A Picture in Black and White

"Anyone thirsty?" I inquired of the two standing at the window, obviously -- and deliberately -- interrupting their reverie. Both Brigitte and Charles turned to me and reached for the full, bubbling glasses I'd poured, eager for a distraction. It seemed to be a relief to both, neither knowing quite what was to come next.

We sat in the deep soft chairs around the small cocktail table that faced the window, staring into our glasses, savoring the sweet, tart taste of the wine. I looked at them both. The tension was so thick you could have said a single word and cut it sharply.

So, I did.

"Charles," I began...

"Mmm," he replied casually -- although not nearly as casually as I knew he'd like to portray.

"Brigitte...?" I continued, and she looked up quickly at me.

"Yes, honey?" She looked the picture of innocence.

But I knew I had their full attention.

I laughed quietly. "Charles seems to find you particularly attractive," I began, deliberately not looking at either of them as I stared down at my glass, twirling my finger around the edge of the flute.

Both of them began to make noises of protest. "I don't think..." started Charles. Brigitte cut in, saying, "What do you mean?" as she tried to force a note of indignation into her tone.

I chuckled again. "It's all right," I assured them both. "I don't mind. In fact..." I purposefully let the idea trail off, curious to see their reaction. Brigitte responded first.

"In fact, what?" she asked -- then, and forever, insatiably curious. I took a deep breath. I turned to Charles.

"Brigitte is a beautiful woman, and I love her deeply," I began. Both of them studied me closely -- fascinated, worried, thrilled, by what I might say next. I continued.

"There is nothing that I wouldn't do to make her happy..." I said looking at both of them closely. "And to give her pleasure," I added with a firm, hard gaze at them both.

Brigitte sucked in her breath sharply. Charles reached down and took a deep, long drink of his champagne, nearly draining the glass. I looked sharply and directly at both of them, but as I said the following, I was looking into Brigitte's eyes.

"Charles, provided it is agreeable to her... you may do whatever you like with my wife."

Chapter X

Brigitte nearly choked on her champagne. She sputtered, and fumed. "How... How?" she began, but the protest trailed off. She did not say no. My wife did not say no.

I was pleased to see that Charles was far more composed -- in fact, I expected nothing less of him. He merely drained the last of his champagne, and set it down on the table quietly.

"Thank you, Bruce," he said simply. "You're a gentleman, and generous." He sat, reflecting for a moment, looking first at Brigitte, then back at me. "I am flattered, and honored." He paused. "And I will take that as permission to begin."

I nodded. I really did admire his degree of self-composure and confidence.

And, in fact, I did not have long to wait for him to demonstrate it. He took another long sip of champagne, and looked over at Brigitte, who sat staring down at her glass.

"Brigitte," he began, and she started. "Brigitte, please stand up."

Brigitte shot me a fierce look, but did as Charles asked. She stood slowly, somewhat reluctantly, but stood nonetheless.

"Turn around, slowly," he ordered. She looked at him, obviously debating whether to disagree, but did as he asked. Slowly, she turned, deliberately avoiding my eye as she did so.

She was absolutely stunning in her navy blouse and long skirt, her dark hair and eyes catching the soft light. Her lovely curves were shown off sharply, back-lit by the distant lights of the city below us. She stopped, and looked over at Charles.

"Take off your blouse," he said, quietly, but firmly. Brigitte looked at him, defiantly, assessing the situation, debating whether she would. I was hurt, briefly -- but excited, too, it must be said -- by the fact that she did not look at me for permission.

Instead, staring directly at Charles, she flicked the top button of her silk blouse open. Looking steadily at him, she then undid the next one, and the next...and finally the fourth and last one. I could see her sheer black bra as the buttons came undone.

Then she pulled the tails of the blouse up out of her skirt, and slowly pulled it off her shoulders, looking directly at him all the while.

I glanced over at Charles and saw him swallow hard.

Then she slipped it gently off one shoulder, and then the other, and let it fall to the floor.

I caught my breath at the picture before me: My beautiful wife, standing before Charles in her revealing bra, her large, full breasts proudly on display for him. Her nipples, as before, stood out sharply, fiercely erect. They poked through the filmy material shamelessly, eager to be touched.

Charles sat, staring at her, drinking in the beautiful woman before him. I watched as his hand slid down to his thigh, and saw the thick, long bulge in his pants. He shifted slightly in the chair, obviously trying to relieve the intense pressure in his cock and balls.

"Take off your skirt," he then said, quietly but firmly.

Chapter XI

His command hung in the air, broking no disobedience. And Brigitte did as he ordered.

Her fingers found the waistband of the floral print wool wrap, and the two tiny hooks that kept it clasped firmly around her. She looked up at Charles, and then briefly over at me, and quickly flicked them open. Grasping the expensive material in her right hand, she pulled it up, and off, and dropped it gently on the floor. She stood before us -- no, before Charles -- still in black heels, but clad only in her transparent bra and panties.

Unlike the dark corner of the bar just half an hour before, there were no shadows here, nor any requirements for discretion, to hide my wife's lovely body. Her full breasts stood out proudly, her swollen nipples pinched and tight... Nothing hid the dark triangle of her bush, or the firm, soft flesh of her ass -- her tiny panties might as well not have existed, so well did they show her off. Charles slowly let out a long, soft breath.

"Come over here to the center of the room," he said quietly.

And Brigitte once again did as he said, shaking with nerves, but somehow steady nonetheless as she followed him to the center of the plush oriental carpet.

"Get down on your knees," he ordered, and Brigitte looked at him briefly, once again questioning. Then she seemed to think better of it, and slowly did as he asked.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I toyed with the idea of intervening -- of stopping this outrageous scene. But then part of me remembered that it was me who had cast the dice, and that if I put a halt to it at this point, I would have, in some bizarre sense of reverse logic, lost the respect of both of them.

By contrast, to allow them to continue was to retain control.

I wondered, briefly, at the twisted rationale to which I was subjecting myself, but then turned my attention once again to the erotic dance unfolding before me.

Charles stood, tall and regal, proper in his navy suit, before my kneeling wife. Then, as he looked down at her, he unbuckled his black leather belt. Brigitte moaned softly.

Slowly he unbuttoned his trousers, and slowly, teasingly, slid the zipper down, looking at her all the while. Unrestrained by either button or belt, his navy wool trousers slid down to the floor. Brigitte was left staring at his white, silk bikini briefs. The smooth, shimmering material hugged his taut, dark skin -- and the translucence of the silk revealed nearly every detail of the long, thick, black cock that pressed hard against it.

"Pull them down," he ordered.

Brigitte swallowed hard. She hesitated for a minute. She looked down briefly and then back up at Charles. And then, reaching up with both hands, slowly, hesitantly, grasped the waistband in her fingertips and slid the white silk down his firm, dark thighs.

His long dick sprang free, and as she slid the tiny briefs further down his tight, muscular thighs, his heavy, black balls were also revealed.

I wasn't sure whether the image before me was, in fact, real, or surreal. I had trouble catching my breath as I sat in the deep chair in front of them. I thought my head would explode not only from the scene, but also the implications, before me.

Brigitte was on her knees at Charles' feet, clad only in her tiny, revealing bra and panties. She looked up at him, waiting for instructions. His long, black cock stretched out in front of him, thick and hard with his excitement, half an inch from her soft, pink lips. He leaned down and whispered to her -- but deliberately loud enough for me to hear.

"Suck my cock, Brigitte."

She moaned at his words. And then she opened wide, and closed her eyes, and prepared to take Charles' hard cock into her mouth.

Charles pressed the swollen cockhead against her lips and held it there for a moment. He let it slide easily into her mouth until her lips encased the thick, ridged head. Eyes still closed, Brigitte flicked her tongue around it, running it gently down the shaft, looking as though she was trying to suck it deeper down her throat.

Never before had I seen my wife so eager to take a cock into her mouth. Usually it took a suggestion, or a deliberate arrangement of our positions when we made love. But tonight, she opened her mouth widely, eagerly, waiting...

Charles pulled back, pulling the thick head of his cock from her lips. A thin trail of cum trailed from the tip of his dick, startling white against his black skin. He reached down. Slowly he ran his finger along the thread of it, gathering it up. He flicked his finger across the thick drops that welled from the hole in his throbbing penis, and gathered them on his index finger.

"Look at me," he said, and Brigitte looked up. "Purse your lips, like you're putting on lipstick," he said simply. A quick, questioning look flickered across her face, but she did as she was told. She closed her eyes, lifted her chin, and pursed her lips.

Then Charles took his finger and brushed it gently, but completely, across her pouting mouth, as though he were applying make-up. My wife's lips glistened with his semen.

Chapter XII

Then he stopped. He pulled back, teasingly. "I want to study you first," he said, and Brigitte opened her eyes and looked up at him, wondering, as she slowly flicked her tongue around her lips, tasting him.

"Stay kneeling in front of me," he instructed her.

Slowly, reluctantly, she held her position. Then she looked up again at him, still questioning. She did not have long to wait.

"Reach back and unhook your bra," Charles ordered, simply, but firmly. His long, thick penis still stood out proudly in front of him. Brigitte didn't know which way to look. His voice demanded that she look him in the face, but the hard, black cock in front of her drew her attention shamelessly.

Nonetheless, she did as he ordered. She did not even look at me as he made his request. She simply reached back and quickly undid the two tiny hooks that held her full breasts. As she undid the hooks, her bra began to fall away. Without bidding, she reached up and slipped the left-hand strap off her shoulders...and then the right. She pulled the straps down her arms, and her sheer bra fell away onto the floor. She knelt, bare-breasted, in front of Charles.

Her nipples gave her away. They were pinched and swollen, erect to an extent I would not have thought possible. Her round, dark aureoles, too, were taut with excitement. She looked up at Charles, waiting for his order.

"Lift up your breasts for me," he said quietly. "Cup them in your hands," he continued. "Hold them up and out for me."

Brigitte sucked in her breath, but did exactly as he said. She cupped her full tits in each hand, and held them up and out to him, straining to please. Her stiff nipples stood out proudly, almost obscenely, in their excitement.

I couldn't believe what I was watching. My cock throbbed from the image before me. I ached to pull it out of my pants...to stroke it...to force it into my wife's mouth, her pussy, her ass...She presented the most exotic and outrageous picture I had ever seen. Her beauty and eroticism had me aching, my head throbbing. I tried desperately to catch my breath.

Was this the woman I thought I knew? The question ricocheted around in my brain.

Not at all, I answered -- and was thrilled, and grateful, and just a tad worried, to be honest, to discover this alter ego.

Charles' orders cut into my self-examination. "Take your nipples between your fingers," he commanded, without ceremony. I gasped again as Brigitte did exactly as he said, and without hesitation. She reached down and, using both hands, gently grasped each nipple between her thumb and forefinger. She then looked up at him, and waited for his next command.

"Pull them up and out for me," he said simply. Brigitte looked up at him, again questioning, a trace of disbelief on her face. But Charles' look precluded any disobedience.

She did as she was told. Slowly, but surely, she pulled on them, tugging gently. The effort made her wince, but she continued. Holding each nipple firmly, she began to pull her full, heavy breasts up and out for his examination and appreciation. Slowly she held them up, the weight of each breast suspended only by the taut, pink tips.

"That's not good enough," Charles said quietly and firmly, in a tone that, again, brooked no argument. Brigitte hurried to obey. She pinched her nipples more firmly, and pulled her full breasts further out and up for him, wanting to please, to hear his approval. She stretched them out and up, as far as she possibly could.

As if that wasn't enough, she did something even more outrageous, obviously eager to gain his acceptance, to hear his words of approval.

She slid her thumbs and forefingers back an inch or so, and sharply pinched each nipple and aureole between them, holding them, too, up and out. Not only did she support the weight of her lovely, heavy breasts with her nipples, but, doing so, squeezed each one as tightly as she could, offering the stiff, sensitive flesh up to her new, black master.

Chapter XIII

I ached to cum at the picture before me: my wife, offering her beautiful breasts up to a virtual stranger. I wanted to pull my cock from my pants, to sink it deeply into her...to fill her with my sperm.

Instead, overcome by curiosity, I did my best to sit quietly -- unwilling to interrupt, and far too eager to see what would transpire. I did not have long to wait.

"Very good," said Charles appreciatively, making Brigitte blush with his words. "Stand up," he added, unceremoniously.

Brigitte started at this sudden shift in direction, but reluctantly obeyed. She released the hold on her nipples, and stood up slowly. Her breasts and nipples were red and swollen from her outrageous display. I ached to caress them, to massage them with oil...to suckle them. But I held back -- sure that Charles would not allow it.

She stood facing him, clad only in her transparent bikini briefs and black heels.

"Take off your panties," he said, and Brigitte, looking him in the eye, and without hesitation, reached up with both hands to her waist. She caught the elastic waistband with each thumb, and pulled her panties down quickly, sliding them past her thighs, her knees, and then letting them drop to the floor at her feet. She kicked them away.

She stood before Charles dressed only in her black high heels.

We both studied her, admiring her luscious body without shame or artifice -- our eyes taking in her lovely dark hair and eyes, her round, full, womanly curves, her most private parts. She was exquisite. My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to look at her forever.

Charles had other ideas.

"Sit on the edge of the coffee table," he continued, firmly. "Facing me," he added with a stern look.

Brigitte sucked in her breath, and appeared as though she was about to disobey. But the look of resistance flitted quickly across her face and was gone, and she did as he ordered, stepping over and sitting down gingerly on the low, glass-topped structure. "Now what?" she asked defiantly.

"Spread your legs," Charles said quietly.

"Nooooo...." Brigitte's voice trailed off.

He looked at her directly in the eye. "Do you want to stop? We can stop anytime you say," he explained, darting a quick look in my direction.

"Nooooo...." Brigitte said more softly, and my heart sank a little.

"Then, spread your legs," he ordered.

Somewhat to my dismay, Brigitte slowly leaned back, splaying her arms widely apart and far behind her. She tilted her head far back, her long neck stretched out, and closed her eyes.

And she slowly, but surely, spread her legs open for Charles.

Her thighs parted -- a foot, then two feet. She stopped.

"That's not wide enough, Brigitte," Charles said quietly. "As far as you can."

She started at his words. But she did as he said. She spread her legs further, opening them as widely as she could for him, no doubt feeling her hips ache as she opened as completely as she was able. She threw back her head, and arched her spine, and nearly lifted her firm ass off the glass table.

Unbidden, she brought her arms forward -- still leaning back as far as she could -- and slid her hands between her thighs. She reached down and, gently, using both hands, spread the soft, swollen flesh of her outer lips.

Opening them, she reached down and firmly grasped her labia, thumb and forefinger of each hand pinching the tender, sensitive skin on either side.

Staring him in the eye, she slowly but inexorably parted them, revealing her soft, pink flesh. I watched, fascinated, as my wife offered her pussy to Charles.

Chapter XIV

I couldn't restrain myself. I stood up, moving awkwardly as a result of my throbbing, erect cock.

Charles looked over, and said quietly, "Wait just a minute, please, Bruce?"

What could I say? As reluctant as I was to admit it, I was curious. Curious to see what he had in mind. Curious to see what he would do, and how he would do it. Curious to see how my beautiful Brigitte would respond.

Hesitatingly, but unwilling to interrupt the scenario unfolding before me, I sat back down. My heart beat more quickly.

"Brigitte, you are gorgeous," Charles complimented her, as she sat, naked on the glass coffee table, spreading her legs widely for him.

She blushed, but suddenly seemed to revert to her more typical bashfulness. She quickly seemed to withdraw, to step back and view the situation from afar. Rapidly and modestly she put her legs together and sat up abruptly. In vain, she attempted to cover her nakedness, passing one hand over her breasts, and putting another between her legs to cover her pussy.

"Brigitte?" Charles inquired softly. She looked up at him, questioningly. "Put your hands back behind you, on the table. You're far too beautiful to cover up," he added, almost needlessly. She looked at him, studying him, apparently deciding what to do, and how far to take this. And then she looked over at me, again questioning and looking apologetic.

But, once again, she did as he said. She leaned back on the table, splaying her hands behind her, and kept her long legs open to Charles' gaze. He stood there looking at my wife's open cunt seemingly forever --the soft labia spread wide, the dark, inviting hole of her vagina, the moisture from her excitement glistening on her lips in the soft light.

I wanted to step over to her, to force her legs up over my shoulders... to sink my hard cock into her, to fuck her harshly, punishingly, for sitting there spreading herself for another man.

Or, did I?

True, I ached to fuck her. The things Charles had done, and had her do, up to now, had aroused me more than I had ever thought possible. And each additional, intimate act he made her perform only increased that arousal. My balls ached, literally ached, from the need to relive the intense pressure within them. I was constantly shifting in my seat -- trying to find a comfortable way to sit to ease the pain and throbbing. I was dying to unzip my pants, to...