The Whipping Turn

Paris - Confessions

The next few weeks that followed, the start of Jenna, Jean and Oliver's new relationship, passed in a similar way - hanging out at the boy's apartment on weekends, after work...and before work sometimes. Jean's petrol bill, as her favourite taxi, must have been hiking up along with Jenna's uber spend. She felt bad Jean was often shuttling her around, and it was an effort carting a bag back and forth, but it was all worth the kisses, cuddles, conversation and heated sex most nights of the week. Jenna found she was staying over more at the boys place than her own.

And to add to generally feeling good about life, the boot was gone! Jenna knew she wouldn't be running a marathon anytime soon. Even though she'd been doing strengthening and physio, she would be relying on rides for a while yet, until her ankle was used to, well, being an ankle again. The crutches were still part of life but less so. At least she could slowly make it up the stairs and around the apartment fairly easily.

The three struggled to keep their hands off each other and they worked through different possibilities together, sometimes taking turns with each other and sometimes all joining together. Jenna loved watching the two men have sex with each other. Jean's submission to Oliver and Oliver's rakish dominance showed a different dynamic than when they were with her. It almost made sense, this part, that they needed to be a certain way together and then fill another need with her. Jean was easy to work out; he needed a mix. He needed the rough with the soft, and didn't always want to bottom, to submit. She had worked out that when they were in her body, together, they had found a sweet spot of both topping while still having sex with each other. It was more than that, she didn't feel like she was being used, but Jenna felt some kind of a calm between the two men when they were all together.

A lot of that came from Oliver. There was something in him that was starting to relax. Almost as if he had been holding his breath and was slowly letting it out. He was, in general, harder to understand than Jean, more closed and complex but Jenna was realising the trust they were building, was turning him on. Plus, it turned out he loved being a voyeur. He could see his lover happily playing, and Jenna would often catch him smiling slightly, watching them.

It was time for a serious conversation, though.

Sunday breakfast was done, crumbs scattered on the table from the fresh baguette Jean had popped out to get while Oliver whipped up an omlette. Jenna sipped her morning coffee, leaning her hip against the kitchen bench while she watched the two men. Oliver in his chair at the table, left leg propped up on his right and reading the paper. He would read it front to back and then work on the crossword. Sometimes he called upon the others for help, but only as a last resort. Jean was in the single chair by the window in the lounge. Jenna had quickly learnt that, mostly, the only time Jean was quiet was when he had his nose in a book. He devoured anything except crime. Apparently, Oliver had banned that genre on account of how pissed off his partner would get.

Jenna was finding Sunday's at the boys were usually the best. Sated, quiet and well-rested, the mornings were peaceful, with the three often reading for hours. Jenna had felt her batteries recharge and her head rest with the unintrusive time.

This Sunday, though, she felt jittery. Her fingers tapped a fast beat against her mug, insides twisting, breakfast turning to rocks.

"You ok there, Jen?" Oliver's blue eyes questioned her from over his newspaper.

"I, ugh, I've got to tell you guys something."

Jean glanced over, the peaceful spell broken, and Jenna felt guilt rise alongside her nerves.

The boys exchanged one of their looks. It felt, to her, like they had been doing it forever but they didn't realise she could see their silent words and worries.