Honeymoon Hazards

by Ben Boswell

  “We shouldn’t have done that,” she’d exclaim with a saucy smile.

  “No, definitely not,” he’d reply.

  She would feel his prick begin to stiffen again. And she’d think of me, just for a passing moment, before passion would again overtake her.

  I shuddered and shook my head. Fuck, here I was, sitting on my balcony with, well, at least a partial woody, thinking, no visualizing my wife cheating on me. Again! What was wrong with me?

  The thought, now that it had entered my mind, was like one of those Katy Perry songs, unendurable and yet impossible to shake.

  I raised the binoculars and again searched for Claire. I couldn’t find her, but as I surveyed the resort, I again alighted upon the Millionaire and his harem. They were by the pool, on lounge chairs, the brunette on his right, the blonde on his left, but he was definitely closer to the brunette. Was she the number one wife?

  The blonde, a little farther away, was now wearing a pink Chi Omega ball cap, with her hair in a ponytail out the back. Lying down it was obvious she had implants. Her boobs were just too firm and too round on her chest. She was texting with one hand, drinking a fruity drink held in the other. The pile of drink umbrellas on the small table at her side attesting to the fact that she’d already had several. As skinny as she was, that suggested she sometimes drank, rather than ate, her meals.

  The moment she finished her drink, a handsome waiter appeared. The resort uniform of white shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt did little to hide his surfer’s physique. He had powerful legs and moved gracefully to the blonde’s side. She laughed at what I imagined was playful flirting. The Millionaire cast the two of them a disapproving sneer. And then I got it. The blonde wasn’t a member of his harem, she was his daughter. The sneer had been identical to the expression I’d seen her aim at the brunette.

  The picture became crystal clear moments later when two dark-haired, young boys ran over to the brunette and began clamoring around her. Blondie was the daughter from an earlier marriage. The curvy brunette her stepmom. Dad had invited her to join his new family on a trip to Hawaii.

  I let out a low whistle. If my deductions were right, the blonde was a sorority girl, with tattoos and implants, a drinking problem and daddy issues. She was probably a party, or at least a hot mess. I resolved to keep an eye on her if I could.

  Unfortunately there were no immediate fireworks. The flirtation with the waiter ended quickly and he returned with yet another drink. There were more sneers, but nothing interesting otherwise.

  I scanned again for Claire. Still nothing. I groaned. Thinking of the sorts of hijinks the blonde was probably up to did nothing to calm my premonitions -- as I had begun to think of them -- about Claire. How many drinks had she had by now? How much had they lowered her inhibitions? And where the fuck was she anyway? I was tempted again to call her, but even in my agitated state that felt absurd... and desperate. Fuck it, there was nothing I could do if she was determined to get fucked by tall, dark, and… fuck that asshole and his fucking tights. What kind of man wears those around?

  I returned to scanning the resort with my binoculars. Those minutes engrossed in the Millionaire and his women had been a welcome distraction. Surely there were others.

  What about the Lesbians? I looked again for them. Nowhere. Even though they were a little too athletic for my tastes, they were still both good looking. I imagined them in their room, intertwined, scissoring… did real lesbians even do that or was that a het male invention?

  I continued to scan the resort. Lots of good looking women out there, a nice cross section of looks and body types. But there was one girl, in particular, I couldn’t get out of my mind, the newlywed from the hotel room in the opposite wing.

  I lifted my binoculars and scanned over in that direction. I hadn’t counted the rows or stories, so I only had a general idea of where I’d seen them before. Odds were they were not there or had closed their window. The sun had shifted, shining more directly onto that side of the hotel. The balconies were more crowded now with people enjoying the afternoon sun. But as I looked at where I thought they’d been, I noticed, as before, an empty balcony and an open patio door, with just a sheer privacy curtain drawn across the opening.

  I zoomed in, and as I did, a gust of wind blew open the gauzy fabric. With the sunlight cascading into the room, I saw briefly, a delightful vision. They were on the bed, she was riding him, eyes closed, head swaying gently from side to side giving me periodic glimpse of her visage. He was laying still, allowing an unobstructed view of her body.

  She had shoulder-length blond hair, feathered in a way that hasn’t really been in style since the early 1980s, but it somehow worked with her roundish face and tiny button nose. She had big breasts, not the high, too round, obviously fakes of the Millionaire’s daughter, but heavy torpedoes, with a wide valley between, aimed to the sides. I couldn’t see her areolas, but I imagined them huge, silver dollar sized. She probably hated her boobs; they were at odds with what society valued, and yet I found them incredibly erotic.

  She was astride him, her hips thrusting languidly. Like her breasts, her ass and hips were wider set than you see in magazines, but she wasn’t fat in the least bit, just built that way, maybe a little long-waisted. But there was something about her, about her natural body, her swaying breasts, about the way her ass ground against her man, something that was almost ineluctably erotic. She was like an ancient fertility goddess come to life.

  And then then the wind died and the curtain draped again across the patio door. For several minutes, I continued to watch. Each small gust of wind giving me a frisson of excitement as the fabric rippled, lifting up slightly, but never quite enough to give me another view inside their room.

  I put the binoculars down and for a moment imagined myself in that man’s place. I certainly wouldn’t have just been laying there like a lummox. How could he keep his hands off that ass, those tits? Why wasn’t he caressing her pink cheeks, pulling her closer to suck her big nipples into his mouth? It was truly a case of pearls before swine.

  I doubted Claire’s new boyfriend would be quite so passive. No, he had the looks of a man who liked to be in control. Even as I scanned the resort of signs of her, I imagined her in bed with him, bent in half, ankles pinned by her ears, getting pounded into the mattress.

  And then I saw her. She was sitting in a lounge chair, by the sloped lagoon pool, in a shady spot. Her book was on her lap, the bookmark unmoved from this morning. She hadn’t read a page. She was laughing again. I zoomed out, and there he was, again. The handsome stranger, camped out beside my wife, chatting her up animatedly. On the table between them -- they had had the decency to not pull their loungers right up next to each other -- were a beer for him and another fruity drink for her.

  What the fuck was she doing? Oh, we were talking. Tony has so many funny stories. But she had to see it? Feel it? The sun, the booze, the heat, the skimpy swimsuits, the carefully planned impression of privacy. They whole resort, by design, oozed sensuality. There was sex in the air. The Newlyweds felt it. The Millionaire’s daughter, eyeing the waiter, felt it. The Lesbians back in their room scissoring felt it. So what was Claire doing, talking again with this stranger?

  I recognized that my visions were just that. Crazy images spawned of sickness, medicine, and frustration at being stuck in the room. And yet, how had he found her again? Was he stalking her? Had they made plans to meet after lunch? Had they exchanged numbers? Or were my visions actually premonitions, some form of remote viewing? Jesus, I was turning into a loon. A full-blown crackpot.

  Of course, it was just a coincidence. Sure, they had both noticed each other’s bodies. That would be only natural. But it was just innocent. Two people, having a couple of drinks and telling some stories. It happens every day. A little flirtatious, maybe, but nothing particularly untoward. Except… the way she laughed… the way she glanced at his body and then averted her eyes… the way they leaned in towards each other. It looked… it felt
oddly intimate. If I didn’t know Claire, if I didn’t know she was married to me, what would I think if I saw them?

  The answer came as another vision. The two of them laying together in bed, naked and sweaty, faces glowing in contentment. They looked like lovers, and not just any lovers, but lovers in that first, heady phase of intoxicating attraction.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She stayed out by the pool for a long while. At least her beau hadn’t spent the whole afternoon with her. After about an hour, he’d risen and, with a wave, walked away. It’s a testament to my state of mind that I was shocked she didn’t leave with him, and immediately after coming to terms with that, I began to wonder whether she would soon follow him, whether his leaving early was just for show to avoid giving the impression they were together. That didn’t make sense. She didn’t know I was spying on her, and they had no reason to care if other people saw them together. Even so, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they had an assignation planned, or maybe another one. Was it just that they were still satiated out from their earlier encounter?

  I stared at her obsessively for over an hour until I felt confident that she wasn’t about to decamp. She was finally reading her book, and had ordered yet another fruity drink. Claire’s never been a big drinker, and for all I knew, she was drinking virgin cocktails, but somehow I doubted it. Was she just heedless, enjoying the sun and the breeze, not paying attention to how much she was consuming? Or was she trying to drink enough to work up the courage to meet her lover? Or was she boozing away the guilt? God, I was making myself nuts.

  Staring at her through binoculars was addictive. But I had periodic moments of clarity where I also realized how creepy it was. I forced myself to look away from Claire. I looked first for the Newlyweds, but not only were they not visible, they’d also closed their patio door. Then I searched for the Lesbians. They were probably out front, playing beach volleyball or maybe out on the tennis court or maybe going for a ten mile run that they would call a “jog.” They had that look about them. I finally went back to the Millionaire.

  He was dozing on his lounger, covered head-to-toe with a towel. He looked a little like a corpse that way. His Latina trophy, her kids, and his daughter were also still out there. The brunette was sitting by the edge of the pool watching her children frolicking in the water. The blonde had just finished yet another drink, and the ever attentive waiter had returned with a refill. He stood beside her, shading her face, hand on his hip in a cocky pose. She wasn’t laughing this time, but giving him instead a saucy smile. He bent down to pick up her empties, lingering for a moment to share a whispered conversation. She glanced over at daddy, then gave the waiter a quick nod.

  The waiter stood up quickly and walked away, her eyes following him. A beat, then two, and then a little too soon for plausible deniability, she stood and walked in the direction the waiter had gone. I saw the brunette cast her a quick, contemptuous glance – the Millionaire’s two women did not like each other apparently – and then a quick look at her sleeping hubby. With a shrug she let her stepdaughter walk away.

  The blonde looked around nervously as she approached the bar. She seemed to startle and then turned and walked toward a small path hidden between hedges that ran from the bar to the hotel itself. It was funny. From where she was, she had ducked into a hidden passageway. From where I was, she’d just gone from one side of the hedge to the other, while remaining perfectly in view.

  She took a cautious step or two and then the waiter stepped out from under a palm. She smiled, but took maybe a half-step back, betraying her nervousness. He moved toward her smoothly, holding out a hand. She hesitated, then smiled and took his hand. He pulled her close and leaned down to whisper in her ear. I thought I could see her blush, though it might have been the start of a sunburn.

  I didn’t have much of an opportunity to continue to look for nuance because their encounter quickly picked up steam. The whispering turned into a kiss. His hands slid down her back and cupped her ass, first through her thin swimsuit, then beneath it. As he squeezed her ass, she reached around and ran her hands up his back to his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her easily off the ground. He walked her over and deposited her on a waist-high cooler or storage box or something. He kissed her again then dropped to his knees between her legs.

  She pushed at him half-heartedly, but her hungry expression made it clear it was just for show. He either realized that or maybe he didn’t care. He grabbed the fabric of her swimsuit and slid it aside, burying his face in her crotch. Her hands seized the back of his head, her finger running through his long hair, and she threw her head back, eyes closed, in passion. He ate her snatch vigorously, judging by the movement of his head and her jerky, twitchy reaction.

  At one point, she opened her eyes, and looked down at her lover, licking her pussy. She closed her fist on his hair and pumped her hand up and down, a proud and haughty look on her face. It wasn’t hard to imagine her thoughts, her satisfaction at this sexy, young man, completely at her disposal, servicing her. She closed her eyes again, and threw her head back. Her mouth opened and closed rhythmically, as if moaning in pleasure. She shuddered and then looked down at him again with a smile.

  Then suddenly he rose. As he pulled away, I got a perfect view of her shaved snatch, swollen, pink, and even from a few hundred yard away, visibly wet with excitement. Still, she didn’t seem quite ready as he wrenched down his pants and roughly shoved what looked like a fat prick inside her.

  There was nothing subtle about the way he fucked her. She might have seen him as an exotic and safe play toy, but he obviously saw her as nothing more than a convenient hole. He hammered her cunt hard, bouncing her up and down on the cooler. He reached out and roughly pulled down her top, exposing her big, fake tits. They bounced wildly. He grabbed a handful of blond hair, his other hand closing firmly over her breast. She reached out and placed her hands on his stomach, trying to slow him. But he was too strong, too aggressive to be managed.

  Without warning, he stepped back, pulling her off the cooler and onto the floor. She was on her knees now, looking up at him. He stroked his cock roughly. She realized what he was doing too late to react, but soon enough for her eyes to widen in apprehension. He spurted across her face, and then again and again. She flinched, but he reached out and held her firm, and his eruptions repeatedly found their target. When she looked up at him, in shock, her face was covered and shiny with his jism.

  It had happened so quickly, I almost felt sorry for her. Little, rich girl. She’d gone from getting serviced by one of the little people to being covered in cum so fast that she hadn’t had time to react. He lifted her to her feet and gave her a bar towel to clean herself off. She did so, a little sheepishly. There was what I imagined was awkward small talk, and then he walked her to the gap in the hedges and led her back out from the backroom into the bright daylight.

  As the blonde approached her stepmother, I thought I could see an exchange of glances between them. Was that a smirk on stepmom’s face? Did she know what had happened? Did she have similar experiences as a hot-bodied young woman back in Rio or Cartagena or wherever she came from? But they didn’t talk, didn’t commiserate. There was an unbridgeable gap between them. The blonde jumped into the water before reaching her lounger, washing away whatever evidence remained of her encounter.

  The show was over. I swung my binoculars back over to where Claire had been. She was gone. How long, I didn’t know. Long enough for Blondie to get eaten, fucked, and coated with jism. Where had she gone? Was her boyfriend coming on her face right now?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the time she returned, a good hour later and who knows how long since quitting her lounge chair, I was in a pissy mood.

  “Did you have fun?” With your boyfriend? I said through a barely suppressed sneer.

  “Yeah,” she giggled. “It is gorgeous out there, and they have the cutest family of cats living out by the gazebo bar. She was apparently too gidd
y from fruity drinks to notice my attitude.

  “You were gone a long time,” I asked probingly.

  “Sorry.” She gave me an exaggerated pout. “I know you’re cooped up in here. Are you feeling better?”

  I nodded. I was. At least a little. I’d try some regular food for dinner. I was actually looking forward to it.

  “Good,” she said brightly. “I got us tickets to one of those Hawaiian pig roast and culture shows on the beach for tomorrow night. Took forever. The concierge had to deal with this old couple who needed special accommodations for everything.”

  I nodded again. We were operating in completely different universes. She was talking to me about normal touristy things, but my own mind was wallowing in a morass of depraved sex. How could she talk about a pig roast when we were in the middle of a giant orgy? Or was this all an act? An effort to throw me off the track?

  She was looking at me expectantly. I’d missed something.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I was just asking if you thought that would be us. You know, the old couple, in fifty years, informing some poor concierge about all our ailments.”

  “I… I dunno.”

  She gave me a queer look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little loopy. And I’m the one who’s been out in the sun drinking Mai Tais. By the way, watch out for the gazebo bar, they mix ‘em strong. Out by the pool is much better.”

  Or maybe out by the pool you didn’t notice because you were too busy flirting.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She opened her mouth to talk, but then stopped. After a moment, she continued, “Well, I’m going to take a shower and wash off the sun block. Wanna plan dinner in the room? We can just get something small and simple if you’re still not feeling well.”