The end of our Mayan Riviera vacation was upon us. Our last full day of carefree bliss had arrived too soon; tomorrow afternoon, my husband and I would be boarding our plane to return home to snow, work, bills, and banal squabbles among ourselves and our children.
Despite these thoughts, I was determined to enjoy our final day on the clothing-optional beach of our resort. Initially, for the first few days of our vacation, I had gone topless while wearing a variety of tiny thong bottoms. Although I had imagined tanning nude when we booked our trip, I wavered upon our arrival, for no other women were lounging au naturel. My hesitancy was also due, in part, to my very smooth vulva. I had suffered through a Brazilian wax before our travel, so I was bashful of baring myself so completely, even in front of strangers whom I would never again see.
However, within days the sun and heat weakened me. But perhaps more importantly, my inhibitions evaporated due to my exchanges with my husband, Chris. Throughout our marriage, I had guarded the details of my sex life from my single days. However, Chris seemed determined to pry them from me, and he succeeded several days into our holiday when I finally succumbed, telling him about a one-night stand with a handsome young stranger. In retrospect, it was no coincidence that the very next day I resolved to tan nude on the beach.
With the baring of both my body and my secrets, our lovemaking turned torrid, spurring me to tell my husband more. The climax of my tales had occurred two days ago when I recounted the indelicate details of an orgiastic weekend with three men during which I became the willing object of their lust. It was a story I had intended to keep concealed, but, in the throes of sex and booze, I weakened and surrendered it to Chris.
After disclosing the events of that wanton affair, I worried over potential fallout�specifically, my husband's reaction. However, my concerns were unnecessary; his response was delightful, and he remained true to his word, never once uttering a disparaging or derogatory comment. Indeed, we had grown closer than ever.
On the morning of our last day, after coffee and breakfast, we returned to our room to prepare for our final day in the sun. Chris went to the beach ahead of me to stake a spot while I stayed behind to prepare myself. Some stubble had emerged on my mound and outer labia, so I wanted to shave to make it as smooth as possible for my last day of public display.
After running some hot water, I climbed into the tub to soak for a few minutes before smearing my legs with gel and quickly shaving them. I then turned my attention to my pussy. With my thighs splayed, I pulled my skin taut for the razor to scrape my vulva as close as possible. My first pass with the razor was with the grain.
After I finished my initial shave, I rinsed and then took the Astroglide, a fresh razor, and a towel and padded to the bed. There, I lay back on the towel, spread myself apart, and smeared the lubricant over my newly sheared vulva. I now shaved again, only this time against the grain, leaving my mound and outer labia as smooth as silk. As soon as I was done, I returned to the tub and rinsed with cold water to close my pores, suppressing any irritating and unsightly after-shave bumps and marks. After patting myself dry and applying moisturising lotion, I examined myself with a hand mirror and was pleased that on either side of my protuberant flaps my outer labia were polished, sleek, and blemish free.
For beachwear, just like the last few days, I intended to wear nothing. But to enhance my nudity, I again wore my waist chain with its string of links that hung down my thigh and brought deliberate focus to my hairless vulva. I also decided to wear a pair of non-piercing nipple dangles, an anniversary gift from Chris, which latched onto my tits via adjustable circular rings. To attach the dangles, I had to pluck and tweak my nipples until they became sufficiently erect. It didn't take very long at all. Once fastened, the gentle but constant squeezing by the dangles stimulated me in a most delightful way. I added to my look by donning a thick turquoise necklace and matching bracelet and finished by applying some light make-up and lipstick and raising my hair into a loose bun.
I slipped into a pair of bright red wedge sandals, put on my oversized sunglasses, and arranged my sun hat on my head. My eyes widened in wonder when I stood in front of the mirror. Prominent at the calmest of times, my inner lips were now inflated, extruding and ballooning out of my bald outer labia, visibly proclaiming my arousal.
"Oh, you horny slut," I murmured aloud, my eyes still glued on the reflection of my flushed, meaty flaps. Had I not been anxious to get to the beach, I could have easily indulged myself with the vibrator.
I had intended to wear a thong for my stroll to the beach, but the glowing between my legs and the sight of my blatantly aroused sex seduced me into forgoing a G-string. Furthermore, I even debated walking without my kimono�such was the intensity of my sexual charge. But in the end, I lacked courage and donned the robe; however, I compromised by leaving it daringly unfastened, secure in the knowledge of its availability for cover should the need arise.
Walking like this, essentially nude, left me breathless. The waist chain and other jewellery along with the open robe were all fuel for the fire blazing in my core. These accoutrements brought my nakedness into focus for anyone who walked by me during my trek to the beach. The trinkets around my neck and wrist and my high-heeled wedge sandals, although incongruous given my lack of attire, served only to emphasise my exposure. My unfastened kimono, streaming on either side of me as I strolled, centred the eyes of any passer-by on my naked torso; thereafter, the racy dangles highlighted my bare tits and erect nipples while the risqu� strand of waist chain hanging down my thigh drew attention to my freshly shaved cunt with its swollen, glistening folds.
As I walked along the shaded path, I glimpsed Tito the bartender coming the other way. But instead of battling an impulse to cover myself, I grew excited at the opportunity to show myself to Tito and actually sensed more blood rush to my loins. He saw me and stopped to inquire about my headache from the other day. God, I stood there while we chatted, my right leg bearing my weight and my left delicately bent and off to the side, subtly opening myself to provide him a better view. As we spoke, he stared at my tits and pussy, making no attempt whatsoever to avert his eyes. I'm sure that my vulva bloated and flooded even more during his examination�not from attraction to Tito but from being so brazenly on exhibit for a relative stranger and from pretending that it were an everyday occurrence for me to walk in public with my cunt on parade.
Tito complimented me, telling me that I looked good�very good. Finally, an urge to cover myself welled up, to place my beach bag in front of my smooth delta. But I stood my ground and thanked him, leaving myself exposed and bare the entire time. I then excused myself and continued my trek to the beach.
My pussy effervesced with excitement! I had dampened so much that wetness smeared my inner thighs as I walked. I didn't dare stop to wipe myself, so I continued my promenade, feigning nonchalance and elegance despite the fluids brewing in and emanating from my overheated cunt.
When I arrived at the beach, I searched briefly before spying Chris sitting with Brigitte, a vacationer from France. She sat facing him, cross-legged, wearing a short gossamer gown that had ridden high up her thighs. It occurred to me that she was giving my husband the same explicit view of her pussy that she had given me the other day. I was momentarily troubled by the scene, but I chided myself, "Get over it�didn't you just let Tito have a good, long look at your oyster?"
For the past several days, Brigitte had become our tanning partner. She had approached us a few days into our holiday and asked, in her straightforward way, if we would object to her tanning with us. The basis for her unusual appeal was that she was hesitant to tan in the nude by herself. Although I certainly sympathised with her situation, I was reluctant to oblige her peculiar request, especially since one day before her petition I'd caught her eyeing Chris and me. However, Chris had no reservations about her proposal�hardly surprising since she was a knockout�so I finally gave in out of curiosity and, dare I say, attraction.
Brigitte, a recently divorced, forty-four year-old blonde, carried her well-tanned, voluptuous body with hauteur that beguilingly fit her. She oozed sex appeal, and I was fascinated by the barrage of large, dark freckles that adorned her skin, mimicking a pattern not unlike that of a cheetah or an ocelot. But her breasts were, without question, her outstanding feature. Frankly, they were amazing. Capped with large, dark areolae, her slightly sagging tits were decadently full and voluminous�I spotted Chris ogling them numerous times, and it was hard to blame him, for I, too, found myself admiring them with envy.
Brigitte proved to be a delightful beach companion; however, a subtle, yet significant, change in my relationship with her had occurred a few days ago�an event of which Chris had no knowledge. Brigitte and I had returned from a long�and nude�shoreline walk, after which Brigitte sat on the beach facing me, cross-legged, exposing her intimate bits for my benefit. I looked in awe at her thin, girlish petals, which barely protruded past her outer labia, and then I impulsively spread my thighs to display my cunt to her. Our show had ended there, but since that day, Brigitte was far more flirty and suggestive with both Chris and me.
As I trudged towards them, Brigitte and Chris stared at me, their eyes focussing on my smooth delta, and then stood to greet me while enthusing about how sexy I looked. I returned the compliment to Brigitte; she looked stunning and had placed as much effort into her appearance that morning as I had. She wore a sheer white tunic with a plunging neckline, and although her tits were quite visible through the thin fabric, the cut of the frock augmented her ample cleavage. To draw yet more attention, a large silver pendant on a long necklace played in suspension at the top of the valley of her breasts. Similarly, her scant pubic hair�a small, thick patch on her mound above her shaved pussy�screamed for attention through the gauzy, short tunic. Her make-up, I could see, had been applied with painstaking care that morning and highlighted her wonderful blue eyes while bright red lipstick accentuated her mouth. Sexuality exuded from her every pore.
Brigitte and I traded kisses, one on each cheek. During our exchange of pecks, she briefly laid her hand just underneath my left tit. I was amused, curious, and, to be truthful, excited by her aggressive behaviour. She then became intrigued with my dangles and fondled one of the jewels, her lacquered fingernail brushing and lingering against my nipple as she did so. It tensed and throbbed, causing my areola to gather and pucker under her gentle touch.
"Mon Dieu, these are very beautiful," she exhaled in her charming French accent.
I was still shaking from the thrill of my naked stroll to the beach, and Brigitte's subtle scratching of my nipple added to my agitation, but I managed to counter, "Not nearly as beautiful as yours."
She cocked her head and smiled inquisitively for a moment before saying, "You are very sweet, Catherine."
Chris blurted out, "You have no idea how sweet!" and started cackling.
My husband was already nude, and his cock, while not erect, was not entirely flaccid either�he'd obviously become aroused while sitting and chatting with Brigitte. I then noticed that Chris was a little glassy eyed and had an impressive collection of empty plastic drink cups next him. He was drunk at eleven in the morning.
I ignored his crude comment and sighed, "Well, it's our last day," while letting my kimono slide off my shoulders and onto the sand. Brigitte followed suit, quickly pulling her tunic over her head and tossing it next to my robe.
She sat between Chris and me and resumed her same position, cross-legged and angled towards him, confirming to me that she was indeed supplying my husband an unadulterated view of her shaved cunt. However, instead of jealousy, it was exhilaration and excitement that welled up inside me�exhilaration at the freedom that the three of us were adopting on this our final day together and incomprehensible excitement over my husband gazing blatantly at Brigitte's pussy while I sat nearby. My excitement confused me: Did my attraction to this woman and my eagerness to please her allow me to lend her my husband for her exhibitionist needs? Whatever the reason, I was at ease with Chris eyeing and even getting excited by Brigitte's luscious body.
I sat next to her, my knees apart and scrunched, giving anyone within range an explicit view of my inflamed vulva. Chris gazed at my exposed sex, then at Brigitte's, and with a big smile said, "I think I'm the luckiest man on the beach."
Brigitte turned her head towards me and said, "Chris was about to tell me how you met."
"Oh?" I said, wondering just how detailed a recounting Chris was planning.
"Yeah," Chris began, "I first saw Catherine in the youth hostel in Florence. It was like about two or three in the afternoon. I'd just checked in, and she was in the kitchen putting stuff away. Anyway, our eyes met and I could feel myself get hard."
"Christopher! Really! Is this necessary?"
"O, ma belle, please do not stop him," giggled Brigitte while placing a hand on my thigh. "I must hear this story very much."
"Well, if I have to listen to this then at least I could have a drink," I said with some petulance. Chris passed me his cup. I took a sip and coughed at its strength. It must have been five parts rum to one part cola.
"Anyway," Chris continued, "I saw her again later that evening. I'd splurged and bought myself a bottle of cognac, so I asked Catherine to join me and some other people in the main room of the hostel in about an hour's time. I didn't think she'd show, but she did. It was an interesting group of people, and we had a good time sharing travel stories. Catherine certainly demonstrated a fondness for the cognac. In any event, the room emptied bit by bit as the night went on, so sometime after midnight only Catherine and I were left. We sat on a couch, and all at once we stopped talking and started kissing. Before long, I was lying on top of her, grinding my hips into hers. But we really couldn't do anything in the common room, and I couldn't invite her into the men's dorm�but now that I know Catherine better maybe she would have enjoyed that."
"Chris!"
"I'm just joking, Catherine; don't get your panties in a knot. Oh, wait�you're not wearing any."
I just shook my head in exasperation at his silliness and then impishly spread my thighs wide apart, lewdly showing him my cunt while sticking my tongue out at him. Chris laughed but his eyes were fixed on my vulva. Brigitte was also looking at me, so, with his eyes wide open, he silently mouthed, "You're wet!" and then grinned before continuing his monologue.
"So, Brigitte, Catherine was grinding back at me. She obviously wanted it as much as I did. Finally, I had an idea, so I said, 'How about you and I go to one of the showers for a little privacy?'"
I took a deep breath but remained quiet. Brigitte was keenly listening, and her fingers had inched further up my thigh. Then my eyes were drawn to her boobs�her nipples were puckered and hard. She really did have amazing tits.
"Catherine kissed me and said that she liked that idea. So off we went to the women's shower. It was about two in the morning. I stripped out of my clothes in no time, went into one of the large stalls, and turned the water on nice and hot. A minute or two later, Catherine followed in wearing even less than she is now."
"It is delicious!" Brigitte gushed and giggled.
I fully expected Chris to stop there, but�to my horror�he continued.
"So here's this beautiful woman in front of me, complete with firm tits, nipples like bullets, and a lovely, lush pussy. I'm as hard as a rock; I'm just aching for her. We kiss, and my hand went straight to her pussy. Well, Brigitte, she was flowing like Niagara Falls!"
Brigitte squealed with glee and clapped her hands. I took a big gulp of Chris's drink and impatiently strummed my fingers on my thigh.
"So, when I touched her soaking pussy, I just had to taste it. I laid her on the shower floor and devoured her while the water cascaded over us. Catherine was quite randy and spread herself wide apart for me."
"Good grief," I muttered aloud.
Chris ignored me and continued, "So I just feasted on her, and she climaxed two or three times."
"Once, actually," I corrected as pleasantly as possible.
Brigitte was now looking at both of us, back and forth, as Chris and I bantered. She was obviously enjoying herself, and, to be honest, my displeasure was a bit of an act: I really wasn't upset. Brigitte would disappear from our lives after today, so what was the big deal? Truthfully, it was bizarre�in a hot, erotic way�telling a virtual stranger about our first tryst while the three of us sat nude under the Mexican sun.
"Sheesh, OK, once," Chris confessed. "Anyway, here we were, together in a shower, barely twelve hours after first laying eyes on each other. So, after eating her, I got on top of her, and we screwed for a bit before she stood me up to give me a blow job."
"Blow job?" Brigitte queried.
"Fellatio. Sucking cock," I explained in a bright, matter-of-fact tone.
"Ohhhh," exclaimed Brigitte, her eyes widening with interest.
"If I may, I'd like to correct something," I interjected, having decided to give Chris some of his own medicine. "Chris did indeed mount me after licking me, but we did not fuck."
"Non?" asked Brigitte.
"No," I confirmed. "You see, Brigitte, he was too soft. My darling Chris either had drunk too much or had some sort of performance anxiety issue�Chris can tell us."
Chris was unruffled and seemed happy that I was now participating. He shrugged while smiling and said, "I was nervous in the presence of such beauty; what can I say?"
"So you see, Brigitte, I took pity on him and sucked him to help the poor fellow out."
Brigitte was now laughing at our repartee. I took another swig from Chris's drink and felt the booze immediately.
"But I did make it up to her," Chris resumed. "We took a private room in the hostel the next day and fucked and sucked our brains out for three days straight. Isn't that right, sweetie?"
"Yes, that is correct," I confirmed, "but this is why, Brigitte, Chris must take me back to Florence. Not for the sex, but because I didn't get to see that wonderful city!"
Brigitte and Chris politely chuckled at my weak attempt at humour. The whole scene was so frivolous and silly that any displeasure that I may have harboured had long ago vanished.
I reclined on my blanket, lying flat on my back to absorb the rays from the hot sun. Its heat, like through a magnifying lens, seemed focussed on my clit, multiplying my already immense arousal. My thighs were shamelessly parted to allow the sun to shine its glorious fire upon the whole of my sex. I turned my head towards Brigitte and saw that she too had adopted a similar pose so that both our slits were facing Chris. She turned her head to look at me, smiled, and then closed her eyes, apparently concentrating on the kisses of the sun. I looked at Chris to see that he lay on his side, towards us, unabashedly examining our twats.
Hours passed, with only short, idle conversation exchanged between us. We were at ease with each other and with our situation, so we savoured both the caresses from the sun and each other's company. Several times during the day, Chris fetched drinks for us, so that the alcohol, sun, and our collective nudity combined to sustain my intense arousal. Many of the men on beach took good, long looks at Brigitte and me and appeared appreciative of our insouciant positions. I welcomed their gazes, and I assumed Brigitte did too, for she was as carefree about her exposure as I was.
At one point that afternoon, Brigitte waded into the lagoon to cool off. Chris whispered to me that my pussy was awash and glistening with secretions. My husband's descriptions, though welcomed, were superfluous; the occasional rill that would seep down to tickle my anus was proof enough of my wetness. But then I asked him, "And what about Brigitte's pussy?"
He hesitated before admitting, "Yeah, she's pretty wet also."
"Well, I guess you're getting quite the show today. Enjoy it, which I'm sure you are."
Brigitte's emergence from the ocean interrupted our conspiracy. She strolled back, ocean brine dripping from and running across her curves, and paused for a moment on the hard-packed littoral sand, as if posing and displaying herself for the entire beach. I chuckled: Her "reluctance" to tan nude on the beach had yet to manifest itself.
She resumed her walk back, doing so with aplomb and pride. Her breasts, as always, were thrust forward, but now they were aroused by the coolness of the water. The small patch of thick hair above her slit, decorated with trapped droplets of shining water, was eye catching and drew attention to her shaved labia, causing me to wish that I had left a little hair on my mound instead of totally denuding myself.
She returned to her same position, next to me and facing Chris, on her back with her thighs casually split. We continued luxuriating in the sun and showing off our pussies to whomever cared to look. After playing this game for a while, I was about to turn onto my front to tan my back, but Brigitte suddenly tapped my arm. I looked at her. She quickly motioned with her eyes towards a nude, young man who walked towards us. It was obvious why she had roused my attention: He was devastatingly gorgeous; he was Michelangelo's David come to life.
His strong Latin facial features, capped by black, curly hair, were heavenly, and his sensuous lips were slightly parted to reveal gleaming white teeth that sparkled in the sun. Smooth, dark, olive skin sheathed a rock-hard body composed of classical wide shoulders, flat stomach, narrow waist, and muscular arms and thighs, each component perfect in itself and in harmonious proportion to each other. Moreover, his genitals were magnificent, superior to those of the David.
The man's phallus�larger than that of Michelangelo's statue�was encased in dark brown, almost black, unwrinkled skin and hung from underneath his sparse pubic hair like a savoury, fresh Italian sausage. In turn, his beautiful cock was draped over a generous, similarly dark, hairless scrotal sac that dangled weightily due to the impressive lime-sized testicles contained within. His balls and cock oscillated in precise rhythm with his confident steps. I was mesmerised by his pendulous organs�by their beauty and balance with his body and by the potential that I imagined they possessed�and realised that I was biting my lower lip. Brigitte and I simply gawked at him as he strode close by, both of us leaving our legs obscenely open for him, yet he never once glanced towards us.
Once the man was out of earshot, Chris, aware of what had gone on, started laughing, "Well you two were as subtle as a brick!"
Brigitte sighed and said, "Him I would fuck, yes."
"Yes," I murmured in agreement with both her sentiment and her sentence construction, "him I would fuck."
Chris teased, "Well, ladies, I think you need a cold shower, but a drink will have to do." He got up and ambled to the bar for refreshments.
When he returned we all sat in a row, with Brigitte between us, facing the ocean and enjoying the view while sipping our drinks. Brigitte was staying on and would enjoy the beach for a few more days. But Chris's and my time at the beach was quickly ending. So we prolonged our stay on the shoreline, but by five in the afternoon it was time. We rose and collected our belongings. I slipped into my kimono, Brigitte pulled on her gauzy tunic, and Chris slid into his trunks, his cock slapping against his stomach as the shorts rose to his hips.
"Let us meet at the palapa bar tonight. I will be there at about nine o'clock," Brigitte suggested.
I looked past Brigitte to Chris. He shrugged his shoulders, so I said, "OK; it's a date."
Chris and Brigitte exchanged goodbye pecks on each other's cheeks, and then she and I kissed before parting ways.
In our cabana, I attacked Chris, wanting badly to fuck him to soothe the prolonged burning in my cunt. All day I had been craving this fuck, longing to take him within me. Initially, I rode him while he was on his back, manipulating my clit with my fingers while I pumped myself on his cock. My orgasms came quickly, in rapid succession, and now I longed for him to cum and deposit his cream inside me. I bounced vigorously on his cock, hoping to set him off, but he remained stoic yet rigid.
"Cum, Chris," I whispered, "cum inside me, baby."
He gritted his teeth and grunted, "I'm trying; trust me, I'm trying."
Without warning, he flipped me onto my back, grabbed my ankles to spread me wide apart, and began thrusting into me with delicious fury, banging into my clit with each of his plunges.
As I absorbed his wonderful punishment, something devilish possessed me, and I began imitating Brigitte's accent.
"Oui, oui, Monsieur! Allez, allez, allez! Fuck me to la petite mort!"
However, instead of being amused by my silliness, Chris really launched into me, his cock thickening as he did, so that with several robust thumps he burst inside my pussy.
Well, the cat was out of the bag�as if it hadn't been already. I let him recover a bit before I confronted him.
"So you'd like to fuck Brigitte?"
"Jesus Christ, Catherine! For the last week or so, her tits and cunt have been in my face. So, yes�she's gorgeous and sexy, and yes�I've had fantasies of fucking her! But for Christ's sake, what do you expect? Anyway, it's only a fantasy�and don't tell me you haven't seen some nice, hot cocks on the beach that you'd like to fuck."
He was right. I rubbed his chest and kissed him. "Hey, you've been prying into my past sex life these last few days, so I thought I'd pry into your fantasies. OK?" I offered.
He glanced at me, smiled, and murmured, "OK."
"So you'd like to fuck Brigitte?" I asked again, but this time without an accusatory tone.
Chris looked at me warily, paused, and then said, "Yeah, she's very attractive."
I held his limp cock, sticky with cum and juices, and said, in a very bad French accent, "Yes, she eez beautiful; she 'as a certain je ne c'est quoi�"
"Oh, stop it!" he said, laughing. "Your French is terrible."
"Non, non, Monsieur! My French is fantastique! Every homme tell me so!" And with that I knelt and took his flaccid cock into my mouth for a few seconds, sucking it clean before letting it plop out. I then fell back beside him, both of us laughing while he cradled me in his arms.
After a few seconds, Chris asked me, "What about you? Any fantasies about Brigitte?"
I knew the answer but I hesitated, wondering what to say, whether to admit to my fascination with her. Finally, I confessed, "Yes, she's very pretty."
Chris followed up by asking, "Have you ever been with a woman?"
"Once, yes."
Chris's interest immediately perked, so he pressed for details.
"It was a long time ago, Chris, when I was twenty-two. She was my best friend."
"Was? What happened?"
"Oh, we just drifted apart," I lied. I really didn�t feel like talking about this affair, so to divert him I added mischievously, "Anyway, I've always preferred men."
"You delicious slut," he whispered while squeezing me.
After a pause, he said, "So I guess that means you've never had a threesome involving two women?"
"No, I haven't," I confirmed. "What about you?"
"Neither have I," he said with a smile and a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.
My fantasies about Brigitte had, to that point, only involved her and me. Now my mind was spinning with other combinations and permutations. I had to digest the new images; they were all too confusing.
"Well, enough about fantasies," I said. "Time to get ready for this evening."
And with that, I made my escape, rising from the bed and entering the bathroom. Once there, I removed my nipple dangles, waist chain, and other jewellery, lowered my hair, and entered the shower. While the warm water sprinkled over me, I quickly scraped a razor over my underarms before soaping up and washing my hair. I had already shaved my legs and pussy in the morning, so I was well ahead of the game and had plenty of time to spend on other details.
After showering, I patted myself down and applied moisturiser before wrapping myself in a fresh bath towel. I combed my hair to free it of tangles and knots, followed by a good rubdown before brushing it again while blow-drying. I then applied nail polish remover and waited for the sweet-smelling acetone to evaporate, at which point I coloured my toes and fingernails bright red.
I went to the bed, sat next to Chris, and waited for the polish to dry. He had been reading but was now snoozing. Once my nails were dry, I nudged him awake, telling him it was half past eight.
"Catherine," Chris groaned, "I will shit, shave, and shower before you can say orgasm. Give me a few more minutes." With that, he turned onto his side for more sleep.
I left him and returned to the bathroom mirror to fix my hair and apply my make-up. My hair I simply piled atop my head into a loose bun, securing it with a couple of clips while allowing several wisps to hang randomly about my head and neck. As for my make-up, I wanted a sultry look, so I painted my face more heavily than usual, taking the greatest care with my eye shadow, first priming and then blending the colours to give myself a pair of plum-toned 'smoky eyes'. After that, a touch of blush brought out my cheekbones. For lipstick, I used a neutral colour, not wanting to detract and take attention from my eyes. I examined my face and was pleased with my job.
I dropped my towel and padded nude into the bedroom. At that point, I woke Chris again. He stretched, looked at me, and then jumped up to grab me.
"Come on, let's have a quick fuck!"
"Chris! I'm made up�go away!" I laughed, pulling away from him.
"You look beautiful," he called over his shoulder as he strode into the bathroom.
My evening wear that night was to be a fetching red silk chiffon dress that had a sexy low-cut halter top to show lots of what little cleavage I have. The empire waist of the dress, just below my tits, allowed the garment to drape airily to a flirty, slightly ruffled hem that lay at the midpoint of my thigh. The dress was shorter and more revealing than anything that I'd ever consider wearing at home among friends, acquaintances, or colleagues. But it was perfect for dancing, and I planned on executing lots of dress-raising salsa spins.
Furthermore, the thin, unlined dress was translucent enough to give hints of what lay underneath, especially under the right lighting. When I tried it on in the shop, the young female clerk stared at my bulging nipples and black panties, both visible through the dress, and advised me that I should wear flesh-coloured underwear and nipple covers. Since I had brought neither of those garments to Mexico, I considered wearing the dress without panties. But then I imagined how the dress would flare out and up as I spun on the dance floor, revealing all of my legs and more. So I chose a small red G-string, stepped into it, and slid the thong into place. I then got into my dress, deciding not to worry about my nipples showing through or jutting out against my dress.
For footwear, I selected a pair of gold snakeskin peep-toed slides with three-inch spiked heels. I finished my look with gold jewellery which included earrings made of large, thin gold hoops, a necklace and matching bracelet composed of numerous strands of fine gold, and a variety of rings for my fingers.
Chris came out of the bathroom, scrubbed and shaved, his dark hair sexily slicked back with mousse. He slipped on some fresh light-coloured boxers, a pair of white linen trousers, and a white cotton short-sleeved shirt. He called out, "I'm ready," just as he slipped his feet into his leather sandals.
"I hate you," I muttered aloud. "A shave, a run through the water, some clean clothes, and you're done."
He sat on the bed, watching me fiddle with the last of my jewellery, and said, "Well, sweetie, you look fantastic."
I thanked him and continued struggling with the bracelet.
"Let me," he offered and stood next to me trying to fit the minute hoop into the clasp.
"So," Chris said while working on the bracelet, "that, um, wild gang bang weekend you described to me a few days ago? I've been thinking about it. I know you said that it was unplanned, but do you think that it was schemed beforehand by the guys?"
I sighed, "Yes, that thought has crossed my mind plenty of times. I don't know, but it would bother me if there'd been a plot to, well, gang bang me, as you so charmingly put it."
Chris finally closed the clasp of the bracelet and replied, "But, why would it bother you if it were planned? You weren't forced. And you obviously enjoyed yourself�"
"It's easy to explain, Chris," I interrupted. "Even though John and I had stopped seeing each other, I still had feelings for him and would hope that he also had feelings for me. So if he had conspired for that weekend to turn out the way it had then, yes, it would bother me knowing that he had manipulated me into that situation, had deliberately turned me into an object. So having said that, I'd like to continue thinking that it was spontaneous on all our parts."
Chris, mercifully, dropped the topic, and we walked out, arm in arm, into the warm tropical night and headed towards the palapa bar.
The small palapa bar was boisterous that night. Music played over the sound system, and a score of couples were dancing. Brigitte had already arrived and was chatting with some other travellers from France. Chris and I wandered over to her, saying hello along the way to several people whom we had befriended during our holiday.
Brigitte looked radiant in a short, flowered sundress with spaghetti straps�needless to say, the dress had a neckline that flaunted her cleavage. On her feet were bright yellow strappy sandals with heels that made my feet ache just looking at them. It was the first time that I'd seen her without a ponytail. Instead, her blonde locks were arranged in long curvy layers that framed her face. Her hair, parted slightly off to the side, allowed a flattering fringe of soft layers to flow down each side of her face, accentuating her eyes. She, too, had decided on a sultry look and had applied dark blue and green eye shadow, which suited her cornflower eyes. But her heavily applied bright red lipstick detracted from her appearance, in my opinion.
We greeted each other and pecked at the air beside each other's face. However, she purposefully kissed Chris on the cheek, marking him with her lipstick, causing several in our group to chuckle. Drinks were ordered, and after some chit-chat, Chris sauntered off to mix and mingle with some of the other patrons while I stayed with Brigitte's group.
We talked and laughed with one another, including with those outside our group. Soon, I was approached to dance, and I readily accepted. That night I chatted and danced with many of the other guests, including the handsome young man who earlier in the day had transformed Brigitte and me into goo. It turned out that he was an excellent dancer, so I enjoyed four or five salsas with him, executing numerous dizzying spins and dress-raising twirls.
I took a breather from dancing and found Chris, who was listening in on an entertaining debate about which movie had the sexiest dance scene. Dirty Dancing was the most popular choice, although several people nominated the scene in Ballroom Dancing. Al Pacino's tango in Scent of a Woman also received praise, as did Kim Basinger in 9� Weeks.
I threw in my two cents and argued for the tango between Salma Hayek and Ashley Judd in Frida. Nobody knew the scene except for Chris. My husband described the dance to the table�especially the wet kiss at the end between the two beautiful women�and, being the devil that he is, began to encourage Brigitte and me to re-enact the dance. Soon everyone at the large table joined in, egging us on. Brigitte seemed game, and several Black Russians had supplied me with sufficient bravado to finally give in.
The bartender put on some tango music, so Bridget and I took up our positions on the dance floor. I laughed and warned her that I didn't know the first thing about tango. She responded that she had no clue either. Nonetheless, we looked each other in the eyes and began our dance, stumbling through our woeful portrayal. But I knew that the quality of the dance didn't matter: Our audience wanted to see us entwined in various positions and especially wanted the passionate kiss at the end. It was silly, harmless fun, bred by booze and the freedom that comes with anonymity, yet to say that I wasn't excited by the prospect of a kiss with Brigitte would be a lie.
We continued our sorry dance, lurching and bumping into one another but giggling and laughing all the same. At one point during the number, I held Brigitte from behind, pushing myself into her back and ass while my hands gripped her breasts. A huge cheer rose from the audience! Her nipples bulged through the cotton fabric of her dress to poke my palms, so I lingered on her tits before sliding my hands down to her bare thighs. Then, with deliberate mischief, I moved one hand upwards to her belly, lifting her dress in the process. The crowd went wild with debauched shouts and whistles�I assumed because they could now see Brigitte's undergarment. But when I raised my other hand to her crotch with the intention of theatrically touching and rubbing her through her panties, I felt only bare skin and her scant patch of pubic hair! I was aghast, realising in that instant that she wore no panties and that I had exposed her pussy to the crowd, which certainly explained their lecherous enthusiasm.
We separated while holding hands, my mouth still agape, shocked at what I had done to her. But she laughed and playfully wagged a reprimanding finger at me before we again came together, this time with her clinging to me from behind. I expected her to reciprocate, to grab my tits and lift my dress, just like I had done to her. Instead, as quick as lightening, she undid my halter-top and caught both my wrists. The top of my dress suddenly flopped down to bare my boobs to the crowd, spurring it to roar with lewd laughter and applause! With her arms encircled about me whilst clutching my wrists, I was immobilised and unable to cover myself.
Even though these same people had seen a good deal more than my tits on the beach these past ten days, my face redden, so I fumbled to raise my top when Brigitte and I separated. But I couldn't tie it fast enough, for Brigitte quickly resumed our dance, again grabbing my hands, so that my breasts remained exposed. Despite my embarrassment, my nipples pinged from excitement, so I decided to act unconcerned and not fuss about hiding my tits for the rest of the tango.
The music was coming to an embellished crescendo, so we finished our burlesque routine face to face, tight against each other's body. I lifted my right leg and hooked it around her hips, pressing Brigitte's pelvis into mine. As we embraced, her hand flowed along my elevated thigh towards my hip to eventually squeeze my bum underneath my dress. However, she then moved her hand up to my back, raising my dress in the process to expose my ass and G-string to the audience, inciting more off-colour hoots and hollers. We finally ended our performance with the anticipated kiss, remaining in our tangled position, my bum exposed, while our tongues played and danced in each other's mouth. Her lips were soft, sweet, yet electric, and only when the music stopped did we end our wet kiss.
The bar erupted in applause, whistles, laughter, and calls for an encore involving a lot more than a kiss. I glowed with excitement and made no effort to hide my tits. Brigitte and I performed an exaggerated curtsy to one another followed by several to the audience. During her curtsies, Brigitte held her short dress aloft to expose her pussy, possibly in moral support of my exposure. Finally I covered my breasts, quickly tying up my top, and turned to give Brigitte a hug and light kiss before returning to Chris.
My husband eyed me with interest. He had never seen me kiss anyone, let alone another woman, and while hugging me from behind he whispered, "You are full of surprises!" I was too flushed to respond.
Everyone got up to shake a leg after our performance, the bar metamorphosing into a zany dance hall. Brigitte and I became popular dance partners, and many of the men were eager to offer praise for our performance. During one slow rumba with the German man, he took the opportunity to thank me again for baring myself so blatantly a few days ago. His right hand lay low on my back, and I sensed my face redden as I recalled how I reclined on the beach that day, cracking my oyster apart for him. I smiled but remained quiet. As we continued dancing, he led me into a slow turn so that we were now looking at his wife dancing with a young man whose hands gripped her ass while she unashamedly rubbed up against him. I was speechless, but he just smiled and appeared at ease with the scene.
The dancing and partying continued until around midnight, at which point someone suggested a moonlight swim, so a group of around twenty tottered off to the beach, my husband and I among them. Once our party got to the beach, someone yelled out, "Last one in is a prude!" prompting everyone to quickly strip off their clothes. I untied the halter-top, unzipped my dress, slipping out of it quickly, and pushed my G-string down my legs, carelessly kicking it away. Despite the warmth of the tropical night, my skin turned to gooseflesh and my nipples puckered and hardened.
I stood nude on the beach again, but this time under the cover of night. I waded into the lagoon and felt a tingle when the water level reached my pussy, causing my nipples to pleasantly ache from both the coolness of the water and the thrill. People were laughing and whooping; every so often a woman would shriek and then laugh throatily. Chris and I were off to one side while others played and splashed. Eventually, couples paired off and drifted away to be alone, except for one group of five who remained close together. It turned out that it was the German woman and her husband with three other men, all gathered around her, and my mind raced with randy images that I knew too well.
Chris and I stood in waist-deep water and began kissing and touching. I stroked his hard cock down to its base and then cupped his balls. They seemed tight, most likely from retracting due to the coolness of the water.
As we kissed, I spied Brigitte wading towards us, nude, the moonlight reflecting off her blonde hair and illuminating her shape and full curves. I broke my embrace with Chris and welcomed her, wrapping my arms around her. We started to kiss, just like on the dance floor, but this time our hands wandered, and I kneaded her beautiful tits while she probed my cunt.
We kissed for a long time, and I tried to lose myself in her caresses and lips, but Chris was in the background, both mentally and physically. I debated what to do, and finally I pulled my husband in close to us, bringing him next to Brigitte. They embraced and kissed, and I watched Brigitte suck on his tongue and Chris's hand go to her tits to pluck greedily at her nipples.
It's been said that a first kiss is the confirmation of attraction, longing, and lust, and as such it becomes memorable due to its demarcation of a momentous change in an affair, the point at which a relationship�no matter how short or trifling�becomes free to express and act upon its physical desires. I watched them share this, their primal kiss, marvelling yet aching at its intensity, passion, and thirst.
Another time, another place, and the scene in front of me would have been infuriating. But tonight I welcomed the situation, its unusualness, its contravention of code, and its sacrilegious eroticism.
They separated and she turned back to me. We kissed again, but this time I was far more aggressive, grabbing her hair to tilt her head back while my hand attacked her pussy. And it went like that, the three of us trading kisses and gropes, with Brigitte rarely as observer.
Eventually, my husband suggested that we should go back to our room. We got out of the water and collected our clothes. I found my dress and shoes, but I couldn't locate my thong. I gave up looking for it and didn't bother putting my dress on.
We walked back, the three of us nude, stopping to kiss and fondle each other, not unlike my crazy weekend at the cottage so long ago. Once we were off the sand and onto the path, I brushed my feet clean and slipped on my slides; Brigitte, likewise, quickly strapped on her sandals. Chris watched us, his cock so hard that its thick head had mushroomed out beyond the foreskin, and enthused that we looked beautiful in the moonlight, naked and in our shoes. He then took our dresses from us under the pretence of chivalry.
"You just want to make sure we stay nude," I teased.
"You better fucking believe it," he exhaled.
So Brigitte and I walked along the path, holding hands, wearing only our heels, while Chris, also nude, carried our clothes. Along the way we passed a couple who were out for a late-night stroll, and we heard them laugh and giggle once we'd gone by.
When we arrived at our cabana door, Brigitte and I kissed again, our hands exploring each other's curves, while Chris searched for the room key. My eyes were shut in bliss when I heard the unlatching of the lock. We entered and stood next to the bed while Chris sat in a chair with one leg slung over an armrest, watching us while languidly stroking his cock.
After numerous deep kisses, Brigitte and I climbed onto the bed and continued kissing while kneeling. Our hands roamed over each other, stopping often to either fondle a breast, tug on nipples, or finger a wet, pulpy cunt.
I got behind her and turned her to face Chris, holding her from behind while we both knelt in an upright position. My hands clutched her lavish breasts, squeezed their luxurious mass, and pointed them towards my husband. Soon after, my hand drifted to her pussy; it was wet and slick, her excitement obvious. I caressed her sex while nibbling her neck, inciting her hips to gyrate, before tugging upwards on her tuft of pubic hair, lifting her vulva for Chris to see. But I wasn't satisfied; her knees were too close together. So I seized her blonde mane with one hand and yanked on it, tilting her head back. With my other hand I reached down, grabbed the inside of her knee, and roughly shoved it to the side, splitting her thighs wide apart. Then I leaned back, bringing her with me so that her pussy was directed at my husband, and again I pulled upwards on her sparse pubic hair, lifting her cunt to expose it for my husband.
I was like a cat that had caught a mouse, brought it home, and was now showing it off to the household. A sly smile played on my lips as I looked at Chris. Not a word was spoken, but I was clearly displaying my prize and gift to him.
As I held her and unveiled her vulva to my husband, Brigitte's head turned towards me. Her tongue darted out as she tried to touch mine, which was equally frantic. We stayed in that recumbent position, kissing while exhibiting her twat to Chris, until we finally tired.
At last we lay on the bed, our mouths poised over each other's pussy. We were tentative at first, each gently testing the other's waters, so to speak. She was sweet, far sweeter than I expected, compelling me to devour her. But the fluttering of her tongue gradually transformed into a delicate suction that ignited my clit and distracted me from pleasuring her. I tried to reciprocate, but the sensations so overwhelmed me that I simply lay back and allowed myself to relish her kisses to my pussy, spreading myself wide for her.
My clit scintillated under her mouth and tongue. The currents she transmitted through my eager cunt were received, then attenuated, amplified, and relayed throughout my body. My orgasm rose until it finally overcame my resistance and surged though me unimpeded, modulating in that unique, delicious frequency which carries a million crazy, disconnected messages.
After recovering, I took my turn to lick her, initially lapping the teeming fluids from her vulva. Soon, I sucked on her tiny clit while fondling her small, thin labia with my fingers. The tightness of her cunt intrigued me, yet it also caused me envy. My pussy was nowhere near as small as hers, and I wondered how she handled the girth of a hard, thick cock. I inserted a finger and rubbed upwards while mouthing her button. Her response encouraged me, so I slipped in another finger and scratched her special spot while still nourishing myself on her clit.
Her nipples tensed into large, hard nubs, provoking me to reach up with my free hand to twist them while continuing to suck her cunt. She raised her legs, spreading herself for me, so I increased the intensity of my sucking. Periodically, I would stop to vigorously finger-fuck her, holding her by an ankle to wrench her open while I plunged my fingers into her drenched hole. Finally, I concentrated on her clit, licking and sucking while stretching her cunt with my two fingers. Her hips bucked with force until, for a brief moment, she stopped as if paralysed before climaxing with loud grunts and free-flowing fluids.
We were resting, relaxing, and taking turns licking her juices off my fingers when Chris approached the bed, his cock wondrously hard. He came towards me and made no secret of what he wanted. His dick, coated with copious pre-cum, glistened in the soft light. I took him into my mouth, sucking his firm, blood-engorged flesh. Brigitte snuggled against me so that she was nearer and watched me suck my husband. I decided to put on a show, so I got off the bed, slipped my shoes on, and squatted in front of Chris to continue sucking him, my knees bawdily apart. As I bobbed on his cock, one of my hands held on to his ass while my other manipulated my cunt.
Brigitte followed me off the bed to crouch behind me, her knees embracing my body and her hands gripping my tits, and looked over my shoulder at my consumption of Chris. Her fingers concentrated on my nipples, delightfully plucking and twisting them while I sucked.
"Do you suck him often, Catherine?" she whispered.
Her question thrilled me, so I removed Chris from my mouth and responded, "Yes, I do it often," before resuming my blow job with renewed vigour.
"And when he has the orgasm, does he� in your mouth?"
I was close to cumming from diddling myself while I sucked and more so from her queries. I again released Chris and gave a slow lick from his balls to the top of his shaft.
"Yes," I answered, looking back at her, "most times he cums in my mouth�it gives me pleasure to taste him, to feel his convulsions, his spasms, the expansion of his penis. But, sometimes," I said while running my finger suggestively down her forehead and onto her nose, then onto her cheek before resting it upon her lips," sometimes, he decorates me."
She shivered upon hearing my words, her eyes closing while her lips clasped my finger.
"Come here," I beckoned, making space and patting the floor beside me.
She obeyed, crawling next to me, still in her heels, to kneel in front of my husband's cock. I held it at the base, gave it a leisurely draw until it popped out of my lips, and then pointed it at her. She sucked it without hesitating and began bobbing on his cock, causing my cunt to puddle. Chris's excitement was manifest: his groans grew loud, and his hips thrust forcefully at her face. I sensed he would cum soon if she didn't ease off, so I took his cock from her mouth and kissed her.
I smiled at her and said, "Let's kiss him together."
So we mouthed his erection, jointly fluttering our lips and tongues about his shaft. Every now and then, our tongues would meet, invoking wild, burning sensations within me. Our encounters with each other's tongue initiated passionate kisses between her and me, but we would eventually unlock our lips and return to our servicing of Chris.
Chris's breathing was audible as we suckled him. When one of us would draw him in, sucking him deep, he'd moan, hold our head still, and pump at our mouth with purpose. Brigitte and I allowed him this pleasure for brief periods, but then we would halt him, leaving him desperate and wanting, and kiss each other, tasting his cock on each other's lips, before resuming our teasing of Chris's erection.
But my husband could not hold out forever. Predictably, it was while Brigitte sucked him that his passion boiled over. It was sudden: he simply cried, "Oh fuck!" before pushing his hips into her face, keeping them pressed towards her mouth as he shot his streams into her throat, groaning incoherently as he did so.
It was her gulps that undid me. Watching my husband hold her head to fuck her mouth was seductive; staring at her lips clasping his shaft as it slid within her mouth was erotic; seeing him convulse and blow while his familiar cock was in her throat was electrifying; but hearing her gulp and swallow my husband's cum was staggering. I was hypnotised, fingering myself to an orgasm as I watched and listened to her drink his milk.
Once she had finished swallowing, Brigitte released Chris's cock and turned to face me. Semen oozed from both corners of her mouth. I licked the white, viscous rivulets, tasting my husband on her lips and chin. And then I kissed her, our mouths open, my tongue probing, searching, and finding Chris's emission.
I held Brigitte and rubbed her soaking pussy before kissing her again. We then scrambled onto the bed, whereupon I removed her sandals before planting my face between her legs. Chris, meanwhile, returned to his voyeur's chair, spent, to watch us indulge ourselves again.
I resisted diving into her and instead commenced slowly, caressing her with feathery kisses and light touches. I wanted to lose myself in her body�her tits, her skin, her cunt. The latter fascinated me; her petals were thin, small, and pink, unlike my dark, meaty flaps. In addition, her hole was narrow, infuriatingly tight, which was also unlike mine. I craved to stretch her, to make her big. Was this desire born of spite, jealousy, or lust? I still can't express the complexity of my emotions at that moment, but I did know that I hungered to witness my large vibrator fill and broaden her dainty cunt. However, I withheld acting upon my urge until my soft licking and mouthing of her pussy had rendered her dank and agitated.
Once I had primed her, I scampered to the night table to retrieve 'Mr Big' from the drawer and returned to commence my slow penetration of her petite pussy. Her quick breaths and wide eyes suggested alarm at the size of the toy, at its girth, but her raised and splayed thighs, which proclaimed her eagerness for the stuffing of her cunt, betrayed her.
Chris rose from the chair for a better view, watching as I progressively packed the thick plastic cock into her pussy. With her eyes open, she strained her head upwards to witness the cock inch into her, moaning and squirming as her cunt accommodated the toy. I was intrigued and impressed by the elasticity of her pussy, by its capacity and willingness to consume.
"Suck it; suck her cunt," I urged.
Chris wasted no time and dove onto her while I continued inching the toy deeper. Brigitte responded immediately, gasping aloud with her head tilted back, her hands tearing at the bed sheets. Before long she quivered while vociferously lamenting in French. When her tremors had ebbed, Chris lifted his head, his lips glistening and soaked, and kissed me, allowing me to taste her juices from his lips.
My husband now knelt next to me, his cock resurrected and eager, as we gazed at Brigitte's crammed cunt. He held one of her legs while I lengthened the action of 'Mr Big', pumping her hole with long, slow strokes. I gripped his shaft with my other hand, stroking upwards so that his foreskin would rise to cover his thick head before pulling down to fully reveal his bulbous, lustrous knob. With one hand on the toy and my other on his cock, I oscillated with the same cadence, sliding the vibrator into Brigitte's cunt while completing a concurrent downward stroke on Chris's cock, then vice versa, simulating and mimicking their copulation.
I smiled at him and asked, "Are you imagining that you're fucking her?"
"Yes," he said between breaths, leaning back, "yes, I am."
"Not yet�soon," I told him, both tantalising and frustrating him. "First, I want to see her suck and fuck."
Straightaway, Chris moved up to Brigitte's face to lay his erection across her face. She closed her eyes but opened her mouth to draw him in again. As soon as she started sucking, she expanded even more, allowing the synthetic cock to probe yet deeper into her cunt. I took one of her hands and guided it to her clit. She frantically rubbed herself, trying to coax yet another climax. I watched her writhe in ecstasy and abandonment, astonished at the beauty and vulgarity of her position, spurring vivid images to flash through my brain of my depraved gang bang at the cottage over twenty years ago.
I wanted to see her�or perhaps to see me through her�in another position, so I simply said, "Doggy style."
Chris immediately arranged Brigitte, who was compliant, onto her hands and knees. I ensured that her thighs were well apart and continued to marvel at the intrusion of 'Mr Big' into her small twat. Chris, meanwhile, remained in front of her, gripped her hair, and resumed fucking her mouth.
I was both surprised and amused by my dominance�surprised, for with Chris and other men before him, I tended towards submissiveness in bed�and amused because I briefly considered referring to Brigitte as "the bitch", but even in my heat, the term struck me as over-the-top and silly, especially since I harboured no real resentment towards her.
She absorbed the two cocks while on her hands and knees, enticing me to play with her magnificent tits. I bent low, my head below her torso, to watch her breasts hang and undulate. They were so beautiful, dangling like exotic, forbidden fruit. I could not resist their temptation, so I handled them, squeezing and tugging, feeling their weight and fullness, all while her backend gyrated from the continued invasion of her cunt by the thick toy and from her finger twitching over her clit. Her dark nipples beckoned me to twist and pull them, and when I did, I sensed a transformation in her. Again she convulsed in advance of becoming momentarily still, almost stunned, before violently exploding, her ecstatic moans muffled by Chris's cock. Her orgasm precipitated yet another flood of slick honey from her pussy so that the plastic cock now made squishy sounds as it worked within her slippery cunt. I removed the toy, allowing her juices to pour, and contorted myself to quaff her syrup.
After guzzling my fill and smearing my face with her secretions, I knelt next to Brigitte's bum and rubbed her slick cunt, sometimes lightly slapping it. I watched my husband's persistence in feeding his cock to her and stared at his thrusting hips. Chris's tempo and drive, I noticed, had gone up a gear�he would cum soon if not controlled�so I instructed him to stop and join me. He abruptly withdrew from her mouth, allowing her to lower her head to the mattress. She moaned contentedly, smiled, and adjusted herself, arching her back so that her ass and cunt wiggled high in the air with expectation.
Chris joined me at my station at Brigitte's rear, his eyes wide and his cock hard with anticipation. I stroked his shaft, wet with her saliva, before pulling on it, leading him like a stallion to position him directly behind her flanks.
This was my line in the sand; my breathing laboured from just the notion of crossing it. And I was mystified that I was not only prepared to insert my husband's cock into another woman's vagina but also bewitched by this escapade. My vulva watered and throbbed with lust, so, with resolve, I directed his erection towards her cunt. His shiny head seemed larger than normal, bloated, as it nestled against her spread labia, which brimmed with juices. Chris gazed at me, open mouthed, as I continued to steer his cock into her, but eventually he turned his eyes to his entry into her wetness. I tried to stay focussed on his face, to observe his expressions as he united with her, but I, too, was transfixed by the slow envelopment of his hardness by her body.
Once he'd entered her, he grabbed her waist and plunged into her cunt several times, his hips slapping against her buttocks with each thrust. Shivers ran through me as he leaned forward and clutched her tits, mauling them with zeal. She gave herself, bent over like a mare, and allowed him to grope and fuck her as he pleased.
I stared at them, stunned yet electrified at the scene in front of me. But eventually I clambered beneath them to lay on my back in a 69 position with Brigitte. Inches above me was the sight of Chris's cock snug and sheltered within her sex. I was overcome by desire, so I strained my head upwards to lick their conjoined genitals. Brigitte immediately munched on my pussy, sending shivers throughout me. Occasionally, her fingers spread me apart to stuff and stroke me, producing luxurious sensations to surge through my body, all while Chris pumped his cock into her cunt barely above my head.
He would bury his hardness into her, pressing deep, and then rapidly slide within her wet loins, sometimes fully vacating her before plunging back in and repeating the sequence. Now and then, my husband interrupted this pattern to withdraw and control himself, his cock gleaming with her essence, leaving her cunt obscenely breached. My lips and tongue reached for his sweetened shaft whenever it came out for air, and, once he had gained composure, he would insert his cock into my extended throat. Its taste and slipperiness intoxicated me, but he would inevitably extract himself from my mouth and then greedily resume stabbing into Brigitte's waiting cunt.
I stared at this sight, my husband's penis embedded inside another woman, and watched him as he'd halt his battering time and again to delay his orgasm so that he could prolong his occupation of her cunt. I wanted to interrogate him, to question him about her tightness and wetness, to demand a comparison. But I already knew the answer, so I buried my jealousies, and immersed myself into her body and tried to match Chris's intensity.
We carried on like this, Brigitte sucking and fingering my cunt, my husband banging her from behind, and I either licking Brigitte's pussy or sucking Chris's glazed cock. I lost track of orgasms, both hers and mine. My big one came when Chris was in my mouth but it was Brigitte who brought me there with her suction and finger-fucking. With Chris's cock twitching in my throat, I convulsed and shuddered, spreading my thighs as wide as possible, aching to engulf her with my cunt. The pi�ce de r�sistance, at least for me, would have been for Chris to burst in my mouth while I climaxed, but I knew that was not in the cards for me tonight.
He was inside her, screwing her, when he pick up his pace and grunted, "Fuck, yeah!" Apart from Chris's short pauses to delay his climax or have his dick sucked, he had been unrelenting in his fucking, but now he turned brutal, assaulting her cunt, battering it with incessant savagery. My mouth locked onto her clit, sucking until she screamed with rapture, all while Chris's cock rammed into her depths overtop of my nose, his balls swaying and bumping into my forehead.
His orgasm was abrupt, inducing him to mash against her while pulling her buttocks back towards him�impaling her as completely as possible�to splash his spunk into the recesses of her cunt, moaning with satisfaction as he did so. I took his balls and lightly squeezed as he fired his cum, fancying that I was helping him expel his every drop into her womb. When he withdrew, I gobbled his slick cock, savouring the remnants of his cum and her cunt juice.
After sucking him clean, I turned my attention to Brigitte's red vulva. Her raw hole oozed with fecundity; I tongued it and consumed their lust with gusto, feasting while splitting her rift open to extract every drop of their earthy amalgam. She squirmed in discomfort, her pussy likely sensitive from cumming, but I ignored her agitation and held her in place, continuing to suck her completely, as if to expunge all trace of my husband's sperm from her cunt.
Finally, the three of us collapsed on the bed, exhausted. The redolence of sex was thick in the air. Chris fell asleep first; Brigitte and I nuzzled overtop of his soft snores, giggling at first, but soon I too fell asleep, satiated. However, I was woken in the morning by the bouncing and squeaking of the bed: They were fucking again, this time with Chris on top of Brigitte.
I lay on my side, my arm propping my head, and studied them as they copulated. My husband was arching downwards, bending his neck, trying to suck her tits while he fucked her, his hands grabbing her boobs and pulling them upwards to bring her erect nipples to his mouth. Brigitte lay in surrender, cradling Chris's body with her spread thighs, and absorbed my husband's cock. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open so that deep, throaty grunts, in sync with Chris's jabs, filled the room.
I got itchy watching them, so I kissed her, sucking her tongue when she offered it while Chris continued to fuck her, her head bobbing with each of his thrusts. I then rode her face, my back towards Chris, and ground my cunt onto her nose and mouth. She licked and sucked on my lips and clit so that my entire body throbbed with lust. I could have cum on her gorgeous face, but that wasn't what I wanted. Instead, I slid down her body towards Chris�overtop of her jiggling tits, straddling her the entire time�until my buttocks had backed up as far as they could, placing my pussy above hers. I arched my back, raising my bum, and presented my needy cunt to Chris.
Initially, his fingers entered me, prompting me to moan and yearn for his cock even more. He continued screwing Brigitte while finger-fucking me, going on like that for some time. I lay atop Brigitte, face to face. Her smudged and smeared make-up along with her dishevelled hair gave her a debauched, whorish appearance�I could only assume that I looked no less depraved and slutty. I kissed her hard, almost brutally, and tasted my cunt on her lips yet again.
As we kissed, her body jarred in response to each of Chris's slams. Lying as I did on top of her allowed me to ride the waves of their fucking, so I surfed her body's heaves and undulations, wanting to absorb and share in their pleasure.
"Are you enjoying it?" I whispered through my teeth. "Are you enjoying fucking my husband?"
She looked at me, glassy eyed, and momentarily froze before she tilted her head back to emit a long, tumultuous cry, her blue eyes rolling wildly in their sockets as she shook in ecstasy.
My husband pounded her during her climax, pounded her until her responses waned to a whimper. Then, without warning, he stopped, shifted, pulled my hips back, and shoved his cock into my pussy.
"Oh God! Yes! Finally!" I gasped with pleasure, his penetration soothing the burning in my hole. I spread my thighs to receive him as deep as possible and to alleviate the prolonged inflammation of my cunt.
He held my hips as he hammered me, using the same intensity he had given to Brigitte. Perspiration formed on my body, especially on my front, where it was in contact with Brigitte's breasts and tummy. Chris was unceasing, fucking me into mindless bliss while Brigitte cushioned me from below. She grabbed my hair, twisting my head back to extend my neck before nibbling it, all while Chris's cock stretched and pumped at my starved cunt.
Tiny spasms washed over me. She wrenched my nipples, yanking them hard, pulling on them so that sensations shot throughout my body. A finger probed my anus�I assumed it was Chris's�and entered, pushing me over the edge. The ramming of my cunt rose to a fever pitch, accelerating until my mind and body burst into a million surreal fragments. Insane, fractured images of burning beds and erotic Mayan rituals dominated by tongues, saliva, hard phalluses, soppy vulvas, blood, and semen raced through my brain. I could only manage a throaty, incomprehensible moan as I clung to Brigitte. He continued fucking me at that crazy pace and did not stop until he had satisfied himself by driving into me and releasing his hot cum into my cunt.
I stayed in that position, contented and glutted, and focussed on the sensations of his dick softening inside me, but eventually Chris withdrew from me to collapse to one side. I rolled off Brigitte to the other side, and the three of us cuddled and kissed.
We stayed like that for some time, Brigitte between us, Chris and I petting her. I savoured the stickiness between my thighs and our final moments together. But eventually, it was time.
"I must go," was all she said. We rose from the bed. After slipping into her sundress, she collected her sandals and turned to hug Chris, not caring that his gooey cock was smearing her dress. They kissed, tenderly sucking each other's lips before parting. She then turned to me, and we embraced, kissed, laughed, and kissed again.
"Oh my God, Brigitte, this was so crazy!"
"Oui, very crazy," she laughed "and very delicious. You and Chris are very beautiful; be good to each other. Bon voyage."
And with that, she left our room. No emails, addresses, or phone numbers were exchanged, which was exactly how I wanted it to end.
Epilogue
The flight back seemed short. The movies on offer didn't interest me, so I stared out the window, past Chris, lost in thought for extended periods while an opened magazine lay on my lap. Our holiday, especially the last day and night with Brigitte, had crossed into territory that I struggled to understand. What blemishes, if any, would our relationship now bear, and would I be accepting of these bright red splotches of debauched graffiti upon our white-picket-fence marriage?
Chris, too, was quiet, and I imagined that he was repeatedly replaying his night of glory in his mind despite burying his nose in a book.
"Chris," I called to him.
He turned from his book and lifted his eyebrows, looking at me overtop of his reading glasses, indicating that he was listening.
"Chris, tell me we can have a holiday without going out of control."
"We can have a holiday without going out of control," he deadpanned.
"Chris, what happened between us and Brigitte was unique, OK? The time, the place, and the person were right. Those circumstances are unlikely to coincide again. Understand?"
"So you're saying there's a slight chance?" he grinned before quickly back-pedalling, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."
Chris was resisting my efforts at "serious" talk about the events of last night. And perhaps he was right. Was there really anything to discuss, especially so soon after consuming the whole enchilada? It was best to digest this episode some more, ruminate, and to allow it to settle before dissecting the wild events of last night.
The flight attendants readied the cabin for our descent. We were minutes away from landing. Outside, the bleak, snowy landscape stretched unendingly. But I refused to accept the implied symbolism, that my marriage and life at home were dreary, cold, and barren. It was quite the opposite. I had a husband whom I still dearly loved and respected. And I truly believed that he felt the same about me. We had our health and vigour. And we had wonderful children. Life was indeed good.
Yes, we had jumped outside the norms and conventions of marriage for one brief night, but we had gone together, experiencing an unexpected adventure in an exotic setting. It was exciting, erotic, and confusing. But we did it together with shared, joyful curiosity. Perhaps we would never do anything like that again; perhaps we would. It wasn't important, so long as we stayed true and honest to each other and to ourselves.
No, there was nothing to be depressed about, other than the weather.
But, of course, there was always the prospect of more holidays!
Many thanks to awaken61313, Bron Zeage, and an anonymous reviewer.