Sunday

This is the second installment of the story of a beautiful American businesswoman (Elaine) who come to Jamaica to relax and eventually ends up working in an island whorehouse to pay off a debt. The story began when her husband, Paul, and she arrived on a weekend to unwind and enjoy some romantic time with each other before Paul has to leave on a business trip to several other Caribbean islands. While he is gone, Elaine intends to chill out and enjoy the sea, sun, and surf. Paul will be gone for a week, during which time Elaine will be on her own on an island known for its beauty, violent crime, and brutal treatment of women.

This Sunday installment covers the second full day that the couple is in Jamaica. This is the day that they begin to expand the relationship with Heather, a new-found friend who is a libertine and an ex-Marine.

WHATEVER IT TAKES:

WORKING OUT A DEBT IN JAMAICA

SUNDAY

Now I'm on a roll

And I swear to my soul

Tonight I'm gonna paint this town

So bring me two pina coladas

I want one for each hand

Let's set sail with Captain Morgan

Oh, And never leave dry land

I've gotta say

That I think I've gotta stay

'Cause this is feelin' more and more like home

Hey, troubles I forgot 'em

I buried them in the sand...

So bring me two pina coladas

I've got to have one for each hand

Let's set sail with Captain Morgan

Oh, And never leave dry land...

Written by Benita Marie Hill, Sandy Mason, and Shawn Camp; recorded and popularized by Garth Brooks

THE WEEKEND: SUNDAY - Sun, Sea, and Sex

Early on Sunday I ran again, up and down the beach. The combination of wind, water, and endorphins made me feel so, so alive. I raced through the sand, detoured into the sea, and felt so good that my body was almost back in shape after nine months of pregnancy. I knew that I looked damn good running in my butt-hugging shorts, sports bra, and bare tight midriff.

Again, I went to the hotel gym and worked out. I did some Nautilus machine to tone my legs and arms. While I was working out a young couple came into the gym. I could not place them and then it hit me - they were the couple from the balcony last night. I avoided looking at them but could not help conjuring up my experience as a voyeur. I remembered the sex acts of the couple and my own fantasy-induced orgasm. I especially recollected how he face-fucked her until his sperm spewed all over her face. My crotch grew wet at the memory.

As usual, I ended my workout with regimen of yoga exercises that to me were a combination of the spiritual, the physical, and the sensual. After twenty minutes of zoning out, I finished up with my favorite exercise, the Plow Pose. Careful to aim my crotch at the working gym of mostly male beach-candy, I laid on my back, lifted my legs straight up toward the ceiling, and then slowly brought them so that they hinged at my hips and ended up parallel to my body with my knees at my shoulders. I then held my legs in place with my hands, elbows on the floor. I also used my hands to push my legs slightly away from my body. This position resulted in the complete stretching out of just about every muscle in my body while communicating to any and all male spectators, "I am wide open and on my back. Come fuck me!" Eyes closed and breathing controlled, I held the position for five minutes.

Finished at the gym, I dashed up to the hotel room determined to encourage to get moving so we could grab some beach time. He was peacefully sleeping under the covers, out cold, and didn't seem to care that I had been up and gone for the better part of two hours. Playfully, I jumped on him and shouted playfully, "Time to get up." When he reacted too slowly, I tore off my sports bra and waved my 36DDs right in front of his face. "If you want 'em, come and get 'em. I am going to take a shower." With that I jumped of the bed, and headed for the shower, dropping my shorts on the way.

The shower was huge, maybe 6 feet long by 4 feet wide with the shower head on the long wall. The shower had a seat molded into one corner to allow one to sit down. The only reason that I could think that a seat in a shower would be useful was to sit down to shave my legs.

I turned on the water to almost scalding and let the hot water relax my muscles. Then a nude Paul arrived in the shower. He leaned against the wall with a sleepy, playful, and lecherous look on his face and watched my body as I wetted myself down. It had an arousing effect on him that was obvious from his growing erection. I held out my hand and pulled him to me under the spray. He reached behind me to grab a bar of scented soap. I turned to present him my back, and then his hands began soaping me down. He lathered my back and slid his hands around my midsection to my stomach and then up to my breasts. My nipples were already hard as his palms rubbed over them. I luxuriated at his touch.

Now it was my turn. We fought playfully for the bar of soap, and he relinquished it after I tickled him. I turned to face him and put my arms around him, running the soap over his back and buttocks while I French kissed him rubbed against him with my already soapy front. My nipples were two points of pure sensation as they slid across his skin. He made a gentle sigh as the bar of soap and my hands worked his genitals.

We moved back under the water and rinsed each other off, embracing constantly because the slickness of skin upon skin was a pure aphrodisiac. He spun me around to face away from him. With my back to him, he moved my body to lean on the shower bench, bending me from the waist with my ass and cunt toward him. Then he entered me in one thrust, my vagina wet and eager to receive him. I turned my head to kiss him again over my shoulder. I began to move my buttocks up and down, rubbing his penis around inside me. He stopped moving. I was doing all the movement - back and forth, up and down. It was me fucking him. I thought that I would explode. I was surprised by how unplanned it was, how acrobatic we were, and how hot we were for sex. Usually, we consumed a bottle or two of wine to loosen our normal middle class inhibitions before we copulated and fucked like a pair of rabbits.

I was getting tired. He sensed that and withdrew from me, sitting down on the shower bench. He turned me so my back was to him and he pulled me onto his lap. As I sunk down, I used my hand to steady his cock, and I slid on to it. I heard him gasp as he penetrated my completely. He began to thrust up, and I leaned back into him while he was moving. I took one of his hands from my breasts, and guided it down to my lap. He got the idea and began to manipulate my clit. Suddenly, he wrapped an arm around my middle and stood up with his cock deep inside me. He reached out with his other hand to set the shower head to its most pulsating action and then he pointed it at the seat. The he sat down, pulled me in tight, used his legs to spread mine wide, and the pulsating water slammed on to my cunt with his moving cock inside me. It did not take long for the orgasm to tear through me, leaving me senseless for a brief time. Somewhere in there he ejaculated inside me. When he shrunk back to normal, his cock popped out along with some sperm that the water carried away quickly. We had still not spoken one word since he had entered the shower. Maybe there was still hope for this 30-something married couple after all.

After we dried and dressed for the beach, we stopped at the concierge desk to get briefed on the available beaches. Jamaica has a mix of private and public beaches, and we wanted to stay on the beaches that the hotel was licensed to use privately. The concierge explained that there were five beaches that tended to be used by hotel guests. These beaches were all within walking distance of the hotel. From the south to the north of the hotel were Clothing Optional, Public, Topless, Family, and Water Sports. She discouraged use of the Clothing Optional beach unless we intended to be nude as that is the expected norm, "optional" being a misnomer. She also discouraged going to the public beach due to the high density of beach venders selling everything from sodas, bootleg rum, and their sisters/mothers. The "sports" beach had a big disadvantage in that most of the equipment there was motorized but driven by tourists who did not know how to steer and frequently ran into each other or over non-motorized tourists. That left "topless" or "family." No surprise, Paul blurted out "topless" and away we went.

At the beach we rented a tented cabana for the day. The cabana had four chairs, two of which reclined for sleeping or sun bathing. It even had a light canvas door to pull if we wanted privacy or sleep. Waitresses in skimpy hotel bikinis wandered the beach to get orders for and deliver drinks and meals which is why each cabana had a table set with napkins, condiments, and silverware.

Almost all of the women at the beach were topless. Even those who were older seemed to have a lot to show off. Erect nipples seemed to the (un)dress code for the day. There were a couple of groups of young college males, most with cell phone cameras out taking photos to post of Facebook or send out over Instagram. Watching them, I thought they were taking boob-posts rather than selfies. Some of the guys even had cameras with detachable and telephoto lenses. I thought those cameras could take sharp, in-focus photos that facial recognition software could match with the identities of the subjects. This was not the place to do anything indiscrete and assume anonymity would be assured.

As has been the rule since we arrived, Paul was easily distracted by the flesh on exhibit. Much to his apparent pleasure, none of the beach guests covered up even when going to/from the water.

In his not-so-subtle way, Paul then casually mentioned, "Let me have your top, and I will put it in our beach bag so we don't lose it." He thought he was so artful, just verbally presuming that I would immediately whip off my top and prance with him nearly naked on a beach full of strangers many with cameras who submitted photos to websites that included

voyeur

and

beach

in their site names.

My suit of the day was a Valentine red micro crochet bikini with a triangle patch in front riding low riding barely above legal that was attached by two string ties to a another crochet triangle in the back that covered only 30% of my butt. On top were two more red triangles that had built in cups with some wire below for support. The top cut low and showed a very deep cleavage with lots of side view flesh. The top had two ties, one rear and one around my neck. I purchased it on line and, while the fit was perfect, there was not much to it. The material was crocheted which read fine in the product description online, but in the flesh I wondered just how well it would hold up when wet.

"Paul, let's get a mimosa or two before I shed my top. I am a bit too shy to become an exhibitionist. At least we should wait, until more women show up that are as endowed as I am. Maybe you noticed all the cameras? Not sure I want to end up as a centerfold in the Goldman annual report."

We ordered some fruit, toast, and mimosas (equal parts champagne and orange juice)...then two more mimosas...then I thought the hell with it, ditched the top, and ran with Paul into the surf. It was like bath water and shallow for a long way out. We both slid into the water and began to swim lazily, parallel to the beach about seventy yards out. We said nothing to each other but just glided slowly as if we were the only people around. I floated on my back for a while with my 36DDs plowing through the water like twin periscopes. Paul just stared at them reassuring me as always in his comically suave voice, "My dear, you look udderly divine. Just like the Roman goddess of the seas, Amphitrite. Of course, if you are Amphitrite, then I must be Neptune, the god of the sea. Needless to say, that means that you must obey my every command."

Playing along, I said, "What does Lord Neptune want from me?"

His rapid response was, "A blow job fit for a king. Possibly you could do it immediately out here underwater."

In response, I splashed his face causing him to put turn away. Give that opportunity, I closed on him and pushed his head down into the water amongst much splashing and gurgling. I swam away with him in pursuit. He caught up just as I started out of water. Hand-in-hand laughing we went back to our cabana.

On the way, I felt that the part of my suit covering my butt had either shrunk or collapsed into a throng. Either way, my butt now had no coverage except for a thick string of cloth in the crack. The front of the suit seemed smaller to me but it covered my crotch to the extent that I was marginally not naked.

Back in the cabana, we switched to pina coladas but told the waitress to go light on the pineapple juice and heavy on the rum. We moved our beach chairs out of the cabana to better bake in the sun. We napped and read the rest of the morning. About noon, Paul work me up, sat on my beach chair, and said conspiratorially, "Look at the couple on beach towels about thirty yards to the right. I think she is giving him an open air, public blow job."

I slowly turned my head. There was that couple again that had sex on their balcony last night and showed up in the gym this morning. They must be newlyweds since they could not keep their hands off each other. He was on his back, propped up on his elbows, watching the action between his legs. She was on her knees beside him covered with a towel, but her head and mouth were visible, and she clearly had one hand at the base of his dick and her mouth on the tip. Her pink flashed as she slowly ran it down and around. We did not know how long she had been doing this, but suddenly the man locked up at the sky and bucked his hips up. She clamped down and began to gulp down his erupting cum. After a minute or so, swallowing she rose up and kissed him full on the lips. I swear she used the kiss to share his cum with him...I only caught the last ninety two minutes or so, and it made me hot. I noticed that Paul had a tent pole in his trunks as he had been turned on also.

He said, "You know I am sure anything she can do, you can do better. To prove it, you could give me my birthday blow job here on vacation. I would not mind an early gift at all."

I was sure he wouldn't at all. But blow jobs were never my thing, especially as I got older and knew better. His birthday was in only about six weeks so a blow job today would sort be in range of his day. And even after the morning sex I was horny, and just maybe...

A shadow fell over us and a female voice said, "So how are you two doing?" It was Heather MacDonald whom yesterday we met at the jewelry store in the morning, had drinks with in the evening, tried to seduce either Paul or me or both of us, and had me accompany her on stage

topless

in front of an audience of young, drunk, horny guys. That was the Heather that now appeared like magic in the middle of our idyllic afternoon. I didn't know if she was a Good Witch or a Bad Witch, but was certainly A Witch. She had perfect timing combined with a great deal of chutzpah.

She appeared as one might expect, naked to the waist with the tattoo of the attacking eagle standing out on her right breast. The eagle moved in synchrony with her breast, rising and falling, up and down. Each of her nipples was pierced with the D-ring and bead that she had labeled as 'slave beads' when we first met her yesterday. No wonder Paul was agape, staring at her chest. The rest of her might as well have been nude because she wore a micro thong bikini with a very small triangle in front, strap down between her legs, then between her butt checks, and thin strap around her waist to which the strap between her legs was joined. She carried nothing but a large beach bag that showed an image of the Jamaican flag on both sides of the bag.

Yesterday, I had not focused on it, but Heather was not tall but was compact and muscular. She was probably a 38D while I was 36DD. Neither of us was what men would call 'dainty.'

Paul who was enamored of her, said "Heather did you just see that public display of affection on those towels over there?"

With a big smile, she said, "Yes. Always good to see guests try to let down their inhibitions and get into the sexual liberation of the island culture."

With a smile, he said to her, "How often do you think a healthy husband and wife should have oral copulation?"

"You mean a blow job? I think men should have blow jobs on demand...so long as they give as good as they get. Personally, I like nothing better than a man's tongue on my clit or deep in my vagina."

"Heather," I said. "Paul feels slighted. I am not a fan of blow jobs so he gets one definitely on his birthday and then occasionally when I am drunk and horny."

"Well I am drunk and horny," she said. "And you look like you have had a few already. So let's give him a special two-girl blow job here and now."

I realized she meant it. "Not out here in the open," was my caution to the two of them..

"Of course not. Let's move the beach chairs into the cabana. I was BJ Queen of my school from fifth grade to high school graduation. I have reduced the art of the blow job to a process guaranteed to have man or boy cum in five minutes or less."

Enthusiastically, Paul moved the chairs into the cabana. We left the canvas door open to get some air. Heather assured us that no one could see easily in from the beach so we would have semi-privacy.

She arranged the tableaux with Paul semi-reclined in the beach chair with her kneeling on one side of the chair and me kneeling on the other. Then she reached over and pulled Paul's trunks down and off. There was his joy-toy in all its glory and half erect already.

She smiled at us, especially at Paul, and began her spiel. "First of all, you should lay out in a handy all the tools you need." Then she dumped out her beach bag and picked out several items that she put on the table. The rest she dumped into her bag and dropped it on the sand in the back of the cabana. "Elaine, to do this right, what we need are a bottle of lubricant, preferably in a flavor we like, some scrunchies for our hair, mouthwash to use after Neptune erupts, and finally breath mints." All the time she was talking, she was slowly pulling and stroking Paul's cock to bring him to full erection which she did do so there it stood in all its 5 inch plus glory.

"Why do we need all this?"

"Let me explain," she said with a put-on instructor intonation. "It is important to eliminate any friction as you get him to erection and keep him there. It is a turn off to most men to spit on their dick so you have to apply some real lubricant. You also put the lubricant on your lips so that they slide up and down easily and form a hot and warm tunnel with your mouth and throat. Believe me it helps if the lubricant has a pleasant taste." She held up the one from her beach bag, "This has a bourbon taste. Available on Amazon for less than ten dollars. 'Ten pipe cleanings to the tube' is what the manufacturer advertises."

"Why the scrunchies?"

"Simple. If you are in a submissive kneeling position to a sitting or standing male, then they want to see your face and have you look up at them, especially at that special moment when they erupt in your mouth, cum fills your checks, and male body fluid leaks out the corners of your mouth. A scrunchie keeps your hair back and enables the eye contact that males crave as they ejaculate. Also, a lot of guys will snap photos of you sucking on their dicks and want you to be identifiable when they put it out on Instagram so hair covering your face is a no-no. Finally, you want to avoid getting cum in in your hair and then going through the rest of the day smelling like a walking, talking fellatio specialist with gooey hair."