Menage a Trois Ch. 03

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A night of debauchery among the threesome.
8.1k words
4.78
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Part 3 of the 13 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 12/21/2016
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Bluepen451
Bluepen451
1,399 Followers

I took the subway from the Village uptown. Sandy and I lived in an Upper West Side co-op on W. 67th. My mood was a bit more subdued than it had been when I had taken the same ride downtown earlier in the day. In the morning I had just made love to my wife for the first time in weeks, and while I would have liked more, I felt really good. Since then I had learned that my wife was having an affair (or at least had been having an affair) with her cousin, Rachel. The same cousin who had just given me a stunning blowjob and I had eaten to a screaming climax. Maybe Bill Clinton could say he never had sex with that woman, but I didn't think I could split hairs quite that far. I had sex with Rachel and it was great, and apparently, so had my wife.

The revelation that she had been screwing Sandy was . . . How can I put it? Not a total surprise, but still something that required thought. The other thing that kept popping into my mind was the recollection of how beautiful Rachel's pussy was and how much I wanted to draw it. I had painted some nudes of Sandy shortly after we were married, but as our lives got busy, hers with debits and credits, and mine with rendering a package of Huggies (or some other mundane product) irresistible, my interest in erotic art faded. Well, not really faded. It just slipped into the background of my busy life. Life does that to you.

I stopped at an Italian place, Il Violino, half a block or so from home to order dinner for the three of us. That was another concern. Just how was our conversation over dinner going to go? I didn't look forward to silently watching the two women argue over who should be able to fuck me—Sandy, who didn't have time, or Rachel who wasn't married to me. I wasn't sure I had the courage to suggest that they share me. That was an idea they were going to have to come up with on their own. I suspected Rachel would be fine with such an idea, but I wasn't so sure about Sandy. To be fair to it, I had already suggested exactly that once today.

The restaurant's delivery guy was sick, so it was going to have to be takeout. I told them that was fine. I would pick up the food at 8:30. Rachel was coming at 8:00 and I fired off a text to Sandy telling her I was planning dinner for 8:00. That meant cocktails at 8:00 of course. Booze was definitely going to be required for this dinner. I didn't now about the girls, but I didn't want to do this sober.

It was only 4:30, so I stopped in a neighborhood bar. I was a regular there, so the bartender brought my usual drink as soon as I pulled up a seat at the bar. She set the single malt in front of me. "You know me too well, Lisa," I said to her.

She laughed. "You're a very consistent customer. It's always McCallum 12 neat. If you ordered a Piña Colada I would be shocked."

Now it was my turn to laugh. That was what I called a frou-frou drink. I can't stand them.

"If you had waited, I might have asked for a double today."

"Whoa. That's getting pretty racy for you, Steve."

"Well, it's been that kinda day," I said.

"Double it is," she said as she reached for the Scotch bottle on the counter behind her. I made a gesture similar to a blackjack player saying "hit me," when he wanted another card, and Lisa added another generous shot to my glass.

"Need to talk?" she said leaning forward on the bar, showing me a lot of cleavage. Her tits weren't as big as Rachel's, but they were quite a bit bigger than Sandy's and plenty big enough to be distracting.

It was still early and the rest of the bar was empty with only a couple of customers at tables. Lisa had time to talk and, like most good barkeepers, she loved to talk, or more accurately, listen to her customers.

I took a sip of my Scotch and stared at her tits over the top of my glass, but nice as they were, they just couldn't drag me away from my other thoughts.

"I don't think talking is going to solve my problems."

"Sorry, but that is the only kind of therapy we provide here. You sound like a guy with women problems. I can't see how a gal could turn down someone as handsome as you."

"It's not that kind of problem. No one is turning me down. I have two women who appear to be in love with me, and maybe with each other."

"Oh." She paused for a moment as I took another sip from my Scotch. "I agree," she said. "That's not the everyday kind of woman problem I hear from guys across this bar."

She turned and picked up a bar towel and began polishing the bar, not because it needed it, but because that is what bartenders do when they don't know what to do. Finally her curiosity got the better of her. "So what're you gonna do about it?"

"Don't know."

"Oh."

"I need to think about it."

"Yeah, I would too. Not sure what I would do in your shoes."

"You better go take care of the guy at the other end of the bar," I said, gesturing at a customer who had just pulled up a stool. "But before you go, have you got a piece of paper and a pencil I could have? Doodling helps me think."

"Ah . . . sure. Let me get this guy's order and I'll be right back with something. You're strange, you know."

"How?"

"Most people say the booze helps them think."

"No. It's the drawing that helps me think. The Scotch helps me draw."

She walked away shaking her head. A few minutes latter she handed me a note pad and a pencil. "Go to it, Steve."

"Thanks."

It would have been better if the paper hadn't been lined, but that is the way note pads come, so it would have to do. The pencil was a nice soft #2, not recently sharpened. Just what I like for this kind of exploratory drawing. It wasn't going to be real art. At this point I just wanted to stop thinking about the Sandy/Rachel problem and draw something while I sipped my Scotch.

As usual, I stared at a blank sheet for a sip or two of the Scotch before I put pencil to paper. Then some subconscious level of my brain kicked in, and I began too draw. It wasn't a Huggies package this time. It was Rachel's pussy.

I made two or three sketches before I got one that was right—well, right to me. As I looked at my drawing I realized I had been so absorbed in the drawing I had ignored my Scotch. I took a couple of sips and then began a different drawing. This one was Rachel's breast. Nothing more. Just a breast—a big breast with swollen areolas and engorged nipples that stuck out like Christmas trees. It was apparent that this was the breast of a woman who was sexually aroused, very aroused.

I got that one right on the first try. It took two sips of Scotch to get to the next inspiration. This time it was all of Rachel lying nude in the chair after her climax, her legs spread and her still swollen pussy readily apparent through her tangled hair. Her head was laid back, her eyes closed, and a smile on her lips that said, "Oh fuck that was good." Her hair was a tangle around her head and face.

I tore all three drawings out of the note pad and spread them out on the bar before me. As I finished my drink, I studied the drawings with a critical eye. I was really was lost in them when I heard Lisa say, "Need another?"

"What? Oh yes, I guess my glass is empty. I wasn't paying attention."

Lisa was staring at my drawings of the nude Rachel. Oops, I didn't really plan them for public consumption. Too late now, I thought as I looked up at Lisa.

"You're really good," she said. "But that's not what most of my customer's do when they doodle."

I smiled. "No I guess not. I used to draw for a living."

"Nudes?" she asked.

"No, Huggies," I responded.

"Huggies? You mean diapers?"

"Yup. I was a commercial artist."

"So if I pour you another will you draw the rest of the girl?"

"What did I leave out?"

"Not much, but maybe her backside, or maybe with clothes on."

"No, I think the double you already poured me is my limit. I need to go."

"Okay. Come in again." She mopped the bar down with her towel as I put money down to pay for the drink. Then she asked, "Did it help?"

"What?"

"Did the drawing help you think about your problem."

I laughed. "No not really. But it helped me not think about my problem, which is almost as good." With that I walked away leaving the change from a twenty as a tip. As I walked out I folded the drawings and tucked them in my pocket, not at all sure what I was going to do with them.

I realized that I was in a better mood as I walked home. Sitting at the bar drawing nude pictures of Rachel had made me more than a little horny. I didn't know who I was going to fuck tonight, Sandy or Rachel, or even better both of them, but I was really looking forward to fucking someone. Over the years I have decided that it's really not possible to be horny and depressed at the same time. I felt like I had when I went downtown earlier in the day. The sky was bright and there seemed to be more than the usual number of pretty girls about.

It was about 6:30 when I got home. I figured that would give me an hour and a half to pick-up the house a bit before the girls arrived. Not that it was that messy, but I had become a domestic over the last few months, and I just thought that way—company coming; got to pick up the house. But, that was not how things were going to work out.

I unlocked the door, stepped in, and hung my coat in the closet next to the front door. That was when I saw Sandy's purse sitting on the hall table. I stopped in mid-stride when I saw it. There was an instant knot in my stomach. She was home early. Was that a good sign . . . or a bad sign?

I walked silently into the living room. Sandy was sitting on our couch, with a tumbler of Scotch in one hand, still wearing her work clothes. She had her long legs crossed and was bouncing a foot, her sling back pump hanging from the toe. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't scowling either. She was just looking at me intently as I walked in.

We both were silent for a long time. The longer the silence lasted the more I worried about what Sandy was going to say. Finally she spoke:

"Did you fuck her?" Her voice was hard.

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes, I really didn't fuck your cousin, Rachel. But . . ." I paused. How much should I tell her?

"But she did suck you off, didn't she?" Sandy was still using her serious tone. I was scared to death.

"Yes . . . but you told us that was okay. Remember?"

"Yes, I know." She still sounded dangerous.

"Oh, and there was a homeless guy watching us through the window."

"What?"

"Well, as soon as you told us it was okay, Rachel dropped to her knees and inhaled my cock. It was . . ."

"Never mind that part," Sandy said, her tone moving from threatening to something more akin to curiosity. "Tell me about the homeless guy."

"Well, we were standing in front of her sales counter. It's only a few feet from the door to the shop."

"I know," Sandy interrupted.

"As soon as you hung up Rachel was on her knees with my cock in her mouth. At some point, not right away I mean, I looked to the side and realized that there was a homeless guy standing in front of the door staring at us through the glass."

Sandy was smiling now. "So let me get this straight. You're standing there with your dick hanging out of your pants and Rachel is sucking on it, right in front of the window on 12th street and you realize there's a homeless guy staring at you. What did you do next?"

"Well, Rachel had pulled my pants and my boxers down to the floor, so I couldn't do much of anything."

"Except stand there and let Rachel suck your cock while the homeless guy watched?" She was giggling now. "Did you tell Rachel?"

"Ah . . . yeah. Sure."

"What did she do?"

"She said something, but I couldn't quite understand it, since her mouth was full of my cock. It sort of sounded like 'fuck'im,' but I couldn't tell for sure." Sandy was howling with laughter now.

"But it got worse," I said.

"How could it get worse?" Sandy asked. "I mean the two of you are practically in public, your pants are in a pool around your feet so you can't run away, and Rachel was giving you a blow job. Just tell me how it could get worse? Did you attract a crowd of homeless people?"

"No, the homeless guy pulled his dick out and started jacking off. He had a really big dick, too," I said.

Sandy was nearly in hysterics now she was laughing so hard. Eventually she recovered enough to ask, "And then?"

"I tapped Rachel on the head and pointed. She didn't seem to care until I reminded her that the door wasn't locked. That got her motivated, and she finished me off."

Sandy was still laughing.

"Then she stripped off all of her clothes, and locked the front door."

"What happened to the homeless guy?" Sandy asked, still enjoying the story.

"I don't know. I was busy and when I looked afterwards, he was gone."

"Busy doing what?"

"Fuck! I was leaning on the counter. That was quite a blow job. Your cousin can really suck a cock."

"I told you she was good. Then what happened?"

"We went to the back of the book store."

She stopped laughing and her toned changed.

"Wait, you got naked and went to the back of the bookstore?" Her tone hardened again. "So you did fuck her after all?"

"No, I told you I didn't fuck her."

"So just what did you do, Steven, if you went naked to the back of the store with Rachel?"

"I had my clothes on when I went to the back of the bookstore. It was Rachel that was naked." I was stalling now.

"And did you leave your clothes on?" Her interrogation skills were unmatched.

"Ahh . . . Well . . . . No."

"I see," she said. "What happened next? I don't suppose the two of you just stood there admiring each other's naked bodies or discussing politics."

"I . . . well . . . I ate her pussy." I was almost whispering as I confessed. "But I didn't fuck her!" I continued the volume returning to my voice.

"I didn't quite hear that first part. What was it again?"

"I ate her pussy," I confessed, maybe just a bit louder this time.

Sandy stood up. With her heels on she was just even in height with me. She looked huge and ominous as she walked toward me. She put her arms around my neck and smashed her chest into mine. Then she whispered into my ear, "So Steven, you and Rachel didn't fuck, but you did have oral sex both ways? Is that right Steven?" She was whispering into my ear as she spoke and rubbing her tits against me. I didn't know what to think.

"Is that right Steven?" she said repeating her question, a bit louder.

"Ah. . . . Yeah, that's right."

I didn't know whether to be terrified with fear that my wife, whom I loved dearly, was about to ask for a divorce, or filled with lust as she rubbed her tits against my chest. My cock seemed to know however. It was hard as a rock.

"Well, Steven, you know what?" she whispered in my ear. "You've been a very naughty boy, and Rachel and I are going to have to do something about you."

"Rachel and you?" I asked still oscillating between fear and lust, although it appeared that lust was winning as I now had both hands busy caressing Sandy's ass. Her ass was tight and muscular—not at all like Rachel's.

"Yes, Rachel and I spent the last half hour on the phone, and we decided that the two of us are going to fuck you silly tonight."

"Really? You're not mad?"

Now she was laughing again. "Oh god no. I knew when I sent you off to work for Rachel that you were going to wind up having sex with her. I can't think of a man or a woman who she has ever failed to seduce if she put her mind to it, and she has wanted to do you for years."

"Including you? Did she seduce you, Sandy?" I asked as I pulled her hips up against mine. Now I put a little aggression in my tone.

"Yes, including me."

"Or did you seduce her?" I asked.

She pulled herself away from me and walked back to the couch. "Come and sit down," she said patting the couch next to her. "I'll explain."

I sat down and she slid next to me. Her hip felt warm next to mine.

"Why did you marry me?" she asked.

"Because we were in love."

"Oh yeah, that's what they all say." She responded in her most sarcastic tone. "I think we got married because we were in lust. Neither one of us had ever met anyone who could fuck quite like we could."

I smiled. "Well, you're right. That might have had something to do with it. I guess the love part came later. I mean I really am in love with you, Sandy. And I'm still in love with you, even though the sex has been a little on the lean side of late."

"That's the understatement of the year," she said. "But that's all my fault, not yours. I'm so engrossed in my job that there just hasn't been time or energy for anything else. And I feel bad about that. So that's why I put you in Rachel's clutches. I figured she would fuck you and keep you satisfied so you wouldn't start trying to find sex with other women, but I also knew she wouldn't try to steal you away from me."

"How could you be so sure of that?"

"Because I know Rachel really well. She and I grew up together; we went through puberty together. We learned about sex together. We lived together in college and we shared lovers then. Neither one of us wanted to commit to an exclusive relationship. Sex with multiple partners, men and women, was just too much fun. But we didn't want to lose the other either. So we had an agreement that we would always play the field and always come back to each other. It worked fine until you came along and wanted to marry me. That created a crisis in my relationship with Rachel."

"And?"

"We made a pact—a secret pact. I would marry you, but Rachel and I would have a clandestine affair. You weren't to know nor were any of her other lovers."

"And so she was the only one you were with besides me?"

"Steven, I swear I haven't been near another man or woman since we were married."

"Except Rachel, right."

"Yes."

"And now your job?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess my job is a little like having an affair of late. I always knew that if I was successful enough it would become very demanding, but I thought I could balance the energy it took for you, for Rachel, and for my job. I really needed to, because I got so much back from each of you. But now I have to admit, I've failed to maintain the balance. The job has swallowed me." She was crying now.

I put my arm around her and let her literally cry on my shoulder for what seemed like a long time. Finally I spoke.

"Sandy, listen to me. I'm not jealous of your job. I'm confident that the cluster fuck on Wall Street won't last forever, and I'll get my share of you back. I'm in love with you, and I'm willing to wait. I'm even willing to listen to you complain about the job when you get home at night. I don't understand half of what you're saying, but I love the force with which you say it."

"And Rachel?" she asked.

I sighed. "Sandy," I said. "I've always known you and Rachel were lovers. I knew for sure you were lovers before we were married, because you told me. After we married . . . well, at first I just didn't know and I wondered. Were you and Rachel still . . . doing it? But after a few years I decided to stop worrying about it. I told myself that you were still probably having an affair with Rachel, but it didn't seem to be affecting our relationship. If you were, you were being discreet as hell about it, and I decide not to look under the rock, as they say. I was satisfied, hell way more than satisfied; I was enthralled with what I had. So I didn't pursue the issue."

"And now?" she asked. "I mean now that you know?"

"No, that doesn't change anything. I'm still in love with you, and I will be forever."

"And you aren't mad because I tried to set you up with Rachel?"

I laughed. "Hardly. How many husbands get a free pass to screw their wife's voluptuous oversexed cousin? By the way. How long is this pass good for?"

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was a dumb idea. We'll decide that when we see how well it works—I mean between the three of us. One thing is for sure. It's good for at least tonight."

Bluepen451
Bluepen451
1,399 Followers