Illicit Honeymoon

There certainly had been no risk when she had let her flatmates and their friends enjoy her. Except it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, that was all one massive tease. Maybe she had made it allup to get back at me for asking her to tell me, while we were on our honeymoon, what the most daring thing was that she had ever done, as if the past still mattered, and the present, with her in Thailand, was not enough.

Maybe it had never happened. Maybe her flatmates had just been flatmates. Maybe they were never fuck-buddies. Maybe I was just getting exactly what I deserved. Ask the wrong question at the wrong time and you deserve what you get.

Maybe she saw me looking far too serious as I thought these thoughts. She smiled mischievously.

"Would you have preferred it if I had let him?" she asked. She was still smiling as she said it, as if she was partly teasing, partly encouraging me to say I would.

"Why would I prefer that?" I said.

"Your shorts," she grinned. "Maybe you like the idea of me with other men."

There was no way that I could deny the evidence she was using for the second time. There was a total mismatch between the conflicting thoughts that I was having in my head, and the arousal I was feeling in my cock. There was no question. Laura swimming naked with those two guys getting right up close and personal, had been a major turn on.

Laura was still lying on her front, possibly to protect her naked breasts and pubis from the strong Thai sun. Water was dripping down the side of her body, onto her towel. She had her head resting in the crook of her right arm, turned towards me.

"You know, being married doesn't have to mean the end of having fun," she said. "If it would turn you on to watch me with those guys, I wouldn't mind. It's only sex."

I was stunned.

Here was my wife of only two weeks and a few days, offering to let these Thai guys fuck her. It was like it was nothing to her. Just a bit of fun. Nothing serious. Having her tell me that her flat mates had been fucking her, right up until we got married, was bad enough. That had to have happened, just as she described it, if this was what she was saying now. Realising that she did not see our getting married as meaning that we would from now on be exclusive to one another, shocked me to the core.

Yet that was not what my cock was saying. I had felt it twitch when she had made the offer, and the image that had gone through my head was of what had been going on below the surface of the water, when the three of them had been swimming by the rocks.

I still needed to check exactly what she meant, just to be certain

"You mean both of them?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"Why not?" she said. "They were both trying it on, so I guess they'd both be interested."

I tried to laugh it off, still wary of the kind of argument that would spoil our honeymoon.

"I'm sure they would," I said, "but it's not what I married you for."

"Okay," Laura said. "But if you change your mind,... "

She closed her eyes, whether to doze in the sun, or just to end the conversation, I was not sure. What I was sure of was that you cannot take back what has been said. You cannot unsay it. Laura had said that she was willing to have those guys fuck her, and that said something about our relationship, and our respective views on marriage.

To me, marrying was supposed to be about loving the other person to the exclusion of all others. To Laura, I was no longer sure exactly what it meant, whether it allowed for having sex for fun, or even with strangers on your honeymoon. That would be nothing serious to her, or so she said.

Except there was another possibility. Just maybe, everything that she had said, had been some kind of a tease. Maybe none of it had happened, the group sex, the fuck buddy flat mates, and maybe she had no intention of letting the two Thai guys fuck her, even if they had been groping her when she had been snorkelling. Maybe she was checking out how I would react, or playing some other kind of game. Whatever it was, it was certainly leaving me lost somewhere between hoping that this really was all a tease, and dreading that what she had been saying was what she really thought.

Sometime around six we lost the sun, and headed to our hut. I guess we assumed that talk about huts and tents and a restaurant in the evening had given us the impression that there would be quite a few people sleeping on the island, and the restaurant would be busy, and would be a genuine restaurant. We even assumed that the huts would have all mod cons. It turned out we were wrong, on all three counts.

First, the only other tourists staying over, as well as those who had been on the beach, turned out to be a middle aged couple, and a guy in his sixties, the three of them appearing for the first time at the so called restaurant that evening.

Second, the restaurant was not a restaurant. It was not even the large covered buffet area where lunch had been served. That had closed down after lunch and it had stayed closed. The restaurant for the evening meal and morning breakfast for those who were staying on the island overnight was just an open air bar, with wooden tables and bench seats, and a set of dog eared plastic covered menus with pictures of half a dozen dishes that we could order, and would be brought to us from the cook's house, down a path behind the bar.

The menus did not include a wine or beer list. The island was dry, with just water, colas and juices available to drink. The only consolation was that the bar had music, the best of the sixties and seventies, piped through a couple of speakers mounted in trees above the table area. That would be our entertainment for the evening.

Third, the hut was just a hut. It had a decent wooden frame bed, and immaculately laundered bedlinen, and it had hooks for clothing, and an electric fan above the bed, but that was it. What the hut did not have were any washing or showering facilities, or toilet. Those were shared with the people staying in the tents, more like a camp-site arrangement.

The huts were actually a two minute walk down a pathway through the palm trees. Ours seemed to be the only one in use. It had a light above the doorway, which was on, without our needing to have turned it on. None of the others had their light on.

The tents were a few minutes walk the other direction from the tree where the bags had been left, with the washrooms right beside them, which mean that not only was our hut isolated from everywhere else, but it was a bit of a trek to get to the washrooms from where we were sleeping.

The washrooms themselves had bamboo walls separating the men's area from the women's, but no other form of privacy for the showers or basins. Separate bamboo cubicles were provided for the toilets, but that was it. There was not even a roof. The facilities were just open to the warmth of the Thai evening.

We both showered before dinner. I was dried and dressed in lightweight trousers and an Indian cotton shirt when Laura came back inside, her hair wrapped with a towel, a second towel around her waist, her upper body bare. The walk from the showers back to the huts had been in the open, although it would have been quiet, and she had walked back topless. I made no comment, but I was not anticipating the way that she would dress for dinner.

The hut at least had good electrics. I had dried my hair, and Laura was able to dry hers. It was Laura who suggested that I went ahead to the restaurant while she finished. Preferring the open air to sitting on the bed while she got ready, I strolled to the restaurant bar, and asked the overweight, middle aged Thai woman serving from behind the bar for a can of Coke, a poor substitute for the beer I really would have loved right then.

There were four wooden tables in all, each with integral bench seats, able to accommodate four or even six people. The two couples from the beach had each occupied a table. A third table had the middle aged couple and older guy that I mentioned earlier, the first time that I had seen them. The Thai guys were nowhere to be seen, which meant the fourth table was free for me to sit at.

Laura joined me fifteen minutes later. I saw the whites of her breasts first, coming along the lightly forested path. All she was wearing was a red and orange light sarong, tied low at her hips. The knot at the side secured the sarong, but it did not prevent the side from opening, baring the length of her left leg all the way to her hip as she walked, and threatening to reveal her cunt. To add to the look, Laura had also picked a bright red flower and was wearing it above one ear.

"When on an island,..." she said by way of explanation, smiling as she joined me at the table I was on.

She walked to the other side of the table and climbed over the bench seat to sit facing me. There was no question. She looked incredible. She looked like the kind of island girl you could only imagine in a dream, except that a genuine island girl would have a perfect all over tan. Laura's triangles of exposed white flesh, and her pink-brown areoles exposed her for what she was, a tourist more into herself than the norms of behaviour in the country she was visiting.

She certainly got looks from the other overnighters, although it seemed to me that they were more amused, or curious, than admiring. The woman serving at the bar was definitely not admiring, as she came round to our table, carrying two dog eared, plastic menus, to see what the foreigner and his wife wanted cooked for them.

The woman's English was good enough to accept our order for our food, and for two more Cokes. Her non-verbal language was just as good, her distaste for Laura's display of naked breasts all too clearly written on her face. Not that it changed a thing. As far as my wife was concerned, it was her holiday and her honeymoon, and she could wear, or not wear, whatever she liked.

Our food came just as the two Thai guys arrived. They got Cokes at the bar, and then looked around for a place to sit. They had four choices. Join any either of the other two couples already seated at tables, or join the Scandinavian couple and their Australian friend, although that would have meant more of a squeeze, or sit at our own table.

It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out which table they would chose. Laura's naked breasts were the clinching factor. They joined us, one of them sitting beside my wife, the other beside me. Since wherever they had chosen, they would have been sharing the table with someone else, we could not really ask them to sit elsewhere. We were stuck with them, and the next few moments resounded with an awkward silence that seemed to last forever.

None of us said anything. I was not too happy about the way that they were obviously enjoying close proximity to my wife's bare breasts. I was also wondering which of them had already fondled them, while they had been swimming at the rocks, and which had been fingering her cunt, if my wife had been telling me the truth about that, and not just saying it to tease me.

That uncertainty also meant it was difficult for me to tell them to get lost. If Laura had made stuff up, then I had no real complaint. She had gone snorkelling naked. So had they. That was it.

The guy beside me was clearly enjoying his close up view of Laura's breasts. I sensed him eyeing their full curves, the white triangles contrasting with her mahogany tan, the nipple stubs, looking as if they were aroused, a little redder than their pink-brown, semi-translucent areoles.

Nature may have intended my wife's breasts for nurturing a new-born, but for any red blooded male they were a gift to be cupped and caressed, and kissed and sucked, and grazed with teeth, and held together so that the valley that they formed could be fucked, and they were being displayed freely, offered to anyone who cared to look.

The guy beside me said something in Thai, and his companion laughed, looking at me. I remembered the way they had looked at me before, on the beach, half smiling, as if expressing gratitude to the foreigner for sharing his wife's body with them, allowing them to enjoy the vision of her nakedness.

Then they obviously decided that the silence had lasted long enough. The guy beside Laura spoke in English, introducing himself and his friend, telling us that they were students taking a break from university in Bangkok, and asking where we were from, and what we thought of Thailand.

We guardedly eased into a close to normal conversation as we ate our food, although there remained a frisson that left me wary. When I told them that we were on our honeymoon, they both grinned, glancing again at Laura's bare breasts, and telling me what a lucky guy I was.

Then they started talking about the Thai sex industry, and the European men who came for sex. The larger of the two said that his sister was a prostitute in a bar on the mainland, which he did not like. She was a year older than he was, and in her last year at university, using her earnings to pay her way. He kept thinking about the number of foreigners who had used her for their pleasure. He liked that we were open minded about sex, but were not trying to buy a girl to sleep with us, the way some couples did.

By then, we had finished eating. The Thai guys had not had any food, and did not seem to want any. I was one Coke ahead of Laura, and needed to excuse myself. In spite of being uneasy about leaving Laura alone with these guys, I had to use the bathroom. That was back down the path towards the beach, then on down towards the tents, to the washroom area where we had showered earlier.

I headed there, relieved myself, and headed back, maybe ten minutes in all. Neither Laura nor the Thai guys were anywhere around. There were just four empty Coke cans and our two plates with the remnants of our meals, on the otherwise empty table where we had been sitting.

The Australian man saw me looking puzzled, and called me over. My wife had said to tell me that they had gone for a moonlight swim, and that I should join them. He added a couple of phrases that have stuck with me since that night.

"Be careful with that one, mate. She looks good. Too bloody good if you ask me."

I knew what he meant. I was beginning to wish someone had said that to me before the wedding. The Australian guy could read the signs. My wife was a cock tease, who might not always stop at teasing.

I headed down to the beach along the more direct path. Reaching it, I looked for them. There was no sign. The beach seemed empty, but then, in spite of the moonlight, it was relatively dark, so it was difficult to make out anything at all. There were shadows in the trees that lined the beach, and at either end of the beach, where the rocks jutted out into the bay, nothing was distinct.

But then I heard them, or at least I heard my wife, and my blood ran cold.

The sound was coming from the right side of the bay, far enough away that it was indistinct, but it was definitely the sound of rhythmic moans, the kind that are involuntary, when a cunt is being rhythmically ploughed by hard, rock solid, cock.

I knew straight away that it was Laura, from the pitch and tone of the noises she was making. I knew as well, that the only time she made those sounds was when I was making love to her, fucking her cunt as rhythmically as I could hear her now.

Except it was not me fucking her fucking cunt. It was another fucking cock fucking her.

I walked in the direction of the sounds, but before I saw where they were coming from I heard a shriek, a loud gasp of intense pleasure, followed by more moans.

I stopped, shaken again by what I had just heard, knowing that whatever had just caused it, this was raw sex, being enjoyed outside of our marriage vows.

I walked on, and gradually the shadows formed by the rocks, morphed into the shapes of three people on the sand.

It was not what I had pictured earlier. Laura was not on her knees, sucking one Thai guy's cock while the other fucked her from behind. Laura was on her back. Her legs were in the air, or rather her calves were resting against the Thai guy's shoulders, her thighs pushed back, her butt raised clear of the sand, while the Thai guy thrust his cock into her rhythmically and repeatedly, every so often slamming harder, deeper into her cunt.

The other guy was kneeling beside Laura, waiting his turn. One of his hands was at her breast, fingering her nipple stubs. The shriek that I had heard might have been overly enthusiastic nipple play, or a sudden deeper and harder thrust, but either way, my wife was not complaining.

My own cock betrayed me. It reacted. I sensed it engorge with blood, thickening and stiffening as I watched. It was involuntary, at odds with what I was thinking and feeling, which was sheer horror and revulsion.

Then I saw the real reason for Laura's high pitched shriek. It was not the nipple play, enthusiastic as that seemed to be. Nor was it the intensity of thrust the guy fucking her was using with his cock. It was his hand. He slapped Laura's butt, a little to the side, the sound of palm on flesh resounding. I knew that the sound as you smack bare buttock can be more intense than the pain itself, but Laura gave another shriek. It had been hard.

It was punishing, brutal fucking, but even still, my wife did not complain. For a split second, I wanted to believe that this was rape, my wife forced to the sand, legs pulled apart, the larger guy forcing himself on her while the other helped, because that would be easier to bear than her giving herself to them, inviting them to fuck her. That was the last thing that I wanted from my wife.

But when Laura did finally cry out, it told me that this was no rape.

"Oh God, yes,... yes FUCK ME!!"

That should have been enough, but I was rooted to the spot. I stayed, unmoving, as the Thai did exactly as she was asking. He fucked her, and then he fucked her more, and more, until I recognised the shudders and the gasps and moans that told me that my wife was in her private heaven, my hell, enjoying an illicit orgasm, her body racked by Thai cock ravaging her oh, so willing cunt.

The Thai guys were nothing other than another set of my wife's fuck buddies, nothing serious, to her at least.

He carried on. He continued fucking her while she shuddered and gasped, and I knew the way her cunt muscles would be flexing and squeezing and releasing and tightening again around his cock, because I had fucked her often enough to know how exquisite that can be, and how intense it is, and how it overcomes your desperate attempt to hold back so that you can fuck her more, and instead you feel the jet of semen shooting through your cock shaft and spewing into her.

Which is what I guessed was happening when he arched his back and gave his own, low pitched, grunts of uncontrolled release.

I remained fixed to the spot, watching as in slow motion, the guy moved her ankles from his shoulders, as she lowered each leg in turn, as she reached to the side, to the other guy, to his lap, and I guessed to his cock, while the guy who had just fucked her eased himself up, and moved from between her legs.

She lay, arms and legs splayed, as the second guy rose from his squat beside her and moved to kneel between her legs. He leaned forward, taking his weight on his arms, hands planted in the sand on either side of her, and then he lowered his torso, and her legs rose again, her ankles locking behind his back, and I knew that his cock was deep inside her.

I left. I had seen all I needed to, and more than I had wanted to.

As I walked back, I heard her rhythmic gasps and moans again, and even when I could no longer hear them they stayed resounding in my head.

By then, I had already decided. Nothing was going to change. This was my marriage. Laura would not change. Sex was just a game for her. Nothing serious.