Previously in The Thin End of the Wedge: Sally, the mature housewife, has been working hard at The Splendor brothel. She and Tom now have enough money to take a holiday in the Carribbean. Flights and transfers are booked, as is the holiday resort, though Tom has kept the details secret. Sally is now very excited at the prospect of meeting some well-endowed locals. Now read on...
The Twin Otter DHC-6 aircraft gently dropped onto the little runway, slowed, and taxied to the terminal building. Sally and Tom disembarked, collected their luggage, and walked across the short distance to the arrivals gate. This was the second flight of the day, the first bringing them from the UK, where it was raining, to one of the larger islands. Now via the island hopping service, along with twelve other passengers, they had arrived on a medium sized island and Tom had told her there was one more major transfer to go.
He'd been very secretive during the previous few days. Several times Sally had put things out to pack only to have Tom say something like, "You'll not need that. Or that. Or that."
In the end they travelled light with just a couple of small cases and some hand luggage. Tom had also infuriated Sally by keeping the precise destination secret. She knew they were going to the Caribbean, but exactly where he wouldn't say. But now they were there, or nearly there. Soon the mystery would be solved.
The tropical scene was bathed in sunshine as they walked towards the marina. At the side of the road there were numerous stalls and Tom paid for some fruit to refresh them. The stall holder deftly removed the top from a coconut with a machete and Sally drank the milk. It was wonderful, so exotic, she felt very happy to be on vacation and very much looking forward to whatever was going to happen next.
Next turned out to be a boat. A small boat, white painted with gleaming brass fitments, that had seats for ten or twelve people. It looked very small in comparison to the ocean it bobbed on. It looked like the sort of boat people went shark fishing in, and she remembered a famous phrase, 'You're gonna need a bigger boat!' But, if it took her on the final part of this journey, she'd be content with its size.
Six people were waiting by the quay side and Sally and Tom joined them. Four looked like tourists, pale and looking out of place, and two were dressed like locals. The captain, a tall man with long dreads wound around his head under a knitted hat, welcomed them aboard.
"Welcom to da Elise," he smiled a very broad smile. "Al abord fa de trip to Sant Louis." He was grinning from ear to ear and Sally decided she liked this captain. He seemed a jolly sort, though his thick Carribean accent was a bit difficult to understand.
"Saint Louis?" she turned to her husband, though it was tempting to try to assess the size of the captain's cock. "Is that where we're going, Tom?"
"That's the place. You'll like it," he replied.
They handed over their cases then stepped aboard and Sally grabbed at a handrail as the little boat swayed at the dock. It seemed to respond to every little wave and she wondered what it would be like away from the marina. The locals stepped on last, embarrassing Sally. They were an elderly lady and her granddaughter and both didn't need to hang onto anything. But, Sally thought, they'd probably done this many times. The captain untied the ropes holding the boat secure, and jumped onboard. With a roar of the engine and a whoosh of spray they were off.
The boat was more stable under power and Sally started to enjoy the wind through her hair and the salty spray. The captain kept his vessel in the lee of a long headland then turned and followed the coast for about twenty minutes. Then he steered in towards the island again where a tiny jetty could be seen between dense trees.
"Are we there?", she asked Tom.
"Hell no!" replied their captain. "Just stoppin' to let pepol aff."
The boat snuggled up to the pier and an elderly man came out of the trees and along the jetty. He caught the rope thrown by the captain and held on tight whilst grandma and granddaughter alighted. Then he threw the rope end back into the boat and the three of them disappeared into the shade of the trees.
The captain now turned his boat straight out into the ocean aiming, as far as Sally could detect, for a faint smudge on the horizon. The waves were bigger here but Sally was getting excited by the trip and when, occasionally, the boat hit a wave and leaped almost out of the water, she was thrilled. Slowly the smudge in the distance resolved itself into another island, much smaller than the one they'd left. There was the purple cone of a hopefully, extinct, volcano, the deep green of jungle, and - occasionally - the flash of golden sand.
It took an hour to get to the island and, for most of the trip it remained indistinct, but as they covered the last mile it was possible to see more of her holiday home. There was a single jetty and behind it a long, low, building, painted white. The flash of golden sand had become long, beautiful, beaches and mixed in with the jungle, on the slopes above the jetty, were little shacks - presumably the chalets for visitors. The volcano towered over everything, silent but with a small thread of smoke that suggested it wasn't quite dead yet.
It was a matter of a few minutes to disembark and Sally thanked the captain, who saluted her and gave her a lascivious grin.
"Enjoy yo sel ma'am," then his little boat was powering away, and he was gone. Sally thought of those murder mysteries where a bunch of people were stranded on a remote island, with no way off until the boat returned. She looked at her fellow tourists. They looked very ordinary people, no rock stars, supermodels, or super rich businessmen, as far as she could tell. She couldn't work out who was the murderer, but then that, she supposed, was the whole point.
She dragged her suitcase over the rough wood of the jetty towards the low building. Tom was striding ahead and had pulled paperwork from his jacket. Then they were through the door and in a queue to the reception desk. Because Sally had stopped to thank the captain they were last in line. Sally glanced around, it all looked very nice, then she spotted the receptionist.
The girl was very dark skinned, almost pitch black, and she was tall with impressive breasts that were very pointed but showed no signs of sagging. She also had tight curly pubic hair. How did Sally know this? Well, the girl was stark naked. She seemed completely professional as she checked bookings and give out information leaflets and a key per person, but nonetheless she was naked as the day she was born.
"What is this place?", Sally asked Tom.
"Nudist Resort," he replied.
"Oh!"
"And a bit of a swinger paradise. You know, for general swingers and queen of spades types, I'm told."
"Ah!" Sally began to think this was going to be even better than she anticipated. Diana had mentioned the Queen of Spades design. It meant the woman was happy to cuckold her husband, with black men, and happy to be bred, by black men. And her cuckold husband was expected to cooperate with her encounters.
When they got to the reception desk Tom was clearly trying his best to look at the girl's face, but his glance kept slipping down to her magnificent breasts, and lower. Sally forgave him, he was only human after all. The girl hardly seemed to notice until she lifted his hand so that it covered her breast and encouraged him to have a good feel.
"These are yo locker keys," she said. "Bring 'em back here when you changed. Dis is the map, and deese are resort rules. Enjoy yo stay."
She handed over the items, gently removed Tom's hand from her tit, and grinned at him, "I'se work at da bar evenin's."
She said this with a wink that implied she might be doing more than serving rum. It looked as if Tom was going to get his fair share of sex on this holiday. This was great, it meant that Sally could concentrate on her own pleasure without worrying that Tom was being left out of the fun.
A quick trip to the lockers to get rid of their clothes followed. Each holidaymaker was provided with a colourful bag, that looked like it was locally made, to carry things like phone, toothbrush, deodorant, and other essentials. They dropped their keys off in the basket at reception and followed the map to their chalet. It was a hut, just off the track, in what Tom referred to as rainforest. There wasn't a cloud in the sky so Sally decided that he'd got that one wrong.
Inside Sally was rather taken aback by the erotic simplicity. She'd been to Holiday Camp by the seaside in the UK when she was a child. There they had wooden chalets with bunk beds, a little kitchen with a kettle and a teapot, and a square table and chairs for playing boardgames when it was raining too hard for outdoor pursuits. Which it often did!
This square hut had a couple of cane chairs, a couple of small tables, and the rest of the space was filled with an enormous bed. There was room for four on this amazing bed, and netting hung down from the ceiling to prevent mosquitoes. And that was it. It was clear that you dined and drank elsewhere in this camp.
Sally, being conscientious, sat on the bed and read the rules.
"What's it say, luv?" asked Tom.
Sally pointed at the leaflet. "I wouldn't call these 'rules'," she said as she read them out. "They are mostly guidelines. Keep the chalet tidy," she looked around and thought that was going to be easy. "No clothes to be worn, anywhere! Don't go too far into the jungle, lots of things that bite and sting apparently. Fuck anywhere you like, but clean up afterwards. Oh and NO means NO. They've put that one in capital letters."
"Sounds fair," nodded Tom, grateful he didn't have to remember lots of regulations.
