Written by Hare__

2 Jan 2015

The experience that drew me into to a life of sexual excess and depravity is one that still burns brightly in my memory. It was a few years ago, I was 31, my girlfriend at the time was 23 and sex was very much 'vanilla'; nonetheless, we were quite happy. I regarded myself as very fortunate. Olivia was a beautiful young woman; deep blue eyes, dark brown hair, milky white skin; she was tall, 5'10”, slim build, with full, natural 32E breasts, their already large size accentuated by the fact they adorned such a slender, lithe form. Always hidden from view by use of dark and loose clothing, her breasts were a hidden treasure, even the most observant would not fully realise their size; Olivia never displayed cleavage in public and I rejoiced in the fact that only I knew the true extent of her majestic breasts. She was demure, rather shy; basically what most people would describe as "lovely girl". We had been together for four years, I was the only man who had ever experienced her flesh; we were a happy, if non-adventurous couple living in a small quiet village that had little other than a couple of pubs. Our social life was limited, through choice, and when we went out it was always to the same pub, which was frequented by the sort of older, richer middle-class people that who into small villages; the other pub was much more of a locals' local.

Friday nights were the best nights in the pub, it was when most people seemed to be about and quite frequently the evenings extended long into Saturday mornings when impromptu parties were 'organised' after closing time. Of course, the "parties" tended to be the standard fare of people sitting around talking inanely and drinking more alcohol than was probably good for them. Nonetheless, other than the need to nurse hangovers, little harm ever came from the 'extra-curricular' activities. Sometimes quite a few people could be persuaded into partaking of a 'night cap', although more often than not half a dozen was a decent turnout. I would never describe Olivia and myself as party animals, we both preferred the socialising aspect to the boozing, but we were both happy to have a drink or two ‘after hours’. The usual suspects were almost always in attendance, if not actually hosting the after pub drinking; the conversations seemed to flow along with the drink.

By far the best host was John, a handsome 50-something (actually 54 at the time of this story), blue-eyed and grey-haired, in good shape. John had a quiet masculinity about him, although he was rarely without laughter. He seemed to have the capacity to party further into the early hours than most others. Generous and charming with a ready wit, John’s presence at any social gathering was a huge plus; an ‘open doors’ policy and a well-stocked drinks cabinet, meant that his was always the preferred venue for those seeking night caps. John had always been well disposed to me and was more than impressed that I had managed to find myself a girlfriend of the quality of Olivia, indeed, after first meeting her, he took the first opportunity to joke that he didn’t understand why I would waste my time taking her out when, if he had been me he would have just stayed at home enjoying “her company”. Still, ever the gentleman, John was always happy for us to come for drinks with the rest and seemed disappointed when we made our exit, earlier than most. He would always come over to us when we entered the pub; I cannot deny feeling a good deal of satisfaction that he, like many others, seemed envious that Olivia was mine. Rather proud of myself, I could circulate while Olivia would happily chat with the other regulars. It was quite laughable see men fawning about her, desperately trying to appear to be doing anything but; she and I would exchange knowing glances and smiles and deep down I knew that I would be the one enjoying the pleasures of her flesh. John was not really like the others; he was a charmer, without doubt, but he just enjoyed talking with Olivia, even if he clearly did find her physically alluring. John was gregarious by nature, he would always shake my hand warmly and went to the trouble to give Olivia a hug upon ‘hello’ or ‘good-bye’; I did notice that the hug lasted a second or two longer as time went by, but that is how it is with friends. Occasionally one hand would linger briefly on her back, as if he was subconsciously holding onto her for as long as he dared. Not that John was in any sense slow in coming forward; in fact he was quite happy to tell her how beautiful she was. He always gave her a quick kiss on the cheek when he hugged her; Olivia, shy by nature seemed to enjoy his engaging company and brand of humour; laughter and smiles were never far away. I was happy that Olivia’s confidence grew, even if I had never expected a beautiful young woman to lack it; I gave much credit to John’s gentle charm and the fact that he always seemed to have time for her. John was divorced, although he had never had any difficulty finding himself female company; his type seemed to be attractive 40-something blondes, usually tanned, certainly somewhat of a contrast to my milky-skinned, brunette, Olivia.

One evening, the pub was unusually quiet, only a handful of the regulars were present. Olivia and I were on the verge of cutting short the evening, when John made his timely arrival and we all three went through the ritual of handshakes and hugs and settled down for a quiet of drinks. By about ten o’clock it had become apparent that nobody else of note was coming, so John suggested that we might as well go back to his place and have a nightcap or two and then call it an early night. We took our leave of the pub and walked the ten minutes it took to reach John’s house down a lane leading out of the village. We settled down into the familiar surroundings of John’s large and spacious living room as he hastily poured generous measures of our preferred drinks. John guided me to a large comfortable armchair and playfully led Olivia arm-in-arm to one of his sofas where he sat beside her. Making sure our glasses were never below half full, John was the perfect host; the lighting was low enough to be easy on the eyes and the music was soft, barely distinguishable, but comfortable in the ears. We chatted and laughed, John, with his consummate charm and wit kept us in high spirits and there was an intoxicating atmosphere, not entirely due to the seemingly inexhaustible supply of alcohol. Ever the gentleman, John made sure he paid great attention to Olivia, asking her if there was “anything, absolutely anything” she needed, paying her compliments and maintain a steady eye contact whenever she spoke. At no stage did John neglect my comforts, eagerly refilling my glass, which I seem to drain with ever increasing ease; however, he made sure that Olivia, always a little shy even amongst those she knew well, was at ease, whether by a friendly smile of a reassuring hand on her arm.

As the evening progressed, John’s well-known self-assurance exhibited itself, but always he remained friendly and untroubled by our presence; ever eager to leap to his feet to refill my glass or gently place a reassuring hand on Olivia’s shoulder. She was at ease, more so than I had noticed before, she had always given the impression that, as much as she enjoyed these ‘after hours’ sessions, she would rather be at home. Perhaps it was because John allowed his hand to linger on her arm that relaxed her, but she was unperturbed when he accidentally allowed his hand to rest briefly on her right thigh. Clearly, the drinks played their part, but she giggled, shyly, when he made an embarrassed apology. Nonetheless, his strong masculine gaze never wavered, although he broke from eye contact and his eyes explored her body, young and lithe, her little black dress clinging to her feminine curves. Olivia, always demure, seemed a little mesmerised by John’s dauntless and somewhat imposing demeanour, while I was suddenly over taken by an intense feeling of exhilaration, as I was watching the unfolding of some great drama. I noticed John’s left hand moved behind Olivia’s back, when I saw that he had reached round and held her waist, I was almost hypnotised by his bravado. John’s gaze remained steady; he stared into Olivia’s eyes, holding her attention by the sheer masculine power of his will. She stared back, shyly, but he held her gaze, she was breathless, seemingly under the power of the masterful man before her. I sat there, not fully believing what I was seeing; I was paralysed to inaction by the dominance of John’s personality. His left hand holding her waist, looked strong, yet not once did Olivia try to move from this unexpected situation; John was now utterly masterful, he had complete control of us both; a cursory glance at me was not intended to seek permission, but rather to assert his dominance, I offered meek compliance by virtue of my failure to show any sign of protest and wordlessly accepted my fate. John, ignoring my pitiful inaction, turned once more to face Olivia, he placed his large right hand on her right knee and barely acknowledging the surprise on her face or my impotent gasp, he slid his hand up her dress and caressed her inner thigh. It was perhaps only a moment, maybe an eternity, but he stroked her thigh and then pulled her to him and kissed her, masterfully. Olivia offered no resistance and John, buoyed by his complete mastery, simply reached round and unzipped her dress, slowly pulling it down from her shoulders. With one almost imperceptible movement, John had unhooked her bra, which along with her dress was pulled down revealing those treasures, which until that moment had been mine: her large, full round breasts were exposed, at the mercy of the large strong hands of the mature and very dominant man who would have brooked no protest, even had any been offered by either myself or Olivia. I watched as my beautiful girlfriend stared, hypnotised by his masculine prowess, her gaze was fixed by John’s masterful stare; her mouth slightly open, her bottom lip quivering appreciably; her full breasts and large pink nipples almost drawing the light to them to emphasise both their accessibility and vulnerability. Olivia, transfixed by the moment, offered no protest, perhaps because she was in confusion, helpless she sat there, unable to do anything but yield to the masculine dominance before her. John’s large hands cupped her breasts, holding them motionless for a brief time, before he began to grope and tease them; Olivia gasped, John seemed to grow in power and stature, he laid her back onto the sofa with powerful arms. She lay there, staring up at him, to be met by both a steady gaze and a knowing smirk. John lowered his head, his lips and tongue sucking at the large nipple of her soft milky white left breast. Olivia closed her eyes and herself to both the moment and the anticipated pleasures to come.

Meekly, I sat there, staring in both disbelief and shameful arousal. I watched for some time as John pleasured Olivia’s perfect breasts, I could not help but wonder how long he had desired to gain access to her flesh, that one thought alone increased my heightened state of arousal. John’s left hand was between Olivia’s legs, caressing and teasing, in one easy movement her knickers were pulled off and thrown to the floor; Olivia moaned softly. John now stood up, masterfully standing over Olivia, his stare fixed upon the nubile young body lying there awaiting his every desire. I heard his voice, deep and resonant, but did not hear a word; Olivia giggled nervously as John’s hand moved towards the huge bulge at the front of his trousers. I was transfixed, perhaps more desperate than Olivia to see the physical nature of John’s masculinity. Smirking as he unzipped his trousers, John turned briefly to me at the moment his cock was freed from the restraining trousers and he allowed himself a brief mocking laugh when it was obvious I had seen the huge cock that emerged from its bonds. John rapidly undressed completely and stood before us; his strong masculine body was muscular, comparable to his powerful personality. I gazed upon him, my mind feverish as I tried to take in every detail of his physique, but my eyes were drawn inexorably to his cock, its near flawless form, thick and bulging with veins, its huge swollen end seemed to quiver in readiness. John’s cock was fully nine inches long and two large swollen balls hung beneath it; I found myself gazing upon the very essence of masculinity: mature, sexually dominant, in total control of everything he did. Had I had the slightest notion of protest forming in my mind, I would have yielded and acquiesced to his wishes. I sat there, breathless, motionless, my hand stroking my own six inch cock, John fixing my gaze with his dominant stare, I wanted nothing but to see him fuck Olivia, my beautiful girlfriend who was more than 30 years his junior, whose flesh was only ever known me. My eyes flitted between the masterful man before me and Olivia, prone on the sofa, her eyes ablaze with excitement and desires hitherto unreleased. I think I wordlessly mouthed the words “please fuck her, please”, perhaps I did, but no doubt John could see into my thoughts as he smirked again and turned his full attention to Olivia.

John climbed onto the sofa; he held himself above Olivia on his powerful arms, she lay beneath him, her eyes ablaze with wanton desires, and her lithe young body was eager to receive the pleasures that his experience and masculinity promised. Her breasts, seemingly larger than ever, heaved with anticipation, her nipples still erect, what innocence she retained was now disregarded. Hidden desires, eagerly prepared to be unleashed. John’s strong hands caressed the inside of her thighs, he slowly reached out, squeezing each of her breasts in his large manly hands, her legs opened as she moaned softly in response to his assertive touch. John’s hands glided over her flesh, almost reluctantly leaving her perfect breasts before firmly grasping her bottom. John pulled Olivia forcefully towards him; his huge thick cock seemed utterly engorged: he thrust forward and he slid inside her lithe young body. Olivia gasped loudly and I knew that I had been completely usurped; never again would she view me as a man. John grunted hard as he thrust deep into Olivia firm, youthful flesh, he began to thrust slowly, but relentlessly, she groaned and moaned in response as the length and thickness of John’s cock thrust deep within her. With each hard pump Olivia’s body seemed to convulse, she pushed against the arm of the sofa, her head lolled towards me, her eyes half closed and her mouth open, a stream of increasingly louder moans emitting from within. John began to thrust faster and harder, the sound of his cock sliding in and out seemed to fill the room, Olivia’s desperate moans increased in volume as he fucked her, effortlessly, with mature masculine power. I watched John’s meaty backside pumping relentlessly, his firm gaze resolutely focussed on the nubile flesh of the young woman impaled on his cock; Olivia’s breasts, full and round with large pink nipples now totally erect, swung about uncontrollably as the masterful older man used her as his own fuck slut. Suddenly, Olivia’s moans transformed into loud an ecstatic yells, John’s masterful cock, long and thick, sliding effortlessly, had easily fucked her to climax. By now, I was beyond control and came; at that moment John grunted loudly and came, filling Olivia’s fertile, young body with thick warm cum. My fevered mind was full of wild imaginings; desperately I stared at the dominant older man, lying beside Olivia on the sofa. I wished I could have been Olivia as she lay helpless, and having yielded to wild desires and lusts, gasped and whimpered as John’s powerful hands glided across her flesh. I did not even try to understand why I had such thoughts; I merely gave myself to the moment. I could hear John’s voice, deep and masterful, but did not take in his words. Tenderly he kissed her, his hands once more groping and pulling her breasts; his cock had barely lost its size and now it began to harden once more; helplessly, hopelessly, I stared as he lifted Olivia and stared deeply into her eyes as she stood before him, her arms wantonly thrown above her head. To her, I may as well have been non-existent, her lustful gaze fixed on the masterful man before her. John’s voice, deep and resonant, controlled the moment, I watched as Olivia climber onto the sofa, giggling, she waited on all fours as instructed by that dominant mind. By now my thoughts was swirling, I stared as Olivia’s breasts, huge and heavy hung beneath her slender form, I remembered the first time I had got my hands on them, the almost childlike glee I had felt. I wanted to rush across and grab them, to suck those large pink erect nipples; Olivia was mine, those breasts were mine. Before I could act I saw John’s large hands reach round and cup her breasts once more, Olivia gasped as John’s thick cock slid inside her. With that, the last vestige of hope that I could reclaim my place as the man in Olivia’s life, faded. John fucked her hard, harder than I believed possible; strong hands on her hips, slapping her round bottom or reaching to play with her breasts. Each thrust was deep and hard, lifting Olivia, her groans increased in volume, she squealed and yelled as John unleashed the full power of his manhood. The room was now filled with the noises of wild sex, the sounds of a young woman being fucked by a real man. John gasped, a primal roar as such, as he came, pumping his thick cum deep inside the Olivia. By now, I was lost, at the mercy of my own lusts, pulling my cock that had now been thoroughly usurped by John’s. I lay there in an utter daze, watching John’s hands as they enjoyed uninterrupted access. After what seemed like both an eternity and heartbeat, John led Olivia by the hand to the stairs. Briefly, they paused, Olivia giggling and moaning softly; I stared helplessly as I saw John’s cock harden once more to its fullest extent. They climbed the stairs.

The rest of that night I sat downstairs in a daze, occasionally climbing the stairs to listen at the half-open door of the bedroom in which John had taken Olivia. I do not recall many details, but the deep resonance of John’s voice, the primordial nature of Olivia’s ecstatic screams and yells, the relentless sound of the headboard thudding against the wall. There were times when I looked into the room, only to see Olivia, freed and sexually fulfilled John’s hands and cock having utterly removed all traces of her demure nature. I do not know how many times John fucked her or the number of times he came inside her ecstatic young body, but with the morning light Olivia descended the stairs, changed, the shyness gone to be replaced by the knowing look of a cheap slut. Our relationship did not survive, Olivia had become a highly sexed woman, while I had allowed myself to be totally emasculated, something I found disconcertingly satisfying. Olivia returned to John’s bed regularly during the next three weeks, that all too brief period when I was able to fool myself that she was still mine. After that, Olivia moved in with John, a very public announcement of my cuckolding. They were only together for four months or so, I had moved from the village. The next time I saw Olivia was a few months after that, she smiled that same innocent smile I had long known, talked in the same gentle manner, there was only the slightest spark in her eyes that betrayed that she had willingly given herself to her desires and lusts. She was very much the Olivia I had always known, but for the fact that we both remembered vividly that night, not that it was mentioned. Her breasts, those beautiful treasures, for so long just for my own delight, were larger than ever; full of milk to her belly swollen with a baby that would be born just three weeks later.