This story contains strong language (L) and describes a fantasy (F).
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From the Author: You don’t need to have read the preceding episode of this series to understand this story, but if you would like to, it is titled “Couples Resort.”
Sexual fantasies, especially those about voyeurism, are a large part of lovemaking between my wife and me. In those make-believe scenarios, watching what others are doing and/or having others watch us is a huge turn-on for us. This is one such fantasy.
Having checked into the resort earlier in the evening, my husband and I opened the door to our suite. It met my expectations for the substantial price they were charging, opening into an expansive bedroom. This was not a typical suite of rooms, but then not much about this resort was what you would consider typical. As I walked through the door, a kaleidoscope of muted reds, greens, blues, and yellows of all hues and shades met my eyes. The walls to the right and left were covered with mirrors that cast prisms of lights, giving the impression of sparkling diamonds throughout the room. The strangely peaceful atmosphere felt charged with the apprehension of eroticism, perhaps because of the large, sumptuous bed in the middle of the room that dominated the view. A large sunken jacuzzi in front of the bed was lined with blue granite that tinted the quietly rippling water. Centered on two of the walls, up near the ceiling, were digital clocks made of what appeared to be some color-changing liquid, mesmerizing to watch.
The time on both read 6:43 PM.
I turned to my husband, who glanced at the clocks and slowly smiled. I was reminded of the signs I had seen posted discreetly upon entering the resort. “Masks Are Required between 9:00 PM and 4:00 AM. Failure to wear mask will result in being escorted from the premises.”
An incredibly old, very elaborate case lying on the bed drew my attention. The box, its lid closed, displayed intricate Kama Sutra engravings. A lovely woman of Asian descent splayed out on her back predominated the lid of the case. What appeared to be a man of African descent was on top of her in the classic position of 69. The man’s cock was proportionally huge and in the woman’s mouth, while the man was obviously tonguing her between her legs. The craftsman had etched a look of rapture on their faces, and you could make out the man’s sperm running down the woman’s cheek.
On the front of the case were two scenes, the left one portraying what I recognized as the windmill position. The woman was on her back while the man was on top, facing down and away from her. His knees were on the ground next to her waist, and he was leaning forward with his arms outstretched. The woman’s ankles were hooked around the top of his shoulders, and his cock was deep inside her. Her beautifully carved hair covered most of her face, but I could see that her mouth was open in apparent sexual hunger.
Next to this was a carving of another position that I did not recognize, one that seemed impossible for anyone except for the most gifted of acrobats. The man appeared to be gliding face down with a rope harness of some kind fixed around him, holding his arms and legs spread out from his body. I admired how the carving showed his heavily muscled arms and legs and his ass cheeks’ tightness from the strenuous position he was in. Underneath him was the woman, facing up, her arms stretched out. Her legs were wrapped around the waist of the man above her, and his member was buried deep in her. Her skin was glass smooth, and I imagined for a minute it was me hanging in the air, suspended on a large, strong cock.
As I closed my eyes and turned my face upward in reverie, my husband came up behind me. He pushed my head onto the bed and, in one motion, had my pants down around my ankles. He had also dropped his own trousers, and with a single push, he thrust his cock into my wet and waiting pussy. My face, pressed into the mattress, was turned toward the mirrors; I saw his cock reflected as it went in and then out. At first, he displayed frenzied energy, but then he slowed as if to torture me by not letting me cum. As he started to withdraw, he slowed almost to a stop. He would then thrust in hard but again slowly draw out. He continued this until, at last, I could take no more.
Sensing my growing frustration, my husband rapidly built-up speed, slamming into me over and over. I could feel the pulsing of my vaginal walls as his aggressive fucking took its toll on my body, building towards an orgasm. My pussy clamped down on his cock, and then the familiar warmth of his sperm shot inside me. I was just about to peak when he went to his knees and began sucking where he had just been. This sudden movement and feeling threw me over the edge, and I was rocked with multiple orgasms.
My husband rose behind me and pulled my pants up, then his own. His arms reached around me, and as they cupped my breasts, he kissed my neck. We stood there, and he asked if we should take the masks out or leave them for now. This was a difficult decision for me, as I knew what they represented, yet I felt they should remain for now.
I asked him if he wanted to eat in the room or go down to the restaurant, and he told me he was famished and did not want to wait for room service. As we turned to go, I saw the bellman who had brought up our luggage still standing by the open door with his mouth hanging open. Behind him, two guests had stopped in the hallway and stared into the room. The woman was touching her breasts through her blouse, and the man stood behind her with his hands around his wife’s waist and pulling her back into his groin. They obviously had gotten very aroused while watching us, and I could see the desire on both their faces.
I stopped and put my arms out to keep my husband from moving in front of me, then reached back and grabbed his arms. As I locked eyes with the man in the hall, I wrapped my husband’s arms around me, placing each hand on one of my tits, and started squeezing them. I spread my legs, licked my lips in a slow, suggestive manner, and made a kissing motion toward him. Abruptly, he started furiously grinding his groin into his wife’s ass until, suddenly, the expression on his face betrayed the fact he had cum. Then I took my husband by the hand and led him past the bellman and the couple in the hall, and we went to the elevator.
Though I hadn’t realized we had an audience in the bedroom, I did not regret it. Even now, I grew very aroused at the knowledge that others had watched as my husband had fucked me and then sucked his own cum from my dripping pussy. I thought back to the look on the couple’s faces and reveled in the knowledge our actions had been responsible for what I saw in the hall. As we rode the elevator down, I glanced at the clock.
It read 7:01 PM.
In the dining room, we were led to our table, and after ordering, I looked around and realized I had a direct view of the raised platform for the entertainment. My gaze lingered over the attractive female singer. She was wearing a low-cut, spaghetti-strap dress in a red that accented her hair. She moved slowly around the stage, keeping her vocals low and in the background. Her soft sensuous voice went perfectly with the swaying of her elegant body.
Our food came, and just as I was about to finish my meal, the woman on stage took a small bow to light applause, and a tall young man joined her. The second he came on stage, he had everyone’s attention, even the men’s. He looked to be about 25 years old and was at least 6’4”. He had on a slim-fit dress shirt with several buttons undone at the top, and I could see his skin and his muscles rippling through the transparent black Crepe de chine as he moved and swayed with the music. An orange belt with a gold buckle separated the shirt from black slacks, which fit snugly both in front and back, perfectly encasing his slim waist, tight ass, and muscled legs. His medium-length curly black hair just touched his ears, but the most prominent of his features were his riveting eyes, which held me virtually spellbound as if in a trance. They were of a dark—or was it a light shade?—gray or blue or some combination I had never seen before. I wondered if he wore tinted contacts, but the way they shimmered in the light as they flicked back and forth convinced me the unusual color was natural. Those eyes had quite an effect on me, and glancing around the room at the other women, I could tell I was not the only one getting wet between the legs.
Together, the man and woman picked up the microphones and started singing a song I had only heard once before but remembered. The woman began:
I love it when you call me señorita
I wish I could pretend I didn’t need ya
But every touch is ooh la la la
It’s true, la la la
Ooh, I should be running
Ooh, you keep me coming for ya.
Her voice had taken on a slight Spanish lilt and vibrato; it sounded like pure sex moving through the air.
Then in a soft low tenor, the male singer took up the next verse. His voice seemed to swim around me and through the room.
We danced for hours in the sand
Her body fit right in my hands, la la la
It felt like ooh la la la—Yeah
As they sang the chorus—their voices exquisite and sweet, separate and yet one—they moved around each other, their hands and hips swaying in time with the music. Then the woman sang:
Ooh, when your lips undress me
Hooked on your tongue
Ooh, love, your kiss is deadly
Don’t stop . . . . .
And I came, hard. The words, the voices, the atmosphere, and mesmerizing movement of the singers, along with the deep knowledge of why we had booked this stay, were too much—and I crashed over the edge of an orgasm.
The time on the clock was 8:15 PM.
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