Tags: nudity

I woke up the next morning in a weird mood.

I was restless, couldn’t concentrate, didn’t have an appetite and my mind my spinning at 100 miles per hour.

I had a double penetration the previous night which, I was convinced, was my first. It was the first time I had sex with someone other than my boyfriend.

And yet, was it? Was it my first time?

My mind wandered in the night and brought back memories to me.

Memories of parties at our apartment. Parties where I would end up having sex with other men, friends of my boyfriend.

I could remember being nude in the apartment, with a drink in my hand, on a man I couldn’t recognize, with my boyfriend sitting on the other couch and all three of us laughing.

He was holding a wine glass with his right hand and fondling my breasts with his left.

I had clear memories of him, having sex with me on the rug in front of the fireplace and I could remember actually liking it.

I could clearly remember painting an orgy scene, where a single woman was being used by four different men while being seen from the eyes of her boyfriend. That one painting fetched a lot of money and I could remember celebrating the sale with my boyfriend.

But I could now remember being in that orgy. Why couldn’t I before?

Why was I convinced that my boyfriend had been my only sexual partner if I had multiple ones?

I left my cabin and went for a walk. Under the morning light, the compound looked beautiful this morning so I took a stroll around the fence to untie my legs.

I could sorta feel the sperm inside of me moving and while it should have made me feel uncomfortable, it instead brought a smile to my face.

I salute two women I crossed. I think they were the two from the pond the previous day, the two I was painting.

They saluted me back but that was pretty much the extent of our exchange.

I kept thinking of my past. Vague memories of threesomes came back to me. With a friend of my boyfriend, with a girl. The images weren’t clear enough to see their bodies, their face or even what we did exactly.

But a clear memory began to erupt. I think I was drunk each time. I didn’t think I actually consented on any of the times, I think my boyfriend simply took advantage of being drunk to use me in depraved sexual encounters.

But as I walked, a different memory erupted. I don’t think it was at random.

I think that I decided to drink each time one of these sexual encounters became a possibility.

I was never a big drinker. I don’t even usually have a glass of wine at supper.

So I don’t think it was a coincidence I was drunk all of those times. I don’t think it was a coincidence that when I was drunk, my boyfriend would have me have sex with other people.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence I repressed those memories.

I think I always had a problem accepting my fantasies and used alcohol to enact them.

I went to take a shower, but I wasn’t alone: a woman I had not seen yet was already washing. Yet, she seemed oddly familiar to me.

“Hi”, she said. “You must be Alex. Sorry I missed you yesterday! I’m Liza and I am so happy you are with us, your paintings inspire us so much.”

Ill at ease, I thanked her.

“Do you know where each of them is? I only saw a few”

“Sure, after our showers, I could give you the tour!”

I nodded and quickly washed my body from the sweat of the previous night. We dried ourselves and went on a tour.

I was happy to see several of my paintings. I could see that most of them were highly sexual in nature and that none of the women on them wore any clothes.

“This one is, of course, my favorite”.

We could see a woman having sex on top of a man, in a grass field, in the cowgirl position while a second man was behind her playing with her breasts.

It was one of my last sales, but that’s not what struck me. It’s that it was a special commission.

The woman in the painting was Liza! I had received from my boyfriend a picture of her, naked, laying on a grass field.

I could remember my boyfriend telling me about this place, about how women were treated and I could remember, vaguely, him mentioning the name of the place and feeling excited at their way of life.

We continued the tour and in the back of the compound was the chapel filled with 3 of my paintings.

My mouth dropped when I saw the centerpiece: it was the orgy painting and featured me in the female role.

Suddenly, I had a flashback to me, flipping thru the list of possibly getaway places and recognizing the name of this place.

I wasn’t the victim of bad luck. I wasn’t in for more than I wanted.

My desires had guided me. I had chosen my fate. I had committed myself to this place.

I couldn’t hide anymore. I was what I feared the most, a sex crazed slut.

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Tags: nudity