Work Meeting at a Naturist Pool

Last, a young woman, with red hair and a proud red bush between her spread thighs, was playing the cello, sitting in the classic position of cellists. While the flutist wore heels of normal height, the redhead wore very high heels, perhaps because she knew she could sit all the time. The arch of her feet was taut, like the bow that played the four strings of her instrument: I wondered if the agility of her fingers was reserved only for playing on the keys, or if she also used it to play in other ways.

I would have bet any amount of money that the inventor of the cello was a perverted sex maniac, because every time I saw a female cellist with her thighs open in front of everyone, my dick got hard immediately.

My wife said something to distract me: perhaps she thought I needed a break from fantasizing about the redheaded cellist. She had known about my obsession with natural redheads for years, and said it stems from a rarity: the rarer a feature is, the more valuable it appears.

Marina said: "You see, shoes and glasses are always allowed... if a person is in danger of slipping, naturism is not masochism... and besides, a violinist has to read the music sheet, right?

"Let's go away, please... if all the people working in the hotel, are naked..."

My wife nodded. I thought back that the only clothed person I had seen was at the parking gate, and she was probably dressed so as not to scandalize any passers-by.

"Marina, I can't resist the idea of a naked masseuse giving me a massage with you on the side... naked, as she lets her oil-laden fingers slide over my skin... I swear, I can't do it.

My cock will be erect all the time and it would be very, very inappropriate because it would be offensive to a hard-working person doing an honest occupation... Tomorrow, maybe, but I can't today."

"OK, honey, you've been so brave already..."

"And what other tricks have you played on Karl-Heinz?"

"You won't be jealous! We came here with my colleagues from the office for a course, Birgit was also there with me as a roommate, and we played many pranks on everyone, together with Heidi, but just for laughs! I never cheated on you and I didn't have sex with anyone but you."

"I know."

"But I showed my scar to all, I mean, all my colleagues. Dieter's mother had a similar problem to mine, and I wanted to reassure him. One word led to another... all my colleagues saw the scar and the tattoo. Are you OK with that?"

"Perfectly ok. It's like showing the tibia bone after it's been in a cast."

"Exactly. And because I know you are not jealous, I have invited all my colleagues here for a meeting... tomorrow at noon. We are the team that has achieved the most patents this year and they will all have an award from the chairwoman, Madam Walkirye."

"Is there such a person with that name?" I was trying not to tell her that the presence of her Team would embarrass me so much: some of them I knew very little, but Birgit and Karl-Heinz and Dieter had worked with Marina for many years, and we had met for a few dinners... I would have been so embarrassed.

'Yes, I've never met her but she is the heir to the Founder. I imagine she's one of those seven-foot-tall, white-haired, opera-loving old German ladies!

Perhaps some colleagues who had attended these parties in previous years might be able to describe her... If we see Claudia, my boss, maybe she knows her... Remember that this is the first time I am attending the Annual Speech, before the recent promotion I was never invited.

Chapter 7: Pregnant Socorro.

While we were talking, a cheerful voice called my wife from behind. "Marina! Que bom ver-te de novo, minha amiga! E olha, olha para mim, não estou sozinha!" (and laughed).

"My dear Socorro! Oh, my dear friend, I was sure you wouldn't come... because I know you haven't traveled alone, for seven months now, if I'm not mistaken?"

I turned around and was stunned by the magnificent sight before my eyes. A Brazilian chemist, Dr. Socorro Guimarães was a colleague of my wife: she had worked in Marina's team in previous years, then she had married a Brazilian chemist, and I had not seen her for a few years.

However, before that evening, I had always seen her dressed, in a lab coat and big safety glasses. I had never imagined that she would shock me like that.

She was taller than me. Very dark, but with clear triangles with tan marks both on her tits and on her shaved pubis. Three tiny triangles, which nevertheless exhibited magnificent coffee-colored skin, with two huge brown areolas. But the most striking thing was the prominent belly of a pregnant woman in her seventh month: that forced my wife to embrace her friend in a strange position, all leaning forward.

Behind her trudged a man, perhaps her husband, naked, also showing tan lines on his thighs. Around his flaccid cock was an uncultivated forest of black hair, which contrasted sharply with the body of his beautiful wife, shaved everywhere, even in the eyebrows. Socorro had the nape of her neck shaved, and her hair pulled up, almost as if to look even taller: while her short man had shoulder-length hair.

I stood motionless contemplating that embrace between my beautiful wife and her beautiful friend, a light blob and a dark blob. I thought: in prehistoric times before clothes were invented, all women greeted each other by embracing naked. I seemed to see two of my desires fulfilled at the same time: to see Socorro naked, sooner or later, and to see a pregnant woman naked who was not my wife.

When Marina was expecting our children, I loved it, maybe even more than in normal life... in my opinion, pregnant women have a magnetism that attracts men (or at least, attracts me), if I had been a gynecologist in life, I would probably have died from the too much excitement.

The two women dissolved their affectionate embrace and turned to us two husbands. "Mr. Luigi! How many years have passed! Dear, allow me to introduce you to Luigi Ferrari: SuperMarina's super husband!"

I smiled: it was an old nickname for my wife among chemists.

"This is my husband, Cipriano, he is a chemist too, maybe you might know his patents..."

The three chemists started talking thickly about job stuff, while I contemplated the couple in front of me.

They did not seem to have any shyness about being naked. They must not have been naturists because the strong tan lines showed that he spent most of his time with his thighs covered up to the knee. And Socorro, without a doubt, always wore a skimpy bikini that left very little to the imagination: two tiny strings on her hips, a tiny triangle covering almost only the clitoral cape, a thread at the back almost invisible, and two little triangles on her delicious boobs, from which - I would have bet - areolas protruded every moment, and nipples stood out erect against the sky.

She was as beautiful as a statue: pregnancy had made her skin soft and smooth, and I would have even said «perfumed», had she not been covered by the smell of chlorine rising from the pool.

My brain wandered as I imagined Socorro on a beach wearing only a micro cream-white bikini with a deep camel toe obscenely flaunting her fissure. An absurd idea from my brain, because my eyes could keep staring at her naked, gesticulating in front of us, instead of imagining her wearing a bikini: but that's the effect the tan lines had on me, every time, since always.

While my brain wanders, my ears catch scraps of conversation. Socorro was pregnant for the second time and her gynecologist, a very apprehensive woman, forbade her to enter the saunas. However, she did not forbid her to swim in the pool! Although she had forbidden her to dive. For every issue, there were pros and cons. But Socorro was happy because she liked swimming.

Marina asked if she would give birth in the pool, Socorro replied that it was not certain because the gynecologist did not want her to. I began to fantasize about how nice it would be to witness the birth... if everything was organized hygienically and safely, of course.

I quietly thought: "Socorro is a so gorgeous woman, and motherhood has increased her beauty... and also increased her boobs, huge ones! Can you just imagine how happy the newborn will be with all that milk..."

My brain thought this, in the silence of my skull.

But.

My ears heard roaring collective laughter. Socorro was laughing out loud and her husband was as well. My wife put her hand over my mouth giggling and said, pretending a shame she did not really feel: "Luigi! Shut up! Besides, the amount of breast milk is not derived from the size!"

How embarrassing... I asked for forgiveness at least a dozen times, in at least four different languages. I was so boring that her husband started to climb down the steps into the knee-deep pool.

Socorro had already taken off her slippers while talking to Marina. Waving goodbye, she started down the first two steps, without diving in (because of the advice of his gynecologist).

Before she left to swim, Socorro turned to the two of us with a benevolent grin and said, "You are so funny, Luigi... If your wife lets you, I'll let you kiss one of my nipples... I've seen the way you look at them, and my husband already agrees."

Already inside the pool up to her navel, her husband nodded.

I blushed suddenly, as the cock continued to increase in size every second. "I... no... I ask for forgiveness... I'm too shy..." (the whole time of our encounter, I was afraid she would say "My Eyes Are Up Here" to me, but Socorro was a tad of an exhibitionist too... and so was her husband Cipriano...)

My wife was pushing me with her hand on my back. "Come on, Luigi, it's for good luck, everyone knows..." and winked at Socorro.

Socorro caught on, "Oh, yeah! I forgot... Que descuidada!... it's an ancient superstition that brings a lot of luck and also produces a lot of milk..."

"Oh yeah? A superstition? And from which country?" asked I arrogantly.

In unison, Marina and Socorro came up with a solution to try to frame me, but they contradicted themselves: "Bramany/Gerzil!"

They both looked at each other and started laughing. Behind Socorro's back, from the pool, the husband winked at me trying to save the day: "Yes... I confirm... it is a tradition of the German community that emigrated to Brazil, so the culture is German but the place is American... all correct."

But all that laughter had weakened my excitement and made the whole situation much easier to handle. Pregnant, Socorro was even more beautiful. I took two steps towards tan lines on Socorro's magnificent tits, looked into her eyes (up there!), then put my hands behind my back (fair play first), with a bow I bent my neck and placed a gentle kiss on her left nipple, above her heart.

Turning directly to her nipple, I said politely: "Best wishes, dear boob dedicated to her babies, we all love you."

"Thank you, Luigi, you are very kind" She smiled like a child to whom daddy had kissed him goodnight after tucking him in.

"You are welcome."

Socorro came down the steps and started swimming together with her husband, and they walked away from us.

Chapter 8. Hide and seek.

My wife looked at me with her hands on her hips, fierce and proud. Marina said, "Did you notice that Socorro's husband was horny? I bet after the pool those two will have sex for hours."

From the edge of the pool, I couldn't tell if Cipriano had an erection because he was already waist-deep in the lukewarm water. I, for sure, had a flaccid penis, despite having placed my lips on my wife's friend's perfect nipple. I commented: "You know that for a husband, having sex with a pregnant woman is the most beautiful thing in the world. We too, when you were pregnant with our children..."

"True. You were brave."

"I didn't notice that the husband was erect: he had always looked flaccid to me. But did I also have that bush of pubic hair?"

Years ago, my wife had gotten into the habit of shaving the pubic hair, leaving only a thin landing strip. She had explained to me that it was much more comfortable and hygienic during the day, and much more useful at night when I spent a lot of time eating pussy.

At first, I thought it was a women's thing, then she pointed out (with very general allusions) that she had been told that in porn films, male actors are often shaved. I had never thought about it but, on checking, I realized it was true. So, for years I had been adjusting the length of my pubic hair with a trimmer (different from my beard trimmer). Although I had never used a razor, seeing men with a jungle of long hair around the cock, like Socorro's husband made me uncomfortable.

" Honey, you have never been so... horrible. I don't understand how Socorro can stand it, who instead shaves everywhere, her eyebrows, even her anus. Maybe he is allergic or... who knows. Every person should be free to do what they want with their own body. But I'm glad you decided on the trimmer... you look very nice."

"He is even shorter than she is."

"I know, right? And she thinks they both care so little, he walks barefoot, while she had at least an inch of the heel. Look at the slippers, the ones with a palm tree design, he'll be at least an inch thick. And the style of hair..."

I didn't want the two of us to talk about slippers. I interrupted her abruptly. "You say they're going to have sex tonight?"

"I say YOU will have sex, tonight, and precisely, WITH ME!" triumphed Marina "We have to celebrate a promotion!" And she kissed me, swirling her tongue in my mouth.

I felt her erect nipple against my heart. She knew well what effect pregnant women have on me, and Socorro was extraordinary.

But why was Marina so excited? I had only kissed one of her friends, in front of her husband's eyes and pushed by her (not metaphorically: just pushed with a hand on my spine.

Even now Marina was pushing me. From the edge of the pool, we moved towards the massage area (where I would never have dared to enter with my flag pole). Marina kept kissing me, flicking her tongue and rubbing herself against my body.

My cock was getting hard and I wanted to hide.

I didn't even remember where we left our dressing gowns. Maybe at Heidi's next to the shrimps? What I had at that moment was not a shrimp, but a swordfish!

"You want us to hide? You don't want to allow me to seek a fantasy of my own?"

From afar, I heard the string and wind quartet performing one of my favorite songs. Usually, classical musicians prefer to focus on the 'serious' music of great composers of the past like Mozart and Beethoven, but at that moment my bushy-haired, high-heeled cellist was playing the chorus of a Guns'n'Roses song.

I can't say I was singing, because I was whispering. But between the whispers, I murmured in my wife's ear, 'Where do we go? Oh, where do we go now? Sweet wife of mine..."

Perhaps I meant 'what an embarrassing situation you are putting me in'. Maybe she understood instead that I was asking her where to go. Maybe we both thought it was just a song by pure coincidence.

At that moment, the glass door of a Turkish bath opened. A stream of vapor accompanied the exit of three women. One was young and very pretty, with tattoos all over her: I imagined she was the wife of some bearded top executive who would arrive late. The other two looked like caricatures of Don Quixote and Sancho: one tall and skinny, the other short and plump. But what did skeletal structure matter? They all looked happy, glistening with sweat. They stopped in front of the door to put on their slippers and sandals: without heels the tall one, with heels the short one, and damask the tattooed one. They ran towards the showers chirping like joyful birds.

No shoes were left in front of the steam room door. I deduced that the steam room was empty and that I could hide my embarrassment. I wanted to drag my wife by the wrist, but as always, she was guiding me to exactly the right place.

We entered the steam bath. It was covered by an untraceable fog: the three fugitives must have kept the door closed for a very long time.

My wife sat in the first marble seat near the door. I stood, hesitantly, in profile, in front of her. I hoped that from outside no one could see my body through the fogged-up glass of the door... the fear of being discovered and the embarrassment of being erect made me even more aroused.

But the most exciting thing, as always, was my wife's voice. She knew what effect her voice had on me, and I knew that she knew what tone to use to turn me on.

It was not the voice she used in the job, nor the voice she used with our children. It was a calm, raspy voice, thick with pauses, resembling the gasps she emitted during orgasm. She never pretended to come, like in the film When Harry Met Sally...: if she wasn't in the mood one night, she would tell me and make me cum with her hands or her mouth. But she was never pretending.

However, Marina knew how to reproduce that voice (the «Voice of Orgasm», she called it) to turn me on.

"Now... what's here in front of my eyes... mmm... it looks just like a hard cock... what could I do for this gentleman?"

And with her tongue, she was giving the tip of my cock very light taps.

One hand was picking up my balls, the other was letting a finger run down the shaft. Arching her back, Marina touched the frenulum with her nipple. I bent my knees into squats, to stay as close as possible to that sweet nipple.

Marina grabbed the cock with her hand, clenched her fist, and put only the head in her mouth. She moved her head back and forth, but the knuckles of her hand prevented her from taking it all in.

"OMG, Marina, this way you're going to drive me crazy..."

She let a finger dance around my anus. She knew it was a sensation that turned me on so much. Sometimes it was not even necessary to introduce the finger: just a hint was enough.

With her lips and tongue, she eagerly continued to swallow the head, but never let go.

"Do you trust me?" Marina said, between mouthfuls.

"Yes... yes."

"Now that I have your full attention, can I ask you something?"

"Whatever you want, a Porsche, a Speedboat, the Moon..."

"No, seriously: you're at the peak of your excitement, but I'm still not, and I'd like you to listen to me for a minute..." from here on Marina took on the sweetest, sexiest tone of a bratty little girl "if you'll just listen to me for a minute, I'll then kneel for you, and make you cum, and swallow it all... like a good, loving little wife..."

"Tell me everything swirling around in your brain, honey."

Marina hesitated. Why was she hesitating? We had always told each other everything, with the utmost sincerity.

"Let's talk about secret fantasies. The last time we came here, me and my team, the psychologists' course (from Heidi's office) was on the secrets and benefits of sincerity.

You know that the company believes a lot in transparency and direct communication.

You see, Luigi, honey, that day the course ended with a sentence that shocked me: «we will never know all the secrets of another person».

Can you trust me?"

I was less excited than before: the blowjob was great and the situation was steamy, but in my wife's voice I sensed an element of concern.

"I trust you, honey, but why are you nervous? It's the two of us, we love each other, we have no hidden secrets..."

"The course taught that even between two spouses there are always fantasies that one of them never confesses, out of shyness or fear of scaring the other..."

"But I don't have any secrets," I protested. It wasn't true, but it was simple.

"It's not true and you know it." My wife wrung her hands as if she had a secret she wasn't telling me.

"Luigi... Everyone hides secrets, so as not to offend sensibilities, and you secretly masturbate, many nights a week, and you have never told me about it, isn't that a secret?