The Cheaters of San Ramiro

-1-

Lynnette and Jarred lay coiled together on the warm, sun-baked beach of San Ramiro Island, their naked, toned, tan bodies basking in the warm afterglow of an intense round of passionate lovemaking. Jarred kissed her deeply and passionately on the lips, while Lynnette stroked his already stiffening shaft of manhood.

"Are you up for it again?" Jarred whispered gently.

"You know, I do have a husband." She replied, giggling softly.

"So what? I have a wife."

"You naughty boy. Does she know?"

"I would assume she does. In fact, she's here somewhere. Last I saw, she and Tyson were making out over in the pool dressing room."

"So...you and your wife have a pretty open relationship then."

"I guess. When you look as good as she does, it comes with the territory, I guess."

"Mmmmm...I 'm gonna make her jeaaaalllouusss..." she replied, in a jokey sing-along way.

"Well, I dunno. Maybe Tyson will make ME jealous. But then again...maybe not. Why be jealous when I got...YOU!"

And with that, laughing lustily, his penis fully erect and nearly ready to explode again, he turned her over onto her back and probed into her again, thrusting into her tight, blonde sun-kissed body. After just a few moments of intense yet passionate love-making, they came almost together then, her body shaking spasmodically as she let out a shriek of pure pleasure and sweet ecstasy, and he erupted into her belly like a volcanic eruption. Meanwhile, the sun began to set over the Pacific Ocean and the tide began to roll in on the beach.

"So..." Jarred asked finally, as they lay on the beach together, watching the colors in the sky turn from orange to red to purple over the waves, "You know that my wife obviously knows about me being here. But you never told me, does your husband know about you?"

-2-

George Rathmann rolled up to his hillside mansion in his Bentley. Everything about this place was ornate- his car, the neighborhood, the house. He had worked hard for all of this, he told himself, and had earned every penny. Although there was room for his car in the garage, he preferred to park it in the driveway. Let the plebes admire it, he thought to himself, knowing they can't touch it. He let himself in through the garage. His wife's ML430 Mercedes SUV was not there; she must not be home from her meeting. That was okay; he was working late to help secure another real-estate deal, which in this case meant schmoozing with a potentially unwilling seller over drinks, which always seemed to grease the wheels in these type of negotiations. Hey, it was work after all.

She had left a note on the counter. "George- I'm at the Abstinence Youth Club Meeting. Chaperoning a movie and will be back late. Dinner is in the fridge. Lova ya, Bye!"

With the kids away at the in-laws in northern California, where they typically spent the summers alternating between sets of grandparents, George and Lynnette had the house to themselves. But when she was gone, he didn't mind being home alone. It was nice to have an empty nest. When they were together, it meant that they could have all the kinky sexual escapades he could dream up and not have to worry about being overheard or bothered. At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, lately it seemed like Lynnette had been gradually losing interest in those kinds of things. For a girl as hot and sexy as she seemed, Lynnette sometimes had a frigid streak.

She had made a particularly excellent tuna noodle casserole- cooking (among other things) was one of her specialties. She worked hard at it. Just like he had worked hard for her and earned every right to her, he told himself- like he had earned everything else he was blessed with. He didn't even mind when she went out to some of her club meetings dressed in a way he thought might otherwise be inappropriate: She looked so good in those tiny dresses and stiletto heels. Let the plebes admire her, knowing they can't touch her.

-3-

A few nights later, on a tiny speck of land 15 miles off the coast, a party was in full swing. Scantily clad men and women frolicked in the sun, swam in the Olympic sized pool, luxuriated in the mansion overlooking the ocean, and mingled on the lush, manicured island's park-like grounds. On the outside grills, guests gorged on the finest shrimp, pork, chicken and other gourmet fare. Drinks flowed from the poolside bar. Here were the beautiful people of southern California, drinking, carousing, and having copious amounts of gratuitous sex. And Lynnette Rathmann was here among them.

She lay on a towel on the beach, the warm ocean breeze wafting in over the waves. While George was presumably at home reading some financial report and thawing some frozen pizza, and thinking she was at a "leadership conference" (as she had told him) she was having the time of her life.

And right now, she was having deep, hot wet sex with someone who was definitely not George. She lay naked, on her back, legs wrapped around Jarred's firm torso as he was giving it to her hard, deep and good. She was craving it, needing his thick hardness penetrating her, filling her and touching her deep inside as she rocked against him. Sex with George was never like this, could never be like this, never ever. His wealth and power could provide for her, but his flaccid, frumpy middle aged body simply could never satisfy these deep urges within her.

Jarred was groaning and panting, and with a final gasp, he let go, orgasming a huge load of seed into her tight body. She came herself just seconds later as she jerked and twitched underneath him, bucking wildly. She lay there in utter bliss, panting breathlessly as he gently caressed her naked buttocks. Jarred had been passionate and frisky as always, and as they always did after making love, they cuddled in the sand together watching the waves roll in.

Although Jarred was an attentive lover; far, far better than George could ever be, somehow, this time, she didn't feel entirely satisfied. She lay there silently and distantly thinking to herself as Jarred stroked her hair and body, but her mind was wandering. She started to think about what she really wanted here, not just from Jarred, but from Club Neverland in general. She finally realized that what she deeply craved was the wild, savage untamed hard fucking she had never had, but which many of the friends she had made here relished. It was something deep inside her psyche that she had never really realized she needed, until she had seen it first hand by coming here. In fact, wasn't that why everyone came here in the first place? To satisfy their deepest sexual longings? She knew that Jarred deeply cared about her, but it was like, that almost wasn't good enough. She liked Jarred, and thought he was a good lover, but yet, she didn't love Jarred. In fact "love" was almost never part of the equation among the hook-ups here. It would only complicate things. A realization came to her: You only live once, and this is your opportunity to experience your deepest and darkest sexual desires, so why not seize it?

Not that Jarred wasn't fun to hang out with (not to mention a great lay!) but with so many eager and willing men around, why settle for just one? She could probably have any of them she wanted. But one thing she knew for sure, sex with Jarred, or probably any one of them, would be preferable to what her husband at home gave her. George just didn't do it for her, never did and never would. At the wrong side of fifty, balding and pudgy, he was clearly never attractive to her physically. He was, after all, nearly twice her age, but unlike some middle-aged guys, never really took care of himself (unless you considered driving around a golf range in a cart while drinking beer "Working out.") She had tried prodding him to take up a membership at a gym, or at least do SOMETHING to get him in shape, but he had never listened, and had dismissed it as nagging.

Still, George had many things going for him- and it was for these things that she had been attracted. He was a good provider. He bought her all kinds of nice things and gave her a huge, wonderful home she would have never afforded on her salary as a substitute teacher. George was wealth, status, money, power, and good standing in the community and she played along, pretending to be an arch-conservative, Republican country club wife (even though she sometimes felt dirty about it) because that was what he wanted her to be.

And she pretended to enjoy sex with him, despite the fact that he was a poor performer in bed, with very little stamina, and an average sized member that he seemed to have an increasingly difficult time getting to work properly. Because, she DID love him, in spite of everything. She told herself that this is what love is, after all, he provided for her, took care of her and her children, and treated her like a princess. Though some of his occasional angry political rants were irritating, (at immigrants, liberals, environmentalists, and whoever his enemy de jour was) and he was known to have a temper.

So, naturally, when she had heard about Club Neverland and San Ramiro Island, she had not hesitated to sign up. This was a place where hot, young, beautiful women could go to get their freak on, so to speak- to live their deepest, most vivid and wild sexual fantasies- the things that their husbands would never do. Or which, they would never allow their husbands to do with them. Here, she could find the one thing that was missing from her marriage. It was perfect! Most of the women there were like her- young, pretty, sexually liberated, but yet stuck in hum-drum marriages to wealthy, yet boring, men. Men who might have been great husbands and generous providers, but who simply didn't spark their fires. Men like George, in other words. Ironically, it had been one of George's own clients- to whom he had paid way less than market value for some beachfront real estate- who had turned her on to this place. After a brief meeting and the usual initiation rites, she had signed up and was admitted to this exclusive club for the young, beautiful, and sexually adventurous. She quickly found a lot of kindred spirits among the women here, and quickly relished in the attention of the men. Although she had been with several of them, she had always been the most drawn to Jarred. He was sensitive, smooth, wealthy and good looking in a metrosexual way, if not exactly a rugged manly way.

The men! The club was full of the most delicious, beautiful, rugged, handsome, perfect male specimens she had ever seen. Almost every one of them made her hormones flow. That was, of course, part of the deal. In order to be admitted into the club in the first place, if you were a male, you pretty much had to be a perfect physical specimen: buffed, handsome, tall, lean, and extremely good looking. The same standards applied to female prospects too, of course- in order for a sex club to function as well as this one did, there had to be mutual attraction between the members. But Lynette had always known that most men wanted her, so that was no problem for her. She had the pick of the litter nearly her whole life, and had carefully chosen a husband who she knew could provide all of her material wants. As for her physical needs- well, if George couldn't satisfy her (and to be honest, he never really could) she would have had no problem finding a hook-up for an occasional affair. But even then, some of the best looking guys often tended to be dirty, drug or disease laden creeps, and she was wary.

However, this place solved all of those problems. They screened their members carefully: everyone here was tested and guaranteed to be drug and disease free, with no criminal background. And this place was discrete enough that it was easy to get away with such affairs. While there was much more competition for guys' attention on this island (and more than a little of the occasional jealousy among some of the girls) she still knew she could find plenty of action- guilt free and risk free.

For one thing, it was very secretive. The club was never discussed online anywhere, even on the "Dark Web"- that was a hard and fast rule. Another thing, you had to specifically be asked to join. You could not simply petition or apply on your own, and in fact, only females could solicit other new members. George's ex-client, a wealthy and gorgeous divorcee named Lindsey Whelan who had just been screwed out of some prime real estate (by George himself), had immediately bonded with Lynnette and then told her about the club over drinks one afternoon. The place was ran by a wealthy investor named Paul Ostermann, she learned, who owned the island and presided over the club. However there was actually a rotating council of five people- always three woman and two men- who served as administrators and judged new prospective members for admittance.

All new club prospects went through a testing process- psychological, physical, and of course, background, drug, and disease screens. Then, after an initial "meet and greet" visit as a guest, there was an ultimate judging. There would be one of four possible fates: New members who were judged to be either not attractive enough, or otherwise not desirable enough in some fashion or other, were sent to "The Abyss" which meant they were instantly and permanently '86ed from the club- exiled and never allowed to return. Also, current members who royally screwed up- broke the rules in a major way, tested positive for hard drugs (although pot was considered okay), got into fights, or talked about the club outside of the club (rule number one: You Don't Talk About Sex Club!) were likewise sent to "The Abyss."

For some people, mostly women who were looking for a quick and dirty hookup, but maybe were not quite physically desirable enough to be accepted as permanent members, the sentence was "Limbo." This meant, you were a guest for maybe one or two nights- but not a permanent member- and had to re-apply for membership and judgement after each visit. Also, if a member broke a rule but it was a lesser infraction that maybe did not justify permanent expulsion, they were also sent to "Limbo," usually for a predetermined period of time.

If you passed the judgement, then you were admitted into "Heaven" and had full privileges: The sex, the feasts, the booze, the parties, and every earthly delight the island had to offer.

But for the really unfortunate, there was "Hell." This status was reserved almost exclusively for males who the club officers found useful and wanted to keep around, but who just were not really sexy enough to be anyone's dreamboat stud. On one hand, these unfortunates were considered full club members, but yet they were basically indentured servants: they get stuck doing all the chores- housekeeping, maintenance, cooking, cleaning, grounds keeping, and other grunt work. But worse than that, while on the island, they were referred to as "Slavesluts" and they would be forced into doing humiliating, degrading and sometimes disgusting things for the benefit of a certain cadre of girls here on the island. These girls delighted in playing a "mean girl" dominatrix- whips and chains and all- and taking out their sadistic urges on these men. And while everyone else enjoyed endless free sex, these men had the opposite- they would be forced to wear specially designed chastity devices preventing them from even masturbating (let alone having sex) at all times- even when they were not actually working on the island. With that, and with all the disturbing whips and chains stuff they would be subjected to, one would expect these guys would be miserable here. Yet sadly, for some reason, most of these luckless men eventually developed some kind of sick pleasure out of being treated like this, and would even eagerly subject themselves to it. But the whole thing always disgusted Lynnette, who did her best to ignore these guys and would avoid even speaking to them if at all possible. It just never was her scene at all. She couldn't imagine anyone getting their kicks being treated like that, or for that matter, getting off on treating people like that. Although one of her best friends, Kayla Johansson, seemed to take a particular delight in cruelly tormenting the "Slavesluts" in the basement below the island mansion, which was specially outfitted for those kind of activities.

And as a matter of fact, here was Kayla right now, sitting at the tiki bar, wearing one of her trademark tiny pleated "naughty schoolgirl" skirts that covered almost nothing. Lynnette saddled up to her.

"So, bored with your little plaything?" Lynnette asked, teasingly.

"I dunno, are you bored with yours? Where is Jarred?" She replied.

"Well, I dunno, He's over..." She sighed, "You know, actually, I think maybe you're right. Maybe I AM bored with him. Jarred is a good lay and he's got a great body, but..."

"...but there is so much better, yeah I know." Kayla replied.

"No but, Jarred is sweet and all, I mean."

"Listen, girl- the "sweet" guys are the ones we tie up in the basement. You need..."

"WhatEVER; I don't want to hear about you and your gross perv-y creeps. Why do you even get off on that icky stuff? I mean, that's so fucked up."

"No no, wait; just listen. And remember, we don't judge each other here, right?" she said, reproachfully. "Look, just hear me out. There are TONS of guys here. Jarred is fine, I get it; you like him. I like him too, he's cute and... sweet. But you can do better. I mean, that's the thing! We both can have just about any guy here on this island! Like, there! Look at him. Right over there." She said, pointing to a guy wearing red swim trunks on the diving board, his buffed body, ripped muscles and hairless chest topped by the most gorgeous smile. She watched as he cleaved the water with a near perfect dive.

"...Or, what about Tyson? I know you had a thing for him for a while." Kayla added.

"Yeah, but that's, like, kind of weird, I mean, Jarred's own wife is sleeping with him, that would just get complicated."

"Nothing has to be complicated here. It's all just sex. But whatever. How about Mike?"

"Which one?"

"Michael Lauridsen, you know, the guitarist." Kayla replied.

"Oh yeah... he IS fine. I've always dug the rocker types. That would be...Kinky." A peculiar thought began to occur to Lynnette. Hadn't she always had a deep fantasy about being backstage at a rock concert?

"Ha ha, you see? Maybe we aren't so much different..."

"Well, I don't mean, kinky like THAT. But yeah, now that you mention it, I would just like to fuck him, just once, just let him totally have his way with me. I bet he's pretty good in bed."

"THERE you go. Maybe you can! Just go talk to him. Or, ooooh, look at him!" she said, as a tall athletic guy, long hair done up in jet-black braids spilling down to his shoulders, ran by. She watched him dive into the pool after the gorgeous swim trunks guy she had seen earlier, cutting the water so cleanly and gracefully he barely created a ripple.

"Oh my God. THAT is a sexy hunk. I'd suck him dry. Maybe..., well, excuse me!" Kayla said, rising from the bar and scampering over to the side of the pool. Lynette sat down on the stool alone and watched as she playfully splashed at him in the pool. Of course, a women here never lacked attention. Even with so many other beautiful women around, some of the guys still acted like they were hard up desperately horny teenagers.

Almost as soon as Kayla had gone off to flirt with "Mr. Braids," a guy came up to her at the bar and immediately started chatting her up. This guy WAS certainly cute but yet- one thing about this place, and she was actually no different than most of the women here in this regard- Lynnette wanted to be the one to make the first move, to choose her man rather than be chosen. Even here, a man couldn't just have his way with her simply because he had a pecker. She had standards too and though this guy was nice, good looking and all- he just wasn't her type.