Two years had passed since that first night with A. The pandemic had kept J and I from our usual escapades and, of course, from Cap d’Agde during the long months we lived under COVID restrictions. In that second year, however, with the memories of our last erotic adventures almost faded in our minds, the pandemic gave the world a respite, and we decided to make a short visit once more to the Village Naturiste.
It was late August, and the Cap was much slower than usual. There were far fewer people than in all the years we’d been there, and J and I didn’t hold high expectations for the weekend. Nevertheless, we were happy just being able to walk on the beach, sunbathe naked, and glimpse at the people in their sexy outfits at night. On the last day of our quick getaway, J got a message from A asking him if we were at the Cap; he was there too with his friends and invited us to their pool party that day. We were surprised – late August was not the usual time of the year to visit the village for us -or them- but we were now getting used to the serendipitous nature of our encounters.
Before such a coincidence, we couldn’t refuse to go. I was less frightened than the first time but still not quite sure of what to expect. By reading the event’s flyer, we knew the party would be much more relaxed, and nudity wouldn’t be strictly enforced. With that in mind, I bought a golden rhinestone sheer mesh dress that hid nothing of me, my body perfectly visible below it, but it made me feel sexier and prettier than going completely naked. I’ve always found it curious how a sexy outfit is invariably more enticing than a completely nude body.
After we entered the venue, we went for drinks and sat at a high table with excellent views of the entire party. J ordered two glasses of champagne for us. I wondered if A would still be able to recognize me as I was no longer blonde, and my now ginger hair had grown quite a bit. I was also wondering if I could recognize him myself, as the pictures J took of us together didn’t show his face, and we had just met for a single night two years before. I was confident that he would recognize J, though. There’s something about J that makes people unfailingly remember him: be it a barman in a faraway country, remembering his favourite cocktail when we returned many years after serving us for the first time; or a waitress in a restaurant where we only ate once, asking him about his life in a new city, where we had moved two years ago, and he had casually mentioned it to her. People always remember him. J says it happens just because he always returns to the places he enjoys. But still, I’m sure there is something special about him that lingers in people’s memories. On the other hand, as far as A was concerned, remembering a young man that enjoys sharing his girlfriend and seeing her be used thoroughly by others might not have been too hard a task.
I was thinking about all that when I saw A across the room. I did recognize him, and my heart started beating a little faster. It turned out that remembering someone who fucked you as he fucked me was not a hard task either. The images of our last encounter flashed in my mind, and I could feel my face blushing.
He saw us too and made his way to our table. He greeted us warmly, and the conversation flowed much more easily than the last time, at least on my side. The champagne quickly made me more chatty than usual, and we had the opportunity to ask A and answer many personal questions. I could see that J enjoyed his company, both socially and in our intimate gatherings, and I started feeling very relaxed, as among old friends, even on the many times that J left me alone with A and his friends while he went away to get more drinks or to the restroom.
I was curious about how this lifestyle worked out for A. Did he have sex regularly with other men’s wives? Was coming to these parties, far away from home, his annual fun, or did he indulge in the same activities back in the US every week? Did he really like each woman he slept with, or was that not even relevant when someone was offered to him? And, most importantly: did he like me? Of course, I didn’t dare ask any of those unsuited questions, but the course of our conversation gave me some answers.
“Many of us have known each other for years,” A explained. “Mostly at parties back home.”
“But, how do you guys manage?” I asked, intrigued. “You come all the way here and meet these couples and single women from all around the world, of all ages, shapes and sizes… All with their own expectations…”
“Yeah…” A replied, catching my thoughts, “I think that, fortunately, there’s always something for everyone. Some of the guys here like playing only with couples, some like single women, and some, like that guy right there, prefer big women, some prefer cougars, and so on… As for me,” he said before continuing, “I just like beautiful women… Like you,” he added, smiling at me. I smiled back, blushing.
The afternoon passed quickly, and before we knew it, the party was over. A told us that, later that night, his entire group would meet at one of the many clubs in the village. J and I left for dinner and headed there afterwards, but we found the club unbearably crowded and didn’t see A anywhere. I thought that maybe we had hijacked his entire afternoon and that there were other things now he wanted to do. So, a little disappointed, I let the matter go, and after some more drinks in some less crowded clubs, we left Cap d’Age the following day.
Back in Barcelona, we decided to stay for a few more days to enjoy what had been our hometown for many years. Walking around the city, with still very few tourists since the pandemic, gave me a bittersweet nostalgia. Our hotel was half empty and felt very private, and, of course, the employees at the lobby already knew J by name as he had stayed there throughout the years. Our suite was enticing: a rather large living room and a separate bedroom with a very inviting and large king bed. It seemed that life was slowly returning to our regular travelling routine when J suddenly told me that A was also back in Barcelona and that he wanted to see us again before flying home. This time, the prospect of being shared with someone else only made me feel excited and not scared.
I started preparing eagerly for the date. I had a brand new lingerie set that J had bought for me as a present a couple of weeks before. It was an all-black bra & waspie set, with gold padlocks and chains, matching wrist cuffs, and sheer black stockings. It also came with a tiny thong that could be locked upfront with a shiny gold padlock. I was thrilled with the idea that other eyes besides J’s and mine would see me wearing it.
J caught me looking at myself in the mirror and kissed me on the back of my neck. “Perhaps this could also be suitable…,” he said, handing me a different black thong. It was also very small and quite similar to the one I was wearing, save that this one had the queen of spades symbol printed on the front. Knowing well the meaning of it, I gasped, mortified, speechless to J’s naughty proposal. “Maybe we can ask A which one he prefers,” he continued. I looked at him with a pleading and embarrassed look.
J made me wear both options and took some pictures that he sent to A, and with a mix of lust and shame that made me feel my heart beating in my chest, I waited until we got the answer.
“He chose panties number two,” J said with a devilish grin, pointing at the printed thong, which I knew, of course, A would choose. I bit my lip, embarrassed, and J looked at me, pleased.
“Since it seems that he likes that, I think we can prepare a small surprise for him,” J said. Without further explanation, he made me lay on the bed and removed my panties. He then took out from a bag on the nightstand a small temporary queen of spades tattoo, which he proceeded to apply carefully over my pubis, a few inches above my pussy. I felt his touch, stroking me softly over the flimsy tattoo paper, and the naughtiness of what we were doing made my breath quicken until I gasped.
When he was finally done, I put the thong back on and a little black dress over it all. I was now ready. J and I waited in the living room while the air filled up with anticipation. Twenty minutes later, which seemed endless, J received a message and went to the hotel lobby to meet A while I waited in our room.
