On holiday with Veronica

2002 was a memorable year because it was was the year I started going out with Veronica. She was a stunning blonde with the face of an angel and the body of a Greek goddess. She had long curly blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, a flawless complexion and a "Colgate" smile. She was one of those stunning creatures that caused car accidents every time she walked down the pavement. I don't why but a beautiful blonde is so much better than other beautiful women. They have a sexual charisma that other women just don't seem to have. They have an erotic aura about them a kind of sensual magnetism that draws men like flies.

All my mates were a little peeved to say the least that she had chosen me over them as in their humble opinion she was out of my league. And if you want to know the truth I couldn't understand it either. She could have chosen anyone. She could have chosen a billionaire, a duke, a rock star a film star. She could have chosen someone who was tall dark and handsome. But she hadn't she had chosen me instead. And it was true. She had chosen me. She was the one who had made the first move and done all the running and it had taken me a while to cotton on that it wasn't a joke and this vision of female perfection really was attracted to me and really did want to go out with me.

I remember her telling me one day that what had attracted her to me was the sound of my voice and the colour of my eyes. Plus I was sweet, nice, funny, trustworthy, and reliable. She didn't mention that she thought me sexy (which was slightly disappointing) or that I looked like Bill Wyman, not that it mattered. But she did tell me that I was the nicest boyfriend she had ever had. I was tempted to ask how many boyfriends she'd had but decided against it. Though I have to admit I did wonder who these mystery boyfriends could have been and why they had let her slip through their fingers because she was every man's wet dream. None of that mattered now though. I was the luckiest man alive and I pinched myself everyday to make sure I wasn't dreaming. How wrong I was.

It was while we were on holiday in Turkey about fifteen years ago when it all started to unravel. We were going on a day trip arranged by our hotel to some Roman ruins about twenty kilometres away next to a lake. The coach driver and our guide were both local men big and dark and swarthy with heavy stubble on their faces. The driver was middle-aged with a bit of a gut while the guide was a younger who wore a shirt open at the front and a size to small so that the ladies could see his muscles and hairy chest. He smiled a lot and made a lot of small talk with everyone and made a point of stopping to chat to all the women on the coach and he paid special attention to Veronica. But I was used to that and so was she.

"Hello beautiful lady," he would say every time he passed us in the aisle and Veronica would smile sweetly and he'd try to make conversation by asking; How did she like Turkey? Was this her first time? Was she enjoying her holiday? Was she English? Where did she live in England? What did she like to do in her free time? Did she like dancing? Why wasn't she married? Why didn't she have any children? And so on. It was none of his business but she humoured him with answers a politician would have been proud of.

The Roman ruins were impressive and we spent a couple of hours exploring piles of stones and wonky pillars. Then we had lunch and did some more exploring and while Veronica had a dip in the lake I was decided to climb a nearby hill for some reason. When I got to the top I noticed the guide walking among the resting tourists and then coming to a stop to have a talk with Veronica who was wearing a bikini that revealed more than it should have. It was a long talk. A bit too long for my liking so I decided to make my way back.

"What did he want?" I asked her taking my place next to her.

"Nothing much. He just wanted to know if we were having a good time."

I doubted it. If that's all he asked it took him a hell of a long time to ask it. But I decided not to make an issue of it and decided to settle down and read my book.

"Oh well if you're going to read a book I might as well read too," said Veronica all of a sudden rising to her feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I left it in the coach."

"I'll get it."

"No don't bother," she said smartly and marched off towards the coach parked some distance away under some trees. I looked round and could see her bag. I had a quick peek inside and noticed that she had the book with her all along. I called after her but she had already reached the parked coach by now and didn't hear me so I decided to hurry after her and tell her that I had found her book.

The door was open and I walked up the stairs and was about to call out t her what I saw stopped me dead. They were right at the back of the coach; the driver, the guide and Veronica. She was completely naked and on her knees with the guide standing behind her holding her by the arms. He was still fully clothed but the bus driver standing in front of her wasn't. He reminded me of a big ugly ape with hair in places where it didn't belong and he was holding his big cock in front of Veronica's face. The look on his face was the look of a starving man about to enjoy his first good meal in a long time. He was saying something which of-course I couldn't understand but whatever it was both he and the tour guide thought it hilarious.

The tour guide wrapped a hand around Veronica's golden locks and bending over her barked out, "now you said you be a good girl!" and as if by magic Veronica opened her mouth and with a cry of triumph the coach driver slid his dirty old gnarled cock between her lips and started to fuck her mouth. His face literally lit up and glowed with delight and disbelief as this stunning blonde sucked his nasty old cock. And she was working hard to please him too and I could see Veronica's checks hollow out as she set to work to give him the blow job of a lifetime.

But now the tour guide was getting desperate to have his turn and letting go of Veronica's hair he started to strip off and get ready for action. He sat down on the seat directly in front of the aisle down the centre of the coach his hard dark cock reaching well past his belly button. He waited impatiently for the coach driver to finish. Finally his partner in crime climaxed and dumped his load into Veronica' mouth with a cry of exultation. The tour guide wasted no further time in dragging Veronica over to him until she was kneeling between his legs. With a nasty leer on his face he forced her head down on to his cock and I watched stupefied as her head bobbed up and down vigorously. The tour guide was almost crying with undiluted joy like a man who had overcome with unimaginable sexual pleasure.

While Veronica was busy servicing him the coach moved behind and roughly pulled her legs apart and rammed his cock into her helpless cunt and fucked her savagely like a wild animal. Then they dumped Veronica on to her back over the seats and with a throaty growl the tour guide threw himself on top of her and began to run his rough hands all over her fabulous body mashed her breasts and as he plunged his cock into her like a man stabbing to death his most hated enemy. Veronica let out a scream that was swiftly stifled by a big hairy hand. Then I watched in horror as her legs were lifted up until her ankles were around her ears and the coach driver start to work his cock into her rear end to sodomise her as the tour guide stood by cheered him on. Again Veronica cried out but this time it was the tour guide who silenced her by stuffing his cock into her mouth. This was sex at its most primeval; crude and brutal. Their energy and enthusiasm seemed endless as they took her again and again swapping places and starting all over again while Veronica just lay there and just took it. The sex was disgusting and obscene. They were using and abusing her in a most foul way and she was just letting them destroy her.

And looking back on it now what made it all the worse was that when she finally did reappear you would never have guessed that she had just spent the last thirty minutes or so being fucked senseless by a couple of sweaty and grubby peasants. I had staggered back our spot at the edge of that lake and had waited for her thinking at any moment I would have a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. When she finally did reappear she was as cool as a cucumber. I asked her if everything was alright and she nodded and sitting down next to me explained that she hadn't found her book and then casually looking in to her bag she let out a little cry of surprise,

"Oh look. It was in my bag all along. Silly me."

And silly me too. I should have confronted her. I should have had it out with her there and then. I should have done something. Instead I did nothing. I think it was because I was waiting for her to own up and confess. But she didn't. Not then. Not on the way back to the hotel. Not while we were having our supper at the restaurant or when we were back in our hotel room. Nor did she admit to her transgression after we had got back to Blighty. Life in fact carried on as before as if nothing had happened.

What I couldn't work out was if these are the kind of men she liked and if this was the kind of sex she wanted why on earth had she married me? We had never had anal sex because she had told me that was "disgusting" and yet as far as I could tell she had loved it when those two yokels had fucked her in the arse. Like I said, I should have spoken up but I didn't. Besides, don't forget I loved her and didn't want to loose her nor did I want people to find out what had happened. How big a fool would I look then and how they would all laugh and that would have been too much. I had been humiliated but so long as it was private I could live with it. And as life returned to normal back home I began to tell myself that it was just one of those crazy and foolish things everybody does sometimes when they are drunk or on holiday and that it had been completely out of character and that she would never do it again.

But she did do it again and I caught her in flagrante delicto quite by accident once or twice over the years since then. And it was utterly soul destroying coming home to find her flat on her back with a dark-skinned youth half her age between her legs. Or know that it is your wife who was being fucked senseless in the back seat of that car by some arsehole she had met only half an hour ago. Or see a stranger in a cinema sidle up to her the moment I had left her side and start to run a hand down the front of her open blouse and the other up her skirt. And I felt helpless to do anything about it because she was not doing anything about it either. Besides what was the point of saying anything now after all this time had passed? What was the point of complaining now? I had made my bed and now, whether I liked it or not, I had to lie in it and just put up with it.

Every man dreams of finding the perfect woman who is "an angel out of bed and a whore in it" who is as good in the kitchen as she is between the sheets. But believe it or not I still can't make up my mind whether Veronica is an angel or a whore.