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An Evening with Friends 05 — Holiday
The airport was fairly busy, as although schools had not yet started their vacations, they would be doing next week. This was why Karen and Jeff had been able to come — his holiday as a lecturer extended a week either side of the schools’ break, and while our destination was not one of the more popular destinations, it had been discovered and was steadily becoming a haven for those looking for peace and quiet.
In itself, this was an irony, in that people wanting to escape people were now flocking there, and the island was starting to respond. To date, however, the gross excesses of some venues were being avoided, and while there were a few night clubs and bars, and beaches could get crowded at peak times, our timing and avoidance of the three major hotel developments meant we should be able to relax without too much difficulty.
Obviously, before finally agreeing to go on holiday with David and his new partner, we had checked all this, and had concluded that, while not being our usual choice of location, weather and friends would more than make up for the lack of history and unique landscapes of, for example, Egypt, Mauritius, Mexico or Iceland — our more typical choices.
As soon as we decided we would go with David, Karen and Jeff, Claire had gone into a buying frenzy. Top of the list had been bikinis, followed by other beachwear and evening outfits. She argued new clothing would be needed, from jackets in case it got cooler in the evenings to underwear in case we were going to be having fun in our usual style, because climate and a new addition to our group brought with these requirements.
Apparently, these requirements extended to me, and while I was not forced into the shopping trips which she and Karen undertook together, I had a completely new wardrobe, which she refused to let me see, despite my protestations that I needed, at the very least, to check everything for size.
If my vacation-wear was kept a secret (Claire even packed alone), hers was not, and she insisted on dragging me into my studio for a ‘fashion shoot.’
As she swapped outfits, I soon realised that Claire had changed from the modest woman of a year before.
She had some outfits which were all-covering, ‘to prevent getting devoured by bloody insects,’ she explained, but teamed these with a range of skirts, split to the thigh, shorts which rode between her shapely buttocks and tops which either plunged to her navel or were sufficiently sheer that her nipples could be clearly seen, unless she wore one of the bras which had been selected to be seen, rather than hidden.
Twelve months ago, she had hidden her magnificent assets — now she celebrated her generous, shapely breasts and firm ass. In truth, twelve months ago, I would have been uncomfortable with her exposing herself like this — now I admired her and could not wait to see the looks she would draw from others.
If these clothes would draw attention, however, it was nothing to what the bikinis would do. They would draw attention and provoke family men to turn on their stomachs to cover their erections, and quite a few women to dash for the sea hide the damp patches between their thighs. Few covered her buttocks, ranging from strips of fabric which broadened at the waist, to a tiny triangle held together with string. She would certainly need to wax carefully, as any rogue hairs would be instantly revealed, as her slit was barely covered in some cases.
While I was considering the possibility that her vulva might, in fact, pop out around the sides of the bikini bottoms (as she demonstrated in our photoshoot, by giving herself a ‘front-wedgie’), the tops might easily expose her breasts entirely if she turned quickly — or even sneezed.
Some of the triangles barely covered her nipples, while others were a single, narrow piece of fabric wound around her neck and crossing to cover her. Another was separated in the centre, held by a slim, gold chain, which barely looked strong enough to hold Claire’s heavy boobs.
At the end of our shoot, she announced:
‘Of course. I might be topless a lot of the time.’
Removing the top, she posed for yet more photos. She began by lying back, as if sunbathing, then regularly changing pose, into what be considered typical ‘beach activity’. Then she began to hold her breasts, thumb her nipples, bringing them sharply erect before lifting them so that her tongue could lick and tease.
Then, with a thoughtful look, in contrast to her clearly stimulated nipples and accelerated breathing, she stated:
‘There night be nude beaches too.’
As I snapped, she turned her back to me and slid the tiny thong down, wiggling her hips as she did, before turning and resuming her sunbathing poses naked. After a few shots, however, she moved from the ‘glamour’ shots towards porn, her legs spreading wide to expose her enlarged outer lips, now slightly parted, before her hand moved down, opening herself wide ankarada sakso çeken escortlar with thumb and middle finger, allowing her index finger access to the swollen button, which changed her heavy breathing to gentle sighs.
As I photographed her masturbating, she suddenly stopped and propped herself up on her elbow.
‘Men can go naked too,’ she said, ‘so why not join me — though I think hard-ons might be frowned on!’
Rapidly, I doffed my clothes and set the camera on a tripod, using my favourite automatic setting to ensure what followed was recorded for posterity.
As she had stated, my cock stood out hard and proud, and as I approached, she reached up and grabbed my shaft, pulling me down so she could take me deep into her mouth. I loved her oral technique — sucking hard and tonguing my penis head, while rubbing it against the rough surfaces of her mouth.
As she sucked me, I fingered her hairless pussy, first rubbing her clit, letting my fingers slip smoothly over lubricated parts, then sliding first two fingers inside, allowing the ball of my thumb to continue working the sensitive flesh just above her hole.
As Claire began to sigh, voice muffled by my cock, I withdrew my hands and swivelled my body so I could begin to taste her juices as I lapped around her lips, then flicked my tongue around her swollen clitoris, revelling in the scent, taste and sensations of my wife. I brought my hands beneath her buttocks, fingers going into her pussy and slipping between her cheeks, close to her back passage. Beneath me, I felt her breasts begin to heave as she approached her climax.
As she came, I heard and felt the gasp, largely hidden by my erection in her mouth, but evident from the tensing of her thighs and stomach and the tightness around my fingers, deep inside the warm, dark tunnel.
Having carried out this first part of our lovemaking, I quickly pulled out of her mouth, lifted her to her knees and entered her, thrusting vigorously and urgently, slapping her with my thighs, desperate to fill her with my semen.
Our breathing became rapid and ragged together, as my tension built and the ejaculation reached the point of no return and as I grabbed Claire’s hips firmly, pulling her back to me, we both emitted the groans and sighs of our simultaneous orgasms.
We collapsed to the floor and lay in each other’s arms as our breathing returned to normal.
‘I take it you like my holiday wardrobe?’ Claire asked, rhetorically.
‘Mmm…’ I assented, ‘odd how not long ago I’d have hated you showing so much of yourself to the world — now it’s just a huge turn on.’
Claire considered for a moment.
‘I think we’re just more honest about what turns us on now. I love dressing sexy for you. Now I show everyone what you’ve got. I love people seeing me and knowing it’s up to me who gets their hands on it. I feel in control.’
That much was obvious, and I think it was my confidence in that which made me feel good about it. Our sex life had never been better, we had experimented and found what we liked and what we preferred to avoid. We had been on a journey of sexual discovery, and reached our destination.
As we waited close to the check in for our flight, we spotted Jeff and Karen, dragging suitcases with them. Both embraced us and we exchanged hugs and kisses — the longer, mouth to mouth kisses between the men and each other’s wives, and between the two ladies drawing looks from others — some disapproving, some knowing, some just envious. As soon as we had separated ourselves, we spotted David, and presumably Mel. I think we were all instantly struck by how unlike Emma she was. Emma had been tall, glowing with bronzed skin (from the sun or from a bottle), with a mane of bleached hair. Had she entered the room, every eye turned to her. Mel walked through the passengers largely unnoticed.
That did not mean she was unattractive — she was a similar height to Claire, was generally slim and had natural blonde hair, framing a pretty face. Her body was well proportioned, with average sized breasts (I guessed a 34 or 36B, against Claire’s 38DD). Her hips spread gently from her waist under the loose top she wore, and her legs looked neat beneath her long skirt. In truth she looked lovely, but gave no hint that she might enjoy some of the sexual excesses which we had enjoyed with Emma — indeed, she looked almost prudish.
She and David walked over to us, and greeted us with handshakes and air-kisses, in stark contrast to our previous excesses. With no justification, as Mel hadn’t even spoken yet, I instantly like her. Her smile was relaxed and natural, her eye contact was strong but not excessive and she seemed to have made a difference to David, which only his closest friends (and few had been closer than us) would notice.
With Emma, David had always been in her aura. He almost placed her on a pedestal — not that she was dominant in any deliberate way, Emma was a force of nature. elvankent prezervatifsiz sikişen escortlar It was she who had moved us from friends to lovers and beyond, and she who had pushed us to experiment, ultimately beyond our comfort zones. The biggest surprise was that David had broken away from her — it must have taken considerable courage.
Now he seemed more relaxed, smiling more, joking with us without needing to check that his jokes were acceptable. He also touched Mel. Previously, his touches had almost needed Emma’s approval. She disliked casual shows of affection — holding hands, an arm round a waist or just a casual hand on an arm, leg or shoulder — and would brush David off if he did any of these things. Once, in public, she told him: ‘I’m not a pet or an antique table. I don’t need stroking every two minutes and I’m not a child holding hands everywhere. Stop treating me like a possession.’
Claire and I had always loved physical contact of any type, and this had really jarred with us. I had later asked if my touching Claire made her feel like a possession. She had laughed and told me not to be so bloody stupid.
And here was David, arm casually around Mel’s waist, resting on her hip, while she leaned in to him, occasionally looking up directly into his eyes or leaning her head on his shoulder. They just seemed to be a much better fit.
As we joined the queue for check-in, looks were exchanged between Claire, Karen, Jeff and I, which suggested that I was not the only one who felt very comfortable with David’s new partner. The only question was, where did this leave our very open sexual arrangements, and what did Mel already know?
We passed through into the Departure Lounge, and made ourselves comfortable, enjoying the general conversation between us, and noting again that Mel joined in appropriately, not looking to assert herself, nor being withdrawn — it was rather as if she had always been part of the group.
Finally, I think David realised that we wanted to talk, and took Mel to the various shops available, ostensibly to get duty free alcohol. Immediately, Karen and Claire started talking about Mel, and seemed to agree, she was, if first impressions were anything to go by, going to fit in really well. Jeff and I agreed. Neither lady was totally fooled though.
‘You just want to see her tits,’ opined Karen. Jeff nodded, unembarrassed, and I nodded too, earning me a playful slap from Claire.
‘But does she know what happens when we get together?’ Claire wondered. The same thought had occurred to all of us, and while we talked it through at length, our only real hint was that she and David had met at a swingers’ club — although this was, in fact, precisely what had ended both their relationships.
‘All we can do is play it by ear,’ stated Claire, ‘and get David on his own at some point to see what he’s told her.’
The rest of the typically boring and over-priced wait passed quickly as we all enjoyed the company, and some time later, we found ourselves on the plane, willing the flight to be over so we could get out of the uncomfortable, cramped seats.
About half way through the flight, Claire stood up and announced she needed to visit the toilet. Realising that it would be a good idea for me to go and avoid pushing past people again when she came back, I decided to follow her. Once we got to the doors, only one side was free, so she opened the door while I prepared to wait.
Suddenly, her arm snaked out and grabbed me, dragging me into the minute room and rapidly slamming the door. My confusion was only fleeting, however, as she whispered the three little words every man on a plane longs to hear:
‘Mile-High-Club!’
As sex goes, it was a far from satisfying experience. The room was so tiny that just getting access to the necessary parts was nigh on impossible. From there, finding a position which actually worked was a challenge in itself. However, Claire and I liked a challenge, and with careful manoeuvring, and using the walls to brace her feet, my erection finally made contact with her delicate lips and slipped inside. It helped, of course, that the whole concept of sex on the plane had made us extremely horny, so hardness and lubrication were problems which were instantly solved.
The next tricky bit was actually building a rhythm without rattling the door or creating other sounds which would make what we were doing incredibly obvious. We began with caution, and eventually decided we really did not care, and just went for it. It was quicker than we would have liked, although Claire (due more to the situation than anything, I suspect) and I achieved our usual simultaneous orgasms — just very, very quietly.
We dressed quickly, and just as I was about to leave, giving Claire a couple of minutes alone to clean up and avoid us being seen exiting together, the P.A. system pinged, and the announcement came through:
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we sincan gece kalan escortlar are entering some turbulence, please would you all return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts immediately.’
We had no choice. As the cabin crew came to check the toilets, we both slipped out sheepishly, flushed and dishevelled to smirks and knowing looks from the staff and those who could see us.
We slid back into our seats and fastened our seatbelts. No-one near us seemed to have noticed, and we became rather giggly, much to the confusion of others.
After a few minutes, the turbulence settled and we were free to undo seatbelts and relax. First to us was Jeff.
‘You did it didn’t you? Shit. We wanted to be first.’ He dashed back to Karen, who grinned and wriggled her fingers at us. Our embarrassment was compounded when a very attractive member of cabin crew with enough make-up to supply every woman on the plane appeared with two glasses of champagne. Bending over me to present her rather magnificent breasts about three inches in front of my face, she said, far too clearly for my liking:
‘Congratulations, sir, madam, first to join the club on this flight.’
I’m sure not everyone on the flight knew what we had done, but it felt like it. From then on, one of the cabin crew was stationed near the toilets throughout the flight, in case our example led to a rush. So it was that Jeff and Karen never quite managed to join the mile high club on that flight. They had to wait for the flight home!
A little later on the flight, we got told off by a smiling flight attendant who warned us that such things were frowned on. We didn’t really care, but in all honesty, we would have preferred a bit less attention.
After landing and collecting our luggage, David collected a hire car and drove to our villa. It was about forty minutes’ drive, through mostly beautiful landscapes with fields of citrus fruit and rolling hills. On the drive, little was said about our indiscreet behaviour, mainly because we were rather unsure how Mel might react, but Jeff and Karen made constant pointed remarks and double-entendres at our expense.
On arrival, we unloaded and went straight to the local supermarket to get essentials. It was maybe ten minutes’ drive to the tourist town next to the beach, followed by a further fifteen minutes searching for the shop. Of course, we found that had we turned right instead of left, it would have brought us directly to the small but more than adequate supermarket. We stocked up, knowing we would have forgotten at least half of the things we needed, but knowing that provided we had food, beer, wine and toilet roll we would be fine.
Back at the villa, we put away any food which needed to go in the fridge or freezer, and before unpacking, quickly explored. The villa was beautiful without being excessively lavish. There were three bedrooms, two large bathrooms (with showers rather than baths, ironically), a magnificent, spacious communal area with television, DVD player and music system, board games for families, and a large, well-equipped kitchen alongside a utility room containing a washing machine and dish washer. It was outside, however which was most appealing. There was a swimming pool — not huge, twenty-five metres at a guess — but clean, sparkling and surrounded with tables, chairs and sun loungers. There was even a post-swim outdoor shower.
We agreed to go indoors, unpack and convene again by the pool, ready to swim and wash away the stresses of travelling.
We unpacked in fifteen minutes, and I slipped into my swimming shorts, ready to meet the others. My quick change, however, had not taken into consideration Claire’s need to choose her outfit. A bikini, obviously, but which one? Not too sexy until we knew Mel a bit better, not one of those for the beach, not too covering in case she looked like a prude… the considerations were endless, apparently.
Finally, Claire selected a halter neck top which provided adequate coverage for her large bosom, and bottoms which while not a thong, still left a good half of each buttock exposed. She wrapped a sarong around her waist, and proceeded to slather herself with sun cream, covering every inch of bare flesh and then telling me to do the same. We grabbed a beach towel each and left the room.
Unsurprisingly, we were the last to arrive, and took our place on the last two sun loungers, happily accepting a beer from David and grabbing a handful of snacks from the bowls on the table. Clearly Mel had been busy before we arrived, making sure we would not go hungry, for there was plenty of convenience food, which we had bought for precisely this reason, set out on the tables.
I think, once again, we were all surreptitiously checking out Mel. She had selected a quite demure bikini, like Claire and Karen, which covered effectively, but still showed her figure. She was, again, totally unlike Emma. Where Emma was muscular and solid, Mel was soft and curved — still toned and firm — but lacking Emma’s statuesque quality. She also lacked Emma’s forceful personality, which was a relief. Emma had initiated the sexual exploits of our group, but she had also pushed it too far, beyond acceptable for four us, and ultimately beyond her husband’s limits — although I suspect his were reached some time before, he just clung on to her desperately.
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