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Chapter six: Wednesday, April 15, 2020
It was a dreary Wednesday morning as I sat at my desk, grading my art history graduate students’ blog posts and listening to the rain beat against the window. This week, I had decided to have some fun with the weekly assignment, offering them the option of staging, documenting, and then critically writing about a “great art” re-enactment of the sort that had been circulating online since all the museums had closed.
I scrolled through their pictures, which seemed to compete for most provocative interpretation of “great art.” An apple-juice submerged action figure Piss Christ here, a nude Spanx and squid-ink pasta noodle L’Origine du monde there. I had to smile at their creativity.
Reaching the bottom of the posts, I inhaled sharply. There was my Emilia, my brilliant doctoral student, meeting my eyes with her haughty gaze as the barmaid in her restaging of Jeff Wall’s Picture for Women (itself a photographic response to Manet’s Bar at the Folies-Bergère). Her hard nipples were visible under her lavender t-shirt, and her ass-length brown hair was piled on top of her head in an Edwardian updo, her hands cupped provocatively on the edge of the table in the foreground. Apparently, she was co-distancing in Dorchester with her artist boyfriend Paul, who was also visible in the frame in his black t-shirt and jeans as Wall. I felt mildly irritated, but then, noticing that Paul had not removed his ridiculous curled mustache to more closely resemble the clean-shaven Wall for the picture, my smile returned. He just couldn’t bring himself to sacrifice his hipster vanity.
“What are you muttering about?”
Startled, I looked over my shoulder to see Peter standing in the doorway of the study with a cup of hot tea.
“Oh boy,” I sighed. “I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud at all. All this isolation must be really getting to me.” I swiveled my chair around to face Peter.
“Want some company?” he asked, looking at me with the slightly one-sided grin that I had come to recognize over the past few weeks as a sign that he was interested in some affection. He was dressed in a proper shirt and his one tie, which, I vaguely remembered, he had been saving to wear for a Zoom MA defense. He looked good in spite of his messy curls, which, like all of our hairdos, were getting wilder by the day.
“Sure,” I said, cocking my head at the overstuffed armchair beside the bookshelf. “Have a seat in my office.”
Peter hesitated a bit before coming over to stand beside me. “Mostly I came to bring you this,” he said, proffering the cup of tea. “If you’re busy, I don’t want to interrupt.”
“No, please sit. I needed a break anyway.”
He obliged, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Ok, good. You know, you look cute when you’re talking to yourself.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I’m not the one who speaks so loudly during Zoom office hours that all of us know more about your crazy students’ boring love lives than we ever wanted to.”
“Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t enjoy it, Sonya.” Peter smirked at me. Although Katherine and I were the closer friends, ever since grad school, Peter and I had enjoyed good banter. And since our new sexual order had started, it had become charged with the possibility of, say, my reaching forward to pull him by the tie onto my lap and forcing his fingers under my dress to feel how my cunt was slightly wet from looking at a risqué picture of my star student. But I did feel a bit self-conscious.
As if reading my mind, Peter asked, “Where’s George?”
“He’s reading in the bedroom. Although he didn’t get much sleep last night, so he might be napping.” I sat back in my chair slightly, spreading my legs apart. Cooped up in the unseasonable cold and rain, I had started to dress for the spring I thought we might have when we first came out to the country. That morning, I had put on a short floral silk dress that plunged deeply at the chest, revealing my collarbone and cleavage over my sternum.
“Jesus, Sonya, you really don’t give him any rest.” I could see Peter’s gaze shift down to my bare legs, and wondered how much he could see under my skirt.
I spread my legs wider, flexing my calves so that just the tips of my painted toes were on the ground. “How about Katherine?”
“She’s downstairs, about to teach.” Peter said. “I, um, wanted to catch you alone.”
This was interesting. I liked the idea of having Peter’s undivided attention again, and we were closer to the same height than either of our partners, which opened up a lot of possibilities for standing. I glanced over at the bookshelves. I could imagine him pushing me back against the spines of the books, and my putting one of my long legs up over his shoulder while he held my delicate wrists together over my head. Using his free hand, he could unzip his jeans and reach up under my skirt to pull my panties aside and fuck me roughly while still technically fully clothed. With my leg draped over his shoulder, every thrust would press my thigh görükle escort into my breast, compressing my nipple through the thin silk. Even better, I would be able to see Emilia’s image behind him while we fucked, the hard points of her nipples straining at the lavender fabric of her t-shirt in the picture. Which was still on the laptop screen. Shit.
Still on tiptoe, I swiveled around to snap the computer shut, hoping that he was too busy trying to catch a glimpse of my panties to notice.
“Oh? What’s up?” I tried to say as casually as possible.
Peter frowned. Shit, he had noticed. “What did you just close?” he asked, shifting forward in his chair.
“Nothing. I mean, just a weekly student response.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What on earth was your prompt to get you those tits?” Reaching his arm out, Peter brushed just the side of my ribcage on his way to the laptop. In spite of myself, I shivered; goddamn, it was becoming way too easy for him to turn me on. Before I could recover, he had flipped open the laptop and was admiring Emilia’s photography. “What is this I’m looking at?”
I swallowed. “It’s a restaging of a photo-conceptualist work, Jeff Wall’s Picture for Women. Wall’s work reinterprets the power relations between Manet’s barmaid and customer in Bar at the Folies-Bergère. But it is unclear whether it is for the better or not, what with Wall as the male artist and the female model. Also the viewer is intensely aware that we are watching.”
“Yeah, this hipster artist looks a little rape-y.” He leaned in closer, ostensibly to look at the picture, but probably to check out Emilia’s nipples and the slight flush of her cheeks. “And all the looking relations stuff, isn’t it all sort of obvious with staged photography? Painting the ambiguity of modern spectacle and gender was so much more daring in the 1880s. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but basic Impressionist Manet is obviously much better.” He grinned. “Except for these nipples, of course.”
I sighed. “Spoken like a man looking at a picture of a woman.” Peter was never going to admit that conceptualism made any contribution to art, no matter what I said.
“Hey, the picture is clearly for you, it says so in the title.” Then Peter gasped. “Wait, you said restaging. Are these students?” He looked hard at me. “And are you blushing?”
“No,” I snapped. “And yes. I mean, yes, and no!” This was devolving quickly. How was I going to distract him?
“Only one of them is a student,” I said, lifting my right foot off the floor and resting it on his knee. “Her name is Emilia, and she is probably my best doctoral student. The rape-y looking artist is her boyfriend, Paul. He comes to all the gallery openings with her and is completely insufferable.”
As I spoke, I pressed my toes underneath Peter’s top leg, encouraging him to uncross.
“I’ll admit that the nipples are a bit provocative, but I actually think it’s a brilliant restaging. In the original, the model is quite rigid and almost waxy looking with that ad lighting. She does not seem in control of the image at all, or of her body, which becomes a mere commodity. At least in Emilia’s, the nipples are, um, having their own response to our looking. They are the punctum.”
I moved the arch of my foot to rest over the crotch of his jeans, and was pleased to find that he was semi-hard. Slowly and deliberately, I dug my heel into his crotch, curling my toes around his hardening cock through his pants.
Peter inhaled. “That does sound like a good student,” he sighed. “I wish some of mine sent me dirty pictures. Except not actually.” He looked briefly horrified. “Really not actually.”
I smiled, slipping my long fingers into the deep plunge of my dress to rub one of my nipples. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and made sure to maintain intense eye contact with Peter while my nipples hardened, newly visible through the light silk. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you come in here?” I shifted my foot back and forth slightly over the bulge of his crotch. I was enjoying how much he was straining the seam of his pants.
Peter swallowed. “Right. You can be very distracting.” He reached down for my foot, and brought it off of his cock and into his lap where he held it between both hands, rubbing my heel gently. He was still watching me play with my nipple underneath my shirt.
“So, uh, I wanted to get you alone to continue the conversation about something I said I wanted to try.”
I was pretty sure I knew where this was going, but didn’t want to make it too easy for him. I crinkled my forehead. “Remind me.”
Leaning back, I put my other foot up on the edge of his chair, my knee bent and splayed out to the side. With my legs spread apart and the short dress riding up, I was pretty sure Peter could see the outline of my labia through my white panties, and a wet spot that I could feel starting to spread through the fabric. Since Katherine had shaved me, I hadn’t had the patience for any itchy growing-in, bursa escort bayan so I had continued to shave daily, and was smooth, which highlighted the contrast of the wet spot covering my cunt.
“Fuck, Sonya. You are making me want to lick you through your panties.” Peter gripped my heel harder.
“Is that it? You’ve already licked me quite a lot,” I smiled sweetly. Gripping my right nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I pulled toward the dress’s neckline, so that the pink edge of my areola just peeked out from the side. I continued to rub, feeling heat building in my almost-exposed cunt.
“No. That’s not it. Can we – fuck, I need to not be looking at your delicious cunt to formulate this!” Peter grasped my other foot, and lifted it off the chair while he removed the other from his lap, firmly placing them both down on the ground. Moving his hands up to my hips, he smoothed my skirt down, and, very delicately, reached up to push the edge of my nipple back into the bodice. Again, I shivered slightly at his touch, and pressed my knees together, feeling my cunt, damp and throbbing from our flirtation, between my thighs. I wanted very badly for him to grab the sides of my ribs and push me against the bookshelves.
“Ok. Better. So do you remember how, after hearing George’s changeroom story, I was thinking about wanting to take a cock in my mouth?”
“Yes?” I replied nonchalantly, but I was pleased and getting excited. During my dissertation research, I had gone through a brief but significant porn phase of exclusively watching men fuck. The thought of both men naked together while Peter enjoyed George’s cock filling his mouth was insanely hot, if a little hard to imagine. But even better was the possibility of directing this action, and inserting myself into the middle of it.
“So I was thinking about it more, and two things came up,” Peter continued. “One, George never actually agreed, and I’m wondering if you think you could, um, help me bring it up with him again. Or not, if you think he isn’t into it with me,” Peter added quickly.
“Hmm.” I considered Peter’s question. Banana Republic scene aside, George hadn’t really ever expressed an interest in men, and I suspected that if he was bicurious, he’d prefer a more boyish, or at least more hairless, man than Peter, who was more handsome than pretty. But George’s taste in porn was also varied, and we had on occasion enjoyed watching threesomes with two men together – usually while George fucked my ass from behind, holding my hips to match the rhythm of the fucking on-screen.
“I think he’d be into trying it,” I said. “But you might have to deal with his art direction commentary, since George has a lot of opinions about blowjob aesthetics.”
Peter laughed. “I would expect no less from George. Ok, that makes me feel better about broaching it again.”
“What was the other thing?” I prompted.
“Oh.” Peter looked uncomfortable. “This is a bit dumb, but I both want Katherine there and don’t. I think she’d also enjoy watching me blow George, and have some, um, constructive feedback since she gives such good head herself. But on the other hand, I kind of feel like I’d want to practice before doing it in front of her, or bringing it to group sex.”
“It makes sense that you’d feel most self-conscious around Katherine,” I offered. “She is, after all, the one who is going to have to cohabit with you and all the memories of this plague sejourn.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but sure.”
I had to smile. Peter never liked my analysis of his worries. I could almost hear his thinking: less talking, more fucking. And frankly, my wet cunt agreed.
“Ok. So Katherine isn’t around this morning. What do you say we go wake up George, and extend her punishment by sexile? We will tell her about this scene after all’s said and done?”
Peter looked at me with a smirk. “Who is this ‘we’? What makes you so sure George and I are you going to invite you to participate in our debauchery?”
What? I was briefly worried but regained myself quickly. “Um, the fact that neither one of you straight men knows what you are doing?” Standing up, I moved in front of Peter’s armchair so that my crotch was just inches from his face. “And besides,” I said softly, reaching around to grab a fistful of his curls. “I know you’ll especially want to taste George’s cock when it slides between your lips covered in my cum.”
To emphasize my point, I lifted the skirt of my dress above my thighs so that Peter was facing my white underpants. He instinctively moved to press his lips onto my cunt, but I held his hair back.
“Do you see how wet it’s making me to imagine you sucking my husband’s cock?”
“Yes.” He tilted his head back to look up at me. “And I can still see your hard nipples pressing your breasts out from under that flimsy dress. Fuck, Sonya. You really do have perfect tits.”
Even though I was trying to be stern, I felt myself softening. Damn. I never could bursa escort resist a compliment. I rolled my eyes and pressed Peter’s face into my panties, rubbing his nose against my clit. Then I felt his tongue pressing into me, adding to the already significant wetness between my lips. I sighed, reaching my other hand around to cup the side of his face, enjoying the feel of his jaw moving as he tongued me through my underwear.
All of a sudden, Peter stopped, and tilted his head up again. I was about to protest, but he started speaking. “I think,” he said carefully, “that I want to go with you to your and George’s bedroom with your dress still up around your hips like that. That way, you can show him how wet our little plan is making you.”
Fuck. George was going to love this. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” I took my hands away from Peter’s hair and face. “Stand up so we can get this show on the road.”
He stood. Having him almost eye to eye in front of me, I was again tempted to draw him closer with my leg over his shoulder, so that he could see the wet seam of my underpants up close, and with better access to my tits and ass. There were so many competing priorities! Then I had another idea.
“Do you want to make me walk in front of Katherine on our way to the bedroom? That way, she will have to spend her whole online class knowing that we are playing without her.” I also liked the idea of showing off my bare, lean-muscled thighs and visibly wet panties. I was pretty sure Katherine would be turned on looking at me, and would then have to sit with a throbbing cunt for the duration of her seminar. “Or is it too mean, even for the house sub?”
Peter thought for a second. “I don’t think it’s too mean.” He reached around behind me to grab my ass, smiling as he learned that the panties were French cut, exposing just the bottom curve of my cheeks. “And I think she’ll like the feeling of being differently frustrated on Zoom.” He cupped my ass, spreading his fingers to play under the edge of my panties around the bare skin. “Besides, I am very much looking forward to telling Katherine where my cock has been while I’m inside her cunt later this evening.”
That was all the encouragement I needed. Holding my skirt up at my waist, I turned so that my ass pressed up against the bulge in Peter’s jeans. Bending over slightly, I ground myself into him, enjoying the feel of his growing erection against my mostly bare cheeks. I heard him exhale sharply.
“Ah.” He gripped the side of my hips.
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Is that uncomfortable, straining against your jeans?”
“Um, a little? But it also feels really good. You have a very nice ass.”
I smiled at him, and faced forward. “Thank you. Lead the way.”
Still gripping my hips, Peter moved me toward the doorway, and we started down the hall toward the living room where Katherine had set up her Zoom office for the day. It never failed to give me a little thrill to remember what we had done on the sofa just inches from her makeshift desk. I could feel my cunt contract at the memory of the four of us fucking.
As we were almost at the living room, Peter stopped, and nuzzled into my neck. “I think you should crouch down in the doorway,” he said softly into my ear. “In a proper squat, with your dress hiked up, so that Katherine can see your soaking wet cunt through your panties.” He bit my earlobe, and I felt another surge of wetness convulse through my now-aching pussy.
“Oh, and wait a second.” Peter moved his hands from my hips to my breasts, where he reached underneath the bodice to tug my nipples, one and then the other, just out of the thin fabric. Not only were my hard, puckered nipples now on view, but they were sandwiched together in the deep v of my bodice, giving me much more cleavage than I normally had. Even though I was fully clothed, I would be completely on display for Katherine.
Peter motioned for me to move forward, and I did, crouching in the doorway as he instructed. I could see Katherine frowning into her screen – one of her students seemed to be making a case for economists modeling Covid progression – but she still looked radiant, her long black hair spilling over the one white button-down shirt she had brought. As she was hunched a bit at her desk, her large breasts had caused a slight gape between two of the buttons, and I could see her pink lace bra. She had only bothered, however, to get properly dressed on top, and was wearing low-waisted leggings that showed off the curve of her calves, and a hint of her cute, soft belly rounding over the top.
Squatting down, the draft from the poorly insulated living room felt cooling to my now overheated cunt, and puckered my nipples even more. I shivered, wondering how long it would take Katherine to notice me.
Peter was less patient, apparently. I heard him move behind me, and he must have gestured emphatically or something, because Katherine looked up from her screen, startled. As she noticed me, crouched on the floor, her mouth briefly opened in shock as she fumbled to turn off her audio sharing. She recovered her stern teaching look quickly, though I could still see a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “And what are you two up to?” she inquired, turning back to her screen.
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