This story is inspired by, stolen from, or (as they say in the
Art world) homage to the wonderful, much longer story by
quinn rogan, "Linda's All-Over Tan"
(http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=28930)
. I read that story and so liked some of its ideas that I began
to think of small variations on parts of it. I extracted only a
small part of the total set of actions, changed the
motivations, and rewrote it as the fantasy took me. The
result, below, is frankly a rip-off. But, as the saying goes,
there are only seven original stories, and six of them are
stolen. So with apologies and thanks to quinn rogan, here's
my version of one of his ideas.
The Piano
by Margery Pinchwife
mpinchwife@yahoo.com
(c) Margery Pinchwife, 2002
Martha and I had been married for 17 years. We had
decided, even before we married, that we didn't want any
children and never regretted that decision. It turned out to
be a particularly good decision because, with me only
earning a low-level civil servant's salary and Martha unable
to find a full-time job, we were barely able to make ends
meet, and certainly wouldn't have been able to if we had a
child to care for and Martha couldn't work. Lack of money
was a continuous problem for us.
Martha's part-time job in a library had the virtue that
it left her time to indulge her passion, playing the piano. We
had, by dint of careful husbanding of our resources,
somehow managed to buy a used upright piano at which she
spent hours almost every day trying to master more and
more difficult pieces. The piano didn't have a great tone to
it, and we couldn't afford a professional tuner - I learned
how to do a creditable job, but could never get the high
notes quite tight enough - but Martha still managed to
produce some beautiful music. She was really quite talented
and would have profited immensely from first-class lessons,
if only we could have afforded them. Martha's skills were
well beyond the point where she'd get any benefit from any
piano teacher within our financial reach. Still, she kept at it
doggedly and it brought us both a lot of pleasure.
Fortunately, the library had a rather extensive collection of
sheet music, so at least we were spared that expense.
It was while she was working at the library that
Martha met Susan, who had come in looking for some
obscure piece of music. Susan, it turned out, also played the
piano and, while Martha was hunting down the piece of
music, they had had a very enjoyable discussion about music
that ended with them exchanging phone numbers with the
promise that they'd get together for lunch sometime soon.
Barely a few days later, Susan called to invite Martha
to her house for lunch, an invitation that Martha readily
accepted. When she returned late in the afternoon after the
lunch, Martha was ecstatic. First, she and Susan really got
on with each other. They had had a wonderful time just
talking to each other. Martha sang Susan's praises and felt
that Susan reciprocated the feeling of admiration. Second,
although Martha had known by Susan's expensive, tailored
clothes when they first met that Susan was well-to-do, it
turned out that that was a major understatement. Martha
was enthralled with Susan's house.
Susan lived in the most elegant section of town.
After leaving the public road, Martha had driven down a
long, tree-line avenue, eventually coming to a large circular
drive in front of the house. The house was build of yellow
stone, a two-story middle section with one-story wings on
either side. To enter, Martha had mounted the two steps to
the large front door. From there she had looked back at the
landscaping, which was done in the "natural" manner,
woods and trees and grassy areas all designed to look
natural. Susan had given Martha a little tour of the garden,
during which she saw that there were charming "viewing
points" throughout the garden from which one could look
back at the house and get a lovely scene. This landscaping
surrounded the house, broken only in the back by a kitchen
garden on one side, a path leading to the garage, and a large
swimming pool surrounded by a patio with tables, chairs,
and air-mattresses for sunning.
But what appealed most to Martha was one of the
few rooms she got to see inside the house. It was a high-
ceilinged music room containing a grand piano and
decorated with wall paintings of satyrs and nymphs romping
through a garden, very much like the one around the house,
and accompanied by fawns playing pan pipes. The
windows, which the paintings surrounded, looked out on
the garden, giving the appearance that these wood creatures
were actually in Susan's garden. This was a far cry from
Martha's "music room" at home - a large but low-ceilinged
room that was shared by her upright piano and my small
desk, decorated only with a print of Vermeer's "The Music
Lesson," and with a view of a bus stop.
They had had a small, elegant lunch evidently
prepared by Susan's cook and served by her maid. They had
talked music for hours and Martha had even tried sight-
reading one of the pieces Susan was working on. And what
excited Martha the most, Susan was taking lessons from the
rather renowned Madam Obolovsky. Every Tuesday
morning, Madam Obolovsky would come to give Susan her
lesson, and Susan had invited Martha to come and watch
next Tuesday's lesson.
Martha walked on air for the rest of the week in
anticipation of that lesson. This was as close as she was
likely to get to anyone of Madam Obolovsky's stature. She
was sure that she would learn from just watching the lesson,
in addition to the thrill of seeing Madam O teach.
On the morning of the lesson, although all she
expected to do was sit quietly and watch, I could see that
Martha was nervous. But when I got home from work, it
was an entirely different story. If she had been ecstatic after
her lunch with Susan, she was out of her mind that evening.
It took quite a bit of calming her down before I could get the
full story from her in any coherent fashion. First, when she
got there she had met Susan's husband Peter, who it turned
out would stay around to watch the lesson. He was, Martha
told me, basically ordinary looking - well-built with a full,
dark head of hair but with otherwise plain features -
however his air of quiet confidence, which undoubtedly
reflected his wealthy upbringing, made him look rather
attractive. Then, Madam Obolovsky turned out to be more
wonderful than even Martha had expected. In addition to
being able to draw out the absolute best from Susan, who
was quite a respectable pianist according to Martha, Madam
O had also shown an interest in Martha when she learned of
Martha's piano playing. She had insisted that Martha play
the piece that she had sight-read at the previous lunch, and
had then been extravagant in her praise. More, she had
offered to take Martha on as a student. Because of time
constraints, she could only offer her lessons right after
Susan's and at Susan's house. She told Martha what her
price was and invited her to call if she was interested.
Martha had been in seventh heaven with the offer,
even though she knew that she couldn't make that
imposition on Susan and that, in any event, we could never
afford it. It just thrilled her to receive that kind of praise
from Madam Obolovsky. What happened later, after
Madam O left was even more exciting.
They had decided to eat lunch on the patio. The
meal had been prepared ahead by the cook, but Susan had to
serve it because "Tuesday is the servants' day off." While
Susan was inside getting the lunch, Peter had taken
advantage of their privacy to encourage Martha to accept
Madam O's offer. In his quiet yet forceful manner, he
dismissed Martha's concern about the imposition and, when
Martha admitted that we couldn't afford the lessons, insisted
that he'd pay for them. His motivation, he said, was that
Susan didn't make friends easily, that she had spoken so
highly of Martha to him during the past week, and that the
cost of the lessons, though perhaps beyond our budget, really
was completely negligible to him. Martha, of course,
declined his offer, but he insisted. He explained that their
wealth had always stood between Susan and the possibility
of friendship with people she liked, that this time there was
an opportunity for the money to actually help the friendship
develop, and that there would be no obligation on Martha's
part other than to enjoy herself. Susan would really enjoy
having Martha visit every Tuesday and would profit by
watching Madam O teaching Martha. Additionally, Peter
knew that Susan would love to spend the rest of the
mornings with Martha and have lunch with her. It would
really make Susan happy. He insisted that he wasn't
offering this for Martha's sake but rather for Susan's.
Eventually, Martha agreed that she would discuss it with me
and let him know.
By the time I had got home that evening, Martha had
convinced herself that it would be ok to accept Peter's
generosity and was ready to convince me. I wasn't happy
about accepting Peter's charity. It seemed to me to be way
out of line, but I could see how much it meant to Martha and
I knew how badly she had been wanting lessons from a
really good teacher. Really, I had very little choice, I had to
go along with it. As soon as I agreed, Martha was on the
phone, first to Susan and Peter and then to Madam
Obolovsky. A half hour later everything had been set up.
Her first lesson would begin the following Tuesday, right
after Susan's.
That Tuesday turned out to be a beautiful day. It was
pleasantly warm late April day, the sky was a cloudless blue,
wild flowers were in bloom throughout Susan's garden, and
Martha was more nervous than she had been on our wedding
day. In the evening she gave me a full report. Madam
Obolovsky had spend much of the first lesson getting to
know Martha's capabilities, her strengths and weaknesses,
always offering praise and encouragement, but not hesitating
to correct faults and point out weaknesses. It was just what
Martha needed. On the basis of her observations, Madam O
had laid out a plan for the next several weeks, choosing
pieces for Martha to practice that would let her work on her
biggest needs. Following their two lessons, Martha and
Susan had been exhausted. Since it was such a beautiful
day, Susan had suggested they go for a swim in the pool. Of
course, Martha hadn't brought a bathing suit, but Susan
insisted that they never wore them. They were completely
isolated, out of anyone's view, and there were just the two of
them there because the servants were off, as they were every
Tuesday. So they had spent the rest of the morning naked,
first swimming and then lying out on mattresses by the pool
and sunning themselves. In order to avoid the damage of the
sun's rays, Susan had been well prepared with sun-block,
which they had applied liberally, each doing each other's
back. Then they had lazed around for several hours.
Eventually, they had dressed and Susan had brought out a
salad for lunch. It was well into the afternoon before Martha
got home and by then she was sufficiently relaxed that she
could begin to attack the homework Madam O had assigned.
Of course I asked what Susan looked like naked.
Martha gave me an arch look and would only say that Susan
had a "lovely, large-breasted body," but would not provide
further details.
So the two of them developed a routine. Every
Tuesday, Martha would go to Susan's early enough to watch
Susan's lesson. Then, after Martha had her lesson and
Madam O had left, they'd take off their clothes, put on their
sun-block, go swimming, and then lie around in the sun until
they were ready to dress and eat lunch. It wasn't long before
I could hear the improvement in Martha's piano playing. I
had never seen her happier.
Then, one Tuesday evening in May, Martha said that
something embarrassing had happened. After their swim,
Martha had closed her eyes and was enjoying lying naked in
the sun, when she suddenly heard Peter's voice coming from
right next to her. She had opened her eyes and seen him
standing there, fully dressed in a business suit and tie,
looking at her. Having nothing to cover herself with, she
had made a futile attempt to hide her breasts and crotch with
her hands. Peter, on the other hand, had shown no signs of
embarrassment. Quite the contrary, he had continued to
look at her boldly and admonished her for trying to cover up.
"You have too beautiful a body to cover up, you're very
attractive, you know" he had said. "Besides, I've already
seen you and in any event I'm leaving now. I just came to
remind Susan about the dinner tonight." Somehow, it had
then seemed silly, or pointless, to try to cover herself with
her hands, so Susan had, reluctantly she said, brought her
hands down by her sides. Peter looked for another moment
or two and then left. When Martha had spoken of her
embarrassment to Susan, Susan had belittled it. "We always
swim nude here, even when the servants are around," she
had said, "so Peter just took it for granted. It didn't meant
anything." She had managed to get Martha to admit that we
had once been to a nude beach and said it was just like that,
nothing to fuss about.
Still, it bothered Martha and she didn't know what to
do. She wanted to continue with her friendship with Susan,
and she certainly wanted to continue the lessons, but she
didn't know what she should do about Peter. I wasn't
terribly fond of Peter staring at the naked body of my wife,
but I knew how much the lessons and Susan meant to her.
"Well," I said, "just check if Peter's around before you take
off your clothes next time." This simple solution seemed to
satisfy Martha and any further misgivings disappeared as she
turned her attention to her piano exercises.
The following Tuesday evening, I asked Martha if
Peter had again been there that day. "Yes," she replied
somewhat hesitantly.
"So what happened?"
"We all took off our clothes." She was blushing
now.
It seemed that Peter had come in sometime during
Martha's lesson. She hadn't noticed him there until Madam
Obolovsky was leaving. He had praised Martha for her
playing and then, after a little more small talk, had said
"Why don't we all go for a swim?" At that point, he and
Susan had begun taking off their clothing. Martha said she
had felt that it would be rude and ungrateful to reject them
now, so she hadn't thought she had any choice but to join
them. At first she had felt very self conscious in Peter's
presence, both of them naked, but after a half hour or so of
his looking at her and her somewhat more surreptitious
looking at him, she got used to the nudity, and they spent the
rest of the morning comfortably swimming and sunning.
"So you looked at him?" She nodded. "Did you like
what you saw?"
"He's got a good body and..." she turned away from
me, "he's rather big."
"Big." I could only repeat her word.
"He hangs down pretty far." She paused. "Do you
mind my looking at him?"
I didn't mind her looking at him, it was his looking
at her that disturbed me. But, thinking back to our nude-
beach experience, I convinced myself that it wasn't that big
a deal. Certainly not in comparison to the joy that she was
getting out of her lessons and her friendship with Susan.
"No, I don't mind. Look all you want." I said, with
as big a smile as I could muster.
My reward was a hug and a kiss, which led to
considerably more. So I guess I had to thank Peter's big
cock for some pretty exciting sex that night.
Thereafter, that became the new routine. After every
lesson, Peter would show up and the three of them would
swim naked and then lie around in the sun. Despite the sun-
block, Martha was developing a modest tan and seemed
pleased that she had no tan lines. Her piano was progressing
nicely and her happiness was reflected in everything she did.
This included our sex life, which seemed to grow richer and
fuller in proportion to the joy she was feeling.
It was shortly after this that Peter raised the issue of
the piano. It seemed that they had what he called a great
opportunity to upgrade the piano Susan had been using.
Although the new piano would be expensive, Peter's
accountants had worked out a way that, by taking advantage
of various tax laws, would allow them to get the new piano
virtually without cost. The plan depended, however, on
Martha and I having enough room for the old grand piano
that she and Susan had been taking their lessons on. If we
did, and Martha readily acknowledged that we did (we'd
have to move my desk into the bedroom, but she was sure I
would go along with it), and were willing to give up the
upright that we owned, then the following deal would work.
Susan would get the new piano. She, in turn, would rent her
current grand piano to Martha. Martha would pay for this by
giving Susan the upright plus $1 per year. This rental would
include not only the use of the grand piano, but the regular
professional tuning of it. Somehow, because of the
peculiarities of the tax laws plus whatever they could get for
our old upright, this would save them enough to virtually
pay for the new piano.
Of course, for Martha, it meant she'd have a real
grand piano to practice on instead of the inadequately tuned
upright. It would also get me out of the tuning business. It
seemed like a boon all around. Still, I had reservations
because it seemed we'd be even more obligated to Peter and
Susan. In addition to getting the Madam Obolovsky lessons,
which they were paying for, Martha would also be playing
on their piano. We'd have given up the one we owned for
one that, strictly speaking, would belong to Peter and Susan.
But I couldn't refuse Martha this wonderful opportunity
when it would so obviously mean so much to her. So we
agreed and Peter quickly arranged for the piano swap. For
his tax purposes, we had to sign a formal rental agreement,
in which we gave them our upright and agreed to pay the $1
per year.
The next day, Martha was playing in our home on
the grand. Aside from the fact that it was tuned better, the
sound was so much richer and fuller that it almost brought
tears to my eyes to hear her so happily playing on it.
A few weeks later, another change in routine
occurred. Normally after they had undressed, Susan would
put the sun-block on Martha's back first. Then Martha
would do the rest of her body and then do Susan's back.
This Tuesday, however, before Martha could start on Susan,
Peter had taken the sun-block from her. Susan had lain
down and Peter had spread the sun-block over her back.
However, he hadn't stopped there, but had started on her
buttocks and the backs of her legs, even in the crack of her
buttocks. Susan had then turned over and Peter had put the
sun-block all over her front, including her breasts and
nipples, and between her legs, giving ample attention to her
labia.
Then, Susan had returned the favor. Peter had lain
down on his stomach and Susan had rubbed sun-block all
over his back, including between his buttocks. Then he had
turned over and Susan had done his front, even his genitalia.
She had rubbed the sun-block into his scrotum fairly
carefully, and then poured more sun-block into her hand,
wrapped her hand around his prick, and stroked it from top
to bottom. Since her fingers didn't reach all the way around,
she had had to do this several times to be sure to cover it all.
All this in full view of Martha. Finally Peter had got up, his
rigid prick sticking out, and they had all gone out to go
swimming. On the way out, Susan had said to Martha
almost innocently, "He once got a sun burn there, which was
pretty awful, so he doesn't take any chances now."
My first thought, when she told me this, was that
Martha should quit. But now there was the piano in addition
to the Madam Obolovsky lessons and the friendship with
Susan. When I commented on Peter's exhibitionism, she
said, "Well, if you had a prick that size, I bet you'd be an
exhibitionist too." When I questioned whether she should
continue the lessons, she looked at me longingly, her eyes
begging me to let her continue. Seeing that she didn't take it
very seriously, I couldn't refuse her. If she was willing to
pay the price of tolerating Peter's behavior, I couldn't deny
her what meant so much to her.
And so, for every succeeding Tuesday, well into
July, after the piano lessons Martha would watch Peter
fondling Susan as he applied the sun-block all over her
body, and then watch Susan rubbing sun-block all over his
body, finally with particular attention to his balls and cock,
ensuring that when she was finished he'd have a large,
raging hard-on.
Being erect seemed to be Peter's goal. All through
the morning, as they would swim or lay in the sun, he would
stroke, or fondle, or embrace Susan. These gestures seemed
to help him maintain his erection pretty much the whole
morning. Susan had not seemed at all embarrassed by this
display of erotic affection. Martha said she tried not to let it
bother her and, after a while, had got used to seeing Peter
rigidly sticking out.
While I was not at all pleased by this sun-block
rubbing, I had to admit that Martha had never been happier
and, surprisingly, neither had I. Martha's happiness was
reflected in her every action, which naturally made my life
more pleasant. Further, her improving technique and
confidence at the piano filled the house with more and more
wonderful music, music that she passionately threw herself
into. Nor was that her only exhibition of passion. Our love
life, especially the sex that went with it, was now fuller,
more varied, and more rewarding. These were good times,
indeed, for which we were both willing to tolerate a little of
Peter's exhibitionism.
Then, early in August, the next step happened.
Susan had been lying on a mattress, enjoying the sun. Peter,
his penis erect, had sat down beside her and begun stroking
her breasts. This always embarrassed Martha, she said, so
she had turned away. When she had happened to turned
back a few minutes later, she had discovered Peter kneeling
between Susan's legs in the process of thrusting his now
ever-present erection into Susan's cunt. Martha had let out a
gasp and turned away again, but Peter had insisted that she
turn around. "Don't turn your eyes away from love," he had
said. "Turn away from violence, from hate, from brutality,
but never from love." He had begun thrusting in and out of
Susan. "Sit down here and watch the most beautiful act in
the world," he had insisted. Not wanting to argue under the
circumstances, and fearing that to turn away now would be
taken as an insult, Martha had reluctantly sat down and
watched the rutting couple, watched Peter's ass rise and fall,
faster and faster, watched Susan's legs wrap around Peter as
if to pull him further into her, watched as their passion
became more and more audible, and watched as they came
to their impassioned climax.
She had sat there rigidly, motionless until they had
finished their love-making, decoupled, risen, and gone
inside. After a few moments, she had hesitantly followed
them in to where they were dressing. There she had quickly
pulled her own clothes on. Then Susan had put out lunch as
if nothing unusual had happened and they had all eaten
without any reference to what had just gone on.
When Martha told me about this, I felt that I had to
do something. Watching Peter with a hard-on was one
thing, but I could not tolerate the idea of Martha being a lone
voyeur for Peter's fucking, even if he didn't actually touch
her. However, figuring out what to do to prevent this was
not so simple. The obvious thing would have been to end
the lessons, but considering how much they meant to
Martha, I felt that I couldn't do that. There had to be
someway for her to continue without being subject to this
kind of behavior.
It finally occurred to me that if I were to accompany
Martha to Susan's, ostensibly to listen to the lesson, Peter
would be unlikely to continue as he had. Further, I thought,
in the unlikely event that Peter did continue in my presence,
I'd be there to shield Martha, to establish what the
boundaries had to be. If Peter were to embrace Susan, I
would embrace Martha, making it clear that any sex Martha
would be involved in would be with me. If Peter were to
somehow insist that we watch him fuck Susan, then Martha
and I would watch as a pair. In short, I would convert
Peter's bizarre three-person sex into two pairs of ordinary
two-person sex. If that, in the extreme case, turned out to
involve Martha and me screwing while Peter and Susan
watched, so be it. At least it wouldn't be just Peter and the
two women. However, I was reasonably confident that it
would never come to that. In my presence, I felt, it was
exceeding unlikely that Peter would be such an exhibitionist.
I felt that nothing beyond some nude swimming would
occur. Further, I felt that one visit would be sufficient to
establish my presence and get Peter to behave, so I wouldn't
have to go every week.
The problem was that for me to get off from my civil
service job on even one Tuesday was not easy. It was our
busiest day of the week and to get off would require a series
of approvals. Except in a medical emergency, which I could
hardly claim this to be, it would take at least a couple of
weeks for the approvals to go through. The sooner I started,
the sooner I'd get the approvals, so Wednesday morning,
first thing, I put in the request.
The next Tuesday, everything was the same - the
undressing, the sun-block, the caresses of Susan, and finally,
Peter kneeling between Susan's legs, about to fuck her.
Martha had tried to busy herself elsewhere, but Peter had
called her over.
"I know why you turn away, you feel left out."
Martha had stammered something. She certainly
hadn't wanted to participate.
"Did it excite you last week, watching us make
love?"
She hadn't wanted to reply, but when it became clear
that Peter was going to wait expectantly for an answer, no
matter how long it too, Martha had reluctantly admitted that,
yes, she had felt a certain amount of excitement.
"Well, then that's it. Sit down here, watch us, and as
you feel the excitement, react, express yourself, stroke
yourself, bring yourself along with us. Won't it be
wonderful if we all three climax together."
Peter then had slid his prick into Susan and begun
humping her. "Go on," he had called to Martha, "stroke
yourself, enjoy the pleasure."
She told me that it was somehow a command she
couldn't refuse. The excitement of the sexual tension, the
visual stimulus, her sense of obligation, all had combined to
reinforce the command. As Peter's large cock had slid in
and out of Susan, Martha said her hands almost of their own
accord had begun moving on her body. One hand had softly
fondled a nipple, first gently stroking it, then as it hardened
pulling on it, twisting it, squeezing it. The other hand
somehow had found her crotch, fingered her labia, and
starting rubbing her clit, softly at first, then harder, in time
with the beat of Peter and Susan's panting bodies. "I lost
control," she said, "I stroked faster and faster until Susan's
orgasm set off a chain reaction and we all came together."
After they had all calmed down, Peter had risen and
helped the two women up. "That was so nice," he had said.
Susan then had kissed Martha on the cheek as they had gone
in to dress and set up the lunch.
This story upset me terribly, not only for the intimacy
that Martha had shared with Peter and Susan, but because it
had even exceeded anything Martha had ever done with me.
"You've never masturbated in front of me." I said
that evening, when she told me about the day's events.
"It's wrong, I know it's wrong," Martha said. She
paused, hesitated, and then finally said, "But I have to admit
that...well, that I enjoyed it. All day I've been thinking
about it and the more I think about it, the hornier I get. I
could hardly wait for you to come home." She came at me
then with a passion. And during our subsequent activities,
she showed me what she had up to then only showed Peter
and Susan. With me, however, she didn't have to bring
herself to orgasm. I was there to help her.
By the time we had finished it was too late to start
making supper, so we sent out for pizza.
In spite of the good sex, I felt frustrated. However,
as my day off was still more than a week away, so there was
nothing I could do for the time being besides grumbling to
myself while I waited.
The next Tuesday Martha went to her lesson as
usual. The lesson had been one of her best yet, she said, and
after it there had been a repeat of the previous week, except
that this time Martha was a more willing participant. For a
change, Susan had been on top of Peter, her large breasts
swinging from side to side as she rose up and down on him.
Peter's eyes, however, had been fixed on Martha. Martha
admitted that she was so excited that she had actually turned
and spread her legs to give Peter the best view as she rubbed
her cunt in time with Susan's humping on Peters stiff prick.
This time Martha had started to come first, but her gasps had
quickly set off a reaction in Susan, whose violent trembling
had brought Peter to his climax. Martha said she couldn't
help but return their smiles as they were getting dressed.
Understand me. I was furious that Martha was
involved in these threesomes, even if she kept her distance
from the other two. But insofar as I could tolerate it, the rest
of my life was good. Martha was happy. She somehow
managed to avoid consideration of those events and spent
her time concentrating on the piano and on making life
better for both of us. She derived tremendous satisfaction
from the musical progress she was making, and that
satisfaction brought me pleasure. It would have been the
best of days for me if only I could suppress those images of
her masturbating in front of Peter and Susan while they
fucked. In short, I was happy when I wasn't in a black funk.
My approval for a day off finally came through, so
the following Tuesday I accompanied Martha to her lesson.
She was not keen on my coming with her. Before we left
the house, she looked at me and almost tearfully begged,
"don't spoil it." She understood and agreed with my plan,
but she was worried that somehow I'd do something that
would mess up everything. I told her that I expected that my
presence alone would end the exhibitionism/voyeurism, and
that even if it didn't, I'd do my best not to create a scene.
The lessons were wonderful. Madam Obolovsky
worked lovingly with Susan. Susan would play a passage,
then Madam O would suggest that she play a little slower
here, a little louder here, and so on. Susan would then repeat
the passage and the difference was palpable. Where Susan
had trouble playing a difficult sequence, Madam O would
patiently get her to repeat it, giving her words of
encouragement until Susan got it right.
With Martha, the lesson was of a different sort.
Whereas with Susan, Madam O had talked about technique,
with Martha it was about emotion. What was the piece
"saying"? How did it express itself to you? How else might
one interpret this passage? What do you feel at this point?
Then, when Martha played, the music seemed to sing with a
life of its own, somehow changing from a mechanical
pressing of keys to an emotional experience. Madam O was
clearly pleased. She said that she was glad that I had come
because Martha had passed a milestone that day. She felt
that Martha was now ready for a recital and maybe, after
that, even a competition. If Martha wanted, Madam
Obolovsky would try to set up the recital for early October.
Martha was delirious with joy. "Of course," Madam O
added, looking a little questioningly, "this would involve
some extra expenses."
Before Martha or I could react, Peter said "Oh, that's
no problem,"
"Good, I'll have my assistant call you about possible
dates and next week we can talk about what you might
play." Martha gazed open-mouthed as Madam Obolovsky
gathered her things and left.
There were congratulations all around. Susan
embraced Martha. Peter insisted that he get some
champaign and put it on ice to celebrate at lunch. And
Martha looked as if she didn't know what was going on. For
Madam Obolovsky to ask her to do a recital meant that
Madam O thought Martha was playing on the highest level.
From practicing alone on an upright, she had improved to
the point where she would play for Madam O's friends in
the music world, she'd gain recognition, she'd really be a
pianist. It might even be the start of a career. It was all too
wonderful for her.
After he had put the champaign on ice, Peter said,
"Let's go swimming," and immediately began undressing.
Susan was not far behind him and a moment later Martha
started to strip. She gave me that "don't spoil it" look, so I
had no choice. It was clear that my presence was not going
to inhibit the nude bathing. I hadn't really expected that it
would and had previously resigned myself to the likelihood
of this, so I went along and took off my clothes, taking
advantage of the opportunity to admire Susan's "lovely,
large-breasted body.".
A few minutes later we were all naked and Peter was
spreading sun-block on Susan. I had brought extra sun-
block to allow Martha and me to put it on ourselves at the
same time Peter and Susan were doing each other. So while
Martha was putting sun-block on herself, Peter was putting
it on Susan's nipples. And as I was putting it on me, Susan
was rubbing it onto Peter's stiffening prick, which, I had to
admit, was certainly large. I was really unprepared for this.
Deep down I had not expected this stimulation to happen in
my presence, so had made no plans for what to do. I stood
there helpless as Susan's fist stroked up and down on his
cock.
While she finished, I resolved to make sure that I
would be ready for Peter's next move, which I could now
easily anticipate. Peter would, as he had in the previous
weeks, fuck Susan and expect Martha to participate
somehow. I would be there for that, I thought, as we all
went out to the pool.
We took a quick swim and then lay down in the
warm August sun. From time to time, Peter would fondle or
embrace Susan. Somehow, despite my planning, whenever
Peter did that, Martha would be on the other side of them
from me, so I couldn't embrace her to reaffirm that she was
my wife. It was evident to me that these exhibitionist acts
were having their effect on Martha. Although she did her
best to conceal it, I knew her well enough to notice that she
was moderately excited by them. Still, Peter hadn't done
anything really outrageous, just some petting that had better
have been done in private, I thought, and his omnipresent
erection. I didn't know if he'd actually start fucking Susan
in front of us, but I'd want to be next to Martha if he did, so
I started paying closer attention to all our positions.
"Susan and I are so proud of Martha," Peter said. "
We talked about this just now and we've decided that we'd
like to give her a little gift in celebration. We'd like to buy
her a suitable dress for her recital. Susan would like to go
shopping with Martha later this week to pick one out."
Martha, of course, protested that she couldn't accept that,
that they had done so much for her already, that today Peter
had further volunteered to cover the extra expenses of the
recital, and so on. But Peter, with Susan's backing, insisted
on it.
"Really, we look on you as our discovery, our
protegee, and it gives us great pleasure to help you. Seeing
you progress so marvelously is more than enough pay back
for the little that we've been able to do. We really want to
do something special for your special occasion and this
seems the best way we can express our joy in your success."
There was no way to refuse, so Martha thanked them and
she and Susan agreed on a day to go shopping. Martha's
resistance had undoubtedly been weakened by her thoughts
of Susan's exquisitely tailored clothing and the mental
images that evoked of what they might get for her to wear at
the recital.
Eventually, Susan asked me to help her set up the
lunch at a table in the shade. Martha was sunning on a
mattress on the far side of the pool and Peter was standing
close to Susan. He obviously couldn't start fucking Susan if
she was with me, so I felt safe going with her into the
kitchen to gather up the table cloth, napkins, plates, and
silverware. As I came back out, I saw that Peter was now
sitting on the mattress with Martha, talking quietly with her.
It was unclear what he was doing because his back was to
me and blocked my view of what, if anything, might be
going on. Concerned, I wanted to move closer for a better
view, but without being too obvious in case it was all very
innocent. I was very conscious of my promise to Martha not
to "mess things up," so didn't want to make a scene if they
were just sitting there talking, but I was conscious of the
slight flush that was developing on Martha's face. Susan
helped me by asking me to bring out the ice bucket with the
champaign. I hurried to do that, thinking that I when I
brought it out I'd have a perfectly good excuse to get closer
to them on the far side of the pool, as that was where the
champaign needed to go.
It took longer than I had expected. Susan wanted me
to pour off the melted ice and add some fresh ice to the
bucket and in my haste to do so I managed to spill ice cubes
all over the floor, which I then had to clean up. When I
finally managed to return to the pool area, there was no
longer any ambiguity about Peter's actions. His mouth was
at her breast, capturing her nipple, while his hand was
fondling her pussy. This, of course, was beyond
exhibitionism and voyeurism, and I wasn't about to tolerate
it. I put the ice bucket down and hurried towards them,
intent on stopping this at whatever the cost. I was only
about three steps from them when Martha looked at me.
Her "don't spoil it" look brought me to a screeching
halt. Suddenly, I was in a quandary. On the one hand, here
was Peter playing with my wife's tits and cunt in front of my
eyes. On the other, there were the lessons, the piano, the
recital, the dress, the career. I stood there frozen, unable to
move, until Susan placed a chair next to me, facing Martha
and Peter, and gently guided me to it. Weakly, I sank into it.
I sat there paralyzed and watched as Peter slid his
finger in and out of my wife's cunt. Susan lightly rested two
fingers on my shoulder, as if symbolically to restrain me in
my chair, and I could do nothing but stare. I could see that
Martha was responding as she always did when finger-
fucked, pushing up her pelvis as if to capture more of Peter's
finger, her hand resting on his head, holding it to her breast.
Susan, her fingers still barely touching my shoulder,
said in a voice just audible yet unmistakably clear, "Martha
is giving us so much pleasure."
And then I knew...
It was finally obvious to me as I watched... Peter
positioned himself between my wife's legs and brought his
mouth to her cunt.
The realization hit me as clearly as if it had been
printed in bold letters on a billboard in front of me.... Now
it was his large, stiff cock pressing against her labia.
I knew as well as I had ever known anything in my
life... His prick slid into her and began to hump in and out.
I knew clearly... they had bought us. They owned us
completely.
THE END
Comments? Please write to me at
mpinchwife@yahoo.com