Exhibitionist to Swinger: Chapter 08

Although the disagreement had no long-lasting animosity, and Lucille and Poppy were on good terms again the following day, the young nymph was still keen to move in with us. Her social life suffered being in Windsor, and while the living arrangements were considerably better at Lucille’s expansive property than with her immediate family, she liked the idea of being closer to the public transport network, her social circle, and her friends.

Renée and I travelled to Lucille’s house on Wednesday evening. Lucille shared a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and an hour of gossip with my girlfriend. Poppy and I loaded Poppy’s “essentials” into Renée’s car, which I then drove back to Putney.

My lover had strict rules about tidiness, and although we had a cleaner who visited on three days, my girlfriend still expected Poppy to be tidy. She also put any extracurricular activities in the bedroom department off-menu during the week; we were busy with work and life, and Renée wanted to ensure that having a needy nymphomaniac in the next room didn’t detract from our intimate time, which was essential for the health of our relationship.

Poppy met with friends on Friday night and got heroically drunk. Renée was unimpressed as she staggered into the garden, and we had to put her to bed. I overheard the mild chastisement the following day as she suffered with a hangover, before the two confidantes spent the afternoon at a spa-and-wellness centre, relaxing in the pool, receiving a massage, and detoxing.

Renée was also scheming; she arranged for four entries in a ten-mile running race for Sunday, and my lover tasked me with ensuring Ben had suitable “gear” for this endeavour. She already knew his size from his suit fitting.

All three of us were outside the betting shop at 7:05am in Renée’s Lexus, dressed in our running clothes, and he sat in the back seat alongside Poppy. “Hiya. And thanks,” he said as he closed the door to her vehicle.

“How’s things?”

“I was in your offices on Friday with my ID. Signed the contract and gave it in. Provisional start date for a fortnight on Monday. Pending references.”

“I sent mine in,” Poppy interrupted. “Renée helped … or didn’t help at all … me write it.”

He smiled at her. “How far is this run again?”

“A few miles,” my girlfriend replied airily. “We have kit for you.”

“And men in Lycra really turn me on,” Poppy added.

“Men turn you on.”

“Well, this man, certainly.” Poppy’s fingers danced over Ben’s knee.

Renée’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror. “Keep it in your pants for a change. You can have him after lunch.”

Her brow furrowed in annoyance. The drive to the large reservoir outside London, which was the start and finish point of the race; it was cooler than previous mornings, and Renée called it ideal running weather. She and Poppy had chosen skimpy briefs, tight tops and little else, but there were several other female runners who were similarly attired in professional Olympics-style athletics wear. The two women went to the registration tent as Ben changed in the car.

We had shorts, briefs, a sports top, socks, and trail running shoes. “No offence,” he said to Renée. “But I don’t think I’m going to beat you in this race! Even if you give me a head start.”

My girlfriend smiled as she passed around the four bib numbers to affix to our clothes. “If you did, what reward would you want? Unlimited sex?”

“He gets that with Poppy already!”

“You shouldn’t shame me for my sexuality,” the young blonde snapped at me. “I like good dick. All women do!”

“No,” Renée interrupted. “If you did, what would a suitable reward be?”

“I don’t think you could give me much more,” Ben replied diplomatically, stretching his calf as he spoke. “You’ve done more for me that anyone else recently. Possibly ever.”

“And if you beat me, you can have unlimited sex for a whole day, whenever and wherever you want it!” Poppy added.

The winding race entered the South West London nature reserve, along closed roads and dedicated paths; the runners completed a circuit of the reservoir, and then through the trails and farmland. Ben and Renée started near the front, but my girlfriend soon maintained a speed he couldn’t sustain. Meanwhile, Poppy and I set a plodding, respectable pace. My partner wanted to be in the top 1% of female finishers; I was hoping for anything above the half-way point.

So, I chatted to the young woman as we ran. The nymph pushed me faster than I planned to go, and I suffered in the warming weather, struggling for the last two or three kilometres to the finish line.

Ben and Renée greeted us as we stumbled over the tape, and were given a goody-bag and medal. “How d’ya do?”

“Terrible,” my lover moaned. “I was fifty-four minutes.” I looked back at the clock; she had completed the course over half-an-hour quicker than me.

“And you, Ben?” Poppy panted, stopping by a patch of grass.

“One, five.”

An impressive time; we all said so. Renée and Ben chatted earnestly about pacing and technique, while the unpredictable blonde flopped onto the ground, spread-eagled on the hard earth, groaning about her tiring muscles. Many of the finishing runners had an excellent view of the young exhibitionist’s barely there running apparel as they walked back to their vehicles or transport.

“Come on!” Renée called to her friend. When Poppy didn’t move, my girlfriend tipped the remainder of her bottle of water over the motionless runner, sending her white Lycra very transparent and eliciting shrieks from the young woman.

“You fucking bitch!” Poppy squealed and scrambled to her feet to chase my partner back to our car.

Once home, we showered. Nobody dressed as we lounged in our garden with an array of lunchtime sandwiches. Ben and Renée had moved on from conversing about running to his new employer, while the young nymph attempted to steal his focus.

Clearly, I was worth talking to, but she really wanted to get Ben to direct a spotlight on her. I could tell he was conflicted. “Just blow him,” I joked to Poppy. “That always gets the guy to give you attention!”

Renée’s gaze flickered towards me with a hint of exasperation as her friend padded on all fours around the picnic mat with a predatory look in her eye. “What?” Ben asked, watching the blonde woman stalk closer. Her eyes focused on him as she lunged forward, tipping him onto his back as their bodies collided.

A groan followed Ben’s startled cry at the unexpected playfulness as Poppy’s lips swirled over his soft prick, sucking it gently.

“For God’s sake, Poppy,” my girlfriend muttered. “Leave the poor boy alone for a moment.”

The young nymphomaniac ignored Renée’s expression of disapproval, and I reached over to smack her exposed buttocks as she lay on the grass, her mouth gently bobbing on Ben’s prick.

She murmured into his cock, and I did it again, the palm of my hand leaving a red tattoo on her soft, peachy flesh. She wiggled her butt, and so I reached for it once more, squeezing and spanking her arse. Renée’s expression changed as her boyfriend groped another woman.

But Poppy didn’t care that I fondled and mauled her; her focus was on Ben, reaching down and gently caressing his balls as she slurped on his cock. The fellatrix worked him into arousal as my gentle smacks became firmer and less playful.

Renée and I had no real experience with BDSM or with any kind of kinky dominance, but punishing the bratty, sex-obsessed debauchee felt natural. Poppy moaned around Ben’s prick as I slapped her again and again, leaving her skin pink and warm under my palm. My girlfriend watched, intrigued, but she didn’t stop me, and the blonde gamahucher’s muffled whimpers into her mouthful of cock were unmistakably those of pleasure.

Ben’s hands tangled in Poppy’s fair hair, guiding her deeper. She hollowed her cheeks, dragging her tongue along his shaft as she sucked him harder. “Fuck!” he hissed. My fingers danced over her reddening buttocks as I patted them and enjoyed her smooth, nubile flesh under my touch. As soft as velvet, and I smashed my palm into each buttock twice with loud smacks that carried around the garden.

Renée watched the show; I played with Poppy’s arse, and she wiggled her hips as my hands fondled, soothed and then mistreated her taut skin. My fingers slipped lower, gliding along her satiny slit. “Fuck, she’s horny!”

My girlfriend gave a gentle nod as I explored further, sliding over and teasing her sensitive clit, just like Renée enjoyed. Poppy whimpered into the deep throat, groaning as I frigged her, and the young nymphomaniac bucked against my hand and writhed on the blanket. Her knees spread wider as she arched her back, offering herself to my ministrations.

“Little slut needs a fucking,” Renée remarked, pressing my shoulder with her outstretched toe. “Spit roast her, boys.” Poppy whimpered agreement around Ben’s cock, arching her back further as my fingers plunged inside her heat. “And face fuck her. Use her. Treat her like the dirty little whore she is.”

Ben’s hips jerked reflexively when Poppy moaned, her throat vibrating around his sensitive cock. I knelt behind the young woman, lining myself up with her glistening folds, as my girlfriend directed the debauchery. The thrust punched a suppressed groan from the desperate woman, her body a mere vessel for two men.

It was the first time I’d fucked Poppy. In front of my life partner, I took another woman, and did it with the casualness of ordering a drink at a bar.

I plunged my prick into her, slamming harder and harder into her sex, while my hands slapped her crimson butt or used her waist for leverage. Meanwhile, Ben had taken Renée’s command and held the back of Poppy’s blonde locks as he thrust his cock into her mouth.

“Fuck her harder,” Renée murmured, watching us both. Poppy’s muffled screams were barely audible; she gasped, gagged by Ben’s cock, and her arse slapped against my thighs as I drilled fervently into her. My girlfriend watched intently, fascinated by the sight of her boyfriend and her protégé screwing her close friend. “Show me how much you enjoy her.”

It was also how much Poppy loved it; her cunt quivered around my prick as our mistreatment brought her to a screaming, powerful orgasm that ripped through her body; she squeezed the blanket with her fingers and curled her toes. The young jezebel arched her back further, crying into Ben’s cock as he reached his point of inevitability.

Within ten seconds of each other, two men pumped two loads of cum into Poppy in two separate holes; her throat flooded, her cunt full. She collapsed onto the grass, her body spent and exhausted, panting. Drool and semen leaked from her lips. Her eyes streamed, and she had red handprints on her buttocks.

Poppy was a mess. She let out a weak, satisfied groan as she rolled onto her back, limbs splayed like a starfish, and Renée walked around the picnic blanket, smiling with a small black tube in her hand. Lipstick.

And she wrote CUMSLUT on her stomach in scarlet makeup. “Ben,” she called. “Take a picture. Eyes gushing, cum on her chin and her skin, flowing from her pussy. She’s a disgrace.”

It was a side to Renée that I hadn’t seen before; she was degrading and denigrating a friend, but Ben obeyed, taking several photos of Poppy’s abused body while my girlfriend directed him.

“Now, as we were saying before a promiscuous whore interrupted us,” she said and resumed her conversation with her new employee. It felt unnatural, but Poppy came to, wiped her eyes, and sat upright again on the grass. She emptied the last of the diet lemonade into her mouth.

She looked at the scarlet lipstick and smirked. “I am!” she admitted, treating Renée’s insult as a badge of honour. She stretched her legs and rolled onto her back, resting her head in Ben’s lap as he discussed business with Renée. He instinctively cradled her face and put his hand on her collarbone as she lazed on him, stroking her gently.

Almost cat-like as she purred, content in the early afternoon sun as she relaxed post-coitally with her lover. She didn’t care that cum leaked from her onto the grass, or that she was daubed with an offensive taunt. She seemed happy. Spent and exhausted.

Renée resumed her discussion with Ben, detailing the work culture, training program, and expected behaviours in the workplace. He nodded diligently, stroking Poppy’s blonde hair as he listened.

By mid-afternoon, the couple slipped upstairs and showered; the young blonde had half-an-hour with her lover as Renée and I dressed, and I drove Ben home.

Our trip to Cap D’Agde was approaching, and while Poppy would be alone in the house and welcome to entertain the young man, she couldn’t drive, so he was reliant on public transport or his own devices. He expected to sort something out.

That evening, Renée and I chatted naked in our lounge. Another line had been crossed, but it did not bother her, dismissing it with a wave of her finger. It was insignificant and immaterial to her. “I just fucked another woman bareback,” I said. “Isn’t that … y’know … a big deal?”

“You won’t be doing it like that in France,” Renée replied. “Condoms over there. But we’ll be having lots of extra sex. It’s fun. And naughty. It strengthens us, don’t you think?”

“Well …”

She rose from the chair and held out her hand for me to take. “I watched as you spanked the little cumguzzler. I saw you finger her and then I witnessed you screw the desperate slut so hard she had to have a snooze in the afternoon sun.” Her lips parted as she stood there. “And so I’m really in the mood to reclaim you.”

Her knees landed on the cushions either side of me, and she rested her forehead on mine. I smelt the wine on her breath. “I want you to fuck me like you own me.” She paused. “Because you do.”

Renée rocked her hips against mine, teasing me through my trousers. She forced my head back and whispered against my throat, “Tell me how much you loved spanking that little cumslut. And how nice she felt when you slid your dick into the fucking whore. How wet she was, how tight her shaved snatch was, how young she is.” I groaned as her teeth grazed my skin. “And then tell me how hard you are going to fuck me. How hard you are going to spank me and how rough you are going to be with me!”

Renée was commanding, and yet submissive. She wanted me to screw her with the same aggression I had used on Poppy, but with ownership and with love. I put my hands underneath her, moving her aside as I stood up. “Let’s go upstairs then.”

She sniggered, glancing out of the window into her garden and the last remnants of twilight; darkness was falling. “Outside,” she commanded.

“Yes, but I want the lipstick,” I said, slapping her butt with a cheeky swipe.

“It’s so not your colour!”

Renée strode outside with a confidence that showcased her nudity; I spread a blanket onto the grass, tossing the cheap lipstick into the corner of the fabric. The outdoor motion sensor light flickered on, illuminating our bodies in the encroaching dusk as I sat on the navy cover. It was a little cool, but not cold. A lovely English summer night in the capital.

Her smirk wavered when I pulled her onto my lap and stroked her buttocks, warming them. “Why did you humiliate Poppy?” I murmured.

Renée sighed, wiggling her butt. Not resisting, but she was not fully submitting yet. “Because she interrupted me and … “ Her fingers dug into the blanket as I delivered the first stinging slap. “Ah!… But mostly …” Another smack cut her off. “Mostly …” Redness blossomed as I dispensed another and another. “She deserves it.” I slapped her cheeks again. “And you did it first. I enjoyed watching it,” she hurriedly said between my hits.

The flow was almost hypnotic and rhythmic: smack, pause, smack, pause. The crisp sound echoing in our garden, woven with her gasps. Renée writhed, her body aching from excitement. “You enjoyed punishing her,” she panted. Another slap. “And I loved watching you … nngh … own and dominate her. She allowed … ahhh, fuck! … she wanted you.”

I traced circles over the reddening skin before striking again. “But Poppy just went along with it when you told me to. But you’ve begged for the same treatment. You want me to spank you and then to roughly fuck you. And Ben’s already fucked you when he got out because you pleaded with him to. So who else is a fucking cumslut, Renée?”

My girlfriend hissed when I slapped harder, her thighs squeezing together as she processed the pain. “No!”

I dug my fingers into her scorched skin. “Say it. You’re no better than Poppy. You’re just a cheap fucking slut.”

She groaned, hips bucking against my thigh. “OK, I’m your slut.” The admission ripped from her throat like a confession.

“Louder.”

“I’m your slut,” she gasped, deeper now, her voice raw.

My fingers slid between her thighs, finding her slick and swollen. “Fuck,” I growled against her ear. “You’re dripping just from this.”

Renée arched her back, pressing into my touch like a cat in heat. “I watched you overwhelm her,” she breathed. “And I know what you are going to do to me.” Her body twitched as I spanked her again, harder this time, the sound carrying through the quiet garden.

I pushed her onto the mat, ordering her to get on all fours. Her thighs parted the instant I touched them. The faint light caught the slick sheen between her legs, and I dragged her hips toward me, her gasp desperate and sharp.

Renée’s palms rested against the blanket as I entered her with a single thrust, no preamble or warning. “Yes …” The word dissolved into a moan. I gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh. Every snap of my hips drew another choked sound from her throat.

Her back arched deeper, presenting herself and surrendering. “Harder,” she squealed, and I obliged, slamming into her until the blanket bunched beneath her knees. I slapped her buttocks as we fucked, reminding her that the rough treatment was her request.

“Just a fucking slut would love this, eh?” I asked her, slamming harder and harder into. My stomach felt tight, and my muscles heavy. I panted through exertion and enjoyment. But she needed it.

Renée clawed at the blanket, her breath ragged. “Yes! Yes! Fucking Christ! Just like that.” Her voice cracked on the words, her body trembling under mine. I gripped her hips tighter, my fingers tattooing bruises into her flesh. The slap of skin against skin carried across the garden, and I saw a flicker of movement from Poppy’s window. But I didn’t care; it didn’t matter. Only this mattered. Only my lover.

Renée arched her back further, pressing herself against me, desperate for more. “Say it again,” I growled; the power was an aphrodisiac. “What are you?”

“I’m your slut,” she gasped between groans.

My hands smashed into her buttocks as I drove into her harder, the slap of our flesh obscene in the quiet garden. I neared my peak.

Renée’s body convulsed beneath me as she climaxed, her cunt clamping around my shaft as she cried out, quivering as I mistreated her.

But I wasn’t done yet.

I withdrew my prick and pulled Renée onto her back by the hips, her legs splaying open as I dragged her down the blanket. I saw Poppy’s silhouette much clearer as she watched. “Look at you,” I muttered, thrusting into her again, slower now, savouring the way her breathing was laboured. “Begging for it in your own garden like some common, cheap tramp!”

I reached for the lipstick and popped open the lid, writing SLUT on her stomach with two hearts over her breasts. She couldn’t see in the darkness or from her angle on the ground. “What’s it say?”

I ignored her question, fucking her slower and more deliberate. Above us, Poppy’s shadow didn’t move, a silent voyeur to Renée’s kinky sex.

“Tell me,” Renée demanded, her fingers digging into my forearms.

But I stayed quiet, keeping my strokes at a calm cadence, slamming into her when I entered. It felt good; amazing, almost. I pushed Renée’s knees further apart, spreading her open as I increased my pace, chasing my release.

“You’re going to go upstairs when we’re done, cum dripping from your filthy cunt, and you will allow Poppy to take a picture of you.” Her thighs trembled, her toes curling; she was close again, her body quivered. I pinched her nipple, twisting it hard as I rolled my hips into her, grinding deep. “Say ‘thank you’ for showing your friend what a hypocritical whore you are.”

Renée groaned; she couldn’t resist. “Ahh … fuck! … Ahh … thank you,” she panted, arching into my touch like a well-trained pet. Her thighs trembled around my waist, slick with sweat and arousal. The scent of her—musky, desperate—arousal mixed with the damp grass beneath us.

I couldn’t resist any further, slamming harder and harder into her until I emptied my balls into my partner, panting as I came down from our fucking.

We lay collapsed on the blanket for a few moments. “I wouldn’t want it often,” Renée replied. “But Dominant Tom is kinky fun.”

I chuckled. “OK, go have a shower and I’ll join you. I need to tidy up.”

“Sure,” she rose from her seated position. “But I’ll just show Poppy what you did to me.”

I gestured at the window. “I think she’s seen it already.”