Two Chairs

TWO CHAIRS

Shortly after we were married, Fiona and I added a large master bedroom suite to the house. Separated from the main residence with a long library hall and a sitting garden, it was replete with a luxurious bathroom with a jetted tub, and a dressing room full of lingerie. The new wing made for privacy and soundproofing for a middle aged couple with a small child. Particularly when we were alone in the house, our new realm also became a stage for varied and usually intense sexual adventures.

Fiona and I are each readers and writers, so a corner of the bedroom was surrounded by floor to ceiling bookshelves and two large facing arm chairs. Reading in them was an indulgence, but reading was only our second favorite activity on those chairs.

On evenings when we had the house to ourselves, Fiona and I usually sat facing each other, sharing wine and idle conversation that slowly developed into verbal foreplay. You see, despite Fiona's pretty face and stunning figure, her most erogenous zone has always been the space between her ears. I am the same and early in our marriage, long verbal rambles have always preceded our most intense sex.

Those chairs also were the gateway to educating each other about our shared intense sexuality and unspoken desires. Boundaries came down because of those chairs and of the talks they encouraged. None was more important than speaking the truth about how much each of us routinely feasted on self-pleasure. Those conversations quickly became the most intimate I have ever had with a woman. Crossing that frontier, I felt completely exposed to Fiona and I know that she felt the same.

We began one particular three-day weekend alone lounging in our arm chairs, knees nearly touching. Fiona wore the sheerest of peignoirs through which I could see the outline of her nipples and the shadow of her pubis.

Accepting a glass of champagne, Fiona said, "You know, I was sitting here thinking of you this afternoon." She blushed slightly.

"And?"

Fiona hesitated. "We have been having a lot of sex lately and when we are like that, I usually can't wait for you to get home." She was staring levelly at me now over her champagne flute. In a moment she added, "So I have to take care of things myself." I felt my face flush and my cock stiffen.

"Just before you came home, I sat here with my fingers in my pussy, thinking about you hovering over me and screaming for you to fuck me. I came incredibly hard." She was almost whispering.

"I am glad that I have that effect on you," I replied. My penis twitched.

Suddenly bolder: "Well. I have always had an intense need to masturbate. You just give me focus." Fiona threw back the last of her wine and offered the glass for a refill. "And urgency," she added.

Through her sheer gown I could see that Fiona's nipples had stiffened. She uncrossed her legs as she leaned for the champagne bottle, blushing slightly. I could only return her stare and smile.

In a moment I said, "Yes, I suppose I knew that." I hear you sometimes and there was that day last summer when I walked in on you." Continuing to stare, Fiona managed a wicked smile.

"And you?" she said finally.

I returned the wicked smile.

"I have already told you what happened the night of our first date. After nearly undressing you on that kitchen stool, I was ready to explode, but neither of us had the nerve to go to bed right away. So I stumbled home at 5:30 that morning and slowly fucked my hand calling your name."

Fiona brightened. "Yes, you've said that. I hope that I was good that morning."

"Not as good as you were a week later on that same spot." I leaned forward and kissed Fiona, my robe falling open, exposing my rock hard penis.

"But since we have been married?" she asked.

"A lot. Sometimes next to you in bed after you have fallen asleep."

"You mean after you think I have fallen asleep." Fiona uncrossed her legs revealing the smudge of her pubic hair. I could only smile, partly in embarrassment and partly in appreciation.

"It looks as if you might need some help now," she said, dropping her gaze to my rigid cock. "Show me."

I hesitated, then dropped a hand to my glans, gently encircling it with my fingers.

"Tell me what you think about," she said.

I responded instantly. "You, of course. Sometimes about the last time we have been together. Sometimes I our greatest hits roll behind my eyes." I now began to stroke myself with more purpose. "How about you?" I asked.

"I think about you, of course," adding tentatively, "Usually."

Fiona allowed her gown to part, gracefully lowering a hand to her vulva.

"Tell me," I rasped.

"Last week I thought about a summer guest house friend who stayed with my boyfriend and me one week on Martha's Vineyard." Fiona's index finger flipped into her labia. She shuddered slightly. "My boyfriend kept suggesting a threesome but I wouldn't do it."

I heard the slightest squish of Fiona's fingers moving in and out of her pussy.

"One afternoon when we were alone on the beach, the friend told me that he had listened outside our bedroom window every night as I made love to my boyfriend. He liked how loud I was."

I already knew that she was talking about a nude beach on the western end of the island, so I wasn't surprised when she said, "He got this massive erection telling me the story." I stroked myself more urgently. Fiona began to tease her clitoris. She moaned. "Before we could get back to the house, he laid me down on the path and fucked me."

We each simultaneously gasped, stroking ourselves with a new urgency, displaying ourselves to one another. Fiona's gown was now gaped open. Her neatly trimmed pussy and perky erect nipples were on full display. She pinched one nipple and gasped, "You tell me!"

By now I was taking long strokes on my penis, enjoying the show and the story. My breath shallowed and my heart raced.

"In Charlottesville. One of the horsey set invited me to her place for dinner." Fiona grunted, her eyes shifting from my eyes to my full hand.

"After dinner she gave me a tour of the barn and it started to rain." I felt the faintest stirrings of an orgasm but slowed, gently edging myself along. Fiona continued to work her pussy.

At the height of the storm..." I started to gasp, "With rain pounding the metal roof of the barn---with thunder and lightning shaking the place..." I was gasping now, stroking my stroking my dick with urgency to match Fiona's urgency fingering herself. "She went to the tack room and took off her clothes."

"Ugh," Fiona growled.

"There was a saddle on a rack." I stood slightly, displaying myself fully to Fiona and panting.

"She--ugh--climbed onto the saddle—ugh-- stood in the stirrups and offered her pussy," I nearly moaned, thrusting my cock toward Fiona, arching my back, displaying myself to her.

"Yes?!" Fiona nearly shouted, two of her fingers working her swollen pussy, while her other hand teased her clitoris.

"She held onto the pommel while I pounded her from behind."

We each groaned, Fiona rolling her head back. As she came, I could feel myself ready to boil over.

Suddenly, Fiona was out of the chair, straddling one of its arms, offering me her pussy from behind. "Please," she groaned. "Finish me before it stops thundering!" she said, putting herself into the story.

I crossed to her, dropping my robe and entering Fiona's tight wet pussy in one thrust. She grunted rhythmically as I pounded into her. Perched on her forearms, Fiona, gripped the chair arm as if it were a saddle.

I exploded into her, flooding her with semen, shouting as an evening wind stirred the trees outside our open window.

I collapsed onto Fiona's back, each of us panting. Suddenly realizing the open window, I moaned, "Oh god, the neighbors will be talking."

"I hope so," was Fiona's only answer.



That was more than twenty years ago. Our mutual explorations raged before inevitably banking as the years piled up.

We raised our daughter, sold the house with two chairs, and moved to a retirement house in the country a few years ago. Before long, we realized that keeping our sanity in a place with little more than fields and surrounding coastline would require regularly scheduled weekends away.

On those trips our lovemaking intensified again but our adventurousness was replaced with a comfortable familiarity. Fiona, still beautiful to me in her mid-60's slowly became less forward about displaying her body to me, dimming the lights for our lovemaking sessions instead of having sex with the lights on. I understand and, continuing to love her for who she is, I honor her preferences.

Our last trip was particularly poignant, coming as it did after I received a threatening medical diagnosis. Fiona was particularly attentive to me and it was a lovely weekend.

When we arrived at a favorite hotel on the first night of that trip, each of us noticed two armchairs nearly identical to those from so long ago. They sat in front of a wide picture window looking out on the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Settling into one of them, "Fiona said brightly, "Almost like the old house. I wonder what sort of stories these chairs have."

I smiled gently. "I am just glad that you remember."

"How could anyone forget?" my wife replied. They were part of our ritual dance."

I immediately recognized her reference to a favorite shared poem about long marriages.

"Yes," I said softly, crossing to kiss her. "We are the only native speakers of a language that will die with us."

Fiona finished for each of us. "Our tribe of sovereign secrecy. Lost on everyone but us." We each laughed.

It was a lovely and deeply meaningful moment, summing up the emotional intimacy that has been such an important part of our shared story, now more than 25 years along. Even more to the point the poet managed to capture our sexual sorcery as part of our broader shared lives.

We passed the afternoon browsing bookstores and gazing at the mountains before returning to the room in time to watch the sun set. All afternoon I thought about our old bedroom chairs and the paths that they opened for us as newlyweds.

After watching the sun slip beneath the mountains, I whispered to Fiona, "I miss those old chairs."

She sighed, "So do I but that was a long time ago."

"Turn off the room lights," I said, punctuating her sentence. She peered at me somewhat apprehensively, but did as instructed. In the darkening shadows of the room, I stood and turned the arm chairs back to back.

"Come and sit," I beckoned to Fiona. In a moment, we were facing away from each other in the dark.

"Now what?" Fiona said archly.

"Shhh."

Somewhat noisily I stripped out of my clothes, making certain the Fiona could hear each item landing on the bed. Sitting nude in the chair, I said. "Your turn."

Fiona hesitated and then slowly peeled off her clothes. In the gathering darkness, I could see first a blouse, then her slacks, then her bra and panties. The sound of Fiona stripping nude a foot away from me but unseen immediately hardened my cock.

Take my hand," I said finally. She did and the two of us sat in the dark completely exposed and completely unseen. "Now tell me what I can't see."

Fiona mulled the question and finally whispered. "My nipples are very hard. How about you?"

"Extremely hard I replied. My nipples are too." We each laughed.

"You still have one free hand," I said. My stomach flipped. In a moment, there was movement on the other side of the chair.

"I have loved your breasts since the first time I saw them. No woman was ever more beautiful. Fondle them for me now." More rustling then a slight groan. I squeezed Fiona's hand tighter. Then it was Fiona's turn.

"Your cock has pleased me like no other man's. Tease the tip of it the way it has teased my clit."

My free hand dropped to my lap as I followed instructions.

"Slowly," Fiona whispered, "Just the way I am teasing my clit now." She grunted slightly.

The room was nearly silent but gradually I heard the sound of Fiona slipping her fingers in and out of her pussy. I sensed her squirm and then heard the first low moan.

On my side of the chair, my free hand cradled my penis as I edged into a more urgent rhythm. I could feel Fiona begin writhing on the other side of the chair, breathing hoarsely behind me. Now it was her turn to squeeze my hand tightly.

"Oh my God, this is good," Fiona rasped in a minute.

"Don't talk," I said, focusing attention on my hand that now was moving in slow draws up and down the length of my shaft. Fiona was breathing even deeper, moaning more constantly.

"My hand is your pussy," I whispered to her.

"Ummmm!" she croaked

Now I could distinctly hear Fiona's moistened fingers pushing into and out of her pussy. Little moans now. "Ugh, Ugh. Ohh! Fuck me! Please fuck me hard! Ohhhh!"

My own free hand was furiously pumped my dick. "God, your pussy is good!" I croaked. I could feel the orgasm rushing up my cock at the same time I heard Fiona let out a low loud groan,"Ohhhhhhh myyyy Goddd!" she croaked and I felt the her chair thrash.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! I need to fuck you so hard! Pleeeease! Oh! Oh! Oh!" My legs stiffened and, as the sound of Fiona's orgasm filled my ears, my cock erupted with gobs of semen.

Suddenly we were each limp, still holding the other's free hand.

We stayed that way for long minutes. Finally, I stood and turned down the bed. Fiona took my hand again and followed me to bed where we stayed until morning, at first dozing in the afterglow, then sleeping contentedly, and finally waking each other at two in the morning to make slow passionate love.