Geoff and Marie’s Good Life: Part 13

Appetites Vary.

Diversity is a good thing.

Based on posts by Only In My Mind, in 15 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

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I
guided my friend through to join the women and helped him to the head
of the table. Megan sat to his right, Lucy to his left. I sat opposite
him, Marie to my right, Angie to my left. Rather than a traditional
Sunday roast, Megan had ordered a beef wellington with horseradish
mashed potatoes, and green vegetables sautéed in garlic butter. The
ladies were at ease in their near nudity; Angie having, just about,
covered her bare tits with some pointless scrap of translucent fabric.

The
men, well, we did them the courtesy of admiring them. The conversation
was surprisingly normal, by our standards at least. Lucy expressed her
gratitude at being offered a place to stay. She was a little overwhelmed
when Megan corrected her. Not a place to stay; a home.

I
shared the photo that Mike had sent me, showing Eddie with his new
friend. "He rejected Lucy for HER?" Was Charles' incredulous response.
Lucy was more sanguine. As far as she was concerned, Eddie had made his
preference clear. In her mind she was already single, with an entire
team of people willing to love her and a wealth of emotions that she
needed to set out on canvas. That thought also reminded her. The day we
christened her studio, she was determined to make a mold of my
genitalia, while I was erect.

"How many castings are you intending to make?" I asked, in all innocence.

"A
dozen or so in latex or silicone rubber for your Harem, or the Coven as
Marie refers to us." I shrugged. That seemed a lot but, what the hell.

She
fell silent for a moment, as though calculating. "And then I thought,
because it's such a nice shape, I'd do a limited edition of signed epoxy
castings, about a hundred, each numbered and with its own unique
marbled pattern."

Everyone
stopped eating and stared at her. "What?" She seemed defensive. "He
only has to make a squiggle. Not his actual name, for pity's sake." She
shook her head. "I was going to ask him if I could add a drop of his
semen into the epoxy to infuse it with his essence. I could double the
asking price then." She looked around the table at each of us in turn.
"Well, think about it, anyway," she suggested to my wife and I.

We
changed the subject to our plans for the wedding and returned to
enjoying our meal. For dessert there were individual warm pear
frangipanes with brandy ice cream. By the time we had finished, not a
morsel was left.

We
helped to tidy the kitchen and, after sitting and chatting for a little
while longer, my three companions dressed and we left, making a short
diversion to return the restaurant's delivery boxes. I picked up their
home delivery menu on the way out. I was mortified; our meal must have
cost our hosts over three hundred pounds. My 'expensive' wine from M and
S seemed a bit pathetic by comparison.

As
we drove home, they discussed, without inviting input from me, my plans
for the evening. Apparently, while I pleasured each of them
individually in my bed, the other two would discuss the details of our
wedding ceremony. We hadn't decided on a date but we needed to have the
costumes selected very soon so that we could give the students who were
making the outfits the design brief for each guest for their
course-work. Lucy was intrigued at the idea of creating some scenic
backdrops for the venue as well as helping with prop design. I was
content to be well out of it.

I'd
swallowed one of my little chemical helpers as soon as we got home so,
leaving my wife and Lucy to look on-line for inspiration, Angie joined
me in bed. "Angie. I promised you a special treat if you earned it.
You've earned it today, with Charles. But tonight would you be
disappointed if we just made love? No toys, just you and me? Then we can
find enough time to really explore your kinky side."

"It's
a deal," she agreed, unbuttoning my shirt. "You, me and the toy box can
wait for another day. I'm okay if it's just the two of us for now."

I
helped off with her top and we kissed for a while, me savoring the feel
of her lace covered tits against my chest. In time, we wanted more so
we finished undressing ourselves and I led her to the bed. She sat me at
the edge and knelt between my thighs. "I'm doing this because I want
to," she reassured me. To be fair, I intended to return the favor,
because I also wanted to. Isn't it nice that we have balance in our
lives.

Angie's
oral ministrations were affectionate rather than porn-worthy, intended
to show her love rather than display her ability to swallow my entire
cock. When she finally took me over the edge, there were no theatrics;
no swirling my cum in her mouth. She just quietly swallowed my sperm,
cleaned me and looked lovingly up at me. Angie is a complex character.
Strong, assertive, willful even. But behind that was a vulnerability, an
uncertainty in social interactions. But with Marie and I, she relaxed
totally.

Pulling
her to her feet I made her swap places and I knelt in turn, between her
thighs. I repeated her own words to her before I leaned in to taste the
nectar between those lips. For ten full minutes I knelt there, kissing
her thighs, her mound; running my tongue along her labia and, briefly
now and again, tantalizing her clit.

As
soon as I felt myself harden again, I knew it was time. I stood up and
stretched (I'm fairly fit, but the years, and rugby, have taken their
toll) then joined her on the bed. We made ourselves comfortable, Angie
having decided she wanted 'snuggling' from behind. I indulged her. It
isn't the best position for vigorous sex. It isn't the most visually
stimulating; but, for screwing someone you love, it has a special
languorous intimacy that I cherish. There was no rush for us to climax.
My cock was perfectly content to slip slowly back and forth in Angie's
slick tunnel.

I
realized that I was getting close and started to use my hand on her
clit. She stopped me. "Take your time, Geoff," she murmured. "I've come
once already. This is nice as it is. You need to learn that sometimes we
need the intimacy as much as the orgasm."

I
think I understood. So, instead of our customary race to the finishing
line, we kept a slow, tender rhythm until I couldn't hold back any
longer and spurted inside her. "See," she murmured. "Wasn't that nice.
You came and I could just enjoy the experience without arsing about
having to fake an orgasm. This was much more satisfying."

We
lay for another ten minutes, just talking, before Angie left for the
bathroom. I got up and used the shared bathroom then, wearing just my
dressing gown, went downstairs. Marie and Lucy were studying our TV,
where Marie was casting the images of Star Wars costumes that people had
shown an interest in for our wedding. Lucy was trying to decide what
outfit appealed to her.

I
gave Marie a pointed look to suggest the it was her turn upstairs. She
shook her head. "Angela is going home tonight and Lucy tells me we're
dropping her off at her place. I'm happy to wait until bed-time."

Lucy
smiled and shook her head too. "If you want me, I'm yours. But I'm
content that I've had my ration for today. Tuesday, however, Marie will
be at the shop. Would that be a convenient time for you to model for
me?"

'Model':
Now there was an innocent enough expression; slightly less so if you
prefixed it with the word, 'penis', for accuracy. Presumably, once the
casting was done, my erection wouldn't be allowed to go to waste. So,
two birds, one stone; cock casting and studio christening all in one
visit. Mr. Efficiency, that's me.

I
dressed and made us a light supper and we ate once Angie re-joined us.
At nine o'clock we left our planning session, having given Lucy some
ideas to work with, and I drove her home. Angela and Marie followed us.
We shared a bottle of wine, Angie sticking to the one glass, while Lucy
showed us the unfinished works in her studio. She pointed to a stack of
half a dozen propped against a wall. "I can't finish those," she
commented in a flat tone. "I started them while Eddie was pissing me
about, but my outlook has changed since, well, you know, and I'm in such
a different place now that I don't know where the next brush stroke
goes." She picked one up and examined it critically. "This isn't art,"
she decided. "This is an emotional breakdown on canvas." She made to
throw it away. I stopped her. She looked at me in surprise.

"It's an asset," I reminded her. "If Eddie gets a solicitor and he bids for a share of your works, give him these."

"But they aren't finished," she protested.

"Would Eddie know that?"

"No, but;”