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by Frenchie » Wed Jul 17, 2024 4:49 am
After our first experience, we got into the habit of frequenting the “libertinage” section of a well-known forum on a regular basis. The forum's regulars form a more or less extended group, discussing their own experiences of libertarianism, advising newbies, exchanging information on clubs in France and abroad and, on occasion, organizing “parties” to meet up.
One thing led to another and Raphaëlle found herself chatting with one of this group’s member, Bastien, and as the feeling seemed to be right, they even considered meeting at one of the many parties organized by the group to which he belonged.
However, Bastien's private life was complicated, to say the least: going through a rather messy divorce, he claimed to be in a relationship with a charming girl, Virginie, who was also a libertine since they'd met at a party.
This girl lived 400 kilometers away from him and, as a true open relationship, they allowed themselves solo evenings, each frolicking freely on his own for a fortnight before meeting up every other weekend.
Now that was official talk, or wishful thinking.
In reality, Virginie was finding it increasingly difficult to see Bastien enjoying his freedom as he saw fit, while she was restricting her outings without him.
As with any unbalanced relationship, this led to repeated arguments, shouting matches and sulking, which we witnessed indirectly as he poured out his feelings shamelessly on MSN.
Still, apart from that, he was a pleasant chatty fellow and we could see ourselves meeting him and his girlfriend, although once again, a few hundred kilometers separated us.
***
One afternoon in July, while the kids were spending a few days with their grandparents, Raph' and Bastien were chatting on MSN. He explained that things weren't going well: he and Virginie had just had another argument on the phone.
“I just want to get out of here, he explained: Take my bag, the car and go straight ahead, anywhere! ”
“Tell him to come home and we'll console him,” I suggested jokingly.
Raphaëlle jokingly passed on my proposal.
“Listen, why not?” he replied.
I'd said it just like that, without really believing it, given the distance between us. But he took us at our word. A few minutes later, he wrote:
“- I saw on the internet: By freeway, it takes 3 hours... I'll be there at 8.30 p.m.”
That's how you get caught out by a good word.
Once the invitation has been sent out, it's hard to go back. Especially when the guest has already set sail.
But, come to think of it, it wasn't the ideal time to issue an invitation which, given the pedigree of the guest, was likely to lead to a naughty evening.
Firstly, I had to work the next morning and if I stayed up too late, I wouldn't be much good at my job.
Secondly, and more importantly, I was suffering from a slight temporary discomfort (a little foreskin irritation) and wanted to save myself for the following week-end, when we were planning our first private encounter for four with a local couple.
So I told my wife that if anything happened that evening, it would be without me.
However, it didn't have to get out of hand either.
After all, just because you're a libertine and you meet libertines doesn't mean you're obliged to fool around with them.
What's more, we've subsequently learned that some of our friends living in our village are very... active libertines. They know we're libertines, we know they're libertines, but despite this, we've never had any “naughty” together.
We know how to behave like civilized people, don't we!
***
Our guest arrived at the appointed time. The Internet was right.
We took advantage of a mild evening to have a nice barbecue and eat outside on the terrace.
Bastien proved to be a very pleasant host with a rich and varied conversation.
Well, he was the kind of guy who'd seen it all, done it all and had definitive opinions on just about everything, but we didn't mind all that much. We're used to this kind of character, we know that you have to take some and leave some.
And because he talked so much, the discussion went on well into the night, long after the meal, long after we'd escaped the cool of the evening to settle into our big sofa. You know, the one that had hosted our first romp with Phill...
There was a moment when I convinced myself that nothing would happen that evening after all.
Indeed, although we talked a lot about libertinage, at no time did Bastien hint at any desire to do “things” with Raphaëlle.
He told us all about his many experiences, but gave no indication that he intended to have one with us.
In fact, throughout the evening, he hadn't made the slightest tendentious gesture towards my wife.
At the same time, as for Raph', even if I suspected that the young man's physique was certainly to her liking (handsome, slim and muscular), I also knew that she only moderately appreciated this kind of smooth talker, a little too full of himself and overly expansive.
So it was with no ulterior motive that I let them go out for a last cigarette.
As I don't smoke, I took advantage of this moment to get a head start on making our bed, whose sheets had benefited from the sunny day to undergo their periodic washing.
Anyone who's ever tried to fit a 260 x 240 comforter cover over their comforter knows what I'm talking about: with two people, it's not easy enough, so on your own...
It was a nightmare!
I struggled for a long time with our bedding, but it was with a sense of self-satisfaction and pride of accomplishment that I came downstairs a good twenty minutes later.
They hadn't returned to the living room. No doubt they were still chatting outside, I thought, as I made my way to the kitchen.
As soon as I arrived, I caught sight of them through the glass door and froze in place... They weren't chatting... really... any more.
With her eyes closed and her T-shirt pulled up wide, Raphaëlle pressed Bastien's head against her bare chest. The guy had one breast in his mouth, the other in his hand.
I thought I was an idiot.
A fool for being surprised by this scene. A fool for believing that nothing would happen.
Stupid and clumsy, a klutz.
Now that it had come to this, I didn't know what to do: they hadn't seen me. Should I reveal my presence and interrupt them, or discreetly turn around and let them continue?
In the end, I opted for the second option.
With my heart pounding, I slipped away and went to look for something to do around the house: clear the table, tidy up beyond... My mind was elsewhere, of course!
Even though I'd given my assent to such an eventuality long before it happened, I was still stunned by the scene I'd witnessed.
And beyond the astonishment, what grieved me most was that it had happened behind my back, during the only moment I had left them alone.
When they could have been doing this in full light and freedom a long time ago!
It felt almost like a betrayal.
And yet, on reflection, I had to admit that it made much more sense this way: Still relatively unaccustomed to this kind of situation, it was my wife's way of giving in to temptation while sparing me and my susceptibility as a “sharing” husband.
During a threesome, it's never easy for a woman to make the first move in front of her husband, even if he's openly candaulist. There's always that feeling of unnatural transgression inherited from ancestral morality.
Despite what you might think, it's quite rare to find a one-night stand who's also totally at ease in these moments.
That's why, in the few threesomes we've been able to carry out since then, I've often made a point of leaving for a few moments, at the right time, for one reason or another (if only to satisfy an urgent need) to let the two lovers “tame” each other alone.
Admittedly, it's a little frustrating to be deprived of this special moment, but there's always that sweet ache and inexplicable pleasure in guessing what's going on in the next room that only true candaulists can understand.
So I was more disappointed that I hadn't seen it coming than to discover that my wife was in the arms of our guest.
Well, in his arms, so to speak: when I returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, they'd swapped roles: it was now Bastien who was holding my wife's head against him... and not really at chest level, but a few centimetres lower... And the to-and-fro movements she was making there left little room for uncertainty as to the nature of her activity.
Things had taken a while to get going that evening, but suddenly everything was speeding up.
This time, Bastien saw me through the glass door.
He gave me a small smile, but there was not the slightest hint of guilt in his eyes.
Being caught by the husband of the woman who was sucking him off seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Once again, I let them get on with their “little business”.
But not for long.
I couldn't find anything else to do.
Finally, I opened the door:
“ Hey, I think you'll be warmer inside.”
They agreed and went inside.
But even though they knew I was in on it, there was still a certain awkwardness about it.
Clearly, my presence disturbed them.
As with Phill, and probably a little more than with him, I felt like I was too much.
So, as I'd told Raph' that I couldn't do anything but watch anyway, and that doing so under my watch was obviously disturbing them, I announced that I was going to bed.
I kissed my darling and whispered to her to have a good time.
She kissed me back passionately, with her lovely lips that had encircled Bastien’s cock minutes earlier, but didn't try to hold me back.
****
That's how you foolishly go to bed, leaving your wife to play with a virtual stranger.
Of course, I couldn't fall asleep.
How do you expect to get any sleep when you know your wife is going to get nasty with another man, in your own house?
Simply impossible!
As with Phill, I couldn't help but watch out for noises coming from the living room. On the lookout for the slightest sigh, the tiniest groan, my heart racing as if I were the one playing sport.
If at least this quest had been fruitful, I'd have been able to follow the sounds of the agape, but nada!
They were super silent.
So, hearing nothing, I imagined, alone in my bed... And imagining without knowing inflicted an even more unbearable torment.
Twice, I got up to go and see. I couldn't help it.
The first time, I found Raphaëlle lying on her back, Bastien astride her.
She had his penis in her hand... and no doubt in her mouth too, a few moments earlier.
Once I'd confirmed that it was all right, I left again.
The second time, I turned back before I got there.
And finally, despite the deafening sound of my heartbeat, I finally heard what I'd been waiting for: those moans, those sighs... those little cries, muffled by the distance. Signs that the affair was well under way.
But that didn't calm me down much more.
And despite the return of post-coital silence, I still couldn't get to sleep.
They were downstairs, silent, and I was dying to know what they were doing.
After another long wait, I resolved to go downstairs one last time.
They were naked, sitting side by side, simply chatting.
"It's past 3am. It might be a good idea to go to bed." I suggested.
“ - Yes, you're right!”
This time, there was no hesitation: Raphaëlle would sleep with me, in our bed, and Bastien alone in the guest bed.
On the pillow, I asked my wife, who was curled up against me, how it had gone, if it had been good.
“- Yes, not bad.” She replied laconically.
I don't remember if it was then or later that she would tell me they had done it twice.
This surprised me, as it seemed to me I'd only heard the echoes of a single embrace.
Once again, I was a little frustrated and disappointed that I hadn't been able to “read” the sequence of events.
***
The next morning, I had breakfast alone.
Raph' didn't get up until I was ready to leave for work.
Bastien was still asleep in the guest room.
It had been agreed that he would leave by noon at the latest.
That left them a few hours to enjoy themselves.
That's what I said to my wife as I was about to leave : “Enjoy!”
She kissed me fiercely and let me go.
As I took the wheel, she went to join Bastien in his bed...
***
I don't think I've ever been as out of it at work as I was that morning.
When I left, I thought I'd be able to deal with my wife and our guest fooling around quite easily.
But that was without counting on that damn fireball in the pit of my stomach.
It's one thing to watch your wife make love to someone else.
It's one thing to hear your wife make love to another man without being able to watch.
It's quite another to leave your wife in the hands of another man without being there to see or even hear.
It's a feeling of total helplessness. And even if the excitement is still there, the frustration is enormous.
And no matter how much I tried to reason with myself, telling myself that they wouldn't be doing anything more than they already had, I couldn't shake the dull apprehension that was gnawing at my insides.
Throughout the morning, all I could think about was the two of them and what they were doing.
Imagining them fucking freely sent me into a near-trance.
I was absolutely incapable of concentrating on my files.
And when my darling phoned to let me know he'd left, I was genuinely relieved.
"So, was it good?
"Yeah. I'll tell you about it."
And she did tell me.
That they'd done it twice more, but that my absence had spoiled her fun.
That he too had seemed disturbed by the situation.
In short, it had been pleasant but nothing more.
There was no need to worry!
***
That same evening, I stumbled upon the two used condoms in the bathroom garbage can... Two small flattened latex tubes, each containing a few centilitres of opalescent semen.
It was a strange and unsettling sensation to discover, in cold blood, the material proof of the pleasure a stranger had taken in my wife's womb...