A Matter of Principle

Gavin McKeen opened his front door and welcomed a middle-age couple into his home in suburban Connecticut, just outside of Hartford. He and his wife, Lydia had restored the historical home years earlier. During the renovation, they had a den attached to the back of the house, overlooking a scenic pond on the property. But they soon converted the large room to an art studio so Gavin could work from home.

"Right this way," urged Gavin, opening the French doors and gesturing for them to enter. "The standard frame is included in the price of the piece, but I offer a variety of premium frames. I have a catalogue if you'd like to see the choices."

"Thank you," offered the stylish woman in a haughty tone. She peered down her nose at the painting, resting on an easel in the center of the well-lit room. Her cheek scrunched as she placed her reading glasses on her nose. "It's quite charming," she blustered, "but I thought I remembered it being a bit more...vibrant when I saw it at the exhibit."

"Perhaps I should give you a moment to talk it over," acknowledged Gavin.

"We'd appreciate that," said the woman's well-dressed husband, rubbing his chin as he looked the painting over.

Gavin stepped out, closing the studio doors behind him. Without hesitation, he scurried to the adjacent broom-closet door and swung it open.

"Don't be a sleaze," scoffed Lydia, his wife of fifteen years.

Rolling his eyes, Gavin grumbled, "Let me handle this." He stepped into the closet and ducked under the shelf, then removed a plywood section of wall in the back and set it aside. Reaching into the shaft of a defunct dumbwaiter, he slid open a twelve-inch square port at eye-level on what used to be the back wall of the old home. Turning sideways to fit, he stuffed himself tight in his tiny spy-booth and gazed into the studio through a one-way glass window, cleverly disguised as a beveled bronze mirror. Barely able to move his arms in the cramped quarters, he flicked a rocker switch to turn on the hidden microphones and turned up the volume dial at his side.

"I love it, David!" exclaimed the woman. "I wanted this painting the moment I saw it! I'm surprised he hasn't sold it yet."

"It's as good as yours, sweetheart," he replied. "But let's make him a bit more realistic on the price. We'll shoot for three thousand and settle for thirty-five. If he doesn't take it, we'll pay full price...I promise. Just follow my lead."

"Yes!" grunted Gavin under his breath as he slithered out of the shaft. Pumping his fist, he stepped out of the closet to find Lydia standing barefoot with her arms crossed. She wore a blue and white striped knit top that hung over the waistline of her black yoga pants. Her full red hair framed her sparkling hazel eyes with a brilliance he once found irresistible. But he hadn't taken the time to gaze into them in years, and he wasn't going to begin in the middle of making a sale.

"It's unethical to spy on people," she complained.

"These jerks knew the price was four-thousand when they called this morning. They plan to offer me three. That's what I find unethical. It's a matter of principle."

As he stepped out, Lydia reached onto the closet shelf and pulled down her shiny flat shoes with bows. "Think maybe you could give me a portion of your plunder to buy some new shoes?" she asked.

"Why?" he asked sarcastically. "Who do you need to look good for?"

"Never mind," she griped, hooking a finger behind her heel to push into her well-worn shoe.

Gavin exuded confidence as he stepped back in the art studio. "So, David and Cheryl," he boasted, "I'm sure you remember the price is four-thousand firm. What did you decide?"

Fifteen minutes later, Gavin and Lydia watched from the front porch as the semi-satisfied couple placed the painting in the back seat of their Volvo. Gavin folded the four-thousand dollar check and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. "Tell ya' what," he bragged, "I honestly believe that in the course of evolution, vaginas have learned to communicate. Let's face it, that one did all the talking."

"I still think it's creepy," complained Lydia out of the corner of her mouth. She offered a twiddle-wave as they drove off. "If mine could talk, I'd use it to sell that God-awful portrait of your sister's friend with the big hair."

"I didn't paint that to sell," he argued. "That's a special piece."

"A special piece of what?"

"I've had offers on it," he insisted. "A guy who called after the last open house said he'd give me fifteen grand, but I want twenty. I doubt your vagina can shout that loud."

"Careful what you bargain for," she warned. "I might still have some charm left."

"You're putting a lot of faith in a forty-year-old honey pot. I'll believe that when I see it."

"Through your secret mirror?" she asked in a sardonic tone. I think you're afraid I can."

"I get it now," accused Gavin. "This goes back to my affair with Brigit. You want permission to have some tawdry encounter to get back at me."

"You gave me permission four years ago, the night after I found out from her husband. Remember? Or were you too busy begging me not to leave you?"

"Did you ever...you know?" he asked as a sudden pang of anxiety pressed on his solar plexus.

"I'm not saying. You said you'd never ask me to tell."

Gavin sighed, wishing he had never made that bargain. His one-night affair with an old friend from college was hardly worth the effort. After a minor argument with Lydia grew into a sour kerfuffle, Gavin ran into Bridget at an art exhibit. More accurately, she stumbled up to him, lamenting the fact they never hopped in the sack together.

Before the sun rose the next day, they had. For all Bridget's boasting about what great head she gave, she wound up dodging his cum. To make matters worse, she was snoring by the time he levied his load inside her.

Far worse than Gavin's guiltiest moment was the torture imposed by his own imagination. In an impatient attempt to resolve his transgression, he offered Lydia a hasty proposal, blessing her retaliation at a time of her choosing. Moreover, he suggested she keep it as secretive as she saw fit.

At the time, it seemed best to leave it clandestine—a forgotten engrain of iniquity. But as time went on, his conscience nagged him daily. Chaotic glimpses tortured his sleep—images of Lydia writhing in the throes of passion with another man, or perhaps two. He pictured the corners of her mouth dropping as she rocked her pelvis atop the hips of a beefy surrogate—his thumbs pressed into her tummy as he bellowed in orgasmic surrender. Steeped in self-torture, Gavin dreamed of knowing, if only to remove the crushing weight from his chest and the lump from his throat.

He knew that telling would offer her power she could use against him. The precious woman he married would have never sought to hurt him, but he altered that reality when he betrayed her, or so he reckoned. She had become rightfully cynical. He responded by closing himself to intimacy.

"It's been four years," he bargained, trying not to scratch at his forearm as a coping mechanism. "Maybe knowing would help—"

"I'll tell you what," interrupted Lydia. "You call back the highest bidder and I'll give it a try."

"What's the catch?"

"Simple. I get to keep anything over twenty."

"And...just how far would you go to make a sale?"

"As far as I need to. You'll make out either way."

"How so?"

"Because if I put out, your nagging question gets answered then and there. If I don't, and I sell it for less than eighteen, I'll answer anyway...tell everything I did...if I did anything, that is."

"Nineteen," he countered, giving in to the need to scratch.

"Eighteen-five," she answered, turning and stepping into the house. "Clean your peephole."

"Joke's on you," he mumbled under his breath as he took out his phone. "The fool's name is Aloysius."

"Aloysius who?" she asked, popping back through the open front door.

"I don't remember," he replied, scrolling through his call log. "But if he couldn't afford to change his name to Marvin, or-or Guido, he sure as hell can't pay eighteen-five for a painting."

"I thought you wanted twenty," she sassed.

Peering through the dining room window an hour later, Gavin watched as a clean but modest four-door sedan pulled into the driveway. He squinted to size up Aloysius as he stepped out, dressed in jeans and a collared t-shirt. Aloysius proved younger than he sounded on the phone. Beefy arms stemmed from his wedged torso. Though his dark hair was salted at the temples, his strong jaw and piercing blue eyes stood out, even from a distance.

As Aloysius stepped behind his car, Gavin wiped his palm over his forehead and whimpered with regret. The passenger door opened and he took hold of a dainty hand. He smiled, helping a slender feminine form out of the car.

"Ha!" Gavin called out. "He brought his wife!" Hurrying past Lydia, he quipped, "Good luck. I'll be watching." He stepped into the closet and pulled the plywood aside, but waited in the relative roominess of the outer cabinet before cramming himself into the tight confines of the dumbwaiter shaft.

"Thank you so much for reconsidering," chimed Lydia's voice as she led the couple past the closet and into the studio.

"Well," replied Aloysius in a rich, deep tone. "Your husband is talented. I wanted Deidre to see it. Imagine how surprised we were to find out you were his wife."

"Gotcha," whispered Gavin under his breath. "They're old friends." Being as quiet as he could, he crouched into the tight shaft and stood up. With his arms pinched to his sides, he peered through his private portal, gaping at Deidre's graceful stature. Stylish long black hair cascaded over the shoulders of her white blouse as she assessed the work on the easel. She stood tall and elegant in a business skirt hemmed above the knee. Dark stockings graced her lanky calves as she shifted her weight, her shiny black heels glistening in the studio lighting.

A knock came to the rear door on the studio. "I hope you don't mind," tendered Deidre. "I asked my friend Vincent to join us. I'd like him to appraise the piece."

"Vincent?" asked Lydia as Aloysius let him in. "Do you mean Brigit's husband?"

Gavin squinted as Vincent entered, wearing jeans and sandals. A simple blue t-shirt stretched over his defined chest. He greeted Lydia with a broad smile and sparkling brown eyes as he kissed her hand. Lydia giggled and playfully ruffled his short brown hair. Vincent rubbed his chin, looking at the portrait. "Cool painting," he offered. "Your husband sure can paint."

Fifteen feet away from Gavin's spying eyes, Deidre turned her angular profile to face Lydia. Gavin's fingers fumbled at his side for the dial to turn up the sound. He gasped as Lydia moved in breast to breast, peering into her guest's dark gaze. Vincent stepped behind Lydia, stroking the length of her full mane. Aloysius stepped behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders as she touched her fingers to Lydia's cheek and asked, "Do you ever watch your husband work?"

"He prefers to work alone," replied Lydia in a tone above a whisper.

"How about you?" asked Deidre, halving the gap between their mouths. "Do you mind if he watches you?"

Brushing their lips together, Lydia tendered, "He can watch me all he wants."

With that said, she unbuttoned Deidre's blouse one button at a time. Their foreheads and noses rubbed as she finished. Deidre dropped her arms to her sides as Aloysius removed the garment and unhooked her bra, freeing her ample breasts to ornament her graceful torso.

Lydia raised her arms as Vincent grasped the hem of her top and thrust it over her head. She tendered a playful coo as he unhooked her bra. Smiling at Deidre, she opened her arms and fell against her. Their breasts meshed as they pressed their lips together. As their hands roamed each other's backs and torsos, Gavin strained to adjust his stiffening cock upward. It throbbed as it straightened into the waistband of his shorts.

"No, no, no," whined Gavin as Aloysius hung the women's blouses in front of the mirror, darkening his spy-booth. His pounding pulse thumped in his ears as he heard the tell-tale shuffling of clothes. He gasped in surprise as the glass before him jostled and Lydia's face appeared. She offered a disapproving gaze as she peered into the one-way glass, dropping the garments on the floor.

Behind her, wearing nothing but boxers, Aloysius and Vincent stood on either side of Deidre. She had shed all but her dainty black bottoms and thigh-high stockings. She smiled, hooking her thumbs beneath the waistband and dropping them onto her feet. Stepping one foot out, she giggled and kicked them through the air to Lydia, who caught them with one hand. Gavin looked to see Lydia holding her own panties as well, twirling a pair on each index finger before hanging them beside his mirror. "Vince," she called, turning away. "You know how to take down a Murphy bed, don't you?"

Gavin let out an anxious groan as Vincent folded down the already-made queen bed from the opposite wall. He managed to unbutton his shorts, freeing his strangled hard-on to thump as Lydia swaggered toward Deidre in nothing but flat black shoes. They embraced and kissed again, standing at the foot of the bed. Their hands roamed each other's back and buttocks as their hair meshed and mixed.

Vincent sat on the right edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. Aloysius did the same on the left. Breaking their kiss, Lydia and Deidre turned and knelt on either side of the bed, Lydia before Aloysius and Deidre before Vincent. Gavin's balls tingled as he watched Lydia's palm grasp the base of Aloysius' proud staff. He whimpered as her lips drew to within an inch of the hardy knob atop the vein-sculpted beam.

Gavin's gaze shifted to his right as Deidre's dark mane dunked over Vincent's lap and shook. Vincent brushed the midnight locks behind her shoulder, revealing the tell-tale bulge in her cheek. Sweat poured from Gavin's brow, running down his nose and stinging his blinking eyes as he peered on.

Shifting his gaze back to Lydia, he wheezed as she flicked the base of Aloysius' throbbing bulb. She worked down to his hilt, then further, lifting his sac to dangle his sizeable nuts on each side of her tongue. Aloysius rocked his pelvis forward as she worked back up. He groaned aloud as she wrapped her lips around his beefy head. Gavin's knees wobbled as he watched her lips travel down Aloysius' chiseled shaft. He forced his fingers around his tortured rod, pressing it against his belly.

Deidre straddled Vincent's hips as he leaned back on his hands. She touched her chin to her chest and surrendered to gravity, impaling herself on his meaty lance. Vincent grasped her waistline as she rocked her pelvis, meshing their pubic hairs. As Deidre rose, the shine of her nectar glistened along the length of his turret.

Aloysius moaned aloud, staring into his lap as Lydia stopped nodding with half his cock still in her mouth. "You're in for a disappointment," mumbled Gavin. "Any moment now she'll—"

But another, louder moan interrupted him as Aloysius' shaft jolted between her lips. Lydia held her ground as a succession of pulses followed. She hummed until she had to gulp, then hummed louder. Aloysius' wails quieted as the outline of his nuts became visible in his sac.

A single pearly dribble escaped the corner of Lydia's mouth as she sucked him back to full rigidity. Peering through his portal, Gavin winced as his tortured phallus thumped on its own accord. A viscous jet of his own making arced across his palm and up his forearm, followed by a bevy of warm bursts that soaked his pelvis in envious genealogy.

As Lydia lapped her tongue over Aloysius' re-swelling sac, Deidre dismounted and stood beside the bed. She leaned forward as Vincent grasped her hips and plunged his beefy post into her profile from behind. His firm pelvis bounced off her buttocks as his jewels slapped against her slit.

Vincent paused as Deidre squealed. He retreated from her confines as she squealed and a spray of thankful reward washed his nuts, dripping onto his thighs and spotting the floor. Deidre sang out as he reinvested his glistening prowess and continued his carnal rhythm.

For the first time in a decade, Gavin stayed rock hard after his spasms had faded to jealous bumps. As his bountiful release cooled to a sticky residue on his skin, Lydia stood and walked to the mirror, reaching on both sides. "No," he blurted as it jostled and shook.

Gavin squinted as she set the mirror down, exposing his face for all to see. But no one seemed surprised. Deidre stood straight and approached, standing beside Lydia as the men followed. Lydia's breath reeked of semen as she leaned in and pressed her shiny lips to his cheek. "I can just taste a deal in the making," she purred.

"Babe," he urged. "I-I think I might be—"

"Stuck?"

"Maybe."

"Gavin," she asked, leaning her hands against the wall just under his chin, "Are you trying to sabotage my deal?"

"N-no!" he stammered. "I just—"

"You want me to make the best bargain I can, don't you?"

"Of-of course."

She drew close again, touched his cheek and whispered, "Just sit tight." Grasping the bottom edge of the square hole in the wall, she leaned forward and rolled her hips.

Deidre leaned shoulder to shoulder with her as Vincent and Aloysius moved behind them. Gavin panted in shallow breaths, watching over Lydia's slim backside as Vincent stepped behind her buttocks and pushed his Deidre-coated staff into place. He grasped her waist at the crests of her hips, then rocked forward until the fuzz of his pelvis bumped her buttocks. The corners of Lydia's mouth dropped as he cycled back. Her eyes opened wide as he thrust forward again, kneading the small of her back with his thumbs.

Gavin peered into the black points of his wife's pupils as her sex-mate broke into a lustful cadence. Whimpers and grunts escaped his gullet as he peered into the windows of her thought process—the one way glass through which her spirit viewed him.

To Gavin's right, Deidre stood on her stocking-covered toes, squealing as Aloysius pounded her from behind. The men worked like a mighty engine, one thrusting in while the other cycled out. Deidre kissed Lydia's cheek and purred back to Aloysius, "Don't come in me babe. Save it for Lydia. Wait for Vincent to plant his seed in her and dump your load on top of his." With that said, she turned and glared into Gavin's gaping gaze. "Spying is unethical," she scolded. "You should be ashamed."

Vincent's eyes grew wide as his pace increased behind Lydia. She leaned lower, straightening her back for the upcoming insemination of her living vault, but still gripping the bottom edge of the opening with her lanky fingers just below Gavin's chin. "Come in me!" she squealed, bucking her pelvis.

With a hardy grunt, Vincent rocked his hips forward and froze, pulling Lydia's hips to press her buttocks to his pelvis. He bellowed in an oscillating moan—still as a statue except for his quivering lower jaw. Lydia squealed as he drew back and thrust again, arching his back to gain a glorious half inch in her pelvic paradise.

Lydia's rings shimmered in the studio lighting, rekindling the memory of a commitment Gavin had taken for granted. As the scents of semen and feminine fruit filled the air, he rubbed his chin on the stone and whimpered, "Lydia."

She lifted her head just enough to peer at him from beneath her strawberry brows. Touching his cheek, she raked her thumb over his lower lip and pulled down. Rubbing his teeth with her nail, she whispered, "Now you know how poor Vincent felt. He saw you and Brigit on their security camera." Her eyes sparkled with playful frolic as she offered a tantalizing smile and patted his cheek.