St Maartin

I have learned a lot about men, during the time I have been swinging with my husband. I always thought I knew men, about their sexuality, but after years of swinging and enjoying threesomes with my husband....Well, only then did I begin to get the picture. In a way, men are like sharks—predators. They think women don't know it, but we do. You view us as a possession; I have said this over and over and over again. That the purpose of men during sex isn't so much to partner up with a female, but to mark them. This is what the male does in sex, this is what occurs when the man releases his semen in his partner. He marks her. Makes her his, if at least for the time being. And it is this marking that men find so terribly horrific. This is where the jealous rage comes from, the marking. The scent. That they deposited a fluid in a woman that only they can produce.

These observations didn't occur to me until I started reading some of the responses to the ads we posted for threesomes. Sometimes I posted the ads, sometimes my husband did, but we always read them together. Usually hubby will weed out the phonies and the gays, and we will sit down and enjoy them together.

Some fellows send the nice neat suit and tie photo. Others send another of their privates, and then apologize saying, "I hope I don't offend you." I'm a big girl, and a picture of a penis won't offend me. But what is best? Usually, a photo of just a face, and that's because women, swingers or not, always look at the eyes first. The eyes will tell your story, and you all have one. So do we want to see a cock photo? Yes, of course—but make that the second picture. And don't be too demanding about getting one in return, because frankly, men for threesomes are a dime a dozen. It's finding the couple that wants you that's difficult. So instead of sending a cock pic, invite them out for a glass of wine. Your response will move to the top of the list.

But inevitably, it is this marking that makes the swinging event. It is the woman who will end up being the target of all that semen from two different men. The responses tell us that. "Heavy cummer", someone writes. "Can plaster your face from two feet away," writes another. These are real responses. In so many responses, men actually tell me when they had their last ejaculation. "It's been three days," writes another. "I haven't come in a week."

So what is a couple to do? It is these variations that make swinging so fun. My husband does enjoy watching me with a heavy cummer, and the mess--and clean up afterward-- is part of the fun. It's fun to see if a penis really can squirt two feet, because so few of them do.

During my days, I have had my share of younger men. And the little lad on the beach of St. Maartin I last wrote about is where this story picks up.

With younger men, their approach is even different. When a man knows he will have sex with me, they save it up. I know that, I'm not stupid. And younger men can come many times in one evening—seven is my personal record—but I'm not sure if this is the biology of the aging male, or if the older male simply works himself up to one more satisfying orgasm, with skill and knowing his body in a way a younger man doesn't yet know. Older men can take their time. They know when to stop. They let it build within, and build my pleasure in the meantime. They are very much aware of their climax, and when they release, it's more fulfilling to them.

Younger men, on the other hand, simply like to make a mess. And sex doesn't get good until after their second or third orgasm. Then they start to tire, and can enjoy it more. They are more interested in trying to come one more time, because they're not sure when they're having sex again.

And when they do come, they make a mess of you—the first time, they may pull out and spray my breasts. Trying to get some on my face, which is a long shot for anyone. The second may be in me. Perhaps I will give them a blow job the third time. And they are more interested in seeing how many places they marked me with their semen than actually enjoying it.

Such goes day three of my vacation in St. Maartin.

I found out my young suitor was named Karl and he was 19 and lived with his mother. He worked very hard, and was at the resort in the morning, changing sheets, and in the evening, serving dinner. And I also knew that the one beautiful blow job I gave him on the beach would not be my last time with him. But I was going to play his game, and play hard to get. I wasn't going back to the nude beach supper hour the very next day. He was a young guy, so I was going to make him wait a day—you know, to let it build up But this time, I was going to introduce my husband—well, accidentally anyway

So, at 4:30, when the crowds started leaving the beach, I settled in my red bathing suit and wrap around into my secluded little cove, the very same cove I sucked him off two days prior. I laid down, the soft radio playing reggae, on a nice soft beach towel I lugged along, and closed my eyes. I removed my top and bottom, and laid there in the sand but twenty minutes when I heard my young little beau splashing in the waves my way.

Really, does it get any more predictable?

I won't lay small talk and minute details, because that's not what you want to read. But here I was, a 45 year old with nice legs and a wonderfully hairy bush, laying next to this darked skinned black 19 year old. And we began to kiss. He was, as always, nervous and naked as a jay bird, and trying to look out of the corner of his eye as he began to sprout an enormous erection.

I don't now how long we kissed, but he was nibbling behind my ears and all over my neck, and suckling my breasts, and I just laid back and enjoyed it. His penis was hard and angry and dripping. And suddenly, he pressed his lips to mine, and slipped his tongue in my mouth, and French kissed me while he mounted me. I parted my legs and adjusted my little cooze upward to give him some access, and I felt that beautiful piece of hard erection slide into my tummy.

He moved in and out, alternating between kissing me on the ear lobes and suckling my breasts. It was so quiet. I looked down and saw his skinny little black ass pumping away between my legs, with the waves breaking about 20 feet behind him. I buried my head in his neck, and he had the scent of coconut oil. His toes were pointed, and the bottom of his feet were the same color light pink as the tip of his penis.

And then I made a huge mistake.

Just when I started to raise my pelvis to meet his long slow strokes, I reached down and grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and pulled him into me. He actually got it right, because he was balls deep up there and started to rub his pelvis against mine bringing me to the brink of an incredible orgasm.

And then the mistake:

I took a finger and slid it along the crack of his ass.

And that pushed the poor lad over the edge.

His legs straightened as tight as can be, his toes pointed, and I felt goose bumps rise on the small of his back. And he unloaded. He dug his toes in the sand and pushed in me as far as he could go. When I realized this wasn't a fire drill from which he could recover, I went with it. I massaged his ass cheeks and hugged him, more as a code of honor for fucking his first married white mom. And he throbbed and throbbed, releasing that pent up passion.

After about twenty seconds he collapsed on me, a red hue over his chest, giggling. I made a joke and ran my finger on his side, tickling him. After a few more kisses, he slid out, his shiny body laying back in the sand, a large and still erect penis flopping against his tummy and slowly starting to retract.

And me? I now had a tummy full of boy sperm, and was so horny I was ready to explode. Did the lad know he left me frustrated? Nah—of course not. His job was done. He marked me! But my loins were ready to explode. I laid there on my back, my hands folded on my tummy, one knee propped in the air, waving that leg back and forth out of complete frustration! Would there be round two?

My puss was starting to leak a bit on the towel and dry. It was uncomfortable, because the semen was getting crusty on my crotch hair and started to pull every time I moved my leg.

Rescue came in the form of my husband Rich rounding the bend, his own large penis and large brown scrotum leading the way. Although the meeting was supposed to look like an accident, the sun glasses and boogie board—well, he heard about those later.

Again, no details. But he clearly thought we hadn't even started yet. While making small talk, I casually parted my legs to let him see what was for dessert that evening. He knew I was ready to explode.

"You can't leave her like that" hubby said. Karl got nervous and flipped over, trying to hide his penis. But I wouldn't let him. And within ten minutes, Karl was back on me, gently pumping in and out of me again, this time with my husband next to me. Like so many lads in threesomes, he tried to hide his face on the far side, sliding it next to mine, pretending it really was that ear he wanted to nibble on. And Rich sat next to me, holding my hand, while Karl took a wee bit longer to work out his second load. Karl was nervous with Rich right there, occasionally looking at him. When I sensed it was time, I whispered, "It's okay, hon," in his ear, and raised my hips to meet his thrusts.

This time, I picked Rich's hand up with mine, and reached between the lad's legs, and the two of us gently massaged his scrotum. Did he know one hand was Rich's? No idea. But it worked, and he stiffened, and filled me again. I let Rich's hand finish the massaging, letting him milk the rest of Karl's sperm into me. This is an extremely erotic moment for both of us, as he helps the giving.

After his second orgasm, Karl wasn't so quick to sit own and relax. He was embarrassed, his penis still hard as a rock, but my hubby was right there, and Karl was thinking Rich was going to hit the roof—a natural reaction. He just came in a man's wife, oh dear! We laughed at it later. The foreskin was still pulled back, and the bright pink tip of his penis was still dripping. He turned, waved goodby nervously, and back into the water he went. Too bad, because I know that kid could easily have popped a third time.

"Whew," Rich said.

But something was still missing, and that was my own orgasm, and then Rich's.

I was as horny as it gets.

"You're turn," Rich said.

He parted my legs and sniffed my vagina. "Smells like someone's been a naughty girl."

"Oh, cut the crap," I said.

Rich slid his nose in me and shot his tongue deep in my hole. When he did that, I pumped my hips and came like mad, holding his ears. After I finished quaking, Rich continued to lick Karl's love juices, and slid up and slid his own hairy cock between my legs.

"Damn, I love that feeling," he whispered.

Nothing like sloppy seconds.

Three pumps, and he collapsed on top of me, releasing his own sperm.