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 par 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."

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 beef strips 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 beef 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.