Terminal Revenge

Hours later, Michael opened his eyes, momentarily confused as to his whereabouts. As he adjusted to his surroundings, he realized that he was lying naked under the covers in the hotel room bed. Although the room was dark, a blue glare emanated from the screen of his still-opened laptop, now resting upside down on the floor beside the bed. Lying next to it was the familiar gift bag.

As the bag came into focus, he thought back to the amazing video, the letter and especially the prized lavender panties. Was it only a dream? Confused and disappointed at that probability, he lay back on the pillow, suddenly depressed. Reluctantly allowing reality to slowly set in, he eventually reached to the far side of the bed, fumbling in near darkness for the table lamp. Turning it on, Michael squinted as he adjusted to the sudden brightness.

Rolling back on his side with the room now fully lit, his heart skipped a beat as he saw his Holy Grail - the lavender panties - partially hidden under the pillow. If the panties were real, could the video and invitation be real as well? Now totally hard, he prayed that the laptop wasn't broken as he picked it up from the floor. Relieved to find the file, he again watched the video in amazement, feeling once again as though he died and went to heaven.

As he watched for a second time, his mind conjured up a mental image of Stacy. He wondered who she was as well as the extent of her "friendship" with Angela. Could she be a neighbor, co-worker, or even a relative? Better yet, a flight attendant? As difficult as it was to avoid watching Angela, he now focused on the background and noticed an empty bottle of wine on the bedside table as well as the flattened gift bag, not yet filled.

Hearing her slurred comments and giggling, he realized that she was probably way beyond tipsy. He suddenly felt almost guilty for invading their privacy, although that didn't stop him from watching the short clip for a third and fourth time. At one point as the camera became unsteady, there was an errant millisecond glimpse of a mirror -- and Stacy's reflection -- before the camera shifted back to Angela's mound and busy fingers.

Apart from Stacy's shoulder-length dark hair, he couldn't make out anything more than that. Of course in his deviant mind, he envisioned her holding the camera/phone with one hand while her other hand was buried deep in her own panties as she watched Angela playing. If only, he thought!

Anxious to see more of Stacy, he replayed the short clip, trying but failing to stop the frame at the point of the split-second mistake. It took several tries before he was finally able to freeze the video at the exact spot where her reflection briefly appeared in the mirror.

Although the frame was blurry, he was mildly disappointed to see that she was fully clothed in a dark blouse and tan slacks. He couldn't make out her face in the video, but she appeared to be shorter and much curvier than Angela. It was hard to tell, but by her shape he guessed that she may have even been pregnant. He felt somewhat ashamed when his cock twitched as his mind pondered that additional and clearly perverted possibility.

What was wrong with him, he wondered, although he already knew the answer. He found himself piecing together an additional fantasy, as he wondered if the clip was intentionally cut short. His mind began crafting a follow-up scene, as both lust-crazed women continued off-camera:

He imagined Stacy putting the camera down as she watched Angela rubbing her wet pussy, with her hips moving in a slow rhythm near the edge of the bed. Having already secretly tasted Angela indirectly from her own fingers, Michael envisioned Stacy slowly, boldly dropping to her knees in front of Angela's parted thighs.

Now just inches from that delicious shaved pussy, Stacy briefly reconsidered, but as she looked up, she saw Angela staring down at her, biting her lip, almost inviting her into her most private area.

Stacy quietly spoke, "Promise not to tell?"

Angela could only nod her head, dizzy with desire. When her legs lifted and encircled her friend's head, Stacy felt herself being pulled closer to the prize. She couldn't resist any longer, and as her cheek brushed against the wet lavender panties, Stacy planted butterfly kisses on Angela's inner thigh. Hearing a light moan from her drunken friend, her trail of kisses moved her to within a fraction of an inch of tasting her first pussy - her best friend's - finally finding herself in the exact place that she could only fantasize about before......

Snapping out of the fantasy, Michael refocused to study Stacy more closely in the frozen frame, and spied a dark circular object on the wall just beyond her shoulder. Curious, he tried zooming in. His world collapsed as it finally occurred to him. His mind raced at the realization that - although grainy, the "object" in the mirror was clearly a pilot's cap.

As it sank in, he heard himself saying aloud, "What the _____ is going on?"

Prying himself from the laptop, he reached over the side of the bed to pick up the bag, scrambling to pull out the plane ticket along with the voucher. Emptying the contents on the bed, he searched for a phone number or some kind of contact information for Angela, but there was none. She obviously now had his home address, and assumed that she also could see his phone number in his travel profile, so clearly the ball was in Angela's court to reach out to him before the trip.

Staring down at the ticket, his mind reeled. Was he being set up? Did the pilot now know his name, or did Angela handle all of the travel arrangements without the perv's knowledge? There were so many possibilities, and now with only six days left before the departure date, he wondered if the invitation really WAS too good to be true.

Rising from the bed, he stood in front of the hotel mirror, taking a personal inventory. He sucked in a slight gut, puffed out his chest, and scratched a three-day stubble before running a hand through his generous dirty blonde mane, probably two weeks overdue for a trim. At five ten and change, he was an above average-looking guy in reasonable shape, but was he really someone that a woman like Angela would take a chance on? Was he "Knight in Shining Armor" material, or just a pretender?

Looking down at the ticket, even with the risk of a setup, he was sure that most men would jump at the invitation, but something just didn't feel right. Michael was definitely no altar boy by any means -- far from it as his ex-wife and a myriad of others would attest - but if he accepted the offer, wouldn't that lower him to the same sleazy level as the pilot who exploited her in the first place?

Checking his calendar for the following week, he found no pressing appointments or meetings that couldn't be easily rescheduled. He WAS after all, his own boss. He wondered what was the worst that could happen, but he knew the answer. Did he dare to blindly venture into a third world country with travel arrangements that may have been orchestrated by a disturbed pilot with everything to lose?

Was the chance to finally explore Angela sexually worth the risk, or could she be part of an elaborate setup? Would horniness or common sense win out? He took one final look at the writhing pussy in the video clip and immediately knew his answer.

Clearly lacking the necessary focus to complete his business dealings, he instead booked an earlier return flight home. Finally back in his modest apartment, he began planning for his upcoming adventure. With no way to easily contact Angela, he had to simply trust that her offer was genuine, but that didn't mean that he couldn't take a few precautions before his leap of faith.

He chronicled his situation step by step, including photos of his passport, his ticket and his resort voucher before making several copies that were loaded onto flash drives along with the pilots' graphic airport video. He placed two of them in envelopes that read rather comically, "Do not open unless I have been reported missing or was murdered." He left one envelope in clear sight on his kitchen island, and slid one into his private locked desk at the office.

Looking at the ticket, he assumed that he would be traveling alone, considering that Angela was based at an airport nearly six hundred miles from him. He guessed that she would simply meet him at the resort. Although it was unlikely that her nemesis would pilot the flight considering that it was booked on a separate airline, he already determined that he would bail out if he saw any hint of an issue at the gate.

The night before the flight, Michael researched the resort and was surprised to see that it appeared to live up to the name "Hedonism," offering both nude and "prude" beaches as well as a myriad of potential rendezvous options, including several large hot tubs, a "romp shop" and an underwater view of the pool from the resort's night club.

Other than in the dining areas, clothing was optional throughout, and although the promo ads featured sculpted professional actors and actresses, based on past experience, Michael knew that the "real" guests would be far less appetizing.

Still hearing nothing from Angela, he pondered the resort choice and the questions surrounding the trip. Angela was clearly repulsed by the pilot's advances, yet she selected possibly the most decadent resort on earth in which to thank him. And what was the deal with the pilot's cap hanging from her bedroom wall?

Despite the many red flags, his cock behaved once again as his divining rod, steering him to the airport on departure day. Once again, he found himself with time to spare at the gate, and he flashed back to the situation that led him there. This time, however, the attendant behind the counter was a portly balding middle-aged man, so Michael saw no good subjects to spark a new fantasy.

He kept a close watch for the pilots, and was relieved when the crew finally appeared without the familiar face of the captain or his co-pilot. So far, so good, he thought to himself. Still cautious, he reached the point of no return as he boarded. With a rare chance to enjoy the first class accommodations, the seat also afforded him the opportunity to scrutinize the other passengers as they passed through to economy class seating.

Most were couples and various leisure travelers, excited for the chance to enjoy the island. The seat next to Michael remained empty, and although he hoped that Angela would appear, he wasn't surprised when she didn't. He would have loved to sleep for the four hour flight, but nerves, guilt and excitement combined to keep him alert and wired.

After a fairly rough landing, Michael followed the cattle chutes through Jamaica's archaic version of customs and immigration. He noted that the young Jamaican officials tended to select the more attractive women for full pat-downs, and they weren't shy about doing it in public while their spouses and significant others waited helplessly nearby. For the most part, the process went smoothly, and after some confusion surrounding the choice of busses, he and a handful of other vacationers were en route for the bumpy two-hour drive to Negril.

Although he had Angela on his mind, he had to concentrate to avoid getting a hard-on while thinking about Stacy and the video. He figured that since his first-class ticket was valid, there was a good chance that the resort voucher would be legitimate as well. Upon his arrival, he checked in without any issues, and was ushered casually through the grounds, passing several nudists on his way to a remarkable luxury suite with a clear view of the beach.

Opening the sliding door to the balcony, he breathed in the fresh salt air as he looked out at the calm sea. With the resort facing directly west, he imagined that he would have a clear view of an amazing sunset in just a few hours. Despite the scenery, he felt more alone than ever, and he wondered if he would see Angela again.

After unpacking and showering, Michael ventured down to the beach, picking up a Rum Runner along the way. He settled into a lounge chair, finally able to relax. His paranoia subsided with each sip of the potent drink. Despite the late hour, there were still several sunbathers nearby along with a handful of swimmers wading just off shore. From his vantage point he was able to enjoy a variety of bathing suits ranging from one-pieces to thongs. There were several topless women and more than a few were clearly "enhanced" through modern medicine, but he wasn't complaining.

By the end of his second Rum Runner, a small crowd that gathered to take in the beautiful sunset started to slowly disperse. All but giving up hope that Angela was actually in the resort, he instead focused on people-watching. He was actually relieved that the decadence that was promoted on the website wasn't readily apparent to him as of yet, although he could sense a sexual vibe as he looked out over the remaining crowd.

He witnessed some casual ass-grabbing and several couples making out, but nothing blatant. Looking to his left, however, he did a double-take, spotting the nearby hot tub which was partially obscured by foliage. He counted six hot-tubbers, each holding a drink. There were four men and two women, and based on their body language there was clearly some underwater activity going on.

He turned on his side as he sipped his drink, suddenly cognizant of his voyeurism. He watched as the women moved closer together in the hot tub, and felt a spark as they leaned in for a long lingering kiss. The men shifted closer to them, intently watching the show, voyeurs themselves being out-voyeured by Michael. Within minutes, however, they became participants, with two of the men combining with each woman.

Reaching down to run his hand over his bulge through his khaki shorts, Michael watched the acts unfold. Although he didn't consider any of the participants to be particularly attractive, they were well above his expectations, with ages ranging from thirties through their fifties. The women each took turns sitting on the laps of the men, bouncing up and down. With each upward bounce, their upper bodies appeared above the water, and at one point the women had their hands on each others' breasts. It was both erotic and discreet, and each was obviously a willing participant. One of the men rose from the hot tub, unashamed of his erection as he squeezed to sit on the edge between the women, who proceeded to take turns deep-throating him between making out together.

The oldest man, still in the tub, squeezed between the girls and reached for the younger man's dick, stroking it before taking it in his mouth. Normally Michael would have been repulsed, but tonight with a couple of drinks and this setting, he actually considered it to be quite erotic.

"Some scene, huh?"

He quickly took his hand from his bulge as he looked around. Leaning against a palm tree in the shadows was a figure, male or female yet to be determined.

"It's ok, I don't mind if you keep touching. It's a hot scene over there, don't you think?"

The androgynous figure came from the shadows, and sat down at the edge of Michael's lounge chair, resting a hand on his thigh. They both watched the scene unfold in the hot tub, and the hand reached Michael's bulge, rubbing it as they sat in silence. The hand unzipped Michael's shorts and pulled his cock from his boxer briefs.

At this point, Michael didn't know or care about the sex of the person who was massaging his cock so expertly. Looking over, he peered into the dark eyes of a cute Asian, and within seconds he felt the oncoming climax. Tensing up, the anonymous person dropped down, taking the head of his cock in a waiting wet mouth as Michael unleashed his cum.

When Michael looked up, the hot tub was empty once again. His mystery partner sucked him dry before leaning in to give him a hug. "Welcome to Paradise," the voice said. "I'm Oanha. It was a pleasure to meet you." Still with no clue as to his partner's sex, the figure disappeared as quickly as she (or he?) appeared earlier. Confused but spent, Michael returned to his suite. Despite missing Angela, it was a very good first day in paradise, he thought. (to be continued)