Menage a Trois Ch. 09

I played back Lisa's story of meeting and being seduced by Sandy and Rachel in college and her long-term relationships with Sandy during college and more recently here in New York.

"And did you believe her?"

"Yes. Come with me, and I'll show you why." As we walked toward the studio, I told Sandy how I had shown Lisa a new drawing I had done of her, the one on the end of the dock from the story and how Lisa had gone with me into the studio to see it. When we walked into the studio, I flipped on the lights. Sandy stopped abruptly staring at the big drawing I had finished earlier that afternoon. "No not that one," I said. "I just finished that this afternoon. This is the drawing. I pointed to the much smaller picture of Sandy on the end of the dock. It was hanging on the opposite wall.

"Oh my," Sandy said. "It's gorgeous. Where did that come from?"

"I drew it."

"I know that, but where did the idea come from. Is this something Lisa made up?"

"No, no. It's you on the end of the dock after we fell in the water at the end of the story I sent you on the disk last week."

"But you didn't describe this on the disk, and the drawings that came with it were all of me and Rachel here in the apartment."

"It just came from my imagination. I dreamed it up right after I sent you the disk."

"Oh." She paused as she stared at he picture.

"It's beautiful. Stunning."

"Thank you, but that's not quite the point. The reason I believed Lisa is that she just about melted down when she saw it. Not quite in tears but close, and that's when she told me about her history with you and how much she loved you and how heartbroken she is not to be able to compete with me and have you for herself."

"Oh. I see. I think you know more about how she feels now than I did. Was all of this before or after you made love to her?"

I smiled. "Both actually. It was a long night."

"Hmmm. I'll bet it was. If there is one thing you and Lisa have in common, it's endurance."

"I suppose so, but there is one other thing that we seem to have in common."

She looked at me, her features conveying an unspoken question.

"You," I said in response.

"Oh," she said. "You're right. And what we are going to do about that is a question we need to talk about. But first I want to get a shower and wash the airplane grunge off myself. While I'm doing that, could you make us one of your yummy omeletts? This isn't breakfast, so I don't want coffee, and I've had enough of the Scotch, but maybe there is some white wine to go with it?"

She walked off naked towards the bath. I went to the hall and gathered up the clothes strewn about. I folded hers and set them on the couch in the living room, and I pulled my sweats and T-shirt back on. Then I went to the kitchen. First I put a bottle of Sancerre in a bucket of ice to chill. I cracked six eggs into a bowl, added a dash of cream, a bit of salt, and a pinch of pepper, and stirred with a whisk. On the chopping block I finely diced a good-sized shallot, sliced up a couple of mushrooms, and then shredded a goodly quantity of Gruyere. I set a skillet on the stove with a spoonful of clarified butter, but I didn't turn on the heat. I didn't want to start cooking until Sandy was done with her shower. Besides, the wine needed more time to chill.

While I waited, I sat thinking about the conversation I had to have with Sandy. We had gotten half way through it. We had both confessed our sins, and neither of us had jumped up and demanded a divorce. In fact we had both more or less forgiven the other, if for no other reason than simply we were each guilty of the same sin with the same woman. So far, so good. But the question remaining was how were we to structure our ongoing relationship with Lisa. . . . and perhaps others?

After about fifteen minutes Sandy reappeared. She was clean and sparkling. Her still wet hair hung down her back and on both sides of her chest. All she was wearing was a pair of pale blue bikini cut cotton panties and an old college T-shirt, shrunken so it failed to reach the top of her panties. The T-shirt was worn thin and partially soaked by the water dripping from her hair. Her nipples shown clearly through it, and her breasts, outlined by the T-shirt, bounced delightfully as she walked into the room.

"Can I start to cook now?"

"Please," she said. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen combing the water out of her long, blonde hair, causing her tee to become ever more transparent.

I turned on the burner beneath the skillet, setting it to medium low, and then I walked over to the bottle of Sancerre still chilling in the wine bucket. I opened it and poured us each a glass. Sandy was sitting alongside the kitchen table now, her long sexy legs crossed. The T-shirt stopped at her waist. I paused to take a long lecherous look at her legs.

"That skillet's going to get too hot if you spend all your time lusting over my legs,"

"You do make it harder to cook when you are lounging about half naked in the kitchen."

"Is that a complaint?"

"To the contrary, it's a compliment."

"Oh," she said. "Would I eat better if I dressed like a nun?"

"I doubt it," I said, as I turned back to the stove.

I ladled enough of the egg mix into the skillet for the first omlette. It sizzled a bit, telling me that Sandy was right. I had let the skillet get too hot. I turned down the heat and pulled the skillet off the burner. Looking over my shoulder I said, "A nun's habit wouldn't work. I've always had this perverse fetish about having sex with a nun."

"Oh my. I never knew. All white habit or black and white?"

"Definitely black and white." I put the skillet back on the heat and watched it, carefully waiting for the egg to begin to set. Once it had just begun to set, enough so my filling wouldn't sink through the eggs, I sprinkled a few fingers full of diced shallot and sliced mushrooms and a small handful of Gruyere on one side of the skillet.

"So, your perversion focuses on Dominicans, eh?"

I laughed. "I don't know. Are they the ones in the black and white habits?"

Sandy giggled, "I don't know either. It was just the one order name that came to mind. Is there more to this fantasy of yours?"

"Oh much more," I said. "But wait for a moment. I have to focus on folding this omlette just now." I used a rubber spatula to fold the egg sheet in half, covering the cheese and other ingredients with a layer of egg. Then I turned the heat down to low and put a lid on the pan.

Once I had the omlette temporarily under control I turned to look at Sandy. She was still sitting in a chair alongside the kitchen table, but now instead of crossing those long sexy legs of hers at the knee, she had the foot of one leg resting on her other knee so I could look straight at her sex, but for the blue panties. "Now what was it you wanted to know," I asked.

"I want to know all the juicy details about this perverse fantasy of yours about sex with a nun."

"Oh, you mean like what she had on under her habit, and did I fuck her, and who seduced who. You mean that kind of stuff."

"Exactly."

"Okay, so in my imagination I was doing a big painting on a wall in a nunnery. I had been working with Sister Mary Agnes"

"Sister Mary Agnes?" Sandy interrupted. "Your fantasy nun even had a name?"

"Of course all nuns have names. Why shouldn't my fantasy nun have a name? Actually my fantasy nun's real name was Cynthia. Sister Mary Agnes was a name she had adopted when she took her vows."

"Oh I see. And was she wearing those clunky shoes nuns always wear?"

"Well, she did whenever we were together out in the main part of the nunnery. She needed to look just like the other nuns expected her to look."

"And? Was there another time when she didn't wear her clunky shoes? Don't nuns always wear clunky shoes? Tell me about that."

"I'll get to that, but now I have to tend to the first omlette." I slid it out of the pan onto a plate and put it in the oven to stay warm. I then turned to the stovetop again to begin the second omlette.

"So Steve, did you fuck this nun?"

"You do understand Sandy, this is fantasy. None of it ever happened."

"I know, but keep going. Your fantasies are so dirty. I love them."

If I told her the details of what I had done with Lisa, she would think that was dirty too, but she wouldn't necessarily love them. I put that dark thought aside, put a little more butter in the skillet, and returned it to the heat. Then I turned back to face Sandy while the butter warmed. "So after I had been working on this project for several days, Sister Mary Agnes asked me if she could show me a drawing she had that might give me an idea."

"Kind of like the old 'come to my apartment to see my etchings' line, Sandy said with a giggle.

"Yeah, I 'spose, but I didn't think of it that way at the time. She led me to her quarters. I guess they used to call that a cell, but it wasn't very cell like. It was a nicely finished room, with a gold crucifix and religious paintings hanging on the walls, a single bed, a closet and a bathroom. Not bad for poverty, I thought."

"Sister Mary Agnes asked to be excused for a moment and stepped into the restroom, closing the door behind her. When she came out she seemed taller. That's when I noticed that the clunky nun's shoes had been replaced by a pair of spiky ankle boots, complete with a brass chain and four inch heels. Very sexy stuff."

"Ooh, how nasty. What happened next?"

"Next, I have to deal with the second omlette," I said. "The skillet is hot." I could feel my cock beginning to swell as I thought about a nun with sexy, spiky-heeled ankle boots. Could I draw that?

I poured the remaining egg mix in the skillet. I'd got the temperature right this time. The eggs bubbled just a little but there was no sizzling.

While I waited for the eggs to set I looked back at Sandy, still sitting in her unladylike position. That was contributing to my growing erection. "So I asked Sister Mary Agnes what she wanted to show me and she pointed to a leather bound book on a bureau. When I opened it, I discovered that it was a book of graphic pornography, including some very explicit BDSM scenes and gay and lesbian sex. They were all drawings rather than photographs. 'Sister Mary Agnes,' I said. 'I hope you weren't expecting me to paint these on the cloister walls?'"

"So did you fuck her then?" Sandy asked.

"No, my fantasies never move that quickly. It turned out they were her drawings. We just sat on the bed, side by side, and leafed through the book. The pictures were very dirty, sexy stuff. I think my mother would have used the word 'filthy.'"

"Did it give you a hard on?"

"Of course," I said. "You know porn always gives me a hard on. Excuse me for a minute, I have to tend to this omlette." I put the last of the cheese, mushrooms and shallots on one side of the skillet and then carefully folded it over, covered the skillet, and then returned my attention to Sandy. Her eyes were glittering, a look I knew meant she was becoming aroused.

"When Sister Mary Agnes and I had leafed all the way through the book, she pulled it aside and begin to stroke my erection through the jeans I was wearing. 'Sister Mary Agnes, is this something we should be doing?'"

"Oh you sound so innocent, Steve. That's the real fantasy part, but what did she say?" Sandy asked.

"She said, 'Absolutely not, but we are, aren't we?' There was a gleam in her eyes as she released my belt, opened my jeans, and pulled my now fully-erect cock out of my pants. 'Call me Cynthia when we're doing this,' she said. Then she began to suck my cock."

I looked at Sandy and saw she had a hand rubbing her sex. I let my hand stroke my now fully-erect cock through my shorts. "Oops," I said. "I have to check the omlette." I was a little shaky this time, distracted by the lewd story I was telling and Sandy's reaction to it, but the omlette seemed to be doing okay on its own.

Just as I put the lid back down on the skillet, Sandy stepped up behind me sliding her arms around me and pulling me back into her warm body. Her lips were nibbling at my neck. "Sandy my dear," I said. "You're going to make me burn this omlette."

"No you're not. You're hands are still free." Her hands were also free, roaming across my chest, then under my T-shirt, tweaking my nipples and then sinking toward my sweat pants. She pushed her hands under my sweats and wrapped them around my now fully-erect cock. "Now tell me more," she said. "Did you just get a blow job or did you get to find out what was under the habit?"

"Oh, I did all right," I said. "After she sucked on me for awhile Cynthia stood and release a single fastener someplace and her habit just fell around her feet."

"Mmmmm!" was Sandy's response as she continued stroking my cock.

"Wait," I said. "I don't want to burn the omlette." I pulled the pan off the burner, removed the lid, and slid the omlette onto a plate. Then I turned sideways enough to allow myself to put the plate into the oven to stay warm with the first omlette I had prepared. I could tell we weren't going to eat right away.

"Okay," Sandy said, "Your fantasy has a nun wearing kinky boots who has interrupted her blow job to strip off her habit. What was she wearing under the habit—granny underpants and a big industrial strength bra?"

"Not so fast, girl. I'll tell you the rest of this, but let's take our clothes off and sit by the table and enjoy some wine while I tell it. We can watch each other masturbate."

"Oh yes. You are so dirty, Steven. That's why I love you." She skipped away from me and quickly filled two wine glasses and then just as quickly peeled off what little clothes she had on. She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs her legs spread widely and her pussy gleaming with fluid that had seeped from it as she listened to my fantasy. The nipples perched on the end of her sexy little tits were hard little pebbles.

I peeled off my shorts and T-shirt and walked across the kitchen, my erect cock bobbing as I walked. I took a chair opposite Sandy and sat stroking my cock as she rubbed her hard nipples. She took a sip of her wine and said, "So now tell me, Steven, what did Sister Mary Agnes have on under her habit?"

"Oh, she wasn't Sister Mary Agnes by this point. She was Cynthia, and all she had on under the habit was a pair of black thigh-high nylons, the kind with the sexy seam up the back, held up by a black garter belt." I continued to lightly stroke my cock as we talked. "She had good-sized tits with a bit of sag to them, but not bad for a woman approaching forty-five. Her hips were broad and her ass wide and a bit soft. The real surprise was that she was shaved clean. Not a sign of pubic hair. Her labia were swollen and open enough to show the pink inner lips below glistening with juice arising from her arousal. She had a very large clit which was projecting from between her pussy lips."

"So did you fuck her?" Sandy was stroking her pussy lips now and lightly touching her clit. Her voice had gotten breathy as her arousal heightened.

"Ahhh . . . It was more like she fucked me. She pushed me onto my back on her bed and then climbed astride me, a leg on either side of my knees. Then she knee-walked forward until she was over my cock. She reached down and grabbed it and guided it up to her pussy. Once it was inside her cunt she began to bounce wildly on me, with her big tits swinging back and forth."

"Did she cum?" Sandy now had two fingers in her cunt. She had that faraway look she gets when she is sort of paying attention to what is going on, but only with a bit of her attention, the rest being lost in an impending orgasm.

"Oh god, did she ever. After we fucked, but not for very long, she just sat up straight and went rigid as her pussy clamped down on my cock. Just before she climaxed she grabbed the corner of the bed spread and stuff it in her mouth to mute the scream that would otherwise have been heard all over the convent."

Sandy was panting now. "Oh god, that's so nasty," she said. "And did you cum?"

"Not when she did. I let her relax. Then I turned her over and fucked her from behind. She came quickly, but this time so did I."

"That's quite a story," Sandy said. "Was she the only nun you fucked?"

"Yes, but that wasn't the only time I fucked her. It took me two weeks to finish the project I was working on, and Cynthia and I made love once or twice each day. I was exhausted by the time the project was done. She made it a practice of being naked under her habit, and we would sneak away to little corners and cubbies all over the convent for our daily quickies. She would just pull up her habit so it was around her waist and I would drop my trousers and fuck her silly. Sometimes our sex was oral. God she loved it when I ate her."

"And was she wearing her sexy ankle boots then?"

"No, just her clunky nun shoes. She had to be careful when we were away from her room. I only saw those sexy ankle boots and nylons once, the first time we made love. Actually I found fucking her when she was wearing the clunky nun shoes to be kinkier. Loved it."

"God that was a dirty story," Sandy said to me. She was sawing three fingers in and out of her dripping cunt. "It was so fucking hot and I'm . . .ahhhh. Yeah, oh shit! . . . Oh yes! I'm so close. Are you close? I want to watch you squirt when I cum."

"Almost," I said. I could feel the pressure building in my balls. "Let's cum. . . . Now!" I groaned as I felt the cum starting to erupt up my cock. "Now Sandy, now! Make yourself cum." She began furiously rubbing her clit as I talked, and just as I felt the first stream of cum leave my prick I saw her stiffen with the onset of her climax. She groaned loudly and held her rigid position for what seemed like a long time as I sent several streams of cum out into the room and onto the floor.

We both slouched in silence as we recovered from our climaxes. Finally she said, "Can we have dinner now? I'm starving."

I refilled the wine glasses and put the omlettes on the table. Over dinner we talked about how to accommodate Lisa into our relationship. Ultimately Sandy said, "I've given this a good deal of thought. I think we have to have something broader than the arrangement we have with Rachel. You need to be free to have a relationship with Lisa and with other women you find attractive and I need the same. Can you live with that?"

"Women and men?" I asked

"Both," she said

I wasn't quite sure why I asked the question. I knew what the answer was going to be. Looking at her I said, "I think that's where we're already at, so we are just acknowledging reality. Yes, I will live with that. But here's the thing Sandy. Our relationship has to still be the core. You're the one I always want to be able to come back to and I want to be the same for you."

"Oh yeah, and one other thing," I continued. "I want to hear all the juicy details of who you fuck and how you fuck them. I guess I'm a voyeur at heart."

She agreed.

We slept in the next morning. In fact we "slept in" all the next day, never getting out of bed until late afternoon. She called her office and told them she had the flu. Of course we weren't sleeping all that time. We were screwing like rabbits, celebrating our newly liberated relationship.

Actually we weren't screwing all the time either. We talked, lying in bed naked, arms and legs entwined, about a lot of things we hadn't found time to talk about for months—Sandy's career; my career (I thought the term perhaps premature); should we continue to live in New York or perhaps decamp to someplace a bit less intense, Austin, San Francisco, Palo Alto, Seattle, or Portland (Sandy giggled over the idea of me becoming a hipster erotic artist, and I said I could do that by moving to Brooklyn); whether she shared my fetish for erotic nuns (not particularly, but she thought a priest might be an interesting idea, and she didn't have much interest in his footwear so long as he took his socks off); why she was fascinated by accounting; whether there was some other genre of art I might want to pursue besides huggies and erotica; why people fell in love with Sandy so easily and so thoroughly (she was clueless and, although I had experienced it, I couldn't explain it); why Sandy didn't want me to sell the drawing of her on the end of the dock; whether Sandy was an exhibitionist or a voyeur (probably both); whether I was an exhibitionist or a voyeur (absolutely a voyeur); Rachel; Lisa; and other lovers from our past and people we both found interesting as potential future partners; whether Lisa would be amenable to joining us in a threesome (absolutely Sandy thought); and dozens of other things, some important, some silly. We only got up long enough to pee and to bring outrageous junk food back to bed—popcorn, soda pop, candy that had been in the house for so long it was hard, cookies (also past their prime), and eventually pizza that we ordered in. We played paper-rock-scissors to decide who had to put enough clothes on to go to the door and pay the pizza dude. Sandy lost, but she declined my dare to flash him as a tip.