A Threesome in a Covid 19 World

It's been a while since the last chapter in this series. Partly writer's block and a little bit of not being quite happy enough with how I'd approached this story.

To remind or bring up to date those less engaged with these characters, 5 years before this story began Ned and four attractive women - three of them nearly half his age - landed back in Australia after cruising Ned's yacht through the Pacific. The story of their highly erotic cruise is contained in my Unexpected Threesome series.

Two of the women stayed with Ned; Amy a now 35 year old accountant originally from the UK and Liddy a now nearly 60 doctor from New York who got trapped there by Covid closedowns while visiting her children and grandchildren.

The other two got married and had children, although keeping in close contact with Ned and often still crewing on his yacht in races. One of those was Ellen, who's doctor husband died in the second wave of COVID while on the front line of treating affected patients. An unfortunately overly attractive photo of his family in the press while praising the hero doctor caused Ellen to attract unwanted attention and flee back to the safety of Ned's large house.

After a period there, Amy arranged for Ellen to rejoin the intimacy of Ned's polygamous family.

But there was some sacrifice for Amy in arranging that and this is her story.

...

Ned and Ellen are my closest confidents. But as they've both observed, I like talking to people and can be a bit uninhibited about what I reveal, especially as I get to know them. Our neighbour on the Northern boundary of our acreage - Shirley - comes closest to being the one I chat the most with. And given the my orgasmic screaming noises that she hears emanating from the pool area as a starting point to her curiosity, there's little in the way of my sex life with Ned she hasn't had some download on. It was her who put the question directly to me...

"Why would I arrange to bring Ellen back into Ned's bed when I effectively had him all to myself? Don't I get jealous?"

Of course, what she hears from the pool area represents just the start of my sexual demands on Ned. Ned's a 65 year old guy who has to satisfy the overblown sexual demands of a woman nearly half his age - me.

Two to three times a day was the norm.

And I should add, while everyone calls it screaming, it's really just very, very loud moaning. Well, maybe with a string of very loud profanities added each time I actually climax. OK, and sometimes when it's a really good one my voice might slip into the high pitched register of actual screaming; enough to have a hotel manager called on Ned and me when I got carried away while staying there. And I admit, I quite often have very good ones.

That aside, the answer to the first part of Shirley's question was simple enough. Ellen is my best friend. When her husband Harry died as a hero doctor on the front line of the COVID epidemic, she had a multifaceted need.

It was obvious to me from the time she, her kids and au pair moved into the guest wing of Ned's large house. I suppose I might have even known it before. But it became inescapably obvious to the point it couldn't be ignored any longer when Ellen, as we were lying down in our bikinis, talking on the pool sun lounge, started dry humping my leg and eventually asked me to finger her to what turned out to be a massive, highly emotional, orgasm.

There were many emotional and physical aspects to that need; they weren't all sexual, even if much of it was intractably inter-wound with the sexual, intellectual and emotional frission that has always existed between her and Ned. It was a frission largely submerged in their day to day interaction and physical relationship while she was one of the Screw Girls on the yacht and in Ned's house afterwards before she meet Harry. But once she loving hitched her life and love to Harry, the frission hung in the air like lightening in a thunderstorm every time they were together.

Harry tolerated it, and even facilitated it, because for all its power, he knew Ellen was a one man woman who loved him deeply and neither she nor Ned were going to cross the marriage boundary. Plus, he joking admitted, because he got the best, most wildest sex ever on the nights after Ellen had joined the rest of the Screw Girls on a day out with Ned; whether on the yacht or at a social at his place.

But the bottom line was, all the aspects of Ellen's need had one solution. Because of her history with him, Ned was it. I simply couldn't deny her that. I had not the slightest desire to do so, whatever impact it might have on me.

As to the jealously, well, that's a more complex issue.

Have I turned into some green eyed monster who resents every moment Ned spends fucking Ellen? No, I can safely say that's not the case; whether she has him alone or I'm sharing him with her in a threesome. Besides, a threesome can often be more fun and exciting than a couplet.

Has it adversely affected the friendship between Ellen and myself? Definitely not. Our friendship started when we first shared him on the yacht. Indeed, I was the one who invited her aboard and into Ned's bed. Nothing has changed in that now.

But in a reversion to what happened when we were first sharing Ned on the yacht and back in his house after we returned to Australia, something has changed. I can feel it and Ned is bearing the consequences of it. Even if I can't fully describe why, its physical manifestation is clear. My sexual demands on Ned have increased from their previously already excessive level. And I can't deny, there might be some trace of some primitive urge to sexual competitiveness and possessiveness in that.

While there might be an economy of scale in a threesome when it comes to satisfying sexual needs, the fact is that both Ellen and I like our one on ones with him too. Between us we are working Ned harder than any porn star; and I'm definitely the most demanding of the two of us.

I know it. I even feel a bit guilty about it. But the need arises so deep inside me, I can't really control it. And while Ned can keep - if you'll forgive the expression - rising to the occasion, there's not a lot of pressure on me to do so.

I've analysed my sexual obsession and some of the fetishes that accompany it, as much as I'm sure the others have. There's no doubt it flows from the 10 years of an abusive relationship I suffered under Frank. But I don't like to make too much of that. If Ned thinks he's taking advantage of me in a damaged state after that relationship, it inhibits him. And that's the last thing I want.

But quite apart from the physical abuse I suffered under Frank, he set out to persuade me I was physically repulsive; that I was lucky that he could even get it up to have sex with me, let alone indulge in his frequent rapes of me.

The sex and rapes were so loveless and rough that it was Ned who gave me my first ever orgasm. Why I found not the slightest feeling of any pleasure in any sex with Frank - ever during the 10 years I was with him - but Ned can easily trigger every erogenous zone in a woman's body for me, giving me clit orgasms, g spot orgasms, cervical orgasms, nipple orgasms, vaginal ones that I can't trace back to a specific site, and even just something I can only describe as emotional ones, I don't know. But his loving intimacy can easily keep me screaming in pleasure, in a state of constant and repetitive climaxes, throughout our frequent loving making sessions.

Ned says he's just an average lover and it's my body that's super responsive to even normal stimulation. I'm less persuaded. Where our opinions come together is that feeling loved and appreciated after so long may have a lot to do with it. Women's sexual response starts in the brain.

And yet, that simple truism has never really satisfied me.

Frank first won me by radiating charm and confidence; both of which I later came to realise were shallow veneers. I was 18 and still a virgin, although full of lustful thoughts. So I didn't start out with a negative view or being fearful of him. Far from it.

Our first love making was conventional enough in some ways; Frank went down on me missionary style. True, he made no real effort to see to my needs, even then. And at first, he didn't last long. But still, even missionary style, Ned can get me in a state of continuous orgasm. And yet with Frank, even in that early stage of or relationship and with me an anxious to please and enjoy sex, smitten teenager, nothing. So if it is just my body that is super responsive, why didn't it respond than?

Of course, as they get you in, the behaviour of people like Frank changes. It starts simply enough. If I'm not enjoying sex then Frank would make it clear it must be my fault. I need to do it better. And that of course is the recurring theme of controlling people like Frank; always chipping away at your confidence by attributing failures to you and then progressively demanding you do better.

Then those demands are backed by violence. And so the cycle starts.

Sexually, the only way Frank moved beyond missionary was when he made me go down on him. Of course, as things became rougher, 'missionary' became far too genteel a name for what was essentially being forcefully pinned to the bed. And as for me going down on him, I found out painfully enough the punishment for gagging when he deep throated me was a beating followed by what was technically a rape. And when he's pumping out his seed with his cock held half way down your throat by a hand around the back of your head, there's little alternative but to swallow. As always, it would be made out to be my fault. Something I needed to do better.

To compound my isolation under Frank, at work and on the rare occasions I was allowed out to socialise, under his overbearing supervision, he made sure I was dressed and presented as frumpily as possible so that I didn't gain any pleasure from the attention of other males.

In what might be a case of Stockholm syndrome, even as I came to recognise he would eventually end up killing me if I didn't escape from him, he completely persuaded me as to how unattractive I was.

For the first two years after my escape, I remained convinced of that and dressed as he had taught me, never once enjoying the lustful gaze of a male. It was only Ned who enlightened me, by both his words and actions, that I was actually quite beautiful and taught me how to attract the male eye and turn their attention to my advantage. That changed my life in so many ways.

Ned is such a gentleman. For months he, Issie and I sailed around the Pacific on his yacht without the slightest hint of sexual impropriety from him. It was really only after Issie and I, in a state of sexual frustration, planned his seduction and I accidently triggered the plan, that it all started.

But Ned soon enough made it clear, by both his words and actions, that me and my newly on display body drove him wild with sexual desire. Much more so than any other of the stunningly attractive girls who ended up being part of the yacht crew - which is where Ellen first came into the picture and she coined the term Screw Girls - a play on crew girls - as a collective noun for us. He was reticent at first to admit the lust he felt because of my mere physical appearance. But as he realised how important that was to me and how good it made me feel, he was persuaded by me overcome his concern about objectifying me and to rattle off what it was that drove him to such distraction...

In his words..."The cutest face, framed by gorgeously long, straight, sun tinged hair, flawless light olive brown skin, a tall slim womanly figure, elegantly carrying perky, perfectly formed breasts that seem too large for my light frame, themselves capped by attractively proportioned, seductive, puffy nipples, a plank flat stomach that leads down to the most delightfully shaped, prominent, sexually suggestive, mound, shapely legs, a sculptured bottom"...well, you get the drift. And I can't say I wasn't chuffed, even before I came to fully accept the underlying truth of his words.

And it soon became obvious from his behaviour, as even he admitted, that the cute face, breasts, nipples and mound were a knockout, highly fuckable combination.

Of all that, what surprised me the most was his obsession with my mound. Even on the yacht, without making a fuss of it among the other girls, he went down on me much more than on the others and even today, he has trouble keeping his hand off or out of it even in the most public situation. Curious, and not being one to hold back on talking about things, and using my well justified 'need to find confidence in my body' excuse, I finally got him to open up on why it was such a powerful attractant.

Under unrelenting interrogation from me, Ned explained that he thought it was the absolute Goldilocks of mounds. That they range from the common situation where there is barely a mound at all - where there is just a turn down under into the crotch - to, in rare cases, something so large it is almost gross.

But he told me mine had just the right amount of prominence. Continuing in a straight line down from my stomach, curving off seductively on each side temptingly into my thighs and turning sharply at the base of it under my crotch, it really highlighted what a beautiful slim figure I had. At the same time it radiated a sense that I was a woman who was fecund and sexually ripe, almost encouraging him to give me a good fucking. He loved the way that if I pulled certain pants up too tightly it gave me the deepest most eye-catching camel toe, but what he really loved was the way that almost any tightly fitted pants showed this highly suggestive dimple running through my crease; one that he could watch broaden into a valley as I became aroused.

Constantly apologetic throughout the conversation, he acknowledged he was very uncomfortable talking about it like this; sensing most women would find such a conversation abhorrent, even if it was full of flattery and nothing more than an acknowledgement of what most men might have thought anyway.

But then, that's what a relationship like the one I had with Frank will do to you.

Unlike Frank, Ned was never possessive - he still isn't. Even when going out without him, he encouraged me to dress to attract if that is what made me feel good. And being able to do that - maybe I admit sometimes taking it to extremes - let me see the effect I could have on men, which reaffirmed my belief in myself and proved that Ned's words were true and more than just a seduction technique on a younger woman. It did wonders for my confidence and let me grow from being the socially stunted person Frank had set out to create.

But the bottom line is that as Ned helped me cast aside the damage Frank did to me, I've actually become the complete antithesis of the woman Frank created, to the point I suspect most women would think I've gone too far; more so for a woman in her mid-thirties. Highly sexualised, multi-orgasmic and inclined to what some might regard as slut dressing and prick teasing, it all never the less gives me a joy out of life that compensates for what I missed out on during my time with Frank.

Now our relationship is driven by way more than physical desire. We share the deepest love too. It was there from the outset but has only grown with time.

But that background is really what possibly set the scene for my present attitude to sex. Being told, and eventually persuaded, I was so ugly that I was lucky the guy is who about to rape you could actually get it up to do so, certainly mucks your head up. Never having had an orgasm, never really getting any pleasure out of sex, until you have sex with a guy who not only persuades you of how beautiful you are but drives you to multiple, continuous, intense orgasms with every love making session, is the best antidote for that. But the antidote is highly addictive; leaving your body flooded with Oxytocin and other love hormones for which you develop a bottomless pit of insatiable cravings.

Keeping Ned able to satisfy those needs, not just of myself, but of Ellen, Liddy and at one time, a total of four young women he was 'servicing' daily on the yacht during our trip, was the trick. You couldn't get anything baser than Issie's solution. The constant, non-stop prick teasing of him to 'keep his testosterone up' as Issie, perhaps without scientific justification, put it.

'Fuck me' clothing (as Issie labelled it) in the form of tiny body hugging bikinis when we wore anything at all on the boat, tight fitting, sexualised, minimalist and revealing clothing when trips ashore or cooler weather demanded more and the constant, intimate manhandling of him. It worked too. He was never allowed to have sex far from his mind, a semi naked female always being in his eye and usually somehow in contact with his body. On the yacht he was rarely without at least a partial erection and never failed to perform on cue.

Those habits continued ashore, even when some of the Screw Girls left and got married. When we got back together, usually on the yacht for race days, they would be back in fuck me clothing and all over Ned like a rash - in front of their husbands. And, apart from what I fairly suspected was indulging their own residual sexual frission with Ned, it was supposedly all for the good cause of helping him meet the needs of the remaining girls; eventually just Liddy and me - with me being the most demanding.

In a way it was those same habits that might be thought to have caused my own sexual fetish for bikini sex to develop. I suppose as fetishes go, it's a pretty harmless one. I like seducing Ned while I'm in a fuck me bikini. More than that, I like to keep them on during foreplay and even, when I can, during sex itself.

And when I found unlined, super thin bikinis made of material that's barely opaque when dry and almost transparent wet, then they basically became 'suck me' bikinis. They stick to my body like they're painted on, go transparent in strategic places when my juices wet them with my arousal and really feel fantastic when Ned goes down on me and gives me oral through them. They might not be suitable for public display, but are great for a poolside seduction.

Ned is happy enough to be seduced by my bikini wearing self, but definitely prefers me naked while we're actually having sex. But he happily indulges my fetish often enough to keep me happy.

Deep down I know that the fetish itself also derives from Frank's treatment of me. He always wanted me naked for sex. Whether my clothes were ripped and torn violently and painfully off me or I was permitted to undress depended on how quickly I surrendered to him. That wasn't always an easy decision. It was clear that in Frank's mind, raping me was another form of violence. From my point of view, he could do a lot more damage with his fists than he did with his cock. So given the choice, I'd take the rape. The trick was to resist just enough to satisfy his need for perceived violence to punish me for whatever infraction had set him off, while minimising the actual hurt.

Having stripped me, he wasn't slow to tell me I had an ugly cunt and hideous nipples as part of his running down of me. So I still have a residual self-consciousness about them. The conversation with Ned about my mound was derived from that. Still, even though Ned tells me I have the most sexually desirable cunt and nipples he's ever seen and are definitely part of his obsession about my body, even though he's explained why in the most intimate detail, it's hard to throw off such insecurities.

Once Ned broke my habit of dressing unattractively I quickly got to see how powerful an effect my bikini clad body could have on men. Almost from the first day I wore a 'fuck me' one when I went into town with Issie in Papeete, I've seen men unable to take their eyes of my body and grow a partial boner just talking to me. So there's plenty of constant reassuring evidence to support Ned's encouraging words. Naked, I've only got Ned's word to rely on. Yes, I've looked in a mirror and don't think Ned's lying, but it doesn't carry the same reassurance as having had hundreds of men openly drooling after you.