mouth found her clit, and I pushed back her hood with my lips, and her supple, quivering pearl danced beneath my tongue.***

Pip and Tim stayed most of the day. We wandered around the house naked, played music and danced, streaked across the decking and lounged in the hot tub for a couple of hours. I felt utterly conflicted; I loved the attention that Pip was giving me, but I hated the attention that Emile was getting from Tim. At one point I managed to get Emile alone in the hallway, and I tried to tell her how uneasy I felt.

‘What about?’ she asked.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘about you being naked in front of ten-inch Tim, for starters.’

Emile laughed. ‘It’s big,’ she said, ‘but it’s nowhere near ten inches. Hey, maybe we should measure it!’

‘No! Listen, I just don’t like the way he’s looking at you.’ I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Look, babe, when you were masturbating in the bathroom, he could see EVERYTHING. I just don’t like it. I want you to keep that stuff just for me.’

Emile wasn’t listening. She was fumbling through the drawers in the hallway dresser. ‘I’ve got a tape measure or ruler here, I’m sure of it.’

That night, after Pip and Tim had left, Emile and I had our first major argument.***

It was Tuesday night. Martin had tried phoning me for our weekly downtime, but I wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t want to admit to him that he had been right about the open relationship, that I would get hurt by it. The worst thing was that I knew I was being unreasonable. Emile hadn’t complained when I’d shown interest in her girlfriends, and she’d been quite willing to let me look at them, touch them, masturbate with them; she even had her friend Connie wake me up with a blowjob. But now, just because she’d opened her legs and masturbated with Tim, I was upset and jealous. And angry with her, but mostly angry with myself. ‘I don’t want this to end, or to make things difficult between us,’ Emile had told me, ‘but it’s simple… you need to get used to it.’ I’d asked – no, I’m embarrassed to admit, I BEGGED – her to try to change, to see whether she could be happy saving herself just for me. She had kissed me, told me she loved me.

‘But I don’t want to change,’ she’d said.

‘Remember what we said about Isaac, trying to fit in at school by getting a girlfriend? We both said we wouldn’t do that just to please other people. This is like that: this is who I am.’

And the most upsetting thing was that she had been totally logical, totally true to herself, and I had been the one who was a jerk. We hadn’t argued any more that night, but early on the Sunday morning I’d told her I needed some space, some time away from her to get to grips with things. She’d cried, and I’d cried, but we both agreed to spend a couple of weeks apart.  I missed her big time. She emailed me every day, huge, long emails. While she could speak perfect English, her first language was French and her writing was nowhere near as fluid as her speech; she had a habit of writing in ALL CAPS and her grammar left a little to be desired, but there was something endearing about it. At first, her emails were about random stuff: a book she was reading, a new dress she’d bought, how Isaac had a new ‘girlfriend’. On Friday night – the first Friday we’d ever spent apart – she emailed me a picture of herself, with her hair in pigtails, wearing Pip’s tortoiseshell glasses and a demure expression; I emailed her back to tell her that she looked like a demure schoolgirl and that, looking at her picture, I’d wanked myself until I was sore.  In her next email, she reminded me of how we first met: she’d dropped her passport and I’d found it and returned it to her; and then, a few days later, how she’d walked in on my masturbation session with Martin and some girls in our hostel room, and how she’d joined in. I knew exactly what she was getting at: she was trying to make it clear that she had never changed, she had always been a wild child, even from the start.  And in her subsequent emails, she told me about other times, before she’d met me: the first time she’d had sex, when she was fifteen; a college party where the only items of clothing allowed were a scarf or hat; the circle-jerk-and-squirt parties she’d shared with Pip, Connie, and the boys in her dorm; and a photoshoot for a guy in which she’d posed with a lit candle in her pussy. These emails both excited me and yet troubled me. She was a sexual force of nature, and she turned me on like no-one else ever had – but there was no way she could take those things back, make herself innocent and become mine, mine alone. (I’ve kept her emails – I re-read them occasionally, and I masturbate as I picture her full breasts and imagine her neat slit opening for me. When I’ve finished writing up my FIVE TIMES stories, perhaps I’ll post some of her emails here on Solotouch.)

Those two weeks that I spent away from Emile felt like months. I missed her desperately. By Wednesday of the second week I decided that I had to see her, and if it wasn’t for an important meeting with a client that I had scheduled for the Friday morning, I’d have taken annual leave and driven up to see her straight away.***

I would like to tell you that our time apart was good for us. If this was just an erotic story designed to entertain and provide cheap thrills, I’d be able to skip over all the jealousy and heartache and my selfish, possessive feelings; I’d be able to focus on the sleek naked bodies of Emile’s girlfriends, on the blowjobs and fingering and orgasms, on Emile and how wet she’d get for me. I’d be able to pretend that her exhibitionism didn’t upset me, that I didn’t want to control and curb her open sexual nature, that I loved her for who she was and would never want her to change. And I could pretend I was a better, more reasonable person. But this is real life. 

On Friday, I got away from the office straight after my morning appointment. The roads were quiet and I arrived at Emile’s house by mid-afternoon. I was much earlier than usual. I unlocked the door, took off my shoes, left my rucksack at the foot of the stairs.  She was in the living room. She was already naked, of course. She was always naked on a Friday. The curtains were open and the television was playing a music channel, and she was led on her back on the rug with her legs spread wide. Tim was knelt between them, rubbing his cock against her and filming her on his phone.  I stood in the doorway and watched them for what felt like an eternity. They must have heard me unlock the front door, must have known that I was there, but neither of them looked up. As Tim grunted and started to ejaculate over Emile’s pussy, I turned away, picked up my rucksack and keys, and locked the door behind me. I got in the car, switched on the ignition, and started the long drive home.***

I pulled off the motorway at the roadside services. I parked up and switched off the engine. I sat there for a minute, or for an hour, and then I picked up my phone and called Martin. I owed him an apology.