Tonytony3’s Anniversary Vacation 1/3 (wife sharing, swinging)

It had been a wonderful vacation.  We met Barbara and Stan,  also staying
at this resort, who liked to do the same kinds of things we do.  

Then, there were times like this. 

I loved looking at her when she was like this,

at her long red hair,  framing her head  on the pillow, 

at her face, now a little flushed, glowing under a sheen  of
perspiration. 

Looking, as she lie there,  her eyes closed, her mouth a little open, her
tongue wetting her lips, making those little noises in pace with my own
movements.  

Her hands were above her head, held there by my own grasp of her wrists.
When did I do that?

I loved her, lusted after her, even after ten years of marriage. 

I looked down, at her neck, and saw her pulse there, 

and lower still, at her breasts, crowned with nipples proudly erect. 

And lower, over her pale belly, to darker but still red hair trimmed in 
a bikini cut, and my own darker hair merged with it, on it. 

I watched as I moved my hips, revealing the shaft, glistening, and thrust
in again, the action  moving her body under mine, her breasts moving,
too, with the impact. 

How could I have been so lucky to marry this beautiful woman exactly ten
years ago? 

My eyes closed, as I remembered something else, the only really erotic
story she ever told me. 

A story about her, after her divorce,  when she was lonely and hurting. 

Of her being at the lounge at the Garden City Hotel after attending a
meeting there. 

Of her meeting Haroldo, a horse owner, a Spaniard, there to race his
stable at Belmont.  

Of being charmed by his accent, and by him, and loving the attention he
lavished on her. 

And how, after an hour of being enchanted by him, of being made to feel
better about herself by  him,  she accepted his suggestion to join him in
his room. 

I remembered her telling  how she went  to that room, of at first sitting
beside him on the bed, of touching and kissing, and then her going into
the bathroom, and then of leaving it wrapped in one of the large towels
the hotel was proud to provide, of Haroldo unwrapping the towel as though
she were the most  precious gift, and of his loving her, making love to
her, as though she really was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Now, I knew,  Haroldo could still remember  how she looked under him,  as
he took her, that one night, so many years ago.  How he couldn't help
compare any other woman to his vision of Helen. 

My own eyes were closed, imagining that scene,  of her, my wife, my
Helen, under that  man, accepting him into her body. 

I couldn't help myself. My own motions became faster, my excitement
built. 

I felt Helen pull a hand free, and opened my eyes, as she reached between
us. Her  touch - how could her touch be so charged, so electric, even
after all these years? 

Her eyes, still noticeably green, even in the subdued light, were
smiling. 

"You're thinking of him again, aren't you?" 

She captured my penis between thumb and forefinger, and was stroking me.
God, she  could tease! 

"'Fess up, I know when you move like that you're thinking of me and
Haroldo. Right?" 

I was silent.

Her fingers changed their pace, their pressure, bringing even more
excitement, more lust.

"Tell me.  That's exactly what you were doing, wasn't it?"

"Right." 

"Bad boy!" Her stroking became more insistent. "I always thought  men
were supposed to be upset if their wives behaved a little on the trashy
side before they were married. Not you!" 

Her eyes were alive with delight and mischief, while I felt those little
spasms in her vagina. 

"I wish I could  make up stories as will as I remember things, if this is
going to be my reward. . ." 

I couldn't help himself: "I wish you did have  other stories. . ." 

But by then I, and she, were past talk - our bodies expressed everything
that needed to  be said. 

Later, dressed in the terry robes the resort put in every, we went onto
the balcony. This  resort was built in a vee, opening onto the Pacific,
which we could see lapping  at  the hotel's private black sand beach.

Our room was on the fifth of Maui Palace's ten floors, and midway out the
vee. The view  was wonderful. Now, at sunset, the light poured into our
side of the vee. At sunrise, the other side glistened, just vague shapes
with reflections - a beautiful romantic place.

She stood at the rail, and I, behind her, was still erect enough so that
she knew I was there,  with just our robes between us. 

"For someone married ten years, you're a horny man" she said, moving
herself against  me, enjoying making me more excited. 

"What a great place to mark our anniversary," I muttered.

"Are you going to do what you did yesterday?" she wanted to know.

Yesterday, after sex in the afternoon, we stood in the same place, in the
sun, and I lifted the back of her robe, and parted the front of mine.
People on the beach and in the courtyard below, when they looked up, saw
us, one behind the other, enjoying the view. Had they looked a little
more closely, they might have seen that I was also enjoying being in my
wife, that her stance was a little strange, pelvis tilted away from the
railing, and moving back and forth in counter-time to her husband’s small
movements, too.

I turned her for still another  kiss.  "No, not that, not now." 

"Is this kiss the start of the next orgy for two, or the end of the last
one?" she wanted to know. 

"Probably both, darling" 

"Only two more nights in Paradise. . ." 

"We'll make the most of them. Scuba tomorrow with  Stan and Barbara, then
 more beach time, maybe I'll try a surf  board again." 

She interrupted "After watching you trying to surf yesterday, dear sir -
clutzy sir - you're  going to have to do that one alone! I couldn't bear
to watch, again. And, by the way," moving  even closer to me,  "exactly
what did you mean, you wish I had  more stories? Haroldo  isn't good
enough?" 

I thought about that. "That was, what, thirteen years ago? We get a lot
of mileage from it, though."  

"Yeah, thirteen years. And when you talk about it, and then do things to
me, it makes it as good as it was then. Maybe better."

"That's nice of you to say, but if you think about it, you really loved
that evening with him, didn't you?"

We walked back inside, and by unspoken mutual desire, lay down on the bed
again.

"Yeah, I did. I only did that the one time. . ."

"I like to think about him doing this" I said, untying her robe's belt,
and moving the garment to either side.

Helen sat up, pushing me down, and got my robe open, too.

"Tell me what you think about, when you think about him and me," she
wanted to hear about that again.

"I like to think about how it looked, and how it felt for him to touch
you, and kiss you, and, what it looked like when you touched him. You
know all of that, I told you before."

"Tell me more, tell me again, tell me tell me tell me." She had her hand
around my penis, now, and I felt her stroking begin again, and felt me
getting a little harder, again.

"I love thinking about how it was when he got on you, when you opened
yourself up for him, and when you had him so excited, and when he pushed
into you. I love thinking about that. I absolutely love thinking of him
in you, and moving in you, and his penis pulsing and filling you with his
sperm. . .,"

". . .sometimes I wish. . ." I started to say.

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me," each phrase corresponding to her
pushing down, making my penis's head uncover, then cover again.

"I wish. . ."

"Tell me,  tell me, tell me, tell mmmmm" and her mouth covered the head
now!

"Sometimes I wish you'd make up more stories, or be naughty and get more
stories."

She lifted her head, the stroking continuing. "Naughty? I thought it was
naughty or nice, and I want to be nice. It's too late for me to be
naughty."

"Sometimes, honey, with married people, naughty IS nice" I told her.

"Oh," she said, acting as though my penis was someone to talk to. "That
other prick thinks naughty is nice. I don't think he means that."

"Sometimes I wish that you would be, ah, naughty, that you could call
Haroldo, and tell him he could have seconds."

"Will you listen to that other prick, talking to his wife like that?
You'd think he wanted me to find someone like you to talk to, or maybe to
do this to. . ."

And she planted a kiss on that purple head that was now starting to
throb.

She looked up at me. "Be careful what you wish for, honey." 

"Yeah, I know, but when we're doing it, my mind goes places it
shouldn't." 

She moved against me again. 

"Tell me again where it goes - you bad man!" 

"I just love that story, Helen, I love the idea that you had a one night
stand like that.  I wish you had done it more."  I hugged her, kissed
her. I couldn't help himself. "Sometimes I wish you'd do it again." 

She kissed back, not angry as I feared she might be.   . "What an idea.
What a thing to say to a woman you've been married to for ten years.
After ten years and during  an anniversary vacation on Hawaii he finally
reveals to his wonderful, faithful, pure as snow wife what he really is
like, what he really likes."  The tone of her voice, the pressure of her
body and the expression on her face let me know she was enjoying this.

"What do you think of this? Someday, if there's an opportunity, just
maybe I'll grant you your wish." 

A final squeeze, and before I could respond she changed the subject.
"Honey,  let's go down to dinner." 

We slept that night like young lovers, wrapped in each other, loving each
other,  touching. 

Morning came, and an early awakening. We had a call from Barbara and
Stan,  whose rental car we were sharing to the boat.  The four of us
rushed  to meet our dive  master, and we were ready to go.  

I was distracted during the dive, admiring my wife, with her pale skin
accented by her white bikini, with her hair flowing in the water, the
image as beautiful as the formations they swam over.  Barbara and Stan,
diving nearby, inhibited anything else I might want to do, I realized. I 
briefly looked at Barbara, and saw that she was kind of pretty, too.
Still, I'd rather look at Helen.

The trip ended at noon, and the drive back to the resort took only
minutes.  

"I need a nap," I told the  group. "I'll see you guys tomorrow" was my
parting shot to Stan and Barbara as  Helen and I got off at the fifth
floor, while they continued up one more, to their room, somewhere above
ours. 

"When you say nap, do you mean, to sleep," Helen wondered, "or to make
love?" 

"It's gotta be to sleep, first. You, woman, are wearing me out!" 

"OK, but I'm not sleepy. I'll wonder around a while." 

I had to have fallen asleep in minutes. Nearly four hours later I felt 
light kisses, what a way to wake up. 

"Honey, come on, wake up." 

"What a nice way to wake up, being kissed by a beautiful woman who
happens to be my wife.  Where you doing while I was sleeping?" 

"I went to the beach, to sit and soak up every minute of our time here." 

"Good." 

"Uh, Al?" 

"Yeah, honey?" 

"I was thinking about what you were saying about getting naughty stories
for us to play with. Were you serious about that?"

"Sure, I think so."

"We're far from Long Island, honey, and no one knows us here. Maybe I
could be naughty here."

"Oh, you are a bad little girl. We're only here for a couple more nights.
You tell me what you're thinking about."

"Al, while I was on the beach, a really cute thing happened. A guy came
over to flirt to me." 

"A guy, what guy?" 

"He was Irish, name's Michael, and boy he sure had a brogue. 'What's a
fine Irish lass  like you sitting alone on the beach all about?' he
wanted to know. 

"'Not Irish, American,'" I told him, but he told me anyone who'd let a
lovely Irish woman  like me off the Emerald Isle had to be a Brit or a
Roman or some other enemy of Ireland! He was really funny - they really
do have a  way with words, don't they?" 

"Maybe so. It sounds like he was flirting with you. Or, were you flirting
with him?" 

"It was a little bit of both, honey. I don't about him, but I could feel
real tension in the air between him and me. I was thinking too much about
granting you what you wished for in a safe and beautiful place like this.
" 

"And I thought I was too bold when I was telling you what I fantasized
about.  Shame on you, girl!" 

She had a way of tilting her head, of glancing at me that was so
childlike I couldn't help but laugh, as she explained ""Oh master, I
thought that was what you wanted me to do." Her eyes fluttered. "I
thought I was supposed to get some big bad man all excited, and if  that
big thing he had hanging there grew up and pointed at me I thought I was
supposed to let it point inside me too, and to allow myself to be ravaged
by him, and then come back and tell you all about it, while you did the
same thing to me."  She couldn't keep a straight face as she  said
"Please forgive me." 

"You're right," I told her, laughing. "You are supposed to do that!" 

She stopped laughing, and looked at me, her 'I'm going to get you now,
buster' smile on her face.
  
"Honey, before Michael came back into the hotel, he told me he's going
down for cocktails at  4:30, and it'd break his heart and ruin his whole
day, his whole weekend, and maybe  his whole life  if I didn't meet him."


"You're making all of this up!" 

"Go ahead, you think that, and I WILL go meet him! I don't want to ruin
his whole life, and the lives of his children and grandchildren, too."

"Did he actually say that?"
 
"You bet he did."

"Is he really that much fun?"

"He really was, honey."

"Did you tell him you were here with your husband?" 

"Uh. . . no. He assumed I was with that group of teachers staying here,
and I never had a  chance to correct him." 

"Come on, Helen, what's this 'never had a chance'?" 

"I guess I mean, I never took the chance. The flirting he was doing was
way too much fun." 

"What kind of a woman did I marry, carrying on like that? Was he making a
move on you?"

"I think so."

"Was he, uh, sexy?"

"Yeah, a lot, for a guy about forty five. Now that I think about it,
Haroldo was about fifteen years older than me, too."

"You mean, he's like Haroldo?"

"Not really, but is some ways, yeah, a little."

"Did it make you feel good when you were flirting with him?"

"Oh, don't be mad kind sir, but yes, sir, it did!"

I thought for a minute, and was so aware of my penis filling, and my mind
filling with images of  long ago, and possible new ones.

"I don't think you should ruin his whole life, honey, by not going down
to meet him."

I continued: "In fact, maybe you should pretend you're back in New York,
and the Garden City Hotel, like thirteen years ago when you were Miss
Casey.  Maybe be  'I'm a teacher on vacation' Miss Helen Casey, and not
Mrs. Al Dunes on a ten year anniversary vacation. Maybe it's time for a
new Haroldo. What do you think of that? I dare you to keep a date with
this guy. Double dare, even!" 

"Are you serious?"

"You want to know how serious? Look at this." I pulled the covers back.
She could have no doubt about how excited I was.

She bent down - oh, I love when she touches me. She looked at the purple
head protruding from her hand. "Mr. Little Prick, did you hear what your
life support system said?"

She made it nod!

"Do you want me to meet this guy, too?"

She made it nod again.

"Mr. Little Prick, I think this guy may not have honorable intentions
toward me. Maybe he wants to put his Mister Prick where you like to go.
Does your life support system know that?" She covered me up again, and
said  "Be careful what you wish for, baby." 

"I know just what I'm wishing for. What time is it, anyway?" 

"A few minutes after four." 

I  looked at her, her sparkling eyes, her hand on my thigh. 

"Maybe you'd better get ready for your date, or are you just teasing me?"


"You know I don't have the imagination to make things like this up. You
want me to go?" 

"Yeah."

"Like I was Miss Casey, thirteen years ago, and not Mrs. Dune, like I am
now?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Just like the Garden City Hotel, you mean?"

"Yeah, like that."

"Except, now I'm not sad, so I don't need a Haroldo to make me feel good
about myself - you do know that. It would have to be just for fun, for
you and for me. You won't be mad?"

"Nope."

"How long should I stay, honey?"

"Long enough to get a good story, but for sure not all night."

"A story about somebody lusting after me?"

"Yeah, that story."

"Can I stay long enough so that I don't have to make anything up?"

"Yeah, that long."

“Long enough to make him get long, too?”

“Yeah, a little longer than that, to make him shorter, too.”

"Be careful what. . ." 

"Yeah, I know, what I wish for. I wish. . .I wish. . ." 

"It was like Haroldo?" she prompted. 

"Yeah, like then." 

"You're just not a jealous man, are you?"

"No, honey. I know you love me, and I know the difference between
seduction and lust and sex, and love.

"If  I go, that could really happen, you know. That seduction stuff, and
lust stuff, and sex stuff. It could easily happen in a place like this,
and a guy like this Michael."

"I know. I want it to."

"You sure know how to sweet talk a girl, Mr. Dune."

She went to the bathroom, came out with her hair combed out to her
shoulders, smelling of flowers and spice. She wrapped her white sarong
over her bikini, fastening the inner flap button between her breasts, and
 completing the wrap to under her arm, where the outer corner fastened. A
final button at her hip, and a quick knot in the sash, and she was ready.


Images of Horaldo unwrapping her flooded my mind, while she smiled and
told me she'd "be  back in a while. . ." 

"Maybe I'll go down for a drink, too." 

"Good. Come down soon, so you can see then man you want me to mess around
with.” 

And,

         with that,

                      she left. 

I couldn't stand the suspense. I pulled on chinos, and a shirt, and was
on his way down a minute later. 

I got to the lounge in time to see her sitting with a guy - that had to
be Michael - who was so obviously Irish they looked like a caricature of
an Irish couple. He was ten or fifteen years older than me, with dark
curly hair,  the both of them had  that pale Irish skin, their heads were
together, laughing. Him, mostly talking, her, mostly listening, both
enjoying  themselves. 

Of course she saw me sitting at the bar, but obviously decided to pretend
she didn't know  me. 

After a half hour, with the sun still high in the sky, Michael stood,
looking down at her, and  . . .

 . .extended his hand, an obvious invitation.. 

She looked around, saw me,  her husband, watching, and remembered the
dare and took it. 

She stood beside him. 

Michael made a sweeping gesture, indicating the way out, and she stepped
to him, and still holding his hand, went  to the door. 

I watched as they left,  followed them to the lobby,  followed as they 
went to the elevators,  watched as they entered, and watched as the
indicator climbed to the fourth floor, carrying  Michael, carrying Helen.


She actually went! 

I stood there in a kind of a daze, then Stan and Barbara came by, moving
to the next elevator. Still shocked, I joined them.

Stan made a friendly gesture: "Wanna join us for dinner?"

I was befuddled at best, and declined.  "Uh, no, I gotta wait for Helen.
I don't know for sure when she'll be back."

Barbara enhanced the offer, making it even better. She gave me a quick
kiss full on the lips, and said "Oh, leave a message for her, come on up
to our room, and party with us."

"I really have to wait for her. A party does sound nice, though. Maybe
tomorrow". 

"OK" Barbara replied, "Maybe tomorrow, but I said party with us, not come
to a party. See you later."

What did all of that mean? 

Our room was bright with the setting sun flooding in,  and I was very
alone. 

I  wondered to the door leading to our balcony, wondering what was
happening with  Helen. A story? Made up, or real? How could I wait? I
wanted her back, right now! 

My gaze, empty and unfocused, was drawn  to the opposite hotel wing.. A
floor lower, and directly across, a door was opening to the balcony. 

Helen stepped out, carrying a flute of what was probably champagne. She
stepped out  alone! 

I  opened the sliding door for better visibility, but stayed in a stark
shadow, and  reached for the binoculars.

Helen walked across the balcony to the rail, and leaned out, obviously
enjoying the view of the ocean,  but unable to see me. Oh, it was sunset
- you couldn't see anything on this wing because of the reflections and
glare. 

What was going on? Where was Michael? My mind was racing. "What the
hell?" I  wondered, raising  the binoculars, focusing them, and looking
again. 10 by 75  binoculars brought her so close, as though she was
across the room, instead of across the courtyard.

Then, I  heard a voice from above the next floor up.. "Stan, look there.
Isn't that Helen from downstairs?" That was Barbara's voice: their room
must be right above ours.

In a moment, I heard Stan: "God, it looks just like her. Let me get our
binoculars."

"Damn, it is her. She is one beautiful woman. Boy, I'd like to. . ."

And Barbara's voice interrupted: "I know what you'd like."

"Wait a minute - look at that!"
 
Michael came into view,  and walked  behind Helen.

"That's not Al, honey, he's downstairs in their room," Stan said. "What's
going on?"

Michael was wearing one of the terry robes the hotel left in every room.
He walked right up behind my wife, his body language confident, and put
an arm on each side of her, holding the rail, and probably moved very
close to her. Helen tilted her head back, and moved back a little to meet
him,  moving against Michael the same way she moved against me yesterday
- she was rubbing her ass into his groin! 

Our friends on the upstairs balcony were enjoying the show.  "Look at
that! She's coming on to him! It's some kind of seduction game she's
playing!"

I watched one of her hands reach up, and caress his check, and her mouth
utter a few  words. And he lowered his head, obviously kissing her neck -
she extended it in that  way of hers, and brought her arm over her head
so that she could pull her hair  back, exposing it for him. That was an
incredibly sexy gesture. It suggested pleasures, not inhibitions, were on
her mind!

"Look at that! This is gonna go all the way, I can tell!" Stan said. "Oh,
man."

Michael's  hands left the rail, and now were on her stomach, pressing her
back to him, and her  hands were on his, helping him hold her. I
remembered a couple of days ago when we stood like that, and I was in
her!

In a moment Michael moved, backing her a step away from the rail. 

The audience upstairs were really liking this. "Shit, Barbara, look at
that! She's getting me so hard!"

I could see  Michael kissing her neck, and then noticed one of his hands
at her hip. 

Her hand went to help. She released the sarong button there, to make
access easier. 

He undid the sash, and as it fell, his hand disappeared under the side
panel of her sarong, about stomach high. 

"Stan, he has his hand under her dress!"

"Let me have the glasses!"

And I watched Michael talking to her, and her, to him, for a minute. What
was going on, I wanted, needed, to know. 

Then I saw Michael's  hand, under the wrap, move in to the elbow: it had
to be on her left  hip! 

The two of them were still facing the railing,  her  own hand  on her
right hip, his on her left under her wrap, both  of them busy. What was
going on? Then her hand went back to his cheek, and held his head against
her shoulder. He was saying something to her, as his  hand, under the
wrap, moved again, across her hip, to her belly, and down a little. 

"Give me the glasses, Stan - you can't have all the fun!"

Helen stood a little taller, and there, through the railing, at her feet,
I saw  her bikini bottoms. I remembered,  they fastened on her hips with
Velcro! They used to be fastened there, at least! Helen had invited this
Michael, this stranger, to help her remove her bottoms!

“Stan, could you see that? He took her  bikini bottoms off. She’s
bare-assed under that thing!”