Menage a Trois Ch. 05

It was 10:00 o'clock before Rachel and I awoke the next morning. We could be accused of sleeping in but for the fact that we were awake a good deal of the night. We had made love twice more after our sex in the shower. So it really isn't sleeping in if you have only had four or five hours of sleep. Right?

We staggered out to the kitchen. Rachel was wearing the t-shirt she had donned at dinner the night before (and then shed during the Three Stooges/Rocky Road session) and I was wearing a pair of boxers.

"I think I'm going to be late for work this morning," I said, as I began making a pot of coffee.

"Who's going to know?" she asked.

"Angel."

"Oh, you're right," she said in a sleep-laden voice. "She keeps very close track of her steady customers. If I don't show up on a day when I'm supposed to get the coffee, she interrogates me the next day about what sort of no-good I've been up to. She has a very suspicious mind."

"She has a dirty mind," I said.

Rachel chuckled, her voice coming slowly to life. "Yes that too. It's one of her most redeeming characteristics."

"After her tits and her ass," I said with a smirk. "And her mole, wherever it is."

"My, aren't you snarky this morning. You sound like a guy who got laid last night."

"Got laid? I think what we did went well beyond getting laid. It was more like our own personal two-person orgy."

"Orgy? How can two people have an orgy? It's a definitional problem. You have to have at least three, and half a dozen is much better. Trust me. I have experience with this."

"Okay. I guess you're right, but I feel like I fucked as much as if it had been an orgy."

"Oooooh! Is poor Stevie's little peter all tuckered out? Maybe I can revive it," she said as she reached for my boxers."

"Back. Back, you brazen hussy," I said as I danced away. "I can't believe you want more after last night."

She laughed at me. "Actually what I want is a cup of that coffee you are brewing, and then I have to go to work. Who knows—we might actually have a crowd of customers waiting at the door this very moment."

"More likely a horny homeless guy," I said as I poured her a cup of coffee.

I poured myself a cup and we sat at the kitchen table. "So seriously Rachel, I need to know. What did Sandy tell you to do when you talked to her by phone yesterday?" My insecurity about my infidelity, banished by lust the night before, had returned. "Did she just tell you to bring me chicken soup? Or did she tell you to come over here and fuck my brains out?"

"Well, neither one really. What she told me to do was to take care of you. So I did."

"Hmmm. I see. Seems like you took a good deal of liberty in the way you interpreted that statement. I mean maybe she did mean chicken soup." I was even more worried now than I was before the conversation started.

"Now Stevie, you shouldn't be worried about this. The only thing that Sandy might be jealous about is that she wasn't here to join in our play. I'll talk to her today and make sure everything is okay." She tossed back the last of her coffee and stood up. "Meanwhile, she said, "I've got to go deal with our nosy barista and the hordes of customers at the front door to the bookshop, andyouhave some drawing to do. I want to see those pictures. You better make me look as good as Sandy."

"Okay Rachel," I said. "You take care of Sandy and I'll do my drawings." I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. "But one more thing, Rachel. Are you going to wear something more than just my old t-shirt to work? Perhaps a thong?"

She turned back towards me and put her hands under her t-shirt clad breasts, holding them out to me and pulling the bottom of the shirt up at the same time so her pussy was exposed. "Don't you think I could sell more books in this outfit?"

"Well," I said. "I would love to see Angel's reaction when you stop to pick up your coffee, but I'm not sure you can get there without being arrested."

"I s'pose you're right. I know I had some more clothes on when I came over here last night. I'll just have to look around for them."

"Try the studio."

"Oh yeah. That's right. I had to take my clothes off so you could take pictures of me masturbating, you dirty old man."

"You know Stevie," she continued "Maybe what I should do is just keep some spare outfits and a toothbrush over here. Sandy wouldn't mind. There's room in her closet, and she's in London all the time anyhow."

Now I was just plain frightened. What had I gotten myself into? I had no response. I just sat at the table, my head in my hands.

Rachel cackled as she left the room, knowing that once again she had gotten the better of me.

I spent a full day making sketches of images from the photos of Rachel I had taken the night before and from a few images simply burned into my brain by lust. At the end of the day I sat in the arm chair (yes, the one Rachel had been masturbating in as I took pictures of her) and I surveyed my day's work, now taped to the walls. Some of it had real potential, I thought.

That was enough work for today. I went out to my favorite Italian restaurant and had a good dinner with a bottle of Valpolicella and tottered home a little buzzed. I was exhausted, mostly I think from lack of sleep the prior night, but I did acknowledge that I had worked hard at my day's sketching. I fell into bed and slept hard until nearly 8:00 (late for me).

After breakfast, I called Rachel and told her I wouldn't be in. She whined a bit and even suggested we could have more sex in the back of the bookstore. I didn't want to tell her I was still worn out from the screwing we had done before, so I told her I was doing pastels of her that would someday make her as famous as Goya'sNude Maja. She seemed to buy that, or more likely decided that if I was willing to say something that fanciful she wasn't likely to change my mind. As I hung up I felt okay about it, since I was going to spend the day doing pastels of her. The famous part was a bit of stretch, but whatever. I had to do what I had to do to get time for my art, if that's what it was.

After saying goodbye to Rachel, I worked hard the rest of the day and for most of the next day. About four o'clock I finished up the last of the pastels. I was really excited about them. There was one of Rachel slouched naked in the armchair, her legs spread and both hands furiously masturbating her sex. Her head was thrown back, and although a portion of her face was obscured by her red curls, you could clearly see that she was in the midst of a furious orgasm and totally enjoying it. There was no background to the picture. Just a redheaded woman in an armchair pleasuring herself. I thought it was even better than the drawing I had made of Sandy's orgasm.

The second drawing I had finished was a single large sheet that showed only the heads of the two women, again each obviously in the midst of an orgasm. Sandy's face was in the upper left of the sheet while Rachel's occupied the lower right. In these pictures, Sandy's long blonde hair obscured a portion of her face while Rachel's unruly mop of red hair was thrown fully back, leaving her face and neck fully in view. I had added a couple of strands of bright purple to Sandy's golden hair, as though she was a twenty something who had dyed a single lock or two of her hair an unnatural shade to declare her independence. Both women's eyes were closed and their faces twisted with the intensity of their orgasms.

I decided that I definitely liked these two drawings and I wanted to show them to someone. But who? Then I had an idea. I went out to the kitchen and retrieved my iPad. When I brought it back to the studio, I used it to snap pictures of both drawings. While I was at it I took pictures of several other finished pastels and some of the sketches that were hanging on the wall. My iPad was now a mini-portfolio. I grabbed my wallet and headed out the door, iPad in hand. My objective was my local bar. I felt a need for a Scotch and a little time with Lisa, my favorite bartender.

It was late afternoon, and the place had not yet filled up with the after work crowd. I took my usual seat at one end of the bar.

"Well, hello stranger," Lisa said as she walked down the bar towards me. "I was beginning to wonder if your women problems had done you in." She already had a glass with ice in one hand along with the bottle of Macallan 12 in the other.

"No," I said smiling at her inquiry about my women. "I'm still alive. One of them went to London and the other . . . well, let's just say life with the other has been interesting."

Lisa was leaning on her elbows on the bar now, her chin in her hands and her delicious looking boobs threatening to fall out of her low scooped neck line. She had a thick mane of dishwater blonde hair that was falling in her face. She pushed it back and asked, "So do you want to tell me about them, or shall I just bring your sketch pad?"

"Oh no. No sketch pad needed," I said.

"Does that mean the one that went to London is gone for good?"

"God, I hope not. She's my wife. I think she's just there for a few days on business. She should be back tomorrow afternoon."

"And the other one?"

"Rachel? I haven't seen much of her for the past few days. I've been working." That was a bit of a lie depending on how far back the term "past few days" went. If it included that night of the Rocky Road/Three Stooges fest, I had seen about as much of Rachel as a man could see.

"Is she the redhead?"

"My you're inquisitive today," I said.

"Oh sorry. I didn't mean to be nosy. It's just that in one of those sketches you showed me she looked like someone I used to know."

"Oh, really. Let me show you a couple more drawings I've done. I told you I've been working. I've been doing drawings of both Sandy and Rachel. It isn't exactly work, since I can't figure out how I'll get paid for them, but . . ."

"Sandy?" Lisa interrupted.

"Yes Sandy. She's my wife. The one who is London."

"Hmm. Interesting. I used to know a couple of girls when I was in college that went by those names. They were cousins, but they didn't look alike."

"Where did you go to college?" I asked. I was intrigued now.

"Penn State."

"My, my what a small world. So did the Sandy I'm married to and her red-haired cousin, Rachel."

"Really?" a smile lit up Lisa's face. "Do you have that sketch with you that you showed me before. I'd like to take another look at that."

"I can do better than that. I have copies of several drawings I've done of them on this iPad. Want to see them?"

"Sure."

I laid the iPad on the bar, opened it to the file where I had stored the pictures of my art work and then turned the iPad around so it faced Lisa. "Take a look," I said as I leaned away from the bar. "Just drag the screen to the side to scroll through the pictures. There are 10 or 12 drawings, all of Sandy or Rachel." Lisa leaned further over the bar, resting her chin in one hand and using the other to scroll through the drawings. Her posture showed me even more of her tits. I could just barely see the edge of her rosy areolas peaking over the edge of her bra. My cock was stirring for the first time since Rachel had left after breakfast the day before.

Lisa looked at the pictures for a while in silence as she scrolled back and forth through them. Eventually she spoke up, "These are really good. Would you mind if I showed them to my husband. He runs an art gallery and is always looking for new talent to show."

I was surprised. I hadn't even known Lisa was married. I had noticed when I first started coming to that bar that she didn't wear a wedding band, and a quick look at her left hand told me that was still true.

"That's flattering," I said "but I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet. These drawings are just kind of experimental for me. They are the first non-commercial art work I've done in years. And besides, I'm not sure how Sandy and Rachel would feel about my selling pictures of them. Sandy has been in London for a while. She hasn't seen the drawings. Not even the sketches. Rachel has seen some of them, but not the last group which is all focused on her."

"I understand. I'm sure Howard could find you some models who would be willing to pose, knowing that your drawings would be sold."

"Howard?"

"My husband. Before we bought the art gallery he was what they called a 'glamour photographer.' That's how I met him. Right after I left college I worked as a photographer's model."

"I see," I said, wondering how far Lisa had gone in her modeling. I was still struggling to avoid staring at her tits as we carried on the conversation. Struggling, but failing.

"I had to give it up after I had some surgery that left me with an ugly scar in my lower abdomen. So, I married Howard."

"You don't wear a ring," I said.

"Oh, you noticed. That's encouraging. I thought the only thing you noticed was my boobs."

Oops, busted, I thought. I smiled and blushed a bit.

"Not to worry. Remember I used to make my living letting people like my husband sell pictures of me naked, so I can't really complain if one of my good customers ogles my boobs a bit from time to time."

She was silent for a moment and then spoke up again, apparently having decided to tell me more. "Steve, the reason I don't wear a ring is that Howard and I have an open marriage. He doesn't wear one either."

"Open marriage? You mean you both have affairs with other people?"

"From time to time, yes."

"So do you tell each other about it? I mean when you have an affair does your husband know about it?"

"Usually."

"Oh. . . . I paused for a moment while I thought about what Lisa was telling me. "I didn't mean to pry," I said.

"Well, it's not like I tell everyone about my open marriage," she said with a smile. "The guys who hang out in here would be all over me if they knew, but I thought you might be interested, given your arrangements with your wife and cousin."

"Oh that's complicated. I wouldn't say I have an open marriage, but it's become a bit unorthodox of late."

"You mean you're screwing both your wife and your cousin. Right?" Lisa had leaned back from the bar. Her tits were now more fully covered by her top although there was still some cleavage exposed, and I noticed that her nipples had hardened and were showing through the cloth of her bra and her top. My god, women's breasts can be distracting. There were two things I wanted to do to Lisa's boobs right then. I wanted to suck on her nipples and I wanted to draw them. "I really am a pervert," I told myself.

I had paused again as though I was thinking about how to answer, although truthfully I was mostly fantasizing about Lisa's tits.

"Ahhhh . . . yes, that's true. But it's more complicated than that," I finally said.

"Really? How does life get more complicated than screwing your wife and her cousin at the same time. Do they both know?"

"Yes, but there's more."

"More?"

I was silent. Finally I spoke up. "Yes, they both know. In fact we were together . . . I mean all three of us. Just before Sandy left for London."

"Ooh. A threesome. Those are fun."

I took a long drink of my Scotch, which I had been ignoring. Lisa had a much dirtier mind than I expected.

"And have you and Rachel been playing while Sandy's been out of town?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

"You sound worried. Does Sandy know?"

"Probably. Rachel tells her everything. Besides, Sandy told us to before she left."

"To . . .?"

"To screw!"

"Oh. So what's the problem?"

"Uhh, . . . How do I know if she really meant it?"

Lisa was looking at me in silence, so I spoke up again. "And there's more. I also learned last week that Sandy and Rachel were lovers in college and continued their affair after we were married."

"So your wife had a bi-sexual lover. She told you to screw with her lover, and you did. I don't see a problem there that you should feel guilty about."

"One more problem," I said. "Sandy has this job, and it's a problem for Rachel and me."

"Her job? How's that a problem."

"See, she's a very high level accountant with one of the major firms, and ever since the 2008 crash she has been working sixty or seventy hours a week. She's responsible for the audit on some big insurance company that crashed. That's why she's in London right now."

"And that's a problem how for you and Rachel?"

"We weren't getting any from Sandy," I said trying to cut to the bottom line to end Lisa's interrogation. "I mean her job is so intense she simply doesn't have the energy left for either one of us."

"So let me see if I can sum this up, Steve. You recently found out your bi-sexual wife had a long-standing love affair with her bi-sexual cousin, and now her job is so intense that she doesn't have time for either you or her cousin and she's told both of you to stand in for her with the other. Is that where your life is, Steve?"

I was silent for a minute as I drained my drink. When I set the glass down on the bar, I said, "Yeah, pretty much, other than I've been unemployed for almost two years, and I've discovered that I immensely enjoy drawing pictures of nude women. Oh, and the only models I have are my wife and her cousin. Yup, that pretty much sums it up."

"Wow. That's quite a story. Not one I hear across this bar every day." She paused and poured me another generous shot of Scotch. I hadn't asked for a refill, but I was so undone by having confessed everything to her, that I just said, "Thank you."

She put the bottle away and then returned to face me, again leaning forward on the bar and showing me a lot of her tits. "Here's what I think you oughta do, Steve."

"First, you should stop worrying about whether Sandy meant what she said. Take her word for it and screw your cousin's brains out. Life is too short to turn down good sex."

"Second, you should come to our gallery tomorrow morning at 10:00 and bring your portfolio. Not just this iPad, but the drawings themselves. Howard will want to see those. If we all decide we can't sell those, which I can understand given your wife's job, Howard will get you another model. In fact, I kinda think I might like to do it myself, so long as you can hide my scar."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," I said. "Artists can always fix anything that's a minor problem with a model. Just like I made your boobs bigger the other day in that little sketch I did."

"But," I continued, "you know that to do drawings like these, . . ." I pointed at the iPad. "I need for my model to be very aroused. Maybe even having an orgasm."

"I know," she said. The silence hung between us as I thought of watching Lisa masturbate as I had with Rachel a couple of nights prior, and she presumably thought about masturbating as I watched.

Eventually she spoke up, "Now finish your Scotch and get out of here. The joint is filling up and I have to work. You should go see Rachel and screw her brains out. I'll see you at 10:00 tomorrow morning at Wendover Gallery. It's on Sixth Avenue just above 12th Street."

I tossed down the remainder of my drink, laid a bill on the table, and walked out, headed for Rachel's. I knew the gallery. It was just around the corner from the bookstore.

I only got a few steps from the bar before I realized that it was late enough that the bookstore would be closed. There was no point in taking the subway all the way down to the Village when Rachel would be in her townhouse on the Upper East Side, just across the park from me. That was when my cell phone rang. It could see on the screen that it was Sandy.

"Hi you," I said. "It's late in London, isn't it? What time is it there?" Time zones were always just a little bit beyond me. Numbers aren't my strong suit.

"Oh it's 10:30," she said. "I just got back from a dreadful day, and I wanted to hear your voice."