Colours Contrasts And Conundrums

Authors note: Like most erotic stories mine are a mixture of fact and fantasy. My main character, you could say my heroine, is based wholly on my beautiful and sexy wife Susan. As a writer I hate stereotypes but I don't apologise for the fact that Susan really does have 34DD tits, with large coral coloured nipples, as her photographs and good brassieres both support. She may no longer be in her twenties, thirties or even forties but she is in great shape and many women would sell their souls to look like her and be her age. She is highly intelligent being educated to Doctoral level but she has an earthiness that allows sex to be fun and will willingly play the slut, pose naked or role play our various fantasies. Virtually everything else in my stories is just fantasy. I welcome constructive feedback and hope to reply to every sensible message but all readers please be warned, these stories contain highly explicit sex. If this might offend you please do not read further. Lastly, I don't apologise for my particular sort of fantasy but I by no means wish to denigrate women or, other people with sexual proclivities that are different to ours. For those that wish to continue reading, we both hope you enjoy.

Colour, contrast and conundrum, a short story by Jacques Boncoeur

It's strange the things you remember after what for me was a cataclysmic event. I was sitting in the hotel lounge pondering on the conversation I has just had with Susan my lovely wife and all I could think of was the colour of the wrap over dress that she had bought the week before Christmas. Some years ago I had taken a life drawing and painting course to ease stress and whilst examining my efforts at the culmination of three hours work, our instructor moved me around the class to look at the other more experienced students work. It was apparent from the first that I had missed, but was about to learn, that skin is not pink, yellow, black or whatever but is made up of a kaleidoscope of colour. Susan's dress had made a similar impact upon me. I would have called it deep almost iridescent blue; Susan though, thought Sea Green was more apt. Yet, it wasn't the colour alone that stunned but the interaction with her skin and the hues it produced, almost reflections. Other aspects of the dress are equally as important to my story as the colour but if it hadn't been for that implant in my mind, I'm not sure that what ultimately occurred would have happened at all. The material shimmered and the garment although a simple wrap around style was obviously well tailored, and I was later to find out, expensive.

My name is Jacques. There may be a French connection but I am a Scot that has lived his years mainly in the South East of England. I personally think that I'm keeping rather well and other than the effects of a nasty injury a couple of years ago and some attached arthritis; I'm fit and healthy and have a head of hair and an attitude to life that is the envy to all that know me. I met Susan seventeen years ago after both of us had been through the wringer of failed first marriages. Susan could honestly be taken for early thirties; the years have really treated her well. Having studied the genre of erotic writing it always hurts me to have to conform to the common stereotype of big busted heroines but Susan is also blessed with a 34 DD bust that hangs delightfully on that '36 year old frame'.

The colour and shimmer of that dress imparted such a translucent effect upon her skin that even if she had been standing naked she could not have looked more stunning. I was mesmerised. We had been staying in the Normandy port town of Honfleur for four delightfully sharp, bright and frosty days and on our second day she had left me resting in our hotel room, and preparing for a night on the town. She returned as the last shafts of bright sunlight pierced through our bedroom window, further enhancing the effect as she modelled her purchases but especially the blue dress.

Usually I like to get her undressed as soon as possible and play with her beautiful body but the dress had the opposite effect on me and I ordered her to keep it on as I pulled it open, pushed her back upon the bed, pulled her knickers aside and entered her very wet cunt. One of the benefits of age combined with fitness is that premature ejaculation is not a problem and even in my heightened state it was five minutes of frenzied thrusting from both of us before I unloaded myself deep inside a cunt that was sloppy with her orgasmic juices well before my inundation arrived. I flopped down beside her and revelled in the stunning colour of the light that seemed to radiate from her loosely draped body and the resulting glow that filled the room.

I must apologise to the reader for what might be considered as overdoing the explanation of the events that occurred but I'm still trying to find some understanding in my own mind, even a week hence. This in someway explains my stories title, as even though colour is important it doesn't even come close to understanding how and why things happened as they did. So explain, I must.

I hope that by now most readers will have cottoned on that we are no longer in the first flush of youth but neither are we quite ready to purchase Zimmer frames and to enrol at help the aged. We not only love each other but we love and adore sex. We make love only occasionally but we fuck a lot. It has amazed me ever since we became an item how liberated Susan is behind our closed doors. She has willingly allowed me my hearts desire in using her body. I have fucked her cunt, mouth and ass. We have acted out fantasies with role play and even done our best to film it, each playing multiple roles. I have taken thousands of photographs of her in every kind of sexual situation inside and outside and have even displayed them discretely on internet sites. I have fisted her, thrust dildoes and butt plugs inside her. She has had a piercing, been tied up, and playfully whipped. She loves my stories and is a full participant in everything we do. She really adores being the centre of my attention but we have never opened our lives to others and outside of our 'closed doors', she is the proverbial professional. If I told her sister what she was really like, I wouldn't be believed. Here is the first of my contrasts. Although this story like many of my former will probably be classed in the 'slut wife' category, Susan is as far away from being a slut as any person I know. I must also emphasise that I am no limp wristed cuckold; eating the occasional cream pie, when allowed and cleaning off my dominant wife's lovers' dicks. That is simply not me. Neither have I tried to be particularly dominant. I haven't needed to, as Susan simply loves everything we do. Nevertheless, Susan never breaks from her shell whilst we are in company and it really irks me that I'm not allowed to display her sexually. Which, as it happened provided the fulcrum point for what turned into the most extraordinary tale of our lives.

We returned to England on the Sunday evening, the day before Christmas Eve and had a very enjoyable time with Susan's grown up children on Christmas and Boxing Day. We had made plans to spend Hogmanay in an exclusive hotel we had found the previous year in the Trossachs, a beautiful Lakeland but hilly area North East of Glasgow. We had flown to Edinburgh and hired a car, to allow us more flexibility of movement. As it turned out the transport remained hardly used as the weather turned very rainy and cold and visibility was poor, anyway other things were due to take up our time.

The New Year festivities had begun at about 8pm with a champagne reception and a dinner dance was to follow that would culminate in the early hours of the morning. By the time that dinner was over virtually all of the guests were in a very merry mood. A good estimate of the people attending the dance would be 200, amongst which were a rugby club that had made arrangements to play a number of games over the week following the celebrations, including a game the next afternoon. It beggars belief but this team had left their loved ones at home and had come away alone. What is even harder to believe is that any of them would be able to stand, let alone play the next day, as by 11pm most of them had trouble moving around the dance floor. Susan and I love to dance and after dinner we consumed only water for the rest of the evening. Consequently, by midnight we were basically sober. Midnight at Hogmanay in Scotland in not for the mean spirited and after a long and deep kiss as the clock struck twelve my lovely lady was whisked away from me and was not to return for a quarter of an hour. When she did it was quiet obvious that my fellow revellers had made the most of the occasion. Her usually carefully applied lipstick and makeup was smeared all over her face and as she begged me to take her back to our suite she explained that she had been practically raped out on the dance floor. Whilst one man was kissing her others were feeling her tits, which had been bared as her strapless dress and bra had been pulled down. Her long flowing dress had been pulled up to her waist and her panties pulled off and for minutes she had been fingered in her cunt and ass. I was worried as I was unsure whether she was still in shock as she seemed to not only accept what had happened but was almost thrilled by it. This became apparent when I helped her out of her dress, as her cunt lips bulged open and her juices were running down her legs.

'My God it looks as though you've been fucked!' I said, and it did. Her lips were swollen and strings of mucus dangled from them much like the first strands of silk from a spider's web.

'If I hadn't escaped when I did I'm sure I would have been. They virtually ripped my knickers off and I wouldn't mind betting I had ten fingers fucking into me. Trouble is I came and if it weren't for the fingers in my cunt and bum, I think I would have collapsed. That brought me to my senses as they started to carry me up to one of their rooms. Fun is fun but I wasn't about to lose out on a night of dancing just to allow a scrum of drunken rugby louts to have their wicked way with me. Come on, help me get mopped up and let's get back to the party?'

To say that I wasn't astounded by the way she just accepted what had happened, is an understatement, I was flabbergasted. I wet a flannel and wiped her down and with a tissue tried to stem the flow of juices from her overexcited cunt but to no avail, as soon as I had finished wiping, it just began to run from her. I pushed her back onto the bed and with both hands opened her lips wide. I licked upwards along her wet slit. Her clitoris was already hard and exposed from its protective hood and I sucked gently upon it. She immediately began to orgasm and clenched her legs together trapping my head between them. I would have drowned if I hadn't begun to drink the juices that were pouring from her cunt. In the next ten minutes she climaxed at least twice more and finally the stream of liquid pouring from her began to slow. Even so it seemed silly for her to put knickers on as they would have been sopping in seconds and I feared they were likely to become trophies to her young admirers. This was yet another consideration, as Susan likes silk and lace and her panties are not cheap. One pair lost a night was enough!

Once again respectable, we returned to the dance. In the next hour I managed to dance with Susan a few times but mainly she was whisked away by the young rugby studs. I had danced with the more staid wives of the local gentry but at about 1.30am a breathless Susan came to me.

'I'm not sure what are more sore, my tits and ass from being mauled, or my feet from being trampled on. From now on I'm only dancing with you and Alec.' Alec was the coaching director for the rugby team and looked as though he knew his way around a dance floor. For the next couple of hours the two of us danced Susan to a standstill and approaching 3.30am we all returned exhausted to our respective rooms.

Now if the previous evenings exploits were a trifle unbelievable, the next morning was pure fantasy. We were up and had breakfasted before 10am. Champagne and Bloody Mary's as the hair of the dog. Susan, as prim and proper as if the previous night had never happened and nothing was mentioned. Needless to say the rugby team did not appear, having apparently only left the bar two hours previously. Alec breakfasted with us but was sensitive enough not to make mention of the previous nights excesses, especially as I expected that he may well have gone to bed with the scent of Susan's juices on his fingers.

Those amongst you might know that the Scots hold the Hogmanay holiday with reverence and both the 1st and 2nd January are public holidays. Nevertheless, the hotel had arranged a coach to go into Glasgow to visit the sales. Even in the cradle of Hogmanay the lure of the cash register rules. Now, I was shopped out but Susan has much greater reserves of shopping stamina and her's had been one of the first names on the list of people wanting to go.

I saw her onto the coach and waved her away safe in the knowledge that in four hours she would return invigorated and that I would be considerable poorer. I had arranged to meet with Alec in the bar for a drink before lunch and walked down by the loch trying to recount in my mind the things that had happened the night before and why deep inside I felt so disappointed that the vibrant and exciting Susan had once again reverted to my prim and proper wife. I pondered on this during a bracing walk and returned to the bar to find Alec deep in conversation with another man about my age. I was introduced to Chris who turned out to be the Owner of the hotel. I had seen glimpses of him the evening before but we had not been formally introduced.

'We were talking about your stunning wife and what good fun she is' said Chris.

I don't know why, as I hardly knew either of these two men but suddenly all of my fears and frustrations erupted and I said, 'I'm afraid the butterfly you saw last night rarely comes out of its chrysalis and it is very unlikely that any of us will see it again on this trip.'

I explained about our previous lives and how hard we found it to let go of a lifetime of constraints, even when we recognised that they were either self imposed on brought about by our upbringing. I even explained how liberated we were behind the privacy of our own doors.

We had lunch together and after we were sitting having coffee and a wee dram in one of the alcoves that led away from the main bar.

Suddenly Chris began talking. 'I know it's none of my business but I would offer some advice that can do you no harm. I don't know where you take it from here but I have been married four times and I think I know about women. Most of them are so bound up by convention and what others, particularly family, may think of them; they have little chance of ever realising what real freedom is. They can't release the hold they have on their sexuality because if they did they would brand themselves as a slut and fear they would be condemned by those they hold as important. Yet if the decision is taken out of their hands some, not all, submit willingly and find real happiness in that release. I think Susan might be one of these women. Think about what you have told us of how she reacted last night? Some women would have cried rape or at least after escaping would have never returned to the dance for more of the same. Susan didn't do that, why? I think it was because she was not in control and therefore not responsible for what was happening to her. You seem to have little to lose other than a curt response, why don't you order her to do something outrageous and see what happens?

The subject was dropped but Chris's words were burned upon my brain. As we were finishing our coffee the coach returned and minutes later Susan dropped into the large sofa seat next to me carrying a small store bag. I introduced her to Chris and she remembered dancing with him the night before. I'm not sure if I detected a blush but to cover anyone's embarrassment I said, 'My goodness you've never returned from a shopping trip with so little, are you ill?'

'Don't worry I'm not ill and you're very much poorer!' She laughed opening the bag so that only I could see the contents. Inside was a selection of lingerie wrapped in tissue paper.

'Take them out and show them to our friends,' I commanded.

'I can't do that,' she whispered in my ear.

'I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. I want you to show my friends what you have bought and explain to them how it will look and what you will feel when you wear it.' I didn't shout or whisper but I spoke in a command even though inside I was shaking, so that there was no doubt about what I expected and all four of us understood the consequences.

For a second she hesitated and coloured perceptively. Then suddenly she reached into the bag and brought out a delicate ivory coloured, sheer bra. She held it up so that we could all see and she said in a whispered but clear voice, 'the bra is underwired as my breasts are big and need the support but the cups are really sheer, though soft and feel wonderful against my skin. When I wear it you can see my nipples through the material. When my nipples are erect and hard like now, you will see their shape, their hardness and gentle rubbing will cause a friction and even this can bring me to the edge of orgasm.'

At these words I think the blood had drained from the faces of the three men around the table and now resided in three very hard cocks. This could easily be seen by the uncomfortable movements of all of us trying to find a position that wasn't painful. I'm sure none of this went un-noticed by Susan who, passing the bra to me again rummaged into the bag and brought out a pair of matching panties.

'These panties are ridiculously expensive and are really only worn if Jacques wants me to feel sexy and is photographing me. He really likes me to go without anything but you can see that they are virtually see through. You will be able to see my small strip of hair above my opening. If I was wearing them now you would see that my cunt is very open and they would be soaked, as I am very wet.' She once again delved into the bag a brought out a matching suspender belt and stockings. 'Jacques really likes me in stockings and hates tights, so I only wear them for work. Again these stocking are very expensive. Jacques thinks they make my legs seem longer and the suspenders frame my cunt when he takes my knickers off. They all feel delicious against my skin.'

She had handed each of her purchases to me as she had finished describing them and I had passed them across to the others who examined them whilst never taking their eyes from Susan's slightly bowed head. I collected them and handed them to her.

'Please take these to our suite and change into them, find your blue wrap around dress and put it on over them and come back here.' I spoke quietly and kindly but as a command. She did not look at me as she placed the items into the bag, got up and left the alcove.

'My God,' Alec gasped as Susan left the bar. 'That was just about the most exciting thing I've ever witnessed. I can't believe that you did that and she went along with it. Do you think she will do what you commanded?'

Chris jumped in, 'I think you'll find that as all the complications of choice have been taken from her she is now free to do whatever you ask. In a sense she is compelled to do as you ask but I think she will later find a freedom to be the slut that is inside every hot blooded woman. My only question is how far you intend to go?'

'I don't know. This is virgin territory to me. I'm not even sure how far I want her to go but what I do know is that I need a drink, I'm shaking like a leaf.'