Menage a Trois Ch. 07

She waited for me to explain.

"It's dirty," I said with a chuckle.

"Mmmm." She yawned again. "That's why I married you. What is it?"

"Pyramus and Thisbe, updated for the 21^st century."

"What?"

"In the first part of the story, the two lovers are separated by a wall, and they whisper their love to each other through a chink in the wall. There's a lot more, but like most Greek literature it ends badly, so I'm only going to use the first part."

"Steven, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"You toddle off to bed. As soon as I hang up I'm going to make a DVD and send it to you by Fed Ex. It's going to be a lot hotter than anything Ovid or Shakespeare did."

"Who's Ovid?"

"He was a Roman writer who borrowed the plot from Greek mythology. He doesn't matter. Shakespeare borrowed it from Ovid, I think."

"Will Rachel be in this video?"

"No, she went to Minneapolis, so I am going to have to fly solo."

"Does that mean what I think it means? God, you have a dirty mind," she said, interrupting herself with another yawn. "Got to sleep now. Send it to my hotel. I'm at the St. Francis. Can't have it going to our office. Good night lover." I could hear her literally fading into sleep as she said goodnight.

"Good night. I love you."

As soon as I set the phone down I began to work. First I went into my studio and fired up my computer. I put a computer disc into the drive and burned a copy of about twenty of the sketches and pastels of Rachel and Sandy I particularly liked, including the study for the planned centerpiece pastel. I had been carefully maintaining a full set on the computer so it didn't take long. I set the file on the DVD up so it would play as a slide show.

Then I poured myself another glass of wine, took a comfortable seat in the armchair, and prepared a voice-over for the slide show. I know, usually computer slide shows come with cheesy music, but this one was to be accompanied by a dirty story. I had sketched out an outline of the story on the back of a drawing I picked up off the floor. With the drink in hand and the outline in my lap, I began to talk:

Hi lover. God I wish you were here. Oh the things I would do with you if you were here. They would be so nasty and so much fun. But now all I can do is tell you this dirty story and maybe you can get yourself off on it when you get it tomorrow. Just remember, I'm stroking my big hard cock the whole time I'm telling this story.

Do you remember the summer party we went to shortly after you joined the accounting firm? It was at a big estate out in the Hamptons. There were loads of people there, mostly strangers to us, so we just wandered around the big house and the grounds drinking the free booze and getting our first real look at how the other half lived.

It was a warm summer afternoon. You were wearing a flowery, light blue sundress that hung from your shoulders by strings. It stopped a few inches above your knees. Your long blonde hair was stacked on your head. Cooler that way, you told me. When we arrived you were wearing a very sexy pair of strappy sandals with three-inch heels. Your legs looked stunning.

As it began to get dark we walked down to the beach carrying our drinks and sat on a low dock that went far enough out into the Sound to tie up small powerboats. There was a hedge separating it from the main house. We sat on the end of the dock, dangling our bare feet in the water. I remember noticing the bright red polish on your nails and thinking how beautiful your feet were.

"Do you think this was Gatsby's dock," you asked. "The house is big enough." You took a sip of your drink as you stared out across the Sound.

"There was no Gatsby, Sandy," I said. "He's a fiction F. Scott Fitzgerald made up."

You laughed. "Oh, I know that, but Fitzgerald had to get his idea from somewhere, so maybe there was a real Gatsby and a real Daisy, but they had different names and they lived in that big house back there, once she got away from her evil husband."

"You've got quite an imagination for an accountant." I told you.

"Not really," you said. "I'm just a hopeless romantic. You're the creative one."

"So what do you think Daisy and Gatsby did when they came down to this dock?" I asked. You were leaning on me with your hand on the inside of my thigh and your head on my shoulder.

"I s'pose they got in their powerboat to go for a cruise in the Sound," you said.

"Really? That's not very romantic. You can do better than that."

"Well maybe," you said, "maybe at this time of night, just when one of their big parties was pausing while the band set up and the dinner was set out; maybe they snuck away from their guests and came down here, just the two of them."

"And what did they do down here?"

"I'll show you," you said as you pulled my head down to kiss me. It was a long, wet, sloppy kiss. Just one of the things you do best.

"So that's what they did?" I asked. "They came down here and necked like teenagers?" Then I kissed you for a long time. When I finished, I put my lips next to your ear and softly repeated, "Is that all they did?" Now I had a hand on one of your breasts. I could feel through the light fabric of your dress that you weren't wearing a bra. Your nipple was swelling and hardening as I caressed you.

I pinched your nipple through the dress and you sucked in your breath. "Steve! Stop that! Someone will see us!"

"Yes," I whispered. "And you'd like that wouldn't you. You'd like someone to be watching, secretly watching us make love." Now I had pushed the strap off your shoulder and I was fondling your bare breast. You made no effort to stop me. Instead you slid your hand up my leg and begin to caress my swollen cock though the lightweight trousers I was wearing.

"Mmmm," I said. "That feels good."

"Oooh! You're really hard!" you said. "How did you get so hard?"

I ignored your question and pushed the other strap off your shoulder so your dress fell away, leaving you half naked. I pushed your shoulders away and stared at your naked breasts. "God, you have beautiful tits."

"Oh you like these, do you?" you said, holding them out to me. I've always loved your tits. They aren't huge like Rachel's, but they are just enough to fill a hand—yours when you are showing them to me as you were now, or mine when I fondle them.

In answer to your question I leaned forward and began to suck on first one and then the other of your breasts. You were softly whimpering. All the time you kept stroking my now fully-engorged dick. I was sure there was going to be a precum stain on my trousers, but I didn't care.

"Fuck, you're making me horny, Steven. But what if someone comes down? My boss is here somewhere. What would he think?"

I stopped sucking on your tits but continued to fondle them as I looked at you. "There are a couple of hundred people here, and your boss is about the only one we know. What are the odds of him being the one who is spying on us?"

"Yes, but . . ." You pulled your hand off my cock.

I interrupted, putting your hand back on my cock and saying, "Sandy, what would Gatsby and Daisy have done?"

You giggled. "I know what Daisy would have done," you responded. "She was a bit of a slut, you know. Fitzgerald didn't tell us everything about her. He had to keep the book R rated."

You looked around to see if there was anyone watching. "Daisy would have done this." Then you released my belt, unzipped my trousers, and pulled my cock out. "She just loved big cocks like this one."

"So you don't think your boss is watching?" I asked as you begin to stroke my cock.

"Oh, I hope he is. That would be so exciting to think he is watching as I suck your cock."

"Sandy, you're such a dirty girl. You want to blow me right here while your boss is watching back there someplace in that hedge."

"Yes," you hissed. "That's exactly what I want, and that's what Daisy would have done to Gatsby, too."

I stood, letting my trousers and boxers fall to my ankles, and you got to your knees, still naked from the waist up and still stroking my prick. "Do you think your boss is jacking off as he watches us from that hedge?" I asked.

"Oh I'm sure he is. He's such a dirty old man. Now talk dirty to me while I suck your cock." Then you pulled my cock into your warm, wet mouth and began to suck it. The sensation was fantastic. I've always so loved it when you suck my cock. We were sideways to the end of the dock, so that anyone watching from the hedge behind us could see exactly what was going on, and I didn't care. I was lost in the sensations your mouth was creating on my cock.

"Oh fuck! My god you're a great cocksucker," I said.

"Mumph."

"If your boss is watching, he's going to know you for what you are," I said.

You pulled your head back from my cock and began lapping at the underside of it with you tongue while you fondled my balls. Every time you reached the head, my prick jumped of its own accord.

"What?"

"Huh?" I was lost.

"What's he gonna know? What's my boss gonna know?" Now you had both hands on my cock and you were stroking it with a twisting motion that was delicious.

"Uhh . . . He's gonna know what a horny slut you are." I was regaining a bit of control now that you no longer had my cock in your mouth.

"Maybe he already knows," you said. Then you blew on the head of my prick. Your mouth was around the head but not touching it. Your breath was hot.

"Oh god!" I said in shock as I sucked in a gasp of the salty air.

"Maybe I already showed him." Then you closed your lips around the head of my cock and began to use your tongue to lick the sensitive flesh on the underside.

"Arrrrgh!" I whispered. "What did you show him, you horny little slut. What did you show your boss?" Now you were stroking my cock again with that same twisting motion, using both hands.

You looked up at me, a nasty gleam in your eyes. "Maybe I already showed him my pussy. Or maybe it was just my tits. If I did that, he would know what a horny slut I am." Then you sucked my cock as far into your mouth as you could get it. I could feel the head bumping against the back of your mouth, probing to enter your throat. Your tongue was moving around under my cock trying to make room for me. You gagged a little from the pressure of my cock on the back of your mouth.

I had my hands on both sides of your head now. I was pulling back and then thrusting in, fucking your face. "When Sandy? When did you show your pussy to your boss?"

You pushed me away and resumed your stroking. "Maybe it was last week. Remember Tuesday?" you said. You ran a fingernail up the underside of my prick while you blew on the head again.

"Ahhhhh! . . . Oh god, yes!"

"Uhhhhh! Oh yeah I remember. You were horny as hell when you got home. You damn near raped me on the living room rug."

"Yes, that's right. Didn't you wonder why I was so hot when I got home? It could have been because I showed myself to my boss, just before I left work. Maybe that's why I was so ready to fuck last Tuesday."

Then you engulfed my cock with your mouth again.

"So how did you show yourself to him? Tell me!" I had my hands on your head again, fucking your face. "Was it your pussy or your tits you showed him, or did you show him both?"

"Mmmph!" you grabbed my hands and pushed them away as you pulled back from my cock again. Then as you stroked my cock you told me about how you had teased your boss.

"Well, it was five o'clock and I was bored and horny. The audit work I was doing was boring, and I had been thinking about fucking you. But then I had the nastiest idea." You paused while you licked the end of my cock. Just a few strokes.

"I've told you how my boss always stares at my tits when we are talking. I don't think he can help it, poor man. He's obsessed with my tits."

"So what did you do, you little whore?" I asked, while you lapped at my prick a bit more. You were alternating between sucking my cock and telling me your nasty little story.

"Maybe I went to the ladies room and took my bra off, and then I went back to his office and sat down opposite his desk and began asking him questions about the audit I was working on. It was mindless, but I was so excited because of what I had decided to do."

"I'll bet you were, you cunt!" When I said that, you slurped my cock back into your mouth again and your story stopped while I enjoyed your cock sucking. You love it when I talk like that.

Then you pulled back, anxious to finish your bragging. "Finally I leaned forward, my elbows on his desk. There were a couple of buttons open on my blouse and I was pretty sure he could see my tits—not just part of them but the nipples and everything. "Do we really have to do this?" I asked him. He was staring hard at my tits now. He stammered some kind of answer related to the accounting discussion we had been having.

As I listened to your lurid tale I reached down and began to fondle your tits. My cock, still sticking straight out, was lying on your shoulder.

"That's when I asked him," you said to me.

"Asked him what?" As I spoke, I softly pinched both of your nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each of my hands.

"Ahhhhhh!" You sucked in air as I played with your nipples.

"What did you ask your boss, Sandy?" Now I had my whole hand on each breast and was fondling them.

You smiled up at me with a really nasty looking smile.

"I might have asked him why he stared at my tits all the time."

"I'll bet you did you nasty little slut." I pinched your nipples again, a little harder this time.

"Oh shit!"

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just looked at me, red-faced."

"Then what did you do, you little prick teaser? Did you fuck him?"

"Oh god, no," you said to me. You kind of shuddered as you said that. "I just stood up and released the rest of the buttons on my blouse. Then I took it off and dropped it in the chair I had been sitting in, so I was standing in front of his desk naked from the waist up. I let him stare for a minute and then I said, 'enjoying?' He stammered something and his face got redder. I was afraid he was going to have a stroke or something, so I picked up my blouse and walked out his office still half naked with my shirt thrown over one shoulder like a gym towel."

"So that's why you were so horny last Tuesday?" I asked you.

"Maybe," you said. "And maybe I just wanted you to fuck me, like I do now."

You stood and pulled your dress over your head, which left you naked. Then you turned away from me and dropped to your knees, your ass facing me. "Fuck me, Steven. Fuck me now!" Your voice was firm and harsh like you get when you really want it.

I dropped to my knees behind you and asked, "What about your boss watching us from the hedge?"

"Fuck him. He'll have to get his own pussy. My pussy wants you now."

"I won't last long," I said, as I shoved my cock into your cunt. It was dripping wet, and hot.

"Oh god, neither will I," you said.

I thrust my cock in and out a few times, and you screamed as an orgasm ripped through you. There was no build up as you approached it. It was just like a hair trigger that set off a massive orgasm.

That set me off, and my prick pumped shot after shot of cum into your cunt as I groaned. Spent, we tipped to the side and lay gasping.

Eventually we got up and got our clothes more or less in order. You hadn't worn a bra and we couldn't find your panties or my boxers, but the major pieces were there and in place. We both sat on the end of the dock, our feet in the water.

"I saw it," you said.

"Saw what?" I asked.

"The green light—the one on the dock on the other side of the Sound. I saw it flash just once when I climaxed."

I looked at you for a long time, and then I grabbed you and kissed you. But I grabbed too hard, and we both fell off the dock into the water. We came up laughing and sputtering. We were standing on the sand, waist deep in the water, laughing and holding each other.

"You do know, Sandy," I said, "that there was no Gatsby and no Daisy. Fitzgerald just made them up, and he made up the green light, too."

"I know, but maybe it was Scott and Zelda who did what we just did on the end of this very dock. They were a pretty wild couple. Then he just copied it for the book."

It's possible," I said. "Who knows what Scott and Zelda did, and maybe there was a green light over there in 1925."

We had to sneak out past the party to our old clunker of a car to go home. Your boss may or may not have been watching us from the hedge, but he would have gotten an eyeful if we had gone back in the house. Your soaked dress was transparent. By the time we got home we were fully recovered, and we fucked like rabbits on our living room floor, in the kitchen, in the shower, on the table in the dining room, and even in the bedroom. It was a great party—all of it.

In the morning I packaged the DVD, along with a note to Sandy, and sent it by next day FedEx, addressed to her in care of the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco. The note was brief;

Lover,

Here is the 21^st century version of the story Pyramus told Thisbe through the chink in the wall. I didn't have time to do an illustrated version, but I have included a few of my drawings of you and Rachel.

All my love (and lust),

Steven