Menage A Trois Ch 09

After Lisa left I went back to the kitchen and sat down with another cup of coffee. I was trying to puzzle out how I was going to talk to Sandy about her relationship with Lisa (and for that matter, my relationship with Lisa). I had no desire to limit my relationship with Lisa to a one-night stand.

"But then again," I asked myself, "What would I do if Sandy demanded I stay away from Lisa?"

"So how could she do that, given what she has done with Lisa?"

"Yeah, well, she just could," I told myself, "and I don't think I'll have the courage to tell her no."

"But why would she do that? She certainly didn't with Rachel."

"Maybe I should just be mad at her and walk away."

"Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Besides, how do you walk away from someone who's never around?"

"Maybe Sandy would just deny the whole story and claim she never knew Lisa."

"Not likely," I told myself. "First, the way Lisa reacted when she saw my drawing of Sandy on the dock was a giveaway. She was telling the truth. She had been deeply in love with Sandy and still is. Besides that, I'm sure Rachel knows the whole story and would tell me if I asked. Sandy knows that too. She won't lie about her affair with Lisa."

"So really no shit, Steve, what are you going to do?"

I had gone around this conversation about three times (and a cup and a half of coffee) when the phone rang. It was the art supply house calling to tell me the roll of paper I had special ordered for the big drawing had just come in. That gave me the excuse I needed to stop torturing myself with the Sandy/Lisa problem. I quickly cleaned up the kitchen, showered, dressed, and headed for the subway to get my paper. Right now I wanted, more than anything else, to focus on my drawing.

So that's exactly what I did for the next three days. Doing the big drawing presented some problems, because my drawing board wasn't big enough for the sheet I was working with. I sketched out the outlines of the figures on the floor and then did the color work on the drawing board in sections. I was a little concerned about how well this would work, but after three days I had a completed pastel drawing taped to the wall that I really liked. It was just like the small model I had done, but bigger. Much bigger!

Two naked women slumped against each other on a couch with that "oh so satisfied, just climaxed so fucking hard I can't believe it" look. The tall blonde, the one with the small tits, is lying with her head back and eyes closed, her long shapely legs stretched out before her, with the left one splayed to the side exposing her glistening sex to the viewer. The shorter redhead is tucked under the blonde's right arm, her eyes closed and her unruly curls covering one of the blonde's breasts. Their hips are tight together sharing their warmth. The redhead has one leg extended like the blonde's tight alongside hers. Her other leg is pulled up, the heel on the couch threatening to slide off if she falls asleep, exposing her equally gleaming sex.

The key to the picture is the expression on the women's faces. Rachel, the redhead, has a pure smile of love and satisfaction. Sandy's smile is perhaps just a little more complex, a bit ambiguous. Is it satisfaction, contentment, love for Rachel, or pride at how she had just satisfied Rachel, or made Rachel satisfy her? I didn't know, and I didn't want the viewer to know either—not for sure. This wasn't a Mona Lisa smile. It was something else. Just as ambiguous but more erotic. The contrast between the two girls' expressions was the emotional heart of the picture. It invited the viewer to speculate about the women's respective emotions and motivations, thereby making the drawing's story the viewer's own.

"Yes, it works," I told myself.

That was when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw it was Sandy. My heart leaped. I still didn't know whether to be pissed or fearful of losing her. We hadn't talked since before my fling with Lisa. I had been avoiding the issue by burying myself in my work. But the work was done, and there was Sandy on the phone. "Time to step up," I told myself.

"Hi you," I answered.

"Hi yourself," she said. "I'm glad you're there, but where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for three days, but you don't answer your phone or respond to voice mails."

"Oh . . . Yeah, well, I guess that's right. I've been buried in my work. I got the roll of paper I needed, and I've been doing the big drawing of you and Rachel for my show. I guess I got pretty engrossed in what I was doing, but then if anyone would understand that it should be you."

She laughed a little. "You've got a point there," she said. "Actually I'm thrilled to hear that. You haven't been like that since you got laid off. I've been worried about you."

Okay, I thought. She sounds like she still cares.

"But do I?"

"Of course you do you dumb shit. You're still head over heals in love with her."

"Yeah, but she . . . she and Lisa . . ."

"Yeah and you and Lisa did too, so what's the big deal? Not to mention she and Rachel and you and Rachel. You and Sandy are going to have to talk it through, that's all."

"Okay, but not over the phone."

There was an awkward silence while I had this little conversation in my head.

Finally I spoke up, "Where are you?"

"JFK. That's why I've been trying to reach you. To tell you I was coming home."

My heart flipped over again.

"There are some things we have to talk about," she said.

Uh oh. It's never good when a woman says that to you.

"Do you have to go to the office first?" I asked.

"No. I'm coming straight home, and we're going to talk, and then I'm going to fuck your brains out. There's a car waiting for me that'll bring me straight home. I'll see you in an hour."

"Okay."

"Oh and Steve, one more thing. I love you. I really fucking love you more than anything else in the world." Then she hung up.

Wow, I thought. I guess it's okay. But what about Lisa?

I realized that I smelled like the oils in the pastels I had been using, and I hadn't had a shower in three days (yeah, I really was engrossed in the drawing), so I stripped off my clothes, threw them in a hamper, and then got a shower. After I got out, I shaved off three days' beard and dressed in clean clothes that didn't smell like the studio. It wasn't much—an old pair of cutoff sweats and a T-shirt. I was hoping underwear wouldn't be needed. Then I puttered around the house picking up a few things here and there. I'd been neglecting my house-husband role for the last three days. Mostly it was a matter of gathering up empty, or partially empty, pizza boxes and empty beer bottles and tossing them down the trash chute. I really had been engrossed in my work.

But the whole time, I was running variants of how I thought our conversation might go through my head. I alternated between terrified that I was about to lose my wife and asking myself why I shouldn't walk out on her. Oh yes, and I was also was horny as hell. I hadn't even thought about sex since my night with Lisa, but my libido had taken flight as soon as Sandy had told me she wanted to fuck me.

As horny as I was, I was still mentally prepared for a long, serious talk. Well, as prepared as you can ever get for that. I really expected that Sandy was going to arrive in her serious mode and want to sit at the kitchen table over a Scotch or two to talk about Lisa, or god forbid, just tell me she wanted a divorce.

That wasn't how it worked. I heard her key in the lock, and I walked into the hall just as she came in. She left the door open, dropped her bag in the doorway, and reached me in three long strides, her spiked heels banging on the hardwood floor. Before I could even say anything her arms were around me, and she had pulled me close for a long kiss.

"Oh Steve, she said. "You can't believe how good it is to see you." She had her hands on my ass, pulling my hips into her. Then we were kissing again, her sexy tongue sliding in and out of my mouth, and I had let my hands drop so I had ahold of her hips. All my thoughts about confronting her about Lisa disappeared. All I wanted to do was make love with her.

I pushed her against the wall, still kissing her, but now I was using my hands to pull up the hem of her skirt. I got it up so I could now grab her bare ass unencumbered by the skirt. Where did she lose her panties, I thought for a second? Then she raised one leg and wrapped it around my upper thighs, pulling me in close, and I quit caring where her panties had gone.

We backed apart just enough to start tearing at each other's clothing. I was trying to unbutton her blouse, but I think I tore at least two or three buttons off, and then I heard seams popping as I wrenched it over her shoulders. Wherever her panties had gone, her bra had gone to the same place. Her nipples were like hard little rocks, the way they always got when she was aroused.

Sandy had her hands in my sweat pants and was massaging my rigid dick. She paused just long enough to push the sweats over my hips so they fell in a pool around my bare feet. Somehow the fastener and zipper on her dark blue skirt were released and it joined my old grey sweats in the pool of clothing around our feet. I don't know. I may have damaged that garment too. For the moment, it didn't matter.

Sandy wrapped her arms around my shoulders and then levered herself up so that she had both legs wrapped around me and I was holding her, my hands cupping her ass. She broke the kiss long enough to whisper in a throaty tone, "Fuck me, Steve. Fuck me. Put it in now. I want your hard dick in my cunt. I've been dreaming about it all the way home from San Francisco."

I leaned her back against the wall and we moved around until my prick was pushing against the entrance to her cunt. "Oh god, yes, Steve! That's the spot. Push it in. Fuck me! I want you to fuck me."

I pushed with my legs and my cock slid easily into her. She was tight, but hot and wet. I wiggled my hips a little and then I was all the way into her, my balls pushing hard against her.

Sandy was groaning and talking obscenities, " Oh yes, yes, yes! Oh fuck yes! This is so fucking good!"

I started using my legs, bent slightly at the knees to pump myself in and out of her. They weren't long strokes. They were short, rapid, and forceful. I leaned back just a bit so I could look at her. Her blue eyes were wide open and her face was almost in a grimace as she teetered on the edge of an orgasm. She was biting her lip to try to maintain control. As I pumped her I demanded, "Is this what you wanted you horny slut? I bet it is. There's nothing you like better than my big hard cock. You probably dreamed about this cock all the way out here on your flight. Didn't you? Didn't you, you cunt?" I pushed extra hard with my legs on each stroke so I was pounding her even harder.

"Oh yes. That's exactly what I did," she said. "Oh fuck! Ahhhhhhh!" she screamed as an extra forceful thrust on my part interrupted her ability to talk.

"So you sat there on the plane today dreaming about me fucking you. Thinking about this hard prick ramming its way into you while you spread your legs like the slut you are." I thrust hard with my cock again.

"Aihhhhhhhhh!" she screamed. She panted for several moments as I continued to thrust in and out of her, but without the extra force. Finally she could speak again. "Yes, that's exactly what I did. I sat on that plane thinking about fucking your hard cock. All the way from San Francisco to New York I dreamed about all the positions we could fuck in and how good your cock was going to feel. Just before we landed I even went to the plane's bathroom and took off my bra and panties and left them there. Oh god, yes, I wanted this."

I began using my flexed legs to ram her hard. Long fast strokes that made her scream each time I reached bottom. That pushed her over the edge and she screamed as an orgasm tore through her. Her body was rigid, pushing off the wall to force my prick as deep into her as it would go. The muscles in her cunt were trying to crush my dick, but that wasn't going to happen. I hadn't been this aroused in years. My prick was like an iron bar, and I just held it in her, impaling her spasming cunt.

Eventually her orgasm came to a halt. She used her arms to pull herself forward so she was wrapped around me, her chest flattened against mine, her legs still wrapped around my hips, and her pussy still wrapped around my rigid dick. Her face was against my neck and I could feels her tears coursing down my neck and on to my chest. She was silent now except for an occasional sob or snuffle. I hadn't seen her so emotional in years. This wasn't like Sandy. Behind her back at work they called her the "ice queen."

I carefully untangled my feet from our clothes and carried her, my cock still impaling her, to our bedroom. As we walked I heard her pumps, the only clothes she had left on, fall off, one after the other. I set her down on the edge of the bed and she fell back, her hips barely on the bed and her feet on the floor. Her legs were spread and I dropped to my knees between them. At first I just knelt staring at her naked body soaking up her beauty. I promised myself I would draw this image later. Then I leaned forward so my face was right in front of her sex. I slid two fingers into her slippery, dripping cunt. She was still spasming lightly, like echoes of a massive climax bouncing off her emotional walls. Then I began to lick her—long slow strokes beginning where my fingers entered her and stopping at her rock hard clit protruding from the top of her pussy lips. I was slowly rotating my fingers inside her at the same time.

"Oh god, Steve, what are you doing? Oh, oh, oh. Yes. That feels so good. Oh yes. Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!"

She wasn't in a hurry to climax again. She was just lying back, her legs spread, enjoying my oral assault on her pussy. After awhile, she said, "Me too, Steve. I want to do you too." She pushed my head away and pulled herself up on the bed, her legs bent at the knees and spread as she pulled me on top of her.

I turned around so we were in a 69, my rigid dick hanging in front of her face and my face poised over her sex. Sandy reached up and grabbed my cock and pulled it down to her mouth. Then I felt her suck it in—so warm and wet. Oh fuck, that felt good! She began pumping my prick in and out of her mouth doing her best to suck it dry on each stroke. I just held my position for a while, enjoying her cock sucking and trying to focus on not cumming. Once I felt myself back away from the edge of a climax, I dropped my face to her sex and began licking her pussy lips and her clit.

Sandy couldn't hold out against my licking and sucking of her clit. Within a few minutes she came again, not so hard as earlier in the hallway, but still enough to make me think my head would be crushed by her thighs.

I still hadn't cum, so I pulled out of her mouth and flipped myself around. Now I was between her legs poised to enter her in the classic missionary position. The entrance to her cunt was tight, the muscles still cramped from her earlier orgasms, forcing me to push to get in. I didn't think I would last long and I wasn't sure I could get her to a third orgasm before I went off. I was so wrong. As soon as I was fully implanted in her, she wrapped her legs around my ass, pulling me even further in. I wasn't waiting for anything now. I began pounding her for all I was worth. She surprised me, and probably herself, with another sharp short climax, which set me off. I suddenly felt the cum boiling up from my balls and then squirting shot after shot into her clenching cunt. I came with a loud groan that was almost a shout. We tipped over to the side and lay wrapped together in a tangle of arms and legs with my cum and her juices slowly dripping from her onto the bed. Eventually even my softening prick slipped out of her, but by this time we were both asleep.

I awoke an hour or more later. I really had no idea how much time had passed other than it had gotten dark outside. My naked wife was sitting next to me on the bed, a tumbler of Scotch in each hand. She held one out to me and said softly, "Now, we can talk."

I sat up. We were both sitting cross-legged on the bed facing each other, Scotch in hand. I took a slow sip. "Mmm. That's good," I said. "That's not our usual."

"I know," she said. "I picked it up in London. It was in my bag—my bag that I left just outside our front door in the hallway. The front door that we left open."

"Good thing we live in a secured access building," I said.

"Yes," she said. "I would have hated to lose this. It was expensive."

"And we left the front door open, too?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what Mrs. Kowalski thought. You were pretty loud."

"She probably thought we were fucking," Sandy said with a smile. "And besides, it's all your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, your fault." She took another sip of her drink. "I never scream like that except when you're the one fucking me."

"Hmmmm." I took another pull on my Scotch. It was very good. "But I haven't seen all those other people fucking you."

"Trust me," she said. "There's no one who matches you."

Trust me

, I thought.

An interesting request under the circumstances.

"So what did you want to talk about?" I asked, keeping my thought to myself.

"My glass is empty," she said. "Let's go to the kitchen where I left the bottle." She slid to her feet and stood. "Then we can talk," she continued, acknowledging my question. She turned away from me and walked, nude, from the room. As she stepped through the door, she playfully kicked her pump, lying where it had fallen from her foot as I carried her in. God, she has a great ass, I thought. Not round like Rachel and Lisa, but still, so fucking sexy. I was having trouble keeping my mind on the conversation she wanted to have.

I followed her to the kitchen and sat opposite her at the table. After another sip from my newly replenished glass, I repeated my question, "What did you want to talk about?"

Sandy took a sip of her drink and set the glass on the table before responding with one word: "Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Yes. Lisa Chambers. You know her. She's a bartender at Sharri's, your favorite watering hole. Actually, she owns it, and she and her husband Howard own Wendover's gallery where you're going to have your opening show soon. She's the one who was telling you about her open marriage."

"Yes, I know her," I said. It felt like a confession. Sandy seemed to know a lot more about Lisa than I had told her.

"Yes, you do, and as a matter of fact so do I, but we haven't either one of us been very forthcoming about how well we know her, have we?"

"I guess not, but I haven't seen much of you lately, so I'm not sure when I should have confessed my sins." This wasn't going well.

"I suppose that gives you something of an excuse, albeit a lame one, but I can't even come up with something that weak."

"How did you find out about me and Lisa?"

Sandy chuckled, a good sign I hoped. "The same way you found out about me and Lisa. Lisa told me. She called me a couple of days ago to work out the details on your contract with the gallery, and then she just spilled the whole story. The woman hasn't an ounce of discretion in her body. She started out telling me about how impressed she was with your art. Pretty soon she was telling me how impressed she was with you, then she 'fessed up about how she had told you about her relationship with me, and then the rest of the story just spilled out of her. How was she?"

"Good," I said, "but Sandy . . ."

"No need to rationalize or explain or justify. I haven't been around, and she wanted you and you jumped in the sack with her. Given my history with her I'm in no position to complain about your dalliance. By the way though, exactly what did she tell you about me?"