Hot Wife At Abaco Islands free porn video

—

Greg tipped the bellman, and the uniformed young man closed the door behind him when he left.

"Why do I always feel sexy when we're away like this?" Joan said, gazing out at the balcony, the beach, and the ocean beyond.

"Probably the same reason I do," Greg said. His arms wrapped around his wife from behind, embracing her lovingly. "There's something about a hotel. Think of all the people who've had sex in here."

"Eww!" Joan said, chuckling. "I don't know if that's sexy or gross."

"It's sexy. Trust me." Greg's hands moved across Joan's blouse, settling on the mounds of her breasts at the very moment his lips kissed the side of her neck.

"We've been here, like, two minutes," she said, smiling. "You don't seriously want to do it already, do you?"

"I do," Greg said, his voice muffled by his nuzzling.

—

Freshly showered, nicely dressed, still feeling the lingering thrill of vacation sex — the first daytime sex either of them could remember since their last vacation — Joan and Greg sat at their table in the Bahamian resort's nice restaurant, sipping the last of the wine from the bottle that had washed down their tasty dinners. A few times during the dinner Greg had noticed Joan's glances at the bartender, a tall, very handsome, huge and powerfully muscled black man. Just then, as she sipped on her wine, her glance lingered.

"Nice looking guy," Greg said. "Looks like he could lift a Buick."

"Oh," Joan said. "I didn't mean to..."

"Hey, I get it," Greg said. "There was a girl in the lobby today that..."

"I saw!" Joan said. "It's not like you to ogle."

"Sorry."

"She was something, I'll give you that," Joan said. "They don't grow girls like that at home."

"Or guys like him," Greg said, gesturing with his head. "A guy like that's gotta have a massive cock, don't you think?"

Joan choked on her wine, nearly spitting it out. She whispered loudly, "Greg! What's gotten into you!"

Greg smiled at his flustered, blushing wife. "Don't you think?" he asked again.

Joan, feeling a flush of heat that made her tingle, said, "Maybe. But, isn't that...just a stereotype?"

"Oh, you mean because he's black? I was thinking more about his overall size. Is that what you girls think about? That black guys have big cocks?"

Joan's eyes widened. "Be quiet!" she whispered. "Why are we talking about this?"

"When my beautiful sexy wife undresses a guy with her eyes, I'm curious, that's all."

"I didn't! And...I'm not beautiful, or sexy. What do they put in those drinks of yours? Are you drunk already?"

Greg chuckled. "No, my dear. But seriously, when you see a black man, what do you think his body's going to look like."

"We're really having this conversation?" Joan waited for an answer, but didn't get one. She took a sip of her wine. "I don't know," she said. "Athletic, I guess. I know that's a stereotype, too."

"Too? So you have heard the Big Black Cock one."

"What do you think, I live under a rock?"

Greg smirked. "What does that mean?"

"It means...maybe I've..." Joan shook her head and took another big sip of wine. "Maybe I've...seen one or two."

Greg looked surprised. "You dated black men?"

"No, silly!" Joan said, red-faced, feeling the heat again. "I've...seen. On the...computer."

Greg smiled. "You watch porn?" he said. "Wow. I didn't think..."

"I know I shouldn't," Joan said. "And I'm not, like, crazy about it, or anything." Another sip of wine, another flush of heat, this time with a smolder that shivered her insides.

"No, it's fine," Greg said. His eyes twinkled. "Really. I'm...happy to hear it, actually."

Joan crinkled her brow. "Why? Is it a guy thing? Men want their women to be horny all the time?"

Greg smiled. "What's wrong with that?"

Joan looked around at the nearby tables, all of them populated with smiling people lost in their own conversations. "We need to change the subject," she said. She took a deep breath.

"Oh no," Greg said, shaking his head. "I want to hear all about the porn that you like to watch. Let me guess—the romantic kind, the kind that looks like it was shot in slow motion even though it wasn't, with gorgeous young couples that could be models if they wanted to be."

"Whoa," Joan said. "That's awfully specific. Maybe I should ask about your porn habits."

"Yeah, this is a two-way street," Greg said, and then his face broke into a smirk. "But I asked you first."

Joan turned shy, sipping on her wine, holding tight to her glass. She glanced at the bartender again, as if to tell the story without actually saying it.

"Black guys?" Greg asked. He looked genuinely curious, in a gentle kind of way, so Joan nodded. "Sometimes," she said.

"Big guys, like him?" Greg said, looking over at the bar.

Joan nodded again, shyly. "I feel like we shouldn't be talking about this."

"Why?" Greg said. "We're happily married, I don't think knowing that we each watch a little porn is going to hurt any. It's good, probably, right? Honesty and all that."

Joan smiled a tiny bit, and it sparkled her eyes. "Your turn," she said. "I guess I want to know."

Greg put his elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced. "My tastes are sort of all over the map. Group sex is fun to watch. I don't know why. Maybe it's because all those people can see each other. It's that whole exhibitionist/voyeur thing. I guess I like that. Small women and big cocks is good. You'd think, with me having kind of a small one, I wouldn't like watching what a big cock does to a woman, but I do."

"I can't believe we're talking about this," Joan whispered.

"Well," Greg said, "we had sex two minutes after setting foot in our hotel room, so I think we qualify as people who can say the word 'cock' once in a while."

Joan looked unconvinced, sitting stiffly, leaning forward so Greg's voice could stay low. She nearly jumped out of her chair when the waiter approached quietly behind her.

Triple chocolate cake and Tiramisu were ordered, with two coffees. Each bite of triple chocolate sent Joan a little farther into heaven. Glad the conversation about porn had ended, she luxuriated in the moment, relaxed and smiled. In just a few hours time she'd gone from run-of-the-mill wife and weary traveler to a loving wife who felt almost as sexy as the woman at the next table looked, a sleek-looking natural blonde who was all decked out in a slinky dark gray evening dress.

When the bill was paid Greg led the way, past the blonde, toward the bar. Joan smiled at her husband's newfound friskiness, walking with him, thinking it would be a quick pass-by, a seconds-long close encounter with the big, hunky bartender, but Greg guided her to a bar stool and he took a seat on one.

"Oh, Greg, do we really need a drink after all that wine?"

Greg ignored her. The bartender was already there, saying "What can I do for you good folks?" His deep, heavily accented voice sounded something like a lilting island song.

"What do you have for after dinner?" Greg asked him. "Something smooth and warm."

"Some folk like the Nassau Royale," the bartender said, "but I prefer a good brandy or cognac. I have a nice French cognac, Jean Fillioux."

"Two, please, my good man," Greg said.

The big bartender turned and walked to his decoratively lit wall of glass shelving, plucking a bottle from the hundreds of others. Joan smirked at Greg and shook her head. "What are you, pretending to be in an old movie, now? You're full of surprises tonight."

"I thought you might like a close-up look," Greg said.

"Yeah, right. You're just trying to soften me up so you can ogle all the bikini girls on the beach tomorrow."

"Maybe."

Two large snifter-style glasses were placed before them, each one holding some amber-gold cognac. Greg offered his hand to the bartender. "I'm Greg."

"Clinton," the bartender said. "Pleased to meet you, Greg. And who's your lovely companion here this evening?"

"My wife, Joan."

"Ahh, yes! A happy couple! That's good! I can always tell a happy marriage. It's so nice to meet you, Joan." Clinton offered her his hand, the biggest hand Joan had ever held, with fingers that looked like they could crush the neck of a guitar.

Joan was tongue-tied, so Greg spoke. "We had a president named Clinton. You were probably just a k**."

"I heard about him!" Clinton said, smiling brightly. "He liked the ladies!"

Greg chuckled. "Yes, he did."

"That makes me happy," Clinton said. "It means my name is fitting."

He flashed Joan his handsome smile and she felt warmth in her veins, and shivery tingles again. Clinton was even more attractive up close—powerfully muscled in just the right way, on a frame of bones that were at least twice as big and solid as Greg's. The conversation at the dinner table lit up in her memory, and she wondered if all of him was at least twice as big and solid.

—

The beaches on Great Abaco Island are as white as bleached linen, the water as green as turquoise. There was no real need to wander far — the beach in front of the resort was clean and magnificent, with a blue, white clouded sky overhead that was the very definition of a dream. Joan spread a towel on the sand, setting up her little piece of paradise, removing from her bag a tube of sunscreen, two bottles of water, and a book—a romance novel that she only felt comfortable with because she bought it at a used bookstore, with its risqué cover torn off.

"I'm excited," Greg said, sitting down on the towel, facing her.

Joan felt a blushing heat again. "Greg, don't make a big deal out of this. Maybe I'll go change."

"Oh, come on. Look around, do you seriously think a woman in a bikini is going to cause a stir?"

"A forty-five year old woman in a bikini."

"Forty-five's the new twenty-five, hun. You know that. You're not your mother, and I'm not my father."

"Thank God for that."

Greg smiled. "If I get a boner, just toss a towel on me."

"Ha! Oh my God!" Joan smiled, finally relaxing a little, but still feeling confoundedly frisky. "Okay, here goes."

She pushed down the wispy wide-legged belly-dancer style pants that the salesgirl had talked her into buying at the mall back home, and she took off the matching, much-too-see-through cover-up style top.

"Holy wow!" Greg said, eying the first-time-worn bikini. "The traffic has officially stopped."

"Get out! I feel...naked."

"I love it, hun. Seriously. You look really good."

"I don't, but thank you. Why did I have to get this pudgy gene from my mother."

"Hey, your mother's cute, and so are you." Greg eyed her a little more thoroughly. "Do I get to call those 'tits' now? I don't think bikinis go on breasts, they go on tits."

"You don't!" she said. "Unless...I guess...if you want to. But just when we're alone! "

"Hey, check it out, the Tiki Bar is opening," Greg said. "Looks like our friend Clinton works the day shift, too."

Joan craned her neck to look behind her, where Greg was looking. It was Clinton all right, getting himself set up for the day's business. The top half of him — all Joan could see — was dressed in a much more casual manner, a vaguely Hawaiian style short sleeved shirt that was colorfully green and yellow. It was a slightly panicky moment for Joan — someone she knew, quite possibly seeing her in a bikini, something she wasn't even close to used to wearing.

But then the quiet magic of a Bahamian beach started to relax her. Quickly lost in her steamy, romantic little book, with the warmth of the sun tanning her, she didn't think of Clinton again until she and Greg walked back to their towels after a nice swim in the warm ocean. Clinton was there, centered in her view, alone behind the Tiki bar. Her hand was up, waving at him, even though she didn't will it to be there, and her slightly pudgy forty-five year old body was electrified, tingling, nearly naked. That's how she felt at that moment — nearly naked, waving at a stunning hunk of a man, one who smiled at her as brightly and beautifully as the sun.

After Joan toweled her hair to the damp stage and put her sun hat back on, Greg suggested drinks at the tiki bar. Joan wanted to — it was the perfect thing to do on a Bahamian beach — so she put aside her fears as best she could, putting on the wispy, see-through top half of her bikini cover-up. If she'd taken a moment to ask Greg how she looked in it, he would have said "even sexier," but she didn't ask. Thinking she looked 'covered up', she followed him to a stool at the small outdoor bar. Clinton greeted them warmly.

"Greg and Joanie! My favorite married friends!" he said. "How do you like our perfect weather? Joanie, you're not getting sunburned, are you?"

"No, I don't think so," she said, glancing down at herself, a bit embarrassed by the silly modesty of her cover-up.

"That's good, because I wanted to tell you about another beach you must try. It is my favorite, an easy walk from here."

He went on to tell of a pathway that started almost directly across the road from the resort. An easy walk, he said, but "bring plenty of water." "It's not like here," he said. "It's free and wild. I always imagine it's the way the island used to be. I love it and go there often. I'll be there tomorrow! It's my day off! Come and see me!"

Joan shrugged and looked at Greg. "Yeah, I guess we could," she said, unable to resist smiling at Clinton's enthusiasm. "It'd be fun to see a beach that's unspoiled. Not that this is spoiled. This is so beautiful." She looked out at the turquoise water and the people splashing in it. Eyeing the spectacular woman Greg had seen in the lobby the other day, she asked Clinton, "Do you ever get tired of looking at women like her?"

"Not tired, no, but, like your Greg here, I prefer a woman with more meat on her bones."

A full body tingle hit Joan, unexpectedly, when Clinton's eyes gave her sparsely-dressed breasts a quick glance.

"So that other beach that you like, do others go there?" Greg asked. "Is it widely known?"

"It's known to we island folk, and you'll see a few tourists who make the walk. The sailing cruiser folk anchor there if the winds are favorable. They tell me it's been written about in their guidebooks. It wouldn't be an anchorage for stormy weather, though."

"Sounds perfect," Greg said. "That'll be a fun adventure for tomorrow afternoon. We were going to do some shopping in the morning."

"Yes, spend lots of money," Clinton said, smiling. "My friends can use the business! And then my beach will be waiting for you!"

—

A taxi ride took Greg and Joan to a casual 'island food' restaurant, where they had a dinner of conch chowder, baked grouper, and beer. Attractive well-dressed people seemed to be everywhere, out for some local flavor at the old-fashioned restaurant. "Why do you lie to me and tell me I'm sexy," Joan said, after two bottles of beer. "Those women are sexy."

Greg took a look at them — not his first look — and said, "And so are you. There's all kinds of sexy, you know."

The topic of 'Clinton's beach' came up during dessert. Joan said, "I don't think we should go. We've got a perfectly good beach right outside our room. Why bother with a long hike just to sit on another one?"

"Maybe he's working tonight. Let's go get a cognac and ask him," Greg said, as he paid the waiter for dinner. "I'm guessing he'll make it sound really nice again, like he did earlier. It sure sounded like it'd be worth the walk."

"Oh, we don't need more to drink, do we? Do you think he's working tonight?"

The flash of curiosity in Joan's eyes made Greg smile. He asked the waiter to call them a cab, and soon he and Joan were delivered to the resort's front entry. The bar wasn't far away, at the front of the restaurant off the lobby. Clinton, nearly alone at the bar, smiled brightly when he saw Greg and Joan enter.

"Greg! Joanie! Your usual cognac tonight?"

"Pour us two stiff ones, Clinton," Greg said, smiling.

When Clinton brought them he lingered, asking about their dinner, how they liked the chowder, and how the evening was shaping up, temperature wise. "You are here at the perfect time of the year," he said. "Tomorrow will be a fine day at the beach."

Greg asked some more about it, and Clinton said that he would in fact be there. He said, "It's not really a secret. It's more like a way of life. But I shouldn't be telling you all this. I suppose it is something of a secret. My friends will be angry with me."

Joan found it all a bit mysterious, but intriguing. 'Unspoiled' was how she pictured it, maybe even with lizards walking around, like a prehistoric place, a window into Abaco Island before all the tourists arrived.

The warm cognac mixed with the beer and the spicy conch chowder in Joan's stomach, and before she knew it she was upstairs, fully undressed, kissing her naked husband. He pulled her down, they tumbled onto the big bed's smooth bedspread, and Greg's hard cock entered her, fast enough to make her head spin. It was quick sex, with some energy behind it.

When it ended, Joan, breathless, said, "Wow! We need to hang around beautiful women more often!"

"Is that what you think?" Greg said, breathing hard. "I wish you'd have more self confidence, hun."

"I did that to you?"

"Who else?" Greg said. "You're...a little bit different this trip. I like it."

Joan assumed it was the bikini, a bit more of her skin on the beach than Greg was used to seeing. "Okay," she said, still catching her breath. "Well, if you like it I sure as heck do. That was a wow."

"But you...didn't cum, did you?"

Joan propped herself up on her elbows to get a good look at husband. "First we talk about porn, and now you're talking dirty in bed?"

Greg shrugged. "We can, right? I mean, just because we never have..."

"No, it's...I mean, it surprised me, but...yeah, it's okay. And no, I didn't...cum."

"See that? Now we can discuss things and...be more caring."

"Ha!" Joan said, smiling. "What's that supposed to mean? I suppose now you're going to ask me to do stuff...to you."

"Nope. Not at the moment, anyway." Greg spread Joan's legs and his mouth was on her pussy before she could say anything more. Not that she would have protested, she loved receiving oral sex, even though she would never admit it out loud. Giving blowjobs to Greg always made her feel good, too, although, like a good old-fashioned wife, she didn't dole them out willy-nilly. They were special occasion treats, saved for Greg's birthday, their wedding anniversary, maybe New Year's Eve. Because she enjoyed it, she sometimes wondered if she should just cut loose and do it for him more often, but it didn't seem like something a conservatively brought-up school teacher should be doing. And of course there was the scary possibility of him becoming over-exuberant and ejaculating in her mouth, something she felt she could control better if the whole endeavor only happened a few times a year.

Greg's mouth gave her an orgasm as she lay there, something else that only seemed to happen a few times a year. "Ohh, baby!" Greg said. "That's what I like to see."

Joan felt scrambled. Happily so. She pulled Greg by the hair and he lay on her, put his just-hard-enough cock inside her and fucked her again, nice and slow.

It was in the afterglow of their carnal bliss when Joan agreed, once again, to hike the path to the beach Clinton had told them about. As she lay there she wondered what he'd look like in a swimsuit, with those massive shoulders and his hugely muscled weightlifter chest bared. She could tell, from seeing him in his casual shirt at the Tiki bar, that he might be a man with no hair on his chest. But thinking about him flustered her. It wasn't about Clinton, she kept telling herself. It's about seeing an unspoiled, natural beach, one that might be surrounded by coconut trees, banana trees, tropical flowers, birds, and friendly lizards.

"We should bring plenty of snacks," she said. "And lots of water."

—

"This sand is so soft, I keep twisting my ankle."

"Are you all right, babe? If I was as strong as Clinton I'd carry you."

"Yeah, right. As if I'd let you. Seriously, this better be worth it. I'm sweating like a pig here."

Greg shook his head. It frustrated him to no end when Joan complained. His hopeful efforts to show her a good time often ended in complaints if there was much physical activity involved. "We're in paradise, hun," he said. "Did you think, somehow, that it wouldn't involve nature? Why don't you take off some of those clothes. At least take off the top."

They'd been walking for a half mile or so, on a soft, sandy path through the scrubby tropical woodland across the road from the resort. Joan stopped, stood still, let out a deep breath that sounded like frustration. She knew Greg was right, but her out of shape body wasn't happy. A big swig of bottled water was followed by a removal of the top half of her swimsuit cover-up, giving her the look of a thick-around-the-middle genie, with her breezy, wide-legged pants down below and her bikini top up above. Greg smiled, wanted to tell her she looked sexy, but didn't because he knew she'd say something about it being 'ridiculous.'

After another half-an-hour of walking the ocean started to show itself, glimpses of it, turquoise green. "If it's so nice, why isn't there a road here?" Joan said, stopping one last time, leaning against a gnarled, odd looking tree, gulping more of her water.

"It's like that hike we took in the Adirondacks," Greg said. "Remember how beautiful that pond was, with nobody there but us?"

"God, that was like three miles! You tricked me that day. Every few minutes you'd say 'I think it's right around the next corner.' "

Greg nodded, smiling. "It was so worth it though, wasn't it?"

"It was nice," Joan admitted.

Greg led the way again and the last bit of the path opened up into a sudden vista of scenic splendor—a smallish, pristine beach, and a few s**ttered sailboats with shining masts that flashed the sunlight, anchored on green water that was as clear as glass, making the boats look like they were floating in the air above it. "Wow," Greg said. "The Bahamas, huh? This place is amazing."

"Greg," Joan said worriedly. "Some of them don't have...oh my God, this is a nude beach!"

"Whoa!" Greg said quietly. His eyes darted from place to place, bare breasts here, total nudity there, with the occasional swimsuited person mixed in. "It looks optional," he said. "We're all right. Let's just act like we belong here. It's not, like, private or anything. Clinton would have told us."

"Would he have? He didn't tell us this. We should go back."

Greg didn't answer. At the very least they'd have to stay a little while and rest. As he walked out onto the beach, pulling Joan by the hand, his eyes took in the small gatherings of local folks, their deep brown skin shining like beautiful satin in the strong sunlight. There were sailors mingled in, and some grouped on their own. As Greg and Joan adjusted to the scene, they realized there was more full nudity than they'd first thought, but still the comfort of seeing three or four people wearing full swimsuits.

"Greg and Joanie!" said Clinton, fully nude, close behind them, surprising them in more ways than one. "Welcome to paradise. What do you think of our beach?"

Joan's shock numbed her like a hammer blow to the head, so Greg spoke. "It's...unbelievable," he said, astonished by Clinton's physique, the big man's massive body muscled like a competitive heavyweight bodybuilder. His trim waist expanded upward in a powerful 'V' shape, with perfect, rounded pectorals on his chest, mile-wide shoulders above them, and gym-toned biceps the size of Greg's thighs. Below Clinton's waist, more 'V' shaped musculature pointed at his hairless crotch and massive coal-black cock, hanging flaccid between thighs that were almost as big as Greg's waist. All-in-all, Clinton's six-foot-four-inch body was a stunning specimen of masculinity.

"My American friends invite you to join us," Clinton said. "They sailed down from your own New York State."

"No," Joan said, nervously looking at the naked man and topless woman Clinton pointed at. "We need to be alone." Joan was horrified, both by the situation she was in and by saying something so easily misconstrued. The heat of the moment was scrambling her thoughts.

"Ahhh, yes!" Clinton said, smiling. "I understand. I'll tell you, since you are new here, there are sometimes c***dren around. But today..." he said, looking around, his big smile beaming, "...we are all consenting. I'll have your brandies poured and ready for you tonight. You'll come and see me again, won't you?"

Joan nodded, because his eyes were on her. She kept her eyes up high, on his, her nervous mind terrified of what he'd think if she let her gaze drift lower. But even with her eyes on his she felt like she was staring at all of him, especially that huge cock that was right...there.

Clinton's eyes shifted to Greg. "Be good to her, Greg, my friend. Your Joanie deserves careful attention."

"I...will," Greg said, watching the equally stunning back side of Clinton as the big man, with his arm up waving goodbye, walked away. He looked even more powerfully 'V' shaped from the back, with a tight, round, muscled ass that wiggled a little when he walked, like a dancer's.

Greg and Joan didn't say a word until Clinton was out of earshot. "Oh my God," Joan whispered. "What the hell! "

"You got that right," Greg said, his eyes darting between Clinton's ass and the mostly naked couple he was heading toward. "You know," Greg said, turning his now smiling gaze on Joan, "he's got a thing for you. He likes you. A lot."

Joan looked stunned. "You're crazy. Now I suppose your going to tell me you're going to fight him, and he'll kill you, and 20/20 will do a whole hour show about it."

"That's what's going through your head right now?" Greg chuckled.

He knew for a fact that Joan's eyes were on the same thing his were on — Clinton's empyreal ass, the woman's impressive breasts, and her man friend's hairy crotch and fleshy-white penis. Similar in age and looks to Joan and Greg — ordinary, somewhat dumpy, white-bread Caucasian — they nonetheless had easy smiles and a seeming familiarity with Clinton that fascinated Joan. How, she wondered, could the woman stand there so nonchalantly with a man like Clinton, a man so eye-poppingly, shockingly gorgeous and masculine, a man so hugely cocked, a man with every inch of himself shaved to baby-soft smoothness?

"Wow," Greg said, smiling. "I like those eyes of yours, hun. Maybe there's more going on in there than I thought."

"Get out!" Joan said, blushing. "We should go. We don't belong here."

"Let's at least rest a little," Greg said. "We're both hot and tired. Can we spread out the blanket, and maybe go in the water?"

Joan looked around. The beach wasn't at all crowded. She started walking, toward the biggest unused portion of white sand. It was, Greg noticed, a spot with a clear view of Clinton and his friends.

After the blanket was laid out neatly, Greg smiled when Joan unpacked all of her accoutrements: two fresh water bottles, a big tube of sunscreen, her Yankees ball cap with the big visor, and her book. He thought about making fun of her quick change of heart, but he didn't. He flopped himself down on the blanket, smiled, and took in the incredible scenery. "I'm starting to understand the word 'paradise' a little better," he said.

"It is kind of...amazing," Joan said.

Greg smiled. "Clinton's ass? Or do you mean the front of him?"

Joan laugh-choked on the sip of water she was taking, and she punched Greg, playfully, on his hip. "Can you believe him? God, I mean...am I allowed to say wow?"

"Don't get the wrong idea about my feelings," Greg said, "but...he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen. And one of the nicest."

"Nice guys make good bartenders," Joan said. "I'm glad you're staring at him. That means I can, right?"

"You don't need permission. There's gotta be at least a dozen women here for me to stare at."

"You better not! I mean, you can, but, don't stare. They'll think we're creepy."

"If you get naked I promise I'll only look at you," Greg said.

"Yeah, right. That's not happening. The only tits you're seeing today are already on display."

Greg smiled, shrugged his shoulders, let his eyes drift back to the 'scenery.' "How cool would it be to sail here all the way from home," he said.

"Pretty cool," Joan said. "You'd kind of have to know how to sail, though."

"Yup. They're not big boats though. I mean, a couple of them are, but they look pretty normal. I don't think they're rich people. Some of them look more like hippies."

"Do you think they live on them, and just sail around?"

"Looking for places to get naked, maybe," Greg said. "What a life, huh? You could have a handsome naked friend in each port."

The sudden thought of it affected Joan in a physical way, pebbling her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. She hoped it, and the uncontrolled change in her breathing, was outside of Greg's current line of sight. She thought that it was, because his eyes were back on what hers were on — the friendly, laughing interaction between naked Clinton, the naked man, and the topless woman.

Joan glanced at them often as she took off her cover-up pants, applied sunscreen to her easily burnable northern skin, and settled in with her book after handing the tube of lotion to Greg. Joan lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows with her head toward the water, so she could keep an eye on things.

A quiet half hour passed, as peaceful as any clothed beach would be. The shenanigans that Joan had braced for were minimal — one couple disappeared onto a side path into the woods, reemerging after ten minutes, smiling, Joan thought, although she couldn't see their faces that clearly. Another woman, off at a distance, put sunscreen on her man, apparently arousing him. Joan's body reacted with goosebumps again when the woman spent a few moments there, stroking his hard cock. It didn't continue to a 'happy ending,' though, just a kiss with their mouths, then they lay back and soaked up the sun.

Soon after that, Clinton and his friends were in action, gathering their things, shaking the sand out of their towels. They vacated their spot near the water, carrying everything to a dinghy with a tilted-up outboard motor, the small boat resting on wet sand at the water's edge. There were four others similar to it s**ttered down the beach, one for each of the sailboats anchored in the calm water just offshore.

"Looks like Clinton's friends are leaving," Greg said, but Joan's eyes were already on the still-stunning sight of him, watching as he pushed the dinghy off the sand like it weighed nothing. The topless woman and the naked man climbed aboard, Clinton pushed them into deeper water, and then he hauled his own huge naked body aboard the tiny boat, somehow as gracefully as a gymnast. The quiet sound of the little outboard motor was the loudest thing in the air as the dinghy, overloaded with humanity, turned and headed for a white sailboat, one with a blue cloth bimini shade over its cockpit and two black solar panels tilted toward the sun. "Looks like they're going sailing," Greg said. "Maybe they'll drop him off over on the other side of the island. That'd be cool."

Greg and Joan continued watching, but the sailboat's anchor stayed down. As soon as Clinton and his friends had boarded, they'd disappeared down the companionway, into what Joan and Greg both imagined as a cozy, wood-paneled cabin. When the three of them didn't re-emerge, Joan knew there were many possibilities, preparing food maybe, or showing off the boat itself—maybe it was new? But deep down, Joan knew the truth of it, the real reason they'd wanted comfortable privacy. Gradually, Greg knew it, too. Neither he nor Joan said anything about it, the suspicions that were almost certainly true. And then, a closely watching eye could see, on the clear surface of the turquoise green water, decidedly rhythmic ripples emanating outward from the boat's hull, and a closely listening ear could hear, carried on the quiet tropical air like an aural apparition, the blissful sounds of a woman in ecstasy.

Greg looked at Joan and said, "Holy shit. You hear that, right?" Joan, trying her best to keep her composure, nodded. Greg's eyes gave away his own excitement. "They're probably married, right?"

"Maybe," Joan said. "I mean...it happens."

"Threeways, do you mean? Oh, yeah, for sure," Greg said.

He and Joan fell silent again, listening. The woman's unmistakable sounds were muffled, distant, but they both imagined the true volume of her, loud and unbridled as she obviously was, in the cozy confines of the boat's cabin. Someone, almost certainly Clinton, was making her fly very high indeed.

"Can you imagine the size of him, when he's..." Greg said. "I mean, he's huge when he's soft for God's sake!"

Joan wanted to scold her husband for saying such things, but his thoughts on the subject were the same as hers. She sat there with an odd look on her face, looking at Greg, wondering how to get the afternoon back to some kind of normalcy. "We shouldn't talk about this. It's their business."

Greg chuckled. "Seriously? We're just going to never talk about this? I mean, we gotta tell our friends about this. This is cocktail party gold."

Joan's eyes widened, showing her uneasy amusement. "It is not! We can't...tell this! How would you do it without sounding...filthy?"

"Let's see," Greg said. "I'd tell everyone how turned on you are, and how that turns me on, and...you know...so on and so forth. I mean, the story's not over. Seeing Clinton at the bar tonight is going to be...interesting."

"Oh, no," Joan said. "We're not going back there. There's no way I could...face him."

"Why, because you'd be picturing him naked? Hadn't you already, before we even got here? And please don't tell me women are different than men in that regard. I know you're not."

"It's not just that," Joan said, letting a moment of silence perk her and Greg's ears to the woman's continuing ecstasy. "I mean...God!"

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," Greg said, smiling. "It's not just his body and his size, it's his prowess. You don't want him to see how turned on you are."

Joan's breath rushed out of her, noisily, through flared nostrils. She felt slightly out of control, even though she was perfectly still. Greg's next comment sent her body into even more quiet turmoil...

"What if I said I'd be all for it. I'd kind of love it, seeing you, like she is." Greg gestured with his head toward the love boat. "No, let me rephrase that. I'd really, really, love seeing you like she is."

Joan forced out a couple words. "You're...insane."

"I'll tell you what I think," Greg said. "Knowing how Clinton acts around you, and seeing what we've seen today...I think he'd do it in a heartbeat. Want to make this a vacation you'll always remember? When you're ninety, the memory of it will make you smile."

"You're nuts! Totally fucking nuts!" Joan said. "This place is messing with your head. If you think I'm gonna...with him...you're..."

"Generous? Giving? Horny? Maybe all of the above?"

Joan shook her head at Greg, but once again she was clearly not unhappy. Greg smiled at her sparkling eyes. He let the subject drop, but, deep down, he knew it wasn't over.

—

That evening, before dinner, sitting outside on her private ocean-view veranda, Joan sipped on her room-service iced tea. Greg wandered out, buttoning his shirt after a quick shower. "First of all," Joan said, "I don't make noise like that woman does, and second of all, when did you get into kinky stuff anyway? Did you have a threeway before we met?"

Greg smiled. He sat in the chair next to Joan, surprised but happy that she was the one bringing the subject up again. "You make beautiful noise, Joan. That's why I married you."

"That's why you married me? That's not the best compliment to give a woman, but I'll take it, I guess. But what about this threeway thing? Do you...think about it?"

"Every guys does, I'm guessing. It's sexy."

"Do they?" she said. "I mean...guys think about another man with... their wife? I would have thought it would be another woman...you know...a guy with his wife and another woman."

"That's sexy, too. Obviously. It all is. Some guys think it's hot to know their woman is...well taken care of."

"Their 'woman'? Am I your 'woman'? "

"I'm glad you're smiling," Greg said. "This is dangerous territory."

"Yeah, well...I love being your woman. And I love that you're my man," Joan said, her voice relaxing a bit. "So...have you? Done a threeway?"

Greg shook his head. "Nope. It's kind of on my bucket list, though, and since you and me are together forever, that means you're in on it, in my fantasies, at least."

"Wow," Joan said. "This has been an...enlightening vacation. I'm glad. I like knowing what's in your head, even if it's crazy."

Greg smiled. "You mean you, me, and that weather girl from the news, together on a bed together, is crazy?"

"Hey!" Joan smiled. "I knew you had a thing for her."

"So does every guy in the county, and she's not exactly accessible. But Clinton, he's right here, just the three of us, chatting at his bar tonight."

Joan's eyes sparkled, her brow furrowed a little. "You're actually serious, aren't you. I'm...kind of...amazed by all this. By you."

"Amazed in a good way?"

Joan nodded, just enough to be seen, her mouth curled into the faintest of smiles. She wondered if Greg heard her thumping heart. She couldn't remember having a fantasy that involved Greg and another guy—a two-man threeway—but now that the thought had invaded her mind it was solidly in there, and it was because of Clinton. His smiling, easy-going friendliness had won her over, and his body — big enough to overpower her in every way imaginable — had begun to consume her thoughts.

"So, we're doing this?" Greg asked, surprised and excited but trying to act casual. "We should ask him if he wants to come here, maybe, right?"

"I can't even begin to think rationally about this," Joan said. "Do you really think...?"

Greg nodded. "I do."

Joan's reply surprised Greg, and it surprised her, to. She said, "If you're crazy enough to make it happen, I'll..." She ended with a slight nod. A barely noticeable affirmative.

Greg, smiling, said, "Damn, Hun. I'm horny as hell right now, but...we should wait, in case this happens tonight."

"Tonight? Do you think...it will?"

Greg read her mind as best he could. "Oh, you mean...because of that woman on the boat today? Yeah, we should...wait till he's at full strength."

"Ha!" Joan cackled, her nerves suddenly on edge. No words came to her in a speakable fashion.

"Daytime, or nighttime?" Greg asked. "It might be fun for you to dress up in that cocktail dress you brought."

"Didn't I ask you to figure this out?" she said, still struggling with the absurdity of it all. "I don't know, there's probably fewer people around here in the daytime. Everybody's at the beach or shopping or whatever. I guess I'd like it if there's...fewer neighbors around."

"Yeah, good," Greg said. "I'll tell you what, wear that dress tonight, so you'll look smokin' when we ask Clinton."

"I'm not asking him, you're asking him," Joan said. "And I love that you think I look smokin', but your eyes are different than the rest of the world's. That's why I love you."

"I love you too, Joan. So much."

—

"I'm not doing this," Joan said, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. With her newly-put-on cocktail dress still warming to her temperature, and her freshly made-up face looking back at her, she shook her head a little. "It was...interesting to think about, but I could...never..." she said. "I mean, look at me. I'm a school teacher on vacation with my husband. I could...never..."

"What kind of woman do you think does these kind of things?" Greg asked, as he put on his light-blue linen blazer. "I'll tell you, Joan, you're every bit the woman they are. You just don't think you are."

"I really love that you think that, but...look at me," she said, standing in front of the big mirror. "I haven't taken care of myself for years, and...every one of those years shows."

"All I know is Clinton's face lights up every time he sees you. Isn't that what counts? Isn't a real spark better than a blank stare?"

Joan's face smiled a little. "You've seen it, too? Why do you think he... I feel like I should be mad that it doesn't bother you."

"But you're not mad, are you, " Greg said, embracing Joan from behind. "You're as turned on by it as I am." Greg felt the excited tension in Joan's body — the short breaths, the nervous muscles. "Lets have a nice, romantic dinner, and then a drink or two with our new friend. We'll see what his eyes think of the way you look in this dress. I think you look sexy in it."

"Forty-five years old," Joan said, shaking her head at herself in the mirror. "I thought I was done with these teenaged feelings."

"Never," Greg said, kissing her on the neck. "At least, I hope not."

Joan smiled. "I don't think you really want that," she said. "Trust me, the k**s at school are awash in hormonal angst."

"What, you got something against the hornies?" Greg said, squeezing her tightly in his embrace, feeling her ass firmly against the half-hard lump in his pants. "I sure don't. I look at it this way — vacation, fifteen-hundred miles from home, once or twice a year...let's have some fun."

Joan smirked at him in the mirror. "As simple as that?"

"Yup. We stumbled on a treasure. I want you to have it."

Joan's body reacted again, and Greg felt it. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, his sweet, cautious wife was ready for a new experience.

—

"Joanie! Greg! My favorite Americans! As you can see, I've been waiting for you!" Clinton, his face beaming with happiness, gestured at his empty bar. "It seems everyone ate somewhere else tonight."

"We tried Fin and Rummy," Greg said. "Their fish stew was fantastic."

"Yes! I know some folks there," Clinton said. "They have some fine food. I'm so glad you stopped by. I wanted to ask you how you liked my favorite beach. But first, let me get you your cognacs."

Clinton returned with them, plus one for himself. "Joanie," he said, "are you going to make me a sad man when you tell me what I missed? My friends took me away. I looked for you after, but you were gone."

"You looked for me?" she said. "Us?"

"I am, I guess you could say, an old fashioned man. What you Americans call a 'girl watcher'. I know, these days, it's incorrect."

Joan smiled, blushing. "It is, isn't it. I guess I...wouldn't have minded."

Clinton smiled. "Greg, you are a lucky man. Your Joanie has a quiet beauty that's rare."

"You're nutty," Joan said.

"I am!" Clinton said, smiling. "That's what my friends like about me!"

"How many of those friends are women?" Joan asked, twirling her big snifter-style glass of brandy on the bar top. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I have three. One here, one up-island, and one down-island. Casual friends let's call them, who know I wish for nothing more."

"And...the woman on the boat today?" Joan asked, her eyes sparkling, curious.

"Ah, Silvie and Rick. They are new friends. I met them today. Lovely people. They sail for Cat Island in the morning, and then on to Turks and Caicos. I asked them to take me with them but they said I take up too much room in the cabin!" Clinton laughed.

"Your clothes wouldn't have taken up any room," Joan said, blushing again.

"The fewer the better, don't you think, Joanie? I hope you weren't too surprised. You know, I don't give away the secret of my favorite beach to many of my customers. I think a lot of them would find it...how do you Americans say it...uncouth?"

"I think maybe you're wrong," Joan said. "I can't imagine that many of your woman customers wouldn't be...interested to...see you...that way."

Greg, intrigued and thrilled to see and hear his blushing wife opening up in such a way, smiled at her. Clinton smiled as well, and said, "Do you teach your students sex education, Joanie?"

"They're teenagers. These days, k**s know more about it than I do."

"Ah, but they'd love to hear it from you!" Clinton said. "If you did a demonstration, say, with a nice big banana, you'd surprise the girls and delight the boys."

Joan smiled, her eyes twinkling. "They...seem to grow them big down here. If the girls saw me with one...from your island...that would surprise them."

"Clinton," Greg said, "we were thinking of having a relaxing day tomorrow, in our room. Maybe give Joan a massage, and see where things go from there. We were wondering if you might want to join us, if you don't have plans."

"Yes!" Clinton said, happily. "That's absolutely something I'd like to do! Joanie, you are a surprising woman!"

"Am I?" she said, certain that her face was crimson red. "I've never...been surprising before."

"Ah, I see," Clinton said, looking deep into her eyes. "Well then, I am even more honored. And you Greg...," he said shifting his gaze, "...you honor me as well, my friend." Clinton picked up his big snifter glass and held it out for a threeway clinking of glasses to seal the deal. "I shall be there...how do you say...with bells on."

—

"Frisky again tonight?" Joan said. "My gosh, we've never done it every night before."

Greg finished taking off his clothes at the bedside, his cock already hard. "You turn me on like when I first met you," he said, climbing into bed, under the sheet with her. "I like this new you."

"New me?" Joan said, not wanting to admit that she liked it, too.

Greg kissed her, moaning when he felt her hand on his cock. Joan moaned softly when Greg's mouth moved to her breasts, licking, sucking, nibbling at her nipples. Flat on her back, Greg pulled the bedsheet completely off of her, and she and he were naked, fucking on a bed that wasn't theirs, basking in the heightened thrill of vacation sex.

—

Joan's morning shower didn't calm her nerves the way she'd hoped it would. If anything, it made her more nervous, seeing her doughy body in the steamy mirror as she dried herself. Clinton's interest in her, so unexpected, still seemed imagined, like something she'd dreamed and was confusing with reality. Could it be that he's just a slut, she wondered? A big, beautiful slut? Maybe. And maybe it doesn't matter. Greg seems to love the guy. Why shouldn't I?

Emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, she blowdried her hair in front of the big mirror that hung on the wall over the dresser.

"What are you wearing?" Greg asked, his voice showing a hint of extra adrenaline.

"I...haven't decided."

"You'd look great in this, with your bikini," he said, holding up the island-made sarong that Joan had purchased at a local boutique.

"Seriously?" she said, with more than a hint of you-must-be-k**ding in her voice.

"Sure, hun. We've seen women dressed that way."

"I know, but...me?"

"Don't you wanna be Clinton's island girl?"

The words, and what they meant, gave Joan a swooning head-rush that nearly made her pass out. She was so conflicted she wanted to scream — No! and Yes! and Take me home! and Where is that man, I want to see him naked again, I want to touch him. The negative thoughts faded, leaving only — I want to touch him, I want to touch him, I want to touch him.

He bikini felt too small when she put it on, even though she'd already worn it on that trip. The sarong, fastened around her waist, felt lovely and luxurious, caressing her legs, looking for all the world just like she'd hoped it would. "I love it, but I'm not really a bare midriff kind of girl," she said, taking in the full view of herself in the big mirror.

"Oh yes you are," Greg said. "You look hot, babe. Remember what Clinton said? He's not into skinny girls."

Joan dealt with her nervous energy by straightening up the room. Two nice sandwiches were delivered by the room-service waiter. After the quick lunch, Joan brushed her teeth and touched up her makeup. The minutes leading up to the time when Clinton was supposed to arrive went by in silence, with Joan still straightening, fussing with clothes in the dresser drawers.

Clinton knocked, smiling handsomely when the door was opened. His entrance seemed odd, vaguely hallucinatory. His size, especially, when seen in comparison to the doorway and the smallish room, seemed almost comically huge. Joan had that not-unpleasant feeling again, the realization that he's big enough to overpower her in every way imaginable.

It surprised Joan to see Greg acting so normal, chatting with Clinton as if it was a normal visit with a friend. Joan stayed quieter, adding small pleasantries here and there. Greg steered the conversation. It angled toward the sexy women seen around the resort, the handsome men that escorted them, and the nudity at Clinton's favorite beach.

"Do you ever see people having sex, right there on the beach?" Greg asked.

"Sometimes, but it's usually gentle, if you know what I mean," Clinton said. "Blowjobs, maybe fucking a little in a slow, low-down way."

"Nice," Greg said, his eyes sparkling. "See hun? We coulda."

"You're crazy," Joan said. "But I'm curious, Clinton. Have you had sex on that beach?"

Clinton smiled brightly. "Would you like to go back there with me? I can show you."

"That's not an answer," Joan said, smirking. "I guess I'm wondering if...you ever get...hard...when you're there," she said, blushing. "You're always nude there, right?"

"Yes," Clinton said, his eyes sparkling. "I'm hard there probably more than I should be."

"Do you let the women...touch you?" Joan asked, her blood hot and tingly in her veins.

"Yes, sometimes," Clinton said, looking deep into Joan's eyes.

"Has a woman ever...given you a blowjob without even...knowing you?" Joan's body, reacting, tensing, made it hard to get the question out smoothly.

"Yes," Clinton said. "Do you think less of me, Joanie?"

"No," she said, shaking her head a little. "I guess...I'm jealous of them. Those women. I could never...do that."

"How about here, in private," Greg said. "You could try it."

Joan's eyes connected with Greg's, and then with Clinton's. Clinton read her mind and stepped forward, presenting his big self in front of her when she sat on the side of the bed. Her breathing made noise, a faint grunt with each breath as her hands reached for and unbuttoned his shorts. She lowered the zipper and his plum-colored underwear was there, tight against his satiny brown skin. Joan was working in a fog, a mental haze that blocked out the world. She pulled down the shorts and the underwear, both at once, and the cock she'd seen at the beach was there, soft but not fully soft, thick like a plush stuffed toy, dark blackish-brown, the color of a starry midnight. She took it in her hand and felt the life in it — the warmth, the growth — and then, using less than half of its length, she filled her mouth full with it.

In only a few moments' time Clinton's massive tool was at its full nine inches of size, too big in girth for Joan to get her hand around. Her moaning mouth took care of it as best she could. The huge cock was even more stunningly elephantine than in her wildest dreams.

"God, Clinton, you're fucking massive," Greg said, his eyes unblinking as he watched Joan mouth the huge cock. "Have you ever been with a woman who can't even get her mouth around you?"

"A women's lips are like a snake's jaw," Clinton said. "They stretch around the things they want to eat."

"Oh, so I'm a slimy reptile?" Joan said, shyly smirking, holding the shining wet cock near her lips.

"Not slimy, no," Clinton said. "But maybe you have more a****l in you than you realize. Your eyes have hinted, a time or two."

Joan opened her jaw wide and stuffed her mouth again with the coal-black cock. It embarrassed her that Clinton had seen such a look in her eyes. A polite, happily married woman shouldn't be giving off such signals, and she hadn't realized she'd done it. The embarrassment made her tingle from head to toe, there with a new man's hard cock in her mouth. Strangely, Joan's blushing full-body tingle seemed to bring forth some of the a****l that Clinton wondered about—there was a low grunting moan from her throat and a puff of warm breath from her nose, and her stuffed-full mouth had a sudden new urgency. She felt a blossoming sense of freedom, her hands starting to roam on Clinton's muscular flesh. Her gentle touch found the very tops of his huge thighs, the tight roundness of his beautiful ass, and yes, even the hairless smoothness of his big balls, the warmth and otherworldly feel of them making Joan moan even deeper and louder.

"You look so beautiful, hun," Greg said.

Joan stopped for a moment, with one hand on Clinton's balls, the other holding his cock upright against the muscles of his lower belly. "Do I?" she said, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Have you always...thought about this?"

Greg nodded, a little sheepishly. "For a while now, I guess. I just...really think you're sexy."

"Greg knows," Clinton said. "And I knew it the moment I met you."

"You two are crazy," Joan said, gently stroking the nine inches of hard, fat meat in her hand. She thought about listing her obvious flaws — wearing glasses, a school teacher wardrobe, a fattening ass from sitting on it every day — but she decided not to go there. Instead she opened wide again and moaned at the truly amazing feeling of a gigantic cock filling her mouth fuller than full. The shock of being in such a situation was fading, the once-in-a-lifetime specialness of it starting to hit home, even if she still couldn't imagine giving herself fully to Clinton. Not as a married woman. Not with Greg there, watching. Just this blowjob, she thought, and then we'll find a way to politely send Clinton on his way. Her mind instantly spun horny thoughts of going wild on Greg after Clinton's departure. Yes, she thought, this is making me crazy horny. That must be Greg's plan. Clinton gets a somewhat okay blowjob, he leaves, and my sweet husband and I fuck like crazy.

Joan moaned again, loud, from the thought of it. She worked three inches of Clinton's cock with her mouth and tongue and stroked the rest of it with both her hands. As she did it, the big man leaned over her and unfastened the back of her bikini top.

Okay, she thought. Yes, topless. I've seen him completely naked at the beach, after all, and here he is with his shorts around his ankles and his shirt unbuttoned. Yes, it's only fair that he sees some of me. Just the top half. My tits that are too soft. I wish they were higher, like that woman at the beach. I think she had implants, though. Oh my god, this cock tastes amazing. It's so ridiculously huge. Why does it taste so good?

Greg helped Clinton remove the bikini top from Joan's arms. "You look like an island girl, hun," Greg said, eyes twinkling at the sight of Joan sitting on the edge of the bed in just her bikini bottom and sarong. "Super sexy."

Joan wondered for a moment if island girls routinely had massive hard cocks in their hands. Then she went back to the blowjob that felt surprisingly heavenly to give, and Clinton's moan was music to her ears. Island music. A moan that seemed to convey his beautiful lilting accent.

It was then that Greg climbed onto the bed, just behind her. With his hands on her bare shoulders, he kissed the back of her neck. Goosebumps tingled every inch of Joan's skin and she moaned onto the enormous phallus in her hands as her mouth began to worship it more decisively. A true, more vigorous blowjob now, wet with saliva, on the verge of dripping drool. Another moan vibrated out of her when Greg's hands claimed her tits, gently pinching her newly electrified nipples.

"Ohhh, you make me feel so good Joanie," Clinton said, his deep voice now sighing. His big hands, with fingers spread, went to Joan's head, raking through her soft hair. "Your Greg is a lucky man."

A dizzy intoxication overtook Joan's mind, the kind of lightheadedness that takes away the real world, leaving a new type of dream in its wake. It felt so odd, so new, so thrilling to have four male hands on her. It overwhelmed her in a way she hadn't expected, and then, without her knowing exactly how, the pose was new. It was a new picture, a new go-around, with Joan on her back on the bed, her loving husband kissing her, his hand on her soft breast, and Clinton down between her upright thighs, thighs that were bare now, with the colorful sarong bunched at her waist. It was Clinton's fingers and hands and mouth that were there, on her, holding the damp gusset of her bikini bottom to the side as his warm lips and tongue made soft tender love to her wet pussy. Joan's deep moan into Greg's kissing mouth felt profound.

"Would you like it if Clinton fucked you?" Greg asked, his voice a breathy whisper against Joan's lips.

"Yes," Joan sighed, an answer that surprised her and sent her dizzy mind reeling.

She felt strong hands stripping her of the bikini bottom, and then she felt the cock that was absolutely too big, beginning its quest to enter her. She wanted to yell "No!", but a stronger want silenced her, and she lay there with her tongue in her sweet husband's kissing mouth as another man's cock began to fuck her.

It was slow at first, just two and then three inches, stretching her pussy wide, barely fucking, out and in, out and in, out and in again. Clinton's deep, happy groan sounded to her like a sonic hallucination, and then her own groans and moans went free, gradually filling the bright sunny room with sounds she'd never made before. Her desire for quiet, for neighborly etiquette, was gone, missing from its usual place in her head. Clinton was deeper now, five inches, then six, every one of them nearly as big around as a beer can.

She wanted to say, I can't believe...I'm taking you! She wanted to say, I can't believe...you're fucking me!

Those thoughts didn't get said as words, but Clinton could translate her beautiful noises and he understood them. She was looking at him now, with wide eyes that spoke volumes on their own. He fucked her smoothly with seven of his nine inches, and Joan's eyes rolled back, under her fluttering eyelids.

"Your pussy feels like magic, Joanie," Clinton said, his strong body looking pumped up, like a huge double-sized gymnast. "So tight... So tight."

Through fluttering, constantly rolling eyes, with seven and then eight inches of black god fucking her slowly, Joan saw Greg undressing. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to playfully scold him. She wanted to ask him — Did you know he was going to fuck me?

Her idea of a naughty, taboo blowjob seemed so quaint all of a sudden, and then Clinton was finally balls deep, bottomed out with a bass voice grunt, his nine fat inches all in, flirting with Joan's cervix.

"Ohhh, Joanie!" he moaned. "You take all of me!...You don't know how good this feels!"

"Yeeessss!" Joan hissed. "Fuck me!... Fuck me!"

Her sudden voice—her sudden command—surprised herself and her husband. Clinton was immediately her servant, fucking her swiftly, fully deep with each thrust. He held her legs-in-the-air ankles in his big hands and the sounds of thrilling fucking filled the room — the slaps of his body against the backs of her thighs, the squish-squish-squish of his cock plunging her so deeply, the manly moans from his lungs, and the increasingly loud squeals and cries of love from Joan's mouth, let loose from her newly unhinged mind.

"Ohhh-h-h-h-h-ooo!" her trembling voice cried. "Fuck meeee!...Fuck meeeee!"

Joan's face, open-mouthed and wide eyed now, showed happy surprise and deep determination. This was the kind of fucking she'd sometimes wondered about. Powerful. Athletic. Relentless in an almost ****y way, but ever so perfect. Her body was tense with athleticism of its own, her muscles firing wildly, fucking her gorgeous new friend with everything she had. Greg's cock appeared, inches from her face, hard. She took it, devouring it with her mouth, and she was suddenly, beautifully lost, fucking and drifting and floating, lost in sexuality in a way that was completely new. It was like nothing she'd ever imagined, and on top of it all — as if there needed to be more — she felt an orgasm rushing at her, so swift, so unrelenting, so...

The meltdown of brain cells at that moment was absolute, to the point of Joan's memory being hazy with the details of what had happened. The part she remembers is gasping for breath, with her husband's cum spilling over her lower lip, running down her chin. Clinton's cum, creamier and more plentiful, felt warm on her belly and her breasts, and it still gushed, though to a lesser extent, as he moaned and stroked it out of himself with his big hand.

"So tight, Joanie," he sighed. "Damn."

Joan's mind wasn't ready to form words, so she lay back and swallowed what was in her mouth, and her tongue licked the slippery stuff off her lower lip. She wasn't a cum swallower, never had been, but it seemed more than appropriate at that moment, as her lungs searched for oxygen, her chest heaving. Greg had never tasted cum, either, but he kissed her slippery mouth, tongues intertwined, moaning.

"You are a good lay, Joanie," Clinton said, his own lungs breathing deeply. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Joan couldn't help but giggle. "No," she said, smiling. "No one's ever told me that."

"Really?" Clinton said. "A woman who cums like you, we men live for it."

"I guess I...Oh my god, I..." Joan's memory started to return, of the orgasm that shook her like never before. Her shrieks and screams echoed in her head, thrilling sounds that she couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to make.

"Greg, is she always this exciting? You must want to fuck her all the time."

Joan looked at the windows and the door. "Are these rooms...soundproof?" she asked. "Oh my god, I hope no one's around."

"Don't worry, Joanie," Clinton said. "We on the island, and especially at the resorts, we absolutely love it when we know our guests are enjoying themselves. It makes us happy."

Joan felt dizzy again. Clinton's naked body, his words, and his deep island accent made her head spin. She watched him reach for a beach towel on the dresser top. He used it to wipe his cum from her belly and her breasts, saying, "I usually can hold it in until later, but you are just too much." Joan didn't know what to make of it. She wondered, how can a man like him be so turned on by a woman like me? I'm