1989 Like a Candaulist in the Wind

This is a reworking of a previously published story that I was never happy with and which I quickly had deleted. Forgive me if you read the earlier story and you think that this one feels a bit familiar.

..........................................................

It is quite a relief when you find that a problem, issue, foible, proclivity or kink, that you thought was unique to you, has a name. You feel less like a freak, psycho, weirdo, pervert or fruitcake.

It was like that for Mathew when he saw a painting of Candaules, King of Lydia, who got his bodyguard to spy on the King's wife as she was naked and preparing for bed. According to the book, men who like to show their wives to other men in this way are called Candaulists. Who knew?

Mathew had been married to Sandra for eleven years when he put a name to his peculiarity. Sandra thought that her body was OK but Mathew was of the opinion that it was stunning. Not like those stick insect models that were all the rage. Sandra was slim but not skinny with gorgeous curves. Full breasted and with a waist that went in enough to emphasise her hips, with legs that could wear stockings but that still had decent shapely thighs.

Sandra had been brought up in a fairly middle class home filled with laughter. Her mother had taught her good manners and how to dress nicely. Her father had supported her in her studies and hobbies. Neither parent was prudish but they did maintain certain standards.

After college Sandra joined the Building Society, in the sense that she got a job there and also opened an account.

Mathew, on the other hand, had gone into financial investments. Over the years he had seen bad times and good times but by 1989 he had a successful business of his own and was doing pretty well. He remained grateful to Sandra. There had been times when her salary had kept the wolf from the door. Now they would be considered upwardly mobile.

Right from the very start, Mathew had bolstered Sandra's confidence. He never missed an opportunity to compliment her on her appearance. Whenever they went to some social event, either connected to her work or his, he always assured her that every man there would love to fuck her. Sandra always coloured up and told him not to be so silly. Inside, she loved it. I don't believe that any woman doesn't want to be desirable.

He encouraged her to dress in a way that made the most of her attributes, never tarty but always sexy. Even when money had been tight Mathew made sure that Sandra could have the best. He felt that the way she looked reflected on him and on his business.

Life in the thriving seaside town of Bournemouth was good. There was a healthy population balance, from students to the retired. This meant that there was a good range of shops, cafés and restaurants as well as entertainment venues.

In addition to these, there were parks, gardens and of course the seafront. Sandra and Martin loved to walk along the Undercliff Promenade.

"What should I wear?" asked Sandra, as they prepared to take a Sunday afternoon stroll.

"That wide pleated skirt that you bought yesterday is really classy, you could wear that," replied Mathew.

"That new underwear set would go well with it," he added.

"You don't think that it's a bit warm for nylon stockings, do you?"

"Nah, with that skirt there'd be plenty of ventilation. You could put on that light floral blouse, it would go well with the satin pleats."

Sandra thought that it all sounded a little revealing, but if Mathew was in a playful mood, she didn't mind.

As she dressed, she checked herself in the mirror. He was right, it went well together, particularly with the high-heeled strappy sandals. She pulled down the blouse to get a better look. She knew that the blouse was pretty sheer and she was aware that her bra would show and that the bra was fairly see-through as well; could her nipples be seen?

It was too late to worry about it now. She wasn't changing. Besides, their walks often ended up in a little 'afternoon delight' and if that was what Mathew had planned she didn't want to discourage him.

Walking in the sunshine felt good. Sandra was conscious of men looking her straight in the tits. Some of them looked into her eyes and smiled as well. Either way she knew that Mathew was loving it. If she was honest, she was loving it too.

As they approached the Bournemouth Pier, the promenade turned to the left. It took them out of the shelter of the shops and cafés that line the Undercliff Promenade. The sea breeze whipped through the gap and under Sandra's skirt. Up it went, giving two old men, who were sitting in deckchairs, an excellent view of Sandra's stockings, suspenders and G-string.

She instinctively pushed it down.

Three more steps and another gust took control of the pleats again. As she rescued her dignity, Mathew said, "Don't try too hard."

"What?" said Sandra.

"Just pretend that you don't like it."

"What makes you think that I like showing my ass?"

"Because it makes you feel naughty and it makes you feel like it's not really your fault."

Sandra said nothing but now she acted as if there was a delay between the wind taking the skirt and her realising.

"Oh, and it makes me feel as horny as fuck," added Mathew, after a few minutes.

After that every Sunday afternoon was a different adventure of subtly showing Sandra off. A short skirt and no knickers or low-cut blouse with a further than necessary lean to point out the ice-cream that was required.

Sandra loved the surprised look on the men's faces when they got an eyeful. Mathew loved it more.

......................................................................

In Bournemouth there was no shortage of places to get a hot drink. From Tea Rooms with fancy crockery, to Cafés and Coffee Bars and Kiosks dispensing steaming liquid in polystyrene cups.

Their favourite was a Café that served real Italian coffee, it was tucked out of the way a little back from Bournemouth Square. The original premises had expanded to include a little next door shop. Consequently, it was a sort of L shape. Sandra and Matthew liked the out of the way bit around the corner, away from the hussle and bussle and the noise of Espresso Machines.

The place was fairly quiet so they were confident of getting their preferred table. The fact that there was a mature bloke already sitting there was a bit disappointing. Still, that part of the Coffee Shop was otherwise empty so they had no problem finding an alternative.

Mathew sat with his back to the man and opposite Sandra.

They slipped their coffee and chatted and laughed. Eventually, Sandra smiled sweetly and said, "That chap keeps staring at my tits."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I can't say I blame him," replied Mathew.

"It's like he's trying to see through my clothes. It's making my fanny buzz."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that too.

"Excuse me for a minute, I need the loo," said Mathew as he got up, leaving Sandra alone.

When he returned, Mathew stood behind Sandra, leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "Still staring?"

"Yep."

"Still buzzing?"

"Yep."

Mathew, looking directly at the man, put his arms over Sandra's shoulders. Slowly, one by one, he undid the buttons on her flowery blouse. All the time Sandra watched the bloke's eyes.

Holding the right side of the top, Mathew pulled it out of the way to reveal half of Sandra's sheer black bra. Her dark areola and prominent nipple showed clearly through the fabric.

He slid his hand down to cover and cup the breast and squeezed it gently through the material. As he released his tender grip, Mathew allowed his index finger to lightly brush over the firm nipple. He used the tip to encircle the areola. And then again. And again. He felt the thrill run through Sandra.

The spectator sat transfixed, mouth slightly open, not quite believing what he was witnessing.

Mathew carefully took Sandra's nipple between his finger and thumb and rolled it back and forth under its nylon cover. Then with slightly more force, he gripped it and pulled it outwards. Sandra drew a deep breath, not knowing how far he was going to stretch it. The mature man drew a deep breath at the spectacle. Mathew drew in a deep breath to take in Sandra's perfume, hoping that he could detect any slight odour in addition to her usual Chanel No 5.

He held the tension momentarily, and then released his grip. Sandra breathed out.

Mathew repeated the stretching, this time introducing a little twisting. Sandra knew this erotic pain. Just on the wrong side of pleasure yet still pleasurable. This time there was an unknown element. How far would he go? All this was happening through her bra. Would Mathew show the man more?

The fact that her husband was exercising some sort of authority to show her off without regard to her feelings was making her knickers wet. Well, that was the scenario that was playing in her head. Subconsciously, she knew that Mathew had a pretty good idea what made her horny and wouldn't do it if he didn't think she would love it.

Mathew was teasing the man but he was also teasing Sandra. She couldn't speak for the man but she knew she was being teased because her knee kept shaking. This was a new experience. Flashing your tits or knickers at random strangers was one thing but here her husband was using her to put on a private performance for another man. She felt like she was committing adultery without being fucked.

Mathew went back to circling her nipple.

It was exciting. Yet she felt vulnerable. What if someone else came around to this area and discovered them. If it was a man, would her husband let him watch too? If it was a woman, would she make a fuss? All this added to her excitement.

Suddenly, Mathew placed his hands in her shoulder pads and whispered in her ear, "Cover yourself Slut!"

Strange as it may seem, this was more thrilling than everything else that he had done.

He took his seat opposite her as she slowly buttoned her blouse.

Her audience stood up and, leaving his coffee undrunk, walked right past her. He made no attempt to hide the boner in his trousers. Just before he rounded the corner, he said loudly, "Thank you!" Sandra wasn't entirely sure which one of them he was talking to.

She drank her coffee quickly but sat patiently while Mathew finished his.

"All done?" she asked.

"Yes, ready when you are."

"We need to go to Debenhams."

"Do we?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," said Sandra.

They made the short journey across the square and entered the department store. In the nearest Lady's Wear franchise, Sandra picked up a random dress from the rail, and taking Mathew by the hand, headed straight for the Fitting Rooms.

"You need to help me with the zip," she said to Mathew, a little too loudly he thought, as she took the Number 1 Disk from the attendant.

They passed a whole row of empty cubicles and entered the extra large one at the end. She dragged Mathew in and closed the door. Sandra dropped the dress on the floor as she plonked herself onto the stool.

She pulled Mathew to her and unfastened his jeans. His semi-erect cock flopped out. She grabbed it and fed the head into her mouth. Normally, she enjoyed indulging Mathew's love of oral sex but at this moment Sandra's only mission was to get him hard.

Didn't take long.

He knew that the Café experience had unleashed the tiger. He was ready to be mauled.

Sandra turned and braced herself against the stool. She whisper shouted, "Fuck me!" It's not the sort of thing that you can loudly shout in Debenhams, it's a respectable establishment. One wonders how far down the chain of the retail brands you would have to go before it became acceptable. Maybe C&A or even BHS.

Mathew lifted her satin skirt, pulled the G String to one side, bent his knees slightly and slipped very easily into her.

"God, when you called me a slut, I nearly creamed myself," she said.

"If the cap fits......" said Mathew, as he dug his fingers into her hips and ploughed into her.

"Oh!"

"Oh!"

"Oh!" said Sandra as quietly as she could.

Mathew asked her, "Shall I open the door?"

Sandra replied, "Yes! Yes! No, don't!" Even in the midst of passion she knew that appearing in the Magistrates Court would not be a good thing.

It didn't matter, just the thought of being watched by random customers was enough to push her over the edge. She stuffed her fist in her mouth as she came. That was enough for Mathew, he followed her.

"Do you need any help in there?" came the voice of the attendant.

"No, I've got all I need," replied Sandra.

.............................................................

When people talk about Bournemouth Beach you could easily get the impression that it's just a short stretch of sand (or shingle). In reality it is a part of a ten mile expanse of uninterrupted sand. It starts at Sandbanks, home to the rich and famous, in the West through to Hengistbury Head, where a beach hut with no running water and no electricity will cost the same price as a fairly decent house in the North of England, in the East. As you traverse its length, every town or Local Authority will do their utmost to convince you that it is their beach and they change the name accordingly.

Most of it used to be in Hampshire. Now, even the most diehard traditionalist will admit that it is all in Dorset. If you have trouble sleeping, message me directly and I will explain The Local Authorities Etc. (Miscellaneous Provision) (No. 2) Order 1974 to you.

Nevertheless, my point is, if you like a sandy beach and you are on the South Coast of England at any time it is there for you.

..........................................................................

"I don't bloody believe it!" fumed Sandra.

"What?" replied Mathew.

"They've only gone and made that useless tosser Bryne Evans Branch Manager."

"I thought that you didn't want the job. In fact you said that you wouldn't take it if they begged you," observed Mathew.

"I know, but it would have been nice to have been asked. I would have been much better than that wanker."

"Yes, but if you didn't want the job, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"I'm not working under Bryne. I've handed in my notice," said Sandra.

"Good, I've been saying for years that we don't need the money and that you should stay home."

"Oh I couldn't stay at home, I'd go mad."

"You could always come and work for me," said Mathew, not thinking that there was the faintest chance of that happening.

Sandra gave him a mock dirty look.

"I've fixed myself up with another job already as it happens."

"Have you now," asked Mathew, mentally running through all the types of employment that would require Sandra to flash her tits or legs.

"Yes, you remember Rayna from college?"

"What! Shagger Norris?" asked Mathew.

"Well she's Shagger Richards now, I mean Ryna Richards now," answered Sandra.

"She came into the Branch yesterday. She is the manager at a Travel Agents. They have a vacancy. We were chatting and Ryna said that I could have the job. It doesn't pay a lot but there are some great perks so I said that I would take it," enthused Sandra.

Mathew laughed out loud, "So, let me get this straight. You were so incensed by the appointment of Byrne Evans as Branch Manager that you resigned from your position knowing that you had already made up your mind to take a different job?"

"What?" asked Sandra, not fully understanding his point.

...................................................................

Mathew and Sandra tended to go to Spain or Portugal for their annual holiday. They tried to avoid areas that had Irish Bars or Fish and Chip Shops. Preferring to experience as much of the local culture as they could.

Since Mathew had discovered his penchant for exposing his wife, and her appreciation of being exposed, they had only been to the Algarve once. They had confined their activities to a topless beach and one instance of leaving a changing room curtain 'accidentally' open.

Ryna didn't consider Sandra's lack of globe trotting experience an impediment. Each day she would leave her in the back office reading holiday brochures for two hours. The rest of the day they spent laughing. They both had the same sense of humour, smutty.

"As well as the usual mix of ten or fifteen night package holidays most of the travel companies seem to have a section of three or four day trips," observed Sandra.

"Yes, the latest trend is city-breaks," explained Ryna.

"Hardly worth going, is it?"

Ryna laughed, "It's surprising what you can get up to in the time. Once you get from the Airport to a City Centre Hotel, everything is close by.

"Bars, restaurants, clubs and even culture, if you're that way inclined."

"I will have to suggest that to Mathew."

"Yeh, we've been to Madrid, Lisbon and Paris. Oh, and Amsterdam. Yes, Amsterdam was definitely my favourite," giggled Ryna.

She suddenly had a lightbulb moment, "There's a leaflet here somewhere. Here it is.

"There's a first class weekend break with a massive employee discount.

"A top notch hotel right near De Wallen," she added.

"Is that good?" asked Sandra.

"Oh yes, Amsterdam is so laid back. You can really let your hair down. And the beauty is that it's far enough from home that you can be really naughty and no-one would ever know. Me and Sid certainly did."

"I'll show it to Mathew, it sounds like the sort of thing he'd like."

....................................................

The locals still called it 'Hurn' but officially it was Bournemouth Airport. It took about ninety minutes to fly from there to Schiphol, that's the airport for Amsterdam. And a further 30 minutes before the taxi reached the Hotel De l'Europe.

Mathew thought that the hotel was pretty good but Sandra loved it. So luxurious. It overlooked a broad canal. The young lady on the reception desk told them three times what it was called. In the end they just called it the Canal. By the time they got unpacked and settled it was time for dinner.

.........................................................

Ryna had given Sandra a list of must do's. Late the next morning they caught a Canal Taxi to a spot that she had recommended. Evidently, the walk back to the hotel would take them along through the De Wallen. Ryna had said that that was where there were some sights that were worth seeing.

It soon became obvious that they were in the infamous Red Light District. This had always been somewhere they were going to visit but they had intended it to be in the evening.

Nevertheless, it was a pleasant day as they walked along hand in hand.

As 'Visit a Coffee Shop' was one item on Ryna's list, when they spotted one they sat at a table overlooking the canal.

A woman about their age soon approached holding a notepad. "English?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes, how did you guess?" enquired Mathew.

"You just kind of know. You don't look shitty like the French. If you were German, you would have sat somewhere more awkward.

"Are you from London? I went there once. It was OK."

"No, not from London," said Sandra.

"I suppose you want tea? But that's OK," said the woman. She was obviously Dutch but there was a little American in her English.

"No, two coffees, please," replied Sandra.

"You wanna smoke?"

"Oh, no we don't smoke."

"Brownies then?"

"What's in them?" asked Sandra.

"Oh, you know. Chocolate and a little hash," the waitress said, as if it were obvious.

"What sort of effect does that have," enquired Sandra, intrigued.

"It depends on you. Different people would say different things. But that's OK.

"For me, it goes straight to my cunt and clit. But that's alright. You might be lucky too," she said, in that straightforwardly 'anything goes' way that the Dutch do.