Sun, Sea, Sand and Sultry Sex

But the timing of Sara's birth left it wide open as to when she was conceived. A welcome home fuck with my brother-in-law had always been the collective assumption. The greater likelihood, was that with all that dune semen swilling around her fertile womb, millions or billions of tail wagging dune sperm, each trying to out-wit and out-swim the rest, in their god-given animated, quest to locate and penetrate, one of those invading sperm cells might well have done the deed well before Peter had had the chance to send his own, more loving, spermatazoa on their fallopian mission, and instead that rogue dune sperm, fittest of the fittest, had kick started Leena's awaiting egg cell into vigorous, flourishing life.

I had known that that was possible all along. I had even asked Leena at the time if she was safe, thinking the morning after pill, and she had told me she was fine. She and Peter preferred the so-called rhythm method, and she knew her body well. Maybe not as well as she thought she did. Maybe the dune guys had fucked her rhythm into the long dune grass.

"Fuck!" Mike said, for the fourth or fifth time. He knew the possibilities, even with just the two guys that he was aware of, from my secret, never to be seen by anyone, need to know only file of photographs. I knew those possibilities to be at least six times greater than he thought, but I would never tell him that.

********

Sara is quite a stunner, even at the tender age of three. Another April birthday has gone by. She takes after her mother. The same complexion. The same black hair, still only shoulder long, but straight and lustrous. No sign yet of Leena's Indian nose, but no doubt that will come in time. One thing I know for certain. She is her mother's child. She too, will be beautiful when she is grown.

Like all Sikh names, Sarpreet has its meaning, "Mysterious secrets of love". It was Leena's choice, but Peter liked it, especially the abbreviated "Sara". What happened on that holiday in France remains mysterious and secret. Mike decided for himself that it was not our place to tell his brother what we knew or thought we knew. Peter adores his wife and daughter, and it would only break his heart.

Besides, we have no proof. She may be Peter's child, and if she is, then raising questions three years later, because of what took place on those two days in France, would just cause so much damage. Especially now that Leena is expecting again. She has had the scan that told her that this time it will be a boy. A son. A brother. And we have not been back to France, nor been in any dunes. This baby will without question be Peter's own.

Mike, of course, took a little while to be relaxed again with Leena. It was my fault, for keeping any of those photographs, but there was another reason why I kept them. They rekindle my own memories of those dunes. Perhaps it was some kind of fate, that it was Leena and not myself who fell pregnant first. I got away scot free. Sometimes, you have to put your camera down. You have to stop observing and participate instead.

Quiet why, that last day, a Sunday, there had been so many guys roaming in the dunes, I do not know. Maybe word had gone around, about the Indian woman who gave good head. Maybe it was just that on a Sunday, the local, single guys are free to roam the dunes because they do not need to go to work. Whatever the reason, Leena needed help. Twelve guys had watched that spit-roast fuck, and watched Leena ease her way back onto her hands and knees, and each and every guy was keen to fuck her. She had needed help. I got beside her.

Some men like exotic flesh and waited for their turn with Leena. Others, it seems, prefer their women blonde, and barely tanned, and can enjoy a cunt that is no more than a groove in a mons and is half hidden by a crop of golden curls, and do not require breasts to be so full, or areolas quite so wide, because on that last day, I got down on all fours, beside my Indian sister, no longer just an "in-law", and those men who enjoy a slender blonde, chose me.

I lost count, just as Leena did. You lose track, of how many men are standing waiting, how many more arrive, how many only watch, how many move behind you, how many cocks have entered you, how many shed their semen while they were still deep within. There are men who fucked me that day whose faces I never had the chance to register. Not that I care. I just felt so proud, to have given such satisfaction to so many total strangers, all ages, shapes and sizes, to have let them ravage me, then gift me with their semen, to have dared to let men I did not know and never would, take full advantage of my body, and to end the day so satiated, so very full of semen, but more content than ever in my life, and I treasure the memory of that day.

My husband plays games on his computer console, hunting in digital lands for non existent trophies. Once upon a time, however many thousand years ago, a Nordic blonde, my ancestor, would have been the quarry for real life hunters, not for food, but to fulfil their yet more basic need, to fuck, and reproduce. She would have been hunted down, and caught, and and fucked, not just by one man alone, but by a whole horde of men. I am very lucky that I have a husband who is loving and kind and who I love as deeply as any woman can, but I have been that other woman, and of that I am so proud.

There is nothing, sexually, or otherwise, that I would not do for Mike. With thanks to Leena, I can do more than lick and suck his cock. I can take it all, can nuzzle his groin, nose to his unforgiving lower belly, and let him enjoy the pleasures of his wife's unsullied throat. No other man has been there.

I failed to keep Leena's secret, though it has gone no further than my husband. Leena has kept mine. We both know what we both know. We both are secretly delighted with that knowledge of what we have done together, and some days we share our thoughts, even without a word of spoken language.

It was a week ago that we went walking in Richmond Park, two wholesome suburban families, Peter and Leena, Mike and I, children in tow, Sara and Tom running and playing together, Leena showing, walking with that slight waddle that the later months of carrying can cause, but her complexion perfect with that special glow of pregnancy.

Some owners have their dogs neutered. Some do not. A female Labrador, off its owner's leash, became surrounded. Seven males of different breeds all had got her scent, a bitch on heat. Their cocks were out and ready. Leena and I exchanged a look.

She grinned. I grinned back,. She laughed. Her laugh is too infectious. I laughed too. She went into hysterics, her laughter uncontrolled. We moved to one another, hugging, still laughing, the men and children staring at us, perplexed and uncomprehending.

We had been that female bitch, we had been surrounded, and we had no regrets.