Olfaction

By

Donna M.

 

How would you like being married to a MILF?  Every guy has had that thought at one time or another.  You’re walking down the street, or in a store, and you spot a woman, perhaps older though not too old, and you think to yourself, she’s hot.  You may ponder how lucky her husband is.  You may see her with a couple of kids and yet she still knocks you over.  And you think Oh would I love to spend one night with her.  You may not understand why you’re attracted to her but you are.

I’m Scott, and I’m married to one of those women.

Natalie may not fit the Hollywood beauty mold, but when she enters a room everyone turns to look at her.  I mean everyone; men and women.  Her full head of auburn hair seems to always catch one sunbeam and reflect it back at the world.  Her light dusting of freckles seems to convey innocence, not as a barrier to getting to know her, but as a challenge.  It doesn’t matter whether she’s in jeans and a t-shirt working our garden or wearing a form-hugging cocktail dress at a party, Natalie draws attention.  Next to her, I often feel like a troll.

I haven’t even mentioned the best part, though ‘best’ is in the eye (or in this case nose) of the beholder.  My wife is a walking pheromone factory, and in her case it works both ways.  I remember the first time we met at an off-campus party.  I was a player in college and never had to wait long between willing co-eds, however as I stood next to Natalie, chit-chatting about campus gossip and such, I reacted to something primal.  As if she emitted some sensual vibe, I popped the stiffest erection I’d had in a long time.  The worst part was that she saw the bulge immediately.

She leaned close and whispered, “You might want to turn a bit to the left and it won’t be so noticeable.”

I was embarrassed, yet her acknowledgement seemed so matter-of-fact, like it happened all the time and she was just trying to be helpful.  I quickly mumbled an apology.

“Don’t worry about it.  I get that reaction a lot.”  Was she bragging?  As I digested her comment while trying to will away my erection, she added, “Mmmmm, you’re very equine.”

“Huh?”

She laughed softly and then said, “All men have a scent about them; a musk.  Yours is equine.”  After a slight pause, she added, “I love equines,” and moved closer.

The rest of the party was a blur as I succumbed to her magnetism, or whatever her power was.  She openly sermonized about the smell of men, straightforwardly categorizing us as animals, such as porcine, bovine, equine, etc.  “It’s no joke; most men really are pigs,” she said.  “Very few are horses like you.”

Normally I would’ve made a smart remark about being hung like one, but words failed me as I bathed in the essence that was her.  Like a planet’s gravity capturing wayward moons, men entered orbit around her as they happened to draw near.  If they had the same reaction I had, I didn’t want to look to find out.  They must have been porcine, for she pulled me closer perhaps as a signal to the others.  I got a different signal, as her scent had me rock hard and practically hyperventilating. I questioned the ‘equine’ thing, since I responded like Pavlov’s Dog and wondered if she had a canine category.

That’s how I met Natalie.  After the party she gave me her number and told me she wanted to see me again. I wanted to see more of her that night, but it wasn’t meant to be.  I went back to my apartment, horny as hell and knowing I found a new opiate—Natalie.  Like an infatuated teen, I called her several times a day.  Finally she laughed and said I deserved “another fix.”  She obviously understood the hooked-on-Natalie phenomenon.

Our date was to go see a movie.  She rested her head on my shoulder throughout, and occasionally it sounded like she was sniffing me.  I needn’t be so close to smell her.  At first I wondered what her cologne was, however I soon realized she needed no applied scent; her natural scent needed to be bottled and sold.  All during the thriller my cock remained hard and my underwear was wet from leaking copious amounts of pre-cum.

Afterwards we went to her apartment.  “It’s okay, Scott.  I won’t let you remain frustrated like when we met,” she said.  She nonchalantly removed her blouse, exposing her bra that tauntingly hinted at what remained covered.  While I was standing in her living room area she dropped to her knees in front of me, undid my pants, pulled them down, and released my aching cock to spring up to her lips.  She took a long sniff like I’ve seen smokers smell a cigar before she took my leaking cock between her lips.  Not at all fazed by the dripping pre-cum, she mouthed me almost to her tonsils.  As she sucked greedily, I reached down and around her to undo her bra, letting it fall.  She glanced up at me.  Our eyes met and stayed locked together as her mouth fucked me.  There was no other way to describe the incredibly intense blow-job.

“Oh Natalie…I’m gonna cum!” I said loudly.  She actually nodded while still bobbing her head, taking my cock deep in her mouth.  She made a guttural croak but still managed to swallow most of what must have been a mammoth load.

“You taste as good as you smell,” she said, with a trace of cum still at the edge of her mouth.

“What is it with you and smells?”

“I’m wired differently, that’s all,” she said.  “A man I once dated called me ‘primeval,’ meaning he thought I was more attuned to things we humans have long since evolved away from.  Like our sense of smell.”  While she spoke I undressed her from the waist down, burying my face in her intoxicating crotch.  Thankfully she didn’t stop me. She continued to explain, “My body emits as strong a scent as my nose picks up.  I’m more animal than human in that way, I guess.”

My mind reflected on what she was saying.  I knew that sex between animals was all about smells and pheromones.  A female puts out the scent that she’s fertile and ready—‘in heat’—and the strongest male wins the right to mate with her.  No emotions involved.  She had to be correct, for no sooner did I put my nose in her muff (she was trimmed but still had a healthy thatch of pubic hair) than my dick sprang back to a painfully hard erection, as if the blow-job she just gave me never happened.

Natalie had me believing in the spell of smells.  No sooner did I tongue her delicious, musky smelling pussy than I started to cum.  She didn’t even have to touch me; I simply detonated.  Once more I was embarrassed, but she took my premature ejaculation (I’ll say!) in stride, as if it happened all the time, and I supposed it did if the thing with the musk or whatever was real.

We cleaned up my mess before she led me to her bedroom.  I offered to shower but she made more comments about how “arousing” I smelled as she pulled me atop her.  All I needed was another whiff of her natural scent and I was miraculously hard again.  I actually glanced at my very erect cock and was surprised it looked thicker, more swollen than I’d ever seen it.  Maybe I was ‘equine’ all along and the fact remained dormant.

As I fucked her I more or less gave up trying to make the act last.  Fortunately whatever scent I produced had a similar effect on her and we both came together with loud, throaty moans.  She declared me a “keeper,” and we’ve been together ever since. 

During our engagement I knew she fucked other men.  I married her anyway.  The olfactory urges were too strong; I was hooked.  You see, from that first time we met, I’d seen the effect she had on men, not just me.  Guys tripped over themselves trying to be near her, and I couldn’t be there every hour of the day to chase them away.  Natalie tried, but she was such a slave to her primordial sense of smell that she couldn’t control herself, just like we men couldn’t.

You see, she told me everything.  She never cheated in that sense, she rutted.  I understood and considered it the price I paid to be her man.  When she fucked someone else, it was without any emotional strings; it was all biological, or maybe I should say chemical.  She always had plenty for me, and I was happy.

Our wedding day was the wildest.

Maybe it was the excitement of the day itself that heightened her senses and ‘emissions.’  Whatever the reason every male member of the wedding party, including my dad, had an erection throughout the ceremony.  I was sure most people noticed in spite of the embarrassing attempts the men took to hide them.  To me, “kiss the bride” meant a more primitive need, and I was rock hard too.  In our honeymoon suite, neither one of us could wait.  However as I went down on her, once more satisfying the mad impulse to drink in her intoxicating musk, I smelled a cologne that wasn’t hers.  One whiff of the familiar scent conjured up old-fashioned images of a sailing ship, as well as the man who always wore it.

“You fucked my father?” I said.

Natalie looked contrite yet I knew she couldn’t help herself.  I tried not to think of my father’s impression of the indiscretion.  She said, “I’m sorry, Scott.  Bill always has been so nice to me, and you are a chip off the old block, after all.  What could I do?”  

I accepted on faith that my dad was the only man at the wedding reception that fucked her.  It was a measure of our strange relationship—and now marriage—that my biggest concern wasn’t jealousy but how my father thought of me afterwards.  I should have been concerned.  My dad’s expression when he saw me thereafter alternated between pity and you-lucky-devil.  All I hoped for was that he didn’t try to make another play for my wife.  For her part, Natalie promised she’d never sleep with him again.

Life went on.  I spent working days worrying about what she was doing without me around.  In her job she had dealings with many A-Type personalities.  I wondered how they smelled to her.  Would they pick up her scent and chase after her?  Did they give off a better scent than me?  Not able to control her primal urges, did she slink away to an unused conference room and fuck their brains out?  If I kept worrying like that I knew I’d go crazy.

Then I spent nights in our marriage bed and all my worries melted away.  Once my nose was close to her armpits, or her navel, or her crotch, whatever olfactory lure she gave off overcame me.  I’d grow exceedingly and painfully hard, and I had to fuck her.  My distress was something Natalie had seen her entire life, so she was very understanding as she spread her thighs for me.  No matter how tired I might have been, I nailed her hard and fast, and only on my second orgasm could I hold it long enough to get her off.

Not able to predict the outcome, I judiciously managed our socializing.  Parties and other non-family gatherings were a particular problem, not much different than in college.  No sooner did we arrive, every male in the place abandoned his wife or date and hovered around my wife. The significant-other females couldn’t figure it out.  It wasn’t obvious but if you knew what I knew you actually saw the men sniffing her. That was awkward, though the real problem didn’t surface until she began sniffing back.  That’s when I had to herd her away from the welter of olfactory admirers.  Friends would comment about how lucky I was to be married to Natalie.  They brazenly asked how good she was in bed.  Though their minds couldn’t decipher what their senses knew immediately upon being near her, they realized the response and embraced it.  She may not be a mother yet, but Natalie was a MILF in that regard.

My lifelong friend and best man, Cole, was particularly driving me crazy.  He’d invent any excuse to visit.  His wife was drop-dead gorgeous and frankly much better looking than Natalie, but whatever my wife exuded had him acting like a rutting stag.  She confided to me that he was ‘porcine’ so I needn’t worry.  However, I knew I couldn’t take any such assurances from her at face value since in the long run she wasn’t able to totally escape her primal, animalistic nature.  So I tried to keep Cole away from her.

Jokes about the mailman aside, she was always talking with everybody.  Everybody who was male that is; and the men lost all perspective on personal space as they crowded hers while they spoke.  Then came the night she met Erica, when everything changed.

We were having dinner at our favorite restaurant when the hostess led another couple by our table.  The woman stopped in her tracks at the same time Natalie’s head snapped upward and spun around to look at her, though she couldn’t have seen the woman pull up short behind her.

The man she was with nearly walked into her before saying, “Are you okay, honey?”

The woman appeared hyper yet confused.  She answered, “Ah…yeah…I think so,” but still didn’t follow the now-impatient hostess.

Natalie and the woman made eye contact, but there was more to the scene I wasn’t seeing.  Then it dawned on me; I couldn’t “see” anything because it was olfaction—the scent, the pheromones, the primeval power—that seemed to be possessed by both women.  In a moment of clarity, I saw that the other lady’s husband (if that’s who he was) realized what was going on too.  He knew the power of his woman.

My wife quickly said, “Don’t I know you?”  I knew right away it was a lie.  Natalie didn’t know her.  She needed a pretense to hold her there.

“You do look…familiar,” she answered, “My name’s Erica, and this is Jim.”

I stared at both ladies, saw how flushed they both appeared, and turned to the hostess and said, “Could we get two more settings so they can join us?” while motioning toward the other two chairs at our table.

Natalie and Erica looked like my invitation was akin to Christmas morning.  They sat and began fabricating their story on how they knew each other when clearly they didn’t.  I nodded to Jim and he nodded back, acknowledging that he knew what just happened.  I often wondered how many more in the world were like my Natalie, and now I knew there was at least one more.

The wait staff earned a great tip for getting the newcomers their meals quickly to “catch up” with our dinner course.  Watching the interplay between the two women was like being at a dinner theater. Jim and I kept to inconsequential small talk while the ladies danced around the topic that pulled us together.  It was humorous how each woman adopted code words to describe sexual situations as the only way they could speak about the subject in public.

I waited for the familiar “powder room” visit, and when it came I finally had my chance to speak with Jim alone.  After the ladies left the table, I said, “I guess we have a lot in common.”

“It sure looks like it,” he said.  “Been married long?”

We compared notes on what it was like being married to women who lived on a different, more primal plane of existence than the rest of us.  We came up with our own code words to discuss the inevitable male hordes that sniffed around our wives and the times they sniffed back.

As we watched the ladies return to the table, Jim leaned closer and whispered, “Erica’s got that look.  I don’t know what arrangement you guys have but I know that when Erica’s in heat, I don’t get in the way.”

Arrangement?  He was talking about our wives sleeping together, or maybe some sort of wife swapping.  The “look” that Natalie gets was magnified in Erica.  Her black hair was long and framed a pretty face, and she was a full-figured, curvy gal.  I had images of the two of them wrapped around each other, bathing in the other’s scent and climaxing loudly.  As Erica walked by my chair, she stopped like before and leaned down to sniff at my ear.  She looked at Natalie and purred, “Oh, he smells so divine!”  I wasn’t about to respond, but with her being close enough to be overwhelmed by her pheromones and having her lick my earlobe like one would lick an ice cream cone, I responded in a whole different way.  I glanced over at her husband, my surprise and arousal evident, though all he did was smile and shrug his shoulders.  I then glanced at my lovely wife, and she looked like she does in the moments before she cums.  The time through dessert and coffees was wet-chair time; I didn’t have to see it, I could smell it.  Of course, I was an expert at that now.

While we split the check, Erica suggested nightcaps at their place.  When I looked his way, Jim simply nodded.  Erica insisted that the best way was for Natalie to ride with Jim while she rode with me.  “Then you won’t get lost,” she said, but then I wondered if I hadn’t already gotten lost.  As I followed them, headlight glare made it look as if Natalie was almost sitting in Jim’s lap, which might not have been an illusion because at the same time Erica was leaning out of her seat and holding my right arm closely.

After we arrived at their place, Jim poured us drinks while Erica showed Natalie around the house.  We watched them slink away upstairs before Jim said, “If they don’t come down in about ten minutes then you know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured,” I said.

They were gone considerably longer than ten minutes.  In the meantime Jim and I spoke on what it was like being married to one of “them.”  Using that word wasn’t an exaggeration.  It did seem to me as if Natalie, and now Erica, were from a different species.  I thought I’d experienced everything while married to Natalie, but Jim told me stories about his wife that flabbergasted and staggered me.

We heard the screaming long before they came downstairs to join us again.  Jim said, “I want to prepare you for what’s coming.  Our wives are probably just getting started; they’re going to want to swap after they’re done.  You’ll like being with Erica, and I want you to think about it ahead of time.  I’m used to it, and I want to make sure you’ll be okay with Natalie…”

He didn’t have to complete the sentence.  I knew what he meant.

When they finally came downstairs, both were disheveled and had a post-coital glow about them.  Their scent of arousal, their musk, their pheromones, preceded them to the living room where Jim and I waited.  I saw the instant arousal on Jim’s face and felt it within me.  We had no power to stop anything from happening. Erica staggered toward where I was sitting and stood before me.  Her scent was overpowering.  I reached out and pulled her to me, hiking her dress up as I did so.  She had no panties on so I buried my nose in her shaved slit and inhaled the product of her coming into estrus; for that’s what it was, she was in heat like any other mammal, just not like human’s are supposed to be.

I grew intoxicated, drunk on her smells and tastes.  My cock throbbed in my pants, begging to be released.  I managed a sidelong glance over at Jim and Natalie.  The hem of my wife’s dress was also up above her hips and Jim’s tongue and nose were submerged in her musky alcove.

Erica muttered, “Fuck me Scott, I need it.”

Yeah, she needed it I thought, as we yanked our clothes off and went at it like the rutting animals we were.  I never gave much thought to enjoying Erica as the full figured beauty she was.  Our fucking wasn’t sublime, it was ground and pound.  And Natalie and Jim were doing the same.  My wife’s auburn hair was a blur as she rode him hard.  Erica was doing the same to me.  I imagined an observer would have had difficulty telling when orgasms began and ended, and whose orgasmic cries were whose.  We collapsed, falling to their living room floor from whatever piece of furniture we christened with our spent fluids.  Almost immediately Natalie pushed her pussy into my face, and Jim’s seed notwithstanding, I dove right in.  Tasting another man’s cum was not something I ever thought I’d experience, and yet there I was; with a rapidly rebounding member to boot.

We fucked several more times before even our wives’ olfactory powers couldn’t get us men hard again.  So they gave up on us and went at it with each other in a flurry of tongues and lips, with a dash of frantic scissoring thrown in to enhance the obviously overwhelming orgasms each of them had.

Before we went home, Erica insisted that we “see” them again.  Natalie quickly agreed.  Jim and I wearily nodded.  In the car, Natalie wanted to know if I was okay with what happened.  “Oh my God!  That Erica!  I just couldn’t control myself!”

“Yes, I know what that feels like…ever since we met.”

“But you still love me, don’t you?” she said with an honest to goodness pout.

“You know I love you, even if I can’t control everything that happens around you.”  I didn’t mention Jim by name, but I’d added him to the list I have in my head of men she’d “lost it” with.  “I’ll live with it.”

And that’s what I did—lived with it, and her.  Until death do us part, right?  So now I ask the question again: how would you like being married to a MILF?  You see, it’s not her beauty that makes men want Natalie and makes her stray; it’s her otherworldly power to exude smells that most can’t exude, and to smell the smells in others that we humans don’t smell anymore in our so-called evolutionary progress.  When I answered “I do” I was accepting who she was and what I was acquiescing to.  I was the addict and she was my drug.

The surreal foursome of Natalie, me, Erica and Jim proved to be too much.  Jim and I were zombies by the time the ladies were through with us.  I began to think of Natalie and Erica as two pieces of fissionable material—together they achieved critical mass—the mushroom clouds spewing from our cocks each time.

It took me a few years of marriage to realize that Natalie’s olfactory powers were increasing with age.  Once more I thought of estrus, the female mammalian response to the reproductive cycle—what we euphemistically call being in heat.  Why shouldn’t Natalie’s primitive response to, and emission of scents follow her need to conceive during her ‘best’ years?  We talked about having kids, and we never used birth control.  Considering the times she’s had unprotected sex since we’ve been married (besides with me) it’s a mystery why she hasn’t become pregnant.  I urged her to see her doctor about her fertility.  By the way, her doctor had to be a woman.  She saw a male doctor once and he fucked her right in the office, causing quite a commotion with his staff hearing everything.  Needless to say she ceased being his patient.  When Natalie was examined by her newest doctor, she couldn’t find anything physically wrong with her, though she did say that Natalie’s ovaries were “strangely overactive,” but didn’t explain further.

We eventually drifted away from Erica and Jim.  The women simply overpowered each other, like giving each other a drug overdose.  For a moment in our lives, things were normal, as normal as married life with Natalie could be.  Then she came home from work one day and initiated my sense of déjà vu.  I went to greet her, give her a kiss, when she suddenly popped her eyes open wide and said, “Who have you been with today?”

“I haven’t ‘been’ with anyone.  I’ve been working just like you have.”

“That’s what I mean. Who’d you work with today?  Anyone new?”

“I worked with Kerry on a project today, and she is fairly new to the company.  Why?”

“Christ, her scent is all over you!”  She didn’t elaborate.  Instead she began pulling me toward our bedroom, undressing along the way.  After I stumbled out of my clothes we sixty-nined.  Of course I was overcome by her natural musk, so it didn’t take long for me to be cumming down her throat.  What surprised me was that she came quickly too, practically squirting.

“Did you fuck this Kerry woman?” Natalie asked me as we lay together.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with you, but I didn’t fuck her.  We just worked closely on a project today.”

“Her scent!  You’ve got to invite her over for dinner or whatever.”  Oh-oh, I had another Erica situation on my hands.  Kerry was an older woman yet in great shape and pretty in a world-weary sort of way.  I hadn’t noticed a ring.  If my wife wanted a threesome, then why not give it a try?

It took me three days of compliments I hoped fell short of sexual harassment before she agreed to meet me after work for a drink.  We were on barstools conversing over cocktails when Natalie arrived and claimed the barstool next to Kerry.  Under any other circumstance my wife showing up would have been awkward.  However all it took was one whiff and Kerry swooned.  I thought she’d fall off the chair so I reached out to hold her, but Natalie was faster, and the way she held her was quite different too.  Kerry was putty in my wife’s hands.  They managed some small talk that excluded me, though Kerry was too distracted by her unpredicted arousal to say anything truly coherent. The smartest thing this intelligent lady said was “Yes” when Natalie invited her to our place.

For the first go-round I played the voyeur.  They wasted no time undressing each other and getting down to some hot sex.  I couldn’t calculate in my head what sixty-nine squared was, however their frantic cunnilingus was beyond anything I’d ever seen in a porn flick.  They didn’t lick each other’s pussy, they devoured it. 

Kerry was a screamer.  “Sweet Jesusssssssssssssss, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” she wailed as her hips bucked and her body shook, completely drowning out my wife’s concurrent orgasmic cries.  I was so entranced by both the sight and smell of their heated coupling that I didn’t know I was masturbating until I uttered my own cry and spewed several long ropes into the air.

Following their explosive orgasms I thought they’d cool it, but the ladies weren’t finished yet.  They scissored and then fingered each other before the allure of musky, post-orgasmic scent had them back to doing a sixty-nine.  The scent in the room was so strong that I was instantly hard again and couldn’t take it.  I left the room; the slurping and moaning sounds trailing behind me.

I opened a beer and pondered once more what I got when I married Natalie. Yes, I’ve enjoyed the extraordinary sex with her as well as the “benefits,” even if I often ended up feeling like an afterthought, a fifth wheel.  They were both screaming in ecstasy as I also pondered the nature of jealousy.  I remembered how violated I felt when I found out she fucked my father on our wedding day.  I remembered all the times I knew she’d succumbed to her basest of instincts and fucked other men.  Was I being too easy on her, excusing her wanton lust as something she can’t control?  Granted, I couldn’t control myself either when I was with her.  Was she capable of rising above her primal, animal nature?  Probably not, so I had to accept the bad with the good.

The ‘good’ this day turned out to be Kerry.  Multiple orgasms aside, Kerry remained so completely aroused that Natalie in effect offered her to me.  With my wife (and her stimulating olfactory emissions) lying next to her, Kerry spread her thighs and outstretched her arms to take me in.  Needless to say, with all the pheromones in the bedroom I was erect and it sadly had nothing to do with the lovely body that beckoned me.  In a different place or time I would have been happy to fall between those summoning legs, yet on that evening I was a victim of animal chemistry like she was.

I willed every muscle in my body to slow down as I fucked her.  It was no use; one ‘muscle’ wouldn’t cooperate.  Though not as powerful as my wife’s, Kerry’s musk was strong enough that I lost control.  I pounded into her with such abandon the bed slammed the wall with a loud thud each thrust that sounded like a rocking drum beat.  That beat quickly harmonized with Kerry’s wails.  I lost it and came with such force my entire body spasmed.  I filled her vagina and yet I was still hard and still thrusting.

She repeated my name over and over again in syncopation with my thrusts and her orgasmic convulsions.  Amazingly I climaxed once more, spewing several more ropes of cum deep into her.  Way too late I wondered if she was on birth control.

Kerry didn’t want to leave our bed.  I was abruptly dismissed and instructed to get her keys and pick up some clothes for her to wear to work the next day.  I dressed and drove to the address I was given, picking up what I thought was a good enough ensemble for the office.  When I returned and entered the house, I was greeted by the sounds of two climaxing women.  Unbelievably they were at it again.  None of us would get much sleep that night.

At the office the following morning we tread carefully around each other.  Kerry was probably conflicted over what happened, not really understanding her licentious reaction.  I wasn’t about to bring it up.  She looked as tired as I was, and that I was sure added to her confusion.

I was wrong.

When Kerry and I finally had some time alone, she began to cry, explaining that she was a lesbian and that I was the first man to ever have sex with her.  I apologized but she quickly said she didn’t blame me.

“If that’s the case, why did you agree to have a drink with me?” I said. “I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“You were obvious alright, but I smelled…you know…your wife on you, and something happened to me that never happened before…and then it was out of my control.”

I knew that feeling.

I apologized again and said that I hoped we could still work together.  I told her that I fully understood and supported her sexual preference, even as I admitted that she was a great looking lady and that I was humbled by the singular opportunity I had.  Kerry said that she would be happy working with me and appreciated my honesty and discretion.  The following weekend she slept over our house again.  I fucked her silly after my wife was through with her.  We didn’t talk about it while working.

As time went on Natalie continued to meet “secretors” (as I thought of them)—women who emitted and detected the same primitive scents as she did.  She’d bring them home like stray puppies and drive them as crazy as they drove her.  Sometimes I’d get the leftovers.

Elizabeth was different.  She was a willowy blond that on the first meeting seemed almost fragile.  Fragile she might have been before Natalie drew her into bed, but she certainly didn’t remain that way thereafter.  Much like with the others, I watched, marveled at the orgasmic fury, before being allowed to participate. 

What was different was that I fell in love with Elizabeth. The attraction wasn’t just physical—the pheromones—but something more.  When she and Natalie mated, it transcended the primal explosion that Erica and my wife created.  Symbiosis: together they were much more than the sum of two exceptional women. My first time with Elizabeth was like my first time ever.  When she wrapped her long legs around me and urged me on with sweet words and a purring voice, I was in love.  Again.

Elizabeth soon moved in with us.  We became a trio, an open-marriage triad.  No other woman was in our lives or bed.  Elizabeth somehow made Natalie and me whole.  Our threesomes would shake the house.  Our neighbors probably heard us too. 

Kerry got another job and so she wasn’t a distraction.  And thankfully she hadn’t gotten pregnant.

But Elizabeth did.  We named the child Natalie Ann.

We lived as a family and no one seemed to care.  Even though Natalie hadn’t conceived or given birth, her olfactory power waned after her namesake was born.  Maybe it wasn’t needed anymore to keep the three of us together.  We were now four.

One day while changing Natalie Ann’s diaper I got a whiff of something other than baby-shit.  I lifted her to my nose, and couldn’t believe that a baby could give me an erection.  It scared me.  The incident also opened my eyes to the past.  Natalie never talked about her youth, but could she have been abused as a child?  If the pheromones and smells of estrus were even half as strong as what I just smelled from the baby, then a preteen Natalie, and maybe Elizabeth, Erica, Kerry and elemental women like them all suffered rape and abuse as a child.  Even if the powerful attractant didn’t show up until puberty, the girls would still have suffered through their formative years.

I held freshly diapered Natalie Ann close to me, trying to ignore the primitive urge in my aching groin.  I had to protect this child from myself and every other male in the world.  I had to protect my child, knowing it would be nearly impossible to do so.  My painful erection spoke volumes.

I had to be strong, but could I be?

 

Donna M.

© 2012

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