The Lamp Ch. 05

What would Francesca have done in Jenny's place? Jenny felt she knew. Francesca would simply have done nothing; she would have let Paolo set the agenda and given herself to whatever Paolo wanted. Francesca hadn't been a stranger to sex; she was married to Paolo's brother. She loved Paolo's brother, Jenny was sure -- the problem was Francesca loved Paolo too, and right then she was naked in his arms.

Martin began kissing Jenny's neck. He hadn't forgotten, not even after all these years, exactly where her weak spot was. Lordy, it felt good. So good. So very good. Jenny was kissing Martin all over his face as her hands went through his rich blonde hair. How had she ever let Martin get away? Wait a minute -- was he ever really hers? She had known throughout their affair that his heart most of all belonged to Mary. So why was he with her? Who cared? For these twenty minutes he was hers and more importantly she was his.

Jenny was nervous. She had stressed to Martin earlier that penetrative sex was off the table. She was loyal to her husband Marc and she was staying that way. If Martin tried anything she would scream, get up, and destroy the show. She would also never speak to him again. She tried to stress she was deadly serious about these matters. She knew she had always been putty in his hands, but she was sure that this time it would be different. Now she was mature, she was married, she was her own person and not some cute little submissive bimbo Martin could seduce on a whim.

As Jenny had those last thoughts Martin's mind was on other, more basic things. There was a move he had always made with Jenny when she would sit naked on his lap. He knew that her muscle memory knew the move well. What he did not know was how now -- six years later and with Jenny married -- she would respond. He resumed kissing and fondling her until she was reduced to a simple puddle of hormones. They had been kissing and petting for close to 15 minutes when he made his move.

Grabbing Jenny with both hands at the top of her hips he picked her up into the air. She was still a featherweight and she felt like she was floating in the air as Martin turned her around so that she faced the spectators. Her legs fell to either side of Martin's legs, opening her up so all could see her glistening pussy and her throbbing nipples. As he lifted her higher into the air, Jenny closed her eyes, soaking in the bliss of being gently manhandled in such a way.

A thorn in the bliss of what Martin was doing to her erotic being was the humiliation of exposing herself, with her legs apart and her wet pussy wide open, in full view of the men at this perverted art installation show.

As Martin slowly let Jenny descend, both he and Jenny knew what was going to happen. Martin's hard, erect cock stuck straight up, awaiting the arrival of Jenny's wet, sweet pussy. His cockhead seemed to kiss Jenny's labia as they parted in welcome. The rest of Martin's cock slowly slid inside Jenny as Martin -- exercising extraordinary control -- lowered Jenny tantalizingly slowly onto his cock.

Suddenly realizing she was once again fucking Martin, Jenny opened her eyes wide in horror. No! She had expressly forbidden this. She had said she would scream, get up, and leave if Martin tried anything like this. Jenny was horrified as she found herself being lifted up and back down, up and back down, up and back down again. Martin was fucking her -- fucking her -- in front of all these men.

Holy smoke, Jenny thought. The shame, the shame, the shameful horror of it all. Vomit began to rise within her as she realized that she and Martin were fucking for an audience. She could feel the flashes of the photographer's camera through her closed eyelids. Mortified by the horror of it all, she was nevertheless not doing anything to stop it, nor to protest. Instead, she could feel an orgasm building.

Jenny gradually realized she was not in fact horrified by this disgusting performance of public sex. No, rather she was turned on. Her humiliation at making her husband a cuckold in front of so many of his Skull and Bones friends and acquaintances she found to be arousing. She found it very arousing. She found it extremely arousing.

The promised scream came out of Jenny's mouth, bubbling up from her innermost core. It was not however a scream of protest but a scream to accompany her over-the-top orgasm, an orgasm like none she had ever had before. Later, upon reflection, she realized she was lucky to be seeing a therapist because, as God was her witness, she needed help. Dr. Smithfield, looking on, knew Jenny needed therapy, but he also knew that this was the sexiest sight he had ever seen. And this little, fucking sexpot was his patient, too. Remarkable. His very own patient who would come in for her weekly session the very next day, Monday, at 2:30 PM.

Jenny had sympathy for Francesca, now dwelling in Dante's Second Circle of Hell. More significantly she had empathy for her. Martin wasn't Marc's brother, but she, Jenny, was most certainly Marc's wife, and she wondered if Marc would take arms against this sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. Ending them would be killing her and possibly Martin, too. Get a grip, she told herself. This isn't 15th century Demark. No, it's 2023, and in this day and age there are remedies less drastic than murder. Divorce, for example. Might she prefer Marc to kill her than to divorce her? Could she continue to live without Marc's love? Why did this have to happen? Why did she agree to do this? Why did Marc let her do it?

Jenny remembered how Marc had suddenly had an attack of virility as this moment approached. Even now as she rose up and down on Martin's hard cock she saw quite a prominent lump in Marc's slacks. Was he turned on by his wife being a hussy? Was he turned on to watch her fucking to an audience of some 50 or so people, almost all of them men? What was going through her lover's, her husband's, her Marc's mind?

All these thoughts while she was in the middle of fucking Martin Savage. Aptly named he is, Jenny thought -- a true savage in every sense of the word. Good riddance, Jenny thought. Lois rang the antique bell towards the end of their fuck but Martin went right on fucking her as she approached her second climax. Holey Moley she thought as Martin finally went rigid and sprayed his load inside her in front of God, Skull and Bones, his wife Mary, Johnny Goode, Lois, Kathy Tohoku, everyone else, and most of all Marc Claudet, her loving husband.

Lois of course saw what would become infamous as the Great Gallery Fuck of East 10th Street and she rang the bell again, this time as if the bell were tolling. Send not for whom the bell tolls, thought Jenny; it tolls for me. God help me.

Jenny got off of Martin's rapidly deflating cock, leaking a little of his cum onto Martin's thighs and knees until she could stand, and almost collapsed as her legs gave way. Two good orgasms can do that to a girl, or at least they did it to Jenny just then. She looked at Marc; was that love she could see in his eyes? She didn't see hate, nor contempt, nor murderous intent, but rather simply love? She gave her lopsided smile she gives when she is hopelessly nervous, or anxious, or upset, and Marc gave back his own smile. Jenny knew that smile. Things were good, and Marc forgave her her trespasses. She wondered why or how he could, and then she wondered if she could forgive her own trespasses herself.

She wondered just how awful Dante's second circle of hell actually was. How would it feel to struggle endlessly and forever against an unrelenting tempest? It doesn't sound pleasant. Well, maybe Dante was wrong. What did he know, anyway? What does anyone really know?

Jenny ran to Marc who rose to greet her and who embraced her with a loving hug. In contrast, Mary turned her back on Martin and he was ignored by everyone, even by Kathy Tohoku. Mr. Goode came over to congratulate Jenny on her two performances, as did Lois, still holding the antique bell. One of her fingers covered the clacker to prevent the bell from ringing as she moved. Some of Marc's friends from Skull and Bones came to congratulate her too, enjoying her nudity as Marc held her in his arms. He pressed his erection against her, and when he did Jenny knew they were going to be okay.

Jenny exhaled and went to the back room to get dressed. As she walked her naked ass was stroked and fondled by quite a few men, and two men caressed her boobs, but she let it all roll off her back and dressed in the back room.

Then she reentered the main room of the galley and quickly found Marc. "Let's go home, lover," Jenny said. Marc put his arms around her and led her out to an Uber he had ordered, and off they went. That night they dined at quite a nice restaurant on the Upper East Side. Neither of them mentioned the events of that afternoon; they just gazed into each other's eyes enjoying being deeply in love.

Later that night as Jenny lay in bed next to her spent lover and husband, listening to his regular breathing, she became lost in thought. She had always felt the call of France, and so it was no surprise when she went there for her junior year abroad. When Marc had discovered both her and her uncanny resemblance to the long-dead libertine Francine de Chamonix, her life had changed dramatically.

Indeed Francine seemed to haunt her and that sculpture of her as a lamp had drawn Jenny and led to so many events, most of them worthy of a libertine. Was she a reincarnation of Francine? She chuckled at the thought; she knew reincarnation was bunk. But still -- and if she were a reincarnation and as such a libertine, would she get it on again with Martin Savage? No, certainly not. He was finished. Jean-Pierre, on the other hand, well ...