Dan next to her roared when it was his turn and she half expected - half wanted - to be showered by his cum, but he must have changed his direction. Amelia, whispering fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, was next, a blur of juicy noises, and then, when Graham, seated with his cock point directly at Claire, started to bellow, it was her turn too. "Oh, Jesus...fuck!" Her spread legs spasmed tight around her hands, her back arched upwards, her mouth stretched in an endless, voiceless grinn of pleasure. Eventually, her body relaxed and she could breath again."And...lights." Graham's voice should have been a little more breathless than that. Amelia should not have been at the door to be able to operate the lights. Everyone should not be fully dressed and sitting up on the chairs as if this were an afternoon tea party and not, after all, a wanking orgy.They all stared at Claire. Stretched out on the floor with her hands glued to her sticky, exposed cunt and still weak from her orgasm. Some of them. But after half a month I already knew she wouldn't heal me of my lingering depression. She was nice company, though. I needed a patient ear those first months — even if I had to pay for it. Which makes me wonder now why I didn't feel the urge to pay for other female services in this city that never sleeps. God knows I hardly slept. My bed was empty. So was my apartment, so were my weekends. I just felt too numb, I guess.Erica changed all of that.I met Erica at the tennis club. It was by the Chelsea piers and open day and night. Playing there was an excellent opportunity to do something positive with my sleepless hours. A colleague invited me and after playing a few times, I became a member. There were always people around who were looking for a partner. One of them was Erica. We soon played regularly, often twice a week.She was a big woman. Not as in fat — there wasn't an ounce of that on her. She was a tall blonde athlete. It took me weeks to get my neglected body in good enough.
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