Tart Ch. 02

The next morning John seemed uncomfortable as we ate breakfast. I knew why, or so I thought, so I decided to quiz him.

"Wasn't Missy as good as you remembered?" I asked.

"What?" he asked, startled, knocking his cereal bowl to its side, dumping half the contents on the table. "No," he said. "Yes?" Clearly I had frazzled him.

I rested my hand atop his as he tried to clean up the spilled cereal. "It's okay," I reassured him. "I set it all up. You and I set the cameras? Remember? Oh! That reminds me, I want to watch it again." I half got up as he stared blankly at me. "Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that part, didn't I?"

"How did you already watch?"

"I snuck back into the office last night and watched you two on the cameras." I tried to deflect my subterfuge away from me by focusing the spotlight on Missy. "That Margeaux has a delicious body. I almost wished it was me in bed with her, not you."

"You think she's attractive?" he asked.

The hint of lesbianism always distracts the average man. "Not just attractive. Hot. Beautiful. Eminently fuckable. Perfect pale skin, big tits. I've always been proud of mine, but hers are huge without being ridiculous. You must have some lucky wife to let you fuck another beautiful woman like that."

"That's kind of funny," he said.

"What?"

"When we were talking last night, Margeaux said that she wished you were with us last night. She said she's already had me, but thought to have me and you at the same time would be heaven on Earth."

I stared at him a long time, unable to say anything.

What had I done?

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It's one thing to let your husband fuck other women. It's another thing to fuck other men with your husband's knowledge. Both are acceptable, even desirable. It's also fun to tease your husband with the fact that you might be open to some girl on girl action because you had a crush on your roommate in college. It's even more fun to tease him with the idea that, given a few more drinks and a half hour more of opportunity, you would have happily walked down that thrilling path of bisexuality. But when I was confronted with the reality that my husband wanted to take me and his ex-girlfriend to bed at the same time, I panicked.

I don't have anything at all against lesbians, gays, bisexuals or what-have-yous in the wide world of sexuality orientation. I've always been flattered, a little turned on, and more than a bit intrigued the few times other women have hit on me, sometimes seriously, sometimes not. It's just that I never really expected to go through with it. When I have delved into my lesbian daydreams and fantasies, it was more emotional than physical.

My typical lesbian fantasy was basically meeting up with the most beautiful woman in the world, all natural, no plastic, no big hair, and the scent of flowers in the air. We'd meet, laugh, talk, then have a few chaste kisses on the cheeks, that would progress to a few erotic kisses on the insides of our wrists (why this is an important part of my fantasy I'll never know), that would progress to a mutually agreed upon visit to a bedroom which is somehow communicated though neither of us say a word about it. Once we get to the bedroom our clothes magically melt away, we slip into bed and make passionate love like you can see described in the cheapie romance novels found at the grocery checkout. Never, ever is there a vibrator or dildo in sight.

Now that's all well and good, but when I fantasize about fucking a man, it's all about cock and cunts, fingers and lips, penetration and ejaculation. Sometimes it's just one guy, sometimes it's two; sometimes it's John, quiet often it isn't. There's no romance, no kissing of wrists, it's all about getting my rocks off. I still cum with either fantasy, it's all a matter of my preference at the time. John was presenting me with an unnatural collision of my two types of fantasy. The reality was somewhat more shocking than the fantasy.

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"What did you tell her?" I asked, hesitantly.

"That you were open to the idea of sex with a woman. That we'd discussed menage a trios before, but we never went anywhere with them. I didn't make any promises. I told her I needed to talk to you first."

I nodded my head. "Good thinking."

"It's kind of odd," he said, not really hearing what I said. "When she and I were dating, she never gave me any hint that she was into women. Maybe that came about after she and I broke up. Still, you've got to admit, her being bi is hot."

"Sometimes women, girlfriends and wives make up stories like that to keep their boyfriends interested."

He looked up at me as if those were the first word he really heard me speak this morning.

"I suppose that's true," he admitted, not really understanding what I was implying. "But when she told me that she's been with two other women, in her case it must be true."

Unless she's lying, I thought to myself. "Why me?" I asked out loud, mostly existentially but as a secondary consequence, to John.

He smiled. "Well, she's wanted to try having sex menage a trois for some time, and since she's already been with me, and you're my wife, and you have bi fantasies and she's been with other women, it just seemed natural to her."

"Did you tell her about my lesbian fantasies?" I asked him, a bit stunned at the news.

"Sure. She asked about you and it seemed to come up as a topic."

I bet it did, I thought to myself. "When was this?"

"After we were done...uh, fucking last night."

"What did she say about me, exactly?"

"That you were incredibly attractive and she wondered what you were like in bed." He grinned again. "I did the best to inform her about what a great fuck you are."

I bet you did, I thought to myself, not without a little wifely pride. "And what do you want to do about her offer?" I asked him, already knowing the answer.

"I accepted, of course," John replied. "We have to set up the date soon." He was like a puppy: eager to please and cute as a...well, cute as a puppy. "But before we do that I want to watch the video from last night."

We went down to the basement and watched what we had recorded. I had to admit it was just as hot the second time as it was the first. Unlike a woman, John didn't look at his image and worry over every blemish or flaw. He concentrated on Missy's body. So did I. As we were watching, John made me pull down my pants and he took me from behind. It was easy to do because I was so wet again after watching John fuck Missy. Or was I hot from watching Missy get fucked? Or was I hot because I wanted to fuck Missy. I didn't know and the confusion made me even hotter for the both of them.

It was a quick hard fuck and John exploded inside of me, leaving his cum dripping from my pussy as I was bent over on the desk watching my husband and his lover fuck on the video screen. I never thought I'd be doing that in my life, but it was certainly worth every bit of confusing emotion. It was also a long and circuitous explanation as to how I eventually found myself only inches away from Margeaux's wet and musky pussy.

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John wasted no time in setting a date for Margeaux to come over and be our toy. I was excited and nervous and afraid and anxious and horny for it to happen. I was certain I would chicken out at the last minute. I didn't say this to John because he kept talking about what he wanted to see me and Margeaux do, which basically boiled down to every possible lesbian act two women could perform without aid of a man or gymnastic equipment. I got the impression he would be happy to watch and jerk of surreptitiously in the corner while I lesbianized his ex-girlfriend. Typical male. And the typical tart I was, made this scenario just as exciting to me.

How does a young, white, middle-class couple get ready for their first menage a trois? You invite the ex-girlfriend over for a nice dinner, engage in small talk for an hour or so over the dinner, have two bottles of wine between the three of you, then let the aggressor, in this case Margeaux, take my hand and say, "Are you ready to go take me and your husband to bed? You've had quite a bit of wine and I don't want you falling asleep on me before we make love."

My response? A girlish giggle followed by some bashful head nodding. Keeping a firm grip on my hand, she pulled me up and lead me into the bedroom. I willingly followed her swaying hips that were covered in a saucy wool plaid skirt, underneath the skirt her legs were encased in bright red stockings, tights really, she topped this with a plain white blouse and a wool sweater to match the skirt. I thought it was cute and demure until I realized as we were walking to the bedroom it evoked a Catholic school-girl image. I wondered if this was some kink John had kept hidden from me because I knew that Margeaux had never attended Catholic school. Maybe it was just something she indulged in herself. I couldn't focus my head enough to figure it out. John stumbled behind us, not wanting to miss a moment of anything.

Once we go to the bedroom, Missy tossed off her sweater, whirled around, pulled me tight to her and kissed me hard. I was surprised even though I knew we were supposed to be having sex shortly. The suddenness and softness were the real surprises. No preliminaries, no questions, just her lips suddenly on mine and then her tongue making it's way into my mouth. I pressed against her. It wasn't my fantasy, but it was close enough. It might have been John's fantasy so I couldn't disappoint him either.

Kissing a girl, while the basic mechanics are the same, is completely different from kissing a boy. Margeaux was softness and curves, no hard angles or firm muscles beneath her smooth skin. Since we were both well-endowed and approximately the same height, our tits mashed together which formed a sort of odd barrier to keep us apart. That didn't stop her of course, she just pulled me all the tighter.

After the initial surprise, I managed to kiss her back, forcing her tongue from my mouth and slipping my own between her lips. She lightly bit down on it as a means of keeping me steady while he hands slipped down from my back to my waist where she pulled my shirt from my pants. I didn't resist as she pulled away and removed my shirt, exposing my skin and bra to her.

"Plain white," she said, placing her hands over my lace covered breasts. The bra was largely transparent so I knew she had a look at my erect pink nipples before she covered them up. "Soft too," she whispered in my ear, glancing at John who had taken a seat on the chair in the bedroom. He put a hand to his crotch to shift his erection. "That's how a like them." She kissed me again, pulling me close and moving her hands around my back. With a distracting kiss to my neck, just under the ear, she worked her hands behind me and next thing I knew my bra was off and I was half-naked.

It felt good. It felt wrong. It felt sinfully, morally corrupt and delicious. I couldn't wait for what would happen next.

"Let's get you ready," she said now, dropping to her knees, unbuttoning my pants and pushing them down over my hips. I kicked off my shoes and socks with her help then stepped out of my pants. Now I was down to just my bikini panties, also plain white, also lace, barely covering my blond curls between my legs.

"You're beautiful," she whispered in my ear, glancing again at John. He was breathing heavily, his hand still on his crotch, absently rubbing his cock through his pants. "You want to join us?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Not yet. Soon."

Missy smiled, maybe it was a smirk, I don't know. I was keyed up and ready to fuck. "Get on the bed," she told me. I did so, laying on my side, to watch her disrobe.

First she pulled her blouse out of her skirt, then she reached to her side, lowered the zipper, and dropped the plaid wool to the floor. It was to be a striptease like John had received, I realized. Her legs her partly hidden by the long blouse, which she slowly unbuttoned and then dropped to the floor as well, showing off her big tits. They were definitely larger than mine, but that's okay, because hers will sag before mine do. Her bra was red, to match her tights and panties. Then I saw she wasn't wearing tights, they were thigh high stockings held up with a classic garter belt.

John had always tried to get me to wear garter belts, telling me they were sexy. My response was they were inconvenient. Maybe now I could agree with him. I should have seen the bright red under her shirt, but perhaps that's why she wore the sweater. No matter now, for Missy unclipped the front closure and disentangled herself from the bra. Her big tits stood out proudly, nipples erect. Maybe she wouldn't sag before me.

I wondered how she would take off the stockings and garter belt. Before she did, she got on the bed with me after kicking off her shoes and presented her back to me. "Help me with this?" she asked.

The garter belt, I realized and unhooked it from around her waist. She sighed as I did so. I let my fingers trail over her smooth skin and enjoyed the silky texture. With practiced fingers she detached the dangling garters from the belt and tossed the belt away. She lay down on her back, allowing her massive breasts to flatten over her chest. Natural, no silicon, I thought to myself. Not that I could really compare the difference. It wasn't like I was in the habit of feeling up other women. Her knees bent and legs separated slightly. I could see her bulging mound under her red silk panties. There was a hint of moisture seeping through the material. I licked my lips, nervous and anxious.

"Take off my stockings," she ordered. "Just roll them down."

Easy to do, I told myself and placed my hands on her thigh. It was heaven under my fingers. It took a false start, but then the stocking came off easily, leaving her naked, like me, except for our panties. I'm sure mine were showing the same wetness hers were. It occurred to me, after I had taken off the stocking I could have as easily left them on. But no matter, they were already off and now I could feel every inch of her gloriously smooth skin.

"Ready?" she asked me. I could only nod my head in affirmation, unable to move my eyes from her bulging crotch. I couldn't even look over at John to see what he was doing. I just wanted her panties off. She arched up her hips, lifting her buttocks from the bed and invited me to remove them. With trembling fingers I tugged on the elastic band holding the scrap of silk around her hips and slowly pulled down, revealing first more skin, then the top edge of her pubes, then her fully shaped pubic hair, then, after the silk stuck for a moment to her wet lips, her open and pulsing pussy. I slipped the panties the rest of the way down her legs and dropped them to the floor. She spread her legs further and invited me in.

It was here when I realized I had never seen a pussy up close and personal before. Of course I had seen my own, both from above and in a mirror, and I'd seen my share of beaver shots in all sorts of porn, but I'd never seen another woman's pussy as a matter of personal choice. When you stop to consider it, your genitalia, whether a cock or a cunt, is the most personal part of you, other than your face or soul, and yet so few people actually get to see it.

Missy's cunt was beautiful. I wouldn't describe it as beautiful like a flower or a piece of fruit, artistic interpretations of the world be damned. To me it looked just like a pussy, with shaved labia and a generous portion of curly brown hair decorating the top and just barely hiding the clit hood. It was a dusky, dark pink and was lovely to behold. I could just see her clit starting to peek out from under a fold of skin. I was wet and nervous and decided to make the plunge before I could chicken out. I closed my eyes and lowered my mouth to kiss her pussy.

I took the middle road, not thrusting my tongue right into her hole nor kissing her thighs and tummy for hours on end. I kissed her lightly on the pubes, then moved down a little to the top of her slit, offering a slight kiss to her still hidden clit, then I moved right down to her opening and tasted her juices and started licking her like I enjoyed.

She seemed to enjoy it too for I could hear her moaning and pretty soon I had to wrap my arms around her soft thighs to keep my face positioned over her pussy. It wasn't bad. Eating pussy, I discovered, even in my semi-drunk state, was fairly enjoyable. I'd tasted my own pussy juices before, either off my fingers or from John's face so the musky, tart taste of Missy's pussy was no surprise. I liked the way it heated up the more I worked on her and the wetter she got, the more turned on I got.

I opened my eyes at one point to see her reaction and found her squeezing a tit with one hand and clutching the sheets with the other while she looked down at my face buried in her cunt. She smiled at me. I would have done the same back, but I had just started to go after her clit with my tongue, the way John would on me when he wanted me to cum on his face, and her eyes rolled up into her head and her whole body started shaking. I paused for a moment, frightened I had hurt her, but she cried out, "Don't stop," and I realized she was cumming. I was making a girl cum by going down on her. I was excited and happy.

A minute later she screamed her pleasure and clamped her legs around my head. I stopped working on her clit and let her orgasm subside. "I thought you could only cum when a man cums inside you," John said, breaking our relaxation.

She laughed at him. "That's the only way I can cum with a man," she replied. "With a girl almost anything works." She laughed again and half sat up, pulled me up to her face and kissed me, letting her lips and tongue linger long enough to taste her own pussy. "It's the softness," she told me, her voice barely audible. "And how a woman knows where to touch and kiss. Plus knowing it's wrong, it makes it better."

I kissed her back, happy I could make her cum.

"Now it's your turn," she said, pushing me down. In a moment she was on top of me, kissing my lips, then breasts, stomach, pulling off my sopping panties and exposing my pussy to her anxious tongue.

"You're gonna love this," she said before she plunged forward, burying her face in my golden curls. I couldn't have agreed more. Her tongue might not have been as talented or experienced as John's, but just the mere naughtiness of knowing it was a woman eating my cunt made it enjoyable, not better than John, but different and new and exciting. I was so keyed up and the anticipation was so great it took me no time at all to cum. I locked my legs around her head momentarily when she vibrated her tongue on my clit and then I had to push her away.

"You cum so easily," she said, wiping away my juices from her face.

"It's a talent," I said, laughingly. "I've always been multi-orgasmic."

"Don't I know it," said John. I managed now to look at him. He had stripped naked and his erect cock was in his hand. Slowly he stroked it. The head was angry and red; I knew he wanted to cum. "Who can I fuck?" he asked anxiously. "I don't want to waste this on my hand."

"Fuck her," Margeaux chirped, pulling him down to me. "I want to watch." She scooted over on the bed as John quickly engaged me. His cock easily slipped into my wet cunt. I turned my head to look at Missy. She was lying on her side, on hand propping up her head, the other busy between her legs.

John fucked me hard and fast, exactly what I needed just then. In only a minute he sprayed the inside of my vagina with his spunk. I came again. The feeling of hot semen inside me works every time. Actually, a lot of things are just what I need to have an orgasm, which is why sex is so wonderful.

"That's it?" Margeaux half laughed as we finished and John collapsed on top of me.