Satisfaction Pt. 04: Ch. 14 to 19

Glen jumped in. "I can count. That's only four children."

"Good catch. Three year ago, I was the beneficiary of a natural miracle pregnancy. Paul still has very good swimmers. All went well and I now have a surprise oops two-year-old to look after. Bottom line: I've had just two children. I have a wonderful family of five though."

As Bee finished her monologue the food started arriving and occupied them, with small talk, well-lubricated by the Champagne. The conversation ranged widely including about education and Ally's experiences, for the next hour or so.

Glen offered, "Liqueurs with your coffee ladies?"

Bee answered immediately, "I'm feeling sentimental for when I was kid. May I have a Chartreuse? I love the color, and it reminds me of my carefree modeling days in Paris."

"Certainly, if they have it. And you Ally?"

"Not strictly a liqueur, but I'd like a nice smoky malt whiskey with a dash of water."

"Sophisticated."

Glen ordered. They brought an Ardbeg.

Ally, who had been rather quiet during the meal spoke up, "Can we talk about the stories and the book club now?"

Glen looked to Bee for guidance. She opened up, "Sure, pumpkin. What do you want to know?"

"I've one for Glen. The other stories. Did you fuck any of their authors?" Ally's spoke quite loudly, showing the effects of the alcohol.

Glen thought for a minute before responding. "I will answer your question, but this is a bit public for these kinds of questions. Finish up your coffee, and we can go back to my place, if that is agreeable to both of you."

Bee jumped in. "Glen's right. Two old biddies over there have been straining to hear what we are talking about all through the meal. Let's go." They drained their drinks, the Champagne magnum was long-emptied.

"I have some Prosecco at home. We can finish up with that. You on a timetable?"

"The afternoon's open. I thought we'd be shopping, but your place sounds better."

Glen tried not to blanch too much when he settled the bill. He noted that the percentage tip was more than he usually paid for a whole meal for two.

As they arrived home, it had started to rain. They dashed in. All kicked off their shoes. They got slightly wet. Bee and Ally went to the bathroom with their purses. He heard the toilet flush and they came out both with their hair let down and towels over their shoulders.

Glen had brought out the chilled wine, napkins, glasses, small plates, knives and some cheese with crackers.

Ally took charge. "We'll truth or dare."

Glen felt ambushed once more. "Have you two discussed this behind my back."

Bee was quick to answer. "No. You know I'm feeling so sentimental. I'll go along with it."

Glen thought Bee would reject the idea outright. "Oh. I've never played it before but have read some stories that show what often happens. Seems a bit student-like to me."

"Duh. I am a student."

"We're not."

Bee smiled. "Come on Glen, be a good sport. Play along. It may get very interesting. We'll let you ask the first question after we've had our first drink."

They made Glen drink two glasses, 'to catch up a bit'.

Glen thought of Bee's story. "Ok. Have you ever kissed a woman on the lips with passion?"

Ally was the first to answer. "Last week. I've now fucked ten people in the two years at university. Seven guys and three women, one of whom was a professor."

Bee seemed to talk to herself. "At nineteen I was on the circuit in Europe. There were ten of us models. Most of the guys were gay. We avoided those who were bi, as there was AIDS around. The straight guys were almost universally old and creepy. We girls improvised and made out together a lot. And I mean a lot."

"Mom, I never knew that. You're a sleeping bi, so to speak."

"If you say so, sweetie. My turn for a question to Glen. Tell me did you fuck any one of the other story authors?"

"A gentleman never tells."

"I think that means yes but it's also a refusal to answer. You'll take a dare then?" Ally was grinning.

Bee added, "I agree. Your dare is to kiss Ally on the lips for a full two minutes. I'll do the timing."

Glen couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe Bee volunteered her own daughter. He moved off his chair as Ally stood up. Ally pulled him into a full-body clinch and led the way into the kiss. She forced her longish tongue between Glen's unprepared lips. He responded with his own tongue, and less obviously. Ally could hardly fail to feel Glen's cock jump into action.

"Two minutes. Ally your turn for a question."

"Did you fuck all of the other story authors?" Tricky repeat question.

"Same answer. Never tell."

"We'll see. Remove your trousers." She knew his erect cock would be visible in his boxers.

Glen reluctantly dropped his trousers and neatly folded them onto a side table. "My turn. Ally would you like to kiss your mother, like the daughter did in the story?"

Ally was foxy and refused to answer guessing what the forfeit would be.

"Ok. Kiss your mother for four minutes on the lips and with tongue."

"Hey. I only made it two minutes. Not fair." Bee was smiling as she complained.

They both stood and came together softly. Glen glanced at his watch to time them. Within a minute they were into it. By two minutes their hands were caressing each other's backs and necks. At the end Bee had her hand up her daughter's blouse and was clearly playing with her nipples.

Glen called, "Break. Time's up."

Bee was flushed and walked over to Glen and pulled him vertical. She mashed a kiss into his willing lips. She reached behind her and pulled down the zip on her dress, pulled back from Glen and half slipped the dress off her shoulders. Ally took her cue from her mother and crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her blouse and lifted it almost to her nipples.

Bee challenged him, "OK, Glen did you see any of the others naked? Tell us now or we leave."

With some desperation in his voice Glen replied. "Will you keep what I tell secret? Keep the answer within these four walls? Swear?"

Both swore they would not share the information.

"I not only saw them naked I fucked them all. Satisfied?" Glen felt ashamed he had admitted his pleasure.

Bee looked surprised. "Carol as well?"

"Reluctantly on her part and only on Phil's robust insistence."

"I better fuck you then to keep your winning record going." There was something about the way she said it that made Glen believe this is what she had in mind all along. Or it was the Champagne talking.

Ally added, "I'd like to double down on the action."

Bee's eyebrows raised. "Where's your bedroom? Lead on."

Bee shed her dress to reveal a long-legged body to die for. She was not lying earlier when she said she had no panties on. Ally released her trousers. She too was naked. Both their pussies were shaved. Ally had a butterfly tattoo just above her clit.

Gen just had to say it. "Before we start you do know you are spoiling me from the act of intercourse for the rest of my life. I am here with the ultimate fantasy of having a threesome with two of the most beautiful women in the world and what's even more is that they are mother and daughter. Next stop after this is a monastery. To complete my destruction can I ask one thing of you both. Warm each other up with your first orgasms while I watch?" Glen stripped off naked to reveal his rampant cock that already ached.

Bee and Ally looked at each other and then Glen. "Of course, sweetheart. I've wanted to do this forbidden thing for years." Turning to the naked Glen, "Your body, sir, is much better than I thought. I cannot wait, but I will."

"Mom, you've never said you wanted me. Nor have I, come to think of it."

They flew into each other's arms and kissed. The kisses transitioned into caresses that developed into sucking, followed by fingers flying over and into each other before the coupling resolved itself into a perfect hungry sixty-nine on the bed. Glen observed with wonder the familial symmetry of two fingers into two anuses and two tongues exploring in harmony, all working each other until they both achieved simultaneous wild, long-lasting orgasms.

Bee rolled off her daughter and looked at Glen. "You're on. Now, fuck me hard, maestro."

He did. Bee bucked and writhed through three new orgasms as Glen pounded her. He could not hold back his drive to compete with this beautiful woman below him.

To one side, Ally watched the performance before her as she frigged herself to an equal number of pleasure bombs.

Glen was given time to recover. Two tongues attacked his limp member to resuscitate it. Once their mission was complete, Bee backed away. Ally mounted the prone Glen and guided his cock into her tight pussy. She rode him as hard as he had ridden her mother. She was young and could keep her movements going in spite of a series of new orgasms wracking her whole being. Bee was behind her stroking her back and breasts as she danced her pelvic girdle up and down on Glen's still rigid pole. He came hard.

The final exclamation on the fuck-fest was when Ally went down on her mother to once more sixty-nine her. She lapped and sucked Glen's sperm from her mother while she leaked the same swimmers into her mother's open waiting mouth.

Glen was the first to stir. "I'm going to die now. I enter the gates of heaven having already been there with you both."

Bee looked a bit sheepish before speaking to Ally, "We should go now. Always leave on a high note." She then turned to Glen. "Thank you for a lovely, very special day. We'll shower, if we may, and leave you in peaceful splendor. This was a one-off. We can never repeat it. Please call us an Uber for half an hour from now. I for one will always remember this day. I am sure Ally will too. Thank you again."

Ally nodded but said nothing.

They slipped out without any further words exchanged.

Glen fell into a deep sleep naked on his bed bathed in the scent of two wonderful women.

Chapter 17

Bee's Story

Sara

Martin dashed to get the phone.

"Martin here" he said cheerily

"Oh, hello. My name is Sara. I understand you photograph art." The voice was soft and feminine

"Yes, that's right. How did you get my name?" Martin imagined the woman on the other end of the phone. Cool blonde? Sassy redhead? Guessing the appearance of callers was one of his favorite games.

"The lady at the Art Center mentioned the quality of your work." Sara said.

"Did she?" Martin smiled to himself. As president of the local photographic society, he had arranged workshops and exhibits at the Center. Martin had worked hard to establish good relations with the staff including donating his photographic services for the Center's annual fundraising gala.

"I would like to have my work photographed. Currently, I have an exhibit on at the Center. Ceramics." Mid-to-late thirties, blonde, slender, talks with her hands...

Sara arranged to meet Martin at the Art Center the following morning.

Martin arrived twenty minutes early to check out the exhibit. If the work were lousy, he'd have ample time to invent a diplomatic exit strategy. The exhibit was a pleasant surprise.

Most of the works were about thirty inches high in the form of irregular vases with abstracted faces in matt glazes with snippets of poetry woven into the graphics. Martin concluded that the works would not be hard to photograph. He knew he could do a good job even though portraits and figurative subject matter dominated his portfolio. He would need his lighting equipment and portrait background. The lighting setup would take about half-hour then fifteen minutes per piece. Roughly eight hours of photographic work and three hours for post-production editing. He figured fifty dollars per piece would be about right. He was, after all, a professional photographer.

Martin sat down on a bench and waited for the arrival of the cool blonde of his fantasies. He glanced at his watch...five more minutes. He was flicking through images on his Notepad when a slender South Asian woman entered the gallery.

"Martin?"

Martin looked up into dark eyes outlined in kohl set in a face of exotic beauty. He was momentarily struck dumb. At first glance, she looked no more than thirty-five, but as one who dealt in portraits, he knew she must have been in her late forties or beyond that. Maybe more than twenty years older than his thirty-two years.

"Uh, Sara?" His voice lacked its usual self-assurance.

"Am I that much of a disappointment?" Her eyebrows rose in alarm.

"Not at all. I mean I thought. Well, with a name like Sara." His voice trailed off

"Oh, of course. I changed my name to Sara after I came to Canada. Much easier to spell than Sunaina." She said.

"I'm a little surprised. I thought from your English you were Canadian"

Martin was thrown off his game by the mature, dark-skinned beauty. He pitched directly into praising the work and that he'd love to photograph it. Very quickly arrangements were made for the photographic session the following Monday, the day before the exhibit was to be removed.

After offering her thanks, Sara was quite curt. "Sorry have to run. See you on Monday at nine in the morning." Sara was quite unnerved by the handsome stranger. She did not know how to handle the immediate pull he had on her, so she chose to break off and run.

Martin ran after her and pushed his card in her hand. "In case there is a problem, call me. Is there any way I can reach you?"

"The desk has my number." Sara left with Martin standing watching her gracefully disappear down the corridor. To himself he said, "Until Monday then, my sweetie" and smiled.

Sara's black hair pinned up in a bun glistened and contrasted with her dusty copper complexion. Professionally he would have described her as having a balanced and well-proportioned configuration. But her appeal was much more primal. She was a total knockout, a MILF, a goddess.

"My goodness. I've been thinking about you. I have to tell you that you're much younger than I expected." Martin got off on the right foot. Sara was quietly flattered and a bit scared by her own reaction to him. Such openness was something she liked about her new country. She thought he too was younger than she expected from the timbre of his deep modulated voice on the telephone, and handsome as well.

"I'm just setting up." Martin felt foolish as he stated the obvious waving at the lights and camera. "Perhaps you can help me move the pieces, one-by-one to the table in front of the backdrop."

"Of course. I'm used to moving them around. I think I'll start with this one." Sara moved to a large piece at the far end of the gallery. Martin could only watch in awe as Sara moved with the grace of a dancer on her well-proportioned and shapely legs. The snug designer jeans she wore showed off her well-formed butt to perfection as well as her legs. Martin thought, "I'm in love" and smiled to himself.

"It's my favorite. What do you think?"

"Great. Just great." Martin's comments were not necessarily directed at the pot in front of him.

"Before we start can we go over why you need these works photographed? Depending on the purpose I might vary my style."

"That's easy. I have been approaching galleries. I have a few snaps from my iPhone but none of the galleries will even look at those shots. They do like my artist statement and my background though, so they have asked for professional-quality shots. It's that simple."

"Got it. Excuse my curiosity. Your background. Where do you come from?"

"Bribajistan."

"Never. Your English's so good, I'd never guess." Martin was being honest, even though he no idea where Bribajistan was to be found.

"Oh, my schooling and university was in English. I have spoken it since I was a kid."

"That explains that. On the phone I had no idea."

"You said. Does it matter?"

Martin recognized his mistake. "No. No. Please excuse me -I'm just being nosey. My only thought was that you were Canadian, so I was thrown a bit."

This pleased Sara. She was flattered. After just over two years in the country she was being taken as a North American. Martin fussed with the lights and the camera. He took the first shot and invited Sara to see it on the back of the camera.

He could feel her warmth as they both bent over with their heads close together to squint at the small window. He reached in to magnify a small part of the shot to demonstrate the definition. It must be said that Sara also noticed Martin's warmth and smiled to herself how such a situation would likely never happen in her homeland, being so close to an unrelated man, and with no chaperone present.

Over the next hour and a half they continued, with little conversation, until they had photographed about a third of the collection. Martin was getting fussy about the lighting and orientation of the pieces as he progressed. He was concentrating on the photography and at the same time enjoying the look of Sara as she moved around bringing and returning the pieces. Martin declared he needed a break. They adjourned to the small cafeteria for a coffee and muffin.

"What brought you to this area?" It was the best Martin could do.

"My husband."

"I'd noticed you were married."

"It's a bit more complicated than just following my husband here. My husband worked for an American multinational company as the personnel director in Bribajistan. He mixed with a lot of Americans and Europeans in his day-to-day work."

Sara felt a need to tell her story. Explain herself to Martin. She needed to talk. "He also comes from an educated and upper middle-class family. We lived well and had two servants. We have a twenty-year-old daughter, Shamina. Anyway, he became more and more fed up with all the troubles in Bribajistan. The bombings and stuff. My uncle who put me through university, my mother and my older brother were all killed in a bomb blast at a market. My father had died in an earlier war."

"My husband raged at the Taliban and the self-appointed religious police. More and more he came to the conclusion that religion was at the bottom of all this strife. He hated it. He thought deeply and read a lot. He then told me he did not believe in God. He was an atheist." Sara sipped he coffee and looked at Martin with tears in her eyes.

"We would occasionally talk about religion or the lack of it at home after there had been another horror. He was careful not to express his views outside the home. He also became very sensitive to how I was treated as a woman and really resented the constraints placed on me. Although I have to say I noticed it less than him since I had lived with it all my life."

Sara took a bite of her muffin and continued. "The only thing we can think of was that one of the servants heard us talking and told someone. We started to get abusive letters and threats. At first, we ignored them. Then as they intensified Ahmed started to tell his work friends about the incidents. We started our inquiries about going to the US. We were listened to and we were placed on a list for emigration, perhaps because he worked for an American company. Then the threats became more explicit. Ahmed's car was set alight. We had stones thrown through our windows. Someone broke into my studio and smashed most of my pots. The police did very little to protect us, except to warn us about a possible attack. We pressed the officials about speeding up the application. In one sense we were lucky. A consular official was visiting us to check something when a firebomb was thrown through our window. He arranged immediate asylum and spirited us out and over here."

Martin was mesmerized by Sara's story and the candor with which she delivered the story to him as a stranger. "That's terrible," was all he could manage. The sense of mystery and adventure surrounding Sara further increased her attraction to him.