A Week at the Beach: A Hotwife Romance

by Jason Lenov

  "Thank-you. Like I said, all is forgiven."

  It wasn't though? Was it? The question of what she'd done last night was again on the tip of my tongue. I looked at her. She was staring straight at me, as if daring me to ask.

  "So...what did you do after I passed out?" I asked, sounding quite sheepish.

  She smiled, her expression smug. "I'm not sure if I should tell you..."

  My shoulders sagged. This was unlike her, too. I probably deserved it, though. For being such an ass. Maybe there was a different way to find out.

  "What about what I said then?" I blurted before I could think it through.

  Another tiny twist of a smile. "You mean before you fell asleep?"

  My nervous system shuddered to life. I felt my heart beat. There was a ringing in my ears. It was one thing to blather about it drunk. Now that I was relatively sober, the prospect of talking about my fantasy was terrifying.

  "Yes. That's what I mean." I thought I played it well. My voice didn't break. I didn't look away. Only my cock shifted slightly.

  "Well? What do you want to tell me about it?"

  "What do I..." I trailed off. My eyes left hers. What did I want to say? Was this serious? Was this real? Did I really want to see her do that? Did I really want to see her with another man?

  What if she already had?

  "Andrew," she whispered, putting a hand on my knee.

  I jumped. "Yes? What?!?"

  "You're hung over. Let's go to the beach."

  She stood up, picked up her bag and walked to the door.

  "You coming? Some sun might do you good."

  Ugh. That sounded like the last thing I needed. Sun. But a thought flickered to life. I bet there'd be lots of men paying attention to that blue bikini she was wearing.

  "Hang on. I've gotta piss." I shuffled towards the bathroom, trying not to sulk. I could feel her eyes on me.

  Whose idea was this anyway? Vacations. I hated fun in the sun.

  Chapter 8

  The beach wasn't so bad. They had umbrellas. I hid under one the whole time while Samantha basked in the sun. I wore a hat and dark glasses and shorts down to my knees. She wore that blue bikini.

  The men that passed didn't gape. They didn't stare. They'd puff up a bit, though. Their chests would rise and they'd add a little swagger to their step. Just in case she was watching.

  It became sort of a game, watching them, trying to see when they noticed her. I got pretty good at it. Even if she was on her stomach with her eyes closed, they'd get that strut, just in case.

  Most of them were wearing sunglasses so I couldn't see their eyes. I could see them watching her, though. Their heads would still turn, just a bit.

  I sat there hiding my erection with crossed legs, pretending I was staring out over the ocean. I knew what they were thinking. I knew what possibilities they were imagining, what they would do to her if they had her alone. It's what men do. The idea that they were thinking about it while staring at my wife made my blood boil and my insides churn.

  The nagging question about what had happened after I'd fallen asleep didn't help.

  Every time I saw one of them look over at her, I thought of the smile she'd given me when I asked her about last night. The feelings seemed to amplify one another until by the time we went in for lunch, I was confused and turned on and craving release.

  I pulled her towards me greedily as soon as we stepped into the room.

  My affection was met with giggles. Giggles. When did she start giggling so much?

  "Oh Andrew, we just did that this morning. Remember?"

  "Sure I do. Doesn't mean we can't do it again."

  "I guess you're right," she conceded, smiling at me. "What's gotten all in a state again?"

  Her hand drifted down my front and settled on my cock.

  I was stiff as a rock.

  "Did you enjoy the beach?" I brought her closer, leaned in and kissed her shoulder. Her skin was hot from the sun.

  "You know I love the beach..."

  She trailed off as I pressed my lips to her neck. I kissed her a little more.

  "What do you think about? When you're lying in the sun like that?"

  I felt her smile. She hummed a few notes of some made up melody. "I don't know...seashells?"

  Yeah. Right.

  "What do you think about, sitting in the shade like a big grumpy ogre?" she teased.

  "You," I answered right away.

  "Me?" She seemed surprised. "What about me?" She pulled away. I looked into her eyes.

  "You. The way men walking by look at you. The way their chests rise, in case you're looking. I think about what they'd do to you, if they could have you."

  The old Samantha, the one from back home, would have slapped me just then. Or rolled her eyes and gone to the bathroom or something. This one didn't. This one smiled.

  "What do you think they'd do to me?" she whispered.

  It drove me wild.

  I thought about the previous night again. I thought of asking her, for real this time, what had happened after I'd passed out. I decided against it. It would have killed the mood. There had to be another way to find out.

  "Did you enjoy dinner last night?" I asked, pressing my lips against her neck in a kiss. She tilted her head.

  "I suppose it was alright. I didn't really like the part where you got drunk." she teased. Her body was liquid, willing and ready.

  "Did you enjoy our chef?" I ventured. I felt her tense.

  "What do you mean?" she asked with a giggle.

  "I mean did you enjoy Bastian? He's quite a man."

  When she answered, there was mischief in her eyes.

  "He was quite friendly," she said, nodding.

  "Tell me?"

  "Tell you what?" she asked. She knew exactly what I wanted to hear.

  "He's a fine man, don't you think?"

  She smirked. "I suppose. Is that what you had in mind?" she asked.

  "In mind? What mind?"

  Her eyes locked onto mine. "Is that what you had in mind for me?" She was suddenly serious.

  I felt an anxiety well inside me, filling my insides.

  "So you've thought about it?"

  Her lips turned up in another smirk. She lifted a leg, peeled off the sandal she was wearing. Then the other. Then she sank down in front of me, onto her knees. "I remember you, Andrew Smith, asking me a very lewd thing, indeed."

  I couldn't believe my Samantha was talking like this. I looked at her expression. There was sin in that smile. She put her hands on my waist and I sank back against the door. She pulled my shorts down and my cock sprang free.

  "So is that the kind of man you were thinking of for me? Our Chef Bastian?"

  My cock bounced in front of her. She smiled.

  "I guess so," she purred.

  This was as lewd and dirty as I'd ever seen her. Nothing had ever made me harder. Her eyes were on my flexing cock. Everything about her was sex. I had to close my eyes and breathe.

  "Samantha," I started but no more words would come.

  She sank her mouth down onto me, working me in slowly, so I could feel the heat of her pretty little mouth as it surrounded my cock.

  "Oh fuck, Samantha," I swore, watching her swallow my cock into her mouth. Her whole body seemed different. Proud, almost, of what she was doing to me. When she pulled herself off, she did it with a satisfying pop and I watched my member bouncing as it sprung from her mouth. I felt the cum travelling from my balls.

  "Andrew Smith," she began, eyeing me with a coy smile, "it seems that you are a very. Dirty. Man."

  The smile stayed in her eyes as she sank her mouth down onto me again. I'd never felt so aroused as watching her. I didn't want to come inside her mouth again but I feared that if she kept this up, I would.

  "Oh Sam..." I groaned as her lips sank down onto me. She slid off, a smile playing across her lips.

  "What is it, sweetie?" she asked, toying with me.

  I put a hand behind her head
and lowered her onto me again. "Oh please," I begged, needing the feeling of her mouth.

  She obliged, more eagerly than she ever had before. She moved up and down the length of me. Her strokes went so deep sometimes that I could swear I felt the back of her throat. When she came off again, she was smiling even wider, her spit drooling down my cock.

  She rose and I watched her pull at the top of the bikini she was wearing. She stood, grabbed me by the hand and practically threw me onto the bed.

  I watched her stalk across the room, her exposed breasts, nipples hard, bouncing.

  She crawled onto me, straddled me took my cock in hand.

  "I think," she began, looking down and eyeing where I was about to enter her, "I think you're a very dirty man."

  I flexed, my gaze fixated on her flirtatious smile.

  "I think you're thinking of something very naughty."

  I was. I was thinking of the naughtiest thing. "Tell me!" I begged, breathless.

  "I think you're thinking of our chef's big, black cock sinking into me as you watch this."

  With her hand still on my cock, she lifted herself up. She paused, staring at me staring at her, then drove herself down.

  "Oh fuck!" I groaned as her sopping cunt sank all the way down my shaft. I felt her wet heat touch my balls.

  "That is what you're thinking," she mused, toying with me, "You're thinking of his big, black cock inside of me. Instead of yours."

  My cum surged inside me. She was right. I was thinking of just that. I wanted nothing more than for her to keep telling me about it. As she began to ride me slowly, she obliged.

  "So you want to see Bastian's thick cock stuff me like this?"

  Her body fell onto mine again. I gasped. It was the hottest thing I'd ever heard. She brought her exposed breast to my mouth and I strained to catch the stiff nipple with my lips. When I did, she moaned.

  "Sam," I whispered, looking up at her again, "tell me you want it! Tell me you want to feel that black cock inside you!"

  She smiled, but only with half her mouth this time. "Oh Andrew, I want it alright," she murmured. "I want to feel him filling me! Just. Like. This." She started fucking me harder.

  I could only stare, wide-eyed as my perfect little Samantha rode my hard cock, burying me into her depths, searching for her pleasure. As I stared down at her swimming curves, I moaned.

  The thought came from nowhere. I wondered if she'd put her diaphragm in. I pushed it aside. Even if she had, I wanted to think I was going to spurt into her without it.

  "Sam! Fuck! I'm going to come!" I cried, the though of bursting inside her sending me over the edge.

  Her mouth curled into a wicked little smile. Then her eyes rolled back. She tensed. She put her hands on my chest. Her hips kept flailing.

  I felt my cock erupt as I unleashed all the seed I had into her. She looked down at me, her face a mixture of shock and wonder. Her orgasm took her too.

  We both cried out as our bodies spasmed with pleasure. For a split second I wondered if she was thinking of me, or of him. It only made me come harder, that he might be in her mind. Gripping her hips, I released what I had left. She took it like a willing whore.

  She rode out the last of her spasms on my waning cock, as if she wanted to milk the rest of what my body had to offer. When it was done, she fell onto me. I savoured the soft feeling of her breasts pressed against my chest.

  ***

  We didn't talk about it the rest of the day. We walked into town. She bought trinkets. We had fish.

  I wanted her again that night but by the time I'd emerged from the bathroom, she seemed to be already asleep.

  I crawled into bed beside her. Sleep wouldn't come. The only thing I could think of was him.

  Chapter 9

  I did sleep, eventually but it was a fitful sleep, filled with vivid dreams. When I woke, she was gone.

  I sat up and looked around, confused for a moment about my bearings. The song of a warbler atop the whisper of the ocean reminded me of where we were.

  I turned and felt Samantha's side of the bed to see if it was still warm. It wasn't. I sank back down onto my pillow, yawned and allowed myself an indulgence in paranoia.

  Perhaps she'd gone out in the middle of the night, while I was sleeping? Perhaps she'd so fancied our host the other night that, with my insistence, she'd gone out to fulfill my fantasy? The thought sent a rush of nerves through me. Closing my eyes, I let the image creep in.

  There she was, in the middle of the night, crawling through the resort, her eyes wide, her nightie open, white skin silver in the moonlight. She was searching. Searching for him.

  My eyes snapped open. Searching for who?!? I'd seen him. In my mind, I'd seen his face. I wondered whether I could bring myself to think of it again. There he was. It was Bastian.

  My insides sizzled with a jealous lust. I saw him, his hand, reaching out from one of the doors in the hallway, just down from where we were staying. A big, black hand reached out and it surprised her. She didn't scream, but she gasped as she watched it pulling her into the room. In my mind's eye, I followed her inside.

  It was him. He was standing there, almost naked, holding her by the arm and smiling that charming smile. What would she say? How would she react at being kidnapped and dragged into the room by a handsome, black stranger? Ignoring the anxious jealousy that was welling within me, I let the dream go on.

  He was just as gracious as he had been at dinner last night. He let go of her arm and swung his massive palm in, towards his suite. There was champagne there and gentle music playing. I urged her inside. She listened.

  She was wearing that same red dress, from the night before and looking just as stunning. Her walk took on an air of confidence as she relaxed around him, comfortable knowing what a gentleman he was. He glanced at her round, swaying ass as she passed. I saw a glint in his eye.

  A wave crashed noisily against the beach outside. The ocean was coming to life. I pushed a hand beneath the covers to feel my hardness there. I wished Samantha were beside me. Her absence sent another electric shock through my nervous system, singeing my body with lust.

  His hand was on her now, on the small of her back. It made me ache to be inside her, that vision that I'd conjured up. I started to stroke myself.

  "You are a very beautiful woman," I heard him say with a smile. His hand travelled down, rounding the curve of her ass and cupping it. She seemed to startle.

  "Chef Jones!" she said in mock surprise. "I have a husband..."

  It didn't sound like she was arguing, though. It sounded like she was toying with him.

  The sound of her voice shook me back into the room and my eyes opened wide.

  "Andrew Smith! You are being a naughty boy, aren't you?"

  She was standing there, her brow glistening with sweat. She had on her tights, the ones she used to run and was holding a fresh, pink drink in each hand. She looked spectacular.

  "Where were you?" I asked, pretending to be bleary-eyed and still half-asleep.

  She gave me a sly smile. She looked down at herself, then back at me with raised eyebrows. "I was at the shops. Trying on dresses. Can't you tell?"

  Cheeky. Something had definitely changed in her. Samantha wasn't normally one for sarcasm. I took the drink she was offering and took a sip. "How was your run?"

  "Wonderful!" she exclaimed, sitting down on the bed beside me.

  Wonderful. I stole another glance at her perfect body. I wondered how many men had turned as she ran past? I looked up when she turned back towards me. There was something...more relaxed about her smile.

  "Come here," I growled, setting down my drink on the bed table and pulling her towards me.

  "Andrew! I haven't showered!" she replied. The objection seemed half-hearted. I decided to roll the dice.

  "We'll have them change the sheets," I said. Setting her drink down for her, I pushed her down onto the bed and pressed onto her body with mine. She didn't resist.

  I leaned close and
kissed her on the lips. Her usual taste, with a hint of salty sweat. I yearned to fuck her that way. Good and dirty. When I pulled my lips from hers, she was looking at me, as if searching for something in my eyes.

  "Andrew," she purred, narrowing her eyes. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

  A shock tore through me. She remembered. I stared at her, wondering what she thought of it all.

  "What did I say, my beauty?" I asked. I needed to be sure what she was talking about. Maybe she'd forgotten.

  "What you said last night about me? With another man?"

  It was so incredibly unlike her, to ask such a thing so directly. It was thrilling. I pressed my lips against her neck. I smelled the ocean air on her skin. She didn't push me away. I thought she'd push me away. I thought she'd want to talk about it. Instead, she tilted her head, letting me trail kisses down her neck and towards her chest.

  My cock hardened. Good God, was she seriously contemplating this? I opened my eyes and lifted my head from her neck. She was still staring at me that same, searching stare. The sincerity of her question knocked me off my game.

  "Uh...I...Samantha..." I stammered, unsure of what to say. She saved me by bursting into giggles. Giggles. At the thought of fucking another man.

  "I thought you might not have been," she said finally. "I think we were both quite drunk!"

  Adrenaline surged through me at the thought that she'd even been thinking about it. I couldn't just let the moment go. "No wait, let me explain." I pushed myself up on an elbow.

  She was curious, her eyes still searching for the truth behind mine.

  "Samantha, ever since we've met I've thought about it. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

  "Thinking about what?" she asked. Even her questions seemed more confident here. Like the salty sea air gave her courage.

  I breathed deeply, braced myself for the confession. "About James."

  Her brow furrowed. "James?"

  "James, Samantha. Your James."

  Recognition spread across her face. "My James?" she whispered.

  Even hearing her say it was a thrill.