Chapter 1
It's rough as a real estate agent, when you move to a new city: it takes a long time to learn the neighborhoods, markets, regulations, and traffic. The first time I showed the Sex House, I didn't know that there was anything special about it - I certainly didn't know it by that name. All I knew was that it fit my clients' criteria and that they wanted to see it.
The Sex House was built in the 1920's, although it had been renovated a few times over the years. It was a 4 bedroom 2 bath brick house in a downtown-adjacent area that had been seeing a lot of new development lately. The house was fairly charming, with a beautifully sunny foyer, and a well-hedged yard that offered privacy without feeling caged-in. It suffered from some of the common faults of old houses - small kitchens, creaky floors, and closed common spaces - but the master bathroom had been remade to be decadently spacious.
The Ingles, Patrick and Gina, were a couple in their thirties. We had looked at a number of houses on previous days, but nothing had quite worked out. I knew that they were planning on having children soon, so I figured it was the fertility drugs that caused Gina's conversation to trend toward the lecherous.
"Look at that shower!" Gina said, when we examined the master bathroom. "I bet four people could do it in there at once!" She stepped into the stall and leaned her forearms against the wall, her ass sticking out a little.
"Come on, try this out with me," she said. She was looking at me when she said it, but I figured she must have meant her husband Patrick.
"By all means, try it out," I said, gesturing at the stall. I'm a big believer in clients trying out the spaces in the houses they view. Patrick moved in behind Gina and grabbed her hips, giving her a couple dry-hump thrusts. "Oh yeah, this could work," he said.
Gina beckoned for me to join them. "Come on, John - we need to see how many will fit!" It was weird, but if it helped the client visualize themselves owning the house, it was part of my job. The shower was big enough that it wasn't a squeeze at all for me to join them inside.
"See, darling?" Patrick explained, bumping his groin into her ass again as he spoke. "Plenty of room for one man fucking you, and one at each side of you feeling you up!" He pointed at my hands when he said that last part. I wasn't sure what he expected me to do, so I rested one hand on Gina's shoulder. To my surprise, Gina grabbed my hand and placed it on her breast instead.
Then Gina stood up and we all exited the shower. "Are those LED bulbs?" Gina wondered aloud, her attention having wandered to the lighting fixtures.
We looked at the yard, and the kitchen again. In the livingroom, when I suggested that they could put a bar in one corner, Gina replied, "No, I think that's the corner Patrick will stand in when he displeases me."
When we returned to the master bedroom, Patrick made an observation about the closet doors: "Look, Gina, the closet door has those slats in it. I bet you could see the bedroom from inside the closet."
Gina gasped excitedly. "So you could hide in there and watch me when I cheat on you with other men?" Patrick nodded. "Go take a look!" she said. Patrick entered the closet and closed the door.
Gina sat on the edge of the bed. "John, come here!" she said to me as she spread her legs. I approached cautiously, but as soon as I was close she grabbed me by the belt and pulled me between her legs.
"Give me a little hip action," she instructed, and for some reason, I did. As I bumped my crotch into hers, I could feel the blood flowing to my groin, and my cock began to stir. Gina looked up at me with such a naughty-girl twinkle in her eye that, at that moment, I knew we were going to do it.
Gina unfastened my belt, and then dropped to her knees in front of me, beside the bed. "Shh! Don't tell my husband," she said with a giggle as she unfastened my pants. When she pulled down my underwear she looked admiringly on my junk. "So much bigger than my husbands! So this is what a real man looks like!" She gripped my balls with a frightening amount of pressure, and then started giving me some very welcome head.
I was lost in the feeling, enjoying the ramp up of sensations from a skilled blowjob artist. I moaned; Gina slurped. Patrick never made a sound but I was aware of his presence. Gina even glanced at the closet from time to time, usually accompanied with moans of her own. Looking back I can't believe I actually felt this way, but at the time I was relishing the feeling of humiliating Patrick.
"You know what would be fun?" Gina said, bouncing to her feet and taking off her clothes. "You should get me pregnant! I'm ovulating, and Patrick and I have been doing it, so nobody would know for sure who the father was! Wouldn't that be great! Ooh, what if it's twins? One from each of you!" By the time she finished talking we were naked on the bed and I was mounting her. The thought of filling her vulnerable womb with my seed was irresistible.
She was so wet that the sheets below her were already damp, and the top quarter of my dick was slick with pre-come and saliva. I pushed into Gina's folds in one smooth slippery motion, eliciting moans from both of us. I held her wrists down as I thrust in and out of her with patient regularity. Gina moaned continuously in a low strong voice. Despite my weight on top of her and her held wrists, she never stopped moving, as if she were dancing around my cock.
As Gina's orgasm hit, her voice got higher and louder, and her movements more violent. I knew that I only had seconds to go before my own inevitable orgasm. I desperately wanted to fill her with my come, but somehow reason prevailed and I managed to pull out in time. I performed my final three strokes with my hand and shot my load onto Gina's belly. "You're no fun," she said, with mock disappointment.
Gina and Patrick emailed me the next day, telling me that that house wasn't quite for them. The following weekend, however, we looked at three more houses - completely without any weirdness - and they decide to buy one of those.
Chapter 2
Naturally I had explained away my experience with Gina and Patrick as a result of her hormone treatments and their own kinky proclivities. The next time I showed the Sex House, it was to Ellie Curtis, a woman who had just finished a year-long ugly divorce. She had decided to indulge herself in a nice big house all to herself. She was a bank executive, and in her skirt-suit with an expressionless face, she presented an intimidating visage, despite her small size. I'm sure that when she gave orders, glaring through over-sized glasses with her curly flaming orange hair done up in a bun, there was no feeling of warmth in her subordinates.
But with me she had let her hair down, literally and figuratively. I think that between work and her recent ordeal with lawyers and bureaucrats, she was relieved to be able relax around someone and let them make the decisions. On the day we looked at the Sex House, she was wearing a pale pink blouse with ruffled short sleeves, and a floral print skirt. Her mane of hair was hanging free, half-way down her back.
Ellie blushed when she opened a nightstand drawer in the master bedroom and found a half-opened box of condoms and a bottle of lube. "I hope I get as much action in this house as the current owner does," she said nervously. It was a strange thing to find in the nightstand, though. Nobody had lived in the house for quite some time, according to the database; and yet, that's not the sort of thing you leave behind when staging a house for sale.
"Have you thought about what you'd do with the extra bedrooms?" I asked as Ellie admired the view from one of the other bedrooms.
"One of them would have to be an office," she said, thinking out loud. "I'd love to put my treadmill in front of this window - it's so sunny - but I'm worried that it might be too visible from the street."
"Why is that a problem?" I asked.
"Oh," she said with some embarrassment. "When I run on the treadmill I only wear a sports bra. Can you image what the neighbors would think if they saw me like that?" I could imagine it quite vividly.
We were in the livingroom when I asked if she had thought about having children. "I don't know - maybe some day," she said. "I'm so exhausted from constantly planning and fighting to control everything. I think I need to spend a couple months just letting life happen to me, you know?"
We looked each other in the eyes. There was something meaningful between us in that moment, but I can't say what it was. Then I took charge: I spun her around and bent her over the couch. She made no sound or movement of defiance as I moved my hands under her skirt and up her thighs.
Stepping back, I removed my tie and bound her hands together behind her. After lifting her skirt I peeled her threadbare granny panties down and lifted her so that her hips were supported by the back of the sofa. Kneeling, I tied a knot in her panties, securing her knees together. My face was inches from her unshaven pussy, the scent of it awakening my appetite and quickening my blood. After stripping down, I shoved my wadded-up briefs into her mouth. She still didn't make a sound. The look in her eyes was helplessness, but not duress.
Ellie moaned as I slipped my cock between her wet lips and pushed deep inside of her. Her hips felt perfectly shaped for my hands, and her pussy was at the perfect elevation for my height. I pounded her: I slid in and out powerfully, my cock pressing against the very limit of her cunt, again and again. I grunted like an animal as things became more intense. Ellie's moans gave way to screams, muffled by the cloth in her mouth. We came together, Ellie screaming enough to make herself hoarse, as I rode the wave of my orgasm and pumped my fluids into her body. I kept fucking her, even as I went limp, to keep her orgasm going as long as I could.
After we finished, I took her phone from her purse and snapped a picture. Her pussy was agape, and a frothy foam of our juices covered it and her thighs. She was looking right at the camera with the look of a deer in headlights. I ungagged her and untied her hands, but we had to cut away her panties, which she stuff into her purse.
"I needed that," she said, after returning from the bathroom, fresh and composed.
Chapter 3
For days after my dalliance with Ellie I tried to come up with some explanation for these strange events, and all I could come up with was that there was something preternatural about that house. I decided I needed a test.
Most people don't realize how much time real estate agents spend in an office. For every house we show, we have to perform a considerable number of emails, phone calls, and database searches. For every house we sell or buy, there's a mountain of paper work. Don't get me started on fax machines. Sure, we spend a lot of time out in the city, but we also spend a great deal of time in the office among our coworkers.
Isabella was the one coworker that all of the rest of us desperately wanted to fuck. We also all knew that she was way out of all of our leagues. To look at just her head, you might think that she had supermodel good looks. She had short black hair in a European style, emerald eyes, and a face perfectly honed by estrogen. To look at her body, though, was to realize how flawed mere supermodels are. Isabella had the closest thing I've ever seen to a real-life Barbie body: long legs, a wasp waist, with hips and a chest that bring out a man's primal nature at a glance.
Isabella wasn't overly friendly with anyone there, myself included; but she was a team player. She had offered to help me practice some of the fine points of selling houses in my new city. For two weeks I resisted the urge to lure her to this magical aphrodisiac house I had discovered, arguing the morality in my head. Where was the line between loosening inhibitions and rape when the circumstances defied reality? I had mostly convinced myself that the house was perfectly ordinary and all moral concerns were moot when I made my move.
"I'd like to take you up on your offer to coach me, if you're still up for it," I said to Isabella one day. "There's this old place on Havenhurst..."
The room exploded into riotous laughter. "Geez, John! Why don't you ask her to drop to her knees and blow you right now?" Fran teased.
"I don't understand," I said to the room, baffled.
"Everyone knows about the Sex House, kid," Rodney explained.
"That's where things started between me and Trisha," Calvin added.
The peculiarity of the Sex House, as they called it, was well known to the city's real estate community. They didn't bother telling newcomers because nobody ever believed it until they experienced it for themselves. It had become a sort of coming of age ritual in our industry. The house used to belong to a woman who had penned erotic fiction under the name of Deirdre. A pioneer of the Internet sex stories movement, she had written hundreds of stories, almost always involving ordinary people thrust into surreal sexual circumstances outside of their comfort zones. The house must have been infused with the spirit of all those stories, my fellow agents explained to me.
"You've got to be careful, though," Rodney mused. "The house doesn't just loosen your inhibitions: it pushes you to do what the other person wants deep down."
"Or maybe it's not what either of you want," Alex hypothesized, "maybe it's what the house wants."
Rodney nodded support for this theory. "Either way, you could end up doing things that you never thought you would do."
"Like that one guy from Hollister Realty," Fran interjected. "That poor schmuck!" The room murmured in agreement.
Isabella hadn't said anything the whole time, and I had been so caught up in this strange revelation that I had forgotten to think about her reaction. How would she respond to my foiled plan to house-rufie her?
"Yes," Isabella said, her voice ringing like a bell. The whole office fell silent. "One o'clock on Friday. Don't keep me waiting," she said.
When I arrived on Friday I found Isabella waiting for me in the master bedroom - naked, cross-legged, in an easy chair. Next to her stood a well-built pale man with swept-back platinum blond hair down to his shoulders. His envy-inspiring erection was pointing at me, but his face was expressionless.
Isabella rose and spoke: "John, meet Christopher. What happens here today stays between the three of us. I don't need to threaten you with consequences, do I?" I shook my head. "Good. Now strip and let me see what you've got."
Once I had taken off my clothes, Isabella looked me up and down and nodded approval. "Good. Now go shave," she said, tilting her head toward the bathroom. "I want all of your pubic hair gone when you come out. Christopher will help you if you wish."
"No thanks, I've got this," I told her.
I helped myself to a razor and shaving cream in the bathroom. Shaving my balls was at once easier and harder than I had imagined. The razor glided over my scrotum's foamy skin without ever snagging, to my surprise. But the bulbous shape and excess of loose skin made it difficult to tell which areas had been shaved adequately. Visibility was a problem until I found a hand mirror. I took Isabella's request - or was it a command? - to heart and made sure I had done a very thorough job before I exited the bathroom.
When I did return, Isabella was lying on the bed, reading something on her phone. Christopher was standing at attention, still erect, next to the bed. She put her phone away. "Shall we begin? I want one of you on each side. For now, you will just touch me." Christopher and I sat beside her and ran our fingers over her body lightly. After a time I leaned in to kiss her, but she shoved me away and lightly slapped me. I went back to rubbing my fingers under her breasts and across her neck.
"Mmm, good," Isabella said. "Christopher, you will fuck me first. John, stand by the bed and wait until I call on you. Keep yourself ready, but neither of you may ejaculate until I tell you to. John, do you understand?"
"Yes, Isabella," I said as I took my position.
Isabella spread her legs wide as Christopher climbed on top of her and began pumping her, like a machine. His butt clenched with every push. He never made a sound, but Isabella eventually started vocalizing calm "Mmm" and "Ahh" sounds. She came, but you would never know it from her voice; nonetheless, the snake-like ripples of motion from her neck down through her body were unmistakably the result of sexual climax.
"Switch," Isabella called out a moment later. There was no indication that Christopher had come, but he immediately vacated his position and stood by the bed. Without hesitation I took his place and mounted Isabella. Up until this point, I had found the whole situation creepy and demeaning, but watching Isabella's face as her body responded to mine made it all worthwhile. She smiled at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. Time stood still and all I experienced was our bodies pressed together, her warm tightness around my cock, and the smell of her skin.
We were perfectly in sync, on a trajectory to come together in a once-in-a-lifetime moment of shared bliss. I know she felt it too. But then she got a concerned look on her face and once again called out, "Switch." I didn't want to leave her; I didn't want to abandon the experience we were about to have. It was like being cast down from heaven. But I had to obey. I took my place beside the bed, and Christopher took over fucking her. The orgasm he gave her was clearly a powerful one, but I'm certain it was a poor substitute for the one she would have had with me.
Once she was finished, Isabella told Christopher, "Stand at attention." He took his place beside me next to the bed. Isabella rolled onto her belly, grabbed her phone, and spent the next twenty minutes reading and writing emails, while my wanting cock throbbed helplessly, feet away from her.
She put her phone away. "John, in what position would you like to make love next?" she asked.
"Cowgirl," I replied. I had had many fantasies about watching Isabella's tits bounce as she rode me.
"No. Pick another," she said.
"Spoon?" I tried. She nodded and positioned herself on her side.
I ran my hand up her thigh, then hip, then waist as I took position behind her. My hand engulfed her breast and she cooed as I pressed by chest to her back. Slowly I positioned my cock at her opening, and then I curled my body, pressing into her. This wasn't the spiritual experience that the last time almost was, but it was good, slow, love-making and it felt fantastic. Her orgasm was comfortable, and long. I had set my expectations aside for an orgasm of my own; I knew that I would come only when Isabella allowed it.
"Stand at attention, John," Isabella said, and I complied. "Christopher, be a dear and fetch us three glasses of ice water." When Christopher returned, she said, "Drink if you wish." We all did.
Several more times, Christopher and I serviced Isabella's desires, forbidden from satisfying our own. After each time, she made us stand at attention while she wrote more emails, took phone called, and perhaps even played a game on her phone. Christopher rubbed her feet; I licked her pussy; Christopher fucked her face-down while talking dirty in some language I couldn't identify. She rode me cowgirl-style. It was amazing.
When Isabella finished with another set of emails, she spread her legs, and spoke, keeping her phone in hand. "Christopher, do you want to come?"
"Yes, Isabella."
"Then you have three minutes to fuck me, and come if you can. If you can't, then you go home unsatisfied. Starting now." She tapped her phone to start a timer. Christopher climbed on top of her and immediately started fucking at full force. Sweat dripped from his face onto hers as she moaned and said, "Oh Christopher." She didn't look like she was close to an orgasm, but she did seem to be enjoying it. She counted down the final seconds of his allotted time, and with two seconds remaining Christopher grunted and tensed up. At zero, she pushed him off of her, and his final two spurts landed on her thigh.
"Good. Now clean me up," Isabella said. Christopher licked the come from her thigh, and then probed his tongue into her cunt to draw out the rest. "Get dressed and wait in the car," she told him when he was done.
"What do you say, John? Are you up to the challenge?" She asked.
"I would rather take my time, if you'll allow me," I replied. After hours of conditioning my body not to come, I didn't think I had any chance of finishing that quickly.
"I'm feeling generous," she said. "I'll give you five minutes." She dialed the new number into her phone's stopwatch app. "Go."
I climbed on top of Isabella and slid my eager cock into her still-tight pussy. Supporting myself with one arm, I fondled her breast with the other as I ground my hips into her. She moaned in approval.
"I've always wanted you to fuck me, John. All of the men at the office want me, but you're the only one I would ever let touch me," she said through heavy breaths. Her encouragement hastened my excitement - it felt like I might actually be able to come before my time was up. I put everything I had into thrusting in and out of her beautiful body.
"Your cock is magnificent," she went on. "And you have excellent stamina. I'm going to remember all of the hours you spend penetrating me today, when I'm at home in the tub." I was approaching climax; I started to think about easing off so that I could make the most of my remaining time. But then Isabella moaned with a commanding voice: "Fuck me John. Fuck me." That pushed me over the edge. All of the day's frustration was released in pulse after pulse of ejaculation. I'd never come so long in my life. When I finished I opened my eyes to see Isabella's eyes, shining brightly into mine.
"This won't happen again," she said casually as she dressed. "But I'm glad we did it." She left. I lay there recovering for a half hour.
Chapter 4
I decided not to go back to the Sex House after my experience with Isabella. It was sex that I'll remember my whole life, but it was too damned weird. I don't know why I put up with her commands, or why I was so willing to sacrifice my own enjoyment. I've never been into that stuff before, but while I was there I was actually grateful to be ordered around like a piece of meat. I think the guys are right - something about that house makes you pawn to a will that is not your own. The Sex House was too risky. I decided I would get my pussy the old fashioned way.
That was my decision until Mischa got in touch with me. Mischa was my college sweetheart - the one that got away, the one that I wanted to marry. Instead, she married Liam and started a family with him. We remained friends for a couple years, and I was always polite to Liam, but the guy's an asshat. I could never quite accept that she chose that guy over me. I hid my resentment well.
A decade and a half later, Mischa told me that her family was moving to my city, and she wanted my help buying a house. Her Facebook photos showed that she was still as beautiful as ever; they also showed that she had a smiling smug perfect family. I decided that I would take her to the Sex House, give her the greatest erotic experience of her life, and make her regret the decision she had made all those years ago.
We did all the preliminaries by phone and email - price range, neighborhoods, schools, priorities - and prepared a list of houses to look at when she came into town for the weekend. The Sex House was the first on the list.
I was there waiting for her at 10 AM. I had spent days rehearsing how I would play it - how I would convince her it was her idea to break her vows and sleep with me. I had every detail worked out... until she showed up with her husband and her daughter.
Mischa gave me a hug. She looked fantastic in jeans and a white tank top, sunglasses riding on her forehead. Her long hair shone with rich shades of brown. Liam and I shook hands. He smiled at me with perfect fucking teeth, surrounded by a perfect fucking beard and perfect fucking hair.
Then Mischa introduced me to Ariel, their teen-aged daughter, whom they had conceived after she had decided to break up with me but hadn't yet told me. She didn't say that, of course - that was all in the past. Ariel was a lovely girl with elf-like features. An ear stuck out from under her straight sandy brown hair. A row of freckles bridged her nose. She was wearing blue overall shorts that hid her womanly features in a way that begged you to search them out with your eyes... or your hands. Without hesitation Ariel hugged me, her new adult friend; all I could think about was plunging my hands into her overalls and exploring her body.
I panicked inside at the thought of what schemes the house had in store for us; I decided we needed to leave as quickly as possible. I suggested that this house wasn't very good for their family after all, and that we shouldn't waste our time, but Mischa thought that the house was remarkable. I lied and said that it was off the market, but Liam said it would give them an idea of what else to expect in the neighborhood. Ariel flitted off girlishly to explore, so I gave up on trying to cancel the showing. Instead, I swore to myself that I just wouldn't let anything happen.
The house was clearly having an effect on Mischa and Liam as I showed them around. They were acting like a couple of teenagers who thought that their secret looks were an uncrackable code. His hand was on her ass, and later her chest, most of the time as we walked from room to room. After two minutes in the master bedroom, Mischa awkwardly asked me to give them some privacy, to talk among themselves. No sooner had I left than the door was closed, and I heard the sound of a zipper. The giggles and gasps made it perfectly clear that they would be a while.
I found Ariel in one of the other bedrooms, face down on the bed reading a magazine. One of the nightstand drawers beside her was open. The sight of her ass had me thinking thoughts that I had sworn I wouldn't. As I approached, she spoke: "Is this what women looked like in the 90's?" The magazine she was looking at was a Playboy - or something like it. It was opened to a page with a woman with big fake hair, and big fake tits, contorted unnaturally on a bed with a bored look on her face.
"I'm pretty sure that women have never actually looked like that, ever," I said. "A lot of editing goes into those magazines." I put the magazine back in the nightstand. We both sat on the edge of the bed.
"You used to date my mom, right?" She asked.
"Yup," I replied.
"How soon after you started dating did you do it?"
"About a week."
"Oh my god! Really?! Was she a slut or something?" Ariel's surprise was gleeful. I had to laugh with her.
"Well, things are a little different when you're in college and away from home for the first time. We were both drunk on our new-found freedom," I explained. "Why? Is there some guy you're thinking about hooking up with?"
"Nobody in particular," she said, and then flopped backward on the bed. "I don't like any of the guys who like me. But still, I want to lose it before college. I don't want to be the only girl there who doesn't know what she's doing." It must have been my imagination, but I swore I could feel warmth radiating from her crotch. The sounds of sex were barely audible from the other room, but Ariel hadn't noticed them - or perhaps didn't know what they meant. I had to shift my package to keep my erection from being too noticeable.
I tried to be reassuring, rather than creepy. "You've got nothing to worry about. When you're alone together, no guy is going to fault you for the things you haven't done before, and no guy worth a damn is going to fault you for the things you have done. All of these rules..."
She cut me off, bolting upright. "Oh my god, are they doing it?!?" The sound of her parents in the other room had become too loud to ignore.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "There's something about this house that acts as an aphrodisiac. It's the damnedest thing."
She smiled impishly. "And here you are, trapped with lonely, desperate jailbait." She unhooked one shoulder strap, letting a corner of the front of her overalls fall. It revealed a tiny stiff nipple though the fabric of her maroon T-shirt. She inserted her hand under the overalls and rubbed her midsection alluringly.
She examined my face for a moment, and then said, "I was joking about the jailbait thing. I'm sixteen." I stood and took a few steps away. Her mother's moaning and the energetic thumping of old furniture showed no signs of letting up.
Ariel reached under the bed. "Look what I found," she said, as if to change the topic. She handed me a Magic Wand massager - a big cord-powered wand with a vibrating head the size of a tennis ball. "Care to give me a 'massage'?" She lay face down on the bed, unfastened the other strap, and folded her overalls down to her waist.
It was just a massage, I told myself, as I powered the vibrator on and applied it to her shoulders. I had stopped making excuses by the time I peeled the T-shirt away from her bra-less body. When she turned over, I fingered her nipples with one hand while the vibrator prowled her body, circling, getting ever closer to its prey. When I pushed it to her crotch she bucked with enthusiasm, despite the fabric of her clothing. When I sucked on her nipple she squealed.
Mischa was obviously coming in the other room. After a minute or two with the vibrator against her cunt, it seemed like Ariel would, too; but then she stopped me. "Not the machine," she said. "I want you inside me. Please?" Any willpower I had had earlier was long gone. I cast the vibrator aside and pulled off her overalls, surprised to see that she wasn't wearing panties. She grinned and blushed at my discovery.
Ariel's pussy was perfect: a small tuft of hair above a taut clamshell with nothing peeking out. Spreading her lips with my fingers revealed a bright pink tunnel and the tiny nub at the center of her sexuality. I meant to just get her started, but Ariel came within seconds after I began a series of light licks and kisses on her clit.
"I really want your cock," Ariel said with the face of an angel and the body of a stripper, as she helped me undress. I lay on the bed and she climbed on top of me, rushed, like the opportunity could disappear at any moment. I held my cock for her as she slid back onto it, her fingers digging into my pecs. After a few practice strokes she was rocking her body back and forth on top of me like a champ.
"Christ, Ariel, you're even tighter than your mom was, her first time," I said. She giggled and picked up speed. I touched her face and she sucked on my finger, playfully. Mischa was coming again in the other room, the memories of her moans and my time with her blending with this new, present-moment experience. I was struck, for the first time, with the similarity between Mischa's and Ariel's faces. It took all of my concentration not to blow my wad; Ariel deserved better than the short minutes I had given her so far.
Some minutes later, Ariel was moaning and pleading with me: "Oh god, John, make me come! I'm so close - just a little more!" I couldn't reach her clit with my hands, so I tried touching her in various other ways: squeezing her butt cheeks, playing with her breasts, wrapping my hands around her neck. I told her how beautiful she was, sweat dripping from her chin and all; and how eager I was to fill her with my spunk. These things made her yearn to come even more, but she still couldn't quite get there.
"Try doggy-style?" I suggested.
"Okay," she agreed.
In a moment I was slamming my dick repeatedly into her from behind while she moaned loud enough to be heard from anywhere in the house.
"God, I can't stand it! Make me come, please!" Ariel implored me.
"You can do it, baby!" came Mischa's voice. Glancing back I saw her and Liam standing in the doorway, holding hands and beaming like proud parents. I saw Mischa drop to her knees and unzip Liam before I turned my attention back to Ariel.
I went all-out, fucking Ariel as hard as I could. I hoped it would be enough to push her over the edge, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. Soon I felt her cunt pulsing around my dick, and she let out a shriek that must have alarmed the whole neighborhood. As I let loose and injected my fluid into her, pulse after pulse, her scream turned into laughter. We collapsed next to each other, face down; she was smiling and giggling, clearly satisfied.
"I just have to give this a try," came Liam's voice. Before I could think to question his meaning, he was straddling my legs. I don't know why, but I didn't protest. "Spit in Daddy's hand, dear," Liam said, and his cupped hand appeared in front of Ariel's face, a foot from my own. She offered her saliva, and then I felt my butt cheeks being pulled apart, and a wet sensation on my asshole. And then Liam was fucking me.
It lasted for quite some time, and truth be told, I liked the feeling.
"Look at Daddy go!" Ariel said as she exited the bed.
"He's quite a machine," Mischa answered. "Did you enjoyed your first time, hon?"
"It was great," Ariel said.
Liam began talking as he approached his finish: "You like that? Oh yeah. Take that bitch." He groaned as he came; I imagined that I could feel his jism flowing into my body.
We agreed not to look at any more houses that day. "Now don't go expecting me to fuck you at every house we look at, John," Liam said. "I'm just not that into you."
Conclusion
I can accept that I had sex with a man; hell, I can even imagine circumstances where I'd do it again. But what I can never forgive myself for is that it was that guy - that asshat, Liam - while Mischa watched. Maybe the cosmic scales are balanced, since I did deflower their daughter in front of them; but despite all of the great sex I had in the Sex House, I feel like I came out a loser. I won't be going back, ever.