. 24

My apologies for the delay between chapters. I write when I travel; flight delays and nights in the hotel are a particularly good time. However my travel over the past couple of months was down a bit, but now I'm back; for those who sent notes hoping I'd continue, please rest assured that when I get tired of writing this story I will write one more chapter to let everyone know.

Standard disclaimers.

This is a story about sexual exploration and, open relationships. Open relationships can and do happily exist; but they are not for everyone. If you do not believe it is at all possible for open relationships to exist without damage to any and all involved parties, please do yourself a favor and don't waste your time reading this.

Also, this story takes place in a world where STDs don't exist and only babies planned for and wanted do—in other words, a fantasy world. Any resemblance to real-life people is purely coincidental.

*****

Sunday dinners at Norm and Irene Curran's house had always been a time for Gwen's parents to pronounce judgement on the firm, the family and the world, and today was no different. The Lady did her best to appear like she was following her mother's current line of reasoning as she and the others sat at the big dining room table, but it was difficult; Gwen was distracted by the Slut's constant attempts to get her mind to wander to the perverse and very dangerous secrets she was hiding from some, but not all, of the people in attendance.

Other people had them too, Gwen reasoned, glancing at Alison and Jason seated to her left, ones she would probably still be ignorant of if her daughter hadn't left her computer on for her snooping mother to find. On the other hand, Adam and Natalie, seated across from her, were not quite so good at hiding them...no, that's wrong, she corrected herself. They're just more trusting with whom they share their secrets. Gwen felt an irrational flush of pride at being included in that inner circle.

She looked at Irene Curran, seated at one end of the table, with feigned interest as to her opinion on the sad state of the recent law school graduates coming to the firm, and therefore young people in general. Even you probably have secrets, Gwen thought, and Dad too, although the idea they might be of a sexual nature was absurd— she just could not imagine them having the capacity for that. Theirs would likely be unreported income, offshore accounts, that kind of thing. Gwen smiled at the possibility that maybe her mother had never had sex at all—perhaps she had secretly paid someone to bear her children for her. She did have the capacity for that...

"You don't agree?" Irene Curran asked, seeing her daughter's smile and returning it with a stare.

The Lady was not so pleased with the answer bordering on outright rebuttal. "I think you're generalizing, Mother. Not all young people are like that. I know quite a few I think are doing just fine." She again glanced at her daughter, as if to emphasize the point. Alison smiled and looked down at her plate, blushing in silent thanks.

"Hmpph. Well, some might turn out alright, I suppose." Irene pointedly focused on her granddaughter with a look of skeptical evaluation. "But she has the advantage of being a Curran." Obviously the Nelson half of her had not contributed to the outcome. "How she was raised was the key, that's no secret, something I took great pains to keep you on the straight and narrow with. I suppose I was mostly successful." With that, she began to lament the efforts of "parents these days," intent on educating Alison in the proper methods of childrearing.

No longer the focus of her mother's scrutiny, Gwen shifted in her chair, wiggling her bottom against the hard seat. Speaking of secrets, she had one right now, something even Tim didn't know about, at least not yet. The spreader she had inserted before leaving home tickled her rosebud with every movement, sending shivers through her. She shifted again, producing another delightful tickle, and wondered if Natalie had hers in as well.

"I swear Gwen," Irene Curran declared drily, interrupting her lesson, "it must be all that time you spend riding that has made you fidgety as all get out. You were always able to sit so still and ladylike when you were younger, before you developed that unhealthy obsession with horses. With all the riding you do I've always worried about your health, that perhaps you would even disfigure yourself and develop bow legs like some sort of...cowboy." Her pronunciation of the word made clear her opinion of the profession. "I could never understand why you don't at least ride sidesaddle? Proper women did for centuries."

"Women have not ridden like that for quite some time, mother, but if I did and were to grow faint and swoon I might slip right off and fall to the ground, which would be most unladylike," Gwen playfully replied in a Southern Belle drawl long heard but little used. "With a horse between my legs I have much more control." Who's in control when it's Tim—or Natalie, or Cricket—between them would be an interesting topic for the dinner table, she thought mischievously.

Ali again looked down at her plate, this time to hide her smile. Get her, Mom! Aunt Natalie could use some help knocking Grandma down a peg or two!

Irene Curran thought the mention of anything between a woman's legs was not a proper subject for mixed company much less the dinner table, and she weighed the words, taking them apart and examining each one to decide which to take offense to. Her daughter's response was most certainly sassy, but she sensed a more private rebuke would be of greater value. She reluctantly let it pass with a raised eyebrow and a "hmph."

***

There was still plenty of daylight left when they returned home, and Gwen only had to bend at the waist once as she stripped for a swim for Tim notice the adornment between her cheeks. He chuckled. "I figured you might be wearing that."

Gwen straightened, suddenly a little concerned. "Why? Could you tell?"

"No, but you had it the past couple of times we've been at your parents...you act like you're getting away with something behind their back, like sneaking a cigarette in their garage."

"You know I don't smoke," Gwen replied with a smile.

"Yeah, well...you gonna wear it swimming?"

"I don't think so...I wouldn't want to lose it..." She doubted her rosebud would give it up so easily for it to fall out on its own, but turned her back and again bent over, lewdly thrusting her rear out at her husband. "Could you take it out for me?"

"Be glad to..." Tim grasped the flared head between two fingers and slowly pulled, intently watching the wrinkled muscle grasp at the teardrop-shaped invader as it was withdrawn, snapping closed once the rounded tip was free. He dared a touch, his finger gently tracing a line down between her cheeks, her asshole winking back at him in response. "You really like wearing it?"

"If I'm in the right mood, yes," Gwen replied, patiently remaining bent over to let him touch, amused by his apparent fascination with yet another part of her body she herself had spent years pointedly ignoring. "It tickles."

"I never really knew how sexy your butt...all your butt...is." Tim's finger began to gently circle her tightly closed muscle as if to make clear what he was admiring at the moment.

Gwen shivered and her ring again contracted in response. She willed herself to relax, ready to welcome the finger if it tried to enter her. "I guess...I never thought of that part as sexy..."

Rather than test the muscle's strength the finger withdrew and Tim headed for the door, his cock bouncing at half-mast and showing its admiration as well. "Swim?" he asked over his shoulder. Gwen smiled, nodded and followed.

The muggy heat made the water seem almost icy as they dove in. Tim's balls pulled tight to his body with the shock, but his length only gave back a little of what had grown in the bedroom and soon regained its stoutness and more after he moved up behind Gwen at the pool's edge. Strong arms enveloped her as she reached for her drink sitting nearby on the concrete while his body gently but firmly pressed in from behind, and the masculinity wedging itself underneath her rear end and between her legs did not ask for permission to make itself at home. It wasn't rock-hard yet, but it would be very soon, and she could feel the warmth of his staff between her lips, contrasting nicely with the chill of the water. Gwen wiggled back against him, creating some space between herself and the wall to allow room enough to bend forward a bit more in obvious invitation.

Gwen was aroused, but not to the point where she had to have him in her right now; her orgasm was a hill she was just now beginning to climb. She had always liked starting their lovemaking in the water, but the thrill had always been more mental than physical; the idea of being outdoors where they might be seen was an aphrodisiac she was just now becoming comfortable with. She preferred dry land for what came after, though, for when their play turned serious. The water somehow muted the physical intensity of having him inside her, as if creating too much slickness and lessening that delicious friction. She missed the warmth two bodies generated too, preferring to feel the heat radiating from the man she was impaled on rather than having him cool to the touch. And of course, buoyancy made a good pounding much more difficult, requiring effort to avoid being pushed away as his efforts grew more pronounced...but the bold confidence he was displaying in pinning her against the wall now was incredibly exciting in itself, and she was aroused by the idea she would not have a say in when and where she would be taken. Gwen slipped one hand between her legs to gently pet the now fully-erect beast insistently prodding between her lips, giving the bottom of the mushroom head a few strokes with her fingertips before pushing it up and in. The head momentarily hung up on the ring of her opening before breaking through with a pop, and Tim thrust forward to slide the rest of his shaft home.

Firm hands roughly flattened her breasts as Tim tried for more leverage while he pushed himself deeply into her pussy, his cock relishing the warmth surrounding it after its exposure to the cool water. The little waves his thrusting created slapped noisily against the poolside while Gwen resolutely absorbed each firm stroke, arms locked at the elbows and hands gripping the pool's edge. Splashes crept up her back as the fucking being delivered became more urgent, Tim's body squeezing the water between his midsection and her ass out of the way.

Tim seemed to have no problem whatsoever with the physical limitations of sex in the pool and did not announce his impending orgasm, his urgency giving it away, powerful exhalations through gritted teeth with each slam into Gwen's sex that finally ended with a strangled grunt. She imagined the pulses filling her as he twitched in time to each one, finally ending with a contented groan. Gentle waves still lapped about their bodies when he withdrew, a milky ribbon of white following his cock out to float suspended below the surface. Guess the filter will have to get that, he thought with a chuckle.

Gwen took his laugh to mean a job well done and turned to kiss him. "That felt like a good one."

"Yeah..."

"I'm going down to the house. Coming?"

I already did, the teenager in him replied, but Tim just grinned and followed along. The setting sun and humidity did little to dry her body as they made their way back down the hill, and he stood by patiently, unsure what to do next as Gwen carefully dried herself in the kitchen. Task completed, she flipped the towel over a nearby chair and without a word started down the hallway with her husband close behind. They climbed on the bed together, Tim tentatively reaching for her, awaiting instructions, unsure what was expected of him. It would be a little while before the mouse sleeping between his legs would again become the beast..."can I do anything for you?" He finally asked, his face close to hers.

"You could touch me, maybe kiss me up here—" her lips briefly found his—"and down there. I'd like that. A lot."

He smiled. "Sounds like fun. Did you want to use some of your things in the drawer, too?"

"No, just you for now." Gwen appreciated the patience in his efforts, not rushing to her sex, teasing her with kisses on her neck and shoulders for some time before moving lower, as if sensing the pace she was hoping for. Her breasts were teased just the right amount before he captured a nipple with his tongue, and his callused fingers were delightfully slow in moving anywhere beyond the silky thatch covering her mons.

A finger finally did stray further down, lightly dragging across her engorged clit and drawing an involuntary gasp. It seemed content where it was, tormenting the hard little nub even as Tim's lips and tongue began to make their way down her stomach. It was not until she felt her fur grazing against his cheek did the finger dip lower, noisily squishing in and out of her opening.

Gwen wondered how much of his orgasm remained in her. "I can go clean up first, if you want," she belatedly volunteered, soft kisses already landing on the space just above her clit.

"I'm good," he replied, and was true to his word, moving between her legs and working his tongue down her slit in slow motion. He paused and a finger drew some of the wetness from her, pushing down between her cheeks to paint her rosebud, drawing another gasp.

"Is that okay?" came the voice from between her legs

Gwen's hips twitched in response. "Uh-huh." The tongue returned and the finger continued to stroke, the tip now occasionally pushing against the muscle for a brief moment before resuming its stroking. Another push, this time enough to slide most of his fingernail past the ring. She hissed while arching her back and grabbing her tits in response.

The finger stopped where it was. "Too much?"

"No, alright, nice" she muttered, settling, her jaw clamped shut like Tim's had been earlier. "Not too far though." The thumb that slid into her pussy while his tongue worked her clit was a pleasant surprise, and she reveled in the pure sluttiness of having both openings filled through her climax.

"Good one," Tim offered as he looked up, wet stubble glistening, his hand still between her closed legs in what Charlie sometimes called "the ole' six-pack carry." At least the vice-like grip her thighs had it in when she came had loosened...

Gwen smiled, eyes still closed in post-orgasmic bliss. "Yeah."

***

She made sure to have dinner ready when Tim got home Tuesday night, knowing he would also need time for a shower before going back into town for the Planning Board meeting. He was seemingly in and out of the house in a flash, and after seeing him off Gwen settled in front of the TV.

The shows she normally watched were not holding her interest tonight; there was always office paperwork or barn chores to do, but she hesitated, looking for a little more excitement. The video had been exciting, the Slut slyly offered, and it did not take much cajoling for Gwen to go find where Tim had hidden them on the top shelf of his closet. The cover art of "Sapphic Sensuality #7" caught her eye as she retrieved the discs, two impossibly beautiful nude women embracing on a bed in a way that hid their naughtiest parts. Now that's what I always thought porn stars looked like, she thought with a smile while the Lady dismissed the picture as heavily touched up. She carried it back to the living room to find out if they looked that good in the video.

Her clothes stayed on but she locked the kitchen door anyways for fear of interruption and the embarrassment of having to explain why there were two Lesbians having sex on her television. The credits rolled, introducing Amber and Brigitte, and the screen brightened to focus on a massage table. A leggy brunette lay face down on it, only a skimpy towel that barely concealed her ample buttocks for cover, while a statuesque blonde stood above her gently rubbing oil into the brunette's shoulder blades. The blonde was nude, breasts impossibly firm for their size, and bare puffy lips peeked over the edge of the table.

Not the women on the box, Gwen realized, but still very beautiful. The cinematography—the Lady sneered at the word—looked professional when compared to what she had watched with Tim. But the women didn't seem "real"; not like the couple in the video and certainly not like Charlie and Corinne, or Ali and Jason. The women were beautiful, incredibly so, Gwen thought, and she was light years away from being in their league. Still, Gwen wanted to believe the way Tim looked at her—and others, she reluctantly admitted-meant that she was at least passable from the male point of view.

She watched for ten minutes before stopping the DVD, right after the camera zoomed in to focus on the blonde's finger- Brigitte, Gwen had decided, she looked like a Brigitte—sliding between Amber open legs and into her bare sex. The women were beautiful, the picture clear and the scene well-shot, but it lacked something. Their excitement was scripted, their passion acted out, not real, not something Gwen could relate to. Over-acted was perhaps a better description; she saw none of the caring and quiet passion she felt with Natalie or Cricket, the need to make the other happy while appreciating what was being done for her. Instead the two women moaned, gasped and writhed in a way that she guessed people assumed two women would behave in this kind of situation. If that's what people pay to see, then any video with Cricket and me would be in would be absolutely boring. She took it back to the bedroom, to switch it with the video she and Tim had been watching. That one was more her speed, and while she was sure the people on it had been paid for their performance, she was still struck by their self-confidence; despite their physical flaws they seemed happy to perform for the world to see. Amber and Brigitte were professionals, but Bart and Desiree—probably not even her real name—were more like hobbyists, looking for a thrill...

Sapphic Sensuality #7 was returned to its spot in Tim's closet, next to the box containing Nearly Neal. Gwen had put it there rather than with the others in her nightstand, telling herself that it could be useful to have a replacement if one of the ones in the drawer broke or wore out. The idea of one "wearing out" had amused the Slut to no end.

Speaking of self-confidence, she thought with a smile, remembering that night at Mrs. Danning's house and how Neal had allowed himself to be revealed and restrained on that device—that Queen's Cross—to a crowd of strange women while they tormented the real-life model of what sat on the shelf as part of a sick, twisted party game. That cocky smile had never left his face while he fought to deny the various players victory, briefly disappearing when he could hold out no longer before returning as soon as he was spent. He seemed to know the power he held over an aroused woman.

That game was sick, twisted, and sexy as all hell, the Slut added, and Gwen was forced to agree. She remembered handing out the plastic tubes filled with faithful recreations of a woman's sex, watching intently as the women lined up to be the one to make him come, and how disappointed she had been when Gita had not let the winner pull the sleeve off the massive cock buried inside to let his seed fly. Gwen was curious if the output of a man deprived for a week increased significantly, and if the size of the cock and balls producing it had an effect as well, but instead he emptied himself into a recreation of sixty-something year-old Dorothy's vagina. Age doesn't matter for that, Gwen told herself, to a man a pussy is a pussy, something of immense value. It doesn't lose effectiveness or wear out, and the adult male is always ready to put one to the test no matter the age of the owner. She had little doubt Neal would have been equally happy in the real thing, and so of course one a little younger, say, like hers for instance, would not have been refused either.