An Intricate Weaving

Hi there and happy New Year to every one of you avid readers of erotica.

Now, as usual I warn all of you who hate my style and are offended by my tales. STOP HERE... STOP NOW!!

I find it humorous that you keep reading my shit (are you still reading now?) and that you are still posting your mad rants. Why...? Do you secretly like cuckold themed stories about hot wives and crazed husbands? Is this your dirty, secret little fetish and are you afraid to admit it? Is that why you post the abuse? It's called denial... so stop being a pussy and admit it. Now you can read on, because you feel better inside having admitted that truth.

So... having hopefully dismissed the abusers, let's move on.

As usual this fictional piece is out of the box, so I will warn you in advance. If you liked Triple Treats then you should like this one. The one thing I might suggest you do is grab a drink, sit down, take off your monogamous hat and hang on tight. This one will certainly challenge.

I would wish you all the best, and too all of my friends out there... happy reading.

P.S.

I'm still desperately in need of an editor. I apologize in advance for my woeful short comings in this arena. If you can help, let me know.

****

AN INTRICATE WEAVING.

My lover, his wife, her lover our spouses and me.

A fiction by Arch Stanton. copyright 2015.

****

Prelude.

"Dion's coming over. Do we have any of that nice wine?"

"Sure baby, I picked up two bottles yesterday."

My reply was a simple and autonomous reaction to a somewhat perceived innocently presented statement of inquiry, but a cold shiver crawled up my spine like some creepy Ipsy Wipsy spider was scaling a rusted water spout bolted to my vertebra.

"That's great honey." Lucy floated into the room like some flame red haired Tinkerbell and twirled before me. "You like?"

Shit, what wasn't there to like? 5'4" of perfectly formed fairy, freckle dusted in radiance. Her light weight floral summer dress flowered out like a parasol and those goddamned gorgeous legs flittered like a trained ballerina's. The lustrous red hair bounced about her shoulders and shimmered with the hue of a Martian sunset.

"You look gorgeous baby." Okay, so I gushed slightly.

My fiancée smiled shyly and blinked. "Do you think Mr Deneuve will approve?"

The spider purposely feathered my neck with his hairy chin. I could only nod; words were log jammed in my throat.

"Oh honey, you need to get over this. We've talked about your insecurities... the jealousy. You knew the rules when we decided to date." Lucy glided in and wrapped her perfectness tightly about me. I gasped as the expiration of the compressed air caught in my seized lungs hissed noisily, attempting to combat my desperate desire to swallow. The gasp was more a gurgle. "Now, I want you to be on your bestest behavior young man." She pulled back and smiled slyly. This was normal fare, her treating me like a child when I got all possessive and anxious. "Mr Deneuve will have a glass of wine, we'll chat for a bit and then we'll head off to the bedroom." She touched her long perfectly manicured pink nailed finger to my nose like a mother would her wayward son. "You can watch TV or there are heaps of chores you could attend to." The smile was almost wicked. "That picture needs hanging..."

Yeah, like I'd certainly have no problem banging a nail into the lounge wall... to hang that over-sized engagement photo of the two of us holding hands while she's turned and smooching him... out there on that hotel balcony overlooking the cities night lights. If the photo wasn't bad enough I'd certainly pulp my thumb into a tenderized patty listening to her getting nailed in the room above me. Just thinking about 'that' night caused dizziness, thus my reluctance to hang that goddamned potent print.

Lucy recognized my distress, my rampant fear... and she pouted, pursing her soft full red painted lips. "Poor baby... just hold me close. It'll all be okay in the morning."

And then suddenly it was... okay... that is. Her luscious little body pressed against mine. Her smell, her perfume, her essence of woman; it overwhelmed me, it captured me and yet it mocked me. We remained bonded for what seemed like ages. I drew strength from her soul and she gladly allowed me that access. We were both in love, but our love was... complex.

That age old question burnt deep. Can a human being, capable of infinite thoughts and feelings, love just as infinitely? Should that love be confined to just one person, or can it be shared by many? A mother will tell you she loves all her kids equally. Is that true, or are some children really preferred over others? Is love a defined parameter? Can you actually box it, ring fence your feelings and direct them to just one person? I think not, and this is where I fit into our 'unique' relationship.

Yes, my relationship with Lucy began like any 'normal' seemingly monogamous union. It wasn't until I wanted to explore our 'friendship' further that she sat me down and we had 'that' discussion, like about what I just explained... about fencing love. She explained very clearly that she was already in a relationship with an older man and that he was married. Of course this divulgence floored me. She had started 'seeing' him when she was a freshman, an undergraduate at university. He was her history professor. He is French, and the French evidently do not play by the same static rules with regard to their relationships as we stuck up colonials do. The French are, well... more liberal.

During their eighteen years of marriage both the Professor and Mrs Vanessa Deneuve openly partook in an intimate relationship with a single other party. He had his mistress and she had her toy-boy.

It all seemed so simple really.

My hazed mind transitioned back to the present as I inhaled my fiancées love, soaking in her presence... and then the bloody doorbell chimed.

"I'll get it baby." Lucy pushed away excitedly. It never seemed to fade, that initial delight when anticipating HIS presence. She exuded frenetic excitement and her vivid green eyes shone with the deep lust of true bestowment. "Oooh, I'm so horny right now!"

My fiancée danced her fairy pirouette to the door and opened it gleefully. The 'horny' statement had left me planted and trembling.

"Master!" She cried and launched herself into his big arms, wrapping her gorgeous legs about his waist and locking her ankles tightly behind his lower back.

Yes, don't cringe. She calls him 'Master'. Yes that was his 'title', well that or 'Sir', following her formal introduction to others of Mr (or professor) Denueve. She is his submissive and my Lucy delights in her role. She once explained carefully, with big wide open eyes and an aura of total awe, that her Master had trained her and that he 'owned' her. His busy business life along with the commitment of unification in holy matrimony, vowed to his stunning wife Vanessa, whom I'd actually met many times now, meant that he couldn't give Lucy the time he considered necessary to fully honor their relationship, nor could he commit to the fullness of life he so desired for his beautiful little mistress. It was unfair on her and a solution was required.

I was of course, that solution.

With these thought sparking about my brain I watched enthralled as my fiancée hungrily kissed her lover; her bared legs wrapped about his hips as he supported her naked bum beneath the flowery rucked up dress. Her little excited tongue sought his and his hers. I knew she never wore panties for him, and I could only breathlessly imagine her wet and excited pubis scraping against his ridiculous overstated silver belt buckle. The obscene bulge beneath did not escape my blurry vision either. The standard protocol of kneeling and waiting his instruction seemed to be forgotten, although I feared she might be punished for the infraction. Mind you I think Lucy enjoyed the punishments, and even though she always cried, she seemed to want more. It was like she required the hurt to compensate the pleasure.

My Lucy was an intoxicating jigsaw of drive and emotion. She was certainly human, but I always suspected that some sort of alien DNA had likely been infused at birth. (She'd lived somewhere close to area 51, so who knew). But how can anyone judge another human being? Some are awarded brains and unfathomable intelligence; some are gifted with prose and have a way of making words serenade your heart. Businessmen make the world tick and Politicians have the gift of the gab and an uncanny ability to hypnotize. There are the lucky few who are blessed as sexual beings, capable of intense and immeasurable delights. Lucy was a unique creature possessing a delightful range of human emotion, able to absorb love and yet gift it plentifully to others. She was submissive to this man, and yet with me she was almost motherly. Yes, my girl was a complex mix and a stunningly beautiful creature, born to please and to receive pleasure in equal abundance. She had a radiant love of life, a love that could never be defined.

"Bonjour Jack. How are you this fine evening?" Dion popped Lucy onto the floor, like one might place a China doll, and approached me, right hand extended in greeting... left hand clasping my delightfully excited girl. I knew we'd shake, because that seemed only fitting here in America, but I also knew the arbitrary double cheek kiss was coming too. The French are a really touchy feely race.

Formalities complete Lucy led her lover to the settee and invited him to sit. I robotically poured the wine... an expensive French drop that I knew pleased him. He accepted my offering and then clinked glasses with both myself and my swooning fiancée as she took station perched on his lap... and folded her compact body into that six four frame like a molded jelly.

"I apologize for the intrusion Jack. I had zee rough day today, and I need some... how you say... relief... before I go home and face my femme." He appeared drawn, and, as if in recognition of her lover's needs, Lucy arched up, stroked his face gently with her petite hand and kissed him softly, whispering 'poor Master'. He kissed her in return, stoking his big hand over her head and combing his fingers gently through her glowing amber waterfall of viscous lava. I watched on, feeling a little spaced out, like a lost soul in dark unfamiliar territory. The drama playing out before me was not new to me... and yet it always left me breathless.

Lucy sucked free of his lips, and her hands clambered for her lovers dewy juiced belt buckle. He pushed out his hips, sliding his bum to the edge of the couch to accommodate her now frantic application to the zipper. With a delighted giggle, my fiancée extracted her substantial prize.

I gripped the arms of my recliner, as if bracing for some perceived blast off.

Lucy examined her yummy treat like it was an iced cone that threatened capitulation to a lazy summer's day heat. The cock stood tall and proud like some giant redwood remnant of a forest devastated. She licked her lips, savoring the delight.

"May I Master?" She blinked up submissively, gripping the baton in her two small hands and I swear she was trembling in anticipation. I squirmed. This was never easy for me.

"You may my pet." A slight nod of the head confirmed the acquiescence.

My beautiful fiancée leaned forward and her little tongue slipped out, akin to a cat lapping at milk. I shuddered, grabbed my wine flute and downed the contents. My head swam.

My mind regressed. It hadn't always been like this. In hindsight it was easy now, not like it was back then... at the beginning... when it nearly killed me.

Yes, the beginning was difficult. I remembered when she'd first introduced me to her Master, and his stunning wife, and to his wife's lover, a guy named Charles. Oh, and I've met Charlie's wife too. She's a beautiful dark skinned French-African beauty who possesses the most amazing dark chocolate brown eyes. Charles has African roots too, but he's of Dutch-African heritage, and he's not dark like Sally. Actually, Sally is really quite amazing; displaying pure flawless dark bronzed skin and she's tight... almost skinny framed, with those perky little breasts that some lucky women are fortunate enough to possess. She wears those thin hipster eye glasses that make her appear so sophisticated and mysterious.

I kind of have a big crush on Sally.

Yes, it has been an interesting journey and one that may require defining if any sense is to be made of my current situation.

Let's go back a bit, that I might quantify my present circumstances.

****

Chapitre Un.

LUCY begins... at the beginning.

God I'm a klutz. When I yanked out my lap top from the charger, I'd accidentally pulled my phone charger free with it. That was why my alarm didn't go off and that's' why I missed the bus, although I swear it was a full minute early.

The butterfly effect culminated when I flew into my History tutorial fifteen minutes late, devoid of breakfast and an ironed skirt.

The whole class went deathly silent as I skidded to a breathless halt, searching frantically for a spare seat. I knew he was laser eyeing me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and little crawly things nibbled my spine. Of course this just made me wet...

God he was a hunk. Every other giddy girl in school confirmed the fact, so it wasn't just me, alright. So, okay, I admit that his very nearness had me palpitating, leaving me panting and breathless and sticky and horny and... My vision scanned the crowded tiers with a desperation born of self-survival.

"Miss Carrington... you're late... again." The deep gravel voice boomed, echoing about the vast auditorium, thus allowing the design acoustics to channel the blunt truth of that stark statement into my deepest recesses. My stupid sex twitched. Why did the certainty of his chastisement affect me like this? I suspected I was probably insane. "I do not appreciate tardiness ma petite fille. What is your excuse on this occasion?"

I did that slow turn thing you do when you need time to carefully plot your amazing excuse. My heart pounded and I blew my ridiculous red ringlets away from my face. The lack of any hairdryer application after my frantic ten second shower that morning had resulted in a semblance of wild uncontrolled fizz... akin to desert ravaged tumbleweed. More butterfly effect I imagined.

"Um... well..." I began plotting slowly, but my shrillness soon evolved into more of a scrambled panic. "I accidentally unplugged my phone and the alarm didn't go off and then I panicked a bit, and couldn't decide on what to wear and nothing was ironed and the bus was early and I kinda missed it and had to run across to the train station but I jumped on the wrong train because I'm not used to the trains and then when tha..."

"STOP!!" The baritone call to cease the verbal diarrhea stopped me mid spiel. Shit, I had that excuse down pat. "Enough!" He laser beamed me. "Young femme, you need to get yourself organised. Forgetfulness and clumsiness are not traits I admire." His words hurt and I wanted so much for him to be proud of me. "You need to practice structure. Plan and map your moves and organize yourself. Silliness is not an excuse to go about life tripping over everything." His dark sliver blue eyes examined me, and they shone inexplicably with some kind of secret erotic knowledge. I was so goddamned wet. I hugged my books close to my heaving bosom. I wore the stupid low cut tee-shirt just for him, but now I wanted to cover up and crawl under the floorboards like a pathetic bug. "I want to talk with you after class and see if we can put a stop to this continued insulting behavior. Take a seat young lady." He glared and nodded to the only seat left vacant in the hall, the seat right in front and central to his lectern. I just nodded stupidly and slunk into the indicated position. The once silent room now whispered and sniggered at my demise. Why was I so utterly dizzy with lust? Being humiliated and publicly chastised just fired my rivet pinging boiler. Having HIM single me out, flaunt my failings to all and sundry and then offer to 'meet' me after class and 'sort me out' was just awesome!

I have to say I fidgeted all class. He would occasionally examine me, like I was some interesting specimen to be studied. I desperately wanted to masturbate. He was explaining the Napoleonic wars when he sauntered past and twirled my notebook around to examine my doodle of a rocket ship blasting off in a cloud of swirly smoke. He grunted. I swooned.

Finally and blessedly the bell rang. The place clambered for the exits. I remained in place, dreamily comfortable, swimming in my warm wetness.

"Miss Carrington, we need to talk."

Oh, goodie. "Yes Sir?" I battered my auburn lids. His breath hitched and a tiny squeak resonated form a constricted larynx. Was it something I'd said? I leaned forward a bit, mostly in anticipation... mostly. His eyes darted south. The twins seemed pleased. Pussy pulsed.

"Do you have any parents?" His eyes fixed mine.

"Yes Sir, they live in Nevada." There it was again, that little tell-tale noise. Was it attributed to what I said again? "I fly home on the holidays, SIR." Yep... his twitch registered the action. It was when I said 'Sir'. Hmmm... very interesting. I crossed my legs in a vain attempt to plug the dam leak. Why did I read that bloody book... and watch that stupid movie?

"So you live off campus?"

"Yes SIR." I grinned. This was interesting. "My parents have a bit of money so they pay for my flat... SIR."

"You can cut the 'Sir' crap. Call me Mr Deneuve or just plain professor, okay?"

He wasn't fooling me. "Yes SIR!" I grinned mischievously. This was fun. "Sorry Plain Professor." I giggled attempting a wacky impression of contrite.

"Jeune femme, this is not ze laughing matter. You are a wild untamed fille and we need to introduce structure and proper etiquette into your world. This tardiness and lack of form will need to cesser." His jaw twitched.

I was grinning like a kid in a candy store. It seemed he went all gooey and Frenchy when he got all animated. Was little ole me causing all that excitement? I uncrossed my legs. Sheesh I stunk.

"You will need to be punished for your actions, no?"

I just nodded dreamily, a tad anxiously. Oh yes, I needed to be spanked... bad. "Uh huh..." was all I could manage.

"You will meet me I my office at cinq o'clock... okay ma belle fille?"

More stupid nodding had me wondering what the hell he'd just said. It sounded very pretty. I wandered dreamily away, sloshing in my sticky juices determined to investigate the words he'd spoken. 'Ma belle fille' sounded so damned romantic!

****

My beautiful girl... I was his beautiful girl. I'd typed those three exotic French words into my online translator and nearly orgasmed. Now, as I prepared to knock on the sturdy door before me, the one emblazoned with the title, Professor of History, the Hon Dr Dion Deneuve PhD, I was simmering like a once dormant mud pool subjected to an imminent eruption. I was hot, clammy and oozy. Just about ingredient perfect!

Oh, he seemed very important. PhD must mean Practicing Heterosexual Dominant. Ooh. I knocked softly. It was precisely cinq o'clock. That's five o'clock, I looked it up.

"Entrez chaton." Okay, I needed to look that one up later too because it sounded really hot. I tentatively pushed open the heavy door and it squeaked as if mimicking my own composure. "Please have a seat Lucy." He was smiling. That was a good thing right? I shuffled onto the hard backed chair and tucked my miserable excuse for a skirt under my bum. Why I'd chosen the tartan school girl pleated porn star look still defied comprehension. "Ma charmante fille, do you think you require order to your life?" Of course I was just going to dreamily agree to everything so I nodded eagerly. "In order to achieve structure one must first recognise the order." Sounded very complex, but hey he had the PhD stuff. "If I may, I would like to introduce you to the order of life. Belle, it is paramount that you have a mentor, someone you can look up to and follow ze direction."