Only in Cap d'Agde - Four play

"Wow! Twins," Nick joked, in greeting us.

"Not quite identical," John said.

Like John, Nick tans. His skin, where we could see it, face, neck, forearms, was a pleasant shade of brown. Not Laura. Her auburn mane of hair matched a complexion that did not enjoy the sun so readily. She had told us she preferred the shade, and stayed beneath her beach umbrella. Her flesh was still pale, with a scattering of freckles from the exposure she would have had just walking to the beach and back.

"Who would have thought it?" Laura laughed, seeing my own white harness just like her own. "I love the way you wear white! And that jacket is amazing! Can I try it on?"

The same white satin jacket as before. Just on my shoulders. My arms free, the white cuffs that were part of the harness outfit fastened with buckles round my wrists. Laura, in contrast, had not worn a jacket. Nor had she worn the cuffs that would have come with her own body harness. But something else instead. A piercing of her own. Or more accurately, two.

They were not exactly obvious. The harness had too much steel. Rings and buckles, and decorative studs. But her navel piercing was the first of the two that I noticed. The imitation white diamond in the navel itself, the retaining steel ball an inch or so above. The other was even less obvious. Another unobtrusive steel ball, an inch above her protruding labia. Another diamond, perhaps, nestling, hidden, between them.

She smiled at me, warm, friendly, persuasive. I still felt the same instinctive liking for her. She had asked, and my default setting is to please, so I naturally slipped the jacket from my shoulders, offering it to her. She took it, and Nick helped her put it over her own shoulders.

"You know, you don't need it," he said to me.

Right at that moment, I wished that I had worn something else, not the body harness. With the jacket, I had felt dressed, safe, walking from our caravan, hand in hand with John, through the walkway below the apartments to the bar and restaurant area, then down past Melrose, the pole dance bar, through another walkway, boutique lined, and out to where we had agreed to meet, right by the restaurant we had decided on.

I had worn the harness before, to Tantra. I had felt good, even after checking in my jacket at the reception. My exhibitionism. My choice. Showing off my body. But Nick had changed that feeling. I now felt exactly what I was. Harnessed flesh, strapped into leather that offered up my breasts and slit and butt, baring them, constraining everything I was, announcing my availability for fondling, fingering, fucking. A walking, talking, living, breathing fuck toy. I knew for certain in that moment, that after we had eaten, Nick would want to fuck me, in one club or other. He had just told me with those words.

John and I sat opposite one another, just as the first time we had all four of us eaten together. Laura beside my husband. Her husband next to me. Male, female, male, female, round the table. The food was good. The wine, enjoyable. The conversation, general, but passing the time. Nick's hand, insistent. Beneath the table. Grazing my thigh. Then resting on it, on the two inch thick buckled strap that was fastened around it. Then reaching for the inner flesh. Then nudging at my slit. At every opportunity. Each time he put his knife and fork down, even momentarily. Taking possession. Ownership. His hand asserting his entitlement to my black flesh.

She knew. Laura could see. She could tell from the angle of his arm above the level of the table top. I could see her eyes watching, reading the signals, noticing the movement of his arm, and the flickering of my eyes. She knew.

John seemed oblivious. Enjoying the food and wine, and talking politics, and travel. Then getting out his credit card and paying for the meal, exactly as had been agreed. Repaying Nick for his previous generosity. Not that that was the repayment Nick was angling for. I thought of Shakespeare. The Merchant of Venice. Shylock requiring his pound of flesh. Nick was expecting rather more than just a pound. All one hundred and twenty-seven pounds of succulent, dark, harnessed flesh. He had even checked that it was moist and tender, where he most wanted it to be.

"We thought maybe we could go to Glamour," Laura said.

John looked at me. We had game planned the situation. We had expected it. They would invite us. We would say yes. We would at least have some drinks and dance. We did not have to do anything more.

Laura was looking in my direction. Nick's hand where I did not want it. One finger playing.

"We thought you might suggest that," I said, smiling the smile I use for any situation where I need it.

"So that's a 'yes'?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

**********

"I still can't believe we wore the same outfits," Laura commented, as soon as the door had closed.

The powder room at Glamour. Girls together. Wine and sparkling water at dinner, and a need to pay a visit.

"Honor?" I asked her.

The name of the online store. Ironic name. Most people would say what they sold was far from honorable.

"The same," she said. "We love their stuff!"

We went inside our separate cubicles. Privacy without privacy. I could hear the water she was passing, tinkling in the bowl. I guess she could hear mine.

Another girl was washing her hands when we came out. Olive skin, black hair, black lingerie, suspender belt, stockings, g-string, bra. The bra was more a shelf, lifting and offering out her flat, brown, shining areolas with their central stubs. She looked at us.

"Schon," she said.

German, for beautiful.

"Danke," Laura said.

The girl left us on our own, and we went to the brass basins, set on their varnished wood bench stand.

"Nick really wants to,..." Laura said, turning on her tap. "You know,...?"

"I know," I said.

I kept to myself my own qualms about the situation. Being there with them. The assumption they had made. My instinctive not really wanting to. Not Nick. Not wanting John and her to get together either.

"Sometimes," she said, "I'm not so keen on the woman that he fucks. I mean, it's just a gut feeling, and it's only sex. But, I mean,... with you,... it feels somehow right,... with some people you just feel instinctively,..."

We were both using the hand gel now, washing our hands more thoroughly that we really needed to, taking our time.

"I know what you mean," I said. "It's all a bit strange, the way you connect with some people and not with others."

"I could tell he liked you straight away," she said. "It was the same for me. Something about you. Just a feeling. But I knew we would connect."

We were rinsing.

"I know," I said, conscious that I was using the same two words again. "I kind of,... felt the same with you."

Hand towels, folded paper arranged in wicker baskets. We each dried our hands.

"Really?" she asked, binning her paper towel, touching my arm.

The first touch between us, Laura and myself.

I binned my own paper towel, turning towards her. The hand that was touching my arm moved up and over the curve of my shoulder, to the shoulder strap of my harness, then down the strap, tracing it with one finger, onto the flesh of my breast, the wide circle of the areola, the one that I had not had pierced.

"I love how wide those are," she said. "Sometimes I wish,..."

She did not finish what she was thinking. I guessed. She was exploring breasts that she did not have herself. She used her thumb. Squeezing the flesh of the areola, not the stub itself, behind it, where the ducts that would provide the milk reside, squeezing gently, making the ducts ride over one another, sending amazing sensations through the breast and rippling through my entire body.

"Did it hurt?" she asked. "When you had your nipple done?"

She released the teat she had been holding. Moved to my left breast. Finger-tipped the nipple stub. Then used the smallest finger of that hand, under the suspended heart, beneath the chain, the scarlet painted nail catching briefly on the stub, sending another spasm of sensation through me.

"A bit," I conceded.

Saying anything more than that would have needed my brain to be working normally, not to be swirling around inside my head the way it was. Not alcohol. Just sensual intoxication.

She pulled the chain towards herself, the steel heart centred on the pad of her slender finger. The chain pulled at the barbell with its steel balls securing either end, and the steel bar set through the piercing, drawing the areola into a cone of flesh, distending the breast tissue. She bent her knees in a half squat, and kissed the heart, where it was looped to her finger stub by the fine steel chain.

"That was your heart I kissed," she said, slipping her finger from the chain and then kissing the nipple stub, and saying, "and now I've kissed your piercing, and you must do the same for me."

We were alone, in what was a nicely fitted out, but not exactly spacious powder room, with a door that could open again at any time, but the look she gave me, amused, mischievous, but serious, all at once, somehow persuaded me to kneel on the floor, and kiss, first her navel, then the other piercing, the steel ball an inch above the thickness of her protruding labial lips.

"Don't stop until I say," she told me. "You have to lick between them. My labia. And suck them too. Prepare them for your husband. Don't stop even if someone else comes in."

Just the fact of having knelt in front of her and kissed her there, gave her control. I did exactly as she said. The first time that I had kissed another woman anywhere, and I was kissing and sucking on her cunt. It felt amazing to be doing it. Subservient, but empowering. Preparing her, she had said, for my husband. The kind of service only a wife who truly loved him would perform.

My tongue sensed the larger steel that had been hidden between her labia, right at her clit. I felt her shudder as I licked her there. Heard her gasp with pleasure. Heard the door open, but continued. Subservient. I knew that. But something felt so good to lap between those lips, and suck on them, and draw them into my mouth and bite so gently on the flaps of vulnerable flesh.

Door closing. Latch slipped across. Water swishing in the bowl. Latch slipped open. Someone standing close. Washing their hands. Then leaving. The outer door closing behind them. An unknown woman had just seen me lapping at another woman's cunt.

"That's good," she said. Laura. Giving me permission to get up.

"Now my mouth," she said.

I kissed her, softly, on her lips. She held me. One arm around me, holding me close, the other hand behind my head. Same height. Her mouth open now. Her tongue probing mine. A sexual kiss. My head released, the hand needed elsewhere. Between my legs. Fingers sliding into me. Taking possession of my cunt.

"You're beautifully wet," she said. "Nick will love that."

I did not tell her that he already knew.

She removed that hand. Then ran her other hand down my arm, my left arm, locating the leather cuff that I was wearing round my wrist. Steel buckle. Studs. Ring, shaped like a 'D'. Steel clip dangling. Her harness was the same, except she was not wearing the wrist cuffs, but she knew what that clip was there for.

The thigh straps had buckles, studs, and a 'D' ring too. The ring was on the outside of the thigh. Right where your wrist will naturally hang. It took her just a moment to thumb the clip onto the thigh strap's 'D' ring, securing my wrist. I knew what she was doing, but something made me submit. One wrist secured, she turned her attention to the other, and all I did was stand there, consenting, willingly.

I followed her from the powder room in a daze, still trying to comprehend what had just happened there. It was Nick who had been so keen to fuck me, yet it was Laura who had just taken possession of me, and my head was reeling. We went down the corridor, back to the main room with its bar and dance floor, and people past whom I had to walk what seemed a walk of shame.

Walking with my hands by my sides is completely natural and normal, but with my wrists secured it, and my body harnessed as it was, I felt enslaved. Some heads turned, but it felt as if everyone was noticing, and staring, and registering just how docile, how subservient, the Indian girl, or woman, was, whose arms were fastened by her sides.

I felt subservient, and I even thought about the word. The 'servient' comes from 'service' or what a servant offers. The 'sub' just means below. Submarines go below the water. Being subservient, I was below the level of a servant, who would do as they were asked, but there was no need to ask those below that level. To be subservient was to accept whatever might be done to you.

Nick grinned. John just looked. Taking it in, but not reacting.

"Cute," Nick said. "I've done that to Laura, but just at home. Bent her over the back of an armchair like that. Spanked her. Then fucked her, of course. That's why she wouldn't wear the wrist cuffs coming here. In case I did the same."

I forced myself to smile.

"John knows I like to play sub, sometimes," I said, as if to suggest that it was as much my own idea to use the thumb clips and the rings, as Laura's.

"I was just wishing we had a leash as well," Laura laughed. "That would be fun."

White woman with a dark-skinned woman on a leash, I thought. That would be one level too sub for me. John, yes. Then it would be fun, and a turn on, and I would enjoy it. Laura, probably not fun, but just possibly a turn on. Nick, no way would he get to play that game with me.

John smiled at me. I love that we can read each other so accurately. He was amused at the thought, but impressed with me, for braving the club and everyone's stares and whatever people were thinking of me, and still smiling sweetly, as I was.

He sipped his wine, which made me realise that there were two glasses of white wine untouched on the bar beside where the men had been standing. For Laura and myself. Laura picked them up. Sipped on. Grinned, turning to me. Held my glass to my lips. Tilted. Let me sip some. Tilted more. Some wine escaped my lips. Trickled from my chin. Ran down my neck. Between my breasts. Cold. Causing me to shiver.

I glanced down instinctively. The trickle of wine glistened under the disco lights. I looked back at Laura. She still had that playful grin that told me that the spillage was no accident. I held back from saying anything, kept my composure, and followed my parents' advice, to go along with other people, not make a scene, but always try to please.

**********

In Glamour, the play-spaces are downstairs. Not one just one room. Corridors with spaces off, on either side, some larger, others not so large. I knew what Laura planned for me. She had told the others while we all had finished drinking our wine. In my case, Laura offering the glass back to my mouth from time to time. Letting me sip. Spilling a little more. Keeping my body wet and slick for when we were downstairs, which we were now, looking for a place to play.

A lot of the spaces were already occupied. Couples, threesomes, groups playing together. People wandering around and watching. The space we stopped at was not so much a small room off the corridor, as a widening on the corridor itself, with a black, vinyl mattressed bed on a black box stand set against one wall.

"It's good," said Laura.

I was less sure. It was right where people would be walking by. But I did not argue. Laura at least unclipped my wrist cuffs from my thighs straps and I climbed onto the vinyl play-bed.

"Lie down," Laura told me, "on your back."

I did as I was told, my head at one end of the bed, my feet at the other. She leant over me from the head end of the bed, kissing my, inverted, then lapping am my chin.

"You taste of Sauvignon," she said.

You spilled the wine on me, I thought, as she licked my neck and then between my breasts, her own body hovering over me, her nipples aroused, her barely there breasts so pale in comparison to my own, right above my head. I kissed her breast bone, right between them, just as she moved on.

She climbed into the mattress, her knees beside my shoulders, her navel right above, the diamond glinting. I felt her tongue play probing mine, then licking towards my mons. She slid her knees on towards my elbows, and her tongue probed the slit that is my entrance. I felt her fingers open me. She lapped inside. I wondered if the taste down there was still of wine that she had spilled, or if it was now my own secretions she would taste.

This was not what I had expected. Not what I had feared. Not Nick fucking me. Not Laura with my husband. Not my wondering just how it would be to watch him, thrusting, fucking, coming, spewing semen, in another woman's cunt. In Laura. Not John and her, but her and me. Her tongue incredible. Knowing exactly where, and how, and pausing, teasing me by waiting, making me want more and more and more.

Her slender legs now formed a triangle of toned muscle right above me. Those amazing labial lips, like ripe fruit dangling from a tree, inviting, succulent, and tasting of her. I raised my mouth to them. Sucked on them. Drew them into my mouth and This I could enjoy. The star of her anus dark in the groove of her butt cheeks, only inches from eyes. Such detail. Everything in perfect, close up focus. The striations of her skin so clearly seen. Incredible.

Given the choice, I would have let that all continue, her tongue in me, probing, lapping, teasing my clit, sending delicious shudders through me, as I mouthed her nether lips, and tried to tongue between them, find her own clit, tease it just as much, but she changed the scene. She used her arms to straighten, raising her body, squatting. What had been an equal exchange of pleasure, a female sixty-nineing, both our cunts mouthed at once, became one woman dominating another, squatting over her, myself the bottom, Laura, again, the top.

Slender, but with strength in her legs to hold her torso, her buttocks grazed my lips and nose, not suffocating, but insistent that I worship with my mouth, not just her labia, but further. The star of darkness pressed against my lips, demanding adulation.

I froze. I had not done this to John. To anyone. Yet now this woman whom I knew from only just two meals together, was waiting for my tongue. I sensed an audience around us. Nick and john of course, our husbands, watching. Other too. Glamour's voyeuristic clients, pausing, intrigued at one of their own, offering her butt to a submissive, dark skinned woman, playing the dominant, my role to be the sub to her.

Not play. I had to accept that, however strong I might be at my place of work, with pupils and with colleague staff, when I was here, that was not me. I might feel liberated by the atmosphere, proud of my body, free to be me, but my true self was passive, compliant and willing to be as others around me would want me to be.

"You must always do as you are told," engrained in me, by loving parents, who could not imagine just what it might be that I would be told to do by others in a place like Glamour.

I used my tongue, and licked around the star, and probed its centre. Above me, Laura shuddered. Inwardly, I smiled a private smile. I still had power. The power to please.

**********

Nick did fuck me. Of course he did. By then, I would have allowed anyone and everyone to slide their cock inside me. All that concern that he did not really turn me on had been so needless. Having seen what I had seen, just after licking Laura's anus as I had, I no longer cared. Glamour may be so much more glamourous than Tantra, but it was there that I discovered just how raw and visceral sexual desire can be. Education, culture, civilised behaviour, mean nothing in comparison, when we surrender to our instincts and our basal, carnal needs.