Inside my first orgy... and why I can't wait to do it again

“1, 2, 3…”

Water gushes as we all lift our hands out of the foaming water in the middle of the hot tub; bubbles dripping from the red nail polish of my two raised fingers. I glance around the circle at the sea of hands and spy two others with two fingers extended. The three of us share a grin through the steam. There’s a bit of manoeuvring as everyone slides about in the water, a tangle of slick limbs going over and under as people work their way closer to their corresponding partners.

“Hey there,” I murmur as Jamie - a seriously cute guy I'd been enjoying chatting to all evening - and Hannah, a gorgeous brunette with an incredible body, slide in towards me. The three of us lean in and suddenly my mouth is being greeted by two sets of lips, two probing tongues. I might have believed it would be awkward to kiss two people at once, but no; their mouths, their hands - cupping my ass, caressing my breasts, as we pull each other in closer - it all works. Jamie’s tongue slides across both our lips, Hannah’s tongue joins his, and my lips part to take both of them in. We tease, we lick, we kiss, and by the time we all pull away a minute later, I’m breathless and more than a little turned on.

Welcome to the party house.

We'd spilled out into the hot tub about an hour earlier, with frozen mango margaritas in hand, everybody quietly taking in the sexy flesh now on display as eight of us squeezed into a tub designed for six. The Airbnb sat in a secluded corner of the West Yorkshire countryside; exactly the sort of place you'd choose if privacy happened to be rather high on your list of priorities. Big communal spaces, a bar overlooking the rolling countryside, plenty of bedrooms and, most importantly, nobody for miles around.

Perfect.

After half an hour of flirty banter, one of the guys suggested a little ice-breaker, a game quickly christened 'Pete's Fingers' in his honour. The rules were wonderfully simple; everyone secretly held out a number of fingers on one hand. Match with someone else when the hands were lifted out of the tub, and you had a few seconds to enjoy one another.

Simple, right? And effective. A few rounds in and the hot tub looked very different - women kissing women, swapped couples, trios like ours entangled together. In the far corner of the tub I could see my husband, J, with a gorgeous blonde called Helen who I knew was just his type. She was straddling him, her bikini top long-gone - as was mine, as were all of the ladies to be fair - and her erect nipples against his chest as they kissed deeply. I knew without seeing that his cock was hard, and I suspected Helen was rubbing herself against it, teasing him with only the thin fabric of her bikini bottoms between them. I bit my lip. Fuck... this was seriously fucking hot.

It had only been a few hours since most of us had met for the first time. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been a little nervous on the drive over. This weekend had been in the diary for months and nobody was under any illusions as to what it was about. The WhatsApp group had made that abundantly clear. As the date drew closer, the conversation had gone from flirtatious to suggestive and finally explicit. We all knew we were amongst experienced lifestylers but, like us, very few had actually attended a private house party like this before.

There were definitely nerves. Thankfully, there were also margaritas.

Friday evening unfolded exactly as you'd hope. Couples arrived one by one. Drinks were poured. Hugs were exchanged. Everybody was sexy. The girls commandeered the music while the guys disappeared behind the bar to mix cocktails, and before long we were gathered around the enormous dining table, eating pizza and swapping stories about how we'd all found ourselves in this wonderfully unconventional way of life.

I suspect people outside the lifestyle imagine these weekends begin with keys in a bowl. The reality couldn't be more different. Half the fun is the build-up. Working out who you fancy. Wondering whether the person you're shamelessly checking out is thinking exactly the same thing. Enjoying the anticipation, knowing there's absolutely no need to rush because you've got an entire weekend stretching out in front of you.

After dinner the pizza boxes were pushed aside as someone produced some naughty dice and an empty wine bottle. The combinations were occasionally ridiculous (You. Lick. Shoulder) but they did exactly what they were supposed to do. The ice was broken. There were a few kisses, nipples produced for sucking, and tongues sliding across all kinds of body parts. Eventually someone suggested we hit the hot tub. The games continued. Swimwear was ditched as, one-by-one, tops and bottoms were flung over the fence next to us. The rounds got longer, nobody too focused on the game anymore, until almost everyone had kissed almost everyone else.

Almost.

There was one guy in the group I’d yet to kiss, and he was sitting next to me. J and I had known him and his gorgeous wife for a little while. They were the only couple here that we’d met before - though we’d never played together - and I fancied the ass off both of them. Months of flirting was enough, and Carl seemed to have the same idea.

“I think we’re the only two that haven’t kissed yet…” I murmured, our legs pressed against each other in the cramped space.

“I think you’re right,” he whispered back. Then he smiled, a cheeky smile: “So, what number are we going for?”

It hit midnight and, after more teasing than anyone could bear, we all finally jumped out of the hot tub to shower and meet back downstairs. And that's where things become hazier.

I've been thinking about this weekend a lot recently because we've just booked another getaway with the same group in a few weeks' time. The downside of leaving it so long to write about is that the passage of time has reduced events to a collection of snapshots in my mind.

Vivid ones.

I couldn’t tell you who was the first to arrive back downstairs, or exactly the scene that was waiting for J and I when we walked into the cinema room at the back of the house. I have no memory of what anyone was wearing, or what the music was that somebody had turned on, but what I can remember clearly are the moments.

My first glimpse through the open door was of one of the married couples and another woman, spread out together on a chaise lounge. He was kissing the woman, teasing her nipples with his fingers as his wife lay with her mouth between the woman’s legs. For a second I just stood there watching them, unable to look away. The three of them looked like a fantasy come to life.

I remember straddling J then, kissing him and feeling that tingle of anticipation. That feeling of I genuinely have no idea what's about to happen...

I remember riding Jamie - sinking down onto him as we kissed, clothes all gone now. The noises he made under me, the feeling of him filling me up, how good it felt after hours of flirting.

I remember sharing J’s dick with Hannah, loving the way our tongues worked together on him, sharing and locking eyes - with him, and with each other - as we played him like a popsicle.

I have a vivid flash of Carli on J’s lap on the sofa, her incredible breasts bouncing hard as she rode him, my husband’s fingers digging into her hips.

I remember Helen on one of the sofas being shared by J and Pete, one behind her bending her over, her ass cheeks in his hands as she took the other man in her mouth, never breaking eye contact in a way that was intoxicating to watch.

I remember Carl’s mouth between my legs, his tongue sliding over me as J kissed me, until I tipped over the edge of an orgasm - one guy’s tongue on my clit, the other’s in my mouth. I remember taking Carl’s dick in my mouth, and enjoying the way his fingers wound themselves into my hair as he watched my mouth sink down on him over and over, his glance going appreciatively over to his wife who was getting fucked deeply nearby. I remember riding him hard too, his gasps as we came together.

I remember looking around the room at one point and thinking, How the hell is this my life? And being so glad it was.

But everything else? The intricate dance that joined those moments together has disappeared completely. I know it happened. I just couldn't tell you exactly how anymore. And I don’t mind that. It was my first true orgy experience and, beforehand, I'd imagined something almost logistical. Surely there would be awkwardness. Hesitation. That inevitable British politeness of wondering whose turn it was… but actually it felt oddly effortless. It just…happened. There wasn't a plan. Just attractive, emotionally intelligent people enjoying one another with a level of openness and communication that, ironically, plenty of conventional relationships never seem to manage.

By four in the morning the pace had calmed. Some people had changed into PJs and gathered in the kitchen making tea, raiding cupboards for crisps and leftover pizza, while a handful of die-hards were still disappearing back into the cinema room for one last go. I eventually crawled into bed sometime after five, completely exhausted, the light already peeking through the curtains.

The following morning, nobody was in any rush. After a huge cooked breakfast we wandered through the Yorkshire countryside before eventually ending up in a little village pub. If anyone nearby was half listening, they must have wondered what on earth they'd stumbled into. Eight perfectly ordinary-looking adults chatting over pints and proseccos about first swaps, favourite sex clubs and, inevitably, the events of the previous evening. More than once we caught someone at the next table pretending not to listen.

That evening was lazier. We were all absolutely shattered. There was another round of fun in the cinema room but nobody had quite the same stamina as the night before, and it was unanimously agreed that next time we got together, we'd only book the one night. Turns out that one completely ridiculous, barely-any-sleep, ‘fuck-our-brains-out’ night is really all you need.

The only frustration was that one couple, Luke and Kayleigh, had only been able to join us for the second night. By then we were all running on fumes. We'd spent weeks flirting with them beforehand, and then they turned up all sexy and full of energy just as the rest of us were beginning to resemble extras from The Walking Dead. We promised we'd make it up to them next time. Judging by the WhatsApp group over the past couple of months, that's a promise nobody has any intention of forgetting.

And that's the thing that has stayed with me far more than any individual encounter - not exactly who did what with whom, but the amazing connections that come from bringing a group of lifestylers together in a place where everyone can unapologetically own exactly what turns them on. I’ve seen it in the chat that hasn’t really stopped since our first naughty weekend. There’s the random ass photos that come in while I’m making coffee, the celebratory ‘birthday boobs,’ the footy-themed nudes to cheer on the boys before every England World Cup game, and the occasional video that's definitely not safe to open in the office. Plus, increasingly, the messages that begin with some variation of "Just wait until September..."

The countdown has well and truly begun. And next time, I promise to write about every detail before the memories have a chance to fade! Of course, somewhere in a quiet corner of West Yorkshire, there's an Airbnb with walls that know exactly what happened that weekend.

They're just not telling.

At least I hope not…

Otherwise my five-star rating could be in serious jeopardy.

- See you next week (Yes! Next week, I'm back!)

The Secret Hotwife