Memoirs of a Swinger Ep. 29

This is the twenty-ninth episode of my unreliable memoirs. Each episode is self-contained, so you can read them without having read the previous ones (although sometimes it helps with the context and names a bit).

I hope you enjoy it.

M4bloke

******************

It was a Monday morning at the end of August and I was sitting in the passenger seat of Carole's Ferrari, admiring her legs as she piloted the little Dino north in the direction of Lyon. She'd let her short summer dress ride up to expose her lightly tanned thighs, along with just a glimpse of the white cotton panties she was wearing. I stroked her thigh then ran a finger across the top of her pussy. Carole smiled and parted her legs to give me better access.

The same thing had happened a year ago, the first time she'd taken me for a drive in her Ferrari. She'd worn a short dress then, with white panties and white tennis pumps to drive in. Since then it had become a ritual whenever she took me out in the car. We both enjoyed it.

Lesley, Carole, Fabien and I had arrived back in Provence, from Greece, on the Saturday. We'd had a great week on Daniel's yacht and coming back was a bit of a let-down for everyone.

Lesley and I had wanted to spend some time together while we were in Greece. Sex with other people was exciting but after a hectic summer and a year of living apart we needed to focus on each other for a bit. There was never a chance of us drifting apart but it was important that we reinforced the bonds between us. Now we were back in France however, it was the final week of our holiday and time to have some fun again.

On the flimsiest of pretexts Carole suggested that she take me to the Rhone Valley to research how some of the vineyards in the area were diversifying into high end hotels and restaurants. She'd booked us in for two nights at a winery which was also a small boutique hotel and Michelin starred restaurant.

It wouldn't have been fair to leave Lesley and Fabien back at the house and so Carole booked them into a hotel in Monaco. Lesley was incredibly excited about this. She loved games and gambling and couldn't wait to hit the casino in Monte Carlo. She also had a slightly addictive personality however, so Fabien had strict instructions to let her have fun but watch out that we didn't end up penniless.

Both parties had set off after breakfast on Monday, leaving Buster and Skye to hold the fort in Provence for the next couple of days. Carole and I stopped off in Montelimar for a bite to eat on the way and to buy some of their world famous nougat. Then we continued on to our destination, which had been created out of a former chateau nestling in the hills of the Pilat national park.

The lady on reception didn't bat an eyelid as she checked us in. Carole easily looked ten years younger than her forty five years and I could have probably passed for mid-twenties. So the perceived age gap wasn't enough to draw attention.

The hotel was small. It probably only had twenty rooms in total but it was stunning, both inside and out. The bellboy showed us to our room, which came with its own patio overlooking the vineyards. I gave him twenty Francs and he left us in peace. Once he'd gone it was a foregone conclusion what would happen. Carole and I hadn't fucked in two weeks and after fingering her in the car I knew she was on heat.

We kissed to begin with, but were soon keen for more. Carole let me lift off her dress then reach round and unhook her bra while she got to work on my shirt. It was new and, like me by now, the buttons were stiff. She giggled in frustration as she fumbled with them and so I offered to help, leaving her free to undo my belt and pull down my jeans down instead. Last to come off were Carole's white cotton panties. I tugged them down and she kicked them away, like a stripper.

I lifted Carole up and carried her to the bed. She squealed when I did this then she wrapped her arms around me and we kissed as I gently lay her down. She was as light as a feather and as delicate as a hummingbird. On any other day there'd probably have been foreplay, but it wasn't necessary. We both just wanted one thing. I positioned myself over her and with one hand I briefly fingered Carole's pussy. When I knew she was wet, I manoeuvred the head of my cock against her pussy lips then pushed in. I found myself slipping into her with ease and Carole sighed as she took my length inside her.

I always worried about fucking Carole too hard, especially missionary style. She seemed so delicate that the last thing I wanted to do was break her pelvis or something like that. So I started off gently, but after a while, and with her whispering words of encouragement in my ear, I found myself pounding into her as hard as I would have with anyone else. This was exactly what Carole wanted of course. We all wanted something different to the sex we got from our partners. In Monaco Lesley was probably getting the kind of erotic fantasy sex with Fabien that I knew she enjoyed, but wasn't very good at. This way everyone was a winner.

Carole wrapped her legs around my buttocks and gripped onto me tightly. She was so light, that with every stroke, I lifted her hips into the air then forced myself down into her, skewering her to the bed. She loved it and sunk her nails into my back, cursing as the orgasms ripped through her. I didn't want to stop. I could see how much she was enjoying it and I wanted to please her. So we fucked like this for a full ten minutes before I eventually came. Even then she didn't let go of me. She clung on tightly, forcing herself against me, until I went soft inside her.

When she did release me, I climbed off and lay beside her. Reaching down, I pushed two fingers deep into her cum filled pussy and pressed the palm of my hand firmly against her clitoris. With my tongue I teased her nipples then kissed her neck. Carole didn't say anything for ages. She just lay there and let the endorphins course through her.

"I'm forty five, Steven," she said eventually. "But you make me feel like I'm a student again."

"Honestly, Carole, when I look at you I don't see someone who's forty five."

"How old would you say, then?" she asked, fishing for a compliment.

"Oh forty seven, maybe fifty," I joked.

Carole thumped me playfully.

"The only way I can really answer that," I told her, "is to say that, to me, you're the same age as Lesley, Kate, Suzy, Sophie and Heike. I think of you all in the same way. And I'm constantly grateful that any of you want to spend time with me."

"Thank you, Steven."

"The other thing I should confess is that I can't get enough of your body. You and Lesley are very similar, so I guess that's no surprise. Lesley knows how much I like the way you look, that's why she exercises like you do."

"Now, I did know that bit," Carole laughed. "Sometimes she calls me up just to ask about her training regime. You know you're very lucky to have found her. I just hope she's having as much fun in Monaco with Fabien, as I am with you."

"I'm pretty sure she will be," I said. "I just hope she hasn't lost all of our money at the Casino."

We got up and had a shower then went for a walk in the Chateau's grounds. There was a formal garden and beyond this were the vineyards. The terrain was a little more hilly than in Provence but the vineyards looked fairly similar.

"Are you serious about doing something like this in Provence?" I asked.

"I don't know Steven," Carole replied. "I'd like to, but I'll be working for Durolitum and I don't want to burden Fabien, not after what happened with the winery."

I could see Carole's dilemma. Fabien had made a mess of the winery. There was no reason to believe he'd do any better with a hotel or a restaurant. He was an artist and that's what he wanted to be. It wasn't fair to force him to be an hotelier.

"You'd need to bring in people," I said.

"I know."

We walked back through the courtyard of the hotel. Just as a beautiful 1960's Mercedes-Benz 190SL Cabriolet was pulling up. An attractive, casually dressed youngish man got out and, carrying a small holdall, he disappeared into the reception.

"That's a nice looking car," I said.

"You like old stuff, don't you," Carole observed. Then she added laughing, "And that wasn't an invitation to make a joke at my expense. I've got a very fragile ego you know."

"I do," I told her. "Look at those lines. The car's got character. I like my Porsche. It's modern, fast, reliable, but that Mercedes is a thing of beauty."

We sat out in the courtyard and a waiter brought us some drinks. I was desperate for a beer. As we sat chatting, the young man with the Mercedes reappeared. He acknowledged us, then sat down at one of the tables furthest away and lit a cigarette. After the waiter brought him his drink he produced a folder from a satchel and began to read through its contents. Carole studied him for a while when he wasn't looking then turned her attention back to me.

"Do you want to eat in the Restaurant?" she asked. "It's got two Michelin stars."

"Is that good?" I asked.

"Even you know it is," she said, giving me another thump.

"I don't mind where we eat," I told her.

"Good, because I want to eat in the restaurant."

We finished our drinks and got up to leave. Carole leaned in to kiss me when we stood up and I put my arm round her waist as we walked back to our room. The young guy looked up from his folder as we left and we exchanged a polite goodbye.

"Do you know who that is?" Carole asked when we were out of earshot.

"No idea."

"That's the actor, Alain Besson. He's the 'enfant-terrible' of French cinema."

"He didn't look that 'terrible'," I said.

"No you're right, he didn't," Carole admitted.

"In fact he looked like the 'enfant-quite-considerate' the way he kept his distance while he was smoking."

"He's supposed to be having this on/off relationship with a French pop star, Julie Picardie," Carole continued. "She's very pretty but a bit of a livewire, while he's very moody apparently. They're always in the papers for getting drunk or fighting with each other. I wonder if she's here too."

French popular culture was a mystery to me. Unlike the rest of Europe, successive French governments had tried to resist the onslaught of American films and British music, by actively discriminating in favour of the French language in the popular arts. This had made France the cultural equivalent of the Galapagos Islands. Artists could be big stars in France but unknown in the rest of the world.

Carole and I got changed for dinner and Carole put on quite an expensive looking dress. It fitted her well and showed off her slender features.

"You look fantastic," I told her.

"Thank you," she said. "I wanted to look good for you."

Before we ate, we sat out on the patio of our room and had a glass of cold white wine. It was seven in the evening and the heat of the day was beginning to dissipate.

"This time next week we'll both be in London," Carole said.

"Are you going to stay with us?" I asked her.

"Not this time. I'm staying with Michael and Claire. But I'd like to next time, if you'll have me. Daniel's offered me the use of Lesley's old apartment when I'm in London, but it's not fair on Kate."

"Kate likes you," I said.

"And I want to keep it that way. Besides I quite like the idea of living with you, Lesley and Suzy. Perhaps some of your youth will rub off on me."

"The girls will be really pleased if you come and stay."

The restaurant was about half full when we arrived. Not bad for a Monday, I thought. As we studied the menu, the man I now knew to be Alain Besson walked in. He smiled and nodded, taking a table not too far from us and we nodded back.

Within five minutes the other diners were walking up to his table and asking for his autograph. He smiled politely and signed whatever bit of paper they stuck in front of him. I didn't understand the fascination with autographs. It seemed such a pointless pursuit. But to do it when somebody was trying to eat was just rude.

"Do you want his autograph?" I asked Carole, joking.

"On a menu, no?" she laughed. "On a photo, then possibly, but it can't be any fun for him having to do this wherever he goes. I mean this is supposed to be an up market restaurant and look at them all."

"Perhaps that's why he can be so moody," I said. "It would do it for me, I think."

The food in the restaurant was beautifully cooked and exquisitely presented, but the portions were small and I think I could have easily eaten the meal again. Afterwards we went back to our room and sat on the patio. Carole produced a cigar and expertly snipped the end off then lit it, rolling the cigar across the flame as she puffed on it. When it was lit she took a puff then reached over and kissed me. I tasted the smoke in her mouth as our tongues touched.

That night the sex was gentler, less frantic. Carole wanted to please me and, after fucking me cowboy style for a while, she went down on me and I came in her mouth. She gave me the most exquisite blow job and I was powerless to resist. As we lay there afterwards she told me she loved me, and I told her I loved her back. Neither of us felt guilty about saying it. It was true. It didn't mean we were about to run off together, it was just a statement of fact.

******************

In the morning we got up early and went for a run. Carole looked extremely sexy in her running gear especially when she did her warm up exercises on the patio. It made me chuckle to myself. She wasn't wearing her usual running kit and what she had on was obviously being worn for effect.

"I don't think I've seen you wearing this kit before," I told her, smiling.

"Do you like it?" Carole asked.

"Very much."

"Well stop being cheeky and just enjoy it then. A girl's got to make the most of her assets hasn't she?"

I laughed, but I was touched that Carole wanted to look sexy for me, even when we were running.

As running partners, Carole and I were evenly matched. We ran for an hour, determined to work off the food and the alcohol we'd consumed the previous day.

When we got back to the hotel we stretched off outside the entrance to the reception and as we did Alain Besson walked out to his car. He said something French to us and Carole replied, presumably explaining that I was English.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did you have a good run?"

"Yes, thanks. It's beautiful around here," Carole replied. "Then she added, "You're Alain Besson, aren't you?"

"Yes," he replied, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm Carole Bisset, this is Steven Carter," she said holding my hand.

"Hi," I said clumsily. "I was admiring your car yesterday."

"Actually I was admiring yours too. The Ferrari?"

"It belongs to Carole," I said.

"You have excellent taste."

"Thank you," Carole replied flattered by the compliment.

There was a pause which eventually Alain filled.

"I should be going," he said. "I don't want to be late. It was nice to meet you both."

"And you," Carole replied.

I fucked Carole in the shower when we got back to our room. She leant against its glass partition and let me take her from behind. It was short and sweet and I didn't last long inside her before I came. Afterwards, she peed while I fingered her, then she held my limp cock in her hand and guided my own pee over her tummy. I knew she enjoyed that. I watched as the stream passed over her pussy and then down her legs. We soaped each other off and then I left Carole in the shower to wash her hair.

I was shaving when she got out. She walked up behind me and put her hands around my stomach, then pressed her whole body against me. I turned around, and with shaving foam still on my face, gave her a kiss. I could feel my erection returning. Carole giggled as we kissed and when our lips separated she'd acquired a white shaving foam beard.

"You need to stop teasing me," I told her. "Otherwise we'll miss breakfast."

I ate a lot at breakfast that morning, partly to make up for the short rations at dinner the night before but also partly because the food tasted so good. There's always something about a hotel breakfast that means you have to go all out.

Afterwards we went on a tour of the winery. I was keen to see a professional set-up, having helped to build Carole's in Provence. Reassuringly, the two didn't look that different. Carole had plenty of questions for the owner and he was very generous with his time.

In the afternoon we drove into the hills and went for a picnic. It was nice to do something simple with Carole for a change. I could see that she enjoyed getting out in the countryside. The hotel had made us up a hamper and given us a blanket to sit on and we found a spot by a lake to set out our picnic.

"Have you had a good summer?" Carole asked as I poured her a glass of wine.

"It's been awesome," I told her. "The party, Provence, Annecy, Greece and now this. I feel very fortunate."

"And are you ready to go back to work now?"

"I am," I admitted. "You can have too much of a good thing and I'm excited, now that I know what I'm going to be doing. I'm still a bit surprised that Daniel's given me as much responsibility as he has."

"You know I think everyone can see it except you and Daniel," Carole laughed.

"See what?"

"Did you know that the crew on the yacht last week thought you were his son?"

The penny dropped.

"Seriously?"

"You're very alike, Steven. I remember telling you that the first time we met."

"I remember."

"Daniel sees something of his younger self in you. We both do. Daniel and I didn't have any children and he knows he needs someone to take over at Durolitum eventually. He wants that to be you."

"Have you spoken to him about this?"

"Yes, when I agreed to come back to work."

I thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure what to say."

"Just be aware that there's a plan. And promise me you'll stay loyal to him. There's bound to be tough times along the way and, when people see how good you are, other companies are going to make you attractive offers to work for them. I want you to promise me you'll stay loyal Daniel."

"I promise."

"Thank you. It will be worth it Steven. I promise."

"So if Daniel is like, my dad. Does that make you like, my mum?" I joked.

Carole jumped on top of me, straddling me like a cowboy.

"No it does not," she said with mock exasperation. "It makes me your lover and don't you forget it."

We were late getting back to the hotel and only had time for a quick shower before getting dressed for dinner. We needn't have rushed, the restaurant was virtually empty but for a couple of businessmen out for a meal.

While we were looking at the menu, Alain Besson walked in and as he passed our table he stopped to say hello.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Very pleasant," Carole replied. "We had a tour of the winery and then went for a picnic. How was yours."

"It was ok. I'm working a film. It's set in Paris but we have a couple of scenes to shoot here."

"Would you like to join us?" asked Carole. "It can't be much fun dining alone."

"I don't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be," Carole said and I agreed.

"In that case, thank you."

A waiter organised another place setting and Alain sat down with us. Over dinner he told us about the film he was working on and gave us an idea of what life as an actor was really like.

"There's a lot of getting up early and being shouted at by directors," he told us.

"That's not what we see in the papers," Carole joked.

Alain laughed.

"You don't want to believe all you read in the papers," he chuckled. "A lot of it they make up, some of it the publicists make up. Only a fraction is true."

"I have to ask you. Are you still seeing Julie Picardie, she's incredibly attractive."