This is the fourth of five accounts I’d like to share with you about my experiences between 2008 and 2016. This account takes place between 2011 and 2012. As with my previous entries, these events really happened. However, this account covers almost a year, so I’ve combined some of the experiences in order to avoid repetition and keep the story to a reasonable length.

The traffic was worse than usual, and it was already dark by the time I arrived at her house. I unlocked the door, dropped my car keys on the side-table, and took off my shoes. I dumped my rucksack at the foot of the stairs – I’d take it up later – and I wandered down the hall.

She was waiting for me in the living room. She was already naked, of course. She was always naked on a Friday night. The light was on and the curtains were open and the television was playing a music channel. She was sat on the sofa, and as I entered the room, she gave me a huge smile and motioned for me to sit beside her. I brushed my fingers through her dark-red hair, kissed her, then helped her to undo my belt and pull down my trousers.

She spread her legs for me – she knew I couldn’t refuse anything when faced with her beauty – and she picked up her vibrator, rubbed it between her wet labia to lubricate it with her juices, then switched it on and pressed it against my cock. I slipped my finger inside her, savouring the way she clenched me tight, savouring the pulsations from the vibrator, and I came over her lap.

I leaned against her, trembling. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close, held my face to her breast, stroked my hair. ‘I love you, Dee,’ she told me. ‘I love you too,’ I replied. Then Emile spread her legs further apart and pressed my head towards her lap, and I kissed her until she came.

That was a typical Friday night. Sometimes she’d be in the kitchen, preparing a snack; or she’d be in the bath; sometimes, on hot evenings, she’d wait for me on a blanket in the back garden. She would always be naked, and more often than not she’d be masturbating, and she’d always greet me with a smile and treat me to an orgasm. ‘It’s my way of telling you how much I’ve missed you all week,’ she would say.

I worked as a probate solicitor in Winchester, so from Monday night to Thursday night I would stay at my parents’ house. On a Friday afternoon I would get away from the office as early as possible and make the four-and-a-half-hour drive to Emile’s home in Liverpool. We’d spend the weekend together, and then I’d leave late Sunday or early Monday for the drive back to Winchester, in time for work.

Emile lived with her brother Isaac and their father. Their father spent most of his time in London for work and I only met him twice in all the time I was seeing Emile. Their mother lived in Paris. Both Emile and Isaac had been born in France and had lived there until their parents separated in 2006, and then came to live in England with their father. Emile and Isaac were very close siblings; with their father staying in in London for most of the week, they spent much of their time together and Emile was quite protective of her little brother. When our relationship started in 2011, Emile was eighteen – a year younger than me – and Isaac was fifteen.

During the summer of 2011, Emile had visited her mother in Paris, then spent six weeks travelling around Europe. We’d first met at a hostel in Amsterdam, and since then we’d texted and called one another regularly. The distance between Winchester and Liverpool made it difficult for us to meet up regularly, so I saved up for a car, passed my driving test, and I’d spent every single weekend since then with her.

Emile was beautiful. I still look back now and wondered why she settled for me – she was like a supermodel and could have had any guy she wanted. Their mother was white and their father black, so Emile and Isaac both had gorgeous, soft caramel-coloured skin. Emile had wide brown eyes and a cute heart-shaped face which was framed by curly dark-red shoulder-length hair. She had a tattoo around her neck which looked like a choker necklace. Her breasts were medium-sized, round and full, with small brown nipples. She had a flat stomach and the neatest, most beautiful pussy – her kitty, she called it – that I’d ever seen.

Topped by a narrow, dark-red landing strip, she had full outer labia which concealed her inner lips, leaving just a tight slit. Just picturing her slit was enough to make me hard. I loved watching her become aroused, watching her lips swell and slowly separate; I loved the way she’d spread herself for me, revealing her inner beauty; and the way that, after I’d satisfied her, her lips would slowly relax and close, settling back to a narrow slit which made me desperate to open it and start over again.

On Friday 14 September 2011, the day after I passed my driving test, I drove up to Liverpool and spent my first evening with her. We kissed; she took my hand, and took me to her bedroom, and took my virginity. And she took my heart. Afterwards, led beside one another in the crumpled, sweaty bedsheets, she told me she loved me. She told me she wanted us to be together. And she told me she wanted us to have an open relationship.

‘What the fuck does that mean?’ asked Martin. We were chatting on the phone, he from his university dorm in Bristol, me from my bedroom in my parents’ house. Following our holiday in Amsterdam a few months before, we hadn’t spent any time together. We tried to chat on the phone at least once a week and we’d usually combine it with ‘downtime’, which is what we called the masturbation sessions we shared when we were younger.

Usually we’d speak about girls (typically, Martin would describe his latest conquest in graphic detail) but Martin’s love-life had been somewhat lacking of late, so I was browsing Pornhub and jacking off whilst we spoke. ‘Well,’ I explained, ‘basically we can play around – that means show ourselves off, masturbate with other people, even touch other people – but we’re not allowed actual sex with anyone but each other.’

‘You’ve finally had sex?!’ Martin asked incredulously.

‘Yeah. Also, if we do play with others, we have to tell each other about it afterwards.’

‘Tell me about sex with Emilie, man!’ Martin sounded genuinely excited, almost like he was proud of me. ‘Go on! She’s, what, five foot five? Red-brown hair, brown eyes, usual number of limbs... ‘

‘I’m not sure I want to,’ I said. ‘Like, it’s personal.’

‘What? Aw, Dalziel, I always tell you about my girls.’ He sounded genuinely disappointed. ‘I always share my experiences with you. Hell, I even shared Kathy with you.’

I felt really uncomfortable, and the comment about Kathy really hit home. Martin was right – he’d always been willing to share everything with me, and yet now I was in a position to share something of interest with him, I couldn’t. ‘I’m sorry, man,’ I said. ‘Really I am. It’s just ... Emile’s amazing. I want to keep her to myself.’

There was a long silence. Eventually, Martin said: ‘If you really feel that way, do you really see this open relationship working?’ He wasn’t angry or sad or disappointed; he sounded calm and genuine. Like he really cared for me. ‘Don’t let yourself get hurt by this,’ he said.

I didn’t have to wait long for Emile to take the first step in our open relationship.

On a Saturday morning in mid-October, Emile went shopping with one of her friends from work. They were gone for most of the day, and I was in a bad mood because, having spent all week working in Winchester, I had been looking forward to spending the weekend with my girlfriend. I moped around the house and, when she still hadn’t returned by early evening, I opened a bottle of wine and settled down in front of the telly.

Emile got home about half-a-bottle later, with her friend in tow. Emile said that they wanted to go upstairs and try on the new clothes they’d bought. I hadn’t eaten much that day and I was conscious that I was a bit tipsy, but I introduced myself to her friend and offered to prepare them some drinks. I don’t know her friend’s actual name, but she called herself San after the character in the Princess Mononoke anime. She was very pretty, around the same age as Emile, with a short strawberry blonde bob and long bangs.

I went into the kitchen and poured a couple of glasses of wine, and I imagined them undressing one another in Emile’s bedroom. I was just about to start rubbing my cock through my shorts when Emile came down to show me one of the dresses she’d bought. It was short and, as she gave me a twirl, she quickly lifted up the hem and flashed her butt. ‘Wow, I really love it,’ I told her. ‘Have you got any others you’d like to show me?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she replied. ‘Come on up, I’ve got a couple more to try on.’

I spent the next thirty minutes sitting on Emile’s bed, watching the girls put on a fashion show for me. They’d go into the bathroom to change, then strut down the hallway and parade around the bed, give me a twirl, then make their way back to the bathroom for their costume-change. Most of their clothing was fairly conservative – long dresses, bootcut jeans, a long winter coat – but after we’d finished the first bottle of wine and started on a second, they became more daring.

‘The next thing I want to show you,’ shouted Emile from the bathroom, ‘is my new bra.’ And then the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. Strictly speaking, I really should have noticed her bra because that was all she was wearing; instead, my eyes were glued to her pussy as she walked towards me. As she walked around the bed I reached out and stroked her butt. I could feel my cock hardening in my shorts. Instead of returning to the bathroom, Emile sat on the bed beside me. ‘San bought some new underwear too,’ she said. ‘Wanna see?’

I didn’t answer – I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question or a joke – so I just reached down and put my hand in Emile’s lap, letting my middle finger rest along the slit where her labia met; she felt swollen and wet beneath my touch.

Because of the wine, I don’t remember precisely how the next part played out. I recall San showing off a short nightdress and a couple of items of lingerie, but the next clear recollection I have is of her sat on the bed opposite me, entirely naked. Emile was knelt between us; she had pulled my cock out of my underwear and was masturbating me in long slow strokes with one hand, and had her hand pressed against San’s mound with a couple of fingers buried inside her.

San had fairly small breasts, but they were bell-shaped and hung low on her chest. Her nipples were small and pink and she pinched and rubbed them between her fingers as she ground against Emile’s hand; I followed her lead and stroked my own nipples. I’d never really played with my nipples before, and I was surprised at how good it felt to caress them – a sort of tingling feeling which was so different – yet so complementary – to the tightening in my balls and the intense pulse in my shaft and hot band of pleasure around the crown of my cock.

San’s eyes were fixed on mine. I tried to maintain eye contact but invariably my gaze was drawn to her breasts and what I could see of her pussy behind Emile’s hand. When San closed her eyes and started whimpering, and the wet sucking noise of Emile’s fingers in her cunt became louder, I knew I was going to blow.

But somehow – I don’t know, maybe because of the wine – I held back long enough to watch San raise her hips, thrust herself against Emile’s hand, and give out a long, deep bellow as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Then, clinging to Emile’s fingers as she withdrew them was a thick ribbon of San’s juices; Emile lifted her hand, and brought it towards me, and draped it over the head of my cock; and for a moment, San and I were by that strand of love-juice which stretched from her pussy to my cock; and then my mind reeled, and my body tensed, and I let myself go.

In that moment, sprawled on the bed, spent and happy, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have a girlfriend like Emile. I remembered Martin’s warning that an open relationship might not be good for me. Sod that – what the hell did he know?

Over the next few months, Emile and I continued to explore and enjoy one another intimately. We continued to masturbate together regularly; we had sex occasionally too, but the main sexual focus of our relationship had always been masturbation. Our favoured middle-ground between the two involved me rubbing the head of my cock against her clit – the sensation of her little bud rising and pulsing against me as she came was exquisite and indescribable. We knew exactly what turned each other on, and knew exactly how to please one another.

Despite our ‘open’ relationship, I never took the opportunity to play away from home – I was infatuated with Emile and didn’t need anyone else. And as far as I knew, Emile never did either. During those first few months, we were always together during intimate experiences with others, and Emile was always the one to initiate them.

One example which sticks in my mind occurred on a late February afternoon in 2012, on the sort of clear winter day where the bright sunshine lulls you into the false belief that summer is on its way. Emile and Isaac had dug out the sun loungers from the shed, dusted off the spiders and cobwebs, and set them out on the patio. One of Emile’s friends (I can’t remember her name – it was something like Sally or Sarah) came over and, although it was frosty, we all sat outside in our coats and scarves. Isaac even got a little fire going in the chiminea, but it wasn’t long before it started to snow, and we abandoned our loungers and took refuge indoors.

Sally-or-Sarah was around the same age as Emile. She was short and curvaceous – she had large breasts that looked almost too big for her body, wide hips and a plump arse. Her hair was dark brown, long and straight, and she wore glasses with thick black frames. There was something cute and geeky about her that appealed to me, and Emile clearly knew it.

Isaac switched the telly on and we all huddled on the floor in front of it, under a thick blanket. I was in the centre with Isaac to my left and Emile to my right. Sally sat in front of Emile and leant back so she could rest her head in Emile’s bosom. Isaac kept flicking through the channels for something decent to watch, and eventually settled on a Disney cartoon. Meanwhile, Emile discretely reached under the blanket and put her hand on my crotch; slowly, maddeningly slowly, she unbuckled my jeans and unzipped my flies; then she cupped my soft cock through my shorts and gently squeezed it.

As I started to stiffen, I noticed Isaac staring out the corner of his eye at the growing bulge in the blanket. I turned my head towards Emile and whispered, ‘You gotta stop, Isaac knows what you’re doing.’ She giggled, said something that I couldn’t hear, and then took a proper hold of my cock and started to pump it.

Sally grunted. ‘Hey, Emile,’ she said, sitting up, ‘stop fidgeting.’ I smacked the back of Emile’s hand, and she stopped and withdrew, just as Sally shuffled sideways, pulled away my blanket, and leant back in my lap. ‘Hopefully you won’t move about as much as your girlfriend,’ she said. I had a full erection by this point, and as Sally reclined against me, it pressed into the middle of her back. She half-turned her face to me as if to question it, then stopped, looked forward towards the telly, and sort of wiggled against me as if making herself comfortable.

I glanced at Isaac. He was still watching the film, but he had a big grin on his face as though he knew my predicament. I turned to Emile who was stifling a laugh. ‘Is Dee’s lap comfier than mine?’ she asked Sally. Sally nodded; it was only a small nod, but her whole body seemed to shift and I could feel my cock rubbing against her. She had a thick jumper on, but she was between me and the blanket and my cock was poking out of my jeans, covered only by my underwear.

Sally stretched, shifting again in my lap. Unable to help myself, I pressed forward with my hips, grinding against her. Emile took my hand, gave it a squeeze, then placed it on Sally’s shoulder. ‘Dee gives the most amazing back-rubs,’ she said. I glanced at Emile and mouthed the words ‘What are you doing?’ but she just laughed again, reached over for my other hand, and placed it on Sally’s other shoulder.

Sally squirmed in my lap again, and said, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, I’m a total back-rub-slut.’ She leant forward, and I was suddenly aware that my erection was now visible, sticking out of my trousers and straining against my boxer shorts, and that Isaac was staring at it. Sally quickly peeled off her jumper, revealing a black bra which didn’t look big enough to contain her breasts, then leant back into my lap.

I didn’t dare look at Isaac, but I glanced at Emile and she nodded. Alright, I thought, and I started to caress Sally’s shoulders. She immediately pressed even harder against me, against my cock, and I was now conscious that it was only separated from her by the thin layer of my underwear. I could even feel a small wet patch forming as I started to leak precum. Emile put her hand on my arm and smiled at me in encouragement, and I carried on massaging Sally, and Sally carried on rubbing her back against my cock.

I think it would have stopped at a massage if Emile hadn’t been there to goad me, but I worked through the knots in Sally’s upper back, and in the tops of her arms, and then I let my hands wander around to the front of her shoulders, then to her breastbone; and by then Sally was grinding herself against me so much that my cock escaped from my underwear and started to rub against her skin. Sally had given up all pretence that this was just a back massage, so I pulled her closer to me, reached down over her shoulders, and slipped my hands inside her bra and cupped her breasts. Her nipples felt huge and hot and hard beneath my fingers, and I fondled and gently pinched them.

Sally put her hands upon mine, clenched them tight, then dragged them away from her breasts and down towards her crotch. I had to lean forward to reach as she led my hands over her mound. She unbuttoned her trousers, pulled them down slightly, and took one of my hands in hers and shoved it inside her panties. My fingers brushed through her pubic hair as I searched for her lips. She shifted, parted her legs a little, and suddenly her wet labia were sucking at my fingertips. I wished I could see her beauty, but from above and behind her I couldn’t see past the swell of her breasts.

I heard Emile say something, and then Isaac stood up and left the room. I glanced at Emile; she leant forward and kissed my forehead. ‘Everything alright?’ she whispered, and I nodded, but she understood what I needed. She knew that I didn’t get off solely from sexual contact; she knew that I craved visual stimulus too. Emile stood up, pulled down her trousers and panties, and then sat back down beside me with her legs spread wide.

For a minute or two she sat like that, not moving, just watching me finger Sally, watching Sally rub against me; and then, as Sally’s pussy sucked more hungrily on my fingers and my cock started to pulse uncontrollably, Emile reached down with both hands and parted her lips, opening her caramel slit to expose her delicate pink cunt. And that was enough for me.

When we’d finished, I leant back, exhausted and deliriously happy; and Sally sighed contently; and Emile gave me another kiss on my forehead.

When Sally left, I took a shower. Afterwards, I wrapped a towel around me and wandered downstairs. Emile was in the kitchen with Isaac, preparing dinner. Emile winked at me as I entered. ‘That was fun, wasn’t it?’ she said.