Art is Personnel Director for the second company in the Essex Building. I'm
CEO of the first, Dee-lite Foods, Inc., which I started with my college
roommate, Dee. She's the head chef, I'm in charge of everything else.
Together, we bring in about $18 million a year in revenue, and business is
growing fast.

I'd see Art at the deli on the first floor. I could tell he was attracted
to me but I was already seeing several men at the time. And Art really
didn't seem my type - I tend to go for tall, dark, strong, and handsome
(which describes Philippe), or clean-cut, conventional, and solid (which
describes Pete). Art was rather slender, had somewhat shaggy hair, and a
cute face. Really, not my type.  But he did have a killer sense of humor,
and he invariably had me in stitches every time we were in line for
sandwiches.

He also seemed very nice, and he caught me at a good time when he asked me
out to dinner, so I said yes. I didn't realize he meant dinner at his house.


Art had a nice place in the East Valley with a view. It was far enough out
of town that it wasn't so expensive a place, but he'd done a great job with
it. I asked him if he'd hired an interior decorator, but he blushed and
said that he'd done it all himself. He was also doing the cooking, and I
was impressed by the way he ran his kitchen and carried on a great
conversation at the same time.

Before long, we were sitting down to Chilean Sea Bass with black-and-white
bowtie noodles and spinach with mushrooms. A good bottle of Gewürztraminer
matched the dinner excellently.

I mused that it seemed strange he wasn't married, whereupon Art told me
about his nine-year relationship with a woman named Cindy who had refused to
marry him. One day Art came home unexpectedly early and found Cindy in
their bed with another guy. It turned out she'd been cheating with this guy
for four years.

"It wasn't so much that she was sleeping with another guy that bothered me,"
he told me. "It was that she'd hidden it from me for four years. I can
understand wanting some variety in your sex-life, but she'd been lying to
me, keeping it a secret, and she *loved* the guy - he wasn't just her sex
outlet. She'd just strung me along because I had a nice house and I cook."

It had been a couple of years, and Cindy had since married the guy. I could
tell Art was still feeling somewhat burned. And I could understand his
feelings. Ouch.

Then he asked about me.

By that point, we'd finished the bottle of wine, so maybe I was a little
franker than I might have been, though I do like to be up front. I told Art
that I was seeing several men, which wasn't quite true since at the time I
was down to two, Paul having recently moved away. I told him I'd always
liked to have a variety of men in my life; that I couldn't be tied down to
just one.

"I'm not a slut though. I don't sleep with just anyone. I like to have
long-term relationships with the men I sleep with. It's like serial
monogamy, only in stereo, or sometimes quadraphonic," I told him. He
smiled, and I was relieved. Many men couldn't cope with my lifestyle, and
would flee. I felt myself relax.

Art got up and put on some music, then we went out on the balcony to enjoy
the last glimmer of twilight. He'd gotten us each a glass of port which we
sipped as we admired the view. Only, when I looked over at him, I found
that the view he'd been admiring was me. I suddenly had the urge to kiss
him, and I pulled his face close. It was then that I discovered that Art was
the best kisser I'd ever met. The first kiss was sweet, the second was
sensual, the third made my panties damp. I had to pull away quickly.

"Art, I never sleep with a guy on the first date," I told him.

"Hey, I wasn't expecting you too. We were just getting acquainted, that's
all," he replied. "Really," he added quietly.

I kissed him again, then pulled back once more.

"If I don't go now, I'll break my own rule," I told him. "But maybe we can
have dinner again some other time." I tried not to sound too hopeful.

"How about you come out with me on my boat next weekend?" he asked. It
sounded like a great idea, and I figured I could be free Saturday night, so
we made a date.


As I drove home that night, I wondered to myself about Art. He was so not
my type, yet I wanted him badly. I was all in a flush over him.


I didn't see Art at all that week. I don't know if he was around or not -
maybe he had to travel for work or something.

I did go out with Pete on Wednesday. We went to a bar first, then to a
steakhouse he liked, where we talked about business. Then we went over to a
club for some dancing, and finally to my place (his was too messy for
company, he told me), where he fucked me to oblivion with his huge cock.
That's what I like about Pete - his peter. It's about 8" long, circumcised,
and supercharged. Nobody has ever fucked me as good as Pete, and there have
been a lot of guys vying for the title. Pete's cock really stretches me,
and it seems to hum and vibrate as we fuck. I always cum two or three
times, and afterwards, I feel truly fucked. It's great. But then Pete had
to leave - he almost never stays the night. So I curled up with my pillow
and tried to sleep with my pussy drooling his cum onto my sheets.


Work was tough that week, and by Saturday I was ready for some R&R. Art
picked me up at my place just after noon Saturday, and we went down to the
marina. Art's boat was a classic wood cruiser, always in need of a bit of
work, but a beauty to behold with its teak and mahogany woodwork. Art told
me he had a friend who was great with motors, and I was impressed with the
quiet of the inboard motor, and the lack of smelly exhaust. It wasn't the
fastest boat at the dock, but it definitely had character and class. After
starting the motor, Art got us each a wine cooler, then we cast off and
headed up the channel. The wind felt great, for it was a rather hot sunny
day. He liked to take short side-trips into nooks and crannies along the
channel - little backwater places that I'd never seen. At about 3:00, he
took us down a side channel and tied up at a restaurant with a dock.

"Best place to eat anywhere," he said, beaming. "And you pretty much can
only get here by boat. Almost nobody knows about it," he added, which was a
bit of a stretch, since there were about eight or nine boats tied up
already.

Inside it was definitely funky - nautical and naughty, a peculiar mix of
class and crass. There was wood everywhere, and the typical ropes and nets
and shells. There was also a carved and painted mermaid with really large,
bare breasts, a pierced navel, and an expression on her face that made her
look like she'd just sucked a juicy cock. The cock she might have sucked
belonged to a carved Neptune, quite anatomically correct, who stood opposite
her across the room. On the walls were paintings of boats and paintings of
nymphs and satyrs.

The meal started with raw oysters - small Japanese varieties I'd never
tried - then moved on to crab cakes & hush puppies, then some kind of
oriental scallops with spinach in sesame oil, then ended with tiramisu. A
rather odd combination, but it worked. The first two courses were washed
down with beer, the scallops needed goblets of wine, the last course was
matched with dark coffee mellowed with Irish Cream. And throughout it all,
Art and I talked.

Art told me stories from his childhood, tales of adventures during college,
and got me to tell him about my family, and Dee's secret recipes, and just
how I managed to turn them into gold.

It was during a brief lull in the conversation, while we sipped coffee, that
Art leaned towards me and asked me to tell him about "them".

"Who?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"The men you are involved with now," he stated.

"You really want to know?" I asked, puzzled.

"Sheila, if we're going to spend more time together, I want to know up front
about your other men. I won't have secrets like that between us. Look, if
you don't want to see me again, you don't have to tell me anything. But if
you do, I want to know who's who. I don't want surprises. I don't want you
to lie about why you can't meet me Thursday. Tell me you've got a date with
"Joe"; don't tell me you've got to work late."

So I told him.

"There's only two guys right now," I said calmly. "There's Pete, who works
as a business lawyer. He's helped me a lot in learning how to build
Dee-lite. I see him when he's not too busy playing golf."

I didn't mention the size of his cock, nor the way he ravished me with it.

"And there's Philippe, who works for a food wholesale company we used to buy
from. I don't see him as often." I left it there, not adding that Philippe's
long, thin, uncut, dripping cock loved to invade my asshole. Philippe was
who I called over when I was feeling really randy - when mere fucking
wouldn't suffice. Philippe loved to destroy me.

Art nodded, accepting. "Well, I haven't dated anyone in three months, but
I'd like to see more of you," he said simply.

I raised my coffee cup in a toast. "To us," I said, and he smiled, and our
coffee cups clinked gently.

We left the restaurant soon after, and got back into Art's boat.

"Sheila - we're about two hours out from the marina, or, if you're game,
there's a place not far from here where we could drop anchor for the night.
There's quite a serviceable berth down below, and I've got fixings for
breakfast aboard."

I came up to him and put my arms around his neck. "Breakfast sounds
lovely," I told him, before leaning in for a kiss.

That night, anchored in a quiet bay, the boat bobbing gently as a breeze
blew through the portholes, Arthur and I made love. We were quickly out of
our clothes, and I was somewhat taken aback by his appearance naked. He
looked like a boy - rather pale, almost hairless, thin, and without the
gleaming muscles of Philippe, and definitely without the small pot-belly and
solidness of Pete. His cock was not like Pete's either, being but 2/3rds the
size. It was, however, cute and hard. And Art was tender and loving. And
God, could he kiss.

Despite not being strong-looking, Art was big enough to embrace me - to
envelop me. And his mouth was everywhere. And he caressed me with his
hands and his feet and his dick. And when pushed me back and kissed his way
to my pussy, I discovered that Art had ascended to the top echelon of a
different category than Pete. Art would never fuck me as good as Pete, I
was sure, but nobody had ever eaten me as good as Art!

Struggling to come down from an endless string of orgasms, I pulled him up
and we kissed. His face was soaked! But I wiped it on a pillow then kissed
him with more passion than ever. After I'd calmed, I pushed him
over onto his back and moved my head down to repay him. Art was rock hard,
but his cock was only about 5 inches long. It was pretty though - there's
no other word for it. His cock was perfectly shaped, and the skin was taut
and shiny. I wasn't big on sucking cock - Pete's was too big and could
barely get any of it in my mouth. Philippe had a bad habit of trying to
shove his down my throat. Art's, however, looked inviting, and when I took
it into my mouth, I was amazed. It felt like I was eating a warm ice cream
popsicle. It was so smooth, and it fit in my mouth like it had been made to
fit. I could take him just exactly down to the root, and my tongue wanted
to lick it up. I soon had Art moaning, his hands playing with my hair. I
teased the magic spot, then took him deep, once, twice, three times, and he
came. It was only a tablespoon or so of goo, but it tasted fabulous -
better than cream - better than chocolate. Indescribable, but wonderful. I
sucked and slurped and teased his shrinking rod. After a minute or so, it
fell out of my mouth, and I watched the little thing slowly writhe,
shrinking down to a tiny two inches. I blew my breath on it, and it began
to writhe some more. I reached out and licked it, and it danced and grew.
It wobbled, and tossed, and soon it was five inches and hard again, and I
sucked it all in once more.

Art reached out, tugged at my hips, and moved me into a sixty-nine with
me on top. My breasts were crushed against his belly. I settled my cunt
right up against his face, and started moving his cock in and out of my
mouth. I'd never felt comfortable in a sixty-nine before - guys with bigger
cocks would always shove them too far down my throat, and I'd be too
distracted to control it well. But with Art, even though he was driving me
crazy with his tongue and his fingers, I could just suck at his dick like a
pacifier. I was soon going out of my mind with pleasure, and then it was
too much. I pulled myself away from his face, spun around, and sank my
drenched cunt down on his cock.

We kissed desperately as I crushed myself down on him again and again. Once
or twice it slipped out - I'd have to get used to it's shorter length. But
when I squeezed my pussy, there was his hard cock inside of me. And the rim
of his crown scraped wonderfully against my g-spot. His hands moved up to
my breasts, and he pinched my nipples just right, and I was cumming and he
was cumming, and Oh, God, it was great.

Afterwards, he held me in his embrace, and I snuggled against him. I
brushed a curl away from his forehead, and wondered about my new lover. He
was so different from any man I'd ever been with, and he'd made me feel
different things than with any lover I'd had before. But it had felt great.

Breakfast was great too, and we spent the rest of the day eating and boating
and talking and sucking and fucking, and it was with great sadness when I
took my leave and drove back to my house to get a good night's sleep before
the workday ahead.


Monday at noon I called up Pete and asked him if he was free to come over
that night. I wasn't up for dinner or dancing - I just wanted to see him at
my place. He showed up about nine. I met him nearly naked and practically
jumped him right at the door. I dragged him to my bedroom, working his
buttons and his belt along the way. Falling back on the bed, I impatiently
waited while he rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Then he was on me
and in me. I was so wet and ready, and he slid all eight inches into me in
one delicious stroke. He pounded me, and I cried out in ecstasy. I was
almost there when he pulled out, then flipped me over so that I was on my
knees. Then he shoved it in again, this time from behind. A tickle of a
thought came to mind that Art probably wasn't long enough to fuck me in this
position, but Pete sure was! I reached between my legs and strummed my
clit, and I was cumming and cumming and cumming. Pete kept pounding, and I
kept cumming, and finally, with a grunt, Pete came too, and I could feel him
shoot gob after gob of goo deep inside me. He pulled out, and it
practically turned me inside out. Then he flopped onto his back panting.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked as soon as he had caught his
breath. "I've never seen you so horny."

It was my turn to blush, and I decided to tell the truth.

"I met a new guy, Art, and he's a fabulous lover. Only the weekend was like
two days of non-stop foreplay, and I needed your big cock to put on the
exclamation point."

Pete was stroking his recovering cock. "You like my big bat, don't you,
Sheila." The conceited asshole grinned at me, and I grinned back, nodding.
I knew he'd be ready for round two shortly. And I needed it one more time.


Tuesday and Wednesday nights I spent alone. I was too tired and too sore
for sex, and I really couldn't afford to fuck every night anyway. Work was
still a priority for me. Thursday, when I came into the office, I found a
bouquet of flowers from Art with a note reading "Hoping to see you soon.
Call me. Art."

I was touched by the flowers, and I realized that Art probably didn't really
know how I worked my calendar. I'm sure he didn't want to hear that I
couldn't see him because I was over at Pete's or Philippe's.

So I called Art, and as soon as I heard his voice, I realized I missed him.
Damn. He'd really gotten to me. He offered to cook me dinner again that
night, and I agreed. And it played out a lot like before - great food, fun
talking, and squirmy, delicious sex that left me tingling.

Friday, after a long day at work, I couldn't help myself, and I called up
Art again. This time he came over to my house after dinner, though he
brought dessert, which we ate nude, feeding each other gooey strings of
chocolate. He spent quite a bit of time licking dripped chocolate off my
breasts, and then "accidentally" spilled some chocolate syrup in his lap.
It was great fun, and it led to more sucking and fucking later in the
shower. I really hated to send him home, but I had to work Saturday. Uggh.


The conference Saturday was interminable, and at a break that afternoon, I
called up Philippe. "I need you," was all I said. He was used to that tone
of desperation in my voice; I never called him unless I was desperately
randy. "Tomorrow morning, about ten, my place. Please tell me you can be
there." Thankfully, Philippe said he was free.

Philippe has a key to my condo, which was a good thing because I was still
asleep Sunday morning at ten. He let himself in, brewed a pot of coffee,
then carried two mugs into my bedroom and woke me with a kiss.

"Oooh - Philippe," I moaned sleepily into his mouth. After a second I broke
the kiss and slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to relieve myself.
Philippe watched me pee. I've even let Philippe watch me shit. All of my
defenses go down when Philippe is around.

After quickly brushing my teeth, I walked back into the bedroom, took a big
sip of coffee, and waited for instructions - Philippe was in control.

"Lie down on your back," was all he said.

I took one more gulp, and reluctantly putting the cup on the bedside table,
I lay back. Philippe took the covers off the bed, wedged the pillows between
the bed and the wall, and stripped off his shirt. My eyes were on his
sculpted chest, on the tight curly hairs, on his tiny, pointed nipples.
Then I looked up to his face; his eyes were dark and intense. He was almost
leering at me, but there was a hint of friendliness in his grin. I knew I
could trust him.

Philippe went to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer where I kept my
toys. I closed my eyes, not wanting to know what he'd choose. He grabbed
my wrist, and stretched out my arm towards the corner of the bed. Oh God,
he was going to tie me up this time. Soon I was helplessly spread across
the bed. Philippe straddled my chest - somewhere along the way he'd
stripped out of the rest of his clothes. Reaching behind my neck, he untied
my hair and fanned it out above my head.

"You are so beautiful, Sheila. I love seeing you helpless like this,
knowing I can do... *anything* I want." Philippe's sweet, deep,
voice and his words made me groan.

"Do you want me?" he teased. "Do you want my cock?"

With that he started rubbing his cock across my lips, across my cheeks. It
was hot, burning hot. The foreskin had not yet peeled back, but already a
drop of precum was oozing from the tip. He smeared it across my nose and
lips. Then he moved down.

Philippe ravaged me, roughly fingering my pussy, twisting and pulling on my
nipples. biting me... It went on and on, and I got more aroused the longer
he worked me over. Finally, he eased up, and I thought he was letting me
rest. But he untied me, flipped me onto my front, then retied me.
Grabbing some pillows, he shoved them under my hips, leaving my ass hanging
in the air. He began to spank it, then bite it, then lick it. When his
tongue slid into my ass, I came. Soon he had two fingers in my ass and his
thumb in my pussy, and his other hand was pulling on my nipple, and I was
cumming again. Soon after, I could feel his long, thin cock push its way
inside my ass, never letting up until all seven inches were deep inside.

At that point, he lay on top of me, his mouth close to my ear, his arms
around me.

"Ready?" he asked quietly. I moaned and nodded my head. And then he lifted
himself off my back, and began pumping his cock in and out and slamming it
back in again. His rhythm was relentless, and I was in a fragile state. The
pain was too great for the pleasure to peak, but not so great that the
pleasure stopped building.

Just as it became too much, just before I screamed out the safe word to make
him stop, he reached underneath me and started playing with my clit. In
seconds, I soared to a roaring climax, and as it waned, I felt him cum in my
ass, pulsing again and again into me. He collapsed onto me, and I felt
totally wrung-out. When his softening cock slipped out, my poor asshole
clutched tightly. I was tingling all over. Before I knew it, Philippe had
untied me and rolled me over. Embracing me, he kissed me tenderly and told
me how good it had been and how beautiful I was. But long before I was
ready, he told me he had to leave - his wife would be home from church soon.
And he slipped off the bed, got dressed, and left me lying there alone.

That's when the tears started. I often cried after my sessions with
Philippe, though why, I could never quite figure. I couldn't live without
seeing him. I would beg him to come over, desperate each time with need.
Yet after, I often felt empty and spent and lost.

On impulse, I called Art and asked if he could come over.

"Are you OK - you sound kind of funny?" Art asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm OK," I lied. "But can you come over now?"

When he said he'd be over in about half an hour, I finally got up the
strength to head towards the shower.

My hair was still wet, and I was half-way through changing the sheets on the
bed, when Art came in.

He helped me finish making the bed, then sat down on it and pulled me into
his lap. I clung to him, and his arms held me tight. I could feel him kiss
the top of my head. I felt more like a little girl then than like the CEO
of a successful company. We just sat there for the longest time, and it
felt good. Finally, I looked up, and he kissed me. Such a tender kiss. So
loving. And I realized then that I loved Art more than any man I'd ever
been with.

How could I sit there in Art's lap, kissing him and feeling loved, while
Philippe's cum still dribbled from my asshole, I asked myself? Maybe my
face betrayed my thoughts, for Art suddenly stated, "You were with someone
just now, weren't you?" I nodded, unable to speak. Art just continued to
hold me, stroking my back gently. We sat there for a long, long time.

Finally, Art asked if he should make dinner, which suddenly sounded like an
excellent idea. In what seemed like just a few minutes, he'd whipped up
scrambled eggs, stewed apples and peas, and served it with herb tea.
Comfort food, and I needed it.

After dinner, I began to speak, praying Art would understand, though how
he'd be able to, I couldn't imagine.

"Philippe came over this morning. He did nasty things to me. I needed him
to do nasty things to me, but afterwards, I needed you. I'm so messed up,
Arthur, but I love you."

It was the first time I'd ever said those words to a man.  Oh, I'd told men
I loved their cocks, I'd told them I loved their smell, or the way they made
me feel.  But I'd never told a man I loved him.

Art reached out his hand and took mine. Looking into my eyes, which were
filled with tears, he said simply, "I love you too."

He slept beside me that night, holding me close. In the morning we made
quiet love together. That afternoon, I called him up and talked with him.
We decided to try living together, though for practical reasons we'd keep
both our places. During the week, we'd use my place - closer to work. On
the weekends, we'd stay at his place.

During the conversation, though, Art said, "I assume you'll still be seeing
Pete and Philippe?"

I faltered for a second, and then said lamely, "I've got two bedrooms - one
can be ours, I can use the other with them."

"I can go see a movie or something," he replied simply. Acceptance, if
nothing more.

"Thank you," I told him with all my heart, but then I added, "Art, would you
be interested in seeing someone else yourself?"

Art thought for a minute before replying. "I think I'd probably fall in
love with anyone else I slept with, and I don't think I could juggle two
love affairs. It wouldn't be fair to any of us."


Over the next few days, being work days, he moved some of his stuff into my
condo. Looking for a drawer he could use, Art came across my cache of sex
toys, including the ropes Philippe had used.

"Does Philippe use these things on you?" he asked.

"Sometimes," I replied, wishing I'd moved them to the other bedroom already.

"Maybe I can tie you up sometime," said Art, smiling. "It sounds like fun
to me."

I was a bit surprised, and a bit anxious. I didn't want Art trying to do
the things Philippe did to me. I liked to keep those things separate. I
shouldn't have worried.

It was two weeks later that I let Arthur tie me up, and the experience was
so different from what I did with Philippe that I can't even think of them
as the same at all. First he had me take a bath. When I came out, there were
candles burning, and the lights were turned off. He'd stripped the bed down
to the sheet, and had a comfortable pillow for my head. The ropes were
already in place, and he laid me down and secured them to my wrists and
ankles.

"We should have a safeword," he said. I was surprised he even knew about
such things. "You have one with Philippe, don't you? What is it?" he
asked.

I blushed before telling him.

"Linguini," I said, and we chuckled together over that.

"Now, not another word," he told me. Then he lay down next to me and began
kissing me. The experience was much like any time we made love, only he was
free to tease and touch anywhere, and I couldn't do anything about it. He
tickled me so bad I nearly peed the bed. He sucked on my nipples so long
and so well that I was squirming, desperate for him to play with my pussy.
Once he did move there, I couldn't get him to stop as he ate me to a
near-endless string of orgasms.

Finally, he let up.

"Philippe fucks you here, doesn't he," said Art, as his tongue entered my
asshole. I told him yes, as he plunged his tongue inside my dirty hole and
his nose into my cunt. Deeper and deeper he delved, and when his hands
reached up and toyed with my nipples, I came so hard I think I passed out.
When I came back to myself, he was still going at it, but it was too much.

"LINGUINI", I shouted, and Art relented. In an instant he was next to me,
kissing my cheek. I was almost embarrassed that he'd forced me to use the
safeword. I'd only ever used it with Philippe twice before.

"Do you want me to untie you," Art asked gently.

"No, fuck me first please," I begged. And he did. We came together, then
he untied my bonds and pulled a sheet over us. Later, when I just *had* to
pee, I came back to the bed and watched him sleep. Such an unlikely looking
lover for me, but Oh, how I loved him. I blew out the candles and we slept.


And so it went. Art and I were a couple, but I had Pete over about once a
week. Art, Pete, and I dealt with the awkwardness as best we could. I
tried to make it easy on Art, and he really did seem to take it in stride.
Pete thought the whole arrangement really strange, but he loved my pussy too
much to give it up. Philippe would come by about every three weeks. Art
seemed a bit more uncertain with Philippe. He could sense when I was going
to make the call, and there was definitely some tension. But after each
session with Philippe, Art would be there without recriminations, and I
loved him for it.

One night, after making love, I lay there quietly with Art watching my face.

"What are you thinking," he asked suddenly.

I realized I'd been thinking I really wanted a Pete fucking right then, and
I blushed and shook my head to indicate it was nothing.

"No, really. I want to know. Tell me," Art insisted.

I tried to put him off, but he persisted. Finally, I came out with it. "I
was thinking that what I really wanted just now was for Pete to fuck me.
I'm sorry."

Art was silent for a minute, but he didn't look angry or hurt.

"Maybe for your birthday, we should have a fuck party," he said. "You and
me and Pete and Philippe."

I was stunned, and horrified really. I didn't want to mess up what I had
with Art! But I had to admit to myself that it was a glorious fantasy.

"We couldn't," I sputtered. "You wouldn't. Pete wouldn't. Why?..." I
left that "why" hanging.

"I know you need Pete's big cock in you - yes, I know it's big - I can tell
by how stretched out and raw you are after you fuck him. And I'm curious
about Philippe - I'd like to watch you with him. And it just seems like it
would be a good way to celebrate your birthday, for you to have all your men
over. We could use the other room..."

"This is really something you want?" I asked him, somewhat incredulous. "I
don't want anything to happen that would hurt us - you and me. Arthur, I
love you! I don't love them."

Art insisted that it was OK - more than OK - that it was something he wanted
to do. I somewhat reluctantly agreed to talk to Pete and Philippe about
it - I wasn't at all sure Pete would go for it. Philippe I was pretty sure
would go for anything.

When I finally talked to Pete, he surprised me by saying yes. I guess I
hadn't factored in the size of Pete's ego - I think he relished the idea of
showing off his huge cock to Art and Philippe.

My 37th birthday landed on a Saturday, and Art woke me up with tender
caresses. He was aroused, and I could feel his penis poking me, but he just
held me and nuzzled my neck for a while. I was glad he wasn't trying to
"start something" just then. I really needed to talk to him about what was
going to happen that night, only I was having trouble putting words to my
thoughts. It wasn't until I felt Art starting to extract himself from our
bed that I was able to speak.

"Arthur, are you sure about tonight? Do you really want it to happen? I'm
just afraid it's going to mess things up between us, and I don't want that,"
I finally managed.

Art took me in his arms again and kissed me on the forehead. "It'll be
fine," he said, sounding sure of himself.

"Art - promise me this," I insisted. "Tonight, either of us can say
"Linguini" at any time, and the whole thing's over, OK? Whether you say it
or I say it, we're done, and the guys go him right then."

"All right, that sounds like a good idea," said Art calmly. "Oh, and Happy
Birthday!"

The rest of the day was strange only because it was so normal. We spent the
day getting ready to have people over, just like for a regular party --
cleaning house, buying food. Art was going to cook, of course. Everything
was ready at 7:00, and shortly after Pete, then Philippe, arrived.

There were drinks all around, and Art cooked some fabulous steaks for
dinner, served with baked potatoes and zucchini, and he'd chosen some great
red wine to wash it all down. I felt an awkwardness throughout, because I
wasn't used to having all of my lovers together and socializing. I was
getting a bit weirded out by the whole thing. I was also getting horny, for
all three of them were spending a good deal of time getting closer than
necessary. And the conversation was littered with sexual innuendo. I drank
a lot.

After dinner, Art brought out a birthday cake, and they all sang "Happy
Birthday to Sheila"... and all I could think about was that soon the four of
us would be in the second bedroom fucking. I was almost shaking with the
mixed emotions. At the end of dessert, Pete stood up and announced "Art and
I will clean up out here a bit. Philippe, why don't you and Sheila go relax
in the bedroom. We'll be there in a few."

I was shocked. The guys must have discussed this beforehand, but I didn't
understand their thinking. If I was going to go into that room to relax,
Art would be my choice of companion. I thought Art might, well, "warm me
up" a bit before the other guys came in. But Philippe?

Philippe seemed to know the script, though, and he stood and took my hand to
lead me off. I looked back at Art, feeling somewhat betrayed, but he just
smiled and winked at me.

Once we were in the bedroom, Philippe closed the door and pulled me close.
"I have wanted to do this all evening," he said, as he kissed me rather
passionately. I stopped being mad at Art, as I realized that Philippe was
the best choice to arouse me quickly. I was used to extreme sex when I was
with Philippe, and so his intimate presence soon had me in the mood. I
stopped thinking about the situation, and let myself go. Philippe was so
good at getting me to let go.

The door opened a few minutes later, and I was already naked and lying on
the bed. Philippe was halfway out of his clothes, and told the other two
guys that they'd better hurry up or he'd start without them. Before I knew
it, there were my three men all around me. There were hands and mouths
everywhere. I got to experience the joy of being eaten while also being
kissed.  I had no way to keep track of who was doing what to me, except that
periodically, the man I was kissing would leave, only to be replaced by
another.

I do remember Art eating me to several orgasms while Pete stroked his cock
on my face, and I do remember Philippe fucking my ass while I sucked Art's
cock.

It was sometime after that when something happened that blew my mind. I was
lying on my back, and Pete was fucking me good. Art was on his knees and
elbows looking down on my face, watching me get fucked. Every now and then
he'd kiss me, but mostly he was watching me and occasionally looking back to
watch Pete's huge peter split my pussy. Suddenly, his eyes went wide with
shock. I looked up to see if Pete was doing something strange, but I didn't
notice anything odd. But Art's eyes just bulged more and more. I grabbed
his face and asked him what was the matter.

"Philippe's licking my butthole," said Art in a strangled tone. "Oh God, he
just shoved a finger up my ass. I think he's going to fuck me!"

I could not tell if Art liked the idea or was horrified by it. "Are you
going to let him?" I asked. I didn't know what I thought about it either.

Art closed his eyes and moaned. It sounded like a good moan. I looked down
his body and saw that his cock was rock hard. Philippe was kneeling behind
him, and it looked like he had maybe two fingers inside Art. Art had never
given me any indication he liked guys at all, and maybe he didn't. I didn't
want to read too much into this.

I saw Philippe reach over for some lube and begin to rub it into Art's
asshole. Art's eyes flew wide open.

I grabbed his face and pulled it close to mine. "Art, it's OK to stop him,
and it's OK to let him. It's up to you."

Art leaned forward and kissed me, and we clung together as Philippe push his
cock inside. Art and I were both getting fucked by insanely huge cocks. I
hadn't been concentrating on what Pete was doing to me, but suddenly I felt
every inch that was pounding into me.

Philippe and Art were fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, fucking, us, us,
us, us.

I came, and so did Pete, and so did Philippe. I don't think Art did. Art
collapsed onto the bed next to me and I pulled his head to my breast. He
was sobbing gently, and gasping, and moaning. Slowly we all calmed down.

Seemingly from a distance, I heard Pete say, "Geez - I think we did them
in." Philippe laughed and got up. I heard some quiet comments between Pete
and Philippe, then both of them came up and said maybe they should go, and
they wished me a Happy Birthday. Each gave me a killer kiss, and Philippe
gave Art a soft squeeze on the shoulder. Art looked up and gave him a
rueful grin. Pete and Philippe gathered their clothes and left. My
birthday party was over.

"Are you OK honey?" I asked Arthur.

"Yeah. I wasn't expecting that, and I don't think I want to do it again.
Sorry, this was supposed to be your day - I kind of messed that up by not
saying "no". Did you have any idea Philippe might try that on me?"

"No, nor did I have any idea that you'd let him if he did," I answered.
"Why didn't you stop him?"

Art crawled up so his face was right over mine. He kissed me fully before
answering. "I realized I *really* wanted to know what it was like to get
fucked by one of those guys. I wanted to have some idea of why you need
them. I think I understand better now - it was incredibly intense, and
scary, and naughty - there was a kind of thrill, like riding a
rollercoaster - and there's something about letting someone do that *to*
you. I don't know if that's why you fuck Pete and Philippe..."

I thought over what he's said. "Yeah, that's a pretty good description.
That, plus a huge sexual high."

I paused for a second, and then continued more quietly.

"Art, it's not that you don't satisfy me sexually. You make me feel
absolutely wonderful, and you make me feel loved. I never knew what I was
missing there - I've never really loved a man before you. But I'm addicted
to sexual bungee-jumping, and those guys are the bungee cords. It's
separate from what goes on between you and me, and I don't think I'd even
*want* you to be able to take me where they take me. I'm not sure tonight
was a great idea, but I'm very glad you're with me now."

Art gave me a very tight hug, and told me he loved me. Then we got up, took
a shower, and headed to our own bed. Just before I turned off the light, I
stopped, suddenly sure I wanted to ask...

"Arthur?  Will you marry me?" Of course he said yes.


I almost lost Pete over it though. Pete had once asked me to marry him, and
I'd turned him down. He couldn't believe I would marry Art instead of him.

"Geez - am I just a big cock to you? Do I mean nothing to you?" He was
somewhere between screaming and crying.

I was near crying myself. "Pete - I *do* care for you a lot, and I
*definitely* care for our friendship. Even if we never slept together
again, I'd still want to see you. *And* I love your big cock. I'm in love
with Art, and we're going to get married. But I hope that doesn't change
things with us."

Pete wasn't sure about anything, and it took him several days to calm down.
But he called me later and said he'd been thinking about everything, and he
said he could see how much Art and I were in love, and if he was just a
friend, that was OK.

"Will you still fuck me when I need it?" I asked him, willing to accept any
answer he had for me.

"Well, you said you loved my cock, and it's a big part of me, so I guess
that means you love a lot of me, even if you don't love me a lot," he joked.
And I knew we'd be OK.


Philippe took things differently. He seemed suddenly terribly embarrassed
that he'd fucked Art once I told him of our marriage plans. "Is he OK?" he
asked, looking shamed.

"Yes, and I think he's glad he let you do it, though I think that was a
one-time only thing. I won't even ask why you did it," I said somewhat
tersely. I didn't expect an answer, but after a second I got one.

"Because he was cute. I've never thought a guy was cute before him, and I
trust it'll never happen again. Sheila, in a strange way, I think I can see
your attraction to Art - I think I felt the same way that night for a
minute, having watched the two of you in bed. I'm - um - I'm jealous of
your love for each other, I guess. You know, my wife and I..."  He knew he
didn't need to more, and I nodded.  "But I'm happy for you."

We both sat in silence for a minute.

"Does this mean I'll never get a desperate call from you again?" he asked,
sounding somewhat disheartened.

"Oh, Philippe. I don't know. Do you know I swear after each time we see
each other that I'll never call you again? And yet I do. And it's OK with
Arthur - I think he understands even better now why I call you. But I just
don't know... But you will come to our wedding, won't you?"


Our wedding was great. Pete and Philippe were both there, and Dee, and many
other friends, plus all of my family and Art's. My sister, Tracy, was my
bridesmaid. Of course I'd told her almost everything about Art, and she'd
known about my arrangement with Pete, though she didn't know it was had
continued after I met Arthur. I'd never mentioned Phillipe to her for
obvious reasons.  She'd never met any of my men before.

She and Art hit it off right away, and they spent a lot of time getting to
know each other. But the real surprise was when she met Pete. I've never
believed in love at first sight before I stood there and watched the two of
them meet each other.

Pete's business connections gave him access to a great building to get
married in, and one of his wedding presents to us was the use of the place.
He'd come over for the rehearsal to unlock the door, and that's when he met
Tracy. The two of them drifted off into a corner in close conversation, and
it was all I could do to get Tracy to come back over with the rest of us for
the run-through.

When we were done, Tracy begged to be allowed to bring Pete to the rehearsal
dinner. At the restaurant, Art and I sat at one end, with my parents and
Art's near by, and the best man, Phil, and a few other close friends. Tracy
and Pete were squeezed in at the other end of the table, and the rest of us
might as well have been on Mars.

The wedding went off smoothly, and after the wedding dinner, Art and I
escaped for a very romantic honeymoon (just the two of us) for a week in the
Virgin Islands.

But within weeks of our return, it became apparent that Tracy and Pete were
a definite item. I couldn't believe it when I called up Pete to ask him to
come over for a "visit", and he said he'd have to talk with Tracy about it.
I realized it was time for me to have a girl-to-girl talk with Tracy. I
wasn't sure how I was going to bring up the subject with her, but even if
I'd had a plan, it would have been cast aside after her breathless
announcement right after she came in the door.

"Sheila - Pete and I are going to get married!"

Oh shit. How could I ask her if I could sleep with her guy after that
opening line? I was, of course, very happy and excited for her. But after
she'd gotten out all the details of how he'd asked her, and she'd shown me
the ring, and we'd talked about when and where the wedding would be and a
myriad of other things that sisters talk about at such an occasion, it was
Tracy who broached the topic.

"Um, Sheila - I know you and Pete have been pretty regular lovers. Pete
came to me rather bollixed up, and I finally got him to explain what he was
trying to work out. I can't believe Art accepting of the situation - I
mean, Pete said that Art knows all about it, and really is fine with it?"

"Arthur knows and understands," I assured her. "I guess I'll have to find
another big cock, now that you've stolen Pete," I said, teasing her a bit.

"So, why'd you marry Art if Pete's the one that rocks your boat?" asked
Tracy, sounding very curious. "I mean, not that Art isn't a really great
guy - he is."

"Tracy - no one guy has ever been able to satisfy every aspect of my desire.
No guy could, since I want different things at different times. Art makes
me feel more loved than any man ever has. He's also got the worlds greatest
tongue. Pete's got that monster cock, and, um, he's really talented with
it. I have another friend that comes over when I'm crazy-horny and I want
nasty things done to me. Art couldn't do those things to me and still be
the man who makes me feel loved..." I broke off, not wanting to say more -
afraid I'd already shocked Tracy.

"Sheila - do you love Pete?"

"No. That's why I didn't marry him when he asked me a couple of years ago.
He's very special to me, as a friend, as a business partner, and as a lover.
But I'm not in love with him, and I never have been, and I couldn't be,
though I can see how you can love him. We're just buddies, that's all."

"Fuck Buddies," quipped Tracy with a giggle. Then she got serious again.

"Does Art have a buddy too? Oh my God, I can't believe I'm asking you that.
Does he really have a tongue to die for? Because if Pete has one failing,
it's that he's really not good at oral... Art wouldn't be willing to, you
know, keep me company when Pete's doing you. I can't believe I'm saying
this..."

I let her run on. Would Art do that for me, for us? Would it be a good
idea? Art would fall in love with her, I knew. Would he love me less if he
fell in love with Tracy? The questions jumbled in my mind. I had to admit
to myself that I didn't want to lose Pete entirely. I was just deciding
that I'd have to ask Art about it when I saw Tracy's face go pale. Her eyes
were focused behind me, and I was about to turn around when I felt Art's
hands on my shoulders. His arms slipped around me and me and he hugged me
tight and nuzzled my neck. I knew that whatever we chose, it had better not
cost me Art's love.

Art's lips were right next to my ear, and he whispered to me, "I love you.
I'll always love you." He continued louder, so that Tracy could hear.

"I'm sorry I overheard, but I did - everything from when Tracy asked you if
you love Pete. If you two want to plan something like this, I think Pete
and I should both be in on the planning. I think we all have concerns and
issues here. I won't rule anything out, but I want everything out in the
open."

Bless Art for worrying about everyone's feelings, not just his own.

So we called Pete and he hurried over. I wasn't sure how to begin, but Art
was.

"Pete, Tracy knows all about your relationship with Sheila. They're trying
to figure out what happens now. Only they were trying to work it out
without talking to you and me."

He paused for a second, to let Pete grasp the context.

"Sheila wants your relationship to continue, if it won't screw up either
marriage," he finally continued. "Tracy isn't freaking out at this idea, so
maybe there's a way. If there is a way, are you interested in continuing
too?"

"Sure," said Pete, with a bit of a wolf smile. "But only if it was OK with
Tracy and still OK with you, Art."

"But I might get lonely with you gone," said Tracy.

Pete seemed to have a sudden idea. "What if you and Art..."

He broke off, seeing the expressions on Art's face. "Well, it's the obvious
idea," he continued lamely.

"Apparently," said Art wryly. "Pete, would it shock you that the ladies
were contemplating the same idea?"

"Great", said Pete, smiling at each of us. Cocky asshole, I thought to
myself for the thousandth time.

Art stood up, walked over to Tracy, and kissed her full on the lips, his
arms wrapping around her. I knew the devastating impact a kiss like that
from Art could have. Tracy tensed up for a moment out of surprise, then
relaxed into the kiss. The kiss went on and on.

"What the hell are you doing?" bellowed Pete.

Art and Tracy kept kissing for a while, then Art eased away.

"Oh shit," said Pete. "Gotcha."


In the end, Pete and Art and Tracy and I came to an agreement. Pete and
Tracy both decided that they couldn't stand the idea infidelity with anyone
except Art and me, but they both felt they'd be tempted to stray less if
they fooled around with us occasionally. I told Art it was OK if he fell in
love with Tracy as long as he still loved me. We were all thankful to Art
that he'd forced us to figure this out before Tracy and Pete got married.


Art sold his house, and I sold my condo. We bought a new place closer in
than Art's place. Pete and Tracy bought a place basically next door. Art
quit his job when I got pregnant. I'd been making Pete use a condom on the
occasions when he'd been by, so I knew the baby was Art's. Tracy quit her
job when she got pregnant. Soon, they were both stay-at-home parents. We
had a girl, they had a boy. Two years later, Tracy and I decided we'd like
to get pregnant again. By mutual agreement, we all decided that Art would
father Tracy's second, and Pete would father mine. This time, I had a boy
and Tracy had a girl, so it all worked out great.

On my birthday and on Tracy's we have a foursome. Some of these have gotten
pretty wild, but thats another story.

Otherwise, we just pair up whenever we need to, though mostly we don't. It's
a little different, now that I'm a mom. For one thing, I'm too tired to want
to fuck all the time, and for another, becoming a mother changes you
somehow.

Still, every few months, I'll start to get a certain feeling. Art
recognizes it, and he's usually the one who calls Philippe. Art takes the
kids over to Tracy and Pete's, then he and I go over to the hotel where we
meet Philippe. Art always comes with me, though he and Philippe have
never...

Sometimes Art is there with me while Philippe does things with me and to me;
sometimes Art slips out and goes for a walk. Somehow, he's always back with
me just at the moment when I need him. Several times we've lived out one of
my fantasies by having me get double-teamed. Arthur lies on his back, and I
climb aboard, and we start making love. Philippe just watches us for a long
time before coming over and starting to open up my asshole with his tongue
and fingers. When I'm ready, he slides in. It's
so incredible to be so completely fucked. They both cum inside me, and when
they pull out, it feels so nasty to have two gaping holes both dripping cum.

The best thing is that Arthur is there with me after Philippe leaves.
Arthur will always be with me.