Gary Thompson didn't see either of the two maids who had taken advantage of the way his wife had left him until the day before his honeymoon was due to end.
He'd spent four days wondering why he hadn't been at all bothered by what they'd done, and enjoying the attention his wife had showered on him out of guilt at the damage her bikini restraints had done to his wrists and ankles. Veronica had returned to the bedroom and assumed that the marks had been caused by Gary's attempts to wriggle free, and he'd been more than happy not to tell her that one of the maids who'd discovered him had pulled on them tightly before stuffing his erection inside the blackest, hairiest pussy he'd ever seen.
But just after he'd waved goodbye to his wife as she clambered aboard an old coach to go shopping for souvenirs at a market on the far side of the island, the women walked casually up to him, and the oldest, pointed towards the departing bus, and said with a grin, "Missy Thompson never know."
Gary just shrugged in reply. He wouldn't have known what to say even if he had spoken their language, and had no reason to think that either spoke any English other than the few words they'd used when taking advantage of his bound and naked body earlier in the week.
The two women smiled, as one pointed to the deep red lines around his wrists and almost-whispered, "Sorry," pointed at a woman about the same age as his wife stood at the far side of the car park, and added. "Missy Thompson never know."
Gary didn't have any idea what the woman wanted to tell him, and when she beckoned the woman to come over assumed that it was to translate something. The woman, just like the other two, was dressed in white soft shoes with a white one-piece tunic-dress, and he instantly imagined how wonderful she'd look wearing nothing but the plain white bra and little white panties he knew were underneath.
"Missy Thompson never know," repeated the woman who'd sat on face earlier in the week, as the young maid smiled nervously at him. She was absolutely stunning. His wife was attractive, but she was somehow even more so, and he tried to work out just why he felt such a strong attraction to her. Was it the coffee colour of her skin? Her jet black hair? Utterly captivating large brown eyes or teeth which shone brightly as her deep red lips parted in a wry smile? Or just the fact that she was so exotic and so different to his wife?