I hadn’t intended to cheat on Duncan. Well, okay, yeah, I obviously did mean to cheat on Duncan. But prior to arriving in France, I’d never thought myself capable of it, mostly because it seemed unlikely that Evan Dando and I would ever meet.

For the record, let it be known that I tried stoically to abstain - but against love and lust, stoicism rarely stands a chance. 

And Duncan did introduce us, so really, it was his fault.

The truth shall be my judge, and I can say with total honesty that when I first saw his best friend, I was instantly smitten, pierced by cupid’s lust arrow, or, as Duncan would later offer;

‘…just a fucking slut who can’t control her sexual urges.’

I’m okay with that appraisal. It’s probably accurate, so I’ll own it. My riposte was that if Duncan had been satisfying those slutty sexual urges then maybe I’d not have strayed. Maybe.

But let’s be real here. The stud walking up the beach towards me had just slain Evan Dando and stolen his throne. Duncan had no chance, and nor did I.

He had me before hello.

So I did the hair twirling, coy, lash fluttering thing as he walked up the beach towards us, while feeling quietly smug that I’d worn my ass clinging Daisy Dukes and had chosen to go braless in a tight tee (there were compelling reasons behind this outfit choice that will be explained later). Thank fuck for gentle summer breezes.

There’s a small nudist hideaway on the southwestern coast of France. It’s idyllic, miles from anywhere, and hidden inside a dense pine forest littered with pretty chalets, all of which look out onto a private beach. It’s frequented mostly by locals and a select few outsiders who have proven themselves worthy. Duncan’s mum fell into the latter category and owned one of the chalets.

It was only my second time abroad. I was nineteen, which would put the year somewhere in the early nineties, though I don’t care to be too specific.

It was me, Duncan and his best not-from-school mate, and I think the three of us all felt really grown up to be trying out a nudist resort rather than heading for a week long Ecstasy fest in Ayia Napa.

I’d never tried public nudism before that, but instantly fell in love with the nuanced exhibitionism that it allows when amongst so many strangers, and friends.

We arrived at the resort somewhere between mid and late afternoon. It was specifically because it was a nudist resort that I’d purposefully gone with the high cut, ass clenching Daisy Dukes and tight tee with no bra ensemble on our journey over.

I’d figured that if you could already see most of my ass through the Dukes, and all of my tits through the white tee, then I might as well have been in the buff anyway. My logic was that in being almost bare to the world whilst clothed, it wouldn’t be such a huge thing to disrobe in public for the first time (when sober).

However, my wardrobe choice felt like even more of a masterstroke when the man who’d made Evan Dando an instant afterthought strolled towards us.

He smiled.

I melted.

We shook hands as Duncan introduced us. He was honoured to finally meet me, apparently, he’d started to wonder if I was even real. We all politely guffawed, and then he explained, partially to my face, but mostly to my chest, how he could see why Duncan had kept me hidden away for so long. It’s funny how when certain men talk to your tits it can be boorishly irksome, but with others, studs, to put it bluntly, it’s like the greatest thing ever. Duncan’s best friend fell into the latter category.

You can talk to my tits all day, baby.

In fact, being at a nudist escape suddenly seemed like the most fortuitous thing in the world. So I ripped off the tee and dropped my shorts within moments of us climbing the rickety wooden steps onto the veranda of our chalet.

Yeah. That’s right boys. I wasn’t wearing any knickers either.

Once starkers, I leant back against the balcony rail and did my best to look casually alluring.

Duncan’s best mate was the keenest of the two boys to offer me a beer. When he tugged on the ring pull, ‘to save those beautiful nails’, it spunked froth all over my tits - which immediately gave him the perfect excuse to ogle them as we both giggled. I then playfully rubbed the amber nectar into my boobs like a porn star playing with fake cum during her close up. As you do.

I felt sure we were flirting. I mean really flirting. And he’d said he liked my nails, which was more than Duncan had managed - that meant a lot to me as I’d taken friggin hours over them.

An INXS song started to play in my head - the one where Michael Hutchence croons ‘objectify’ over and over again. He may never have sung that, but on that day he did in my head, and it was awesome.

Things swiftly began to unravel, however. Duncan had been all bravado about us heading to his Mum’s nudey hideaway until his best friend had casually invited himself - but he hadn’t been assertive enough to turn his friend down, and it didn’t take me long to realise why his presence was going to be an issue for him.

It appeared intrinsically linked to his sudden appetite for finding obscurely ‘important’ jobs to do before actually getting nekkid. 

I’d always thought that I hadn’t met Duncan’s out of school friends because he was ashamed of me. I’d had a myriad of thoughts on this, from being too curvy, and that he wanted all his mates to think he was seeing a more waif-like girl, to that they’d think I was a bit rough owing to my green hair and penchant for f-bombs.

It wasn’t until his bestie finally slipped out of his board shorts that I realised the shame may have lain somewhat closer to home.

‘Wow. Your mum must be proud,’ I joked, suddenly trying to give my eyes a wide angled focus.

‘Thanks.’ He grinned, ‘No doubt your dad feels similarly about you.’

Naughty.

Duncan stood glowering beside the beer fridge.

Suddenly our hugely mature, extremely grown up holiday had become very awkward.

The three of us tried to act all grown up as Duncan finally stripped off to reveal his little pee-pee. Nothing was said or inferred about the staggering size difference between the two boys. But, well meaning as that was, it just left a tiny elephant on the veranda that none of us could get away from.

Things worsened considerably when Duncan sat down on the veranda beside his best friend. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t help but compare the two of them.

The yearning began in earnest, along with the guilt. I felt terrible. I couldn’t help drooling over the boy that I wasn’t actually dating. Thoughts ran riot in my head - He’s hotter than Evan Dando, and he’s huge. Like, otherworldly huge. I want to be his fuck-toy forever and ever and ever. That sort of thing.

So I forced myself to try and think about stuff other than where I might get his name tattooed on my body before begging him to fill my cunt with his massive piece of man meat.

Not easy.

Particularly as we spent the first couple of hours on the veranda drinking and smoking weed. Duncan was on his fifth beer before I’d sunk my first. The stud was acting as cool as a cucumber. I was horny as fuck, and Duncan was quietly losing his shit. So I decided to extricate myself from the situation temporarily.

I went for a walk along the beach. The whole nude experience felt revelatory. The myriad of differing body shapes and the relaxed vibe seemed so body positive and there weren’t any catty looks or sneering judgers anywhere to be seen.

I swam for about an hour in the clear, blue sea. It felt so freeing to be skinny dipping. Afterwards, I stood, lingering in the shallows, as the waves splashed playfully at the backs of my thighs.

I remember thinking how exciting it felt to have my tan-lines on show. Everyone else was either a lighter shade of pale, having just arrived at the resort, or tanned all over - but I’d spent the majority of the summer back in England, sunbathing in a giant prude bikini, which now seemed fortuitous indeed.

I began to revel in how prominent the large, previously hidden triangles of untouched white flesh had suddenly become in contrast to the dark olive, sun scorched textures across the rest of my body. It was as if the darker bits had shirked politely into the background and I’d become nothing more than a pair of big white tits and a bushy mound of dark cunt fur set off to a pristine white canvas. It felt really sexy.

I walked back up the beach feeling like my body was screaming look at my sexual bits - which excited me. Men were unashamed in their loitering glances and I enjoyed the feeling of them being so.

The more I noticed the glances, the smiles and the head nods of appreciation, the more I walked at a consciously gentle pace to allow them the opportunity to properly objectify me. It was an act that took me way out of my comfort zone, but I was starting to realise that I craved it.

The sun was dipping away by the time I made my way back to the chalet. Duncan lay drunkenly passed out in a hammock on the chalet decking. His best friend, my future husband, sat in a rocking chair, smoking a joint. He watched me walk back up the beach with the most visceral stare - hunger, amusement, expectation, dominance, it was all there in those beautiful green eyes.

I pretended to be oblivious, all whilst provocatively running my hand through my hair and walking up the beach with one foot flouncing in front of the other as if I was striding purposefully down a catwalk.

My arrival back at the chalet didn’t go quite as elegantly as planned - I stubbed my toe on the decking steps (splinters!), which sort of killed my catwalk diva thing, but I felt confident he wasn’t watching my feet too closely anyway.

I took a draw on the spliff and we went through the pretence of talking about the water being beautifully clear and warm.

It always is this time of year.

Uh huh.

As I stood on the veranda I kept trying to subtly ogle his cock. He knew it too. But I couldn’t help myself. He was uncut, with a thick, veiny trunk that had its own beautiful arrogance, matched by the two giant plums swaying behind it in unison. I wondered if that was why Duncan had got so drunk - out of shame and embarrassment for his penis being so inordinately smaller.

Or maybe it had just been his way of stepping aside - because as my boyfriend lay comatose in the hammock, his best friend didn’t even try to hide his objectification of me, and I made no effort to prevent him from doing so. He wanted me to know he was looking, and I wanted him to know I didn’t care.

I remember him saying something about how I’d, ‘evoked a wondrous passion for nudism within him, so we must keep doing this’.

I smirked and took a couple of draws on the spliff whilst trying to think of a deserving riposte. I said something about being thrilled to have opened his eyes to new interests, and exhaled as sexily as I could.

‘Oh, you have. My eyes are wide open.’

‘I noticed.’

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been quite so demure when walking sultrily back up the beach. Perhaps, because of that, I was that deserving slut who got what she asked for.

In truth, it had felt intoxicating to flaunt myself. And more than any of the other faceless men on the beach that day - I wanted him to look at me the way he had, with his best friend, my boyfriend, lying flat out on the decking beside him. It seemed to play to the addict in me - the one that wanted to be desired to the craziest extent possible - where men lost their minds and their morality in a haze of lust.

I fancied him. I felt guilty for it, because of Duncan. But he was so good looking - the sort that knows it, plays to it and has a smile that could get him anything he wanted when he chose to use it. He was also acutely intelligent, painfully quick witted, more than a little sexist, fit, tall, athletic and well on the way to professional success. He’d even shown an interest in my writing. So, freaking perfect, basically.

I’d swoon at his eyes as they fizzed from under his swathe of ungainly dark curls. Part of me knew he was dangerous. That was the problem. I was the metaphorical moth.

I left him on the veranda and wandered inside the chalet. I could feel him watching me through the doorway as I sauntered across the living room’s threadbare rug towards the glass fronted beer fridge sitting snug in its corner.

Three beers, the hashish, and an afternoon spent idling in the scorching French sunshine had me revelling in the sort of horny, fuzzy state where sound judgement has died at the feet of lost inhibitions.

I flipped the fridge door open and reached inside. I knew he’d be able to see my cunt as I bent over, so I lingered, playfully arranging some of the chilled bottles as my ass teetered in the air for his complete, unadulterated viewing.

It was only when I pirouetted around that I realised he’d followed me inside and was standing behind me.

‘I got beers,’ I offered, blushing as I clutched the chilled bottles to each breast.

‘So I see,’ he replied, looking down and smiling. ‘Don’t move, I want to get a photo of that. You look incredible.’

‘You can’t,’ I insisted, though I didn’t move.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m Duncan’s girl.’

‘So?’

‘So it’s not okay for you to have nudes of your best mate’s girl.’

‘You’re not nude. There’s clearly two bottles almost covering very little of those spectacularly big bosoms,’ the stud retorted with a painfully hot Cheshire Cat grin.

‘Very funny,’ I replied, trying not to let a smile break across my face, ‘And thanks, for the boobs thing, but I’m serious, and furthermore, it’s incredibly presumptuous in the first place. I could be a prudish, militant feminist who’s aghast at your objectification of me for all you know.’

‘Yeah, that’s how I had you pegged when I first saw you,’ he replied.

We both laughed, and then he fixed the keenest, most swoonsome eye lock on me, ever.

‘Okay. So, tell me outright that you don’t want me to take this photo of you.’

I could see Duncan in the background, snoring away in the hammock. It seemed to add an even headier mix to the thought of posing nude for his friend. Shameful, I know. But, of course, I did it anyway.

Click, click, click.

‘You are so hot, I mean so, so, so hot.’ He cooed as he crouched on one knee and squinted into his camera as it rat-a-tatted around me.

‘Thanks,’ I managed to mumble, but I was mostly lost in a whir of excitement.

It felt liberating, and extremely sexy to be the object of his fascination, more so that a man as beautiful as him had wanted to capture me nude. It swept me up in its moment and before I knew it I was deliberately angling my body towards the camera as I clutched the glass beer bottles provocatively to my chest.

Click, click, click.

‘Fuck yes! That’s it. Incredible!’

I winked, grinned, pouted, leered, leaned into the lens and dropped my hair across my face - basically anything I’d seen in Cosmo over the years.

I could see his cock hardening as he rattled off shot after shot. There was a rabid look in his eyes - I’d not seen it before, but now I know it’s the look an alpha gets when he’s completely overcome by his own rapacious sexuality. It was everything I shouldn’t have found utterly enthralling and desirable in that moment, with my boyfriend lying passed out so close by.

‘Now come over here and let’s fuck.’ The stud suddenly declared.

‘What? No!’ I stammered, ‘Are you crazy?’

I genuinely couldn’t believe how brazen he was.

He was smirking, like it was all a game, like he didn’t believe a word of my belligerently offered denial. The problem was, nor did I. 

He stepped closer. I stepped backwards. But there was no backwards, only a wall. He’d got me pinned.

His hand brushed several strands of hair from my face and he smiled at me.

‘We can’t.’ I mumbled, but somehow his hands were already grasping my arms, turning me around and bending me over the little beer fridge, ‘Not with Duncan out there. You need to stop.’ I insisted, all whilst pressing my palms to the top of the fridge as he encouraged me to raise my ass up for him.

‘I understand, I really do,’ he replied, kicking at my ankles so I’d splay my legs even further as his cock brushed expectantly back and forth against the inside of my thigh.

It felt so big, and so hard. I wanted it in me, even if it was just once - just once to know how good it might feel. But I knew I couldn’t, or shouldn’t. Not while I was with Duncan.

‘I’m telling you no.’ I sighed, desperately trying to suppress any notion of pleasure as his huge hands reached around and began cupping my breasts as if he was weighing me up on a set of balance scales.

‘These have been taunting me all day.’ He groaned, squeezing and kneading my boobs firmly in his huge hands. It felt delicious to be so roughly manhandled.

‘I said no, you need to stop,’ I pleaded, shimmying my body as if trying to free myself from his grip. ‘We can’t do this!’

He let go of my tits and backed away. I thought it was over. But then his hand suddenly pushed between my legs and a finger scooped at the entrance to my sex.

‘Your cunt seems to be on my side, baby girl.’

Fuck.

‘Look, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that we can’t.’ I sighed, barely suppressing a groan as he pushed two fingers into my pussy and began working me back and forth. ‘He’s your best friend, he’ll never get over it.’

The stud ignored me and pushed a third finger inside me and began pumping my cunt more furiously.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before,’ I offered softly, biting my lip as his fingers plundered me so capably.

‘He doesn’t know how to use you does he?’

I shook my head.

‘But we still can’t. Not here. He’ll wake up. He’ll hear us.’

‘If he does he’ll have to watch us.’

I groaned and the stud’s left hand moved from squeezing my tits to clutching my throat.

‘This is happening,’ he insisted. ‘Scream as loud as you want to, but it’s happening.’

I whimpered. I could feel his enormous girth pressing at the backs of my thighs. I raised my ass even further to accommodate him. The tip of his cock nudged at my sex. Then he pushed and suddenly I was being filled to my very limits. It felt utterly fucking beautiful.

I hollered like the grateful, needy slut I was, and he started to fuck me from behind as I gripped the fridge for support. Bottles rattled and bosoms jiggled.

All men do not fuck a woman equally.

He gave me a ferocious pummelling over the fridge. It was as if he wanted the glass bottles rattling about inside to smash and clatter, because it would wake Duncan. And I didn’t care anymore - I needed what I was getting. It had to be this way.

I’d never really been fucked for more than five minutes at a time prior to that, and he gave me ten even before dragging me up off the fridge and slamming me up against the back wall with his hard body pressing into mine. His hands were voracious and his mouth relentless - nibbling and kissing at my neck in a frenzied blend of tactile sensuality.

‘You’re mine now. Don’t fight it.’ He groaned as one hand pressed my cheek firmly up against the wall whilst the other gripped my throat, all as his huge cock filled me from behind with a fullness I’d never experienced before.

I could see Duncan out of the corner of my eye, lying comatose and ignorant to the moment where his girl had left him for his best friend - the man who was now forcing huge, powerful thrusts of his massive cock back and forth inside me.

His pelvis kept slapping against my buttocks as he drove himself deeper and deeper. He kept telling me how big my ass was, and that he loved how it wobbled each time he slammed himself against it. I’d never known such a deluge of compliments, all while being deliciously and violently defiled.

Then he paused, holding me fast against the wall as his cock just twitched inside me. It felt exquisitely challenging just to try and manage his girth as it filled me. This is how it should be, I thought to myself - it should be wonderfully challenging to feel a man inside me, not where it barely touches the sides.

Each time he began to thrust up into me it felt harder, rougher, and more expectant than the last. I could feel the wall grazing my tits and dragging my nipples up and down as he pushed me tighter and closer.

I came after the second reprise. And then again after the third. I knew he wanted my acknowledgement - to hear me cry out. But I didn’t. I liked that he was, in essence, taking me - that I hadn’t openly vocalised my consent and yet he was forcefully pounding me regardless.

I’d never been fucked like that before - with rough, uncompromising disdain, and all from behind with a hand at my throat and my body pressed rigidly against a wall that was the most awful pea green in shade. I remember thinking about that as I came for the fourth time. It was as if for a while I tried to disassociate from our act so as to remain free of all guilt and shame.

It was only as we entered the fifth phase of his relentless fucking that I finally lurched my head back and met his open mouth with mine. I climaxed again, as his tongue pushed furiously into my mouth and I reciprocated with equal passion.

‘Please can I suck your cock?’ I groaned, trying to look back at him with big pleading eyes, as his mouth roved over my neck and nibbled my ear, ‘If this day never happens again I couldn’t bear not to know what it must feel like to have you in my mouth.’

He grunted appreciably and swung me around in his firm hands. I moaned, lost to my delirious pleasure.

‘I love the way you manhandle me.’ I gasped as he gripped me by the shoulders and pushed me across the room before ordering me to my knees in the middle of the threadbare rug.

‘Property always does, and you belong to me now.’

I melted and gratefully took his enormous cock into my mouth. I’d never had one force my jaw quite so wide, but with his I had to stretch my mouth to its extremes just to accommodate him.

He let me play for a while. I was desperate and utterly covetous - the slut in me suddenly free to roam in a more exciting playground than the ones I’d known with boys before.

I did everything I could to his beautiful cock, from gripping its astounding length in both my hands and wanking him, to wrapping him up in my big tits and working him back and forth so he could watch his cock getting lost in my cleavage, to licking his shaft keenly and sucking softly on his enormous balls, all before swallowing him to the hilt once more.

I wanted the whole experience. If I was to have to go back to Duncan and a diet of overly sensitive, three pumps and done sex, I wanted these memories forever.

‘I’m going to cum in your mouth and you’re going to swallow everything I give you. Is that clear?’ The stud explained, looking down at me expectantly.

I nodded and gazed back up at him adoringly as I felt the huge tip of his cock push to the back of my throat.

I could see Duncan was beginning to rouse. Everything seemed to blur into slow motion. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and then stared through the glass front of the chalet to where I lay on my knees with his best friend’s cock at the back of my throat.

The stud fucking my mouth was oblivious. He grasped at a clump of my hair and started to fuck my mouth even more aggressively. I knew he was going to cum - I could see his eyes bulging, then there was the telling twitch of his cock.

I fixed my gaze on Duncan, who sat, frozen in disbelief on the veranda. I wanted him to see the joy in my eyes when his best friend came in my mouth.

‘That’s it. Show me what a good girl you can be.’ The stud grunted.

I stared back at Duncan. His best friend clutched my head tightly in his grip as his thick prick twitched and emptied what felt like ten gallons worth of semen into my mouth.

I swallowed every drop with a look of drunken ebullience - like it was the greatest privilege ever to have had him use my mouth as his cum dump, which it was.

He held me like that - standing over me, gripping my head to the base of his shaft, until his cock stopped twitching and began to soften. All I could hear was his panting, and all I could see was Duncan staring back at me as his shock finally turned to rage.

There was a fight.

Duncan lost, and ran off down the beach.

I remained on my knees in the middle of the room, watching my new boyfriend sending the old one away. It excited me. As women, we’re not supposed to admit to things like that - but I loved that they’d fought over me, and I loved that the one I wanted to be with had won.

When I finally stood up he slapped my bare buttocks playfully. I was slightly sunburnt so it scolded. But even that felt good.

And for about an hour I lay in his arms on the veranda, listening to him telling me what we were going to do together for the rest of our lives.

He’d taken what he wanted, and I was his forever after that. I’d found the man of my dreams.

We married six months later. Duncan didn’t attend.

(c) Fraid Seams