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And with that weekend, a pattern, of sorts, was set.
I knew I had given my wife permission to have a lover. It felt good. I had done it because I loved her. Yes, I’d loved playing with her and Lindi, but as I had made clear over lunch that day, I did not want to play gooseberry, or be a third wheel where they needed only two.
Lindi had looked at me.
“You are one dark horse Pixie.”
“Thass, me!” I’d giggled.
“It would have been the lies and the deceit,” I added, “which would have killed our marriage.”
I meant that. I was well aware that in the judgement of many, what I had just sanctioned would have been beyond the pale. Had I really, volunteered for this, or was I making the best of it?”
Call me “perve,” Claire often did, but the state of my knickers when I thought about the two of them together told its own tale; I got something of a thrill from this too. Prone to over analyse as I was, I refused to go further. Time alone would tell.
Lindi and Claire went running that afternoon, and then fucked when they came back. I had dinner ready for the three of us.
“You make a good wife, Pixie,” Lindi said.
“Why thank you Miss,” I joked. “I have some prep to do for tomorrow, so if you two want to go and be along, do, I shan’t mind.”
I smiled as they dashed off to devour each other.
About an hour later I finished my prep for tomorrow’s teaching and took myself off to the spare room. As I settled into bed, I could hear them clearly through the wall.
‘Whose bitch are you Claire?”
“Yours Miss Lindi.”
Then I heard them, Lindi grunting as she pushed in and fucked my wife, and Claire moaning as she was taken – hard by the sound of it.
“And now you are mine really, your wife is fine with it. Fuck, she’s such a kinky little bitch.”
“Oh, oh Miss, that feels so good, yes, yes she is, fuck yes, don’t stop!”
Then there was more grunting and moaning, and I could hear the firm thump of Lindi pushing into Claire’s sexy arse.
“Do you like being my bitch, Claire!”
“Fuck yes, yes!”
“Have you ever subbed before?”
“No, no, only to Pixie last night!”
“But you like this don’t you – take it, hard, fast, now!”
My hand was wet. Subconsciously my fingers had wandered into my boy shorts, and I was fingering myself. I brushed my clit gently, circling round her, rubbing yourself in a circular motion, not too fast, not too hard, just enough to make the tingle increase. As I listened, my nipples ached, so I pinched them, then, realising I was making a noise, tried to keep my mouth shut – eventually grabbing a pair of my knickers and pushing them in to muffle the noise. Mind you, given the noise from next door, the chances of them hearing me we pretty low.
“Oh Miss, Miss, I need to cum, please!”
“Who owns you?”
“You do Miss!”
Then another grunt and moan.
I slipped a finger in, just pressing between my lips, pushing against the bone with my palm. It was no good. Claire was not the only one who needed to cum. Toys were fine, but sometimes a girl just needed her fingers – and external aural stimulation, along with a vivid imagination. As I heard my wife cum hard, I followed suite, moaning into my knickers.
That felt better, I reflected, after calming down. I really should brush my teeth again, I reflected – but as the next thing I remembered was the alarm on my phone going off, I must have dropped off at that point.
As “the girls” as I had come to think of them, had a later start than me, I served them tea in bed and gave them both a kiss.
Claire looked at me.
“You really okay with this?”
“Yes darling,” I said, kissing her then Lindi.
And that was how it began.
Even irregular liaisons settle into their own routines, and I was just glad there was an end to the “working late” nonsense. If Claire and Lindi wanted each other, they only had to say. I was not altogether sure that depriving them of the frisson of secrecy helped them, but it helped me.
Lindi had her own place, but she came round to ours a couple of nights most weeks, and sometimes Claire would go over to hers. They suggested a couple of times that if I wanted, we might repeat the threesome, but I was, for the moment, happy to let them develop their relationship.
On the nights when she was with me, Claire was much more interested in sex than she had been for some time.
“You know,” she told me, a few nights later after we had both cum hard, “you’re a gem. It sounds so bloody selfish, but I’m glad you allow Lindi and I.”
She kissed me.
“You know I jilled myself the other night?”
“My little wanker girl?”
“Yes, Miss Claire.”
“Was it hot?”
“What, mersin escort listening to you get fucked by Lindi, and being her bitch?”
“Fuck, you could hear that?”
“They could hear it across the road!” I joked.
“Oh fuck, that’s so hot. My little wanker girl, wanking for us.”
“Sod that,” I moaned, “I was doing it for me, you egotist!”
“Want,” she said, diving down the bed, pushing open my thighs and beginning to lick me. She looked up:
“Better by tongue?” She grinned.
“Much!” I grinned back.
As her tongue swirled around my clit, and her finger pushed itself into me, I knew that I was going to need to cum again. But she knew how to edge me and teased me for ages before, the nectar dripping down my thighs, she said:
“Now?”
With that, she sucked hard and twisted her finger in me. I came again, and how!
It seemed as though our cuckquean adventure was, if anything, strengthening our bond.
Claire asked several times if I wanted a lover. But I declined. It seemed too clinical. If it was to happen, it needed to be organically. And so, as it transpired, it was.
A month or so after Claire and Lindi became acknowledged lovers, an opportunity fell into my lap, so to say.
Arriving at School as usual, just after eight, the School secretary told me that she had cleared my dairy for noon, as Chloe Smith’s grandmother wanted to talk with me.
Ah, dear Chloe. She was very bright, but seemed, sometimes, awfully lost. Of course, the passing of her mother last year had not helped, and her father, long divorced, was not part of her life. Jacquie, her grandmother, had taken her in and, by all accounts was doing a grand job. I had seen her sometimes at parents’ evenings, self-conscious about being that much older. She seemed both very fond of her granddaughter, and to be doing her best in unpropitious circumstances.
Moira showed her in at noon.
She seemed nervous.
“It’s a bit like being summoned to the Head’s office,” she said, with a slight giggle, “not that I was a bad girl. Course, back then you could still get six of the best!”
Nervousness took people in strange directions, I thought, and made due allowance for that.
“Oh heck, that wasn’t the best of starts, was it? Sorry Miss Hoffmann.”
I laughed it off, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“Well, it was an unusual way to start. Ah, Moira, thanks for the coffees.”
Moira gave me one her “best of luck, and rather you than me” looks.
“So, may I call you Jacquie?”
“Oh yes!”
“Well do call me Pixie. What can I do for you? It’s about Chloe?”
Jacquie looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her up.
“I. I didn’t know who to talk to. Usually, it would be my priest, but, well, I couldn’t, not about this, you understand?”
“I would, if I knew what ‘this’ was”
“Oh sorry, Miss Hoffmann.”
I let it pass, she was so nervous I wanted to hug her and tell her it would be okay.
“Well, I know that Chloe is eighteen and all that, and of course the world is not what it was when I was that age, but, well, she has been looking at pornography on the computer. I found it when I logged in.”
Silly girl, I thought, she really needed to hide her tracks if she was doing that on the home computer.
“As you say, Jacquie, that is not unusual.”
“Yes, Miss, but it was, well, it was women, doing it to each other, sex, I mean.”
Part of me wanted to sweep the poor thing up in my arms and say there were worse sins in the world. But I stayed in deputy-head mode.
“Well, Jacquie, that’s not unusual nowadays.”
“But, well the Church says it is unnatural, and I don’t want my granddaughter harming herself like that.”
“Harming herself?” I asked. “Was there something illegal going on in it?”
“Oh no, nothing illegal, but there were pictures of ladies doing it to each other, and spanking and the like.”
By now she looked like a cross between a beetroot and a rabbit caught in the headlights – were such a thing imaginable (I really should find better metaphors – note to self).
“And what do you want me to do about it, Jacquie? Strictly speaking it is nothing to do with the school.”
“Well, erm, there were also some texts from just after her birthday party to someone called Jen, who she describes as her girlfriend. Is she one of yours?”
“We have several Jennifers and Jennies,” I replied, honestly, “and I think I know which one Chloe likes, but that is her business, Jacquie.”
“But if, well if they are doing IT on school premises, it would be, yes?”
She seemed very agitated.
“Yes, and if you like, I shall have a discreet word with Chloe, but that might mean mersin escort bayan your visit here getting out.”
“Oh, no, no, I just, I just needed someone to talk to. You are very easy to chat to, Miss Hoffmann. The girls are fortunate.”
“Thank you, Jacquie, and do call me Pixie. Did you know I was gay?”
She looked at me stunned, her head down, her face burning.
“I am sorry Jacquie, is this making you uncomfortable?”
“It’s not something I’ve ever considered till I saw those pictures.”
That was not the response I had been expecting. Antennae went up.
“The pictures?”
“They made me feel warm inside, the pictures and the videos, I mean.”
“What were they doing?”
“They were kissing and touching each other and other things.”
This was beginning to feel like a confession she needed to make. Was this about Chloe, or herself?
“How did that make you feel Jacquie?”
“it made me feel that maybe men don’t have all the answers.”
“Well I could not speak to that – never having been with one,” I replied.
Jacquie was crossing her legs nervously, and I could see her engorged nipples pushing through her bra and blouse.
“I take it you have never done anything like that?”
“Oh no.”
“Does it really seem unnatural to you?”
She seemed unable to answer.
“Chloe, like many young women, and older ones for that matter, may well have thoughts about other women, there is nothing unnatural about that. Beauty is beauty, and sexual attraction comes where it finds us.
“I don’t know how you cope, Pixie,” she suddenly said.
“With what?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Those year 13 girls, some of them look like young women.”
“They are, Jacquie, but they are also my students, and I would never think of them in that way.”
“Of course not, and I daresay your partner would not like it. You are partnered, I take it?”
“I am,” I said, watching her face fall, “my wife, Claire, owns the fitness centre in town.”
“Oh I saw her on telly the other day when they were doing the marathon – goodness, Pixie, she’s gorgeous!”
I giggled in agreement.
“She is.”
“Ah well,” she sighed.
“Ah well what, Jacquie?”
“An old girl’s silliness, forget it. I have taken up enough of your time. Thank you.”
That was said with such an air of ineffable sadness that I felt for her.
“Come and have lunch. I have an hour free. It sounds like you could use a shoulder to cry on?”
She looked tearful.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Jacquie, I have a feeling you need to talk about this, so yes, join me in the refectory.”
Sighing, she smiled and thanked me.
I told Moira we’d be about an hour.
“Thanks Miss Hoffmann, don’t forget you have the year 13 council at two, will you?”
“As though I could,” I laughed.
I got Jacquie and myself some salad and a diet coke.
“Thank you, Pixie,” she said, “you are very kind to an old girl.”
“Old?” I said, “you’re an attractive woman!”
“No!” She said, “your wife is, I’m just past it. Anyway, you’re married!”
“I am,” I said, “and my wife has a lover, so what has that got to do with it?”
“But you are a stunning little thing!” She exclaimed, rather more, I suspected, than she had intended to say, as she blushed.
“I am sorry, I didn’t…”
“Didn’t mean it?” I flirted with her.
“Yes, of course, but, well, why would she cheat on you?”
“She is not cheating, Jacquie, I know about her lover, indeed, I have been with them both.”
That was perhaps further than I had intended to go, but this was one of those conversations which did that.
“What, like in the videos?”
“Which videos, the ones on Chloe’s computer – or the ones you have found for yourself?”
“Oh fuck!” She said, “pardon my French. Is it that obvious that I have been getting off on lesbian porn?”
“Yes,” I said, teasing her. “I recognised the signs.”
“Don’t tell my priest,” she blushed.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I assured her.
“Now, coffee or tea?”
“Can I have a coffee – preferably with some brandy after that!”
“We don’t stretch to brandy in the Refectory, Jacquie,” I joked.
I could sense her eyes on me as I walked away, and she seemed entranced as I walked back. I was flattered.
Ever since Claire had started seeing Lindi with my approval, we had discussed what would happen if I were to find someone else, I wanted to be with. Claire, with her usual thoroughness, ran through what she called the “ten sexiest woman we know,” and (somewhat to her disappointment, I think) I said they were all lovely, but not for me – even assuming they would ever want a Squirt escort mersin like me. Now, talking with Jacquie, it occurred to me that she might fill the bill.
She had a thing, clearly, about her age. It would be a cop-out to say that she was attractive for her age, as she was just attractive, full stop. Age had nothing to do with it.
My father, a life-long Leonard Cohen aficionado (I don’ think Cohen had anything as mundane as “fans”) used to quote a line from “The Chelsea Hotel” about those who were “oppressed by the figures of beauty.” I looked it up once, it was about Cohen and Janis Joplin giving him head in the Chelsea Hotel; neither were “figures of beauty,” but they “fixed ourselves up, said well, never mind, we are ugly, but we have the music.”
That came to my mind often. I was lucky enough to be married to a woman any woman (or man) would want, simply because of how she looked. But I know from her that one of the things that united us was that she knew I wanted her for who she was – the whole package, so to say. Yes, she was stunning to look at, but she was equally fun to be with.
And yet, how odd time could be.
I remembered our first passion. The speed with which we’d undress each other, the devouring, the energy, and that was so much more than the physical. The latter might fade, it would change, but what was the essence of us would endure.
If the oppression of the figures of beauty was the not knowing whether they were wanted for their appearance or not, then for Jacquie and her generation, the oppression appeared to be that they could not imagine being wanted because of their figure; their appearance, they seemed to believe, was not going to pull in a potential partner.
That had made me sad before. I had listened to older colleagues, to friends of my mother sounding much like Jacquie did. They had “lost their figure”. They were “too fat.” As though many of us felt that our “figure” was perfect. At four foot eight with no boobs and skinny legs and no hips, who was I to judge? Was age really that important?
All of that came to mind as Jacquie and I chatted.
As she talked about Chloe, and her daughter, Chloe’s Mum, I saw only a really nice, intelligent, and caring woman. Was I remembering the hardness of those nipple earlier? I was, as I told Claire later.
“You,” she said, “have a mummy-complex, my girl. Are you seeking my permission to go to the next stage?”
I looked quizzically at her.
“Well,” I said, “so far we have shared.”
“Yeah,” except I started fucking Lindi on the sly.”
“True, but I don’t hold on to that. What matters is we shared it, which is why I am telling you all this now.”
“She sounds nice, why don’t you invite her to lunch on Saturday? Lindi and I were going to have a bite at that new place by the river. You fancy that?”
“A bite,” I giggled, “is that what it’s called now?”
“Sod off,” she said, throwing a cushion at me, “sex mad you are. It’s always the quiet ones. But seriously, yeah, invite Jacquie, I’d like to meet her and hey, Squirt,” she smiled, “thanks for telling me and doing it this way. I like the idea of approving your lover.”
I smiled back.
“Claire, you are as big a perve as me!”
“Two words,” she said, “im possible!”
She had a point.
Jacquie and I had enjoyed out chat, and seeing the time was getting short, I’d told her that.
“No, no, Pixie, thank you.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked, asking the first of them.
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you have a partner?”
“No, no, my last man and I ended it about a year ago. Why?”
“Well,” I said, “I’d hate to be flirting with a woman who had a partner.”
“But it’s okay for me to do that with a married woman?”
“If my wife approves,” I replied. “Look, Jacquie, let me talk with Claire. Can I have your mobile, I’ll text you.”
“You, you’re joking?”
She looked stunned.
“This isn’t a mercy fuck thing?”
I gave her a stern look.
“You are an attractive woman, why would it require an access of mercy to want to be with you?”
She blushed.
“Oh you! Erm, you do know, just to be straight…”
I interrupted her to spare her having to say it”
“What, that you’ve always been straight? I know. But have you ever thought about other women?”
“At uni, I did a few times, but, well, life took over.”
“It does that. And remember, Jacquie, be kind to Chloe, she is only wanting to explore and to be loved – and love comes in all sizes – even 36 double d.”
“How did you know I was?”
“I’m a good judge, I should have made a career in bras,” I joked.
We’d left it there, although I confessed to Claire that I had given her a big of a long hug.
I texted Jacquie:
“Claire would love to meet you for lunch on Saturday, perhaps we should talk first?”
About an hour later my phone pinged:
“You are joking?”
“No,” I typed, “I fancy you xxx.”
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