erotic art

“Amy, tell me about fuck buddies.”



“What about them?”



“Well, when I was your age, there was no such word, no such thing – and probably no such idea. To be honest, I’m not sure if I really understand what a fuck buddy is.”



“Now you’re showing your age, Sam.”



I must have looked a bit hurt to be reminded like that of the big difference between us, although it was never far from my mind. Amy quickly leaned across the kitchen table and kissed me on the cheek.



“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in a nasty way.”



“S’OK. I know you didn’t. It’s not like it’s something I’d forget in a hurry, though.”



“Sam, it really doesn’t bother me. I shouldn’t have said that. Do you want some more toast?”



“No thanks.”



Amy stood up and busied herself at the kitchen bench with her back to me making toast and putting the kettle on for more tea. As she casually shifted her weight from one leg to another, I watched the dimples above each of her buttocks tilting first this way, then that. There was a small daylight gap at the top of her thighs, about two fingers width, just enough for me to see from behind the clear ‘w’ shape of her pussy lips. I felt at that moment there was nothing I would rather be looking at than the backside of this naked girl, and that there was no prettier sight in the world. Until she turned around. She leaned against the bench looking down at me, weight on her right leg, left knee slightly bent and turned outwards with her feet about 12 inches apart, her silky bare pussy smiling vertically at me, arms folded under her breasts. I had to consciously remember to breathe. It took me a while to work my eyes up her body far enough to make contact with hers.



“Not many men can pay a girl a compliment as eloquently as you do, Sam.”



“I didn’t say anything.”



“That’s the point. The way you look at me makes me feel better than any fancy words ever could.”



“My pleasure, ma’am”, I said. And it was.



She buttered her toast, poured another cup of tea, and sat down again at the kitchen table.



“Donna’s brother, Alex.”



“Don’t know him. What about him?”



“He was my fuck buddy for a while. In my last year at school. You asked how I learned to suck cock like I did last night.”



“I did. Was he your boyfriend?”



“No, we never dated. He was just a friend it was safe to have sex with. You know, no strings. No emotional involvement. That’s a fuck buddy.”



I understood the general idea of a fuck buddy, but it was not something I had ever personally experienced, so I was still puzzled by the mechanics of such a relationship.



“But if you never dated him,” I said, “how did you ever get to fuck him? I mean, how did you manage to get undressed and into bed with him if you skipped all the getting-to-know-each-other part of building a relationship?”



“Sam, we don’t have to dance around each other for ages these days, dropping hints and flirting until we accidentally fall into bed together. I think we are a bit more direct about sex than you used to be in Queen Victoria’s day – oops sorry, Sam. That was a joke, honest.”



She was laughing at me, but I couldn’t do other than laugh with her. I knew I must have seemed very old fashioned to her in so many ways, but on the other hand, it was me she was sharing her body with and having sex with, not someone her own age, so it was hard to be offended by her gentle jibes.



“Actually, sharing Alex with me was Donna’s idea. She learned how to deepthroat him first, and he was more than happy to let Donna’s girlfriends use his dick to practice on any time, as you can imagine. The day Donna showed me how to do it, we took turns sucking his dick most of the afternoon, so he thought all his Christmases had come at once. By the way, the trick to getting it down without gagging is in pushing your tongue out and swallowing at the same time.”



“I thought you said Alex was Donna’s brother?”



“He is.”



“Amy, that’s… incestuous.”



“Oh, Sam, don’t look so shocked. All right, technically it is incest, but they knew what they were doing. It wasn’t like they wanted to get married and have kids, they were just helping each other grow up. What, you think brothers and sisters don’t do that? Who else would they trust more than each other? It happens all the time.”



“But that means Sally and Mike….”



It had never occurred to me before that my own two children might have helped each other learn about sex when they were in their teens. Early on, they had shared their bath-time like all young kids do. They had lived in a house without any locks on the doors, in fact, for years the bathroom didn’t have a door at all, not even a shower curtain, so it was no big deal for any of us to see each other naked, and we did almost every day, given the free flow of traffic in and out of the bathroom in the morning. Even when they were in their teens they skinny-dipped with Jeannie and me when we went to the lakes. They were good friends at school, and they are still good friends today. Had they been fuck buddies? I didn’t know, but I guessed it was possible.



“I know what you’re thinking”, said Amy. “If you want me to, I could probably find out for you.”



“No, I don’t want you to do that, thanks.”



“Is it because you don’t want them to know about me?”



“No! It isn’t that at all. I’m happy for them to know about you. I just don’t want to know that about them. If you know what I mean.”



“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. You know, if it’s difficult to deal with the fact that I’m the same age as Sally.”



“Yes, you are. I knew that. Yes.”



I did know, but I had half forgotten that Amy and Sally were the same age, almost exactly. We had established that months ago one morning in the studio, soon after Amy started modelling for me. So it was no surprise to me and no secret. But when Amy made that simple statement it was suddenly more real, and it made me feel a little uncomfortable. I thought about some of Sally’s friends when she was growing up. Amy could have been any one of those sweet and innocent little girls, and the idea of fucking any of them just didn’t seem right. I was barely used to the idea that my own little girl had grown breasts. Again, Amy was very sensitive and perceptive about what was going through my head.



“Sally’s a woman now, Sam, and so am I. We’re making adult choices for ourselves. One of my choices is to be with you and make love with you. It’s not… wrong.”



“I could be your father.”



“You’re not my father, I’ve already got one of them, and I don’t need another. But you’re more than a fuck buddy.”



She was expecting me to ask her how much more than a fuck buddy she thought I was to her, but I was a little afraid of any of the possible answers to that question. Part of me wanted to just enjoy this opportunity as a temporary interlude in both our lives and not get too involved with her, but part of me was beginning to dread the day when Amy would find a new place of her own and move on with her life in a way that didn’t include me. There was an awkward pause while I tried to decide what I could say that wouldn’t force her to define our relationship, because I wasn’t ready for her to do that. Amy defused the situation in her typically tactful way.



“Yes, you’re more than that,” she said, with a grin. “You’re a housemate. And let me tell you, a good housemate is a lot harder to find than a fuck buddy.”



“Thank you,” I said, grateful for her good sense and for her sense of humour. I tried to sound nonchalant as I changed the subject.



“Have you found anywhere else to live that looks promising yet?”



“To tell you the truth, Sam, I haven’t been looking very hard the last few days. There’s not much around at the moment, and it’s so boring looking at crappy flats.”



“To tell YOU the truth, Amy, I’m very glad. Don’t be in a hurry to move out. You can stay here for as long as you want to.”



“Thanks, Sam. I was so hoping you’d say that. Promise me you’ll tell me if I outstay my welcome?”



She was leaning sideways on one elbow, which was resting on the kitchen table, her head propped up by her hand. Her left breast was resting gently on the table, squished slightly higher than the right one. I could not imagine a time when I would not want to have such a beautiful sight in my house.



“I promise.”



“You can stop staring at my tits now,” said Amy, getting up from her chair and clearing away the breakfast plates.



“Not a chance,” I said.



The phone rang and I answered it. I wasn’t doing much of the talking, so while I was on the phone I kept watching Amy walking around the kitchen, putting things away in cupboards, sweeping crumbs from the table, and stretching her naked body and limbs like cats do when they wake up. Cats do it for the exercise, but Amy was aware that I was watching her every move, so although she pretended otherwise, I knew she was doing it more for my benefit than her own. From listening to the few words I had said she could tell that it was a really good phone call, so when I hung up, she asked me who I’d been talking to.



“That was Greta, she runs the gallery that handles my work. She calls herself an art dealer, but to say she’s ‘my dealer’ sounds so sleazy, so I don’t usually call her that.”



“I agree, it makes it sound like she sells drugs, not art. What did she say?”



“The other day I took in those two last drawings we did to show her. She was a bit negative because they were so erotic, not my normal style, but she hung on to them anyway. She thought they were good drawings, but told me that it was unlikely they’d sell. Anyway, one of her best corporate clients was in the gallery first thing this morning, and she showed him the drawings, and he just loved them.”



“I knew it. I told you they were good.”



“Anyway, when Greta saw his eyes light up, she gave him a price that was double what she would normally ask for. And he bought them both on the spot!”



“That’s wonderful!” said Amy clapping her hands in delight. “What now?”



“What do you mean, what now?”



“Well, she didn’t just ring to tell you about selling two drawings. She wants a lot more, doesn’t she?”



“How did you know that?”



“Sam, you’re an artist, and she’s a dealer. It’s bloody obvious she’d want to cash in on something like this that’s new and hot. She wants a whole show, doesn’t she?”



“She wants me to have a solo exhibition. In the main gallery space.”



“That means a big opening, real champagne, all the major newspapers, magazines – sex is always a good topic, so an erotic art exhibition will probably get TV coverage too, wouldn’t you think?” She was ticking off a mental list, like she was organising it all herself.



“Probably.”



“How many pieces?”



“I don’t know. About thirty, I guess.”



“Then you’ll need at least forty good pieces to choose from. You did say yes, didn’t you?”



“No, I said, first I’ll have to talk to my partner.” That surprised her, and stopped her for a moment, as I knew it would.



“I didn’t know you had one,” she said, a little hesitantly.



“I mean YOU, Amy. You’re my inspiration. If I do this, I need you to help me. We have to be in this together.”



“Come on then, into the studio. We’ve got work to do.”



“Now? Damn, you’re a bossy woman. But when we’re in the studio, you work for me, remember?”



“That’s funny, I thought we were partners.”

“Sam, Tracey. Tracey, Sam.”



Tracey shook my outstretched hand a little tentatively, as if she wasn’t sure what I might do with it next. She was holding herself stiffly, obviously a little nervous, and in an almost inaudible voice she said hello to me and then turned to look at Amy, seemingly for reassurance.



“I’ve told Tracey all about you, Sam, so you’d better be on your best behaviour.”



“In that case I’ll try not to fart while she’s here.”



“See? That’s what I have to put up with. I did try to warn you what he was like, Tracey, but you wouldn’t listen.”



Amy had a knack for putting people at ease with her light humour, and she brought a little smile to Tracey’s face, which helped to relax the tension of her posture.



“Show her some of your drawings, Sam, I’ll get some coffee before we start”. Amy busied herself with the espresso machine at the back of the studio, leaving me to introduce Tracey to the sort of modelling we wanted her to do for us. As I pulled some of the recent drawings from the plan chest and laid them out on the floor in front of her I saw her eyes widen and her mouth dropped open. She had clearly never seen any artworks like them. I deliberately said nothing, waiting for her unprompted response, but Amy as usual felt obliged to fill the silence.



“Good, aren’t they? How do you take it?”



“Mmm… black no sugar, ta. They’re… amazing.”



“That sounds tactfully non-committal”, I said, “but it’s OK. You don’t have to like them. Not everyone does.”



“No”, said Tracey quickly, “I do like them. I’m just a bit surprised at how …explicit they are…” Her words tailed off, and I could sense her unease.



“And…?” I prompted.



“I’m not sure I could… do that, for instance.” She pointed to a drawing of Amy lying down with her back arching up, half her hand buried in her pussy.



“We don’t expect you to do exactly that,” I said. “and you won’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”



Amy jumped in to help. “That’s not the sort of thing we asked you here to do. Those are all about me being an exhibitionist, about the connection between me and whoever is looking at the image. They are very demanding, they insist that you are involved in what I am doing. See, in most of these, I am looking straight at you.”



“I think that’s what makes them so confronting,” said Tracey.



“It is,” said Amy. “But if you and I are both in the picture, then it’s what’s going on between us that becomes important, so it won’t be like these at all. Mind you, we still want them to be erotic.”



“OK. What do you want me to do,” said Tracey, taking a deep breath.



“Just sit down here and drink your coffee,” I said, indicating the dais. “I’ll let you two know when I’m ready.”



Amy and I had talked about how we would gradually introduce Tracey to what we wanted from her. It was important that she got involved in the process, but we didn’t want to scare her off by rushing her. I took my time selecting some nice paper, pinning it onto my easel board, and sharpening some pencils, while Amy took over.



While Tracey drank her coffee, I casually kept my eye on her. She was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt with low-slung jeans, and although she was not quite as tall and a little heavier in the chest than Amy, she had a dancer’s long waist and long legs and was obviously fit and supple. Tracey was watching Amy, looking at her very much like I would, enjoying her relaxed grace and beautiful proportions. It was not hard to conclude that she was as attracted to Amy as I was. She didn’t seem to be all that aware of me and what I was doing, which was exactly what I was hoping for.



Amy stood in front of her and untied her hair, letting it fall down over her shoulders. Calmly and deliberately, she tossed her hair out of her eyes, then lifted her T-shirt and peeled it up and over her head. This made sure that she had the undivided attention of the new girl who was motionless, absorbed in watching her friend undress. Amy untied the drawstring in her track pants, pulled them out from her body to loosen them and then dropped them to the floor. Naked, she stepped out of them, and took two short steps forward so that she was standing right in front of Tracey, her silky smooth pussy almost level with Tracey’s wide eyes. Tracey looked up at Amy’s face as she bent slightly at the waist, put her hands on Tracey’s shoulders and kneeled up onto the dais, one knee on each side of Tracey’s lap. Shuffling forward, she wrapped her arms round Tracey’s head and pulled it towards her to rest it on her breast. Tracey put her coffee down and wrapped her arms around Amy’s waist in a hug, and she closed her eyes.



“Ready?” I said quietly.



“Ready,” said Amy. “Hold it just like this, Tracey. Ten minutes enough, Sam?”



“Should be plenty,” I said, drawing quickly.



It was a new and different experience for me drawing the relationship between two figures rather than just trying to capture the essence of one. I realized immediately that I didn’t have the freedom to exaggerate and distort any part of one of them without affecting the proportions of the other one wherever the two intersected, so I went for a simpler treatment, where the actual proportions of the figures were more accurately but coarsely rendered. It was then a couple of details of the two hugging bodies, one naked, one clothed, that became the focal points of the whole image. Amy’s head was turned away from me and shielded from view by her hair, but most of Tracey’s face was visible to me, pressed against Amy’s slightly squashed right tit and framed by the soft spikes of her short blonde hair. I tried to capture her facial expression because it was obvious Tracey was happy to be just where she was, with Amy’s nipple pressed against the corner of her mouth. She had a gentle half-smile on her face, like some martyred saint blissfully floating to heaven in some baroque Italian ceiling fresco. The other main detail I emphasised was the strong S-shaped curve formed by Amy’s lower back sweeping down and around her gorgeous buttocks as she sat on Tracey’s lap.



“You OK, Tracey?” I asked when we had about two minutes of the pose to go.



“Oh yes,” she said with conviction. “I’m just fine.”



There was an oddly incongruous feel to the picture, because it was an intimate embrace, yet one of the figures was fully clothed while the other was fully naked. I was very pleased with the result I managed to achieve, and finished it quickly, within the ten minutes we agreed.



Amy slowly unwound her arms and stretched backwards, but she was still seated with her legs apart on Tracey’s lap. She took Tracey’s face in both her hands, bent down and kissed her on the lips. Tracey was as surprised as I was by this move, but it did not take her more than a second or two to respond, and happily kissed her back. I took the drawing down and pinned it on the wall, and put a new blank sheet on the easel in its place.



I knew Amy was in control of what she was doing, so I didn’t interrupt her, as the two young women gently tasted each other for the first time. Their faces parted, both of them smiling at the other.



“Yum,” said Amy. “Wanna get naked?”



“OK,” said Tracey.



Amy stood up, pulling her friend up onto her feet. They stood close, almost touching. Amy lifted the bottom of Tracey’s shirt and pulled it up and over her head. As she had been asked, Tracey wasn’t wearing any underwear, and after she dropped the shirt Amy stroked her hands slowly down over Tracey’s breasts and down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. She undid the button and the zip and pushed them down Tracey’s thighs as far as she could reach without bending down, then taking hold of both of Tracey’s arms just above the elbow, pushed her gently back and down so that she was sitting again on the dais. Reaching down, she pulled Tracey’s feet up and slid the jeans all the way off, leaving the now naked Tracey leaning back on her elbows with her bottom on the edge of the dais, legs straight out in front of her.



Tracey’s pubic hair was light mousy brown, like the hair on her head would probably have been without the blonde streaks, and it was thick and bushy. Amy reached down and picked up a small tuft of the curls, pulling it up between her fingers. Out straight, the hair was between two and three inches long. Amy looked Tracey in the eye, and raised one eyebrow.



“I know,” said Tracey, screwing her face up. “They’ve got to go, haven’t they?”



“You bet they’ve gotta go. Girl, yer a real shaggy bitch.” Amy had put on a broad southern drawl. “We gotta give y’all a goddam haircut.”



“I think Sam’s ready to do some more drawing,” said Tracey momentarily looking over to where I was standing, hoping I would rescue her. “The grooming can wait, can’t it?”



Amy looked at me quizzically. I was keen to see Amy shave her friend’s pussy, but I thought it would be better if Tracey was more comfortable with us and more used to being naked in front of me before she let us do that, so I mimed some drawing movements at Amy, and she got the message.



“Yes, it can wait. What would you like us to do, Sam?”



I set them down together with Tracey leaning against the wall, Amy leaning back against her, sitting between Tracey’s thighs. Amy’s knees were bent and open, and Tracey had one arm draped over Amy’s shoulder with her hand holding and gently stroking one of Amy’s tits. It was a very casual but intimate pose, and they looked like two people who had just finished making love. Neither of them was looking at me, but it was still a very erotically charged scene, partly because I could see how much Tracey was enjoying this close embrace with my lovely Amy. They were very comfortable, so I made this a long pose and did two versions of it, working a lot of good detail into both of them, before letting the girls take a break.



For the last pose, I threw a couple of quilts over the little platform with some pillows and made them both lie down, face to face, with their legs intertwined, Amy’s arms enveloped round Tracey’s, like two lovers asleep. This looked wonderful, but was less successful for me, because Tracey’s hands were trapped between the two bodies and one of them was in just the right place to stroke Amy’s pussy, which of course she did. Amy tried to keep still, but being expected to play dead when someone is stroking your clitoris is a big ask. The session ended with the two of them giggling and squirming so much I gave up trying to draw.



Amy was keen to get the shaving kit out, but for me, this had been a fairly short but intense session. I definitely wanted to draw Amy shaving Tracey’s pussy, but I needed to be fresh for it. We agreed that’s how we would start the next session, and Tracey put her clothes on again ready to go.



“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked her as I gave her $50 for the session, even though it had been a bit less than the normal two hours.



“No, it wasn’t,” she replied, “I wasn’t really keen to do this, but Amy is a very difficult person to say ‘no’ to, and it was better than I expected. I thought I would be more nervous and embarrassed than I was.”



“That’s funny, I once said the same thing.”



“What, about being nervous and embarrassed?”



“About it being hard to say ‘no’ to Amy.”



Amy jumped into the conversation at this. “Sam, do you want me to move out of here and go live with Tracey?”



“No.”



“There, it wasn’t hard to say at all. I don’t know where you two get such strange ideas.”

Tracey was late for the next session, so Amy and I started work without her. I left my old painting shirt on, just in case she eventually turned up, but that was starting to look very unlikely. We had finally come to the conclusion that Tracey didn’t want to do any more nude modelling, even though it was a golden opportunity for her to get close to Amy with no clothes on, when in she walked.



“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Do you still want me?”



“Of course”, I replied, “we’re glad you could make it.”



She stood in the doorway, not quite sure what to do next. She didn’t have Amy’s easy confidence about being nude in front of strangers, and Amy sensed this. She had been lying on her back on the dais, but she quickly swung her feet to the floor and walked naked over to the doorway, taking Tracey by the hand and leading her into the studio.



“You can put your bag down, you know. We won’t steal it”, said Amy.



Tracey had been clutching the strap of her shoulder bag very tightly, but she smiled and put the bag down beside the dais. Without asking her permission, Amy undid the buttons of Tracey’s coat, slipped it off her shoulders, and handed it to me. I put it on the coat rack near the door, while Amy undid Tracey’s jeans. Tracey was now helping the undressing process and lifted her top up and over her head, tossing it behind her. When Amy squatted on her haunches to pull Tracey’s jeans down to her ankles, Tracey slipped her hands inside her thong panties and pushed them down, too. Her pussy was now as bald as Amy’s, and Amy whistled when she saw it.



“When did that happen, Trace? Nice looking job”, she said appreciatively.



“That’s why I’m late. It took longer than I thought it would.”



“I would have helped you,” said Amy, sounding a little disappointed. “That was the plan.”



“I know, but I felt more comfortable doing it myself. It’s a very personal thing to do, you know.”



“Oh, I know,” said Amy, “That’s what makes it so much fun when someone else does it for you.”



“Yeah, well. I wanted to do it on my own,” said Tracey. “At least the first time.”



“May I?” said Amy, not waiting for permission, but reaching out immediately and feeling the skin all round Tracey’s pussy. At first it was obvious she was checking the smoothness of the shave, but her fingers lingered as she felt for stray hairs round the opening to Tracey’s vagina, and when her middle finger disappeared and she murmured “Nice”, it was no longer clear whether she was still referring to the quality of the shave, or the feel of what had just been shaved.



I cleared my throat, to get Amy’s attention. “Are you two ready to do some work?”



Tracey had been engrossed in what Amy’s fingers were doing, but jumped at the sound of my voice, like I had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. Amy shot me a dirty look, to let me know that she didn’t think I needed to be such a killjoy, then, for Tracey’s benefit, tried to sound enthusiastic.



“Sure. What do you want us to do?”



“I think it would be nice to get the two of you lying down, entwined, all tangled up in each other so I can’t see whose arms and legs are which. Can you do that?”



It took a minute or so to get some big cushions onto the dais, and to throw a brightly coloured piece of African fabric over the whole thing. I wanted them to get comfortable, because I thought that what I had asked for would be visually very interesting, and I was prepared to spend a bit of time trying to get a decent result from it.



I had imagined them cuddling somehow face to face, with their legs wrapped up and round each other’s body, but when Tracey swung herself onto the dais, Amy walked round to the opposite side and laid herself down in the opposite direction, so her legs would be up and around Tracey’s shoulders, and vice versa. OK, I thought, this could be even better.



Amy lifted Tracey’s leg over her shoulder as she lay down, resting her head on the inner thigh of Tracey’s lower leg, her face only about a foot away from the light pink pussy. She wrapped one of her legs over and around Tracey, whose hand was now resting on Amy’s buttock, her trunk twisted and leaning back. Tracey’s head and shoulders were a little further away from Amy’s pussy, but she was still able to look straight at it, and it was still very accessible to her.



“That looks… interesting,” I said, taking a piece of thick vine charcoal and quickly blocking out the main shapes the two young women made.



“It looks pretty good from here,” said Amy, looking straight at Tracey’s open crotch.



“The view’s not bad from this end either,” said Tracey, obviously starting to relax and lose what was left of her inhibitions.



I had a feeling that neither of them would be able to hold this pose for long, and I was right. It wasn’t that it was awkward, on the contrary, they were both nestled in very comfortable positions over and around the big cushions. But I knew from what Amy had said about her preference for women that Tracey would surely be getting very turned on by the closeness of her naked friend, and I knew that Amy’s bisexual curiosity and her love of exposing herself would be having a similar effect on her. It seemed that every time I made some marks with the charcoal, and then glanced up from the paper at my models, Amy’s head looked like it was just a fraction closer to Tracey’s pussy, and Tracey’s hand looked like it was sliding slowly down Amy’s ass crack towards Amy’s. I quickly realised that it was not my imagination and the two models were not holding themselves as still as I wanted them to be. I tried to draw more rapidly while I still had a chance, but I would have had to be a lightning sketch artist to have captured the pose before it completely disintegrated. Within minutes, Amy’s face was within a tongue’s length from her friend’s pink and glistening pussy, and she was breathing in deeply through her nose, savouring the scent of its slippery wetness.



“Hang on, Amy, I’m not finished drawing yet,” I said.



“Sorry, Sam, your needs aren’t my highest priority at the moment. And I think you should know that this cunt smells sinfully tasty.”



“That’s more than I needed to know, girl, I’m trying to concentrate here.”



“Me too,” said Amy, as she closed her eyes and moved her head the last few millimetres towards the source of the olfactory stimulation. Just before her open mouth locked itself onto Tracey’s pubic mound, I caught a glimpse of Amy’s pointed tongue sliding into the already wet vaginal opening.



Unable to do otherwise, Tracey’s back arched and she pushed her hips towards Amy’s mouth. She looked across at me, not wanting to hold back, but not sure what I would do or say next. She didn’t know that I was expecting something just like this to happen when I put them close together, and although I really did want to draw them, I was more than happy to be an appreciative spectator for a while.



“Don’t let me stop you, Tracey,” I said, “but if it’s all right with you, I’ll just sit over here and politely wait till you’re both done. Amy likes to have an audience.”



Amy momentarily came up for air. “And you love nothing better than to watch, so don’t you pretend otherwise, you hypocrite.”



“Guilty as charged,” I confessed, as Tracey smiled and shut her eyes, surrendering to the sensation of Amy’s tongue on her clit.



“Omigod,” said Tracey, “that is deep-fried heaven on a stick.” With her mouth full, Amy could only grunt what seemed to be her agreement, and reached for the toy basket that these days was always somewhere on or near the dais.



Watching the two of them was pretty close to my idea of heaven, too. I don’t know any heterosexual male or female who would want to watch two gay men fucking each other, because it just doesn’t work aesthetically. It’s not what men’s bodies are supposed to do. On the other hand, there is something universally erotic about two women making out with each other.



Tracey may have felt very self-conscious in our studio at first, but as her sexual response systems kicked in she quickly seemed to become oblivious to me, and was totally focussed on what Amy was doing to her. Amy, on the other hand, was enjoying the sensation of being watched at least as much as she was enjoying the girl-girl sex, and even when her mouth was clamped over Tracey’s smooth and slippery pubic area, she still kept looking up at me – eyes smiling – to make sure I was paying attention. Paying attention? I couldn’t have prised my eyes away from the two of them with a crowbar.



Both of them were ready for the novelty of no-holds-barred sex with each other, and they came within a few minutes, first one, then the other. They took turns swapping mouth-tongue-finger-dildo orgasms for a while, then both of them came together, very loudly, clamping each other’s head and shoulders in a thigh-vice. I was so engrossed in the new experience of watching Amy make love to someone other than me, pleased to be enjoying it and surprised to find that I was feeling more than a twinge of jealousy, that it took me a while to realize how explosively loud both of them had become. Amy’s normal grunting and heavy breathing had become full-throated shouts, and Tracey was squealing like a very large suckling pig about to be slaughtered. By the time I had the presence of mind to think about shushing them down a bit so the neighbours wouldn’t complain, they had come down the other side of their climaxes and the noises had tailed off to almost nothing.



The damage had been done, however. The doorbell rang about ten minutes after the last joint orgasm, while Tracey was looking for some tissues to mop up with and Amy was getting a couple of cold drinks from the kitchen fridge. I slipped some track pants on and went to find out who was at the door. It must have been a slow day at the precinct, because it was two policemen in uniform, responding to a complaint that someone was being hurt. I assured them that no violence had been occurring in my house, but they politely and firmly advised me that it would be in my own interests to invite them in to see for themselves. I wasn’t about to stop them, and I figured they would have been trained to expect all kinds of unusual situations, so I was curious to see how they dealt with two flushed and sweating naked exhibitionists.



The door to the studio was open and I waved them in, following close behind. Tracey was leaning back on the dais, with one leg raised, wiping her groin with a tissue. I don’t know who jumped the most, Tracey or the two cops, but the cops stepped back as if someone had punched them both at once, the big man banging back into the wall, the younger one almost treading on my bare toes. Tracey leapt off the bed, looking around her frantically trying to remember where her clothes had gone, while I squeezed past them into the room.



“It would be good if you would tell these officers that I haven’t been beating you up,” I said to Tracey.



“Where’s my shirt, Sam?” she hissed, with her back to the door, trying to shield herself with a tissue.



“You seem to have us at a disadvantage,” I said to the police officers, who were regaining their composure and trying to look officially unfazed, but both were having some difficulty giving any attention to anything but Tracey’s bottom as she pulled on her t-shirt and untangled her pants.



“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we need to ask you if you are OK,” said the younger of the two cops, “we have a report that someone was screaming in here.”



Tracey was still trying to get dressed and get some dignity back, so she didn’t reply right away, apart from muttering “Shit, shit, shit” to herself because she had started to put her pants on back to front.



“Can I help you?”



I used to think that the idea of the ‘double-take’ was invented by Warner Brothers for Loony Tunes and it only existed in comics and movie cartoons, but at the sound of Amy’s voice coming from the doorway behind them, the two cops turned around and did another synchronised double-take. This time the older man backed into the dais which caught him behind the knees and made him sit down very suddenly and heavily. Amy was standing in the open door with her weight on one leg and her hands on her hips. Even a celibate priest would realise that her livid and inflamed pussy had been recently been fucked with some enthusiasm.



“Oh goody, are these our new playmates, Sam?” Amy asked me ingenuously.



“These are real police officers, Amy, I think you should be polite.”



“Are they? They don’t look real.”



“They definitely are.”



“Did you ask them to bring the handcuffs like you promised you would?”



“Amy, these are real policemen.”



“Sure they are, Sam. Guys, the changing room’s through here, if you want to go and get ready.”



The older policeman stood up and stuck his thumbs in his belt. For a moment, I thought Amy had gone too far, but then he couldn’t help smiling before he turned towards me trying to look a bit more serious.



“I think you should tell your lady friend that we’re broadminded and we don’t mind a joke, but that she shouldn’t push her luck. OK?”



“Yes, officer,” I said, trying to sound suitably contrite. The two policeman started to move towards the door. The older one nudged the younger one in the ribs to get him to tear his eyes away from Amy’s very accessible body, and they both somewhat reluctantly left the room and headed for the front door. I made what was supposed to be a threatening expression and mouthed the word “Behave!” to Amy, but I could see from her expression that the devil was in her, as I followed the visitors into the hallway.



“I didn’t see any whips, Tracey. Why didn’t they bring the whips?” I heard Amy say loudly enough to be clearly heard in the hall. “No restraints, either.” Tracey was fighting a losing battle with her giggles, when the older cop turned and spoke to me for the last time.



“Try to keep the noise down, sir, if you don’t mind,” he said to me in a quiet and friendly voice. Then even more quietly, he said “You lucky bastard,” and left, shaking his head.

“Sam, I do believe you’re a bit jealous.”



“Yes, I think I am.”



“That’s so sweet. I never promised you fidelity, though, did I?”



“You never promised me anything.”



“I know that. So what’s your problem?”



“No problem. You just asked me how I felt about you having sex with Tracey, that’s all. So I told you.”



I was beginning to wish I hadn’t told her the truth. I should have lied, and said I didn’t care that she seemed to really enjoy fucking Tracey, and that it didn’t bother me at all to watch her orgasming in someone else’s arms. But she had asked me almost as soon as she had arrived back at the studio, and I hadn’t had time to think about doing anything but giving her an honest answer.



“It’s just sex,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”



“It always means something, Amy, you know that.”



“OK. Yes it does. But sex with Tracey didn’t mean anything important as far as you and me are concerned, if that’s what you mean.”



I wasn’t sure how much sex with me meant to Amy, either, but I didn’t want to open up that can of worms. Tracey had come to the studio and modelled for me with Amy – really modelled – several more times since the visit from the police, but Amy had been spending a lot more time with her away from the studio, and some nights she had gone to Tracey’s place and not come home.



“Any way,” said Amy, “I won’t be seeing Tracey any more. Except at lectures and tutorials, of course.”



“Now you’re trying to make me feel selfish and guilty. You don’t have to stop seeing her if you want to. Don’t do that on my account.”



“I’m not. Tracey dumped me.”



“Oh. What happened? You two seemed to really like each other. “



“We do. But not in the same way. Tracey realised that I was never going to become the long term partner of her dreams, so she decided to cut her losses and quit before it got messy – messy for her I mean, not for me. She knew that to me she was an adventure, not a real lover. And she wanted someone to … love, I guess.”



“Most people are looking for love, Amy.”



“Most?” She gave me a puzzled look. “We’re ALL looking for love, Sam. Even you.”



Like most men, the idea of Talking About Our Relationship is about as exciting to me as contemplating root canal surgery, so I changed the subject quickly.



“I’m not going to say ‘what do you mean, even me?’ because right now we have a problem. I was going to tell you about it as soon as you arrived, but you distracted me.”



“Well, you’re very easy to distract”, said Amy, lifting each of her arms up to its shoulder and taking hold of the little straps of her top. In one unhurried but fluid movement, she slipped them off her shoulders, put her thumbs under the fabric at the side each breast and pulled her top all the way down to her waist.



I tried, for what seemed a long time but was probably more like two seconds, to continue to look her in the eye and not at her naked torso, but by the time her top was down to just past her nipples, my eyes were drinking in the perfect shape of her breasts and then they were caressing her revealed belly. Any other thought in my head was now gone completely.



She undid the waistband of her jeans, slid down the zip, then pushed them down, dragging the top down over her hips with them. When the pants were down far enough to just see the beginning of her pussy crack, she paused, and waited.



“What problem?” she said, enjoying the power she knew she had over me.



“Huh?” I reluctantly looked up at her face, knowing from her tone of voice that she had asked me something, but clueless about the meaning of the sounds. She was smiling, but shaking her head.



“Sam, you are SO predictable. I said, what problem?”



For a moment I felt like a daydreaming schoolboy who had been called on by the teacher to answer a question that he hadn’t heard being asked, and then I remembered.



“Greta rang just before you arrived. She’s been arrested.”



“When? What for?”



“This morning, about two hours ago. For indecency.”



“You’re kidding me. Greta is straight, she wouldn’t do anything… oh, it’s about the pictures of me and Tracey. Right?”



“Unfortunately.”



“Where is she now?”



“Back at the gallery. They questioned her, and let her go. But they told her they are going to have to charge her under the statute that they use to close down porn peddlers.”



“Is she upset?”



“No, she’s delighted, believe it or not. I’m the one who’s upset.”



“Why wasn’t Greta pissed off, too?”



“Because she – we – will get lots of publicity and the demand for my work will go up again. And if it ever goes to trial, she thinks we’ll win big and then she’ll sue for defamation, and it will all be great for her business.”



“You know the press will be all over us again, don’t you?”



“That’s why I’m upset. I’m tempted to switch the phone off so I don’t have to talk to them.”



“You’ll have to deal with them sooner or later.”



“Then it can be later. You still have some more distracting to do.”



“I’ve got a better idea.”



“Better than taking off the rest of your clothes and fucking me?”



“Who said I was going to fuck you? I might have just been playing with you.”



“The tabloids would love that story – “Famous artist confesses: I was just my nude model’s plaything.”



“I wish.”



“Do you? Really?”



“Of course not. Sam, that was a silly thing for me to say. I like us the way we are.”



“And what way is that?”



The words were out of my mouth before my brain could censor them. I had, quite skilfully sometimes, been avoiding any discussion of ‘Our Relationship’, but there it was. I had asked a question for which I didn’t already have an answer. It would serve me right if it bit me.



“You know. The way we are,” said Amy, pushing her jeans down to her ankles but not looking at me as she stepped out of them and folded them up, as if what she had said was a good enough answer, and was all she needed to say.



“And what way is that?” I asked again, not having the good sense to recognize that I was being offered a way out on a plate. I think part of me was experiencing some residual and long-buried Catholic guilt because I had been enjoying far too much the way my life had changed since Amy had entered it , and if I was to lose her it was better to force a confrontation now rather than later. If she was just toying with me, I should know now.



Amy stood and faced me now, and although I was tinglingly aware of her deliberate attempt to distract me with her nakedness, I was able to look her firmly in the eye, because I felt that what happened next between us was more important than the immediate visual pleasure of exploring her body, however exquisite the experience. Amy was quiet for a moment or two, thinking. She was clearly as unsure as I was about what she was going to say.



“We’re… close.”



She could tell from my immobile face that wasn’t good enough either.



“OK. We’re… very close. I don’t mind that we’re so different in so many ways, I truly don’t think that matters. I like the way that together we are open to anything, that neither of us is judgemental. I love the way we encourage each other’s sexual fantasies and don’t play ego games. And I really loved the way we were happy not putting pressure on each other… until right now.”



“But?” I pushed, not making any apology for the pressure.



“But I don’t do commitment very well, Sam. And, frankly, I don’t want to do it very well. I tried it. It hurts. I know I said that we’re all looking for love, but I’m not ready to find it, so don’t ask me if I love you and please don’t tell me you love me.”



I thought I had maybe pushed her too far. These last words had come out hard, like a threat, and for a moment I felt myself withdrawing from a tension between us that I had never felt before. Then, as if someone had thrown a switch somewhere, she smiled me her warmest smile. Her shoulders relaxed, her head cocked to one side, and the palms of her hands down by her side turned towards me. Her whole body was saying “OK?”, and that was fine with me.



“OK,” I replied.



“Are you going to answer that?”, said Amy.



Until that moment I was indifferent to the fact that the phone was ringing. I had heard it but as if it was in the distance, somewhere unconnected with where we were at that moment. When Amy drew my attention to it, it muscled its way into the foreground of my consciousness, and I had a sudden impulsive thought.



“No. I don’t think I will. Amy, let’s go away.”



“I’ve only just got here.”



“I don’t mean this minute, I mean let’s go somewhere else as soon as we can. Somewhere away from all… this.” She knew I didn’t mean the studio or the house, but away from the notoriety and the press and the phones.



“A vacation, do you mean?”



“A vacation. Yes. We’ll go and lay on a beach somewhere. Until the fuss with the gallery dies down.”



“That could take a while.”



“Then it takes a while. By the way, what were you going to say earlier?”



“When?”



“When you said you had a better idea than distracting me by taking the rest of your clothes off?”



“Believe it or not, I was going to suggest we went away somewhere else for a while.”



“Why didn’t you say so. Somewhere warm?”



“Definitely. Sun, sand, sea…”



“Sex?”



“I thought you’d never ask,” said Amy, getting down onto her elbows and knees on the little platform, presenting her beautiful bare ass towards me. “Pretend this platform is a sand dune, and you can practice distracting me on the beach.”

“Two more minutes? Pleease?”



I knew that the arching pose Amy had got herself into was beginning to hurt, but my drawing was going well and I just needed to firm up some of its key details. Amy grunted at me through her clenched teeth, but nodded and held the pose. The window light was wintry and gentle as it shaped her smooth white body into soft highlights and smoky shadows, contrasting with the stretched tension of her torso leading up to her head which was flung back as far as it would go. I tried to draw quickly, but I didn’t want to spoil a good start.



So where are we going, Amy? For our holiday.”



“I’m not telling. You left the arrangements to me, so it’s going to be a surprise. Does it matter to you? It’s not like there’s anywhere in the world we can’t afford to go.”



“I’ll go wherever you want to go, I already said that. I was just curious.”



Amy was being very secretive about the destination for our vacation. All she had told me was that we would have plenty of time to join the mile-high-club on our way there, so I was pretty sure we weren’t going on a cruise. Which was just as well, because I am not a very good sailor, and just the thought of being locked in a floating motel for several weeks while it’s rocking backwards and forwards and up and down was enough to make me feel like throwing up.



“Done.” I said.



Amy slowly unwound herself, then collapsed onto the cushions and changed the subject as she loosened herself up and stretched like a cat..



“Has Greta got a court date for her hearing, yet?”



“Not when I spoke to her this morning, but you and I won’t have to be there, it’s only a preliminary hearing. The charges might get thrown out, anyway.”



“She’ll be disappointed if that happens.”



“You’re not kidding, she’s been milking this for all its worth. She told me this morning she’s been approached by some German art book publisher about putting out a big coffee table book on my work.”



“Do you mean a real art publisher, or an ART publisher?” said Amy, giving me a ‘nudge-nudge, wink-wink’ sort of look.



“No, I think they are a real art house. I think the Germans like that sort of thing.”



“They like lots of things, Sam. Not all of them very wholesome.”



“Well, they like my stuff, anyway. And Greta’s just about finished checking the contracts on the poster deal she put together, too. They agreed to that huge advance on royalties, by the way.”



“You can definitely afford this holiday, then”, said Amy.



“WE can afford it. Half those royalties are yours, too.”



“No, Sam. Not this time. I’m happy to split some of the cash with you, when it comes in, and I’m really grateful for it, but I can’t be part of any royalty agreements. No contracts.”



“Why not?”



“Because one day I might not want to be here, and if I can’t leave until we have sorted the finances out, then it will be worse than getting divorced.”



She was right, of course, and although I knew that one day Amy would be just a warm memory, that day could be tomorrow. Or it could be a long way off.



“And before you ask, I’m not planning on leaving here – you – just yet, but I can’t say I won’t ever. And when it’s over, it’s over. OK?”



Facing away from me, Amy flopped backwards on the dais so that her face was closest to me, but upside down. She raised her legs up and over her shoulders, head between her knees, so that her ass was pointing at me, and her face was framed by her upper thighs and her pussy.



“I think I can hold this for about twenty minutes, if you want it.”



“It’s novel, I’ll give you that, but I definitely want it.”



I had been this close to dozens of naked women in this room before, but with Amy the experience was always fresh and different, because no other model had ever been this uninhibited or creative. But even when you know someone’s body so well, it’s a particularly disconcerting thing to be staring into a woman’s eyes when they are only inches away from her bare pussy. To have her watch your eyes while they look over every inch of her most intimate places. Watching her, drawing her, watching me.



Twenty minutes later I let Amy uncurl and she came behind the easel to look at what I’d done with her very unusual pose. What I had ended up with was a very unusual drawing. I had drawn it as a big close up, to try to focus the viewer’s attention, but there wasn’t one main focal point, there was two. The first thing you noticed was Amy’s gorgeous pussy, top dead centre on the paper, but almost immediately you then catch the eye of the pussy’s owner who is directly below the pussy upside down but looking at you with an almost quizzical expression, as if to say “what are you staring at, then?”. The challenging look on the face completely captures your attention, so that when you look away from her eyes and back again to her pussy, you almost feel guilty, like you should be pretending you hadn’t noticed it. Like to look at anything but her face was disrespectful, and an intrusion on her privacy. It was quite confronting, and even made me feel a little uncomfortable.



“This is a winner.” Said Amy. “This one should go for at least double your normally inflated rate.”



“Don’t be so greedy.” I said. “I’ll see what Greta thinks.”



“Sam, it’s time you started taking some control of this opportunity you have. Greta is lovely and I really like her, but she doesn’t think big enough. Your talent should be managed by someone who really knows how to exploit it without compromising your integrity.”



“And that someone just happens to be right here, I suppose?”



Amy looked at me, puzzled for a moment.



“You mean me? You think I’m volunteering for that job? Hell, no, Sam. I meant a REAL manager. I have done enough marketing course units to know that you have a unique product, that just happens to be fully tapped into the zeitgeist, and we have no idea yet how much the market could be willing to pay for it. You could be HUGE, Sam, I mean MASSIVE. And if you’re massive in the art world, we’re talking serious dough.”



“I didn’t know you were so mercenary.”



“I’m not, or I would already have talked you into signing a professional services contract with me that would fleece you rotten. And I could get you to do it, you know. If I wanted to.”



“Do I have to be massive?” I asked, hoping that she wouldn’t answer straight away so I had a chance to get back to my favourite subject, which I did. “I’d settle for big right now rather than huge. And as I get older, I think I’d settle for just getting hard every once in a while.”



“It always comes back to your dick, with you men, doesn’t it? You’re so predictable.”



“Yeah, right. If I’m so predictable, what am I thinking about right now?”



Amy sighed and rolled her eyes towards the heavens.



“You’re thinking you want to fuck me, of course.”



I pretended to be amazed. “Wow, how did you know that?



“I’m psychic. But I’m horny, too.”



She flopped back onto the dais cushions, legs wide apart, and her arms stretched out to her sides.



“OK, paint boy, show me MASSIVE.”



“On one condition.”



“Which is?”



“Please don’t call me ‘paint boy’.”

On board the aircraft, the Business Class cabin crew had a glass of champagne in our hands almost before we had sat down, and I was very happy at the extra leg room that I knew we would both appreciate on this long flight. Amy had done her research well, and the seats were exactly as she had said, and the wide armrest between us flipped up to make two very comfortable seats into one short semi-reclining sofa. There were two rows of seats next to the windows on each side of the cabin, and one row down the center, with an aisle down each side. The trouble was, we were in two seats in the middle of the middle row.



What Amy obviously hadn’t been expecting was how crowded the business section was going to be. There was not a spare seat anywhere, and we might have our own sofa, but there were people all round us and there was no chance of any privacy to go with it.



“This m.h.c. thing is going to be a bit tricky sitting here, Sam.”



“No it’s not”, I said, “it’s going to be impossible here. We’ll just have to use the toilet, like most civilised mile-high-club members.”



“But that’s so obvious and unimaginative,” said Amy. “I was hoping to do it in a way that was a bit more…”



“Public?”



“…classy, I was thinking. Yes, and more public.”



Her disappointment was written on her face. I could never get used to seeing that face unhappy.



“Amy, choosing this section so we could have the best seats to fuck in was very clever of you, and we could get away with it under a blanket if this was a night flight. Why don’t we change our return flight so that we come back at night? Then I’m game. But you know we can’t do it here, not now.”



Amy nodded her agreement to this compromise and she brightened up a little. About an hour later, after the mid-morning snack trays had been cleared away, Amy unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned towards me.



“Wait a couple of minutes and follow me. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”



Before I could say anything, she was walking towards the toilet block at the front of the business section. I waited for a while, and was just about to get up, when a man in the row in front of ours beat me to it. I got up quickly but he was already halfway down the aisle and I had to follow him. I knew there would be more than one cubicle free, and I thought the odds were pretty good that he would choose one of the empty ones.



I was right behind him when he pushed open the folding door of the first green ‘unoccupied’ toilet. Inside, smiling, and making no attempt to cover herself up was Amy, naked, and leaning nonchalantly against the washbasin.



“Whoa!”, said my fellow passenger, stopped in his tracks.



I tapped him on the shoulder and said quietly, “I think that’s mine. Why don’t you use this one?” I pushed open for him the door to the next empty toilet. He looked at me and smiled, then looked back at Amy.



“Hello,” said Amy.



“Hello,” said the man. He turned back to me. “I’m happy to swap. If you like.”



“I don’t think so.”



“You’d be crazy if you did,” he said, closing the door of his cubicle behind him.



“What kept you?” said Amy, as I locked the door.



“I had to wait until someone else could ‘accidentally’ find you first”, I lied.



“How thoughtful of you. I love the expression on their faces when that happens. That was so cool, and now I’m even hornier.” As she was speaking, she undid my pants and pushed them to the floor. Then she kissed me as she quickly massaged my cock to full attention.



“You’ll need to give me your pants,” she said.



“Why?” I said, stepping out of them and trying with some difficulty to bend down and pick them up in a cramped tiny room designed for only one person.



“I’ll have to sit on the washbasin, and the edge of it’s cold and narrow. I need some more padding for my ass.”



She took my pants from me and rolled them up with her sarongs and shirt to make a cushion which she put on the edge of the basin. She turned round and as I tried to help her up onto it, the plane suddenly lurched and she fell forwards onto me.



“Uh-oh. Turbulence. We’ll have to be quick, Sam.”



This time I stood between her legs as she hopped up backwards onto the hand-basin, leaning back against the mirror with her feet flat against the wall behind, one leg on either side of me. I had to stand up a little on my toes to get the head of my penis at the right angle against her pussy, but I slid straight into her much more easily than I was expecting, given the circumstances. She put her arms round my neck and pulled me towards her, so that she could put her mouth to my ear



“I hate to tell you this, Sam, it wasn’t just the thought of fucking you. Getting caught like that made me extra wet in a big hurry.”



“Whatever, it feels just as good either way,” I said, moving my hips backwards and forwards with a slow steady rhythm.



The plane bumped and lurched a few more times, but Amy was braced against the mirror one side and the wall on the other. gripping me with her knees, and I had my palms flat against the mirror either side of her shoulders, so we were not about to be interrupted even if the aircraft bucked and pitched like a rodeo horse.



“Ladies and gentleman, this is the first officer. Please return to your seats immediately, and fasten your seatbelts. We will try to climb above this patch of turbulence, but it could get very bumpy.”



“Faster, Sam, I don’t care if the wings fall off, you’re not stopping now.”



It was almost as if the turbulence was trying to help us enjoy this part of the ride, because the plane’s wild lurchings were slamming us together and bumping us sideways, intensifying the pleasure of the well-oiled friction that was happening at groin level. I pumped in and out more and more quickly as Amy made her little grunting sounds and I felt the tingly heat rise up to my scalp from the base of my spine. Amy is not a screamer but this time she couldn’t stop herself from squealing very loudly in my ear as we both hit the peaks of our orgasm at the same time. I wondered if everyone down in economy had heard the unmistakeable sounds of a climax as clearly as I was sure all the Business passengers had.



There was no time for blissful post-coital reflection. The turbulence was getting worse, as the flight crew knew it would. I helped Amy down off my cock and off the bench. As she unfolded our clothes we could see they were soaking wet, and we realised that our rolled up clothes had been pressed by her ass down onto the cold water lever which had been pouring water into our makeshift pillow all the time we were humping on top of it.



I shook my pants out. They were all but wet through, but I had no choice except to put them back on. It is not easy trying to get dressed in a pair of wet, cold, pants while you are standing up in a rollercoaster, and I was getting very frustrated and pissed off. Amy, on the other hand was doubled over, laughing hysterically from both the aftershocks of her intense orgasm and the ridiculous situation we were now in.



“We can’t leave here like this,” I said.



“We can’t not,” said Amy, half sitting, half falling onto the toilet seat. “We don’t have any alternative. It’s so bumpy now we haven’t got time to leave separately, we’ll just have to brazen it out together.”



She was clearly enjoying this. I finally managed to get my pants on, then helped her, still giggling, into her clinging wet and now very see-through top, and she tied the soggy sarongs back round her hips. With a deep breath, Amy paused at the door for a moment, then said “Showtime” and unlocked it, walking boldly but unsteadily back into the cabin.



I tried not to make any kind of prolonged eye contact with our fellow passengers, but most of them weren’t looking at me at all. I could see their jaws drop and their eyes widen when they saw what looked like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest coming towards them. Amy was doing the opposite to me, looking everyone in the eye, nodding and waving to them whether they looking shocked or were smiling in her direction. When she got to our row, several of the passengers gave her a little round of applause, which she acknowledged by bowing to all four corners of the cabin, while trying not to fall over in the still bumpy plane. I wanted very much to get out of the spotlight she was creating around us and get my seatbelt on, so I pushed her firmly across my seat and into her own and quickly sat down beside her.



As we fastened our seatbelts, one of the cabin crew appeared in the aisle, with two blankets.



“I think you’ll need these,” she said. “I can get you some hot towels if you like.”



“Thank you. That would be nice,” I replied, not looking her in the eye either, but gratefully wrapping one of the blankets round Amy’s shoulders and hiding myself underneath the other one.



Amy was rummaging in her handbag for what turned out to be a small mirror. She held it up and looked at the reflection of her flushed and dishevelled face.



“Was that rather dramatic way of joining the mile-high-club classy and public enough for you?” I asked.



“I look frightful,” she said, ignoring my question.



“No, you look fucked.”

“Wake up, Sam, it’s a beautiful day.”



I felt something land on the bed next to me and opened my eyes just as a naked Amy swung one leg over me to sit kneeling astride the tops of my thighs, taking my morning erection firmly in both hands at once.



“Mr Happy’s up early this morning, even if you’re not,” she laughed. “Come on, sleepy, it’s gone nine, and breakfast is on its way.”



I rubbed my eyes so I could see her beautiful body better, and tried to juggle two important thoughts in my head at once – not an easy thing to do only seconds after waking up. The first thought was that I should remember once again to count my blessings carefully because I could not believe my good fortune, being here in paradise and waking up with this gorgeously uninhibited young woman who, incredibly, seemed to want me right now as much as I wanted her. The second important thought was ‘Fuck, that feels good’.



Amy pushed my cock down flat against my belly and shuffled her hips forward. She put her palms on my chest, and slid her super-smooth pussy forwards against the underside of my penis, holding me down with the front of her pubic bone, not quite letting the opening of her vagina get to its tip before pausing and sliding back down its whole length. She teased me like this five or six times, long enough for her wetness to get both of us nicely slippery, and then she slid that extra half an inch forward. My cock sprang up against the sudden softness of her pussy lips and as she slid backwards, it disappeared inside her.



Both of us exhaled loudly at the same time from the sheer joy of this amazing sensation, which started both of us giggling.



“Breakfast!” said a loud male voice from the doorway.



“Come in, Buckingham,” called Amy looking back over her shoulder, but making no move to get off me or pull a sheet over us.



“Buckingham?” I said, rather weakly. “Amy, get off.”



“That’s what I was about to do, before breakfast arrived.”



“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”



“I know, but don’t worry about Buckingham, working in this place he’s seen worse, I’m sure.”



Behind Amy I could see a tall and very fit looking young man dressed in just a pair of white board shorts pushing a trolley into our villa. His skin was the colour and silky texture of the finest melted Belgian milk chocolate, and he had long dreadlocks tied back into a ponytail. When he saw us, he stopped pushing.



“Good morning. Would you like me to come back later?”



“No, it’s OK, Buckingham, we’ve got all day to finish what we just started, and I’m starving,” said Amy, pulling herself off me with a faint squishy ‘plop’ and standing up, leaving my upright pole glistening in the mid-morning light.



“I have no say in this decision?”



“Not this time, no. Sam, this is Buckingham, Buckingham, this is Sam.”



Buckingham stepped forward smiling and bent down, offering me his outstretched hand. I tried casually to throw a sheet round me as I shook his hand, but the bedclothes were tangled up in my feet and I only succeeded in making myself look and feel even more awkward than before.



“Welcome to Fantasia,” he said.



“Thank you. Whoever you are,” I said.



“Buckingham’s our butler, Sam. Not just ours, he looks after four of the beachside villas. Whenever we want something, Buckingham will get it for us.”



“Like privacy?” I said.



“Oh Sam, don’t be a miserable curmudgeon. Buckingham’s very nice and he’s made us a beautiful breakfast.”



It was true, he had. On top of the crisp white linen covering the trolley was fresh orange juice and a fruit salad with mangos and papaya and lime juice, and yoghurt and warm-from-the-oven croissants, and a pot of hot strong coffee. There seemed little point in me getting dressed, and it was clear that Amy had no intention of doing so either, so I followed both her and the trolley out onto the deck where Buckingham transferred our breakfast to the table.



“Can I ask you something before you go, Buckingham?” said Amy, leaning against the railing with her back to the sea.



“Sure,” said Buckingham, not pretending to look anywhere but at Amy’s gloriously naked body.



“Why do we have to keep our clothes on in most parts of this place? It’s supposed to be ‘adults-only’ and when I booked to come here I thought we wouldn’t need to wear clothes at all if we didn’t want to.”



Buckingham thought for a few moments and then was careful how he answered this question. I assumed he didn’t want to appear to be criticising his employers.



“This place is not really for people who are sexually liberated. It’s for people who aren’t. Most of the couples who come here are Americans, and most of them are much more uptight about not wearing clothes than you two.”



“So why do they come here?” she said. “Why not go to Coney Island or Hawaii instead?”



“It’s moistly the husbands who book the vacations here, hoping that a more relaxed atmosphere will encourage their wives to lose some of their inhibitions and spice up their sex lives. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Most of the womenfolk wouldn’t come at all if this place had naked people everywhere. Some of them spend a whole week here without plucking up the courage even to go topless for five minutes on the beach.”



“How sad,” said Amy. “They don’t know what they’re missing. Thanks, Buckingham.”



Buckingham turned to leave, then stopped.



“Would you like some advice?”



‘Yes please,” said Amy.



“I’m not supposed to tell you this, because it’s not resort policy, but it’s really OK for you to be topless anywhere in the resort. None of the staff will stop you, and the management know that in Jamaica they can’t legally discriminate between men and women. If men are allowed to go around without a shirt, then women have to be able to as well. Some of the more conservative female guests may not like that, but perhaps this is not the right sort of place for them anyway.”



“Thank you for telling me. I’m so glad you did,” said Amy, walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek. “You’re a legend, Buckingham, and this place would be even better if you didn’t have to wear those shorts all the time.”



“I agree, that would be much more fun.”



Buckingham seemed to walking on air when he left our villa. Amy had made another friend, and I knew we would get sensational service for the rest of our stay. I thought for a moment that she was going to insist on pulling his shorts down like she did to me so long ago when she first moved into my home. She didn’t, but I had a very strong impression that the thought had crossed her mind at the same time as it crossed mine. Give it time, I thought, and Amy’s impulsive thoughts sooner or later turn into actions.



“How did you find out we had a butler?” I asked.



“I was up hours ago, while you were still snoring. Buckingham saw me come back from checking out the beach and he introduced himself. That’s when I ordered breakfast.”



“Unusual name,” I said.



“His mother calls him Desmond because that’s his real name, but his family name is Pallas, so everybody calls him Buckingham. For obvious reasons.”



It never ceased to amaze me how easily Amy won new people over. Within minutes of meeting her, people were telling her their life stories, because she is so open and such a good listener. When she switches on her charm, someone like Buckingham doesn’t stand a chance.



When we finished breakfast, I thought we would complete our interrupted and unfinished business on the bed, then go for a swim and a stroll up the beach, but Amy said she wanted to explore the resort first, and pick up where we left off earlier after lunch. I guessed she wanted to see if what Buckingham had said was true, and also that she liked the idea of provoking some repressed American housewives. I knew that being nude in public always made her even hornier than normal, so I was happy to wait till later.



Amy picked out her lightest and flimsiest sarong and tied it in a single layer round her hips, knotting it to one side, so that when she walked in it, one leg was bare right up to the knot. That was all she wore, except for a small necklace of wild flowers which was on her pillow when we arrived the night before. The semi-transparent wrap was very low on her hips, emphasising the length of her beautifully fit and slender torso. Her skin was very white, so I insisted on rubbing some SPF30+ sunscreen into her back and her shoulders and especially into her precious breasts and sun-sensitive nipples before we left the villa. The only difficult thing about that particularly pleasurable job is eventually forcing yourself to admit that you’ve put on more than enough cream, and massaging no more.



The resort map in the villa showed us that there was a path through the forest that would get us to the main part of the resort on foot almost as quickly as the train, so we decided to walk. Amy was right, it was a beautiful day, deliciously warm and sunny, but not uncomfortably hot, and walking through this very different terrain hand in hand with this almost naked young woman was another in a long list of new experiences that I had been privileged to enjoy since being with her.



She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.



From somewhere in the dusty decades-old archives of my mind suddenly came these lines from a poem that I could not recollect ever learning, but I knew these few words from it with certainty and I knew that Lord Byron must have written them about the woman whom I was now equally certain that I loved more than anything else in the world.



She walked with Byronic style and effortless grace, like a cheetah, her back straight, and her hips tilting from side to side. As always, she looked like she was never meant to wear clothes, and was completely comfortable in just her skin, wherever she happened to be.



Behind the reception building was a big entertainment area with a café and several different restaurants and bars around its shaded edges. Outdoor tables with comfortable chairs encouraged al fresco drinking and dining, and towards the middle of this area sunlounger beds and coconut palms surrounded each of the different plunge pools and waterfalls and spa tubs.



About a dozen couples were relaxing in this area, all of them either casually dressed or wearing swimsuits or bikinis. As Amy walked slowly through towards one of the bars on the far side, all heads turned and all eyes were on her. Some of the women and men watching her smiled in appreciation, but some of the men stopped smiling when they received an elbow in their ribs from their less amused partners. As Amy passed one middle-aged couple, perspiring in neck-to-knee ‘resort wear’, I saw the woman glare at the man by her side as if to make sure he wasn’t enjoying the scenery too much, and as I passed, I heard her go “Tch, tch” quietly.



But not quietly enough.



Amy stopped and turned back to face the woman, with a broad smile on her face.



“Hello”, she said sweetly, “did you say something to me?”



“No, I didn’t say anything. But since you mentioned it, I do think you should have the courtesy to be properly dressed in this part of the resort.”



Amy’s smile didn’t falter, and her tone became even friendlier.



“Oh, but I AM properly dressed for every part of the resort. Really I am. And I guarantee you would feel much more comfortable in this climate if you were dressed more like me.”



“I don’t think you’re right. You can only be… like that,” she waved vaguely at Amy’s bare tits, “on the beach or in the pool bar.”



“I’m afraid you’re wrong.” Amy turned to me and patted my bare chest. “If my man can walk around like this, then so can I. That’s the law on this island.”



‘My man’. I liked that. Behind Amy on one of the loungers was a young woman in a very small and tight bikini. She sat up when she heard what Amy said .



“Is that true?” she said. “It’s OK to be topless anywhere?”



“Absolutely.”



“Thank goodness for that,” she said, undoing her bikini top and taking it off.



Her husband or boyfriend on the sunbed next to hers whistled softly and clapped his hands in appreciation, and she bowed to him. As the word spread, several other women in the sunning area took off their bikini tops or rolled down their one-piece suits.



“Can I sit down with you for a minute?” said Amy to the tch-tch woman, and then sat at her table without waiting for permission. She spoke to the woman’s husband who had so far made no comment at all.



“Tell me honestly, does my body offend you?” She looked him straight in the eye with a smile. He hesitated for a moment and then smiled back and said “No.”



“Would I be right if I took a guess from your accent that you’re from New York?” Amy addressed this question to the woman.



“Yes, we are,” she replied.



“Did you know,” said Amy, “that in the whole of New York State, there is nowhere where it is illegal for a woman to be topless? Did you know that you could walk down Broadway topless and not be breaking the law?”



“Is that true?” the woman turned to her husband and asked. He shrugged his shoulders.



“I never heard that. If it’s true. It can’t be,” he said.



“I assure you it’s absolutely true. You can check it out when you get home. But in the meantime, why don’t you get into the spirit of this place and let some of this wonderful air and sunshine nearer to your bodies? I promise you’ll like it if you do.”



Before they could respond, Amy stood up, still smiling, took my hand, and started to walk on. I was impressed with the way she had made her point without making enemies.



“Is that true?” I asked her. “About New York and how it’s not illegal to be topless?”



“Of course. Same as in Toronto. Would I lie?”



“I don’t think so. How did you know that?”



“When you like to get naked as much as I do, Sam, it’s handy to know when you’re actually breaking the law and when you’re not. Anyway, there’s lots of things I know that you don’t.”



“Such as.”



“Such as how thirsty I am right now. Let’s go get a drink.”

I was just starting my second beer when I saw Amy come out of the elevator and walk across the corridor towards the entrance to the restaurant.



She was wearing a black floor length hooded silk cape wrapped right around her, with the hood up far enough to hide most of her hair but not her face. The cape was full and loose and flowed gently behind her as she walked, and was the sort of garment that in the movies would be used to disguise a medieval princess on the run from the king’s enemies. In the final scene, the princess throws off her cape to reveal her identity and her royal finery, and the assembled multitude sinks to their collective knees all around her and swears allegiance. I looked around me at the assembly gathered in the bar, but it was a very thin and not very loyal-looking multitude, even for a Thursday night.



Amy was grinning like the cat that got the proverbial cream. It occurred to me for a moment that she might have decided not to bother with any of the other clothes I had bought for her, and that underneath the cape she was wearing exactly what she had worn to the opening of my art show. Exactly nothing.



She saw me watching her from my bar stool, and smiled her recognition, but she stopped just inside the door and waited for someone to notice her and to receive her. When the head waiter scurried over to her she spoke briefly, he nodded and gestured towards the bar. She flicked her hood back and stepped forward, turning slightly so that he would move behind her to take her wrap. As she opened her coat he took hold of the lapels and she shrugged it off her shoulders into his hands, and walked slowly towards me with a wide smile, her eyes locked on mine.



She was not naked under the wrap, but what she was wearing was so breathtakingly revealing that the effect was even sexier than if she had been as nude as she was on opening night. From low on her hips down to the floor, she was completely covered by a cream silk satin bias-cut skirt that hugged her hips and upper thighs like a wet t-shirt, then billowed out to a full hem just above the carpet. As she walked the silk clung to the thigh of her forward leg, describing the subtle curves of it down to her knee, then hiding it again as the other leg came forward to push against the material. The fabric was opaque but it flowed and rippled like liquid mercury, and was so fine you could have counted goosebumps through it.



The head waiter was standing behind her holding her coat, his mouth gaping. He stared mesmerised by her rear as she walked away from him, making no attempt to hang up her wrap. I envied him, for I knew that he had a perfect view through the silk of the way the muscles in each of her buttocks were propelling her forward, then transferring that responsibility to its twin as her hips tilted and she shifted her weight to the other leg. She carried herself erect and straight-backed with her arms relaxed at her sides.



Fastened with one small button around her neck was a sheer antique lace coverlet. This unusual garment would have originally been worn over a strapless evening gown and it went round the outside of her shoulders and hung down all round her upper torso to a little below nipple height. It was intended to modestly cover, but without at all concealing, a lady’s shoulders and her cleavage and upper chest area.



It should have been buttoned behind the neck with the opening at the back, but Amy had chosen to wear it the other way round so that the fabric fell from the fastening like two small theatrical curtains not quite wide enough to fully cover her breasts, so the two edges of the lace were not able to meet except where they were buttoned at the top. She was bare, save for a single diamond belly-button stud, from the hollow at the base of her throat down to the top of her skirt several inches below her bejewelled navel. The flimsy lace coverlet was like a bridal veil for Amy’s breasts, draped from her neck and shoulders and held out and open by the points of her clearly visible pink nipples, from where it hung down like a short valence almost but not quite to the crease where the bottom curve of her breasts met her ribcage. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and held with a couple of elaborate clips, and she wore no jewellery apart from the diamond.



She looked like an Egyptian queen stepping out of some ancient temple wall carvings, regal and magnificent.



When she was about three steps away from me, I made as if to stand up to greet her, then I thumped my right clenched fist to my heart and sank to one knee in front of her feet, head bowed.



“Sam? You OK?” she said with concern. As her hand came down towards me, I quickly straightened up, took it in mine, and kissed the back of it.



“Your Majesty,” I said. “At your service.”



“You idiot!” she said, a little annoyed. “I thought you were having a heart attack.”



“I know. Sorry. Foolish thing to do. I promised you someone would have a cardiac arrest when you walked in, but there’s no-one else in here with enough blood in their veins to appreciate your terrible beauty like I do.”



She knew how good she looked, and my little act was a confirmation that pleased her. She smiled and inclined her head towards me in acknowledgement, much like the Queen of England might nod towards her subjects as she cruises past them in her Rolls.



“Drink?” I turned my head to look for the barman, but he was already behind me, waiting.



“Hello, Amy,” he said.



“Hello, Charles.” She turned to me. “Charles was the barman at La Belle Provence when I first started there. How have you been, Charles?”



“Never as good as I am right now standing here looking at you. You look sensational, Amy.”



For the first time since the head waiter took her coat, I looked around at the other people in the bar and the adjoining restaurant. The place was only about half full, but all eyes were on Amy, and I could sense she knew it, even without checking for herself.



“Thank you, Charles. You can thank my man, Sam, for what I’m wearing tonight. Sam, I’d like you to meet Charles, who looked after me in my very first job when I knew absolutely nothing.”



There it was again. ‘My man’. Two words, but how they sent a thrill down my spine. Charles leaned across the bar to shake my hand.



“I think every man in here tonight would want me to offer you a drink on the house,” he said. “What’ll it be?”



Amy was keen to eat, so we took our champagne cocktails to the table with us. All of the waiters in turn found an excuse to bring something to our table. Menus, iced water, bread rolls, wine list, champagne glasses, all arrived in quick succession.



“Where did you find these gorgeous clothes, Sam?” said Amy, paying no attention to the attention her tits were getting from the waiters. “Sometimes you astonish me.”



“I went shopping with Greta,” I confessed. “But it was my idea to find you something unique to wear tonight,” I added hastily, in case Greta got all the credit.



“I thought I could see Greta’s influence at work this evening. She has exquisite taste, and knows all the best places. She’s a good friend to you, Sam.”



“And she thinks you’re a pretty special person, too.”



I decided to extend my confession, and give Greta some more of the credit she deserved. “She gave me a potch in tochis for not treating you as well as I should lately.”



“She gave you a …what?”



“It’s what Greta said. According to her, it means a ‘kick up the ass’. And I deserved it. Tonight is to let you know how much you mean to me.”



Amy leaned across the table towards me, and spoke quietly. “Thank you. But if you don’t call Marcel or whatever his name is over here right now so that we can order a meal I swear I will ask him to bring my coat back and I will hide these tits away under it for the rest of the night.”



“Garçon! Venez ici! Maintenant!”



The whole room momentarily stopped looking at Amy’s state of near toplessness to see what I was shouting about, while she surrendered to a fit of silent giggles. When she walked in, Amy was gliding like an angel as if her feet were not actually touching the ground, so her breasts were not bouncing at all, not even slightly. But now laughing inwardly, her whole chest was pulsating, which made both her breasts jiggle sweetly, which in turn made her little curtains dance around on the points of her puffy nipples. I resolved to try to make her laugh as often as I could, not just tonight, but all the time.



What happened next was like something out of a Three Stooges movie. When I shouted for a waiter to come here right now, one of them was already on his way towards us carrying an ice bucket with our bottle of Bollinger chilling in it. A second waiter between us and the bar stopped clearing a recently vacated table and headed in our direction. The head waiter, whose name really was Marcel, as Amy had obviously already found out, was at the main entrance and he practically ran towards our table, trying to get there before either of the others. He almost made it, but because the second waiter didn’t know that he was being followed he wasn’t expecting to have to suddenly stop moving when his floor boss jumped in front of him. They collided, Marcel spun round to wave his underling away, at which point his elbow clipped the arriving ice bucket, knocking it out of its carrier’s hands and onto the table, where it flung a liter or so of freezing water and about forty ice cubes onto Amy’s chest and down into her lap.



With a gasping intake of breath, Amy quickly stood up, depositing the ice cubes and the remaining water onto the floor. I would not have thought it was possible for the skirt to cling to her any more closely than it had before, but now that it was wet it sucked itself into every curve and crevice of her body as if it had been magnetized to her, and when Amy stood up straight, the now translucent silk satin concealed no more of her pussy lips than a second layer of skin would have done.



The three waiters were now doing a passable imitation of a waxworks show, frozen in shock at what they had done, and even more gob-smacked by the exquisite result. For a moment, each of them, with Amy, was locked into a wide-eyed tableau that could have been a Norman Rockwell cover for a raunchier version of the Saturday Evening Post.



Amy’s hands were at waist level about two feet out from her body, and her head and neck were bent forward so that she could see the effect the iced water had had on her clothes. As usual when she is the center of shocked attention, Amy took control of the situation. She dropped her hands to her side and spoke calmly to Marcel.



He jumped like a startled rabbit at her voice, but clearly didn’t hear what she said, so she repeated herself.



“I said, do you have a laundry in the hotel?”



“Of course. Madam, we are so sorry, we…”



She held up her hand to silence his apologies.



“Then please call housekeeping and have them take care of these for me. They can send them up to the room later.”



As she said this, she reached up to the side of the skirt with one hand and slid down the short zip, without holding on to it, letting the weight of the wet silk drag itself down her legs to the floor. With the other hand, she undid the single button at her throat , and pulled the wet coverlet from around her shoulders, holding it out between one finger and her thumb in front of Marcel.



“Now, would you please have someone fetch my wrap.”



The entire restaurant held its breath, until Marcel sprang into action, clapping his hands at the other waiters to get them moving at his orders.



“You, fetch the lady’s coat. You, more champagne.”



As Amy stepped out of her skirt he picked up the sodden garment and together with the lace top draped it over his arm like a napkin, motioning for us to follow him to a clean table. Amy followed, but not quickly. I knew she was enjoying this, and she wanted to savour every moment as she casually wove her naked way past several other diners towards the more private booth that Marcel was already standing beside. Amy slid in behind the table onto the banquette and I sat beside her. Marcel looked anxiously towards the entrance, willing the waiter to hurry up with the coat. It was obvious from the time it was taking that the other waiter had no idea which coat belonged to Amy, so Marcel made ‘humph’ noises a couple of times, excused himself, and scurried off.



“Getting my clothes soaking wet in public is becoming a habit,” said Amy . “Remember the Mile High Club?”



“Till my dying breath,” I assured her. “I won’t forget tonight in a hurry, either.”



“Did you have to bribe them to drop that ice bucket?”



“What… no, of course I didn’t. You just tend to have a discombobulating effect on people around you, that’s all.”



“I’m not sure I should even ask what that means.”



“It means when you arrive somewhere half naked, people lose the power of rational thought, they get confused and befuddled and tongue-tied. Like Marcel here.”



The head waiter was back at our table with Amy’s black cape, holding it in front of him as if he was about to help her to put it on, but Amy was sitting down and making no sign that she was about to stand up and put him at his ease. He had no idea what to do next.



“This… here…if you like…madam…please…”



“See what I mean?” I said.



Amy was trying hard not to laugh at the poor man, as he attempted to say something coherent while he stared at her tits, but the longer she sat there, the more distressed he became. Eventually, she took pity on him.



“Thank you, you can leave it here,” she said pointing to the seat beside her. “But… madam…”



He was pleading with his eyes for her to give him closure on this unfortunate incident, but she didn’t feel that sorry for him, and pointed again to the seat where she wanted him to put the cloak.



“Thank you, Marcel, I’ll take care of it. Now, can you please bring us two large medium-rare pepper steaks before I faint from lack of nourishment. I’m so hungry I could eat the crotch out of a low-flying duck.”



Marcel looked as if someone had slapped him in the face, but he finally got the message, laid the coat down, nodded, and hurried away.



“You always look so elegant, even when you have no clothes on, that it’s almost more shocking when you say something as vulgar as that,” I said to her, impressed.



“I know. Fun, isn’t it? I really was going to put the coat on, but now I’m not, so pass me that spare napkin, please Sam.”



“You’re not going to cover yourself with that, are you?”



“Of course not. I need something to sit on, I’m so horny I’m already leaking onto this posh upholstery.”



Amy lifted her backside enough for me to slide a napkin under it. As she sat down again, I left my hand under her buttocks, with my middle finger bent upright. It sank into her pussy up to the second knuckle. She was right about how wet she was.



“Wow, this seat is a lot nicer to sit on than you would think to look at it,” she said, as her eyes widened a little.



We sat in silence for a few minutes. Amy sat upright in the dual seat, her eyes closed, her hands in her lap. To an observer, she appeared to be meditating. Below table level, my finger and the muscles in the wall of her vagina were having a quiet conversation, consisting of reciprocal but tiny movements, squishy little wiggles on my part, small squeezings on hers.



More champagne arrived, and we wordlessly toasted each other with a clink of our flutes.



“I’ve been thinking for some time about how much fun it is to be outrageous, but also why, when I get naked in public like tonight, sometimes it makes me feel incredibly sexy, and sometimes it doesn’t – well, it always does to some extent, but sometimes less so, if you know what I mean.”



“And what’s the answer?”



“I think it’s best when it’s not all my fault. When it’s not just me saying “look at me, everyone”. When it’s not just me deciding to show off, but it just happens, you know?”



“Like on the plane, and you had to get back to your seat in that wet t-shirt?”



“Exactly, and like when those two policemen turned up and you let them in on Tracey and me naked. That was huge, for me. I didn’t know that was going to happen, and I loved that.”



“More than your opening night stunt in the gallery?”



“I think so, yes. You see, I was ready for that night. I was the one who planned it, and it happened, and it was great, but it would have been more of a thrill for me if I had just been there not having anything planned and you had said to me “take your clothes off, now”.”



“Would you have done it?”



“Of course.”



“So if ever I say to you “Showtime”, you’ll just take your clothes off?”



“Yes.”



“Wherever? Whenever?”



She thought for a moment.



“Yes.”



“I didn’t think you would ever let yourself be so controlled by anyone, not even me,” I said, somewhat surprised at her willingness to be so obedient.



“Don’t get me wrong, Sam, I don’t want to be your slave. I’m just talking about a flashing game that I would choose to play with you, to make what I like to do anyway just that little bit more exciting.”



“More exciting than this?” I said, wiggling my finger a little.



“The most exciting thing that could happen right now would be two plates full of pepper steak,” she replied, changing the subject. “But you tickling my cunt is running a close second,” she admitted.



Eventually, Marcel gave up expecting Amy to cover herself. Few of the other diners could see into our booth, and a topless patron was certainly making a dull Thursday evening more exciting for all the table staff. Eventually they served our meals, which I discovered later were on the house as an apology for the dramas with the ice bucket. Eventually, Amy had eaten enough of her steak to stop complaining about how hungry she was, and eventually I had to take my finger out of her pussy, because I couldn’t cut and eat my own steak with only one hand.



Reluctantly, Amy wrapped the cloak around her when it was time to leave the restaurant. As Marcel explained to me at the desk why there was no bill for me to sign, Amy said goodbye to Charles and walked over to the elevator. She pressed the ‘down’ button, and the car arrived when I was halfway across the lobby. As the doors opened, she was facing them, and suddenly I could see her looking at me in the mirrored rear wall of the elevator. I silently mouthed the word “Showtime”, and almost instantly, I was looking at Amy’s naked backside again, and behind it, a reflection of her smiling face. I picked up the black garment from where it had fallen, and followed her into the elevator car.



I could get to like this game, I thought.



[Author’s note:



I started to write this series, just for fun, some time ago. I had the first 18 chapters complete before I started submitting any of it to this site. The first instalment was published at the beginning of January 2006, and as I submit this at the end of that month you have almost caught up with me on Chapter 26, so I have only written eight more in the last four weeks. It’s been an interesting journey, but future postings will of necessity be less frequent. If you have been following my characters, please be patient with me, I have a day job to look after as well.



Beyond the first chapter, none of this story has been planned (which really shows when I look back on it). At first, I let my characters chart their own erratic course. Several times I have tried to put an end to their relationship, but each time they – nearly always Amy, but sometimes Sam – have not behaved as I expected and intended them to, taking their story onwards into new areas.



Has anyone any suggestions how best to finish this story of Sam and Amy? I have never written fiction before, and I would like to know that I was trying to steer them towards a destination that neither of them would object to, and from which they will not derail me. I can’t guarantee that my characters will take anyone else’s advice (why should they when they don’t always take mine?), but I would be grateful for your ideas.

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