by Jason Lenov
"So you haven't changed your mind, then?" Her question sounded so sincere. Almost like a challenge.
My cock puled. "No."
"Hmm," she mused, twirling a finger in her hair again.
It was too much. I had to have her. I was stiff as an iron rod. Moving towards her through the bathroom, I pressed my body close, pushing her against the wall. My hand found the thin strip of material covering her pussy and I yanked it to one side. As I sank a finger between the folds of her softest flesh, I found her to be completely soaked. Completely sopping wet.
"I guess you liked him touching you?" I growled, my finger sliding along the length of her slit.
"As much as you liked watching," she replied, grabbing my hard cock, proof of my arousal.
I didn't care. I just needed her. I pushed at my briefs until they fell into a pile on the floor. Moving her sideways, I lifted her up, then settled her on the cool stone of the counter.
She gasped at the sudden change in temperature on her skin. I sank between her knees.
Prying her apart with eager fingers, I pressed my head between her thighs. She spread for me, looking down at me, as if the sight of what I was about to was as arousing as the act itself. Those hungry eyes. I pushed my tongue into her tight cunt.
The first sweet taste of her essence made my stomach tighten and my cock bounce. I thought of that spot on her leg, the one that was beside my cheek now. He'd touched her there, our big, black waiter had. He'd touched her there and that's what had made her this wet. It drove me wild. She shuffled towards the edge, putting herself closer to my mouth.
I pressed a finger up under my chin. She moaned as I felt her folds with it. Moving to her clit with my tongue, I shoved my finger inside.
"Oh fuck!" she cried. Her hands rose to my head. Her hips began to rut. As I slid tight circles around her nub, the sticky sounds of her enjoyment filled the room.
Fucking her with my finger like that, I could feel just how tight she was. A thought occurred to me. Whether it was James, her ex, or Bastian our friendly chef from the night before, or the nameless waiter that had touched her thigh, I didn't know. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the vision of a long, thick, black cock sliding into that tight pussy, stretching it beyond anything she'd felt with me. I could barely keep myself from coming at the thought.
Her hips began to wriggle. She gripped me with her thighs. Her fingers dug into my skull. Nothing we had ever done had been this hot. She'd barely let me go down on her at all. Now, I could tell, her body was looking for where to find the pleasure in my mouth.
It came so suddenly. She came so suddenly. With a gasp, then a shriek, her pussy started clenching around my fingers and I felt more liquid spilling from within. I wanted desperately to press my lips against her cunt and lap up her thickly flowing juice. Her pleasure came first though. I kept my tongue running laps around her clit, my fingers sawing in and out of her. When her body shook and I felt her pushing me away, I kissed her one last time, then stood, my cock throbbing between her legs.
Even though she'd just had her orgasm, she didn't shy away from me the way she usually did. She seemed to know what I wanted. What I needed. I held my cock in one hand, guiding the throbbing head towards her still pulsing cunt. I looked up. She was watching me. She put her arms around my neck and spread her thighs. Welcome home. Come on in.
My body couldn't stand any more foreplay. It wouldn't let me take her slowly, or easily at that. No. As soon as touched the wetness of her outer lips, a primal rut took over. I lunged forward and my cock plundered the hot, wet space between her thighs.
She shuddered lightly, threw her head back for a moment. I started thrusting right away. Every other thrust, she'd push her pelvis down so the top of my cock was pressing on her upper wall.
My hands searched her body, pausing at all the soft and curvy parts, to cup them and caress them, adding to my thrill. When I looked up, she was watching me. Watching me take my pleasure with her. When our eyes met, she smiled. It drove me fucking wild.
"Samantha, I'm going to fucking come!" I said, my jaw clenched with glee.
Her body never lost its rhythm. She kept riding me, pushing on me every other thrust even as she leaned close and whispered, "Fuck it Andrew. Fuck it into me!"
"Ah!" I cried, locking eyes with her as she pressed her forehead close to mine. My orgasm took over. I felt my balls tighten. I felt the cum travel through my shaft. Finally, with one hand on her ass, I felt my cock unleash spurt after spurt of my seed as my body buried me inside her. Deep as I could go.
Over and over I fucked into her until the spasms weakened and finally slowed into gentle thrusts. The whole time, she held me there, her arms around my neck, our foreheads pressed together. Even when it was long over, we stayed like that, revelling in each other's heat.
When I pulled myself from her, I watched the stream of cum I'd left inside come flowing out. The viscous white liquid pooled on the smooth counter. She looked down to see what I was staring at, then back up at me. She smiled.
"Okay. Get out of here. I'm going to clean up before lunch."
Closing the door behind me, I staggered towards the bed and fell into a nap.
Chapter 14
"So what happens next?" I asked, sipping my beer. We were sitting on the patio that overlooked the ocean, staring out from beneath the roof made of dried palm fronds.
She'd changed from her outrageous bikini into a simple white sundress and a wide-brimmed hat. It made her look like a movie star.
"Well, I assume you want to keep playing?"
"Do you?" I asked, staring at her eyes like a hawk. I wanted to know what it was about that morning that had made her so aroused. Was it me watching? Or was it another man's hands on her thigh?
She looked at me from under her hat and let out a guffaw. "This isn't really about me, Andrew. It's you're fantasy."
"You didn't seem to mind this morning. When I finally got to you, well, I would say you were excited."
"Have you made a decision?" A petite woman with a wide smile was standing beside us ready to take our order. I flushed slightly in embarrassment, wondering if she'd heard.
"I'll have the cod kabobs," Samantha said, pointing at the menu.
"Very good. And you sir?" the girl asked.
"Grilled salmon. We'll both have another glass of white."
"Excellent. Thank-you. I'll be back in a moment with your drinks." She took our menus and walked off. I turned my attention back to Samantha.
"Where were we?"
"You tell me," she replied with a grin. It seemed like I was to most of the heavy lifting in this conversation.
"Samantha, really. You can't tell me there's nothing about this turns you on."
"Well obviously something does," she said.
"Well? What is it?"
"Oh Andrew, I don't know. That's not the important thing here, is it?"
"Come on, of course it is. I want you to have a good time too."
"I'm having a fine time. Really."
"So tell me then?" I asked. It sounded a little more urgent than I would have liked.
"Tell you what?"
"What was it this morning? What was it that turned you on?"
The woman returned with our drinks and we both fell into an awkward silence. She must have sensed it because she served them quickly, then scurried away.
"To us!" I said, raising my glass.
"To us!" she echoed. The glasses rang as they touched, until we silenced them with our lips. We sat in that silence some more, before I couldn't help but start to pick at it again.
"Was it his hands?"
She looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what I was asking. "Andrew..."
"Come on Samantha, please, I want to know. It's part of what makes it...good for me."
"I suppose it was his hands. They were quite a bit stronger than yours are," her gaze drifted over the ocean, as if she were remembering the feeling of them on her skin.
That sent a pulse of jealous lust through me. The jealousy was stronger this time, but in now way did it interfere with my arousal. My wife had just told me that she preferred another man's strong hands on her body. All I could think of was when I would see her like that again.
"So what does happen next?" I asked, after some more silence.
"What would you like to have happen?" She'd returned to being coy. I liked her better that way. It was less like the Samantha from back home.
I sat there contemplating her question. A part of me just wanted to get on with it. A part of me just wanted to drag that waiter back to our room and ask if he would fuck my wife. But it wasn't just about me. It was about her too.
"You were right. With what you said before."
"Of course I was," she replied, "now what are you talking about?"
I smirked. She was getting saucier, too. "When you said I need to trust you. I do. I just need to trust whatever you're going to do. It's up to you. You decide what happens next."
She smiled and looked back out over the sea. "Good. I like that."
The fish was excellent. Fresh and perfectly prepared. It merited a third glass of wine. That, in turn, merited a nap.
Chapter 15
"Come on. Get up!" Samantha's voice floated at me through my sleepy daze.
When I opened my eyes, the light had changed in the room. "What time is it?" I asked, pushing myself up and rubbing bleary eyes.
"Time to start our adventure!" she replied. I looked over. She was wearing a perfectly tight little red dress and strapping on sandals with just a bit of a heel. When she stood up, she looked stunning.
An anxiety trembled through me as I realized what she meant. She was going to take our little game one step further. I scrambled out of bed and put on the shorts I'd dropped on the floor. Looking down at myself, I felt completely under-dressed compared to her.
"Okay. Where are we going?" I asked.
"First things first. The bar. Then...we'll see."
Now this I liked. A girl who had her priorities straight.
We went to the hotel bar. More for me than for Samantha. She would have spent the whole day sitting in the sun, if she could have. When we walked in, I swear I heard a murmur run through the room. Men, many of them sitting with their girlfriends or their wives, turned and stared for just a split second too long, watching my wife strut confidently towards the bar. I followed her in, picking up the remnants of their stares.
Lucky bastard, each and every one of their looks seemed to say. When she perched herself atop a bar stool, I just knew they were all shifting in their seats, waiting for the moment their women would leave so they could turn and stare at my wife's ass.
"Good afternoon," the cheerful bartender sang in greeting. Everyone seemed to sing a little here, when they spoke.
"Good afternoon," Samantha answered with a smile. I watched her. She was eyeing him, like a hunter picking out a prize.
I looked at him, too. He was strong, well-built, but there was something to easy about his manner. Something to convivial, too friendly.
Why did that matter, I wondered? Why did it have to be a man that was more serious.
"What can I get you?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of her. I watched him staring straight into her eyes. His gaze didn't wander any lower, but I'm sure that must have been because I was there.
"A gin and tonic, please. In a highball glass."
"Of course!" he sang, "Have to watch out for that sun. Drink lots!"
She smiled.
"You, sir?" he asked, glancing at me with a friendly smile.
"Scotch. Neat. Thank-you."
"Coming up!" He sauntered over and started scooping ice into the highball. When he was out of earshot, I leaned towards my wife.
"What about a man like that?"
"What about him?" she teased.
"Come on. You know."
She glanced back over at him before turning to face me again. "Not your kind of man, is he?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"Not the same kind of man as, say, Chef Jones, is he?" she asked, quieter this time.
I shook my head again, studying her eyes. She seemed to like the idea of him, of the Chef, between her thighs.
Our drinks appeared and we said our thanks and I pressed a folded bill into the tip jar.
"Should we return to the restaurant this evening?" I asked. "The food was very good last night."
She nodded. "Sure was."
***
It was busier than it had been the night before. The food was still good but he bustle was unsettling. I sat facing the kitchen door and every time it opened, I held my breath, hoping it was him. When he finally did appear he looked more worn, more worried than he had the night before.
"Chef!" I called out, as he nearly missed our table.
A smile lit up his face and he walked quickly towards us.
"You're back!" he said, clapping his hands together.
"We're back!" I said, seeming just as eager to see him as he was to see us. I knew he was just putting on a show, that he was that happy. I didn't care. I already wanted to confess.
"I'm afraid I can't chat as long this evening. The place is hopping and..." He leaned in close after casting a glance left and right to make sure only we could hear. "The kitchen's a mess! We're training a new cook today. Poor boy. If he can't pick up his pace, he'll have to go!"
"That's a shame," I scowled. I didn't really care about the boy. It was disappointing that we wouldn't be able to speak with Bastian some more.
"It is but what can I do? This place is usually busy. I can't have a loafer on the staff."
"No," I sighed, "that wouldn't do."
"Enjoying your meal?" he asked, smiling at Samantha.
"Very much. Say chef, what time does an operation like this close up for the night?"
It almost scared me, how forward she'd become.
He raised an eyebrow, glanced at me, as if he might need permission to answer. I just shrugged and pointed my hands at her.
"Well service is over at eleven but I'm not usually finished until twelve. Why do you ask?"
"We were just saying what a pleasure it was speaking with you last night," she said, running her fingers along her neck. "We thought we could buy you a drink?"
He looked at me again. Probably wondering what she meant. I wondered how often he was propositioned by guests that way.
"That's very kind of you," he answered, looking between the two of us with a smile, "but I'm sure it's a bit late for you to..."
"Not at all!" Samantha interrupted, sitting up and leaning towards him.
I watched his eyes, attracted by the cleft of her cleavage, skitter down her chest before he could stop himself from looking. My cock flexed. He looked at me, checking to see if I'd seen. I just looked back, trying to echo Samantha's eagerness with my eyes.
"Is there a rule?" I asked, finally, sensing some discomfort on his part. "Against fraternizing with the guests?"
"Not really," he began. "I make the rules around here anyways. But it would be better if we met somewhere else."
My heart began to pound inside my chest. I looked at Samantha. Her nipples had tightened under the tight, red dress.
"Here," he said, scribbling something on a paper and passing it to me. "It's a nice, intimate place. You'll like it just fine. I'll be there around midnight. If you're not, no bother. It's my little watering hole and I go there almost every night."
I took the scrap of paper from him, glanced at it to see the he'd scrawled "The Rummy Barrel."
"Midnight," he repeated. "Remember. No problem if you're already asleep." He gave us a wink, nodded at Samantha, then strolled over to the next table to entertain his guests.
We stayed at the bar and had a light dinner. The fish we'd had for lunch had been filling enough. By the time we got back to the room, it was well past nine and I was well past sober.
I piled onto the bed. I watched Samantha walk over to th
e bathroom. She left the door open and I could see her reflection in the mirror as she touched up her make-up. She closed it for a few minutes and when she came back out, she looked even sexier than when she'd stepped inside.
The dress she was wearing was just as tight as the red one had been, hugging every one of her delicious curves. But this one covered her entire body, save for the slit down one leg that prominently displayed her toned, white thigh as she walked. She walked over towards the bed and sat down as I propped myself up for a better look. Reaching out, I touched her ass.
"So? Still in the game?" she teased, smiling at how drunk I'd become. "We could always just stay in?"
It seemed like a genuine offer. I thought about it for a moment. It was safe where we were. Just the two of us in a hotel room. The night was young. I though of taking her right then and there. I thought of calling the whole thing off. The call of the visions that haunted my almost every thought now was stronger.
"Do you want to call it off?" I asked, wondering if she'd tell me, even if she did.
"I want us to be happy," I answered, caressing the outside of her leg.
"Aren't we?" she asked.
"We are now. Do you think we'll stay that way? If we go through with this?"
She smirked. "I guess that's up to you."
Taking a deep breath, I swung my legs over the bed and stood up. I swayed a little but even that brief moment of respite had cleared my head. I watched her stand. She was gorgeous. "Let's go," I commanded.
"Okay," she replied. "Let's go."
The place wasn't dinghy, like I'd thought it would be. It was a comfortable place, a classy place. There was a small lamp on every table and soft jazz playing over the speakers. It was the kind of place I thought a guy like Bastian would come, at the end of a long day. We took a table in the far corner, close to the back. Samantha ordered champagne, I another scotch. Then we waited.
We didn't talk much. I glanced at my watch every now and again, excitement unfurling inside me at the possibilities the evening held. Would tonight be the night? Would tonight be the night I got to live out my fantasy? Would I see her with another man.
