Vegas Baby: A Bad Boy's Accidental Marriage Romance

by Amy Brent

  “Then we did everything you can imagine,” I said. I crossed my legs and put my hand in my lap beneath the table. I rubbed the tips of my fingers against my clit, which was so swollen I could feel it through the spandex workout pants I’d put on to meet Izzy for lunch. “They took turns on me, I took turns on them. We fucked and sucked and fingered and you name it. There was not a hole in my body—other than my ears and nostrils—that didn’t have a cock in it at some point during the night.”

  “Damn…” Izzy said with a smile, absently rubbing her ears. She leaned back in the chair and let go a long breath, as if she was spent from my tales of great sex. “And you’re gonna do it again tonight?”

  “With any luck,” I said, putting the straw between my lips to take a sip of my soda. “Holden and Wynn are at the association conference until nine or ten, then they’ll be back at Holden’s place and I expect the fun to begin again.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “You want to come join the fun?”

  Izzy scoffed at the idea. “Girl, Earl would kill us all if that happened.”

  I giggled and nodded my head. “That’s probably true.”

  “Man, I bet your ass is tired,” Izzy said, head shaking, still snickering. “How long is this gonna go on?”

  “Um, I think Wynn flies back to Los Angeles on Tuesday or Wednesday, so another couple of days.”

  “Do you think you and Holden can just go back to being a couple after Wynn is gone?” Izzy asked. She picked up another fry and wiggled it at me. “For that matter, were you guys ever a couple?”

  It was a good question, and one that I had asked myself several times over the last month or so, ever since I first seduced Professor Holden Moss, who was my grad school psychology professor and the latest target of my “Teacher’s Pet” fantasy.

  You have to understand, I’ve always considered myself to be a bit of a nymphomaniac. Actually, Holden—the psyche professor— says there’s no such thing as a nymphomaniac. He says I just have a hyperactive sex drive.

  Okay, whatever. Fuck me anyway.

  Plus, I’ve also had a thing for older guys, especially older academic, authoritarian guys; like professors, teachers, executives, speakers, authors, etc.

  It didn’t hurt that Holden looks like a Greek god and can do things to my body that had never been done before. We fucked the first night we met and every night since then. No regrets, no remorse, lots of orgasms.

  Then, his best friend and famous author, Dr. Wynn Driver, arrives in town for a weekend meeting and my fun suddenly doubled. I fucked Wynn on Holden’s kitchen table the morning after he arrived, then I fucked them both later that night when they got home from the conference.

  It turned out that Holden and Wynn had planned the whole thing. They had done a lot of tag-team fucking in the years they had known each other. Wynn had probably seen Holden’s cock more than I had, given the number of women they’d shared. And now they were sharing me. I was having the time of my life, but the fun came with a few dark thoughts. And, as Izzy had so aptly pointed out, I had no idea what would become of the relationship I had with Holden after Wynn left town. Would things just go back to normal? Or were things really normal to begin with? Shit…

  “How do you see your relationship with Holden?” Izzy asked, all serious now, her psyche training kicking in. That was one of the things about having all psyche majors and professors as friends. We were always trying to psychoanalyze and solve each other’s problems. “Do you see you and Holden as a couple? Or are you just fuck buddies or what?”

  “That is a very good question,” I said with a heavy sigh. “Before Wynn arrived, I would have said that we were just two consenting adults having fun together.”

  “And now?” Izzy asked.

  “And now? I’m not so sure.”

  She laced her fingers together and propped her chin on them. “What changed?”

  “Another good question, Dr. Parks,” I said, sighing again as I stretched my arms toward the ceiling. I grunted like an old woman. Wow. I really was tired. “And again, I’m not sure.”

  Izzy narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, let’s try a different tact. How do you feel about Holden?”

  I shook the ice loose in my drink cup and took a moment to ponder the question. “You mean, do I have feelings for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose I do… I mean, I’m not in love with him… Not yet anyway.”

  “Okay, so you’re not in love with him, but you do have feelings for him.”

  “Yes, I do have feelings for him. Definitely.”

  “And have those feelings changed now that Wynn is in the picture?”

  I snickered at her. “Jesus, what is this, the Oprah Winfrey Show?”

  “Is that a reference to me being black?” she asked, mocking a frown.

  “No, that’s a reference to you being nosy,” I said.

  “Okay, fine, I’m nosy,” she said, wiping ketchup from her lips with a napkin. “But you still gotta answer my question.”

  “Which was?”

  “Jude, please,” she said, huffing. “Have your feelings for Holden changed since Wynn is now in the picture?”

  “Honestly, Iz, I don’t know,” I said quietly. My tone had a little whine to it. “I mean, I really like Holden, and if Wynn had not come into the picture, who knows where that relationship might have gone. Or might still go. I mean, I’m not looking to settle down or even be monogamous. I don’t think I have the ability to be faithful to one guy. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind if that guy was Holden.”

  She nodded slowly. “And what about Wynn?”

  “What about Wynn?”

  “How do you feel about him?”

  “I barely know the guy,” I said, which was an awful thing to say given that I had fucked him every which way but loose over the last twenty-four hours.

  “So, you don’t have the same feelings for Wynn that you have for Holden?”

  “No, at least…”

  “At least what?”

  “At least not yet.”

  Chapter Six: Holden Moss

  I’m not going to lie to you. When the idea of bringing my best friend, Dr. Wynn Driver, into my relationship with Jude Allen first came to mind, I was more than a little hesitant.

  It wasn’t because I didn’t think either of them would not be open to the idea. To the contrary, Wynn and I had done more tag-team fuck matches than any wrestler in the World Wrestling Federation. Our tag teams involved one (and sometimes two, three, or more) beautiful, hot, horny women that we shared to everyone’s delight. Call it gangbanging, tag-teaming, or the fancier term: ménage a trois, Wynn and I had fucked a ton of women at the same time. It was kind of our thing. And the women never complained. Ever.

  And Jude, well, Jude seduced me by coming into my grad school classroom on the first day of class, sitting in the front row, and spreading her legs to show me her shaved pussy. She was one of the most sexual women I had ever met. She oozed sexuality and desire like a warm cookie oozes… well… whatever it is that a warm cookie oozes and makes you want to have a bite. You know what I mean.

  She claimed to be a nymphomaniac, and had a long history of sexual relationships with teachers and professors. In fact, she told me outright that she wanted to be my pet… my teacher’s pet. And one look at her beautiful face and voluptuous body… one quick glance at her perfect, moist, pink pussy, and one taste of her lips left me without any options. She would be mine and I would be hers. There would be no turning back now.

  We had sex that very night and every night since our affair began. Jude was a sexual dynamo. An acrobat in bed. With no inhibitions or hesitation. She literally could go all night and never get enough, though she orgasmed in waves one after another and always begged for more. That, she thought, made her a classic nymphomaniac. Oh, and when she came her pussy gushed. And sometimes squirted like a water fountain on high. Jeez, I do so love a woman who squirts…

  But, I digress… sigh…

  As someone
highly trained in psychology, and the inner workings of the human libido and brain, I did not buy into the concept of nymphomania, which is what Jude claimed to be. I informally diagnosed her as being “hypersexual”, which simply meant that she had a very high sex drive and acted upon it. She loved to fuck, so she did. A lot.

  Better that than to suppress it as so many people feel the need to do. I believed was why there was so much cheating and infidelity among couples throughout the world these days.

  Usually, it’s the man who wants and needs more sex, and his female partner who doesn’t give it to him because she doesn’t have the same hypersexual needs that he has.

  Sure, some men cheat just because they are self-centered assholes, but some men literally cannot control themselves. Men who, like me, live and love for the sake of having sex. Yes, I admit it. Fucking is my favorite thing to do, followed closely by getting my cock sucked, and then returning the favors to my lover. If you asked me if I would rather breathe or fuck, I’d drop my pants, work up a hard on, and see how long I could hold my breath while hammering it to a beautiful girl. I’d either cum or pass out. Or perhaps both!

  I loved sex.

  I loved women.

  I loved sex with women.

  And I wasn’t so shallow that the woman had to be like Jude: a 15 on a scale of 10. I loved beautiful women, but to me beauty was only skin deep. I had had unbelievable sex with women of all ages, all shapes, all sizes, all colors, and all ethnicities.

  Hell, one of my favorite fuck buddies was a fifty-year-old bisexual Russian History professor named Marsha Clarkson. Marsha was short and pudgy, with cropped hair and a penchant for flannel and baggy jeans. She was also one of the most amazing sex partners I’d ever had. Wynn and I gangbanged her the first time after a psyche association meeting in the bathroom at a dive bar called The Royal Crown Club. It was such a fun experience, banging a lesbian in a public restroom, and she was such an amazing fuck that we still tapped Marsha whenever the chance came around. Wynn wanted to seek her out this weekend while he was in town. Then he got a look at Jude.

  Marsha was energetic, creative, horny as fuck and not afraid to try anything. We had had sex in restrooms, broom closets, classrooms, her car, my car, and a dozen other places. That was the key, I think. I’d had sex with a lot of beautiful women who spent more time concerned about their hair than making me cum. When Marsha had sex, she went all in. And like the WWF, it was an all-out, no holds barred, see how many positions we can come up with and how much cum we can get out of each other fuckfest. I dreaded the day when Marsha met a nice lesbian and settled down. She would be one player sorely missed in our little world of swinging dicks.

  Jude was a lot like Marsha, only forty years younger and a million times hotter. She was tall, naturally pretty, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, luscious lips, curvy, with big tits and a tight pussy that she could control like magic fingers around my cock. She was also a brilliant psyche student who would one day hang out her own shingle and help other women deal with the issues that she had overcome.

  The thing I loved most about Jude (besides the incredible marathon sex we had) was that she made me happy. Truly happy. Like few women had done before. It was impossible not to sport a silly grin when Jude was around. I sometimes caught myself smiling like the village idiot. She was happy and carefree, even bubbly sometimes, and it was contagious.

  And she was this teacher’s pet.

  At least for now.

  Back to my original thought…

  Jude and I had been going at it pretty hot and heavy for a month. And she knew all about my… shall we call them… past group activities… especially with Wynn. I had been blatantly honest with her and she seemed to revel in the tawdry details of our misadventures. In fact, when I told her the story of Wynn and I banging Marsha Clarkson in the restroom at the Royal Crown Club, she got so fucking excited she nearly attacked me.

  We talked about three-ways and four-ways and orgies Wynn and I had participated in. We talked about two guys and one girl, and two guys and three girls. I told her about the orgies we’d attended and the swinging we’d done with married couples on and off campus.

  When I told her about the time me, Wynn, and another buddy named Jake Rule all three had sex with one girl at the same time, her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

  “How does that work?” she asked. “Three cocks and one pussy?” She masturbated as I gave her the dirty play-by-play details. She came so hard she squirted all over me and the sheet beneath us.

  I let her know right out of the gate that if such things were interesting and exciting for her, maybe I could arrange a little foray into group sex. She looked at me like a kid who had been promised a pony on Christmas morning and said, “That would be… awesome…”

  As luck would have it, Wynn was scheduled to come to town for a long weekend to be the keynote speaker at the local Psychology Association annual meeting that I was involved in. When I brought up the prospect of Wynn staying at my house and perhaps partaking of the delights Jude had to offer, she was a little coy at first, but when the clothes came off and the dicks came out, like Marsha, Jude went all in. The three of us fucked and sucked and fingered and probed and prodded most of last night. I was completely exhausted when it was over, as were Jude and Wynn. By the time Wynn and I left my place headed for the morning session at the conference, she was still passed out in bed.

  Both of us stood in the bedroom door for a moment watching her sleep. She was lying on her back, naked, breasts rising and falling, legs spread wide, shaved pussy bare, hands over her head. It took every ounce of willpower in both our bodies not to strip off our clothes and climb on top of her. But there would be plenty of time for that later on.

  Chapter Seven: Holden

  “Whatcha thinking about, partner?” Wynn asked. He was sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda with a steaming cup of McDonald’s black coffee in one hand and an Egg McMuffin with cheese in the other. He looked like a surfer dude with his deep tan and long blonde hair blowing in the wind coming through the open window. I had to smile because he looked like the same cocky kid I met my freshman year in college twenty years ago. Tall, broad-shouldered, with lots of lean muscle, the aforementioned tan, and hair courtesy of hanging out at the Malibu beach house where he now lived.

  “I was thinking that it’s about time you started to age like the rest of us,” I said. “You can’t maintain this surfer dude look forever.”

  “Just you watch me,” Wynn said, smiling as he bit off a chunk of the Egg McMuffin with his perfect, white teeth (courtesy of his new Malibu dentist). “Ah hell, Holden, you’re holding up pretty good, for an old psyche professor.”

  “Fuck you,” I said.

  “Fuck you back.” He grinned at me as he chewed. “In fact, watching you hammer it to Jude last night, you look like you’re still in pretty decent rugby shape. Maybe we can scare up a match with some of these jughead students while I’m here.”

  Funny, it wasn’t the least bit odd or unusual for Wynn and I to talk about each other’s bodies while we were with a girl, probably because we’d been naked around each other so many times it just seemed natural now. A lot of guys probably would have accused us of being gay. The truth was, we were two of the most heterosexual mother fuckers on the planet. The first time our cocks even got near each other (double blow job from a girl back in grad school) we both got the heebie jeebies. Now, we were just totally comfortable being naked and hard around each other. The only thing that bugged me was that Wynn’s fully erect cock was twelve-inches long, which was longer than mine by a couple of inches. The bastard. Rich, good looking, and hung like a fucking horse. Sometimes life just ain’t fair!

  “I don’t think we’ll have time for rugby,” I said, turning onto the main street that ran down the center of campus, which would lead us to Conner Hall, the building where the Psychology & Sexuality in The Modern Age weekend seminar was being held. “Unless you’d prefer to spend time kic
king a ball down a field as opposed to spending time going down on Jude.”

  “Uh, I think we can play rugby some other time,” Wynn said. He took a careful sip of the hot coffee and sighed. “You were right, man. Jude really is something else. Just an amazing girl. Hot, horny, so fucking smart.”

  “I told you,” I said with a proud smile. “She likes you, too.”

  “Well, it is always good to be liked,” he said, giving me a nudge with his elbow. “You sure you’re okay with this? Me third-wheeling you guys, I mean?”

  There was the question that had been biting at the back of my mind since Wynn arrived a couple of days before. He and I had shared a lot of women over the years, but mostly one-night stands and girls we met at swinger parties or orgies. We had had our regulars, like Marsha Clarkson and a few others, but mostly the girls we tapped had just been one and dones.

  Jude was the first girl we had ever shared that I had feelings for, though I wasn’t a naïve kid. I didn’t love Jude, at least not in the “in love” sense, but I did care deeply for her and wanted her to be happy. That’s why I allowed Wynn to join our little party. Jude was hypersexual. She loved to experiment and try new things. She was young, single, and unattached. And sex made her happy. Sex with me made her very happy. Sex with me and Wynn drove her over the fucking moon.

  There it was, the answer to my question. Jude’s happiness was all that mattered.