Ellen Journals 01. The 5 Sketches

This is a true account of a few hours in a weekend some years ago, when Ellen (my wife of 20 years) and I visited an old high school friend in his studio in downtown Dearborn, Michigan. It was easily the most thrillingly erotic experience of my life up to that point, so much so that I am actually afraid that our lives will change somehow. After 20 years of the same old thing, an unexpected event such as I will shortly describe can be like an earthquake in a relationship, even though we have no plans to repeat the experience, even if it were possible.

Ellen isn't a prude, she's just very inexperienced. Raised a Catholic, she rejected all those trappings as a teenager, but it's hard to escape how one has been reared during childhood, and her sexuality has remained subdued, despite a wild youth. I love her tremendously and have always been a good husband to her. Oh yes, she is very pretty, even at 45, with large breasts and big nipples that subtly change their appearance in accord with her hormones, the temperature and, of course, her level of stimulation. She is not readily orgasmic, which makes the rare occasion of her cumming very charming and almost celebratory. She is also a "gusher," as they say, for when she has an orgasm she spurts a little fluid.

We went to the same high school, Sacred Heart, in Dearborn. We live nearby and sometimes visit Dearborn on the weekends where we still have friends. During our last visit we ran into an old schoolmate, Mike, whom we both knew from school. We always like him and had not seen him since well before we were married, in fact it had been almost 30 years ago since we had last seen one another. Mike was a good artist back then, and a professional portrait painter now. He was making a good living and traveled a lot. We met on the street in front of a bar we used to like to go to back when it was legal to drink at 18. He was as skinny as he had been in high school, but still handsome, and his greying hair was the only indication that he had aged at all.

"You both look great, too!" Mike said, shaking my hand, then he gave Ellen a kiss on the cheek. "Let's go in and have a drink. I'm buying."

We agreed and soon were sipping drinks and rehashing old times, and this we did for almost two hours. The light was fading as evening neared and Mike suggested that we go up and see his studio. "Yeah, I still keep one here in town," he said, holding the door for Ellen as we bundled out into the cool autumn night. "But now I have one in Manhattan, too." This he said matter-of-factly with no boasting, just information. It was his lack of hubris that was one of the things Ellen and I always like about Mike.

"Do you live with anyone?" Ellen asked him as we neared the commercial center that contained Mike's little studio.

"Nope. Never married," he replied, shuffling through his keyring for the right key. He put it in the lock and turned. "I like the ladies, but still haven't found anyone really, you know, special that way."

The door swung open and it was clear that Mike still indeed liked the ladies. We walked to the center of the studio and as Mike turned on the lights we saw that all four walls had drawings hung on them, but one of the walls had about two dozen charcoal sketches of the female genitalia, close up and in various states of arousal. He must have noticed the unnerved look on my, and especially Ellen's face.

"Oh, those." Mike waved his hand dismissively. "I like to do nudes but I have trouble with, you know, that part of the anatomy."

"A real fascination with it, anyway!" Ellen said, then put her hand to her mouth and blushed a bit. She had two glasses of wine and was perhaps a bit giddy.

"Well, I am a man," Mike said with a chuckle.

"Do you know these ladies?" I asked.

"They're models," he said. "Well, mostly, anyway." He opened his refrigerator and selected a bottle of white wine. "Let's have more wine."

And we did. As the evening progressed we looked over Mike's portfolio, and Ellen especially was fascinated by the number of nudes in his work. I think, looking back, that she was amazed that art and eroticism were so well-melded in Mike's work. Women don't usually get off on the porn images that men often enjoy, but these were different. These images, well, I think they "turned her on," enough so that the evening took a most unexpected turn.

"Wow," Ellen said, putting the last portfolio down and picking up her wine glass. "You sure like drawing pussies!" She sipped from her glass.

I was startled by this comment. I don't think I have heard Ellen refer to the female parts as "pussy" since her teenage days. Even Mike was a little jarred by her comment, and looked defensive.

"It's actually a good part of my living. See, I'm in demand for certain types of glamour paintings and drawings. Like the stuff in the portfolios. Lots of women are interested in that sort of thing. Women you wouldn't imagine."

"Like who?" I asked.

Mike smiled. "I can't say. Discretion is why I'm so heavily booked. All of my best and most beautiful stuff aren't in those books. It's in my contract -- no copies, not even for me."

"It's not just discretion, it's talent, too," Ellen said, pointing to the works on the wall. "These are beautiful."

"Thanks. Very much," Mike replied. He was moved by her praise as he sensed, I believe, that this was all a first for her.

"God," she blushed. "It's hot in here."

I myself had not noticed.

* * * * * * * *

Halfway through the second bottle of wine I had noted that Ellen had been quiet and thoughtful for many minutes. It was not yet 9 p.m., and there was no sense that we were overstaying our welcome at Mike's, for he seemed to be enjoying seeing us again and all of our conversation. Finally I asked Ellen if there were anything wrong.

She looked startled. "No."

"Well, you're so quiet." I said.

"I was just thinking..."

"About?"

"Oh." She looked over at Mike and then back at me. "Nothing really."

"It's OK," Mike said, gently. "Is it have to do with all these things I draw and paint?"

Ellen uncrossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together, very nervous. "Kind of, I guess." She recrossed her legs and had another sip of wine. My god, I thought to myself, she's stimulated by this experience. All the signs I had come to know were there -- her blush, her fidgets, her breathing.

"I'm sorry, " Mike said, genuinely sadly and stood up. "I can take these down while..."

"No no!" Ellen said. "Don't. That's not it."

"Well what is it then?" I asked her. Where was this going? I had to know what was on her mind.

"You just... well..." she looked away from us for a moment, took a breath and looked at Mike. "You have such tender... regard and respect and... well, tenderness and real love in these pictures. I mean, they're not smarmy and gross." She looked at me. "You know?"

"I know." I smiled. "Mike's an artist. Always was."

"Thank you both," he said. "I really..."

"I just never saw anything like it before," she interrupted, "and it, kind of..."

"Do you want Mike to draw you?" I can't believe I said that but I did. I just blurted it out, just that way. Mike was completely composed and ventured no comment. He just looked impassively at Ellen, whose eyes were downcast. She was thoughtful. She looked at me.

"I don't know..." was all she could manage to say. Her blush was deep and she looked over at Mike with a frightened smile. "I'm sorry, Mike. You're a professional and..."

"I'd be delighted," he said. "I'd be honored, actually." He looked at me. "If it's OK with you."

I was too stunned to speak. After many seconds I asked Mike, "What kind of drawings?" Then I looked over at Ellen. "Ellen, honey, what kind of drawings?" I gestured at the wall. "Like these?"

"Maybe," she said almost inaudibly.

My mind rushed at this. I had a few times in my life given over to the fantasy of my wife nude in the presence of another man, that kind of thing, but I had never thought I would have an opportunity to make it real in our marriage, or that Ellen would ever consent, much less be interested in such a thing. I had an erection. I was sweating a little and now it was my turn to find the room a little hot.

I looked at Ellen, who seemed very nervous and was giving me a wan smile; I looked at Mike, who seemed impassive and friendly. We both knew him to be a gentleman and he did nothing to put us off in this circumstance. I realized then that in Mike's business he was probably not unfamiliar with this very scenario. I stood up to get my breath, and the resolve entered into me that if I did not act now to please Ellen, and to please myself in this once-in-a-lifetime circumstance, that I would regret it always, and so would my sweet wife. I realized at that moment that Ellen needed me to take charge of this situation. I relaxed. I moved over to the large armchair on which she was sitting and stood behind her.

"Get you paper and your pencils," I said to Mike, and he sprang off his chair to his cupboard with an enthusiastic smile.

* * * * * * * *

I put my hands on Ellen's shoulders and bade her relax. She looked up at me with a nervous smile. "You don't have to do, or not do, anything. I'll take care of everything." She nodded and I could feel the tension leaving her neck and shoulders. Mike sat in a small chair about six feet and directly in front of Ellen, with an easel at hand a little offset to his left, for he was left-handed.

"So, Ellen," Mike asked, "what do you want me to..."

"Just leave that to me," I interjected. "I'll take care of her." Mike nodded and sat back in his chair with a patient aspect.

With my hands still on her shoulders I slipped them under the two straps of Ellen's dress, but not under her brassiere straps underneath. She inhaled sharply. "What are you doing?"

"I want him to see your nipples. I want him to draw them." I said. Her breath was unsteady. I moved the straps down her shoulders but they drew too tightly. I pushed her forward and unzipped her dress to the middle of her back. I pulled the straps down past her elbows and she shook free of them, the top half of her dress around her waist and her beautiful breasts caressed only by the white lace of her brassiere. With the backs of my fingers I brushed the side of her breast. Ellen had her eyes closed. I looked at Mike.

"Very lovely. She always was," he said. Ellen smiled but did not yet open her eyes.

I pushed her gently forward. She knew why and her breathing quickened. I unclasped her brassiere and leaned her back against the chair. Slowly, I unveiled her, pushing the back of her bra around her shoulders. As I hoped and suspected, her nipples were engorged with blood and tantalizingly erect, enough so that I could hang her bra off of them for a moment. Mike "adjusted himself" and squirmed on the chair, hiding his erection as discreetly as he could. I nudged the bra forward and it slipped off the precipice of her long nipples, falling on her lap. She was bearing her breasts fully to another man, and she opened her eyes and looked at Mike, who smiled. She did not return his smile as she seemed to be in a kind of trance, but she met his eyes.

I reached over her and cupped her breasts, sliding up to her nipples and twisted them slowly and lovingly. Still she would not close her eyes but made little sounds while she kept her eyes locked upon Mike's. I moved my hands away and stood straight behind her chair, and as if telepathically, Mike reached for his pencil and began to draw. After a few minutes her nipples subsided, and I took the liberty of moistening my fingers and massaging her nipples back to an erect state, hard, long and crimson they stood proudly from her breasts as she watched Mike drawing her as if she were in a fevered trance.

After a few minutes he finished and put the paper aside. He looked at me as if to say, 'what now?' I walked around the chair and kneeled in front of her. Ellen moved her strange gaze from Mike to me and I noticed something of the animal or savage in the way she looked at me as she sat with her knees pressed together on her chair. I caressed her ankles and moved my hands upward past her calves and came to rest under he knees. Slowly and languidly I lifted her legs and spread them while doing so, draping each over an arm of the chair. I rose and stood behind her again, bent over her and grasped the hem of her dress (now resting on the tops of her thighs) and pulled the material back to her waist. Her dress was now bundled around her middle, her breasts bare, her legs spread lewdly, draped over the arms of the big chair for Mike to view. His erection was plain now and he made no twisting postures in his chair to hide it. Her gaze dropped now to his crotch, rested there a space and then back to Mike's eyes where they held one another's gaze. Mike looked down to see what I saw when I knelt in front of her and spread her open -- that her plain cotton panties bore a large oval wet stain.

Ellen was now panting and blushing as crimson as I have ever seen her. I reached down from behind her and massaged the wet spot of her panties, and as I did so she rocked her hips back and forth a little in time to my ministrations. Mike was in an erotic trance as he witnessed this. After a minute of this I reached up and took the elastic waistband of her panties in my hands and slipped them down her hips. As I did so, Ellen raised her hips until the panties cleared her bottom and as I slipped the panties off of her legs I pulled her long legs straight up, grabbing her ankles and pulling her legs apart lewdly, showing her bare pussy and her puckered anus to Mike who absently rubbed his penis through his pants. Ellen's pussy was rather bushy back then, and she trimmed it only slightly for her bathing suite. As I released her legs and lowered them back to the arms of the chair, Ellen edged her bottom to the chair's edge, panting and twisting her hips as if in invitation to Mike. I release my hold on her and stood straight behind the chair, and this time it took Mike a moment to come back to his responsibilities. He shook his head to clear his mind enough to take his charcoal pencil in hand once more and sketched my wife's beautiful pussy and open thighs.

After a few minutes he again laid his paper aside and looked at me inquiringly. Ellen had calmed somewhat and her blush was gone.

"I want you to draw her pussy wet and wide open," I instructed Mike as I stroked Ellen's neck from behind. Mike gulped and nodded, sighed and smiled.

"OK. Let's do that, " he said.

I knelt again in front of my beloved, moved her bottom to the very edge of the chair. I stroked her labia with my thumbs and separated her pubic hair to reveal her glistening pussy. I inserted my tongue into her hole and then all about her nib, eating of her essence and listening to her moans, holding her legs in place as she twisted her hips, grinding her pussy into my face. She was near orgasm but I did not want her to peak then. I stopped and she whimpered.

"Trust me my dear," I said as I stood, "a little longer." She was in the throes of her passion, her white face ruddy with excitement and she turned her eyes from mine and looked at Mike, and as she looked at him she rubbed her clitoris and licked her lips. Mike was overwhelmed and stood up, his erection tenting his pants and he adjusted himself as my wife smiled at him, stroking herself and looking right at his crotch.

I moved behind Ellen once again, reached down and gently moved her hand away from her wet swollen pussy, admonishing her. "Darling, it's time for a sketch." She whimpered again and rested her wet hand on her thigh, stroking its inside languidly. Mike sat down and began the third drawing.

While Mike sketched I thought about how far I wanted to go with this, and more importantly, how far my dear Ellen wanted to go with this. I didn't want any bad feelings afterwards in the form of regrets one way or another -- regret that not enough or that too much transpired. I decided to take things farther but only to a point.

When Mike finished, he put the sketch with the other two and looked up at me. Were we finished? No. We were not. Ellen was still in quite a state, and had been rubbing her wet pussy again since Mike had laid his pencil aside, grinding her hips and panting like an animal. This woman was my wife? I had not known her as well as I thought.

"Stand up," I directed her. She stopped frigging herself and stood up, her dress and brassiere dropping to the floor. She stepped out of them and stood naked and panting quietly in front of Mike and me.

"One more drawing, Mike, if you don't mind." I said.

He nodded. "I don't mind at all."

I had always had a secret desire for Ellen's bottom in a way that she had always welcomed, but that I resisted out of my own sense of prudery. We never discussed it and I never pressed it, but she knew I considered her little rosebud to be "off limits" and that this sort of sex play was too extreme to be admitted by me as a pleasure. I walked over and stood next to Mike's chair.

"Turn around." I instructed her. With a flash of reluctance she obeyed and stood for moment with her back to us. I was amazed at how much more beautiful she seemed to me than usual because with another man present the experience was all new and charged with a strange passion.

"Bend over." I ordered, but she did not respond. "Honey, trust me. I know why you hesitate and I ask you again to bend over. I want you to grab your ankles." A few seconds elapsed and I wondered did I go too far. Slowly, she complied, and at last she stood bent over with her lovely white cheeks slightly opened before us. I stepped to her and massaged her still wet and swollen pussy from behind. She moaned and flexed her cheeks in rhythm with my massage. Finally, my hand liberally soaked with her juices, I withdrew it and turned, standing next to her now but facing Mike I cupped her buttocks and spread her cheeks, slowly exposing her pink anus to Mike, who was now holding his breath in anticipation. Ellen moaned, and I could not tell if it was for pleasure or humiliation, though I sensed both in large measure. With an index finger I slowly traced the rim of her anus and after a few turns, gently placed the pad of my finer over her rosebud and pressed. I was inside her. Slowly I withdrew and poked again, moving in and out.

'My dear, Mike is watching me finger your ass. He has an erection."

With that she shuddered and moaned, moving her ass back and forth to meet my finger as it violated the space. I remember she whimpered, almost inaudibly, "Oh, John! What are we doing?"

After a few moments I withdrew my finger and ordered her to stand up again and face us, as I moved back to join Mike who stood up.

"Did you like Mike watching me fuck your ass with my finger?" I asked her. She looked at Mike and nodded yes.

"I want him to draw your asshole while I finger you."

"Okay," she said in a small voice and looked down at Mike's crotch.

"Get on your hands and knees now darling," I said, and she complied. "Turn around so that your ass is facing us," I corrected and again she complied.

I kneeled next to Ellen, facing Mike. "Mike, you can take out your penis and stroke it while I finger Ellen's ass."

He said not a word, but removed his trousers and underwear, sat on the chair and stroked his cock, which was no larger than my average sized penis. I wet my finger with her juices and inserted it again in Ellen's ass, moving it back and forth, and then two and then three fingers spreading out the rosebud of my Ellen's ass. With my other hand I occasionally massaged her clitoris, always conscious that Mike should have a clear view of his subject. Mike, reluctantly, picked up his pencil and commenced to draw, finishing quickly. My wife's scent filled the studio, and her moans and gyrations increased until she was once again on the verge of climax. I stopped. Mike was massaging his cock, standing now.