Something about this weekend away from the stresses of real life made us feel just like we had felt on our honeymoon so long ago.  Or perhaps it was the reminder once again that being so deeply in love with each other was itself, in fact, real life, and all the other stuff was simply a by-product of us sharing life together as one flesh.  Whatever the reason, Chris and I found ourselves clinging to each other like a pair of newlyweds, never quite satisfied with the delights of each others bodies, always thirsting for another drink from the well.

We had taken a nice long walk through the brisk breezes down to the tourist district of town, where I couldn’t help noticing the dozens of just-married couples caressing each other and making out, not caring who saw them enjoying each other in this world-famous honeymoon town.  I had a really hard time trying to pry Chris’ hand off my butt (we were out in public, after all), so I finally gave up trying.  And during the nice afternoon dinner, complete with candles and Chris’ fingers traveling up and down my thigh under the table, I found myself getting very moist, even as we two discussed old times and future dreams.  Yes, no doubt about it, I was still head and heels in love with my own husband.

Back at the hotel pool we found ourselves in the company of yet another newlywed couple, a pair of young lovers who put on a rather R-rated display for us Silver Anniversary heroes.  After being left alone, Chris sat in the whirlpool and completed his crossword puzzle, apparently content and happy knowing that maybe tomorrow morning we would make love one last time before going back home to the kids and mother-in-law.

I, however, was seeing things just a little bit differently.  By the time we had dried off, returned to our room, flipped on the TV to view a spy story, and stretched out on the bed, I found myself in a state.  An honest-to-goodness state of high octane lust.  The dumb movie couldn’t distract me.  Some needlepoint stitching ended up getting pretty well botched, and reading a novel was no help at all.

Chris had been drained dry twice in the past 24 hours, and was unlikely to provide what I needed.  So when the teleflick finally ended at around 10:15 I decided to take matters into my own hands.  Into my suitcase I dived and came out with one of our favorite toys–Calypso Red.

Who knows how people come up with pet names for their beloved Teddy bears and automobiles and laptop computers, but somehow this the red-purple nine-inch-long anatomically-correct vibrating dildo purchased anonymously by Chris at an out-of-state novelty shop had acquired after many sessions of deep sexual satisfaction the moniker Calypso Red.  Go figure.

My clothes flew off in all directions, leaving me stark naked on the bed next to my pleasantly startled husband.  In a trice I had smeared a quantity of Astro-Glide on my little latex friend, turned its power on, and was starting to rub it against my swollen clit.  Aahhh…

Chris quite appropriately clicked off the boob tube and started paying some close attention to his wife’s…uh…boobs.  A pinch here, and a slurp there, and a deep suckle on the other side, and a bit of French kiss action, and before long my dear Chris showed the need to shuck his own clothing.

I closed my eyes, stretched out luxuriously, and let the sensations overtake my body.  His fingers and mouth against my yearning nipples felt simply heavenly, and the Vibrations from Red’s motor were pushing my mind rapidly to the precipice of orgasm.  Now I could feel him turning my hips a little sideways, and I drew in a sharp breath in anticipation of his skilled fingers reaching into my waiting vagina and working their magic on my enlarging  G-spot.  Oh yeah, this would be great!

What’s this?  Hello!  Those aren’t fingers inside me, that’s his…no, it can’t be, the man is wiped out, done in, kaput, he won’t be able to get it up till next Christmas after how I screwed him this morning, impossible, no way… Ooohhhh!!!!

Yes, Angela, it was indeed your man’s huge erect penis you now had inside of you, plunging deeper and deeper into the core of your womanhood while the little red toy hummed away on your love button.

I was instantly bowled over by the streaming rolling sensations from my climax as they coursed through my body, jolting me from head to toe, over and over till I thought I’d burst.  I opened my eyes then to gaze at my husband-lover, who smiled sweetly back at me, gently prized the vibrator from my grasp, and continued pumping his cock with a slow steady rhythm.

He made love to me on our sides, touching my outer lips until I came again.  Then he turned me over to take me missionary style, varying the beat until I pulsated with another orgasm.

Now I was being rolled onto my knees to take him doggy-like, and another round of climaxes shuddered along my horny body.

After yet another sex position and another orgasm I was virtually unconscious, no longer able to grind my pelvis against his pole, or to buck against his member with my hips, yet he kept on humping away for a blessed eternity until I finally had enough and gently put my fingertip into his butt and made him cry out in blissful agony and thus released a torrent of his pent-up sperm into my thoroughly-fucked vagina.

The clock read 12:15.  Two hours of non-stop sex.  A coital coupling undreamed of at the time of our first honeymoon of 25 years ago.

It just keeps getting better.

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