Only in Cap d'Agde

It was all so quick, to reach that orgasm. So quick for Steel as well. He is not usually so quick. In fact, I love that he can seem to hold back as long as it takes for me to come. But I had just come, so it was so beautiful when I felt his cock spasm, then felt the first amazing spurt, then felt another, and one more, before the spurts subsided, and we both stayed still, movement of any kind risking more sensations too intense to bear.

A hand found my thigh. Not Steel. A man beside him. Older. Sitting. A woman kneeling just as I had done, sucking on his cock. He had reached to touch me. Perhaps because of my dark skin. His hand was tanned, but nothing like as dark as my own colour. I wondered if I felt the same to him as any European woman. Did my ethnicity make me somehow more erotic in his eyes, or beneath his palm?

His hand was resting midway along my thigh, but it did not remain there. He moved it closer to my torso. It had a scattering of jet black hair, that started on the backs of his neatly manicured fingers, and went past his wrist to where his white shirt sleeve was rolled up twice, to bare part of his forearm.

I did not move. The hand moved closer, rounding to my inner thigh. Close to where Steel's cock was still inside my slit. My cunt slit. My wet cunt slit, that now was oozing semen. He would not touch me there, except he did. His finger reached my clit. Made contact. Touched it so gently. The first man to touch that special place, not my husband, nor Steel, but now a total stranger. Just the touch so wonderful, sensations rippling inwards, through my lower belly.

The woman noticed where his hand was. She paused in her sucking of his cock, looking first at where his hand was, then at me, my eyes, her lips forming a soft smile. Pink lips, pink from the gloss that she was wearing. Part of her allure. Long blonde hair. Blue eyes, looking into mine. Like me, her breasts were bare. Not as full as mine, but with wide circles round her nipple stubs. A blue suspender belt. Blue, fishnet stockings.

Her hand was still around his cock, thumb and forefinger, near the base, most of the shaft and the entire head exposed. The head was not like Steel's, not mushroom shaped with a clear flange, but almost continuous with the shaft. Glistening with wet from her mouth. She broke off her gaze and looked at it, his cock. Then looked me in the eye again. Then at his cock again. Then into my eyes. An invitation.

My heart was pounding as I reached for it. A stranger's cock. Touched it. Wrapped my hand around it. Felt its hardness. Its warmth. Felt the skin move over the hard shaft as I moved my hand. She took her own hand away, giving me control. Then leant forwards, took the head within her mouth, and lapped at it, while I continued with my hand, until he came.

She swallowed everything. All of his semen. Then she cleaned him. Then she cleaned my hand, where semen had escaped her mouth and trickled onto it, licking each finger, one by one, the palm, the back. Then she mouthed a word. The French for thank you. That was when he took his hand away.

It was time to give up our space. I eased upwards, Steel's cock emerging, still thick, but no longer rigid, and slick with semen. I held it carefully, clear of his fly, backed away, and bent to clean him, tasting his semen, swallowing what I licked from him, while sensing more of his semen seeping from my slit. Sensing too, a hand exploring down between my legs, reaching from behind. Fingering me. My semen seeping cunt.

Steel's cock tucked back inside his fly, and buttons done, I stood. The woman who had been beside me was the person who had been fingering me. I turned towards her, uncertain. She was my height, and not so hesitant. She leant towards me, her lips opening over mine, her tongue exploring within my mouth. A stranger's kiss. A woman's kiss. My first. Tasting of her husband's semen.

My head swam with firsts. A stranger fingering me downstairs. A cock head grazing my slit. Sucking Steel's cock while people watched. Climbing onto him. Fucking, even if so briefly, before my first orgasm in front of other people. My clit touched by a stranger's hand. My hand around a stranger's cock, sensing the semen shooting through it as he came. Now this kiss. Teaching me that it was not only a kiss from a man that could thrill me to the core.

My head was still swimming with everything that had occurred when I found myself lying back on the bed, beside Steel now, who was sitting instead of lying back as I was, and felt the tongue lapping at my slit. Probing within. Cleaning my cunt of semen. Steel's semen. Another woman stealing it from me. Playing at my clit.

Exactly how I had come to be lying with the woman's head between my legs, from standing with her kissing me so intimately, I cannot remember, so I cannot say. It just happened. One moment, she was kissing me. The next, she was kneeling, licking me, tonguing, probing, exploring, her blonde hair spread across my stomach. Women could do this to each other. I knew that. Women who like women. What I did not know was just how good it was to have it done to me.

Just her hair was amazing. It is not just Caucasians who find interracial sex exciting. All my family and friends when I was growing up, in that part of London, were Indian. All of them with jet black hair. White skin and blonde hair were so very different. I had never touched blonde hair before, Not even with my hand. Steel was never blonde, and has no hair. He keeps his head completely shaved. Yet, now I had blonde hair draped across my waist, and a lightly tanned arm stretched upwards, slender fingers at the darkness of my breast, caressing it and playing at the blackness of my nipple stub. I ran my fingers through that hair. It thrilled me just to feel its fineness. It felt incredible, that hair, as did the woman's tongue between my parted legs.

A second orgasm. Brought on by her tongue. By everything. By people milling round us, by soft, diffused, coloured lights above, by jazz music playing in the background, by having had Steel come inside me in this glorious mayhem, by strangers having touched me, by blonde hair spread across the darkness of my body. A beautiful orgasm, not as intense as the first, but delicate, fluttering waves of ecstasy, rippling through me as I lay there, trancelike, in my own erotic dream.

I learned so much that night. I learned that people liked my body. Perhaps they like it for the colour of my skin. The difference of a complexion that is so dark because it is, and not because of sun. The difference of ethnicity, of being Indian in a European world. I learned that people like to look, to touch, caress, and fondle, to attempt to penetrate, even to use their tongue where it is most intimate.

Queuing, I had been nervous, of my nakedness beneath the jacket I had worn, and of what might transpire inside the club. I learned there was no need for any nervousness in baring those most intimate places in a club like this, or anywhere in Cap d'Agde. I am just a woman. With dark skin. But still a woman like so many others. With breasts, and nipple stubs, a pubis and a cunt, and I can take some pride in showing off the body that the Gods have blessed me with.

I learned something also about Steel. That he can love me totally, as I love him, but he does not need to possess me. He can let others touch me and caress me, even intimately, and is not threatened if I touch and stroke in response, not even if it is a stranger's manhood.

I learned something about myself. About my body. That it responds to touch. That my love for Steel is in my mind and heart, and with that love, I love his touch, and making love with him, but my body does not mind if pleasure also comes from strangers. It does not need love for sexual joy. A woman's tongue can bring that ecstasy about. A woman I have never spoken to, had never seen before, and may never see again.

I learned all that, in just one night. In the remainder of that holiday, I learned to enjoy the touch of others even more. Steel gave me the freedom to explore. We went back to that corridor. We used the room upstairs. We went to other clubs. I wore other night-time clothing, not just those shorts. A stretch dress made entirely of holes. A corset worn with nothing else, my breasts and cunt left free. A suspender belt of leather and steel chain, with black fishnets. Always, my breasts and cunt exposed, displayed.

I danced. With Steel of course. With other men as well, who took advantage of my near nakedness. It seemed to be that any part of me that could be freely seen, was freely touched by hands, or fingers. I learned to love those touches, even those which delicately probed within.

I pole danced too. The bar where I had first seen it has a long platform with two poles, where anyone can climb up to shoulder height, and dance as freely as they wish. I climbed up to dance around a pole, not practiced dancing, but purely instinctive moves. And I found that dancing on that platform, you may be touched by other dancers. Or by anyone standing close enough to reach their hand to touch your leg, your calf, your inner thigh, or if you drop and open wide, to touch you there.

We loved the scene. I found freedom there. Steel seemed to love me even more for how I embraced it all. I loved him for allowing me to find myself. I knew that I would come back again, if Steel would have me come with him.

**********

I was already dressed as if for Cap d'Agde., even though we were still three hundred miles north, cruising down the autoroute. The start of the holiday, one year on, engaged to marry now, not just a girlfriend, his fiancee, an amazing diamond ring on the finger that counts the most.

Just a skirt and top. Ten short inches of shiny, white, skater skirt, with nothing underneath. The kind of skirt that rises when you twirl. A fishnet top, in white string, with half inch diamond net, sleeveless, that stopped level with the undercurves of my breasts, that exposed the darkness of my breast flesh in the diamond holes and even let my nipple stubs poke right through. Steel had been online shopping yet again, and had left them out for me to wear after our hotel stop midway through France, a little early exhibitionism to ease the boredom of the drive.

Steel can drive. I trust him totally. Even one handed. His other hand was resting on my thigh. Not yet tanned. So strong and white against the darkness of my skin. My unprotected slit was longing for it to come much closer.

"You can go further this year, if you like," he said.

I looked at him. His profile. To me, he is quite a handsome guy. He had not turned to speak to me. His eyes were focussed on the road ahead. His head was calculating distances, between our own and other cars, all cruising at high speed. The French, German, Dutch, Belgian, Swiss, and every other European nationality, all headed to the sun, packed with everything, top boxes, bike racks, trailers, caravans, weaving through French commuters, van drivers, articulated lorries, all driving south.

"Further, how?" I asked him, although I was sure I knew exactly what he meant.

"I mean, as far as you want to go," he said. "I don't want you to hold back from anything you'd enjoy."

"Beach tennis?" I suggested.

"Funny," he said. "Not little rubber balls."

"Any particular kind of balls?" I asked him. Women can make jokes as well as men.

"Ones with a hard cylinder of flesh to play with too," he said.

"Just to play with?"

"To enjoy," he said. "Whatever way you like."

It was time to take the conversation seriously.

"Do you mean, you'd like me to have sex with someone else this time? To actually let them go all the way with me?"

I reached beneath his arm to his leg. He was in shorts. Too hot for jeans. I felt the cotton fabric, not his skin, but I eased my hand between his legs. The man I loved was hard.

"Because it feels like you would like that," I added.

"No," he said, still looking straight ahead. "I'm just conscious that it could happen. It was pretty close last year."

"I guess," I said. "But that was just fun. I mean, going all the way is different."

"It doesn't have to be," Steel said. "Different, I mean."

"But it would be," I said. "I mean, if you were to,... with someone else,... I'm not sure I could handle it."

"I wasn't planning to," he said. "I happen to have found an incredibly beautiful woman who I love making love to, as well as loving everything about her, so I'm not looking to make love to anyone else."

"So it's not like you're suggesting we try swinging?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I just know that we got pretty close to guys going all the way with you last year, and I've been working out how I'd feel if it happened this time, and I guess if anything I'd feel good about you enjoying it. So if,.."

"Okay," I said. "Wow. That's something. But, does that mean you'd want me to?"

"I'd want to watch, at least," he said.

Thinking back, I should have been shocked. Instead, I was intrigued. The man I loved, who held down a pretty serious job, who was as strong and as assertive a man as I had met, was revealing a side to him that he had never shared before. He could enjoy watching a stranger fucking me, even though I was now his fiancee, the woman he would marry fairly soon. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs, and really wished that he would move his hand just that fraction up my thigh, and feel how wet I was becoming.

"Besides,..." he said.

"Besides,...?" I asked.

"Okay," he started. "So, we've both been married before we got together, but in your case he's the only other guy you've been with, whereas I had quite a few girlfriends before I got married, and you know I explored things with other women after splitting from my ex, before we met."

I knew. We had been honest with each other. I knew of at least four other women he had had medium term relationships with before we met, and he had been honest that he had slept with several others too. Not something that I liked to think about, but I knew.

"Okay,...?" I said, waiting to find out what he was getting at.

"So, first, I'd rather not that your ex was the only other guy you've been with, if that makes any kind of sense. I'd rather he was further in the background, just one of at least several other guys."

I was listening. Tuning in to every word and nuance, the way that women do. It made some kind of sense. There was a logic to it. But something more as well. In one way, I could see what he was suggesting. I did not like remembering things with my ex any more than Steel liked thinking about the guy. It still seemed an extreme way of getting my ex out of my system.

"Okay," I said, just the same. "I'm not sure I agree with your suggestion, but I can see it makes some sense."

"Second," Steel continued, "I think that you have as much right as anyone to explore what it's like to be with other men."

I could feel myself get even wetter when he said that, but I was not going to let him know that.

"I mean, you know I've slept around a bit," he added. "You've never really had the chance. So if you wanted to, I don't think it would be fair of me to say you can't."

"But maybe I don't need to," I said. "What we have is good. The kind of playing we did last year was good as well. But maybe I don't need to go all the way with someone else. Besides, I'd be worried you'd be hurt, even if you don't think you would."

His hand moved. All the way.

"You're wet," he said.

"You're hard," I said.

"So,..." he said. "If just talking about it turns us both on,..."

I was busy remembering the year before. The guy on the vinyl bed beside us in the club, whose cock I had stroked when his wife or girlfriend suggested with her eyes that she would like me to. I wondered what it would have been like to suck his cock instead. To lick the head. To go on top of him the way I had with Steel, and lower myself onto it. To have him come inside me.

Would it have mattered? Would Steel still have loved me as much? Would we have split up? Would Steel still have proposed to me, if I had done that? Would we be heading back to Cap d'Agde together, or be apart?

They were all good questions. There was no way of knowing for certain what the answers were. All I knew was that the guy I loved so totally was offering me the get-out-of-jail-free card. A free pass. If I wanted to use it. And my slit was telling both of us, that whatever my head and heart thought, it was more than ready to play that card.

"I'm still not sure," I said eventually.

"You don't need to be," he said. "The offer's there. You don't have to say anything right now. Or ever. But if we get in a situation in one of the clubs, and you want to go that bit further than last year, you won't need to check with me before you do. Okay?"

I was feeling shocked by then. The realisation of exactly what he meant was hitting me. But it also meant a lot to me that he was offering me a freedom that not many wives or girlfriends, or fiancees for that matter, are ever given by their guys. That was pretty big. I sensed a lot of love behind what he had said to me. Some lust as well. His cock showed that. But mostly love, I thought.

"Okay," I said. "But don't be disappointed if it doesn't happen. Okay?"

"Okay," he said. "I love you, babe."

"I love you too," I said.

The timing turned out perfectly. Steel flipped the indicator stalk, moved into the right lane, then onto the slip road to the services. Both hands now on the steering wheel. He parked. We climbed out for a comfort break.

A breeze was blowing. It caught my skirt, lifting it, right up. Bared my butt. Nothing underneath. I used my hand to brush it down. The front went up instead. All the way. Just as a couple in their sixties passed by in front of me, catching a glimpse of a dark, Indian slit. I tried to control the front and back together, but I failed. The breeze kept playing its peek-a-boo games with me, all the way to the entrance to the services.

"Leave it," Steel suggested, taking my hand as he always did.

I left it. The skater skirt fluttered around me, just like my orgasms flutter inside. People looked. Some grinned. I smiled inside. My slit was definitely Cap d'Agde ready.

**********

Back at the same club. I had been dancing. Solo. Steel watching from the padded bench seat. Then not so solo. Two guys with me. One in front. The other guy behind. I was in my leather garter belt, with another pair of fishnet stockings. Black, but with a sliver thread, so that they stood out more against my skin. Still diamond mesh. Nothing else. Breasts bare as ever in these clubs. Buttocks too. And slit.

My heels gave me four inches, which brought me up to shoulder height with those two guys. Arab, maybe. Some of the single guys seemed like they are not on holiday, but locals, out for the night on one day passes, just looking for an easy fuck, a wife whose husband likes to share.

They closed in together. The guy behind me put both hands beneath my arms and found my breasts. Straight to my nipples. Fingers and thumbs, not palms. Gripping, not caressing. Squeezing, not teasing. Hurting, just a little, just on the border between pain and pleasure. The pain side of the border. His cock pressed against my butt. Hard. Erect.

"You like to fuck?" he asked, his voice harsh, right at my ear. French accent, but English words.

It seemed a totally unsubtle pick up strategy, but I told him the truth.

"I love to fuck," I said. "But just my husband."

The last part was then a lie. We were not married then. Not quite.

The other guy was already part of a slowly moving stand up threesome, one hand behind my neck, the other at my slit. My cunt. I have to learn to say that. I have a cunt, and he was fingering it, two digits, middle and ring fingers, right the way inside.