Written by Anonymous

Threesome
27/11/2020


Previous story in series: A Christmas gift, but not for me Part 2

It's official: Sarah Cosgrove is the Grinch that stole Christmas. From me. Dressed in a Santa hat and nothing else, she took the one time of the year where I can be truly happy, and obliterated any semblance of joy. At a little after 1:30pm on Christmas Eve, I walked into our bedroom to see Sarah, on her knees with my mate Alex fucking her from behind, while she relieved my other mate Alan with her mouth. I was just in time to see Alex pull out and shoot his load all over Sarah's arse.

Unbidden, the line "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas" popped into my head. If I wasn't so catastrophically dumfounded by the scene unfolding before me, I may have found it funny. But there's nothing funny about heartbreak.

They hadn't even noticed me.

"You'll want to clean that up, Alex. Sarah doesn't like a mess on her bed. And Alan - not in the mouth, mate - she's not a swallower."

I was surprised to hear my voice - utterly devoid of emotion, and cold beyond words. It cut through the atmosphere immediately, and three sets of eyes were fixed on me. Shock, worry, embarrassment, even fear registered on the features of the misbehaving trio.

"You boys had better get your things and fuck off, I think." I said quietly. They did as they were told, in record time, not meeting my eye, leaving Sarah sitting demurely with her hands in her naked lap.

She finally looked up at me, her eyes red, her glossy dark hair messed up, her lipstick smeared. Such beauty. Such a slut.

"What do you want me to say, Ben?" She was way too centred for my liking.

"Um. Well, let me think - my girlfriend, who never likes sex with the lights on, who won't do oral and who won't refer to her "down there" as a cunt because it's just too vulgar - was just having her cunt fucked by one guy in broad daylight, as she deep throated another. You must have something to say." I ventured.

She looked at me for what felt like an eternity.

"I do have something to say, actually." She said quietly, but firmly. "He had finished fucking my cunt, and was instead fucking my arse."

So calm. So serene. In her well rounded, home counties accent, such terminology seemed to carry a touch more sting. Me? I was losing grip on reality. I was shaking, not with rage, but with the onset of the most immense grief. I looked away from her eyes that were seeming to challenge me. This was when I noticed the 50 pound note scrunched up on the dresser, next to the makings of a joint. She saw where I was looking.

"They bet me 50 quid that I wouldn't fuck them both. They got me stoned. I got their money."

"But Sarah, you don't do...weed, or drugs..."

"Yes I do, Ben. I just don't do it with you." She sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back on her hands, revealing her nakedness with a nonchalant confidence I had never seen before. She seemed unburdened, somehow. Even in my shock I noted her reserved beauty, the small swell of her breasts and the beautiful pink nipples. Her flat tummy leading down to a well-tended patch of hair, complete with the remnants of another man's seed.

"Ben, I love wild, wicked, sinful sex. Just not with you. I love being stoned, I love a line of charlie every now and then, I love being off my tits. I love people cumming on my tits, for that matter, and I would have let Alan come in my mouth if you hadn't interrupted us." She stared me down some more. "God, you have no idea how relieved I am that you found me out."

Somehow she knew what question was running through my mind, the one I dared not ask, for fear of hearing the wrong answer.

"And no, Ben, I do not love you. I love the idea of loving you, but in practise, it's just not for me."

"Sarah, how can you go from...who you were this morning, to being...this cheating whore?" As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake.

She chuckled quietly before saying "Oh this wasn't the first time, Ben. I've been a cheating whore for ages. It was my first time with the two Als though."

I walked into the kitchen and sat down, unsure as to what my next move should be. I didn't have to wait long, because Sarah came into the kitchen dressed for the cold weather outside, hair now tied neatly away, no sign of the rampant slut I had been unwittingly introduced to just minutes before.

"I'm sorry you found out this way, but it's for the best. I'll move out on Boxing day."

I looked at her and thought I could detect a flicker of shame in her eyes, but then I recognised it for what it was: pity.

"Anyway - for what it's worth, Merry Christmas, Ben." And then Sarah was gone.

------

As a self-proclaimed romantic, Christmas is a big deal. I tried very hard to be that cynical guy that hates on the commercial fakery of the season, but at heart I'm just that kid from the Polar Express movie. I desperately love the spirit of Christmas, the essence of togetherness, and just that...feeling. Sarah, on the other hand, was always a pragmatist, and a tolerator of Christmas, rather than a willing participant.

Every year, when I hear Bing Crosby and David Bowie's Little Drummer Boy, I'm always stopped dead in my tracks. There's a longing, a yearning, and I'm seduced by the hope in the song. As I sat at my parents' house in Kent, listening to the Christmas songs with Mum and Dad, the lyric seemed to change.

"Peace on earth, can it be, a cheating whore, just for me."

It's an odd thing wearing a party hat, playing at being festive when inside you're falling apart. I spent many long moments just staring at nothing, all around the house, and Mum would find me, give me hot, sweet tea, say nice things and make sure I was as okay as I could be. Word got out incredibly quickly, friends were divided up - some of her friends consoled me via email and text, some showed their allegiances by unfriending me on social media.

In short order, I had gone from being a confident, happy writer in an ad agency to a crushed husk of a man with half as many friends, a whole list of places I could no longer go and a future I could no longer plan for.

Looking back, Sarah wasn't just reserved, she was cold. I now realise the relationship was one way traffic, but when I was in it, I felt it was perfectly fine. Now though, I doubted I could maintain my reputation as the guy that wrote the touchy-feely headlines and came up with the ideas that women in particular loved. I had grown up wanting desperately to be in love, to do the things that couples did in the movies - my imagination was a rom-com montage of delirious happiness and...sex. Lots and lots of sex. On tables, chairs, trains - and beds.

I went back to work, hoping that the busy world of an ad agency, deadlines, responsibility would drag me out of the blackness, but the decline had reached deep within me, into my very corners, and it turns out clients don't like their ads to be depressing. My Creative Director took me out for lunch and suggested I consider my options because my spark as a writer had disappeared. His broad cockney accent was in full flow as he gave me both barrels.

"You've lost your mojo Ben, mate! You were my best writer, the man with the quick headline, the ideas to make clients moist. You need to go away and lick your wounds, write a blog, write a book - I dunno - write a fucking recipe book for all I care, but you can't be this pathetic excuse for a man any more. We all knew Sarah was bad for you, but we had no idea how bad. But - Ben, you're simply not the man you once were!"

I sat and took it in, and found it hard to disagree.

"Listen, my mate in New Zealand runs an agency. He's in Auckland, and he needs a writer. I think I remember you telling me that you've got an uncle out there, right?"

I nodded.

"Go and live in Auckland, be a writer, and get over Sarah. Please. Fuck a load of girls. Fuck a load of guys, I don't care - just get that 'orrible little cunt out of your system."

---------

My friends who'd traveled around the world loved to talk about how terrible the long haul flights to Australia and New Zealand were. I wouldn't know - instead of a year out or a good look at the world before settling down, I was too busy building my career and planning to do things with Sarah Spitroast. But in my newfound relationship status, numb to much of the world, 27 hours sitting doing nothing suited me quite nicely. I watched bad movies, I ate tasteless food, I drank wine, and I slept.

I made several starts at a letter to Sarah, but in the end I never knew what I was trying to say.

"Too soon" I thought to myself, and went back to the wine. Being away from the routine, from the reminders, from the common ground Sarah and I had shared, it made things easier. So instead of experiencing several jolts of realisation per day, there was just a dull ache that I could manage.

When I arrived in New Zealand, the air, the sunshine and the relaxed people immediately improved my spirits, but I decided to keep myself to myself, do my time and get over Sarah. It turned out the agency was great, my salary was a good one, and I was in the middle of a hot, dry summer.

My "uncle" was actually Dad's cousin, one that he hardly knew, who had turned up at some wedding in England and by the end of the night of heavy drinking, had offered to play host to anyone prepared to make the southern pilgrimage. The great news for me was that Uncle Jon was a very wealthy man, and insisted that I pay nothing more than token rent. He and his new wife Angie had a beautiful house overlooking the harbour, so, with money coming in and nothing to spend it on, I bought the kind of car I never would have in London - an all wheel drive sports vehicle that chewed through petrol and went very fast. I began to clock up the miles as I learned to ski, walked around volcanoes and drove hours up north to beaches English people could only dream of. I also began to develop a reputation as a copywriter who could push the limits and bring some dark humour to my work.

One night Angie asked if she could have a moment of my time, and I wondered whether I'd outstayed my welcome. I already felt bad about how little I was paying for an amazing lifestyle, so I wasn't overly surprised to be called out on it.

"Angie - look, before you start, I just want to say how fantastic you and Uncle Jon have been to me, and I hate that you've felt it necessary to talk to me about the money - I should have done said something sooner."

Angie looked confused. "Ben - what are you talking about? What money? We wouldn't care if you paid nothing, it's lovely having you here."

"Oh" I responded.

"All I wanted to say is that my daughter Clarissa is moving in for a few months because everyone in her flat has gone their separate ways and she wants to cadge off us like you do."

My expression made her laugh out loud.

"Ben - you need to relax. Remember, you're not in London anymore, and we would love for you to use this as a time to get yourself back together."

She looked at me with a touching tenderness, and even though we hadn't talked openly about Sarah, the kindness in her eyes said it all.

————————————

I got a parcel of mail from England and realised just how refreshing it was to be free of reminders, bills and bullshit. When you live in a big city, you have to play by its rules, and those rules stipulate that you rent until you can own, that you spend a lot of money, and that you never really relax. At the bottom of a pile of bills was an envelope with hand-writing I would recognise anywhere. My chest tightened as I opened it and took out the letter.

Dear Ben,

I want to ask how you are, but I think I've lost the right to ask such questions. I'm writing to let you know that you chose the wrong person when you chose me. I've always been weak, but I'm a very good actor. Thing is, I really, really wanted to be the woman you thought you were with, but I think I really wanted the other side of my life, too. That part of me could not be in a relationship with you.

I stand by what I said on that horrible afternoon. I loved the idea of being in love with you. You're the closest I have ever come to love, but in truth I simply don't run too deep. I know I have hurt you, and for that I am very, very sorry - just not sorry enough to change the way I am. I have to come to terms with my true nature, and that is someone who needs a lot of stimulation, someone who loves taking risks, and someone who will burn others in pursuit of what I want. I wanted depraved, guiltless sex, and I got it, but it's you who was burned.

In the interests of being honest, because it's the least you deserve, I slept with at least 10 different men when we were together, and a number of women. Every occasion involved a drug or stimulant of some sort - I'm not proud, I'm just being straight up. I have been tested for STDs and came back clear.

Ben, you're a good person, and I am not. I'm ok with that, but I'm not ok with the thought that you are hurting because of me. I'm a wanton, hedonistic slut, but I'm not totally heartless.

I am sorry, but you're better off without me. Go and love someone worthy of it.

Sarah.

I read it over and over, and got angrier at myself with each read through. My anger wasn't directed at Sarah, it was focused inward at myself. I realised that I had been quietly building this idyllic life that you might see in a Richard Curtis film, but I hadn't stopped to really see what was going on.

In that letter, Sarah had woken me up to myself and somehow set me free. I realised the life was nothing that could be written down on a page with scene suggestions and beautifully crafted language.

I had tears in my eyes, but for the first time since I caught Sarah being serviced by my former football friends, they were not tears of pity. I wiped my eyes and was considering my options when I heard Angie calling me from downstairs, announcing the arrival of Clarissa.

I was expecting her to be a driven career type who wanted to fix the world. I knew that she was 23, single (way too busy for romance, Angie said) and out to be the world's most successful human rights lawyer. When she walked in with her suitcases I was pleasantly surprised to see a smiling, effervescent blonde woman who was all warmth and giggles as she greeted her mother and step-dad.

"Hello, new step-father-type-character, how are you treating my money-grabbing mother?"

Angie squealed in shame and set about diffusing the situation by trying to take the young woman's bags. But Clarissa was having none of it. She hugged her mum before looking over her shoulder and seeing me. Uncle Jon did the honours.

"Clarissa, this is Ben - my er - nephew from London, remember I said he'd be coming to stay for a bit?"

Her eyes went wide in recognition. "Oh, he's THAT Ben? The one that..." She left the sentence hanging, making me wonder just how much my uncle had told her. I didn't wait for the awkwardness to intensify, deciding a quick introduction was required.

"Hi Clarissa, nice to meet you, I'm Ben Jennings." To my ears, I sounded like a pompous English gent, a perception that was not helped by me holding my hand out to be shaken. What a cock, I thought, filled with self loathing.

Clarissa disengaged from her mother and shook my hand formally, in a parody of an official meeting.

"Ah yes, Jennings. Heard a lot about you, old chap. Good things, I can promise you. Glad you made it." She was taking the piss royally. Her put-on frown dissolved into a delightful smile as she pulled me in from the handshake and hugged me.

"Sorry, Ben - you're just, sooooo awkward!"

I wanted to scream "Nooooo, you're all wrong, I am VERY cool, VERY funny, I've just forgotten how to be that person right now." What I did do was blush like a vicar and embarrass myself. I excused myself and went out on my mountain bike for a ride down to the waterfront, willing myself to get a grip, to be the normal me. I mean - from the outside, I was relatively passable, 5 feet 11, green eyes, not uneasy on the eye...problem was that I had an aura about me that said "avoid this one, he's damaged goods."

When I got home, I showered and was changed into the standard shorts and t shirt Kiwis wear almost all year-round, despite the fact that it's as cold as England some days. There was a knock on the door and Clarissa poked her head into the room.

"Ben, Mum wanted me to tell you that it's dinner in 5 minutes."

"Oh, cool, thanks - tell her I'll be right down." BE NORMAL. BE YOU!! "What's for dinner?" Without missing a beat she replied.

"Oh, you'll love it, Ben. Mum's doing a spit roast."

Her hands flew to her mouth in disbelief at what she had said.

"I am so, so fucking sorry, Ben, I..." She stopped in shock at what happened next. Instead of being offended or telling her to fuck right off for being such an insensitive arse, I threw my head back and laughed for the first time in four months. She stood there not knowing what to do, with a smile playing across her now relieved face. She began to laugh with me until we were both in hysterics. When it all died down, I realised my face was wet with tears, from laughing.

"Clarissa, you are a horrible person. But Christ you're funny. Spit Roast for dinner. Fuck me, that is priceless."

"I'm glad you think so. I think I'm going to ruin my career as a lawyer unless I can curb saying the shit that comes into my head. I really am so sorry."

"All good, honestly, I feel like a weight has been removed from my chest."

She grew quiet and then asked quietly.

"Was it as bad as Mum said it was?"

"What did she tell you?"

She seemed to look at me and try to gauge my resilience before responding.

"Well, she said you came into the bedroom to see your girlfriend being serviced by your friends."

I nodded. "That's pretty much it. Turns out it wasn't the first time" I picked up the letter and showed it to her.

"Whoa". She said, after reading the letter twice. "Got to give her props for honesty."

"And for her multi-tasking ability" I responded with a smile in my voice. Clarissa laughed out loud.

"Now who's funny? So it turns out you do have a sense of humour - who knew?" She teased.

I realised that I felt good.

"Thanks for that, Clarissa, seriously. You're a godsend."

She stood and hugged me tight, and spoke quietly.

"I know how broken you've been, Ben. But while I'm here, let's do some mending, hey?"

Before I could respond, we were called down for dinner - which I'm pleased to report was a pasta bake and nothing involving a roast of any sort.

—————————————-

Next morning I got up late and wandered through the house, calling out to see who was still home. I saw the french doors to the patio open so walked out to investigate. Clarissa was looking out over the harbour wearing a long white linen shirt. Her feet were bare and her long blonde hair hung in waves down her back.

"Morning" I said.

Nothing.

"MORNING" I said, a little louder this time. Still nothing.

I reached out and touched Clarissa gently on the shoulder and started to bid her my third good morning when she screamed and spun around, swinging a punch that narrowly missed my head. The momentum of the lunge pulled her around and off balance, causing her to collapse in a heap on the hard tiles of the deck. Her hair was covering her face but I could see her shoulders shake and hear what I thought were sobs, and I was worried how badly she'd been hurt. I was about to lean down to help her when I heard her speak in between giggles.

"I'm such a fucking doofus. I'm not sure what's worrying me more - my grazed knees, my slaughtered pride, or the fact that I am wearing way too little in front of someone I have only recently met."

The comment made me look closer, and sure enough the linen shirt had ridden up, exposing a tiny portion of her naked bottom. Clearly my libido had not received the memo that things were returning to normal, because I quickly stepped over her and looked out at the water, clasping my hands behind my back, allowing her time to right herself, unobserved. I heard herself sit up gingerly, checking her injuries.

"You know, Jennings, old thing - you are ever such a gent" She said to me haughtily, sounding like a character from a British period drama.

I laughed out loud, but maintained my gaze over the water, but I dropped into character.

"Miss Clarissa, a woman of your high breeding has no place being in the company of common folk, especially not while you are dressed in your sleep attire."

She appeared to be warming to the role play.

"I'll have you know, Jennings, that I sleep in absolutely nothing, so please don't deign to think you know me or how I live my life." There was injury in her mock outrage.

"Pardon me, Miss Clarissa, the fact that half your arse was recently hanging out for all to see tells me that being free of the restrictions of the cloth is not a new thing." She was laughing behind me.

"And if you don't mind me saying, Ma'am, your boxing technique could use a little work."

I heard her giggling as she walked back into the house, and I turned to see her retreating figure - complete with swaying backside, I noted with interest, but nothing more.

—————————-

Clarissa and I became great friends. We told people we were cousins, and she invited me to all her get togethers with her extended friends. They were all very nice people, all very down to earth, and all clearly besotted with Clarissa. I was aware that I was spending a lot of time with her and that from a certain viewpoint it might be seen as something not entirely healthy in the scheme of things, so I decided to get away and spend some time alone.

It was early autumn, and cooling down. I thought I would drive down the island towards the mountains and find a place to stay. Clarissa came into the room as I was packing.

"Where are you off to, Benjamin-of-Sissinghurst?" From the morning on the deck, she took to referring to me in grand titles.

"Well, Lady Clarissa of Birkenhead, I am affording you some space and time with your gaggle of friends. I will venture south and see what there is to see." My faux grandeur never failed to amuse her.

"You don't need to depart with such haste, good sir. And anyway" she said, departing from the script. "you could take me with you."

I eyed her cautiously. We had spent a lot of time together, but the living situation provided a very comfortable, no risk existence, and being away together took things into an entirely different realm.

"You want to?" I asked.

"But of course, sire. A lady deserves to see what it is you plan to see". Back into character, for the comfort of us both. "Give me a moment, I will get my maidservant to gather my things." She hurried out to prepare for our journey south.

With my uncle and Angie being away in Australia, we avoided any awkward conversations about our plans and indeed my intentions. We jumped in the car and drove through the darkening streets of Auckland, headed through the night towards the volcanic plateau. The drive was easy, conversation light and unremarkable, and we made good time. We arrived in the trout-fishing town of Taupo at just after ten, to find the place teeming with people.

"Taupo is never this busy, unless it's New Year." Clarissa observed. "Wouldn't want to rock up here without a place to stay."

I was silent. In all the excitement of Clarissa choosing to join me, I forgot to book a hotel. My silence was telling.

"Ben?" She said expectantly.

"Um, look, about the place to stay..."

I was preparing for the onslaught. The odd time I didn't do the right thing by Sarah, she left me in no uncertainty as to what she thought. I hated letting people down and began to stammer an apology.

"Hey - it's ok, Ben - Ben?" Her eyes showed real concern as she placated me.

"That woman really screwed you over, didn't she?" She leaned in and hugged me gently before leaning back in her seat. "This calls for an adventure. Have you got a sleeping bag?"

"Yep. Always have a roll mattress and a sleeping bag and blanket in the boot."

"Have you ever slept in this car before?" She asked.

"Loads." I replied. One of the attractions to the car was the fact that the seats folded down and locked into place so it became a very comfortable place to sleep. For one person. One person who needed nothing more than a place to get one's head down.

"Well, that's sorted then, because there will be no room in any inns tonight." she said. Then she stopped the laughter and looked seriously at me. I thought she was about to reveal some dark truth to me. "Ben, there is one thing I need to know before we go any further..."

I looked at her with hesitation, hoping what she had to ask was something I could handle.

"Ben - where's the bathroom?" The relief was exquisite and I laughed along with her.

"Where does a girl wee? You can't expect a high born lady to lift her skirts and squat just any old where! It's easy for you, you just dangle your bits out and all is well - not so for us fair folk." She had amusement in her eyes. "I love camping!".

We got busy arranging ourselves, using our drinking water to brush our teeth, and we drove to a secluded, yet safe spot by the lake. It was at this time that Clarissa lost a little of her ever-present confidence.

"Ben, I need to wee."

"OK" I said. "Didn't we cover this just a minute or two ago...?"

"Yeah, but the thing is - I'm a bit afraid of the dark. It's different to city dark. This is lake dark. Unknown dark. Boogie man dark. If you promise not to peek, can you come and keep me company?"

"Of course. You can trust me." And she could. I was still getting over She Who Must Not Be Named, and responding to a very necessary call of nature is not what I would call arousing. We walked to a tree by the lake.

"How are we going to do this?" She asked, hesitantly.

"Well, you're the one doing the doing, I'm the one not watching." I offered.

Clarissa laughed nervously.

"OK. Here goes. I turned away and waited in the awkward silence as she pulled her track pants down and got herself into position. She relieved herself quietly, and I realised she must have needed to go for some time. I heard the rustle of the wet-wipes she had brought with her.

"Remember Clar, three wipes is a wank." I said without thinking.

"Ben!! She said in surprise and then she shrieked as she fell over backwards, thankfully away from the newly formed wet patch on the ground. I spun around to help and saw her lying prone, laughing uproariously at her predicament. I also noticed that there was just enough light to see the dark patch of hair between her legs as she pulled her knickers back into place. I held my hand out to lift her onto her feet.

"What is about me being on the ground with you around? You're such a bad man, Ben! Three wipes is a wank! Can't wait to tell my friends that line. And anyway, girls don't wank, they just...get themselves off."

"Thanks for the clarification, Clarissa, Lady of Self Pleasure". Which set her off laughing again. We climbed into the car, locked it from the inside, and we became immediately aware of our proximity to each other and the total silence. The two of us made the small space very warm, very fast.

"I can't sleep with these clothes on!" Clarissa said as she sat up, her head inches away from bashing into the roof of the car. She pulled the blanket back and turned on the interior light before shucking off her track pants, for the second time in the evening. She then reached under her t shirt and removed her bra magically, and at that moment, Clarissa stopped being my friend who happened to be a girl.

I noticed for the first time how her full, beautiful breasts hung perfectly on her frame, I looked intently, dying to see her nipples make an appearance through the fabric of her t shirt. I was suddenly totally aware that a beautiful, kind, funny woman was wearing fuck all right in front of me. The nipples announced themselves. The moment dragged on, more charged with the passing of each second.

"Ben, just back then, after I had lost every ounce of respect you had for me when I fell over with my knickers down..."

"Yes?" I responded.

"You saw me, didn't you?"

"What? I asked, mortified.

"You saw between my legs, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Did you like what you saw down there?"

"Not sure. It was a bit dark" I replied.

She slowly opened her legs, locking her eyes on mine, revealing a pair of blue, sheer knickers. My mouth was dry, my heart thumping in my chest. She then reached down and pulled the fabric aside, giving me the most perfect view of her womanhood.

"Do you like what you see down there?" She asked quietly before letting the gusset fall back into place.

"Yes." Was all I could manage.

This is where I wish I followed the script of time immemorial. I wished we kissed, murmured sweet nothings, held each other until the dawn light feathered the lake. But I was not in a position to think, I was operating on 100% instinct.

With a steady hand which belied my nerves, I reached down between her legs and ran my finger up the cleft of her sex.

I pulled the material aside and slid two fingers into her pussy, and my blood pressure rose at the discovery of her molten heat. I pulled my fingers out and put them in my mouth, savouring her taste. She opened her mouth in a gasp of disappointment at the removal of my fingers, and then gasped in arousal as she watched me lick her clean. I repeated the process with the same response, but this time I put my fingers to her lips. With her eyes on me, she licked them clean.

I nearly came on the spot.

I reached out and tweaked her nipples through her t shirt. I was not gentle. I needed to feel her and to feel something without my brain guiding me. I mauled her heavy soft mounds. I heard myself talking to her, surprised at myself.

"Your tits are breathtaking. You are just unbelievable."

"Thank you." She responded.

"Ben?"

"Yes?"

"I think I need you in my cunt."

I growled with sheer animalistic need but I would not be rushed.

"I will, but I want to explore you first."

I pushed her down to her hands and knees, running my hand from her calves, up her thighs, over her arse and back down again. I did this repeatedly and she arched her back in need, spreading her knees wide in primal preparation for being fucked. I moved my hands to her stomach, running them along her skin to her boobs hanging down. I pulled the t shirt to reveal them and I knelt beside her, thumbing her nipples, tugging at them.

I moved back to her arse and pulled her knickers down and off, examining them - they were rich with her arousal, and I sniffed them deeply, causing her to whimper. I slapped her bottom making her shriek and convulse. I did it again and again, rubbing my hand over the entire expanse of her buttocks. She was wantonly thrusting.

I dipped my finger into her once more and coated my hand, before sliding it up over her anus, pressing around it and then pushing back down into her sodden depths. And then she released.

She came with a beautiful collection of sharp intakes of breath, then a long, tortuous exhalation.

"Oh Ben, please, Oh my god I'm breaking, I am in so so so much need...Oh fuck, please."

I lifted her and put her on her back, and with our eyes locked on each other, I slid into her in a moment of pure bliss. We both held our breath. She began to buck, and so charged was the moment that she began to come again. Incredibly, I pushed in once more, held myself hard up against her and released months of hurt, month of tension and a genuine gratitude into Clarissa. I came in torrents, and she met each with a small gasp as she rode her own orgasmic waves. She lay beneath me, breathing easily now, revelling in her afterglow. I leaned down and kissed her in the most tender way I knew how. The kiss was gratitude, respect and love rolled into one. It was the most beautiful moment I had ever experienced. I made to pull out of her, but she stopped me with a hand on my back.

"Please don't move, Ben. You being inside me feels so incredibly right. Then she giggled. I can't believe I used the C word - I'm terrible when I'm turned on, and that is hands down the most turned on I have ever, ever been."

"You can use it whenever you want." I reassured her.

"Ok, then. How long have you wanted to get into my...cunt? There I said it!" she said, triumphant.

"For about 20 minutes", I said in all honesty. "In the weeks getting to know you, I can honestly tell you that I never once thought about you in any way other than as a friend. How long have you wanted me to fuck your...cunt?" I asked, testing the word out for comfort.

"Since the day I arrived home with my suitcases." She said. "But I was happy for it not to be. I just loved being around you, and laughing like we do. You could have had me that morning on the patio, by the way."

With the sex having forged a deeper connection, we discussed how comfortable we were with each other, we talked about what her parents would say. Then we stopped talking and with the greatest ease imaginable began making love. Gone was the wild lust, the need, the curses fuelling the fires. In its place was the comfortable weight of rightness. I slid into her with a sense of wonder. She put one hand on my chest and used the other to gently manipulate her clit, then moving up to cup a breast, teasing the nipple. We moved together, we moved within each other and we came - together.

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I was rudely awakened by bright sunlight. I remembered where I was, with whom and what had happened just hours before, and hope welled up inside me. She was sleeping deeply on her back, with the blanket in a knot around her, one knee up, the other leg stretched languidly to her side. I pulled the blanket slowly to afford me a view, and the view took my breath away.

She had the most beautiful pussy, and I cherished the moment I had to simply admire her form. Soft dark hair framed a pink slit which appeared to be still wet from arousal, or our combined fluids, I couldn't be sure. Such was the connection I felt with Clarissa, I somehow knew she would approve of my observation. Without thought I bent down and placed my lips at her opening and feasted on her. Before long she was bucking, pushing against me, and when I added two fingers into her slick channel, she came, gripping them in spasms. She then rolled onto her side, facing away from me. She reached back and opened her bottom cheeks, offering herself to me, and I slipped inside her well lubricated pussy.

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Over a beautiful breakfast and very good coffee, we sat in companionable silence. We looked out on the lake and to the mountains beyond. We had decided we would push on and find accommodation in an alpine town further south. As I began to look at accommodation options, Clarissa spoke softly to me.

"Ben, I know you're still fucked up by Sarah, but instead of wanting to visit harm upon her person if I should see her, I'd actually want to thank her for letting you go." I smiled warmly at her lovely turn of phrase.

"As you can probably tell from my demeanour in the vehicular boudoir last evening", she said pompously "when it comes to sex, anything goes. I want it all. I just love it. I want your cock in my mouth, in my" as she leaned closer so that no one could hear "in my cunt, Christ, I even want it in my arse, I just want to be filled by you. However I get you inside of me, I want it. Does that make sense?"

I was silent, her passion rendering me speechless.

"Sarah wanted the same things I do, but she wanted them from others, where I want it all from and with you. And anyone we should care to share from time to time." She said this with her head down so I couldn't read her expression. When she looked up, she was blushing.

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London, 8 months later:

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, in the lane, the snow is glistening, it's a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland."

Ray Charles was singing from the speakers of the quiet London pub. It was freezing outside, and faces were shiny with the cosy warmth and the mulled wine being consumed gaily. There is nothing like London on Christmas Eve. It needn't be snowing to be magical, just the age and beauty of the city is enough to soften even the hardest of hearts.

"I'm not used to this kind of cold, Lord Benjomine." Said Clarissa, using the nickname she had created for me during our drive back from that fateful weekend away. "That toilet seat was honestly made of ice." She was rubbing her rear in memory of the chill. I wanted to rub it for her. Eight months of constant fucking had not diminished our need for each other.

"We get the best of both worlds now, Clarice." I responded, using the Silence of the Lambs nickname she loved to hate. "We get the shopping, the terrible seasonal jumpers, the overeating, the Queen's Speech, and the week skiing in France - all before going back to the summer sunshine."

We were catching up on the news on our respective devices when our dinner guest joined us.

"God, are you two already that bored with each other"?

We both looked up to see the smiling brunette, flushed with the cold.

"Sarah, you know we're boring, that's why we need to get together and hear your stories of depravity." Said Clarissa.

Both women hugged warmly. Sarah regarded me fondly before bringing me in for a long hug.

"Have I ever told you much I love both of you?" She asked.

"Yes" Clarissa and I replied together.

"And have I ever told you that the thought of such a sensible life makes me want to run screaming in the streets?" She asked.

"Yes" we again replied.

"Good. So - where do I start? Ok. I need to tell you about my boss Anja and the time I got caught by her husband eating her cunt on the floor of a black cab..."

Next story in series: A Christmas gift, but not for me Part 2