Dutch Painting Ch. 04

"What are we going to do about this?" he repeated.

Again she opened her mouth. Again he levelled his gaze at her. Again she began to mouth words and paused in a sort of silent desperation.

"Wash the paint off... and whatever else. We can talk after." he spoke in an arctic tone that belied the steaminess of the bathroom. Turning he left her to her ablutions, clicking the door closed behind him. Dimly he heard the growl and splash of the taps cease. A barrier of silence descended between them.

She emerged, collar raised and wrapping her swan neck. It was tightly bound around her, almost as a form of armour. He was seated in an armchair by the window. Her hair was worn in a low Edwardian bun. She finally broke the silence. Pointing at her bun she said, "Hair worn high ... for the chopping block. Mary Stuart?" The humour, however weak, softened the mood in the room.

She sat cross-legged on the bed even as he remained in the chair. Rhythmically he swirled the whisky in his glass.

He began with a tone that drifted between the shores of coldness and studied indifference. "Having reflected, I realise that we may have both whipped ourselves into a frenzy. Perhaps leaving you with an artist - a very old artist, mind you - was a mistake. Yet none of that answers the question of why you did this."

"Perhaps I was whipped up. Perhaps I was in a state. Perhaps I was expecting you to have ... I don't know. He was sad, and appreciative, and needy. I am truly sorry. Inexcusable."

"Is he any good?"

"Out of practice, perhaps."

"Allow me to ask the male ego questions... bigger? Better?"

"His is shorter, but thicker. He did not last long, and you are better."

"Circumcised?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any feelings for him?"

"No. This was lust, and pity, and being genuinely worked up."

She repositioned herself on the bed with an athletic economy of motion that spoke to her continued training. In her early 40s she was as toned and fit as she had been 20 years earlier. Her marathon times were testament to that, though her body had a soft rounding at hips and breast rather than the severe frame of the hard-core runner . She tensed and relaxed her legs - lean, long, fit (still supply strong enough to win the odd "for fun" ski race on the annual trips to the Alps). Having mellowed from the freshness and angularity of youth, she had grown into one of those lasting Northern beauties.

His sentiments were storm-tossed.

"This is, at the least, a sail into uncharted waters. If you have no feelings for him then we have to consider if this was an exception. IF not we have to ask whether, in my desire to see you expose yourself, and in our mutual enjoyment of that, we have not unleased your inner slut. Where does this go. More adventures? A spiral into a broken marriage?"

Now it was her turn to level her gaze.

"I want to be your slut."

Silence. The hum of a ventilator and the noise of traffic penetrated the glazing. The room still felt hushed; a sense of decision hung in the air.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I will not go off the reservation unless you tell me too. It means I will keep this within us. I will, um, compensate for this."

"And how far do we push that?"

"Let's find out."

--

They went for a run at 740am. He carried a light backpack that bulged suspiciously. Overnight spring had wrapped the City in its embrace. In the park the snowdrops and crocuses were perceptibly larger and in bloom; the trees were now shimmering with hints of green as the buds tested the newly warm environment. The crispness of the preceding days had given away to an unexpected warmth on. Amidst the stream of people moving purposefully to their offices they saw runners in shorts.

They crossed from one park to the other, past the monumental arch glistening in the pale morning sunlight. They ran in silence.

"What is in the pack?" she asked amiably.

"You'll see."

They ascended the gentle rise, causing a mixed flock of waterfall to scamper out of their path, and ran along the serpent of water. The sun had yet to gather its strength. They paused at the Lido. The sun's orb sat low on the horizon to their right, laying a shimmering ribbon of orange onto the dark water before them.

The Lido was largely deserted. Later in the season many more swimmers would throng this eccentric and beloved bathing spot, but the gentle weather had come unexpectedly. Set in the middle of a vast city park it seemed quite apart from the urban hubbub mere blocks away. The café not yet open. Two older men swam determinedly. It was only 8am, and few pedestrians were visible across the water. All those on this side were taking the faster path above the Lido fence.

He stopped at the bench set into the contours of the tall hedge concealing the Lido's verge from the path beyond. She ran two steps farther and then turned to walk back. She raised her eyebrows as he extracted a towel, a bathing cap and goggles and a clean running shirt.

"Well my dear. Perhaps here we can fulfil some of our new ambitions. There really are two choices: disrobe at this bench and dash to swim or take the towel, disrobe in the changing rooms and then walk out. Almost no-one is around. The first route is faster but the second will allow you to get dressed again in more peace. I suppose it is wise to wear the towel to the edge of the water. The goggle and bathing cap will render you substantially anonymous in the event someone snaps a photo of you (or views the security footage). You need only do two laps - unless you'd prefer to do one lap and walk back to get your towel. The fresh shirt will be a welcome thing when you are out. Really rather amazing what you can stuff into a pack like this. Any questions?"

"The water is freezing. Must I?"

He nodded.

She took the things and disappeared around the corner of the hedge to the changing pavillion. The traffic across had, if anything, diminished to a trickle: an elderly man, a couple in bright blue running gear stretching at a bench and a cyclist. To his right the long path was filled with people walking away from him; those coming his way were on the father past, more distant and more intent on reaching their places of work. The men in the water were swimming with fixed purpose, oblivious to him and indeed to their environment.

She emerged, the white hotel towel wrapped tight around her at armpit level. Purple trainers were set incongruously below, though the colour complemented the deep blue of her bathing cap. Her blonde hair was tucked tightly underneath it and white goggles were set on her face.

He extracted his phone and began to film as she walked silently towards the dock. He was treated to a nervous smile over her shoulder.

She walked to the dock and stood near the ladder. The two swimmers were both in their lanes towards the middle of the length. He walked closer. She paused and looked mid-distance. Her long, elegant arm reached up and an equally elegant hand unknotted the provisional closure of the towel. For a moment she held the towel loosely closed and then it fell open and puddle at her right side.

The orange and golden rays of the low morning sun bathed her pale skin and left it iridescent as though it had been flecked with gold. Her breasts, swellingly round and high-set, were topped with nipples that had perked up with chill and excitement and seemed impossibly pink. Her taut belly and lean flanks descended to two perfectly formed, tightly set pussy lips. Smooth and hairless they were sharply defined in the morning light. Long legs stood still and then she walked to the ladder and began to step gingerly into the water. She frequently complained of her ass, which she found too big, but in fact was round and elegant. One swimmer had paused to tread water even as the other continued his backstroke, obliviously churning his arms and protruding belly through the water. She edged her ass, the cheeks parting slightly, her back and swan neck set off by the hair being tucked under the bathing cap. It was an alluring sight, to say the least. And then she was in, and he shut the phone off and walked swiftly to pick up her towel and shoes.

Returning to his bench he filmed her swim. The slimmer of the two men in the water looked - stared - appraisingly as they passed each other in adjoining lanes. She was doing a breast stroke - the most demure choice given the circumstances - but bare shoulders and back hinted of delights lurking in the dark water.

Footfalls came from his right and a parks constable strolled around. He nodded at the policemen, who nodded back. The police gaze was ranging, unfocused and gentle. He was stout, into his fifties and of a kindly mean. He let his eyes trail over the water to the shore beyond. He took in the swimmers and then focused on the blue bathing cap and the bare shoulders. The constable looked down at him. He met the look before glancing at his swimming wife. She had seen the policeman and had slowed her second lap to tread water, clearly uncertain what to do. As she did she rose somewhat more out of the water and the tops of her breasts were visible.

He stood. The policeman looked at him, an eyebrow arched. The question sat unasked between them.

"I hope you will be tolerant, officer. We are visitors, as you might have guessed. It is my birthday and my wife offered me a rather daring surprise. The surprise for me is, with you here, now a surprise for her. May she emerge without, um, incident? No one is really here and it is all rather harmless fun."

The Constable nodded. He nodded at his wife.

"She seems quite a beauty, sir."

"Indeed she is... Is the officer suggesting he'd welcome the chance to confirm that?"

"Well, sir..."

He turned to his wife and beckoned to the ladder that was now a mere ten feet from her. The running couple opposite had somehow focused on them, but the other pedestrians across were quite oblivious. One swimmer was watching, the other intent on his laps.

"Of course Constable. You deserve to verify that the beautiful lady is all she appears. Quite right of you."

He beckoned to her and then the ladder. Her face read alarm and incomprehension. He beckoned again.

"Constable, I myself am making a small photographic record of the event. Naturally it shall exclude you."

As she swam to the ladder her shapely ass became more visible.

"Sir, would you perhaps mind if I did the same?"

"Perhaps we can be complicit and I can take one of you with her - on your phone of course."

She glanced at them and he issued a third beckoning. She began to ascend the ladder, water streamed down her flanks and elegant back, leaving some to glisten on her. She was side-on the them and her lean form and C-cups (just Cs really, perfect) swayed forward in a perfect curve. Her skin had goose pimples. She turned and walked the twenty fee to them, pale and gold hued, toned, waxed, feline almost. Quite naked before their gaze.

"Darling, the Constable quite understands, but perhaps a small photo with him. I am sure he won't mind if you cover your face for this record of his great and kindly tolerance of our fun."

She stood before them, chest heaving slightly. Pink nipples still at attentions, water running in rivulets down her.

The constable stood beside her, beaming. She attempted to cover breast and pussy but he pointed at her face. A hand and a bathing cap rendered her quite unrecognizable, and he took various photos. He'd left his phone surreptitiously on part hidden by the towel.

The policeman was quite pleased, and patted the pocket he'd inserted his phone into. He was smiling indulgently at the (by now) towel-wrapped woman, glancing at the point where her leg thigh protruded.

He nodded at the policeman: a smile between co-conspirators and the officer was gone.

She emerged more swiftly from the pavillion than he had imagined possible. "Let's go" she said, teeth locked with tension and amazement.

They ran along in silence. Her face was not angry, but spoke of strong emotions... nerves, surprise, arousal?

"That was rather hot." He ventured.

She nodded. "Though where were you going? Lesbian prison adventure!" She laughed.

They carried on to the fountains and made their turn. The sun was set dead on against them and her hair flowed in reds and golds behind her.

As they gathered distance from the open spaces, and as the path ran between shrubs and trees, she stopped, took his hand and pulled herself to him for a long kiss.

They spoke, openly and sincerely. The tensions dissipated.

As they turned to run a couple - he 40s and she somewhat younger emerged, speaking in loud American accents. Bright blue gear, evidently bought at the same place. They were fit but running a bit to a few extra pounds. In the case of the woman of the couple it came with a swelling of hips and ass, for her breasts seemed firm but smaller. He was greying and she had browney-red hair worn in a tight pony tail. They ran past them, both looking at them. The red pony tail nudged her partner as they ran by.

They still held hands as the runners continued on. Suddenly a female voice intruded. "Excuse me" the voice said, pleasantly.

The Americans had stopped. The man was mortified but his partner was approaching them with a face alive with curiosity. "If you don't mind me asking, was that you at that swimming beach across the lake?"

He looked at the American woman and then at his wife, whose face was the antithesis of curiosity. Framed by blonde hair her face spoke of a desire to disappear, to flee. Her hand was tugging at his.

"Yes." He responded, looking at the American woman dispassionately.

"Cool" the American said. She smiled and, glancing back at her sheepish partner, said "My pervy husband wanted a closer look. I suppose I am not fascinating enough."

"A look at the swimming baths so you could do the same? Or a closer look at my wife?"

"I think the last, but honey why don't you answer." Again she glared at her sheepish husband.

The American man was dumbstruck and still hanging back.

"Are you proposing something ma'am?" he asked her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"My husband got all excited about another woman. About your wife. He tried to take a video of her, your wife. Honey, why don't you share what you want with the class?"

"Oh, so is it a photo you want, or a husband who does not lech after other women?"

She laughed. "Yea, lesson delivered. Have fun you two." And she turned. The American woman took two steps and turned back.

"What was it like?" She gazed past him to his wife, who was now half-behind his right shoulder, almost sheltering from the gaze of the Americans.

"Cold. Exciting. Scary." His wife replied. There was a long pause. "Fun."

"Shall I try it, honey?" The American asked her rabbit-in-headlight husband. Silence and an American male gulp was the answer.

He turned from the abashed American male to the increasingly cocky American female, and studied her - she was all hands on hips now - searchingly. "Why don't you both do something here? Your husband and I can have a little souvenir? Happy days and exciting meetings..."

"What, here!?": his American conversationalist almost screeched the words.

"Perhaps in that sheltered, sunny spot up there?" and he motioned a dozen yards above the path. "Just an idea."

The American man was rooted to the spot. Unlike the tree branches swaying in a soft breeze he was utterly immobile, as thought to even flinch a muscle might cause chaos and trouble.

"What the hell, honey. Want to see two naked women?"

His wife was squeezing his palm, tugging him away. He turned to her with raised eyebrows. "A little shot or two my dear?"

The American woman strode up to the small dell with an energy that spoke of determination and anger.

"I'm Sarah" she said to his wife, who mumbled her name back as she looked down. Sarah took his wife's hand and said "let's hurry up here."

The mute American man materialised next to him, grinning sheepishly.

He nodded to his wife, and the two of them disrobed swiftly, efficiently, eyeing each other discreetly as they did. Shoes and socks were kicked off. Running shorts swiftly dropped. It was the raising of shirts overhead that kicked it up a gear.

The American had a prominent erection at this point and, he was forced to admit, so did he.

Browney-red hair was as advertised. As she shrugged off her sports bra two well-formed but small breasts appeared: round and firm, but no overhang. Tiny pink nipples stood to attention. She had a small belly, not at all unappealing, and in fact looked slimmer when her high-waisted panties were tugged down. She was not waxed but had a fine, downy, cropped red thatch over her pussy. The hair was short and well-trimmed, her full pussy-lips fully visible. Her ass was rounded and heavy, with slightly wide thighs, but again proportional and appealing.

American man and he had their phones out and the women stood side by side, nude and lovely against the bright green spring grass. Footfalls on the path below startled them, but the runner (lost in music and a steady pace) was by them before they could even fully react.

He motioned them together and Sarah put her arm around his wife's shoulder. His wife was taller, and the angle caused both their breast to thrust forward. The American man was gazing fixedly at the two pussies - and had seemingly zoomed in on that of his wife. A park cart rumbled by and slowed. He turned and it accelerated to the next bin where the driver got out to examine a bin, and glance up quite frequently. Any erotic tension vanished. The women began to dress immediately

He turned to the American man and said, rather loudly, "these photos are a bit like nuclear deterrence: never to be used, except perhaps privately." He looked at Sarah, now tugging socks on and flashing her groin rather brazenly. "Used they'd invite, um, retaliation." Sarah paused and nodded her head in agreement.

His wife had turned her back to change, which actually gave the American man more of a show when she bent over ass to him to pull her knickers up. Sarah winked at him as she put her sports bra on.

The goodbyes were friendly in an entirely awkward way.

--

They returned to the hotel almost at a race pace. She lengthened her stride and did not slacken their speed until they halted outside their hotel. On the stairs he pressed her against the ornate balustrade and kissed her. She responded almost greedily, using her arm to pull him into her. His cock swelled again.

In their room she looked at him invitingly. She undressed and lay on the bed, legs spread, pussy lips reddening, pink peeking from her slit. He undressed and, the head of his erect cock swaying and pushing his foreskin open, approached her.

Kneeling he began to caress her slit, now quite wet, with his cockhead. Up, down, toying over her clit. Up, down. Finally he slid in and leaned forward to hold her arms. Her blonde hair spread around her in a disordered halo.

One thrust. Two. Three. He released her left arm and she began to finger her clit. He pulled out.

"We're going to have a sauna. One more chance to show what a slut you are."

She rose to sit as he pulled away, his cock glistening with her wetness. Her face was filled with lust and concern. "no, let's finish. I want to come."

"Put your bathrobe on. We can walk up a floor to the spa. It ought to be quiet today. We have hours before the flight to the Continent."

The gym was staffed but the sauna area was not. That lay down a corridor and behind a door fronting a waiting area equipped with lounge chairs and giving on to sauna, steam and the two changing rooms.

It was quiet, but she gripped his arm and pointed to the sauna. "There are two men in there."