Tethys is a polyamorous lady with a steady boyfriend (Taylor) and a rapidly growing group of FWB's that she has taken to call "The Tribe." She and Taylor are both having more sex than they've ever had in their lives, the question is, is it too much, and is it being fairly shared? Logistics can become complicated.
Part 2 – Growing the Tribe
Chapter 6: Hera Today, and Tomorrow
My life is getting more complicated lately.
It’s eleven o’clock-ish, it’s hot, it’s humid, it’s Texas, it’s Austin, and it’s early August.
It’s Thursday, and I’m running late. I usually take a half-hour run about mid-day, in the summer heat that’s about all I can take before I’m so overheated that I can barely gasp for breath. Heat exhaustion is a real possibility, and a wiser woman would do this in the early morning. I’ve never been a wiser woman. I like the heat, I just need to budget my exposure to it.
I am dripping, my minimal clothing, a sports bra and a small pair of running shorts – and good running shoes, of course – is completely wet. My skin and my hair also look like I just crawled out of a river. A hot, dirty, stinking river. My slippery hands can barely turn the doorknob for my apartment. Luckily, the key in the lock gives me enough torque to open it up.
I stumble through, kick off my shoes, and step out of my clothes immediately. I need a shower, but it needs to be a quick one. I’m running late. I have a lunch date, and not much time to prepare. I’d started my run early, but not as early as I planned. A night spent with Carl always leaves me ravenous in the morning, I spent more time at breakfast than I should have, got home later than I should have, frittered away what should have been productive time reminiscing happily about Tuesday’s adventures. There was some video I had to review, and it was good. I couldn’t avoid a masturbation session.
Afterwards, I tried to finish up the prep work for my commission – an oil painting of a mermaid, that I’d already decided to modify into a Goddess of the Sea. I should have known better. These things always take longer than you expect. I didn’t finish it, but I made myself run late.
I jump in the shower, wash off, and get a quick shave in. It’s not as quick as I’d planned either. I need to do my armpits, my legs, and my pussy. I find I need to do them more frequently than I used to. I’m 32. I must be getting old. No time to waste when I get out. Still, I have enough time to take a quick look in the mirror. Frankly, I like what I see. I’ve worked hard for it, and I don’t feel the need to be humble. My skin is a dark olive brown, with no tan lines. Summer is for being naked in the sun, and I indulge that desire whenever I can. My breasts are small, but well shaped and firm, solidly supported on a muscular chest. I’m lean, but not skinny. My curves come from firm, well worked muscle. I have been lifting weights, as heavy as I can manage, for the past couple of years, and it’s showing. It looks good, it feels good, and it’s been an amazing transformation in my attitude and my self-image. I’m not ashamed to be proud.
Now I need to figure out what to wear. I should have thought about it sooner and set something aside. It’s not a formal date, it’s not like I’m looking for a lover or a partner. Still, I’ve only met Hera once, and talked to her twice. She seems like a nice girl, and I want to seem like a nice girl too. Friendly and harmless, at least.
I pick out a light green pullover dress with a yellow flower print pattern. Not fancy, not shabby. It’s almost form-fitting, almost sheer. It’s opaque enough to not require a bra or panties. I found out long ago that simple dresses without underwear are my preference for warm weather. My makeup is minimal and my naturally tousled hair is under a semblance of control. I slip on my gold-emerald chain, the stone matches my eyes, Henri told me when he gave it to me. It’s the most expensive piece of jewelry I have ever owned, and probably ever will. My finishing touch is the pair of homemade wire earrings that clamp onto my unpierced earlobes. I made them in a craft class at the community college years ago, and I still like them. I slip my feet into a cheap pair of canvas deck shoes, and I’m out the door.
My 2009 Hyundai Elantra is as close to self-driving as I can imagine, at least it seems to know the way to Whole Foods by heart. Parking is usually tough to find, but at least Thursday is not the peak day. I take full advantage of the air conditioning while I’m driving, but the rush of heat as I open the door and step out of the car is still welcome. The cool air inside the store is also welcome. Despite my anxiety about time, I’m not quite late. I recognize Hera immediately, in a booth in the dining section. She recognizes me at the same time, and we smile as I sit across from her at the table. Had she stood up for a hug, I would have returned it, but she remains seated, so I simply extend my hand.
“Hi, Tethys, I’m glad you came,” she says. She’s a very pretty girl, in a delicate sort of way. Her facial features are soft and smooth, her skin finely textured, and pale in a way that suggests little tolerance for sunlight. Her eyes are as soft as her skin, a light greenish brown, large and round, giving her an expression of childlike innocence that I already know to be illusory. I linger longer on her hair. It’s red, but… There’s something else there. I don’t think it’s dye. A touch of brown. Maybe just a touch. It’s thick and full, had she wanted to look glamorous her hair would definitely not interfere. It cascades almost to her shoulders, splayed out at the ends in a way that reminds me of some posters from the 1940’s. She notices me looking.
“Lauren Bacall,” she says, twirling a strand. “I know it’s a bit presumptuous, and it’s the wrong color, but she’s kind of an inspiration.”
I nod. I do see the effect. And it’s not presumptuous, it actually works. Her face has that same general shape, and even the lips are reasonably similar, although Hera’s lipstick is a much more understated shade.
“So where would you like to eat?” I ask. “Here in the booth, up on the roof, or out to a park somewhere?”
“Let’s do the roof,” she smiles. “We can sit under one of the umbrellas and chat there.”
The buffet at Whole Foods allows for a large variety of choices, but the final ***********ion is priced by the pound, and it’s not cheap. I go for the dense, protein rich items, and Hera concentrates on the salads. Now that she’s standing, I can get a better idea of her build. She’s shorter than I am, and almost as skinny as I was two years ago when I met Carl. Her pullover casual dress is similar to my own, but slimmer, a light blue, not-quite-sheer fabric, and as she bends over to scoop some peas into her serving box, I notice with amusement that she is not wearing a bra or panties either. My optimism increases, just a little.
We climb the steps to the rooftop patio, and fortunately there are a couple of tables shaded by umbrellas that aren’t taken. It’s hot, but we’re out of the sun. The food is good, but I’m thinking more about how to initiate the conversation. I’m the older one, Hera looks to be in her early to mid twenties, but I’m feeling awkward and clumsy. It’s an old familiar feeling that I thought had been cured by Carl, Taylor, Henri, and Sonia. Hera comes to my rescue.
“You look like you wouldn’t mind being out in the sun here anyway,” she says, nodding to my deep bronze skin. “It’s such a beautiful tan.”
“It’s my Greek heritage, I guess,” I shrug. I like to think I come from a lineage of 3,000 years under the Aegean sun.”
“I’m Greek too, at least nominally. And I’m as white as a ghost. I guess my heritage is the marble quarries,” she laughs.
“Do you know which part of Greece?”
“Chios. It’s an island in the Aegean, very close to Turkey actually. Both my parents were born there.”
My mouth falls open, and my eyes are as wide as hers. “Chios! MY parents came from Chios! Oh my god! We’re like cousins!”
We both leap to our feet, practically knocking over our chairs and spilling our food in our rush to meet and hug. It’s a big, tight hug, leaving no doubt in the minds of either of us about our mutual disdain for underwear.
The ice is broken, and our appetites enhanced. We sit and talk cheerfully, and it’s no trouble getting Hera’s life story out of her. Her parents are nothing like mine.
“My Mom’s a peasant farmer,” she says, and my Dad’s a wannabe historian. He’s a neopagan, mostly. He studies Greek history, and he’s really big on mythology. He’s the one that named me Hera, of course. They’ve taken me back to visit a few times. My Dad insists on taking pilgrimages to Delos, and of course they’ve fit Athens and the the Parthenon in there a few times. They emigrated just before I was born, I think they were tired of all the economic chaos going on back then. Plus they were too close to Turkey for my Dad’s comfort.”
“My parents are devout Greek Orthodox,” I said. If it were up to them I would have been raised in a nunnery. We never saw eye to eye much, and I hardly see them at all anymore. I’m their only child, and their greatest disappointment.”
“That’s a shame. It must be tough. I don’t know if I could make it without my parents’ support. I know that as an artist I’d be starving without them. Or at least I would have been. I’ve been doing a little better lately.”
“What do they think of your erotica?” I asked a little more pointedly than I intended. “It’s pretty explicit, at least what I saw in the gallery. My parents couldn’t stand the idea of me drawing skimpy outfits, much less full-on porcelain porn!”
Hera laughs. “They think it’s great. My Mom says they should have named me Aphrodite. I was one of those kids who they could never get to keep a diaper on, much less clothes. I was always stripping down and running wild every chance I got. They basically just threw up their hands and said ‘That’s our Hera!’ I got cured of that when I was about eight, and they left me alone for a few hours. I decided to go out and play naked in the back yard. When they got back, I was burned and blistered from head to toe. My naked shenanigans have been pretty much indoors ever since.”
“I can understand that,” I giggle. “I didn’t do anything naked except bathe when I was a kid. I didn’t even know it was a possibility until I hit puberty, and discovered my own sexuality and porn at the same time. If it weren’t for internet porn, I’d probably still be a virgin.”
“Probably not,” Hera shakes her head. “Most likely you would have gone out totally clueless and gotten yourself raped and traumatized. God, I’m sorry if I said something wrong… that didn’t happen, did it?”
“No,” I assure her. “Nothing like that. I was still clueless, though. Porn is just about sex, it doesn’t illustrate anything about navigating the dating and relationship side of it. That was all trial and error.”
“Porn was never a big deal at my place,” Hera continues. “My parents just assumed all the kids were watching it. They never tried to filter anything, they just warned me not to get into anything unnatural.”
“Did you?” I ask.
“Not that I know of,” she smiles. “Like you, though, there’s been some trial and error.”
She studies my arms and shoulders, and takes a sidelong peek at the opening in my dress below my arms. “I don’t see any tan lines,” she notes. “Is that beautiful skin bronze all over?”
I smile in return. “Sure is! It’s summer. I spend a lot of time outdoors, and most Saturdays I spend at Hippie Hollow with my friend Carl and a couple we know.”
“I’m jealous,” she sighs. “I would love to be a nudist somewhere other than at home, and to do it with friends, but you know… that old sun.”
“Well, home isn’t all that bad either,” I reassure her. I’m nearly always naked at home. Even when I’m painting. Except sometimes I wear gloves.”
“Really? I do my pottery nude! I get clay smears and splatters all over me, sometimes I identify with the old mud people of Borneo! I love it! It feels kind of sexy, as long as I don’t let it dry and cake too much.”
My imagination is reeling. I not only want to see it, the idea of doing it excites me. I picture myself bending over a potters wheel, the wet clay building on my hands, coloring my skin shiny gray all the way up my forearms. When they clog, I wipe them on my breasts and belly. I become a porcelain sculpture of my own!
“Would you like to see my studio?” Hera’s voice is almost pleading. “I hardly ever get to show it off to anybody.”
“I’d love to!” I answer, and I mean it. “I think your work is so sexy and inspiring. You’ve already got me reconsidering my whole career.”
For years I’ve been painting according to a single basic theme – an idyllic landscape, whether mountain, forests, seashores, hills, fields, that contain a lonely-looking woman dressed in a pseudo-classical drapery. Oil is a wonderful medium for deep, rich color, it allows endless permutations of texture and layering, and I’ve gotten good at it. But oil is a pain. It smells, it takes forever to dry -- and you have to let it dry between certain layers -- and it doesn’t lend itself well to spontaneity. Spontaneity hasn’t been an issue for me. The theme is always similar. It’s been moderately successful. My sales have been steady, and the uncontroversial subject matter fits well in medical offices and corporate conference rooms, but it’s been a long time since I felt challenged or excited about it. Since meeting Carl, then Taylor, then Henri and Sonia, then Joe and Jo, my attitude has been gradually changing. As my life has been getting more boldly erotic, so have my artistic desires. And when I saw Hera’s work at the gallery last Tuesday, a garish in-your-face work of acrylic erotica, I found myself desperately wanting to produce something pornographic.
I follow Hera to her place, an older neighborhood north of the university, with small wooden houses, big wooden houses, big trees, formal gardens, and unkempt yards full of prairie brush. Students and professors co-mingle closely, if not always comfortably. Hers is one of the smaller houses, a rental on a raised foundation, with a slightly ramshackle unattached garage and shed at the end of the driveway behind the house. It has a screened porch on the front and back, and as we walk through the front door I notice worn wooden floors, partly covered by strategically placed throw rugs, and soft plush furniture – not new, but in good condition. It looks comfortable, lived in, and inviting. There’s a faint, lingering smell of spices, and a fainter but recognizable aroma of cannabis.
It’s a two-bedroom house with one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Built in a time when people still usually cooked at home, the kitchen is large and well laid out. Hera leads me through the place quickly. An easel and a stack of canvases and painting supplies take up half of the living room. The master bedroom is the ceramic studio. Plastic sheets cover the floor, an electric potter’s wheel sits in one corner by a mud-splattered mirror, and most of the rest of the room is taken up by a wooden table, cabinets, and shelves, all piled with pots and figurines in various stages of drying or glazing. More pots and sculpted pieces adorn the screened back porch. There are paintings on all the walls, all done in the Hera style I’ve seen in the gallery, all erotic, and some as baldy pornographic as any I’ve fantasized about.
“Well,” she says as she completes the very short tour. “We’re both artists, and we both work in the nude, so why don’t we both get artistically nude together?”
I like this girl. She doesn’t waste time. My dress nearly shoots over my head, and my sandals and necklace follow nearly as quickly. I place everything on one arm of the couch in the living room. Hera is as quick as I am. We stare at each other’s naked bodies, and both of us draw in our breaths at the same time. Hera’s lines are smooth and symmetrical, her breasts are small like mine, her shoulders delicate, her belly flat, and her hips slender. She’s not as skinny as I was a couple of years ago, but she could afford to gain a few pounds. Her skin is as shiny white as the porcelain figures she sculpts – before she glazes them. Her pussy is shaved as bare as mine. Why are all the nude women I’m seeing lately bare in the cunt? I’m not complaining. It’s beautiful. I notice something shiny hanging between her legs, almost like a string from a tampon, but this looks like a gold chain.
She hasn’t blinked since we undressed. “Tethys! You. Are. Amazing! You’re beautiful! You’re flawless! I’m so in awe of your beautiful bronze skin. I could never have that color, even if I faked it. And it’s so smooth and even on you.”
She steps up to me and touches my arms and my shoulders. “You look so strong. You are powerful, aren’t you? And look at those legs! You’re packed with muscle, but it’s not bulky. It really looks good on you!”
She takes my hands and examines my fingers and palms. I don’t know how to react. I stand there, entranced. I’m the older one. Somehow I feel I should be taking the lead. I had planned to. But Hera is one step ahead of me.
“These are definitely the hands of an artist. But your palms. Those calluses. You work hard with your hands, don’t you?”
I take Hera’s hands in return, and study them. They are smooth and flawless.
“I guess the clay is a great skin softener, isn’t it?”
“It is, but I still have to moisturize,” she laughs. “But what do you do besides oil painting? On the palm side of your hands it looks like you’re a mechanic or a farmer, but there’s no nicks on your knuckles. And you’re built like either an athlete or a laborer!”
“It’s a bit like labor, I guess,” I smile. Until a couple of years ago I was a lot skinnier than you. My friend Carl that I mentioned earlier introduced me to weight training, and I’ve been working out with him at his house three times a week. It’s transformed me, obviously, but I guess a little roughness on the hands is the price I pay. He’s a great coach, by the way. Not to mention the sex is worth coming back for as much as the workout! We lift naked, and it’s the sexiest way to build muscle I can imagine.”
“That’s intriguing!” Hera looks wide-eyed. “I bet Carl gets just as much out of it as you do. And I’ll also bet you’re very good.”
I’ve been feeling a growing wetness throughout the conversation, and now I’m starting to smell its scent as well. It’s not all coming from me. Before I can even think about it, Hera has led me to her bedroom. It’s not a large bed, but it will easily fit two, and unlike the used furniture elsewhere, this bed is soft, fresh, and luxuriously feminine. Hera sits at the front and splays her knees apart. I see the hanging chain more clearly. It’s attached to a ring pierced through her clitoral hood, with a couple of beads alongside at the attachment point.
“You like it?” she quizzes. The ring’s always there, but I only wear the chain on special occasions. It’s better than a tattoo!”
“It’s beautiful!” I confess. “But doesn’t it get in the way of certain things?”
“Well, I can easily move it aside when I pee,” she flicks it casually. “I guess I do have to be careful when I’m fucking, depending on the position. But I like it doggy style, because the the chain hits the guy’s balls when he thrusts into me and bounces forward. It makes for a pretty complex jingling sensation on my clit!”
“So you like guys as well as girls?” I’m truly curious by now.
“I wish I could say I don’t make a distinction, but that would be silly,” she says bluntly. I’m not heterosexual, I’m not homosexual, I’m not bisexual, and I’m not solo-sexual. I’m all of those, it a way. I’m sexual. I love the human anatomy, that’s why it’s my art form. And I love human genitals. I really love them. Cocks, cunts, penises, vaginas, pussies, dicks, clitorises, labia, scrotums, foreskins, glanses. All of it. I love how they look, I love to examine them minutely, and study them in detail. I love drawing and sculpting them. I love how they feel, and how they smell, and how they taste. And skin in general. I love the things that make us feel, that turn us on, that excite us. I love sensuality, sexuality, and passion. I live for it, I can’t get enough. I’d probably double my artistic output if I didn’t spend so much of my free time fantasizing and frigging myself.”
She’s going to adore Carl and Taylor and Henri, I think to myself. They all have quite memorable genitalia, well worth studying. Even Joe, who outwardly looks normal in every way, has the sweetest taste I’ve ever encountered.
“Wait, you don’t have a boyfriend or girlfriend to spend that free time with?”
“I did until recently. It’s been a couple of months since I had any sex with somebody else. Remember that painting from the gallery you saw? That was supposedly my girlfriend, Vicki, until she and my so-called boyfriend, Patrick, decided they liked each other better than me. Basically right after I finished that painting. And after I let her use my dildo for the scene!” she laughs, with a little bitterness.
“I know I come on too strong sometimes,” she sounds wistful now.
I’m in a bit of cognitive dissonance at the moment. The young naked girl sitting in front of me, so pale, so thin, so short, so frail looking – every bit the waif I thought her at our first meeting, describing herself as some kind of insatiable sexual dynamo! Her art certainly reflects a raw, unconstrained sexuality, yet her face is doe-eyed and innocent looking, there wasn’t a trace of the uncontrollable slut during our lunch. Except for the lack of underwear, I suppose. I sit beside her on the bed.
“I don’t have all that much experience with women,” I say, hoping it’s of comfort. “But I can identify with someone else thinking I was too aggressive. I’ve had some dates that scared the guys off, or else they decided after one fuck that I wasn’t the kind to bring home to mother.”
Hera laughs. “Mother is the least of my problems! My parents are great, they accept me as I am and don’t judge. I started masturbating almost obsessively the moment I hit puberty, and basically my Mom just told me to not do it in the shower because it runs up the water bills. Sex was all I could think about, and they had me on the pill as soon as they were able to do it. I never wear clothes at home when I can avoid it, and they’re fine with it. They aren’t nudists, or polyamorous, or swingers, or anything like that, but they don’t impose their life on mine. My Mom says I’m the child of the Goddess, although they don’t know which one, and I’m living the life she gave me. I could be fucking right in front of them and they’d be fine with it.”
“That’ll make for an interesting home life.”
“Not that interesting any more. My two former best friends now think of me as a common enemy, and as sex-obsessed as I am, I’m really not into one night stands or anonymous encounters.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “And what the hell am I doing, whining about my sex life on a first date! You’re beautiful, and I’ve barely even looked at you! You must think I’m really creepy.”
I laugh. “I’m just thinking about the blessings of the Goddess. I’ve read that the greatest blessing can seem like a curse, until it finds its purpose in your life. My next painting is going to feature a goddess, and I need to be in the right mindset for it.”
“You really are beautiful,” Hera’s tone changes. “I don’t think of you as a stranger. I’ve been seeing your paintings for months, ever since I started selling at the gallery. I always wondered about the painter, and now I feel like I’ve at least started to get to know you.”
I feel some humor arising. This girl, so young, so vulnerable, so brazenly wanton yet at the same time with a certain innocence… it’s the innocence that’s trying to seduce me. And it’s so unnecessary. If she were less innocent she would understand that by now.
Yet I’m a little out of my own element as well. I can say I’ve been with women. I tasted Sonia for the first time half a year ago, most recently this past Tuesday, and in her I feel true Goddess power. She’s a figure of black sexual majesty, everything any man or woman could want, but maybe too much for most. She’s perfection personified, and it would be easy for anyone to feel that they are not in her league, and they might very well be right. And Joanne, I experienced her for the first time on that same day, and she’s sweet and joyful and horny and beautiful. I could spend hours making love to either one of them – or both of them. But Sonia has Henri, and Jo has Joe, and while I wouldn’t want them any other way, I can’t say my experiences with them were in any way comparable to this private, one on one encounter with Hera, at once so forward yet hesitant.
Maybe not so hesitant. “Can I see your pussy? Please? I’ve been dying to look at it. It’s part of my study. For art!”
We both giggle, but for reasons of our own, she at the apparent absurdity of the connection, and I at the familiarity. I had used the same rationale only two days earlier, when I had Taylor, Carl, Henri, and Joe all ejaculate into a jar so that I could incorporate their cum into my gesso mix. So far, it seems to be working.
I swing my leg over the bed, over her head, and pivot until my head is on the pillow. I lay on my back, legs spread as if for a gynecological exam with no stirrups. The atmosphere is anything but clinical. Hera positions herself between my legs, face so close to my pussy I can feel her breath. The anticipation builds, the juices are flowing, I can smell my cunt responding. I look downward between my legs, and I see Hera is indeed studying intently.
“Oh my god, it’s so wonderful,” she breathes. She inhales deeply, and sighs. I sigh, too. I feel a finger, tentatively, delicately, stroking along the swelling of my outer lips. “You’re so smooth, I love a freshly shaved pussy!” In the midst of the growing fire within me, my memory delivers a picture of the painting in the gallery, the woman, laying upon a cot, spent, a dildo grasped in her limp hand, her pussy densely furry. It was Hera’s girlfriend who had modeled. Had the adoration been less than complete before their breakup, maybe?
“I love how smooth it is, especially when you stroke it,” I respond. “Your touch is so sensual!”
It’s sensual, it’s erotic, it’s electric. She strokes, she caresses, she probes, my passion is growing, my pussy is beyond wet, it’s leaking. Hera responds by gently licking, even slurping, my juices. I feel her tongue and her lips, along with her fingers. Very soon the individual sensations of touch become lost in a blur of pleasure that starts to well outward from my cunt throughout my body. When her fingers move forward, taking my nipples between them, it sends a jolt through me, and my hips spasm into her face. She laughs, then sighs, and resumes her assault on my pleasure centers.
My breathing deepens, turns to gasps, turns to groans, and then to involuntary animal grunts. She’s definitely right up there with the best lovers I’ve experienced, with Sonia, with Jo, even Henri, Taylor, Carl, and Joe. She instinctively knows when to push, when to release, when to explore, when to concentrate on one needy spot. My first orgasm comes before I expect it, I’m hardly even aware of its building. I feel like all my breath is forced out by my long, loud, moans. But there’s more beyond. She gives me maybe ten seconds to rest, and then begins her tongue-lashing from a new direction, avoiding for a moment my over-sensitized tissues, but letting me work into it again gradually. I usually like to keep my eyes open during sex, reading the look on my lover’s face is part of my pleasure. But this is just too intense. The eyes are shut, the ears are shut down, all I’m aware of are the vast bolts of ecstasy that shoot through my body, into my brain, under my tongue, curling my toes, and helplessly spreading my fingers. I’m hoarse from my cries. It’s only a couple of minutes, or maybe it’s hours, there’s no way to tell, when another orgasm, more massive, more overwhelming, more all-encompassing, rolls over me like a tsunami from which I will not run. She slows, gradually backs off, and I can hear my shrieks slowly dropping off into moans, into sighs, and finally into little mewling sounds of helpless delight that I don’t ever recall hearing from myself before. It’s then that the tongue on my cunt disappears.
“Hi, Mom,” she says cheerily
My eyes snap open, I look down at her, and then follow her eyes to the bedroom door. A middle-aged, matronly looking woman stands there, leaning casually against the frame, smiling at me. Her hair is short and done up in a typical middle-aged style, her blouse is a conservative flower print, and she’s wearing a set of casual jeans. My instinctive reaction is to try to cover myself, but Hera’s fingers are still clasping my nipples, and her cheek, glistening with my smeared secretions, is resting on my thigh as she smiles in her mother’s direction.
“Hi, I didn’t mean to interrupt, you two just looked so beautiful there, and it’s so good to see you happy again!”
She approaches and in the most surreal gesture I can imagine, extends her hand towards me. “Hello, I’m Hera’s mother, Phoebe. I’m always thrilled to meet her friends.”
Just as surreally, I wearily reach my hand up to clasp hers. Hera takes another casual lick to my clit, and I involuntarily thrust my hips up to meet her.
“You’re fine, Mom. We were just getting ready to shift. How long were you standing there?”
“I came in at least two orgasms ago,” she laughs. I happened to drive by the clay store, and I remembered you said you were low on the Grolleg Porcelain, so I picked up a box and dropped it by. I wasn’t expecting you to be otherwise occupied, but it was hard to just ignore it and walk away.”
“Mom!” Hera scolds. “You didn’t have to do that! And that porcelain is expensive. Stop it! That store’s all the way across town! What were you doing out there?”
“Shopping,” Phoebe shrugs. “And now I’m interrupting. Sorry to bother you… Oh, I didn’t get your name, honey?” she turns back to me.
“Tethys,” I reply, as the total absurdity of this situation sinks further in. I remember less than a week ago, fucking Carl out in the open at Hippie Hollow, in front of Jo and Joe and dozens of strangers, and not feeling at all uncomfortable. And only two days before, a total orgy at my apartment with all my favorite people participating. It had been my first time doing something that wild, but it had felt totally natural. But to have my loud, screaming orgasms witnessed by a very sanguine mother of my lover, who then makes a casual compliment and introduction, this might take some getting used to.
“You’re absolutely beautiful, Tethys. And what a beautiful name! It’s Greek, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Like Phoebe. And Hera.”
“It’s almost like being home again!” Phoebe gushes. “Hera, I told you that the Goddess has blessed you with her gifts. Thank you for being here, Tethys!”
“Mom,” Hera sits up on the bed. “Tethys was just getting ready to make love to me. Would you like to stay for a while and watch? Maybe we can visit over coffee afterwards.”
“Are you sure you won’t mind? Tethys, is that ok?” Phoebe sounds almost pleading. It’s weird. Of course it’s weird. But then, considering the trajectory my life has been on lately, maybe weirdness is inevitable.
“I don’t mind,” I offer, and considering everything I’ve experienced lately, I find to my surprise that I really don’t. After all, just in the last week I’ve shifted the focus of my latest commission from a fairly conventional mermaid, to a Goddess figure. I’ve been imagining the Goddess more and more lately. And now here I am with a woman who claims to be a direct beneficiary of the Goddess, and her mother who embraces that view.
“I think it would be fun!” I add, and Hera leans over and gives me an enthusiastic kiss. I taste my juices on her lips, and add a gratuitous lick over her chin and cheeks. I taste good.
Phoebe sits down on one corner of the bed, and Hera lays back onto the already dented pillow. She spreads her legs, and I slip my fingers over her slippery lips.
“That’s a pretty chain,” her mother says, and Hera giggles. Instead of sliding my face between her legs, I lay on top of her, and began kissing her, repeated short soft kisses that gradually escalate into long deep full mouth and tongue, very wet kisses. I move around the rest of her face, covering it with kisses, until I’ve taken back most of the remnants of my own sex. I continue the kisses, supplemented with tiny nibbles and bites, down her throat, lingering around her collarbone, across her upper chest, down her sternum, and finally finding my way to each perfect breast. Her breath is coming in catches and gasps, and I hear gasps from her mother at the other end of the bed. At the same time, my finger has slid up into her wet folds, and deeper into the sacred goddess passages.
I linger there, passing my lips and tongue and teeth between her breasts, exploring, gradually learning her sensitive spots, feeling her responses, and searching with my fingers for the magical places inside her. It’s not at all difficult. She orgasms quickly and repeatedly, with guttural exclamations of “oyi, oyi, aiiieeee, shit!” I glance at her mother, for a short second, and there is a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.
Finally, I’m ready to continue down and taste Hera’s sacred liqueur. But I’m as aroused as I was before, and I selfishly want some more of her mouth on my pussy. I continue the trail of kisses down her belly, tonguing her navel as I go, until I pause on the soft, smooth mound between the “V” of her thighs. I remind myself of how much I love the feel, the texture, the taste, and even the aroma of a smooth-shaved pubic area, both on men and women. All of my lovers are shaved except Taylor, and although his patch is extremely soft and gentle, I suddenly think that I would prefer him shaved too. I decide to broach the topic at some appropriate time.
But now, I’m ready for some mutual pleasuring. I position my face directly between Hera’s legs, and swivel my left leg up and over her face, so that she’s staring at my open, oozing cunt. Even with our height difference, the positions are completely compatible. Her mood is compatible too, and I feel the delicious sensation of her tongue once more exploring my crevasses as I explore hers. I grasp the chain dangling from her hood and gently tug upwards on it as I kiss and lick around the attachment point. I get exactly the reaction I hope for. It’s sublime, it’s relaxing, it’s exciting. The only thing we can’t seem to do is cum simultaneously. Whenever either of us arrives at the point of no return, we stop pleasuring our partner to gasp and moan and howl. I can’t say it’s a problem, though. We find our rhythm, alternating orgasms until we both have to stop and take a breather. I look at Phoebe. She’s beaming.
“Wait, I have an idea!” the words come as gasps from Hera, and she wiggles out from under me. I let her go, a little reluctantly. She kneels up on the sheets, and reaches for a small shelf over the headboard. Pulling down a cloth bag, she rummages a little through it and pulls out a very realistic penis-shaped dildo. It’s pink, stiff but soft, with molded bluish veins snaking across the shaft and an expanded head of soft foam under the smooth silicone surface. I have a couple of toys of my own at home, although I’ve rarely used them, much less since meeting Carl, and then Taylor, but I’ve never had anything quite so realistic, and quite so big. It would give Henri a run for his money.
Also, I’ve never used a dildo on another woman, or had another woman use one on me. This is another day in a week of many firsts.
“Lay back,” she tells me, and I obey. It’s no mystery what’s coming next. She fishes a tube of lube out of the bag, and smears a bit on the tip of the synthetic cock, and then a little more over my clit and into my labia. I’m very much ready, and not convinced the lube is necessary, but it feels nice anyway as she slides her finger across my sensitive and very slippery tissues. I feel the head gently pushing at my entrance as she moves it slowly up and down, rotating it over the hood of my clit. She places it in again, and it slides through surprisingly easily. My vaginal muscles have been training for years, and I’m proud of the control I have over them. I can open or close them at will, allowing passage or denying it. Now I’m enthusiastically allowing it.
Hera bends over, and as the dildo continues deeper begins to flick her tongue over my clit just above it. The sensation of the dildo itself is nothing to write home about – yet. It’s not as warm as a real cock, and the texture is not quite real, and of course it lacks the attached body of man to hold, push and claw at, and one to grab and hold me as he thrusts. I close my eyes and imagine Taylor leaning over me, I breathe deep and smell his manly aroma, then it’s Carl, thrusting eagerly, every muscle rippling, then Henri, slow and mellow, eyes shining, captivating me with his smile, and then Joe, moving with grace, and joy, and an assured knowledge of his ability to please. I imagine Sonia and Jo, purring, urging their men into me, helping with touches, kisses, and guiding pressure on the sliding cocks, pushing them to one side or another, or up, or down, or adding their own saliva to the combined secretions of us all.
But it’s Hera who’s here, and she’s learning me fast, guided by my subconscious movements and moans. She’s a worthy addition to the denizens of my imagination, and hopefully, to the group that I’ve so quickly become attached to. I open my eyes, and see Hera’s expression of rapt attention as she works the cock in and out of me. It’s starting to feel more real by the second. Just behind her to the left, I see Phoebe, leaning in, watching closely with the the same look of joyous curiosity. The family resemblance is striking.
A spasm of intense delight pulses through me, involuntary but welcome. I gasp an instruction. “A little higher! Push up on the head a bit… Ahhh, that’s it!”
As she expertly follows my desire, the pulse of delight becomes a burning, raging inferno of happiness. My hips lift above the mattress, my belly tightens, and my breath comes out in what sounds like a roar. I’ve never roared before. Men roar. It may not be the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt, but it’s unique, it feels like I’m powering into it. My hips begin to spontaneously buck up and down, my back arches, my legs kick out to each side, and I feel like I’m launching off the bed.
I don’t get far, and bounce back, collapsing in exhaustion.
“Wow”, I say, and that’s all I could manage even after multiple gasping breaths. “I don’t think it’s the cock, I think it’s the way you use it,” I finally manage.
“She uses it so well,” Phoebe interjects. “It’s so… so lovely.”
I glance at her and smile. There’s a flush on her face, and a sheen of moister over her forehead, her cheeks, and her nose. She licks her lips, panting slightly.
“So, Mom, do you and Dad ever use dildos on each other?” Hera asks brightly.
Phoebe cocks an eyelid. “We have our toys,” she admits. “But nothing quite that graphic. I prefer the real thing anyway.”
“As do we all,” Hera laughs, and turns to me. “In lieu of the real thing, are you ready to do me?”
“Oh yes,” I respond, as my wind is returning rapidly. I’m looking forward to it.
“Don’t bother to lube,” she says, as she flops back onto the bed. “You’ve lubricated it well enough for all of us!”
She spreads her legs, and folds her arms behind her head. “Just plop it in. Hurry, I don’t want any elaborate ceremony. Foreplay is complete. Fuck me!”
I had planned on a more artistic approach, but obviously now was not the time. I slide it in, it slips easily all the way to the fake scrotum hanging off the end.
“Pump it!”, she orders, and I begin shoving it in and out of her squishy cunt, crudely maybe, but her breath is heaving.
“Mom,” she gasps, “I’ve never watched you and Dad fuck. I think it would be beautiful. Can I watch some time?”
Phoebe scoots closer and gently strokes her thigh as I continue to stroke her cunt. “Sweetheart, you’re the one who has the blessing of the Goddess, not your parents. You’ve gone this long just fine without watching us, and I don’t think it will hurt you if we keep that private. I watch you because you’re beautiful, and you want me to. But not everybody is blessed like you.”
“I love to watch… fuck, I want to… watch… me fuck… watch people… ahhhh, FUCK!” A sudden spasm overtakes her, her eyes slam shut, and she emits a half sigh, half squeal, half scream. Then she opens her mouth and takes in great gulps of air.
“Fuck me, fuck me, keep fucking me! Look at me, look at me when I cum, look at my face! Look at my pussy! MOM! Look at my pussy when I cum! OOOOoooh, fuck!”
I keep thrusting the dildo in and out of her, with no particular artistry, her head flails back and forth violently, and Phoebe, as requested, leans in and looks closely at her pussy as the shaft of the dildo disappears deeper inside, and then withdraws. It’s coated in slime, and the entrance bubbles a little as the fluid mixes with air in the churn action of the fuck. I flick the chain to the side from time to time to keep it from being drawn in, her gasps become wails, and then a long drawn out moan as she seems to go into rigor mortis for a few seconds. Then she’s spent. Phoebe looks at me and smiles, with moistened eyes.
Among her other traits, Hera is a coffee snob, and the three of us relax in the kitchen with a hot and delightful golden roast of fresh gourmet beans. After the dramatic and erotic scene earlier, this feels peaceful, and almost quaint. Two naked young women joined by a primly dressed matron calmly chat at the table as if it’s a perfectly normal social gathering. Sex is still in the air, though, and Hera wants to keep it the main topic.
“So, Mom,” she continues, “I agree with you that what just happened was a beautiful thing, and sex between two women is a spiritual experience. Does that mean you’ve had that experience yourself? Have you ever had sex with a woman?”
Phoebe smiles and shakes her head. “No Baby, your father is the only person I’ve ever had sex with. He takes care of me, and I take care of him, and I’m happy with that.”
“Aren’t you curious about what other people would be like?” Hera probes.
“Of course,” her mother confesses, but I see it. I watch porn, sometimes with your father and sometimes by myself. And I see what it’s like when you have sex with different people. Yes it is beautiful, and yes, it makes me happy. But I’m happy with experiencing it through you and through my imagination. It wouldn’t be the same if I were to do it in the real world.”
My own curiosity gets the better of me. “Phoebe, you say Hera has the gift of the Goddess. I assume you’re talking about one of the Greek goddesses, but which one? Do you believe in the old Greek religion, or some sort of pagan spirituality?”
Phoebe takes a thoughtful sip from her cup, a blue-green glazed porcelain that Hera made while she was still learning the ceramic arts. She puts it down with a sigh.
“I’m a Christian woman. I was raised in the Eastern Church, and never doubted its teachings. I didn’t even know anything about the ancient Greek religion until I met my husband. The old Greeks weren’t really consistent in their religious beliefs any more than modern Christians are. The religion was different in each city and each region, and changed over time. It was influenced by the Egyptians and the Persians and the Phoenicians, and then by the Romans, and later even by the Jews and Christians. The old tales and myths were really parables. They weren’t meant to be literally believed, they were illustrations of deeper truths about humanity and morality. As the culture and the morality changed, the myths changed too.
“So the Goddess that blesses my Hera is not any particular person or identity. There’s some of the old Hera, there’s a lot of Aphrodite, there’s some of Athena. But there have been goddesses in many civilizations and tribes, and there’s an essence to my Hera that transcends all of the old myths. She carries a deep connection with her femininity, an eroticism in her core, and a nurturing nature that is so profoundly spiritual. She doesn’t follow society’s rules about sexual morality, she transcends them. Her eroticism, her sexuality, is such a deeply embedded, pervasive part of her soul, so much a part of who she is, and such a loving force, that conventional rules of morality can’t apply to it. Her sexuality is its own morality, and when she expresses it, it’s a beautiful and good morality. She didn’t get it from me, or from her father. We’re very conventional people. In her, it comes from a deeper source, and it’s a spiritual force. We think of God and Jesus as men, but that’s conventional thinking. That’s how our culture approaches Divinity, but that’s not how Divinity will always approach us. For Hera, the Divinity is the Goddess.”
It takes me a moment to process all this before I answer. “Phoebe,” I say with conviction. “I do not believe you are one bit conventional.”
Hera smiles broadly. “I love my Mom and Dad.”
The conversation drifts, as conversations will, and we cover details of our own artistic styles, my paintings, her pottery, the vagaries of the art business and the challenges of making a living in it, and friends and family. The time seems right to follow up.
“I’m going to be seeing Taylor tomorrow night. Would you like to meet him? I think he’d adore you.”
Phoebe grins. “Say yes, Baby. You need a decent man in your life. Leave that dumb old Patrick and Vicki behind!”
If Taylor were within earshot, his ears would definitely be burning, and his face would be deep red. Men have very little idea of the depth to which women talk about them when they have a chance, and I’m sure they’re usually better off not knowing. Not that anything I say is critical, far from it. He’s a great guy – he’s good looking, he’s smart, he’s creative, he’s patient and understanding of my quirks, and where he doesn’t understand at least he’s tolerant. He’s mildly athletic, he doesn’t smoke and drinks less than moderately. He’s also very sexy. I notice Phoebe pays special attention to this part of the conversation.
Of course the topic inevitably comes around to something I find quite interesting, and hope Hera will too: Taylor’s cock. For most men, I’d probably not be particularly de***********ive. We all know what a cock looks like. I might say something like “it’s nice,” or “it’s THIS big!” But Taylor’s cock requires a little more extensive de***********ion. It’s got a somewhat unusual shape. It’s plenty big, a little bigger than average I guess, but it’s width is what makes it stand out. Not thickness from top to bottom, but very wide from side to side. The top surface is almost flat, I call it “the flight deck.” It not only gives him a unique appearance, but the sensation is like nothing else I’ve felt. Hera seems intrigued.
“He used to be kind of sensitive about it,” I explain. “When he was younger some girls made fun of it and really embarrassed him, so he thought he was unattractive because of it. But I think he’s over that now. I love it, and my friends Sonia and Jo thought it was wonderful when they experienced it a couple of days ago.”
Phoebe leans forward, a fascinated look on her face. Hera laughs. “Mom, for someone who’s never fucked anybody but Dad, and claims he gives you all you need, you sure have a fascination with other people’s sexuality!”
“I’m only interested in how it works for your happiness, Sweetie,” Phoebe smiles sanguinely. “And one of the things that my relationship with your father gives me is the freedom to use my imagination as much as I want!”
It’s soon settled. I call Taylor and tell him to expect an extra mouth to feed tomorrow night. He doesn’t ask for details, but I can tell he’s fighting the desire to. He’ll just have to wait.
The painting is still waiting when I get home, and for now I have no other social engagements to attend to. I work far into the night, starting the background wash. Slowly, the sky, the sea, and a reddish-brown headland take on a rough existence. I feel more focused than I have since I began this project. I feel the Goddess within me as I work, expressing her desires through my brush. Hera? Me? Does the Goddess even need a name? Is she the same Goddess for the both of us? Does it matter? The inspiration exists regardless.
I shower sleepy but happy, serene, swirling shadows of color and dance rhythms bouncing behind my vision, my soapy body a tingling cocoon of pleasure. My hands find the slippery folds of joy between my thighs, and as I knead and pull and stroke myself, my mind plays a slide show of the past week – A wonderful sensual evening with Taylor capped by mind-blowing orgasms from that unique and beautiful cock, Carl fucking Taylor’s cum out of me the next morning during our workout, then fucking me again later at Hippie Hollow, with crowds watching and Joanne capturing the movie… I get out the the shower as quickly as I can – dreams, memories and fantasies are free, but water is expensive.
In bed I continue the pleasant review. Taylor again on Sunday night, Henri and Sonia Monday afternoon, working out with Carl on Monday night, getting strong and getting fucked well; meeting Hera on Tuesday morning, the orgy with Taylor, Carl, Joe, Jo, Henri and Sonia Tuesday evening, petite little Megan the Pizza Girl getting an eyeful of Taylor and I that night – we need to at least give her another thrill, I know she enjoyed that first one; Carl and beautiful sensual, sexual muscles and the rocket cock last night, and then Hera again today. My fingers work as vigorously as my imagination, and just as my hips are bucking in orgasmic fury, I’m thinking of the expression on Taylor’s face when he sees Hera for the first time tomorrow night. The introduction will be sweet for both of them, I’m sure.
Friday goes by quickly. Everything seems to be running on rails. I’m creative and productive, the painting is coming together well, my noon run is sweaty but refreshing, and when I put down my brushes and rags, and shower away the smell of linseed oil, the anticipation has my face crinkled into a steady smile. A quick text to Hera, she’ll be ready. I dress in my usual summer style – as little as possible. No panties, no bra, light pullover. It’s more than anyone should need.
Hera’s house isn’t too far away, only a ten minute drive, mostly south. I laugh when I see her. Her outfit is almost identical to mine: no panties, no bra, light pullover. And flip flops. We kiss at her door, a nice, wet lingering kiss that quickly becomes more passionate than I’d planned. Until recently, I had thought my attraction to Sonia was an anomaly. I really like men. But Hera is now another exception, and earlier in the week I’d had no difficulty at all pleasing and being pleased by Jo. Maybe I really am more versatile than I had given myself credit for. Maybe there are more ways to expand my horizons.
My car rarely has passengers, but that doesn’t mean the passenger seat is usually unoccupied. I’ve written a lot of words, but nowhere yet in any of them have I confessed to being a bit of a slob. Hey, I’ve seen worse. It’s mostly receipts, a half empty water bottle, a couple of gum wrappers, an empty grocery bag… The junk quickly goes into the bag, which gets tossed into the back seat. Hera takes the now-unoccupied passenger seat, and off we go. We make a gas stop along the way, which gives me a chance to make the car slightly more presentable for my guest. My old Hyundai isn’t glamorous, but it’s reliable, and most valuable of all this time of year, the air conditioner works.
It takes about half an hour to get to Taylor’s house through traffic. Most of the way, Hera is resting her hand on my thigh. It feels nice. Our conversation is general, gentle, almost intimate. I tell her a little more about Taylor, although there seems to be not much we haven’t covered already. I talk about my other partners, Carl, Sonia, Henri, and Joe and Jo. Hera seems impressed.
“And here I thought I was the bold adventurous one,” she laughs. “And you’re telling me you just stumbled into these encounters?”
“Maybe ‘stumbled’ isn’t quite the right word,” I muse. “There was a bit of opportunism involved, but when I first started seeing Carl, and then Taylor, I sure didn’t expect things to open up like this!”
“Wow!” Hera withdrew into thought.
We pull into the cul-de-sac, and then into the driveway of the single story stucco house with the boxwood hedge and the river rock front yard. As Hera opens her side, I dash around and grab her hand, then lead her to the door. It opens without so much as a squeak. The screen door is unlocked. I gesture Hera to silence, then slowly and quietly open it to let us in. I hear water running in the kitchen, and lead Hera to the left, into the living room. I doff my clothing, and motion for Hera to do the same. We smile, naked and expectant. Catlike, we slide down the hall towards the kitchen. Taylor is standing over the sink, washing a big aluminum pot. He’s wearing a water-spotted T-shirt and jogging shorts. He’s oblivious.
I pull Hera into the kitchen, and we stand behind him. “Young man!” I bark. “You know there are rules in this house and you’re not following them!”
Taylor starts, dropping the pot, the splash soaking the front of his shirt. He is facing us, dripping, before I finish my scold. His eyes – those eyes! Those beautiful deep green eyes have captivated me since the first time my own met them. They’re staring, open wide, as is his mouth, as he takes in with gradual comprehension two gorgeous naked Greek goddesses standing before him, one olive-bronze and muscular, one pale and slender, two pairs of small but firm breasts, two shaven cunts, one with a jeweled ring hanging from the clitoral hood, two slender waists, two smiling and expectant faces. I glance at Hera, and her eyes are almost as wide as Taylor’s.
“You know what the rule is,” I continue, although it’s hard to sound serious over my barely suppressed laughter. “As long as I’m in this house, no clothes are allowed!”
I step forward, kneel in front of Taylor, and pull his shorts down. Luckily, he’s not wearing underwear to create a bigger obstacle, and his cock bounces free. If the surprise shrank it at all, his appreciative view of the two sexy women before him has sent it into instantaneous recovery, and it’s already expanded enough to begin showing signs of its flight deck.
I stand and grab the bottom of his shirt. It’s a bit more troublesome, as the wet cotton clings to his skin. He returns to his senses, though, and lends a hand, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Now the three of us are equally naked.
“What do you think, Hera?” I flop his rapidly hardening cock up and down for her. She grins, and stares silently for a moment. “A work of art,” she finally replies. I want to sculpt it.
“Don’t put it in your kiln,” I laugh. “It’s plenty hot enough now! Come over here and introduce yourself.”
I release the lovely shaft and gesture for Hera to take hold. “Hera, this is Taylor, my gorgeous boyfriend. Taylor, this is Hera. She’s a goddess of erotic love.”
Taylor is still speechless, but Hera takes the introduction in stride. She hooks her index and middle fingers under the expanded mushroom head, and her thumb strokes the tip. She bows down slightly towards it, and intones “Hello Taylor, I’m Hera. I’m so pleased to meet you. I hope we become very good friends.” She raises her head and looks into his magnificent eyes. “Hello Taylor, I’m Hera. I’m so pleased to meet you. I hope we become very good friends!”
I laugh, and Taylor’s mute spell ends. “Hi, Hera,” he chuckles. “I guess we’re off to a good start here.”
Hera looks down again and examines the cock closely, moving it back and forth, up and down, stroking and tugging, tilting her head to view it from multiple angles. “I have never seen a dick like this in my life,” she breathes. “It’s otherworldly.”
Taylor seems less pleased by this adjective. “So I guess it is a little like something out of a freakshow, isn’t it.”
“Freakshow!” I interject harshly. “Sweetheart, you are a god, and you’re in the company of two goddesses, and this world is about to experience an act of pure divinity that will shake it to its very foundations!”
“Well put, my dear,” Hera giggles. “Taylor, it’s beautiful, you should be proud to own it, and I feel honored to be able to experience it.”
With those words, Taylor’s face relaxes visibly, but his cock experiences the opposite reaction, bumping up even higher, wider, and harder than ever. Hera gives Taylor’s body a thorough gaze, concluding “The rest of your body’s gorgeous too. Tethys has told me what a great guy you are, so you’re obviously blessed with looks, brains, and character.”
“And cooking skills too, I hope,” I interrupt. “I’m not trying to break up this special encounter, lover, but what’s for dinner?”
Hera releases her grip on his cock, walks up to me and gives me a big hug. She’s beaming. Taylor is bright red, but his smile is pretty big, too.
“Well, you didn’t say who our dinner guest was, man or woman, naked or clothed, carnivore, omnivore, or herbivore, so I kind of had to wing it. There’s a pinto bean chili here in a quinoa gravy base, with ground beef on the side, which can be added in optionally, stir fried collards in olive oil, sweet potatoes, and a salad of bock choy, sweet beets and red lettuce with boiled eggs on the side, optional of course, and a peanut sauce dressing. Oh, and, um… chocolate chip cookies.”
“Damn, mister, you’ve been hanging out with Henri on the side when I’m not looking, haven’t you!” Henri is the lover I see least often, he’s a master chef, a restaurant owner, and a very busy man. He’s also Sonia’s main partner.
“I have to admit he’s an inspiration,” Taylor shrugs.
The meal is delicious, made even more so by the state of cheerful nakedness we share. The conversation is free-flowing, even though the drink consists solely of tea or coffee. Hera abstains completely from alcohol, which surprises me given her seeming adoption of so much of the Mediterranean tradition, not to mention the casual presence of marijuana in her house.
“What can I say, I love coffee!” she explains. “And alcohol just dulls my senses, I find I’m far more erotic and orgasmic without it.”
“That works for me,” smiles Taylor, and Hera responds quickly. “It will!”
Hera and Taylor are quickly warming to each other, and I’m glad to be part of it. They are finding a lot in common. Taylor has never thought of himself as artistic, although I’ve reminded him often that the kind of software development he does requires a lot of creative imagination. He appreciates art, and talent, and he’s always been enthusiastic about my work. He’s intensely interested in Hera’s ceramics, and it’s clear that she enjoys telling him about it. But, as I’ve come to learn about her, she will always, eventually, steer the conversation back towards her favorite topic, sex.
“My art has always had sort of erotic undertones,” she nods, after a digression about the difficulty of sculpting clothing compared to bare skin. “I’ve always preferred to do nudes, and I like having them in at least an implicit sexual context. But I think it’s been getting more brazen lately, and I’m getting tempted to turn it into hard core porn. The idea of porcelain figurines fucking just totally appeals to me! It might just be my own desperation showing. My boyfriend and my girlfriend both broke up with me a couple of months ago, so they could be with each other. It pissed me off. They didn’t want to be polyamorous any more. Well, fuck them! I do. I’ve been so desperate for a man I could just scream. I was almost ready to head down to the park and just drag somebody away, probably some homeless guy. All I’ve had is porn, masturbation, and my dildos. That’s not enough. I’m so grateful for meeting you, Tethys, and I’m so glad you’re not jealous or territorial, or whatever you call it, and I’m sure glad you’re bi!”
I almost recoil at the thought. But it’s true. I’ve never exactly denied it, I’d just never realized it until quite recently. I’m still not used to the idea, and it’s never been presented to me so directly and openly.
“Bi and polyamorous are two words I would never have associated with myself until recently. It wasn’t something I even thought about growing up, although maybe the fact that my favorite porn has always been scenes of group sex should have been a hint. I knew I was polyamorous after I fell for Taylor, but didn’t want to give up Carl. I became even more sure of it when I started seeing Henri. But I wasn’t convinced I was bisexual until yesterday, when I was making love to you. I mean, I’d been with Sonia, but I thought she was an exception, and I enjoyed being with Joanne, but that was in the context of an orgy where anything goes. But you made my heart skip, and I can’t deny it. I’m really turned on by you, and your femininity excites me. So I guess it’s true.”
“What about you, Taylor?” Hera redirects the focus. “Are you bi or polyamorous? Are you jealous of Tethys?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not bi,” Taylor chuckles. I have to nod in agreement at that. “Polyamorous? I don’t know. I don’t know how I would know, I’ve never been in a situation that would resemble it. Until now, I guess. Jealous of Tethys?” He gives me a smile that looks almost sad. “Well, yeah, I have to admit that I am. I’ve never said so, though. It’s not resentful or anything, it’s not like I want you to stop seeing your other lovers. I know they’re important to you, and I know your sexual freedom is important to you, and I actually approve of it. I think it’s kind of cool that you’re so confident and independent, and willing to explore your sexuality. I guess I’m jealous because I’m not like that and I kind of wish I was. When you’re spending time with Carl or Henri, I guess I wish it was still me. It’s funny, when I saw you fuck all those people during the orgy it didn’t bother me at all, it was fun to watch. Maybe it’s because I was fucking too, but in a sense I felt like it was something we were doing together. I really like the idea of watching you fuck other people, Tethys, it’s just that I like it to be us that’s doing it.
“But that’s a minor thing, really, I’m not jealous because I wish Tethys was doing something different, I just wish I was doing it too.”
It means something that Taylor is revealing feelings he’s never told me about to a near-total stranger. Does Hera have that affect on everyone? On me?
“You can, you know,” I remind him, answering his last sentence.
“Fuck yeah,” Hera agrees. “With your personality, and your handsome body, and that fabulous dick of yours, there’s no excuse for you to not have a dozen women following you around waiting for Tethys to get out of the way! And I’m one of them goddam it, and if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to scream. If you DO fuck me right now I’m still going to scream. So take me to your fucking bed and fucking do me. Tethys, help me drag him!”
Taylor does not require dragging. He stands up, his aircraft carrier projecting its impressive flight deck out ahead of him, and Hera stands with him and wraps as much of her hand around it as will reach. I lead them both to the bedroom, and as soon as she walks through the door, she releases Taylor’s cock, runs to the bed and leaps onto it, twisting in midair to land on her back, her legs spread unceremoniously wide, and a fierce look on her face.
Taylor makes to crouch at the foot of the bed to go down on her pussy, but she covers it with one hand and pushes his forehead back with the other.
“Don’t you dare, Motherfucker! I had my foreplay yesterday with Tethys. I want your cock, and just your cock, and all of your cock, NOW! Ram it into me, don’t be fucking timid. Get up here and fuck me, and stop playing fucking games. Hurry the fuck up!”
Taylor does as he’s told, willingly. She’s right, she needs no foreplay, she doesn’t need to lubricate. Her thighs are already dripping, and Taylor’s first thrust splatters slippery droplets everywhere. A wet spot begins spreading directly under her ass. Taylor is making me proud. You’d think he’d need a warm up to go this fast and hard. He’s plunging into her with more authority, more force than he has ever done with me. But I don’t think I’d want it as rough as Hera is taking it now. The impression of frailty I’d had of her at our first meeting is totally gone, she’s a lithe, wiry, sexual demon now. No, I have my spiritual metaphors wrong, it’s not a demon she’s channeling, it’s the Goddess. The Goddess of Passion, the Goddess of Lust, the Goddess of Fierce Unquenchable Desire.
Her legs are splayed out to each side, straight and wide. Her arms are spread wide, her body is rigid, and her eyes are wide open, staring, unfocused. Her gasping creates a punctuated “uh-uh-uh” synchronized with Taylor’s thrusts, and his own exertion emits the same expressions at the same time, in his lower voice. Occasionally Hera’s able to form fragments of not-quite-coherent words – “Fuck… fuck… Oh! God! Fuck! Me! Oh! Love… cock… fuck… more… shit! Fuck!”
Possibly the toughest monologue I have ever written.
For the first couple minutes I do nothing but sit and watch. It’s a mesmerizing sight, beautiful and intense. I feel almost as wet as Hera. I’m torn between the desire to caress Taylor, to climb between his legs and fondle and lick his balls as I get the opportunity, or can catch them in their swinging, pounding flying motion, or to caress his ass and his back, or to stroke and squeeze on Hera as she lays almost unloving on her back. I slide up closer to her head, and reach down to stroke her hair.
Like a snake, she strikes, faster than I can react. Her right hand wraps around the back of my head and pulls it in towards her face. Her left hand grabs my forearm and guides it to her left breast. Her mouth closes over mine, and her tongue reaches deep inside, accompanied by a long, drawn out hungry-sounding moan. I don’t know where she found the breath to hold for this, my lungs feel like they’re about to explode.
She releases me, and her pose shifts. She’s emitting long “aaaaaaahh!” sounds, her legs are drawn up and wrapped around Taylor’s waist, her back folds forward as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. Her eyes close tightly, and she pushes her hips and her cunt upward to meet him with every thrust. This isn’t your average porn movie, where every position is set up to show the detail of cock sliding into cunt. Hera has enveloped Taylor’s lower body, and there isn’t much to see from most angles. Sweat is pouring off both of them, the divine aroma of sex fills the air around us. Hera is literally screaming now, as she’d promised, and for a moment I hope that the neighbors aren’t calling the cops on us. Taylor’s voice changes, the guttural uh-uh-uh is replaced by a low growl, rising in pitch and volume over a few seconds until it’s a full roar, and then cries and yells of release as his cum pulses deep into her.
Hera’s screams turn to sobs, Taylor’s yells to exhausted moans. They lie still, Taylor on top, Hera’s arms and legs still wrapped around him, their bodies slowly relaxing. Both are gasping deeply now, with Hera still crying and sniffling gently. I have never seen anything like it in my life, not even in my raunchiest imagination. It was all so simple – no foreplay, no fancy positions, no skilled cocksmanship, no teasing, no questions or instructions. It was brutal, animalistic, raw, primitive, and overwhelmingly erotic. And now I’m the one feeling twinges of jealousy. Why have I never been fucked like that? Maybe because I’d never thought of it? Maybe I never felt like I needed it? Maybe I will.
With a sigh, Taylor rolls off Hera and onto his back over the damp sheets. The sweat is still running freely. His cock is still mostly hard, with the tip resting on his belly, slathered with the cum of two. Hera makes no move, she seems to be focused on her breathing. It’s my turn to take action. I bend over his cock, and take it into my mouth, sucking in the sweet, salty, musky, heady mixture of two familiar and exquisite tastes. Taylor rolls his eyes back and groans helplessly. His cock clean but still shiny, I spend a moment to savor the taste, then turn my attention to that sacred opening between Hera’s inner thighs. She spasms at the first contact of my tongue onto her inner lips, then reaches a hand down to hold my head in place. “Yesssss!” she hisses, and I lick, suck, and swallow until all the easily obtainable fluid is removed. I sit back to appreciate the view.
Finally, Hera finds her voice. “That, young man, is how you fuck a goddess!” She’s still sniffling a little.
“At least this goddess,” Taylor smiles as much at me as at Hera. “That was intense!”
“Are you okay?” I finally have to acknowledge the tears.
“No, not okay,” she smiles and blinks. “Far beyond okay, oh it’s sublime! I’ve needed a man for so long, and Taylor is so much more than I imagined. I’ve never had such a cock before, and such a grand fucking. I’m speechless, except I’m talking about it!”
“Hey, I was just following your lead,” Taylor interjects. “I’ve never had a woman respond to me like you did.”
“And you went with it, didn’t you? You didn’t question me, you didn’t hesitate, you didn’t substitute some kink of your own, and you didn’t hold back. You gave me exactly what I needed and then some, you read me like a book.”
“Well, it’s not the hardest book I’ve ever read,” laughs Taylor. “It’s more like Jack and Jill than Karl Popper.”
Recovery takes about half an hour, several glasses of water, and a trip to the bathroom for each of us. The conversation turns breezy and cheerful, and we three naked people sharing a damp bed laugh and joke while we fondle and touch each other. Eventually, Hera announces that it’s my turn, and she gladly handles all the preliminaries. There’s plenty of foreplay this time around, and the pace is much slower. The fucking is gentler, more leisurely, and more varied. Hera choreographs us like a stage director, but she’s an actor-director. We start out doggy style, so that Hera can lay beneath me, her bald pussy in my face, and her mouth set to sample the exquisite interface between my shimmering cunt and Taylor’s unusual cock. As choreography, it of course must be recorded, and Hera has brought out her phone to catch whatever views she can from her position. Reviewing later, I notice that many of the giggles I heard from her coincided with the times that Taylor’s testicles slid across her nose as they bounced against my pussy lips.
The coverage is spotty, and much of it isn’t well recorded, because Hera can’t record her own orgasms. The phone soon winds up ignored on the bed, and eventually bounces unnoticed to the floor. By then, we have shifted positions, Taylor laying on his back and me riding him in reverse cowgirl style. This gives Hera the same opportunities to run her tongue along that delectable junction of shaft and tunnel. Sometimes she moves down to nip or lick his balls, sometimes up very slightly to do the same to my swollen nub. I float from orgasm to orgasm, none of them particularly intense, but dreamlike, happy, and completely satisfying.
Even Taylor’s ejaculation, when it comes, feels slow and gentle, flowing gently and steadily into me rather than spurting. There’s still plenty of volume though, and Hera laps it up eagerly as it appears, first dripping down his ball sack, and after I slide off, cleaning with her tongue into my opening, and then moving to the seepage still oozing out of the tip of Taylor’s glans. We kiss, and the taste is heady, intoxicating, and relaxing. The sheets are no drier now than they were earlier.
We all seem to simultaneously acknowledge the need for a shower, and it’s fortunate that we’re at Taylor’s place rather than mine, because his is big enough to accommodate the three of us. Before going in, Hera brings up a topic I had considered earlier, but let slide.
“Taylor,” she says as if pronouncing a judgment. “Does it ever occur to you that you have two pussies in front of you that always stay freshly shaved and skin-to-skin bare for the pleasure of your experience, yet you hide your own luscious flesh behind a mat of hair? Your cock, and your balls, are just too beautiful not to expose completely to the sensitive kisses and tongues of dainty and fastidious women. I don’t know if Tethys has ever mentioned it to you, but you’d be even more wonderful if you were smooth and accessible.”
“I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I had planned on it,” I admit, feeling a little chastened, as if I’ve lost an opportunity through delay. I’m not sure how Taylor will respond.
“To tell the truth, I’ve been thinking about it, especially since last Wednesday,” he smiles. “I was feeling a little like the odd man out in a crowd of shaven genitalia. I was going to bring it up with Tethys, but being introduced to you kind of reset my thought processes to cave-man levels.”
“You wanna?” she looks expectantly between Taylor and I.
“I’d love it!” I nod.
“Actually, I think I would too,” Taylor agrees, and our decision is made. Water is expensive in Austin, but this shower is an un-ecological, water-wasting, extended luxurious treat. When we step out, we are all three equally bare, at least on the lower parts of our torsos, we’ve left Taylor’s upper body be.
“Now I have to taste you again,” Hera chirps as we again arrive at the tousled sheets. His dick is hard again quickly, but she leaves it to me to take it deep into my mouth, as she kisses, licks, nibbles and sucks around the newly exposed skin of his pubes and scrotum. He’s gasping with pleasure, and I’m not sure how much of the credit I can take for that.
“Switch?” she asks a few minutes later, and I enjoy following her wet slippery trail over his skin. It was a good idea.
“Now you’re going to keep it this way, right?” I ask, or rather mandate, as I finally come up for air.
“I see no reason not to. And plenty of reasons to.”
We change the sheets, and warm and dry, climb back into bed together.
“Hera, do you mind if Taylor gives you a ride home tomorrow? It’s my gym and lake day with Carl, and I don’t want to be late. I think Taylor would enjoy the guided tour of your place.”
”I’d be happy to do that,” Taylor offers. “That’ll also give me a chance to take you to lunch, and maybe have a real conversation?”
“Okay, yeah. Yeah, that would be great,” Hera smiles, although she sounds a little hesitant.
“Are you sure?” I press. “You don’t need to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll be happy to take you home if you’d rather.”
“No, really, I want to,” she says a little more strongly. “It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve been alone with a guy, you know, like on a real date. Even when I was seeing Patrick, for most of that time it was always a threesome with Vicki. I think I’m out of practice with normal male-female interactions.”
“I’ll be gentle,” Taylor grins, and Hera grabs him for a full-on lip-lock kiss. “You can take me home anytime,” she coos.
“I just have one requirement,” I add. “Before I leave, Taylor has to cum inside me with the biggest and deepest load he can manage. Carl and I have a bit of a kink going about sloppy seconds. He likes to fuck a guy’s cum out of me and replace it with his own. It makes him feel dominant.”
“So you keep Taylor’s cum inside you all the way to wherever you meet this guy Carl? Without it leaking out? How the fuck do you do that?”
“Practice, practice, practice!” I laugh. “It did take a while to master that skill. But it’s fun.”
“And if Carl likes sloppy seconds, I sure don’t mind giving you fastidious firsts,” Taylor chuckles. “Takes all kinds, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe not all kinds, but there’s a few kinds I like,” I fondle his cock, and it responds appropriately. “And you’re always one of the few, the proud, the horny.”
I sleep very deeply, very calmly, sandwiched between Taylor and Hera. The other two seem to wake up as refreshed and hungry as I do. Our breakfast is large and filling, I like to make omelets, and Hera jumps in willingly to help with cleanup. Taylor’s a perfectly good cook, of course, and he’s more than willing to take part, but Hera and I seem to both have reached an unspoken agreement to keep him in the bedroom. Taylor can entertain himself while we girls make it the way we want to. I’m finding that Hera and I have very compatible approaches to cooking and eating. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.
A big meal takes a while to settle, and while we relax, we do get to know each other better. Taylor talks about some of his programming projects, and shows us some code. It’s mostly gibberish to me, but I see some patterns, and Hera sees more. She gets a quick lesson in C, and her interest is piqued. It’s not enough to make her change careers, she informs us. Eventually we’re back in bed, and Taylor is most curious about Hera’s clitoral decoration.
“What does it do for you?” he asks. “It’s pretty on you, but can you feel it?”
“Oh yes,” she responds. “Sometimes I like to just play with it by myself, and tug it and twist it a little. When I’m masturbating, which is often, I like to keep a steady tension on it while I rub my clit. I noticed you were playing with it last night.”
“Well sure, I was mostly flicking it back and forth. It is kind of fun to pull on. But I was a little worried about it getting inside you when we were fucking, and scraping or scratching you.”
Hera shakes her head. “Not a problem. The chain itself is smooth, and if it gets inside a little, it’s lubricated, and it’s no more than added ribs. But the little ball on the end of the chain keeps it mostly outside, and the ball itself doesn’t go in.”
She’s leaning back on the bed with her legs spread wide to give us a good view. Taylor and I are both leaned in close, fondling it and stroking her labia, clitoral hood, and the decoration itself. She’s getting wet again, and so am I. The breakfast has obviously settled.
The jewelry consists of a small ring that pierces the hood on the right side of her clit, a fine chain extends about an inch beyond it, ending at a small white pearl-like sphere. Even when dry it’s translucent and polished, now, coated with Hera’s juices (and I must admit, saliva from both Taylor and myself), it seems to glow with it’s own light.
“It’s glazed porcelain,” Hera sighs, as I pull it to the left for closer examination, while Taylor flicks her clit and the ring with the tip of his tongue. I don’t feel the need to get one for myself, but I do enjoy it on her.
I look down the length of Taylor’s body, and notice his cock is already fully erect. “Are you ready to get filled up by a big manly cock?” I whisper to Hera.
“God fucking yes!, she hisses. “What the fuck is taking you so long!” I drop the chain as Taylor stands up.
“C’mon, big boy,” I reach behind his ass and pull him closer to us. “You’ve got a busy morning ahead of you, start servicing your harem!”
Until six months ago, when I met Sonia and Henri, the idea of guiding a man’s cock into another woman’s cunt had never occurred to me as something I would ever do. I’d enjoyed it as a porn fantasy on video, but only to fuel my private solo pleasures. Now I’m beyond being an addition to the adventures of a man and his girlfriend, it’s becoming a normal part of my very abnormal life. Only this week had Taylor, Carl, Henri, Joe, Sonia, and Jo all come together to form a single unit for the sharing of meals, laughter, and precious bodily fluids. It’s looking like Hera is going to make a wonderful addition to our little tribe.
Taylor slides in easily, and I switch my attention completely to helping pleasure Hera. I want her to cum well, and repeatedly. I only want Taylor keep her going, I still intend that his semen flow into me this morning.
Hera surprises me. I thought that after last night she would be calmer, with less desperation for the feel of a man, now that her long drought has broken. Her relative sanguinity lasts only until Taylor is buried fully within her. Then a switch flips, and the desperate, greedy, hungry Hera emerges, yelling, moaning, sobbing, pushing her hips in to meet Taylor’s thrusts. “Beautiful… cock… fuck.. hot… fuck… need… cock… hard… fuck!” she gasps, and Taylor obliges her incoherency by slamming his cock into her at full force. I can’t tear my eyes away, but there’s no reason I would want to. It’s a force of nature, of divinity, of erotic power.
Speaking of divinity, I thank the gods and goddesses, whoever might be in charge, that Taylor’s self control holds out through all this impassioned, brutal fucking. He knows it’s me he needs to cum inside, and he skillfully manages both his own endurance and Hera’s demands. Eventually, she does calm down,whether it’s the almost continuous orgasms or mere exhaustion I can’t tell. The more time I spend with her, the more I see her as the most completely and intensely sexual person I have ever encountered. It has to be both a blessing and a curse.
“Your turn,” she pants, as Taylor pulls out of her and rolls onto his back. I’m amazed that he’s still hard after all that exertion. He’s breathing very heavily himself, and it’s pretty clear that I’m going to have to take the active role this time. I can handle that.
Hera keeps him to herself long enough to slide him deeply into her mouth for a couple of strokes, slurping and sucking off the residue from their fucking. Then she holds his haft vertically. “Get on him, girl. He’s ready, and I think you are too.”
I am that, and I climb over and lower myself down, while Hera guides that wide cock into my ready pussy. It’s not all work, because she’s caressing, licking, kissing, and stroking all over my body as I ride Taylor. I look down and he’s grinning. As before, I’m amazed by the difference in my responses with Hera present. My desire is no less, my pleasure just as all-enveloping, the sensations just as delightful and exquisite as ever – maybe even more so. The sense of hunger, of desperation, of fierce, aggressive need, seem to have all been absorbed into Hera’s greedy, needy, famished cunt. I’m calmer, I can savor the feelings of delight and joy, the almost gourmet experience of the slow, deep, fullness that Taylor’s flight deck brings to my nerve endings. I’m a connoisseur, and my thrill is that of highest form of discerning pleasure. My orgasms unfold like blossoms rather than explosions, and my awareness is enhanced. Never have I been so satisfied.
My relaxed response has an affect on Taylor. Even with Hera’s enthusiastic and vocal encouragement, the strokes are slow and deep, the thrusting is almost toying, and Taylor’s buildup is gradual. I can feel it beginning long before his seed bursts into me, and when he cums, it’s a long, drawn out shudder from his body to match the moan from his lips, and the gentle pulsing inside me seems to fill me with more cum than I’ve carried in a while. For a minute, I lay on top of him, letting the semen pool inside of me. Then I clamp my kegels shut, as I pull my body off of him, and give him a long deep kiss.
“That was awesome! It was like a slow, romantic dance! You two are so beautiful. I wish I could fuck like that!” Hera is effusive.
“Really?” I’m genuinely surprised. “I thought you liked your intensity. It’s super erotic the way you get possessed by the moment.”
“I do like it, but you’re right. I feel possessed by it. It’s something that controls me, and I feel helpless. When I see the way you and Taylor fuck, it’s like watching a couple of accomplished athletes. You’re so graceful, so skilled. The moment doesn’t own you like it does me. You own the moment.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Taylor interjects with a smile. “We don’t usually fuck like this. I think something in our sexual responses has been evolving lately.”
“I think so,” I agree. ”I feel like a completely different sexual being than I did two years ago, or a year ago, or six months ago, or even a week ago. As far as I’m concerned, Hera, you’re part of that.”
“Don’t blame me,” she laughs. “I just got here!”
“Do you still mind if Taylor drives you home later?” I ask as a way of reminder. “Hey, maybe if he’s lucky he can meet your mother.”
“What?” Taylor looks concerned.
“He might,” Hera nods. “I think it’ll be fun.”
We chat a few more minutes while I take in the lingering aroma of sweat and cum, but I know my time is limited. I have someplace I need to be. I take my leave, kiss them both with sincere passion, throw on my minimal clothing, and head out the door. I am glad I met Hera, glad I’ve introduced her to Taylor, and I happily imagine the adventures they’ll have together later today. Of course they’ll be giving me the details soon. Hera’s going to make Taylor and myself, and hopefully our other lovers, very happy. I’m a lucky girl.