Triad
By Gato Medio
copyright (c) 2005 - All Rights reserved

First Chapter: The Encounter

We both noticed her at the same instant. As soon as she
entered the room.

The 'we' above refers to Cathy, an extremely attractive
lady who happens to be my wife, and me, Stan, an
incorrigible voyeur. I can't stop myself looking at other
women. I try to disguise my interest. I refrain from
ogling the object of my attention openly, but Cathy has
told me often enough that my intentions are completely
transparent. It seems that my attempts at hiding the
attraction I feel are utterly fruitless. But this time I
wasn't even trying to hide my interest. I was staring
open-mouthed at the young woman who had just entered the
hotel dining room, when I heard Cathy say, "Isn't she
gorgeous?"

I knew I had been caught. Cathy might consider my staring
so openly at another woman a sign of disrespect. I turned
towards her, ready to apologize. But there wasn't a trace
of disapproval on her face. Her look was as lecherous as
mine probably had been.

"You?" I said, dumbfounded. "I thought you weren't into
women."

"Not into women per se. But this one's special. She makes
my head spin. I'm getting wet just looking at her."

Was she mocking me? Was she poking fun at the way men
talk when they see an attractive female? I checked her
face again. She was serious.

"Let's try to catch her attention," Cathy said.

                          -----

     At this stage, it might be useful to say a few words
     about myself, and about Cathy, the woman who was
     sitting next to me.
     
     We have been living together for nine years and got
     married roughly six months ago. The fact that we
     decided to get official approval after having lived
     together for such a long time caught most of our
     friends by surprise. They would have been even more
     astonished had they known the reason for our
     decision.
     
     Our life as a couple was going well. There were the
     occasional noisy arguments, but they just served to
     clear the air, and to give us a reason for
     celebrating our reconciliation. In this respect we
     weren't any different from the other, married,
     couples we knew.
     
     There was no pressure on us to get married. Most
     people didn't even know we weren't, and those who
     did know didn't see it as a problem. There were the
     occasional bureaucratic hiccups when I couldn't sign
     a document on Cathy's behalf and she wasn't able to
     act for me, but we had learned to live with these
     little annoyances.
     
     Then, one evening - we were lying in bed, too tired
     to engage in serious lovemaking, but not tired
     enough to go straight to sleep - Cathy said, "I
     think we should get married."
     
     It came like a bolt out of the blue. I wasn't aware
     of having said or done anything that might make her
     long for the security of officially recognized
     matrimony. I wondered what had caused this sudden
     change of mind.
     
     "What for?" I asked.
     
     "So that I can be unfaithful to you."
     
     I laughed. What a relief! I had feared something
     more serious. "But you have the right to sleep with
     anybody you want. We have an open relationship,
     remember?"
     
     "That's exactly the point. There's no fun in
     cheating on you if it isn't really cheating."
     
     "Oh, I see. You want me to marry you so you can get
     more excitement out of fucking someone else?" My
     reply came out much stronger than I had intended.
     
     "Yes, but it isn't as simple as that. I would feel
     really rotten, seeing that you yourself have
     resisted all temptations, even though you're
     entitled to having a bit on the side. If we were
     married, we could both have an extramarital fling."
     
     Her certainty that I wasn't fooling around hurt my
     male pride. "What makes you so sure that I'm not
     seeing someone else?"
     
     "A woman knows. It's called female sensitivity. I
     don't need to find lipstick on your collar or smell
     another woman's perfume to know there's someone
     else. By the same token, I know that so far you've
     only been looking."
     
     Now there was something I might feel guilty about:
     my habit of undressing every female which happens to
     cross my path with my eyes. I prided myself on
     having perfected a detached cursory glance which
     allows me to inspect my target without my interest
     being noticed. Had my technique failed me? Had Cathy
     caught on to it? Was she mad at me because I had
     done it in her presence? Was this the real reason
     behind her sudden interest in wedlock?
     
     I studied her face to see how deep in trouble I was.
     But Cathy just smiled at me, a little amused.
     
     "Or did you really believe I hadn't noticed how you
     ogle every short skirt that passes? Do you think you
     can fool me when you pretend to read the newspaper
     or study the wine list while you give them the once-
     over? Oh, darling! I can read you like an open book.
     You should see how your eyes beam under your half-
     closed lids every time one of those bra-less wonders
     walks by."
     
     I think I actually blushed. I felt embarrassed that
     my carefully constructed mask had been so
     ineffective. I stammered something which could be
     taken as an apology. But Cathy wasn't after an
     admission of guilt.
     
     "There's nothing wrong with looking at other women.
     I think it's quite natural. In fact, I take it as a
     good sign. It shows that you're still very much
     alive in the libido department. It just annoys me
     sometimes that you seem to believe I'm so dim that I
     don't notice.
     
     "To come back to our subject: if we were married,
     you could stop staring and actually _do_ something
     with them. Just like I could give in to my secret
     admirer."
     
     I tried to convince Cathy that I had no desire to
     sleep around and, even if I did, I couldn't see the
     logic that I had to get married for this purpose. It
     seemed to be a typical example of 'female logic'.
     
     Cathy remained adamant, however, and returned to the
     subject of tying the knot on a few more occasions.
     In the end, I gave in, and we're now a married
     couple.
     
     Cathy followed through with her plan of 'being
     unfaithful' to me. She didn't even wait until the
     end of the period which 'normal' couples call their
     honeymoon. But it seems that the experience didn't
     live up to her expectations.
     
     "You can't judge a book by its cover," she just said
     when she returned from her escapade.
     
     "Any book I know?" I asked her.
     
     "Yes, you know him, but he's not a close
     acquaintance. You only meet him occasionally. I'd
     rather not tell you his name to save both of you
     embarrassment when you meet again."
     
     I considered it part of my role as newly-wedded
     liberal husband to encourage her to give it another
     try.
     
     "People need some time to get to know each other.
     Very few hit it off on the very first date."
     
     Cathy made a second attempt, but came back just as
     disappointed as after the first one.
     
     "It looks like I'm stuck in this monogamous
     relationship with you, darling," she said as she
     hugged me. She made me feel good about this new
     married freedom. I believe it has given our
     lovemaking a new, more intense quality.
     
     The fact that Cathy had carried out her plan without
     much concern for how I might feel about it
     encouraged me to pursue my own adventure. There was
     Julie, a waitress at a restaurant where I stopped
     occasionally for lunch, who had caught my eye the
     first time I saw her. I always tried to get a table
     in her section, and she usually found the time for a
     little chat. But I had never made a pass at her.
     
     I went to the restaurant and after my meal I asked
     her as causally as I could manage when her shift
     ended and if she had anything planned for
     afterwards. When I suggested we'd take a room at a
     nearby motel, she accepted as if this was the most
     natural thing to do. It seems that she had been
     wondering when I would finally make my move.
     
     The sex with Julie was good, but what pleased me
     most was the fact that I had been able to 'conquer'
     her so easily. It gave my ego an enormous boost,
     particularly because she wanted to see me again.
     
     I now meet Julie every other week for an afternoon
     at the same motel. It almost seems that she is
     grateful to me for taking the trouble to meet her,
     for letting her suck my cock and making her come
     when I make love to her. What happens in that motel
     room is honest, wholesome, satisfying sex, but
     nothing out of the ordinary. It isn't the kind of
     stuff which I occasionally read about on the
     internet, with ten-inch cocks, never-ending orgasms
     and rivers of body fluids.
     
     Cathy knows about my encounters with Julie. The two
     even met once by accident when I was out shopping
     with Cathy. Each one knew who the other one was, but
     they just shook hands and didn't go beyond the small
     talk which is part of a polite conversation.
     
     Cathy herself has given up any hope that her 'secret
     admirer' will ever live up to her expectations. And
     she hasn't made any attempt at finding someone else
     who might.
     
     There is a certain irony in our situation. Cathy
     wanted to get married so that she could be
     'unfaithful' to me. And now I'm the one who has an
     extramarital affair. Other men might just say,
     "Tough. Life's a bitch!" but I can't help feeling a
     certain amount of guilt about it.
     
     I asked Julie if there wasn't any other man
     interested in her, someone who might be able to see
     her more often rather than just one afternoon every
     other week, but she explained that she considers our
     arrangement ideal. I was considerate, gentle, virile
     (I liked that part), discreet, and married to a
     woman who understood. No other man could offer her
     all these qualities.
     
     Julie told me that she was living with her sick
     mother, who was being looked after by a nurse during
     the day, but in the evening Julie had to take over.
     Julie never went out in the evening; she couldn't
     accept the invitations for dinner, to the movies, or
     other social events which are part of a normal
     affair. The only time she had available for intimacy
     were the afternoon hours after she left her job and
     before she returned to her mother.
     
     After this revelation I found it impossible to drop
     Julie. I don't exactly _love_ her, but I'm sensitive
     enough to know that ending our relationship would be
     a severe blow for her.
     
     My feeling of unease towards Cathy made me once
     suggest that she might want to join Julie and me for
     a threesome. This wouldn't exactly satisfy her
     desire to be unfaithful to me, but it would be a new
     experience for all of us. Cathy told me
     categorically that she wasn't into women, and that
     was the end of the conversation as far as she was
     concerned.
     
     I accepted her refusal. After all, I wouldn't have
     warmed to the suggestion to go to bed with Cathy and
     another man. That idea was a definite turn-off.
     
     We also briefly considered the possibility of
     partner swapping. We would have to find a like-
     minded couple we would feel physically attracted to
     and then satisfy our curiosity with our respective
     counterpart in separate bedrooms. But we didn't know
     any couple which was into swinging, and we didn't
     want to risk embarrassing ourselves by asking people
     who weren't as open-minded as we are. Answering
     advertisements or placing our own ad also seemed a
     bit risky - you never know what kind of weirdoes
     might turn up.
     
     In the end, we realized that our curiosity was not
     strong enough to overcome our fears and we settled
     for being a conventional couple in which the husband
     has 'a bit on the side'.

                         -----

The subject of our attention was still standing near the
door, looking across the dining room. At first it seemed
that she was looking for someone she expected to be among
the guests. But soon it became clear that she was trying
to decide where to sit.

She was an exceptionally beautiful woman, just past the
stage when I might have referred to her as a girl. She
had a face like a saint and a body that could only have
been designed by the devil. The narrow, white dress which
outlined her slender body looked elegant and sexy at the
same time. Her face showed those delightful features
which are the result of mixing Asian and European blood.
Her hair was pitch-black with a silky shine, completely
straight, resting on her shoulders like a thick veil.

Cathy and I weren't the only people who had noticed her
arrival. It seemed that everybody in the dining room was
looking at her - except for a few who were too busy with
their food to lift their heads. She was one of the last
people to arrive and all tables were already occupied by
at least one person.

Some of the men who were sitting by themselves waved to
her, inviting her to join them. There was a group of
three men, gesticulating frantically, offering her the
one remaining place at their table. Cathy decided to
enter the competition. She stood up and waved to the
young woman.

As the young woman looked towards us, I gave her a big
smile which was meant to be reassuring, but I have no
idea what it looked like. My heart almost missed a beat
when she turned in our direction and came towards our
table. There was a grace and elegance in the way she
moved which made me think of a cat. She walked with
determination but without hurry, certain to catch her
prey in the end.

The stranger shook hands with Cathy. "Hi, my name is
Helen Joe. Thanks for letting me join you at your table."

Helen Joe? That name was familiar. But the person I
associated with that name - although I had never seen any
pictures of her - had to be much, much older. And because
of this the question whether the Helen Joe I was familiar
with might or might not be good looking had never crossed
my mind. Was this stranger just a namesake of _the_ Helen
Joe?

My doubt must have been visible on my face, because, when
the young woman turned to me and shook my hand, she said,
"Yes, I am _the_ Helen Joe."

     Helen Joe was a controversial figure in the world of
     literary translators. She specialized in modern
     classics. But she didn't just translate those books
     word for word or sentence for sentence. She rewrote
     them in the target language. She changed the setting
     and the characters into something which readers in
     the target region would be familiar with. Her
     version of 'The Old Man and the Sea' was set in some
     village in South East Asia and was populated by
     Vietnamese (or was it Thai?) fishermen.
     
     This is where the controversy arose. While many of
     her colleagues approved of her approach and praised
     her work as an authentic reproduction of the
     original story, a significant minority argued that
     changing the setting was going beyond the freedom of
     a translator.

While I was still wrestling with the idea that this
beautiful creature was Helen Joe, she had taken a closer
look at us and noticed the 'Guest' badges hanging around
our necks.

"I see you are guests," Helen said, "does that mean you
aren't members of ALT?"

ALT, the Association of Literary Translators, was the
organization behind the event which had brought all these
people, including us, into the dining room of a hotel in
downtown Boston. We were attending the opening dinner of
the annual meeting.

Cathy and I aren't translators. I don't think either of
us has the patience for such a task. But we have compiled
a dictionary of colloquial phrases, expressions and
figurative speech which many translators found useful in
their work. The secretary of ALT had repeatedly invited
us to their annual get-together to give a talk about our
dictionary. But as all the meetings so far had taken
place in faraway cities we hadn't considered it worth our
while to travel so far just for a short talk.

This year, the conference took place just half an hour's
drive from our home. We could no longer refuse and had
come downtown for the opening dinner. Our talk was
scheduled for the second day of the conference.

The conversation at our table was mainly between the two
women, with me throwing in the occasional comment. Seeing
that Cathy had openly expressed a sexual interest in the
young woman, I was surprised that she didn't try to steer
the conversation topic towards sex. Or maybe there was
this 'female sensitivity' thing going on between the two.
Maybe they were aware of the sexual desire without having
to talk about it.

Instead, the conversation focused largely on the
translation of literary works, in particular Helen Joe's
approach to this.

It was a pleasure to listen to this intelligent and
attractive woman talk about herself and her work. When
she spoke, it seemed that she formed each sentence in her
head, then scrutinized it, and only when she was
satisfied that it was perfect, did she release it. She
spoke English without any foreign accent, but I was able
to detected a slight Australian twang in her
pronunciation.

Helen Joe had been born in Vietnam, the child of a French
father and a Vietnamese mother. She spoke both these
languages fluently. While she was still quite young, her
parents moved to Australia, where she picked up English
as her third language. Later, when she discovered that
she had a talent for languages, she also taught herself
Mandarin and spent some time in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
She translates mainly from her western to her eastern
languages.

She explained that Mandarin and many other Asian
languages were logographic in nature which added to the
challenge of translating texts written in a character-
based language.

"The symbols which make up such languages cannot be
compared with letters or even words of western languages.
The concept of representing objects, actions and ideas is
so radically different that only a rewrite will do
justice to a work of literature."

She talked about how she had visited Florida and Cuba,
the places which had inspired Hemingway when he wrote
'The old Man and the Sea'. Florida had changed a lot
since then. At the time the book was written there
probably weren't as many retired business executives in
the whole country as there are now in Florida alone. But
the atmosphere in Cuba was still very much how it was
described in the book.

Helen had lived among the fishermen, shared their food
and listened to their stories. Then she had moved to
Vietnam and looked for a place which could be an Asian
counterpart to the Cuban fishing village. There she had
once again lived with the simple people, learned about
their way of life and their way of expressing themselves.
And eventually she had created the Vietnamese version of
Hemingway's story.

"I wrote the story in my language the way Hemingway would
have written it if he had lived in my country," she said.

She had a plan to do the same thing with 'Cannery Row'.
On her way from Australia to the East coast, she had
stopped in California and visited Monterey. But instead
of Lee Chong's grocery store she had found expensive
boutiques. The places where Mack and the boys used to
hang out had been turned into tourist attractions. The
smell of fish-meal no longer permeated the air.

As I heard her talk about the various projects she had
already conducted, and realized that her method of
reliving a book before translating it took a lot longer
than a traditional translation, I wondered how old she
might be - my initial estimate had obviously been too
low.

Helen interrupted herself in mid-sentence, turned to me,
said, "I'm twenty-seven," and then continued where she
had left off. That was already the second time she had
answered a question I hadn't even put in words. Was this
mind-reading, ESP or some eastern magic?

"The way I translate requires extreme sensitivity, not
only to the meaning of each word used, but to the
atmosphere the author creates, the images he evokes. I
don't translate the words but the atmosphere, the images.
It seems that I have developed this sensitivity to the
point where I can tell what people want to say without
them actually saying it.

"Often, it simply means knowing what that kind of person
would want to say in a particular situation. And then
there is the non-verbal communication. A change in facial
expression, a raised finger, a pause before pronouncing a
word, a different intonation - all these things
communicate meaning to me. Sometimes I catch myself
answering people's questions before they had a chance to
ask them."

She'd just done it again! She had just answered my
question about mind-reading which I had only formulated
in my head but never spoken. This woman was amazing!
Cathy had told me she could read me like an open book,
but Helen seemed to be able to read the text and the
footnotes at the same time.

Looking at the beautiful stranger at our table, I found
it difficult to follow the conversation, to concentrate
on what Helen was saying. Her almond-shaped eyes combined
the image of innocence with the promise of pleasure. Her
nose ... what can I say about her nose? I guess, all I
can say is that it took me some time to notice she had
one, so well did it blend into the landscape of her face.

What particularly caught my attention were her lips. They
made me think of raspberries. Ripe raspberries - those
dark red clusters of tiny globules filled with delicious
juice which explode in your mouth when you squeeze them
between your tongue and palate. I was convinced that her
lips tasted just as delicious.

I wondered whether I would ever get a chance to confirm
my theory and taste Helen's lips. I imagined those lips
around the shaft of my cock, and felt myself getting
hard. Then I remembered her ability to sense what people
around her were thinking and checked her face. Would she
be offended if she knew what I had been fantasizing
about?

Was this my imagination or did Helen actually smile a
mischievous smile as she said 'Maybe later'?

"Maybe later this year, I'll travel further south along
the Californian coast to see if there is any place left
which still resembles the atmosphere in the book," she
completed her sentence.

                         -----

At one point the conversation topic changed from past
deeds and future plans to the present moment. Helen Joe
talked about what she expected to get out of the
conference and Cathy mentioned that we would be back on
day two for our little talk. Helen told us that the one
thing she wasn't looking forward to was staying at the
hotel where the conference was being held, and where we
were having dinner right now. She hated this type of big,
impersonal complex to the point that she would prefer a
simple fisherman's hut without any comfort.

That was our chance. It was as if she had asked us if we
wanted everlasting life, good looks and wealth all
wrapped into one bundle. Cathy and I almost pushed each
other out of the way, each one trying to be the first to
offer Helen bed and board in our house.

"We can't offer you the discomfort of a fisherman's hut,
but I can assure you that staying with us won't be as
impersonal as staying at this hotel," I finally managed
to say, after having been interrupted several times by
Cathy who was probably trying to say the same thing. I
found my statement about a stay with us not being
impersonal quite clever. It was my intention to get
personal, even physical, with this sensual creature - but
she probably knew that already.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push myself onto you. I
was just giving vent to one of my niggles. I'll be
alright at the hotel. It's only for five nights."

Was she simply going through the motions of refusing
politely before accepting, or had she realized how much
we expected from her stay with us and tried to wriggle
out of it?

We weren't prepared to take no for an answer. We
insisted. We told her how pleased we would be if she'd
accept our offer. She'd have her own bedroom and
bathroom, use of the kitchen if she wanted, and the
atmosphere would be much more personal than at the hotel.
I thought of offering breakfast in bed, but then decided
against it. Cathy promised that we would provide
transport to and from the conference.

Helen Joe seemed to be tempted but not completely swayed.

"Say yes, just to please me," Cathy said.

There was an edge to her voice I had never noticed
before. She hadn't been joking when she first talked
about this mysterious woman. She was seriously turned on
by the idea of spending the night under the same roof as
Helen. Would the two get it off together and leave me on
my own?

"Alright then, it's a deal," Helen finally said.

Cathy showed quite openly how pleased she was by this
decision. I don't think she could have been more pleased
than I was, but somehow I didn't feel I should show how
much I was looking forward to Helen's stay with us.

As soon as we had finished our meal, Helen went to her
room to collect her belongings - she hadn't yet had time
to unpack anything - and we all got into the car and
drove off towards our house.

                         -----

Cathy and I aren't wealthy. We make enough to cover all
our needs, even to pay for a small luxury every now and
then, but we couldn't afford the kind of house we live in
if it were located in one of the more fashionable parts
of town. The neighborhood where we live is considered a
bit rough, but we haven't had any reason to complain
about this aspect. We expect that with the next economic
upswing house-buyers will 'discover' our part of town and
restore the houses to their original glory. The area will
benefit from the same gentrification process other parts
of the town have already undergone.

Our house would probably be called a mansion in any other
part of town. It's much too big for just two people, and
that's our main excuse for its somewhat neglected
appearance. There are no major problems; everything is in
perfect working order, but it's quite clear that the
house has seen better days.

The main feature which sets this house apart and made us
chose this one over the others we looked at is its 'grand
staircase'. That's what the salesman called it, and we
continue to use this term even though we know it to be a
slight exaggeration. It is the first thing one notices
after one enters the front door. Everybody who visits us
is impressed by this staircase which comes down from the
upper floor in an elegant ninety degree sweep.

It really is 'grand'. Maybe not grand enough to imagine
Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers come dancing down these
stairs - although it's probably old enough to have
witnessed those two. I often imagine Marilyn Monroe
sauntering down this flight of stairs, singing something
about diamonds being a girl's best friend.

Maybe my imagination is influenced by my memory of Cathy
coming down there once in one of her sexiest outfits,
chirping,
               _"I wanna be loved by you,
               just you,
               and nobody else but you."_

She performed her act so convincingly, she didn't make it
to the living room with its comfortable sofa and
armchairs. We made love right at the bottom of those
stairs.

                         -----

Sitting in my favorite armchair, I don't have a full view
of the staircase and anyone coming down. I see it from
the side, looking at the wrought-iron balusters and the
polished walnut handrail. Of anyone coming down, I see
first the feet only, then the legs, later the body, and
eventually the whole person.

I had already enjoyed this show when Cathy returned from
showing Helen to her room, making sure she had enough
towels, the right kind of pillow and everything else she
might need. Now I caught myself wondering what it would
look like when Helen came down these stairs to join us
for a drink as she had promised.

A little earlier, I had carried Helen's luggage up the
stairs, but left the two women on their own to discuss
the domestic arrangements. Helen had said she wanted to
take a quick bath to freshen up, then she would slip into
something more comfortable and meet us downstairs.

Cathy had joined me after coming down the stairs and was
sitting on the sofa. We hadn't spoken much since we had
arrived at our home. Nervous anticipation was hanging in
the air, almost palpably so. Had my fertile imagination
got the better of me when I saw Helen smile 'Maybe later'
at me? I definitely felt there had been some promise in
her look, in her voice.

But I didn't know what promises she had made Cathy,
directly or indirectly. Would there be a competition
between Cathy and me over who would get to seduce our
sexy guest? Couldn't we conquer her as a team? Cathy had
given no indication of whether she wanted Helen for
herself or whether she would be prepared to share her
with me.

The uncertainty was getting to me. I'm a man, for
Christ's sake! I can't handle all these subtle hints, all
this 'female sensitivity' stuff. I want a woman to come
up to me and say, 'Fuck me.' That I can understand. Well,
she doesn't actually have to say it, she just has to make
it clear that this is what she wants.

My mental torment was brought to an end when I heard a
door and then steps approaching the staircase.

The first thing I saw was a foot in a stiletto-heeled
shoe. Then another one. I almost stopped breathing. The
feet moved down a couple of stairs, revealing perfectly
shaped ankles and calves. But the feet didn't come down
the stairs in a continuous movement. They seemed to be
moving to the rhythm of a song, dancing sideways, back up
and then down again, but I couldn't make out which song
it was.

The knees appeared, the part of the legs above the knees.
I expected a dress or skirt to start, but it didn't. More
and more of the legs came into view. Beautiful thighs.
Was she naked? She wouldn't come down without a stitch
on, would she? I felt disappointment, but also some
relief when I saw the bright yellow thong, covering
Helen's sex and not much else.

The garment Helen wore on top was cut like a gentlemen's
dress shirt, and was black. But the color hardly
mattered, because the textile was so transparent, all it
did was lend a dark hue to Helen's upper body. It did not
conceal her beautiful, firm breasts with the perfect,
round areolas and the nipples rising timidly in the
middle of each areola. She carried something black with
fringes in her right hand. It looked like it was made of
leather. 'Maybe a purse,' I thought.

By this time, I was able to identify the song Helen was
moving to, but only because she was lilting the words,
albeit slightly modified,

               _"Me for two,
               and two for me."_

It seemed that the grand staircase had the ability to
induce beautiful women to singing old songs in a very
sensual way.

I was stunned, unable to say anything. The phrase 'slip
into something more comfortable' has been used so often,
it's almost become a joke. But this was a situation where
it fit perfectly. I looked across to where Cathy was
sitting. Her eyes were wide open, taking in the
tantalizing image of our guest.

"Would you like to fuck me from behind while I lick your
wife?" Helen's voice said into the silence.

I could hear Cathy gasp. I wanted to disappear somewhere
between the cushions of my armchair. That was exactly the
image which had passed in front of my mind's eye only
seconds ago. It had been one of many images, though. Had
Helen tuned into my brain waves, and knew exactly what I
had been thinking about?

There was no sign that Helen was upset or angry. She
turned to Cathy. "Or would you like to whip my ass first,
while I suck his cock?"

Cathy winced. "Oh, no! Please forgive me. I didn't mean
to suggest ... I was just daydreaming, imagining things.
I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I wasn't really
thinking seriously about it, honest."

Whip her ass, eh? My wife, who had told me categorically
that she wasn't into women, was daydreaming about
whipping Helen's ass! I started to wonder what other
fantasies her mind was capable of - and she had never
told me about. Now it was all coming into the open
because Helen was able to tap right into the source of
Cathy's thoughts.

"Relax, guys," Helen said. "There's nothing wrong with
feeling about me the way you do. You're not the first and
you won't be the last. It's not your fault that I can
sense so clearly what your intentions are, but it makes
everything a lot easier. Own up to your desires and let's
have some fun!"

Helen hooked both thumbs under the narrow strip of
textile which held her thong in place and pushed it down.
Once more my eyes couldn't believe what they saw and my
mouth refused to close. What a treasure! The lips of her
pussy were as inviting as those of her mouth. And there
wasn't a single hair to obstruct the view. I didn't know
where to look. My eyes wanted to stay glued to this
revelation but I was also keen on seeing Cathy's
reaction.

Cathy's eyes widened a little more with every move Helen
made. Helen, in the meantime, kicked off her shoes and
stepped onto the plush carpet. She positioned herself so
that both Cathy and I could watch her and see each other
at the same time. She opened the buttons of her shirt one
by one and then let the textile slip off her shoulders.
What a marvelous sight to behold!

Once Helen had removed all her clothes, she knelt right
in front of Cathy and pushed Cathy's legs apart. Cathy
was dressed for the occasion. Her robe opened easily in
the middle. And she wasn't wearing any panties! Had she
known that this was going to happen? Was this another
case of this 'female sensitivity' thing?

I saw Helen's head move forward and then there was the
unmistakable moan as her lips made contact with Cathy's
sex. So, I wouldn't be the first one to experience the
touch of these magnificent raspberry lips. But I sure
wanted to get inside this bare pussy. I wanted it so
badly, my cock put a serious strain on my trousers.

Helen lifted her head briefly from Cathy's pussy and
turned towards me, still sitting there, dumbstruck,
unable to move. "Come on then, caveman! Or aren't you
interested in sex? I think you're old enough to undress
by yourself. And your cock knows the way." She wiggled
her behind invitingly.

It's a miracle I didn't rip my trousers to pieces and all
the buttons of my shirt stayed in place. In a flash I was
out of my clothes and on the carpet, right behind Helen,
ready to poke my cock into her.

Helen had called me 'caveman'. That was kind of a code
word between Cathy and me. Cathy called me that to tell
me that she wanted a wild fuck, that she wanted me to be
rough. How had Helen found out about this? At this point,
I had stopped believing in coincidence. I was sure she
wanted me to pound my cock into her, hard and fast.

Without stopping what she was doing to Cathy's pussy,
Helen lifted her backside and pushed against my
approaching cock. I let out a deep sigh as I slipped into
her wonderfully tight, moist tunnel. I knew instinctively
that this was going to be one of the best fucks of my
life.

Cathy had unfastened the loop which was holding her robe
together. She had freed her arms from the sleeves and was
now reclining on the sofa, completely exposed to our
eyes. Cathy has a magnificent body, but it would have
been extremely difficult to declare her the winner in a
competition with Helen. It was a clear case of a draw, as
far as I was concerned. I watched Cathy fondle her
breasts while I thrust my cock into Helen, who in turn
was licking Cathy's pussy.

My bliss was over far too soon. Within minutes, I had
lost control - if I had been in control of myself in the
first place. My cock erupted and I deposited my semen
deep inside Helen's pussy.

As I lay slumped on the carpet, I watched Helen make love
to Cathy. Her tongue plowed Cathy's slit, her lips kissed
and sucked Cathy's clit. Then the tongue reappeared, this
time thrusting deep into Cathy's love hole. Each new
sensation provoked an audible reaction from Cathy.

I had licked Cathy many times during all the years we
lived together - eaten her pussy, gone down on her, which
ever euphemism you prefer - but she had never reacted
with this much enthusiasm to my efforts. Was Helen
exceptionally skillful, or was this - I started to hate
the term - 'female sensitivity'?

I watched Cathy climax and at the same time shout, "Don't
stop! Please!" I saw Helen's head bob up and down in an
accelerated rhythm. I saw Cathy lift her bottom off the
sofa to bring her pussy closer to Helen's mouth. I saw
Cathy's body convulse as another orgasm took her breath
away.

I had never seen Cathy abandon herself so completely to
her lust, and I envied her for what she was experiencing.
I became aware that I was witnessing something special,
something extraordinary: the encounter of two
exceptionally horny women who seemed to be made for each
other.

I had the impression that Helen would have been able to
carry on stimulating Cathy for hours and only stopped so
that her victim would have some strength left for the
next act. Cathy protested only weakly when Helen's mouth
moved away from her pussy.

Helen took the bundle she had been carrying in her hand
when she came down the stairs and handed it to Cathy.
What I had assumed to be a leather purse with fringes
turned out to be a miniature whip with five lashes. Helen
really meant business when she came down those stairs.
She knew that this was going to happen even before she
rejoined us!

"Hit me as hard as you can," Helen instructed Cathy as
she moved towards me, ready to take my wilted cock into
her mouth. "If you want you can also shove the handle
into my pussy or rear."

Things had taken a definite turn towards the unreal. Yes,
I had read stories about women deriving pleasure from
being whipped, but I had always considered these stories
the product of over fertile minds, somebody's wet dreams.
But the stunning female in front of me who asked to be
whipped hard was not a figment of my imagination. If any
proof that she was real were needed, then this proof was
provided by the sensation her lips produced on my cock.

Cathy followed the instructions to the word. She brought
the whip down on Helen's bottom with all her strength.
Helen flinched when the lashes hit her backside. It made
me wonder why on earth she allowed Cathy to whip her.
Surely, the fact that my wife had revealed such a strange
desire wasn't enough reason for Helen to agree to be
treated this way? Did she actually get some kind of
sexual gratification out of this - like the stories would
have us believe?

And Cathy? What made her, a woman who abhorred any form
of violence, thrash Helen's backside for all she was
worth? Was she just following orders? Had she discovered
a sadistic streak in her personality? I had to admit that
I found it extremely stimulating to watch Cathy stand
there, naked, her legs slightly apart, bringing the whip
down on Helen's rump like a vengeful warrior.

Helen gasped, she drew in breath when the whip made
contact, but didn't let go of my cock which reacted to
the skillful treatment it received. I was hard in no
time, moaning as Helen's lips moved up and down my shaft.
I was ready to shoot my load into her mouth when Helen
let go of my cock and got up from her kneeling position.

My disappointment didn't last long. The two women made me
lie on my back and Cathy straddled me. God, was she wet!
My cock slid inside her all the way in one single stroke.
What a wonderful sensation it was to be enveloped by her
hot, moist flesh!

Helen also got on top of me. She positioned her pussy
right in front of my mouth, expecting me to lick her. I
hesitated. I had come inside her pussy not very long ago.
Some of my cum was still clinging to her sex and there
was probably more of it inside. Should I lick my own cum
off her? I had never before done anything that sleazy.
What would Cathy think of me?

I realized that Cathy wasn't in the least concerned about
what I thought of her. She was riding my cock in pursuit
of her own pleasure. "What the heck?" I thought, as I
plunged my tongue into Helen's hairless slit.

                         -----

The evening passed without me getting a chance to taste
those raspberry lips. Yes, I had felt them on my cock,
they had pleasured Cathy's pussy, but I still didn't know
what they tasted like. There were other things we didn't
have time for. I would have liked to explore Helen's
marvelous body, detail for detail with my hands and
mouth. I had a chance to play with her breasts when I
fucked her from behind, but that chance passed all too
rapidly. I had high hopes that there would be further
opportunities during Helen's stay with us.

                    To be continued