Chapter 32

 

“But is it art?” I asked the woman next to me as we both peered at the highly stylized painting in front of us.

She looked askance at me. “What is art?”

“Good question.”

I didn’t know her name, but I didn’t know the names of a lot of the women who came to Silk Sheets’ parties. She was pretty. Older. It was obvious she dyed her hair and had had some plastic surgery done over the years, but in her red dress holding a cocktail, she looked every inch the socialite she probably was.

She was just a socialite who happened to be a swinger. Her husband probably got off on watching her fuck strangers. Probably while he was fucking a stranger.

But who was I to judge? I got off on watching strangers, near-strangers, and friends fuck my wife while I was fucking a stranger, near-stranger, or friend. Sometimes getting my cock sucked instead.

“Have you recognized anyone yet?” she asked me.

She was referring to the painting. It was by one of the members of Silk Sheets, Rick. He had fucked my wife. He had photographed Gwen nude. He had painted her nude.

Before attending the show I didn’t fully realize that the photos and paintings included what was essentially a full gyno spread. Hence the art question.

It was a special Silk Sheets party. It was a party slash art show because nothing is just one thing anymore. All the paintings were by Rick. They were all various women who had agreed to pose for him. Nude, of course. Usually after they had had sex. The paintings were largish considering the subject matter, maybe five feet by three feet. They certainly weren’t subtle.

His technique, I had learned from Gwen, was to bring his models to his studio, get them to pose for pictures, have sex with them, get them to pose again. He liked close up shots of their pussies, as was evidenced by what we were now looking at.

He then took the photos and made paintings of them. He didn’t have one particular style, but he was a talented artist. The paintings varied from photo-realistic to Picasso-like cubism to imitating Monet and one that looked like something Norman Rockwell would have painted if he had been a pervert.

Oddly, it wasn’t erotic.

The show was unimaginatively named Rick’s Kuntz. Because Roger Kuntz was a semi-famous American landscape painter. The idea behind the show was to look at the painting, guess which member of Silk Sheets had posed for it, and then to turn over the card on the wall next to the painting. The card had the model’s name, the reference photo, and a photo of her face. I supposed the face photo was to make her more human.

“So? Do you?” the woman next to me repeated.

I had been lost in thought staring at the art deco pussy in front of me.

I turned my head and indicated my wife next to the painting of her pussy done in a futurist style. I had stared at it for more than a few minutes and there was no way I ever would have guessed the interpreted pussy was supposed to be my wife’s, the one pussy in the world that I was most familiar with.

“That’s my wife Gwen,” I said and winced. I hated how that came out. And then I noticed that Gwen was standing just off to the side of her painting. She was chatting with a couple that I was pretty sure were named Roger and Claudia. We had never had sex with them, but it was obvious that Roger wanted to get into Gwen’s panties.

I didn’t blame him.

That’s half the reason we were all at the party.

“Her painting and her,” I clarified for the woman next to me. I still didn’t know her name.

“The blonde? She’s very pretty.”

“Thank you.” I scanned the room. It was weird to see most of the members of Silk Sheets completely clothed. Well, mostly clothed. There was plenty of skin on display, mostly from the women. I noticed that two women had completely disrobed and were walking around like that was perfectly acceptable.

At Silk Sheets it was.

“Do you see anything you like?” asked the woman. I gave her a second glance. Not my type at all. Very tall, probably six foot in her heels. Willowy thin. Long black hair with bangs. Her sparkly red dress clung to her body. She didn’t have my wife’s curves, but judging by the cut of the dress she wasn’t wearing anything under it though the top certainly implied a built-in bra. No one could achieve that much cleavage in a backless dress without some plastic surgery and hidden support.

I eyed her up and down, making it obvious. At Silk Sheets that sort of thing was acceptable, even encouraged. “Are you coming on to me…I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“Veronica.” She held out her hand. I shook it. She had long, elegant fingers.

“Shane. Pleased to meet you. You aren’t disturbed at all by this somewhat vulgar display,” and I gestured to all the paintings around us. There had to be two dozen painted over several years, “of blatant sexuality?”

She cast her eyes over to the painting we had been inspecting. “Not at all. I think our society is still way too uptight about sex. I love being naked where I shouldn’t be.”

“You aren’t naked right now,” I pointed out. “But you’re right about Americans being too uptight about sex.”

“I could be naked,” she said, her hand fiddling with her dress’s strap. She sipped her drink and I knew she wanted to fuck me.

Still, I couldn’t just say I want to fuck you. Want to do it right here on the gallery floor or do you want to go someplace more private? I mean, I could have said that, but I didn’t. I had manners.

Silk Sheets had somehow managed to rent out an art gallery in the downtown district. It was a private party, so we had been mailed invitations and instructions. Private rooms for sex were found in the back of the gallery. Sex on the gallery floor was expressly forbidden, but that didn’t stop more than a few people from openly fondling and digitally penetrating their partners. And strangers.

The instructions said tasteful nudity was fine in the gallery.

I wondered what tasteful nudity meant.

“You’re coming on to me,” I said wisely, nodding my head.

“I am,” Veronica agreed. “But have you toured the entire gallery yet? Seen all the paintings?”

“Most,” I said.

“Have you seen mine?” She glanced at the painting in front of us.

I was stupid and slow. I glanced back and forth between her and the painting.

Veronica smiled at me.

I reached out and flipped over the card next to the painting.

I saw Veronica’s smiling face, elegantly posed against a brick background.

Next to that was a full body nude of her. The fingers of one hand rested on her thigh, the other on her stomach. Her sex lips were spread open, like in the painting, though the painting didn’t show how wet she was in the photo.

 

Veronica Edgerton. 51. Post-coital.

 

On the card’s bottom right corner was a blue dot sticker indicating the painting had already been sold.

“You have an admirer other than Rick,” I said, pointing at the blue sticker.

“My husband bought it,” she said breezily. “Says he doesn’t want anyone else seeing my naked body.”

“And yet here you are at a swingers’ party.”

“And I’ve fucked more men in my lifetime than I care to remember.

For someone who was fifty-one, she had a fantastic body. I couldn’t help but look at the photograph a second time before flipping it back over. She had had sex with Rick.

So had my wife.

So had a lot of women.

“I’d love to take you to someplace a little more private,” I managed to say. I hated that I was still nervous about propositioning someone even if we were at a swingers’ party.

“I like younger men,” she said, stepping closer and casually putting a hand on my shoulder.

I knew that there were dozens of people around us and no one cared what we did. Somehow that made it more exciting. I wondered where Gwen was. I wondered what I could get away with. I wondered if Gwen would want to join us. I wondered if Veronica looked exactly like she did in the photo.

“I’m not fifty-one yet,” I said.

“That picture was taken last year.”

“Then you’re definitely older than me.”

She was smooth and subtle. I didn’t even realize what she was doing until her hand was suddenly cupping my cock. I was stiff.

“Very nice,” she murmured. “I like to know what I’m getting before I buy.”

“I’ve already seen what I’m getting,” I pointed out as I pressed my body against hers. She tilted her hips so she could rub against my cock.

“But you don’t know everything about what you’re getting,” she said before leaning in for a kiss.

I barely knew the woman. That made the sex more exciting. I kissed her and gently pushed my tongue into her mouth. She tasted of fruit and alcohol.

Veronica didn’t object when I placed my hand on her ass. We continued to kiss. She put her tongue into my mouth. We were making out like teenagers, but no one cared. No one objected.

We weren’t the only couple behaving inappropriately.

I forced her body to do a quarter turn, keeping one hand on her ass while I slid the other up her dress, up her thigh. I didn’t stop until I reached her pussy.

I felt her soft pubic hair. I felt her heat. I felt how wet she was. She didn’t object when I pushed my index finger into her pussy.

Breaking our kiss but not removing my finger, I said, “Some would call you a slut for getting fingered in the middle of an art gallery.”

“They’d be right,” said Veronica, her lids heavy with lust. “But you need to take your finger out of me so we can find a place to fuck.”

I did that.

Veronica must have done this before. She grabbed my pussy-scented hand and dragged me away from the painting of her, she dragged me out of the gallery. I glanced back long enough to catch my wife’s eye. She grinned at me and then turned her head to kiss the woman next to her. I was going to miss out on that, but I was going to get to fuck Veronica.

I could fuck my wife and watch her fuck another woman almost any day of the week.

I followed Veronica.

The place where we wound up was either an unused office or a storage room. Maybe it served as both. There was a small desk and a love seat. That was all we needed for the moment.

We kissed some more. I pushed her back so she was trapped between me and the desk.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” she asked, tugging at my jacket, trying to undress me.

I wasn’t going to just let her do that. I wanted her naked first.

“I’m going to fuck you and make you howl when you cum,” I promised her, pushing back her hands and finding the bottom edge of her tight dress.

It was surprisingly easy to pull it up her legs and up over her hips. She raised her hands, helping me.

I had been right. Veronica wasn’t wearing panties or a bra. Or even stockings. Just the dress and her heels. Her clutch purse she had tossed on the desk when we walked in.

Veronica pushed me back a step and posed in front of me. It was obvious she liked being naked in front of me while I was dressed.

“How many men have you fucked?” I asked her, grabbing her upper arms.

“I don’t know. Too many.”

“How many dicks have you sucked?”

“One hundred thirty two,” she answered quickly.

I wasn’t sure if she was telling me the number she believed or if she was trying to prove she was a slut.

I didn’t care.

“It’s going to be a hundred and thirty-three now.” I moved her from the desk to the love seat and pushed her down to a sitting position. Then I unzipped my pants and hauled out my hard cock.

Veronica didn’t need to be told twice. She hungrily grabbed my cock and gobbled it up, swallowing most of it. It’s not that I don’t appreciate deepthroating, but I was hard. She was wet. I wanted to get laid.

I was only going to let her suck my dick for a minute. I didn’t want to waste the load in her mouth.

Taking a quick breath, she said, “Want to cum in my mouth?”

I yanked her up off the couch. “No. Your pussy.”

She was skinny so it was easy to spin her around and force her down, kneeling on the love seat now, hands on the back, ass sticking out. Veronica spread her legs, inviting me in.

This was the nice thing about Silk Sheets. Everyone knew why they were there, sex was expected. Even if Veronica wasn’t my type—too skinny with artificially large tits—I was happy to fuck her. Anyone who ever says sex with someone new can’t get them excited…well, maybe. But they wouldn’t do well at a swingers’ club.

She reached between her legs and guided me in. She was already dripping. It was easy to bottom out as I filled her up.

“You like that?” I asked her, resting my weight against her angled body, cupping her tits from behind.

“Yes. Fuck. Me. Hard!”

I pinched her nipples causing her to suck in her breath as I started thrusting.

“Fuck me! Harder! Fuck me harder!” she said loudly and clearly.

I realized right away I wasn’t going to last long. I let go of one breast and reached down to her pussy. Her clit was prominent, easy to find, and I started rubbing. She started moaning loudly. I slammed my cock in and out of her as hard as I could.

I was right. I only lasted a minute. She lasted fifty eight seconds before she came.

Two seconds later I came in her, filling up her pussy.

“Yeah, that’s what I needed,” Veronica sighed after I was done.

I stumbled back and steadied myself against the desk. It had been longer than I could remember since I had fucked a woman—any woman—while still mostly dressed. I had only opened my pants, but she was naked. That didn’t bother Veronica, of course. She wasn’t uptight that way.

I awkwardly tucked my cock back into my pants. I was already going soft and wondering what the hell I was doing with my life. I liked my life, I just wondered what the hell I was doing. It couldn’t get any weirder.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” I said.

Veronica turned around and smiled at me. In her heels she was just about my height, but I was still leaning against the desk. She gave me a gentle, almost perfunctory, kiss on the lips.

“What’s the number of men I have to fuck tonight if I want to be a slut?” she asked me.

“What? That’s a strange question to ask.”

She bent over to pick up her dress and started to straighten it. “I want to be a slut.”

“You’ve got to live your dreams,” I said. Silk Sheets had all types, and I wasn’t one to judge.

“My record is six different men cumming in me on one night,” Veronica told me. “Do you think that’s slutty?”

“Uh…that’s so subjective.” I didn’t want to call her a slut, but it sounded slutty to me.

“What number makes me a slut?”

“I’m not really one to answer that question,” I dodged and wished I had the courage to just dash out the door.

“I want the label,” she told me as she finished fixing her dress but made no motion to put it back on.

“Uh, double digits. Fuck ten guys in one night and you’re definitely a slut.” She had a bit of a humiliation kink, or liked to be called names. I wasn’t judging.

“Would that include blowjobs and swallowing?” she asked. “I don’t think my pussy could take getting pounded by ten men in one night.”

“Certainly. Oral sex is sex. Sex is oral sex’s last name.”

She smiled and gently touched my jawline. Then she gave me another quick kiss. “Help me put my dress back on? I don’t want to mess up my hair or makeup.”

She hadn’t been concerned with those items when she had taken the dress off, but I didn’t bother to bring that up.

I helped her. She took a moment to adjust the dress so that it ended just under her slim ass but the plunging neckline showed off as much cleavage as possible.

“Thank you, Shane. I’ll see you around.”

She walked out the door. I realized I was still sitting on the desk with my pants unzipped.

I gave her a minute, zipped up, and went out the door as well.