It was obvious, in retrospect, what was going to happen when I volunteered to go back to the beach house with Taylor for the beer. The look on my wife's face as I see that she is straddling John on the beach, her newly tanned breasts swaying over him, his cock slamming into her thrashing body again and again - when she looks back in shock, that isn't a surprise. But when she turns aside and keeps going, her mouth open and her head thrown back in a silent climax, because she can no more stop herself now than I could have stopped John from starting all this a few days ago - that's what makes me wonder if she'll ever really come back to me.
After they calm down, she gets up and walks back toward the beach house, not bothering to cover herself at all now. Semen drips down her leg as she goes. She doesn't look back this time, and I don't know whether to follow her or not. I look down at John, and back at Taylor, who takes a beer out of the festive little cooler bag, opens it like there's nothing else to be doing at a time like this, and sucks some down. Her lips move over the neck of the bottle suggestively. She spills some, and it drips down her chin, between her glistening, naked breasts, and down her oily belly. A little seems to follow the cleft of her newly-shaved sex. She looks at me again and smiles, more bravely this time. She feeds me the beer bottle like it's my mother's nipple, putting her arm around my naked waist while she does it. I drink some down, choking a bit, and she pulls me down onto a towel just beside John, just beside where John had my wife.
***
We met John and Taylor at a neighborhood association party a year ago. They were the couple that was a little smarter than most. They dethroned us as "the young couple," but we were happy to let them have the title. It was wearing thin, especially when the retired couples asked us when we would be having their surrogate grandchildren, and laughed. My wife, Penny, had gone off the pill two years earlier, the year I got the Information Systems job that let us afford the neighborhood. They dressed nicely, and talked easily. Taylor would put her hand on John's shoulder while he sipped beer with one hand stuck in his khakis, and the muscles in her upper arms and deltoids would flex. At these parties, he tended to wear golf shirts or camp shirts; she would wear halter tops, or tight black tees that made her look like a ballet dancer, except that her breasts were way too large for a dancer's. Penny and I talked about whether Taylor had implants; they seemed too big for her, but they were just too perfect to be implants. I finally got up the nerve to say that to Penny when we were discussing it in bed, but I reassured her, as I praised her own breasts with lips and tongue, that those breasts were perfect to me.
We saw more of Taylor than we did John, especially when she ran around the big circular road that connected all the streets in the neighborhood. She always wore a singlet, a heavy athletic bra to restrain her breasts, and short running tights. Her lean legs twitched with every stride. Sometimes, when Penny and I were leaving the neighborhood, I would slow down for a moment and Penny would chat at her through the open window while she ran. I would glance over every few moments to make sure I wasn't going to hit Taylor or a parked car, and I alternated between looking at her bobbing breasts and her blonde ponytail.
John traveled about seven days a month, and after those days when he was out of town, they often asked us over for an evening cookout. On one such evening, we sat in the darkness on their back porch, sitting opposite each other in huge porch swings. John told us about some storm damage that a client's beach house had sustained. "It's probably minor," John explained, but the client was worried about it. John thought that some prompt work on the house, even if it was just done with plywood and the blue tarps that were now dotting the Florida coast, would spare his client a lot of water damage later on. Unfortunately, the client was in the middle of his busy season and couldn't get away. The four of us could go down there, John and I could make the repairs, and we could make it the long vacation we never seemed to have time for.
The house was on a stretch of private beach a few miles long, John went on to explain, and in all likelihood, the adjacent houses were empty, as they were owned by snowbirds who were back north to escape the hottest part of the summer. Those houses were further off the beach, and escaped damage. "It's great," Taylor broke in, smiling and nodding at Penny like it was all up to her, which in a way it was. I was convinced the minute John started talking; I had just trained an assistant enough to get to take a few evenings every now and then where I wasn't on call, and I hadn't been able to be more than an hour away from a computer and internet access for over three years. Penny smiled back at Taylor, I grinned at John, and we shook on it like we were two frat boys starting a bar together.
It took some convincing to get my boss to let me off for three solid weeks, but since I had six weeks accrued, he couldn't do much, other than get me to concede that I would take my cell phone. I made my assistant, Pam, promise to call only if things were desperate, and she was happy to oblige. "Bring us back a baby, Chris," she teased, and my frowning at her only made her laugh harder. I had made the mistake of telling her that Penny and I wanted a baby during a buzzed evening at a hotel bar in Pasadena. We had gone there to install new software at the branch office. Pam had made me a not-so-veiled offer to let me practice on her that night, and my turning her down had only served to make the subject funnier to her every chance she got to bring it up.
I finally grinned at her, just to get out of the office as quickly as possible, and told her we would try, which reduced her to helpless laughter.
Penny's doctor actually had told us that a long vacation would help things. "Every other night like clockwork," he had said. "Your sperm count isn't the best, and probably would be better if you weren't so overworked. But," he stopped and grinned at Penny, then me. "There's nothing wrong with either of you - you've just got to get together more often."
That Saturday morning, we both drove our pickup trucks, loaded with our luggage, groceries, beer, plywood, tarps, toolboxes, and chainsaws, the 150 miles to the secluded beach in northwest Florida. There was a town with a Wal-Mart and a hardware store fifteen miles from the house, John had explained, but he had a personal goal of not having to go anywhere at all once we arrived. The girls would cook and lay in the sun, and the boys would stretch a few day's work into three weeks, and we would forget the problems of our high-priced jobs for a while.
The house wasn't in bad condition when we arrived. A quick tour through the house revealed that power was on, and the DirecTV was working. There were only a few windows broken and some possible roof damage, but no sign of serious water damage yet. The pool was also undamaged, except for a lot of debris in it. "They're going to be so happy," John said, "and we could get all the plywood up and the tarp over the roof in one afternoon if we put our minds to it."
An inspection of the grounds revealed a bit more in the way of tree damage; several pines had been bent over by the wind. "Why don't we give him his money's worth - cut down all these trees and section them up?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Okay, but no rain forecast for two days, so first things first. Let's get this pool cleaned up so we can go swimming! We can work on the house tomorrow."
The girls went into the house and started to put things away. John and I took off our shirts, found the pool equipment, and got to it. I was hosing down the deck and straightening up the furniture while John skimmed leaves and sticks off the surface. We were about halfway through when the girls emerged in bikinis. John gave out a wolf whistle at them; I gave them admiring looks, which I was careful to direct mainly at Penny. John put the skimmer down, walked over, and took Penny's hand. He raised her arm, twirling her around like a dancing partner. "Wow, Penny! You look great! Chris and every other lecherous bum in the neighborhood gets to see Taylor in her running outfits, but I've never seen you like this!"
Penny was blushing with the compliment, but John was already back skimming. "There's some stuff down there that I'm going to have to dive down and get before we start the pump. Where did you put my suit, hon? I don't want to get these shorts in that water. It's full of chlorine and probably some saltwater slopped over in it."
Taylor looked up from the chaise lounge where she laid down. "They should be in our room, John."
John walked back into the house and came back out a minute later. "I don't see them, babe."
