Unexpected Threesome Ch. 43

It has always been one of my recurring nightmare themes or worries that, in a moment of carelessness or thoughtlessness I touch a woman who's a close friend in the same manner as I always have my sexual partners.

I would hope I'm no different from anyone else in admitting that my sexual partners and I have always engaged in constant and often somewhat public exchanges of very intimate touching. A slip of the hand across a butt, a brush across her chest or nipple, even a momentary cupping of her or my crotch. All stuff that could get you arrested if you did it to anyone else.

The girls had raised it to a whole new level in a supposed effort to keep my libido at its peak. On the boat - and only marginally less when we were at home - their stated intention was to keep me in a permanent state of full arousal. It was pretty effective too. They would think nothing of casually handling my manhood as they passed by; more so if it would let them adjust it into the 'full horizontal' position they found so amusing (where a full erection was bent down and held in a horizontal position by the stretched material of my swimwear like a giant Pinocchio nose). Ellen, even more than the others, would think nothing of slipping her crotch over the full horizontal erection as we talked; even rocking herself gently on it as she did so.

And their breasts, butts and crotches were constantly and casually offered up for my manhandling of them as they passed by or interacted with me. It had all become second nature. And yet now, as much as Ellen still flirted with and provocatively dressed in front of me, somehow new rules had to be negotiated and enforced.

Clearly Ellen didn't want to draw a complete blank against physical contact. She still finished each day by giving me a fully body hugging goodnight kiss on the cheek, dressed only in tiny, loose fitting, night wear; pushing her front against mine until she'd induced the start of an erection.

And she, as much as me, would sometimes absent mindedly slip into old intimate contact habits; touching me as she passed by before backing off with a 'sorry, I forgot'.

Even then, as much as Ellen can be a tease, I sensed there was much more to the whole imperfection of our disengagement than met the eye. She wasn't simply teasing me. She was having as much trouble adjusting to our new circumstances as I was.

At the end of the three months, she moved in with Harry; another step on her journey away from me. We both cried the day she moved out and hugged clingingly as she left; even though Harry was there helping her; standing watching us.

We still saw a lot of her; she and Harry came to dinner and BBQ's at our place frequently and she was a regular crew on the yacht; always it seemed still in some variation of 'fuck me' clothing clearly worn for my benefit and flaunted in front of me. I bathed delighted in her company when she was about.

Within nine months of their first date, they were engaged. I liked Harry and had always got on well with him. He had dealt remarkably well with Ellen and my relationship in all its sexual and emotional complexities. He was kind to her, looked after her and they got on together like a house on fire and were clearly in love with each other. And as much as a man can tell such things, I would have thought Ellen might have found him pretty attractive too. I was genuinely happy for her.

For all of that, there remained an ever present frission between Ellen and myself. I thought it must just be me. Ellen had the man any woman her age would want, so I didn't consider for a moment it could be mutual. Indeed, from the outset I never did really understand Ellen's difficulty at letting go of me; had never fully understood her unsettled behaviour from the moment we made landfall in Australia; couldn't understand why, once she had Harry, I wasn't easily consigned to her history. I felt almost guilty about my feelings towards her.

Which is why the morning of the start of the Cabbage Tree Island race, a few months after they'd got engaged, sticks so firmly in my mind. The delivery crew from Pittwater were aboard, having spent the night on the boat; Amy, Issie, Ellen, Harry and George. The others were topside, clearing the decks and getting the racing sails ready, under Amy's direction as crew boss, while Ellen gave me her usual detailed navigational and weather briefing.

I was in a light t shirt and shorts; having forgone my usual speedo outfit out of respect for Ellen and the two guys. Ellen had made no such compromise. She was in a tiny bikini top from one of her fuck me combinations and her mini A line white skirt which the wind had already told me had only a filmy pair of thong panties underneath.

In the way she always had, Ellen sat into the bench seat pushed firmly against me as we studied the chart laid out on the table; her breast resting on my forearm every time I pointed to some object on the chart. I have to admit, now there was no prospect of undressing and fucking her at the end of the day, the whole thing was even more distracting that it had always been. The cleavage display, raised nipples pushing out her top, bare midriff, glorious cascade of blonde hair and beautiful face all overwhelmed me.

For most of the briefing I had a raging erection in my pants; thankful that at least my shorts hid it better than speedos would have.

We'd nearly finished when, without warning, Ellen's hand slipped off the table into my lap and felt for my erection; squeezing lightly first the base just above my balls and then moving with three more squeezes up its vertical length until the last one landed on the bell not far under my navel...

"It's nice to know I've still got it Ned. I would have been disappointed if I hadn't found one of those."

Caught completely off-guard, I was about to blurt out an apology, when Ellen continued...

"Ned, sometimes words don't convey the reality as much as seeing or feeling, so don't take what I'm about to do the wrong way..."

I had the hand nearest her resting on the edge of the table. Ellen took the index finger of that hand between her thumb and index finger and pressed it lengthwise into her crotch and against the gusset of her panties. Well, she was right about conveying a message more powerfully than words.

The gusset was soaking wet - almost drippingly so. But I knew that part of her body well and, as she'd intended by the careful placement of my finger, in the brief moment before she removed it again, I discovered her clit swollen and her vagina aroused and receptive; the latter being made abundantly clear to me as she pushed the flat of the tip of my finger into a shallow penetration with the tip of hers.

"Ned, I know I got a bit crazy almost from the time we reached Australia and more so after I met Harry. I want you to know why. I sort of knew I wanted my own husband and a father for my children. You were right in that. But what you didn't really understand was the effect you had on me from the first time we met.

My body reacts to your presence. It always has and still does. It arouses me in a way I can't help or explain. When you come near me, it's like there's a force field surrounding you that violates and touches up my body before you're even within arm's length.

No other man, not even Harry, who I love dearly, has ever had that effect on me. I don't know what it is; maybe it's some sort of hormonal or pheromonenal thing, some sort of extreme compatibility. Of course, we can never act on it any more, but I really wanted you to understand why I react around you the way I do.

It wasn't easy knowing I'd have to give you up and it took me a long time to come to terms with that.

I had to move out and in with Harry, not because I thought I was ready to move in with him, but because it was killing me living with you and not being able to have you. I don't like to make light of a serious concept, but I felt like I wanted to throw you down on the floor and rape you every time we passed each other. I just couldn't take it anymore."

I was left flabbergasted. But in the moment I had to react, one thing flowed almost automatically from my mouth.

"Ellen, if I haven't told you, I should have. You've always seemed to me to have an aura around you that has the same effect on me. And it's funny, because that same sense of violation - in the most positive sense of that word - happens when you're near me.

What does Harry think of all this?"

"Don't worry, he knows about it. But he also knows I love him, are madly attracted to him, am completely faithful and want him alone as the father of my children. But the upside for him - as he also well knows - is that he gets the wildest most passionate and desperate sex after I've been near you. On that basis alone he's happy for me to be around you anytime I want. He's a smart man."

I giggled at the thought of Ellen going the animal on Harry after being around me. It was an amusing thought. As much as I missed her and being around her made me as sexually frustrated as hell, jealously at her making love to another man was no longer part of the equation. And of course, I couldn't help but be flattered by what she had revealed. It was even nicer to finally understand what was happening with her during the whole transition.

The nice thing was, we did stay close friends, although Ellen's friendship with Amy would have ensured that in any case. It was easily close enough to be invited to their wedding and for me to be asked to act as a godfather for their first child. And through the years that followed, she never did regain any sense of modesty around me; let alone exercise any decorum or self control in touching me - much to my delight. Maybe as I got older, she thought wearing the fuck me clothing - letting alone giving me peeks of things I should no longer have seen - was something I needed all the more.

A number of months after Harry came on the scene, it was clear there was also a young sailing man winning Issie's affections at these after race functions.

I had been worried about Issie. She was starting to cross over into that 'clearly desperate to get married' situation that can scare a lot of men off. Fortunately, Josh could look past that and see the wonderful woman underneath - if you're strong enough to deal with her.

But she was a woman in a hurry.

'Dating Josh' moved much faster into the next phase than it had with Ellen and Harry. It was only three weeks after that (and only two weeks after my last night with Ellen) that, in what seemed to becoming something of a tradition, Issie was granted by the other girls her 'last night' with me.

There was nothing of the emotion and drama that accompanied that with Ellen. It was very matter of fact. Issie just wanted a couple of good farewell fucks. One might be cynical enough to wonder whether that was because the performance of the new stud was of an unknown quality, but that was just my way of teasing her.

At her request a 'go the animal' was followed, after a brief and very necessary respite, by me kneeling between her legs, lifting them up vertically, and giving her a good g spot banging.

It was only as we woke in the morning that I really detected something closer to tenderness in Issie, instead simply of sexual need. Only then did we share the same sort of deeply penetrative, slow tender love making, closer to what Ellen had sought; except without the tears.

Perhaps I'm being too cynical in the way I'm describing my last night with Issie. But the simple reality was, her period away had broken the original love bond between us. There was still a deep affection and friendship and a strong sexual attraction but it didn't support the heart breaking separation that Ellen and I had felt.

From there her relationship with Josh moved at rapid pace. She'd moved in with him by the end of the week, was engaged six months later and married, in a large Italian wedding in her home town to which we were all invited, six months after that. A year later she had her first child. Two years after that, her second; the one to which she asked me to be godfather.

In a way, none of that changed our relationship; except for the fact we no longer shared sex. Issie had instigated the 'fuck me' clothing and still wore it in front of me. She was by nature a tactile person and still touched me uninhibitedly and implicitly invited me to touch her back in return. After all, this was the relationship we'd shared on the boat long before we - cough - fell into bed together. It was the close, connected, easy going relationship that long ago had caused Louise to issue me a 'her or me' ultimatum that I declined to act on and caused Louise to storm off the boat

The difference was that there was much less of the sexual frission that existed between Ellen and myself. Attraction, yes. But that's very different from frission.

So it was all free of the guilt that the fission induced. For Issie it was an expression of affection free from any baggage or restraints. Quite delightful really for someone, like myself, brought up in a more reserved, anglo-inhibited manner.

But the bottom line was, within a year of landing back in Australia, our crowded fivesome had been whittled back to a more manageable threesome.

Through all of this, Amy never wavered in her determination to stay with me.

As I've often observed, she enjoyed going out socially with the other girls and positively basked in the male attention she always unsurprisingly attracted. But she always declined the numerous date invitations she got; retreating back into the pack of the girls if some male tried to cut her out for more intimate conversation.

Whenever Ellen or myself pushed her on the issue, her answer was the same. She was in a really happy, secure and loved up place now and didn't want to change that. She felt a safety, security and real love that she'd never felt in her adult life and while she was well aware there might be any number of males out there who could offer her the same on more age appropriate terms, making sure she wisely chose one of them was more of a lottery than she had the slightest inclination to take on.

After all, Frank had never let her socialise at all. Not with girlfriends, workmates or neighbours. Even with her family. Even just being able to bank and keep her own salary was a novelty to her; more so as she blossomed at work and quickly rose up the ranks and pay grades.

Because she also never wavered from her intention not to have children, the whole 'you need a younger father for your kids' thing was irrelevant to her. And when I tried to talk to her about the prospect that she'd one day be hitched to a decrepit old man while she was still young and sprightly, she brushed it off as something she could deal with in the future; more so because, with no maternal ambitions, her biological clock could tick away without consequences.

I felt the saddest thing for Amy was she had to alienate herself from her family - and especially her parents. Frank had turned on the charm and wormed his way into having them support him in his desire to get her back. Even though he had prevented her from having regular contact with them while she was with him, they took his argument that it was all Amy's fault hook, line and sinker. Which meant she couldn't visit them or let them visit her - or even know where she lived - for fear they'd betray her to Frank.

Amy suspected that the highly sexualised video/travel blog that she ran with the girls had well and truly acted as an 'up yours' to Frank and spurred his desire to have her back, and didn't regret it for a moment; giving her enormous satisfaction. But since we'd left Byron Bay she'd been careful to be ambiguous about locations; keeping the framing tight and ensuring any geolocation was stripped from anything put on line. She even horizontally flipped video of the boat sailing to make it appear Australia was on the left, rather than the right, as we travelled the coast; making it look like we were going North instead of South.

She eventually managed to organise through work a postal address in Brisbane where she could exchange mail and packages with them and, after two years, organised for her parents to visit her in Brisbane (nearly a 1000 km from Sydney). But for many years, she never revealed where she really lived.

The video blog continued, albeit in a reduced form. No longer really a travelogue - except for a few holidays we shared with the others - it really became simply one of a group of very attractive girls in very little clothing mucking around and having fun; often in the pool. Sometimes - actually often - it was very cheeky (read sexualised) fun. The males in their lives either participated or made themselves invisible as suited them. Josh participated and Harry decided to keep his dignity and stay out, but benignly tolerated Ellen's participation - not that he really had a choice. But a common factor always seemed to be the mob of them provocatively interacting with a guy who was clearly way too old for them.

Amy continued to blossom as the crowdedness of the relationship dissipated and Ellen and Issie moved out. She grew in confidence and assertiveness in a way that suited her and our relationship grew ever closer.

I'd always felt more than a little guilty about how obsessed I was with her body and beauty generally. The shear sexualised perfection of her breasts, nipples, washboard stomach and perfectly shaped, sexually suggestive mound, not to mention her butt, legs and every other aspect of her appearance, left me in cross legged frustration, only really solved by having a good root with her.

The thing was, after ten years of being denied by Frank any acknowledgement at all of how attractive she was, she actually wanted that attention; not just from me but from other men as well - even if they weren't to be allowed any outlet for the frustration she must have caused.

While we were on the yacht, the problem had been that my ability to give full vent to any passions raised by that obsession had been curtailed by the jealousies it generated. Each of the girls might have had a special place in my heart and their own unique point of specialness; but nothing signalled favouritism as openly as a desire to fuck one silly more than the others. So I had to surrender my sexual program to the control of the girls.

I certainly wasn't sexually deprived by doing so - probably the opposite - but impulse fucks weren't on the agenda of what I could instigate.

With Liddy working night shifts at the hospital five days a week, it was often almost like Amy had me to herself and it frequently seemed like she took delight in flaunting herself to induce me to take her in an act of impromptu sex and a chuffed satisfaction when I did so.

It was a long time before the effervescence of her sexual desires even started to diminish. Daily sex was often not enough for her. While Liddy worked, Amy had me to herself and made the most of it.

Physical intimacy and orgasms, multiple and increasingly intense orgasms, rather than adventurism for the sake of it - seemed to be her objective. Especially the orgasms. Like an addict, she was always looking for another, even bigger, hit. She never really seemed to be truly sexually sated.

She said it was because of the flood of oxytocin that washed through her body after them that she liked them so much. It made her just want to love and cuddle me; and who was I to argue with that.

But she certainly became increasingly aware and in control of her sexual response. Amy had always been ridiculously easy to bring to an orgasm and having had her first, no less easy to keep in a state of almost constant climax while our sex continued. But she soon added to that repertoire mastering the art of the clit fluttering induced seizure orgasm. What was, for the others, a fluky and rare outcome - excepting Ellen's final night - became for Amy a regular feature of our sex.