My ex had been nagging me for some time to join a social dating club. “Not an online group of saddo serial shaggers, but somewhere where you might possibly meet the next Mrs Bottomley” was how she curtly put it.

So I duly enrolled with Cupid’s Bow. It wasn’t cheap. After an uncomfortable face-to-face interview with a middle-aged woman who looked like a retired traffic warden, I was admitted to the group’s exclusive membership on the understanding that ‘smutty hanky-panky will not be tolerated.’ Social events comprised pre-booked theatre trips, supper evenings in small Soho restaurants and occasional private views of London art exhibitions. Closer fraternisation was left strictly to members to arrange via private emails.

After a couple of rather quiet group get-togethers, I received an email from a member called Jen, who said she was trying to make up a party of six to take a villa on the Costa del Sol later in the summer. Interested parties should contact her. I sent off a friendly reply and a couple of days later, Jen emailed back to say she’d included me in the group, which would comprise four women members and two males.

Our first nervous meeting was in the Departures Hall at London’s Gatwick Airport. Tall, slim, auburn-haired Jen, with her clipboard, was clearly in charge. Then there was feisty Cockney Doreen (a doppelganger for Barbara Windsor if ever I saw one), petite Ingrid (I guessed she might be German) and sedate Susan. The only other male member of our party was nerdy Tim – who turned up late replete with his laptop satchel. Why Jen had gone for a 4:2 ratio wasn’t explained. She told us the two-hour flight would be met by a six-seater mini-bus which would take us straight to our villa.

We couldn’t have wished for a better location. High up in the hills overlooking Malaga harbour, our villa was a restrained single-storey exercise in white concrete, with all the rooms having floor-to-ceiling windows which slid open for access to the paved area around a swimming pool. There was generous shade from small palm trees and breathtaking views of the Mediterranean. We all congratulated Jen on her superb choice, then eagerly headed for our rooms to unpack and get into our costumes for some serious sunbathing. Tim and I were in an annexe.

Jen and Ingrid were already stretched out on sun loungers when Tim and I arrived. Moments later, in a lime green bikini which left little to the imagination, Doreen arrived and cackled: “Anybody checked whether there’s any booze in the fridge?”

Right on cue, sedate Susan appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray with six coasters and a large jug of a red liquid which she announced was known as Sangria. It certainly packed a punch. “Phew, what’s in it?” asked Tim.

“Red wine, Angostura bitters, mint, quartered Seville oranges and ice,” adding nonchalantly: “and I added a few measures of brandy.” The party got stuck into the cocktail with relish, nibbling on the salted biscuits which Susan had found in the kitchen pantry. While she went back to replenish the jug, Jen and Ingrid – who were now holding hands - lay back for a snooze.

Tim was soon busy on his laptop while Doreen, sitting at the edge of the pool, dangled her legs in the water. She turned to me and murmured: “Cor, warm in-it?” I smiled and nodded in agreement. Putting her hands behind her back she unclipped her bikini top, letting it fall into the water, then turned so I could admire her huge breasts in profile. With a giggle, she observed: “Don’t want to have no suntan marks around me boobs, do I?” Tim didn’t even look up.

When Susan reappeared with our Sangria refill, she was quite taken aback. “No-one told ME this was going to be ‘topless’,” she announced haughtily, slamming the tray onto the table between Jen and Ingrid, who had now been awoken by the commotion. Jen spoke first. “Sorry, Susan. What do others think?” She looked over at me and Tim. “Doesn’t bother me,” I said.

“Well, I’m with Doreen,” said Ingrid, quietly unclipping her bra to expose a small pair of breasts with puffy nipples. Jen followed her example, revealing a deliciously freckled bosom with dark brown nipples.

“Well… I can see I’m outnumbered!” Susan scoffed. Doreen moved across from her poolside position and stood behind her. “Like me to get them out for you, darlin’?” she giggled as the haughty one’s perfectly-formed breasts came into view. Aided by more Sangria, the atmosphere between the six virtual strangers soon became relaxed.

“We don’t have to eat out tonight if you don’t want to get dressed up, folks,” Jen announced after jug number three. “I’ve checked in the freezer and there’s plenty of prepared meals we could warm up in the microwave.”

"I'm for staying here and having a pool party,” announced the feisty Cockney. I wondered whether she’d also be leading the campaign to get the others to take off their bikini bottoms. And how long would it be before the quartet demanded to see Tim’s and my tackle! But a communal striptease never materialised, though I noticed that Doreen had clearly set her sights on Tim, doubtless deciding he was an ‘easy lay’. Whether I’d get to have a tumble in the sheets with the organiser now seemed rather unlikely.

~ ~ ~

For our first full day in Malaga, Jen announced that we would be visiting the renowned seafront fortress known as The Alcazaba. A taxi came to collect us at 11.00 am.

It was stiflingly hot, with large crowds of tourists exploring the huge 11th-century Moorish fortification. We left after an exhausting hour and eagerly agreed with our taxi driver’s suggestion to visit a cool tapas bar on the waterfront.

“What’s it to be tonight, folks?” our guide enquired.

“How about a barbee?” Doreen suggested. There’s one in the pool’s storage shed.”

“I’d be up for that,” Susan chimed in enthusiastically. “And perhaps Tim could conjure up some disco music on his laptop?” Everyone else nodded agreement and Jen said she’d get our taxi to make a detour to a mini-Mart for the food on the way back to the villa. “And remember to put brandy on the shopping list!” Doreen added.

There was much discussion in the taxi back about the ‘dress code’ for the barbecue/disco. Doreen’s suggestion that we should all be ‘starkers’ was quickly ruled out and in the end, the ladies who’d brought smart summer dresses won the day.

As well as providing the music, Tim agreed to man the barbecue, with Ingrid in charge of food prep. I was to help Susan prepare the Sangria. She was incredibly shy. Pretty for her age (pushing forty-five I guessed), looking lovely in a semi-transparent blue and purple ankle-length kimono, with a white gardenia in her blonde side-chignon. I could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

At the edge of the pool, Doreen disco-danced barefoot alone. She had a tight-fitting turquoise scooped-neck top (matching her glitter-coated toenails), a bare midriff and microscopically short faded denim shorts. Tim had soon mastered the electric-powered barbecue while Ingrid and Jen chatted quietly under the palms. If Doreen and Tim were going to get together and Jen and the German were clearly hitting it off, it would have to be demure Susan for yours truly.

Having taken out all the barbecue ingredients to Tim, Susan returned to make another batch of Sangria. As well as putting three generous slugs of brandy into the jug, I saw her take a nip herself. ‘Still, waters run deep’ I decided. I moved up behind her and gently kissed the nape of her neck. There was a strong hint of expensive French perfume. She stopped stirring the cocktail and her head dropped forward in a sign of appreciation. I placed both my hands lightly on her bottom. “Not wearing any panties?” I whispered. She shook her head. “And I see you left your bra off.” She nodded.

I moved closer, wrapping my arms around her slim waist with my hands moving up to her breasts. I simultaneously pressed my semi-erect cock against her bottom. She wiggled her hips a little and murmured (as if talking to the drinks jug): “Mmmm, that feels rather nice!” It was far too public a spot to go any further, but before I moved away to check how things were progressing by the pool, she turned around, grasped my crotch and whispered: “Promise me you’ll spend the night with me? I so want to feel this deep inside me!” Where her roommate Jen would sleep was unknown, though I had an inkling that our tour leader had the hots for German Ingrid when I found them dancing intimately together outside.

At the barbecue, Doreen was now topless beneath her chef’s apron and had even persuaded Tim to strip down to his red Speedos and Rolling Thunder Revue T-shirt. In between flipping sausages over on the grill, she was giving his tackle some serious attention with her spare hand and it seemed highly likely that the little minx would get him to ‘finish’ in his shorts!

By the time we sat down for supper just before midnight, the six members of our party were all neatly ‘paired’. Judging by his dark-stained shorts, Doreen had obviously brought Tim off and was now guiding his hand beneath her apron to return the favour. Ingrid and Jen were openly kissing (Jen’s blouse hung open), while I sat next to Susan stroking her thighs, slowly moving my hand ever closer to her quim. As I arrived at her swollen mons, she parted her legs allowing her kimono to fall open, revealing a silky-smooth vagina. She rocked back in her chair and closed her eyes as an orgasm approached. The others looked on with lustful admiration.

When my lovely Susan had (metaphorically) come down off the ceiling after enjoying two orgasms, I realised that it was only our obliging tour leader Jen who’d remained on the sidelines. While Susan was patting her cunnie with her napkin, I mischievously called over to Jen: “So what’s your party piece?”

She flushed a little, then whispered in Ingrid’s ear. The German woman smiled and nodded. Jen got up from the table, saying: “I’ll be right back.”

She returned a few minutes later, topless and clad only in white cotton panties, with a small black silk pouch hanging from one wrist. “Three guesses as to what’s in the pouch,” she called out.

“A stick of Malaga rock?” I suggested. She shook her head.

“A whip?” called out Doreen.

Jen smiled. “I should be so lucky!”

As there were no more guesses, she unzipped the pouch to remove a pink plastic strap-on, with a pale blue leather harness and chrome buckles. The phallus part looked to be about 7” long. Its production was greeted with whoops of delight.

Jen bowed gracefully. Gesturing towards a blushing Ingrid, Jen announced: “My new partner has generously agreed to go first.” There was a round of applause and an excited call from Doreen: “Give ‘er a good seeing-to, darlin’!”

While Ingrid lowered the legs of her lounger, Jen slipped out of her panties and began fitting her strap-on, getting Tim to tighten the buckles across the cheeks of her bottom. Ingrid took up a ‘doggie’ posture on the lounger and Jen pulled a sachet of lube from her pouch, ripped off its top with her teeth and liberally lubed the plastic phallus. The scene was set.

The only noises to be heard around the villa’s pool were the trickle of the ornamental fountain and the smooth ‘squelching’ as Jen’s cock slowly entered Ingrid’s pussy. She gripped the German woman’s hips tightly (it appeared our tour organiser was quite ‘experienced’ in this field on sexual activity) and thrust the strap-on in up to the hilt. Ingrid’s head dropped forward in ecstasy. Gripping the frame of the lounger, she murmured an inaudible Teutonic expletive.

A naked Doreen was expertly sucking Tim off while I had sedate Susan perched on my lap (facing away from me), watching the action and clearly ready and willing to be entered in front of the others. I reached into my pocket for a condom packet. Looking down, Susan shook her head: “No need for that, sweetie, I’ve got my diaphragm on – not that I’m likely to get preggers at my age! It’s SO much better…” then craning her head back, in her cut-glass accent she whispered the end of the sentence into my ear “…when you feel the man’s warm spunk in your vagina!”