Everyone in this story, which is based on fact, is over eighteen. I was absurdly innocent for my age when these happenings began, a good while ago. Things changed...
*
My wife Ingrid and I were on holiday in Romania, staying in a package-deal hotel at the beach resort of Mamaia, on the Black Sea coast. It was hot.
Every night a fairly crap band played fairly crap music for guests to dance to, but things livened up when they played a Romanian dance -- I think it was called the '
Perinitza
' or some such thing. Everybody pranced around in a circle, holding hands, with one person in the middle, holding a scarf. If this person was female, she hooked it around the neck of a bloke she fancied in the circle, and they snogged, then the bloke took the scarf and hooked a girl, and so on, and so on. Pretty simple.
Ingrid was a rather attractive, very Nordic blonde, and I was, I suppose, a fairly well-set-up sort of a six-footer, in those days, so we both got 'hooked' quite often, and I found myself grabbing, and being grabbed by, a slim, rather slutty brunette from Milton Keynes, who breathed that her name was Sharon, when she came up for air. But Christ, she could snog, fairly sucking the tongue out of my head, so that I had to creep back to the circle doing my best to hide a king-size erection. Ingrid was also in some demand, being seized by a big Russian she said was smelly, and a horny Swede who brought no complaint from her.
When we got back to our room, she was out of her little sundress in no time, panties off, and pulling a pillow under her buttocks, the way she liked it. I drove into her wetness with all the rigid urgency of my twenty-eight years. We had only been married two years then, and at least one fuck per night was the norm. Her hips rose to meet me, her long legs locking behind my thighs, and she groaned her pleasure in my ear as I rammed deep into her, the moisture of her cunt squelching with every thrust, until I came, in huge gushes. Neither of us mentioned the catalytic effect of our Romanian dances, and the snogging that went with them.
This went on for the whole holiday, and I think sown the seeds of the next phase of our social life. Parties had already become part of our life, before our holiday, a loose group of friends getting together in each others' houses perhaps once a week. We'd dance to the current music, and hold each other's wives close, wearing their long, silky dresses which were then the fashion. It was, I think, Ingrid, who started the snogging trend, but it quickly caught on, and I, for one, didn't object, especially when I got to grips with the lissome Anne, who could have kissed for England. I had a fairly permanent stiffy throughout these parties, and Ingrid was always wet and ready when we got to bed, so our sex-life was never better.
But, of course, as with all things in this life, you always want more, don't you?
I had invited along to one of our parties a workmate, Derek, who hadn't been to one before, and he brought along his wife Dawn. Wow, what a dish, I thought! Slightly below average height, perhaps, she was slim, and had the face of an angel, with big, dark eyes, and a wide, generous mouth. Her hair was a long, chestnut mane. She wore a long, pale pink dress of some silky material, with spaghetti straps, which could no way have concealed a bra. In fact, she looked just about ready for bed. Ever the perfect host, I asked her if she would like to dance, having ascertained the Ingrid was busy preparing food. Dawn moulded her body to me instantly, and when I surreptitiously ran my hand down to her buttocks, she whispered smilingly into my ear, 'That's right, Andy, I'm not wearing panties.'
'Christ!' I said, 'I'm not going to be able to dance with you for long, Dawn.'
For reply, she nibbled my ear-lobe, which didn't actually do much to calm me down. When I kissed her, it was a sweet, lingering one, our tongues working overtime as she pressed her lithe body against me.
