Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Drawing It In by Ovid Susan and Robert Hunter lived in England, in a small town outside London. We had met them on a tour in Russia and discovered that we all got on well with each other. We shopped and went to dinner together with them when we had free time from the tour and really enjoyed each other's company. After the tour we corresponded with them. When we wrote that we were coming to England for a few weeks' vacation, they were delighted and insisted that we spend at couple of days with them at their house. So one morning, after we had been in London for a week, Susan and Robert picked my wife and me up at our hotel. Susan, her dark hair up in a bun and her face hidden in sun glasses on one of the few English days for which it was appropriate, was wearing jeans and a loose denim shirt. Robert had on a red, plaid flannel shirt and dark gray pants. He had light brown hair that must have once been blond, and it looked like he had driven with his window down, for his hair was blown every which way. They suggested we do some sightseeing on the outskirts of London, have lunch at a pub they liked, and then continue sightseeing on our way to their home, which we'd reach in time for tea. Then, they had tickets for the local theater production, after which we could have a late dinner. It all sounded great, especially as it was one of those warm, sunny days that make you want to reread all that poetry about the English country side. We were looking forward to a wonderful day with old friends. The sightseeing was fun and the lunch was hearty, fortified by a bit too much real ale, so we were in great shape. Throughout the day, Susan continued her sketching. As in Russia, she always had a little sketch pad with her - it was her way of taking pictures. They lived in a lovely little cottage in an area that was as close to country as you can get that close to London. The cottage was made of yellow Cotswald stone. In front of the house was a small garden, a bit of lawn surrounded by roses in full bloom. My wife, the gardener in our family, remarked to Susan on how beautiful it looked. "Oh, Robert's the gardener," Susan said. "You should see what he's done out back. He's got veggies and everything. He'll give you the tour later." The house was decorated with Susan's oils and sketches, which we both commented on and admired. I told Susan that my wife used to draw and paint. She had also taken courses in college in both drawing and painting. When we were first married, she made ink drawings for our Christmas cards and invitations. But as the quotidian demands of life increased, she had less and less time for her art and had not picked up a sketchbook in years. When Susan heard this, she got out another sketch pad and insisted that my wife try sketching again while we were having tea. We had tea in their sitting room, which doubled as a dining room. It was a small cozy room with windows looking out on the roses in the front garden. There was a small table and four chairs in the center on a gray Axminster rug, with roses around its border. There was a couch upholstered in rose and gray facing the window, a sideboard along one wall, and on the opposite wall, what they called an electric fire - a fake fireplace with an electric heater built into it. Dominating the room, over the sideboard, was a portrait of Robert that Sue had painted. So over tea, while Susan did a sketch of me, my wife tried her hand at Robert. My wife was rather discouraged with her effort, but Susan was very encouraging. "For someone who hasn't sketched in years, that's very good. There's a lot of talent showing. You just have to regain confidence in your line and get your eye a bit more back in practice." Following a few of Susan's pointers, my wife managed to get quite a respectable picture of Robert. Then we looked at Susan's picture of me. It was wonderful. With a minimum of lines she had somehow captured me. We asked to see the other sketches in Susan's book, so she turned back to the beginning and showed them to us. They were almost all of Robert. The first several pages were of his head and upper body, dressed in a loose shirt, opened at the collar. Then there were pages showing all of him in various everyday clothing, rapidly drawn, as if she had captured him in snapshots as he went around the house. Then began a series of nudes of him - standing, sitting, lying in various positions. These sketches were extremely well done, with a lyric eroticism pervading them. He was tall, on the thin side, but well-muscled, and she had captured the three dimensionality of his musculature with deft shading. She also had studies of parts of him - his hand, his elbow, but mostly his prick. Her sketches showed the loving effort she had devoted to his prick. One sketch, in particular, showed his prick and balls in full detail. Susan's three-dimensional shading that even indicated the veins running along his prick. Minute detail showed the crinkles in his ball sack, the seam that nature had closed it with, and even a dark birthmark on it. Around all this was carefully detailed pubic hair, which then faded off with the rest of him barely sketched in with a minimum of lines, as if his body was an ethereal frame, there only to support his more corporeal genitals. "I just love Robert's cock," Susan said, turning to my wife. "Isn't it a lovely cock? Not too big and not too small. Cleanly circumcised, so the ridge is pretty. All in all, just right." My wife reddened a bit and finally agreed, "It's a lovely cock." She wasn't used to talking about her friends this way. Susan continued turning the pages. Now the sketches of Robert showed him with an erection. Again, they were surrounded by studies of his prick in full tumescence - studies drawn from all angles, with a variety of techniques, but all showing the adoration Susan had for Robert's prick. "Robert is such a joy to sketch. He's a perfect model. He can hold a pose forever. Why don't you try sketching him?" Susan said to my wife. "Robert, take off your clothes and pose for the lady. Come," she said, turning to me, "you can give me a hand moving this the table out of the way and onto the porch. It looks like it will be a perfect evening for eating on the porch when we get back from the theater." And somehow, before either my wife or I could say anything, Robert was stripping and Susan was fussing about the lighting. With Robert standing naked in front of her, there was little my wife could do to cover her embarrassment other than sit on the couch and start sketching as Susan and I moved the table. So I helped Susan move the table to the porch, and then moved the chairs out, and then I helped her get some food ready in the kitchen for our late dinner. By the time we got back, my wife was working on her third or forth sketch, and Robert was standing there with a full-blown erection. His prick, stiff and sticking straight out from his groin with just a hint of an upward curve to it, had a purple bulbous end. A large vein meandered along its upper length, while a fine mesh of blue capilaries gave the shaft an overall bluish tint. The birthmark on his balls was clearly visible. "Oh, that's lovely," cried Susan, whether in reference to my wife's sketch or Robert's prick was not clear. Susan turned her attention to the sketch and then looked at the other sketches my wife had done. "I can already see improvement. You're getting your confidence back. You should do some more later today and by tomorrow you'll be up to your old form. Why don't you let Robert show you his veggie garden now while your husband models for me? Robert, go put a bathrobe on and give her the grand tour." Then, turning to me, she added, "Get out of your clothes and stand over there where the light is good." Susan's take-charge way overwhelmed us. Before I really thought about it, I was taking off my clothes and Robert had slipped on a bathrobe and slippers and disappeared out the door with my wife. Suddenly, I was alone and naked with Susan. For a while, Susan said nothing, except to change my position, or to remind me not to move when holding a pose. Then, without looking at me, she asked, "Why do you suppose Robert had the hardon? Hmmm?" She paused. "Do you think maybe someone gave him a little help?" I didn't know what to say. Susan had a way of catching me off-guard, asking a question or making a statement that I was utterly unprepared for. Unfazed, she went on. "She was awfully close to him. Do you think maybe she reached out her hand and ran a finger along his cock? Maybe she cradled it in her hand and helped it get stiff." She looked up at me and smiled. "Maybe she even ran her tongue along its length, or gave it a kiss on its tip. What do you think?" And she winked. The image of my wife handling or licking Robert's prick got to me. My own prick responded by swelling up, so it was as stiff as Robert's had been. Unlike Robert's, mine stuck out and up from the groin at a steep angle, and the head of my prick was more conical in shape, less bulbous than his. Susan sketched rapidly. I took a deep breadth and hoped that my prick would soon subside, but Susan kept it up. "He doesn't usually get a hardon when he poses for me. I have to get him started. Sometimes just a caress is enough, but sometimes I've got to take it in my mouth to get him rigid enough for the picture I want." Consequently, when my wife returned from her tour with Robert, I was sticking up like a flagpole and thoroughly embarrassed. My wife looked a little embarrassed, too, even before she saw me, and Robert looked a little different than he had when he left. As if his robe had been opened and hastily retied differently. "We better wash up and get dressed if we're going to get to the theater on time," Robert said as he came in the door. "It's very informal, we can wear what we were wearing during the day." Susan put down her sketch pad and my wife and I were bundled off to our room to get ready, but not before looking at the sketch Susan had just done of me. It was amazing. Somehow, in a picture that looked very much like me, without concealing my bodily flaws, she had instilled an energy and vitality that I didn't feel I'd had in years. The man who's image stared out at me from the page of Susan's sketch book was alive and sexy, an adjective that I would never have thought to apply to myself. "My, that must have been exciting," my wife said in the privacy of our room. "What was going on?" I told her of Susan's comments that had elicited my erection. "What went on with you and Robert?" She said she was just sketching him and not really talking, when she noticed his prick beginning to move and expand. She didn't say anything and didn't know how to behave, so she just kept sketching and he kept growing. "Maybe he was remembering some experience with Susan when he posed for her," she suggested. "Or thinking about having the same experience with you," I thought but didn't say. In the garden, he had showed my wife the various plantings. It was a lovely large garden, part formal with lawn and bushes and the ever-present roses and, behind, a large vegetable patch. They had discussed gardening with her until they came to a little gazebo. He told her that Susan had found a dictionary definition of a gazebo "An erection in a garden" - and that got him on to the subject of his prick. "Susan's got a fixation about my cock," he'd said. "She loves to draw it in all its configurations. If it's not hard enough for her, she drops her sketch pad and makes sure it reaches the rigidity she wants." He'd gone on like this, to some embarassment to my wife, when she noticed that he was getting erect again. First she could see the bulge under is robe, and then his prick had stuck out through the robe's openning as if he was unsuccessfully trying to conceal one of his large, long zucchinis under his robe. Robert had gone on discussing Susan's cock fixation for a few minutes more and then suddenly realized he was sticking out. "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry," he had muttered while he retied his robe to cover his prick. Then he had quickly changed the subject, "We'd better be dressing for the theater. It's getting late." My wife said she would have been even more embarrassed had he not previously been standing naked in front of her only a little time before. All in all, this was a side of the Hunters we hadn't seen in Russia, and we were pretty confused as to what to do. They were catching us off guard at every turn. Well, at least at the theater things should be normal, unless it was one of those 60s audience participation in the nude sort of thing, we joked. It turned out that the play was a perfectly normal play, but they still managed to catch us, me in particular, off guard. It was a small, local theater. Robert said that they wanted us to see how good community theater could be in England. The building was small, evidently a converted barn in which they had installed a stage at one end and a number of straight rows with an aisle on either side. Our seats were in the first row on the extreme right. Susan insisted that my wife enter the row first, so that she would have the best seat, closest to the center. Then Robert went in, followed by Susan, with me on the aisle. So, Susan was on my left, there was nothing in front of me but the stage, and on my right was nothing by the aisle and a wall. This geometry is important for what followed. No sooner had the lights gone out and the play started, than I felt Susan's hand on my crotch. At first I thought it had happened by accident, but when I tried to move away, she got a grip on my prick and wouldn't let me move. I looked at her and saw that she had placed her large purse in her lap in such a way that no one on her left could see what she was doing. She was looking straight forward at the play, as if she had no idea what her right hand was up to. I tried to move her hand, but she wouldn't let me. Any stronger attempt on my part would create a fuss and call attention to what she was doing. That was the last thing I wanted to do in the theater. I couldn't say anything while the play was in progress. All I could do is resign myself to her groping. But it was soon more than groping. With amazing dexterity, she had unzipped my pants and her hand dove into my fly. A moment later she had my prick out and was rubbing it up and down. Whatever I thought, my prick is always beguiled by a woman's hand, and was promptly sticking straight up. Well, I thought, at least no one can see. However, I was mistaken there. Although the lighting keeps the actors from seeing much of the audience, we were in the first row and enough light from the stage leaked out that we were visible from that corner of the stage. As one actor came over, he must have noticed us, for he suddenly forgot his line. He stuttered through it finally, all the while staring at Susan's hand massaging my prick. Then he tried to position himself so the actress he was playing against would have to move in our direction. Evidently that wasn't what the script called for, so she resisted. Eventually, however, he managed to maneuver her close to us. The effect was startling. Her mouth dropped, she stared at us, and she completely ignored the speaking cue he had given her. Susan's hand went rapidly up and down, her face looking at the actors with apparent rapt attention, while he repeated the cue. Finally, the actress responded on the third cue and then stumbled through the rest of the first act. Fortunately, the end of the act came before I did. As soon as the curtain started down, Susan removed her hand and I immediately zipped up my fly. When the lights came on, Robert rapidly ushered us to a table they had reserved for tea. Susan's only comment was "My, wasn't that an exciting first act." I, of course, had no idea what the play was about. They served us tea and cookies on dainty English china, and the Hunters managed to keep the discussion on the food and the English tea habit and how it was giving way to coffee. When we returned to our seats, I instantly crossed my legs, covered my crotch with the program, and folded my hands over that. Susan wasn't getting in there during the rest of the play if I could do anything about it. In fact, she didn't even try. All her attention seemed riveted on the play, which I now tried to figure out. So the only thing unusual about the rest of the play was that the actors kept passing though our corner of the stage and looking in our direction, no matter what the script called for. Driving home, Richard driving in the front with my wife, and Susan in the back with me, we discussed the play. We agreed that the level of acting in England, even in this small, local theater, was much better than what we usually saw in the U.S. My wife said the acting really amazed her, but wanted to know what was going on during the first act when the actors seem to forget their lines. I was thinking of what to respond when Susan candidly answered, "Oh, I was playing with your husband's prick and they noticed." My wife turned around sharply, and Susan went on with a smile, "It's incredible how they can keep the play running no matter what you do. It's sort of like the royal guards at the palace of St. James, who stand stiff and unsmiling no matter what kind of faces you make at them." Robert took Susan's admission as if it were perfectly normal, while my wife seemed to be struggling for words. She looked questioningly at me and I all I could do was shrug my shoulders as if to say, "That's Susan." The discussion went no further, for by then we had pulled into the driveway of the Hunter's home. We all washed up and Susan brought out a lovely cold supper onto the porch. There was smoked salmon, followed by a cold quiche and a salad of fresh vegetable from Robert's garden, with a chocolate mousse for dessert. We ate listening to the quiet noises of the English countryside, with the smell of the roses seeping in. By the time we had finished supper, along with a bottle or two of white wine, and were working on the brandy, we were all pretty relaxed. Susan turned to me and said, "Why don't you and Robert clean up? I want your wife to model for me." So Robert and I cleared off the dishes and began washing them, and Susan and my wife disappeared into the dining room. During one of my trips between the porch and the kitchen, I looked in and saw Susan sitting on the couch sketching my wife, who stood totally nude in the middle of the room. The electric fire had been turned on against the cool of the evening, and the red light that it cast on her seemed to emphasize my wife's nakedness. Seeing her nude, with all the rest of us dressed, gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, so I quickly returned to cleaning up. After we had washed the dishes, Robert sent me back to the porch to get the chairs. On the way, I looked in again. Now, no doubt at Susan's instigation, Susan was posing nude and my wife, clad loosely in a bathrobe, was sitting on the couch sketching. I stared at Susan. Although not exactly thin, she had a lovely form. Her breasts were fuller than they had seemed in the loose shirts she wore. They sloped gently down from her shoulders, like giant tears running down her chest. They had large pink areolas, each crowned with a nipple of a slightly deeper red. Her waist was perhaps thicker than ideal, but her hips were beautifully rounded. Her thighs were smooth and solid, and at their juncture lay a bush of dark, thick, curly hair. All her pubic hair seemed to curl in one direction, giving her a slightly asymmetric look - the hair all ran horizontally toward the right, and then curved and flowed down to her cunt. It looked like an artist might have done it as a way of drawing attention to her cunt, and I wondered if Susan had trained her hair to do that. She had unpinned the bun on her head and let her hair fall freely. It hung to just below her shoulders, and she had tilted her head so it all hung on one side, over her shoulder and curved slightly so that it drew your eye to her tit. It was a splendid sight. "She is quite lovely, isn't she?" Robert had silently come up behind me and almost scared me out of my wits with his question. "Quite," I gulped in response, and we went out to get the chairs. When we finished straightening up, we rejoined the women. My wife had just finished her sketch, and you could see the strength and confidence of her line improving with each sketch she made. It was an altogether satisfactory sketch of Susan. But Susan's sketch of my wife was something else again. It was incredible. She had drawn a picture of my wife that was both accurate and blatantly erotic. She hadn't made her a Playboy centerfold, but the slight spread of her legs and the look in her eye that stared up at me from the page gave an overall impression of sensuousness, and made me look at my wife with new eyes. It gave me a feeling about her that I hadn't felt since the time when we were first discovering each other's body. It was breathtaking. When I told Susan how erotic I found the picture, her response was, "You like erotic? I'll show you erotic. Here," she pulled the robe off my wife and had her pose again. "Robert, get off your clothes and pose with her. He wants me to do an erotic picture." As always, when Susan wanted something done, it got done quickly. Almost immediately Robert and my wife were standing naked in the middle of the room. Susan put them in a loose embrace and then kept changing their positions. The effect was that Robert's prick kept rubbing against my wife's leg and every time it did so it got a little harder. At the same time, my wife's tits would brush against his arm or chest, and her nipples were getting firmer and firmer. By the time Susan had settled on a position, Robert was fully erect. Robert's left arm was around my wife's shoulders and his right hand rested on her hip. Their bellies lightly touched each other, with his stiff prick sandwiched in between. My wife's right tit was pressed against Robert's chest, while her left nipple barely kissed it. I could see how enlarged that nipple was and how puckered the areola around it had become. Her hands were gently touching the sides of his chest, the right hand higher than the left. Looking at my wife in this pose gave my stomach the feeling it gets when the elevator drops. My breathing threatened to stop. "I found all this nudity terribly exciting," my wife told me later, "so when Robert was rubbing his prick up against me, and I could feel it growing, I began to get very stimulated and damp between my legs. I was thinking that you and I were going to do some serious fucking when the sketching was over. Then, when we were pressing his rigid prick between us and I could feel it throb and feel the slick wetness seeping from its tip, the fucking dominated my mind, but who it was to be with got less and less clear." Looking over Susan's shoulder, I could see the sketch rapidly forming as she sketched with quick, sure motions. The sketch wasn't erotic, it was downright pornographic. It didn't take her long to get just enough lines in just the right places to convey exactly what was going on. Then she put her pad down and turned to me. "Alright," she said, "you can't be the only one dressed. Get out of your clothes. You and I are going to pose for your wife. Here," she said, turning to my wife and handing her the sketch pad with her finished sketch, "you try your hand at some pornography." As usual, Susan's wish was our command. My wife settled down with the sketch pad at one end of the couch without even bothering about the robe. Robert, his prick still sticking out, stood beside her so he could look over her shoulder at her sketch. Susan had me lie on my back on the Axminster rug and, on all fours, she straddled my legs, her head just above my prick. She looked around at the lighting and then made me turn a little so the electric fire would illuminate her face. I was to look at her face while she looked down at my prick. I was in a state of only partial erection, but Susan quickly cured that. She dipped her head down just a little so that her dark hair fell on my prick. Then, turning her head slowly from side to side, she dragged her hair back and forth across my prick. This "hair job" felt as if she were caressing my prick with a feather. It didn't take long for my prick to be sticking up rigidly, precum oozing from its tip. My breathing started to catch again. Susan then flipped her head back so the hair no longer blocked the view, and began staring at my prick as the pose demanded. The admiration in her eyes, however, seemed more than was required. Holding the pose, I guiltily looked over at my wife. If any of this bothered her, she didn't show it, for she was busy sketching with a rapid, confident motion of her pencil. But of course Susan, being Susan, wasn't satisfied. She rapidly lowered her head and took a quick lick with her tongue across the head of my prick. In an instant her head was back up in the pose, but now her eyes seemed to be laughing. I cast a glance at my wife. She still held the pencil to the sketch pad, but it wasn't moving. She stared at us. Again, Susan's tongue flicked across my prick head. She did this three or four times. By this time, my wife had lowered both the pencil and pad and was just staring at us. Robert's hands had begun a slow massage of her shoulders. Then Susan ran her tongue the length of my prick, from my balls up to the tip. My wife continued to stare. What was happening to us? I began to think, but immediately stopped thinking as Susan's mouth engulfed the head of my prick, her tongue swirling around it, licking off the precum that it continued to emit. Then, she took a little more in, so her tongue could circle around it on the ridge of my prick. I felt the urging in my balls, impelling me to thrust my prick all the way into her mouth, but I resisted. I looked toward my wife, giving up all pretence of maintaining a pose. She had dropped the pad and pencil and continued to stare. By now Robert had leaned forward and his hands were on her breasts. His left hand was gently clutching and squeezing her left tit, the tit just filling his hand. With his right thumb and index finger, he was rolling her right nipple back and forth. It stuck out hard and red. But my wife seemed to be concentrating on Susan's head, which had now captured half my prick and was sliding up and down on it, her lips pressing tightly. My hips were now responding to Susan's cocksucking. My ass tightened and I began to thrust my pelvis forward to get my prick further into her mouth. But Susan placed her hands on my hips and held them. As always, she was going to control the action. Maintaining her own pace, she raised and lowered her head, gradually taking in more and more of my cock. She almost had it all in now. My hands were now on her tits, kneading them and pulling on the hard nipples. Again, I looked toward my wife. Robert had moved around in front of her and was kneeling between her legs, his head at her snatch. I could see his head go up as his tongue ran along her thighs, and then down as he licked around her labia. The red light from the electric fire illuminated her cunt and made the swollen labia seem ever redder than they were. The juices on her cunt glistened in the light. His tongue caressed her labia. Then he pushed his head further forward, and although I couldn't see, I had no doubt that his tongue was delving deeply into my wife's cunt. Still, she stared at us. Susan's head was now moving rapidly up and down my entire shaft. Her tongue swirled along the length of it and then, when her head was up, flapped back and forth across its tip. I was pulling and rolling her nipples, and thrusting my prick up as high as I could, trying to keep it deep in her mouth. I could feel the pulse in my balls and felt ready to cum. Sensing this, Susan slowed her pace. Robert wasn't slowing his pace. He had moved my wife so she lay along the couch and was kneeling on the couch between her legs. His left thumb was rapidly rubbing small circles around her clit, while he slid two fingers of his right hand in and out of her cunt. She was no longer staring at us or, indeed, at anything. Her eye's were closed, her right arm thrown across them. Her left arm trailed off the side of the couch. Her head whipped from side to side while he pumped his fingers in and out of her cunt, and her breasts flowed from side to side across her chest in rhythm with the motion of her head. She was thrashing up and down, pushing her pelvis up as if trying to force her cunt further onto Robert's fingers. Seeing my wife so completely given over to another man's actions gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my chest, almost akin to terror. The adrenalin coursed through my body. Wait, I thought, she's mine. But it was precisely because she was mine that her reactions were so exciting. I could share in her pleasure, I could watch her body taken over with sexual passion in a way I never had before. This feeling of shared pleasure, this passion, this terror, all combined with the excitement that Susan was eliciting with her lips and tongue on my prick to drive me to a level I had never felt before and that I almost feared. Somehow aware of this, and not fully ready herself, Susan released my prick from her mouth and, together, we watched how Robert was driving my wife wild. Robert now moved up between my wife's legs and inserted the purple, swollen tip of his prick between her labia. My wife's pelvis thrust upward, trying to grab at that prick, trying to clutch it. It seemed somehow bigger, fatter, and more alive as he slowly began to sink it into her. As if to avert any qualms I might have about watching another man's prick being driven into my wife's cunt, Susan suddenly prevented me from watching by covering my eyes with her tits, which now hung pendulously above my face. She had mounted on top of me, her wet, warm cunt was fully ready and slipped down easily, drawing in the head of my prick. This was no longer the time for slow teasing and tantalizing foreplay. I quickly grabbed one nipple and started sucking it, while I thrust my prick further into her cunt. I could feel the muscles in her cunt clutching and grasping my prick as she lowered her pelvis and completely engulfed my prick. Now the room was filled with the sounds of sex. I could hear Robert grunting and my wife moaning as his prick slammed into her over and over. I could hear the slaps of Susan's thighs as her downward motion slapped them against mine. I could hear my own breath coming more and more rapidly as I sucked Susan's tit into my mouth and ran my tongue around the nipple. And I could hear my heart beating more and more forcefully as I listened to my wife's passion. Over and over I heard her moaning louder and louder. Then she suddenly let out a yell, an inarticulate cry that she screamed again and again as her body spasmed. This was soon joined by Robert's yell of "Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, YESSSS." Susan was next. With a series of loud "ungh"s, her head whipping from side to side, her dark hair flying across her back, she repeatedly raised her ass and thrust down. Then she began to cry "Oh, oh, oh," and her eyes closed, her mouth grimaced, and seismic tremors raced through her body. I responded by thrusting my whole body upward, from my toes, trying to force my prick deeper into her body. My arms wrapped around her back and I could feel the explosion starting to rumble in my balls. Two more thrusts and it ran through my prick and erupted into her. Wave after wave roared from my balls up my prick as I pumped load after load into her cunt, which now ran with our juices. I have no idea what sound came out of my lips, but I heard a cry of "Aaaaggh!" echoing and reverberating around the room. Then all was silent. All four of us lay there still. The only motion in the room was the silent flowing of the sweat, cunt juices, and cum across our bodies, glowing in the red light of the electric fire. When we left two days later, Susan presented us with two of her sketches. They are now framed and mounted on our bedroom wall. They are the two erotic nudes that Susan had drawn and we had admired so much, one of me and one of my wife. They look at each other and at us down on the bed, and they serve to remind us how to look at each other. THE EN