My Big Mistae

MY BIG MISTAKE

By Dawn Ramble

The finale of a memory of Saint Martin and what might or might not have happened there years ago. All characters are over eighteen. Please read parts 1 and 2 first to know the characters and situation.

Part 3

Friday

Thankfully, the cold front had vanished, and a bright sun was shining as usual when I awoke. George was still asleep beside me, and I took out my bigger dildo and slipped into the bathroom. I stood in the shower and used plenty of lube, before fingering myself. Then I slowly inserted the dildo. It felt huge but then everything seemed to adjust and when I moved it was hitting some very pleasurable places. I knew some women have these erogenous zones and some don't. Just like I have really sensitive nipples, but some women don't. Apart from cultural taboos, and the 'yuk' factor, this is probably why women do or don't like anal.

I was beginning to enjoy it when I heard the sound of movement. I turned on the shower, turned my back to the wall and began soaping myself, as Joan walked in. I was wondering whether to remove it in front of her when George also came in. I was not removing it in front of him.

Instead, I pretended I had finished and slipped out keeping my body facing them and wrapped myself in a towel. I wondered if they thought it strange that I left without properly drying. Did they even notice?

We were all breakfasted and ready when Wendy arrived to lead us to her villa

"Holly, why don't you ride with me, that will make it less of a crush if George drives your car? You will just have to squish on the way back."

The boys had not rented a car. It's easy to get taxis and they hadn't really planned on going anywhere while they were here.

"This is a first," said Wendy as we drove, "I never invite tourists to the villa, but this group is so 'sympa' I just felt like it."

"Won't it be obvious you live here?"

"Probably, but who cares? I don't. I have friends here on the island that I invite from time to time. Most of them know I like to hang out among the tourists. Some don't approve and some just think it's my passe-temps, my 'obby."

After a while I plucked up the courage to ask, "Are Charles and Marie your step-children?"

"La vache! tu déconnes?"

"What?" I hadn't a clue what she was saying. I thought it was something about a cow, which made no sense.

"Sorry, I should have said 'you're joking!' Claude's children are older than me and don't have time for me. I am just their father's folie. No Charles and Marie are my employees. They are from the island, and they look after me, the house, and the grounds. I also consider them my good friends."

I looked in the mirror and could see George was keeping up as we turned up a steep track. There were two sharp corners, sort of a zig-zig and the track turned into a beautifully tarmacked driveway. Large metal gates blocked our way until Wendy reached up to a little device clipped on the sun visor. They swung open and behind the high walls we were greeted by the sight of a substantial villa, bigger than our villa and the boys' one put together. Of course, although we called ours' villas, the truth was that at home we would have called them small fairly basic townhouses; they were on a regular street in Orient Village after all.

The grounds didn't seem huge but were beautifully kept with a broad lawn in front of a wide patio area that stretched the width of the house. I figured about a seventy-foot frontage with an upper floor that was less wide. Maybe five bedrooms or a studio or something. Really appealing architecture, not just a rectangular box. Wow. I realized I had been holding my breath since we made the turn in the driveway. We stopped in a parking area on the right side of this patio.

The others drove up as we mounted the stone steps to this patio. I could hear their exclamations as they took in the view. I realized the patio surrounded a full-size pool with a shallow end, a deep end, and a two-level diving board. The next thing I saw was that loungers and umbrellas were set up, and there were what I took to be a chest freezer and an upright refrigerator under the low all-weather roof sheltering the first fifteen feet of the central area of the patio.

This was one classy set-up.

"You live here, right? This is not a holiday rental?" George was direct.

"Guilty as charged," confessed Wendy.

"You must be richer than shit," said Joan.

"I don' know, is shit rich?" asked Wendy with a smile, "We are comfortable."

"That's what the super-rich always say," chipped in Bill.

"Why do you bother with tourist trash like us?" Joan again.

"Because you are nice real people. I was one of you before my marriage. I don't think of you as tourist trash, nor do you," she said, giving Joan a hard look.

"I haven't invited anyone here before, but I thought you would like it," and she waved us to sit on some easy chairs on the covered part of the patio.

"Like it? I love it," said Patrick, "It's like an episode of 'lifestyles of the rich and famous.' You're not famous, are you?"

"Not at all."

And they went on to quiz her about her husband and where he was, how often he was here, etc. etc. Just as I had done. It sounded rather rude coming from them, and I felt embarrassed.

Charles appeared with a tray of champagne cups and produced a bottle of "Veuve Cliquot" from the fridge. He opened it with only the slightest pop before filling the six cups. I had heard of the Widow, but never tasted it. This was the real stuff.

"Is there another glass?" asked Wendy.

"Yes, madame," replied Charles, looking curiously at our full glasses as if wondering at her question.

"Then pour it for yourself, loosen your tie and finish the bottle. Relax these are my friends not island society. You and Marie are welcome to join us if you wish. In a minute or two we are going to get naked, and we'll probably move on to rum and beers after this toast." Charles helped himself to a tumbler rather than a cup and emptied what was left in the bottle into it. It was barely half a glass at most.

"To new friends and happy holidays," said Wendy and we all stood and said "Cheers!"

Charles raised his glass and said, "Bonne Anniversaire, Madame Wendy!" We echoed it in shock and Charles put down his empty glass and left us.

We were all shell-shocked.

"You did not tell us it was your anniversary," I said.

"Her birthday," corrected George, "You are very naughty. We should have brought you a present."

"Your presence is my present," she replied, pleased with her play on words in English. She was very fluent, was rarely lost for a word or phrase. Her accent was light and charming. Now and then she failed to aspirate an 'h' but all in all amazing to me who struggles to even use or pronounce the few words of French I know.

After we all added our individual congratulations and best wishes we finished our champagne. Wendy said there was a change room if we wished to get naked. Without discussion we all stripped where we were and folded our clothes on our chairs. We didn't get out our towels as we could all see a stack of super plush ones on a bench by the pool. This was like some fancy resort.

We got into the pool and shortly after Charles dressed only in a speedo arrived carrying a cooler of beer and bottles of premixed punch to the pool side. He also put down a bottle of 12-year-old rum.

"I don't like the punch too strong," said Wendy, "but you can strengthen it if you like"

After taking a sip, everyone but me did to a greater or lesser extent.

She was the ideal host, and I began to see why she had attracted such a rich husband. The others all jumped in the pool, but I moved over to Wendy.

"You'll think me impertinent, but what decided you to get married to a man so much older than you? You are extremely attractive and must have had many opportunities."

"Because I had done that. I ran away with a boy I loved when we were both nineteen. It was the 'coup de foudre': love at first sight, but after five months we knew it was real, eternal love, 'till death do us part.' Both families were against it, but that made us more determined. As I say we ran away and lived together for almost two years, but by then our dreams were so different we parted."

"You were married?"

"No, without our parents' consent we did not think that possible. I think that and the fact I did not get pregnant were the upsides. Both our hearts were broken, but that's young love. I got a job, lived on my own, found love when and where I could, mostly just sex of course, but we tell ourselves the lies we need to."

I nodded, I understood but my life had been so sheltered by comparison.

"I said earlier I was a trophy wife, but I did not always think of myself that way. At thirty I met him, and we had an affair. He was handsome, very sophisticated, and also very protective at a time when I was feeling vulnerable. I'm not proud of it, his wife was an invalid, and at that time he could still have sex and he wanted it, often. He stabilized my life. I got a serious job, I ate well, slept well. I even enjoyed having regular uncomplicated sex with a tender man.

His wife died and he was very confused. His children were urging him to drop me and find someone closer to his age. Then he had a mild stroke, and that was followed shortly by a serious heart attack. Sex was no longer possible or even something he desired. The funny thing was just as my earlier lover and I had grown apart, Claude and I had developed a genuine relationship that had and has nothing to do with sex. He doesn't like to fly anymore, so he doesn't come here.

We talk on the phone almost every day and I spend three to four months each year with him in Paris or the Alps or at another home in the Loire valley. He is consumed with business and this life suits him, so I stay here.

The rules of the original pre-nup offered me practically nothing but the stability my life had found with him. Three years ago, he asked me to sign a codicil to the pre-nup: in effect a new agreement. It was much more generous and included this house, still a fraction of his wealth, but I don't need that. It was a testament to his trust in, and love for, me, and that is what matters."

"So, if he dies you will continue to live here?"

"When he dies, I doubt it. It would be a great waste of money. I suggested we sell it, but he won't hear of it, because he knows I love it here."

I was filled with emotion at her story. It was like a movie. I hugged her and we moved to the pool. A stunningly attractive and clearly pregnant woman, I took to be Marie, arrived in a sundress with more punch and beers and some little canapés.

"Come join us," said Wendy as she put them down. Marie smiled and pulled her dress over her head. She was as naked as the rest of us, "and see if that husband of yours will come too." Marie smiled and left us. Looking at her retreating figure I realized she was quite stunning.

It took another minute or two, and Wendy and I were already in the pool before Charles arrived. The speedo had gone. Without his clothes he was a God: tall, shining purple back skin, a physique like a body builder, and let's just say, endowed in every possible way.

"Don't even imagine it," whispered Wendy, "he's a devoted husband, about to be father, and a treasure I would never risk losing."

"Lucky Marie," I whispered, as I saw her return and enter the pool.

"Yes, lucky Marie!" Wendy affirmed. I hoped Joan would not embarrass us, but she seemed to sense he was off limits.

An hour or so later I saw Charles and Marie slip from the pool, and fifteen minutes after that they appeared carrying a huge tray between them. They wore aprons but were still as naked as the rest of us. Wendy summoned us all from the pool. We all helped them lay out a serve-yourself buffet with all kinds of finger food including lobster, conch, chicken wings, spring rolls, cheeses, cold cuts, and salad. Together with Charles and Marie we were eight when we sat down.

It was nice having them there because they talked a lot about the island and their own backgrounds. Although he did not have a degree, Charles had an encyclopedic knowledge of the island's marine biology. He spent much of his off-hours working with researchers in the marine reserve. Marie was an artist and had a growing reputation for her vibrant paintings of the island and its people. I gathered that they had plenty of free time, because they both had cars and Wendy did not expect them to hang around an empty house. I guessed this was a dream job for them and they would be envied by many.

After lunch was cleared, they excused themselves and said what a pleasure it had been to meet us.

Wendy took us inside as we were all dry and showed us her collection of Marie's work. I'm no expert, but I was really impressed, as I think were the others.

When we were seated outside by the pool again, Wendy said in a low voice "I told them I had invited you and that we would all be naked. I've never done this before. I mean they are used to my being naked and being naked with me, even though that is something immodest that is frowned on in their culture.

I welcomed it and may have lightly encouraged it, but I was quite surprised when first Marie and later Charles decided it was all right. So, today I said they could dress as they wished or not, while you were here, nobody would care or even notice. As it's my birthday, I just wanted them to feel part of the occasion. What they chose to do would be entirely up to them and what they felt comfortable with."

"But I expect they are used to going to Orient Beach in their off time," said George.

"No never, they really are very conservative, as are most of the islanders, but they have learned to adopt this habit of nakedness around me. The fact they felt comfortable to be naked today is a great compliment to all of us and shows the trust they put in my judgement. I was sure you would all behave appropriately, but they had to feel they were in effect among family. In fact, this is not even something they would naturally do if they were among family."

At no time had Wendy suggested dinner, so around six I took the initiative to say, "Thank you so much for inviting us, it was so special to see your delightful home. Please say a special thank you to Charles and Marie. I hope we weren't a burden and I hope we will see you on the beach tomorrow." I could see relief in her eyes. I don't think she had thought through the end of the day, but the heat had gone out of the sun. I don't mean another cold front; just that the sun was setting, and it was a very pleasant temperature. Everybody followed my lead and said their thanks and goodbyes.

Before we squeezed into the car, I said, "I'll drive. Let's stop at the Lolos and pick up some food to take home, is everyone OK with that." I figured I had had half as much to drink as the rest of them.

"What's the Lolos?" asked Bill, Joan, and Patrick in unison: newbies.

"You'll see," I said.

When we got there, we picked up three full racks of ribs, some lobster, some chicken, rice, peas, and some johnnycakes. Our newbies were fascinated by the whole set-up.

"Tuesdays are the big night to come here," I said, "Then it is really buzzing."

Ten minutes later we were back at the villas. We all assembled in our place and for once we were all clothed and no one seemed in a hurry to get naked. When we laid out the food it seemed that somehow, we had bought enough from the Lolos for two meals. No one was really that hungry. Although that delicious lunch had seemed quite light, we had eaten more than we realized, because we had eaten slowly over an extended period of time.

While we ate dinner, we talked about the day, the amazing house and pool, the great food, Wendy's extraordinary life and of course, Marie and Charles, especially Charles. Joan kept saying inappropriate things about what she would like to do with him or to him.

"God, he was buff, I could have licked him all over, especially that dick. Did you see his dick; imagine what that would look like with some encouragement."

Silently I agreed with her, even if I hated the way it objectified him, and I was glad when the men told her to shut up.

I helped George with the clean-up and suggested we not stay up too late. We continued to talk for another hour, while George poured Armagnac for himself and the boys and Baileys for Joan and me. I wasn't sure the boys would not have preferred beer, but he had not asked them.

Around ten George unsurprisingly, as he had not had his nap, said he would be going to bed. I said I would come too, which left Joan with the boys. She looked at us, then looked at both of them and said she felt like a swim. I didn't see their reaction, but I think clothes were being discarded, as George and I headed for the stairs. George returned the wicked smile I gave him as we walked up but said nothing. I hoped he was not too tired for what I had planned.

We, of course, were still clothed. I unbuttoned my blouse and let it and my skirt fall to the floor. I stood before him in my sexiest bikini. I had dressed up to go to Wendy's just in case we would not be naked. When we had stripped, I noticed that everyone, but Joan had done the same. George in the thigh length, close fitting shorts, I bought him and the boys in speedos. Joan had just assumed we would be naked. Although she had produced some skimpy panties from her bag when we dressed to come home.

As George took off his shirt I knelt and undid his belt and the top of his pants. I pulled down the zip and let them fall to the floor. His penis was sharply outlined in the close-fitting trunks. That's why I chose them for him. I pulled down the front to release his growing erection and sucked on it as I peeled them the rest of the way and let them drop to join his pants on the floor. I sucked for a minute, while he reached down and undid my bikini top and began to massage my breasts. I felt my nipples harden as quickly as his cock.

After a minute I stopped and stood up. My knees were relieved. George knelt and pulled down my bikini bottoms and began to suck on my already wet pussy. I could feel his tongue as it wandered over my clit and darted in and out of my vagina. I tapped his head and indicated the bed. He stood and we both lay down in a sixty-nine position and continued our mutual sucking and eating.

We stopped short of bringing each other off. Funnily I think I was closer than he was. I got up and turned so that I was lying beside him. He tried to push me onto my back, and I was sorely tempted, but reaching under the pillow I pulled out the lube. He looked surprised until I turned away from him and pushed my lube-laden fingers into my butt. I handed him the lube.

"You slut," he whispered, and I wondered if this was not what he wanted from me. I felt him rub more lube into me with his fingers. "You adorable trollope, full of the nicest surprises." I got on my knees and raised my butt, and he knelt behind me, and I felt him at the back door. He was as I expected very gentle and as he entered, I experience the same mix of sensations I had had with the dildo, the strangeness, the stretching as I adapted to him and then lots of little sparks of pleasure as his cock brushed my triggers.

We went through various changes of position until we found the most comfortable one where I was lying on my stomach with my right knee close to my right breast and my leg stretched out sideways. This gave him plenty of access as he lay between my legs and extended his arms either side of me. He began to thrust although I could tell he was desperately trying to keep the pace slow. I bit my wrist as the sensations of pleasure mounted inside me. Why had I been denying myself this all these years?