From Knarvik with Love

First of 14 episodes following Nina, her husband Laurence and her lover Lars.

This is the first of 14 episodes of a story that follows Nina, her husband Laurence and her lover Lars. It is a romance of a kind, essentially a love story built on Nina and Laurence’s fantasies. Try to read all episodes. Stick with it, for it can get quite interesting!

PART ONE: LONDON

Ch 1
Knarvik is a village in Norway 29 kilometres north of Bergen. I have never been there so know nothing of it, only that one of its residents is a man called Lars Olsen.

And I don’t really know him. My wife knows him.

I had always realised. It never was an issue. We were young; it was part of normal life, not defining, simply present, understood and accepted. They had been friends in Oslo before we met, and they had stayed in contact. He would arrange to meet when visiting on business. His trips were regular, but not frequent. I would be working, so distanced from events. Afternoons drew gradually into evenings, without protest or discussion. I didn’t feel insecure or indignant; it seemed casual and unthreatening. Unattached and respectful, he was never unkind or intrusive, and maybe that was why his visits simply became a normal part of life.

Weeks earlier when she suggested inviting him to dinner, I confess I had been strangely fascinated, any ambivalence evaporating as we spoke about it. I valued her strength, independence and freedom. Maybe that was why she chose to raise it. Or was it her concern that the topic had been hitherto unspoken? Perhaps it was a simple step to rationalise something we already accepted as our normal. It was couched as a ‘would you mind if’, rather than permission-seeking, presented as a done-deal rather than an issue for discussion; and without a thought, I simply agreed. Looking back now, it seems strange that I did not ask the obvious questions that you are now thinking. They never occurred to me, and making an issue was not my style. But one thing was certain — deep down we both understood that it was not simply an invitation to dinner.

Arriving home, I stumbled over an overnight bag where it had been dropped in the hall. It was late and dinner was over. As if I had arrived late to a party, a plate stood to one side, together with a glass of wine with a coaster placed on top. “How was your day”, she called, to which I muttered something unmemorable in a lighthearted and slightly embarrassed way. “Get your supper whilst I help Oly with his bags”, she added.

That there was only one bag did not strike me as strange at the time, for it was more of a code to say ‘we will leave you to eat’. And so it was. I pulled out a chair and sat at the table, removing the cling film from the plate to gaze at pale chicken in cream and dill sauce, and lifted the coaster to sip the wine.

Having placed three plates in the dishwasher I finished the remainder of the bottle. It was only then that I took time to consider my situation. Its strangeness dawned, and my lack of foresight made me feel ridiculous. The questions that I should have asked flooded silently into my mind. “What, how, when, what if…” Spending a lifetime of being ‘almost in control’ had somehow not equipped me for this moment. I stared at an empty glass wondering what I should do, and at that moment her call jarred me from my thoughts, “are you coming up to bed?” It sounded just like any other night.

From the bottom stair to the top landing seemed to take forever. The door to the bedroom was open, and as I walked the long landing I could see the scene ahead, like a film playing on a screen. I felt attached, yet simultaneously detached; present and absent, disembodied — seemingly unseen, unnoticed, unaccounted. I hesitated at the door and she looked up, rising on one elbow to pull back a corner of the duvet in invitation. I returned from the bathroom to slip in, unusually, at her side of the bed, my breath catching in my chest.

Almost immediately I felt her hand slide over my thigh and move to hold me — a moment suddenly distilled into a droplet. I felt the familiar slimness of her fingers and the firm reassuring edge of her wedding ring. It was a normalising caress that slowed my heartbeat. Time lost meaning, I waited breathlessly, neither anticipating nor thinking. Shortly, she turned towards me. I remained in the stillness of the moment until I sensed a gentle forward pressure. In an instant my breathing stopped and my heartbeat quickened. She withdrew her hand, brushing across her torso in a slow but calculated movement over her thigh, and finally behind her. Until then her body had been pressed against me — a breast, a nipple, the curve of her thigh, her knees against the back of my legs, her toes against my heels. Contact was lost as she arched away, but within seconds her hand returned to me bringing a further shock — the wetness of her fingers as they crossed my back, silky to the touch, then encircling me knowingly — in a tentacle of time. She pushed against me, as if levering to seek for pleasure, the warmth of her skin against my back and her hot breath on my neck. Then I felt the pulse. I had not remotely imagined how this might be or feel. I had left the question unimagined, perhaps as I did not want to address it or define it. It was slow, deep and connected. I felt her hip and inner thighs move against me, almost brushing; not frantic nor robust, but of subtle exclusive tenderness. Mine was to be a presence that floated, connected in one sense, and irrelevant in another. Yet I realised its eroticism. A slow, deep movement progressed without pace or urgency — a familiar connection, naively shocking and surprising. I bit my lip. Their movement quickened with purpose, her breathing became more shallow and irregular. Her body seemed to gather, as would an equestrian preparing to trot. I felt a visceral forward thrust when she gripped, her muscles tensing. She exhaled with a sound which I strove to memorise. I listened intently to her quickening breath. She sighed, then I heard a gasp. Her hand moved to grip me firmly as if to intensify the thrusts. Like a tropical flower in time lapse, she unfurled and opened in ecstasy — prolonged, carnal and shameless in its intensity. Seconds passed, then the dam burst, shuddering and flooding in waves. With vicarious intensity, I too released, and her hand squeezed knowingly.

For an eternity we lay without movement or words. She turned towards him unselfconsciously and their lips met in a deep rewarding kiss, a breath shared and achievement acknowledged. Where she and I had touched I felt the flood of wetness of their shared passion. It had happened; and was now a part of our history, our present and seemingly our future.

Their kiss suffused into a deep, silent sleep, that I followed fretfully. Waking momentarily whenever they turned, it was in the early hours that I returned to full consciousness. She must have moved so deftly as not to wake me. She was already above him. From her silhouette she was looking down, her face showing her both longing and determination. Seated, she moved her hips in a slow circular motion. His hands rose to her breasts. This was a private and exclusive moment, intended not to be shared with me. It had tenderness and deep connection, totally silent, performed covertly. Within moments she froze. For an instant I thought she had noticed my gaze. But this moment did not relate to me. It was the first grip of her climax, one which she grasped so as to perpetuate. Ripples of pleasure followed with waves of sharp inhalation to mirror repeating spasms, culminating in a smile of joy and achievement.

She slid to lie across his body, her feet towards my legs, her connection with me seemed an unintentional touch. I heard her nails on his chest, her lips returning to his, pausing for air, then descending to a deeper place, absorbing and being absorbed. In that moment I felt I was intruding on something intrinsically private and exclusive. Then I felt the reassuring rub of her toes informing me that she had seen my open eyes, that I had permission to watch, and her hand returned to explore me in a movement that was casual, without the tenderness that they had shared, but with reassurance and solace.

It was much later, as light clipped the curtains, that I awoke to feel a more determined presence. He was reaching across her. Instinctively she parted her legs. He took his weight on both arms as he pressed above her, her hand moving between them. This time his energy was visceral, as was his determination, and her participation was active and unashamed. Their connection came quickly and sharply. His pressure shook the bed which moved on the polished floor. It was unconcealed and unselfconscious — a moment of mutual desire, unexpected, positive and possessive. This was clearly their exclusive moment to which I was a mere voyeur, present but irrelevant. I discovered that I was fascinated by a consummation of desires — theirs and mine. It was a defining moment that could not be undone. It informed me as much about myself as it did about their connection and shared intimacy. I found myself relating in a deeply erotic way; her pleasure strangely transmitted to me; her goal of climax defining my presence in that moment. A part of me said that it should have been me. The other part embraced their ecstasy as if it were my own. I experienced a new feeling, a powerful unresentful compersion that lodged within my being. Whilst I was not part of it, I realised then that it had become part of me.

Their climax when it came was sudden, instant and simultaneous. Their bodies were to meld and unite. I felt dazed, intoxicated and unable to breathe. Secretly, I wished it to last for an eternity. They came to rest only when their connection was total and complete. It presented a level of pleasure that could not be defined by words. As their breathing slowed, they held each other close in recognition. Only now did I realise the significance of this night. I had been carried unwittingly on an erotic journey of singular passion that was rehearsed and valued. I understood why I was present — not for my fascination, or their vicarious excitement, but to witness its value. I was given no role, but confirmed in an existing one that had seemingly always been, that of supportive life companion. It took nothing away, but added a new definition and dimension to my purpose.

Later, when he rose to leave and her fingers slipped from his, she returned to our bed and looked deeply into my eyes, speaking without words. Her gaze answered all my unasked questions about them, and about us. It called on me to define the last six hours of our lives. It spoke to my understanding of my feelings and emotions, my acceptance, my sense of self, not so as to undermine, but simply to call into question my previous preconceptions.

She smiled and we connected — now a meeting of tenderness and understanding in which no challenges were raised, recriminations voiced or insecurities admitted. It was a time for acceptance, and for celebration. A new dawn, as they say, and a new definition of the future.


Ch 2

Strangely, afterwards it was almost as if the visit from Lars had been a dream. Following a rushed breakfast, work called us both away, and the night’s events remained undiscussed. I tried to re-run the scene in my mind, only to find that it had already assumed a sepia quality, probably as I had been so unprepared for it. However throughout the day I experienced vivid flashbacks to moments when my breath had been stilled and my heart had thumped in my chest. And this got me to think how and what our conversation would be like that evening on my return.

‘Hello, darling, how have you got on today?’ The scent of fresh Lilies filled the hallway and normalising clatter came from the kitchen. Approaching from behind I wrapped my arms around her waist and lowered my lips to her neck. She responded in a moment of stillness, her forearms clasping mine.

‘Mrs Beautiful, you seem to have been busy?’ was my best reply, at which she turned towards me saying, ‘Well I didn’t give you much attention last night, so I thought we should remedy it tonight’. And with that my anxiety dissipated in a smile.

Supper was light and frivolous, the table set with two champagne flutes. When I sought to speak of our previous night, Nina hushed me saying, ‘Come to bed; make love to me and we can talk about it then’. And so it was — both tender and passionate, incandescent with erotic memory and the knowledge that we faced a new reality. ‘How did you feel about it?, ‘What did you feel?’, ‘How do you feel about it now?’, ‘Was it what you expected?’

I had to admit to Nina that I had not anticipated the evening, perhaps a deep down avoidance. ‘Really, darling’, she replied, ‘you seriously didn’t think about it when I asked if Oly could stay? Why on earth not?’…what a waste’, she teased, ‘you might have been better prepared!’

When I broached the question of her feelings and pleasure, Nina simply sighed and drew me closer into her, ‘Oly is just Oly — he needs me, and he makes me feel special. In so many ways he is really just an extension of you. When he and I make love, I know I have the attention of two lovers. Two men that compliment each other rather than compete’. And with that, Nina tensed in the pleasure of imminent climax, knowing that I would share that wave with her as we embraced our erotic memories.


Ch 3

Nina is invited to Oslo, and she and Laurence make a plan which involves unusual correspondence.

Darling, you know that presentation Oly and I are doing in Oslo? Well Oly has invited me to spend the remainder of the week with him in Vestland. What do you think? Do you mind?’’

We talked. I heard that Nina needed to feel spiritual union, one that does not come simply from physical connection but necessitated that which I most valued. The underlying implication of Lars’ invitation was not in relation to their intimacy, which I had already witnessed, but in sharing her emotionally, an area of supreme danger.

I realised too that we had neglected to speak meaningfully about Lars’ role in our marriage. Up to this point I had failed to recognise that which was now becoming clear to me — that Nina needed the love of two men, and to relate to them equally. She would give herself totally to each of us in an inclusive, symmetrical bond comprising the space to be herself as a woman in love, and a woman loved. In that sense my role as husband and that of Lars as lover were indistinguishable. Paradoxically I was dependent on the security that Lars imported to our relationship.

After our discussion I understood that Lars would tempt her with desire, pleasure and connection. Yet the exciting exclusion that I had experienced in his visit to London, that I now again desired, had started to build the fresh energy that I knew we both craved.

The answer to her question was sealed. But like all decisions of the heart, it needed more consideration. At Nina’s suggestion we resolved to write down our feelings and to share them with each other.

Dear Nina,

Of course I agree that you should accept Lars’ invitation. You anticipated my response, for this was our synergy and destiny. In one sense hedonistic, pleasure seeking, highly charged: for you in the thrilling moments that will present with Lars; and for me in denial, anticipation, reflection, and perhaps a unity with you through Lars; for whilst excluded from the moment, you have suggested that I am to share your exquisite moments by writing to me about it. You have suggested that you take me with you virtually so as to permit my partial presence, meaning your visit to Oslo is not one that will divide us in separation, but conjoin us through experience — not a venture of deceit, but making your visit one of trust, defining the triangle.

You said that integral to the success of your visit is reassurance of my devotion and commitment to you, the bed-rock on which our freedom to expand in this way is to be built. Without that foundation, you told me that your meeting with Lars would lack meaning. You mentioned that your thrill at the prospect of reconnecting with Lars is enhanced by your certainty of my desire for you. Be reassured of this so as to feel free, alive, responsive and open to all possibilities.

We also spoke of denial — how I would cope with exclusion from presence and participation. I told you that this was a mutual gift between us, not secretly taken in moments of vulnerability but to breathe life into erotic possibilities. Denial is integral and will unusually reinforce our bond. We need to go to and return from denial for our truly erotic journey.

With total understanding I support your decision to arm yourself for pleasure, through which you will take us to the very edge, and beyond the edge, away from my gaze, deep into hidden, deep-seated, exciting aspiration; a leap from the bridge, where we trust our safety net of love.

With love, Laurence

Dear Laurence

What fun to resume the art of corresponding with each other after so many years. Thank goodness for email! But for the envelopes and writing paper it reminds me of our dating when I was working in Olso. Do you remember our steamy letters?

Your message captures my feelings perfectly. How, after such time, are we so intuitive? I am excited about writing to you, perhaps to drip-share details in an exquisite, tantalising way, and of course to read your responses and imagine your reactions! Perhaps we might even retain a virtual connection through which you may feel moments as they happen?

I love the fact that you are content to release me for this adventure, allowing me to feel the air beneath my wings and the freedom to express my feelings and unspoken desires. Our decision is enhanced by your collaboration, by your generosity, and in particular by your erotic involvement. Your participation cleverly elevates my anticipation, and you are correct — your self denial acts as a most potent aphrodisiac!

Whilst writing I have been thinking about the dress. You know, the one you bought for our special occasion together? The one I wore when we made love that memorable night, the dress that holds such visceral erotic memories for us both? How would you feel if I asked to take it with me, to wear one evening with Lars? Do you mind me mentioning it? The very thought excites me, as it is invested with such possessive, sexual and ecstatic charges. Each time I wear it I discover an enhanced level of pleasure. Think about it and let me know your thoughts in your next email.

With love, Nina xx


Ch 4

We are introduced to ‘the dress’, and learn of its significance and implications for Nina and Laurence.

It was indeed a dress that women covet — and most men would yearn to remove. Had it a voice, it would cover nearly three octaves, it would have demanded total attention from its hanger. With subtlety and allure the dress drew both the eye and the imagination. It was sublime, tight fitting across the torso with perfect decollage, full in the skirt, and moved on Nina with a rustle of crisp Persian silk-shot taffeta.

Home after its first outing, Nina requested a last dance on the terrace before returning the dress to its hanger. Pedro Laurenz’ tango ‘Todo’ drifted to where, in close embrace, we danced. As Alberto Podesta reached the last bars of his song, Nina led me to our bedroom. Pressing me back to the bed, she knelt across my torso, spreading the skirts of the dress down towards my knees and forward across my chest. I felt the stiffness of the taffeta against my skin, a moment suspended in time, and then her soft, moist presence as she lowered. Within seconds we both realised we were about to climax. It was sudden, as though we had borrowed the lead up and now we were right at the edge with no warning. Nina spoke of an intense gripping in two spasms. At the same time I released with a throbbing energy, not once, but repeatedly as though there were no areas I would leave unfertilised.

And now you may understand how the dress came to be invested with such sexual energy and tension which it came to own, an embodiment of passion — and an implication of what its wearing would deliver for the future.

Dear Nina,

I love the way that you have understood and embraced my need and desire for denial, whilst reassuring me of your continued commitment. Agreeing to your taking the dress with you to Oslo anticipates walking a tightrope across a dangerous ravine… self-denial, leading to exquisite exclusion. It informs me of your continuing sexual power and freedom. Of course you should take it, so I may recognise the occasion when you choose to wear it, knowing that you will tell me of its effect and consequence. Who knows, perhaps, through its energy, it may connect you and me in the moment of its wearing?

Dear Laurence,

It seems that we understand each other perfectly. Deep down I knew you would agree to me packing the dress, but it has been fun making my request and sensing your conflicted reaction to it. And you are perceptive to comment on how it allows me a feeling of sexual power over you. Knowing that you would be powerless to resist, asking the question has added frisson to the excitement I feel about wearing it.

I am fascinated by your comment regarding us retaining a virtual connection whilst I am with Oly next week. Did you feel this way when he came to stay overnight? Would it be important for you to keep connection with me during my trip — something meaningful, over and above my messages to you? Do you really believe we may stay connected through the energy of the dress?

Should that happen it would add a really exciting dimension to the moment! It would be as if you were in a sense, present — observing us, but powerless to intervene. I shall definitely take the dress!

With love, Nina


Ch 5

PART TWO — OSLO

Nina departs for Norway, and Laurence reads his first message from Oslo.

It is Sunday evening and I wander into her dressing room where she is packing for her trip. The dress remains on its hanger ready to be placed last in her case. Beneath it rests a small pile of lingerie, straps of a suspender belt folded neatly, two packs of sheer stockings alongside, their unopened cellophane cover catching the light.

‘Darling, which of these two day dresses should I take?’, she asks, holding up each in turn. ‘I quite like the blue one’, I reply. ‘And why would that be?’, she questions teasingly. I stammer something inane and blush, feeling conspiratorial guilt at my response. ‘Oh, darling, don’t be so serious’, she continues, ‘It’s only a week until I am home and you can have me all to yourself!’

Monday morning arrives with a jolt. From the hallway, where it has remained overnight, I carry Nina’s case to the car. To catch the early flight we need to rush and the traffic is heavy, but she appears relaxed, as if this was just a work flight for another conference in Oslo. At the airport we hug and our lips meet for a parting kiss. She smiles and giggles, ‘be good whilst I am away, won’t you’, then turns on her heels and wheels towards the departure gate.

Later that day, I receive my first message.

Dear Laurence,

‘He met me with flowers at Olso Lufthavnairport, as you said he would. This is so Lars. There was a softness and propriety that seemed to straddle his quiet strength and purpose. It allowed me to feel, rather than think. As usual we embraced, although a watching eye would have seen but two friends greeting, rather than a lover’s caress. I took his arm to stroll to the Saab. The flowers placed behind the seat, he opened the passenger door for me. I pressed my knees together feeling sun-warmed leather against my legs, and could not help but notice his glances.

The car journey took us away from Oslo to Honefoss, feeling the freshness and smelling soft scents of summer through the open window. Sunlight caught the side of his face, showing the definition of features that you will remember from his visit. We were content to sit in silence, to feel and sense the moment. I just wanted to savour each small detail of every second of our time together, feeling the transitions, letting my imagination circle half-formed thoughts about what lay ahead.

We arrived at the university campus in good time for the conference, which was predictably Norwegian — reserved and serious. Oly’s presentation was well received, after which he suggested that we skip supper and head out through the mountains to Borgund. At that very moment we were buttonholed by the Principal who whisked us both to the bar, and our escape plan was scuppered! You will be disappointed to know that we spent our first night in separate student rooms with single beds!

Our Tuesday morning drive snaked up between snow-clad peaks into Norway’s heartland. We stopped for lunch at Tønjum before heading on to Vestland, the place where Oly has his mountain hytte. We arrived as dusk gathered. Below us a light glinted from a tiny window, a curl of pale wood smoke lifted in the evening air, and a small car drove away from the cottage on the hillside road towards the village. As the Saab came to a standstill, the evening stillness was astonishing.

Leaving the car, he led me through a heavy wooden door into the softly lit room of the cottage, a log fire burning in the hearth, the aroma of cooking permeating from the kitchen and a table set for two. Oly broke the silence, ‘Hey, I can always count on Maia — look she has set the fire and our supper is in the oven’. ‘Let’s enjoy the last light before it gets dark’, he added; and so we stepped back out into the chill air.

For some moments we paused, gazing out towards the darkening Fjord, Oly behind me, holding me close with his hands on my waist. I could feel his warm breath on my neck. As we stood together I felt him stiffen and his lips touch my shoulder. Laurence, you cannot imagine how romantic that moment was! After the tiring journey I felt elated in the sheer solitude, my senses aroused with the feeling of strong arms at my side.

‘You’re getting cold’, he said, and taking my hand, he led me back into the warmth and security of the cottage, where with a smile he turned towards me saying, ‘Well, now we are here, what should we do first?’


Ch 6

Nina and Lars have arrived in Knarvik and Nina sends a second message to share her first moments alone with Lars.

Dear Laurence,

I do hope you were not too anxious after my first message. But you have to understand that following the student room fiasco, the long drive, and having arrived with Oly at such a romantic place, I was more than ready to be seduced!

We thought it wise to eat first as Maia had clearly gone to such trouble to prepare everything for our arrival. Oly served hot bowls of Norwegian lapskaus with crusty bread, and glasses of Malbec from the bottle I had smuggled through customs. We chatted as we dined, the only other sound being the crackling of the fire and the occasional jumping spark.

After supper I took the deep armchair by the fire and Oly sat at my feet. Drowsy with wine and fatigue we simply watched the fire as the embers glowed. I felt his hand rest on my knee and his fingers stroke my leg in a gentle, natural, unhurried way. Again, we sat in silence feeling the touch and the moment. Instinctively I parted my legs slightly to accommodate his hand. We looked at one another; his hand strayed to my thigh, idly playing along the energy lines of my inner leg. I tensed a little with anticipation of the deliciousness of his intention. He felt this, teasing me a little longer, waiting until I was so stimulated and provoked that I was totally ready and longing to feel him. His hand had found my thigh above the stocking top and I felt the rise of his response.

We descended to the floor, lying back on the rug, kissing and connecting. I felt every part of my body strain towards him. I began to undress him, touching and kissing his chest and back, caressing him and wanting him to feel the same urgency that I felt; and yet for us to resist to prolong the seduction. My hands strayed to his buttocks and I squeezed, pulling him towards me, but only enough to touch, not to penetrate. He smiled, sensing what I wanted and began gently to lick my breasts, responding to them individually. I could feel the tightening around my cervix which told me that my orgasm was building. I let it lap at me and focussed on his playing of my body. There was a moment when my legs involuntarily opened, just as he began to push them open — I don’t know which impulse came first, I think it was simultaneous. Then he was in me, it was slow, rhythmic, determined and I felt as though I was drawing every bit of his energy into me, fostering the connection, tasting it, loving its intensity and its variety. Our bodies were so in tune that it was like a river delta in which you couldn’t tell which way the water was flowing. The build continued and when it felt as though it couldn’t be any deeper or more intense, a new dimension would open to us and there would be a little more … a little deeper … a little farther to go …

When the moment of climax came it was sudden and unstoppable. A surge of pleasure emanated from my cervix, passing through the rest of my body paralysing my fingertips and toes. It gripped with an inescapable tension, then burst in an explosion of pleasure, the two of us climaxing simultaneously. For a moment I imagined I could see your face as you watched us, fascinated, helpless to intervene, sensing your ejaculation at your exclusion, but knowing you would not want it to stop.

I realise that this may not be what you were expecting, — for our first night together neither did I. But you asked me to tell you everything as it happened, and so I have.

This morning we are to ski to the lake and from what Oly has intimated, this sounds as if it will be another adventure and another episode.

With love, Nina


Ch 7

Laurence reads Nina’s messages and considers their implications.

Checking my emails before leaving for work on Tuesday, with no message from Nina, left me feeling low. I knew she and Lars were to attend the Monday conference in Oslo, but I had hoped for a few lines after their first night together. Of course I couldn’t have anticipated that they would be trapped at the conference centre, sleeping in single beds, their departure for Vestland delayed. There was still no message when I arrived home. It was as if Nina had travelled to the far side of the moon, from which communication was impossible and I was left in frustrated apprehension.

It was therefore with relief that in the early hours of Wednesday morning I received her first message. I pictured their meeting at the airport and their first kiss, remembering our parting caress and more memorably the moment I witnessed their lips met when Lars stayed overnight in London. As if watching a sepia film, I pictured them walking away arm-in-arm to his vintage car, and the breeze of warm air surrounding them as they motored from Olso.

It was at the point when she described their arrival at Lars’ mountain cottage that Nina’s account gained sharp focus. I absorbed her description of Lars’ hytte, smelling the wood smoke and aroma of cooking. The scene seemed so reassuringly normal, as if I was spying on strangers rather than observing my wife with another man. When she wrote of the moment they stood together before the fjord, my heart leaped and breathing stopped. Her account injected the challenging drama of denial which I craved, and a realisation of the pleasures they were to share.

Nina’s second message followed immediately in my email box. I was about to open it when instinct told me that I should wait. Like you, my dear reader, I had no doubt of what might follow, and this moment was not the right time to read it. With fascinated apprehension of what awaited, I closed my laptop.

Just as Nina foretold, I spent time in anxious anticipation. For those readers who are familiar with this feeling, that which I experienced will be instantly familiar — an unresolving churning of frustrated energy that kept drawing me to read her message, whilst resisting it led to an exquisite frustration of sexual tension.

It was later that evening, after a supper alone in a silent house, that I turned to Nina’s message.

What I had craved since Lars’ visit to London flooded back into my mind. Nina’s vivid description created visceral images — candid, uncensored, erotic and unashamed. Each detail she recounted spoke of what I valued, what she would bestow on Lars and of what I was to be denied. I felt a jealousy tinged with erotic fascination. Nina’s description of their pleasure suffused through me. I was so captured in their moment of connection that it became my moment. Without touching I was gripped with an intense shudder that matched theirs, as if Nina had reached out to wring from me an ecstasy laminated with irresistible pain.


Ch 8

Nina and Lars ski to the lake, but there developments occur that Nina could never have contemplated.

Dear Laurence,

It seems to be an age since this morning. So much has happened, and whilst I know where to start….I am not sure where I should stop! I must warn you that today’s events and my response to them have surprised even me. You may find them quite challenging — so if you are not in a quiet place with an open-mind, stop now and return to my message when you feel able.

I mentioned that we planned to go to the lake, a four kilometre ski trip from the cottage. Oly packed a towel for his swim, a blanket, and the lunch that Maia had prepared for us, and we set off through the rich, close forest. The skis loaned by Maia were perfect, scaling crunchy snow in glorious sunshine glistening through the trees and flooding the glades. I am amazed how deserted this place was. Save for distant Reindeer and the call of an Artic Fox, we encountered nothing but forest, and saw no-one.

Arriving at the lake just after midday, Oly spread the blanket over fresh dry snow and we set about our picnic of Brunost, Nøkkelost, Jarlsberg and Fenalår, washed down with a non-alcoholic Glögg.

When Oly stripped for his swim in the lake, I made to walk to conceal myself behind the tree line. As I did so I felt Oly’s hand grasp my wrist saying, ‘No; stay with me, just here — I want to be present’. His request was both question and instruction, a look of supplication crossing his face. ‘And why might you want to watch me, Olly?’, I asked teasingly. ‘Not to watch, but to experience’, he replied, ‘I want something that will take us both outside our comfort zones, that will bond us in erotic energy’.

My confusion at his explanation gave way to a feeling of embarrassment tinged with curiosity. The night before, he and I made love with the shared passion you had anticipated. Yet this proposition was complicated and uncontemplated, representing an act that might place the three of us in a different dynamic. I must admit that my feeling of guilt was eclipsed by the fascination of succumbing to his request…and I was intrigued by an act of exclusion that you might crave.

Now naked in the snow, Oly lay beneath me. Interlocking our fingers he pulled me towards him and whispered ‘yes’. My mind was dizzy with conflicting thoughts of domination and submission, of control and being controlled, of ownership and being owned. For me his request took me to forbidden territory which I was ready to exploit for my own curiosity.

At first, a thin stream, and then, as I relaxed and released, a flood across his chest, painting the snow amber around us. I felt a guilty fascination, so far from what I would have chosen, but capturing everything that I sought. It carried a sense of primaeval ownership, that of scenting, possessing, demanding. It encapsulated both extreme vulnerability and an animal declaration.

Afterwards, he looked deeply into my eyes as if I was the most important part of his life and pulled me towards him for our lips to meet. We smiled, then laughed and Oly sprang to his feet, raced naked and glistening to the jetty, and like a silver fish, dived into the lake to swim to the opposite bank. I followed his steps to bathe my feet in the icy water.

Leaving the lake, skiing hand-in-hand through the glades I experienced a new sense of connection with Lars, truly deeper and more binding, intensified by the complication of what had transpired. Whereas last night’s love making had been about the exchange of sexual and emotional energy, this event had been to attain unity.

Below us, the light in the little window twinkled and a fresh plume of smoke rose from below the tree line. My heart was singing. And, somehow, my mind drifted to the possibility of wearing ‘the dress’.


Ch 9

Whilst Laurence feels distance, Nina and Lars take their relationship to another level and Nina resolves to wear ‘the dress’.

My feelings after reading Nina’s account of her experience with Lars at the lake are complicated. Like you, I pictured the scene, imagining being present to observe as I had been during Lars’ visit to London. I experienced a powerful compersion for Nina, but also the underlying vulnerability that it induced. With her sexual freedom, Nina had stepped away from the confines of our intimate life together breaching with Lars a taboo that was imbued with erotic meaning for them, physically, sexually and emotionally. The realisation of Lars’ desire for unity with her made me consider how Nina would deal with what she described as ‘a different and novel sense of connection with Lars’…‘more binding, intensified by what had transpired’, and what might be the implications of it for us. The question was both arousing and disconcerting.

It was as if I was receding into the shadows as her accounts became more visceral. It reminded me of Apollo 11 where, as Armstrong, Collins and Aldrin circled the far side of the moon, communication with the earth was severed and they disappeared from view. I became suddenly aware that for Lars and Nina their time together was likely to develop an intensity from which I was to be increasingly absent, and from which the outcome for all of us was quite uncertain.

Dear Laurence

One of the joys of the hytte is having my own room with ensuite bathroom. After the ski and taking tea together it was to here that I retreated for a rest, to shower, and to prepare for my evening with Oly.

Spread out on the bed straight from unpacking was the dress, a selection of lingerie alongside, and a pair of stockings still in their cellophane wrapping. Whilst not quite the style for a wedding, the dress reminds me of a bridal gown, possibly its sheen, maybe the way it moves as I walk; but most probably that evening, bringing back the first time I wore it with you, and the erotic memories with which we imbued the taffeta. I lifted it so as not to shed a drop of its magic and inhaled the smell of fabric and the perfume that lingers still.

When I asked you if I could bring the dress to Vestland you understood the sensual implications for me, and I knew of the deliciously conflicting feelings my request would provoke for you. At one stage I had thought that you would seek to dissuade me, sensing its danger. Yet I suspect it was that same charge that compelled you to agree, and in doing so, adding excitement by allowing me to invest it with a new and different energy.

So I have decided that tonight is to be the night to wear the dress. I am writing now that you may anticipate its effect, and dream of its consequence. I will write again tomorrow.

Sweet dreams,

Nina


Ch 10

True to her word, Nina provides the most detailed account yet. But how will Laurence react to it?

Dear Laurence,

It is now a hazy Thursday afternoon here in Vestland and I have returned briefly to my room to describe what happened last night. Did you dream of me wearing ‘the dress’? How did you feel? What was your response? Well here is your chance to compare your fantasy with my reality!

After showering I dressed just as I had planned, although I discarded the thong and brassiere as the dress provided all the support I needed, but I kept the suspender belt and stockings for the feelings they induce.

When I entered the kitchen Oly was preparing a supper of Fiskeboller i Hvit Saus — haddock and cod combined with cornflour, milk, and eggs, rolled into spheres and served with a béchamel sauce.

Standing behind him I placed my hands on his hips whilst watching him work. His fresh linen shirt smelled of cologne. Impulsively I pressed my lips to the back of his neck to breathe in his aroma. He smiled and turned. Looking straight at me he exclaimed, ‘wow you, where have you and that dress been all my life? You look gorgeous’. So it was quite early in the evening that I knew I had made the right decision to wear it!

After supper with the lights dimmed, to Tord Gustavsen trio’s ‘Circling’ we danced out to the veranda. The moon lit the snow with an iridescent glow across to the fjord, where it formed a streak of pale light. I buried my face into his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body, and pushed my fingers through his thick hair. It was one of those supremely romantic moments, almost certainly unique in a lifetime, energising, exciting and sensual. His lips met mine in a deep kiss, our breath was exchanged and sexual tension transferred. His right hand left my waist and reached beneath the hem of ‘the dress’ which with taffeta petticoats, he slid above my knees, and then further until his fingers touched a suspender strap. Our lips were still connected when he released the fabric and his hand moved across to the outer lips of my labia, sending a shudder of arousal through my being. I could feel him stiffen as his trousers brushed against my leg. The urge to take him inside me was unstoppable. I moved my right hand to unfasten his flies, liberating him. At that very moment he lifted me onto the veranda rail, and with one arm encircling my body, he entered me.

Our love making there lasted for what felt like minutes until we released each other and returned to the warmth of the hytte. He led me to his room, unzipped ‘the dress’, gently lowering it to the floor as if he comprehended its authority, and I stepped from within its magic circle and into his arms. Naked on the bed, he continued to take me, thrusting deeply, stretching me, driving me to an unstoppable climax. We came simultaneously as if our bodies had been tuned by the day’s events and ‘the dress’. I screamed with sexual relief, almost passing out with pleasure and the knowledge of his massive ejaculation.

Afterwards, we did not speak but clung to one another, feeling as though we had gone a stage beyond the known, into a new place where we were both somehow changed. Later we slept, entwined as only lovers can when all boundaries lie without and what is within is totally fused, refreshed and recreated into a vibrant space.

When we awoke the sun already filled Oly’s room with light. He hugged me to him and I nestled, feeling comforted by his strength, warmth and the intensity of the love that seemed to swirl tangibly between us. I could feel him inside me still and all around me, as though I could breathe him and he held me as though I was the most precious thing to his soul.

Rising, I carefully collected ‘the dress’ and returned it to my room where, rather than hanging it, I folded it so as to contain its energy. Reflecting, I can say that I am thrilled I brought ‘the dress’ to Vestland. Yet I now realise that it encompasses a very different energy from before. But, be assured that if I return, I will allow you to experience its new magic in one way or another.

With love,

Nina


Ch 11

Laurence reflects on Nina’s disclosure of her feelings, and hears of her increasing closeness withLars.

Nina’s message left me with a dichotomy of feelings — huge compersive joy at the pleasure she had shared with Lars — yet an underlying jealousy at his effect, and her absorption of it. Their exclusivity both thrilled and troubled me.

But I had to remind myself that Nina had shared every detail of her time with Lars, just as she had said she would, without censorship or prevarication; and that each detail had been crafted to feed my fantasy of denial, an obsession that had been forged by Lars’ visit.

In her message Nina had asked me to tell her of the difference between my fantasy concerning ‘the dress’ and her reality. Whilst I had pictured the moment of her seduction when wearing it, I had not anticipated its dynamic implications. I glanced at my message to her when I agreed to her taking ‘the dress’ and there it was, ‘Who knows, perhaps, through its energy, it may connect the three of us in the moment of its wearing?’

The question that now required an answer was if the power of ‘the dress’ had maintained three uprights of the pyramid, or simply bolstered two, exposing the weakness of the third?

Laurence,

Friday night Oly took me out to visit his friends in Fotlandsvåg. It was a couples evening, allowing Oly to show off his new ‘friend’. Their farmhouse was set well back from the village on the northern shore. A long wooden table with eight place settings extended the full length of the dining room, glasses of Aquavit were already poured and the sound of a Hardanger fiddle rose from a distant room.

As is traditional during meals, we were separated as couples so as to enrich the evening’s conversation, a temporary parting, but to exchange smiles and flirtatious glances along the table. It afforded me the opportunity to observe Oly, his jet black hair, handsome face — serious then animated, his muscular shoulders, and the backs of his strong hands as he gestured and blew a kiss.

Night having closed in, the wind whining in the pines on the shoreline, we left for Oly’s hytte, arriving before midnight for hot chocolate and bed. For a while we simply lay together, holding each other and talking about the evening. I felt his quiet strength, heat, and the comfort of his body; and before long his renewed interest swelling against me, sending my heart into an anticipatory flutter. Our lovemaking was unhurried, as waves against a beach, rhythmical and persistent. I felt his closeness and the intimacy which at that moment I craved from him. It built, gradually and meaningfully, as if inflating my being. I felt absorbed, our breathing in perfect synchronicity, our heartbeat increasing with our swelling passion. In contrast to the build-up, when it came, my climax burst with an almost painful pleasure — an exquisite moment when time ceased, stranding me on a ledge of gratification, then releasing me back into his loving hold. It certainly seems that Oly and I have made a transition from bedmates to lovers, where feelings morph into emotions — where desire turns into addiction. How do you feel about this? Does it make you anxious? Are you as worried as I am concerned?

This morning brought the smell of fresh coffee, croissants, honey with thinly sliced cheese. It is our penultimate day together, I am already feeling regret at impending separation, but I am determined to make the most of it!

With love,

Nina


Ch 12

It snows in Knorvik, giving Nina the opportunity to write about her day with Lars.

Dear Laurence,

Saturday has been a strange day, for after breakfast, heavy snow arrived in flurries making it impossible to leave the cottage. Oly and I were clearly to be snowed in for the day.

Together in the kitchen we set about making kjøttkaker, a Norwegian speciality of meatballs in gravy. The scene was one of relaxed domesticity. Had you been here to observe you would have seen a couple spending time together, touching and occasionally bending to exchange a playful kiss. As the snow piled against the cabin door, I imagined what it would be like to be trapped here, unable ever to leave, remaining as a part of his life even after the snows had melted. The thought was magnetic, inciting a craving for closeness and making me yearn for intimacy.

Oly caught my eye and saw my expression. I fancied that he must have read my desire to submit to him. Lifting me in his arms, he carried me past his door to my room, to lay me on the bed, hitherto unused, still bearing the folded ‘dress’ and its accompanying parcel of lingerie. It was as if I were being placed on a sacrificial Altar, ‘the dress’ being its altar cloth, the lingerie being the host. The shocking thought of it flushed me with excitement.

Slowly, he undressed me — in a calculated way, teasingly, inexorably. The very act induced a delicious sense of vulnerability, one that I was desperate for him to exploit. First his lips touched my clitoris sending shudders up through my body and into my spine, then his hands cupped my breasts, owning and containing them; finally, excited by his tongue I descended into a rapturous rolling climax, one that did not arrive and depart, but continued unabated, grasping my body and stopping my breath. It was only when the pleasure became unbearable did I call out, more of a scream that finished in a guttural sigh.

My relief from frustration made me smile, then laugh, at which he took me in his arms to love me, cherish me, and eventually enter me. His were long deliberate strokes that matched my desire to be taken by him. I felt strangely exhilarated by his dominance, and my submission. I was yearning to be possessed, a need which he then met in every way that is possible.

Fortunately, our meal was not ruined by our absence. After rising, we returned to the kitchen to finish where we had left off, and to exchange knowing smiles as we reflected on the success of our achievement.

With love,

Nina


Ch 13

Nina’s trip is coming to an end, and she confronts Lars about her feelings.

Dear Laurence

Saturday’s snow came and went, the wind blowing drifts out to sea. That has meant that Oly and I were able to walk to the fjord, then along the high path to absorb the views. At one point we reached an outcrop where we were able to rest. The moment reminded me of the emotional ledge I had attained with Oly after returning from Fotlandsvåg! I snuggled into his arms, we kissed, I sighed. It was a perfect moment together, of gentle togetherness flashed with sparks of desire, as if by holding back we were both elevating our need for connection. In that moment of longing I was also able to picture and savour your sense of frustration at being denied it.

I am astonished how quickly and easily I have made the transition from London wife to live-in lover with Lars. I had imagined that between sessions of lovemaking, passion and sex, I might have felt regret or remorse — but that is not the case. Quite the opposite; being with Oly here seems so natural, as if it has always been so.

When we returned to the hytte after the walk I sought a moment of quiet reflection and togetherness with Oly, for I wanted to ask him about emotions, and whether he felt the same spiritual closeness that I was experiencing. I also wanted to find out why he had never married. We snuggled on his sofa before a log fire, the reflection of the flames dancing in the darkening room.

He explained that in the years after our college relationship had ended he had never met anyone with whom he could bear to spend a lifetime. Hoping for the answer I sought, I asked him if he was still in love with me. Oly took his time and described it this way. For some considerable time he had remained deeply in love; but that feeling had transitioned to one of simple love, valuing the choices I had made, and the life I had espoused with you in London. For the first time since we had been together, he mentioned your name, saying that he knew of our happiness, and that he valued it as if it were his own.

For a while I was conflicted with both shock and disappointment. I had wanted him to confirm what I wanted to hear, and his unexpected response silenced me for some minutes. But as I reflected, his explanation made huge sense. It was precisely his commitment to us that engendered the vibrancy of my connection with him.

I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek, then took his face in both hands and kissed his lips, long and voraciously, the tension of the moment distilled into a physical intensity that is hard to describe. We dropped to the rug before the fire. For moments he held me there, closed in his arms; and then released me saying, ‘Go — get ‘the dress’ — the one you wore on Wednesday night — that lay with us on your bed last night — I want you to wear it now.’

Without being asked again I went to my room. Unfolding it with care, I slipped it over my naked body and half zipping the back, returned to where Oly lay. Somewhere distant came the sound of Pedro Laurenz with Podesta’s rich baritone voice taking the melody. Undressed, the light caught his features, the hair of his chest, his toned body and his masterful erection. I stood across him, as I had done previously by the lake, and as with you the evening I first wore ’the dress’. Pinching the seams, I lowered onto him, feeling his moist hardness against me followed by his penetration. Sinking down, it was as if I was taking his whole being within me, both to restore and possess me.

I set the pace of our connection whilst staring directly into his eyes. Taffeta spread and crushed to create a percussive rhythm as we cleaved together. Then came an incredible moment of climax. Oly first, as if he could hold back no longer, followed immediately by my orgasm — searing, releasing, voracious in its appetite, consuming and complete.

I looked down to see his smile, a look of triumph, satisfaction and contentment, owning the moment and understanding its significance. It was then that Oly spoke, saying, ‘the dress has fulfilled its purpose; it has united you me and Laurence in its spell’.

I was stunned by his singular and unexpected comment, and then delighted equally. It captured both moment and intention. It brought the three of us together in unique ecstasy. For ‘the dress’ it fixed forever an indelible memory.

The journey to Flesland airport on Monday morning was uneventful. Before rising, we made love, hugged and made love again, the second time an acknowledgment of parting, hurried and desperate, as if the moment to leave was upon us. Later as the flight gate was called, our fingers that were intertwined separated for a final embrace.

As I wheeled my case to the barrier, I looked back to see him wipe a tear from his eye. I waved a hand and blew a kiss; and walked swiftly towards the departure lounge, leaving behind a dream, but knowing that I returned with joy to the loving, selfless embrace of my husband.


Ch 14

Postscript

A two hour Bergen flight breaks through low cloud to land at LGW. There is the usual clicking of seatbelts as travellers rush for cases in overhead lockers. Nina sits for several minutes until the engines have cut and silence pervades the cabin. From the window West Sussex appears grey and dull after the snowy morning light of Vestland.

Immigration and customs cleared without incident, Nina wheels her way from flight-side to look for a familiar face. She sees Laurence bobbing amongst a collection of drivers holding welcome signs, his face joyful as he spots her.

‘Darling, how wonderful to have you home’, he exclaims, his voice unintentionally loud for the arrivals hall. ‘Shh, everyone will know I have been away for too long’, Nina replies playfully. They hug, then embrace, and lips meet, deep breaths inhaled, fingers touch, and hands grip.

Nina feels Laurence’s initial tension, built over the week of absence, start to fade, his animation replaced by a look of relief. And they turn to head out to the parking, Laurence’s car, and their journey via the M23 to London.

As ever, fresh Lilies grace the hallway of their home, perfume lifting on the warm noon air. The suburban atmosphere of the house stands in stark contrast to Lars’ bohemian hytte in Vestland; and Laurence’s pressed suit is very different from Lar’s rugged-casual style.

‘Have you missed me darling?’, she says as she shrugs her coat onto an adjacent armchair. Her question is of course, rhetorical, for she sees the anxiety of separation still in etched on his brow. She strokes his arm. ‘Come with me’, she says, taking his arm whilst pointing to the sofa.

‘Well, this has been an experience’, she ventures as if to escape a moment of quietness, ‘tell me, how have you felt whilst I was away — how have you coped — what have you been doing — what are your feelings now I am back?’

Just as lock gates open, Laurence exposes his feelings, first a trickle, then a surge and a rush, leading to a flood of spoken emotion.

‘I can’t say that it hasn’t been hard’, he replies, purposely selecting a double negative, but adding, ‘at the same time it has been dreadfully exciting: stimulatingly erotic knowing that you were with him, realising what you were feeling and sharing — a pleasure so far beyond what I could have expected or imagined’.

‘Do you have any regrets about me going?’, she continues, ‘was there a moment when it was too much for you to bear?’

‘Strangely, yes and no’, Laurence answers, a slight tremor in his voice, ‘yes, because I felt every inch of danger whilst you and Lars were together; and no, because you included me by telling me about it. It was like a saw blade running between inclusion and exclusion — involvement and denial. At times it was stressful, but then produced a massive erotic charge — one of release rather than of relief.’

‘That sounds either painfully pleasurable or simply stressful?’

‘There were times when I thought my heart would burst, but then I would experience your excitement and pleasure, as if you had unconsciously transmitted your feelings to me, allowing me to surf your roller-coaster of passion.’

‘Well, I think we should celebrate my return, don’t you’, Nina replies, ‘fetch that bottle of champagne — the vintage one we saved for a special occasion, and join me in the bedroom’.

With that, Nina rises from the sofa, pulling her little case behind her, and heads to the stairs.

It takes Laurence a few moments to locate the correct bottle and find two crystal glasses, but armed with the champagne, makes his way to their bedroom. He enters, half expecting to see her in their bed, or returning naked from the bathroom.

Instead, she is by the window, spring light through voile curtains illuminating her torso as she stands motionless, her back towards him. She wears ‘the dress’, its taffeta underskirts flaring as she turns towards him.

Laurence stops in his tracks. He sees Nina’s sensual beauty accentuated by ‘the dress’ — her breasts raising the decollage, heels lifting her calves, her legs smooth in silk beneath its hem.

He approaches, she takes his hand, she leads him to the bed, he turns, she pushes, his body collapses backwards, she approaches, she lifts her skirts, standing, then kneeling she straddles his legs, she unfastens his shirt, then his belt, removing his trousers. She moves up his body, spreading the edges of ‘the dress’ as she has done previously; lowering just above him so that he can feel the heat from between her thighs. For a moment she remains suspended there, not touching, teasingly close, the lips of her labia brushing against him. Slowly and purposely she moves forward and backwards, achieving clitoral stimulation from the minuteness of contact. She looks down on him, pleasuring herself, controlling him, and smiles.

‘Tell me, what have you most missed whilst I have been with Lars?’, she asks with a breathy voice that speaks of her gathering pleasure. ‘What have you missed being without me?’, she continues, heightening his frustration with a voracious intent.

The moment is too much, too intense. Laurence explodes, his climax above and beyond his control, managed by Nina who has calculated it to the finest degree so as to induce the most intense, searing pleasure. He ejaculates suddenly. She feels a pressure wave and spread of wetness against her, and she sinks down so as to climax over him, an erotic, tantric experience that signals her control and acknowledgment of his frustration.

It takes a while for their breathing to subside. He looks up at her longingly, his immediate need met, yet his desire still inflamed.

‘I needed to get your undivided attention’, she says, ‘and to test your commitment to us’. ‘You will be pleased to know you have passed with flying colours’, she continues, beaming. And without hesitation she adds, ‘Now, what should be the fate of this dress? Is it a ‘keep’ or ‘let go’?

Laurence gazes at her for what seems like seconds. ‘It’s definitely a keep for me’, he says, and of course you may need it for your next trip, don’t you think?’