Ned picks up the narration of this story.
For those of you who missed it, chapter 9 was (against my preference) posted on the "Non-Consent" site. It can be found on my list of stories or here https://literotica.com/s/a-threesome-in-a-covid-19-world-ch-09
Chapter 9 tells the story of how Amy has been attacked by her previous abusive partner wielding a knife with an intention to rape and kill her; and maybe Ned as well.
Instead she has beaten him off and put him in hospital and jail. The story picks up in the aftermath of that.
.....................
Everyone was traumatised by Frank's attempt to rape and kill Amy.
Ellen and I, and even Liddy in the US, have trouble sleeping at night thinking about how close we came to losing her. Her many friends and work mates now visit and cluck protectively around her so much she occasionally complains it's hard for her to get time to have me to herself for some wild sex let alone get her work done.
And my sexual interactions with her are inhibited by... I'm not sure how to put it... a concern that she must be put off men and sex by what happened to her.
The only one seemingly not traumatised, is Amy. Far from it. She seems to have grown stronger and more confident as a result of it. And as for having sex with me, if anything her demands are more intense; something she both knows and openly admits.
Partly she says it's because fucking me with the passion she feels for me is the best punishment she can think of for Frank. She'd like to video every time we make love and send it to him in jail; having the warders strap him down and force him to watch it. She thinks it would churn up his narcissistic brain until it self-destructs if there was such an option. Personally, I think it's probably better that's not an option. But I can understand where she's coming from.
Partly, she admits, it's because she's on a high. The high of a sense of achievement that's far more consuming than any drug could give you and sex is a celebratory outlet for that high.
I am completely in awe of her. I've always loved her deeply, but now there's something else, something even stronger than the passion I felt for her. An enormous admiration and pride certainly, but it's far more powerful and emotional than that. I can think of no word in the English language range of emotions that adequately covers it. It's a sort of super love.
I wish I could contain it at a mere emotional level -- something I only feel internally. But it's a more whole body experience than that. Embarrassingly so.
Amy, when she runs around in those tiny bikinis of hers, has always generated some physical effect on me when she's within visual range. And given she has a beauty that transcends both any man's idealisation and sexualisation of true beauty, that's only human. But before it was just a fullness and mild swelling of my manhood; at least until she made it clear she's interested in some physical interaction -- which for Amy was not infrequently.
Now my feelings all too often generate a full boner; something that greatly amuses Amy and she seems all too often to want to take advantage of.
I've always had this pheromoneal connection with Ellen which, for different reasons, has a similar effect when she's nearby. But the effect Amy has on me now is way more powerful than even that; much I'd have to say, to Amy's delight.
I'm at an age where many men would be needing Viagra just to get it up. Amy and Ellen have longed seemed to generate within me something that is more than a Viagra substitute.
What Amy is doing to me at the moment is like overdosing on it. It feels like it will make my cock explode somewhat like that scene in Monty Python where the fat guy has one chocolate wafer too many and bursts like a balloon over the whole restrauent. Fortunately, in reality, it's unlikely to go that far and the feeling of the skin of my aroused manhood apparently being stretched to new levels of inflation carries with it a rather pleasant sensation; multiplied many times over as it explores the inner sanctum of Amy's body.
But really, from the first night, everyone's feelings had been destabilised by what happened.
Ellen was probably the worst affected.
She was almost inconsolable.
It has always been something of a routine as we settle in for bed that I gave each of the girls, one on either side of me, a prolonged, full body, naked, hug, kiss and cuddle, doing first one and then turning to the other on the opposite side. Sometimes it turns into sex -- especially if for whatever reason it's been a bit of a sex free day -- but that's not the intention of it, because very few days are actually sex free before bedtime.
On that first night, Amy climbed into bed first, with me climbing in alongside her.
Instead of Ellen, who'd been showing her pain all afternoon, joining us on her side of the bed, she came around to Amy's side and asked if she could give her a hug. Amy lay on her back and stretched her arms out to Ellen, accepting her invitation.
Even in the circumstances of the day, there was something erotic about watching Ellen lay flat down on top of Amy. Both of them were completely naked, and I watched as Ellen straddled Amy's legs and effectively rolled herself down on top of her. I watched as their mons came together, getting the briefest look at Amy's raised one compressed by Ellen's as her weight came upon in. As she continued to ease herself down, their breasts collided; initially nipple to nipple until Ellen moved sideways a smidgen to let them interlock like the teeth of a gearbox. That left her head face down in the pillow alongside Amy's as Ellen's hands caressed Amy's hair and cheek as a prelude to slipping her hands under Amy for a tight embrace.
The girls, but especially Ellen and Amy, have long since lost any reticence or embarrassment about close, naked, physical contact. Indeed, our group sex when we have it is facilitated by the girls being willing to stimulate each other and be stimulated in return. They've sometimes even teased or tried to arouse me by putting on a pretty good show of girl on girl action.
Ellen had no intention of her action being sexual; instead she was looking to give and receive comfort through intimacy. I doubt she had the slightest inkling of how sexualised I found her mounting of Amy. But as soon as she lay down on Amy, she started crying her eyes out.
For all her hard and confident exterior, Ellen is by nature a sensitive young lady. I've seen her go to tears before. Sometimes happy ones, such as at the birth of each of her daughters which I was privileged to be one of the first to attend, but also sad ones. The night she last slept with me before taking up with her soon to be husband was one. But far more tragic was the death and funeral of her husband.
And as they do, Ellen's tears soon degenerated into a heaving, bawling flood, her whole body wracked by her heaving chest.
I looked at Amy, half expecting her to be triggered into something similar. Instead I just found a look of concern on her face as she tried to comfort Ellen, she now running her hands through Ellen's hair as she spoke gentle words of kindness and understanding to her.
As Ellen's distress continued and the bed almost shook with her heaving, Amy looked across to me with raised eyebrows, wondering what she should do. I had nothing to offer her.
