Hot Sand: Abaco Islands

Greg read her mind as best he could. "Oh, you mean...because of that woman on the boat today? Yeah, we should...wait till he's at full strength."

"Ha!" Joan cackled, her nerves suddenly on edge. No words came to her in a speakable fashion.

"Daytime, or nighttime?" Greg asked. "It might be fun for you to dress up in that cocktail dress you brought."

"Didn't I ask you to figure this out?" she said, still struggling with the absurdity of it all. "I don't know, there's probably fewer people around here in the daytime. Everybody's at the beach or shopping or whatever. I guess I'd like it if there's...fewer neighbors around."

"Yeah, good," Greg said. "I'll tell you what, wear that dress tonight, so you'll look smokin' when we ask Clinton."

"I'm not asking him, you're asking him," Joan said. "And I love that you think I look smokin', but your eyes are different than the rest of the world's. That's why I love you."

"I love you too, Joan. So much."

—

"I'm not doing this," Joan said, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. With her newly-put-on cocktail dress still warming to her temperature, and her freshly made-up face looking back at her, she shook her head a little. "It was...interesting to think about, but I could...never..." she said. "I mean, look at me. I'm a school teacher on vacation with my husband. I could...never..."

"What kind of woman do you think does these kind of things?" Greg asked, as he put on his light-blue linen blazer. "I'll tell you, Joan, you're every bit the woman they are. You just don't think you are."

"I really love that you think that, but...look at me," she said, standing in front of the big mirror. "I haven't taken care of myself for years, and...every one of those years shows."

"All I know is Clinton's face lights up every time he sees you. Isn't that what counts? Isn't a real spark better than a blank stare?"

Joan's face smiled a little. "You've seen it, too? Why do you think he... I feel like I should be mad that it doesn't bother you."

"But you're not mad, are you, " Greg said, embracing Joan from behind. "You're as turned on by it as I am." Greg felt the excited tension in Joan's body — the short breaths, the nervous muscles. "Lets have a nice, romantic dinner, and then a drink or two with our new friend. We'll see what his eyes think of the way you look in this dress. I think you look sexy in it."

"Forty-five years old," Joan said, shaking her head at herself in the mirror. "I thought I was done with these teenaged feelings."

"Never," Greg said, kissing her on the neck. "At least, I hope not."

Joan smiled. "I don't think you really want that," she said. "Trust me, the kids at school are awash in hormonal angst."

"What, you got something against the hornies?" Greg said, squeezing her tightly in his embrace, feeling her ass firmly against the half-hard lump in his pants. "I sure don't. I look at it this way — vacation, fifteen-hundred miles from home, once or twice a year...let's have some fun."

Joan smirked at him in the mirror. "As simple as that?"

"Yup. We stumbled on a treasure. I want you to have it."

Joan's body reacted again, and Greg felt it. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, his sweet, cautious wife was ready for a new experience.

—

"Joanie! Greg! My favorite Americans! As you can see, I've been waiting for you!" Clinton, his face beaming with happiness, gestured at his empty bar. "It seems everyone ate somewhere else tonight."

"We tried Fin and Rummy," Greg said. "Their fish stew was fantastic."

"Yes! I know some folks there," Clinton said. "They have some fine food. I'm so glad you stopped by. I wanted to ask you how you liked my favorite beach. But first, let me get you your cognacs."

Clinton returned with them, plus one for himself. "Joanie," he said, "are you going to make me a sad man when you tell me what I missed? My friends took me away. I looked for you after, but you were gone."

"You looked for me?" she said. "Us?"

"I am, I guess you could say, an old fashioned man. What you Americans call a 'girl watcher'. I know, these days, it's incorrect."

Joan smiled, blushing. "It is, isn't it. I guess I...wouldn't have minded."

Clinton smiled. "Greg, you are a lucky man. Your Joanie has a quiet beauty that's rare."

"You're nutty," Joan said.

"I am!" Clinton said, smiling. "That's what my friends like about me!"

"How many of those friends are women?" Joan asked, twirling her big snifter-style glass of brandy on the bar top. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I have three. One here, one up-island, and one down-island. Casual friends let's call them, who know I wish for nothing more."

"And...the woman on the boat today?" Joan asked, her eyes sparkling, curious.

"Ah, Silvie and Rick. They are new friends. I met them today. Lovely people. They sail for Cat Island in the morning, and then on to Turks and Caicos. I asked them to take me with them but they said I take up too much room in the cabin!" Clinton laughed.

"Your clothes wouldn't have taken up any room," Joan said, blushing again.

"The fewer the better, don't you think, Joanie? I hope you weren't too surprised. You know, I don't give away the secret of my favorite beach to many of my customers. I think a lot of them would find it...how do you Americans say it...uncouth?"

"I think maybe you're wrong," Joan said. "I can't imagine that many of your woman customers wouldn't be...interested to...see you...that way."

Greg, intrigued and thrilled to see and hear his blushing wife opening up in such a way, smiled at her. Clinton smiled as well, and said, "Do you teach your students sex education, Joanie?"

"They're teenagers. These days, kids know more about it than I do."

"Ah, but they'd love to hear it from you!" Clinton said. "If you did a demonstration, say, with a nice big banana, you'd surprise the girls and delight the boys."

Joan smiled, her eyes twinkling. "They...seem to grow them big down here. If the girls saw me with one...from your island...that would surprise them."

"Clinton," Greg said, "we were thinking of having a relaxing day tomorrow, in our room. Maybe give Joan a massage, and see where things go from there. We were wondering if you might want to join us, if you don't have plans."

"Yes!" Clinton said, happily. "That's absolutely something I'd like to do! Joanie, you are a surprising woman!"

"Am I?" she said, certain that her face was crimson red. "I've never...been surprising before."

"Ah, I see," Clinton said, looking deep into her eyes. "Well then, I am even more honored. And you Greg...," he said shifting his gaze, "...you honor me as well, my friend." Clinton picked up his big snifter glass and held it out for a threeway clinking of glasses to seal the deal. "I shall be there...how do you say...with bells on."

—

"Frisky again tonight?" Joan said. "My gosh, we've never done it every night before."

Greg finished taking off his clothes at the bedside, his cock already hard. "You turn me on like when I first met you," he said, climbing into bed, under the sheet with her. "I like this new you."

"New me?" Joan said, not wanting to admit that she liked it, too.

Greg kissed her, moaning when he felt her hand on his cock. Joan moaned softly when Greg's mouth moved to her breasts, licking, sucking, nibbling at her nipples. Flat on her back, Greg pulled the bedsheet completely off of her, and she and he were naked, fucking on a bed that wasn't theirs, basking in the heightened thrill of vacation sex.

—

Joan's morning shower didn't calm her nerves the way she'd hoped it would. If anything, it made her more nervous, seeing her doughy body in the steamy mirror as she dried herself. Clinton's interest in her, so unexpected, still seemed imagined, like something she'd dreamed and was confusing with reality. Could it be that he's just a slut, she wondered? A big, beautiful slut? Maybe. And maybe it doesn't matter. Greg seems to love the guy. Why shouldn't I?

Emerging from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, she blowdried her hair in front of the big mirror that hung on the wall over the dresser.

"What are you wearing?" Greg asked, his voice showing a hint of extra adrenaline.

"I...haven't decided."

"You'd look great in this, with your bikini," he said, holding up the island-made sarong that Joan had purchased at a local boutique.

"Seriously?" she said, with more than a hint of you-must-be-kidding in her voice.

"Sure, hun. We've seen women dressed that way."

"I know, but...me?"

"Don't you wanna be Clinton's island girl?"

The words, and what they meant, gave Joan a swooning head-rush that nearly made her pass out. She was so conflicted she wanted to scream — No! and Yes! and Take me home! and Where is that man, I want to see him naked again, I want to touch him. The negative thoughts faded, leaving only — I want to touch him, I want to touch him, I want to touch him.

He bikini felt too small when she put it on, even though she'd already worn it on that trip. The sarong, fastened around her waist, felt lovely and luxurious, caressing her legs, looking for all the world just like she'd hoped it would. "I love it, but I'm not really a bare midriff kind of girl," she said, taking in the full view of herself in the big mirror.

"Oh yes you are," Greg said. "You look hot, babe. Remember what Clinton said? He's not into skinny girls."

Joan dealt with her nervous energy by straightening up the room. Two nice sandwiches were delivered by the room-service waiter. After the quick lunch, Joan brushed her teeth and touched up her makeup. The minutes leading up to the time when Clinton was supposed to arrive went by in silence, with Joan still straightening, fussing with clothes in the dresser drawers.

Clinton knocked, smiling handsomely when the door was opened. His entrance seemed odd, vaguely hallucinatory. His size, especially, when seen in comparison to the doorway and the smallish room, seemed almost comically huge. Joan had that not-unpleasant feeling again, the realization that he's big enough to overpower her in every way imaginable.

It surprised Joan to see Greg acting so normal, chatting with Clinton as if it was a normal visit with a friend. Joan stayed quieter, adding small pleasantries here and there. Greg steered the conversation. It angled toward the sexy women seen around the resort, the handsome men that escorted them, and the nudity at Clinton's favorite beach.

"Do you ever see people having sex, right there on the beach?" Greg asked.

"Sometimes, but it's usually gentle, if you know what I mean," Clinton said. "Blowjobs, maybe fucking a little in a slow, low-down way."

"Nice," Greg said, his eyes sparkling. "See hun? We coulda."

"You're crazy," Joan said. "But I'm curious, Clinton. Have you had sex on that beach?"

Clinton smiled brightly. "Would you like to go back there with me? I can show you."

"That's not an answer," Joan said, smirking. "I guess I'm wondering if...you ever get...hard...when you're there," she said, blushing. "You're always nude there, right?"

"Yes," Clinton said, his eyes sparkling. "I'm hard there probably more than I should be."

"Do you let the women...touch you?" Joan asked, her blood hot and tingly in her veins.

"Yes, sometimes," Clinton said, looking deep into Joan's eyes.

"Has a woman ever...given you a blowjob without even...knowing you?" Joan's body, reacting, tensing, made it hard to get the question out smoothly.

"Yes," Clinton said. "Do you think less of me, Joanie?"

"No," she said, shaking her head a little. "I guess...I'm jealous of them. Those women. I could never...do that."

"How about here, in private," Greg said. "You could try it."

Joan's eyes connected with Greg's, and then with Clinton's. Clinton read her mind and stepped forward, presenting his big self in front of her when she sat on the side of the bed. Her breathing made noise, a faint grunt with each breath as her hands reached for and unbuttoned his shorts. She lowered the zipper and his plum-colored underwear was there, tight against his satiny brown skin. Joan was working in a fog, a mental haze that blocked out the world. She pulled down the shorts and the underwear, both at once, and the cock she'd seen at the beach was there, soft but not fully soft, thick like a plush stuffed toy, dark blackish-brown, the color of a starry midnight. She took it in her hand and felt the life in it — the warmth, the growth — and then, using less than half of its length, she filled her mouth full with it.

In only a few moments' time Clinton's massive tool was at its full nine inches of size, too big in girth for Joan to get her hand around. Her moaning mouth took care of it as best she could. The huge cock was even more stunningly elephantine than in her wildest dreams.

"God, Clinton, you're fucking massive," Greg said, his eyes unblinking as he watched Joan mouth the huge cock. "Have you ever been with a woman who can't even get her mouth around you?"

"A women's lips are like a snake's jaw," Clinton said. "They stretch around the things they want to eat."

"Oh, so I'm a slimy reptile?" Joan said, shyly smirking, holding the shining wet cock near her lips.

"Not slimy, no," Clinton said. "But maybe you have more animal in you than you realize. Your eyes have hinted, a time or two."

Joan opened her jaw wide and stuffed her mouth again with the coal-black cock. It embarrassed her that Clinton had seen such a look in her eyes. A polite, happily married woman shouldn't be giving off such signals, and she hadn't realized she'd done it. The embarrassment made her tingle from head to toe, there with a new man's hard cock in her mouth. Strangely, Joan's blushing full-body tingle seemed to bring forth some of the animal that Clinton wondered about—there was a low grunting moan from her throat and a puff of warm breath from her nose, and her stuffed-full mouth had a sudden new urgency. She felt a blossoming sense of freedom, her hands starting to roam on Clinton's muscular flesh. Her gentle touch found the very tops of his huge thighs, the tight roundness of his beautiful ass, and yes, even the hairless smoothness of his big balls, the warmth and otherworldly feel of them making Joan moan even deeper and louder.

"You look so beautiful, hun," Greg said.

Joan stopped for a moment, with one hand on Clinton's balls, the other holding his cock upright against the muscles of his lower belly. "Do I?" she said, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Have you always...thought about this?"

Greg nodded, a little sheepishly. "For a while now, I guess. I just...really think you're sexy."

"Greg knows," Clinton said. "And I knew it the moment I met you."

"You two are crazy," Joan said, gently stroking the nine inches of hard, fat meat in her hand. She thought about listing her obvious flaws — wearing glasses, a school teacher wardrobe, a fattening ass from sitting on it every day — but she decided not to go there. Instead she opened wide again and moaned at the truly amazing feeling of a gigantic cock filling her mouth fuller than full. The shock of being in such a situation was fading, the once-in-a-lifetime specialness of it starting to hit home, even if she still couldn't imagine giving herself fully to Clinton. Not as a married woman. Not with Greg there, watching. Just this blowjob, she thought, and then we'll find a way to politely send Clinton on his way. Her mind instantly spun horny thoughts of going wild on Greg after Clinton's departure. Yes, she thought, this is making me crazy horny. That must be Greg's plan. Clinton gets a somewhat okay blowjob, he leaves, and my sweet husband and I fuck like crazy.

Joan moaned again, loud, from the thought of it. She worked three inches of Clinton's cock with her mouth and tongue and stroked the rest of it with both her hands. As she did it, the big man leaned over her and unfastened the back of her bikini top.

Okay, she thought. Yes, topless. I've seen him completely naked at the beach, after all, and here he is with his shorts around his ankles and his shirt unbuttoned. Yes, it's only fair that he sees some of me. Just the top half. My tits that are too soft. I wish they were higher, like that woman at the beach. I think she had implants, though. Oh my god, this cock tastes amazing. It's so ridiculously huge. Why does it taste so good?

Greg helped Clinton remove the bikini top from Joan's arms. "You look like an island girl, hun," Greg said, eyes twinkling at the sight of Joan sitting on the edge of the bed in just her bikini bottom and sarong. "Super sexy."

Joan wondered for a moment if island girls routinely had massive hard cocks in their hands. Then she went back to the blowjob that felt surprisingly heavenly to give, and Clinton's moan was music to her ears. Island music. A moan that seemed to convey his beautiful lilting accent.

It was then that Greg climbed onto the bed, just behind her. With his hands on her bare shoulders, he kissed the back of her neck. Goosebumps tingled every inch of Joan's skin and she moaned onto the enormous phallus in her hands as her mouth began to worship it more decisively. A true, more vigorous blowjob now, wet with saliva, on the verge of dripping drool. Another moan vibrated out of her when Greg's hands claimed her tits, gently pinching her newly electrified nipples.

"Ohhh, you make me feel so good Joanie," Clinton said, his deep voice now sighing. His big hands, with fingers spread, went to Joan's head, raking through her soft hair. "Your Greg is a lucky man."

A dizzy intoxication overtook Joan's mind, the kind of lightheadedness that takes away the real world, leaving a new type of dream in its wake. It felt so odd, so new, so thrilling to have four male hands on her. It overwhelmed her in a way she hadn't expected, and then, without her knowing exactly how, the pose was new. It was a new picture, a new go-around, with Joan on her back on the bed, her loving husband kissing her, his hand on her soft breast, and Clinton down between her upright thighs, thighs that were bare now, with the colorful sarong bunched at her waist. It was Clinton's fingers and hands and mouth that were there, on her, holding the damp gusset of her bikini bottom to the side as his warm lips and tongue made soft tender love to her wet pussy. Joan's deep moan into Greg's kissing mouth felt profound.

"Would you like it if Clinton fucked you?" Greg asked, his voice a breathy whisper against Joan's lips.

"Yes," Joan sighed, an answer that surprised her and sent her dizzy mind reeling.

She felt strong hands stripping her of the bikini bottom, and then she felt the cock that was absolutely too big, beginning its quest to enter her. She wanted to yell "No!", but a stronger want silenced her, and she lay there with her tongue in her sweet husband's kissing mouth as another man's cock began to fuck her.

It was slow at first, just two and then three inches, stretching her pussy wide, barely fucking, out and in, out and in, out and in again. Clinton's deep, happy groan sounded to her like a sonic hallucination, and then her own groans and moans went free, gradually filling the bright sunny room with sounds she'd never made before. Her desire for quiet, for neighborly etiquette, was gone, missing from its usual place in her head. Clinton was deeper now, five inches, then six, every one of them nearly as big around as a beer can.

She wanted to say, I can't believe...I'm taking you! She wanted to say, I can't believe...you're fucking me!

Those thoughts didn't get said as words, but Clinton could translate her beautiful noises and he understood them. She was looking at him now, with wide eyes that spoke volumes on their own. He fucked her smoothly with seven of his nine inches, and Joan's eyes rolled back, under her fluttering eyelids.