It wasn't the first time that I'd watched my wife have sex outside of our marriage. It wasn't even the first time that I had been at least partially involved in setting up such an arrangement. And yet, the first time that I truly loaned out my wife felt really different - primarily because of the sheer number of times that her holes were filled with cocks during that warm August night.
+++ August 2019 +++
The circumstances that led up to that evening had started out very innocently.
My in-laws had located a new rental property for our annual summer vacation to the beach: a large 6-bedroom house in a convenient location on the back bay with several boat slips. In addition to our rental, there was also a row of several attached 1-bedroom bungalows.
At first, we wondered how those renters felt about being so close to each other, but we soon learned that all of that week's occupants were one big extended family of sons, brothers, cousins, in-laws, etc. They were a blue-collar family from a rural area - a little rough around the edges, perhaps, but friendly. They were quick to introduce themselves, but since I'm terrible at remembering names, I wound up developing my own characterizations.
For example, I labeled the head of the family as the Patriarch. He and his wife had been vacationing at this spot for over thirty years, and they seemed to be the main funders of the family getaway. We didn't see them very often over the course of the week except for dinnertimes when they came out to join their family around the BBQ pit.
Next door to them was another married couple who also kept to themselves much of the time. I characterized the husband - who was the Patriarch's oldest son - as The Quiet One because I hardly heard him speak. He had a thin build, and looked like he was (or at least had been) a fairly heavy smoker. We saw his heavyset blonde wife a few times, but she was quite busy looking after their 3 young kids... whose yelling overcompensated for their dad's quietness.
In contrast, the Patriarch's other son was - by far - the most outspoken one of the entire group. I referred to him as Shorty - he wasn't much taller than my wife, perhaps 5'4" at most, and he had a pretty thick build. A sunburned scalp indicated that he either forgot to use sunscreen, or just didn't care. He almost always had a beer in his hand, which contributed to his extraversion that - at times - bordered on annoying. While we typically tended to do our own thing, Shorty almost always came over to chat whenever he saw anyone outside.
Shorty's wife, on the other hand, was soft-spoken, very sweet... and an absolute stunner. Between her fantastic figure - highlighted by her actively-nursing breasts - and her naturally-sexy Eastern European accent, she easily could've been a foreign model. As enraptured as I was by her breathtaking beauty and winsome personality, I was equally bewildered at how a gorgeous woman like her could end up married to an obnoxious redneck like Shorty.
Although I too was married, and my own wife has always been very attractive, something about Nadia (I had no problem remembering her name!) evoked lustful fantasies. As our vacation progressed, therefore, I tried to subtly take advantage of any opportunity to be around Nadia. It helped that our kids played well together, which - when she was distracted with her own kids - also gave me numerous opportunities to salivate over her alluring figure. In fact, I was so focused on drifting into Nadia's presence that it took me a few days to realize that my wife appeared to be doing something similar with the resident of the fourth bungalow.
Like the others, I couldn't remember his real name, but creating his nickname was obvious: Muscles. He was very tall, probably 6'5" or more, and his body bulged with toned muscles in places that I didn't even know could be toned. Understandably proud of his physique, he hardly ever wore a shirt. Knowing my wife's affinity for guys who have well-developed pecs, I figured she was probably drooling over his; knowing that my own eyes wander too, though, I really didn't mind.
At the same time, due to his tight-fitting swim trunks, I couldn't help but notice something else that appeared to be quite large: based on the size of the bulge between his legs, Muscles was hung like a horse. I wondered if my wife had noticed that part of him too. Her subtle affinity for chatting with him became slightly more suspicious.
Muscles, who was the cousin of Shorty and The Quiet One, also had a 19-year-old staying in the same bungalow as him. He was quite the opposite of Muscles - unathletic, overweight, and socially awkward - so it took me a while to figure out that the young man was actually Muscles' son. As it turned out, I didn't need to generate my own nickname for him, because I latched on to one that I overheard Shorty use with him: Wonder Boy.
The final bungalow was occupied by the one and only daughter of the Patriarch, along with her husband. While she seemed to fit the typical mold of the family, her husband was quite a bit different. Intellectual, well-educated, and more formal in nature, he held a white-collar job in the city that was quite a contrast to the trade-related professions that the others held. I called him Glasses, since he was the only one who wore them.
Our two sets of families began to hang out more and more with each other over the course of our stay - especially after the sun went down and all the little ones were in bed. The alcohol flowed freely while we played various yard games under the lights, and that freed up other inhibitions as well. On the third night, I found out that I wasn't the only one who questioned how Shorty ended up with a bombshell like Nadia. Glasses - who apparently became much less reserved when he drank - jokingly insulted Shorty after he'd lost a round of cornhole: "Dude, you're such a loser! How did such a loser like you end up with such a winner like your wife?"
Rather than coming to her husband's defense, Nadia casually threw Shorty under the bus. In her innocent-sounding accent, she remarked, "It's not his dick size, that's for sure!"
While most of the group roared in laughter, Glasses got a punch in his arm from his wife for insulting his brother, and Shorty glared at Nadia. "You'll pay for that," Shorty grumbled.
Apparently, Nadia wasn't done roasting him. "Oh, I'm sure you'll try to make me pay, but I can endure your 30 seconds."
As the crowd erupted in derisive laughter once again, I wondered how close that was to the truth - and I fantasized about showing Nadia how much better I would take care of her.
+++ Tuesday +++
On the fourth evening of our stay, as my wife and I were walking over to the common area for what had become our nightly tradition of games, drinks, and laughs, I happened to notice that she wasn't wearing a bra under her loose-fitting T-shirt.
Since that was atypical for her, I quietly voiced my observation. "No bra?"
My wife shrugged. "We're on vacation."
I tried to let her know that I wasn't bothered or offended - just surprised. "Sure, that's fine, I just know that's unusual for you."
Casually, my wife replied, "Yeah, I know - but, besides, we're not gonna see any of these guys after this week is over anyway."
I didn't realize it at the time, but she had inadvertently just laid the groundwork for the no-strings-attached indiscretions that would happen the following night.
+++ Wednesday +++
Early in the day on Wednesday, Shorty returned from a trip to the store with a portable gaga pit in the bed of his pickup truck. When Nadia asked him why he bought it, he just shrugged: "I dunno... just wanted to try something new." Although Nadia didn't seem too thrilled about his spontaneous purchase, it ended up being a tremendously fun intergenerational activity for both sets of families, and round after round of gaga ball was played that afternoon.
Once the kids were in bed that evening and it was back to being adults-only, Shorty proposed that we return to the gaga pit. It was odd for the gaga pit to be filled only with adults, and an alcohol-induced lack of coordination changed the dynamic as well. However, the most unusual aspect - since none of the other wives came out to play - was that my wife ended up being the only female in a gaga pit full of six men. It wasn't long before that created a... situation.
It all started when - during our third or fourth match, during one of the many times that my wife bent over to swat the ball away from her - Shorty apparently could no longer restrain himself from reacting to her tempting pose. An audible smack delivered to my wife's alluring rear end jolted her upright.
Everyone froze in uncertainty of how she would react to the unprovoked spank. Proactively raising his hands in self-defense, Shorty teased, "Oops, I'm sorry, I thought that was the ball."
With the game temporarily on pause, we all watched as my wife slowly turned around. How she would respond to Shorty's aggressive move had the potential to make or break the rest of our quasi-shared vacation.
She surprised us all.
Calmly, without a word, she stepped to his side, drew back her arm, and then violently slapped his own ass. "Oops, I'm sorry, I thought that was the ball," drawled my wife sarcastically.
As if he had been hoping she would say that, Shorty immediately gestured toward his crotch. "My balls are a bit lower than that, sweetheart."
Now that the tension had been broken, loud drunken laughter erupted. My wife, however, stood calmly and patiently waited for the laughter to die down before she coolly retorted, "Huh... I guess Nadia was right... perhaps I missed them because they're too small to find."
"OOOHHHHHH!!!!" The crowd's unrestrained delight at a wickedly good burn was followed by a rapid string of verbal insults aimed at the inferior size of Shorty's privates. "Small Dick" began to emerge as a potential substitute nickname for Shorty.
Perhaps irritated by how the tables had turned onto him, Shorty tried to deflect attention away from himself by pointing to the dormant gaga ball. "Will someone please hit her in the legs and get her out of here??"
Muscles quickly capitalized on the unintentionally-suggestive phrasing of Shorty's expression: "Fuck, I'd rather hit
