Chapter 2: Midday debauchery under the sun
The silence after their climaxes was deep, punctuated only by the ragged symphony of their breaths. Tom was a warm, solid welcome weight on Abby, his cheek resting against her temple. She could feel his heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic echo of her own. Across the vast expanse of the bed, she heard Ben’s low murmur to Char, though she couldn’t make out the words.
After a long moment, Tom rolled off her with a contented sigh, the mattress shifting. He stretched, the muscles in his arms and chest corded in the dim light. Char disentangled herself from Ben and sat up, her blonde hair a tousled mess that somehow looked perfect.
“Well,” she said, her voice husky and amused. “I don’t know about you three, but I feel like I’ve been through a car wash.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Shower. Then, Ben…” she turned her head, a slow, speculative smile playing on her lips. “…I think you should come with me. The guest suite down the hall has a shower big enough for two and a bed that doesn’t feel quite so… lived-in.”
Ben, who was lying on his back staring at the canopy, blinked. He looked at Abby, his expression searching.
Tom chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow. “Sure thing.” He glanced at Abby. “If that’s okay with the lady of the house.”
Abby’s body still thrummed with a residual, liquid heat. The image of Ben moving over Char was seared into her mind, not as a wound, but as a thrilling, illicit photograph. She met Ben’s gaze and saw a question there, a check-in. She gave him a small, tired smile and a nod. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay, of course, yes.”
Char stood, a graceful, unselfconscious movement, and held out a hand to Ben. He took it, letting her pull him up. They gathered their discarded towels and, with a last shared glance with their spouses, padded naked out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.
Tom exhaled, a long, satisfied sound. He turned onto his side, facing Abby. “My Darling Abby, you were magnificent,” he said simply. His fingers traced a light path from her shoulder to her wrist. “How are you feeling? Truly.”
“Like my bones are made of jelly,” Abby confessed, a giggle bubbling up. “And my brain is off somewhere floating in the pool.” She turned her head to look at him. “It was… a lot. But so hot and good. Really so very very good!"
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture. “Come on. Our turn for the shower.”
They cleaned up in the large ensuite, the steam clearing their heads. The water washed away the sweat and the physical evidence, but not the electric charge in the air between them. Tom washed her back with a gentle, thorough care, his touch now more nurturing than provocative. It was a different wonderful kind of new intimacy, and Abby loved it . . . . leaned into it, and loved letting herself be tended to.
Back in the bedroom, they slipped under the fresh, cool sheets on their respective sides of the enormous bed. From down the hall, faintly, came the sound of a headboard tapping rhythmically against a wall. A rhythmic, insistent banging. Tom smirked in the dark. Abby listened for a moment, a new, curious flutter in her stomach, before the sound of running water from the guest suite’s shower eventually replaced it. Then, a profound quiet settled over the house, and sleep, deep and dreamless, claimed them both.
The morning came soft and golden, filtered through the gauzy bedroom curtains. Abby woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Char’s pleasant voice floating up the stairs. “Breakfast is served! Get those satisfied bodies up and come to the kitchen, you lazy beasts!”
Abby stretched, her body pleasantly sore in unfamiliar places. She found a silk robe and padded downstairs. She found Char in the sun-drenched kitchen, a vision in a simple white linen dress, flipping pancakes. She looked like an angel in the morning light.
“There she is,” Char said, her smile warm and genuine. She put down the spatula and opened her arms. Abby walked into the embrace, and Char hugged her tightly, then kissed her softly on the lips. It was sweet and affectionate, a confirmation of the bond forged in the night’s heat as she said, "I love you so much, Abby!" "I love you too", Abby replied.
“Coffee?” Char asked, pouring a cup without waiting for an answer.
They sat at the kitchen island, the steam from their mugs curling between them. For a few minutes, they just sipped in comfortable silence, occasionally looking each other in the eyes and exchanging smiles.
“Last night…and again this morning” Abby began, then paused, searching for the words. “I meant what I said before. I love you so much for showing me . . . . the new ways to feel… about sex . . . .my body . . . . and especially my husband.” She took a deep breath. “Watching my Ben with you was simply incredible. I was dumbfounded because . . . I really liked it, . . . I liked watching it, and I then knew I was learning from it. . . . and I love you for showing me a new way to feel. And your Tom…” she smiled, a blush warming her cheeks. “…he was so wonderful. Thank you for loving me enough to share him with me.”
Char reached across the granite and took Abby’s hand, squeezing it. “Honey, it’s not about sharing like you’re handing over a toy. It’s about expanding the playground. And you,” she said, her eyes shining, “you are an extraordinary wonderful natural lover. I’m so glad you’re here with us . . . .with me. . . .with us!”
They had now completely bonded, a rare connection that now existed just between them that was on a level so much deeper than mere friendship or even mentorship.
Abby took another sip of coffee, her mind already turning over possibilities, the shyness of the previous day replaced by a buzzing curiosity. “So,” she said, a playful glint in her eye. “Since we’re going to be here all weekend alone with you and Tom… what else do you suggest we do now, you know . . . . sexually? Maybe go nude at the pool? Have sex by the pool? Watch each other having sex? Trade husbands again?”
Char leaned back, laughing. “Abby, my dear Abby, whatever floats your boat! This is your exploration. The day is young, the pool is heated, and the only rule is that everyone consents and has fun.” She winked. “I find that things often evolve…. organically.”
The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of the men. Tom entered first, looking refreshed and sharp in shorts and a polo shirt. Ben followed, his hair still damp from a shower, a cautious but happy smile on his face when he saw Abby.
“Pancakes,” Ben said, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Thank God.”
As they ate, the mood was light, filled with easy laughter and casual touches—a hand on a shoulder as Ben reached for the syrup, Tom’s foot lightly brushing Abby’s under the table. The events of the night were a tangible presence in the room, but not a awkward one. It was more of a shared secret, a catalyst.
By late morning, the sun was high and insistent. “Pool?” Tom suggested, and it was met with unanimous agreement.
The infinity pool was a glittering turquoise jewel set into the flagstone patio, overlooking a valley of green. They changed—Char into a scandalously small burgundy bikini, and Abby, now brave enough to swap her black one-piece for a skimpy yellow bikini she found in a guest drawer. Tom wore board shorts, and Ben followed suit.
They were settling on plush loungers when the gate to the side yard clicked open.
“Hello? Anyone home?” A woman’s voice, bright and confident, called out.
A moment later, a couple walked into the pool area. The woman, Rita, was stunning—tall and slim with curves in all the right places, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her bikini top struggled valiantly to contain her impressive ample breasts (36D). Her husband, Adam, followed. He was built like the former football player he was, with a broad smile and an easy demeanor.
“Rita! Adam!” Char stood, her face lighting up. “You’re early! I thought you said tonight!”
“The traffic was a dream,” Rita said, dropping a designer bag and striding over to air-kiss Char. Her eyes immediately scanned the group, landing on Tom with a familiarity that sparked something in Abby’s chest. “Tom. You look so . . . . well-rested.”
“Rita,” Tom said, getting up and giving her a brief, tight hug. “Always a vision.” He shook Adam’s hand. “Good to see you, man.”
Introductions were made. Rita’s gaze was appraising, openly admiring of Ben’s physique, and warmly curious about how stunningly beautiful Abby was. Adam’s eyes devoured Abby but lingered on Char with a cheeky appreciation.
“We’re just soaking up some sun,” Tom said. “Please join us.”
Rita needed no further invitation. She peeled off her sarong, revealing the full glory of her 36D bust barely contained by the tiny triangles of her bikini top. “God, it’s hot,” she said, walking to the pool’s edge. She didn’t just get in; she executed a perfect, graceful dive, cutting the water without a splash. She surfaced, flipping her hair back. “So much better!”
Adam grinned, shedding his shirt to reveal a sculpted torso, and cannonballed in, dousing everyone on the loungers.
“Hey!” Ben laughed, shielding Abby from the spray.
The dynamic shifted with the new arrivals. There was a new, playful energy. Rita was a force of nature, telling stories, laughing loudly, her presence commanding. She challenged Adam to a race, which he let her win, then floated on her back, her breasts breaking the surface like islands.
Her eyes fell on Abby. “That’s a real cute suit,” Rita said. “But you know, it’s so much more freeing without one.” Then, without waiting, she reached behind her back and untied her top, tossing it onto the deck and exposing her fantastic beautiful breasts, her nipples hard as rocks!. She didn’t shy away; she stretched her arms along the pool edge, basking in the sun and the attention.
Abby felt a jolt, but beside her, Char simply untied her own top and let it fall away, freeing her sumptuous 35C breasts . “She’s right, you know,” Char said casually.
Ben and Tom exchanged a glance, a silent male conversation. Adam just laughed. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Abby,” he said, but his eyes were on Char.
Emboldened by Char and a new desire to meet this bold woman’s gaze, Abby reached behind her back. Her fingers fumbled slightly, but she untied the knot. She let the yellow fabric fall from her 34CC chest, feeling the sun and the air on her skin for the first time in the open daylight. It was terrifying but so . . . . exhilarating. Her breasts were large for for body and stunning with dark rosy nipples now hard!
Rita smiled, a slow, approving curve of her lips. “There we go girls.”
She swam over, stopping close to Abby. “You have the most fantastic beautiful body,” Rita said, her tone matter-of-fact. “You'd be perfect for a wet t-shirt contest.” Abby blinked. “A what?”
“A contest,” Rita said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But since we’re already past the t-shirt part, we’ll make it a… wet skin contest. See who has the most… appealing technique.” She looked past Abby to where Tom and Ben sat on the edge of the pool, their legs in the water. “The boys can judge. Adam and Char can provide… technical assistance.”
Tom leaned forward, that familiar glint in his eye. “I like the sound of that. Judging by touch only, of course. Scientific.” Ben’s expression was one of bemused shock, but he didn’t object. Char waded over, a sly smile on her face. “I’m happy to assist.”
Rita positioned Abby in the shallower end, standing chest-deep. “Okay, judges. Close your eyes. No peeking. This is about texture, responsiveness… the art of sensation.”
Tom and Ben, sharing a look of pure incredulous delight, obliged, squeezing their eyes shut.
“Adam,” Rita commanded. “You’re on water duty. Make sure the canvas is wet.”
Adam, grinning, scooped up a large handful of water and gently poured it over Abby’s shoulders. It traced paths between her breasts, over her nipples, which tightened instantly in the cool air.
“Now,” Rita said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She moved close behind Abby, her front pressing against Abby’s back. Her hands came around, sliding over Abby’s slick stomach, up to her breasts. “The judges will feel the difference in technique,” she murmured, her mouth close to Abby’s ear. Her touch was firm, knowledgeable, kneading and shaping the water-slicked flesh, her thumbs circling Abby’s nipples with a practiced pressure that made Abby gasp and arch back against her.
Tom and Ben, their eyes still closed, held out their hands. Rita guided Abby a step forward, pressing her body against their waiting palms.
Tom’s hands cupped her, his fingers exploring the slippery curves with a hum of appreciation. “Contestant A is very… responsive. Excellent hydration.”
Ben’s touch was more tentative at first, then grew bolder, remembering, comparing. He said nothing, but his breathing deepened.
“Now,” Rita announced, “for a demonstration of my technique.” She guided Abby back, then turned her around. “Char, a little more water, please.”
Char, laughing, poured another cascade over Rita’s chest from a cupped hand. Rita then took Abby’s hands and placed them on her own magnificent breasts. “See?” she instructed, moving Abby’s hands in a slow, circular motion. “It’s about the full palm, a confident pressure.” Then she covered Abby’s breasts with her own hands, her technique demonstrably different—lighter, more teasing, her fingertips doing most of the work. She pushed Abby gently forward again towards the judges.
This time, both Tom and Ben’s hands met her, their exploration now a comparison. Their fingers slipped and slid, tracing the differing patterns left by the two women. It was absurd, it was wildly erotic, and Abby was lost in the sensation of being handled, judged, and instructed all at once.
“I think,” Tom murmured, his eyes still closed, a smile playing on his lips, “we have a tie. Requires further… in-depth analysis.”
Rita laughed, a bright, unselfconscious sound. “Then by all means, judges, analyze.”
Ben opened his eyes then, and his gaze locked with Abby’s. In it, she saw no hesitation, only a hungry, shared complicity. He leaned forward, his mouth meeting hers in a deep, salty kiss as his hands, now guided by his own desire rather than any contest, found her under the water, and the afternoon dissolved once more into a liquid, sun-drenched play of skin and daring.
The kiss was a shock of warmth in the cool water. Ben’s hands, large and sure, slid over her slick hips, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the hard length of him through his swim shorts, a pressing demand that erased the last fragments of her shyness.
Rita’s laugh bubbled up beside them. “See? Told you judging would get interesting.” She didn’t retreat. Instead, her hands found Abby’s shoulders, her thumbs kneading the muscle as she watched them kiss. “Don’t mind me. I’m just appreciating the art.”
Char waded closer, her body a pale slip in the blue water. She placed a hand on Ben’s back, her fingers tracing the knobs of his spine. “The analysis is supposed to be thorough, Ben,” she murmured, her voice rich with amusement. “Share your findings.”
Ben broke the kiss, breathing hard. He looked from Abby’s flushed face to Char’s knowing eyes, then to Rita’s smirk. A wild, loose grin spread across his features. It was a look Abby had never seen before—unburdened, utterly in the moment. He released Abby, turning slightly in the water to face Char.
“My finding,” he said, his voice rough, “is that this is insane.” He didn’t move away from Char’s touch.
“The best things usually are,” Tom said. He had finally opened his eyes and slipped into the pool. He moved not toward Abby, but toward Rita. He placed a hand on the small of her back, pulling her gently against him. “Missed this, Rita.”
“You’ve been distracted,” Rita purred, arching into him. She glanced over her shoulder at Adam, who was watching from the pool’s edge with a wide, delighted grin. “You just going to watch, baby?”
“Hell no,” Adam chuckled. He pushed off the wall and swam over in a few powerful strokes. The water sluiced over his shoulders. He didn’t hesitate; he put a hand on Char’s waist, his touch proprietary and easy. “Just enjoying the view. It’s a good one.”
They were all touching now, a connected chain in the turquoise water. Abby felt the current of the pool’s filtration system, the sun hot on her shoulders, the cool deep beneath. Ben’s hand found her thigh under the water. Char’s fingers were tracing patterns on Ben’s chest. Tom was kissing Rita’s neck, and Rita’s head had fallen back against his shoulder, her eyes closed, a smile on her lips. Adam’s hand was sliding up Char’s side, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast.
The playful contest had vanished, replaced by a thick, hungry stillness. The only sounds were the lap of water, the hum of the pump, and the soft catch of someone’s breath.
“The pool,” Tom said, his mouth still against Rita’s skin, “is feeling a little crowded.”
“Then we should get out,” Rita answered, her eyes opening. They were dark and direct. She turned in Tom’s arms, facing him fully. Her hands went to the waistband of his board shorts. “Or we should get these off.”
It was the permission, the catalyst. A switch flipped.
Adam’s hands went to the ties of Char’s bikini bottoms. With a quick tug, they floated away. Char made a soft sound, part gasp, part laugh, and reached for the waist of Adam’s shorts, helping him shove them down. Ben was already peeling his own off, his eyes locked on Abby. She fumbled with the side ties of her bikini bottom, her fingers clumsy until Rita, disentangling from Tom for a moment, reached over and deftly undid the knot for her.
The water became a stew of discarded fabric. Tom rid himself of his shorts and pulled Rita to him, his mouth crashing onto hers. Their kiss was all hunger and history. Adam lifted Char, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the shallow steps, his mouth searching for hers. Ben backed Abby against the smooth pool wall, the cool tile a shock against her overheated skin. His body covered hers, and he entered her in one smooth, urgent motion, the water lending a weightless, surreal ease to the act.
Abby cried out, her head falling back against the pool coping. Her vision fractured into bright shards of sun and sky. She could see Tom and Rita, a tangled knot of motion, Rita’s back arched over the submerged bench seat. She could hear Char’s sharp, pleasured gasp as Adam seated himself deeply within her on the sun-warmed steps.
It was everywhere at once. A mosaic of gasps and slapping water and low, guttural commands. Ben moved inside her, his pace frenetic, driven by the visual cacophony surrounding them. His mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, his breath hot against her wet skin.
“Look,” he rasped in her ear.
She forced her eyes open. Tom had Rita bent over the pool’s edge, her magnificent breasts pressed against the hot stone. He was driving into her from behind, his grip firm on her hips. Rita was clutching at the ground, her knuckles white, her cries unabashed and loud.
The sight sent a violent, thrilling jolt through Abby. Her own climax gathered, swift and shocking, a direct response to the raw, unfiltered spectacle. It tore through her, muffled by the water but no less intense for it. Ben felt her convulsions and followed, his own release a strangled groan against her shoulder.
They slumped against the wall, spent, water lapping at their chins. Panting, Abby turned her head. Char and Adam were still joined on the steps, moving now in a slower, deeper rhythm, their faces close, sharing breaths. Tom was helping a boneless Rita turn around, cradling her as he lowered them both into the water, his lips brushing her forehead.
For a few minutes, there was just the sound of water and ragged breathing. The world narrowed to the cool embrace of the pool, the scent of chlorine and sex and sunscreen.
Adam was the first to speak, his voice a lazy drawl. “Well.” He gently withdrew from Char, kissing her softly. “That’s one way to cool off.”
Char laughed, a low, sated sound. She sank into the water up to her shoulders, her eyes finding Abby’s. She gave a slow, conspiratorial wink.
Tom was still holding Rita, his hands stroking her back. “Thirsty work,” he said. “I think we need drinks.”
They climbed out, one by one, water streaming from their bodies, leaving dark puddles on the hot stone. No one reached for towels. The air dried them slowly. Rita, unabashed, stretched her arms wide, letting the sun kiss her skin, her magnificent black pussy bush gleamed in wetness. Ben gathered Abby against his side, his arm heavy around her shoulders. He kissed her temple, a silent, profound communication.
Tom returned from the outdoor kitchen with a bottle of chilled rosé and six glasses clinking in his hands. He poured, handing them out. They found spots on the loungers, on the warm stone, a loose, naked circle.
Rita took a long sip, her eyes roaming over the group. “So,” she said, a playful glint returning. “What’s the agenda for after drinks?”