Gail Tests Bryan

If you have not read our postings I'll tell you what we look like. Firstly, this is all real. We are an early thirties couple, I am 5'10", in reasonable shape. My wife Gail is an exceptionally beautiful and intelligent woman, soft spoken and very shy. She is 5'7" with a young girls figure, long shapely legs, small breasted, and a picture perfect behind. Her light brown hair blondes in the sun and she has the loveliest green eyes. I am from Chile, where we are living and working now, Gail is an American.

Every summer we take our holidays in and around the South of France. A few years ago while visiting France we met Tamara, an elderly British lady living in Cannes. Gail and Tamara quickly became friends. In spite of their difference in age they telephone almost weekly, their girlish chatter and occasional whispers, never failing to amaze me. This has been going on for a few years now and I know Gail anxiously looks forward to meeting Tamara again each summer. Through that friendship we were introduced to many very delightful people, and with one Italian couple, Giancomo and Gabriella, we quickly cemented a strong bond.

Hadrian @ All rights reserved

This year, on our flight from Chile to Nice, we opted to fly the most direct route. The long flight gave us a chance to read, sleep, and to talk. At one point we were discussing our friends from Italy, Giancomo and Gabriella, and their Christmas time visit to Chile. Giancomo had planned a business trip from Italy to Buenos Aires, including a stop in Chile, and they spent six days visiting with us in Santiago.

During their stay in Chile, we whiled away a weekend at a beach near Valparaiso (December in Chile is summertime). At dinner one evening, Giancomo was lamenting his concern with understanding the Spanish at meetings he was attending in Argentina. Though he spoke Spanish socially, his meetings required a bit more Spanish fluency.

Gail had become quite fluent in Spanish during our years of living in Chile and, to my surprise, she offered to accompany Giancomo to Buenos Aires for the two days of meetings. To her credit she did add, "Of course with Rians' consent." I nodded my consent though I noticed that Gabriella glanced toward me with a disquieting look.

The day Gail returned from Argentina we all had dinner, it was their last evening before returning back to Italy. An excellent meal ended with an hours chat in a corner of the hotel bar. The evening had consisted mainly of talk about what we would do when we got together again in the summer, in Europe. The next morning we drove them to the airport and with lots of hugs and safe travel wishes, they were on their way. On the way home that morning Gail and I spoke about how nice it was to visit with our friends, and how strongly the friendship had grown. Nothing was said about the Argentina trip.

During our bedtime talk that evening I finally inquired about her trip, asking directly if she had slept with Giancomo. Gail deftly avoided answering, in turn questioning me about Gabriella being left behind with me, inferring that my being alone with her for two days surely must have led to something. I assured her nothing happened, though I did not say that my goodnight kisses with Gabriella had evolved into tongue twisting escapades that often left me hard. Gail didn't believe me. Gail admitted that she and Giancomo flirted while on the trip, even kissed goodnight, but she refused to admit to more. I think she wanted me to first acknowledge that her accusation was correct. When I persisted with what was actually the truth, her ruse was, "...well, you telephoned me, you know I had my own room." I felt her recounting of her trip was not true, and it led to several days of tension between us.

It was in May, as we were finalizing our plans for the summer holiday, that the Argentine trip came up once again. It led to a long and serious talk. We reached an agreement that this years' holiday would be different. Neither of us would begin anything, in Gail's words, "Unless we were both in agreement".

I quickly added, "Agreement by spoken accord, not by inference," knowing the wiliness of my beloved lady. She had tricked me before with "I thought your lack of comment was acquiescence."

Though Gail was very shy, and blushed at the simplest issue, I knew her strength. Her education, coupled with a generous character, resulted in her being non-judgmental. She reasoned things out with a self assurance that I envied, without trying to impose her conclusions upon anyone. Likewise, once she reasoned a position, it was hard to budge her from her conviction. It occasionally caused me great frustration, as I was less generous.

During this years flight to Nice we discussed our yearly trips to Europe and we recognized that each trip offered new opportunities. Gail and I explored our sexuality, experienced new cities, learned about European food, and sailed to grand places on magnificent yachts. And we believe these opportunities - this exposure - created the opportunity for relationships. A few of these encounters led to friendships that went beyond the typical 'see you next year'. Most importantly, it deepened our own relationship.

Somehow the long flight, our talk, and her hugging my right arm for several hours while she slept, emboldened her, or engendered a feeling of guilt. Whichever, when she awoke, she continued to hold my arm while confessing that she had slept with Giancomo during the Argentine trip. She promised to tell me all about it later, and from experience I knew that meant she would tell me the next time we made love. I thought, "Oh, how well this lady knew her man."

Our schedule every year was to first visit Cannes. Gail had become very friendly with Tamara, an elderly English lady living in Cannes. We had met by chance in a café and the several years of communicating had led to a solid friendship. They spoke several times a week throughout the year. They exchanged letters and cards, made big issue of birthdays and holidays, and they looked forward to meeting each year when we went on holiday.

Gail telephoned Tamara from the airport telling her we had arrived in Nice and would be visiting her in about an hour. In conversation a few weeks before we left Chile, Tamara had told Gail that Charlotte and Duncan would not be in France while we were visiting, but that they had insisted we use their boat while visiting in Cannes. Charlotte and Duncan were long time friends of Tamara, and they lived in Cannes on the boat we were invited to use. Gail and I had been on the boat on two occasions and we felt very comfortable with the arrangement.

We took up our rental car and started the now familiar drive from the Airport in Nice toward Cannes. As in the past, it was as if we were coming home. Things felt so very much in place and the usual euphoria started to creep in.

Instead of parking our luggage laden car in front of Tamara's apartment building we headed straight for yacht basin, and the SeaAyre. However, the boat was not where we expected, and we asked the first seaman we encountered if he knew where it was docked. He did, and we quickly made our way to the berth. The Captain having been informed by Tamara was watching from on-board as we pulled our Peugeot alongside, and within moments he was down bedside the car with a young steward. Captain Charles was beaming as he took Gail's hand and almost bowed, then turned to me smiling, "It is our great pleasure to have you on board again Sir."

"Thank you Charles," I replied, as we shook hands. After exchanging some niceties I asked, "May we leave our luggage in your hands? We plan to come on board later."

Gail added, "We are going to visit Miss Tamara."

Captain Charles tilted his head and smiled, meaning to indicate that we should know he would certainly oblige us. "Of course, Miss Gail, we will attend to it."

With got back into our car and headed toward the Blvd. Croisette, and Tamara's apartment.

The reunion with Tamara each year became more revitalizing. She greeted Gail as if she were her long lost daughter, even kissing me on the mouth in greeting. For hours we sat drinking first Champagne, then tea, eating delightful English cookies and gossiping. Gail took it all in, not missing a note, asking questions. The gossip was, according to Tamara, to prepare us for "...what to expect this year on the Cote d Azur." We already knew where we were going with Giancomo and Gabriella but she filled in gaps, she informed us that that Gabriella had been to the hospital for three days with food poisoning, and that our friend Peter would be in Monte Carlo this year, alone.

After a cheerful and lengthy visit we were both tired and the Champagne was having an effect. We arranged to meet Tamara the next afternoon, and we departed. The coolness of the evening was settling around the harbor as we parked our car in the car-park and walked towards the boat hand in hand. The quays seemed so quiet, no movement, as if noise or movement would interrupt the cooling process and Captain Charles was waiting for our return.

Gail walked up the gangway in front of me. When I stepped from behind her onto the boat, I noticed a smiling man standing to the left of the doorway to the rear seating area of the boat. The Captain stepped forward and introduced the smiling man as Dr. Girrad. The Doctor stepped forward.

"Hello, I'm Maurice," he said, offering his hand. As I started to answer him, a smiling woman appeared, first through the window of the living area, and then she exited through the center doorway, with outstretched hand as she neared.

"I'm Brandeis," she said, then repeated, almost all in one breath, "Oh welcome, I'm Brandeis. We have heard so much about you. Charlotte insisted we stay to meet you."

I watched as Brandeis continued to speak, mostly addressing Gail. Her English, accented with French inflection, was perfect. She was shorter then Gail, her dark hair cropped. Her face was simply angelic, creamy white with little makeup. She had a small cleft on her left cheek that deepened with her broad smile. Her large eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth, and her baggy shorts did little to spoil the shapeliness of her legs. The loose transparent gauze she wore over her shoulders clearly showed the bikini top she wore beneath, and the bulge of her very pregnant belly. As strange as it may sound she was intoxicating, and in the seconds that this all transpired I thought she was extremely sexy, and then I re-thought, judging that the word sexy was too coarse a descriptive for this lovely pregnant lady.

Maurice and his wife Brandeis were friends of the yacht owners, Duncan and Charlotte. They certainly seemed glad to make our acquaintance and we wondered what Duncan or Charlotte may have told them about us.

We sat together in the living room for ten or fifteen minutes sharing two seven-up's between us. They would be on board for the next few days, then move up toward Monte Carlo, which was similar to our usual plan each year. It would be nice to have their company while on board. Maurice seemed taken with Gail and at one point I had finished commenting upon something to Brandies and I turned toward Gail and Maurice and noticed that Gail was blushing.

When we were ready to go to our cabin, the Captain appeared and escorted us below. Brandeis came trotting behind him, chattering the whole way. To our surprise we were taken to the same cabin we had occupied before. Here we were in the same suite that filled the width of the yacht, the huge dark wood bed now had a light blue raw silk cover, and the attention to decorating was made obvious by the same blue tone spattered in pillows and curtains throughout the cabin. The look was as sumptuous as before, yet more complete, and we only later learned from Tamara that the art in the suite was changed and was now very special, and Tamara whispered the words "very special."

Finally we started to unpack. We both were exhausted and deep in our own thoughts as we scampered about the cabin. My feelings were reeling around the circumstances that brought us here, and "Imprecionante," was the only appropriate word that I could think of. It never failed to amaze me how a brief conversation with an elderly lady had led to our becoming good friends with Giancomo and Gabriella, how that elderly lady, Tamara, had truly become Gail's best friend despite the distance separating them all year, and they remained close and telephoned each other so often.

I was in bed under the covers well before Gail. I was gazing at the paneled ceiling wondering what this year's holiday would bring. We had planned it during the visit of Giancomo and Gabriella and spent weeks on the telephone afterwards, going over the schedule.

We would spend a week between Cannes and Monte Carlo, then we would all fly to Portugal for a few days, returning to Monaco and sailing on the Gabbiano for the remainder of our holiday. Giancomo refused to tell us the yacht destination, "It will be a surprise, you will adorore," saying the Italian word for adore, "...a surprise even for Gabriella."

The next two days were spent visiting with Tamara, usually starting mid morning until early evening. The second night Tamara invited Brandeis and Maurice to join us for dinner, and she suggested we get dressed.

We joined on deck at eight and Maurice and I marveled at each others spouse. Brandeis looked so beautiful, her sparse makeup perfectly applied, darkened here and there to highlight her already beautiful features. She wore a combination grey and soft purple outfit obviously made for pregnant ladies. It suited her perfectly, and though her condition was obvious, it did not emphasize her being pregnant. I fixed eyes with her momentarily and I knew she saw I was appreciative.

Gail wore a green flowery wrap around dress that I loved. It softly fit across her behind and had just enough of a v-neck to be tempting. The way she sat dictated how much leg was showing, and without stockings I knew that just a filmy lace panty front kept her from being naked beneath. As we entered the living area Maurice softly exhaled and whispered, "Tre joli," grinning broadly at Gail. I watched her face and neck flush at the compliment.

We rode in Maurice's beautiful Mercedes to pick up Tamara. I went upstairs, escorted her to the car, and ceremoniously placed her in the front seat. I sat in the back with Brandeis and Gail, and Tamara directed us to, of all places, the Hotel du Cap, our favorite hotel on the Cote d' Azur. We were greeted by staff that remembered us, and we felt so very comfortable. The ever thoughtful Tamara had arranged this night knowing that during this year's trip we would not be visiting the hotel.

There are few if any restaurants that can match the service - the grandeur of indoor outdoor surroundings - and the excellence of food and wine, as that served at the Hotel du Cap. The five of us feasted for three hours. Tamara managed the timing with a nod here and a swish of her napkin there, and waiters appeared from nowhere. We started with Champagne and continued with wine. I danced with Tamara and Gail, and later with Brandeis, and Maurice did the same. The music was soft, romantic, and the evening ended at midnight with the pop of yet another Champagne that Tamara insisted we finish.

The tree lined Blvd.Croisette was still alive with movement when we stopped at Tamara's apartment. I escorted her upstairs to her apartment. She pecked my cheek with a goodnight kiss at the door, and patting my arm, bid me adieu with an impish grin saying, "Go my love, you go enjoy the night."

The walk from the parking to the boat was refreshing, but exhausting for Brandeis. When we were on board she patted her stomach and announced, "My baby and I need some rest," and she hugged us goodnight and retired to their cabin. Maurice stayed and we all walked to the front deck and stretched out in the large cushioned chairs. Gail sat to my left facing the lighted city, and Maurice, after pouring us all sparkling water, sat to her left, slightly turned to face us. At one point I noticed that Gail had allowed her dress to part at the knee and we could see a large part of her thigh. Whether innocent or not, I couldn't say, but it was seductive.

A half hour later we all retired. I had plans for tennis in the morning, and Brandeis was going to drive Gail to the courts an hour later so she could play. When Gail climbed into bed she cuddled up close and whispered in my ear, "I was wondering when I would get the chance to tell you what happened in Buenos Aires."

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Did you do something you need to tell me about," I chided.

"Yes," Gail whispered into my neck through her soft kisses. "Gian was thrilled that I agreed to go, and he certainly showed it."

Soon I was between Gail's legs, my body raised, both arms stiff beside her head, her hands resting on my arms guiding my slow in and out movements, and she proceeded to tell me about her trip to Argentina. The first night there Gail said she spent most of the night in his room. She said that most of the time he had his head buried between her legs and spent what seemed forever, bringing her to one orgasm after another. From time to time he would stop and move up to enter her. He would stroke a few times then push his groin forward, entering as deeply as he could, stopping, asking her not to move as he struggled to contain his orgasm.

As she told the story I couldn't contain myself. It had been three days since we had made love, and I exploded in Gail long before she was ready to cum. I felt spurt after spurt shooting deep inside her and I moaned, leaning forward to wrap my arms around her. Gail had her hands on my shoulders, holding me softly, allowing me to fill her.

We lay for a while as I allowed myself to recover. I turned on my left side lying against her and began to touch her breasts and between her legs. Propped on one elbow I watched her face as I explored. Her eyes were closed and she would smile and wrinkle her forehead as my touching progressed. I moistened my fingers inside of her and again touched her clit, one time holding it between my thumb and forefinger, the next time rubbing quickly just to the side of it, as I concentrated on bringing her to orgasm. Soon, Gail pushed her groin upwards off the bed and in a quiet and breathy voice said, "Ohh, yes Ri... make me come."

The next morning I played tennis and when Gail did not arrive I played her game as well. It was nearly noon when I returned to the marina. I drove into the car park weaving my way around the rows of parked cars to park closest to the walkway that led to our boat. I reached into the back seat to grab my tennis gear and as I turned around I noticed Maurice's blue Mercedes parked two rows forward and to my left. It looked like someone was in the car. I sat for a few minutes, watching. There were two people in the front seats, and I could see occasional movement, but it was not possible to make out whom. Making a broad sweep around the Mercedes, I made my way back to the boat.

I had just stepped out of the shower when Gail returned to the cabin, she was dressed in her tennis skirt. "Sorry I couldn't get there to play", she said.

"I played your game... not a problem," I said. "What happened?"

"Maurice wanted Brandeis to take some special test and some doctor called from the hospital to say they could take her. We drove there. By the time we were ready to start for the tennis courts, it was fifteen minutes past my game time."

"Where's Brandeis?" I asked. "Is she OK?"

"At the hospital. It takes about two hours." Gail replied. "She's fine. She says that Maurice loves to make her take useless tests."

Our plans for today were to visit with Tamara in the afternoon. She had invited us for tea at the Carlton. This evening Maurice and Brandeis were taking us to a restaurant that Maurice said, "...made the finest bouillabaisse on the Cote d' Azur. Only in Marseilles is it better." I didn't tell him that every Frenchman we met told us the same thing.