TWENTY-ONE
The evening at Peter and Sophia's place proved productive in more then one way, as Iben, who was doing an MSc in Urban Analytics at King's, had the chance to talk to Petsi about the family business in Malmö. This would ultimately lead to Iben doing a ten-week stint in Sweden during the summer vacation between the first and second years of her course, focusing on eco-friendly logistical solutions in the commercial and light industrial sectors. Iben became a frequent visitor to Barnes for the rest of her time in England, becoming a favourite substitute babysitter for the children when Petsi took her holidays.
It was actually on a weeknight when Iben was staying with the Collins family that an event that had been hugely anticipated for a couple of weeks finally took place: the first visit of Veronique to Barnes and the first time the Frenchwoman had seen Sophia for nearly three years. As might be guessed, it was Peter who had brokered the meeting, as he continued to see Veronique from time to time (always without his wife's knowledge) and spent much of his time with her listening to her talk about her old flame. Although Sophia rarely spoke about the woman who had initiated her into lesbian sex and so much else besides, Peter was acute enough to know that she still thought about her a lot and regretted the rift that had been allowed to develop between them.
Sophia had been in emotional turmoil for the entire ten days since Peter had dropped the bombshell that Veronique would be visiting. Many times in the interim she had told him to call the whole thing off, many times she had berated him for arranging the visit without consulting her, many times she had broken down in tears at the thought of meeting that woman again. But it was like water off a duck's back to Peter, familiar as he was with his wife's moods.
Once the shock had subsided, Sophia turned her attention to what she was going to wear for their reunion. Apparently, Veronique would be arriving late and wouldn't need feeding, which was at least one weight off Sophia's mind. Maybe she shouldn't dress up at all. She could just wear what she wore most evenings when she was at home: sweatshirt and jeans or yoga pants. She looked good enough in those. But the closer the big day (V-Day, as Peter called it) loomed, the more Sophia thought about her appearance. First, a couple of days before the visit, there was the visit to the hairdresser and the manicurist. Then, on the eve of the big day, after several window-shopping forays, there was a trip to the swankiest boutique she knew to pick out something to wear.
Ironically, after trying on half the outfits in the shop, Sophia plumped for one of the simplest and most inexpensive dresses in the place: a light green, knee-length, short-sleeved cotton summer dress with a turn-down collar. It had a simple plaid pattern, which resembled the net on a tennis court - white lines against the light-green background. The frock was fitted with a button-down front closure and an adjustable sash belt. For shoes, Sophia walked down the street for a pair of white slip-on open-toe sandals with a mid heel. The outfit made her feel young and - dare she say it? - innocent. Like the day when she first met the Frenchwoman who had turned her life upside down.
It was half past nine when the doorbell finally rang. Iben went to answer it and was taken aback by the Gallic beauty standing at the door. Though she must have been in her mid-forties, Veronique represented the epitome of chic to Iben, who was decked out in her work clothes. As usual, she was wearing black, but hardly widow's weeds, as the outfit - a belted leather-trimmed cotton-poplin mini dress - exuded sex appeal. It was supplemented by heeled sandals and a leopard-skin patterned tote. Her hair had been styled in a classic French bob, with bangs sitting at the brow line. She was wearing bright red lipstick and her favourite Chanel fragrance.
Iben recovered her composure sufficiently to let the Frenchwoman in and showed her into the sitting room. It was currently otherwise unoccupied, as Sophia had had something of an emotional meltdown and was being comforted by Peter upstairs. She had been sobbing a lot but crying very little. Nonetheless, Peter wiped her eyes and talked to her as she reapplied her eyeliner, blush and lip-gloss. Around ten minutes elapsed before Sophia considered herself to be in a fit state to meet the quixotic Frenchwoman. During that time, Veronique had been making the Norwegian's acquaintance, encouraging her to talk about her studies and passing her a name card shortly before Peter and Sophia came down.
'In case you wish to learn more about how the French do these things,' she said enigmatically to the bubbly Norwegian.
After the couple had greeted their visitor with cheek kisses (three each time - the way favoured by Veronique) and had let Iben go to her room, Peter took the decanter of wine he had prepared earlier and filled three glasses. Veronique declined the nibbles - in fact, only Peter partook, even though Sophia had hardly touched her dinner earlier that evening. They made small talk for a while, before Peter signalled a change in mood by dimming the lights, as he had done when Petsi, Karina and Iben had been in the same room not a month before.
Peter had discussed the evening with Veronique at some length during an early evening visit to her place the previous week. The plan was that Peter's role would be strictly limited to that of a facilitator and, if things worked out okay and it seemed appropriate, an observer. However, like so many of the best laid plans, this one went out of the window almost from the outset, when Veronique, who always had a sense for the right move, suggested to Sophia that they rewarded Peter for all he had done to bring them together. This could only have one meaning in such a context, with the soft music playing and both women still ambivalent about making out with one another.
Veronique led Peter to the centre of the room and undid the buttons on his tight-fitting jeans. She drew them down unconcerned whether they brought his boxers down too, which indeed is what transpired. His column swung free, hungry for the attention of these two beautiful women. Sophia, hardly given time to consider the ease with which Veronique was able to manoeuvre herself around her husband and the liberty she took in so doing, bent down and accepted the proffered organ she knew so well and began to dapple it with butterfly kisses. Peter couldn't remember the last time she had been so tender with him and ran his fingers lovingly through her hair.
At the same time, the bow on her dress was loosened by Veronique's adroit fingers, the buttons from throat to waist quickly undone, and the dress removed over her shoulders. The white bra and matching panties quickly followed suit, leaving Sophia naked apart from the white sandals. Despite Peter's misgivings, Sophia had put up no resistance at all. Veronique had once again relied on her instincts and the outcome had - with retrospect, at least - a certain air of inevitability about it.
Content to kneel beside Sophia and watch for the moment, Veronique's wildest expectations for the evening were already being exceeded, as the blonde began to suck on her husband's cock with true passion. Veronique moved a hand to Sophia's back and rubbed it gently, massaging her neck and reaching round to move stray hair out of her eyes and mouth. Sophia felt the touch and rejoiced at it, willing the older woman to attend to her breasts. After a minute - perhaps a little longer (time seemed to be standing still) - Veronique acceded to Sophia's wishes, one hand reaching down to caress her breast, while the other began to massage her butt cheek. It was all done very languidly, very slowly, but the effect it was having on the Englishwoman's libido was powerful indeed.
Almost as if she knew everything that was happening to Sophia, Veronique moved her hand the short distance to Sophia's anus and slid a finger inside her. Sophia suppressed (or thought she had) a moan, but Veronique picked it up. She moved her other hand to the blonde's other breast and began to rub it with a little more urgency. Peter could see what was going on and wondered how long he would be able to hold out. To see his wife being expertly pleasured by Veronique was even more sensual and erotic than he had imagined it would be.
