One Night on Hedo Island
Fate is a funny thing.
I mean before fate intervened in my life… I had no idea such places existed, and even if I had I wouldn’t have cared.
It was our fifteenth anniversary, and our marriage councillor had suggested a week’s retreat without kids (something we hadn’t done since we started having kids seven years ago).
So after my parents agreed to watch our brood for nine days, we arranged to go to Jamaica for a week (plus an extra day at each end for travel).
The flight to Jamaica was delayed twice because of stormy weather forecasts, which got me annoyed… I was a stickler for being on time. I was terrified we’d miss the boat the resort had provided to take us to a secluded island for our stay. It was billed as a destination for lovers trying to reconnect, and the photos looked like a tiny island paradise.
Once our plane landed, we hurried to get our luggage and to a taxi… our boat leaving in twenty minutes.
We arrived at the pier twenty-two minutes later.
We rushed along the pier to the dock, quickly waved our tickets at someone and were ushered onto a boat that was just departing.
Thankful we’d made it, we collapsed onto a couple of seats out on the open deck, my always glass-is-half-full husband smiling and trying to be funny, “Woo! That was a real rush.”
God, his puns still weren’t funny. Everyone I knew kept telling me how lucky I was to have such a good-looking, caring husband with such a wicked sense of humour, and yet all I heard was “Blah, blah, blah, ha-ha, get it?”. This trip was supposed to help us reconnect, and I realized I needed to make a better effort. I mean I still loved him, it’s just that traits I used to find cute now annoyed me, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself I didn’t mind, that I shouldn’t mind, the more they got under my skin.
“I need a drink,” I said, noticing how hot it was here even out on the ocean, now that I had a moment to breathe and take in my surroundings.
“Probably two,” he prescribed helpfully, as he got up and headed to the bar.
I smiled as I let out a sigh of relief and looked around. The boat was bigger than I’d anticipated, and there were more people on it as well. Yet I had no idea how big the resort was we were going to, so it didn’t really faze me.
What did though, was when I began noticing the people.
We were going to a couples only resort, and yet there seemed to be a fair number of individuals traveling alone.
For instance, there was a guy sitting by himself in just trunks and massive pecs… he looked like a football lineman or a pro wrestler. He was easily one of the hottest men I’d ever seen in person.
I looked away, not wanting to stare… although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take another glance… but then I looked away quickly when I saw he was looking back at me, and rather too boldly. I felt my cheeks go red… I get embarrassed easily. I was a mother of three, on a cruise to reconnect with my husband, so I shouldn’t be checking out guys no matter how hot, or encouraging them to reciprocate.
While I was looking the other way I saw two girls, they couldn’t be older than eighteen or nineteen, wearing the tiniest bikinis I’d ever seen, and the highest heels to go with them… each six inches and completely impractical. They made the flip flops I was wearing look pathetic and lazy. Were they lesbians? Young lovers? They didn’t appear to be, since they kept pointing out guys to each other.
Near them was a well-built black man in shorts and a white t-shirt, who walked over to a very pretty redhead in a flowery sundress. At first I assumed they were married, but he extended his hand and they shook hands, obviously introducing themselves, and very flirtatiously.
I directed my attention to the bar, where my husband was chatting with a large-breasted black woman in a white bikini that showcased every curve she had, and God, did she have curves. A Beyoncé butt, with breasts that seemed to defy gravity. She was very dark-skinned, almost totally black, and way beyond totally gorgeous. Instant jealousy coursed through me.
I have smallish 34a breasts, which don’t look too out of place on my tiny body. I’m just five feet tall. I’ve been described as the cute girl next door for my entire life. Brunette, brown eyes… skinny but ultra athletic. I was the rover on my college volleyball team, a track star and although not an Olympic gymnast, I’d always placed high in my state competitions. In other words, the polar opposite of the voluptuous African goddess talking to my man.
Like I said, I was jealous so I was about to go over there and intervene, when she walked away, although I couldn’t help noticing that in parting she squeezed his ass, or at least it looked like she did.
My husband Steven was a lawyer (although he didn’t look like one, with his surfer blond hair and California tan) and he was ridiculously good looking. All my friends were in awe of his looks and body. I was also in awe of those things, but it was his charming personality and compassion that I’d fallen in love with.
Truth was, he was my first and only love.
Yes, he was the only man I’d ever fucked, and I was the only woman he’d ever had.
High school lovers who ended up married.
Cliché… I suppose.
But we were meant to be. I needed to remind myself of that whenever I got annoyed at him so easily.
A good-looking guy in a polo shirt and shorts sat down beside me and asked, “Here alone?”
“No, with my husband,” I answered, surprised at the question.
“Interesting,” he said, although I couldn’t figure how my bland answer qualified as interesting. He asked, “Where is he?”
“At the bar,” I pointed. He was now at the front getting drinks.
He looked to the bar and asked, “The one at the front?”
“Yeah,” I said, knowing that many men were intimated by his looks and build.
“Straight?” he asked.
“What?” I asked more in a gasp than reply, and then recovered and answered. “Of course.”
“Shame,” he said. He turned his attention back to me. “So… first time?”
“In Jamaica? Yes.”
“Nice.”
“And you?” I asked, trying to make fake chit chat out of this weird conversation.
“Fifth.”
“Is your wife here?”
“No wife.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Nope.”
Just then Steven returned. He handed me my drinks, as promised he’d gotten me two, and the other guy stood up and said, “Hi, I’m Mike.”
“Steve.”
“I hope to see you around,” Mike said, before walking away.
“That was so weird,” I said.
Steven asked, “How?”
“Well, he isn’t here with anyone,” I pointed out.
“That is weird.”
“And what about Beyoncé?”
“Who?”
“The black woman in the micro-bikini I saw squeezing your ass.”
“Oh, that was weird too,” Steven answered.
“How?”
“She asked if I was here alone.”
“Mike asked me that, too.”
“Strange.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, she said she hoped to see more of me on the island,” Steven admitted. “And she said it like a come on even though I’d mentioned I was here with you.”
“We may have been misinformed by the advertisements,” I said, getting quite annoyed.
“Seems so,” Steven shrugged. He then sat down and said, focusing back on me, “But whatever. We’re here together, going to a tropical paradise.”
“True enough,” I smiled, Steven being great at defusing a bomb inside me before the ticking started counting down. He really was a great man, and he understood me in a way no one, not even my mother, who I was a lot like, did.
For forty-five minutes we drank, enjoyed the view and each other. I found myself getting over my earlier bitchiness and kind of falling in love with my husband all over again. Even his jokes were getting funnier. We chatted, talked about things we might do on the island, including our first-ever couple’s spa, and just enjoying the lack of chaos that was our life back home with a seven-year-old, a four-year-old and a two-year-old.
Once we docked, we got off and were in awe. This place was even more beautiful than the pictures. Literally a tropic paradise, as advertised.
We strolled hand in hand to the entrance, pulling our suitcases behind us. It was so pretty, the air so pure, that I wasn’t even annoyed when we had to wait forty-five minutes to check in.
That said, my sweet tranquility came to a crashing end when the good-looking guy behind the long counter (he looked like Matt Damon and his name tag told me his name was even Matt) said he couldn’t find our reservation.
I sighed dramatically, it was a thing I did when it was important to let the other person know I was annoyed, as I yanked the confirmation out of my purse. I handed it to him as Steven gently rubbed my back, trying to keep me calm.
“Oh my,” the Matt Damon lookalike said.
“What?” I said, not remotely trying to stifle my annoyed tone.
“Um… you’re booked at Tropical Cove.”
“I know,” I said tersely, “I booked it.”
“This is Hedonism Island,” he bomb shelled.
“We got on the wrong boat,” my husband figured out just before I did.
“I’m really sorry, but it seems so,” Matt nodded sheepishly. He was very good at his job, implying it was his fault even when it couldn’t possibly be.
“Well, the plane was late, and we were in a rush,” Steven explained.
“We need to get back to the boat,” I bewailed, frustrated, no longer at the Matt Damon lookalike, but at fate.
“Umm… more don’t shoot the messenger news,” he semi-cringed, “but the next boat isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry, our cruiser only comes and goes once a day, and it left fifteen minutes ago.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry,” he apologized.
“But it’s our fifteenth anniversary,” I said exasperated, as if that was somehow going to make this okay.
A dignified older Jamaican man in a suit and tie came over from helping someone else and said, “I know I can’t totally remedy this situation for you folks, but I can give you one of our honeymoon suites for the night if you wish.”
“How much?” I snapped, expecting some exorbitant amount.
“No charge,” he said. “I feel really badly for what happened: our person should have caught the error when you boarded the boat.”
“Really?” I asked softening for the first time.
“Yes, certainly,” he nodded. “It’s the least we can do.”
“Well, thank you very much,” Steven offered. “That’s extremely kind of you.”
“Yes, extremely,” I agreed.
“It’s the least we can do,” he repeated in the friendliest manner I’d ever encountered. “And I’ll call your hotel and inform them of the mix-up. Tropical Cove, is it?”
“Yes it is; and thank you very much,” Steve said.
He handed Steven a key card and asked, “Do you know anything about this island?”
“Not this one,” Steven admitted.
“We’re a resort that caters exclusively to adults.”
“Okay,” Steven said, not catching on… but I did.
“Does that mean this is a sex island?” I asked, all of our interactions on the ship suddenly making sense as I realized the island was called Hedonism Island, which was a term I wasn’t very familiar with, but recalled it having a sexual connotation.
“To put it baldly, yes. It’s an all-inclusive adult paradise where fantasies can and do become reality,” he answered with a smile and then apologized, “Sorry, that flowery language is the trademarked slogan I’m mandated to say to every arrival.”
“Oh my God!” I gasped, as I glanced at Steven, who had a deer in the headlights look on his face.
“You may hear me screaming that more than once while we’re here,” a woman said from behind us. I looked back, and it was the Beyoncé beauty from the boat. She was still wearing her hardly there bikini, and even though I wasn’t into girls, I couldn’t help staring at her large, firm breasts.
I laughed at her opening line, the entire situation completely surreal; this was a scene straight out of a badly written porno. Yet, wanting to make it clear Steven was my man, I smiled and said, “Oh, he’ll be making me scream that phrase all night.”
“I bet he will,” the black beauty smiled. I wasn’t sure whether she’d missed my meaning or contemplated helping him make me scream .
The man in the tie explained, “There’s a map in your room of all the amenities, and also indicating where clothing is required, where clothing is optional and where clothing is prohibited.”
“You’re serious?” I asked again, feeling like I was on some crazy Totally Busted television show.
“Yes,” he nodded. “All restaurants are clothing required, of course. The cocktail lounges vary.”
“Unless this lovely couple wants to dine on me,” the black woman flirted.
I literally gasped. I mean, I was no prude. I was quite kinky in the bedroom with Steven (well I used to be before having kids; now our sex life was rare and when we did have any it was predictably boring, brief and anti-climactic), even if he was the only man I’d ever been with. But that was the bluntest offer I’d ever heard directed at me. Yet… and I have no idea where these next words came from, I’d never said anything like that before, I defended to myself it was for shock value… I flirted, “Well, I do like chocolate for dessert.”
My husband was the one to gasp this time. “Mary!”
The black beauty took my come-on completely in stride (and up close she was utterly beautiful), as she smiled and said, “Sweetheart, my chocolate shoppe is open to you twenty-four seven.”
“I bet it is,” I leered back, enjoying the stunned look on my husband’s face as well as some other people’s paying attention nearby… it was a big-time rush and one that led to a gush (did I mention I’m a writer for a living… okay, that wasn’t my best rhyming go but it did flow (pun intended… apparently Steven’s so-called wit over the years had bit). (Did any of that chaotic Rockygerel make sense? If not, I enjoyed it anyway.)
The dignified Jamaican man added, “Everything here is included, so enjoy the scenery, the amenities, the food and the drinks.”
“I do believe we shall,” I turned back to him and said, getting kind of horny.
Steven said, “Let’s go.”
“Definitely,” I agreed, taking his hand in mine.
“Two final things,” the man stopped us.
I turned around questioningly, and he said, “First, there’s one very strict rule we have for our guests as they interact with each other, although happily we rarely need to enforce it: ‘No means no.’ And second, we need to confiscate your phones until you’re ready to leave.”
“I like the rule, but you need our phones?” I asked.
“Yes, privacy here is of the utmost importance,” he explained, his tone quite apologetic.
“Oh, okay,” my husband agreed, handing his to the man.
“Whatever,” I agreed, kind of getting the point since there were clothing prohibited areas, handing him mine.
“Thank you.”
“Sure,” I shrugged, as we began to walk towards our room, a good-looking Jamaican man leading the way with our luggage. I chortled, “Can you believe we’re on a sex island?”
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, good news, if you’re interested in exploring your same sex side: that guy I was talking with on the boat was apparently not hitting on me so much as enquiring about you,” I teased.
“Maybe he wanted a threesome,” Steven countered.
“Mmmmmm,” I teased, “with me or with you?”
“Perhaps both,” Steven said. He then added in his teasing tone, “But I wasn’t the one offering to go down on another woman just now.”
“You know I love chocolate,” I shrugged, not killing the idea like he probably thought I would.
“I did, but I didn’t know you liked pink chocolate,” he countered.
At first I didn’t catch on, but then I did and shrugged, “I like white chocolate and dark chocolate, so it seems probable I’ll like pink chocolate.”
He laughed, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
I shrugged, even though at the time I was just being playful and didn’t mean it, “When in Rome, light up some Roman candles.”
We’d reached our room, the porter opened the door and we entered.
We gasped (gasping something we were doing a lot of today).
It was huge.
A king-sized bed.
A hot tub that could seat at least six.
A sixty-inch television on the wall.
A chilled bottle of wine on a table with a buffet of fruit.
Steven offered the bellhop a tip but he refused it, saying there was no tipping at the resort, before leaving us alone.
“Well, maybe this time fate loaded the dice in our favour,” I said, going to the table to pick up a strawberry and take a nibble.
“I thought you liked peaches,” he smirked, sexual innuendos having faded from our relationship over the past few years but seeming to be re-emerging since our arrival here.
“I actually prefer sausage,” I countered, walking over to him, dropping to my knees and fishing his cock from his pants. It was rock hard.
As I stroked his five-inch cock, I tried to recall the last time I’d been in this subservient position, likely it had been years. I blew him on occasion, but usually in a rushed way, just to get him hard for one of our rare quickies and not in a submissive way, like years ago I used to take such pleasure in doing.
As I slid my hand up and down his shaft, I asked, “Why are you already hard?”
“Because of you,” he said sweetly.
I swirled my tongue around his cock head and purred, “Liar.”
“Would I lie to you?” he asked.
“Yes you would, because you know what’s best for you,” I accused teasingly, before moving to his balls… treasures I used to worship lots before becoming a mother. I also teased, “Are you hard because of that big breasted black booty bitch?”
“Nice alliteration,” he laughed with a moan as I sucked a testicle between my lips.
“Thanks, but tell me,” I said, his balls cupped in my hand, “did she turn you on?”
He sighed.
“It’s okay,” I encouraged him, “she turned me on.”
“She did?” he asked as I sucked on his other ball.
A moment later, “Yeah. I don’t know why, but flirting with her got me kind of wet.”
“I see,” he said, his tone curious but still cautious.
Deciding to push him in a bit, I purred, before sliding my tongue back up his hard shaft, “I bet you’d love to watch me eating some pink chocolate.”
“I plead the fifth,” he moaned.
“I’ll take that moan as pleading guilty, you bad boy,” I said, slowly stroking his cock and flicking my tongue over his cock head, getting more and more turned on by our naughty conversation, “Would you like to see your wife’s face buried between those ebony legs as I eat that pink peach?”
“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, shying away from that question too.
“Not this, in like forever,” I said, waggling his cock at him before I took it in my mouth and began bobbing.
“Oh God,” he groaned.
I took his cock out of my mouth after a dozen or so deep throat bobs, and protested, “Hey, the Beyoncé babe said I was supposed to say that.”
He pulled me up, carried me to the bed and playfully tossed me onto it. One advantage of having a gymnast’s body is that I’m so small and light, it’s easy for him to throw me around when he wants. It was beginning to look like he’d be wanting to do that a lot in the next while.
I coyly smiled, loving the rare time he took charge, and used a ‘C’ word I hadn’t used in years, “Did imagining me eating cunt get you all revved up?”
“No, you did that just by being you,” he said, as he roughly yanked down my shorts and panties.
“I think you love the idea of your wife being an ebony cunt eater,” I continued, completely taken over by the dirty talk and a possibility that I wasn’t serious about but was fun to fantasize. I wouldn’t actually eat her cunt, would I?”I bet you’d be a natural cunt muncher,” he said, moving between my legs and burying his face in my pussy.
“Like you are, studly?” I moaned, as his tongue got to work.
“Exactly,” he said. I should note that he is indeed an amazing cunt licker. I should also note that it’s the only way I can get off with him… through oral sex. We’ve tried everything. I just don’t come from penile penetration, even when it’s enhanced by toys. I’d eventually accepted that’s just how my body works. That said, he does give me great orgasms and loves to do that for me, one reason I love him, just only from oral. Oddly, because of my bizarre body, I can come alone from my fingers or a vibrator, no problem. But it’s never as good as when he eats me.
The exotic location, the naughty talk, my lengthy orgasm slump, his great tongue, all led to a rapid acceleration to a climax. As I closed my eyes, the Beyoncé beauty popped into my head straddling my face. That’s all it took. Two minutes and I was coming! I felt like a teenager again.
“Fuck!” I screamed, as my orgasm ripped through me.
He kept licking throughout my spasms until I demanded, “Now come and fuck me.”
“You didn’t scream ‘Oh my God’,” he pointed out, “follow the script, madam,” as he flipped me onto my stomach, yanked up my hips and slid into me Rockygy style.
“Oh my God, yes,” I moaned obediently as he filled me. I loved it when he overpowered me like this.
“Too late, you missed your cue,” he teased, as he began slamming into me.
Usually when we do get around to having sex, we make love. It’s slow and it’s quiet so we don’t wake the kids.
This pounding was like the old days.
Fast.
Hard.
The sexy sound of his body crashing into mine.
The opportunity to talk loud and nasty. Which I did. “Yes, fuck me with your big cock,” and “Pound me, baby,” and “Fill my cunt with your cum.”
When he got close, he did something he hadn’t done in almost a decade: he pulled out and ordered, “Beg for it, baby.”
Wow! How cool is that! I rolled onto my back, spun around so I was looking directly at his cock which he was frantically stroking and begged, excited to be treated this way again, “Please… come all over your slut’s face, baby. Shoot that big load all over me. God, I want your….”
“Fuck!” he grunted before I finished the sentence, exploding a massive load of warm, sticky cum all over my face.
“Yes, baby, do it on me,” I encouraged; I used to love getting a big load on my face… before the kids.
“Take it all,” he grunted, as rope after rope splattered me.
Once we were done giving and receiving, a big wad covering my right eye (which I’d closed in the nick of time), I opened my left, leaned forward and took his cock back into my mouth, nursing out any remnants of his sweet cum.
“That was amazing,” he said.
“Agreed,” I smiled, while I leaned back to pose for him, my spread-open hands on both sides of my face.
“You do look hot with cum all over you,” he said.
“Why don’t we do this more often?” I asked, even though I knew why.
“Kids most often, but we should be able to find workarounds. So really, it’s no good reason.”
“Agreed,” I nodded.
“Want to have some fun today?” he asked.
“I think we just did.”
“Let’s go for lunch.”
“Sure, but that isn’t really fun.”
“Keep my load on your face.”
“Oh!” I said. Back in our younger days he used to love shooting his load all over me and making me walk around with his cum on my face. I walked around in the Louvre in Paris with a load all over my face after blowing him in a family bathroom… loving the idea that my face was his canvas for a unique piece of art; I walked up to the stone-faced guards outside Buckingham Palace with a load on my face and asked how I looked; we went on a Venice gondola ride with cum literally dripping off my chin.
“You game?”
“You serious?”
“Why not? Let’s rekindle our youthful fun,” he suggested.
“Fuck it, why not?” I agreed after a brief pause. “We’re only here for one night.”
“Exactly,” he nodded.
As I got up I noticed for the first time a poster-sized poster on the wall that read:
he.don.ism.
noun.
the pursuit of pleasure; sensual self-indulgence.
Synonyms: self-indulgence, pleasure-seeking, self
gratification, the ethical principle that pleasure (in the sense
of satisfying one’s desires) is the highest good and the
proper aim of human life.
“Read that,” I pointed.
He turned and read it. “Interesting.”
“Agreed,” I said, as I tossed away my t-shirt and grabbed my bikini.
“What are you doing?”
“Dressing for the island,” I said, tossing my bra aside.
“Cool.”
“I’d rather it be hot,” I countered playfully.
“You definitely are,” he smiled, as he examined the map of the area.
“Good boy,” I smiled, now in a sexy bikini that showcased my still very fit, tight little body. I had an amazing ass and legs, even if my tits were small.
“Woof,” he mocked, as he took my hand and we started walking to a restaurant where the map said we could sit outside.
More than one person noticed my face paint, which was pretty obvious with my right eye still mostly stuck shut, but no one said anything, although I did get a couple of smiles and thumbs up. Clearly this was a place where society’s typical condemnations were non-existent. Truthfully, it was kind of disappointing, the shocked looks used to give me a thrill. Yet it was also kind of liberating just to let loose after years of being a mom first, a professional second and a sexy wife staggering in at a distant third.
We got to the restaurant and the Jamaican host, a young and fit black man wearing what looked like black tuxedo shorts and a bright red African-style shirt, clearly noticed the cum, but again didn’t say anything or react in any significant way.
He led us to a table, we ordered drinks and perused the menu, as we looked out at the beach… this one being the clothed one. I asked, “Would you go naked on the beach?”
“Would you?” he countered.
“I asked you first.”
“I would if you did,” he answered after some thoughtful reflection.
“And I would if you did,” I countered, pretty much suggesting we go to the nude beach.
“Really?”
“When at a hedonistic island…” I joked.
The waiter brought us drinks, took our orders and then I picked up a brochure listing upcoming events:
Monday: Jamaica Nights – a wild Jamaican themed party. Live for a night a la Jamaican.
DRESS CODE: wear black, green and gold
Tuesday: Bare as You Dare Glow Beach Party – dance under the stars, splash in the water.
DRESS CODE: swimwear and things that glow
Wednesday: Leather & Lingerie — dress in leather, dress in lingerie, dress in stockings, enjoy your sexiest
nightwear, but instead of remaining in the privacy of your bedroom, show yourself off in the warm summer atmosphere.
DRESS CODE: leather or lingerie or both
Thursday: Teasing Togas — let’s go back in time and live like the Romans did.
DRESS CODE: togas, plus sexy underwear (or not)
Friday: Foam Party — let’s dance in the outdoor disco lounge with a massive foam party.
DRESS CODE: begin with swimwear and see what happens
Saturday: Halloween in July – dress in your skimpiest, sexiest costume. Let’s keep the temperatures rising.
DRESS CODE: sexy costumes
Sunday: Hedonistic School – Break all the rules you never could! Come up with something that would have gotten you sent to the principal’s office for some spanking good discipline by the nuns.
DRESS CODE: short plaid skirts or any of the stereotypical school personnel uniforms (teacher, principal) or student stereotypes (nerds, jocks)
“You’ve got to see this,” I said, handing Steven the daily evening events.
“See what?” a voice said.
I looked up to see the Beyoncé beauty again as she scooped some cum off my cheek and put it in her mouth. “Mmmmm, although I was hoping to get some of that directly from the source.”
I was shocked. Both by her brazen words, although by now I shouldn’t have been, and by the fact she’d just eaten some of my husband’s cum while he and I both watched.
“I expect first dibs on you too, sexy girl,” she said, before scooping a little more cum off my face and sauntering away. Her tight, midnight black ass was accented by her skimpy white thong. I’ve mentioned I’m not into girls, but she dampened my own bikini.
“Did that just happen?” I asked.
“Seems so.”
“Surreal.”
“So are these,” he said, looking over the lineup of evenings.
“We definitely came on the right night for you,” I teased, as today was Wednesday and he was a stockings guy. I’d brought along three pairs of nylons, a garter-belt and sexy lingerie for our bedroom time, even though we were in the tropics where they seemed redundant.
“Indeed we are,” he smiled, before adding, “dare to go?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, his sudden excitement making me wary.
“I was just kidding,” he said, before adding, “there are lots of things to do here that are the same as the resort where we were supposed to be.”
“Like?”
“Nature walk, spa, golf, tennis courts, fitness center, basketball courts, beach volleyball courts, pools, games room and more,” he listed, examining another map of the place. Conveniently, they were lying around everywhere.
“Let me see that,” I said, impatiently taking it from him instead of waiting for him to hand it to me.
This place was bigger than I imagined. It had all the things Steven had listed, plus clothing required pools and beach, but I also saw they had: nude pools and beach, a for play club, romping shop playroom (whatever that was), a lifestyle boutique (I could only imagine what was inside), and a selection of hot tubs with varying dress and undress codes.
“Well, there are a lot of choices,” I said. “And what is pickleball?”
“No idea,” he shrugged.
“They even offer scuba lessons,” I said, which was on our list.
“And kayaking, snorkeling and sunfish sailing,” he added, seeming excited. “Although I’m not sure if that’s normal sailing.”
“And all as part of the inclusive,” I said, reading just that.
“It’s a pretty unique place.”
“Tell me about it,” I concurred, as I read the description of the Romping Shop Playroom:
Hedonism allows you to explore and rediscover yourself in a safe and non-judgmental environment. Our “Romping Shop” playroom is open to couples, single women and invited single men. BTW — Romping Shop is the name of a very popular Jamaican Dancehall Song. It’s a Jamaican Twist on a Playroom, rather like an inside secret. You’ve got to go to know.
Entrance to the Romping Shop is located beyond the Courtyard, opposite the tennis courts. Playroom guests are expected to respect the personal space of others and “play” only if given specific permission to do so.
10:30pm — 3am
I’m not going to lie, the idea of attending an orgy was slightly intriguing.
I’d always enjoyed porn and I was indeed curious. That said, if we went, who knew what might happen.
The food arrived and we ate in relative silence, both of us thinking about what to do next. I knew I’d have to make the decision if we were going to do anything kinky, as my man was obviously so worried about getting on my bad side that he was unlikely even to hint he wanted to do anything inappropriate, and yet it was obvious even though he tried to hide it, he was loving this place. I guess what guy wouldn’t? I mean I too was loving it so far, although truth be told, the fact that I felt that way kind of scared me.
As we ate, I also looked around the dining area. Everyone looked so normal. In the clothing required areas, which all the restaurants were, there would be no inkling of anything perverse. Truthfully, now that our black temptress had sauntered out, I was the least dressed person in the room.
A couple in their sixties ate and chatted.
Another couple, I assumed they were a couple, although the girl was much younger than her guy in his late forties, were having their order taken.
A younger blonde was reading a book and nursing a drink.
Two women in their thirties were having drinks and chattering away like old friends.
A gorgeous older black man, think Denzel Washington, was eating alone. I can’t explain it, but black men always turned me on… much of my alone porn watching involved black men… often plural… taking a white woman.
A young and slender Asian woman wearing a brightly-coloured floral-print Hawaiian muumuu was alone and looking towards us. I don’t know why, but I gave her a smile. She smiled back.
I then returned to eating and pondered how each of these people might have ended up here. How does one even learn such a place exists? Who is brazen enough to actually order tickets and fly here? It had me in awe.
Part of me was disgusted by them. Who comes to a sex club with their spouse? I suppose if you were single you could go for it… but married?
Another part of me though was like, ‘good for you’. To be so secure in your relationship that you’d come as a couple to a sex club. Or perhaps most of these couples were here to spice up their marriage… which is exactly why we came on this trip in the first place, just not here… or not on purpose, anyway.
This thought of course made me wonder what Steven would do if I gave him permission to explore the island’s hall pass options.
Then, to my surprise, as my eyes were drawn back to the sexy black man, I pondered, What would I do?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what having sex with someone else would be like.
I’d only ever sucked one cock, only ever been eaten out by one man, only ever been fucked by one cock.
Did size matter?
Could a bigger cock bring me the orgasm I never got from penetration? (I have to admit that sometimes I wished Steven were bigger and thicker.)
Would a girl be even better than Steven at going down on me? (Steven was spectacular at it, but I was still curious.)
What would it feel like to have a cock in my mouth and another in my pussy at the same time?
Or, my most common fantasy, to be gangbanged and/or have all three holes filled at once (not a fantasy I’d ever shared with Steven, as just the idea made me feel shameful and disgusting after I came… but God, did I come hard when I fantasized of that).
What would a woman taste like? (I’d also fantasized about this, and I had told Steven about that one long ago when we were wilder and more open… he, of course, loved the idea.)
Would he be up for a threesome?
Would I be willing to allow another woman to touch him? Would he allow another man to touch me?
What impact would an affirmative answer to any of these questions have on our relationship? On our activities while we were here? On the continuation of our marriage?
I let out a sigh.
“What?” he asked.
“Just thinking.”
“About?” he asked, clearly curious, but knowing he was treading on possibly dangerous waters.
I decided that the best answers to my troubling questions about consequences might be found in just three words: communication, communication, communication. How about just admit the truth? So with just a single word, I might open up a whole new world. “Possibilities.”
“I see,” he said, his tone giving me no signal as to whether he approved or disapproved.
I looked into his eyes and asked, “What have you been thinking about?”
“This is one of those times when I think answering could be dangerous to my health,” he said, with a slight smile implying he was kidding, but only kind of.
“Well, one of my thoughts is about seeing whether the Asian submissive stereotype is true by ordering that cute aloha cutie over there to eat my cunt,” I said bluntly, blasting apart Pandora’s Box, since just saying the words had triggered a leak of wetness into my bikini.
“That tidbit of sharing just got me hard in lightning time,” he joked.
I slipped my foot out of my flip flop and pressed it into his crotch.
He groaned.
“I just had to see if you were telling the truth,” I teased, rubbing his semi-hard cock softly. Feeling naughty, feeling frisky, feeling like this could be the one and possibly only day and night where we had the chance just to let go (although at the time I wasn’t sure if that meant doing anything with other people).
Enough talk and speculation, I decided and said, “Let’s go for a walk.”
“I may need a moment,” he said, as my foot remained on his crotch.
“I think this is the one place where sporting an erection isn’t an issue,” I smiled, rubbing it firmly once again before moving my foot away.
“Fair enough,” he laughed. He stood up while I placed my hands on my cheeks and pantomimed astonishment at his prominent erection.
We headed out laughing, my giving the cute Asian another smile, before walking towards the beaches.
“Left for clothes to stay on, right for clothes to come off,” he announced, as we reached a fork in the road per se.
There it was.
Turn left and things remained the same.
Turn right and what happened next was completely unpredictable.
I didn’t say a word.
I simply grabbed his hand and started walking right, pulling him along with me.
Steven didn’t say a word, but I could sense he was surprised. Apparently even all the talk and flirting hadn’t prepared him for me to actually take this step.
Yet, I was horny.
I was curious.
I wanted an adventure.
I wanted to rekindle our sex life.
I wanted… maybe… just for a day and night… to break free from the handcuffs of parenthood, the shackles of today’s society.
I still wasn’t sure I was about to do anything more than cast aside my artificial clothing and free myself from that specific societal norm.
Yet, I was opening the door to possibilities and to temptation, and I knew that the ripe apple and the slithery snake that had tempted Eve was about to tempt me.
First we walked past a hot tub, where I witnessed two topless women (perhaps bottomless too), both of them large breasted, kissing each other while their husbands (I assumed) watched.
We encountered numerous naked couples strolling around holding hands, even two girls looking to be in love.
We walked past many good-looking men and women sunbathing naked or almost naked.
I witnessed my first real life sex scene as an older woman bobbed on a much younger guy’s dick, the guy with his hands clasped behind his head lying on a lounge chair (bed? How do you describe one that’s long and flat?) with his eyes closed.
I smiled as my pussy tingled at seeing the act. The woman could easily be his mother.
As we reached the beach, there was a nude game of beach volleyball underway. Tits and dicks were bouncing around the way God intended them to.
I said, “Well, we’re here.”
“Yep,” he said, looking around in awe just like I was.
I then simply tugged on the string to my bikini top and was suddenly topless in front of a bunch of strangers.
“We’re really doing this?” he gasped.
“I said we were,” I said. “You agreed.”
“I know, I just…” he started and stopped.
“Just what?” I teased.
“I didn’t think you’d really go through with it.”
“And did you think I’d do this?” I asked, as I dropped to my knees, pulled his shorts down, saw he was wearing underwear underneath and scolded, “You wimp! You wore underwear under your shorts?”