Exhibitionist to Swinger: Chapter 10

Thursday started badly for us; Renée denied me sex the night before, telling me to wait for our reclamation. She said that Gareth and Gemma normally waited until the last couple of hours of their holiday, and she allowed him to unleash all of his frustrations, having been erotically charged for days.

I wasn’t keen on that, and also it meant that I could not partake in any of the fun during the day. As it was, Renée received a phone call at 8:30am. It was 9:30am in the UK, and her company was under a cyberattack. Using her phone and her headphones, she dressed in her least inappropriate attire and joined a “30-minute teleconference that lasted for hours.” The hacking collective completed a successful hack that compromised several of Renée’s customers and clients, and also rival companies. It was big news, but the company escaped relatively unharmed.

However, that was not the belief at 9:30am, and by lunchtime, my stressed girlfriend was concerned. I bought lunch and brought it back to our apartment, and then in the mid-afternoon I went for a walk along the beach after applying considerable amounts of suncream.

It was the worst thing I could have done. I was already horny from the day before, and had promised Renée I would not seek sexual relief. Therefore, I read my book on the sand and watched scores of copulating couples, random blowjobs and handjobs without being able to take part.

The beach was packed. Even though it was late afternoon, the coast teemed with sexual activity. Men prowled, seeking women to pleasure them, and easily found girls who’d comply. The libertine adult area was wild. I settled on a spot between two entwined couples, subtly sneaking peeks as the woman beside me sucked her partner’s cock with aggressive enthusiasm, her fingers buried inside herself. I pretended to read, gripping my eBook reader tighter as another couple started fucking doggy style mere feet away.

After half-an-hour, I saw Gemma striding across the sand hand-in-hand with Gareth. She was naked, save for a white see-through sarong, her pert breasts bouncing with each step, while her husband wore a tight pink G-string with writing on it and carried a large hessian bag. They approached and laid their towels next to me. Gareth rubbed sunscreen into her body as she lay on the cotton sheet. “No Renée?”

“Work issues,” I replied diplomatically. “She said she hoped to be done by teatime, but …” I shrugged. “… who knows?”

“So you’re down here having fun without her?”

“I’m not allowed,” I moaned. “Under the terms of the bet.”

She chuckled; we chatted as her partner rubbed suncream into her, and then she took her sunhat and sunglasses and wandered into the dunes for “a little fun.” I read the writing on his tight G-string – “Tiny Cock. Fuck my wife,” and my eyes looked away. That wasn’t the dynamic I wanted for myself and Renée.

I was averagely sized; maybe slightly bigger. I didn’t possess a monster, but I gave my lover pleasure, and she enjoyed our sex. But mostly, I didn’t like humiliation or degradation. I wouldn’t want to wear such an item. Renée could have freedom, and we’d have fun. But her liberation did not mean I had to surrender my dignity.

Gareth noticed my glance. “I enjoy watching her have bigger and better pricks,” he said simply. “It’s a release for both of us. And she likes me to advertise my shortcomings.”

I shrugged. “You do you; I’m not judging.” We had an interesting chat as Gareth opened up about their adventures in far greater detail than before. Gemma returned about an hour later, flushed and sweating, her hair tousled and her sarong discarded. “Come on, boys,” she murmured. “There’s about fifty people back there. I know you’re denied, but you can at least watch.”

It was a torment, and one that we both readily accepted, following Gemma away from the sea and into the scrubland.

The dunes had been transformed into an open-air sex club. Couples tangled together on towels, groups of men circled lone women, and voyeurs lurked at the edges. The wash of the waves and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin underscored groans, cries and punched yells in French. Gemma led straight into the heart of it, where a dozen bodies writhed in a loose ring around a petite blonde woman straddling a muscular Black man. His hands gripped her hips as she rode him, her moans lost in the chorus of gasps and laughter.

She knelt in the sand and immediately took a man’s prick into her mouth. No words uttered, no hesitation. Gareth stood beside me, unmoved as she serviced a random man. “She’s insatiable,” I murmured, eyes fixed on her lips stretching around a thick girth.

Nearby, a couple spit-roasted a chubby white woman, her hands gripping one man’s thighs while another fucked her from behind. And a gay couple were performing 69, while a bukkake session for an already drenched silver-haired lady was to our right.

It was a sinful, disgraceful libertine playground. And my erect cock desperately wanted to play. But Renée’s rule was torture. Gemma’s eyes flicked up to me, glinting with amusement as she swallowed. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Meanwhile, Gareth spoke casually as he watched his wife perform, explaining, “The first time we did this, I almost lost it from jealousy. Now? It’s natural. It’s so sexy.”

I stayed for another half-an-hour until I bade them goodbye and hurried back to the apartment. Renée was calmer on her call, so I showered, washing the suncream and sand from my body, and waited for her to finish.

We both had plenty to discuss over tea at the restaurant; she was aghast that she’d missed such a debauched experience in the dunes, but the hacking incident was not as much of an issue as they thought. “Two old servers that host legacy code for a website that’s been decommissioned and hosts no customer data,” she explained. “That was all they hit. For us. But lots of others have been badly smashed.”

“Shows your value to the business. You have one week off, and they phone you. We had that when we were on holiday at Easter and last year too.”

She shrugged. “It’s part of my job. I never get to switch off. That’s why they pay me big bucks and I have share options and so on. I can’t do what I do if I can disappear.”

“Well, we best not book any holidays to Antartica then.”

She had donned lacy stockings, suspenders, briefs and a bra underneath her summer dress, and as we finished our meal, Gemma and Gareth wandered into the cafe, sitting at an adjacent table. “How’s work?” Her bukkake rival asked; she wore a sheer sundress as she seated herself, glancing at the menu.

“Fine now,” Renée replied. “I heard about your antics in the dunes.”

“Yeah, they’re always good fun. But the police sometimes patrol them, so we have to be careful. I go only twice each year. Much prefer the private parties, the campsites, the beach, the swingers’ clubs.” She smiled. “Sounds like I’m a bit of a sex addict.”

I said nothing, but Gemma sounded a lot like Poppy. “When you’ve had that, shall we do the porn cinema bet?”

“It doesn’t open for another two hours,” the Mancunian replied. “And it’s only open for three or four hours.”

“More drinks then!” She offered, and we spent the evening drinking beer, wine, and a few shots. I’d say it was Dutch courage, but with what my girlfriend and her slutty mentor planned, I needed little alcoholic encouragement.

The four of us were at the head of the line when the cinema opened; a few rows of less than a dozen red seats each, and then a couple of sofas at the bottom of the banked stairs underneath the large screen. It was warm; the air conditioning was already struggling, and there was a faint, musky odour of human endeavour.

Renée removed her bra, briefs and dress; Gemma replaced her sundress with knee pads. “Pays to come prepared,” she teased.

Renée’s hand slid over my erection through my shorts, her lips brushing my ear. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I won’t let you lose.” The cinema flickered to life as the wild scene played on the screen. But our eyes focused on our women kneeling beside the sofa. Gemma’s knees were already sinking into the worn carpet, while Renée knelt alongside her, chatting conspiratorially.

Competitors. Kindred spirits. Jezebels.

Men filed in dribs and drabs; locals and tourists who understood. A couple came with women, but most sat to watch the pornography, scoping out the fellow visitors at first. A few snatched words of English or Italian, but much more of French.

Within minutes, a pair of lovers started on each other, progressing from oral to full sex on a sofa. As the exhibitionist crowded to watch, Gemma had her first man – a tall German with thick, tattooed forearms and the bushiest beard. Renée beckoned a younger guy towards her and as the screen flickered with an anal scene, the women’s heads bobbed in perfect sync.

Gemma deep-throated her man, her fingers working another’s cock beside her. Renée looked seductively at her young volunteer, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, while her hand stroked the length not in her mouth. And almost in synchronised unison, they pulled the pricks from their mouths, pumped them quickly and painted their bare chests with anonymous cum.

My painful erection dug into my boxer shorts. Spellbound and enchanted, I watched Renée lick her lips theatrically and replace her young man with his mate. Fellating another stranger, bringing him to orgasm. He could be any nationality; she didn’t care about age, looks, or creed. My girlfriend just wanted sperm.

And lots of it.

Renée’s lips stretched around her fourth cock in ten minutes, her throat working effortlessly as she took him deep. Beside her, Gemma had already collected five loads, with streaks glistening down her breasts, face and stockings.

I felt too hot; either through excitement or the cinema’s poor air conditioning system. The venue stank of sweat and sex, the room thick with groans, cries, the slick sounds of mouths working flesh and the forgotten porn film.

Renée’s lips slid around her latest conquest, while her fingers twisted another man’s cock impatiently. “She’s enjoying it,” Gareth said needlessly. The cinema became busier; men circled the two women like sharks, and we had to move closer to the front to continue ogling them. There were too many guys awaiting their turns. Renée’s eighth or ninth load erupted across her collarbones, mixing with the others, as Gemma inhaled her tenth: a fat, veined prick that pulsed multiple times over her bosom, neck and face.

My girlfriend’s competitive nature reigned. She gripped two men at once, jerking them off while a third fucked her mouth in short, brutal thrusts. Her mascara streaked from watery eyes, but her grin never faltered.

Their skin glistened and gleamed under the illumination from the cinema screen. She gasped between choking gulps, pulling free just as the man arched and painted her chin with ropes of cum. A couple more masturbated over her, and then I’d lost count completely.

Men filed in. A handful entered the cinema with their wives or girlfriends, and one jerked her partner over my lover, spraying his dick over Renée. Gareth stepped in when a couple of guys got a little rough, and I saw Gemma had at least one man who held the back of her head as he ejaculated down her throat, denying her a bukkake “credit.”

Unfair, but they were the rules.

And Renée was very careful to have any guy she touched pump their cum over her body.

I was in my own magical fantasy world; what I witnessed would haunt and stalk my dreams for months, but the woman that I adored and loved was nothing but a cheap back-alley whore, taking every prick in the half-light and ensuring that they spoilt and besmirched her body, painting her flesh with their seed. Drowned in jizz, she looked disgusting.

And it was the sexiest sight of my life. My erection had barely flagged, and my hormones were in overdrive. I needed relief, and I constantly glanced at my watch, waiting for midnight, when the game ended. In contrast, I also never wanted this day to end.

Both of them acted and behaved wantonly. Desperate to have more and more loads plastered over their near-naked bodies. They weren’t wearing many clothes, but their stocking tops and garter belts were soaked.

And when our watches pinged midnight, we signalled to our women, who struggled to their feet. Pools and spurts of semen puddled on the carpets, as they tottered up the stairs, wiping their skin. “Fuck, that German had a huge load,” Renée moaned. “It was a fucking fire hose.”

“I had a couple like that,” Gemma replied. Talking as if they were discussing something quite inconsequential.

“How many did you do?” I asked, but my partner just giggled.

“Tally up at our apartment. I need to cool down on my balcony. It’s so hot in there.”

The scent of their exertions clung to them as they did another walk of absolute humiliation, crossing the swingers resort covered in cum until they reached our flat. Both Gareth and I stripped naked, and I took a bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring the fruity rose into four glasses. Both of the women smeared cum on their drinks as they held their alcoholic refreshments.

“Twenty-two,” Renée said when I asked her again.

“Ahh shit!” The Mancunian snapped. “Twenty-two as well.”

Renée’s grin faltered. “Wait, seriously?” She wiped a streak of drying cum from her forehead with a slippery finger. “What do we do? Keep them both in suspense?”

Gemma giggled and took a euro coin from the table, sliding it to me. “Flip it. Tails, you fuck me. Heads, I suck you.”

“And I get Gareth?”

“Yeah, but he’ll want to lick the cum off your tits. The disgusting little cuck likes that.” Gareth didn’t even wait; he leaned across and pushed his face into the rivers of wetness over my partner, groaning as he took long licks of their drying debauchery.

Gemma’s eyes watched as I flicked the coin, caught it and showed her. “Tails.”

“Get a condom then,” she demanded. When I returned, Gemma stood, leaning against our balcony railings. Strangers on the ground could see her if they looked upwards, but she was shameless. She didn’t care. Renée had twisted in her seat, took another sip of wine, and grabbed hold of his hair, guiding him over her stomach to more evidence of their party.

I smelt Gemma’s musk and sweat, mixed with the tang of semen and alcohol. She smelled disgusting. And divine. Streaks of cum ran down her thigh as I rolled the sheath over my prick and gripped her slippery waist, sliding my dick into her.

Effortlessly.

She groaned and pushed back against me, grinding herself onto my erection, forcing me deeper inside her, while her fingers rubbed against her slit. Gareth’s tongue lapped at Renée’s stomach, her mons and then her cummy thighs, as my girlfriend steered his mouth to where the mess remained.

Gemma bucked against my thrusts, her fingers sliding on the railings as I fucked her from behind. Strangers on the ground below looked up; a few stopped and laughed, but she didn’t care, imploring me to go “harder.” My fingers slipped and slid around her body, barely able to grip her slick waist.

Renée’s moans escalated as Gareth’s tongue worked her skin, her legs draped over his shoulders as he licked and sucked and cleaned the cum from her flesh. “Fuck yes,” she sighed, squealing as he feasted on her clit.

My hands slid around her torso, sliding over her slippery skin. Our thighs slapped as I pounded into her; my fingers twisting against her nipples. She groaned, swearing into the night as her body trembled.

Renée gasped and writhed, her fingers gripping Gareth’s hair as he slurped and sucked. Gemma arched against me, her balance wobbling in her high heels as she bucked against my thrusts, crying out as I pushed deep inside her, chasing my orgasm.

I cried out, pistoning desperately into her. The two women had 44 loads of cum sprayed over them and then they came here for sexual attention. The memories of their abject sluttishness made it nastier and dirtier. My senses fed my lust; Gemma and Renée looked filthy, they smelt obscene and their actions were outrageously disgusting. And it turned my horniness into an uncontrollable lust.

I panted, feeling the tightness in my core, as I pounded with wanton desperation. Tipping myself over the edge. Gemma’s back arched, sensing my crumbling resolve as I slammed inside her one last time, my balls slapping against her cum-slick skin, and I groaned, spilling into the condom. The pressure broke as relief flooded me.

Gemma sighed, pushing back against my softening cock, milking the last of my orgasm with a satisfied hum. “Mmm, nice,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. Below, a small crowd had gathered, enjoying the live sex show, and she waved at them. We’d seen such activities multiple times a day on the site, but a group had paused their nighttime walk to witness the debauched performance.

Renée writhed under Gareth’s tongue, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair as he worked her clit with relentless precision. Her moans oscillated and crescendoed – sharp, breathless cries – before her pitch lurched violently, gasping out orgasmic moans and squeals.

Gemma took the condom from me and squeezed the contents over my girlfriend, recovering through the aftershocks of a climax. “Twenty-five now,” she teased. “You win. Gareth doesn’t get sex. Unlucky cuck!”

Renée’s laughter was genuine; her fingers still tangled in Gareth’s hair. He pulled free, lips shining, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t mind,” he murmured. “I enjoyed dessert instead.” And he had; his three inch long thin cock was erect with a bead of pre-cum on the tip.

The two women showered together, and we drank wine until the small hours; Gemma and Gareth had been invited to a “cucks, hotwives and bulls” private yacht party the following day, but we explained our dynamic was more “swinging” or “wife-sharing” rather than denying the male partner.

The pair recounted plenty of stories and adventures from their partying and left as the clock approached three; Renée curled against me in our double bed.

She smelled of soap and shampoo; her soft skin scrubbed clean of the night’s debauchery. “You enjoyed watching me tonight?” She murmured, her fingers tracing idle circles on my thigh.

“More than I should admit,” I conceded, gripping her waist. The memory of her lips stretched around stranger after stranger, her skin gleaming under streaks of semen, was seared into my mind.

She laughed, our bare thighs pressed together. “Gemma’s idea was brilliant. Though I think we could have drowned in cum tonight.” Her fingers danced higher, teasing. “But watching you fuck her like that? God, I came just seeing your face when you lost control.”

I gripped her wrist before she could wrap her fist around my prick. “Haven’t you had enough sex tonight? And you said you were exhausted,” I reminded her, though my pulse jumped under her touch. “Let’s do it again in the morning.”

She giggled, turned away from me, and then swung her legs over my hips. “It is morning,” she replied, and her fingers stroked my prick, bringing it to hardness. And then she impaled herself on my dick, riding me until I’d emptied into her.