“But I can’t go ... with this...”Carla, Glen Vacher’s 18 year old wife whined, gesturing at her groin as they dressed. She had put her 34C brassiere on and the tangle of her black thong was at her knees. All he could see was her gorgeous round butt and her delicious arse crack. In the antique walnut mirror, a wedding present from Herman and Agatha Gustaben, Carla’s Danish parents, he caught a glimpse of her down turned blonde head, the black straps of her bra carving across her back. She stood and turned, her rotund, cuddly belly with her delectable button navel, wobbling above a wide fat hairy pudenda.
“Look darling my parents are paying for the trip as a belated honeymoon and you knew that when we accepted their kind offer...” Glen told her.
“I know that luvvie, that’s not the point, how could we not accept it, they’re lovely to do so, but it’s just ... you know, I want to look good and how can I?” she moaned hauling up her belly with one hand and pointing at her pudenda.
What he could see was enticing Glen to push her back on the bed and shag her socks off – again, but they both had to go to work and it was Monday morning. He was due at the structural steel company where he was a designer and she was due at the nursery school, where she was a carer. The weekend like the ten they had enjoyed since marrying at the Guildhall, neither wanting a religious affair, had been a non stop fuck fest without condoms. She couldn’t wait to have a sprog and then two more to make her idea of a complete family. Glen went along with that.
“Well you’ve seen the new video that dad and mum showed us, to persuade us. I mean there were loads of curvy chubby girls there, so what you worried about?” Glen asked, pulling his socks on, sat on the bed.
“We didn’t need much persuading,” Carla giggled, at last back to the cheery, buck toothed, ever smiling face he’d first fallen in love with across the Wetherspoons pub in Bournemouth. “Anything to ogle some tasty bodies, boys and girls.”
“Hah! yes you just thought it was a topless beach didn’t you, but you only saw the first few minutes of the video, before you had to go to work ... I remember you shouting ‘yes thanks Mum and Dad we’ll go’ as you rushed out. I mean I’m not in peak physical condition either...”
“Glen, you’re beautiful so don’t you start,” Carla murmured having dragged up her thong and pulled on a skirt.
Her husband was chuffed, but he’d been that way from when a bit of not pretty stuff like Carla at 17 and two months, bold enough to flaunt her stuff and smart enough to kid the pub staff she was old enough, had been attracted to an average looking bespectacled old git like him at 40. Glen’s mates in the pub were stunned and have been ever since. The gang including a couple of her mates were great together and they’d enjoyed countless fun nights, days and weekends, liking the same things - drinking, blues gigs, art exhibitions, hiking, intelligent films and lazing around.
During lunch break at work that day he viewed a video on his laptop in the car, his dad Lachlan, had forwarded, of the first time he and Catherine, Glen’s mum had visited a nudist camp in Kent. It was thirty years back and a grainy conversion but there they were in all their glory, mid 40s, looking very apprehensive for a lot of the time but gradually happier in the rarefied surroundings. Glen’s Mum was a chubby stunner and still is and his Dad was hung, donkey like hung, his son wasn’t.
They had taken him as a kid to naturist places, so he reckoned he’d seen everything, so nothing fazed Glen but he hadn’t become hooked like they were. To get this chance again at the Vacher’s easily afforded expense was a dream come through for a still lusty and voyeuristic bloke. During the evening he put the grainy video on a wide screen telly and the new one he’d referred to and Carla watched it happily.
The young couple were not poor but struggling and happy and there was a chance of promotion, certainly in Glen’s firm. Carla was devoted to her child care, as the children were devoted to her. Refusing monetary aid from both sets of parents, equally financially comfortable, they had steadfastly scrimped and saved to get their modest two up two down, needs a lot of TLC, cottage and if Glen wasn’t knocking walls through or down he was altering or replacing pipes and electrical wiring.
They went to bed and off she went again as she undressed. Just to see his lovely wife peeling off her gear was a smashing sight, something – so far – he’d never tired of. She moaned, standing nude by the bedside.
“Look Glen, this is what I’m on about, not my tummy.”
He knew what bothered her, but tried to give the wrong impression as he leered at it. She had widened her stance and the magnificent view of her very pronounced labia - outer and inner - was something he needed to get to grips with right now, judging by the pole in the sheets and not just because Glen was subject to a detailed discussion of her remarkable genitalia.
“It looks as if I’m deformed or something,”
“Or something is the word love. It is something wonderful and I’m so glad it’s half mine,” her husband snickered making a grab for her waist to pull her into bed. “And I mean half mine as the other half is yours ... God, I’m so pleased.”
“Yeah well I’m not sharing it with anyone else,” she chuckled, stepping back closer from where he’d attempted to grab her. “But look.”
“I am darling ... mmmm ... I’ll tell you something. I can just about remember my mum’s bits, down there,” I pointed.
“You saw your mums? ... Catherine’s? Glen? ... oh yes, I remember you told me you went to nudist camps with them,” she giggled, once again cheerful and joking, but then serious and concerned again, peering between her legs, as he’d watched many times as she inserted tampons or worried about a spot.
“In two weeks time, you’ll be able to compare notes as two nurses do,” he chortled, Carla dumping out of her nursing training, for better wages and the once matron Mum retiring from the local Nuffield Hospital.
“Don’t be daft Glen,” Carla said, climbing into bed. “We’re not going to lay on the beach staring at each others twats are we?”
“Don’t be too sure, she’ll tell you straight if you asked.”
“Yeah but she’s nearly seventy, it doesn’t matter ... not like...”
“Like a gorgeous 18 year old ... come here sexpot.”
The early September sun was blazing down as you’d expect in the Heliopolis AB318 apartment at Cap d’Agde. The four of them arrived last night having flown to Montpellier, then hired a car. Today was the big adventure for Carla and they were in the village so on arrival the agent had checked them in, with info and wrist bands which had to be worn at all times. The four had a typical French breakfast of croissant, jam and good coffee, Catherine had shopped at the store in the complex and then prepared to go to the beach which was still busy with a few less bodies around, mainly because the school holiday were over, so less families with kids and the previous three months were peak.
The run of the mill apartment, one of 52 in a large, once modern, slightly tired block, minutes from the sea shore, suited the budget Lachlan Vacher had allocated. He’d have preferred their usual suite at Residence Nautilia but he and Catherine had deemed it too ostentatious for the young ones, thinking they’d be overawed and uncomfortable. Everything was minimal, every wall and ceiling white and every sound bounced hard off the solid walls without any soft furnishings.
It was at least roomy and well equipped. It showed its usage, rarely empty in the summer and empty during the winter, signs of wear in the kitchenette and some breakages not picked up by the apartment management group were evident, but the beds were big, comfy and clean. Lachlan, being a big spending regular had pulled strings and secured the four a superb view out to sea, over the beach and concourse.
“Oh fuck ... fuck fuck fuck!” Carla vehemently exclaimed, not usually swearing a lot. She was in the en-suite bathroom, to their individual apartment.
“What now sweetie?” Glen queried, stark naked, ready to go and checking the bag they would take for the day. Sun screen, oil, shades, sun hats, towels ... loads of stuff, to non doubt be added to by Carla before they left.
“I don’t believe it,” she sobbed, in full Victor Meldrew mode as he went in. “Now I can’t go on the beach,” she was nearly sobbing, waving an unpacked and ready to go tampon at him.
“C’mon you two, I want to get a good position, with one of the shades,” Lachlan impatiently called from the landing. Glen peered out and his 74 year old dad was stood naked, a bag on his shoulder, his fit, tall, white haired, lean, elderly frame already bronzed after years of nudism.
“Ask Mum to pop in and have a word with Carla,” Glen asked him. Lachlan called out her name – Cath - she answered and got the message. The two men left them to it. Immediately in the open air they were amongst nakedness of every description and nationality, with the inevitable Russian hordes prominent.
“Bloody Bolsheviks,” Lachlan grumbled. “They’ve commandeered Courcheval seemingly for their personal ski centre – the prices Glen, you wouldn’t believe it.”
His son had been ogling two teenagers. Stunners – with high pert breasts, one with the most perfectly coned puffies, with not a sign of sag or wobble, golden flowing locks, following an obvious Mama, with long, low hung, pendulous bosoms and Papa, exceedingly well blessed in the dong department - obese the pair of them, noticing that all four had bald genitals and all were noisily engaged in a fun conversation. However his dad’s moans, took him back to Carla and her complaints.
Carla sat disconsolately on a stool gazing out of the window as Catherine strolled in – naked as nature and Cap d’Agde intended. Carla harboured a slight discomfort in the sixty eight year old’s bare naked presence. The fact they were both chubby hadn’t registered a modicum of togetherness in her.
“So what’s your problem my dear?” asked Catherine kindly, placing a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder then stroking the glassy surface of her hair.
“It doesn’t matter mum, I can’t go to the beach like this, I’ll wear a bikini or something, but I’ll need to buy one,” the young woman chuntered.
“No such a word, love – can’t? Come on spill the beans. Don’t want to be too late after the men, they’ll be chatting up the talent and there’s always plenty of that,” Catherine snickered, thinking back to one or two of Lachlan’s wayward glances, chats and occasional hour long disappearances. She sat on the edge of the bed and swivelled Carla in the revolving chair, noting with some distaste the apartment management had used cheap office furniture, to face her. That would never have happened in Residence Nautilia. She studied the rather bulky, small breasted, very pale form which she hadn’t really studied before and thinking lots of expensive sun barrier cream would be needed. Carla’s face was normally a bright smiling countenance, under the flowing hair. The cute little gap in her top, pointing to the front teeth, added to her attractiveness and now wearing her designer black business style spectacles - she was a picture - except for her down hearted grimace.
Carla gradually opened her legs. “It’s this mum. It’s not nice, I don’t like it but I’m stuck with it,” she whined.
Catherine stifled a gasp and leaned forward to see where Carla was indicating. It looked somewhat different but...”Stand up love, be able to see what you’re on about better ... that’s it, now let’s see, bit wider.” Her soft Scottish tones were soothing in this highly charged situation.
Carla’s sturdy, wobbly thighs parted once more. Her outer labia pouched forward and down, like two meaty burger buns. They sported a healthy clump of curly fair pubic hair. Between them, protruding stouter and longer, she had two, half inch thick curtains of inner labia. They were a darker toned pink.
Well that’s not too out of the ordinary Cath thought to herself, you should see mine, Lachlan’s meat curtains as he calls them. But Carla’s are long, almost heavy drapes, especially with the textured flake/feathery surface, how different - Cath mused – what - more than an inch longer out of her outer labia. I’ve seen one or two odd ones in my nursing life, but this...
“Nice bush heh heh,” cackled Catherine, trying to lower the intensity.
“Sorry, mine was out to here, I mean hairy,” Catherine cast a hand about two inches in front of her smooth pudenda. “Lachlan loved it, but we’ve both gone trendy heh heh. You’re stunning my dear, don’t know what your problem is, you’ll be a great hit on the beach.”
“What d’you mean mum, great hit? Nobody’s going to be looking there are they?” Carla, sat down, consternation writ large behind her specs.
“Of course they are darling, woman too. We all compare notes. You’ve got all the pervs too of course, but nobody takes any notice of them, they just go away in the end after...”
“After they’ve had a good luck at your fanny, that’s all,” replied Catherine. “It’s nothing - happens everywhere, the worst we had was on Haulover Beach Miami. Crude buggers there, you know Yanks, really blatant staring. Then you get the exhibitionists, couples shagging, gobbling that sort of thing, but they can be avoided. Draws the crowd, nobody bothers to stop them, you don’t have to watch.”
“Crikey! But mum we’re going for a relaxing sunbathe, not to show ourselves,” reasoned Carla.
“Yes of course, but it happens, we just go with the flow.” Her mother-in-law said comfortingly. “Never had any problem ... in fact Lachlan, is quietly pleased guys peep at me,” Catherine giggled and lay dramatically back on the bed with her legs spread in the air. “I mean at my age.” She shrieked a joyful note of happiness.
Carla gasped, her hands at her mouth, genuinely shocked at the display her ageing mother-in-law was flashing proudly. Totally devoid of pubic hair, her labia was slightly withered, but full on, the inners protruding from a puffy outer pouch and delicately formed and as she’d cast her limbs wide, Cath’s aged cunt had opened. She’d drawn her knees up towards her head, not far, she was a little too old to achieve the double, but Carla saw and looked away from the dark circled tone round the old lady’s sphincter.
“Little prudish are we? Won’t last long darling not with Glen and Lachlan about and naked ... Anyway back to your ... er problem as you think. It’s not a problem and don’t worry. You’re stuck with a beaver like that anyway, I mean you’d have to go serious surgery to remove it, not FGM.”
“Yes OK and thanks for the help. I understand, just not used to showing in public ... but here’s my even bigger concern...” grumbled Carla, snatching the tampon, not having inserted it yet.
“That is not a problem love. You’ll see lots of them on the beach. It’s a natural thing for women isn’t it, why try and hide it. Don’t worry. Unfortunate, yes, this holiday, but live with it as we always do.”
Carla’s lip curled. It wasn’t the thing to do, to actively and blatantly advertise she was on the blob as Glen often called it. Oh well.
“Look at the knockers on her Glen, two o’clock under the yellow parasol,” muttered Lachlan leerily, once the men had settled and staked out their pitch.
“Wow ... enormous and so sort of solid, very little sag. Think they real?” said Glen smoothing a towel.
“My guess is yes. Oddly you don’t see many cosmetics here. There is an area where the model types go, men and women, cocks and tits to the fore, un-fucking-believable heh heh,” chuckled the older Vacher crudely, surprising his son.
The retired barrister was turning out to be a real laddo in Glen’s view. Very rarely did Lachlan swear and they’d never had candid man chat about women. Now his gaze and Glen’s were centred on a new sun seeker, very pale, apart from three tan brown areas bordering two white patches across her chest and crotch. The young girl was very very slender, tall, willowy and her arm was locked through the flabby arm of her middle aged, greying black haired escort. Hispanic in features, swaggering, he turned down to her and they kissed passionately and in doing so patted and in one move groped her bum.
“Lucky old git,” sniggered Lachlan.
“She’s a cracker. I though it was his daughter.” chuckled Glen. “Shouldn’t be allowed.”
“Oh there’s all sorts. Look out for lessy couples, plenty of queers about too, but we’re not interested in them are we?” Lachlan chortled, hopefully getting Glen’s affirmation. “Oh here’s the girls, good girl Cath, she knew where we’d be.”
“How did you get on sweetie?” queried Glen of a clearly shocked to the core wife.
“She’ll be fine, once she gets completely nekkid,”chuckled his mother, winking and nodding at Carla, topless but with a colourful sarong covering her lower half.
“Some of the things I’ve seen... ?” said Carla, plonking heavily down alongside a dozing Lachlan, grinning and sporting a half hard cock, his daughter-in-law swiftly averting her gaze in the opposite direction – after noting his knob end was in full view and what she thought was a rather nice shade of pale purple, ringed in pink, and disgusted that two men standing close by were matching him, one with a full erection.
“It happens Carla,” snickered Cath, spotting her glance. “There’s no particular sexual goings on ... is there Lachy?” she giggled grinning at her husband, who raised his handsome smiling head and shook it. “Bet Glen’ll have one some time.”
“Must admit having trouble not to, but with that lot and what’s around, I might just give up and let it happen,” chortled Glen, nodding at various nubile, full breasted youngsters, ample bodied matrons and mothers he’d like to fuck – including he had to admit to himself, his own.
“Glen please...” whined Carla.
Lunch at the beach bar was a busy affair, crowded, some boozing, some actually lunching. Across the overstretched sand, trampled solid, but clean, suddenly Catherine called out “Maisie ... it is Maisie, whoo hoo!” mouthfuls of Moule Fritte splattering Lachlan who merely swiped his hand over the wet crumbs as he too recognised the wiry, tall, very black, hard faced woman languishing on a beach cushion amongst a group of woman.
Maisie waved casually and Cath hustled over the meet up with an obviously known acquaintance. She bent over to kiss the Negro and gave several interested men eyefuls of her curvy buttocks and the dark smudge just visible between the fleshy softness. Lachlan sauntered over and vociferously greeted the black woman, handing Cath her third glass of Muscadet-sur-lie, then returned.
“She had a great time with that group couple of years back, she’ll be ages. I’m having a nap then go for a swim.”
“Great idea dad, coming love?”
Carla demurred. Glen and Lachlan lazed about for an hour then had their swim.
“You gonna take that thing off darling?” Glen queried, towelling his genitals. “Look around ... see any more?”
“I’m not a pretty sight and got a thingy in, so no,” Carla retaliated.
Lachlan raised his head, got a wink from his son and whipped the sarong away from Carla’s body. She shrieked, he giggled, Glen laughed as did several nudists in close proximity. The girl forgot where she was and knelt up, her legs apart, her labia cascading down and the string partly wrapped in them. Lachlan ogled a snails eye view from low down and licked his lips, letting her take the garment back and double wrapping herself, then immersing her mind in a Jilly Cooper novel.
A large family group of Russians settled themselves not far away. The usual - obese elders, mixed ages down to toddlers.
“Now that’s an hourglass figure,” Glen chuckled eyeing one of them, a ripe, statuesque bleached blonde, fussing over a toddler in nappies. He went off to get some ice creams.
“Top of the hour,” Lachlan snickered. “Not exactly wee small hours.”
Catherine had staggered back, looking very dishevelled and very wonky on her intoxicated legs.
“You blokes ... suppose I am late hours then?” she laughed.
The toddlers went off to play in the shallows, nappy got soaked and the teenagers joined them. There were some lovely intimate glimpses of tight neat pussies and delectably pert firm boobs. A fat young mother gathered her baby and breast fed, her other child either fiddled with his tiny todger or suckled her other milk bloated tit, sometimes both. For a twice birthed cunt she had a really smooth slit, no inner labia spoiling the plains of the Urals, as Lachlan leerily put it to anyone listening. A couple who’d created a sort of break between them and the older family members, kissed, fondled and groped each others genitals, soon to be watched by passing men and one appreaciative elderly couple. Now and then the girl went down on the youth and gobbled his erection while he lay back, head resting on his hands, not bothered, well neither of them were, at the gradually increasing crowd, one or two men openly wanking.
The Russian patriarch, barked some word of warning, before waddling off to swim and the couple ceased their blatant sex antics, the movement catching Carla’s attention who looked up, too late.
Cath saw that and slurred, “Like I said Carla, it happens, so don’t be surprised at whatever you see. There’s no wardens – well not that we’ve seen.”
“You have a good time darling?” her husband asked.
“Of course. Maisie is Maisie, only thing I didn’t like was the watchers, one had a cameras or video. When Sylvia ... you know Maisie’s lover, rogered me with a dildo,”
Glen chuckled handing the ice creams round.
“They crowded in. I know I’m old and decrepit, but do I want to be seen being poked by a lessie world wide on the net?” Catherine waved her hand in a distasteful way. “That French tart - remember from last year, huge false knockers?” Lachlan smiled and nodded, remembering, “Just took her panties with a pad in them off and let a guy shag her doggy style ... oh that reminds me Carla. Little secret Carla, between you and I about your tampon,” she whispered, noticing her daughter-in-law’s still devoted gripping protection of her protective sarong. The novice nudist leaned close, not enjoying the over powering stenchof alcohol, the intimate lack of distance, shoulders touching, between her and her well pissed ma-in- law. “Lachlan used to love pulling mine out with his teeth. I was always hottest with the decorators in, so to speak...”
“I can hear you...” snickered her husband, trying but not succeeding getting a view of Carla’s string. “If that’s what you’re implying you dirty old broad, I’d have to clear that with the boy,” he chuckled, as Glen licked his ice cream.
“Don’t you dare Lachy,” giggled his drunk wife. “Why don’t you go and have a play ... you know...”
“I’m guessing you’ve had yours ... for today,” smiled the distinguished barrister.
“Well what do you think with Maisie’s gang on the beach?”
“Yes, know her of course but always fancied a bit of black.”
Carla hadn’t picked up the gist of the conversation but Glen had and glanced at her, a touch worried that he’d have to explain away his parents libido charged attitudes. Catherine snored herself out of the conversation and Carla took the chance at seeing how liberally she lay, although fidgetting, legs wide apart, knees up, her arsehole winking in time to her raucous snores. Dare she try it??????
“Have all those cocks waggling about turned you on at all?” asked Glen, later in bed that night.
“Well now you ask - yes, I was just thinking about them darling. It’s a sight and a half,” Carla snickered.
“I thought they would, filthy bitch,” he guffawed unkindly. She slapped his erection just before he penetrated her fleshy mott.
Afterwards, his dick was only lightly soiled with her period, she also revealed how the funny contortions nudists performed and then realised how they were determined to get every inch of their bodies tanned.