A Picture in Black and White

She knew exactly what I wanted, and what to do. Slowly she reached down between her legs with both hands and pressed her fingertips over her glistening labia. She spread them widely for me, revealing her lovely pink, wet pussy – all the while focused fixedly on my erect, glistening penis. Opening herself widely, she slid over my cock. And then, quickly, roughly sat down on it, sliding it up into herself in one, quick movement.

Chapter XXII

The slick wetness of her cunt and the glistening oil on my cock allowed it to slide into her without hesitation, straight up and in, warm and welcoming. She gasped at the quick penetration, and then moaned, and I sucked in my breath as I felt my cock slide home.

Immediately I could feel Charles' own cock, separated from mine only by the thin, soft membrane of her vaginal wall. I could even feel the thick, rigid head of his penis as my own cockhead sank deeply into her. I looked up at her face, eager to see her reaction. I had fantasized about this for ages – the opportunity to pleasure my wife with two cocks at once. But never in my wildest imagination had I thought that it would actually happen.

I was not disappointed. Brigitte's head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth open. She moaned softly, insistently, the cries emerging from deep within her. She gave voice to her pleasure with a rasping, guttural cry as she rode the hard cocks in her ass and her cunt.

Steadily I slid my cock into her, and then back out, timing my moves with Charles', as he slowly but firmly stroked in and out of her tight rectum. I slid into her wet cunt as he slid up her ass, feeling his thick, long cock each time he pressed in, the ridge of his cockhead... Just the feeling of my cockhead pressing against his almost made me come.

Her moans grew louder, and louder, as she felt the two cocks penetrating her deeply, relentlessly. "Yessss," she whispered, and then, more loudly, "Ohhhh....Yes!" I marveled at my wife's ability and willingness to take two men at once. She positively glowed with excitement and beauty. Never had I seen her so positively alight. My heart nearly burst with a combination of lust and pride.

Somehow, the three of us managed to move together in a degree of synchronous rhythm. Charles slid up into her just a fraction of a second before I did, and Brigitte somehow managed to time her own movements with us perfectly. She pressed hard and deeply against both of us at just the right moment, first against Charles and then against me, in an almost- innate, fundamental tempo, expressing without words to both of us at the same time that it was our cock on which she was singularly focused. It was a bravura performance, at once personal yet collective, and selfish yet generous. I could not help but marvel again, deeply and profoundly, at the sexuality my wife demonstrated, and of which I'd been so oblivious.

By this point, however, she was utterly, and obviously, focused on her own impending orgasm. Head thrown back, eyes closed, moaning softly, then more loudly, she rode the two hard cocks in her hungrily and shamelessly. Her moans grew in intensity and frequency as she the waves of heat and pleasure obviously rolled faster and faster through her loins, her belly, her full breasts...

"Nnnnnnn.....ooooohhhhhh," she cried, and then begin whispering, "Yes, yes...Please...! Oh, please, yes.," she moaned. And then, "Oh God, fuck me!" she finally screamed as, with determination and ever-faster tempo, she forced the hot cocks in and out of her ass and cunt.

"Yesssssssssss!" she yelled as her orgasm rocketed through her. Her entire body stiffened and she grabbed my shoulders harshly in her hands. Wave after wave of pleasure must have torn through her, as she shook with spasms, first slowly, then more quickly, then positively fiercely.

Her own pleasure trigged ours. My balls aching, unable to hold out a second longer, I let go. What seemed a positive flood of sperm shot from my jerking cock, deep into Brigitte's womb. At almost the exact same moment, I could feel Charles let go, his own thick cock jerking against mine, deep inside my wife. He moaned only softly, but I knew from the intensity of his bucking cock pressed so tightly against mine, that he was spraying absolute torrents of thick semen into my wife's tight, hot bowels.

We shuddered and shook in unison, all of us, and then collapsed, physically – and emotionally – spent. No one said a word; no words were adequate. I felt my eyes close with fatigue and satisfaction as I wrapped my arms around my lovely wife – and around her new, black stud.

All three of us dozed for some time, interlocked in a tangle of arms and legs, exhausted and satiated. It wasn't until the first rays of sun crept their way across our big bed, then across my face, that I woke and turned to look at my wife – literally and figuratively in a new light.

Slowly, as I studied her lying there, sleepy-eyed and just coming to, I realized that Charles was already up and dressed. Brigitte quickly realized it too, and we both turned to look at him as he was slipping his suit jacket on, headed for the door. We both looked at him questioningly, but he only smiled back at us, saying nothing as he finished buttoning up his Burberry trench coat.

And then, just before he closed the door, he turned to the two of us, studying us as we lay there looking up at him. He fixed Brigitte, then me, with a small smile and a steady gaze.

"As I said, Brigitte shows enormous promise," he began, the glint in his eye suddenly glowing more brightly. "Enormous."

"In fact," he continued, and my heart skipped a beat.

"In fact," he informed us, "her training will begin next week."

With that, he turned quickly and left, closing the door softly behind him – but not, I'm sure, before he heard us both gasp in unison.

Chapter XXIII

As you can imagine, things weren't the same after that night.

Her training will begin next week. Her training will begin next week... The words ran through my head again and again over the next few days. At times, I wondered if other people could hear them as well, so loudly did they resonate in my thoughts.

What on earth did Charles have in mind? I confess that his one, simple, little statement did more to cause me more confusion and excitement than anything I could ever remember.

I'm sure the words ran through Brigitte's mind more than once, as well. Heck, my guess is that she thought of little else. To say she seemed a trifle distracted after that weekend in Boston would have been an understatement.

As I might have expected, she was more than inordinately shy after our most excellent little adventure. I can't honestly say whether it was out of respect for me, or genuine embarrassment about her deportment, or confusion at the emotions and sensations brought to light by having been shared with another man. My suspicion was that it was a combination of all three, with perhaps a very large dose of old-fashioned Catholic guilt – not to mention erotic curiosity – thrown in for good measure.

Several times I tried to extract some comment from her about it – to draw a bead on how she truly felt about the experience. But she remained even more circumspect than normal – giving little, if anything, away. My teasing questions prompted blushes, but no verbal response other than the odd monosyllable. I would have given a thousand dollars to read her mind.

By contrast, the experience had a significant effect on our lovemaking. I confess that the memory of the night had the power to arouse me almost instantaneously, and any embrace or caress of Brigitte, when I was feeling that way, seemed to do likewise to her. I did, I confess, have the good grace not to ask her what she was thinking about when her passion flared up, however.

Of course, how could an experience like that simply go ignored? Unacknowledged between the two of us, at least in the short term, but not ultimately ignored. There was no denying or forgetting Charles' parting comment to us – not anytime soon, at least.

And so, in fact, we waited.

Neither of us mentioned to one another the fact that we were, in fact, waiting, aside from my occasional teasing comment to Brigitte: "When do you think Charles is going to call?" But that was as much to make her blush as anything, and I never pursued it beyond that one remark. In truth, I was as nervous that he WAS going to call as I was about the fact that he might not.

And so the waiting continued. Four days, five days, six days, seven... The tension increased subtly but steadily, and although neither of us admitted it to one another, the anticipation was growing unbearable. At the end of a full week, I was beginning to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing. There was no sign of Charles' interest, no communication whatsoever. Perhaps he had just been teasing the two of us with that last, parting remark. Perhaps it was just a way of having the final say.

Then, the following evening about 8:30, as we were finishing dinner, the phone rang.

Brigitte, sitting closest, reached for it and answered. "Hello?"

I knew in a split second that it was Charles. My heart skipped a beat, and I began to watch her reaction intently.

"We're well, yes," she stammered out, and paused, her cheeks coloring bright pink. She turned away so I could only see her back, but I could still hear her words, and the tone of her reactions.

"No, fine. Just finishing dinner." A pause. "No, um, yes, I mean. We had a great time." An even deeper blush from Brigitte with this comment – one that turned the back of her neck bright red. "No, we haven't really talked about it." Another, longer pause. Obviously, Brigitte was getting some sort of instruction.

"Tonight," she continued. It wasn't a question. "Um, yes."

I could just hear Charles' muffled tones from the earpiece, and then Brigitte replied, "Yes." Another pause. "You have directions already?" She paused again. "Yes." And then Brigitte lowered her head slightly and tried to turn even further away, coloring even more brightly.

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

And then, in response to his brief reply, responded again, softly, but more firmly: "Yes, Sir."

Chapter XXIV

Brigitte hung up the phone, still blushing furiously – practically shaking – and turned and sat down. She studiously avoided my glance.

"I assume that was Charles," I said, grinning wickedly. Brigitte nodded, still refusing to look at me. I rose from my seat and went and stood behind her chair. Slowly and affectionately I leaned down and nuzzled her neck, putting my arms around her waist. Slowly I slid my hands up over her breasts. Her nipples were stiff and erect, poking out sharply through her white turtleneck, unrestrained by the soft cotton, or even by the nylon of her bra.

I hardly needed to acknowledge that I knew how aroused she was – to add to her embarrassment – but the devil was in me. Without effort, I took both her erect nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and gently tugged on them. "And what does he want?" I asked her quietly, whispering into her ear – continuing to pull and roll the tender flesh between my fingers.

I teased her: "Does he want to fuck you again?" She sucked in her breath.

"Have you suck his long, hard, cock?" Brigitte shook her head slowly, moaning slightly over the rough handling of her breasts – or maybe it was over the prospect of whatever Charles had just told her, or what I was suggesting.

"He's coming over in an hour," she began, stammering. "He told me...He told me..."

"Yes?" I asked, eager with anticipation.

Brigitte barely whispered the words. "He told me to prepare for my first lesson."

My cock hardened instantly, and my heart beat faster. "Did he, um, tell you what it involved?" I asked.

"He..." Brigitte began, then stopped, obviously reluctant and embarrassed. "Not really," she began again, but something in her hesitation gave her away. I was suddenly sure that Charles had been more specific than she was letting on.

"An hour, huh?" I answered. I wasn't sure I could wait that long to see what was going to happen. "Good thing the kids are in bed," I said, as much to myself as to her. "Why don't you run upstairs and shower, or whatever," I added. "I'll clean up the dishes. " Brigitte smiled gratefully, still blushing, and headed upstairs.

The next hour passed agonizingly slowly. I looked at the paper, but the words refused to sink in. I flicked on the TV, but couldn't concentrate on the images. I heard the shower run, then the hairdryer whirr, and then the sounds of her clattering around with make-up. Still she refused to come downstairs. I didn't push it.

Suddenly, I heard a car in the driveway and then, mere seconds later, the doorbell rang. My heart jumped.

I opened the door. Charles stood there, good-looking as ever, dressed immaculately in a black turtleneck and gray wool slacks. A slight grin creased his face.

"May I come in?" he inquired.

"By all means," I replied, returning his smile. Nervous, a bit, but returning his smile confidently, nonetheless.

"You don't mind my coming over at this hour?" he inquired graciously.

"Are you kidding?" I answered. "I'm glad it's so late. The boys are in bed already."

"That's good. I 'd hate to disturb," he answered, stepping in.

I couldn't see much need for small talk – I couldn't think of much, honestly – but I asked if he'd like a drink. Bourbon on the rocks, he answered, and we walked back to the kitchen. I poured him a fairly stiff one, and handed it to him slowly. I poured myself an even stiffer one. "Brigitte is waiting upstairs," I said simply.

A brief look of concern crossed his face. "You..." he began. For a brief second, I saw Charles at a loss, and smiled inwardly. However, he quickly regained his composure. He looked up at me.

"You're okay with this, aren't you, Bruce? With whatever I may ask her to do?"

I was about to reply quickly, but I realized my words were probably not going to come out as cool and collected as I would have liked. Taking a second to quickly regain composure myself, I looked him straight in the eye.

"Charles," I began slowly, "I believe you're a gentleman. That's of paramount importance." He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he heard me out.

"And I believe, because of that fact, that whatever you have my wife do will ultimately be both safe, and focused on her pleasure." I looked him straight in the eye. "Am I right about that?"

"Without a doubt," he replied. "You have my word." He paused for a moment, and I sensed he had something else, of great importance, to say. I waited expectantly, my heart beating faster.

"You have some idea of what might be in store, I think," he began slowly, then paused to take a sip of his drink. "I don't think you're exactly a novice, I mean." He smiled. I began to nod. I decided to take it as a compliment.

He continued: "As I said to you last week, Brigitte shows great promise – enormous erotic potential. A certain, natural...oh, never mind. But, if it's brought out in her, it will lead to intense pleasure. But she's ultimately shy and conservative by nature. No doubt a Catholic upbringing, yes?" He smiled at his own joke.

"I plan to take her into many new areas that I doubt she's ever thought of, or fantasized about, let alone considered trying," he continued.

Then he paused again briefly, choosing his next words carefully. "Intimate, extremely personal acts. Some might even call them taboo."

My lips were dry. I took a long sip of my drink, saying nothing – but he had my full attention.

"Because I sense in her a great curiosity and willingness – a sense of adventure, however well she may normally keep it hidden." I was nodding as he said this. He paused again, obviously noting my agreement.

"But I'll need your help."

I swallowed hard.

"Are you willing to participate in this training as well?" he asked me pointedly. "Will you do as asked, or as told?"

He waited for my answer.

I couldn't bring myself to reply. I simply looked at him. So, he continued.

"Bear in mind that my focus is Brigitte's pleasure – and that your participation is critical to it. She needs your involvement – your approval, if she is ever to be comfortable with the things I'm going to have her do. You understand that, I'm sure." I nodded. He went on. "And don't forget something absolutely critical to this."

He had my full attention.

"You know that women –and particularly wives – want to be respected, first of all. Then, they want to be loved. Sex comes third on the list."

He chuckled. "Unlike men."

"So before she's comfortable with any of this, she'll have to be perfectly assured of both your respect and love. Only then will this work. You know that, don't you?"

I nodded again. "That goes without saying," I said simply.

Charles paused again, then continued. "There's another element to your participation, of course," he went on – now with a twinkle in his eye. "Sexual pleasure is unsatisfactory if it's singular – you know that. It has to be shared. We want things done to us, but we want to do them to others. We want to participate, but we want to watch, too." Here he smiled broadly. "Most importantly," he went on, "we're all made up of a varying mix of dominant and submissive traits."

He went on, looking sharply at me, and continued with even greater confidence. "In some, the dominance trait rules 90 percent of the time, and in others, the opposite is true. But the key fact is that both are present in all of us; it just depends on the moment, and the circumstance, to determine which will rule."

He paused and looked at me intently. "Do you see what I'm getting at?"

I did, but I wanted to hear him say it. He knew that, so he made it easy for me.

"So, Brigitte will not only be more comfortable in her own training if she senses that you're involved, and supportive, but I guarantee it that she'll also take enormous pleasure in knowing that you, too, are, um, shall we say, being trained as well?"

He paused for effect. "Do I make myself clear?"

I swallowed hard again. "I think I understand what you're getting at," I murmured, quickly draining the last of my drink.

"Good," he answered. "Let's go upstairs and begin."

Chapter XXV

Brigitte was waiting for Charles. She sat on the edge of the big bed, legs crossed, nervously playing with her hands – and looking ravishing. Obviously, Charles had indeed given her particular instructions, because she never would have dressed in such a manner of her own volition. She had put on make-up – more than I could normally recall her wearing – and her dark eyes, rouged cheeks and deep red lipstick brought out a sultry, sexy look that I couldn't recall ever having seen before.

She wore very little in the way of clothing. It was clear she had been ordered to dress for Charles' pleasure, and combined with the heavy make-up, the effect was stunning.

A black lace bra. One of her everyday ones, but striking nonetheless when seen this way. Black, lace, high-cut bikini briefs. These, too, I'd seen her wear on numerous occasions, but considering the context, they, too, looked new and different – and far sexier than I had recalled.

Most unusual for Brigitte, however, was the fact that she wore heels – new, black ones that she'd recently purchased for a wedding, and at least three inches high. Without heels, my wife would have merely been dressed in her underwear; wearing them, she was suddenly on display.

Charles walked over to her, took her hands, and leant down to give her a long kiss. As he did, he gently ran his hands up her arms and across to her full breasts, cupping them in his hands. Brigitte made no move to resist. In fact, it looked from where I stood that she pressed herself harder and closer to him, both against his lips, and against the hands that caressed her tits. If I'd had any doubt about my wife's willingness to follow Charles' requests, it was evaporating quickly.