The Honeymoon

"A friend of mine told me about this place and said it's too good to pass up."

THE SHOP OWNER - VIVIAN

The olive-toned woman that waved to them late the following day as they entered a very fashionable combined boutique-antique shop was rivetingly beautiful. Both Mark and Marcie couldn't help but stare. Admittedly, they both surreptitiously watched her progress as she served the only other customer in the shop, a frumpy middle-aged woman who was still haggling over the price of two evening dresses.

The recent newlyweds contented themselves by browsing through some bright colored clothing while evaluating the saleswoman through the reflection of the glass window of the establishment. Her dusky skin appeared to be tinted in a rustic pattern, and as she drifted toward the register, the planes of her cheekbones licked the austere lines of a striking silver tea set.

Marcie shivered as her husband traced a single fingertip down the clothed ridge of her spine. "Find anything yet?" He inquired, although his eyes were still fixed on the very attractive woman he assumed to be the proprietor, his voice was a low, playful chastisement in her ear.

"Mmmm, her," Marcie whispered, nodding her head discretely towards the willowy, dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty as the customer left with both dresses. The woman's attention was now entirely taken up with a large crystal and bronze centerpiece made almost a century ago for the dinner table of some long dead patron of the decorative arts as she discreetly pretended to ignore the couple inspecting some of the more expensive items on display.

"She looks delicious," Mark said his voice, if anything even lower now as he pressed his body into his newlywed spouse's derrière. His lips brushed her ear. "Are you hungry?"

Marcie smiled, and knowing exactly what her husband meant, nodded, and ran the tip of her tongue quickly over lips that had dried in the still air of the shop. But between her legs, the anticipation of a hunt not yet embarked upon brought blood to her cunt, swelling it to a dull, needy ache.

Still keeping track of the lithe feline proprietor out of the corner of her eye, Marcie turned to Mark. "Shall we see if we can have her for dinner?"

He pursed his mouth in mock consideration then relented into a smile, "You sound like Hannibal Lector, dear."

"Be serious Mark," his wife said but she was smiling.

"Charm, finesse or full-frontal assault?" He said, returning the smile and answering her question.

"I'm not sure yet," she replied as another potential customer looked covetously through the shop windows before sighing and moving on. The attractive woman behind the counter, perhaps an inch or even two taller than Marcie, glanced up at them before saying, in perfect English, "I'll be with you in a moment."

Marcie decided that the woman's clothes suited her, but they weren't as fashionable as her own merchandise on the racks and counters. Her long dark skirt covered the tops of a pair of expensive black boots. She wore a loose, textured cardigan over a plain burgundy shirt. And as Marcie stooped to take a closer look at a cloisonné snuffbox on display, her eye caught the creamy roundness of one full breast. The woman turned her head to the side and worried her lower lip with her perfect white teeth.

"What do you think?" Marcie asked, thinking incorrectly that Mark didn't fully realize how insatiable an appetite she had for sex with either gender. Although there had been that night when he'd helped teach Mary Kaye Huntsman a lesson for watching them through the porthole on their houseboat. Salivating at the thought of both of them ravishing this lovely Costa Rican, she completely forgot that Mark had seen her and the teen aged Aniah not once, but twice as they engaged in unbridled, wanton sex as a threesome. She thought she knew him well enough that he would agree to pursue this gem of a woman. After all he had gotten them both excited at the thought of them seducing the young woman in the bikini and her studly lover as they'd spied on them through the telescope.

Mark considered her question for a moment before saying, "I think she'll get spooked if we pounce. But you do your thing then let me talk with her to see how she responds."

And so, Marcie took the slower route toward seducing the woman, saying: "Hello, my husband and I are here on," she paused for a beat before going on. "... Vacation; and just happened to see your shop while walking around this part of town. What you have for sale is quite interesting."

"Thank you," the woman replied, and they both noted that she had only the tiniest accent to her command of the English language. "I own and operate the place. My name ... well, everyone calls me Vivian."

"I assume you're a native Costa Rican," Marcie said walking over to Vivian and they shook hands.

"Yes I am. You seem surprised at my use of English."

"Well, it's nearly perfect," Marcie said.

"Marcie," Mark said, "that's rather impolite."

"No—no," Vivian said, "Costa Rica is a linguistically diverse country and home to at least five local indigenous languages spoken by the descendants of pre-Columbian peoples. However, the prevailing language is Spanish with French running a close second. As you move around our country you'll no doubt encounter several other languages being used."

She noticed Mark appraising her breasts, but like most females, shrugged it off preferring to take it as a complement rather than an insult.

She glanced at Marcie and was pleased to see that she had seen the glance she'd given her husband and continued with her linguistic explanation. "Immigration has also brought people and languages from various countries around the world. Probably most noteworthy is the German migration that took place here during the 19th and 20th centuries; not to mention we have the largest Italian community in Central America, with more than 2,500 Italians living in the country; in addition, there almost 2,000 Swiss; and roughly the same amount of Chinese. I like to think that we're not unlike the United States with our variety of nationalities.

Vivian stopped talking and took a breath as she studied Marcie for a long moment then said, "You're a nine."

"No," Marcie protested, "I'm an eight!"

The darker haired Vivian laughed and said, in excellent English, "I meant on the scale that men use to judge women, not dress size. That I knew the moment you walked in the door."

Oh," Marcie replied, "Well then thank you for that complement."

Marcie reached up and touched the other woman's face. "Nine, huh? Well, you're right there beside me for that matter."

Mark had been wandering around the shop now joined them as they stood in front of an Empire period gold and claret chaise lounge. It was opulent, gilded, bolsters plump and rounded.

"That was very interesting," he said lightly, smiling at his wife and then acknowledging Vivian with a polite tilt of his head. He surveyed the couch with a laconic eye. "Imagine the stories this piece could tell."

Vivian furrowed her brow for a moment and then laughed. It was throaty, rich proof that she was perfectly capable of imagining exactly the sort of things Mark had in mind.

Marcie introduced them, and the three of them chatted and made their unhurried way through the rest of the European furnishings. Eventually they settled on three small items including the aforementioned cloisonné snuffbox.

All in all, they spent $327 dollars, American. Everyone was pleased, and Vivian decided to close up for the day after Mark graciously invited her to join them for a drink to celebrate their purchases.

"Um, well I don't know. There are things I need to do," the proprietor said quickly.

"Dinner then," he said moving over to a rack with several expensive blouses on it. He chose one, a silken almost transparent white that cost at least $300 American.

"When you join us for dinner I want you to wear this top," he selected a dress from the rack of clothing off to his right. "Your size, of course. Just add it to my credit card. Oh, please don't wear the boots you have on at the moment. A pair of four-to-six-inch heels will suffice.

Her eyes widened at how specific his instructions were. "Is that all?" she asked flushing from head to toe.

"No," he said so softly Vivian took a step backward. "Um, what else?"

"Nothing beneath the blouse."

"No...nothing?"

"Right," turning to his wife he said, "That's how you move about isn't it, Marcie?"

"Yes, almost all the time now."

Turning back to Vivian, he said, "And you can pick out a skirt to match. Hose is appropriate tonight; it's already cold and windy. But as I said, nothing under it."

It was dark and windy out when they left the shop and waited while Vivian locked up. The wind had a cruel bite to it and when Mark saw Vivian shiver and pull her cardigan sweater closer around her, he slid his arm through hers as he had already done with Marcie.

Vivian gave a nervous smile but leaned into him as a buffer against the strong breeze. Her dark eyes flitted from Marcie's face to Mark's and back. The wind whipped at her lovely black hair, pulling it into momentary echoes of the dark, bare branches of the trees that lined the street.

"This is unusual weather for this time of year. I wonder if a storm is coming, although the weather report didn't mention it," she said, looking at Marcie's face admiringly.

Marcie held a smile frozen in place, but her heart raced as Vivian hesitated. "I don't know. I think, maybe I'll pass on the drink. I have so much to do at home."

The explanation was too long, too complete. Marcie knew at once she wanted to accept, but was intimidated, most likely by Mark's presence. Marcie opened her mouth to offer some further persuasion, but Mark caught her eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Withdrawing a pen and card from his jacket pocket, he quickly wrote something on the paper and handed it to Vivian.

"What a pity, Vivian. But we do understand. This is our hotel and room number, should you decide to change your mind. We were planning to eat at about nine. You are more than welcome to join us."

Vivian took the card after another moment of hesitation. "Thank you, but under the circumstances I don't think it's possible for me."

Mark shrugged as if it wasn't of the least importance. He put an arm around his wife's shoulder, pulling her to his side.

"It was lovely to meet you, Vivian," Mark said. "But if you decide to join us for dinner ... well, you have your instructions. Ciao!"

"Ciao!" Vivian said in reply and turned back toward the boutique.

Mark flagged a taxi. Nestled into the back seat of the dark cab, Marcie sighed. "You were right about spooking her," and closed her eyes as a pair of warm lips pressed against her cheek. "Don't act disappointed, love, she'll show up. I know she will, she has a bit of the submissive about her."

"And if she doesn't, lover?"

"I'll find some way to make it up to you."

Despite feeling let down by Vivian's refusal, she smiled and tucked her warm fingertips between his crossed legs. "Ohhh, and how will you do that?" She purred. Already putting the vivacious Vivian out of her thoughts.

Mark gave a little growl. It was the sound he always made when he was thinking something filthy in public. I'll fuck you till you can't breathe in a bath full of warm bubbles. Will that do?"

Of course, it would. Marcie adored a warm bubble bath and always had.

The thing about sex in bathtubs is that one mustn't be in a rush. A frenzied fuck is better delivered against a wall, over a table, or in a bed. Splashing is for swimming pools, but bathtub sex must, Mark always insisted, start with a long, delicious soak, interspersed with lazy bouts of fondling.

After a short period of cradling her breasts with both hands, Mark urged Marcie to shift position so that she faced him. Then lying in the cradle of heat and froth, Marcie let the ball of her foot travel along the inside of his thigh. Opposite her, Mark lay back against the white porcelain, eyes closed, hair slicked back. A thin sheen of sweat glinted over the planes of his face. It was not quite a handsome face, but it was beautiful: A little too noble to be pretty, his lips a little too wicked to be cherubic. They crooked upwards as she ran the sole of her foot up the shaft of his semi-erect penis.

"You don't give me a moment's rest, do you, lover?" He said without opening his eyes. The forward press of his hips sent islands of foam bobbing over the surface of the water.

She slipped a little lower, cradling his erection between both feet. "You can rest when you're dead."

He groaned pleasurably. "You'll be the death of me."

"Not if you're the death of me, first. There are worse ways to go."

"Indeed, there are. Come here," he said, pulling one of her ankles up over his shoulder and plunging a hand between her submerged thighs.

_______________________

Vivian tried the outfit on at the boutique before deciding. She even practiced walking in six-inch heels before admitting that she wasn't capable of walking any reasonable distance without spraining or possibly breaking an ankle. The four-inch heels would have to do.

She was not too sure about going without a bra. The fabric of the blouse against her nipples was much too sensitive. Her nipples remained hard, jutting out like neon signage calling everyone's attention to them. Was that what he wanted? What about the woman? Were they a pair, expecting her to perform with both of them?

That thought caused a little shudder in her loins and she bit her lip thinking of how long it had been since she'd had a cock. She smiled to herself. It had been years since she had lain with a woman. Now the possibility of having both of them share her excited her to the point of having to masturbate in the boutique's bathroom shower.

_______________________

At 8:20 the phone in their hotel room rang and Mark was smiling as he answered. "Hello?"

"Mark? Hi, it's Vivian. Um, if that dinner invitation still stands, I'd love to accept it."

Marcie still nude after fellating him while they bathed in tub, mouthed the word, 'Vivian?' and clapped hands gleefully when he nodded while firming up the dinner invitation with the boutique owner, and then reserved a table for three in a discrete corner of the restaurant.

______________________

At 9 sharp, Vivian got out of the taxi thinking that everyone around here knew exactly what she was going to be doing shortly. Her four-inch heels were clicking down the sandstone pathway leading to the hotel restaurant by the beach. She was nervous and her stomach was in knots. The thirty-year-old Costa Rican couldn't believe she was actually going to go through with this. With each successive step she reminded herself that she could turn around at any time and call it all off. Her pace slowed considerably as entered the hotel's lobby and looked around before seeing the restaurant off to her left.

The wrap she wore did conceal the almost transparency of the blouse, but once inside the restaurant she would be removing it. Then what? Thank God for the black tights that provided warmth of sorts from the crisp wind that still blew down the street as she carefully walked to the hotel entrance. But she was so excited by what lay ahead that she was certain the crotch of the tights was already wet with her desire to be ravished by the couple waiting inside that her hands were shaking.

Why on earth had she done what they--no-- he had told her to? Why had she dared go out in public dressed like this? And more importantly what had he or she said to put her in this condition with tiny drops of her juices running down the inside of her thighs? Why did her extended nipples chafe at the texture of the transparent blouse as she walked from the taxi to the hotel?

Oh God. Am I doing the right thing? She asked herself as her nervousness neared panic levels causing her to second-guess her decision.

She came to a halt at the restaurant entrance only to have the door abruptly open with Mark standing there, wearing a brilliant white shirt with long puffy sleeves and dark blue slacks. In Vivian's eyes he was tall, dark, and handsome, with a gorgeous body, all lean muscle, and perfectly defined, with smooth tanned skin.

"Oh Vivian, there you are!" He said, making it sound like a movie star had just arrived as he smiled wryly, bracing his hands against both sides of the door like a jungle cat staring down his prey.

"Perfect timing; Marcie's inside, we've just been seated."

"How did you know I was..."

"I've been watching you through the doorway. We figured you'd be exactly on time. I was just waiting to see how long it was going to take you to walk in, and then of course, you seemed to hesitate, and I took it upon myself to make sure you didn't change your mind. You haven't, have you?"

"Oh no! To be honest, I'm not sure this is such a good idea..." Her voice trailed off unconvincingly.

Mark let out a low laugh. "Sounds like you need more persuasion."

Vivian smiled nervously. "It's not that. You see, it's really..." but before she could ramble through another excuse, he stepped forward and took hold of her wrist, drawing her toward him, until he had a hand around her waist steering her into the restaurant.

Vivian yelped with surprise he quickly ushered her over to a table set in a darkened corner of the restaurant. Vivian's heart started pounding in response to the sudden shift in the uncertainty of her plans. A waiter made for their table, but Marcie was on her feet and embraced Vivian then kissed her. Startled by the kiss, Vivian's mouth opened, and Marcie wasted no time sending her tongue darting into it.

I don't think I can do this, She thought, but changed her mind the moment Marcie ended the kiss and Mark pressed the length of his hard, muscular body against her as he helped her sit down. Vivian squirmed in her chair and returned the smile that Marcie was beaming at her.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Marcie said with a knowing smile.

"Oh ... what?"

"Your cute little jacket, it's not windy in here Vivian."

"Oh, yes ... I'm sorry I just forgot myself," and she opened the jacket and let Mark remove it from her shoulders and place it on the extra chair at their table, leaving Vivian with her nipples clearly visible through the almost transparent blouse.

"Ohhh, I love your blouse, Vivian," Marcie said. "Very daring."

"Daring is the right word, but I would add, tantalizing as well," Mark said ignoring the fact that he had selected the blouse and told her to wear it sans bra. He sat down openly leering at her, his eyes lingering on the middle button of her blouse as it strained to contain her heaving breasts.

"You know, I think you nearly gave the waiter a heart attack ... not that I blame him," he said in a lower voice. "You looked very tasty just then when you were kissing my wife. Of course, I didn't get as good a look at them as he did..."

Oh, my god, I'm aroused already! Vivian thought and tried to divert attention from her breasts by losing herself in the usual inane conversational gambits one uses when meeting people one really doesn't know.

"You look ..." Vivian's voice trailed as she struggled for the right word, for Marcie was leaning forward and exposing a great deal of her own breasts from the low-cut bodice of her black evening dress. "God, I'm a little nervous, I guess. But Marcie, you look, well, stunning actually."

"We girls have to show off once in a while, right?" Marcie said with a smile.

"We do!" Vivian agreed as Mark's hand dropped on her knee and Marcie moved even closer and kissed her neck. Vivian found her lips quite soft as they pressed into her skin. She had forgotten how soft girls were. She sighed, not reacting to the hand now on her lower thigh for it had been such a long time without having any sex. The hand was hot against her skin, making her arch a little.