Only in Cap d'Agde

So often, when I come, the ripples of my vaginal canal around his cock draw my husband to that point of no return when he will come inside me, spurting his semen through his shaft and out into my womb. I love that we enjoy that synchronicity, in making love, as in so many other things.

That, however, was not how it was with the unknown man whose cock had triggered that explosion of an orgasm. While my body was convulsed with ecstasy, he kept still, his cock remaining deep within me, but with no release of semen, no flooding of my womb, no ejaculation. I felt only the hardness of his cock around which I was in such a cataclysmic heaven.

Then, as I began to drift downwards from that high, depleted, he began to fuck. Both hands around my thighs, he used that hold for leverage, thrusting rhythmically at my cunt. Rhythmically, but not a straightforward thrust, withdrawal, thrust, withdrawal, repeated without change or variation. His rhythm was more syncopated. Three slow, steady insertions of his cock, deliciously drawn out, followed by a hammer blow, a hard, fast thrust, ripping into me, his body hitting mine, groin against groin. Then a half beat rest. Then three more slow and steady. Then that momentous thrust. Repeated, in perfect four-four time, drawing me back to the high I had just left.

Blindfolded, I had no clue as to what kind of man was fucking me so methodically. Tall, short, lean, built, not even what colour, although this being Cap d'Agde, the chances were that he was white, Caucasian, but with a tan all over. Except his hands were strong, I could feel the strength in their grip on my thighs, and his cock was solid, thick and long as my husband's is, and as uncompromising in its insistent, rhythmic thrusting.

It felt so good, and yet I felt a pang of guilt. It should not feel this good. Not when it was not my husband. In my mind, this enjoyment of an unknown stranger ravaging my cunt just seemed so wrong, but I could not prevent the feelings that ran through me. It felt so good. So very good. If he continued fucking me like this, then a second orgasm would inevitably come.

Not that I needed yet another orgasm like the one that had just shattered every fibre of my body. Not that he waited until it came. Even blindfolded, I could feel the moment coming. I sensed his cock stiffening just that fraction more, pulsing, priming itself, and then I felt the spurt run through his shaft, the wall of my vagina sensitive to everything, and his semen spewed from his cock head, that spurt followed by another, then yet more, until there was no more.

I felt that sense of guilt again. A stranger had just come in me without withdrawing. His semen would be deep inside my womb. That was not what married women do. It was wrong. It was taboo. Yet having broken this taboo, I also felt a sense of muted pride.

Although, for those who worry about these things, that was how I felt while I was still wearing the mask, and strapped into the swing seat. I discovered afterwards that there was no semen in my womb. Safe sex can be good sex. Steel confirmed that the man had used protection. Which in the cool, less sexual light of day, was only sensible, if not quite the erotic fantasy that people imagine.

We talked all that had happened, afterwards, of course. I wondered how it felt for my husband to have watched another man penetrate and fuck his wife, but I waited until we were lying on the beach the following day.

"Are you ever going to tell me who it was, last night?" I asked him., approaching things not so much head on, as tangentially.

"He was someone at the club," he said. "He was watching, and said how good you looked. It was pretty clear what he was looking for."

"So he was alone?"

"No, he was with his wife. She seemed interested in you as well."

"So he asked you? Or you invited him?"

"He asked. He said his wife wanted to lick you out. Then he asked if he could fuck you."

"Wow," I said, deflected by what he had said first. "Was that a woman? I mean, who used her tongue on me?"

"You didn't realise?"

"I just knew that I liked it," I said, which was the truth.

"I could tell," he said. "You were pretty into it."

"And you didn't mind?" I asked. "I mean, now that we've gone that far. You're okay with it?"

"If you are," he said. "I was more concerned about how you'd feel. I mean, my letting him,... and about it actually happening."

"I let him too," I said. "I mean,... you gave me enough chances to say I didn't want it."

"So, we're good?" he asked.

"You're sure you didn't mind that he made me come like that?"

"You're sure you don't mind not knowing who he was?"

"I thought about it," I said. "In a way, it's better. I mean, not having a face that I'd remember."

But he had deflected my own question, about whether he minded that I'd had that orgasm. Which I did not want to ask again. I did not want to make it into an issue, if he was actually okay with it. But then he added one more comment, and that made it clear.

"That was some orgasm though. I loved the way you came. You know you got a ripple of applause from the people watching it?"

If it had really happened, I had not heard it. Maybe I had just been too far gone to have realised what was happening.

"I did?" I asked, the idea of people clapping, both shocking and hilarious.

"You did," he grinned. "I was really proud of you. I loved you for the way you so totally gave yourself to all of it."

"So, no regrets?" I asked.

"No regrets," he said. "Just the start of things to come."

Although not that year. That was the only time it happened, until the next time we were back in Cap d'Agde. Which is of course another story. There were more opportunities that year, because we went to one or other of the clubs a few more times before our holiday was over, but I allowed those opportunities to pass me by. It had happened once, and I wanted to be sure that it would not impact negatively on my relationship with Steel.

In fact, somehow, it seemed to bring us closer. We were co-conspirators, allies, in what we both knew was a breach of most people's standards, norms of behaviour, morals, but one which we had both fantasised about beforehand, and implicitly accepted would sometime take place.

We used it in our lovemaking from time to time as well. Talking about that night became an easy turn on. We laughed and joked about it too. I am still glad I never saw the man, or his wife, the woman who had so nearly made me come, and had primed me so beautifully to take her husband's cock. I have no memory of their faces, but can imagine them, his especially, since I know that she was blonde, any way I chose.

That was now five years ago. Since then, each time we spend our summer holiday in Cap d'Agde, the open ended pass that Steel gave me as we drove that time is used again. Not over-used. Used with discretion. Never more than twice each year. Two strangers fucking me each year, no more. We both know that it is my looks, my colour, that gets me more attention, but neither of us wants to overplay that interest. Half of the excitement, is the anticipation.

We choose which men I fuck, together. I know the faces now. It is our dark secret, kept from our families and from our friends. No one even knows we come to Cap d'Agde, or that we are 'naturists', let alone that we go to clubs, and share my cunt with others, even just that once or twice each year. Steel seems to love me for it. I know I love him all the more for giving me that pass, for letting me be me.