Three Into Two

Chapter Three. Working Things Out

© Bad Hobbit 2023

Around eight thirty next morning, I was woken by my cellphone buzzing on the bedside. I picked it up and saw it was Ashley calling.

"Hi baby. What's up?" I answered sleepily. I was glad that it wasn't a FaceTime call. Fidel was still asleep beside me in the bed.

"Mom, Dad called me yesterday. He said you guys are divorcing. I called you last night but there was no reply. I left a message. What's going on?"

I'd switched my phone to silent when we left the restaurant. I didn't want to be disturbed, and I was clearly seriously engaged with Fidel - and probably impaled on his cock - when Ashley had called, so I hadn't noticed. I'd been fucked so many times, in at least four different positions, and I'd been in a permanent orgasmic or slightly-sub-orgasmic state until after midnight. I'd never felt so utterly, desperately, unapologetically, joyously

fucked

in my entire life. I've never taken drugs, but I'm assuming the junkie injects to get the kind of high that Fidel's repeated injections had given me. By the time I'd finally surrendered to sleep, I was floating.

But now I was back to Earth with something of a bump. I sat up, swiveled around and stood up, still a little unsteady. I could feel a trickle of semen running down my inner thigh. Fidel must've pumped a gallon of the stuff into me. I stepped away from the bed and toward the window.

"Yeah, baby. I caught your dad cheating on me, and it was a shock. I just had to get out of town for a while to decide what I wanted to do."

"Dad said you blew up at him for no reason."

"If catching him between his secretary's legs counts as 'no reason', and telling them both, quite quietly, that I would be filing for divorce counts as 'blowing up', then I guess that might be correct. Honey, he was cheating. He was f... he was having sex with his secretary at the beach house.

Our

beach house. In the bed I'd shared with him. I have photos and video. So yes, I'm filing for divorce."

"Oh. But - but where are you now?"

"I'm on the island of St. Lucia, in the Caribbean. It's nice and sunny and the people are friendly. I'll be here for a week - maybe longer if I really like it."

"Mom, why didn't you tell me? I deserve to know." She sounded really hurt.

"Ashley, baby, I was going to, but face to face. Not by phone. When I'm finished here and I've decided what I want to do next, I'll come up to your college and tell you all about it and we can plan what happens next, together."

"Mom, could I, like, come out and join you? It's really lame here, and it so sucks that you and Dad are getting divorced and I so have to just sit here and wait for the verdict like some condemned prisoner."

Don't get me wrong. I love my daughter. But for the first time in many, many years, I was actually having fun, and some of the best sex ever. Having Ashley with me right now wasn't exactly going to help me continue to rediscover my mojo.

"What about your studies, baby? It's going to wreck your academic future if you miss classes so early in the semester."

"Mom, it's not early in the semester. I have an assignment I could work on anywhere. And it'll be Spring Break in a week or two."

"Baby, I'm trying to get my head together right now. I need a little 'me time'. Can you give your poor old mom a little space?"

"Oh Mom! You're so pushing me away!"

I thought for a moment. I could see Fidel, now sitting up in bed, watching me with a sexy smile on his face. Despite having been pounded mercilessly the night before, my pussy was already tingling with the anticipation of being filled again. I just wanted to be on my back, my legs spread wide and with that big, powerful man between my thighs, holding my yearning body down as he punished my pussy again and again. And I knew I'd continue to want it again and again during this wild week of rediscovery. Sharing a room or even a hotel with my sweet young daughter would bring an abrupt end to my little adventure.

"Baby, let me call Emilia. I'll see if she can organize a flight and a room for you, later in the week. Leave it with me."

"OK, Mom, but please sort it real soon. I so need to see you."

We said our goodbyes and I closed the call.

"Your daughter?" Fidel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Mmm. She wants to come here."

"Does she like black cock as much as her mom?" He grinned.

I had no idea about my daughter's sex life, and I was a little taken aback by the implications of what Fidel was saying. But the smile on his face implied he was just joking.

"You're a wicked, wicked man, Fidel," I smiled back, climbing back into bed and nestling up against him. "You've fucked the mother, now you have designs on the daughter."

"But if she comes here, and she's anything like her mother, she may be looking for some black cock. What do you think?"

"I think you're fucking depraved," I replied, and slapped his broad chest. "She wants to see me. She won't be hunting cock."

"Oh, so not like her mom, then? Is she not into black guys?"

I thought for a moment. "She's a skinny little thing. I've always assumed she was still a virgin, at least before she went to college in the fall. She was studying at this all-girls private school, and she only hit eighteen last June. I really have no idea whether she'll have had sex. She's pretty enough and quite confident, so my guess is that she may have found herself a boyfriend in Tallahassee. But if you have any ambitions on her cute little body, you naughty boy, that elephant cock of yours would probably rip her apart. And I'd warn you not to try, or - or I'll never fuck you again."

"That would be a shame, especially as her mom has been very good at accommodating this elephant cock of mine," he smiled back. He pulled back the bedcovers and I could see the organ we were discussing. It was hard - and huge.

Thirty seconds later, my pussy, still drooling his cum from the night before, was on his face, getting eaten by a gourmet pussy eater. Just before he was about to make me come with his mouth, I lifted off, shuffled back, and held that enormous rod of flesh vertical. I had to stand astride his impressive body and squat down, lowering myself slowly onto him. For once, I was in control of my own penetration, and feeling his cock impale me oh-so-slowly was amazing.

I rode him, slowly at first, then faster, leaning back on my arms and pushing my pussy down as hard as I could to enjoy the stretch and the deep, deep pounding. After a couple minutes, he lazily raised his arm and pressed his thumb onto my clit. I moaned loudly. And a few minutes later, as I was starting to spin with my first orgasm of the day, he suddenly began thrusting upwards, his body becoming a bucking bronco - or should that be a fucking bronco. Each thrust lifted me off the bed, the pressure in the deepest depths of my pussy almost unbearable.

And, of course, I came - and came again. And fifteen minutes later, with my face buried in a pillow and two more under my hips, my arms pinned together above my head in one of his big, strong hands, he fucked me mercilessly to a third orgasm. And it wasn't even ten o'clock.

After a quick shower, we pulled on some clothes and strolled back to the same restaurant for breakfast. As we sipped our coffee, Fidel phoned Ernesto.

"Hey, Ernie, did you get your assignment finished? And was it to her satisfaction - your tutor's I mean?" He grinned and winked at me. He waited while Ernesto replied. "I'm with your friend Melissa. She and I have become good friends. Bosom buddies, you might say," he added, grinning broadly and staring outrageously at my breasts in their tight, bikini top. "Will we be seeing you today?"

He listened to the reply and then said "OK, see you this evening at the usual place. Bye!"

He turned to me. "Melissa, baby, I have to work this afternoon, so I'll have to leave you until this evening. Will you be OK here on your own? There's a nice beach about a kilometer that way..." He pointed in the opposite direction from my hotel. "Or you could take a taxi into Gros Islet. It's nice down there."

"Sure, I have some thinking to do, and my pussy needs a rest for a few hours. Will that elephant cock of yours get some more exercise before we meet again?"

"Hah! No, today's work is in the gym and involves pumping weights, not pussy. And after the workout you've given my cock since last night, I think that particular muscle needs to relax for a while. However, this evening..." He grinned at me. I loved his handsome face and that almost boyish grin of his. We kissed, and then he headed off to work; I'd already offered to pay for breakfast.

I sat, sipping my coffee and looking out over the water, thinking. It was still quite early, so I felt I couldn't really call Emilia or Margaret yet. I took my small notebook from my purse and began to mind-map my options and a possible schedule for the next few months. I had no doubt that I could get a divorce; having actual video of my husband

in flagrante,

as we lawyers say, is evidence enough for me to demand one, even if he wanted to contest it, which I doubted he did. My guess was that he was very much into his secretary - in every conceivable manner. I smiled as the word 'conceivable' flashed into my mind, and wondered if he'd end up making her pregnant. But right then, I didn't give a flying fuck. What was far more interesting was the flying fucks I'd had in the past - what? - not yet 36 hours. I felt that, in that time, first Ernesto and then Fidel had provided me with more sexual pleasure than I'd accumulated in my previous 25-or-so years of sexual activity. And after so much richness in such a short time, I craved more.

But first, there was the problem of Ashley. If she arrived in a few days, which I felt sure I could arrange if I tried, how would that affect what I was doing? Having a daughter had certainly constrained my life somewhat, and only recently had I felt that I could stop being primarily Mom and start being Melissa again. Don't get me wrong; I love my daughter with every fiber of my being and I wouldn't change the privilege of having helped shape this bright, vibrant young woman for anything in the world. We have a special bond, my daughter and I. She still turns to me - as indeed she should - when things aren't working out for her or if she has a problem that needs solving. And I love that she trusts me and relies on me. But I can only trust and rely on me, too, so while it's nice to be someone else's rock, sometimes it's fun to just allow that rock to roll.

I drew the center ring of my mind-map and created the first spoke, labeling it 'right now'. I'd planned on a week of relaxation and reflection, but so far, all I'd had were a few wild rides on two beautiful stallions. Was this a typical 'holiday romance' - or, in my case, a 'holiday fuck-fest'? When I returned home, would I ever hear from any of the boys - and even Fidel was young enough to feasibly be my son - again? Clearly Ernesto had his own agenda, which was primarily focused on Molly. I'd enjoyed sex with him, but there was no way that he'd ever make a long-term partner or husband for me.

What about Fidel? He was an outstandingly-good fuck, but I guessed that he earned a lot of his wages from using that monster cock of his inside paying customers. If it came to it, would I be prepared to keep him as my live-in lover? Men can keep mistresses - I wondered whether Zac had more than one - but a woman can't have a 'master' that she provides for, and I felt he was too mature and too masculine to be called a 'toy-boy'. If I suggested it, would Fidel even be interested? How soon would he tire of fucking just me? Hmm, not really a long-term solution. But for just this week...

I added a branch to the 'right now' spoke and labeled in 'Fidel'. If I could keep up our relationship for the rest of this week, it would be worth it, even if I ended up paying for his company, as his other ladies did. I mean, I could afford it.

Then I added a second branch and labeled it 'Raúl'. He'd been the guy who'd charmed me, just two nights earlier, with his compliments, his saucy talk, his easy smile and his handsome face. He had an on/off girlfriend, Ernie had said, but would she be dumped if he had the chance to explore the body and benefit from the cash of a wealthy divorcee? I wondered whether he would join us for dinner this evening, and if I could tease him back and see what he wanted.

The waitress brought more coffee as I added a new spoke; 'Ashley'. Should I let her come here and join me? If she discovered that her near-menopausal mother had arrived on a Saturday and, in just over twenty-four hours, had wrapped her legs around two local boys, what would she think of me? Would she feel that my behavior threw into doubt my assertion that it had been Zac who had been unfaithful to me? Would she conclude that I was simply continuing a promiscuous lifestyle that I'd been practicing for years? Was there any way I could bring her to St Lucia without her being aware of my recent relationships, and if so, what was it? I could see no way that I could avoid her coming out here, under the circumstances, but I decided not to allow her to arrive any earlier than, say, Wednesday or Thursday.

Another spoke was labeled 'Divorce'. I'd need to discuss this with Margaret, but I wanted to ensure that the settlement was sufficiently generous to ensure that I never had to work again if that's what I chose. I also needed the security of a property somewhere. The Boca house was a place that always felt like home to me. Zac had no need of it; if he was working in Miami, the apartment would be fine, or he could get himself somewhere closer to his office if he chose. He could install his new fuck-buddy at the beach house if he wanted; I just needed to retrieve a few personal items and he could keep the rest. So I started to think through my bargaining 'currencies' and my 'Must/Intend/Like' strategy. I felt I

must

get a settlement of at least twenty million, either in cash or stock holdings. I would

intend

to get twenty-five, and I'd really

like

thirty, so that should be where the bargaining should begin - maybe even at thirty-five. I made a note to check Zac's current net worth; I didn't want to bankrupt him, but my contribution to our comfortable financial position had been considerable - I'd taken the risk, with him, in remortgaging to start his business, my salary had kept us while he was getting established, and I was the one who gave up her career to bring up Ashley - so I felt that fifty percent was fair. And I

needed

the Boca house. He could keep the other two properties, though I could initially put in for the Miami apartment as well and then let him have that as a bargaining counter, but I felt that Boca Raton was

my

home, where I'd brought up our daughter in her early years, and I wasn't going to surrender it lightly.

What about the cars? His Porsche had never appealed to me. My Mercedes was, as far as I was concerned, mine and mine alone. Likewise, my jewelry. As for furniture, artworks and other possessions, there were few to which I was sentimentally attached. We had an original Vasarely, a small Signac, some signed Pollock prints and a multiple by the British 3D artist Patrick Hughes that he'd bought for me as anniversary or birthday presents; those, again, were mine and I was determined to hold onto them, but I cared little for the Vettrianos and other rather cheesy paintings he chose to decorate some of the rooms. No, I felt that we could divide our possessions with little pain - unless he chose to be an asshole; which, of course, he could.

I phoned Emilia. There was no problem with me taking the rest of the week off, she said. Nobody was pressing for any actions from me in the near future. There was a client meeting scheduled for the end of the following week, but even that could be moved if I needed more time. Margaret was creating a first draft of the divorce suit and would email it to me later in the day.

I asked Emilia if she could check out flights from Miami to St Lucia for, say, Wednesday afternoon or Thursday morning, and WhatsApp me once she had any details. Then I finished my coffee, paid the check and headed back to the hotel. Yes, they said, they had a room from Wednesday until the weekend, possibly into the following week, but it was a single and didn't have a sea view. I asked them to charge a deposit to my card, went back to my room, slathered on some sunscreen and then hit the beach.

The guy running the sun-loungers at the beach bar I chose was cute. I don't know, but maybe arriving in St Lucia had changed my perspective on men. Before - and including - Zac, I'd gone for clean-cut, even preppy, white Caucasians with classic chiseled looks and piercing blue eyes. OK, so there had been this Latino boy in college who had done his level best to blow all of my fuses, but I treated him as a passing dalliance and moved on. Now, since arriving in the Caribbean, I seemed to see fit, handsome black guys everywhere. And in many cases, like the guy on the beach, I couldn't take my eyes off them.

Gilbert, as I discovered he was called, brought me an iced tea, then a Mojito around twelve. There were few other people on the beach; it was between seasons and I'd heard the weather could be changeable, though it had been glorious since my arrival. After he'd delivered my Mojito, I asked Gilbert if he could rub sunscreen on my back, which he seemed happy to do.

"So, white lady, do you like our lovely island?" he asked, as I felt his strong but gentle hands on my shoulders, spreading the cream around.

"It's beautiful," I said, though Sunday's tour with Ernie had also shown me some less-than-gorgeous sights. "And I really like the people. They're very friendly and welcoming."

He rubbed the sunscreen around the middle of my back. "Yeah, we t'ink it's a slice of Heaven," he said in a heavy Caribbean accent. "What brings a lovely lady like you here at this time of year? Lookin' for a nice husband?"

I laughed. "Maybe. First, I need to get rid of my present one."

"I maybe know someone who can do dat for you. Him a gangsta'!" he chuckled.

I lay down on my front and reached behind me to unfasten my bikini bra. "Please, can you spread it all over my back. I don't want to burn."

"No baby, you don' wanna burn, baby, burn. Gilbert, he like to spread the love." I was really enjoying the feel of his strong, young hands and the way my skin reacted to him. And then he lifted the waistband of my bikini bottom and swept his fingers underneath. "Don' wanna burn de bum," he said in his sing-song voice. Did I want to protest at this rather 'personal' touch. Oh no, sir.

"You wan' me to do yo' legs, too?" he asked.

"Mmmm," I replied. His naughty fingers started at my ankles and edged slowly upwards, teasing the backs of my knees - a favorite erogenous zone of mine that I love to have stimulated if I can take my time with a lover - and then edged up my thighs. Ladies, have you ever had sunscreen applied to the upper part of your inner thighs by a handsome stranger? Personally, I recommend it. Again, naughty Gilbert insinuated his clever fingers under the elastic of the leg-holes - which, given the cut of the skimpy outfit, was halfway across my ass cheeks - working the cream into my skin dangerously close to some very private places. I didn't react, and I think at that point he was a little unsure about how much farther he should go.

And, to be honest, I wasn't sure how much farther to let him go. On an impulse, I lifted up onto my elbows, and Gilbert got a nice side-view of my boobs. As I was thinking about the options, a voice from inside the bar yelled "Gilbert! Get back inside here! There's people need servin'."