Training Emily

We had enjoyed good food together, Emily drinking sparkling mineral water, while I enjoyed fine wine. Those evenings, Emily had seen for herself that what might be outrageous elsewhere was here the norm at night time.

Here, in Cap d'Agde, women mostly dressed to reveal. Emily's senses, and her mind, had been blown away by what she saw. Leatherwear, fetish gear, lingerie, translucent blouses, cut outs, and sheer nakedness. A woman walked on a leash fixed to a collar ring. Another wearing a fox tail held in place by a butt plug, swinging behind bare thighs and buttocks as she walked naked on four inch heels beside her guy. Another in breast baring corset and wrist cuffs, with steel barbells set through pierced nipples, with a substantial ring set through her labia, leash readied, unashamed.

Exposing her to all this may have lessened Emily's shock when another night I left out a black leather, under the bust corset that had two sets of four steel buckles in front, one above the other, rather than tie strings at the back. It also had gleaming steel suspender chains to secure a pair of black mesh stockings, and I had also provided a pair of three-inch patent leather heels. This was all that she would wear for her first night at the club. Four inch heels would have been my preference, but she was new to that form of height, and needed breaking in, as with so much else. She walked nervously beside me, her first night-time nakedness, leather waisted but breasts and pubis bare, unsteady on the heels, as we navigated past several bars and restaurants, receiving the inevitable looks, before we joined the queue for entry to the club.

Inside I walked her through the bar area first, still relatively quiet, and then upstairs. A dozen guys were hanging out in the mixed playroom, waiting for some action to start up. Heads turned and eyes locked onto Emily, glued to her exquisite breasts, her bare pubis, and her butt, all of her lightly freckled in spite of the high factor cream she had been wearing each day. We passed between the guys, nodding to the bouncer on duty at the open doorway to the couples-only playroom just beyond.

It, too, was not yet busy. Some of the couples already there were just sitting having drinks. One woman was kneeling between her guy's legs, sucking on his cock. The large play-bed lay empty, but on one of the two smaller beds, a woman was on all fours, while a guy was standing, steadily fucking her from behind. On the second small play-bed, a guy was lying back, his partner squatting on his cock, riding him.

"People do this?" Emily whispered. "I mean with people watching?"

I had been fucking her of course, in our apartment, teaching her to relax, to enjoy each and every sensation that cock and cunt together can engender. But fucking privately is so very different from doing it with others nearby, watching. This was something Emily would learn to be at ease with. I had not told her what to expect in the club, but of course, she knew that clubs like this existed. Even a conservatively brought up young woman from a sheltered background knows that they exist. There is too much information out there, online and elsewhere, for them not to know. She did not need to ask the question. Emily had known. She just had never expected to see it for herself, let alone participate. But I still answered her.

"Sure," I said. "Some people just like to have other people around. Some like to swap with other couples. And the guys outside are hoping to catch a couple where the guy likes to watch his wife with other men. But we can come back up later, when it's busier, and you'll get a better idea."

We headed back downstairs and ordered drinks at the bar, a rum and Coke for me, a diet Coke for Emily. Like I said, she was brought up not to drink alcohol of any kind, and I was not going to try to persuade her otherwise. By the time our drinks arrived, a woman was on the pole dance stage, not doing anything outstanding, but holding it while moving to the rhythm of the disco music from the speakers. There were a few single guys gathered round the pole dance platform, watching her. Most of the single guys, were hanging around the bar, checking out the wives, girlfriends and partners accompanying their men.

The couples in the bar area were mostly either sitting, having drinks, or dancing in the space between the bar and the seats. A few of the women were in clubbing dresses. Most were in lingerie, corsets, suspender belts, and so on, similar to the outfits Emily had already seen at the al fresco bars and restaurant. Emily was far from the only woman there whose breasts or mons, or both, were not just bare, but on display, available for play.

On either side of us, as we waited for our drinks, guys had turned to get a better look. In this kind of club, there was no need to be discrete. You could admire openly. No one would take offence. Most women would take it as a compliment. Emily, still self conscious, held herself a little rigidly, eyes focussed on the bar attendant, avoiding any of the men.

When you are thirty years older that the wife you have brought to Cap d'Agde, guys make assumptions. They do not need to chat up the couple, just the man.

"Your wife seems nervous?" the guy to my immediate left said, smiling.

At least he called her my wife. Some guys my age bring mistresses or paid for companions. Possibly he saw her wedding ring. He was around thirty, at a guess, some five years older than Emily, well built, clean cut, jet black hair close cut, clean shaven, white shirt, beige trousers, German accent. Most of the single guys would be French, not staying on the complex, but coming for a night out from one of the nearby towns, looking for a fuck, a couple who liked to share. If this guy was German, or Austrian Swiss, or whatever, he was more likely to be on vacation than a local.

"It's her first time here," I said.

"Okay" he said. "Sie ist sehr schön. Do you like for watching her play, maybe upstairs?"

In clubs like this one, you can be direct.

"Not tonight," I said.

"Maybe another night," he answered, a wry but understanding smile forming on his lips.

I thought for a moment.

"We're going to enjoy our drinks," I said. "Then I want to take my wife into the corridor over there."

I looked towards the entrance. The guy nodded his understanding. I picked up our drinks and led Emily to the only vacant spaces on the long bench seat that spanned the wall opposite the bar.

As we sipped our drinks the bar space gradually became more crowded, single guys mingling with couples. A different woman, or girl, younger than Emily, demonstrated gymnastic pole dance skills. Borrowing a guy's spectacles, she folded them closed, and made them all but disappear, only to return them moist with her secretions. Emily watched, fascinated.

Our glasses empty, I took Emily by the hand. I had decided not to tell her what she should expect inside the corridor. The dimness of the lighting meant that you could make out only the shapes of other people there. At bottle necks, where people gathered round an unglazed window to check the action in a play-space, I had to lead the way. I sensed, from the way she held tightly onto my hand, that Emily was already being stroked, or fondled. The rules were different here. Enter, and anything short of penetration was fair play. Couples who went in either knew that, and expected it, or found out pretty soon. Emily was finding out.

I looked back, checking for a white shirt, and saw one. It might be the same guy. It might not. Mid-way between the last two windows, I paused.

"Face the wall," I told Emily, "and put your hands against it, as high as you can."

She did as she was told.

I caressed her buttocks. Her legs were clamped together. I eased my hand between them.

"Open them," I said. "I want your feet wide apart."

Again, Emily did as she was told. Some women might have resisted, but Emily had well brought up by her parents, strictly, obedience expected, hesitation not tolerated. As a child, she had learned to be compliant.

I reached between her legs and felt for her mons. Then I used the same hand to reach around her side, cupping her breast, feeling her swollen areole and the perma-stiff nipple stub. I played with the rubbery stub for a moment, pinching and twisting, before releasing it. Then I stood back, and leant against the opposite wall, a few feet down from Emily.

I had been right about the white shirt following behind us. The German moved in to where I had been, behind her. He caressed her butt, then her back, and then reached around for her breast.

"Du bist sehr schön," I heard him say. "You are very beautiful."

If Emily had not already realised that it was no longer me behind her, fondling her, once the German spoke, that realisation would have hit her. She would have known for certain. Her first encounter with a total stranger had just begun. As I knew she would, she stayed immobile. Like I said, she was well brought up and instinctively obedient.

In an empty corridor, the German would have had exclusive use of Emily as his plaything, but this corridor is never empty. Guys hang out, waiting for the opportunity to watch a couple, or a threesome, in a play-space, or to get close up and personal with any woman passing through, even if she is accompanied. Emily was prime meat. Another guy moved in. Then a third. Then others, if not touching, then watching the men in front of them play with the young woman spread-eagled at the wall, as if for a police pat down, clad in no more than her suspender belt, who so clearly was ready to be fondled and groped by anyone whose arms could reach her.

From where I stood, Emily was no longer visible, other than as brief snatches of white as the guys moved silently around her, and her hands, which remained above her head and theirs, and flat against the wall. But I could hear her. Nothing that she said, for she said no words. No protest. No complaint. Just little gasps, brief moans.

Or that is how it started. Emily's moans and gasps got louder, more frequent, and more prolonged, until her cries were unrestrained, echoing in the restricted space. Emily relinquishing control, giving herself over to the hands and fingers, fondling, caressing, groping, and casually penetrating, her back, butt, legs, breasts, nipple stubs, mons, labia, arse and cunt, marked a rite of passage, a stage in her initiation successfully accomplished, and she was passing it not just with merit, but 'summa cum laude', top of her class.

Just like walking on the beach, returning to the corridor each night taught Emily that others touching her, caressing, fondling, fingering, even finger fucking her, was nothing to be fearful of, that it could be exciting and exhilarating, that she could give herself fully to whoever wished to play with her, could thrill to the touch of strangers, could enjoy the intensity of the orgasms that she learned would be released from deep within. Her knowledge of herself matured, her acceptance of her sexuality, her understanding that her sexual needs were real, and deep, and longed for fulfilment, grew and developed day by day.

The fourth night of visiting the club, I asked yet more of her.

As before, we started by ordering drinks for each of us, letting the guys see that she was here again, some of them already familiar with her, and we took seats to engage in people watching as we drank from the glasses we had been given.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Emily.

"Okay," she said. "I guess, in a way, looking forward to it, but still a bit nervous."

"So, isn't it time you gave something back?" I said.

She turned and looked at me, puzzled.

"I mean," I said. "Why do you think the men come here? Do you really think that all they want from you is to fondle you? You're get to enjoy your orgasm while they play with you, and they get to enjoy playing with you but they're looking for more."

I let the thought sink in, without my need to spell out that the guys were here to fuck, and if not to fuck, then to have a woman bring them off.

Emily said nothing in response, although what I was getting at was pretty clear, but I spelled it out to make sure there would be no room for misunderstanding.

"All you have to do, is chose a guy, unzip his fly, kneel down, and use your mouth the way I've taught you."

Our days had not been idle. I like sunbathing on the beach. Emily preferred the shade of a sun umbrella. The section of the beach we used was known for open play between the couples who sunbathed there. A part of each day, I compromised on being in the sun, so that Emily could remain in shade while undergoing training practice, giving head, learning to use her mouth, lips, tongue, and even teeth, though gently.

In our apartment, Emily practiced on her own, with a life size vibrator, learning to relax her throat, ignore the gagging reflex, and take it deep. What some women never manage, Emily learned in days, concerted repetition achieving mastery. Of course I gained wonderfully from her practice. Tighter than her cunt, her throat nevertheless could take my girth as deep as mouth and nose against a lower abdomen permits.

For several long moments, Emily stared silently towards the bar, but unseeing, gazing far beyond it, into the distance of her mind. Then she spoke one word.

"Okay," she agreed.

As before, we went into the corridor together, hand in hand, Emily as nervous as that first day, undressing by the car. Even in the dim light, the clothes that people wore, their facial features, could be discerned. I trust white shirts. They denote clean cut, or perhaps just clean. This guy had jet black hair, cut short, clean shaven, tanned, much like the German from some nights before.

I had told Emily, this time to have her back against the wall, to wait til she was finger fucked, and then to squat. She did exactly as I had said. The guy unzipped his fly. His body obscured my view but it was obvious what was taking place. It did not even take that long. Maybe I had taught Emily just that bit too well. His body tensed. He shuddered. Then there was stillness. He moved back, pulled back up his fly, and left.

Emily remained squatting until I went to her, gave her my hand, raised her up onto her feet again, and turned her to face the wall. This time I stayed with her, stroking and caressing her. Two guys who had seen what had just happened joined me, and we all three played with her. When she came, crying, shuddering, spasms wracking her body, it was an exquisite moment to be treasured.

That too, became a nightly routine in the club. Sometimes not just one guy, but several. In return for being finger fucked, Emily would reward those who took possession of her, swallowing and cleaning them, as I had taught her.

Except this time, she had gone into the corridor alone, and come out glistening. Any residual anxiety had dissipated, nervousness replaced by unassuming confidence, and even pride. The semen spattered on her neck and breasts had not been an unwillingness to swallow, but a desire to show what she had done. Athletes wear their medals no more proudly than Emily wore her irregularly patterned necklace of wet, glistening pearls.

We sipped our drinks. I guided Emily from the bar to the seats. We talked for a bit. She told me how good she felt, thanked me for bringing her out of herself, and said that without me, she would never have dared to do any of the things that she had done.

I told her I was proud of her, that I had enjoyed watching her progress, and she asked if I wanted her to go upstairs again. It would be her last chance to have someone else make love to her before settling down to married life. It was endearing the way she used the phrase, 'make love'. In spite of the gradually drying globules of semen still visible on her breasts, Emily still could not bring herself to describe what went on upstairs as fucking. Making love is what a husband and wife do together. You do not make love with strangers.

Going upstairs had started the week before. Or rather, going upstairs with someone else had started the week before. I had brought Emily upstairs regularly, initially just to tour the couples' play-room, or sit and watch, and let her get acclimatised to people playing openly, not just touching, or sucking cock, as took place in the corridor, but fucking, touching others as they fucked, some people switching partners, fucking other couples just because they liked the way they looked.

Until then, Emily had never seen another couple fuck. Yet within a week, I was fucking her on whatever play-bed had space for us, right by other couples, while she was being stroked by those nearby, or more. People loved to touch her breasts, her swollen areoles played with while I fucked her, another woman even squirming under Emily as I fucked her from behind one night, sucking one swaying teat, while fondling the other with both hands.

A few nights later, a Dutch couple in their thirties invited us to swop partners, the wife explaining that she would like to watch her husband fucking Emily, and offering to let me fuck her in exchange. It was the first time that I saw Emily fucked by someone else, her legs wrapped round his waist, her arms around his neck, as he thrust repeatedly at her delicious cunt.

It was a moment to be proud of. From frightened gazelle on her arrival at Cap d'Agde, in less than three short weeks, Emily had learned to enjoy sex and sensuality, and with a total stranger. She had discovered that sexual pleasure does not depend on love, and that not just for the man she loved, but for herself as well, she could give of herself so fully, so willingly, so intimately, and love every moment even with someone she had never met before, nor would again.

Watching Emily come was just amazing. Training her to reach this point had been delightful, and seeing her give herself over to her orgasm, brought on by the Dutch guy's steady, rhythmic fucking, I felt almost honoured to have been her tutor, coach and trainer all in one.

Emily shuddered as she gasped and cried, while the guy himself came too, still thrusting as he filled her with his ejaculant. She bucked and squirmed beneath him, pushing her pelvis at him, forcing his cock deeper. Her arms flailed around, finally grabbing hold of him, pulling herself to him, her breasts pressed flat against his chest, her mouth locking onto his shoulder, biting into it.

It must have hurt the guy, because he pulled away from her, using his arms to lever his torso back. Balancing with one hand on the play-bed mattress just above her shoulder, his cock still lodged deep in her cunt, providing him with a stable, central base, he used his free hand to take one of Emily's nipples between a finger and his thumb. He rolled the nipple, squeezing as he did, or at least it looked like that to me, because Emily gasped again, still midway through her orgasm, now taken to the higher plain of being brought about from erotic pleasure enhanced by pain.

Emily bit down on her lower lip, her head shaking in denial that rough sex like this could enrich and heighten the exquisite orgasm she was still experiencing. The guy turned his attention to her other nipple, the same finger and thumb, twisting, squeezing, twisting the other way, playing havoc with the multiple nerve endings just below the surface of its skin. Emily's head went back, her spine arching from her pelvis up, her mouth wide, gasping for breath with the punishment that he was giving her for biting on his shoulder.

He kept a tight grip on her suffering nipple stub, rolling it from side to side, and Emily grasped with one hand at his, trying to pull it from her breast. She succeeded, pushing his hand from her chest, but he held her nipple tight, stretching her breast tissue, instead of releasing the sensitive nub. She floundered, releasing her hold on his hand, dropping her arms to her sides, conceding her inability to force him to let go.