Only in Cap d'Agde

This is my story, edited by my husband, Steel. I wrote it to after reading some of the stories that he's posted, some total fiction, and some based on our experiences in Cap d'Agde, where we have holidayed every year since the year we met. It took me a while to write it. I hope that it is not too long.

I really wanted to express a woman's feelings about being 'shared'. Partly therapy, for me, as well. It felt good to write about what happened, and about my feelings. Things I've never really said to anyone before. It cleared my head, or rather reconfirmed my thinking.

Steel told me that some readers' comments might be pretty negative, because some readers don't like the idea of sharing, or can't believe that a married couple can stay together afterwards. For me, it's the difference between sexual enjoyment and real love, for the person, not just a part of their anatomy.

One other thing. He's told me about using tags, to attract readers who like the theme, and one of the tags he's used is 'cuckold'. I really do not like the word. It suggests a wimpish husband whose wife does what she wants, or where another man makes use of her without the husband wanting it to happen, or unknown to him. We need another word, for strong minded, secure men who give their wives the freedom to enjoy sex with other men, need nothing in return, and are in no way diminished by it.

Anyway, if this is not for you, then that's okay, but just move on. Thank you so much!

**********

Queueing for the club in Cap d'Agde, I felt exposed, nervous, yet somehow excited too, and definitely aroused. My nipples were erect. My vagina was already feeling slick and wet. I was really doing this, waiting in line to go inside a swinger's club, with a guy that I had only met four months before, but who I was pretty sure I loved already, who I trusted, and who I knew would take good care of me.

Like the other women in the line, I was not exactly overdressed. A pair of sexy shorts, a set of fine gold chains, a stylish jacket in white, that was left open at the front, and a pair of heels, four inches high, in black.

The jacket and the heels were mine. I knew that we would be going out to restaurants while we were there and had brought some sexy dresses. The jacket had been to wear if it got cool. What I had not realised was just how sexy the dress code in Cap d'Agde is. The dresses of my own that I had brought, were good for any London nightclub, but not for here. They teased, without exposing. In Cap d'Adge, nothing is too daring or extreme. Exposing is pretty much the rule.

My guy had known that and had come prepared. Amazon, and some other websites, he had told me, when he showed me what he had bought for me to wear. So, when I say that I was wearing shorts, I mean seriously short shorts, pocketless, in red stretch fabric, with oval cut outs, two at the sides, baring a little extra thigh flesh, and one that went all the way around my slit, exposing my hairless pubic mound, all the way between my legs, and half way up my butt, stretching to three inches wide, everything exposed.

The gold chains were purely decorative. Not real gold. Just imitation. The shortest fastened at the back of my neck, beneath my hair, and reached to my cleavage. The other three were each a little longer, the longest reaching to the bottom of my ribcage. A waist chain held the others wider than they would have been, had they just hung loose. My breasts, of course, were bare, so that the third longest of the chains played at my nipples, helping the stubs to stay erect, although, exposed to the night air, they would have stayed like that themselves.

The jacket was for modesty, for walking from the caravan we were staying in, past people eating at the restaurants, and drinking at the bars, and down the paved walkway to the club. Once inside, I lost the jacket, checked in at the cloakroom, and I felt so naked, walking through the doorway to the bar, now topless, my slit exposed. The shorts were the colour that most attracts the eye. It might have been the colour of the shorts, or the colour of my skin, but I felt like every eye was looking straight at me.

Steel has already written his version of our adventures at Cap d'Agde. He changed my name, but also my ethnicity, to keep anyone who knows us from realising what we have done on holiday each year. He called me Yuki, and said that I was Japanese, which was interesting to read. He also made up some details, things that might have taken place but, not quite the way he wrote it.

Describing what happened my way, I will take the risk of saying that my real ethnicity is Indian. My parents are from South India, but I was born and raised in England. Which is why my colour comes into how I felt inside that club. Cap d'Agde is golden. It is ninety nine percent Caucasian, tanned to varying shades of gold and brown, but nothing like as dark as me, and a different type of brown, not my colour tone.

South Indians can be almost as dark as any African, Quite a bit darker than many Indian women want to be. There is a strong preference in India for lighter skin, with skin whitening creams advertised in magazines and on the television. I dislike this trend so much. I think my colour suits me, even if it is a total contrast to women from, say, Delhi. A total contrast, too, to the Caucasian tans that are so commonplace in Cap d'Agde and in the South of France.

Which is why I got those looks. No one in that bar looked like me. Fifty, maybe sixty people, sitting, standing, dancing, all of them Caucasian, all noticing the dark skinned woman with the Indian looks walking into that bar, mini-disco, call it what you will. My stomach churned with nervousness. My heart was beating wildly. My hand held Steel's so tightly. But I somehow walked on in.

Steel guided us to the bar. We got our drinks. No space to sit, so we found some room to stand. We both had rum and cokes. I sipped mine greedily, looking for Dutch courage. I could feel all those eyes on me. I sensed my body being appraised. What would it be like to fuck her? Do they swing, or are they just here to get the atmosphere? The men, obviously. Most of them with their wives, or girlfriends, but single men as well. Quite a few. Looking for couples who share. Eyeing me. Curious about me, because my skin is so different to their own.

This was of course so totally insane. It was not who I was brought up to be. My parents are Muslim, and would have been turning in their graves, except they are still alive and well, in suburban London. It was my parents who had arranged my first marriage to a family friend. Not a success. But I stuck with it, out of duty, as good Indian daughters do, for almost eleven years. Then we finally split, to my parents' eternal shame. I stayed single for a while, wondering if I could find an Indian guy who they would accept, who I could really fall in love with, and live happily with, for ever more. Instead, I met this nice, white guy, that I am calling Steel.

He is editing this for me, because he writes a little better than I do, but when I say that he just seemed a really nice guy, it is because that is the truth, not because I have to say that. It is why I later married him, and am still with him eight years on. He is strong and secure and also kind and gentle and caring and funny and loving and I love making love with him. He is every guy I need. I sensed that early on. Which is why I tried to impress him from the start, to be the woman that he would want.

Wanting to impress him, when Steel first told me about this place in France where you can not just sunbathe naked, but it is a whole naturist complex, I said that I would love to go there. He told me more, about people dressing as sexily as they dared at night time, and clubs like this, and the thought scared me stiff, but I had said it to impress him, so I was kind of committed. Steel took me at my word, and when we planned our first holiday abroad together, he suggested that we go.

So, a slightly shy, well brought up, respectable, middle class, Indian woman in her early thirties, who had never been seen naked by anyone except her ex-husband and Steel himself, found herself walking around naked on a campsite and at the beach, stomach churning, but committed to impressing this guy. Even shopping naked. And getting all these looks. My dark skin making me stand out.

Not that I was confident, not then. My parents had always commented on my looks. My nose was too big. My eyes too big as well. I would never get a husband. Not with my looks. It had to be arranged. I had believed them. Parents know best, after all, except Steel changed that. He told me he loved the way I look. That I was beautiful. That he was proud to be with me, to show me off. He was so convincing that I almost believed that it was true.

Buying me those shorts, the chains, and other clothes that he had bought, proved to me what he was saying. He liked my body. He liked the way I look. He wanted to show me off. So, of course, I let him. Not as an innocent little girl, but as a mature thirty something woman, a reasonably successful professional, even if a marriage failure, and even if I was still at first self-conscious, and shy, about my nakedness.

Not that my body is as perfect as Steel tells me. I am average height, for an Indian woman, which makes me below average in Europe. Between average and petite. My breasts are fuller than my frame would suggest, tipped with jet black nipples. No circles round them. Just black cherries set on dark brown skin. My waist is not as trim as it should be, but my hips and butt are rounded. My slit is exactly that, a slit. No lips. Just my private entrance, to find the way inside me. It was not so much appreciated by my ex, but Steel enjoys it, just as I enjoy his manhood when he is inside and moving nicely.

One more thing about those first days in Cap d'Agde. As well as being self-conscious about being naked, I was also so embarassed that, everywhere i looked, other people were naked too. There were just so many naked bodies! On the beach, packed like sardines. So many men with their manhoods showing. So much variety. I did not know where to look. But even a shy Indian woman can become used to anything, and by the time that Steel took me to the club, I was no longer quite so shy.

He had told me about the swingers' clubs, of course. He said that he had never been, although he had stayed at Cap d'Agde with a previous girlfriend. Which also was a reason why I had said that I would love to go. Anything a previous girlfriend has done, I had to do. If she had gone naked, then I would too. Even if she had not gone to a club with him, I would prove that I was brave enough to go, to be better than she was.

We did not actually plan to swing. I had hardly even heard of swinging, let alone thought of doing it. A well brought up girl does not think such thoughts. They are content with their husband, or with their man, as Steel was then. And I was very content with Steel in that department, and with the orgasms that he gave me. And jealous too. I did not want to see the man that I was falling in love with, with another woman. But Steel was curious. So, I was curious too. Just to see inside, to know what happened in such a club.

My heart was still pounding as we stood with our rums and cokes, and I could not look anywhere without seeing one man or another looking back at me. But still I took in our surroundings. Disco lit, not bright. A dance floor. People dancing. Bench seats at the wall beyond. Drinks tables. A low stage to one side, with two poles. I knew about pole dancing then. A bar that we had been to several times featured pole dancing on shoulder high platforms, where you could stand close to watch. This stage was low. Beside it, there was an entrance to some other space, with people going in and coming out.

"What do you think happens through there?" Steel asked me.

We had been told that the rooms upstairs were for swinging, with beds to use. Nothing about through there, so of course I did not know.

"How would I know?" I laughed, looking up at him, "but we can find out if you want."

We did find out. A long, winding, barely lit corridor. Small rooms on either side. The first time that I saw people actually doing it together. We could look through open windows, watching them. A man licking a woman. A woman on her knees, with the man behind. Two men with one women. She used her mouth with one, while the other moved inside her.

We could actually watch. Anyone could. Mostly it was men doing the watching. Some couples, like ourselves, but mostly men. Men we could not properly see because the corridor was so dark. Gathering at the windows. Close behind us. I held Steel's hand so tightly. This was so new, to be almost naked, with a group of men so close to me. Then feeling someone's hand, not Steel's, caressing me, my butt. Finding that cut out in my shorts, the one that came from underneath and formed an oval to expose the cleft between my buttock cheeks, fingering that cleft. Then reaching further down, between my legs.

I had not expected this. Not touching. Not anywhere, but definitely not right there. I nearly ran right then, but I was determined not to let Steel down, to impress him, even if he did not realise what was happening beside him. Somehow I summoned up the courage not to move. The finger took advantage, going where it wanted to. The tip, inside my slit, from in between my legs. It went in easily, because I was already wet.

I was in shock, I think. But I also knew that in another way, it felt nice. I had already started to accept that anywhere I went, I would get looks. I liked the feeling of being desired. Now I was being touched, and touched so intimately, and it felt good, both the physical sensations at my slit, and the knowledge that men wanted me, even if I did not want anything from them.

Another hand reached around my side and cupped my breast, as if its size and weight were being measured in that way. Maybe the same person. Maybe someone else. I am proud of my breasts, that they are full enough to attention even when i am fully clothed in London, and have kept their shape since they first formed. I even like my nipple stubs, and now I felt one being strummed, the person's fingers playing up and down on it, and felt the shivers running from that breast, through my body to my slit and back again. It seemed so bad of me, that it should feel so good. From a total stranger, too. That made it very bad. And good.

We were still watching the two men with one woman. She was still sucking one, while being, and now I have to use the word, 'fucked' by the other. It is not a word I like to use, but in writing this, I have no choice. I thought that we should move away but did not want to be the first to say so. I felt the finger at my slit easing out of it, and then removed entirely from between my legs, only to feel something else touching me there, gently pushed between my legs, touching my slit, but not inside.

I knew what it had to be. My heart stopped. Too thick for a finger. Too rigid. Right at my slit. Feeling so good and yet so terrible. I froze at first, and felt it slide further between my legs and then ease back. My wetness meant that it was sliding much too freely. It slid in again, not penetrating, but the head playing against me. Next time, it could find its way within.

I squeezed Steel's hand so tightly.

"We need to go," I said. Even I could hear the urgency in my voice. "It's too claustrophobic."

As always, he responded to my needs immediately. He led me out of there, not realising what he had just rescued me from.

More drinks. I needed another.

"Wow," I said. "That was amazing! People doing that, with others watching! Did you know that we would see that?"

Steel smiled.

"I guessed we might," he said. "Are you shocked?"

"A bit," I acknowledged.

I was actually very shocked indeed. Not just at what we had seen through those windows, but at what had just happened to me, and at my response. I could still feel the cock head that had grazed my slit, and the feeling was so nice. I needed to be touched there even more. To have a cock inside me. Steel's cock, of course. But it was a stranger who had made me feel this way. That shocked me.

"Can we go upstairs?" I asked.

"Sure," Steel said. "I guess we can take our drinks."

Upstairs, the first space that we came to held two large vinyl beds, with people round them, watching those on the beds enjoying sex with each other. Mostly men were watching. We got close enough to see. On each bed it was one woman and two men. We did not stay to watch at either bed. Too many men in front of us. Although I felt more hands on me. Just my back and buttocks. Maybe the colour of my skin attracted those hands, more than if I had been just another tanned European woman, but those hands most definitely kept my feelings alive.

A double door led to another, larger space. Couples only. A man sitting to make sure that no one entered on their own. Inside, a bar. A huge vinyl bed, with maybe twenty couples on it, some lying, some just sitting, some engaged in sex, some watching, some just talking. Some smaller beds, for six or eight to use. A similar mix of people having sex or not. Bench seats around some walls, all occupied. Drinks tables, with glasses, ice buckets, bottles of sparkling wine. Some women on their knees in front of men, their head in the man's lap. Which made me decide that I would do that to Steel. I would prove myself to him.

We found a space. One of the smaller vinyl mattresses. Steel offered for me to sit, always considerate, but I told him he should sit there. Then I knelt, the way the other women did. I opened up his fly, took out his cock, already thick, if not quite hard, and put my lips around the head.

He hardened. Of course, he hardened. I had learned to please my husband, even in that unhappy marriage. I knew how to suck a cock, how to use my lips and tongue. How to lick the shaft. How to hold it, stroke it while I sucked. Now that I had found a man I loved and looked up to, I loved sucking on his cock. It is bigger than my husband's was. Longer. Thicker, too, but not too thick. Tasting of precum. Bitter sweet. I love his taste.

There was space behind him, and I used my hands, encouraging him to lie back while I continued sucking at his now rigid cock. Then I climbed onto the bed, astride him, angling his cock, touching it to my slit, and lowering myself onto him.

The shorts that he had bought for me made everything so easy. The long oval cut out that left my mons exposed meant that I could take his cock inside with no need to take the shorts off and be naked, or to try to hold them to one side. His cock felt wonderful. It always does. But having it inside me in the club, with maybe sixty, eighty people all around, felt so amazing. Others fucking right beside. People walking, casually watching cocks sliding into, and now I think I have to use the other word I never chose to say, into cunts.

He uses it. The cunt word. He tells me while we are making love that he loves my cunt. My husband never called it that. He called it 'coochy'. That is not so sexy. I like that Steel calls it what it really is, a cunt. My cunt. He even said he liked that the shorts I wore displayed my cunt. Now his cock was in my cunt, and everyone could see. The professional, correct, Indian woman had a cock in her cunt and was fucking in a swinger's club, even if it was her own man, or the man she hoped would be her own, that she was fucking.

It just happened. All by itself. The fluttering in my cunt. Steel reaching for my breasts, strumming my nipple stubs, like the man in the corridor, sending sensations I cannot describe through those stubs and down my spine. Then the fluttering becoming more intense. I raised my body, lowered it again, his cock sliding out and in again so beautifully. The fluttering becoming a little earthquake, not just inside, but where his cock shaft grazed my clit. Then my whole body was shuddering and quivering, and the delicious orgasm took me over, captured my entire self, beautiful, amazing, wonderful.