Thanks everyone for your patience in waiting for this chapter. It has taken me some time to properly organize the direction for this story. I believe the wait is worth it. I hope you enjoy.
"Yo, Yo." My eyes are closed, but I hear a distant voice and hands shaking my shoulders. "Wake up, man. Wake up, we going to the beach."
I open my groggy eyes. As my vision slowly clears, I see Jericho's tiny hairy pecker feet away from me.
"What the fuck, man!" I shout and push my housemate away from. "Wear some clothes when you wake me up, please!"
Jericho's face opens in a huge smile, and he laughs. "You're funny man, we not shy in this house any more. Now get up, Layla's waiting out front with the motorbike, we got to go!"
"Fine... fuck." I say more grumpily than my host deserves due to a combination of the lack of sleep, hangover, and rude awaking.
I look beside me on the bed and notice that Lynn has already left. It's just me and Jericho in the room now. Jericho is packing his day bag while still in the buff. I feel like that guy never wears clothes. We've gotten close these last few days, but it's morning, and I'm not quite ready for his level of immodesty. I snatch my boxers from the spot on the ground where Jericho left them yesterday and quickly put them on before packing.
Jericho finally puts on pants and what I'd consider a business casual dress shirt back home, but here it seems to be everyday attire. As we step outside, Layla is already there, casually leaning against her obnoxious-pink motorbike. She's rocking a black leather mini skirt, a threadbare Ramones tank top, and black combat boots.
"Hey, white boy, I heard you're sleeping in too long. Let's hit the beach!" Layla's voice rings out with playful urgency.
"Alright, alright, not everyone needs to jump on me about it." I retort, a touch defensive, "But seriously, you're dressed for a punk concert, not the beach."
A mischievous grin dances across Layla's lips. "Oh, I've got my swimwear all set, white boy." She playfully turns around, playfully hiking up her skirt to reveal a glimpse of her petite, tattooed, and enticingly cheeky ass adorned in a bright pink thong. I'm reminded that her outfit didn't last that long at the waterfall on our last trip.
Jericho, seemingly entranced by the punk minx before us, is jolted back to reality as his wife, Lynn, appears around the corner. She speaks animatedly to him in Vietnamese, prompting him to quickly recover and respond. As they engage in their conversation, Layla teasingly lets her skirt fall back into place and shoots me a mischievous smile, her eyes sparking with an unspoken understanding.
"Yo, Jericho, you can argue with our wife later, hop on; we got to go," Layla yells impatiently while mounting her motorbike with her skirt riding up mockingly.
"Troi oi," Jericho grumbles in response, snatching his day pack and settling in behind her. "Fine let go."
I stand there momentarily dumbfounded before shouting out to Jericho, "Hey man, what do I do?"
"That motorbike, over there," Jericho points at his bright yellow, bike, which I'm coming to realize is a bit of a beater.
"Man, you know I can't ride one of these things, right?" I retort, skepticism evident in my voice.
"Shit, ya," Jericho replies. "No worry, my wife, she take you."
Jericho yells something to Lynn, who shoots him a disapproving look before snatching the keys from a hook and heading over to the bike.
In a cloud of dust, Jericho and Layla speed off while Lynn wheels the motorbike to the front of the house. Today, she's dressed in typical Vietnamese housewife attire - a pair of flowery shorts and an extremely loose spaghetti strap top that could almost pass for pajamas. Once again, she's foregone a bra and I'm treated to the sight of her wonderful tits bouncing as she pulls the bike over the gravel in the front yard. Despite our nighttime relationship, in the light of day, I'm not quite sure where to look and feel awkward staring at her.
With the motorbike now in front of me, Layla hands me a helmet before taking her seat. I straddle the back of the bike and grip the handles at my sides. She glances back at me and speaks rapidly in Vietnamese before surprising me by grabbing my hands and guiding them around her waist. Through the extremely thin material of her homemaker clothes, I feel the softness of her tummy realizing that this is the first time I've intentionally touched her intimately.
Lynn revs the motorbike throttle more daringly than I expected, and we take off abruptly. With a sudden burst of speed, we lurch forward. My lack of experience with these bikes becomes painfully evident as I instinctively cling to Lynn, my grip on her tightening and my hips shifting closer to hers.
I look down and see this normally shy, demure housewife with a devilish grin on her face. She pulls the throttle harder and we're burning down the gravel road from Jericho's place to the highway. My arms are wrapped around her in a death grip, my knuckles are almost white with the intensity of my hold.
As the road stretches on, I'm noticing something else. Between the bumps and vibrations of the uneven terrain, coupled with my firm grasp, Lynn's flimsy spaghetti strap top is working overtime to hold her tits in. I can feel their weight on my arms as I squeeze her, particularly when we hit bumps in the road. I'm feeling like a hormonal teenager unable to control himself as I feel my hardness start to grow into my shorts, squeezing into the limited space between my waist and Lynn's ass.
We finally pull to a stoplight at the paved highway. I relax my grip and scoot back a bit. Lynn looks back with a smirk, then reaches her hand down to pinch the hard cock through my shorts. "Fun," she says to me before giggling. I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement so I just murmur my acknowledgment before we take off left down the highway.
It doesn't take long before we pull up alongside Layla and Jericho on the highway. Lynn's driving skills have surprised me, revealing a wilder side I hadn't anticipated once she's out of the confines of her home.
As we pass Jericho, he gives me one of his big stupid grins and tilts his chin up in a "watch this gesture". I look back and see Jericho reach up to squeeze one of Layla's tits through her t-shirt. In a swift response, Layla raises one foot and aims a kick with her combat boot squarely onto Jericho's flip-flopped foot. A hearty laugh escapes me before I turn my focus back to the road ahead.
Lynn seems to have concluded her playful teasing during our motorcycle ride, and the remainder of the journey takes on a tranquil quality. My apprehensions about her driving have eased, and I relax my grip, allowing my hands to drift lower to rest against her waist and thighs, enjoying her softness. We get a couple of looks from passing riders. The glances are curious, seemingly people wondering who this "Tây balo" (backpacker) is riding on behind a housewife.
The traffic gradually intensifies as we approach the outskirts of Nha Trang. A couple of honks draw my attention, and I glance behind to witness Layla riding up alongside Lynn. A brief exchange ensues between them, after which Layla takes the lead. We navigate through winding streets, eventually arriving at a quaint boutique hotel.
After dismounting, Lynn and Jericho engage in another round of their familiar Vietnamese bickering, a routine that has become customary for them. My gaze is fixed on Lynn's animated expressions, but my focus shifts abruptly when a hand cups my ass.
"Hey, white boy, enough with your new fascination. We need to sort the room out," Layla gives my ass one more squeeze before striding confidently into the hotel's lobby. She flashes a wave at the receptionist, signaling some kind of prearranged arrangement.
Following Layla's lead, I step into the hotel's elevator behind her. The doors close before Jericho and Lynn can conclude their conversation.
Once the doors close, Layla advances, her hand gliding down the front of my loose-fitting basketball shorts until she firmly grips my flaccid cock in her petite hand.
