Written by Mike Aston

6 Apr 2011


This report is not in the least prurient or lascivious, but is an account of how my delightfully naughty and ‘up for it’ wife, Diane, recently set a new ‘fashion trend’ which we both hope might now catch on a bit.

The setting is East Sussex.

This county’s sexually-oriented cognoscenti (and many from further afield) still mourn the closure of the Scaynes Hill swing club, Hamshawes.

For those of you who never had the pleasure of knowing Hamshawes, it was a terrific sex club that sported an open-air swimming pool, green lawns and trees for al fresco summertime frolics; a sauna, an Olympian jacuzzi, steam room, showers and play-rooms, and an enormous fornicatorium where in addition to every communal activity imaginable that goes on in such places, volunteer ladies who were of that particular inclination would eagerly offer themselves up for bukake parties, when upwards of 30 husky men would happily masturbate all over the heavily sated hussies stretched out naked on the floor.

The establishment’s ‘dress to please’ code ran the gamut from completely naked, to leather and anything else in between.

Hamshawes positively oozed sex and sexual activity.

Then at the zenith of its popularity, Hamshawes closed.

Hey – so, like, shit happens.

We are all still greatly mourning the loss of that wonderful Sussex facility.

A popular and delightful couple of erstwhile Hamshawes members, Angie and Eric, then made a sterling attempt to open their own Club 77 in Brighton, which was keenly awaited by thousands of us – but then at the eleventh hour some beastly legality or other apparently nipped their splendid initiative in the bud, and so the club never opened.

Meanwhile – our good old ‘fall back’ has always been a wonderful, long established and well known Brighton health spa and sauna, with which most southerners of our persuasion will be familiar, and probably visit regularly. Owned and run by two broad-minded and gorgeous blonde sisters, the facilities are operated and maintained by attractive and personable East European girls here to improve their English.

Constructed over four floors, the Roman bath-house ‘wet area’ is in the basement, the ‘lounge’ is on the ground floor, there is a relaxation room on the top (fourth) floor – and on the third floor . . . well . . . on the third floor is ‘where it all happens’. Here are the individual and communal ‘play areas’ - which includes the ever-exciting and popular mirror-room, which almost invariably has dripping wet condensation clouding its glass.

Mid-week the club’s mixed clientele tends to consist mainly of the Boys’ Brigade, although one or two rather daring couples and the occasional adventurous single lady can usually be found in there as well, ‘exhibiting’ themselves, putting-out and/or joining in.

Friday nights are also mixed, but tend to attract the even more ‘hard core’ element. (Oh, it’s dreadful.)

Saturdays and Sundays are mixed during the day, but then become ‘Couples Only’ evenings from 6.0 o-clock onwards.

The dress code throughout?

Completely bare-foot and naked.

The point of this report, and Diane’s new fashion trend, is that the only item of kit allowed into the club is your ‘war bag’ – i.e. a wash bag containing shampoo, aromatic oil, condoms . . . and should you so wish, your lady’s favourite dildo.

When they go into the upstairs play area (tightly clutching their partner’s hand) ladies usually tend to wear a towel. (It’s ‘a girl’s security’ thing.) The towel soon comes off of course, to be laid on the communal mattress - as will its soon to be laid-upon mistress.

A couple of weekends ago when we went I was paying no particular attention but just happened to notice that Diane was not carrying her normal war bag, but on this occasion a slightly larger one than usual.

When she’d had her fill of getting her thighs caressed in the steam room, her tits tickled in the sauna and being touched up underwater in the jacuzzi, Diane suggested it was probably about time for us to ‘repair upstairs’.

Fun time!

When we entered the third floor play area our ears were assailed by a cacophony of sexual sounds coming from behind the several locked doors of those who had chosen to perform privately, perhaps with a third party or another couple in attendance. In the ‘open-to-all’ mirror room there was a happy lady down on her haunches systematically blow-jobbing her way along a queue of bobbing male erections, and then we found six attractive couples pleasuring each other in the open communal area, while a group of mutually masturbating voyeurs stood by enjoyably watching ‘the scene’. Meanwhile other naked couples with their arms round each other strolled contentedly from one tableau to another, deciding where and whether to join in.

Rather like a busy restaurant, the club’s third floor seems to slip into several different ‘sittings’. A couple or group will perform as energetically as they can for as long as possible, but then when they’ve had enough they will decide to break off and go back downstairs for a shower and drink, soon to be followed by fresh groups of naked swingers coming up to occupy the vacated areas, and play.

It was when we were alone in one of these ‘change-over’ lulls that Diane said: ‘Hang on, Hon – I’ll be back in a second,’ went into one of the private rooms and shut the door behind her. What the hell’s she up to -? I wondered.

I was soon to find out.

The larger than usual war bag?

The door opened, and she came out.


A naked woman is absolutely beautiful and sexually arousing.

Diane wasn’t naked.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that the majority of men love their women to be in stockings and high-heels,” she explained smiling, leaning back against the wall and beckoning me to join her.

She had smuggled in and just put on a pair of black seamed hold-ups, and a vicious pair of scarlet ‘I’m yours to fuck’ stilettos.

I stood beside her with my back to the wall while she wriggled in front of me, pushing her nude butt against my crotch. Reaching round to uplift her breasts with my left forearm, I dropped my right hand to caress her stockinged thighs.

Diane reached one hand behind her to squeeze my cock, and with the other started fondling her gold clit-ring.

When the next tranche of people began filtering upstairs, coming through the glass door to initiate a fresh playtime of their own, seeing Diane standing there in ‘her kit’ created an electrifying effect on them. Their intakes of breath were audible. The surprised delight of the women and the joy on the men’s faces were a thrill to see. I could feel Diane’s heart and my own thumping like tom-toms with excitement.

With everyone else around her completely naked, in her stockings and wicked red heels she stood out like the Statue of Liberty, advertising just what a libertine she is.

Several of the men and women slowly reached out to touch her, while others stopped in their tracks, reaching instinctively for each other’s genitals.

Like extra chilli in the curry, Diane’s courageous and innovative step and the stunning effect it created sent the collective temperature in our health spa right through the roof that night.

The following week we were delighted to see that two other emboldened ladies with can-do attitude and balls had followed Diane’s lead and also secreted their own high-heels into the play area.

Next week?

Who knows? Maybe you can persuade your lady to become a ‘style icon’ in her own right, as well.