Work Meeting at a Naturist Pool

Work Meeting at a Naturist Pool: the Naked Truth.

(Shy husband follows wife to a Work Meeting)

TAGS: reluctant, naturism, removed breast, pregnant, co-workers, FFM, BDSM, harness, female slave, gentle femdom.

*** My contribution to the Nude Day Story Contest 2022. Remember to vote, not only this tale but the one you liked best.

All the events narrated are pure imagination, except for some details that happened to a friend of mine.

This may seems like a steamy, hot tale, but only because of the Turkish bath's temperatures: there will be erotic moments, but they will come slowly.

The shy husband is very reluctant to expose his naked body in public.

Any constructive comments will be welcome.

Unfortunately, English is not my mother tongue and there may be some lexical or grammatical errors. Please enjoy the idea more than the grammar. ***

TAGS: reluctant, naturism, removed breast, pregnant, co-workers, FFM, BDSM, harness, female slave, gentle femdom.

Chapter 1: A promotion and a prize trip from my wife's boss.

"Honey? I'm home! Hurry up, quick, there's great news... two great news!"

I paused the football match on TV. The Italian national team was winning 7-0 against Germany (reduced to nine after two blatant expulsions), and although there were only ten minutes left, I knew well that when my wife's voice trilled with that high pitch, it meant deep and irrepressible joy.

I haven't dressed appropriately for her joy: I was wearing an old t-shirt of an indefinable color, and (comfortable but ugly) knickers. I tried to assume an acceptable pose.

"Tell me all about it, honey..."

"I got a promotion! I am now Senior H.Z.Q.Y.K..!"

I flashed my most generous smile: I had long since surrendered my understanding of the acronyms used by her colleagues in the chemistry lab, and since she had started working for a German company, the acronyms had ceased to have any Anglo-Saxon logic and were twisted into very long compounding words.

"Very good, darling: and translated into ordinary language, what does it mean?"

"Oh, Luigi, what a fool you are! It means that they promoted me, and despite the months of breast removal surgery, they realized that the quality of my work deserved a promotion! I am now the head of a staff of eight (and they are all male, except Birgit) and I report directly to Claudia von Middenstorm und Taxis... one of the most brilliant chemists in our development sector!"

"OK, wow, looks like it's going to be a great Friday night... shall I book a table at the LINGUINI restaurant?" "Oh, no, dear! There is no time! I have been informed that the bonus holiday weekend starts this very evening! It's a company benefit for all the bosses in the respective offices! OMG, I'm so happy!"

I lowered my ears like a forlorn little dog. "Does that mean you're leaving without me?"

She stopped joyfully prancing around the house (without shoes: it was the first thing she took off as soon as she entered) and ran to hug me.

"But no, my love, you are coming with me. The rules of the company were established at the beginning of the 20th century: the executives were all men, as in the army, but they were entitled to bring their wives as accompanying persons during the prize week.

Then, over time, the rule remained the same, but the people changed: wives, lovers, friends, friends with benefits, lesbian couples... the important thing is that I am an executive and you are my escort."

"A small bite of humiliation but still... I may take it..."

"Ah what a fool you are! My colleagues respect you, they know, that you are the most precise of mathematicians, and that no one checks the accounts of the Double-entry bookkeeping better than you... and then what does it matter, some wives are housewives, others are congresswomen, journalists, executives of other companies... it's just a way to hang out together and have fun."

When she looked at me like that with those sweet hazel eyes of hers, I felt my heart melt. Maybe Marina was just flattering me but I had fallen for it with both shoes.

Shoes that I also wore in my house, while my wife happily pranced around barefoot. They were not the same shoes I wore outside: they were shoes I kept to be in the house. But as I had been working remotely since 2020... I rarely used shoes for going out, as most of the shopping was ordered by mail.

She kept chirping: "You'll see love, it will do you good to get out of the house. It's only two days... and two nights if we leave now! Please please please..."

"All right," said I, completely clueless about what was going to happen that weekend. "Let's go. But do we have to fly to Hamburg?" (geographical note: Hamburg is in the far north of Germany, a long way from Verona in Italy where we lived, between Milan and Venice).

"No! No-no, they don't organize an Award Holiday in the very city where the company's head office is... the holiday, by definition, is far away from work, ha, ha! The hotel is south of Innsbruck: from Verona north, it will be a two-hour drive. Close to us, away from work. And one of the rules is that you must never talk about work: zero chemistry, no atoms, no acids."

"Good thing! No, because, maybe you don't notice, but sometimes you and your colleagues get boring..."

"How boring you and your friends appear when you talk about Soccer!"

"Uh! The Match! Can I see the final part? We're winning seven-nil..."

"Go, love, go. I'll do the packing this time... it's only for two days anyway... don't worry... I'll even get your toothbrush... I've already sent the two siblings to grandma's house... it's all good..."

I had already turned on the television and unpaused the match. That way I didn't see my wife, who was walking toward our bedroom with a mocking grimace on her face.

Chapter 2. Parking at a Wellness Pool Hotel, Reserved for a Corporate Award.

Luggage in the car, very fast motorway, zero traffic (a miracle!), we arrived at the hotel two hours later. My wife was beaming: she was wearing a dark blue blouse, summer shorts, and cute little shoes similar to Birken's but with ribbons and beads.

She wore no bra. Since the surgeons had removed her left breast, she had decided that she would only wear a prosthesis in cases of absolute necessity: like attending a baptism or being a bridesmaid at a wedding. But at home, and in my car, she was always bra-less.

Her right breast was small but firm, and with a delightful nipple that stood out proudly against the wind: on the left, above the heart, along with the scar, she had a tattoo is drawn, a Lotus flower, and underneath it read 'Resist with courage'.

It had been a difficult few months, for her, for us, and the siblings, but now things seemed to be getting better.

To get into the car park, I stopped the car and let her out: I didn't understand a word of German but my wife was polyglot: it was preferable to her with the girl behind the desk.

A woman in uniform was waiting at the parking desk. She said to my wife: "Ein Zimmer für Marina Ferrari und ihren... Lebensgefährten: Luigi. Schlüssel für die Junior-Suite Nummer 226, zweiter Stock. Ich empfehle die Kleiderordnung, Madam."

"Ja, ja, danke schön!".

Crap! I was lost after Zimmer! Which means Room. Leben maybe means "love, lover" or maybe not? and what will the Klein Orbung be, something small I guess... the little breakfast? Damn me... if I had studied languages... the only word I understood clearly was "Luigi", one of the best pronounced Italian names abroad, thanks to the audio of the Korean video games of the Super Mario series.

The girl guessed from my face that I was completely puzzled. She gave me a disapproving look, arched her eyebrow, and hissed, "Luigi: I recommend the dress code."

My wife waved me to start the engine and walked behind me quickly, turning several times to apologize to the receptionist.

I parked and got out of the car. So as not to tire my darling, I took the two trolleys and we arrived at the big lift.

The wide doors opened and inside were two couples tenderly embracing: two men and two women. They were all wearing hotel terrycloth bathrobes, one couple dark grey, the other dark green: I imagined they were standard issue and perhaps we could have blue bathrobes.

The younger man had very long blond hair and was trying to avoid dripping in the lift: the two women had used small towels to baste two turbans.

It seemed clear to me that there must be a swimming pool on the lower floor.

One of the two women looked at me and my wife, arched an eyebrow, then said, "What about the dress code?"

My wife gave a wide smile and said, "Sorry, we just arrived with the car... he has his hands full with the trolleys... but I can join right now!"

And without me having time to say or do anything, my wife started unbuttoning her blouse in front of four strangers in the lift. I was motionless as if frozen and could not say a word.

The tattoo above the scar caught all the attention of those present, as it always did, and no one seemed more intrigued by my non-adherence to a dress code, whatever it was. Perhaps a tie was required? I hoped my wife had put a tie in my trolley, otherwise, I would have had to buy one at the hotel to dine.

Many people were asking to see her scar, especially women. And my wife had never been an exhibitionist, but after her recovery, she felt like an «ambassador of surgery». As if it was her duty to show every woman she met, friend or stranger, young or old, that one could survive even after the removal of a breast.

It was normal for her to unbutton her blouse in the pharmacy, in the hospital, in our children's school, and even in the restaurant. There was nothing sexual about that gesture: it was like a survivor showing off the scars she had suffered during a battle.

The only strange thing was that while answering the two women's questions (in German: I understood nothing), she took off her blouse, also exposing her right breast, with the dark erect nipple. I might have been reassured by the fact that the two men might have looked gay, but still, it was an awkward situation.

The lift arrived on the second floor. It was ours. I got off dragging the trolleys, my wife followed me topless, her blouse folded under her forearm and the key in her hand. "Hurry up, daddy, I want to go to the pool now."

"Eh, but... I... I wanted to ask you... but what... and then..."

Sometimes my brain didn't master the language. I wanted to ask for an explanation about the dress code and the lift, but another sentence seemed to have more urgency: a priority urgency.

"Marina... I need to go to the toilet. I've been driving for two hours and I have to because I have to."

She laughed: "Oh, a categorical imperative, the way Immanuel Kant liked it! Oh, if you must, you must. I'll run to the pool! I'll wait for you there! Join me! And bring the key!"

Chapter 3 -- Unpacking luggage with surprise.

After a few minutes, my wife was gone. I wondered how she had been able to wear her bikini... but another question became more urgent: how could I wear MY swimming trunks?

In the luggage, there was neither a male nor a female swimming suit.

Usually, my wife is so precise... but in my trolley (the dark one) there was only a shaving kit, shampoo and make-up, and two big royal blue bathrobes accompanied by two towels. I imagined that my wife had put my clothes in her trolley (the light one), but it was locked with a combination lock, and I couldn't remember it.

I tried to phone Marina to get the combination... but her ringtone rang in the room: the mobile phone was there, in the pocket of her shorts.

Good news: it meant it hadn't been stolen.

Bad news: it meant that Marina was in the pool and that the only way to communicate was to go downstairs in the unreachable lift.

Since we had arrived, within minutes I had already gathered a series of intimidating looks. There was a dress code, and my taste in looks did not match the local fashion. Maybe it was the color of the polo shirt or the combination of the polo shirt and trousers? It was a mystery.

However, a solution seemed to be available. All I had to do was join my wife at the pool, taking a lift in which it seemed quite normal to wear a bathrobe.

I thought, that under the bathrobe no one would be able to tell that I was wearing boxer shorts. They were black, with the name of the designer sewn on the elastic band, and from a distance could have been mistaken for a swimming costume. I couldn't risk going downstairs in trousers and polo shirts - they would have caught me.

By the side of the bed, I found white slippers. Not very stylish, but useful.

I went out with the key in my hand and closed the door. There was no one in the corridor.

I walked nonchalantly towards the lift. No one.

I descended to the lower floor.

As soon as the doors opened, I saw my wife waiting for me, sitting on a large wicker chair, with a wide back on which she had placed her bathrobe. She was sitting, and she was naked.

As naked was the barmaid in front of her, naked the two women sitting behind her, naked all the men and women in my line of vision. A man stepped out of a shower and grabbed a towel, while his wife (I think) was already waiting for him wrapped in her orange bathrobe.

"Luigi? Yu-hu! Love, I'm here, come and sit next to me!" (and giggled).

My face blushed. At home, my wife was always naked, and she would greet her sisters and friends naked or in short T-shirts. In summer, she used to have dinner and watch TV naked on the sofa. She often sunbathed naked on the terrace or empty beaches. But in a crowd... I could not ask her to get dressed, however, I tightened the hems of my bathrobe for extra security.

Clutching the clasp of my bathrobe, I walked quickly to join her. "But what's going on?"

"Oh, Luigi, don't you understand?" and she laughed. "The prize weekend consists of a naturist gathering in a wonderful Pool, entirely reserved for colleagues (and their guests)."

"Naturist? I mean, are they all vegetarians?"

My wife burst out laughing: even the nipple was laughing, shaking with laughter.

"But no! Oh maybe most are also vegetarians... but naturism, in German, means adherence to a philosophy of life, which in short means that everyone must adhere to a precise dress code. What they've already recommended to you, dear. Everybody naked."

"Only in the sauna!" (I was aware of the obligation to remove the costume before entering the sauna, also to prevent particles of artificial materials from being deteriorated by the high temperatures).

"That's a general rule. And it is certainly very healthy. No, here it is for the whole weekend. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All activities, all hours."

Her big smile showed that Marina felt perfectly comfortable and that all the nudity around her caused her neither embarrassment nor excitement. But the stammering voice coming out of my mouth suggested to my brain that perhaps Marina and Luigi were not on the same page on this subject.

I heard my voice say: "Can you tell me the combination of the trolley, where you surely put a swimming costume for me?"

It was like an extrasensory experience. I could hear my voice speaking, but it was not what I was thinking inside my head. My brain was thinking "this is heaven on Earth and my wife is so serene and beautiful, naked amid all these strangers", while my voice was saying "But how do I have no costume? But how can I have dinner then!"

Marina took my wrist with her delicate hand. "Don't yell at me, Luigi, they all look at you. Do you trust me? I want to ask you to give it a try. I know you are reluctant: we have been married for so many years, and you still put on your bathrobe when you get out of the shower, to walk the few steps between the bathroom and the bedroom.

I know why you do it: because your mother taught you and your brothers that the human body must be hidden. But, look around: there are some very beautiful women, naked with just their slippers, and no maniac bothers them, no one stares at their tits, and no one has an erect dick. Naturism is serenity."

"I'm sorry to contradict you but here, me, I am a man with an erect cock, right now, right next to you, and I'm wearing a bathrobe so I don't get caught."

She laughed. She was quite serene, I laughed too. But I didn't take off my bathrobe or my boxers. I was too nervous, embarrassed, and didn't know where to look.

Chapter 4 - Balls in Hand.

While still laughing, my wife Marina winked "Are you sure it's for me, and not for the barmaid? Heidi, dear, can you make an iced shaken coffee for my husband too, dear? With Bailey's... double."

The barmaid nodded and confirmed the order, mixing German words and beverages. "Right now Mary... Der italienische Expresso kommt... mit Eis, von den Alpen! Wait a minute..."

I looked at her. A natural blonde: I could tell from her eyebrows. I could also tell by looking at the hair above her pussy, which she showed without shame: but Heidi was clean-shaven, smooth as a newborn baby. A tattoo on her shoulder with a green dragon, an inscription in Gothic font next to a skull... a very beautiful girl, but my wife was right: seduction starts with the will to seduce, whereas Heidi, here, only wanted to work. I thought that the Oktoberfest beer girls were much more seductive, with their tight blouses and their breasts compressed in bras, their winking gait, and the jokes exchanged with drunk-to-be men and women.

But then why did I have a straight cock, was it because my wife was seductive?

I watched Heidi shake the cocktail shaker. The firm tits, the small but firm nipples. The perfectly coordinated muscles. It wasn't exciting. It was like watching a fisherman fish, a tailor sews, and a lumberjack chop wood. My mind wandered in time and space, wondering if the first Homo Sapiens communities worked wearing loincloths, or whether total nudity was more comfortable.

Leather and furs were for protection against the cold, it was understandable. Right here they had found a mummified prehistoric man, and he wore all kinds of protection, but it was against the cold ice of the Alps, not against the demureness of the gaze.

Heidi had no embarrassment. She was happy to work and appeared happy to be appreciated for her work. She didn't hide, she didn't turn around, she didn't run away on some silly pretext. She stayed there making coffee and cocktails. And perhaps her serenity helped to give me serenity too: my erection was waning.

Full of gentleness, Heidi smiled as she handed me the goblet with my shaken coffee. She was young, she must have been twenty or twenty-five.

Around her, precocious flowers bloomed.

I thought she looked purer than an angel. Did female angels exist? In a cathedral, I had once seen a statue of a female angel with her wings and her halo.

With this holy thought in my head, and the precious goblet in my hand, I turned to join my wife, but what I saw surprised me so much!

My wife, seated, was holding with her fingers the balls of a standing blond man with a hard cock! Erect him and erect his tool too!

I almost dropped the goblet with his precious nectar.

Biting my lips to say nothing I advanced martially, or at least, in the most martial way allowed by a terrycloth bathrobe (which is the least martial dress in the world).

Marina saw me and without releasing her grip on the blond man's balls, said nonchalantly, "Oh, Luigi, honey, come, I need your help!"

My eyes squinted in wonderment "WTF?!"

"Luigi, meet Jürgen... he used to work for my office a few years ago... now he works in Shanghai... you remember him, Jürgen, maybe you saw him once at dinner..."