Bonnes Vacances

This story is written as a stand-alone, but it continues the adventures of a couple introduced in a previous story -- 'Fifty -- Fifty', and contains some back-references. You may like to read that one first.

*

Life changed following our pretend one-night-stand-with-a-stranger incident. It had to, we were both on the point of giving each other marching orders anyway, our accidental close encounter showed us what our life together could be like, and we agreed to do everything we could to start afresh. It was not easy, there was no quick fix. We both had to adapt, me more than Amy. I realised just how stuffy and boring I had become. We socialised more, accepted invitations to dinners and parties, and hosted them ourselves. I began to unwind. I even allowed Amy to teach me to dance, but only the slow, contact type of dancing. We had a lot more sex, we made time for it. Saturday evenings, if we had no other commitments, were devoted to it. We would cook a meal that we both liked, wash it down with a bottle of wine or two, then settle down perhaps to watch a film or DVD on TV. The whole thing was foreplay, the ultimate target was orgasms and lots of them.

I still had my 'business trips', that was part of my job. But no more visits to brothels. Instead I would telephone Amy in the evenings and we would enjoy 'phone-sex'. The change in me was noticed at work, I still did my job well, but now I could engage with clients in a way that I had not previously been able. I was promoted. I was now second only to the Chief Executive, who was the outright owner of the company, so his was one job that I would probably never have. It also meant fewer stays away from home.

Phone sex was not our only enjoyment of mutual masturbation, now that our liking for self-stimulation was no longer a secret, we made a feature of it. Amy would perform for me, bringing herself off with her fingers. I was not allowed to touch until she came, it was non-contact foreplay. When she had finished, we would fuck. I also performed for her, shooting my cum onto whichever part of her she chose. Of course it would take time to build up to another ejaculation, but that too, was part of the pleasure. We would also wank each other to completion simultaneously, and also lie alongside each other, head to tail, watching and wanking ourselves to a finish.

Toys began to play a part, assuming that a dildo can be described as a toy -- very efficient tool might be more accurate. One night, Amy produced one from her bedside cabinet and told me to watch but not to touch. The way she used it made me think that she had had plenty of practice. The tool became a regular, if not frequent, variation, Amy fucking herself with it while she sucked my real one. This escalated to her having one of 'us' in her cunt and the other in her arse. Eventually she broached the subject of using it on me. I suppose like most heterosexual males, this is a grey area, one part of my brain told me that this was a homosexual practice, while another part said;

"Try anything twice, the second time in case you were mistaken!"

Amy seemed to enjoy anal penetration, and I certainly enjoyed anal play. Very slowly, starting with a tiny dildo, Amy broke me in. To be sucked off while being stretched by a big one is an experience not to be missed. Amy would also bugger me while I fucked her, another extreme pleasure.

We started to push the boundaries of penetrative sex, we began to fuck in, if not exactly public places, places where there was a risk of being caught in the act. We had several narrow escapes, the fact that we were a middle-aged couple tended to give us the benefit of the doubt. Whereas people expect a younger pair to be 'at it', nobody suspected a respectable couple like us. We enjoyed al fresco sex, in woods, in fields of corn, anywhere the urge took us, and always where we might be caught. Probably our most public fuck was leaning over the balcony of a famous London store. Amy was wearing a lose skirt, she had removed her knickers in the ladies loo. She leaned over the rail, I stood behind her, lifted her skirt, unzipped and BANG!

If we could not manage a position where I could get my cock into her cunt, we would settle for one of us using fingers on the other. And fellatio could be the very definition of a 'quickie', undo flies, pull out cock, straight to mouth and it was done. An absolute minimum of clothing disruption and any mess disappeared down Amy's throat. Because a man's part is more easily accessible than a woman's, I benefitted from this more than Amy. But when time and situation permitted, Amy's capacity for multiple orgasms allowed her to catch up.

One Friday night we were in a newly opened restaurant near to our home. It had previously been a pub, but was closed and sold off by the brewery. It reopened as a couples only restaurant and was soon very popular. The food was quite excellent, but it was the theme that attracted customers. The place reeked sex. It was only possible to book a table for two, they had renamed the place; 'Adeux', a play on the French, meaning 'For two.' The proprietors were happy for it to be a same-sex couples, but they had at least to appear to be a couple. Most of the tables were banquette style, with two seats behind the table and the other side open for the food to be served. Each table was shielded from neighbouring tables by high partitions, the tables all had floor length tablecloths, so couples were hidden from the waist down. There were some tables down the centre of the dining room, also tables for two, but being in full view of the other diners, they were not popular except for the occasional exhibitionist. They even had two 'withdrawing rooms'. Small rooms containing only a couch and a box of wet-wipes. They were well used. The owners were able to charge very high prices for their food.

On this particular visit, we were at one of the banquette tables. The service was slow, the place was packed and one of the chefs had called in sick. The waitress explained the situation and we said that we were content to wait, she brought our wine immediately though. We were half way down the bottle when Amy slid down underneath the table out of sight. She undid my pants and fished out my cock, which soon rose to the occasion. She was soon sucking it beautifully, resulting in her getting a not-on-the-menu aperitif of thick spunk. She surfaced just as the starters arrived.

Amy instructed me to cut my food into small pieces so that I could eat it with one hand. She had a plan for the other hand. She guided it between her thighs, her skirt was around her waist and at some point she had removed her knickers. I ate one-handed while the middle finger of the other pumped in and out of her very wet cunt. She came between courses and I sucked her juice from my fingers.

Seated at one of the island tables directly in front of us, was an ill-matched couple. He looked to be in his fifties, she in her twenties. They could have been father and daughter, but for the way she was dressed. We had a perfect side view. Her dress was very low cut, with no evidence of a bra. The skirt was mid-calf, but slit at the side, our side, all the way to her hip. She could have been wearing a thong, but from the top of her stocking to her hip was all bare flesh. I could not keep my eyes off her, she was stunning. The sugar-daddy impression was confirmed when they disappeared to one of the withdrawing rooms between courses, returning in time for the dessert. A second dessert I assumed.

Amy leaned close to me and said softly in my ear;

"Would you like to fuck her?"

Was it that obvious? I waffled my way out of an answer, saying that I would rather fuck her, Amy.

"You have a free pass," she said, "For one night only, no limits, no recriminations. Would you like to fuck her."

I caught on. It was a game.

"Yes, I would like to fuck her."

"Even with his cum running down her leg?"

"Even better."

"Tell me what you would do to her."

I described in graphic detail what I would do to her, by the time I came in my story, I was close to coming in my pants for real. We were close enough to home to be able to walk. We hurried, we were both incredibly turned on by events, and as soon as we were indoors I fucked Amy up against the kitchen wall, fully dressed. Then we went to bed and did it again in comfort.

'Aural' sex became a regular feature. One of us would select a notional partner for the other from our fellow travellers or shoppers, and get high on the story of how the encounter would be played out. It was after the frantic sex resulting from one such session of fantasising, that Amy said;

"Would you like to fuck other women really?"

I laughed. But she persisted. She was serious.

"We've both done it before." She pointed out.

We had both 'come clean' about our lives before we met, and also about our infidelities. It served as fuel for our now spectacular love life.

"Did you have anyone in particular in mind? I asked.

"It couldn't be anyone we know," she replied. "And it would have to be as a couple. A sort of swap, I would like to watch and I would like you to watch me."

I fell asleep thinking that it would never actually happen.

When I got home from work the next day, Amy was sitting at the computer, she had been searching 'swingers' web sites. It is not possible to get very far without signing up as a member, so at the weekend, we paid our membership fee and became possible future swingers. Many of the members were clearly single men looking for free sex. We avoided them. We also avoided members who posted pictures of their members. But Amy really was serious about it, we searched for ages looking for a suitable couple, not too close to home, but within reach. Eventually we agreed on a couple. They were experienced swingers, liked to operate as a couple and lived about 50 miles away. All communication was by email, using an address set up specifically for the purpose. We exchanged photographs, dressed and in swimsuits, with faces Photoshop blurred, and eventually agreed to meet at a large carvery type pub, midway between our home towns, on a Sunday lunchtime. They would book a table for four. We had not seen their faces, but they would wear distinctive clothing, which they described.

We really did intend to at least meet them, but we were both nervous about it. We got to the pub very early and staked it out. Sure enough, they were recognisable from their clothing, but the pictures they had supplied must have been fifteen years out of date, and time had not been kind to either of them. We ran away. I emailed an apology saying that we had a family emergency and we would be in touch when it was sorted. I felt guilty about lying, but they had not been very honest, so we did not feel too badly about standing them up. And besides, we had a holiday rapidly approaching.

Amy had organised it, and with her usual precision. We were going to Corsica, a place where neither of us had been before. Nothing had been left to chance, not only was there a Plan B and a Plan C, but there were Plans B1, B1.1, C1, etc. But even Amy could not plan for totally unexpected events. Like a baggage handlers wildcat strike at Gatwick.

We arrived in Corsica at about eleven at night, their time. The hotel minibus was nowhere to be seen, we had to stump up for a taxi all the way and it was in the early hours that we arrived, tired, hot and bad-tempered. We went straight to bed and slept soundly until woken by the general buzz of daytime activity inside and out. We ordered a room-service continental breakfast, after which Amy had first turn with the shower. I slid open the doors to our balcony and stepped out into my first taste of Corsican sunshine.

Our top-floor room had a sea view over the hotel pool, which was already busy. Soaking up the Mediterranean sun were about twenty or thirty beauties wearing just bikini bottoms. Around fifty bare tits for my viewing enjoyment. I love France. Our room was on a corner, there was a road running alongside, six or seven metres wide, but pedestrianised, emergency vehicles only. Simply access to the beach between buildings. On the other side of this road was a building very similar to ours, also with balconies, and on a corner balcony one floor down from ours was a young woman sunbathing nude. Nude except for large lensed sunglasses. Was she asleep, or was she observing my letch? She was joined by a young man, wearing swimming shorts and carrying two bottles of beer, one of which he handed to the girl. She sat on the edge of the lounger to drink it, he remained standing. She beckoned him closer and said something to him. He seemed to hesitate, then placed both their drinks on the balcony table and removed his shorts, revealing a fine looking erection. The girl took hold of it sucked it into her mouth. I could not believe my eyes, my own cock swiftly rose to full strength as she enthusiastically sucked his lollipop.

I heard Amy as she came out of the bathroom and waved for her to join me on the balcony, shushing her as I did so. I nodded towards the other couple. Amy did a double-take, then whispered that we should not watch. She stayed though. The young man pulled away, obviously close to climax. The girl resumed her original position, on her back on the lounger, but this time with her legs draped over the sides. From our vantage point I could see the pink inside of her gaping cunt. The man took up his position over her and she fed his cock into herself. My hand was inside my dressing gown, stroking my own straining erection gently. Our exhibitionist friends fucked quickly and vigorously until the man's jerky movements signalled his orgasmic release. He got up immediately, his cock now limp and wet, and went inside. Any went back into our room. The girl remained spread for several minutes before getting up herself and moving towards the balcony door. At the threshold, she turned, looked up at me and blew a kiss.

I desperately wanted to fuck Amy, but she refused on the grounds that she was clean and I was sweaty. But she did wank me off in the bathroom, directing my ejaculation into the bath,

"Rinse it off." She ordered.

It was midday by the time we emerged from our room, the hotel receptionist asked us to wait, the manager wanted to speak to us. He apologised profusely for the lack of transport from the airport the previous day, and said that if we chose to eat-in that evening, it would be on the house.

We hit the streets of the small harbour town where we were staying, when the sun was at its highest and hottest. The place was almost deserted, those with any sense were behind closed shutters in the relative cool. The few people about, I assumed were English. No sign of any mad dogs though. We explored tentatively, staying on the shady side of streets, until we had to admit defeat and entered a bar which claimed to have air-conditioning. Even this was sparsely customered. We ordered two cold bières pression and sat at the bar to drink them. After a short time, the young woman bartender said;

"You're English aren't you?"

We had to be of course, no-one else would be silly enough to be out at midday. It turned out that she too, was English. In fact, she originated from the town/suburb where we now lived and where I had grown up. We soon became friends. I asked why there were so few customers, she explained that they were an evening establishment really, they opened during the day in order to catch the tourists, the locals considered their prices to be too high. She offered to show us around the place. Sure enough, it was really a restaurant, we had entered through what was really the back door, from the town. The front faced the harbour. There was a terrace cantilevered out over the water of the harbour, giving fine views. I asked if we could book a table for dinner tomorrow. Wendy, our new friend, laughed;

"Slim chance," she said. "This place is booked weeks ahead."

She went on to explain that 'Oscar's' was considered to be the best eating place on this part of the island. The policy of the owner was to allow most of the tables to be booked ahead, but to keep some tables available for 'emergencies'. An emergency could be the unexpected arrival of a celebrity, or if bad weather was forecast, to allow customers from the outside tables to be squeezed into the undercover part. If neither of these things happened, the tables would be released on a 'first come, first served' basis. People queued at the door for this to happen. If we were to arrive early, we might be lucky. We were interrupted by the telephone, which she went off to answer. Amy and I had a quick conference and decided that we were not prepared to queue, but when Wendy returned she said;

"Look, I could get the sack for this, but that was someone cancelling for tomorrow. We have a waiting list, but I could slip you in ahead of it if you promise to keep it quiet."

The 'available' table was not on the terrace, but was just inside, a sort of 'B-list' table.

"But if it rains, you will have the best table in the house," she quipped.

We accepted of course. From a somewhat disastrous start, our holiday was improving all the time.

We were up early the next day, in order to explore without being roasted. When the sun became too much for our northern skins, we returned to our hotel for a lunch time siesta: A snack, a snooze, and a fuck. How very civilised! We tried the hotel swimming pool in the afternoon, but it was too crowded for my taste, so we did a bit more exploring in the town before returning to our hotel to prepare for what promised to be a good dinner at Oscar's.

Sure enough, there were about twenty people outside, waiting hopefully. We walked past them to the head of the queue and gave our name to the doorman. He opened the rope barrier and waved us through. Wendy saw us enter and came over, greeting us like old friends. She embraced Amy and kissed her on both cheeks before turning her attention to me. As she leaned in to kiss me, she whispered;

"I have told the boss that you are my cousin from England."

The aforementioned boss came over to be introduced to Wendy's cousin and his lovely wife from England, just handshakes this time, but he lifted Amy's hand to his lips and kissed it.

"First," he gushed, "A drink at the bar. On the house."

With that flourish that Mâitre d's seen to be taught at catering school, he led us to the bar where we had had our drink yesterday. My attention, every bit of it, was captured by a stunningly beautiful young woman perched on a high stool at the bar. From her cream-coloured, high-heeled strappy sandals, stretched long, shapely legs which disappeared up the very short skirt of her dress. I say dress, it was more like a sleeveless vest than a dress. But a vest lovingly crafted from the finest silk, the colour of double Jersey cream. The heavy material clung to her ample curves and appeared to drip from the nipples of her firm, high breasts. Her close-cropped hair was almost the same colour as the dress. She looked as though she had ben dipped in cream. And I wanted to lick it all off.

My lust-smitten brain had not registered that she was with someone, he was very much in the blurred periphery of my vision. But Amy had not only seen him. She knew him!

"Charles?" She asked in disbelief.

Charles turned his attention from the vision of loveliness that was his companion and reacted with much the same surprise that Amy had. A look of startled recognition crossed his face.

"Amy! What are you doing here?" He exclaimed.

"Holidaying," Amy replied. "And you?"

"Long story," he said. "Are you dining here?"

Amy confirmed that this was so.

"Then you must join us, we have some catching up to do."

Amy introduced me.

"Yes," he said. "We have already met. A long time ago and you two were not a couple then."