Renée’s friendship circle contained a mix of characters; she told me in intimate detail what happened with her friends at the photographers’ studio. Lucille and Samantha were, like my girlfriend, possessed with a wild streak. Although Renée has weeks where she does not drink alcohol, I’ve also seen her inebriated and uncontrollable. Her recent love of exhibitionism and obsession with driving unknown men to lustful thoughts was proof of her raucous side.
Callista and Tia were much younger than the other two; Samantha returned to university to complete a postgraduate degree and met the pair of undergraduates, and they joined the wider friendship group. They are more reserved and sensible than the older women.
Tess is our mutual friend; she relocated to Surrey shortly after I moved in with Renée, and she is often a calming influence on my beau.
And then there was Poppy; the twenty-four-year-old niece of Lucille, who adores my wild girlfriend. When the group is out, she matches Renée’s drinking and behaviour; I think a little subconsciously, but she doesn’t know many boundaries and has always had a voracious sexual appetite.
Lucille’s husband worked for a hedge fund in the city, and he’d given her a small fortune to celebrate her thirty-fifth birthday.
The boutique studio specialised in lingerie photoshoots and experiences. Every attendee had brought six outfits with them, and they started the event with a couple of bottles of Prosecco and three make-up women, taking turns in beautifying the attendees.
The trio of photographers each had their own room that was interconnected. The first scenes were the lingerie-clad girls set up in a group pose, sitting or standing around a sofa with glasses of wine. Renée’s dark magenta outfit contrasted beautifully with her hair, but all seven women had great bodies and the sexy images of Lucille’s six friends surrounding her on the leather settee set the tone for the evening.
The girls changed into translucent robes that Lucille had procured, and as their alcohol intake rose, the seven women lost all their inhibitions. Tantalisingly open, the gowns hid nothing, and the photographic subjects smiled and posed seductively and erotically for the camera, both in a group and then individually.
“I want some with us all naked!” Samantha demanded, shedding her robe onto the floor.
Lucille grinned, tossing hers aside as well. “Of course!” The photographer, clearly accustomed to such behaviour, barely blinked as the women bared themselves, arranging themselves on the leather sofa. Renée sat on the end, squeezed onto the seat as others fought for space around the birthday girl.
Samantha stretched one leg up over the arm of the settee, deliberately exposing herself as the camera flashed. The photographer captured the moment Callista giggled and grabbed Tia’s breast as an eruption of laughter and bodies pressed together in chaotic, drunken intimacy.
After the group shots, they divided into smaller groups, assigned an individual photographer for their shoots. Renée and Poppy each did a solo shoot with each girl lounging on a chaise longue, draped in silk sheets, their expressions sultry and seductive. My lover had chosen a black lace bodysuit for hers, with stockings and suspenders. The photographer had positioned her on her knees, arching her back, one hand tugging at her hair while the other teased the hem of her lingerie. “Perfect,” he murmured, the shutter clicking rapidly. “Now, fingertips just inside—yes, like that. Tease it.”
They ignored the calls and laughter from the other rooms as she positioned herself. Renée’s fingers traced the lace trim of her bodysuit, her breath hitching when the photographer instructed her to roll onto her back and arch her hips toward the lens.
Poppy was just as daring, copying her “mentor” with a risque nightie. The cameraman positioned her kissing a fake rose, with her thighs towards the camera, her other fingers teasing the hem of her silk nightdress. Renée watched with amusement as her young friend bit her lip, her face flushed with alcohol and exhibitionism. They took some together before changing into another ensemble.
My exhibitionist girlfriend chose a black lace corset and stockings for her next set, with no underwear beneath. The photographer adjusted her position on the chaise longue, spreading her legs wider as he instructed her to relax. “Touch your nipples,” he murmured. “Slowly.” She complied, her fingers tracing circles over her exposed breasts, her breathing quickening as the shutter clicked incessantly.
The photographers captured Renée in five different lingerie sets, two bikinis, nightwear, a French Maid’s outfit and as she performed a pair of stripteases. The final photo set was her most outrageous choice. A fancy dress costume from three years ago, she wore knee-length black boots with matching fishnet stockings, an obsidian wet-look skin-tight dress and gloves. Lucille had joked that my lover was a dominatrix after she had eviscerated a fellow director for his unwelcome comments about her team, and she donned the outfit to a Hallowe’en party.
It was funny then; it was a powerful look at the photoshoot.
All eyes turned to watch as she strode into the studio, smiling with a prop in her hand. “You need a sub!” Lucille cried.
“We’re all Renée’s subs!” Samantha joked and pushed Poppy forward. The near-naked woman knelt beside the dominatrix, looking up at her as the photographer snapped away.
Renée laughed, tapping the riding crop against her thigh, lips curling. “And don’t you forget it.” She gestured sharply. “Turn. Kneel properly.” Poppy obeyed with a theatrical moan, arching her back while my lover loomed behind her, the crop tracing her spine. The shutter clicked – once, twice, and more – capturing the submissive’s flushed cheeks and Renée’s controlling gaze.
Renée lifted the riding crop, pressing the tip under Poppy’s chin. “Look at me,” she ordered, voice dripping with ersatz authority. Poppy obeyed, eyes wide – half-amused, half-aroused – as the faux-dominatrix traced the crop down her bare chest, pausing just above her nipple. The room held its breath. Click. Click. Click.
The photographer circled them like a shark. “Domme, pull her hair. Harder. Like that.” Renée’s fingers twisted into Poppy’s blonde waves, pulling her head back as she bent over her, looking directly into her submissive’s expression. Poppy gasped, her breasts pressed forward instinctively. Click. “Now the crop between her legs. Don’t touch. Just tease.” Renée smirked, sliding the leather tip along her young friend’s inner thigh, stopping a whisper away from her damp lace panties.
“What would you do with her?” Samantha asked.
My girlfriend smiled, thinking for a moment. “You know how Poppy moans that all of her boyfriends have been shit in bed? So I’d tie her up and let our friends use her until she’s satisfied!”
Poppy’s eyes widened as the group erupted into laughter; the photographer kept snapping, capturing the young woman’s shocked expression and the dominatrix’s wicked grin. Poppy stripped naked before others were photographed as Renée’s “submissive.” The cameraman captured Renée on her own too, as the seven women spent four hours at the studio, enjoying the risque, raunchy afternoon.
After the experience, the celebrating ladies moved onto a restaurant and bar. More wine, cocktails and a three-course meal at their own table. Renée sat between Poppy and Lucille, her bare thighs pressed against theirs as they gouged gluttonously. The restaurant’s dim lighting cast shadows across their flushed faces, still giddy from the shoot, and Poppy’s hand lingered on Renée’s knee, her thumb tracing idle circles as she leaned in. “You were terrifying back there,” she murmured, breath warm against my girlfriend’s ear. “I almost came when you pulled my hair. Does Tom enjoy it when you dress like that?”
Renée laughed. “No. We don’t do BDSM. I’m more of a playful girl.”
Poppy’s fingers tightened slightly on her thigh. “I would have guessed you were a lesbian dominatrix! I was putty in your hands.”
“No, I’m straight,” my girlfriend replied. “Or mostly straight. I want to do threesomes though. And maybe, swinging. But Tom’s not that interested at the moment.”
Poppy glanced over at the others laughing with Lucille, then turned her attention back to Renée. Her fingers were still drawing patterns on Renée’s skin. “He’s mad,” she murmured and licked her lips. “I’d be interested if you get him to change his mind,” she said, voice low and playful, her touch tracing higher up my girlfriend’s thigh to the hem of her summer dress. “In both.”
Renée swirled the wine in her glass before taking a slow sip. “Is that an offer, Poppy?” she asked, her tone teasing. Her friend was drunk, but not so inebriated that she didn’t say what she meant. Her tipsiness had made her indiscreet. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever convince Tom otherwise.”
The final act of Lucille’s celebration were for the birthday girl to spin a bottle and give an attendees a dare. Renée received it and “had to attend her barbecue in one outfit she had on today.” I know she delighted at the prospect. They then went to a nightclub, got heroically drunk, and my girlfriend arrived home at 3am in the back of a taxi.
Where she woke me up, demanded sex, and as she rode my prick in the darkness told me all about her wild evening.
I smelt the alcohol on her skin and her breath, tasted the wine when I kissed her and felt the desperation in her flesh. “So much fun,” she whispered, her hips rolling with deliberate slowness. “Especially Poppy.” She laughed, breathless, as my hands slid up her thighs to grip her waist. “She wants us to fuck her.”
“What?” I squealed.
Renée leaned back, resting her palms on my thigh; I toyed with her clit as she bucked her hips on my bare prick. “She said she’d suck you off if I asked,” she added, watching my face. “While I watched. She got so pissed. I reckon I could have taken her into the accessible toilet for a quickie.”
“What?” I groaned, thrusting up into her slick warmth. “You serious?”
Renée’s laughter dissolved into a desperate moan as my fingers worked her clit in tandem with my hips. “Yeah,” she gasped, her thighs trembling. “She practically begged me in the taxi. Said she wanted to get you hard, and then let you fuck her while I rode her face. God, the way she looked at me when she suggested it. It’s like she was already tasting me. Made me so fucking horny.”
Her words sent electric shocks through me, my cock twitching inside her. The image of Poppy – tipsy, flushed, and eager – danced through my mind. Renée sensed my arousal. “You like that?” she murmured, rocking harder. “Fucking that little slut as I watch? And watching as she eats me out.”
I pressed her clit firmer, encircling her slippery button as I thrusted into her with ragged pants. “Oh, shit,” I squealed.
Renée didn’t stop teasing, grunting as she neared her peak. “She shaves her snatch so there’s just a landing strip,” she added, riding me as I lost control, groaning as my cock pulsed. “It’ll be so smooth as you slide your dick in!” The visual thought was too much as I imagined Poppy, naked, her lips parted as I pushed into her. My girlfriend gasped, her thighs clamping around me as she shuddered through her own orgasm, collapsing onto my chest with a sigh.
We stayed motionless for a few seconds before my girlfriend stirred, smirking as he rolled from me. “Don’t say it,” I told her.
“I say nothing,” she giggled, walking towards her en-suite.
“It was a horny fantasy.”
She waited by the door, looking across the room at me as I reached for the tissues. “Just a fantasy?” She teased before entering our bathroom.
Renée worked from home with a large hangover and also had to travel into the city to pick up a big bag of her clothing from the photographer’s studio. All the women had left behind lingerie, nightwear and more, and in one of our lounges were seven rucksacks, suitcases and holdalls. “We’re seeing them at the weekend so I’ll just take ‘em then.”
“Oh, the picnic?”
“Lucille’s birthday barbecue,” Renée corrected me. “All the girls’ll be there.”
She gave me “that” look and teased me for the rest of the week about meeting Poppy. We had sex every night, and never in our bedroom. On Saturday afternoon, I drove us across the city to Lucille’s countryside retreat. Nestled in a charming village and overlooking a stream, the extensive property and sizeable grounds were a multi-million pound pad in a beautiful corner of the country.
Over forty people were present, and my girlfriend, dressed in a summer dress, entered the party through the side gate, taking a glass of wine from a well-dressed waitress as we stepped into the celebration. Lucille’s garden was on two levels. On the lower level, the children and families played; soft drinks were on a table, and there was a pair of football goals beside the pool. An imposing set of stone steps wound to a green terrace, where the caterers, barbecue, and alcohol were located, along with half a dozen tables and chairs for adult attendees. “Renée!” Lucille cried the moment she saw my beau. “You’re not fulfilling your bet!”
“I just need somewhere to change!” I had forgotten the terms of the wager and did not know what she would choose, but her friend understood and directed her towards a shed. And a few moments later, my lover walked into the party, amongst the adults, wearing French maid-themed lingerie. A sheer black bra top with pale lacy edging, a G-string panty, a dark mesh skirt, a small semi-circle of white fabric to preserve her “dignity” and matching fishnet stockings.
She looked amazing. Heads turned; men stared. Her friends whooped as she took her wine, lapped up the attention and sauntered across the lawn to take a seat next to me. “Really?” I asked. “You might as well be naked!”
My lover grinned. “Now, there’s an idea!” She finished her drink and then circulated, ensuring she sat down with or spoke to all the adult guests. I liked many of Renée’s friends. A lot of them were quite rich, and some far more affluent than my partner, but they were mostly fun.
Poppy, who lived with Lucille, wore a white T-shirt and denim shorts, but changed into a skimpy bikini when she saw Renée’s attire. She also kept replacing my girlfriend’s drink, as the playful minx stayed close to us all afternoon.
But Renée was mischievous. She stopped to tie her shoelaces on multiple occasions, bending down in front of a guy to showcase her buttocks. When there wasn’t room around Theresa, Tia, Henry and Mike, she squeezed herself onto a wooden bench between two bemused guys.
Poppy played along. She hadn’t stopped ogling Renée all afternoon, with her eyes lingering on the sheer mesh bra or the translucent nature of the skirt. Her fingers traced the edge of the stockings, lifting the white apron to exhibit my partner’s mons through the mesh fabric. The exhibitionist enjoyed it, laughing and swatting Poppy’s hand away, but not before her younger friend had left a lasting touch that sent her heart rate soaring.
Every husband, boyfriend or single guy commented on Renée’s attire; their stares persisted much longer than was decent. She grinned with each compliment, returning their sexual banter with downright flirting. She pressed her thigh against Mike and ensured she flashed everyone she could as her alcohol consumption rose.
But she was in total control of her faculties. She worked hard to be an exhibitionist, taking a prominent role in the party until it was time for Lucille to open her presents, cut the cake or blow out her candles. It was Lucille’s day, but Renée’s opportunity for exhibitionism.
By late afternoon, the families and many of the guests left the party, and the caterers packed up, leaving just a handful of attendees. Much of the group moved to the pool area, and Renée stood by the low wall, overlooking the lower garden. “Take a picture,” she demanded of me.
I obliged, snapping a photo of her with my phone. “I might send it to Ben,” she said, smirking, knowing exactly what she was doing. She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back so the sheer bra strained against her breasts, the mesh skirt riding up just enough to tease. The picture was practically X-rated; precisely the thing her prison pen pal would obsess over.
Poppy walked up the stairs to us, holding two red cocktails and offering one to my partner. “You’re such a fucking tease,” she murmured, her fingers brushing Renée’s bare waist as my girlfriend accepted the drink. “I bet half the guys’ll be thinking of you tonight.” Renée laughed, tossing her hair.
“That’s the idea,” she said and took a slow sip, her eyes scanning the dwindling crowd and coughing. “Fuck, Poppy. How much alcohol?”
The young woman sniggered, swaying slightly. “Enough to make you more … uninhibited.” The sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows, and the remaining guests had settled into small, tipsy clusters, ignoring the three of us on the upper level. Lucille lounged by the pool’s edge, her feet dangling in the water, while Samantha and Callista whispered conspiratorially nearby. The husbands chatted on the grass, eating from bowls of crisps and peanuts.
Renée’s fingers tightened around her glass, her smirk sharpening as she glanced at Poppy. “You trying to get me drunk?”
Her friend leaned in, her breathing shallow. “I want you as pissed as me!” Her hand slid down Renée’s back, fingertips skimming the edge of her G-string. “Because what you said and did on Wednesday got me very excited.”
I felt a little awkward and offered to leave, but my girlfriend’s young friend shushed me. “Stay,” she murmured, her fingers sliding over Renée’s buttocks.
Renée laughed. “What did I say that you want so much?”
“Oh God,” Poppy squealed. “I loved the stories of your wild nudist beach. I’ve never been naked in public, let alone had sex around so many people. Threesomes, swinging, and …” she sighed. “I love Lucille and it’s so much better than my mum’s place, but this is so boring. This is a village of old bastards who can’t remember how to fuck and when they do, they don’t know anything other than missionary. Your world is richer. It’s colourful and fun.”
Renée smiled, sipping her cocktail. “I do not go swinging, and it’s not all orgies and nudity.”
“But you have something,” Poppy insisted, fingers trailing over Renée’s hipbone. “You fucked on a beach; that’s hot. You flirt with prisoners, which is crazy wild. And you wear lingerie to barbecues, which is just insane.” She exhaled sharply. “I’ve been kissed by a girl once in my life, and I haven’t had a boyfriend for months. The last time I had sex, we had a weather warning for snow!”
Renée arched an eyebrow. “Desperate?”
Poppy groaned, resting her forehead against my partner’s bare shoulder. “Pathetically so.”
Renée’s laughter was low and throaty. She sipped her cocktail, then set it down on the wall with deliberate slowness. “I know what you need!” Her hand slid around Poppy’s waist, pulling her flush against her body and kissed her, sliding her mouth against her friend’s lips. Poppy melted immediately, and I took a few steps back, subtly photographing the pair of them in a passionate embrace.
Renée’s fingers tangled in Poppy’s blonde hair, drawing a whimper from the younger woman. Their kiss deepened, tongues tangling, and their hands slid over their bodies. Renée untied her friend’s top and dropped her bikini bottoms over her thin thighs.
When they finally broke apart, Poppy’s chest heaved, her eyes sparkling with lustful surprise. “Fuck,” she panted, dazed.
My girlfriend looked at me with my erection in my shorts. “Look what we’ve done to him!” She bit her lips as she removed her mesh bra, stockings, shoes and skirt, tossing her obscene outfit towards me before she took Poppy’s hand and they descended the stairs to skinny dip in Lucille’s pool.
The remaining partygoers cheered and wolf-whistled as the pair leapt in, their nude bodies glistening under the fading sunlight. Renée surfaced first, shaking water from her hair with a wicked grin. “Come in!” Renée beckoned to her friends, her voice dripping with playfulness, while Poppy looked directly at me.
And I did, once my erection had deflated a little, I joined half-a-dozen people in the cool water, frolicking with four naked women.
And an hour later, Renée and I were in our lounge screwing on the rug.
