Paula Wilson Ch. 02: The Honeymoon

The Honeymoon

We stayed overnight in the honeymoon suite, and despite my reservations, when I saw Paula in her nightwear, I started to forget that several hours before, she had been unfaithful before we had consummated our marriage.

She was still glowing and had released her blonde hair to hang over her shoulders. She had hung the circle of flowers carefully, determined to keep them as a remembrance.

The nightwear was a simple ice-blue affair that finished just below her crotch. Unbidden, she spun around, revealing that her underwear matched her nightwear.

"Well, Mr. Wilson, am I presentable for our first night of marriage?" she spun around again.

"Very, and how about a glass of champagne to celebrate?" I pointed to the ice-filled champagne bucket and the bottle of cheap champagne the hotel had given us.

"Yes, please!" Paula jumped onto the bed, making no attempt to shield herself from my hungry eyes.

I opened the bottle, not without a struggle. The pop was hardly earth-shattering and then poured us two glasses. We lay on the bed, toasted each other, and then drank.

The champagne tickled my throat and nose. I coughed, and Paula laughed. It wasn't malicious. Paula's laugh was almost musical, light and distinctive, and yet it could carry across a crowded room.

We finished the bottle; it only held four glasses. Paula was the first to finish, and then she waited in what almost seemed amused frustration. So, as I placed my empty glass on the bedside table, I felt her hand on my thigh.

"So, husband, what happens next? A good night's sleep?" Paula teased, giving me a champagne-soaked kiss.

I was wearing a new pair of boxer shorts, and Paula's hand reached to my groin, where she received the expected response; my dick, still excited from earlier in the evening, rose quickly in her hand.

"No sleep for me, it seems!" Paula laughed.

I had hardly said a thing. I wasn't good at banter and just smiled back.

"Well, come on, husband. I can't do everything!" She lay back, spreading her hair over the pillow. I leaned forward and kissed her. As Paula's arms came about my neck, I forgot all about Jeff and drowned in the perfume that was my wife's body.

We made love. Paula obviously did not feel any guilt, and despite what I had witnessed, I was eager. Paula hooked her legs, as she always did, as I entered her.

She groaned. "I need this ..." beginning to match my rhythm with one of her own.

I tried to shut out the thought that a few hours earlier, Paula had been screwing Jeff on the same bed. If anything, the thought made me harder and more eager to show Paula that I was just as good in bed as her boyfriend.

The next day, we left the Hotel and took the short journey to the local airport. There, we caught an across-state flight to LA, and from there, we caught the Pacific flight to Hawaii, the real start of our honeymoon.

We had ten days in a four-star hotel overlooking the beaches, not in the honeymoon suite, which cost a small fortune we didn't have, but still in a good quality suite.

These days were almost the first we had truly spent together, at least the first time we'd spent days in each other's company. In two short years, we had gone from first date to getting married.

It was a time of learning, not that we hadn't been lovers before the marriage or hadn't spent nights together. It was just different and intense.

It could have been a recipe for disaster, but it wasn't. We dozed, awoke, made love, then showered, took in the sights that all tourists do, came back to the room, made love again, ate, sometimes in the room, and every evening drifted down to one of the many bars.

There was one that became Paula's favourite. I was easy about where I drank and, in the intoxication of the honeymoon, only too happy to comply with Paula's suggestions.

The bar was poolside and was open, the latest of all the outdoor bars. It stayed open until the last customer had weaved their weary way home. There was, of course, the bartender, a sun-bronzed Australian trying to earn enough money for the fare open. I thought that his name was Brett, but I have never been good with names.

Of course, I was too blinded by love to see what was coming. I should have seen the signs, but I didn't, and so one evening, after a light dinner, Paula announced she was going for a stroll. I was due a shower, so I thought nothing of the idea, and anyway, we needed our own space.

I showered and went out onto the balcony. It was late; darkness fell quickly, but the hotel was well-lit. There was a huge Hawaii party on the beach, and it seemed as if the entire hotel was heading towards it.

So I dressed and followed, only to spend a pointless evening wandering about looking for Paula. We both had smartphones but had left them in the hotel suite by mutual agreement. We wanted time together without being disturbed, something a smartphone did not allow.

At some point, I gave up and decided to return to the suite. I was crossing the pool area when I heard her musical laugh drift across the deserted pool.

It was Paula. The laugh was unique, and I almost called out, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was a foreboding, a memory of previous events. I skirted the pool, keeping to the shadows and away from the lights and their reflections.

At first, I didn't see her, but then her laugh gave her away. She was standing at the bar, the only customer, and deep in conversation with Brett, the bartender.

There were still more innocent explanations than not, but I had seen her with Jeff and knew that innocent Paula wasn't. I sank on my haunches and watched.

I had been married for eight days; my wife had been unfaithful even before we had consummated the marriage, and now, eight nights later, I knew that it was going to happen again, and once again, I was going to cower in the darkness and watch.

"So, where is he?" I heard Brett ask.

"Who knows, wanking himself stupid for all I know."

I shuddered at her language. She sounded so dismissive of me that it hurt.

"He does that?" Brett laughed.

"Sure, all men do, don't you?"

Brett coughed and then tried to laugh. "Well, only if it's been a barren spell; this is a good spot to find lonely wives."

Paula laughed again. "Lonely wives, are they your speciality?"

"I'm just one of the attractions." Brett grinned and did a false bow. "It's Paula, isn't it?" He asked, straightening.

"Certainly is, Paula with a P."

"Is there any other way?"

"Not that I know of." Paula laughed briefly. "Sorry, this is the first time he's let me out of his sight."

"Possessive?"

"I can hardly take a leak without him wanting to know how long I'll be."

It was a lie. Paula was describing a me that didn't exist, but if she wanted his sympathy, then she had it. Of course, he would agree to anything for the chance of getting his leg over.

"Sounds rough. How long has he been like this?"

"Since the day we married, he was okay before, but as soon as this ring..." She showed Brett her wedding ring. "It was on my finger, and then he changed."

"So, how long have you been married?" Brett was leaning across the bar. He'd taken hold of Paula's hand when she'd shown him the ring, and he hadn't let go yet, nor had Paula fought for its release.

"Almost eight, no, nine ...days."

I had to give Paula credit; the way she delivered that line, she could have been an actress. If Brett had been uncertain before, he was hooked now.

"We are still on our honeymoon," Paula added.

I swear that Brett just gaped, unable to speak. Instead, he freshened her drink, and I heard him almost whisper, 'On the house.'

"Thanks, salute." Paula drained her glass and then glanced around. I was too well hidden, and there was no one else to be seen. "Dead. Is this because of the beach party?"

"Sure, every second Tuesday, I might as well not open up. They'll stay at the party until two or three and then straight to bed." He'd poured himself a drink, something I hadn't seen him do any other night. "Salute."

"Salute."

Brett hadn't let go of Paula's hand, and now he was stroking her arm. Paula wasn't exactly dressed; she wore a bikini top and a wrap-around skirt.

"You have a gentle touch; I like that, and no sharp nails. I like that even more." I heard her laugh.

"Come round here," Brett suggested, pointing to behind the bar.

"Why?" Paula teased.

"It's more private, more intimate."

"Intimate, I like lots of intimate." Paula slid from her stool and, after another glance around the pool, stepped to the other side of the bar. Immediately I lost sight of them both, and with my dick in my hand, I sprinted across the deserted poolside. I could hear them, but it wasn't until I was almost at the bar that I could see them. I dropped down, conscious of how exposed I was.

"Will he be looking for you?" Brett asked.

"Of course, but he'll never look in the back of a deserted bar." Paula giggled.

"I have something to show you."

"I can guess what." Paula chuckled.

"No, well, that as well, just back here."

There was a moment of silence, and then Paula laughed out loud. "You are full of surprises. Were you ever a Boy Scout? Why don't you get a bottle of something?"

I stayed as low as I could whilst I heard Brett moving about only a meter away. "Any preferences?" He called out.

"Anything so long as I don't get gas from it."

I heard Brett move away, and they toasted each other. I moved closer, finding more shrubbery near the rear of the bar. I was as surprised as Paula had been. Where I had expected to find crates was a small but neat den, complete with a portable TV and an inflatable bed.

Brett was sitting on the bed, looking up at Paula, who was standing over him.

"Very neat. Just how clean is this?" she prodded the inflatable bed. "Just when did it last see a clean sheet?"

"Yesterday ... the day before ... and before you ask, no, it hasn't been used for anything other than my afternoon siesta." He held out his hand and caught Paula by the waist. "Come down here and try it out."

Paula didn't oblige, and I wondered if she was having second thoughts. Instead, she said, "A few rules: After tonight, if we meet, you behave like a regular bartender--no innuendos, quick gropes, anything, as if tonight has never happened. Understand."

"Sure baby, now come down here."

Paula shook his hand free, and I saw her step out of her shoes; then, with one hand, she untied the wrap around and let it drop.

Brett was sitting in silence, his mouth open.

She reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, which she tossed into his face.

Now only wearing a pair of micro-sized black panties, she sank into Brett's waiting arms.

I sat and watched as they kissed, petted and touched each other. I jerked myself as I did, not hard enough to come; I was desperate to save that to match her moment.

She hauled Brett's dick from his shorts and then pushed him onto his back. She straddled him, facing down his body and took his cock into her mouth.

She had never done this with me, not this week, not ever and by the strangled cries from Brett, she was good. I watched as she waggled her ass in his face, and then Brett was pressing his face between her legs, and I knew what he was doing.

"Wait!" She said and pulled away. In a trice, her panties were on the floor. She returned to her original position. "Now, you can start again!" She took his cock back into her mouth, and Brett buried his face in her pussy.

It was difficult not to cum; watching your wife getting tongue fucked and not cumming yourself is very difficult. I managed, but only because they stopped and changed positions.

At least Paula did; Brett was still on his back when she sat astride his cock, moving backwards and forwards. I could see how close she came to allowing him to enter her.

"I hope you're prepared for this ... only I don't ride bareback." She grunted. It was a lie; Jeff had not used anything, and I knew that Paula took a contraceptive pill.

Brett grabbed a packet off the floor, and ten seconds later, the rubber had been rolled onto his dick. Paula watched approvingly.

"Nice technique," she laughed. Now, let's see the rest of your game." She sat down, taking him deep inside her. Now that hits the spot dead centre," she laughed as she started to grind down on him.

I should by now have been disgusted, but I was almost in awe of my wife; with me, she was the perfect wife, passionate but restrained; with anyone else, she was an unrestrained trash-talking slut, two women inhabiting the same body.

I could see his dick sliding in and out of her; it glistened with her juices. I was so close that I could almost have reached out and touched her. I didn't; I just knelt and watched as they changed positions, with Paula on her back, knees raised as Brett really started to shag into her.

"Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh ... Ugh!" each time he slammed into her, Paula let out a deep cry of pain and pleasure. "Cumming!" She cried. "I'm gonna cum ... now ... now ... now!"

Paula rocked her head back and cried. Brett stopped for a moment, trying to hold back his orgasm, but was submerged in the intensity of Paula's, and then he started to jerk and grunt and jerk again.

Without realising it, I had cum; my dick was limp between my fingers.

A few feet away, my wife's latest lover pried himself from her sweat-soaked body to collapse beside her. "Lady." He gasped. "You are tremendous; you are one hell of a fuck."

Suppose I'd have said that, and then my Paula would have been offended. She didn't even like me to swear, let alone comment on her lovemaking. This Paula, the other one, fucked and swore and was happy when her lover crudely praised her.

"Thanks. Now, where's my drink." Casually, she leant across Brett, searching for her drink. Brett's hand strayed between her buttocks and finally down between her legs.

"Steady lover, that spot is just a wee bit sore." She slapped his hand away. "If you must touch, then use this." She tapped his mouth, and when he opened it, she further tapped his tongue. "And be gentle." She reminded him.

Brett kissed her on the mouth. "When must you leave?"

"Why are you kicking me out?"

"NO! I just wondered. I mean, you have a husband wandering about somewhere."

"Fuck him," Paula mumbled.

"I'd rather fuck you." Brett laughed.

"Then I'll stay ... until this bottle is empty." She held up the bottle; it was over half full.

"Is that long enough?"

"That seems fair enough."

They kissed again, and then Paula pressed down on his shoulder until he took the hint and dropped his head between her legs.

"Now that's just beautiful," she laughed. She placed her hand on the back of his head and kept his head trapped between her legs. "Gentle now," she breathed. Remember, I'm sore."

She came again whilst Brett's head was almost trapped between her legs and whilst she gently wanked his cock back into life.

The bottle was almost empty when Brett's fingers sought out her open cunt again.

He was hard again, his cock trapped between Paula's skilful and persistent fingers.

"This is the perfect end to an evening." She laughed as he entered her once more. I stopped wanking and, on numb legs, crept away. In the background, I heard her laughter turn to passion.