Paradise Found (BBW Erotic Forbidden Affairs) (4 page)

She gathered the fabric of her swimsuit into place. Bruno tugged up his pants, all his excitement from moments earlier completely gone. The bodies that belonged to the voices, all sixteen of then, rounded the jetty and walked into view. There were men and women, couples, laughing, holding hands, and walking close together. Karen wondered if the group had rented the remaining eight bungalows, their neighbors, and the recent arrivals that Pierre had mentioned.

As they approached, a slim, tall man in a blue Speedo waved. They waved back. The tall man led the group from the shoreline crossing the hot sand to their bungalow. As they neared, Karen saw their deeply tanned faces light up. Bruno and Karen exchanged glances.

“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Who are they?” She wrapped a beach shawl around her bikini-clad body. One of the men behind Mr. Speedo scowled, she was sure of it.

“Hallo!” the group leader called. “You must be the Smiths. Pierre said you had checked in last night.”

Karen was relieved that Bruno took on the role as spokesperson. “We are. I’m John and this is Jane.” Bruno extended a hand to Mr. Speedo, who took it excitedly, nearly shaking off his arm.

“I’m Sven,” he said, “and this is my friend, Helga. And these are my other friends.” He motioned to the group that had encircled their cabaña.

Bruno and Karen waved at Sven’s friends and their creepy, over excited faces.

“We are having a party tonight on the beach. We’d all love for you both to join us,” Sven said.

“Yes, join us,” his tribe echoed, beaming at them.

“See, we are all one big happy family of friends.”

The way the word “friends” rolled off Sven’s tongue made Karen nervous. She had less disturbing enemies.

“Thanks,” said Bruno. “We’ll be sure to stop by.”

“We hope you do,” Sven delivered in a sing-song voice. “Bungalows #11 to #4,” he added before grabbing Helga’s hand and returning to his beach walk. His friends filed in behind him, holding hands, all of them, in one long speedo-bikini-thong-daisy chain.

Bruno turned back to Karen. “Well, that was weird.”

“Too weird. Now, where were we?”

Bruno drew the curtain of the cabaña. “I’m not sure, but I think I was about to fuck you senseless.”

“I like the sound of that.” She let the beach shawl collapse around her. 

She sat up on her knees and he followed her lead. He removed the fabric her breasts, pinching one nipple, then the other, tugging at them until she yelped. She reached for his swim shorts and pulled on his cock. He was rock hard. She stroked him with her hand, soft and slow. They embraced then. He hands slid down her back and cupped her ass, kissing her shoulder as he squeezed.

“Take off my shorts,” he commanded her in a hushed tone.

She obeyed, sliding her hand under the waistband to free his bulging erection. Gripping his cock, she ran her fist up and down his length. “How do you want me?” she asked. She stared into his eyes as she kissed him.

He broke away first.

“Rough,” he said. “And from behind.”

“Do tell, Mr. Smith,” she teased.

“Why don’t I show you?” Bruno, as if possessed, gripped her around the waist and turned her around. She went to hands and knees.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Almost.” He pushed her head down on the matt so that her ass rode high in the air. She felt the fire of surrender rip through her. Whatever he wanted, it was his.

He slid his hands all over the back of her. She felt his hot breath near her crotch and she hissed knowing he was so close. He dug his face into her, burrowing it deep, licking her pussy and lapping at her ass. She rocked back and forth, feeling his tongue slip into every fold. With a jolt, she felt him push into her dripping wet snatch. She panted and moaned, trying to maintain her hold on to this earth. As he drove deeper into her, she was both lost and found in their pleasure.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, his hips smacking against her flesh. “Do you like that sound?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“I can’t hear you, Karen,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, I love it,” she growled.

He pounded her harder. Sweat glistened over their skin. She felt her orgasm build, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. His tempo slowed. He backed her up, and placed her on his lap until she was sitting on his cock, riding him, faster and faster, as she moaned and whimpered with need. His hand reached between her legs and toyed with her clit, her climax building to new heights. A cloud formed in her head, making everything hazy, and she braced for bliss. She whispered,
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” over and over, until the friction drove her to her breaking point. She surrendered to it, riding him until ecstasy ripped through her writhed body.

“I’m coming,” he shouted. He pushed out of her and pumped himself furiously. Still in her post orgasm haze, her desire not completely spent, she scrambled to catch his flavors. He held his cock to her mouth as she drank him.

He collapsed on to her and they began their recovery together. They huffed in choked gasps as their breathing returned to normal.

And that’s when she heard it, stifled giggles and a rush of moving sand.

They were being watched, she was sure of it.

Five

“I’m telling you, it was Sven.” Karen said over the cracking sound of crab shells. “He and his friends were listening to us,” she said.

Their late dinner was a showcase of freshly caught crab, oysters, and fish. They ate on the patio overlooking the calm surf, in the intimate resort restaurant of twelve tables, a bar, and an open pit fire on which Pierre prepared their catch to perfection.

Bruno, a self-proclaimed descendant from ancient fisherman, tore into his plate of crabs without a single smear on his face or hands, whereas Karen went through six hand wipes just eating the claws. With bits of crab flesh in her hair and down her top, she poured the last of the Pinot Gris in her glass, with Bruno giggling at her barbaric show.

“I don’t think so,” Bruno countered.

“If not him, then who?” Karen tore into her fish, removing the spine from the flesh, and doused it in spicy chili sauce.

“It could have been anyone,” Bruno slurped his oysters, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

The waiter arrived to deliver their second bottle of wine. Karen was already tipsy and feeling good. The beach had quieted as low tide took with it the sands from the day. Karen looked out at the lagoon and drank in its inviting calm. She felt a wildness course through her, a sort of confidence she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

“We should go for a swim,” she said.

Bruno rubbed his belly. “We must wait thirty minutes before swimming,” he said, his accent more pronounced and laced with wine.

“That’s a myth.” Karen signaled the waiter, and told him to bill the room – in Thai.

“I’m very full, party girl,” he said. “Let’s sit out and watch the water, drink some wine, and relax.” 

“Well, you can watch me,” she said. “Come.” She took Bruno’s hand and the bottle, and led him down the seashell bath toward the beach.

Bruno grinned and grabbed her ass. “You are going to put an end to me,” he whispered in her ear.

At the very edge of the water, Bruno planted himself in a beach chair. He took a long swig of his wine, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, show me,” he said.

She slipped her sheer sundress off her neck and let it slide down her body. The thin tankini slip barely hid what was underneath, which was nothing. She could hear laughter far off into the distance. She wondered if it was Sven and his creepy castaways, and remembered then that they were invited to their party on the beach. The way Bruno looked at her, content with his beach chair and bottle of wine, watching as she caressed her nipples into attention, told her that they wouldn’t be making an appearance after all.

She pulled the tankini up over her head, and stood in front of him, naked and hot under her own touch. Her hands roamed her flesh, down her stomach and buttocks, squeezing and fondling. She backed into the waiting surf. He smiled at her, and shook his head. She wanted him to follow her, wanted him to wrap his arms around her and fuck her in the soft sand. She thought of his cock driving into the depths of her as warmth swirled around her ankles and splashed her legs.

She faced the horizon and stepped further out. The water, warm as a bath, hugged her thighs. She opened herself up to the gentle rocking, the ebb and flow of the low tide lagoon. The water rose to waist high. She waved at Bruno. He waved back. As he watched, she stroked her breasts and pinched the dark flesh around her nipples. She moaned softly and thought of Bruno sliding his cock inside her, pumping hard until she came.

She glided one hand between her legs and traced the folds. Bruno clapped and encouraged her but she found her own hand a poor substitute for what he could do to her. She slid one finger deep inside, and the water rippled as she moved.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” she called out to him.

Bruno was out of the beach chair then. He started to peel off his shirt when they heard the faraway laughter drawing closer. They were teenagers again, frightened of being found out. Lights blinked on in the bungalow nearest them, Number 4, with bungalows 5 through 11 following suit.

Sven’s friendly beach party was starting.

The voices neared their spot on the beach. Karen scampered out of the water and Bruno stepped to shield her so that she could dress.

A voice called out to them, “Hallo, neighbor! You are just in time.” Speedo Sven stepped out of the darkness. “We’re over here! Come join us.” 

“Shit,” Karen said as she tried to slip her sundress over her soaking wet body. “How are we going to get back to our bungalow without them seeing us?”

“I don’t think we can,” Bruno said, eyeing the distance between them and the path back to their room. “Let’s just stop by, then say we’re tired and have an early flight.”

The latter wasn’t a lie. Their getaway was ending too soon. She didn’t want to share what time they had left with a group of creepy tourists in Speedos and thongs.

“Ok. Ten minutes. Then you’re mine,” she said.

Bruno slipped his arm around her, and they walked to the party’s nucleus between bungalows six and seven. They strolled up the beach and arrived to find their hosts building a bonfire– naked. Karen looked at Bruno.

“Only in Thailand” he whispered.

“Only in Thailand is right.”

Six

“Hallo!” Sven greeted, his cock and balls swayed as he shook their hands.

Karen tried not to look, or laugh.

“At this party, clothes are optional,” he said.

“We noticed,” she said, grinning.

“But do whatever makes you comfortable.” Sven laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly.

As if the night couldn’t get any weirder. Finding their possibly voyeuristic beach neighbors naked and laughing and milling about, drinking and enjoying each other’s company seemed perfectly–ordinary. They way they all seemed unashamed of their bodies, of their rawness, without a trace of cruelness or judgment. It was so unlike what she had struggled to break free from, and so unlike her life before Bruno.

Bruno held his arm around her waist. The damp fabric and sand scratched her skin. Taking it off would feel more comfortable. She shrugged, “Why not?” she said, and slipped her dress back up over her head again. She playfully tossed it at Bruno, who caught it before it met his face.

She walked to the crowd that had gathered on beach chairs. “Hi, I’m Jane Smith,” she said, offering her hand. “And this is my husband, John.” She shook every hand, all sixteen, but forgot every single name. Their accents were a potpourri of cultural origin. Sven and Helga were Swedish. There were four Germans, five Italians, two Australians, and three Brits–plus one American and a seriously sexy Portuguese man.

Sven handed her a plastic cup filled with white wine. It didn’t taste cheap. She took a seat on the chair he offered. She was thankful that she had kept her panties when she felt coarse sand stick to her thighs.

Bruno stayed clothed, which didn’t surprise her. The fire blazed, and she craned her neck for a view of him through the flames. He was talking to an older woman in her late fifties. Karen could hear tiny snippets of their conversation, the World Bank, and smiled. That’s what she liked about him; at a beach party full of naked tourists, Bruno maintained his composure and diplomacy.

Helga sat down in the seat next to Karen. “So how long have you two been married?” she asked.

Karen eyed Bruno. She had been married to Jack fifteen years; she was a showpiece, a prop. There was no intimacy, no trust, there was never a time when she could have a bad hair day. “A little over a year,” she said, remembering the day she had met Bruno at their kids’ school. “And you and Sven?” she asked.

“We’ve been together for twenty years, but we are not married.”

Karen smiled thinking about the kind of commitment that stayed together without paper. The bonfire roared and sent embers drifting into the warm dark air. A wine bottle was passed around.  Bruno was on his third. She raised her fifth cup to him and winked.

Something shifted then. A quiet hush spread across the group. Two German women started making out, hard and fierce. Another woman knelt beside them, stroking their backs. Karen blinked and found a fourth set of hands belonging to one of the Italian men caressing their breasts.

She eyed Bruno. He raised his eyebrows but returned his gaze to the foursome sprawled out in a mass of hands and nakedness on the sand.

“We are starting early tonight,” she heard Sven say.

Moaning and gasping enveloped the darkness, the areas beyond the fire’s reach. Karen turned her head away from the show and found Helga smiling at her. Slowly, as if watching for Karen’s approval, Helga leaned in. Karen had never kissed a girl before. The touch of small soft lips upon hers made her body zing.

She met Bruno’s eyes, and in that moment, the friendly invitation was understood: Sven had invited them to an orgy on the beach.