It was Summer five years ago - early August. We headed off on our first holiday abroad together, my wife Karen and I. We'd been married four years, heading on for five. We had met in our first year at university and fell head over heels in love. Karen was - and is - a beautiful woman; petite and slim with stunning cornflower blue eyes and a cascade of rich blonde hair falling to between her shoulder blades; firm beautifully shaped breasts and a backside I could happily walk behind all day every day. Why I fell for her is pretty obvious. Why she fell for me, I've never really understood. She says I'm good looking, but I couldn't possibly comment. We married shortly after graduating. For the first few years finances were difficult; one or other of us was unemployed and we needed to spend on furniture and carpets for our first house. I'm not saying we were poorer than plenty of young couples in their first few years of marriage, just that we weren't able to afford to go abroad. And we weren't unhappy. We both enjoy good food and ate out more often than we could really afford. We were having sex two or three times a week - nothing kinky or spectacular, but gentle and loving. We had a number of good friends and a decent social life.
So we headed off to France. We shared the driving down to Dover and took the ferry over to Calais. We couldn't afford a cabin, so we tried to sleep on the overnight journey on recliner seats and held hands as we drifted between naps. Fortunately the English Channel was reasonably calm and we were more rested than we could have been when we disembarked in Calais.
We drove through the Pas de Calais, the road signs ringing with names from history, then on down the long, straight, tree-lined roads of Normandy. At last, after many hours driving we arrived at the gite we had rented for the week. It was situated on a farm a little to the South of Falaise and was one of a group of three outbuildings which had been converted for holiday accommodation. I turned the key we had collected from the farmhouse in the lock of the front door of our gite and we stepped inside. It was cool in the open-plan ground floor space with its stone-tiled floor and unplastered white sandstone walls. A single large window threw light over the small, basic kitchen area at one end of the room and a dining table with four chairs around it. In the shade at the other end were a settee, a couple of comfortable chairs, a coffee table and a flight of stairs leading to the upper floor.
After a few minutes looking around the ground floor I hugged Karen and kissed her, then we picked up our bags to take them upstairs. The wooden steps creaked a little as we trod on them. Upstairs we found a bathroom with a shower cubicle and lots of green tiles, and two bedrooms. We chose the one closer to the bathroom and flung our bags onto the double bed. The room was small but not claustrophobic and the reddening afternoon sunlight shone through the velux window in the sloping ceiling. I began to unpack. "not too bad," I said. "The bed looks comfortable enough"
"Yeah!" Karen replied. This one's the same. She had wandered through to the other bedroom without my noticing.
"Did you hear me there?" I asked in a conversational voice. "The wall must be really thin".
"It's just one layer of plasterboard" came her reply through the wall. "You can see the wooden supports they're attached to in here. They've just screwed the plasterboard on and painted the lot."
A few moments later she had returned to our bedroom and we finished unpacking. By the time we had finished it was getting quite late - too late to go and shop for food - so we cooked up a panful of pasta that we had brought from home and ate it at the table with a bottle of Merlot. Then we flung the dishes into the sink before heading to bed. There is something about the crispness and freshness of clean bed linen that I have always found really erotic, so as we slipped, naked, between the rustling white sheets I stroked the soft, warm skin of my wife's arm.
"Somebody's playful," Karen murmured and ran her hand seductively down my flank. I pulled her to me and our lips locked in a passionate, loving kiss; our tongues rolling over each other and teasing each other. My hand moved down her spine until it was caressing the gorgeous curve of her arse. A soft sigh escaped her lips and I felt my cock respond - sounds like that have always been such a turn-on for me. I felt her fingers curling around my hardening shaft and gently stroking it to full arousal; to that familiar ache.
I kissed my way down from her mouth, over her chin and down her neck, over her chest until my mouth came to rest over the nipple of her closest breast. The smallness of her tits give her nipples a relative largeness that makes them stand stiff and prominent when she's turned on. I rolled my tongue over that large, hard bud and felt my cock twitch as she moaned and gasped. The way she sounds when we make love is such a turn on for me. Truth to tell, the sound of her coming to orgasm is generally enough to make me lose it. I slipped a finger inside her and she groaned gutturally. "Ohhh you know how to make me want you to fuck me" she said.
I kissed my way back up her stomach and her tits. The head of my cock was close to her pussy as she opened her legs wide to accommodate my hips. I felt her hand on my now ragingly hard cock as she guided it to her entrance. Then I was inside her and moving slowly and rhythmically. "Mmmm..." she said. "I like that". So did I. Gradually, moment by moment, the insistence of my thrusts increased and, moment by moment, her hips rose to receive my cock. Her gasps, her, moans, her breaths, grew ever more insistent as we drove each other toward orgasm. I looked down at her oval face framed in gold, her eyes closed, her mouth open in that familiar way that told me she was close. Then she was there. She roared out her orgasm in a throaty, husky howl. I felt her pussy walls clutching feverishly at my cock and I came, pouring my seed into my lovely young wife. Birth control is wonderful.
The next morning we lay in till about eleven o'clock. Then I decided I fancied a stroll into the local village. It was, as we had hoped, a typical French village with its boulangeries and its charcuteries and its fine restaurants. At least that's what they looked like. There was an interesting-looking clock tower and a fountain in the main square. I noted a few places to eat and bought a few essentials from the local shops before heading back to the farm.
As I entered the farmyard I spotted a young woman sunning herself on a sunbed in the gite across from ours. She had long auburn hair that came to her shoulders and was wearing sunglasses and a bikini that barely clothed her curvy, voluptuous body and her full, rounded breasts. And so, yes. I took that all in as I walked toward our gite. "Hi!" she said, and waved at me. "Are you the new folk in that one?"
"Yes." I said. She got up off the sunbed and came over to me. She took off her sunglasses and offered her hand and I shook it, trying oh so hard not to look at her beautifully round breasts and to look her in the eye. Her eyes were deep brown and very big and wide.
"We - Gordon and I - are going to fire up the barbecue this evening. Gordon's bought way more than we need. If you fancy it you and your..?"