Ixchel

Ixchel Chapter 5

by Adam Gunn

Once again the sky was bright with tropical sun when consciousness was regained. Cheryl sleepily recollected where she was. Wouldn't it be nice if Dean were next to her? Or, better yet, Russ. Or Wes. Or Dean, Russ, and Wes, all three of them, just for her pleasure! She reached for a toy she'd brought in case of emergency, with her right hand rubbed the soft plastic against her labia. Her left hand stroked her belly, her neck, breasts. She inserted the wand an inch into herself, pinched one nipple, hard, then it's companion. She kept her eyes tightly closed, the novelty was further immersed within it's living receptacle until it reached maximum draft, then Cheryl moved it, slowly at first, letting the agitation impact her, letting the tip excite the g-spot, then she speeded the toy, massaged her clitoris, and there . . . it . . . was! She watched the colors flash across her brain, her hands and fingers in autopilot. Two waves of pleasure broke, her breath was spastic, her throat growled in appreciation. She could have gone on much longer than she did, but she desisted further solitary delight, realizing that just past the doorway something better was waiting, a live implement attached to a real man, and she wanted her playtime to be an appetizer, not the main course.

She padded to the bathroom, turned the shower to just short of scalding, stood for nearly ten minutes letting the stream of water pour over her, then shampooed her mane heavily and soaped every inch of her flesh luxuriously. She sat under the gush, carefully shaving her legs, armpits and the sensitive skin around her groin until it was completely barren of the smallest hair. After she, at long last, had reluctantly turned the faucet off it took her another forty minutes to dry herself with a downy towel, brush her teeth, fluff her hair, moisturize every inch of body, and once again apply foundation, blush, eye shadow and eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss until her face was as perfect as it might be. Playfully, she even touched up the circles surrounding her nipples with rouge, wondering if her next lover -- who might it be? -- would enjoy the visage. When she returned to the bedroom she inspected the clock for the first time and was amused to see it read 1:07. She'd slept the morning away, no wonder she was hungry.

She donned her second best bikini, walked to the main pool, sat at the tables, asked the waiter to bring her a tuna salad and a bottle of sparkling water.

She was munching away when Jacki strolled by. "Hey there, girlfriend."

"Hi. Want to join me?" Cheryl invited. "Where's the guys?"

"Went golfing. I've got the afternoon all to myself. Thank the Lord. Don't get me wrong, I love living with two men, but sometimes it feels like I'm being smothered!"

A few minutes later Cheryl asked, "Mind if I ask a question? You seem so happy with the two of them. And they both get you, and obviously, other girls. Do you ever . . ."

Jacki laughed out loud. "Believe it or not, that's a bone of contention in my household. They both feel guilty they're getting stuff on the side, and I'm not most of the time. Oh, I wouldn't be against having an affair, but come on, how much do I need? A couple times a year, I let them take me to a house party and I'll hook up with somebody, just to make them happy. And they brought me down here just to get laid."

"Has it worked?"

"Yeah, two nights ago I picked up a single guy at the bar and had him come over. Both the guys were there, they video'd the whole thing. And we've got a party planned for tomorrow night, I'm pretty sure I'll get very lucky then."

They chatted for awhile longer, Jacki excused herself, it was time for her massage.

Cheryl, walked to the water sports building. The attendant asked, "What can I do for you, Missy?"

"When does the next boat leave for the island?"

"About ten minutes. You can go aboard if you like." She took a seat on the deck of the speedboat, after a few minutes she was joined by a couple, he frankly gawked at Cheryl, and then the ropes were cast away and the pilot cranked the throttle. He was a young native, his skin dark and shiny with perspiration, and Cheryl wondered. She'd never had sex with a black man, but she'd heard the rumors and she was mildly curious. Perhaps sometime, she thought, although the crowd down here was almost comprehensively caucasian. Less than five minutes later, the dock on the island was reached and the pilot helped Cheryl out of the boat.

On the resort website before she'd made the trip and then in the orientation brochure in her room, Cheryl had studied the phenomenon of Passionné Island. It was a spit of land 250 yards from the resort beach, a little more than a quarter mile long and a bit more than 50 yards at its widest. A firm, thin beach surrounded it, palm trees and flowering bushes gave the impression it was heavily vegetated. There was a full bar and snack shop in the middle, a dozen cabanas dotted the island. There were two rules here that didn't apply to the rest of the resort: full nudity was encouraged, almost required, and public sex was tolerated. In short, this was a place of untethered lewdness.

At the end of the dock was a small wooden structure, the black woman attendant announced, "This here be da lockers. You can go behind dem curtains, if you please. Women dere and men over dere."

As Cheryl and the other woman stepped behind the drapery, Cheryl wondered at the custom. 'In about half a minute, that man will be able to look at all of me, but I have to hide myself so he can't see me take my clothes off. How silly!" And after she'd disrobed, she stepped out. The man glanced at her as they put their belongings in a locker and was handed an aqua beach towel, hardly as interested as he'd been on the ride over, when Cheryl had been lewdly dressed.

They parted, the couple going south, Cheryl taking a path directly across the key, dressed only in sandals, a bracelet and sunglasses, carrying her towel and a small bag holding a few necessities, and she bumped into the bar, a thatched roof structure open on all four sides. Two middle aged men occupied stools, Cheryl felt the men glance at her, one of them tipped his glass to her in greeting, but she noticed his penis register no attraction. Cheryl ordered another strawberry daiquiri, and continued her exploration. When she reached the ocean side of the island, she saw not many people were here, perhaps one or two to every thousand square feet of sand, many of them in the shade of palm trees. Forty yards away, a game of volleyball was in progress, one of the men spanked one of the women on her bare buttocks after a good shot, another woman turned to a man she was playing with and touched him below his waist. In the distance a couple on a towel seemed to be lying closely together, a sensuous scene but not, at least from this distance, pornographic.

Cheryl spread her towel beneath a palm tree fifty-five yards away from any neighbors. A cabana stood nearby, she inspected it. It was a tent, perhaps ten feet on a side, resting on a wooden platform. The side facing the sea had its two flaps open, in the middle rested a single platform, two feet high with a linen covered mat; the top could be raised into a sitting position or laid down until it was flat. Seven feet above it, a ceiling fan lazily circled, providing a sluggish breeze.

Cheryl returned to her towel, discerned it was time to spread more sunblock on her body. She was just starting her arms when providence sent two young strollers past her, both male, both young. One was tall and thin, well over six feet, the color of milky chocolate, the other was a bit stockier and shorter, his complexion was of onyx. "Might I help you with that?" the darker one offered.

Cheryl didn't hesitate. "Yes, please. My name's Cheryl."

"I'm Carl, and my friend here is Raymond. Would you like to lie down?" Cheryl obeyed, she was on her stomach, and Carl poured lotion into his palms, then began to knead into her flesh, starting at her shoulders. As he worked, the threesome got to know each other. "We're from George Mason University," Carl explained in a cultured voice. "We'll be seniors this year. We're both on the track and field team, I'm a shot-putter, Raymond's the best damn hurdler in the conference." When he reached her waist heading southward, Carl bounced to her feet, headed north. When he got to the invisible line, Carl asked, "Do you want me to do your rump?" "Yes, please." And Carl's hands roamed across her cheeks, and a finger respectfully approached the juncture of the legs, Cheryl made no objection. "Roll over," Carl encouraged, and she did. She wondered if the boys were enjoying the spectacle of her naked body, easily thirty years older than the girls they dated, and when Carl lubed her breasts, his palms lingering a trice longer over her nipples than was strictly necessary, Cheryl let a thin smile creep upon her face. Across her belly he stroked, then, as before, skipping to the feet, up the legs and then the hips and pelvis. When he stroked the smoothness of her mons she sighed, and when a finger touched the folds of skin, she spread her legs slightly, and he dug for her clit.

"What else can we do for you?" Carl suggested. The offer included, Cheryl felt, both men, and she considered it seriously. For a good forty seconds she was silent, Carl continued the cajoling of her sensitive part. Did she want this, she wondered? She closed her limbs, prevaricated, "Right now, I think I'd like to go into the water."

"Okay," Carl agreed, assuming an invitation included him and his mate, and when she moved to stand up, it was Raymond's hand that helped her, a most gentlemanly gesture. Perhaps it was this simple kindness that presaged the eventual outcome. One hand linked with Raymond, the other with Carl, Cheryl trotted towards the three foot surf, wetting her ankles, knees and hips until she was chest deep, the globes of her breasts floating in the water, laughing. Raymond dove deep under a breaker, Cheryl floated on top of it, and Carl followed his friend. She spied them eight yards distant when they surfaced, and then they simultaneously dove back towards her, she was knocked off balance when one touched her legs, only to be saved from spilling by the other. The threesome played in the surf for ten minutes, a game of tag ensued, and then, when Cheryl was caught by Raymond, the first kiss happened, three seconds of tongue, then a bit more serious. A breaker hit, and she clung to him, her legs floating over his hips. Suddenly Carl was behind her, his chest against her back, a hand on her breast in the water, and she felt his prick, still soft, against the crack of her butt. Had they been ready, either man could have entered her. Here was the moment of decision, Cheryl recognized, and her choice was now easy. She unsnarled herself from the predicament she'd found herself in, stood between the two men, kissed first Carl, then Raymond, gripped Raymond's tool in her right hand, Carl's in her left, and bespoke, "Let's go into a cabana."

The group swam towards the shore, more slowly than Cheryl would have liked, for her blood was boiling now in advance of what the men could do to her, fighting the waist high surf as it tried to pull her back to sea, then there was just thigh or calf in the water, they were on the sand now. Cheryl stopped by her towel quickly, grabbing her carryall, and soon they were inside the tent.

She sat on the platform, motioned Raymond towards her, and took his semi-erect tool within her mouth. It was long, a little thin, and after a moment of exciting him, she turned to Carl and swallowed his scepter. It was thicker than average, it stretched her mouth to ingest it, but as the wonder of pumping blood accomplished the marvel she realized neither of these men was much larger than the average of the men she'd sampled -- Wes, she thought, was probably larger than these men, and the myth of a huge black cock was probably just that. But both were sizable enough.

After her turns at the twin penises pointed at her mouth had aroused the boys, Carl gently pushed her back onto the mattress, she arranged herself in the center. Carl bent to kiss her mouth, neck and nipples, there was another set of lips lapping at the opening between her limbs, and as Raymond nibbled at her clit and Carl excited her gumdrops, she had her first orgasm of the session, a big one, waves of lilac and magenta, shocks of electricity running from toe to scalp. The boys kept at it, the heights reached increased, she murmured. Tears arrived at her eyelids, low moaning transposed into high pitched grunts and then a siren scream. She shuddered, and then, suddenly, the phantasm dissolved and she had her eyes closed, was catching her breath.

She felt her legs being raised, and when she looked, Raymond was between them, his cock pointing at her, and suddenly, and very willingly, she was impaled. The man thrust deeply into her, burying every inch of his length, and the remnants of her orgasm returned, this time centering on her central tunnel, it throbbed uncontrollably, her toes above his shoulders curled, she pulled her new lover further into her.

Then she felt a sensation on her cheek, it was Carl's thing, and she took it into her mouth, letting Carl use it as a substitute for what Raymond was currently occupying. The bodies shifted, now she was lying on her side and her back was to Carl, now he was pumping inside of her and Raymond's erection was in her mouth, she stimulated it with her tongue. Another shift, she was on her knees, a man behind her and shoving it in her, the other below her, again his penis in her mouth.

All during the lewd ballet, it lasted well over forty minutes, Cheryl had small orgasms, sometime evolving into monstrous ones, and the men treated her with respect. Of course they encouraged her with terms such as 'come on, baby,' and 'let me fuck that,' but not once did they call her slut, whore or skank.

During a small break in the action she allowed her eyes to slide to the ocean while Raymond was noshing at her clit. Not twenty feet away a couple was watching the action, the man's penis up and alert, the woman wide mouthed. Carl invited them to join the jamboree, the woman declined. They continued to observe for some time, then after a particularly intense moment for Cheryl they'd disappeared.

She was on her back, Carl was sitting to the side watching the action, Raymond was on top of her, her legs were high in the air, when it was he, not she that shuddered, and she held him tightly to her as he spurted, his eyes blank, his back straight. She waited until he cooled, a few more strokes to soothe him, then, while he was still on top of her she turned to Carl, motioned for him to replace his buddy, and he was only too glad to climb between her legs and put his thick baton once again into the battleground. "Do it, baby, let me feel you come," she encouraged, and he freely thrust into her, the only thing on his mind was his eventual orgasm, and three or four minutes later once again Cheryl felt the convulsions of a man satisfying himself within her body.

Again she waited until this additional man had cooled and rolled from her, and it was then she realized Raymond was absent. She didn't mind, if he was done with her it was all right, and, after all, for the last five minutes she'd been fairly busy with his partner.

"Baby, you are fantastic!" Carl exclaimed.

"Thank you," she said, "and you, too. You and Raymond made me come at least a dozen times! How did you get so good?"

"Oh, I practice a lot."

"With women my age?" Cheryl was feeling, perhaps, as if she was robbing a cradle, not that she minded. Both men had the advantage of youth, a high sex drive.

"Well, yes . . ."

"Tell me," she encouraged. "How did you two get into this? I would think you'd be after younger girls."

"A couple of years ago," Carl explained, "I was sitting in a Georgetown bar, minding my own business, listening to the band, when this blond cougar bought me a drink. We talked for awhile, and then she leaned over and said, 'I love to fuck hot black dudes,' and that's verbatim, and then she asked me if I wanted to fuck her. I said sure, and then she told me her old man liked to watch. He was on the other side of the bar, and I said I didn't mind, so we went off to their place, and she showed me a great time while he just sat there.

"It's a fantasy a lot of white women and their husbands have, to be screwed by a black guy, and most of the time it's great, they're really hot for it. That first couple were swingers, and they invited me back and after a few months they got me an invitation to a house party in Reston, and it seemed like the girls were queuing up to get screwed. Then one time, a couple I was seeing a lot of asked me if I had a friend, they had a couple who wanted to get in on it, so I asked Raymond if he was interested, and that was the first time we had these two white girls, swapping them around while their old men took pictures. Both of us like doing this, and so when we found out about this place we got our friends to vouch for us, and here we are."

"Have you gotten much so far?" Cheryl asked.

"We just got in yesterday. Last night we met this really small blond, she took us back to her room, her husband was there in a cock cage, a real cuckold scene. He had to sit there while we took turns with her." Cheryl wondered if he had been the man she gave a blow job to in the pool.

Raymond returned then, his hands full of three bottles of water, two beers and a strawberry daiquiri. They sipped the drinks -- Cheryl drank almost her whole bottle of water at once, she was dehydrated from the delightful exertion, they discussed more about the curiosities of sex with multiple partners and no hang-ups, and then Cheryl was overwhelmed with a desire for another taste of Raymond's cock. That, of course, led to more involved activities, and Cheryl let both men have her again, even though she knew she was past the need, and perhaps even the possibility of further orgasms. Fifteen minutes later Raymond orgasmed into her mouth, Carl tried but his gun didn't seem to be loaded.

A few minutes later they said they wanted to get back, one last kiss from each of them, a cop of a breast, a hand fondling an ass, a 'perhaps-we'll-see-you-around' Cheryl knew was less than heartfelt, and the boys were off.

She took another swim, letting the muscles of her groin relax, she could feel the effects of the continued sex, almost unpleasant, but festive just the same. From the shadows of the underbrush, a man surreptitiously snapped photos of her. They would appear on the internet weeks later, but since her face from such a distance was indistinguishable, she wouldn't have cared had she known. She took a walk along the beach, one couple was making slow, measured love, seventy yards further an orgy was in progress, five men and three women. A call invited her to join them, but since her desires had been well sated she just waved and moved on.

At the landing she showered the residue of sand, sea water, and semen from her skin, got back into her clothes, and caught the ferry to the mainland. The trip to Passionné Island had been a whale of a success, and even if she never returned, she would remember the key with wonderment at her boldness.