The Honeymoon Pt 03

(The following story is Part 3 of the third segment of a trilogy beginning with The Wedding and The Engagement. All of the fictional characters here were created and developed in earlier segments of the trilogy. Please read those segments for context and premise before continuing)

The Honeymoon, Part 03

OK, enough with Miss Goody Two-Shoes Teralynn House. This story is supposed to be about MY honeymoon. ME. Cynthia Preston, er, Simpson.

I'm getting sick reading about how Teralynn came to MY wedding and stole MY best friend's boyfriend right out from under her nose. What kind of a HO does that? I didn't even find out about the shit until Kevon and I returned from Aruba. Lisa called me to complain. So naturally I put it on Kevon. After all, Terry is HIS friend. Both she and Artie are his boyz, actually. If Kevon hadn't bullied me into adding Terry to my bridal party, none of this would've happened! This drama was no way to start a marriage.

Let's back up a bit.

On the Sunday morning after my wedding I woke up as I'd hoped--with a pussy full of tongue. I'd been dreaming of something inconsequential when suddenly the lights started flashing and the Earth started moving. There'd been no warning. My head was in a daze; I'd been up late preparing for our trip to Aruba. My pussy, however, was wide awake. She had my hips rotating in full revolutions, thrashing upwards crazily in expectation of dick, just as she always did when she had a tongue up in her. My husband know he can suck some hole! That boy can GO!!

By the time I was fully awake my comeuppance was upon me. I grabbed the back of Kevon's head and fucked the living shit out of his face, crack to clit. Both holes!! I really let him have it. He struggled to breathe. Did I care? Nope. I was going to get my nuts in before he did. Was he thinking about ME when he was ramming his cock down MY throat? No he was not.

When I finally screamed surrender, Kevon scrambled up and slipped his cock into my sloppy wet pussy. Too late. I'd already expended all my vaginal capital. I was so wet a bowling ball could have passed thru my labia without much notice. I lay there and let him fuck me until he realized that I wasn't fucking him back. I dunno why I did that. A hard dick has no conscience. He snatched me up and went for some skull. What could I do? I sucked him until I was literally choking on cum. Payback, I guess. Just ONCE I'd like to shoot a fuck tonne of hot jizz down HIS piehole. Let's see how HE likes it.

At six a.m. the room service attendant knocked at our door. I'd pre-ordered an early breakfast. We had to be on our way to the airport by seven a.m. I was awake, but Kevon was knocked out again. I shook him awake.

"KEVON!! GO GET THE DOOR!!"

My tone inferred an issue that only a man ought address. Men know the tone; they hear it from their mothers when strangers are about. Without bothering to ask what the issue might be, Kevon hopped up and peeked out.

"It's room service," he muttered.

He cracked the door and told the attendant to leave our breakfast just outside in the hallway. The attendant slipped him the check. Kevon signed it. He charged the bill and the tip to the room. Once the attendant left, Kevon stepped out into the hall, fully naked, and snatched up our food.

"Kev, you gotta shower and start getting dressed," I mentioned. "We have to be downstairs in an hour."

He ignored me. Our breakfast smelled delicious. Eggs. Sausage. Toast. Hashbrowns w/ onions. Sliced grapefruit w/ fresh raspberries. Coffee. Orange juice. We both tucked in with vigor. Proper fucking leads to large appetites.

As we ate my husband and I chatted. I mentioned his wanton approach to our wedding nuptials the night before.

"I found that Viagra, you know."

He smiled.

"Yeh, DeSean gave me that. That shit works!!" he said, standing up to show off yet another burgeoning, unbidden erection.

"I dunno where you're going to put THAT," I sniffed. "We don't have time for you to drain your weasel in ME again."

"If you eat faster, we do," he laughed.

"Kevon, take your black ass and get in the shower. You smell like pussy." I said.

"I like smelling like pussy," he countered. "It's better than a snifter of cocaine."

"SHOWER, Kevon," I ordered. "NOW."

I wondered how he knew the effect of a "snifter of cocaine". Neither of us were much into unprescribed pharmaceuticals, save the occasional joint. It also occurred to me that I might smell of pussy and not realize it, inasmuch as I was always walking around in my own pussy. I only noticed the smell on him.

We finished wolfing down our food and jumped in the shower together. As we lathered up, Kevon's penis bloomed fully erect. AGAIN. He looked at me with a piteous expression. We had a three-hour flight ahead of us and time wasted getting to and from the airport. I wouldn't be able to attend to him until late that afternoon.

"Goddammit!"

I turned to the wall and offered my ass up to him as hot, steamy water blistered us.

"Hurry up," I muttered.

He dipped behind me and inserted himself. For the umpteenth time that day I felt the surge of his penis thrusting into me. My pussy was burnt raw by then. I was only going thru the motions. This was the first full day of our marriage!! Mrs. Hotbox had been humbled by a little blue pill.

I did my best to dredge up some enthusiasm. I truly enjoy getting fucked. I do! But Mrs. Hotbox needed some rest!! I thought I could sleep for days. Kevon had literally fucked me senseless. I felt him back there, humping me like some eight-hundred year old Galapagos tortoise--fast in, slow out--grunting strainfully with each thrust. I wished he would just cum and get it over with.

"Kevon!! Cum! PLEASE!!! We have to GO!!"

This just made him hump me faster. I reached down to twiddle my clit. Maybe, just maybe, there'd be some benefit to this session.

Later I found that, at this very moment downstairs in our hotel, Teralynn House was sating herself at the tip of Lisa's boyfriend's dick. My gurl Lisa was in her hotel room crying. But I didn't know that at the time. This bitch Teralynn is a SERIOUS ho. She knew that Lisa and Artie were just getting started on their journey. And she went and took him anyway.

I don't understand women like that.

Kevon was still fucking me with a deranged berserker mania. He gripped my tits from behind and just whaled away at my ass, as if he hadn't completed three trilogies--pussy, ass, gullet--just a few hours before. For the first time in my life I felt like saying "No more dick for me, please. I've had my share."

When he finally erupted and slumped I was so grateful. I pushed him away and took a bar of soap generously to my pussy, ass and armpits. The shower was still going full blast. I rinsed my face of sweat and stepped from the shower, leaving Kevon staggered against the wall. I didn't give a fuck. This was the last piece of pussy he would be seeing this side of Aruba. In fact, I briefly considered leaving him in Pittsburgh and using the two weeks in Aruba to give Mrs. Hotbox a much needed rest.

Kevon's disability aside, we finally dressed and scrambled into the cab slated to take us to the airport. We checked our bags, then checked into an airport lounge for drinks. I don't usually like drinking early in the morning, but we had a long flight ahead and I was still rankled by the underhanded trick Kevon's friends had played. I'd fucked my share of men. Kevon's performance on our wedding night outdid them all. My pussy was smoking! I'd promised to induct my husband into the Mile High club on the flight down to Aruba.

Fug dat.

His little diversion into the Viagra club put that idea on the backest of burners. I was going to sleep the entire flight south. I was going to sleep in the cab on the way to the hotel. And I was going to sleep the entire second night of our wedding. If he got some pussy that night, I was not going to be aware of it, nor was I planning to participate.

As it turned out, Kevon was hobbled, too. We checked into our hotel in Aruba and immediately passed out, still fully dressed. When I next cracked my eyelids it was dawn. I stepped out onto our balcony to watch the sun come up over the Caribbean Sea. The view was so entrancing that Mrs. Hotbox recovered a bit of her elasticity. I stepped back into our hotel room. My husband was snoring, still dressed in his travel clothing. His pants masked a huge, Viagra-induced boner. I unleashed it and mounted him. Our first sexual encounter in Aruba amounted to sleep creep.

If you've never been to Aruba, you should go. It's beyond beautiful. I was a little put off by the commercialization, you know, all the McDonalds and Pizza Huts. Anyone can see that shit in America. What's interesting about Aruba is the constancy of a northeast wind. It's so constant that ALL the trees in Aruba (and there aren't many) tend to lean to the southwest. It's so constant that Aruba is the kite surfing capital of the world.

Further, the ocean water, bluest of the blue, is also the saltiest of the salty. I've been to the ocean in plenty of places. The salt water in Aruba lays over every place I've been. It burns your eyes like fire.

Kevon and I planned to learn to kite surf over the course of our two-week honeymoon. We had lessons scheduled starting Wednesday. We could have started on Monday but I didn't think we would've come up for air that soon. Both of us Simpsons love to fuck.

So we spent most of that second day ordering out for room service and making love. SLOWLY. I hope Viagra works this well when we get old.

In between our lovemaking sessions we lounged on the balcony naked, astounded by the beauty of our ocean view. The hotel supplied us with champagne and a nice fruit basket. That whole day was spent in an orgasmic/alcoholic daze. We passed out, again, in the early evening and slept until dawn.

By Tuesday I think we both had had enough of each other's churning genitalia. I think that if I saw Kevon's dick in my face one more time I would scream. Kevon reeked of the smell of my pussy, but he refused to shower. We planned to go jet skiing that day. He said the salt water would rinse away his aroma. Meanwhile he planned to bask in it.

"Yeh, but what about between now and the jet ski pavilion? That smell attracts MEN, you know," I warned.

He just laughed and shook his head. Ignoring his nastiness, I went and showered up. The smell of jizz attracts men, too. The wrong KIND of men.

Kevon threw on a Steelers jersey and a pair of spandex Nike biker shorts. I thought the shorts made him look kinda faggy. He said they accentuated his "assets". I began to wonder who he really was trying to attract.

We went jet skiing that day and had a wonderful time. Afterward we ordered Cuban sandwiches at a friendly beachside bistro, then we hired a speedboat to take us parasailing. All in all it was a fabulous day. We stayed on the beach until late in the evening drinking margaritas with strangers and listening to grandiose tales of the sea. I noticed a tall black guy, built like Dwight Howard (but darker), serving drinks. He was wearing loose fitting shorts. Something about him was familiar. I couldn't make it out.

Kevon and I stumbled back to our room, half drunk, and fucked for forty-five minutes before passing out. While we were fucking, Dwight Howard's identity occurred to me. He had that same python-like bulge I'd noticed in Mandingo's boxer shorts the week before. At that very moment Mrs. Hotbox was already chock-a-block full of Kevon's nine-incher. The vision of Mandingo's twelve-incher on Dwight Howard's dark, muscular frame is the thing that extended our session from a standard ten-minute fuck into a forty-five minute marathon. I kept wanting Kevon to go deeper. He came repeatedly, but I wouldn't let him pull out. He finally passed out atop my thrusting vagina.

I hadn't cum.

The next day we started our kite surfing lessons. Those early lessons were functional, just teaching us the basics. It would be awhile before we actually got out on the ocean with our kites.

By late afternoon we were back at our bistro with newfound friends, drinking and laughing uproariously. I saw Dwight Howard again. He served our drinks. I was wearing a bikini that nicely accentuated my curves. I'm twenty-six. I don't have surgery scars, thunder thighs, cellulite or varicose veins. My bikini proudly displayed the outline of my nipples and my resonant cameltoe. He tried to play it off, but I noticed Dwight giving me the once over with his eyes. He had taste; I had to give him that much. I also noticed that his name was not Dwight. It was Trevor. At least that's what his nametag said.

Each morning for the next few days Kevon and I attended kite surfing lessons. Afternoons we explored the island, taking time to sample local wares and cuisine. Occasionally we returned to our local bistro, only to find that most of our friend's vacations had concluded. The bistro had a whole new set of customers. I didn't see Trevor, though I looked about for him.

The following Sunday I fucked Kevon to sleep around ten p.m. By three a.m. I was still awake. I hadn't busted my nuts. There was no sexual opium coursing through my veins. I decided to take a late walk along the beach.

Nights in Aruba are just as fabulous as the sunny days. The sky was awash in stars. I could see the outline of the Milky Way cutting a huge swath across the night sky. Ocean waves lapped lazily against the sandy shore. I could hear music blaring in the distance. The smell of rhododendrons wafted on the breeze. My body's natural opium reacted accordingly to this sensory paradise.

In the distance I could see that someone had left a large beach towel, tennis shoes and a set of clothing in the sand.

"Late night lovers," I thought.

Drawing closer, I could see no couples fornicating in the night. Surreptitiously, though, I wanted find just that. One of my goals for the week was to fuck my husband on a sandy, nighted beach, or better, in the ocean at the edge of the shore. I looked around, hoping to find persons coupling in this manner.

Instead, I was terrified to see a black incubus rising from the sea. I started to run before recognizing the outline of his form. It was Dwight Howard, er, Trevor. He was naked, glistening magnificently in the moonlight. I could see his Mandingo dangling casually between his legs. The eighty-eight degree water hadn't done it any shrinkage. In fact, the warm water may have extended it some. He smiled at me.

"Mrs. Simpson!" he chortled.

I noticed that he made no move to hide his manhood. I also noticed that he remembered my name. I hadn't shared it with him. He must have looked at Kevon's credit card on the drink check.

"H-h-hello," I said.

He went and dried off with his towel. He didn't seem to be shy about showing off his nakedness.

"What are you doing out this late?" he asked.

"I-I'm just out walking. What are YOU doing out here?"

"I needed to take a swim," he responded.

"THIS late?" I asked, growing bolder.

"I work late, Mrs. Simpson. I come out here after work all the time. Nude beach swimming is illegal in Aruba. Unless they don't catch you."

"I'm guessing that you'd be easy to identify, if they DID catch you," I said, pointing to his massive cock.

"Not really. Most of the natives are blessed like this. My dad makes me look puny," he laughed. He started donning his swim shorts.

"Well, OK," I said. "You two need to come to America. You could be rich!!"

Not wanting to become too familiar, I turned to walk away.

"I'll see you at the bistro, Mrs. Simpson!" he called after me.

"My name is Cynthia!" I called back.

Returning to my hotel room, I found Kevon still asleep, naked on the bed. I stripped out of my clothes and moved up between his legs to suck his limp dick to attention. Then, finally happy with my results, I mounted Dwight Howard, er, Trevor, er, Kevon and fucked the shit out of him. He woke up. We both nutted. Afterward, I had no problems falling asleep.

The next day Kevon and I had advanced far enough in our kite surfing lessons to solo. I hooked myself into my rig and waded out into the surf. I waited for the right gust to come along, then I stepped up onto my surfboard....and got pulled splat onto my face.

Kevon did the same.

Our instructor, a white guy from the Netherlands named Dylan, laughed. He encouraged us to try again. After five or six tries Kevon managed to skitter about ten feet before falling. It took me about ten tries to match him.

Gradually, the both of us began to stay up for longer and longer periods. We were thrilled when a gust of wind came along and lifted Kevon into the air. He stayed aloft for a few seconds before gliding in softly. He continued to surf. I think he was so excited at "getting some air" that he fell over into the water unbidden. He managed to right himself and continue surfing.

That was a good day. I hadn't progressed as far as Kevon, but I was getting there. We were both excited, looking forward to each day's progress.

At our bistro that night, we chattered on and on with a new set of friends. Some of them were also here to kite surf. Kevon and I started giving the newbies tips, as if we were seasoned veterans.

Trevor brought us drinks. He behaved in front of my husband as if he hadn't emerged from the ocean last night with a dick that could satisfy a Clydesdale. He was polite and noncommittal. Our drinks never went dry. He even complimented us on our kite surfing progress. Nevertheless, I saw him give me another admiring once over. I was wearing a different bikini that day, but the effect was the same. My tits drew first attention. Then my ass. Then my smile.

Kevon and I went back to our room that night to celebrate our newly found kiting fecundity. We sucked each other's genitals. I tried to spray his throat with my cum and failed. He, of course, did not fail. As I blew him I fingered myself, imagining my fingers to be Trevor's enormous dick. I was thinking about this handsome stranger more and more often.

The next morning Kevon's kite surfing acuity really took off. He was flying past me, over me and around me. I was still struggling, but I was making progress. On two occasions I rode gusts for a hundred yards or so. I even drew some air, but botched the landing. In any case, we were getting somewhere. I noticed Trevor on the beach, watching us at sea. His tall, dark, muscular frame stood out among the hundreds of beachgoers.

That evening Kevon and I took dinner at a seafood restaurant recommended by Dylan. The food was excellent. I had the lobster pasta and a bowl of chowder. Kevon ordered fried grouper. (He always orders fried grouper when we have seafood. It's his favorite.)

We stopped by the bistro on the way back to our hotel to chat a bit. Trevor was there. When Kevon slipped down to the shoreline to wash sand from his feet, Trevor eased up behind me.

"Meet me on the beach. Three o'clock tonite."

Then he walked away.

I was shocked!! How did this man know I would entertain such an idea? I was on my honeymoon!! I scoffed at his suggestion. The effrontery of him!! I might fantasize about a guy. It doesn't mean I'm giving up any scootie. Good God, I'm newly married!!

And yet the idea festered. I couldn't get it out of my mind. It's not like I wasn't getting laid properly. I was. Kevon was serving me up manfully every night. Our days were laced with laughter, good food, good drink, new friends and strenuous activity.

I think my curiosity centered on seeing Trevor's erect penis. Yes, that was it. I just wanted to SEE it bloom. Even soft, it rivaled both Mandingo and Detroit. I wondered if Trevor would let me take a picture of it? Lisa and Nicole would freak out!! It would be something to remember!!