A Threesome in a Covid 19 World Ch. 07

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It's been a while since I added to this story so a very brief summary of how we got here is appropriate.
Five years ago, Ned returned to Australia from a Pacific cruise on his yacht with four women. During the cruise they shared an intensely sexual polygamous relationship, the story of which is told in my Unexpected Threesome series. Ned was close to 60, three of the women were about half his age, Liddy, the other was eight years younger than him.
Two, Amy and Liddy, stayed with him and continued the relationship. The others kept in close and constant contact but, as Ned encouraged them to do, found more appropriately aged husbands and became mothers.
When Covid struck and closed borders Liddy was trapped back in her native New York while visiting her recently born grandchild. Things turned nasty when Ellen's doctor husband died of Covid while treating patients. Unfortunately the surrounding publicity about the hero doctor had a bad outcome for Ellen, causing her to be stalked and harassed by a few unknown people who'd seen the photo of his very attractive wife in the news reports.
For safety, she, her au pair and toddler children moved into Ned's large house.
There, it became obvious to Amy that Ellen was in desperate need of more than just a safe shelter and, being the kind soul she was, she arranged for Ellen to rejoin the polygamous family.
This story is narrated by Ellen

As I lay alongside him and Amy in bed that morning, I knew Ned was right.
I wasn't yet confident of my place in our polygamous family and that was reflected in so much of my approach to everything.
And he knew, as much as I did, why that was the case. It was only human.
Amy and Liddy had been Ned's loving and faithful companions for all of the last five years since I'd left the family to marry Harry and have his children. Now when, as a doctor working on the front line, he died of Covid, Amy, being the generous, loving, beautiful person she is, organised for me to become part of it again. They didn't even require for me to want to be a permanent member. They allowed for the fact I might once again, in my own good time, seek a partner of my own, of an age closer to mine.
Amy has told me she wants me to be the same confident person I was before I left and that I was in every respect accepted as an equal partner. Now Ned has made to same point. Within the limitations of being a widow and a single mother of two toddlers, they want the old Ellen back, not one who feels she doesn't belong or is a second tier person in the relationships.
Of course, my mind is spinning with so many other considerations.
Am I betraying Harry by not allowing enough time to elapse for me to properly play the role of a grieving widow? I certainly grieved for his death. I still do. I was absolutely distraught at his death, both at my loss and at my daughters' loss of their dedicated and loving father. I felt alone in the world. I wondered how I could possibly cope.
Had that press story and photo not attracted attention to me and brought on such a stream of perverted calls and stalking suitors, I might still just be living with my daughters, rebuilding our shattered lives. But it had become dangerous for us all. That path wasn't going to be allowed to us, at least in the short term.
Ned and Amy – because Amy's role as the one who makes all this happen can't be forgotten – were definitely my saviours when they took us as guests into their large house. We were safe again.
And mere guests we might have stayed except for one major complication. A small matter of the extreme sexual and intellectual frission that exists between Ned and myself. It existed on the yacht cruising the pacific. It existed when we first came back to Australia and we all lived in Ned's house. It existed right through my marriage and manifested itself every time I was visiting Ned or crewing on the yacht with him. It was a frission so powerful that, once the decision was made I shouldn't sleep with Ned any more because of my newly developing relationship with Harry, I had to move out of Ned's house for the simple reason I couldn't stand to be living with him but not have access to his body.
In a way, it was a lovely frission, even after I got married. It made us both feel good and close to each other. It gave us a special relationship. But it worked because I had Harry and Ned had Amy and Liddy to drain any sexual frustration that it caused.
Harry knew about it and understood it. He saw every bit of my relationship with Ned in action as he too crewed on the yacht. He supported and encouraged it because he saw how valuable it was to me and recognised it offered him no threat or challenge. Neither Ned nor I were the type of people who would betray his trust.
And while I didn't realise it until after he died, it would seem he also recognised it as a safety fallback for me and his daughters if anything happened to him. And for some reason, looking back, I can't help but wonder if he didn't have some premonition that we'd need that fallback. He was in an almost obscene hurry to have children while we were still quite young by modern standards and there were certain things he did and said, even before Covid came along, that I thought were almost morbid in their intent. An important one was that I shouldn't let any memory of him hold me back from seeking the safety and shelter of a new relationship should something happen to him, with a broad, subtle hint that Ned might be that relationship.
That has helped me deal with the guilt; although not entirely with the grief and sense of wishing I'd had a more insightful reaction to his comments at the time.
Am I using Ned and Amy by rejoining their family when I know, one day, I might want to partner up and remarry out of it? Their kindness and understanding on this is beyond belief. After all, Ned has always encouraged us to seek more age appropriate partners rather than be burdened by him and still recognises that future. And yet that doesn't stop me feeling a sense of guilt. That I'm somehow failing to commit to them as fully as Amy and Liddy have to Ned and he to them.
And that's even before I try and address what I really want for the future. Do I want to leave Ned and take a risk with another man? Not wanting children, Amy made that decision five years ago. After a decade of violent abuse from her former partner, when she found someone who loved her and treated her as well as Ned did, she wasn't going to risk making another bad choice. She was sticking with Ned. She's never for a moment regretted that decision or wanted to review it.
Ned is great with my daughters, but openly admits he doesn't have the young man's body that readily copes with the physical demands of bringing up toddlers – carrying them and indulging them in the sort of demand for physical play that kids generally seek from fathers. Nor does he feel he wants to devote the time to them that a father would; having already brought up three kids of his own and being a widower himself.
And yet, statistically, a stepfather to my daughters is their greatest risk should I repartner. That puts an incredible burden on me to get it right if I go down that path.
While I can leave that decision for the future, the fact it hangs there compounds my sense of guilt that I'm simply using Ned as a short term safe harbour.
And yet, I too want the old Ellen back. I liked the person I was back then. Not all of that person evaporated because of recent events. Some of her simply percolated off as she got older, got married and raised children; really just as life got more serious and real. Some of that old person was directly related to the situation she found herself in cruising the pacific on a yacht; the extreme sexual frission with Ned and the companionship of so many wonderful women – the most important of those being Amy.
But I sense within me that whatever evaporation or percolation occurred has left a dried residue within me. Maybe, metaphorically speaking, if I just add water it can be brought back to life.
I was so deep in thought I hadn't noticed Amy starting to make out with Ned; at least until the sounds of a building climax started to come from the other side of Ned where she was clearly being fingered by him. That wasn't out of the ordinary. Amy's hitting on Ned for sex three times a day at the moment. Either first thing in the morning or last thing at night has to be one of those times, just so he can fit them in. And sometimes it's both.
Because, for all Amy's generosity and thoughtfulness, that's Amy's coping mechanism with having a new, younger woman in Ned's bed. For complex reasons that go back to her previous abusive relationship, she needs Ned to demonstrate his lust for her and nothing does that like a good banging. Before I came back into his bed, it had settled back down to once or twice a day. Now she's back to what she wanted on the yacht when all the other Screw Girls were competing for Ned's attention.
I don't know how Ned copes. Amy's always been something of a sex maniac ever since the day, about seven years ago, Ned fingered her to her first ever orgasm. Yep, she was with the abusive bastard of her former partner for ten years and never once had an orgasm; and not for want of him fucking her – whether she consented or not.
Since then, she hasn't been able to get enough of them. And being multi-orgasmic, it's not just a case of having sex three times a day means three orgasms. It's impossible to count them because she screams so much, but I'd estimate something in the high teens per day; maybe the low twenties. That girl has more oxytocin flowing through her system than a maternity ward full of post-partum women.
And as for how Ned copes, it's not entirely a mystery. He gets prick teased 24/7. Fuck me clothing, flirtation and manhandling in a way intended to keep him in a near constant state of arousal. Of course, with Liddy overseas, the burden – if you want to call it that – of keeping his end up has mainly fallen on Amy. She's got it down to a fine art.
Fuck me clothing wise I'm doing my part. Goodness, having quickly discerned what's going on and the rules of the game, so is Gaia, my Italian au pair, even though she's definitely getting no benefit from doing so.
The manhandling, even just the flirtation, I'm not really doing my part yet, I admit. Again a lack of confidence that I'm entitled to walk up to him or sit next to him and just start playing with his dick. I know I am and I know I should. It's just my brain holding me back.
As I laid facedown, naked and uncovered that morning, with just my head turned towards them watching the carnal activities happening in the bed next to me, I resolved to act on what they were saying and get my mojo back. Now I just needed my brain to listen. Mind you, listening to anything by this stage was getting difficult. Amy was fully into her orgasmic screaming.
There's an understanding with this bedtime sex. If I want to be part of it, I move in close and fondle Ned. That's a signal for both he and Amy to finger me and make me part of the engagement and eventually for Ned to penetrate me like I can see he's about to penetrate Amy. Who rides who depends on the mood of the morning and when it's a threesome, Amy and I take turns at the cum shot.
If I don't want to be part of it, I just lay apart from the action; no charge for or embarrassment about watching.
The decision to separate myself this morning had nothing to do with confidence. Joining a threesome when you're already in the bed needs little of that.
No, it was more a mood thing. I certainly felt randy. Just watching them had brought my clit to a swollen, needy state and left my mons sitting in a damp patch of its own creation. But I wanted something more intimate from Ned than a shared bang. Taking one didn't stop the other, but I decided I preferred to wait till later in the day and get him alone.
I watched as Amy rolled him on top, his erect shaft hanging down from his body as he suspended himself over her. Her hand came over and guided the tip of his manhood down between her legs where her all too keen vagina awaited it. She pushed her hips up to take him into her body faster than he could push down; their merged hips then being lowered onto the bed.
When, between cries, I heard Amy tell him to 'go the animal' I knew I was in for a noisy show. It's basically telling Ned he should thrust away like there's no tomorrow. It was all my fault. I'd started that instruction on the yacht. Ned was too kind, too gentle, too thoughtful of trying to stimulate us. Sometimes I just wanted wild passionate 'go the animal' sex. It took a lot of training to really get him to do it. But when he found that several of us would keep climaxing even though he wasn't targeting all the spots he'd learnt he had to target, he embraced the concept more fully.
Ned was soon in full flight, the bed rocking and Amy rag dolling under his passionate onslaught on her body. Amy, as always, was screaming in almost continuous orgasm. And I was left pushing my mons deeper into the rocking bed, getting some pleasure from the movement it induced against my clit.
I understand why Ned going the animal like that works for me. My oversized clit gets stimulated by his shaft as he thrusts and withdraws. No one understands why it works for Amy – not even her. She says they're not clit orgasms, g spot ones or cervically induced. She calls them 'just vaginal ones'. Good luck to her if that's the case. Not many women can do it that way, let alone with the speed and continuity Amy displays.
Ned's attention was focused on Amy's breasts, which were wobbling like crazy with her rag dolling body, capped temptingly by the volcanic cones of her puffy areola, upon which sat her massively jutting nipples. I understood that fascination with them. They were a compelling sight.
He bent down to suck one.
Ned has said when he does this he must look like a dog going frantically at a bitch; his upper body locked on her breast, his back arched and all the action happening around the fast moving hips. He's not wrong. From the side, that's exactly what he looked like. It was made even more erotic for me as the watcher because it meant I could now see Ned's shaft, glistening with Amy's juices, withdrawing and thrusting rapidly back into Amy's body.
The noise told me Amy's orgasms were intensifying with the added stimulation of her nipples and whatever the different angle of Ned's thrusting was doing to her. But when Ned started grunting loudly into Amy's breast, I could tell the end was near.
Suddenly Ned lifted himself off Amy's breast and held his body straight as he grunted out a couple of fast big thrusts into her. Then he suddenly froze, fully penetrated, and bellowed out a prolonged grunt as he flooded her body with his seed.
Following a familiar pattern, he collapsed, face down alongside her neck, moaning and shaking through the residue of his climax. All the while Amy's grinding herself against him, drawing the last vestiges out of her own string of climaxes.
It had been quite a show. Ned lifted his head and looked over towards me with what I took to be a 'are you sure you don't want something' look. There was no doubt the show aroused me, but I had other plans for later in the day and just at that moment, Ned wasn't able to offer anything stiffer than a finger. At his age there's a limit to his refractory performance, whatever prick teasing we do.
For now, more important duties awaited me.
I leaned over and gave both he and Amy a kiss on the cheek…
"I'd better see what the kids are up to."
Getting up, I put on one of my silken white thongs, a miniskirt and a small white string tie bikini top from one of my 'fuck me' bikini sets. Then I wandered down to the family wing of Ned's extensive house to find Gaia already feeding the toddlers.
Amy and I are both tall and slender in build. At 22 years old, Gaia is more medium height and voluptuous; a bit Kardashian in her appearance and dress. Her small bikini top struggled to support her almost pendulous young breasts and the bottom was just a little more than thong in style. I suppose it was her own version of 'fuck me', although Ned would be doing nothing of the sort.
"I hear Amy had another good bonking."
The house is double brick and the wing a fair way down and behind a very solid door, but noise still travels. We have to tell the kids that's the sound of Aunty Amy having fun games with Ned.
"Yep."
I took over from Gaia as we went through the usual morning routines and played with them before I had to leave them back in Gaia's care as I retreated into my office down the other end of the house for my work as a tele-doctor; something that didn't exist before Covid but has now become quite the thing. It suits me because it gives me more time with the kids.
Before I sat down in the office, I slipped off my skirt and hung it carefully out of sight of any video conference call that might occur during the day. A blouse was nearby to cover up my top half when I needed to.
It was mid-summer and the general consensus in the house was that the air-conditioning wasn't turned on until the heat became unreasonable for near naked bodies. Partly that was for ecological reasons. Partly it was for carnal ones.
I find it a lot easier to run the tele-practice to schedule than I did the physical one. So when a message came through from my PA that a 15 minutes appointment scheduled for 10.10 had been cancelled, it actually meant I had a 20 minute break, because I was running ahead of time.
I got up to go to the kitchen to top up my chilled water jug.
Ned's living and dining room is enormous compared to any other house I've ever been in. But being an older design, the kitchen itself isn't part of an open plan with that area. Instead it is a long, slender, separate room accessed through a side door with a large serve through into the dining area.
As I walked briskly down the corridor and did a sharp right turn into the kitchen door I crashed into Ned coming the other way. Both in bare feet and making no noise, both a bit mission focused and in a needless hurry, neither of us had sensed the other before we came together.
Now Ned and I are both 182cm (6 feet) tall, but my leg to torso ratio is greater than Ned's. So to put it bluntly, my crotch stands a little higher than Ned's. It's part of the way, as Ned describes it, our bodies fit together for sex like two parts of a finely made jigsaw puzzle. Mind you, he's even more talking about the smaller details of our crotch area, but we don't need to go into that now.
As we came face to face with that initial collision, the projection of Ned's flaccid manhood in his usual daywear speedo swimwear slipped under my crotch.
Now normally people colliding like that just grovel an apology, step back and move to each other's side. The more recent, less confident Ellen would have done just that.
But there's history between Ned and I on this issue. In the close confines of the yacht, there's a lot less room for personal space as you're moving about or even just doing basic stuff like cooking or cleaning up in the galley.
The earlier, more confident and cheeky version of Ellen would deliberately stand too close as she was talking to or working around Ned and induce him to grow an erection between her legs. It was part of the prick teasing regime and, given her relative height, an Ellen speciality.
And that earlier version of Ellen saw no reason to stop doing that when the trip was over and everyone was living in the house, just because the excuse of not being in such a confined space was gone. Ned, well used to the process, had long since stopped taking a step back either. He might not instigate it, but he didn't flinch from it.

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