The Thin End of the Wedge Pt. 11

Previously in The Thin End of the Wedge: Sally, the mature housewife, has been working hard at The Splendor brothel. She and Tom now have enough money to take a holiday in the Carribbean. Flights and transfers are booked, as is the holiday resort, though Tom has kept the details secret. Sally is now very excited at the prospect of meeting some well-endowed locals. Now read on...

The Twin Otter DHC-6 aircraft gently dropped onto the little runway, slowed, and taxied to the terminal building. Sally and Tom disembarked, collected their luggage, and walked across the short distance to the arrivals gate. This was the second flight of the day, the first bringing them from the UK, where it was raining, to one of the larger islands. Now via the island hopping service, along with twelve other passengers, they had arrived on a medium sized island and Tom had told her there was one more major transfer to go.

He'd been very secretive during the previous few days. Several times Sally had put things out to pack only to have Tom say something like, "You'll not need that. Or that. Or that."

In the end they travelled light with just a couple of small cases and some hand luggage. Tom had also infuriated Sally by keeping the precise destination secret. She knew they were going to the Caribbean, but exactly where he wouldn't say. But now they were there, or nearly there. Soon the mystery would be solved.

The tropical scene was bathed in sunshine as they walked towards the marina. At the side of the road there were numerous stalls and Tom paid for some fruit to refresh them. The stall holder deftly removed the top from a coconut with a machete and Sally drank the milk. It was wonderful, so exotic, she felt very happy to be on vacation and very much looking forward to whatever was going to happen next.

Next turned out to be a boat. A small boat, white painted with gleaming brass fitments, that had seats for ten or twelve people. It looked very small in comparison to the ocean it bobbed on. It looked like the sort of boat people went shark fishing in, and she remembered a famous phrase, 'You're gonna need a bigger boat!' But, if it took her on the final part of this journey, she'd be content with its size.

Six people were waiting by the quay side and Sally and Tom joined them. Four looked like tourists, pale and looking out of place, and two were dressed like locals. The captain, a tall man with long dreads wound around his head under a knitted hat, welcomed them aboard.

"Welcom to da Elise," he smiled a very broad smile. "Al abord fa de trip to Sant Louis." He was grinning from ear to ear and Sally decided she liked this captain. He seemed a jolly sort, though his thick Carribean accent was a bit difficult to understand.

"Saint Louis?" she turned to her husband, though it was tempting to try to assess the size of the captain's cock. "Is that where we're going, Tom?"

"That's the place. You'll like it," he replied.

They handed over their cases then stepped aboard and Sally grabbed at a handrail as the little boat swayed at the dock. It seemed to respond to every little wave and she wondered what it would be like away from the marina. The locals stepped on last, embarrassing Sally. They were an elderly lady and her granddaughter and both didn't need to hang onto anything. But, Sally thought, they'd probably done this many times. The captain untied the ropes holding the boat secure, and jumped onboard. With a roar of the engine and a whoosh of spray they were off.

The boat was more stable under power and Sally started to enjoy the wind through her hair and the salty spray. The captain kept his vessel in the lee of a long headland then turned and followed the coast for about twenty minutes. Then he steered in towards the island again where a tiny jetty could be seen between dense trees.

"Are we there?", she asked Tom.

"Hell no!" replied their captain. "Just stoppin' to let pepol aff."

The boat snuggled up to the pier and an elderly man came out of the trees and along the jetty. He caught the rope thrown by the captain and held on tight whilst grandma and granddaughter alighted. Then he threw the rope end back into the boat and the three of them disappeared into the shade of the trees.

The captain now turned his boat straight out into the ocean aiming, as far as Sally could detect, for a faint smudge on the horizon. The waves were bigger here but Sally was getting excited by the trip and when, occasionally, the boat hit a wave and leaped almost out of the water, she was thrilled. Slowly the smudge in the distance resolved itself into another island, much smaller than the one they'd left. There was the purple cone of a hopefully, extinct, volcano, the deep green of jungle, and - occasionally - the flash of golden sand.

It took an hour to get to the island and, for most of the trip it remained indistinct, but as they covered the last mile it was possible to see more of her holiday home. There was a single jetty and behind it a long, low, building, painted white. The flash of golden sand had become long, beautiful, beaches and mixed in with the jungle, on the slopes above the jetty, were little shacks - presumably the chalets for visitors. The volcano towered over everything, silent but with a small thread of smoke that suggested it wasn't quite dead yet.

It was a matter of a few minutes to disembark and Sally thanked the captain, who saluted her and gave her a lascivious grin.

"Enjoy yo sel ma'am," then his little boat was powering away, and he was gone. Sally thought of those murder mysteries where a bunch of people were stranded on a remote island, with no way off until the boat returned. She looked at her fellow tourists. They looked very ordinary people, no rock stars, supermodels, or super rich businessmen, as far as she could tell. She couldn't work out who was the murderer, but then that, she supposed, was the whole point.

She dragged her suitcase over the rough wood of the jetty towards the low building. Tom was striding ahead and had pulled paperwork from his jacket. Then they were through the door and in a queue to the reception desk. Because Sally had stopped to thank the captain they were last in line. Sally glanced around, it all looked very nice, then she spotted the receptionist.

The girl was very dark skinned, almost pitch black, and she was tall with impressive breasts that were very pointed but showed no signs of sagging. She also had tight curly pubic hair. How did Sally know this? Well, the girl was stark naked. She seemed completely professional as she checked bookings and give out information leaflets and a key per person, but nonetheless she was naked as the day she was born.

"What is this place?", Sally asked Tom.

"Nudist Resort," he replied.

"Oh!"

"And a bit of a swinger paradise. You know, for general swingers and queen of spades types, I'm told."

"Ah!" Sally began to think this was going to be even better than she anticipated. Diana had mentioned the Queen of Spades design. It meant the woman was happy to cuckold her husband, with black men, and happy to be bred, by black men. And her cuckold husband was expected to cooperate with her encounters.

When they got to the reception desk Tom was clearly trying his best to look at the girl's face, but his glance kept slipping down to her magnificent breasts, and lower. Sally forgave him, he was only human after all. The girl hardly seemed to notice until she lifted his hand so that it covered her breast and encouraged him to have a good feel.

"These are yo locker keys," she said. "Bring 'em back here when you changed. Dis is the map, and deese are resort rules. Enjoy yo stay."

She handed over the items, gently removed Tom's hand from her tit, and grinned at him, "I'se work at da bar evenin's."

She said this with a wink that implied she might be doing more than serving rum. It looked as if Tom was going to get his fair share of sex on this holiday. This was great, it meant that Sally could concentrate on her own pleasure without worrying that Tom was being left out of the fun.

A quick trip to the lockers to get rid of their clothes followed. Each holidaymaker was provided with a colourful bag, that looked like it was locally made, to carry things like phone, toothbrush, deodorant, and other essentials. They dropped their keys off in the basket at reception and followed the map to their chalet. It was a hut, just off the track, in what Tom referred to as rainforest. There wasn't a cloud in the sky so Sally decided that he'd got that one wrong.

Inside Sally was rather taken aback by the erotic simplicity. She'd been to Holiday Camp by the seaside in the UK when she was a child. There they had wooden chalets with bunk beds, a little kitchen with a kettle and a teapot, and a square table and chairs for playing boardgames when it was raining too hard for outdoor pursuits. Which it often did!

This square hut had a couple of cane chairs, a couple of small tables, and the rest of the space was filled with an enormous bed. There was room for four on this amazing bed, and netting hung down from the ceiling to prevent mosquitoes. And that was it. It was clear that you dined and drank elsewhere in this camp.

Sally, being conscientious, sat on the bed and read the rules.

"What's it say, luv?" asked Tom.

Sally pointed at the leaflet. "I wouldn't call these 'rules'," she said as she read them out. "They are mostly guidelines. Keep the chalet tidy," she looked around and thought that was going to be easy. "No clothes to be worn, anywhere! Don't go too far into the jungle, lots of things that bite and sting apparently. Fuck anywhere you like, but clean up afterwards. Oh and NO means NO. They've put that one in capital letters."

"Sounds fair," nodded Tom, grateful he didn't have to remember lots of regulations.

"Yes, and finally, don't diss the local volcano God. There's a smiley next to that one so I think it's a joke."

Sally watched as Tom took a small box out of his bag and handed it over.

"This is for you, luv," he said, looking a little doubtful. Was this something really outrageous and he expected her to refuse the gift?

The box contained a pair of tiny enamelled earrings, the design in the form of a spade from the card suits with a crown on top at a jaunty angle. They were shiny black and silver. Sally put them on, then checked herself in the mirror in the wall. They hung there small, but very visible, against her pale flesh. Every time she moved they caught the light and flashed their special message. Which was that she was a black cock whore.

On one of the chairs was a pile of brightly coloured beach towels, Sally grabbed two and they headed to the beach. As they walked down the track they followed, and passed, several couples. Sally was reassured when she saw they were really quite ordinary looking. If they'd been dressed, and in the village convenience store, she'd have paid them no special attention. Now, despite their ordinary appearance, they hinted at possible pleasures to come.

Tom must have been thinking the same thing for his cock had become semi-erect and Sally found herself having to exercise some self control not to walk over to one of the couples and immediately ask for a fuck. There'd be plenty of time for that very soon, she thought, and it wasn't white men she'd come on vacation to find, so they waved and smiled and passed on down the track.

The beach was glorious, all golden sand and turquoise sea, with a scattering of nude bodies in the sea and relaxing on the shore. They quickly found a suitable spot.

"Do you fancy a drink, luv?" asked Tom.

"Ooo please."

"Give me a minute then," he replied. And he strode away to the beach bar while Sally spread the towels and settled down to get some sun. She could see Tom chatting with the bar staff, then he pointed at her, presumably letting them know she was his wife. A few minutes later he returned with one of the bar staff carrying a tray of drinks.

The drinks were more like pieces of - what did Tom call it? Oh yes, Rainforest. Half a coconut with flowers and parasols and long, brightly coloured straws. The barman, if that's who he was, placed the tray down. Sally thanked him and took her drink. It tasted strongly of rum, and pineapple, and various other fruits she couldn't identify.

"This is Carlton," announced Tom. "I've asked him to give you a massage. To relax you. Seeing as we've just arrived."

Sally looked up at Carlton, silhouetted against the bright sky, and approved of what she could see. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, strong thighs and powerful arms. Because of the glare of the sun, details weren't forthcoming but he looked very masculine and competent. She happily agreed.

Carlton told her to roll onto her back and Tom handed him the sun lotion. It was an oil with a sensual musky smell and soon she was lying with her head on her hands while Carlton's strong fingers unknotted the tense muscles in her back. Just when she was feeling totally relaxed, almost melting into the towel beneath her, and thinking she could lie here for hours, his hand slipped between her well oiled thighs and cupped her cunt, pressing hard against her clit.

"Up yo cum Sally," he said, lifting her hips up so that her bum was high, and her knees bent, while her arms and head remained on the towel. "This fine ass need mo work."

More oil was dribbled across her backside and Carlton started to oil up her bum cheeks. It felt luxurious to Sally, even if the position was a bit strange for a massage, and she couldn't help notice that, from time to time, Carlton 'accidentally' stroked her cunt or clit. At the same time she noticed that two couples were walking over, perhaps to say hello.

They weren't. They'd come to watch. Carlton's hands were now just stimulating Sally's sex, one on her clit, and the other pushing two fingers into her cunt with no pretense of massage. He expertly stroked her clitoris at the same time as vigorously fingering her cunt. Sally started to gasp and moan, and Red escaped it's cage. By the time the couples had arrived Sally was groaning into the towel, "Oooooh oooh oooh. Oh that's so good."

Tom's shadow fell across her face. "Up on your elbows, luv," he grinned. "I want to see the look on your face when he takes you."

Sally struggled up and noticed there were several sets of legs around her. She glanced up at the people who had formed a circle with her and Carlton at the centre. The men were excited, judging by the erect and semi-erect penises on display, and the women were watching closely. None of them got any closer. At the Manor, or in The Splendor parlour, she would have been approached by now. Here the audience was watching but not touching.

Then one of her earrings flashed at the edge of her vision and she remembered their message. They said, politely but firmly, 'No white cocks please.' and 'My husband doesn't mind if I'm fucked by black men.' and 'They don't have to use condoms.'

Carlton removed his hands from her cunt and grasped Sally's hips. She could feel something warm, hard and very rounded pushing at her vagina, then Carlton had put the tip of his cock into her. Her mouth opened in a wide O, and she screwed her eyes tight shut, but not before she'd seen Tom's lusty grin. He was watching closely.

"Oh god Tom," she gasped. "That's so big. Oh thank you, thank you, you wonderful husband. That's just what I.... ayeeeee!"

Carlton had pushed more of his magnificent cock into her, he paused for a moment as Sally's body adjusted, and - she assumed - to prevent him prematurely cumming from her tightness.

"Hu hu hu hu hu," Sally breaths came in little pants as she waited for her cunt to give Carlton more room. She knew that her body, with Red to help it, would soon accommodate this new cock. And that the Red would ensure she was super-lubricated for the thrusts that were to come.

She opened her eyes to find Tom still looking straight at her, and that the circle of observers had grown. I'm a slut, she thought, a slut and a whore. They're all watching me, so let's give them what they want!

"Fuck me Carlton!!!" she shouted at the top of her voice. "Give me your cock. Give it me good and hard!"

Carlton tensed and Sally felt the pressure on her hips as he drove into her, his hands steadying himself as he thrust. The cock delved deeper and deeper into her cunt and then struck her cervix. She grunted again as the lubrication in her vagina eased its passage. Then, just as she thought he was finished he pushed a little more.

"Bloody fucking hell Carlton!" she screamed. "That's a good cock. Now make me your white whore. I want you to own me."

"Yes'm,"replied Carlton. "I'se gonna fuck you real good."

And he set too, ramming his cock into her remorselessly. Her first sensations were focussed around her nipples. With her weight on her elbows her breasts were drooping onto the beach towel and the thrusts were rubbing her, ever so sensitive, nipples backwards and forwards against the fibres of the cloth. Then the feelings in her cunt took precedence and she grunted and gasped as the phenomenal cock plundered her.

He was grunting too. If the work at The Splendor had taught her anything it was that men with longer cocks had to do more work if they wanted to use their whole length. Men with little cocks could, and must, keep to small strokes, or risk falling out of their lover's cunt. Men with very long dicks learned to either constrain their thrusting to half their length, which Sally guessed some women preferred, or really get their hips into the action.

Carlton was one of the latter, and as they fucked under the sun, and with an audience that now numbered over twenty, he grunted and sweated as he performed his duty. For, of course, he wasn't a waiter, or even a professional masseuse, but a gigolo employed by the island to give the guests what they wanted. And, as head gigolo, he was very experienced. He knew all the tricks, how to thrust, where to put his fingers to best stimulate the client, and how to maintain control until the lady had got their pleasure.

"Uh Carlton! That's so good. Aah yes yes!", she screamed out, not forgetting her audience was watching and wanting to give them a good show. Then, as his experienced fingers slid down her stomach to her abdomen, "Oh shit! What are you doing with my clit? That feels wonderful!"

Her first climax hit her hard and, for a moment, the scene in front of her, of Tom and several others sitting on the sand watching, blurred. In her slightly confused mind she expected the knock on the door that told her the session was over. But, of course, here she was the client and there wasn't a door to knock on. But she was overtaken by a slight feeling of disappointment, would this be the end of her sex on the beach session?

She needn't have worried. Carlton pushed her down onto the towel. Laid another beside it. And rolled her over. He grabbed her feet and, conversing with Tom using universal sex sign language, pushed her legs over until they rested each side of her head. Tom shuffled across the sand to help the gigolo by holding Sally's ankles. Then Carlton moved in to position himself over her.

In ten years of marriage Sally had never had sex in this position. In fact if the subject had come up with her girl friends, she would have said she wasn't flexible enough to do it. But that had been solved in the last couple of months and she'd adopted the position many times. And without having to explain to a personal trainer down at the gym that she needed to practice this pose to improve her sex life.

Carlton loomed over her, grasped his rampant member, bent it down and penetrated Sally. Then he started to pound away. Sally decided she rather liked this position, even though it made her feel a bit trapped. The stiffness of his cock made it rub hard against the upper wall of her vagina, pushing her towards another climax. And she could see her lover's cock, watch his face, grasp at her boobs and tweak her nipples. All of which she did. But it had the extra advantages of allowing her lover to see her pleasure, and also everyone who wanted to watch could watch too.