Cucked in the Tropics Ch. 12

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, exhibitionism and NTR. If this isn't the fetish for you, don't waste your time flooding my inbox with hate mail-- it'll only make me want to write and post MORE cuck stuff (unless, of course, that's your goal...)

Otherwise, I love hearing from fans, and welcome any suggestions, thoughts, criticisms, or fantasy ideas. Enjoy!

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CUCKED IN THE TROPICS Ch. 12

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Callie hadn't come back to the hotel room. Not the night that she'd gone out with Andre, and left Jake to cry in the shower. And not the second night after that.

Jake was past the point where he was emotionally hurt. He was all cried out. Now there was just an emotional numbness, combined with giving very little thought of the future beyond just his next couple of breaths.

During that time in the interim, Jake had slept very little. He'd eaten almost nothing. His stomach felt shaky and knotted. He inebriated himself with cheap alcohol and day time TV until he fell into an almost catatonic stupor. He looked and felt as though he'd been home from work with the flu. Nothing in his body was quite right.

By the time the third night arrived and Callie still hadn't returned, Jake decided that was all the answer he needed-- Callie had made her choice... and she hadn't picked him. She had left him, in favor of going off with Andre. There was no point in waiting around.

People might ask, why he even waited around at all. When he actually thought about it, the answer was the most honest that anyone in his shoes would have (though they'd never admit it)-- Jake simply hadn't known what else to do. The sudden gut punch of it all had rendered him dumbstruck, and instead of fighting or fleeing, he'd opted for the third (and most commonly used) option-- he froze.

But their vacation was almost over anyway. Their tickets to fly out of here were for tomorrow morning, and regardless of whether Callie returned or not, Jake would be on that flight. Jake suspected that Callie would opt to stay. She'd lost her mind anyway. She turned her back on her new husband. Why not turn her back on her whole life, for this guy? Her friends, family, home... all meaningless, so long as she was getting fucked by a dude with a big dick, right?

Jake packed his bags in silence. He took a moment to assess Callie's various articles that lay about the room. He picked up one of Callie's discarded shirts. The one from her class back home-- the one that all of her students had signed-- that, despite having shrunk in the wash, she wore it regularly. Jake had never minded, because it was skin tight against her tummy and boobs, and really highlighted how busty she was. But now Jake had this feeling of sadness all over again, as he looked over all of those scratchy little signatures. Those kids all loved Callie. She hadn't just abandoned her husband, in favor of a cheap affair, but she'd also abandoned all of those kids.

What a selfish bitch. He repeated those words out loud, and felt a weird sense of comfort, like a warm blanket wrapping around him. He might be in the depths of hell, rejection, and misery... but at least he wasn't alone. A lot of people were going to be hurt by Callie's actions. Maybe when Jake returned, they'd all sort of be each other's support group. That'd be nice-- the silver lining that would come out of all of this pain.

But then an alarming new thought occurred to Jake, as he looked over Callie's discarded things. "They're going to think I killed her." For one brief moment, that thought made his heart leap into his throat. There was no way people would believe his story. They'd rather demonize him as the real reason that she hadn't returned, instead of see the truth-- that a girl they all thought was nice turned out to not be so nice. Nobody would ever believe that a sweet innocent girl like Callie had cheated on Jake and left him for another man on their honeymoon. They'd all cry "foul play", they'd gossip, they'd point fingers, they'd turn on him, they'd hate him, they'd cast him out, just as Callie had cast him out.

On trembling legs, Jake wandered the room. He paused by Callie's things. A pair of earrings stood out to him. Small and gold-- the first jewelry Jake had ever bought her. It had been a "just because" gift in their first year of dating. No birthday or holiday. He'd gotten them for her just because he'd thought she was special. She'd worn them practically every day since then.

She wasn't wearing them now. She probably never would again.

"Oh who cares?" Jake suddenly decided. He'd deal with the bullshit back home, no matter if people believed him or not. Anything was better than staying here, where he wasn't wanted, and where his life constantly felt endangered.

He dropped his bags by the door, checked his passport, tickets, ID, and credit card. For some reason that he couldn't explain, he pulled off his shoe and rolled his sock down. He carefully tucked all of his most important cards and IDs against the sole of his foot before rolling his sock back up. He slid his shoe on after that. He'd walk to the airport if he needed to.

Then he arranged for a car to pick him up and take him to the airport in the morning. He made sure to specify that Andre not be the driver.

Then it was all set. There was nothing more to do, but get through the night. First thing in the morning, he'd be leaving this hell forever. Although he had no idea what the future would hold-- probably a lot of misery and depression for a while-- he felt good that he was leaving soon.

Even though he was ready, something didn't quite feel right. He knew what it was. He sighed and took off his wedding ring, leaving it on the end table. Well at least he'd kept his promises. It had only been a few days, but he'd kept them. That was more than he could say for Callie. He removed a sheet of stationary from a drawer. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say at this point. There was so much anger, sadness, hard feelings, and resentment, that he didn't think he could actually say anything meaningful.

Ultimately, he wrote the words "Goodbye Callie." That was the most simple, and straightforward that he could be, under the circumstances, without feeding into whatever warped way she was justifying her deviancy to herself. And Jake was sure that's exactly what Callie would do if he said anything more than that.

Whatever. That didn't matter anymore, either. Did it?

When Jake answered honestly, he felt oddly free. Liberated. The pain was still there, absolutely, but very little mattered to him anymore, unless it was what he wanted and only what he wanted.

He yawned and stretched. Maybe he would get some sleep after all, tonight. Or at least try to.

That was when he heard the knock at the door.

"Oh great," He groaned. So much for a clean getaway. The knot in his stomach tightened.

Well for the past few days, he'd figured that this conversation would be inevitable. He'd need to just be firm, but not mean, matter of fact, and stick with his choices. Whatever Callie chose to do was on her. But he wouldn't let her manipulate his decisions. She was a big girl who had made her choices this whole trip. She would have to make all of them from here going forward, no matter how much of a bitch she might be for this inevitable conversation.

Jake held his head high, his shoulders back, putting on a solemn dignified expression as he pulled open the hotel room door.

He paused in confusion. Not Callie, as he had been expecting. But a group of black men. And not employees of the hotel. Then Jake spotted tattoos, jewelry, torn jeans, and...

His eyes widened....beneath those shirts were the very distinct outlines of guns. The man in the front grinned wickedly, showing a set of yellowed teeth. He pushed Jake back, and one by one, the men began to file into the hotel room.

Jake's internal alarms were screaming for him to run. That it was finally going to end with him at the bottom of the ocean in a sunken cigarette boat. But when Jake turned back to the door, he spotted Callie.

Her dress was skewed slightly, a strap coming off of one shoulder. Her breasts were packed tightly into a dress that no longer looked expensive and elegant. Instead it looked trashy and cheap-- something a prostitute would wear. Her areola was showing like the sun peaking over the horizon. Her makeup was smeared, and her hair was a mess. She had one arm draped over the shoulders a slender black man in sunglasses who was sipping from a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. Callie was wearing an ill-fitting Starter cap, the brim flat and new was cocked comically to one side.

She smiled at Jake, but the smile was vacant-- as distant as her eyes. She looked drunk, or on drugs....or both.

And standing behind them, like an impenetrable wall, and wearing a grin that showed his confidence over his complete control of the situation, was Andre. "What's up, cuck? Aren't you going to invite us in?"

Jake paled.

"We're just going to..." Callie slurred. She trailed off for a moment, then snapped out of it. "We're just going to party here for a while. I hope that's cool."

"That's fine," Jake said, trembling and trying to be as non-confrontational as possible. "You guys can take the room. I'm just going to be heading out..." Jake reached for his packed bags, but Andre leaned in and smacked them out of his hands.

"You're not going to stay and party with us? I really think you ought to stay, white boy. There's a new honeymoon happening here tonight, and I think we're going to need someone to cater to us."

They pushed Jake back into the room as they invited themselves in and locked the door behind them.

"And we expect some great customer service," Andre said the last part with an evil glint in his eye, as he rubbed his hands together.

***

The Andre's group of thugs was loud and boisterous. They literally turned the quiet peaceful honeymoon suite upside-down.

They helped themselves to everything-- the bed, the chairs, the alcohol in the mini-fridge. They cranked up the TV volume, they rummaged through Jake and Callie's things.

The worst part of it was that Callie didn't look at all bothered by this. She was grinning, laughing, hanging off of the men and drinking with them, as though she'd known them for years. She was the star of the party without a care in the world.

Jake felt more alienated than ever, and more desperate to get the hell out of here.

It didn't help that Callie was sitting among these men, half naked, looking like a trashy hooker. The men had pulled up chairs around a small table. Callie had situated herself in one of their laps. Surprisingly, not Andre's. Andre was near the bathroom, talking with a couple of other men. His manner was cold and businesslike.

Jake watched from a corner of the bed, feeling like a prisoner in his own hotel suite... and maybe he was.

His eyes were drawn back to Callie in her slutty dress. The back was unzipped. The man's hand rested on her hip like he owned her. She was rocking back and forth on his lap, and laughing to some joke that Jake barely heard. The accents were too thick, and there were too many men talking at once for Jake to discern any of it. Jake watched as the man holding Callie slid his hand down her hip and around the curve of her ass. His fingers dug in and squeezed--

"Hey white boy!" One of the men barked, startling Jake out of his misery. Most of the table glanced his way, Callie included. She was smiling, but it was an indifferent smile, as though Jake was nothing more than a waiter whose name she didn't recall. "Fetch me that blunt on the nightstand."

Jake blinked dumbly at the man with the goatee who had called to him. "Blunt?"

"The joint, white boy!" The man shouted impatiently. He was eating from a bowl of peanuts, and threw a handful at Jake. They pelted him harshly, and sent him scrambling. The men laughed. Callie joined in, chuckling in her drunken stupor.

Jake was terrified. He had no doubts that if he acted defiant in any way, that these men would seriously hurt him. And though he was absolutely miserable by Callie's betrayal, he very much wanted to keep living, even as a spineless creature dwelling beneath a rock, if he had to. He wanted to live.

By the time he returned to the table with a hand rolled cigarette so thick that it actually looked more like a cigar, he was surprised to see that weed wasn't the only drug that was making its appearance.

Across the table surface, the men had arranged white powder in neat little lines. One of them was leaning forward with a rolled up bill and after a long snort, it was gone.

"Woooo!" He cried cheerfully and sank back in his chair with a smile on his face.

Men took turns doing lines from the table as Jake was forced to light the blunt for them. The room filled with a haze of smoke as they puffed and passed the drugs in a circle. Even Callie helped herself, as though it was the most casual thing in the world-- like she'd been doing it for years.

Jake was shocked in a new and horrified way. Callie didn't do drugs. She worked for a school! She could lose her job for this.

Even worse was when one of the men chopped up a neat little line of white powder in front of Callie, and she leaned over, face first and snorted it up. The men cheered as Callie wiped at her nose, then she hooted playfully, rocking back in the lap of the man who held her. She would have gone toppling over backwards if he hadn't been holding onto her so firmly. Her boobs nearly popped out of her dress from the display of uncaring party girl that she was putting on.

Hard drugs and dangerous men. Yet Callie was more than at home with all of it. She was having the time of her life. When the joint came back around, she didn't hesitate to take a long drag, follow it up with a coughing fit, then an even longer fit of giggles. Her nose scrunched cutely, and she even let out a snort. She was completely out of control.

The men watched as Callie's infectious laughter rolled from her body. Their eyes on her big white boobs, looking extra juicy in that top, ready to come spilling out.

"Hey, yo, Andre!" One of the men called out.

Andre looked over, still in the midst of talking business with a few of the other men.

"How much to do a line off of this girl's big white titties?"

"How much you got?" Andre smirked.

Callie nearly squealed in delight. "For you, free," she giggled, and thrust her chest out playfully, throwing her head back and tossing her hair from her face.

Jake's heart was pounding as he stood by, awkwardly observing what was about to happen.

When the men began to sprinkle the white powder on her chest, Jake knew that Callie hadn't been kidding at all. They lined it up in a neat row on her white breasts, and then one of the men leaned in and snorted the line right off of Callie's tits.

She laughed in maniacal delight that Jake barely recognized, and wrapped her hand around the back of the man's head, trapping his face in her chest. She shook her tits in his face, earning the approving remarks of many of the men who looked on.

"Damn," one of them commented, in the throws of a sniffling fit as he watched. "I should have waited. Would love to snort some blow off that white bitch's fun bags."

Callie squeezed the man's head into her tits, and didn't let go until they all heard the playful sounds of his sucking and kissing her chest.

When he finally came up for air, another man cried out "Who's next?" It was followed by the light-hearted laughter of the group.

"Didn't I promise you guys a party?" Andre folded his arms, smiling in assured amusement. "This white girl *is* the party."

Jake felt faint and sick all at once.

"What about her white boy husband?" another man asked, taking a drag on the joint, scrutinizing Jake like he was a bug trapped under a glass.

"If you want to fuck him, that's your problem," Andre quipped, and everyone erupted in another fit of laughter. Even Callie.

"Jake would probably enjoy it too much," Callie joked, her smile hesitant, until the group laughed again, and she was more confident than ever.

Jake shrank away, humiliated and red-faced. He knew that they were just kidding about him, but about fucking Callie, they absolutely weren't. Money was changing hands and Callie was drunk and high. He knew exactly what was going on now... and it scared him.

The man whose lap Callie was sitting began to paw at her chest. He gripped one of her huge boobs and bounced it a few times, making it jiggle. "Mmmm damn baby. You got some big ol' titties on you."

She bit her lip and moaned excitedly. "You already knew that from last night, silly."

"Well I'm looking at 'em again," He insisted, and he slid the straps of Callie's dress down her shoulders. She helped him, pulling her breasts out of her top, tucking her dress beneath them.

The men were all leering at her body, and Callie was drinking it in. Jake realized that Callie wasn't just fixated on Andre. She was enjoying teasing and tantalizing all of these men. What the hell happened to her?

One man was licking his lips as he eyed her chest. Another was commenting about her big white tits, in some not-so-polite slang. It was hard to hear through the man's accent, but Jake thought he heard the words "humongous milkies".

"Damn, white boy," one of them turned to Jake, throwing a peanut at him to make sure he had his full attention. "Those are the titties you be suckin' on back home? Shit, if I was married to this bitch, I'd never let her leave the house. And if I did, she'd be wearing a big baggy-ass hoodie. You fucked up real bad, bringing her here."

The men laughed.

"Tell me about it," Jake said miserably, to himself.

"Did I tell you to talk, you ghost white Casper-looking bitch!" They pelted him again with food, or whatever crumpled pieces of garbage they could find.

Jake could hardly bring himself to look at them, even as they leaned his wife backward and began to suck at her tits.

The man holding her helped himself, wrapping his lips around her nipple and sucking noisily at her chest. Callie cooed and groaned, tripping on the substances in her body. She wiggled against his lap, teasing his crotch with her ass.

Jake watched with misery and envy as this stranger was treated to a lap dance from his wife.

The man cupped Callie's tit and sucked harder. He glanced at Jake as he did so, and let out a taunting moan. Pulling on her pink nipple with his mouth until Callie was gasping. Her moans turned into high pitched squeaks.

Finally he popped off of her breast with an audible sound. Her nipple stood full and erect, and this man teased his tongue in fast light flicks over her erect nipple. "Yeah, you like that, white boy?" He remarked to Jake.

Jake looked away.

"I'm talking to you, bitch," he barked, and suddenly reached out, grabbing Jake by a handful of his strawberry hair. Jake let out a cry of helpless fear as he was suddenly pulled into Callie's chest. Her tits were wet, coated the sheen of another man's saliva.

"Take a good look at these tits, cuck," he said. "You like another man sucking on your wife's titties?" he said and he pushed Jake's face into Callie's boobs, sliding his head around, so that Jake could feel the wet sheen that the black man had left behind on Callie's skin.

Jake cried out and whimpered. Then the man shoved Jake away dismissively.

"Wanna get fucked in front of your bitch-ass husband?" he asked Callie, taking one final drag on his joint.

Callie bit her lip. She glanced at Jake, then back at the man who was teasing her nipples. In fact, all around the room, she was greeted by faces who regarded her with hungry eyes. The serious faces of horny, dangerous men.