Hot Sand: Abaco Islands

"Your pussy feels like magic, Joanie," Clinton said, his strong body looking pumped up, like a huge double-sized gymnast. "So tight... So tight."

Through fluttering, constantly rolling eyes, with seven and then eight inches of black god fucking her slowly, Joan saw Greg undressing. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to playfully scold him. She wanted to ask him — Did you know he was going to fuck me?

Her idea of a naughty, taboo blowjob seemed so quaint all of a sudden, and then Clinton was finally balls deep, bottomed out with a bass voice grunt, his nine fat inches all in, flirting with Joan's cervix.

"Ohhh, Joanie!" he moaned. "You take all of me!...You don't know how good this feels!"

"Yeeessss!" Joan hissed. "Fuck me!... Fuck me!"

Her sudden voice—her sudden command—surprised herself and her husband. Clinton was immediately her servant, fucking her swiftly, fully deep with each thrust. He held her legs-in-the-air ankles in his big hands and the sounds of thrilling fucking filled the room — the slaps of his body against the backs of her thighs, the squish-squish-squish of his cock plunging her so deeply, the manly moans from his lungs, and the increasingly loud squeals and cries of love from Joan's mouth, let loose from her newly unhinged mind.

"Ohhh-h-h-h-h-ooo!" her trembling voice cried. "Fuck meeee!...Fuck meeeee!"

Joan's face, open-mouthed and wide eyed now, showed happy surprise and deep determination. This was the kind of fucking she'd sometimes wondered about. Powerful. Athletic. Relentless in an almost rapey way, but ever so perfect. Her body was tense with athleticism of its own, her muscles firing wildly, fucking her gorgeous new friend with everything she had. Greg's cock appeared, inches from her face, hard. She took it, devouring it with her mouth, and she was suddenly, beautifully lost, fucking and drifting and floating, lost in sexuality in a way that was completely new. It was like nothing she'd ever imagined, and on top of it all — as if there needed to be more — she felt an orgasm rushing at her, so swift, so unrelenting, so...

The meltdown of brain cells at that moment was absolute, to the point of Joan's memory being hazy with the details of what had happened. The part she remembers is gasping for breath, with her husband's cum spilling over her lower lip, running down her chin. Clinton's cum, creamier and more plentiful, felt warm on her belly and her breasts, and it still gushed, though to a lesser extent, as he moaned and stroked it out of himself with his big hand.

"So tight, Joanie," he sighed. "Damn."

Joan's mind wasn't ready to form words, so she lay back and swallowed what was in her mouth, and her tongue licked the slippery stuff off her lower lip. She wasn't a cum swallower, never had been, but it seemed more than appropriate at that moment, as her lungs searched for oxygen, her chest heaving. Greg had never tasted cum, either, but he kissed her slippery mouth, tongues intertwined, moaning.

"You are a good lay, Joanie," Clinton said, his own lungs breathing deeply. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Joan couldn't help but giggle. "No," she said, smiling. "No one's ever told me that."

"Really?" Clinton said. "A woman who cums like you, we men live for it."

"I guess I...Oh my god, I..." Joan's memory started to return, of the orgasm that shook her like never before. Her shrieks and screams echoed in her head, thrilling sounds that she couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to make.

"Greg, is she always this exciting? You must want to fuck her all the time."

Joan looked at the windows and the door. "Are these rooms...soundproof?" she asked. "Oh my god, I hope no one's around."

"Don't worry, Joanie," Clinton said. "We on the island, and especially at the resorts, we absolutely love it when we know our guests are enjoying themselves. It makes us happy."

Joan felt dizzy again. Clinton's naked body, his words, and his deep island accent made her head spin. She watched him reach for a beach towel on the dresser top. He used it to wipe his cum from her belly and her breasts, saying, "I usually can hold it in until later, but you are just too much." Joan didn't know what to make of it. She wondered, how can a man like him be so turned on by a woman like me? I'm just an out of shape middle-aged school teacher.

"Will you show this body at my beach tomorrow?" Clinton asked, wiping the last bit of slippery stuff from the crease below Joan's breast. "The sun would like to kiss it."

Before she could answer she was moaning again, with Clinton's mouth back on her pussy. "Oh God," she huffed, watching the fullness of his brown lips there, beautiful lips that kissed her tenderest places and looked happy. He quickly found her post-orgasmic clit, and was gentle there, with just the tip of his tongue.

"Ohhh-h-h-h," Joan sighed. She smiled at Greg and reached for him. "You don't ever have to buy me a present again. This'll hold me."

Greg smiled. "I'll remember that. Jeez, I didn't know I was saving money today."

Clinton kept up his gentle clitoral assault. Joan flirted with another orgasm, but she purposefully kept it at bay. At least she thought she did, but there it was, forcing its way through her meager defenses, causing her to shudder and tremble in a beautiful way, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

"You cum like a real woman," Clinton said, smiling, down between her thighs. "You made me hard again, without even trying."

"That'd be a shame to waste, wouldn't it, hun?" Greg said to Joan. "How do you want him this time?"

Joan gave Greg a curious, smirking look that said Really? I get to choose?

Greg nodded.

"Maybe I want you," Joan said.

"Ooo, kinky!" Greg said. "You want me to fuck you while Clinton watches?"

Joan's eyes widened, "No!" she said, blushing with embarrassment.

"I wouldn't mind," Clinton said. "I could sit back and watch you cum, Joanie."

"You will not!" she said, her face and chest bright pink with blush. She took Clinton by the head with both her hands, pulling him up. "Get on this bed," she said, feeling the sudden excitement of power. "On your back."

Clinton smiled. He climbed on as Greg moved off. Joan thought of asking Greg to stay, but there was something extra sexy about being there on the big bed with Clinton alone, able to make whatever move she wanted.

But what would it be? He was most definitely hard again, his huge, weighty cock lying at an angle on his tightly muscled belly. Joan was close enough to it to smell the sex on it, the scent flaring her nostrils as she quickly pondered the choices. Her greatest desire was to taste it again, to see if she could taste herself on it, so she did it, and it was another first for her. A new flavor. Woman mixed with man. A taste and scent elixir that flooded her taste buds and excited her nose.

Also exciting, to the point of confusing ridiculousness, was the size of Clinton's cock. On his back, as he was, with her hands holding it upright, it gave her a more vivid picture of its stature. A tower of black manhood, a fleshy pillar of strength and pleasure, made hard by her own sexuality. It was that last bit that astonished and thrilled her. The thought of it made her go a little wild on it with her wide open mouth. Her drool flowed, lubricating her two hands, and she worked the big cock with the fervor of a woman desperate to give pleasure.

"Ohhh, Joanie!" Clinton moaned. "Ohhh!"

She was between his powerful legs, but that's not where he wanted her. "Turn around, Joanie," he said. "Come to me."

At first she was confused by his request, but then she understood. It was a sexual position she knew about, vaguely. She'd first seen in smutty old lithograph drawings in a book she remembered, drawings from way back in the Egyptian era. It wasn't in the school's library, it was from back in her college days, a book shown to her, with giggling embarrassment, by a girl she knew, a girl with coke-bottle-thick glasses and stringy brown hair. Sociology. The study of the human condition. The study, apparently, of the sexual position called sixty-nine.

"Come to me," Clinton said again, sitting up, reaching for Joan's hip, to guide her.

Greg understood, too, what Clinton wanted, and he was amazed when he saw Joan make the move. Why, he thought, didn't I ever think to just ask her? Would she have done it for me, or is it this unbelievable vacation that's changed her?

He watched Joan throw a leg over Clinton's head, the big man down on his back again, comfortably under as Joan's ass and pussy spread wide just inches above his face. She chirped, then moaned, when Clinton's mouth took to her pussy with some suction. Her head dropped to his towering shaft again, her two-handed blowjob right back at full fervor, or maybe even up a notch.

Greg sat in the comfortable upholstered chair not far from the bed, watching. His hand went to his cock, stroking slowly. The get-together with Clinton was more mindblowing than his wildest imaginings — Joan, his somewhat meek school-teacher wife, sixty-nineing a big black man, sucking his massive cock like it was her last day on earth. The next thing she'll do, he thought, is let him fuck her doggy style.

It was a sarcastic thought, one he knew would never come true. Not with Joan. Not with a good wife who had never done doggy style before. A good wife who only gave short-lived blowjobs on 'special occasions'. A good wife who'd never even sat up during 'girl-on-top'. No, Greg thought, as he sat there slowly masturbating. This is fucking crazy. Look at her go!

He watched as Clinton, face buried between her meaty ass cheeks, made her writhe and yammer beautiful noises like an animal, an animal that was cumming again. Clinton talked her through it, right into her pussy, egging her on with "Oh, yeah, cum for me baby" and other dirty requests, and she responded with garbled answers, shrieks and screams that nearly made Greg cum in his hand.

"I love this woman!" Clinton groaned, underneath her, using his muscular hips to thrust his cock in and out of Joan's shrieking mouth. He continued his oral assault on her pussy, and she came again, wet on his face, her thighs shuddering so much that the bed shook.

"Ohh, yes! ...Yes!" Clinton hollered, as much from the thrill of Joan's wet cumming as from the workout her hands and mouth were giving his cock. "Ask me again to fuck you, my Joanie. Ask me."

Joan gasped for air, controlling, for a moment, her uncontrollable noises. "Fuck me!" she huffed. "Fuck me!"

The big man rolled her, and then he was on his knees, picking her up by the waist like a ragdoll. Moaning, huffing grunts came from Joan's lungs. She was putty in his big hands, and it was happening. Joan on knees and elbows, and then Clinton pushed her shoulders to the mattress. She cried "Yyyesss!", her voice devilishly guttural. She felt hands on her hips, hips that were up the way a lady's never were, and then her wet, wet pussy was full again, the girthy monster cock stretching it, stuffing it, three inches, then four then five then six, then a final plunge with some meaning behind it, nine inches of behemothic manhood, as deep as it could go.

"Yessss!... Give it to me! Give it to me!" Joan cried, loud and lost to the concept of neighbors. "Fucking fuck me!... Fuck meeee!!"

Arms out in front of her, she tried to hang on, wailing, crying, white knuckles grasping, pulling the bedspread and the blanket and even the fitted sheet right off the corners of the big mattress. Clinton fucked her like he was born for such a task, so happy to find a woman he could fuck deeply, without the wall of a cervix tempering things. Without that temper he was free, fucking Joan hard, and loud, and long. On and on he fucked her, her orgasms rising up, then rising up again, then rising up again, scrambling her to the point of delirium, glorious delirium that she hoped would never end. She lost muscular control and went down flat on her stomach, her pussy gushing wetness as Clinton's hard, reaching cock fucked her in that new way, her body limp, her loud, moaning cries blurring together like a slurring drunk. Greg was there, lying on his side, his cock finding her mouth and soon spewing its second offering of cum. He moaned along with her, himself delirious from the intensity of her wreckage, the beauty of her monumental despoiling.

When Clinton pulled out, his cock-head slippery with his cum for the second time, Joan felt as if her pussy would forever be a tunnel the size of him, a gaping hole of remembrance of the most extraordinary day of her life. The thought didn't bother her, it made her happy, but she was too wrecked to smile.

—

Taking a break from the last few chapters of her romance novel, Joan gazed out the plane's window at the wing and the clouds beyond. She glanced over at Greg in the seat next to her, reaching for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze with hers.

"Are you looking forward to getting back to school?" Greg asked.

"Not really," Joan said. Blushing, her eyes met his. "Did I ever tell you Dr. Wilkins calls me Joanie? It struck me as a little too informal at first. I've been getting used to it, but now..."

"Oh, God," Greg said, smiling. "Yeah, but now..." Greg's eyes sparkled at the odd coincidence of it. A new principal at Joan's school; a tall, impeccably dressed African American man. Greg met him once, and was struck by how handsome Dr. Wilkins is. Greg wondered how Joan would handle it, the first meeting in the hallway after spring break. After Abaco. After Clinton. Greg let his mind drift back for a second, to Joan's glorious orgasmic howls, her naked body writhing on that big comfortable bed, with a handsome black man's cock so deep in her she could feel it way up in her gut. A handsome black man's cock, so deep in her memory she'll never, ever, forget it.