Paradise Found (BBW Erotic Forbidden Affairs)

by L. E Joyce

  The driver opening the front door broke their connection. He turned back to them and pointed to a sign hung behind the passenger’s seat. “No fucking in taxi. Ok, Boss?” he said.

  Bruno and Karen laughed. He hugged her close, and she nuzzled her head into his chest. “Ok, Boss,” he said. “No fucking in the taxi.”

  They rode away from the airport in silence. Karen kept her head on Bruno’s chest, listening to him breathe. She should probably call home, and tell the kids that she had arrived safely. Working as a freelance travel writer had its advantages, especially when she needed a cover story. She never thought she’d actually need one while living in Bangkok.

  Many of her expat friends had affairs, and most of them as responses to their husband’s own infidelities. It wasn’t her style to hook up with men she barely knew, even before she was married. She didn’t want something hollow; she didn’t want to throw money at Thai men and have transactional sex like her friends did, like their husbands’ did, like her husband did right under her nose. She didn’t want to perpetuate the filth of needing to survive in a place using something that’s supposed to build you up, not tear you down. But that’s how things worked in Bangkok; expat men had their fill on Thai women, and kept their wives happy with gifts and lavish vacations.

  Karen’s husband was beyond such approach. His practice was to hand her the American Express with a sticky note stuck to the top.

  Last summer, she barely saw Jack, which meant there was a torrential rainfall of sticky notes left for her to find. “Stop $1000,” was for a trip to Krabi with the kids. “Cartier Under $800” for when he went on that weeklong golf trip, and “$600 Red” was for their anniversary he missed. Again. She had lined them all up on the refrigerator, convinced there was a code hidden inside. Her favorite, “Vacate $5000,” meant for a family Christmas vacation in Bali, she kept on her bathroom mirror. With eyeliner, she added her own suggested price, “Vacate $500,000?” All summer that sticky note clung to her bathroom mirror. He never mentioned it. By the time the kids were returning to school, “NO” was slashed across it in red lipstick. Their divorce talk was over. He wasn’t going to let her leave.

  Shortly after, Karen and Bruno met at the first day of school morning drop off. She was drawn to him instantly. He had invited her to coffee and the two of them talked about books and travel and the woes of living as a trailing spouse. She soon started to time the school run so that she’d arrive when he did. Sometimes if traffic was bad, she’d only get a glimpse of him returning to his car and driving off, until she finally got the nerve up to invite him to the Friday afternoon expat Happy Hour Playgroup.

  She knew she was in trouble when he unexpectedly left Bangkok for a month. When she saw the nanny dropping off his daughter at school, and missed playgroup that afternoon, Karen returned home and cried herself to sleep. She was convinced that whatever she thought was going on was all in her head. Her feelings were her own, and not shared with the man she couldn’t stop thinking about. When he suddenly returned and made contact, her insides tore to shreds all over again.

  “Where are you?” was the text she received one late Friday afternoon when all her friends had assembled at their playgroup.

  Not recognizing the number, she typed, “Who is this?”

  “Bruno. I got your number from the phone tree.”

  Karen knew there wasn’t a phone tree; she had asked about it thinking she could track him down. He was lying, and that was a very good thing.

  “Are you coming here or what, Yankee?” he texted.

  She smiled, her heart beating against her ribcage like a feral bat.

  Karen: Where have you been?

  Bruno: I had to go to Lisbon. Did you miss me?

  Karen smashed the phone against her chest. There was a lot riding on what she typed next. If she said yes, she’d seem desperate–even though she knew she was. They were friends, and friends sometimes missed each other. Right? She decided to play it safe.

  Karen: Of course! Without your Isabella, Ava didn’t want to go playgroup. She’ll be happy to hear you guys are back!

  Bruno: Does that mean you’re coming? I have a mojito with your name on it…

  Karen: On the way...

  That all seemed so long ago now.

  In their taxi heading towards the boat that would take them to their getaway, Karen rested her head on Bruno’s chest. “Why did you go to Lisbon that time?” she asked. “What took you away for so long?”

  Bruno ran his fingers through her hair. The backseat of the taxi was muggy, even with the air conditioning running full blast.

  “I went to see my priest,” he said.

  “Your priest?”

  He kissed her wrinkled forehead. “I had to ask him a question.”

  “Did you get the answer you were hoping for?”

  He cupped one hand on her breast, eyeing the driver. He whispered into her ear, “I’ll never tell.”

  The taxi rolled up to Rassada Pier shortly before dusk, where Karen and Bruno found a long tail boat waiting for them. Bruno offered his hand as she climbed aboard. Was there no end to his chivalry? The boat captain pulled the engine cord, and the motor roared to life. Bruno held on to her as the boat ripped out of port, and the busy pier blurred behind them.

  Karen caressed Bruno’s arms that lay draped around her, and watched the sun slink low toward the horizon. The sea foam mist cooled them as their skin drank in the warm evening breezes. Within minutes, the coast was a thin line where the sea ended and the life they left behind began. It was then that her excitement took over. She looked out to the horizon and watched as the orange sun sank away, and her thoughts burned with dirty things she and Bruno would do to each other. Her mind flashed to how his fat cock fit snugly into her mouth, how his chest rose and fell with anticipation, and how his body tensed as he came. How she wanted to feel his warm breath on her pussy as she drenched his face with her juices. She wanted him to lay himself on top of her and never let go.

  The long tail boat coasted to the shore entrance of the Hideaway Island Resort with waves gently slapping at its sides. As the captain made anchor and scurried to collect their bags, Bruno scooped Karen out of the boat and waded through the warm knee deep waters to the beach. There they found a plastic red carpet on the sand rolled out for their arrival. Tiki torches lit a path to the reception area: a hut covered in bamboo. The manager, a lean Frenchman, emerged from behind the desk and greeted them.

  “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I presume.”

  “That’s us,” Karen said with a smile.

  “We’ve been waiting for you. I trust your journey was nice.”

  “Very,” they said together. Karen blushed and Bruno squeezed her around the waist.

  “Wonderful. I’m Pierre. Welcome to the Hideaway Beach Resort. We have your bungalow all ready for you, The French Connection,” he said with a grin. “I just need to make a copy of your passports and you’ll be all set.”

  Bruno and Karen exchanged nervous glances. Pierre leaned on the counter and said, “We understand your need for discretion. We only keep copies for security purposes.”

  Karen dug into her bag and reluctantly handed over her American passport. Bruno followed suit with his from Portugal. Pierre open to the picture pages and laid them on the copier side by side. Without missing a beat, he returned them and said, “There you are, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Everything is in order now.”

  He walked around to the front of the reception counter. “If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to your room.”

  Karen’s chest tightened; her anticipation building to maddening heights. She could feel the heat in her crotch rise. She needed Bruno’s touch. She needed to feel him inside her.

  Pierre led them down a sea shelled paved path to their bungalow, The French Connection. “Bungalow #12 is unique in that it is separated from the rest of the resort by a jetty. You’ll find that you’ll have ample privacy with your own secluded beach.” He looked back at them trailing behind
. Pierre smiled when he noticed Bruno take her hand and kiss it. “We have a full house this weekend,” he continued. “A few regular reservations for this time of year, and you two, of course. Then last night a group of sixteen arrived together, taking over the last eight rooms. You’re neighbors,” he grinned. “It’s all very exciting for us.”

  They walked through an umbrella of willowing palm trees to their bungalow. A bamboo fence separated their slice of extravagance from the rest of the resort. They had their own continuous-flow pool for their personal use, and a shower that connected to the bungalow proper. The inside was even more magnificent. Marble floors and a sleek white king-sized bed engulfed in mosquito netting, a gourmet kitchen, and a luxurious spa bath. The best part: sliding glass doors that opened to a cozy cabaña and their own private stretch of beach. She had only been on the island for thirty minutes, but Karen was certain she never wanted to leave.

  “If you need anything,” Pierre said, “you know where to find me.” He quietly exited, leaving Bruno and Karen alone and unencumbered for the first time since their departure.

  A new sensation grew inside her. Nerves. She was nervous like a teenager. It was far from her first time alone with a man, but Bruno somehow made her feel fresh from the spoils of others who came before him. He held her in his gaze and she felt excitement rip through her.

  “Are you ready for me, Karen?” he said.

  She loved the way her name rolled off his lips, dark and accented. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She returned his embrace by encircling his neck. His hands slowly slid down to her buttocks, where he squeezed the flesh tightly. She moaned softly, encouraging him.

  “Feel me,” she said and gently guided his hand between her legs. “Can you tell that I’ve been ready for a long time?”

  Bruno slid his hand under the soft fabric and caressed her folds. His touch sent shock waves through her body. He cupped her mound, rolling the flesh with his fingers until he found her most sensitive spot. He massaged it and she began to feel herself crumble in his arms.

  Wrapping her legs around him, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed. Finally, this was happening. Finally, she would feel him inside her. Bruno stood at the edge of the bed and lifted his shirt over his head, exposing his muscled chest and six pack abs. She loved that he was a hairy beast under his clothes. Man, all man, she thought to herself. He ran his hands down her thighs and with a sly smile, flipped her skirt up, high enough that it covered her face. Karen howled with laughter.

  His playfulness lasted but a minute. Karen hissed as he eased off her panties. She felt the bed shift and hot breath course over her legs. He was near. He kissed her stomach, then hips, and then the soft flesh above her folds. With his face, he gently parted her legs. She welcomed him and braced for when his tease would meet its end.

  “Do you know what I like about you?” he asked, his hot breath on her most sensitive spot.

  “I don’t care, Bruno,” she said with choked gasps. “Just taste me.”

  Bruno laughed. He swiped the skirt away from her face. “I like you because I can see the passion coursing through your veins. Now, watch me. Watch me taste you.”

  “You are a dirty bugger, aren’t you?” She sat up on her elbows and watched as Bruno spread her legs wide and lifted them into the air.

  “Very,” he said, and enveloped her pussy with an open-mouth kiss.

  Her inner thigh muscles jumped as he ran his pointed tongue over her clit, once, then again, teasing her as he liked to do. She watched as his tongue swirled over her dripping snatch. She watched until she writhed.

  With a throaty moan, she shattered. She felt her own juice on his face as he kissed her thighs and plunged two, three fingers into her. Pumping faster, he massaged her clit with his tongue, and extended her orgasm to a near maddening height.

  “Don’t stop,” she cried. “I’m coming.” She gritted her teeth. “I’m coming so hard.”

  He let her recover, and she was thankful. The quake of her pleasure rippled through her with an intensity she never felt possible. He kissed her thighs, her hips, her stomach, climbing up her flesh until his mouth found a supple nipple. He flicked the hard pink flesh with his tongue until she could stand it no more.

  “I want you inside me,” she said breathlessly.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Bruno scooped her up into his arms and rolled to his back. “Fuck me, Karen,” he whispered.

  She wrapped her hand around his fat cock and slid him inside. She rode his cock, rising and falling as he pushed himself into her. The rhythm was intense, like a mounting piston, but she kept the pace. She was in control. He reached to tug at her clit. It was too much to bear. With each pounding thrust, she came closer and closer to her breaking point. Bruno let out a deep groan, telling her that he was nearing his perfect spot as well.

  Her breath was ragged and worn, and perspiration covered her body like a thin film. Faster and faster she rode him, her breasts timing with her quick rhythm. Bruno reached up and cupped them steady, rolling the hard pink nipples between his fingers. And that did her in. She hammered her pace. “I’m coming,” she screamed, and dug her nails into his flesh. “My god, I’m coming again.” She quaked over him, arching her back, welcoming the release. He continued his assault from underneath, thrusting until he swiftly withdrew and stroked his pleasure out with his hand.

  Exhausted, they crumbled together in a heap of satisfaction, their chests heaving in long steadying breaths. Karen did not know how long they lay there intertwined in one another. Content with just lying there, feeling each other’s bodies and listening to the gentle sway of the sea, she watched Bruno drift off to sleep, with herself following quickly behind.

  Three

  Karen woke to birdsong and the gentle purr of low tide. Alone and tangled in the soft white sheets, her eyes focused to find Bruno hovering over the edge of the bed–holding a pot of coffee.

  “Good morning,” he said, naked and grinning. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Karen stretched her arms above her head and breathed in the fresh sea air.

  “Please.” She watched him pour coffee into a porcelain mug as steam rose around it. It smelled gourmet and delicious. She sat up, gathering the entangled sheets around her.

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for his outstretched hand. As she took the coffee, their fingers touched. Bruno stroked hers before letting go, his eyes filled with tenderness and desire.

  She brought the cup to her mouth and breathed in its rich aroma. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Hours,” he said. “You sleep like dead people.”

  Karen giggled and shook her head.

  “What?” he said.

  “It’s sleep like the dead.”

  “Same thing.”

  She took another sip, her mind following her body in waking. “Why are you naked?”

  “Is there something wrong with how I’m dressed?” He turned to the side, slowly showcasing his body, and she laughed at his silliness. “This is how Portuguese men spend their mornings.”

  “Naked?”

  “Yes. Every morning. Every single one of us.” He sat down on the bed. “You should try it.” He took the mug from her hands, and unraveled her from the sheets.

  “Should I?”

  “Yes, you should,” Bruno said, nodding his head.

  She watched his lips; they were mere inches from hers. He leaned in and kissed her softly. He tasted like coffee and more mornings like this. His strong hands cupped her face, and her body went weak under his touch.

  Reality broke in with the sound of her buzzing phone. Jack.

  “I need to get this,” she said.

  Bruno’s face changed to something she didn’t like. “Sure. I should probably check in too.”

  She swiped her phone from the nightstand and walked into the bathroom, dragging the sheet behind her.

  “Hello?” she said softly into the phone.

  �
��How’s it going there?” Jack’s voice sounded controlled and deceptive, like lava creeping down her skin and searing every inch of her flesh.

  “Fine. How are the kids?” She could hear Ava and Max in the background, arguing. “Can I talk to them?”

  “Sure.” Jack held the phone away from his ear. “Who wants to talk to Mommy?”

  “I do,” She heard Ava say. “No, I do,” Max shouted.

  “Stop fighting,” Jack warned. “Ava, you first, honey.”

  “Hi, Mommy.” Ava said into the phone. “Are you having a good time?”

  Karen’s breath caught. Was she having a good time? The thought of lying to her daughter chilled her bones. “Yes, honey,” she croaked. “Let me speak to Max, OK?”

  “Ok, Mommy.”

  Karen heard Max grumble in the distance. “I don’t to want talk now,” he said.

  “Talk to your Mother,” Jack demanded.

  “Fine, Dad.” She could hear Max’s feet slap the marble floor as he walked to the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, Buddy. Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, Mom.”

  “Ok, Sweetie. I Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Max handed the phone back to Jack. She wished he hadn’t. She didn’t want to hear the apathy in his voice. “Everything’s fine. I’ll be home Sunday,” she offered because he didn’t ask when she left. “Tookta is off this afternoon so—“.

  “I already told her to go home,” Jack said cutting her off. “I want to spend time with the kids, remember?”

  Her muscles tensed hearing how eager Jack was to stay home when she wasn’t there. “I remember,” she said a little too low, hoping that her shaking voice didn’t betray her.