Fissure

"Have you had time to read my manuscript yet?"

No response. We were sitting by the pool of our house in George Town, capital of the Cayman Islands, both of us only in our Speedos. We hadn't been in our Speedos for very long. We'd come out to the pool to cool off after sex, although the sex hadn't been that heated. Collin had lain on his back on the bed, and I'd ridden his cock, rising and falling and revolving in slow motion, coaxing the cum out of him. He'd seemed distracted. I'd had to do it all. He'd seemed distracted a lot lately. We'd burned up the bed with sex when we lived in our small apartment in Manhattan and he'd been training in as an international banker and I'd been finishing up my master of fine arts in fiction writing degree.

We'd been a sexy pair then, he a British hunk of twenty-eight and me a corn-fed Nebraskan of twenty-one. We had both been athletic and figuratively swung from the chandeliers in our inventive fuck positions.

Lately, here in the Caymans, where we had everything we could possibly want, including a sexy black majordomo from Jamaica, Thomas, who was forward enough to stand at the sliding doors into the bedroom from the pool and watch us fuck, I was having to do most of the work to bring us both off. Collin hadn't changed in great looks and sexy body, for his age. It was more that he was going cold emotionally—at least toward me. There were times when it felt like he didn't even know I was there—or care—until he needed sex.

Having Thomas stand there, watching us, had actually helped me. I could move like I was performing for him and I could imagine him being with us in a threesome. I'm sure he would have been willing. He already was treating me like I was just another one of Collin's possessions, a sex toy, rather than anything close to Collin's equal. That had been rubbing off on Collin. He was making a pile of money here in the Caymans with his British bank. I was still shipping manuscripts around to agents. I'd made money off of short stories, but nothing like Collin made from hiding other people's money. Collin was beginning to remark on that—on his view that I wasn't pulling my weight.

That was starting to intrude on our sex life, making me feel like a prostitute.

"Time to earn your keep," he'd say, and then he'd mount and fuck me.

This seemed to have given Thomas the idea that I was just Collin's whore and that he, Thomas, could treat me that way too. He'd already cornered me a couple of times, embraced me, kissed me, and told me he planned to fuck me. I probably should have told Collin and had the Jamaican dismissed, but he had started coming on to me at the same time Collin was giving me less attention, and the Jamaican was a sexy black bull. The attention turned me on—as long as I could hold the stud in check. And if Collin didn't start showing more interest in our sex life, maybe I wouldn't play as hard to get with Thomas.

"I said, have you read my latest manuscript yet? I think this one has legs."

"Uh, no, I've really been tied up at the bank. Someone's got to pay the bills."

Of course, I thought. And we were living high on the hog now—a fancy house with a pool, each of us with a sports car, and a cook, cleaning lady—and Thomas, the hunky Jamaican man of all services. We were out of our element still in the Caribbean, so Thomas was earning his keep.

He came out on the patio at this point with drinks for both Collin and me. He was looking good. As was typical with him on this tropical island, he was only wearing baggy white cotton trousers and sandals without socks. He was tall—some six and a half feet, and muscular, an ebony god. The waistband of the trousers rode low on his hips. I loved the look of the line running down from each side below his six pack, under the curve of his hard underbelly, pointing at the goods, when his trousers were dipping low enough to show the curls where his pubes started. Any false moves and the pants would cascade to the floor. He gave me a look and a wink, reminding me that he'd just watched me, naked, riding Collin's cock, and strutted back into the house.

"I've received a check from Chicago Literary Journal," I said. "Twelve hundred dollars."

"Great," Collin said without looking up from the papers he was sifting through. "We can fix the roof on the gazebo now."

That, of course, was a put down on my financial contribution here. He didn't really directly say I was sponging off him and was only here now as a sex toy—one he didn't make full use of—but there always were little jabs like this.

"Do you want to read the manuscript before I start sending it around? You always were a great help in pointing to plot holes and technical issues." That had been true in the past—when we lived in New York. Not so much here in the Caymans. He'd read a few, without commenting much and eventually stopped showing interest altogether. He once had been enthusiastic about my writing. It was a big reason I went with him to begin with. I hadn't gone with many older men before him.

I did go with older men, though. If I got it on with Thomas, that would be out of my lane. I increasingly was thinking of getting it on with Thomas, though. From the Jamaican's treatment of me, moving into a master-slave attitude, I'd say Thomas was increasingly thinking of us getting it on too. From observing how submissive I could get when Collin went commanding and dominant, I'm sure Thomas was learning how to top me.

"We'll see if I can free some time for it," he said, still not looking up.

That meant a "no," of course. Good thing I had other copies of the manuscript. He likely didn't even know where he'd last left the copy I'd given him. Time to ship other copies without his help.

"Should I tell the cook you'll be here for lunch?" I asked.

"No, I think not," he said, standing and stretching. "I have to go into the office. Dinner will have to be late too. I'd best get dressed and get out of here now." He was a handsome man—and he kept his body lean and muscular. I couldn't complain about his capabilities in bed—when he employed them. He hadn't changed his sleek form. We probably still could swing from the chandeliers during sex. It's just that we didn't. And I was too young and randy still not to want to. I'd always gone with the older men, but they'd always been men who were still greatly experienced and skilled.

I think for Collin, the pleasure of the game had receded and it had just become relieving the need to evacuate his balls regularly.

At the sliding glass doors to the bedroom, he turned and said, "Thanks for the nooner. You're still a sweet lay. I'm not sure I know where I put your manuscript. Do you have another copy?"

"Yes, sure," I said. "I'll put a copy on the nightstand on your side of the bed." We had separate sides of the bed now. In New York, we just had a twin bed. We both slept in the middle.

I waited until Collin had gone to his room and was changing into a suit. The bedroom opened onto the pool terrace, so I knew everything he was doing in getting ready from the sounds. I didn't dare turn my head and look. I had been devastated by his indifference. He surely could have seen that—if he had looked at me. But he'd just prattled on about the weekend plans, which all sounded like business, and said he had to go into the bank—which I knew, as he was always going into the bank. This was especially so when we got anywhere close to talking about this fissure that was yawning and widening between us.

Thomas padded out with another drink. I couldn't look up at him because there were tears in my eyes. I wanted to wave him away. Another drink was the last thing I needed. I was resorting to "just another drink" too much of the time now. He stood there briefly, looking oh so muscular and sexy, but then turned and went into the house.

When I knew Collin was gone, I stood and looked down at the drink. The last thing I needed at this moment was more alcohol. I picked the drink up and drained it in one go. I went into the bedroom—our bedroom—and sat at the vanity, looking at myself in the mirror. I could see the tears in my eyes, and that's not all I saw. I saw the fissure that was developing between Collin and me in all its yawning breadth. What had happened to us? We had been so happy in New York when we'd had practically nothing.

Here in the Caymans we had everything. But of course that was the problem. That was numbing each of us to the other.

I folded my arms on the top of the vanity and lay my head down and let the tears roll.

I don't know why I didn't jerk and move away when Thomas came close behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, or when he murmured that it would be all right, that he knew what I needed. Nor did I recoil from him when one of his hands glided down my chest and he palmed one of my pecs, worked his fingers into the light brush of curly hair there, and teased out a nipple. I flinched and gave a little groan when he pinched the nipple and rolled it, signaling that this was serious foreplay to laying me, but I didn't pull away from him. Nor did I pull back when he cupped my chin with his other hand and gently raised my head, turning my face up to his, and gave me a long, lingering look before he took my lips with his.

"Thomas, no, this isn't what we should be doing," I whispered.

"It's exactly what we should be doing," he answered. "You're not getting what you need."

I didn't resist when he pulled me up out of the chair, took me up in his arms, and carried me over to the bed. He laid me on the bed at the foot, my buttocks at the bottom edge, and slipped my Speedo off my legs. I was naked to him. He unbuttoned his trousers, dropped them, and kicked them away. And then he was naked to me. He was magnificently erect, his black cock thicker and longer than Collin's was. I was quickly hard too, expanding immediately as he wrapped his hand around my cock.

We both knew what we both wanted. But I made one more effort not to complicate the life here in paradise.

"Thomas, this isn't right. Collin—"

"You are Mr. Collin's mistress," Thomas said, with a laugh. "He treats you like his property. You are a whore to him. There's no reason you can't be a whore to me too. I don't have money, but I have a big black cock. I can take care of you better than his money can. He don't never need to know. I can make you happy with my cock, and then it will be easier for you to be happy with his money."

It's exactly what a man would say to a whore he felt the right to fuck. I couldn't argue with that. That, indeed, was what I'd become to Collins—his mistress—and not one that he paid a lot of attention to. Thomas could feel me surrender to him. He laughed.

I groaned as he disappeared onto his knees between my spread thighs and, first, took my cock in his mouth and then my balls and then was working my hole with his tongue. I opened wide to him, knowing I must if I was going to take him.

"If you're going to do it, fuck me good," I said, wearily.

"I always give good fuck," he said, with a low laugh.

Taking him wasn't easy, though. I lay on my belly on the bed, with Thomas covering me. He had worked three inches or so inside me, permitting him to reach up, grasp my wrists in his grip, and force my arms over my head.

His mouth was at one of my ears and he was whispering to me in that deep baritone Jamaican accent of his, "Just relax. Open to me, Mon. Gi it to mi—Give it to me. Let me inside. Let all of your worries go, just for now. Mi ave get wah yuh need—I have got what you need. I will make you very, very satisfied with my cock. Mi wi fuck yah gud, bowy. I will fuck fuck you real good, Mon."

I relaxed then. I wasn't a novice. I knew how to open to a man and what to do with the muscles of my passage when a man was inside me. Thomas was huge, but I could take him. I wanted to take him. I knew this was wrong—but it also was so right. I relaxed and he gave me another couple of inches.

I groaned and went up a bit on my knees, raising my hips more, spreading my thighs more, taking a couple of more inches of him. Surely he was all inside me now. But no, he urged me to relax more and when I did, I had it all in one glorious painful slide and felt the kinky black curls of his pubes on the tender skin of my buttocks.

"Breathe," he whispered in my ear. "You have it all now. Relax to it so that I give you a good fuck. Mi wi fuck yah gud, bowy."

I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath in. I let it out and, although my breathing was ragged and panty, I felt myself open further to him.

It was then that I had second thoughts—when he fully possessed me and walls were stretched as they never had been before and the muscles of the walls were beginning to undulate over the velvet steel of his shaft. "Thomas, this isn't good. We shouldn't—" I started to struggle, but it was no use. He was stronger than I was and held me tight.

"You are fucked already," he growled. "You will take it until I am finished with you. Tek it, bowy. Take it, boy."

I surrendered to him and remained open to the cock. I was such a fraud. The time for saying that, for fending him off had long past. I should have said something weeks earlier, when he had taken me in his arms, kissed me, and told me he would fuck me. I knew then that he would—and now he was. My passage walls were rippling over his throbbing cock, making love to it. I was lost to him.

"It wah yuh need. It's what you need, Mon. Just a little attention. No harm in that. These are the islands. You can take your pleasures and your needs wherever you can find them. Mr. Collins has you here to pleasure himself. No reason you can't pleasure others as well."

Tek it, Tek it, Tek it was drumming in my head. And I took it. I opened fully to him, completely vulnerable, burning with need for what he could give.

And then his cock was returning the attention my walls had given it. He began to stroke. Using the leverage of his knees he was rising and falling on my ass, sliding his cock in deep and out, in deep and out. My pelvis was moving with him, rolling with the thrusts, taking all of him that my passage could get, the walls making love to cock. We were fucking.

"Gud, gud, guh wid mi—Good, good, go with me. Yes, yes, you want it," he muttered. "You're a little whore for it. Yuh a likkle whore fi it. Yuh a mi likkle whore—You're a little whore for it. You're my little whore."

Angered, I moved again to slip out from underneath him, but I no sooner turned then he slapped me twice in the face, with his palm in one direction and backhanded in the other and put me back in position. "Tek it like di likkle whore yuh—Take it like the little whore you are."

I let out a sob, but I realized that the rough treatment was exciting me, arousing me. I was feeling the fuck, something I hadn't done with Collin for months. This demanding, masterful black bull excited me. I settled down with the fuck.

"Yes, please. Fuck me good. Give it all to me, deep," I whimpered, the acknowledgment that it was what I wanted being painfully pulled out of me.

"Dat a betta—That's better," he growled. "You don't want me to have to beat it out of you. We're going to get down to business now. I'll fuck you great. Wi both kno yuh wa it—We both know you want it."

And he was right. I did want it. I wanted it from him.

It went on forever and I cried out for it and submitted to everything he told me to do. All of my sensations were concentrated on that impossibly thick shaft stretching me, conquering me, working me, and I surrendered to the magic of it, never wanting the stroking to stop. He let loose of one of my wrists so that I could reach under and stroke my cock. He even covered my hand with his and we stroked together. I came on the bedspread with the realization that it would have to be washed before Collin came home—and then realizing that Thomas was the servant here. He would take care of that.

Just like he was taking care of me when he could see that Collin hadn't been attentive enough.

That's when I realized that I was going to continue to let Thomas fuck me when Collin wasn't there to do it or didn't show me enough attention—even if Collin fucked me too. Thomas was right. This was what I needed.

When Thomas came inside me, I realized that he had barebacked me. I didn't really give a shit.

We lay there, the big Jamaican having just rolled off to the side of me, both of us panting hard, bringing ourselves under control. We were both young—Thomas younger and more virile than I was. I fell back and grasped his cock, which came back to life and began to engorge again. But I released it as soon as I realized that he could harden right up again.

"We can't do this again, Thomas," I whispered. "This isn't right."

"Whateva yuh tink, mon—Whatever you think, Mon," the Jamaican said. He was fingering my ass and even as he entered me with his middle finger and reached in for my prostate, I knew that he was smiling. I knew that he knew that it was whatever he wanted.

I rolled over on top of him, saddled myself on his pelvis, held his cock in position, slid my channel down on it, and began riding the cock. He'd already done me; there was little reason not to get all of the pleasure out of him that I could.

I'm fairly sure Thomas would have made that point himself to get on top of me again if I hadn't stolen a march on him.

We rested and then we swung from the chandeliers in wild sex, the sex of long-term lovers willing to give everything his partner wanted. And Thomas wanted a lot. He sat on the side of the bed, holding me cantilevered out from his body over the carpet, my legs streaming behind him, trapped under his armpits, his cock deep in my channel, his hands fisting my wrists, as my torso arched out in front of him over his thighs. Using the strength of his massive biceps and chest muscles, he pulled me on and off his cock. I hadn't been fucked in such a challenging position since Collin and I had left Manhattan. I suddenly was alive and firing on all cylinders for the first time in a long time.

It was nearly dark before he stopped, having shown that he could fire off again and again and again. "Mr. Collin will be home soon. We must straighten up," he said. He had the decency to saying it with regret in his voice. He also reverted to formal English, no dialect, to let me know we were leaving the world of "us" and entering the world of Mr. Collin. He could have humiliated me by declaring that I was his property now, his mistress, his sex slave. I would not have demurred. But he raised the barrier of the master of the house between us. And I wasn't the master.

I felt guilty for several weeks after that, which, however, didn't stop me from riding Thomas's cock whenever I had a chance, although we did it in his room or in the pool so that Collin wouldn't see evidence of it. And he had a new, testing position each time. We swung from the chandeliers again and again and again. I spun on that big black bull cock. He reamed me so open that I was surprised that Collin didn't notice how loose I'd become during our much tamer sex sessions. Perhaps if he was giving me half the attention he was giving his bank and his money-hiding clients, he would have noticed.

The guilt stopped the day I came home earlier than expected from shopping in George Town and found Thomas on his back on a pool bed and Collin saddled on his pelvis, riding his cock. I knew that Collin was versatile and I also was fully aware of the power of Thomas's charisma and cock. I probably shouldn't have been surprised. Collin was paying less attention to me because Thomas was tiring him out.

The plot thickened and the fissure widened.

Having seen Thomas fucking Collin didn't stop me letting Thomas fuck me too. The first time he came upon me in the silver closet after I'd seen him with Collin as Collin's car was departing through the gate and I knew he wanted me, I tried to resist, struggling with him. But Thomas actually enjoyed that—and, in the end, so did I. With a laugh, he shoved me up against a cabinet, with one hand cupping my chin and forcing my head back against the cabinet door. His other hand pushed my shorts down to my knees and grabbed my cock. I otherwise was naked. I beat on his chest, ineffectively, with my fists. The man was bigger and stronger than I was, my strikes growing weaker and weaker as he worked my cock and came in to possess my lips with his.