Honeymoon Hazards (7 page)

God, what those two would do to him. I imagined them both riding him, Annabelle impaled on his cock, Claire straddling his face, both girls kissing passionately and playing with each other’s tits as they all writhed together. Or maybe he’d put them on their hands and knees, side by side and then go back and forth between fucking their wet pussies. The image was hot enough that I almost thought it would be worth it to have Claire spend another night with him if I could watch it.

What the fuck? Was I really considering that? That would mean that Claire was right, that I was a voyeur, and, I gasped, a closet cuckold? Was I upset that my wife had fucked another man on our honeymoon? Or was I upset that I had been too stoned to really pay attention and because I’d missed most of it? It made some sense. Right now, she and I should be in the hotel room, having some sort of painful heart-to-heart. Instead, I’d sent her out to try to seduce another woman.

I shook my head. I was not in full control of my faculties. I knew that. I was still recovering from jetlag and illness, and I was operating with a lack of sleep, a pot hangover, and six Bourbons on an almost empty stomach. But still, as I plumbed my emotional response to my wife’s infidelity, there was a lot of incredulity and even more bewilderment. Some anger yes, but no rage. Also some amusement and, weirdly enough, even a touch of arousal.

There was no doubt I was enjoying watching Claire and Annabelle, and even more hearing their wickedly lewd conversation. If there had been nothing more to it, I could probably have derived unadulterated pleasure from it, just allowed their conversation to flow directly into my sexual fantasies. But adultery was precisely the problem. The dirty, little details were not just titillating words, they were descriptions of my wife’s encounter with another man and planning for a potential repeat performance, albeit with the additional spice of another woman in the mix.

Claire looked back at me again, speaking to me as much as answering Annabelle. “I couldn’t do that.”

I felt a surge of relief, though one tempered by the fact that her slow response showed that she’d considered it carefully and only after great deliberation had she talked herself out of it. I also, weirdly, felt a sense of disappointment.

“You even had a threesome? They’re fun,” Annabelle trilled.

Claire nodded sheepishly. “Long time ago.”

“Two guys or two girls?”

“Guys, but like I said, long time ago.”

I wondered if that was the sequel to her booze cruise adventure. A girl horny enough to get screwed in front of a crowd of drunken partiers was probably willing to get banged from both ends. Or was that also her anal experience? Had my wife let herself be fucked in the ass and pussy at the same time?

“How about you?” Claire asked, turning the tables.

“Oh sure, both ways. I think it is better with two guys though. Most guys have enough trouble keeping even one girl satisfied, ya know?”

“How was last night?”

Annabelle shrugged. “About as good as a standing quickie can be.”

“No second round.”

“Ah, he wanted to tip jar me.”

“Huh?”

That was a new one for me as well.

“You know, how waiters and shit usually pool tips at the end of the night?”

Claire nodded.

“Well, I think it’s like a similar deal with hotel staff and guest ass. The minute Manny was done, he was all like, ‘you should come back to my place, meet my friends.’ I was like, ‘thanks, but I’m not in the mood for a gangbang tonight.’”

My wife laughed. “Are you ever in the mood for a gangbang?”

Annabelle peered over her sunglasses again. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” She waved her empty glass at my wife. “I thought you were buying drinks?”

My phone beeped suddenly. I looked down and saw the low battery warning. Neither of us had recharged our phones last night. I’d slept on the beach, Claire had slept… well, spent the night in Trent’s room. I quickly plugged mine in, but it occurred me to that hers would be in the same shape. I quickly hung up and sent her a text.

--Need to conserve your battery. Send a text if you go somewhere.

Through the binoculars I saw her glance at her phone and give a quick nod in my direction. Another round of drinks arrived and they kept talking, but without the audio, it was much less exciting. After a half hour, I was starting to get bored. I scanned the resort through my binoculars and lingered hopefully on the Newlyweds’ window, but they were not there. And there wasn’t anything really exciting going on elsewhere. It was that slow, late afternoon time when people in resorts are back in their rooms, showering off the sand and chlorine, and getting ready for their nights out.

I hadn’t eaten anything all day except half a burger, and I was starving. I decided to get a quick bite to eat. I could have gone to the pool bar to keep an eye on Claire, but I didn’t want Annabelle to see me, so I stopped off at the café in the lobby instead. I ordered a grilled steak and a beer to refresh my buzz. As I bit into my meat, I was thankful that my stomach had finally settled down. At least that one thing was back to normal.

CHAPTER TEN

My phone buzzed with an incoming text from Claire.

--We’re gonna move inside to her folks’ cabana. Number 5. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Holy shit
. This was actually going to happen. I was suddenly jealous. Did I really want Claire making love to yet another person? But I was also rock hard. A girl as wild as Annabelle would surely have experience with women, and she’d likely get a real thrill out of lezzing out my wife.

I’ve never done this before
, Claire would say shyly. A smirk from Annabelle as she edged off my wife’s bikini bottoms, burying her face in her snatch. Claire would arch her back, moaning loudly as the younger woman expertly licked her slit and teased her clit. The novelty of the experience would be overwhelming, and Claire would quickly be on the edge of a crashing climax, so close she would feel ready to burst… and then Annabelle would pull away.
Not yet, you dirty little slut. First you need to make me cum
, she’d declare as she pulled my wife’s face toward her own, moist pussy.

I snarfed down my meal quickly and chased after them. As I approached cabana five, I noticed that the fabric panels were down and a “do not disturb” sign hung from the sash holding the opening shut. As excited as I was to imagine what was going on inside, I realized that seeing anything was going to be difficult. Even listening-in would be hard. I could only saunter by a couple of times before attracting the attention of the resort staff.

I considered the situation and then thought back to my earlier spying. The cabanas backed up against a row of hedges that looked solid from the outside, but which I knew concealed a service pathway connecting the various bars and restaurants scattered around the pools. It was in one of those corridors that I’d spied Annabelle’s encounter with the waiter that had ended with her getting a load of jism on her face. If I could sneak back there, I could squeeze through the hedge from the back and peek in under the fabric curtain without being observed.

If I got caught I would just say I was curious or lost, or curious
and
lost. At most I’d be told the area was off-limits to guests. That definitely seemed a risk worth taking, especially as I continued to fantasize about Claire and Annabelle, naked, intertwined, sucking, kissing, licking.

I walked past the cabana. Though the thick fabric muffled most sounds, I thought I could hear movement, low moans. I approached the entrance to the service path, listened for a second for voices or footsteps and, hearing none, I ducked inside. I knew I had to move quickly; waiters, busboys, and barkeeps were constantly using these paths. I scurried to a spot behind the cabana, and dropped down and crawled into the hedge.

It was a tight fit. I was in shorts and a t-shirt and the branches clawed at my bare skin. Leaves slapped me across the face and popped into my mouth. I heard footsteps and froze, a busboy hauling a load of dishes rushed by, not noticing me, but I knew I had to try to move as carefully as possible lest someone notice me skulking around.

As I pressed through the bushes, I could hear sounds coming from the cabana. More moans, wet slurps. There was no doubt what was going on. Despite the scratches on my arms and legs and the fear of getting caught, I knew I had to get a peek at what was going on. And then I heard it.

“Oh God, that’s just brilliant!” exclaimed Trent’s unmistakable voice.

A woman giggled.

I sighed. They
had
decided to double team him, the lucky, fucking bastard. Was he sitting back like a pasha as the two women took turns sucking his cock? Was he railing my wife doggy style while Annabelle kissed his neck and urged him to stick it in Claire’s ass? I almost backed away. I wasn’t sure I could actually take watching him fuck my wife. But instead of retreating, I was moving forward. I might not be able to take it, but I knew I had to see it.

I reached the fabric wall of the cabana and cautiously lifted up the hem. The sounds of licking and sucking got immediately louder. He was getting his dick sucked, enthusiastically from the sound of it. I moved slowly, knowing that they would notice the movement of a fabric before they noticed a pair of eyes peering from beneath. With my face on the ground, I peeked inside.

It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Trent was, indeed, sitting on the big day bed getting his dick sucked, but Annabelle wasn’t there, and neither was Claire. Instead, the woman so enthusiastically slobbering his knob was the Millionaire’s wife, the luscious, South American woman whose curves I couldn’t help but admire.

She was obviously an expert cocksucker, easily handling his long, thick tool, suckling on his fat mushroom head eagerly. She swallowed him deep and massaged his balls, then switched it up by licking his scrotum while pumping his shaft wetly with both hands.

Even more than her handling of his cock, however, what stood out was her showmanship. She was between his legs, ass high in the air, back arched, long, silky hair carefully thrown to the side. She wasn’t just good at giving head, she looked good doing it. Even as she bobbed up and down on his prick, she kept her eyes fixed on his, giving him a great view of her pretty face and her mouth engulfing his cock.

She crawled further up between his legs, her tongue licking its way over his abdomen, stopping to kiss his flat belly. Her large, natural breasts swayed beneath her, her nipples brushing his erection. As she sucked on his nipples, she reached down and resumed stroking his cock firmly. His prick, well lubed by saliva and pre-cum, squished wetly in her firm grip.

She rose up suddenly, on one knee and positioned herself over him. She was shaved bare, which was at once sexy and at the same time incongruous, given her voluptuousness. Her pussy lips were plump and visibly wet. I wondered if he’d eaten her out earlier or if it was just her own excitement. She rubbed his fat cock head against her slit, and her labia seemed to reach out to swallow him in.

“Ah, yes!” she hissed with a delightfully subdued Latin accent.

She fixed him with a fiery gaze. She was suddenly no longer the submissive, little slut servicing a man, but rather a hungry, experienced woman about to reap her own pleasure. She lowered herself onto him firmly, confidently, taking his entire length and girth without hesitation.

“Mmmmm,” she cried, as she ground into him.

He seized her firmly, grabbing her ass cheeks and pumping them back and forth, urging her on. She pressed her hands against his powerful chest and thrust her hips faster, setting her big tits in motion, swinging back and forth almost hypnotically. Her boobs caught Trent’s attention as well. He let go of her ass and instead grabbed big handfuls of tit in each hand and mauled them roughly before pulling each in turn to his mouth. He sucked on her nipples hard, hard enough for her to cry out in pain, but that only made her fuck him harder and faster.

Then suddenly she let out a throaty growl. Sensing the moment, Trent grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pulled her face to his. He kissed her forcefully, even as she gasped and shivered. Her orgasm left her drained and she collapsed onto him, breathing hard.

He didn’t give her even a moment to recover. Without hesitation he rolled them over and rose up above her on this muscular arms. He pulled his cock almost all the way out of her pussy, until just the tip remained lodged between her swollen labia. She looked up at him. Gone was the blowjob queen of earlier and also the confident woman riding her man. She was sated and tired, and at his mercy. He seemed to relish this change in her. He gave her a cocky smile.

Then he thrust into her, so hard and fast that it made her gasp. His smile widened. He pulled out again, slowly, slowly, relishing the feel of her pussy on his cock as it withdrew. Now there was another pause, just a moment briefer than before, and another brutal thrust.

“Ai!” she cried out.

She put her hands on his belly as if to slow him, but he was having none of it. He gave her two, quick, hard strokes. She cried out, shaking her head, but she didn’t try to push him off. Instead, she rolled her hips upward, lifting her legs in the air, opening herself completely for him, surrendering to his desires.

A satisfied grin crossed his face. He leaned forward and gave her a small, tender kiss on the cheek. Then he again raised himself up on his arms and began fucking her hard. He plunged into her over and over, pulling almost all the out before burying himself inside her roughly.

Her big tits jiggled wildly, the daybed creaked ominously. The sounds of their bodies slapping together provided a rhythmic accompaniment to their rough coupling. And above it all, her high-pitched cries of passion. “Ai, los Dios! Ai, los Dios! Ai, los Dios.”

Then abruptly she threw her head back, and her toes curled high in the air. She let out a guttural gasp as her body shuddered violently. He fell forward onto her, attacking her neck as he raced towards his own climax.

Unexpectedly I thought about Claire. Had he also possessed
her
so completely? I knew he had. Just like Annabelle’s stepmom, Claire would have been equally powerless to resist his size, his forcefulness. She too would have lain there, unable to think of anything other than his thrusting cock, crying out in passion, until a roaring orgasm carried her away.

He groaned. I looked up in time to see him pull out and splatter an impressive load of cum all over her stomach and tits… just as he’d done less than twelve hours ago to my wife.

Claire! I remembered I was actually trailing her. How long had I been at the cabana? I ducked my head back under the fabric curtain and curled up inside the hedge. I checked my phone. Shit. I’d wasted forty minutes watching them fuck.

I had a series of texts from Claire.

--got kicked out of the cabana! OMG, I feel like a kid again

--going to pool bar. Looking for trouble. Think we’ll find some? ;-)

--John? You still into this? She’s getting wacky. Better get over here.

--uh oh, fire eater and friends just came by. Inviting us back to their place. Should we go?

That last text was over fifteen minutes ago.

I imagined the two of them, surrounded by a group of admirers. Tan, buff, young men, fawning over them. They would view Claire through the lens of Annabelle’s conduct. She wouldn’t be a respected guest; she’d be a drunken slut, an easy mark, like her blonde friend. They’d crowd around her, their hands too familiar, brushing her hair, touching her shoulder, grazing her thigh.

I imagined Annabelle whispering in her ear, a sloppy over-loud whisper that everyone could hear.
Come on, you little slut, let’s show them a good time.
Claire would glance over her shoulder, looking for me. Buzzed and giddy, she’d interpret my absence as permission, even encouragement. She’d give Annabelle a quick nod. The men would cheer and, sandwiching the girls between their hard bodies, they’d lead the girls back to the staff dorm.

One of the men would casually rest his hand on Claire’s ass as they walked, another would drape his arm over her shoulder and cup her breast. They’d be rushing the women along, wanting to get started before they could change their minds. Claire would feel their hunger. There were so many of them. Five or six surrounding them already, more, probably waiting at the barracks. She’d be tempted to turn and run, but she’d be emboldened by Annabelle’s example. The blonde would not only enjoy the fondling, she’d be running her hands over the firm muscles of her escorts herself.

The walk to the dorm would be shorter than Claire had anticipated. Before she’d really had time to think about what was going to happen, they’d have her inside, shuttled into a large common room. There would be sports on the TV, a radio blaring hip-hop, and a foosball table surrounded by rattan sofas and armchairs. The men would be mostly dark skinned, a melting pot of Latinos, Hawaiians, beefy Polynesians, and a couple of blond surfer dudes from California.

Claire would be paralyzed with doubt. She’d push away the men’s hands. But Annabelle would set the mood. Letting out a drunken whoop and lifting her arms in the air, she’d begin dancing lewdly to the music, shaking her tits and grinding her ass. The men would swarm around her, hands pawing at her clothes. When Claire was able to see her again through a gap between the writhing bodies, Annabelle would be on her knees, eagerly sucking cock. The men around Claire would groan in jealousy. Turning toward her, they would quickly strip my wife. When she didn’t drop to her knees of her own volition, they’d lead her over to the foosball table.

It would be an out-of-body experience for a moment, as she watched them, rather than felt them, bend her over the table. She’d notice the little details of the foosball men, the imperfections, the damage from years of play, even as they spread her legs. She’d feel a fat hand on her ass, and look back over her shoulder to see an enormous Polynesian man standing behind her. His other hand would reach between her legs. Feeling her wetness, he’d smile broadly, and Claire would go red with embarrassment. She’d again study those little plastic men as he thrust his big prick inside her.