Old Pierre stood at the back of Simone’s studio and watched as his lover and her students drew. He said nothing. He did not ogle the models. He simply put one hand in the pocket of his vest and leaned against the wall, and watched his love direct her students.
The students were a mixture of old and young, men and women, hobbyists, and working artists. They came to Simone’s studio because she had good relationships with many traveling models. She knew how to pose them, and she was good at giving students helpful notes on their form.
Pierre and Simon were fixtures of the Montparnasse art scene. At fifty, Pierre was a critic, a journalist, and had written one somewhat well-reviewed novel. A year or two younger, Simone had been a dancer in her youth, then a potter, and finally a sculpture and teacher of figure drawing.
They lived in a large old house near the Seine, which had belonged to Pierre’s father and was passed to him upon his death. They were known to have lavish parties, often costumed, and wealthy benefactors who would shower them with bottles of champagne, platters of the finest breads and cheeses, and endless vases of the most beautiful flowers.
Simone kept dried flowers in every room, often wrapped in ribbons inscribed with details about the parties they were from. She painted and decorated the house to match the faded colors of dried roses and wilted leaves. Everything in their home was beautiful, smelled luxurious, and impressed all who stayed with them.
The house had five bedrooms, and the couple would often host out-of-town friends. Pierre was happiest in the morning when his kitchen and living room were full of friends and acquaintances, often half-dressed, lazily milling about, complimenting him on his excellent coffee and buttering the baguettes leftover from the night before.
Pretty models in silk slips sitting on each others’ laps. Handsome muscular men, shirtless and stretching in the sun. Simone would tease Pierre about his wandering eyes, but the two seemed to genuinely enjoy each other’s desires and fascinations.
Though they were not one of “those” couples that prowled bars and galleries looking for a third, it was well known that their bedroom door was open to friends. Traveling models would often find comfort and warmth between the older couple in their massive bed, laden with pillows and blankets, and even furs in the winter.
One evening, after a particularly lively gathering, a charming woman in her late twenties came to their bedroom door. She didn’t enter but stood at the doorway, eyes wide like a doe’s, and watched the couple ready for bed.
Simone saw her and exchanged glances with Pierre. After decades together, they could easily read each other’s minds with just a look.
“Well, it’s time to close the curtains and put out the lights. Colette, are you going to just stand there, or will you help us?” Simone said with a practiced casualness.
The younger woman hopped to it, carefully untying the thick embroidered curtains and blowing out most of the candles, only leaving the large candelabra near the bed lit. When she was done, she stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at the rug. Simone knew when a girl liked to be helpful
Simone pulled back the vast blankets and smiled at her. “It’s going to be a cold night. We wouldn’t mind having a little extra heat in our bed. Would you like to join us, my dear?”
Colette’s mouth curled into a smile. Her eyes turned to the rug, and she bit her lip. She nodded and softly said, “Yes, Madame.” She walked to the edge of the bed, only to be stopped by Simone.
“My dear, you can’t come to bed in that! Go to that first drawer there and get a little slip or something to sleep in,” she said with a slight motherly tone.
Colette bowed her head and followed Simone’s instructions. She turned and looked at Pierre over her shoulder as she slipped out of her light summer dress. His eyes were wide with desire, and she seemed to enjoy his gaze. She didn’t show them much, keeping her back to them as she removed her panties and bra and slipped on one of Simone’s short chemises, which was a bit big for the small-boned girl.
Timidly, she came to bed, crawling over Simone and settling between the older couple.
“Very, good, very good. Oh, I haven’t worn this piece in years. I forgot how pretty it is. The silk is almost the color of a light tea. It suits you, Colette. Doesn’t it suit her, Pierre?” Her husband nodded as he watched his wife dote on the young model.
“It brings out her freckles. Very fetching. Like a doll,” he said, aware of the heat of her leg against his under the covers. Colette batted her lashes at the older man sweetly.
The three of them shifted in bed, finding comfortable spots. Colette’s eyes were still wide. She seemed to be awaiting something, and Simone was more than happy to give it to her.
“My girl, you don’t seem sleepy at all. You fidget so, and your eyes are wide and curious. Whatever is the matter?”
Colette smiled at that but merely shrugged. “I’m not sure, Madame. It’s been such an exciting day. I haven’t ever been to an event such as yours. The rooms were full of so many artists and muses. It was like the whole house was full of electricity. It’s left very-” she sighed deeply, “inspired and invigorated.”
Simone raised an eyebrow and sat up next to the girl. “Inspired and invigorated? Indeed. Your cheeks are red, and your body is hot to the touch. That’s how it is sometimes. The inspiration will not stay on the canvas. It gets into your blood. Isn’t that right, Pierre?”
Pierre sat up as well, nodding. “I can hardly sleep most nights when we have so many lovely guests. My mind and my body are activated and aroused. It’s the way of art, non?”
Simone smiled at her mate. “We will have to find some way to spend this energy! Why don’t you come here and sit between my legs? Perhaps we can find some game to play,” Simone suggested, and Colette obeyed immediately.
The blushing model sat between Simone’s legs, with both of them facing forward, and Simone reached over to the bedside table and got a large wide wooden hairbrush. She kissed Colette on her bare shoulder and began to brush the model’s short boyish haircut.
“Such fine hair! Like lovely silk, the color of straw. You must have had a bath upstairs. I can smell the pretty lavender soap I put up in the bath. Pierre, smell. How different the scent is on her skin than mine. Such strange chemistry we have.”
Simone took Colette’s thinnish arm and held it out to her husband. He took her hand and brought her wrist to his nose. “Indeed, indeed,” he said, his lips brushing against her palm for a moment.
Pierre took the opportunity to move closer, resting next to his wife and holding Colette’s hand. The pretty girl entwined her fingers in his and seemed to relish the attention.
“There was a German, I don’t remember his name, but he drew you very beautifully. Did you see, Colette?” Simone asked, tugging at a knot in the girl’s hair.
“Oh yes, Madame. Gustav. He had such confident lines,” Colette said with a timid smile.
“I saw that, yes,” Pierre added. “He did have a deft hand. The line of your hip came in one simple stroke. Though he paused for a moment on your breast. I saw his eyes going back and forth from his notebook to your body. You could almost see the angles and curves in his head, calculating how to capture your form. There is a delicacy there that he seemed to have trouble with. It was fascinating.”
Simone’s eyebrows furled. “A delicacy? What do you mean? Is her hip not also delicate? Why was he able to capture that?”
Pierre smiled widely. “My dear, the girl is graced with a perfect round bottom and generous hips. It’s really something. Her breasts, though, are sweetly petite, and there is this tiny eccentric little crease under her breasts-” he tried to explain, but Simone shook her head.
“My dear, I can’t picture that at all. Come, Colette, would you pull up your slip a little and let my husband decipher this somewhat babbling description,” she said, pushing and pulling the girl like a rag doll as the girl smiled and let herself be disrobed.
“Perhaps I should just take the slip off, Madame? At home I sleep in the nude anyhow,” the girl added helpfully with a giggle. A look passed between her and Simone. A shared smile. “Oh? Well, we do want you to feel at home, my sweet girl.”
In a flash of silk, she was nude. Simone’s eyes narrowed with lust as Pierre’s widened with delight. “Well, Pierre, don’t dawdle. What were you trying to describe?”
Colette met his eye for an instant, and then dutifully she leaned back and thrust forth her chest. His hand went to her slight paunch of a belly, and he seemed surprised at the heat of her body. “Yes, yes, well, you see, her breasts are like that of Marie Antoinette, that perfect Champagne coupe shape,” he explained, his fingers nervously moving up, but stopping before the breasts he was describing.
“Yes, and as I said, as it is with some women, there is this fine little crease here, most likely where her brassiere cuts into her tender flesh. Here, this delicate little line,” he said in almost a whisper, his pointer finger finding that slight indentation under her breast.
“And the skin is baby soft just there, a bit of skin rarely seen by the world outside of her bedroom, I suppose. Exposed here for the artists’ charcoal and now for us,” Pierre continued, his voice becoming soft as if he were under a spell.
Simone watched his transfixed gaze and smirked. “Ah, yes, indeed. What an interesting little detail. Perhaps Pierre has the eye of an artist, after all. We should get him some pencils,” she said with a little chuckle.
His fingers didn’t leave that little line, though, and Colette’s breath caught as he traced the underside of her breast softly. “We writers need to see things in just as much detail as you painters. After all, it takes us a thousand words to make a picture.”
“Sir, your fingers move so softly, almost like a little breeze. It makes me dizzy,” Colette whispered.
Simone leaned forward, so that her lips were next to Colette’s ear. “My sweet girl, it’s why I keep him around—such a graceful touch. Thoughtful fingers, trained with quills and typewriters,” she said, and as if on cue, he started making little circles on the undersides of her breast, his other hand coming up and caressing her thigh the same way.
Colette’s eyes closed, and she let out a long soft sigh. Simone joined her husband in caressing the girl, her hand finding her free breast and mirroring Pierre’s movements. Four hands on her body made Colette shudder and press back against Simone’s body.
“She arches her back, like a cat getting scratched under the chin,” Simone said with a hungry smile. “Indeed, she makes a lovely pet,” Pierre added.
Pierre dragged his nails lightly across Colette’s inner thigh, and she moaned softly. “Hm, I think this cat likes a strong petting.” Simone’s eyebrows rose. Her hand moved up to Colette’s short hair, and she gave it a little tug.
“Is that true, sweet Colette?” She asked. The girl nodded, breathless, biting her bottom lip.
Pierre’s fingers moved up, and when his hand first covered her breast, he let out a sigh, almost a hiss of pleasure. He cupped her breasts and circled her nipple, an act that elicited a gasp from Colette. “Oh, a sensitive spot,” he noted. Simone took her other nipple between her fingers and gently pinched and rubbed, and twisted, watching the girl carefully and seeing which movement caused the most pleasure.
Colette’s body writhed under the couple’s touch. Her nipples seemed to be the key to her pleasure, and the couple moved to take full advantage of that.
Simone kissed the girl’s neck, and Colette tilted her head to give her full access to it. Pierre moved closer, replacing his able hands with his eager lips, taking her large puffy nipple into his mouth and circling it with his tongue. This brought out another gasp from the girl.
Pierre watched from the corner of his eye the girl’s legs open more and more as her body was lavished with attention. Indeed, he could smell the girl’s arousal, mixed with perfume, lavender soap, and even the paint from the day’s work. He let out an involuntary whimper of need. Need for more of her.
Simone, who was very aware of her husband’s desires, breathed a throaty chuckle into the girl’s shoulder. “Hm, it seems you’ve awoken Pierre’s desires. He’s such an empathic lover. Watching you squirm and hearing you moan has him on edge.”
Colette’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked sweetly down at the man suckling at her breast.
“Oh, poor Pierre. I did not mean to tease him, Madame,” she said tenderly, petting Pierre’s hair softly.
“My sweet girl, it isn’t teasing if you give him what he wants, is it? Do you want to give him a treat?” Colette smiled innocently. “But of course, Madame. What do I have that might please him? I would like to sate his hunger.”
“He’s a hungry one, my Pierre. Hungry for your breasts and but most of all, what is between your legs. He would love nothing more than to spend the whole evening with his head buried between your thighs. Wouldn’t you, Pierre?”
Pierre sat up, straightening himself out. He fixed his loose linen nightshirt. His smile was wide as he nodded, but his eyes were desperate. He seemed to be trying to hide how much he wanted the girl. Simone knew, though. She knew, and she enjoyed tugging on his collar, like a dog waiting at the table for a bit of bacon.
“Pierre, would you look? How we’ve awoken her body. How her nipples are now fat and red. How her blush had traveled from her cheeks to her chest.” Simone traced the ruddy color that made an arrow between her breasts. She liked to tease her lover, but the warmth and the softness of the girl’s breasts gave her pause, and made her shudder with desire.
“Oh, my love, can you imagine what her little cunt looks like? What does it tastes like?” Simone laughed. Pierre’s smile faded, and he nodded dumbly. Simone put her lips to Colette’s ear once more. “Would you mind showing him, my sweet girl? He’s been looking at your perfect body all day, but has not seen the secret between your legs. Look at how lusty his eyes are. How his body is bracing for the sight of you.”
Colette’s smile bent a little, some slight wickedness inspired by Simone. “I see it, Madame. He is like a puppy, waiting patiently under the table. Begging with his eyes for a little taste.”
“I can show him. I think it is pretty. I look at it all the time. I love my little peach,” Colette said with a little giggle. She moved the sheets out of the way and spread her legs, then bent her knees and pushed her hips out.
Pierre gasped, his eyes wide, as if he dare not blink. His bottom lip trembled with need. Before him, he saw that her pussy was like a fat ripe peach, covered neatly in soft brown hair that was trimmed short. Fat lips that split to expose ruddy corals and bright candy pinks. Pretty folds, like silk crushed into a knot.
Simone smiled, watching her husband’s lust. There was something charming about his predictability, his base hunger. Simone traced one pearl lacquered nail down Colette’s neck, to her nipple, to her belly, then down between her legs.
“Look, my love, what a treat we have in our bed tonight. Colette, do you see how you’ve hypnotized him?” Simone asked, her fingers slipping into silk wetness. Colette gasped softly.
“His eyes on my fingers, wishing it was his tongue,” she said, darkly chuckling into Colette’s warm neck.
“Oh, Madame, your fingers are so lovely,” Colette whispered breathlessly. For a moment, Simone closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the girl’s body, the wetness, the softness. She let her deft fingers slip into Colette and cherished the moans the girl made.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Pierre’s hungry face. He licked his lips, rapt at the sight before him. Simone enjoyed his desperation for a beat and then, begrudgingly slipped her finger out of Colette and reached out to him.
“All right, my love. I suppose you deserve a little taste,” she said, reaching out to him and letting him slip her wet fingers into his mouth. His eyes closed, and he groaned.
Simone kissed Colette on the neck. Colette saw the play between the two older lovers and was curious and charmed by the dynamic of their teasing. She liked that she was the prize in the game, the focus of the attention. She was the rope in their tug of war.
“I think perhaps we can both use Pierre’s passion. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Simone asked. Colette giggled and nodded emphatically.
“Let’s put Pierre on the bed and make him useful. I think I might like to watch you sit on his handsome face, while I sit on his pretty cock. This way, I can keep my eye on you while I enjoy myself. Perhaps that will tire us out for bed, non?”
Colette’s eyes went wide, and she nodded again. “I’ve never even imagined something like that, Madame. It sounds very naughty,” she said with a cheeky smile.
With that, the bed became a whirlwind of sheets and pillows and clothes. Pierre stood and, after a moment of consideration, peeled off his night clothes and stood, watching the two women do the same.
He was portly and proud, with a cloud of gray and white hair on his chest and a thick cock that stood hard and red between his legs.
“Oh, Madame! Do you think, perhaps, we could switch after a bit? Places, I mean. I think I might like to try it the other way, too,” Colette said. Simone smiled at her husband’s blush at that. “Perhaps, if monsieur can control himself,” she said with a little laugh.
Pierre sighed, looking at the lush body of his love. Her pale soft skin peppered with freckles on her neck and shoulders. Her large breasts, topped with dusky rose nipples like two dabs of paint on a canvas, drew his eyes as they always did. Her wide hungry thighs, made for his hands to hold and pull. Between her legs, a soft, lush triangle of dark brown hair.
Simone patted the bed in front of her. Colette covered her mouth as she giggled. Pierre nodded and hopped back on the bed, taking his place in front of them, laying on his back, his prick standing straight up like an eager soldier.
Perhaps to tease Pierre a bit or perhaps because she finally got a look at Colette in all of her naked glory, Simone took that moment to touch the girl’s cheek and beckoned her forward for a kiss. Pierre watched from below as the two closed their eyes and fell into a deep kiss.
It was by Simone’s body wisdom that the two held their kiss as they edged over to Pierre, lifting one leg each and straddling him. As they both settled down, Simone sighed as she felt the familiar sensation of being filled by her husband’s thick cock.
Colette, on the other hand, was experiencing something new. Her eyes widened as Pierre hungrily got to work. She giggled as she held herself up, her hands on his chest as she rode his face. “Oh my, he does seem to enjoy this. Oh! I’ve never felt that before. Little circles right on-oh!”
Simone watched Colette squirm and moan as she took her time pushing herself up and down on her husband’s cock. Colette was certainly something to watch. Her face reddened as she moved her hips. It seemed like the poor girl had never been properly eaten out. Simone smiled at that, knowing how much Pierre enjoyed an appreciative partner.
Pierre had some natural talent, but a long marriage to the demanding Simone had taught him the art of pleasing a woman.
The fact that he was quite preoccupied, gave Simone leave to use his cock like a toy at her leisure. She watched the blushing squirming vixen in front of her as she slipped her fingers between her legs.
Though Simone loved her husband and many, many through the years, beautiful women touched her soul in a way men never could. She concentrated on the curve of Colette’s hip, the way her pelvis rutted against Pierre’s face, the sweet way her nipples tightened and hardened. All the while, Simone positioned herself over her husband’s hard and demanding cock. Slowly she slipped it inside of her and pushed down.
All three of the lovers groaned. Colette’s eyes flashed open, and she watched Simone fuck herself on Pierre’s cock. It was the first time she had ever seen two people coupling. The sight sent ripples through her. Along with Pierre’s tongue, she felt her body race to a climax more quickly than she imagined was possible.
Simone locked eyes with the girl. “You’ll come for me when you come. Do you understand?” The girl nodded emphatically. “You’ll look in my eyes and say my name,” she said, as a hypnotist would tell their subject. Colette nodded again. “Yes, Madame.”
Pierre was gone. Gone to heaven. Thick thighs covering his face, the glorious taste of Colette’s fresh pussy. His cock buried in the wet heat of Simone’s cunt. All thoughts were gone. There was only pleasure and pleasing. He was the happiest tool, the most satisfied toy.
“Ma-Madame! Madame Simone! It’s coming so quickly, like a wave,” Colette said between pretty moans.
“My eyes,” Simone reminded her. Colette looked at her with such intensity it made Simone quicken her pace, up and down.
Poor Pierre had to strain not to follow the girl up her climax. The way she squirmed on his mouth. The way she covered his nose with her thighs, almost suffocating him before finally rising, giving him both glorious breath and a beautiful sight.
“Very good,” Simone said, somewhat breathlessly. “Now come here and be useful. Suck on my breasts like a good girl,” she commanded, and Colette quickly obeyed.
She took the girl’s hand and rubbed it between her legs as she rode. The girl’s hot mouth was on her nipple. The memory of her orgasmic spasms played in Simone’s mind as she pushed down on the hard cock getting it deeper, filling her.
The girl’s fingers were quick and steady. A few moments and Simone’s mind went blank as well. She felt Pierre’s hands come to her hips, his pelvis pushing up, continuing their rhythm as she became unable. She came like that, with him thrusting up into her.
Again, Pierre held himself, dammed himself against the tidal rush. Simone dismounted and cuddled with Colette, the two almost forgetting about him until he let out a whimper, like a dog at a table begging for scraps.
“Madame, I think I would like him to take me just like this,” Colette said, laying on her back, resting between Simone’s crossed legs. Simone absently caressed the girl’s lovely breasts and smiled down at her.
“Well, since you are our guest, I think we should give you exactly what you desire. Come, Pierre, give the pretty girl what she wants,” she said, patting Colette just above her red and swollen pussy.
Pierre hopped to it. Hungry and on edge. He was no longer the carefree voyeur. His face was red, and his need evident. He got between the girl’s legs, and his hands grabbed her thighs roughly. She let out a gasp as simultaneously, Simone squeezed her nipples.
She was soaked, and he thrust into her quickly. It was not lovemaking. It was animal rutting. There was a furious energy to it that made Simone smile. “Well, we’ve awoken the bull I haven’t seen for a while, haven’t we?”
He fucked her hard and fast, surprising all three of them. Simone held the girl down for him, touching her, kissing her, bringing her hand down to rub her in quick little circles as he thrust.
Simone got the girl off, and her moans and whimpers pushed him over the edge. He felt her tighten around his cock. When he came, it was with growls and harsh gasps—groaning as he shot deep inside of her.
Then, they lay next to each other in a panting heap. The three of them needing the touch of the others, but overheated by their exertion.
“You have made a mess of me, monsieur,” Colette said with a wicked grin. He chuckled and went to fetch a rag to clean her up.
“Perhaps we all need a bath before bed,” Simone said, a bath being her cure for most things. They all agreed, though Colette and Pierre settled for a quick shower.
In a moment alone, as Colette joined Pierre in his shower, and they kissed. The tenderness of it surprised them, and after, they shared a smile. Then together, they drew Simone’s bath, and each of them in turn washed her feet and hands and let their soapy hands run over her breasts.
That night they slept well, with the windows open and their limbs entwined.
Little did they know that at dawn, one of the artists they had as guests stood at the door of their bedroom and sketched them while they slept. The painting that came from that sketch could never be put in a museum. It was titled “The Art Lovers” and was regarded as one of the finest works of the era.