I always said my epitaph would be “How hard can it be”, my wife disagrees, she thinks it’s going to be “Well I didn’t think that would happen.” After our recent holiday I think she may be right.
Let me explain. I’m Dave, I manage a lifting company in the container docks in Felixstowe, that’s what the rest of the world call cranes. I’m originally from Portsmouth but came up this way ten years ago for work and been here ever since.
My wife is Abigail, she’s an admin manager for Morrisons supermarkets based in their regional office in Ipswich, local girl born and bred. She’s thirty five, I’m thirty seven, no kids but we do have a cat, to be honest she has a cat, I just feed the little shit and clean up the dead animals it brings in. We all live in a nice three bed detached place on the new Wimpey homes estate in Martlesham. You know the sort of place, integral garage, en-suite to the main bedroom, cable TV.
I play golf a couple of times a week with three mates, Barry, Paul and Ken. Ken’s name is actually Norman but since he was twelve and at school he’s been known as Ken, from his last name, Chekkin. As in Kentucky Chekkin. Barry’s a bit of a bandit, claiming to play off 28 when he really should be in the high teens but as he is a bit tasty, ex 2 para and French foreign legion, we tolerate it. Paul runs a bouncy castle and ice cream van business, seems to do OK judging by the Merc he drives and the quality of girls he brings to ladies night at the club.
Abbie is a size twelve with a curvy body and long blonde hair, blue eyes and an independent streak a mile wide running right through her, she’s quite close with the other guys wives, apart from Paul who hasn’t got one any more (Lucky bastard, lol) and when we have our boys golf trips away the girls sometimes go for a spa weekend together.
The boys and I work on the basis of ‘What happened in Vegas, stays in Vegas’, not that we’ve been to Vegas yet but you get the idea. Now, that’s not to say anything does happen in Vegas but if it did, like maybe meeting a hen party on the Isle of Wight and not much Golf getting played, well no one at home would hear anything of it.
One summers evening we were coming in on the back nine when Paul asked if we fancied another boys outing, a bit further afield this time. This intrigued us but no one wanted to be the first to sound too keen so we let it slide with a general agreement but no more than that. You could tell this was pissing Paul off and three holes later just as I was teeing off he said “Ibiza”.
“Oh, nice one dickhead,” I complained. ” I just sliced that thanks to you distracting me. I’m going again, that one don’t count.”
The others decided I wasn’t going again and I’d sliced because I always slice when I try to tee off with a five wood and why didn’t I accept I was a shit golfer and use a driver or a hockey stick. Aresholes.
“What about Ibiza then?” I asked, accepting the judgement of my peers on my golfing abilities, for now.
Paul leaned back on his driver, “Oh now you’re interested? Well, you now canny Mike,” we all knew canny mike, he tried to give the impression of being some connected shady businessman with fingers in pies all over, when in reality I think he was probably no dodgier or connected than my auntie vera, and I ain’t got an auntie vera. He got the nick name “Canny Mike” because he was from the North East and always said “Canny” as an alternate for Good, or Nice, or Lots, or attractive.
So, yes we said we all knew Canny Mike.
“He’s got a place in Ibiza, five bedroom villa, ensuites the lot, sky TV, golf course next door. He says I can use t for a week, no charge.”
Barry was right in there, “That’s the price I like and the birds over in Ibiza, fackin hot as. I’m in.”
Ken was a bit less convinced, “Canny Mike likes to look well dodgy, what’s the catch?
I agreed, a free week’s accommodation was one thing, owing a local small time dodgy businessman was another.
Paul gave us a tolerant, I’m cleverer than you smile. “I was doing some trading with him last week and mentioned I was going to take some time off in early September, it’s been a busy season and I could do with a break, and he offered me the use of his place. He can’t get out there and he’s got a couple of antique clocks to bring back for his mum. It’s her birthday in October and he wants them back here. He can’t get out there and he can’t send his boy since he got that ankle tag. Everybody wins.”
I had to admit, it sounded a bit less dodgy once he explained it. “Alright, I’m in. Boys trip, yeah? Don’t want the other halves cramping our style.”
The others were equally keen, so we finished the round, enjoyed a couple of beers in the clubhouse and went our separate ways.
Whether it was Ken or Barry that let it slip I don’t know, although I reckon it was probably Barry, but a week or two later Abigail came home from shopping with a couple of bags of clothes from Next, none from Victoria’s Secret I was sorry to see, and a massive attitude.
“Were you going to go and not tell me, or were you going to tell me just before you went, Wanker?”
I pretended to not know what she was talking about, which lasted all of ooh I dunno, a minute?
“Don’t lie to me. You and those golfing buddies of yours are planning on swanning off to Ibiza on a boys outing, leaving us at home to wait sweetly for your return. Do you really think I’d let you go and swan around those slappers playing the big man without me? I go or you don’t, or you go and I don’t and you don’t bother coming back.”
I know when I’m beaten and made a couple of calls, Barry and Coop had been on the receiving end of something similar, Paul laughed at me and pointed out, ‘No Wife, Happy Life’ the smug twat.
Short version, on the second weekend of September three wives and the latest girlfriend were in the departure lounge at Southend international Airport with us.
Ken couldn’t make it, some dopey tart of a girl had got shagged him and tried to get ten grand out of him to keep quiet, when he wouldn’t pay she’d sent pictures to his wife. You couldn’t see her face and he wasn’t saying but he suddenly needed all his money to pay a solicitor, and to rent a shitty bedsit.
His Brother came along instead, Coop. We’d met him before and he was sound.
I’ll give Paul his due, the house was everything he’d said it was, five big double bedrooms, Sky TV in each one, pool, Hot Tub jacuzzi thing that seated ten, sun loungers and a golf course next door. I dumped my bags in our room and wandered into the kitchen, the big double American fridge had been pre-stocked to our order. Fortunately, the girls had taken care of that and so it wasn’t just rammed with beer. There was tonic and lemonade too. No, there was food as well.
I grabbed a cold Bud and walked out onto the terrace between the house and the pool, Paul’s girlfriend had already taken up residence on one of the sun loungers. I admired the view, the twin peaks were covered in bright yellow, I say covered, there were a couple of bright yellow patches and a V shaped bright yellow cover further down.
Abigail joined me, giving me a poke in the ribs. “If you’re going to check out her tits you could be a bit more subtle about it.” I pretended not to know what she meant.
Paul joined us and looked across at the same impressive view I’d been admiring. “Uh, Genevieve, we talked about this.” He all but snapped his fingers at her, I found it hard not to be jealous at the lack of attitude. If I spoke to Abbie like that, she’d give me a right mouthful, even if she knew I was right. Genevieve sat up, reached behind her back, unclipped the skimpy bikini top and discarded it under the sun lounger before relaxing back down again. Paul walked over and gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth, his hand resting on the perfectly formed tit nearest him for a cheeky squeeze.
“That’s better, babe.”
I told Abbie she should go and change and grab some rays, but all I got was a look before she went in saying something about unpacking. The other guys came out and joined me for a beer, Coop flashed the ash and we all sparked up. It’s a thing we do, when we go away the Marlboro lights come with us. Barry and Coop noticed the view almost immediately and we decided amongst us that we’d get our wives to sunbathe topless too. Barry’s wife, Sharon, had the biggest but that’s because there was a lot of her, not fat as such, just let herself go a bit since the kids moved in with her first husband. Barry seemed unconcerned but if Sharon wanted them back, he always said he’d ‘persuade’ her ex, like they did in the legion.
Coop’s wife, Michelle, would look pretty good out of her bikini too, but was such a mousey type that I couldn’t imagine that happening without the application of a lot of wine. Still, Abbie was normally willing when we went away, so I’d be holding up my end of the agreement.
Paul came back out, “Who’s up for the first round boys?” he shouted enthusiastically.
I held up my Bud, “I’ll have another, mate”
He looked at me like I was stupid, “No, quick nine before we go out this evening? The girls can stay here and……..” he paused, as if he didn’t know what women actually did, “Catch up” he finished lamely. We grabbed our clubs and headed out the door, Part of me fancied sticking around to see if they did all get their tops off but I figured with Genevieve I’d already seen the best on offer, and Abbie’s were next best and I could get them anytime.
We were gone around three hours with beer and, well beer really, and rolled back to the villa around 6pm. “Come on Ladies, lets go and eat. You not ready? What you been doing?” Paul was drunker than the rest of us and prepared to take some chances that I might not feel safe with. That and Genevieve being well trained probably helped.
If he’d kept his mouth shut we might have got a chance to check out the goods on offer, as it was his shouts stirred them up and the three wives came running in, fastening tops up or in Sharon’s case, settling the halter neck of her one piece back in place under her brown hair. Still, good to know they were doing as we’d told them.
We found a restaurant quite close that had menus in English, I ordered a T Bone with all the bits, fried onion rings, chips and peas as did Barry and Coop. Abbie went for some fish thing, Michelle and Sharon shared a paella and Genevieve asked about the vegetarian menu. Paul seemed surprised, asking how long she’d been vegetarian, before ordering Lobster for himself and a salad for her.
We must have got through six bottles of wine and were laughing long and loud when the waiter told us they were closing for the night so we wandered back to continue the party.
Sometime during the meal Abigail started recounting stories about her time travelling round Australia before I’d known her. I know she and her travel partner Beeney had a pretty wild time but she wouldn’t tell me the good stories, throwing my own words back at me. It seems the wine and the company had loosened her tongue. She was telling everyone how she and Beeney had hitch hiked from Sydney to Cairns over two weeks and some of the crazy things they’d done on the way.
Beeney, she explained, was a really tall, like nearly six foot tall, blonde Dutch girl with, and I can’t believe my wife said this, “Tits to die for and an arse you’d want to lick maple syrup off.”
“Babe, what are you doing?” I asked, trying to calm her down.
“I’m telling them about hitch hiking. It’s easy getting a lift when there’s two of us like this.”
She stood up and scurried back inside, leaving a silence heavy with anticipation, Michelle looked to Sharon for some support and turned to me, “I think she’s a bit upset, you rushing straight off to play golf like that.”
I looked around incredulously. “It’s a golfing holiday, what’s she expect?”
Abbie returned a minute or two later in short shorts and a sleeved blouse top.
“Barry, can you help here?” She asked, directing our burly ex-para to the sleeves. He gripped on and looked questioningly at her, she nodded “Yes, go for it.” and he ripped the sleeves off, leaving her with frayed edges where the sleeves used to be.
“So, we’d start hitching like this” she demonstrated, sticking her thumb out and swivelling her body, and as time went on we’d take turns to undo a button.” She popped the first and swivelled again. Nothing much changed. “and another,” she popped another button. “Boys, when would you stop, tell me and I’ll stop.” She shot me a look that would have frozen a bonfire “Not you.” Another two buttons had gone and her tits were obviously bra less and threatening to burst out with each movement.
None of my so-called mates said a thing. Abbie carried on. “No lift yet, don’t forget there were two of us and Beeney’s tits are MUCH nicer than mine.”
Paul chimed in with “Yours look pretty good to me Abbie.” Which didn’t do much for my mood.
“Thank you Paul, it’s nice to be appreciated for a change.”
She undid the last button and swivelled again, almost displaying everything to the assembled audience.
“Sometimes, we did this” she told them conspiratorially, untucking the blouse completely. Now every move she made left her nipples on display. Michelle and Sharon were shocked, but in a ‘ my god our friend’s so crazy’ kind of way. Genevieve was tapping on her phone, Barry, Paul and Coop were lapping it up.
“And One time we did this.” She took her top right off, standing with one hand on her hip the other with her thumb out. “Then we spent the entire lift like that, just as a thank you to the nice boys for picking us up.”
With a smirk she sat down on the opposite side of the table from me, topless, and grabbed the wine bottle, topping up her glass.
“Babe, put your shirt back on” I told her.
“Why? It’s OK for me to sit round the pool topless, but not round the dinner table? I thought you wanted your mates to look at my tits? Don’t you like them seeing me?”
I knew there was no right answer here, whatever I said was going to see her sleeping in one room and me in another, or on the floor.
I flapped both hands in her direction with a muttered “Whatever” and picked up my beer.
Paul gave Genevieve a tap on the shoulder, “C’mon, bedtime.” As he left the table he stopped and gave Abbie a kiss, diving in and landing it on her lips, his furthest hand slipping up and giving her breast a stroke, I saw his thumb roll her nipple. She gave a loud “mmmmm” and kissed him harder.
That was going too far. I clanked my bottle down on the glass topped table. “I’m still here you know”
She glared across. “Oh leave it alone, I’m just giving him a kiss good night. Like you did on the Isle of Wight.”
I started. “Isle of Wight? Whaat, wh, what d’you mean?” I glared at the other three guys, “Who said anything? Vegas rules boys.”
“Hah. “she spat at me. “no one said anything. I was suspicious when you came home and did your own washing and didn’t want sex for a fortnight. You just proved it. ”
Coop looked guilty, then realised he wasn’t on that trip so had nothing to feel guilty about.
Barry fidgeted uncomfortably, turning to Sharon he denied anything had happened and tried a return shot of “What about your spa days? Eh? What happens there?” All three women laughed at him, they actually out loud, pointing and snorting laughed at him. Genevieve paused on the way to her bedroom and clarified “I think you’ll find nothing happened on the spa days dear. Good night.”
That marked the end of the evening. I spent an uncomfortable night on the bedroom floor, Sharon and Michelle carried on as normal and Paul and Genevieve gave us an hour’s soundtrack of moans and bouncing of bedsprings. That girl was vocal.
Next morning was Saturday and I woke aching and stiff on the floor, but Abbie seemed in a much better mood. She brought me a coffee and invited me up onto the bed, cuddling up and smooching a bit. I had the good sense not to complain and kissed her enthusiastically. Her hand slipped inside my boxer shorts and started massaging my limp cock into a state of excitement. She set up a steady rhythm, spitting into her hand and polishing the head. I was getting close to cumming when she stopped and skipped over to the en-suite shower. “You can finish off yourself if you like, I don’t mind. “she called out, “Or you can think about it all day and see where the evening takes us.”
I lay in bed watching Soccer AM tell me about the Premiership Derby between Man U and Man City, I made a note to try and catch that, kick off was 5pm UK time so we could probably be in a bar to watch it. Abbie quite likes a bit of footie, so I was probably safe suggesting it. She’d left the door to the bathroom open, and I was finding my erection was taking a pleasantly long time to subside as I watched her shower when Barry poked his head through the door.
“Mate, we’re thinking of getting a swift eighteen in this morning, fancy coming?” he asked.
Abbie called out from the bathroom, but I couldn’t tell what she said, nor could Barry who automatically walked further in to hear better. She was out of the shower and standing naked in the bathroom, drying herself when he turned and gave a startled double take.
She seemed completely unfazed by it and stood slowly patting herself with a big fluffy bath towel.
“Hello Barry, did you mention golf. Yes, off you go Dave, have a round and I’ll go off to the beach with the girls.”
Barry tried to answer but it came out sounding like “blleeuurrggggllee. Ab.. Ab. Abig”
She looked down at herself. “Oh, silly me. Sorry Barry, did I surprise you?” She wrapped the towel around her, just below above her nipples, pushing her tits together in a pronounced cleavage. Barry carried on staring for a moment then seemed to snap out of it, rushing out with a garbled “See youtthefronintwennymate” over the shoulder.
“What was that all about?” I demanded.
“Oh, for fuck sake Dave, you wanted me to sit round the pool naked, or topless at least. Why do you object if I do it elsewhere? I didn’t know he was coming in. Now, are you going to wank yourself off? Do you want the towel?”
Feeling battered I ignored her and stepped into the shower, leaving the door open so she could see I didn’t finish what she’d started. She made a show of watching while she dressed in her bikini bottoms and a t shirt. “OK, we’ll see what happens later. Enjoy your golf, see you back here in time to go out for diner again.”
The boys and I played the full eighteen as a fourball, then again as a Stableford which got us back in the clubhouse by two pm. We sat on the veranda drinking cold Estrella, smoking and putting to world to rights.
“I’m sorry about Abbie last night guys, I don’t know what got into her. She seemed better this morning.”
Barry went deep red, and Paul suggested he knew what ought to get into her to put her right.
I told him to watch out and keep his hands to himself in future. Coop found himself in the roleo f peacemaker and got us to calm down and apologise.
We were back at the villa by five, to find the girls were already dolled up ready to go out. Abbie was in a low-cut red top and a pair of tight shorts, she bent down to scratch her toe and showed her thong riding up her back and gave Coop a good view down her front. I didn’t know if it was deliberate, until she did it again for Paul when I was certain.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, not wanting to cause a scene.
“Oh, these new shoes are a bit tight, I was just trying to slacken them off.”
The shoes weren’t hers, they had a four inch spike heel and thin black leather straps to hold them on. My guess was she’d borrowed them from Genevieve.
I was not going to win this, so I backed off, the taxis arrived and took us into the centre of town where we found a nice Chinese place with a TV behind the bar, so I didn’t miss the match. 2-nil City, Sterling hammered them both home from ten yards out.
“hhmm? Whassat babe?” I had been distracted by the second goal, it was a cracker, straight into the top corner, no way the keeper could get a hand to it.
“I said Paul and Genevieve are going dancing, can we go? Barry and Sharon and Coop and Michelle will call it a night if we go back but they’ll dance if we do.”
Dancing. Fucking Dancing. There are few activities I hate more than dancing, ad she knows it. By making the entire evening dependent on me saying ‘yes’ she knew I wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’, so I said yes, knowing I’d hate it. And knowing she knew I’d hate it.
It was worse than I’d imagined. Crowded, sweaty and filled with things I couldn’t make out if they were male or female dancing together. Abbie danced with Paul, who to be fair to him kept his hands to himself, then with Genevieve, getting surprisingly up close and personal, so much I wondered again about her gap year travelling with Beeney, her with the tits to die for and the arse to lick maple syrup off of. Barry and Coop danced with Michelle and Sharon round their handbags, until Abbie and Genevieve dragged them out for a slow one. Paul ended up with both other wives.
At one point I spotted Barry asleep in a corner, I prodded him awake and asked how he could sleep in a place like that. He tapped the side of his nose and shouted “Airborne training mate. Sleep anywhere.” Then demanded a pint. Twelve quid later I brought it back to find him talking to something dressed in black PVC, he introduced me to Renee, which didn’t enlighten me to which gender it was. Renee worked on a whale watching boat and would take us all out the next day, could I pay now. Sixty Euro for us all.
It was already officially the worst evening of my life when Abbie came back and made it worse by dragging me onto the dance floor. Her red top was soaked, I think it was sweat, making it cling to her like a second skin. She obviously wasn’t wearing a bra but even that couldn’t cheer me up. I gave her two dances, moving my arms spasmodically around and shuffling my feet, praying to a god I didn’t believe in either for a meteor strike to end my misery or at the very least some Guns N Roses. Neither came and I was stuck in my own personal hell.
Genevieve took over from me, resting her hands on Abbies tits and shouting something in her ear. Abbie nodded and the younger girl pointed me back to our table where Paul was sitting, his head pushed close into Sharon’s ear as they shared a joke, or so I guessed because she laughed uproariously. Angry that everyone was having a better time than me I grabbed the bag I’d been directed to and took it back out onto the dance floor.
Genevieve pulled a silk scarf out and handed it to Abigail who whipped her top off right in the middle of the dance floor and tied the scarf around her into an improvised halter top. She had to experiment with a couple of styles, a cynical man would say to make sure enough people noticed, before settling on a cross over moulding round each breast. The scarf was so flimsy as to leave her pretty much on display. She threw me the sweat soaked top and sent me back to the table.
Four am we left there and staggered out, Abbie still in her scarf top, our ears ringing I just wanted to get back to bed. I collapsed onto the covers and fell asleep vaguely hearing her saying something about “Oh well, if you don’t want me to carry on and finish you”
I sept through to around ten, wandering bleary eyed in the clothes I’d worn the previous night. No way was I playing Golf today, whatever the others said. Strangely the girls were all up, sitting in the sun but I was the only bloke to be seen. To my delight they were all topless, even mousy Michelle who had a sweet little set, probably around a B cup but nice and perky with really bright pink nipples. Sharon was the biggest, so big they were hanging down into her armpits as she lay on her back. I grabbed a coffee from the kitchen and took it and a Marlboro light out to join them.
The plan for the day seemed to involve sitting in the sun, rehydrating, which suited me. I was keen to go to the beach I wanted to check out some of the honeys down there in their thong bikini bottoms, even though Abbie was with me I could still look. Paul wandered out, pointed to Genevieve and beckoned her inside. She rolled her eyes but stood up and followed him in, shortly we got the soundtrack of her screaming out his name again. Twenty minutes later they came back out, he looked like the cat that got the canary, she sat back down where she was and picked up her conversation with Michelle where she’d left off.
Once Coop and Barry made it out, around mid day we packed up, the girls covered up to a greater or lesser degree, Abbie lesser, Michelle greater. The others, somewhere in between, and walked up the road to a café promising all day full English breakfasts. There’s nothing quite like a fry up in the scorching sun with a pint of Estrella while you check out the tits on the beach.
I pushed a bit of fried bread round my plate to mop up the last of the egg and bean juices, belched inadvertently and asked Abbie to say whatever she’d said again.
“I said, What time are we out on that boat you paid for last night, and where does it go from?”
What the fuck was she talking about? Oh hang on. Sixty Euro. That weird thing in PVC.
“Dunno. Barry organised it. I just paid.”
Barry looked embarrassed, and when he’s embarrassed, he goes back into hard man routine. He poked me angrily in the chest.
“Don’t go blaming me you twat, if you’d not been so fackin squeamish you’d have got the details. You’re out sixty notes, not fackin me.”
I looked round for support, but everyone seemed to be adopting a “not my problem” policy. For a brief moment I thought I saw a peculiar look on Abigail’s face but as soon as I saw it, it was gone. I figured not getting a hiding was worth sixty Euro, so I shut up and followed everyone down to the beach.
The beach was everything I’d hoped it would be, lithe young things in their tiny thongs, they looked lovely with their pert nineteen-year-old breasts and bums. Saying that, Genevieve, Abbie and Michelle were gathering admiring glances as they walked around the beach, Sharon less so, but she was the only one of our group that stayed covered up so whose fault is that?
The afternoon rolled on, I kept the factor thirty applied and dozed in the sun. Barry and Coop decided we weren’t going anywhere tonight, we’d order in takeaway pizza and sit at home. As Barry put it so eloquently, we had that fackin jacuzzi to try out and everything. By six the beach was emptying and the sun was losing it’s heat so we wandered back, ordering in three large pepperonis, three large seafood and a medium vegetarian for Genevieve.
We wiped greasy fingers on kitchen towel, threw the pizza boxes in the rubbish and went out onto the deck. Paul fired up the jacuzzi, the internal LEDs lit up blue, he hit another button and the bubble jets started up.
“Last one in smells of cheese!” he announced, kicked his shoes off and jumped in fully clothed, throwing out wet shirt and shorts. I went back to my room to get my trunks on, Barry had a scary pair of speedoes, Coop had big boardshorts. Genevieve came out in her bikini, in time to see Paul’s pants get dumped over the side. “Rules are, same dress code as me,” he wagged a finger at her, “Come on, get it off.”
She hesitated for a moment, then resignedly stepped out of the two piece, giving a glimpse of a narrow landing strip that didn’t match her blonde head. Abbie came out in a dressing gown, stepped up to the tub, dropped the robe, demurely covered her breasts with her hands and climbed in, settling down next to me. Michelle and Sharon came out in full swimsuits and stepped in next to their husbands.
Paul adopted the role of Master of Ceremonies, despatching Coop and Sharon to get Gin, tonic, ice and glasses, pouring large ones for everyone, he started a drinking game that involved word games and arm waving, the aim of which seemed to be to get as much gin into the girls as quickly as he could. After the third round he tried to lift Genevieve onto his lap, which seemed to be the final straw for her. She pushed him down with a slap and an expletive, “Fuck you Paul, you aren’t paying me enough for this. You want the full girlfriend experience, it’s one hundred pounds an hour. The one fifty a day you’re giving me just about gets you boobs and a fuck a day, and that is not in front of your sleazy mates and their long-suffering wives.”
She climbed out, put on Abigail’s robe and stalked off to the room she was sharing with Paul, but probably not for long.
As soon as she was gone the girls all rounded on Paul, “What does she mean, Girlfriend experience?” “One Fifty a day, is she a prossie?” “She seems so nice; how can she be a hooker?”
The guys all kept schtum, not that we were non-judgemental, it just wasn’t that surprising to us, Paul had admitted ages ago he was happy to rent affection by the hour but it came under the Vegas rule so we’d never discussed it at home.
Mention of prostitutes set Abigail off again, recounting the crazier parts of her gap year. “We didn’t charge anyone for it but there was one time we were in a bar in Brisbane, I nipped off for a pee and while I was away this guy came up and asked if she wanted to party and how much was it. I came back and she said she was off, he asked how much, and she said to pay her what it was worth. He insisted on setting a piece, she refused again, and he arrested her for soliciting, He was an undercover cop. Once it was sorted, she ended up going home with him anyay.!”
Howls of laughter met that one, then Barry asked what the craziest thing she did was.
“Well, I told you about the hitch hiking, there was one time when we were hitching with cardboard signs with the name of the town we were heading for, I swapped hers for one saying “I love cock” so she swapped mine for one saying “Will blow you for a lift”. Where it went wrong was when someone stopped and said “OK”. He was quite cute so I did.” Sharp intakes of breath went round the pool.
“Then there was the time I was sharing a flat in Portsmouth before I met Dave, and I came in from work as one of the other girl’s boyfriends came round. She was working a late shift, so I invited him in and fucked him on her bed.”
“OK, Abbie, enough” I told her. “They don’t need to hear your sordid tales.”
That went well.
She turned on me. “What do you mean, sordid? I was a girl having a good time. There’s nothing sordid in it.”
“OK babe, but what Happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
“Ibiza isn’t Vegas” she spat.
“OK, but you’re making yourself sound like a slut, fucking your housemate’s boyfriend.”
Oh Boy. Well I didn’t think that would happen.
Everyone went quiet, Abigail stood up in the middle of the tub.
“A Slut? A Fucking Slut? OK, if that’s what you think, this slut is going to be slutty. What shall I do? Want to see me naked? Look A naked slut.” She ripped her bikini pants off and threw them across the deck to splat against the window. Sharon and Michelle scurried away, sensibly wanting to get away from the coming explosion. Barry and Coop stayed for the same reason.
Abbie splashed water at me, furious. “A slut fucked her flatmate’s boyfriend, Genevieve’s my flatmate, I’ll fuck her boyfriend shall I? Stand up Paul. You, watch this.”
Paul was looking almost as shocked as I was. Abbie shouted at him to stand up again, he looked at me, nervously. I didn’t know what was going on, I stared wild eyed at him, willing him to run away but not daring to say anything. He moved, good he’s doing the decent thing and leaving. No. The absolute shit, he stood up, a couple of feet away from her.
She gave me another filthy look, waded over and dropped to her knees.
“Don’t EVER call me a fucking Slut.”
She reached up with her right hand and gripped his cock by the base, it was still flaccid and drooped out of the end of her fist, with a flick of her wrist she popped the tip into her mouth. Horrified, yet fascinated I watched her tongue flicking out and round the ridge at the top of the shaft, I watched her lips stretch out as he grew bigger. I’d never been this close to an erect penis that wasn’t mine, similarly I’d never been so close to a blowjob when I hadn’t been part of it and I had to admit despite the circumstances I found it intensely arousing.
He was as big as he was going to get, longer than mine but slimmer, she seemed to find it easier to suck, working it deep into her mouth, so deep her nose was pushing against his groin, then she was pulling almost all the way off.
Abigail isn’t an enthusiastic blowjob giver normally, but she was really going to town on Paul, taking it out of her mouth and rubbing her lips across the head, then licking along the shaft. It occurred to ne she may have been putting on a show for my benefit. I had the sense to say nothing, not wanting to make this worse for me. The cock disappeared back into her throat, his hands reached out to grab her tits, I took a small amount of satisfaction from her slapping him away, telling myself it was only anger.
Paul started gasping, “Oh, shit, cumming.Aaannhh”
She looked up, angrily, keeping him in her mouth and working the shaft hard until he stopped spurting, then with a theatrical gulp she shook her head, she never lets me cum in her mouth, let alone swallowing.
“Shame,” she said with a smack of her lips, ” I was about to fuck that. Missed your chance. Now run along to Genevieve and apologise like you mean it.”
She looked round at the other two. “Sorry boys, maybe next time. I’m going to bed now. Dave will be sleeping out here.”
She climbed out, giving the two others a final flash of her neatly trimmed pussy, pausing as she leant forward to lift her leg over she pushed their jaws shut with an outstretched finger.
I woke up with the sunrise on a sunlounger, covered with a slightly damp towel. Again, she seemed in a strangely good mood considering the evening’s activity, bringing me a coffee and a cigarette. She reached under the damp towel gripping tight, I was very quickly hard enough to split a diamond. Again she spat on her hand as lube and had me close to shooting in minutes, then hopped away announcing she was off for a shower and I could finish myself if I wanted, or I could offer Genevieve a hundred Euro.
I considered that as a course of action for a minute but what put me off was walking round with an erection, so I waited until I went down and went back to shower and change in our room. Abigail was just finishing her makeup and greeted me with a kiss. I was feeling quite worried now, but felt it safest to roll with it and say nothing.
Breakfast was subdued until Genevieve and Paul came out, looking for all the world like a devoted couple.
Abbie greeted them, “Morning Paul, Morning Genevieve.”
Genevieve answered, “Well, now you know the situation, do you want me to stay? I’d understand if you want me to go.”
Heads were shaking round the room, “No, stay, We like you more than we like Paul.” Abbie can be harsh sometimes.
Coop tentatively suggested eighteen holes, Sharon and Michelle thought it was a great idea, so off we went.
Barry tried to ask what happened, I cut him off. “Not talking about it. Nothing happened, OK?”
He nodded, then asked Paul, “She any good then?” and dodged my Seven Iron swinging angrily at his head. Paul shook his head making a “don’t ask” type of sign, before adding when he thought I wouldn’t hear “Fucking great, mate.”
We finished the round by mid-day, I didn’t want to leave the girls too long, who knew what might be brewing, so we went back as soon as we’d finished. We all grabbed showers when we got back, when I found out what had been brewing. I was washing myself down, facing the wall when I felt a draught. Turning I saw Sharon stepping in dressed in her swimsuit, the top rolled down. She pushed up against me, grabbing my cock and massaging it until I was achingly erect, she knelt in front of me and poured some shower gel across her cleavage. Gripping me between her soft pillows she fucked me with her chest, getting me close, then standing up and rinsing the gel off she left me to it. “You can finish if you want, I don’t mind.” And she was gone.
Confused and priapic I turned on the cold water, puffing in shock, but it worked, and I could fit into my trousers to walk back to the kitchen.
“We’re going out for lunch” Genevieve told me, “Taxis are on the way.” Suits me I thought.
We’d split into two groups by gender, “Alright lads,” I started ” Good shower?”
The other three looked mystified, qiving me a round of “yeah” and “Why not?”
So, it’s just me that’s getting his head messed with. Probably.
A big Mercedes minivan pulled up outside and fifteen minutes dropped us outside a restaurant, the sign outside said ‘Le Mirabelle’ French then. Arse, not keen on French but they probably have steak, which will do.
We were shown in, the waiter took drinks orders and brought menus. In French.
Abigail seemed to get a sudden inspiration. “Barry, you must know French from your time in the Foreign Legion, can you translate for us?”
All eyes turned to the big, red faced, shaven headed ex-para. “Ah, well, see, it’s like this. I’d done a load of stuff training the SAS in the Paras so when I joined Le Legion they put me straight into their Special Forces group, where we all spoke English, what little French I picked up I’ve forgotten already. Sorry.”
My wife sidled closer, “SAS Barry, I feel safer already.” He preened himself, openly staring down her cleavage.
Fortunately Genevieve spoke more than GCSE ‘Bonjour, je m’appel Dave’ levels and we were able to sort out a meal, the five bottles of wine helped settle everyone into a cheery mood.
The restaurant the girls had chosen seemed to be in a French quarter in the town with lots of cafes, patisseries and bars. Michelle chose a large open bar, teeming with young people and led the way in.
As a bar it was OK, I’d have preferred a few TV screens not showing French TV, but a couple had Ligue 1 showing which would do at a pinch, surprisingly Michelle seemed to have planned this one because we were escorted to a reserved table by a tall, dark haired waiter with an accent wound up to eleven, smarmy little creep. The girls fawned all over him.
“Laaager, and lots of it if you please Monsewer” Barry ordered for us all, which saved time. Coop and Michelle opted out choosing to go for a bottle of wine, by the time Sharon, Abbie and Genevieve had jumped in it was three bottles and six lagers, on the grounds that we’d neck our beer faster than the wine so it made sense to have extras.
We spent the afternoon laughing and drinking, sometimes drinking and laughing. The subject of Abigail past didn’t come up again, which was a relief, although Barry clearly had plans to be next on her list if she wanted to prove a point to me, he didn’t break eye contact with her chest once, absently licking his lips as he stared, so much that Sharon got a cob on with him and tried to flirt with the waiter to make him jealous.
Barry’s always had a ready temper, and I suspect he may give Sharon a slap now and again to keep her in check. Not actual beating her up which would be wrong, more a tap, just to make his point, I’m sure. Seeing his wife chatting easily to the young Frenchman seemed to bring out the worst in him and he raised an angry finger.
“Oi. Cut it out Shaz. You’re making a fool of yourself, that mummy’s boy ain’t interested in an old slapper like you. Now tell him to fuck off. Pronto.”
The Waiter apologised to Sharon and disappeared back behind the bar, where an element of discussion and pointing happened, but not much else. Barry seemed pleased with himself, addressing the group he spoke into Abbie’s tits “That’s the way to show ’em. Greasy fuckers. I learnt that in the legion, can’t take no shit. Let them know who’s boss. Now, MORE LAGER.” He snapped his fingers and waved.
A waitress, probably twenty-one or two came over, all spray on leggings and stripy top with three beers on a tray. Barry pointed to the table in front of him, “Pop ’em down there darlin’, pick up the empties and help yourself to anything else takes your fancy while you’re down there.” He laughed, so at least one person thought he was funny, placing a meaty hand on the back of her neck and holding her in place as she bent over.
Pulling free she dropped the tray on his lap and ran back behind the bar. Barry was still complaining when the manager walked over and started aggressively, “Good, I’m glad you’re here. That silly tart dropped her load all over me. I want her sacked.”
The manager seemed older, maybe early forties, around five eight, broad shouldered and flat stomached he had a short cropped greying beard and longish hair, not quite shoulder length, pulled back in a short ponytail.
In a quiet, yet firm voice with a hint of accent he stared Barry down and told him “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, m’sieur. You cannot upset my team like this. If it had just been words with Emil, that would be OK, but to assault Marine, no. You must leave. Now.”
That went about as well as you would expect. Barry stood up, he’s not tall, but there is a lot of him and when he chooses to put his weight about it takes a lot of stopping. He leaned towards the manager pointing with an outstretched finger.
“Now you listen to me, Pierre, I’m ex Legion and Ex Paras. Don’t mess me about or I’ll tear you a new arsehole. Get my drift? Now get that dopey tart over here to apologise and I’ll say no more about it,”
The manager’s demeanour changed almost immediately. “Legion? Legion d’etranger? Why didn’t you say? Which batallion? Where did you serve?”
Barry was in his element, he loves telling his war stories, most of which seem to involve getting drunk, hitting people and shagging their girlfriends, but on this occasion he puffed up and kept it clean. “I was in the Airborne unit. I learned my trade in the British Paras, then when they wouldn’t let me go to Northern Ireland I left and joined the French Foreign Legion Paras. I spent most of my time in Algeria.”
The manager grabbed Barry’s hand. “Mon Ami, a brother legionnaire. Tell me more, which Para regiment?”
Barry was positively glowing and tried putting on an accent. “The best of course,!st Rejimonk”
The manager pumped his hand, “So you were Premier REP, Based in Algeria? Oui?”
Barry beamed, “Wee. Aljerry. Premiay REP”
The atmosphere turned colder suddenly. “So you are eighty five years old then? The Premier REP was disbanded in 1961 and the Legion hasn’t operated in Algeria since independence in 1962. I think you are a fantasist. A Liar. Now get out”
The big Englishman tried to pull his hand away to make a fist but the Frenchman spun his arm in a circle like a windmill and somehow in a clatter of furniture Barry was on his knees in an armlock.
The Frenchman bent down and calmly told him “I will let go of your arm when you are outside, now stand” and guided him out.
The rest of us stood up and followed, Paul was getting belligerent “Oi, we can’t let him do that. There’s four of us, come on lads.
I had a feeling that four of us might not actually be a problem for this guy, a feeling that was underlined when the Maitre d’ from the restaurant we’d had lunch arrived. He had the same air of quiet authority and menace as the bar manager, and they clearly knew each other.
Once outside Barry was released and stood, brooding. Once the manager turned he balled a fist and swung viciously, hitting…nothing. The Frenchman ducked, turned caught the flailing fist and our man was in a heap on the floor. Paul tried going a bit Jason Statham, shouting “Come on” but the Restaurant man just shook his head and said “Non.” Which calmed Paul down.
Barry scrambled to his feet, put his head down and charged, but like a bullfighter he was sidestepped and sent crashing into a wall where he lay, broken and snotty.
The two French protagonists lifted him up, dusting his shirt down and almost tenderly the taller one said “You were never a legionnaire, were you.” Barry shook his head sullenly. “What about the British Paras?” He shook his head again. “What were you?”
Barry sniffed, he seemed to have deflated, his skin was baggy and he looked shorter. “Cadets, when I was a kid. I got banged up when I was eighteen and told everyone I’d been in the army, then when I got done again I came up with the legion as an excuse. Everyone believed it, I got respect.” They let him go and he slumped down, silently sobbing.
The Bar manager looked at him like he’d scraped something off his shoe. “Next time you wish to claim to be something you are not, do not do it in a bar owned by a former Legionnaire. Now go, and do not ever come near this place again. Your friends may decide if they wish to stay or go.”
I looked around, Abigail, Michelle and Genevieve were inside, still at the table. Sharon was behind me. She waved at the girls inside, who walked out. Genevieve paused at the bar and handed across a handful of cash then joined the group surrounding Barry.
Sharon stood next to her husband, she pushed him with the toe of her shoe. “Barry, you’re a nasty piece of work but now I see that, you and me are finished. You will never lay another finger on me again. I’m going to fly home this evening if I can, when I get there, I’m changing the locks and putting your stuff in a box in the garden. Collect it or not, I don’t give a shit. I never want to see you again.”
She turned and walked away, the girls followed her, Coop followed the girls.
Paul and I heaved Barry up and dragged him through the streets util we got to the Dutch area, a bright orange painted bar had Premier League football and waitresses in tight t shirts, we settled there and ordered three Amstel.
No one wanted to address the issue of Barry being Walter Mitty and his whole life being built on a lie, instead we made empty threats against the bar owner and his faggotty mate next door and what we’d do to them if they turned up in Ipswich. Once we’d exhausted that well of solace we slagged off Sharon for being a cow and a bitch and taking her opportunity to stick the knife in when she did.
Coop came in for some stick for not showing solidarity with his mates as well, but we couldn’t really put our hearts into that one.
We slipped back into the villa by the side door three hours later to find Barry’s bags packed by the front door with a printed boarding pass for the eleven pm flight to Gatwick and a note saying ‘Taxi will be here at eight. Be in it. Don’t go back to my house. My Brother has changed the locks already. Sharon.’
I checked my watch, it said 7.45. We looked at Barry, “What you gonna do mate?”
He sniffed, and admitted there was nothing he could do, he’d go home and stay at Canny Mike’s security office round his lockup. I suspected he would not be moving out of there for a long time, there was a bed and a shower there, that only got used for illicit shagging normally, it would make a change for someone to actually sleep in it.
We all stood around waiting for the taxi, helped him in and waved goodbye, promising to meet for a pint when we got back, then sheepishly walked out onto the deck where Coop was in the Hot tub with all the girls. I couldn’t see what was on under the bubbles but there were no straps on show. The sneaky bugger. Paul and I grabbed a beer from a box beside the tub and peeled down to our boxers before climbing in, Genevieve climbed up onto Paul’s lap and put her arms round his neck, as she nibbled his ear I could see she had nothing on top, Abbie leaned across and gave me a peck on the cheek, displaying her absence of top as well.
It was amazing, a relaxing hot tub, a beer and some tits to look at and I felt miles better, I asked what had happened to change Sharon’s mind about who went home.
Michelle spoke first, “We persuaded Sharon to stay, we didn’t really want Barry here, he’d have been unbearable with everything that happened, and we told Sharon that at least she could have a nice few days in the sun now he’s gone.”
Coop followed up with “I never really liked him with his hard man image, and he fucking cheats at Golf, but because we all thought he was handy we never challenged him. Sharon, well done.”
Paul and I were conflicted here, on the one hand, he’s a mate and deserved our support, on the other they were right. He was a piece of work that used to slap his wife around and we didn’t challenge him on it. Paul broke ranks first. “Fuck him, he’s gone.”
Sharon drew a laugh, “Not any more I won’t, thank god.”
Abigail gave her a friendly prod, “We’ll have to see if we can’t find you someone nice to keep you company for the next few nights.” Which brought girlish giggles from the other three.
Something had been bugging me, I looked over to Michelle. “How did we just happen to end up in the only bar on the island run by a former Foreign Legionnaire? How far back did this get planned?”
Rather than try and deny any collusion of subterfuge Sharon gave the full story.
“Last night after Abbie gave Paul his errrr special treat Barry came to bed and told me all about it, n great detail and how he planned on being on the receiving end next time. I told him I wasn’t happy with that, he was my husband and we shouldn’t get involved in other couples marriages but he slapped me few times and told me it didn’t matter what I thought.
This morning I was in the kitchen with Abbie, Miche and Genna when Abbie said we’d probably hear anyway so she told us all about it. She told us how she was messing with your head because you’d pissed her off so much when Barry walked in, he’d been listening outside the door, and said one of us should go and do something for you, to keep messing with you.
He took me back to the room and made me put my cossie on, then watched as I got in the shower with you. He told me it would mean Abbie owed me one and next time she was going to suck someone’s dick it would be his.”
I was repulsed but aroused at the same time, repulsed at the manipulative vile piece of shit my ex-mate was but aroused at the memory of those fine titties around my pole. Lucky for me I was underwater because something was growing.
Michelle took up the story. “While they were out of the kitchen, we were just looking for somewhere to go for lunch when I found Le Mirabelle on Tripadvisor, where it mentioned talking army tales with the owner and his friend in the bar next door who were Canadian ex members of the French Foreign Legion. My original idea had been just to get into a French restaurant and see if Barry could actually speak French, I always thought he was bullshitter. We booked both places by email before Barry was back.”
Abbie looked a bit sheepish, ” I didn’t like the way he spoke to you about the boat trip, so I hoped he’d just make himself look stupid, as it turned out he really dropped himself in it.”
“And a good thing too.” Sharon finished with a clap.
I looked at Paul, “Looks like we’re here with the witches of bloody Eastwick. Can I get Michelle Pfeiffer?”
Oh bollocks. I’d said the wrong thing again. Abbie was back in my face. “And why MICHELLE? Are you saying you want this Michelle, not me? Why not Cher ron or Susan Abigaildon?”
I backpedalled like a champion, not sure if I was being messed with or I’d messed up, either way the growing trouser monster had gone down again. I was being messed with, she laughed and sat on my lap, her hands working at the waistband of my boxers pulling down and away, she threw them across the deck in almost the same trajectory her bikini had taken the previous evening. Her hands stayed under water working to bring the beast back again, laughing she had me swollen and aching for release by the time she went back to her seat across the way.
Paul pushed his luck a bit, asking if Abbie might change her mind, he fancied another blowie. “Sorry Paul, last night was a one-time offer, of course Dave needs finishing, if you wanted to help him out?”
Paul looked as if the idea was as unwelcome to him as it was me, which was kind of comforting. Abbie went round the tub checking, like it was a meeting and she was checking for AOB. “Gen? no, OK. Coop? Thought not. Miche? No? OK. Sharon?”
Sharon hesitated, giving my stomach a twist. Did she know how much I wanted to get back in between those tits? I was pleading inside. Go on. Go on. Go on, Go on.
“Well, I could finish what I started this morning.”
Coop and Michelle stood up and climbed out, she was topless too, and they were still as sweet as before. Coop spoke for them both, “We’re not getting involved in this. See you at Breakfast.” And then we were five.
Genevieve was relaxed about it, probably goes with the Girlfriend Experience by the hour role in life, Paul was almost drooling at the mouth at the prospect of a free sex show close up. Sharon looked at Abbie for permission, which annoyed me. Ask me for fuck sake, it’s my cock, don’t I get any say in this?
Evidently not, Abbie and Sharon had a little ‘well, you can if you want, are you sure you don’t mind, no if you would like to” chat which I’m sure Paul found as frustrating as I did, well probably not quite to be fair. It ended with Sharon splashing over and telling me to sit on the edge and with me screaming “YEEESSSSSSS” in my head, outwardly I tried to appear relaxed about things, the raging hardon that popped out of the water probably told a different story.
She had her knees on the plastic seat I’d been on and pushed my leg apart to get up close and personal with me. She exclaimed “Oh my, look here will you. We’ll have to see what we can do about this poor thing.” And wrapped me in those glorious soft mounds of flesh, she had lovely long deep pink nipples that I could feel rubbing on my thighs as she moved, the combination of sensations surely couldn’t get any better could it? Fuck me, it could. She popped the head into her mouth, maintaining the caresses with her fabulous tits.
The feelings started getting stronger, she took my head out and just licked it, tickling the bulbous ridges with the tip of her pink tongue. I reached down and rested a hand on her shoulder, “Sharon, I’m gonna cum any moment, where do you want me to shoot?”
She stopped. What was happening? I asked her, “What’s happening? Don’t leave me hanging again, please?”
“Oh, you can finish yourself if you like I don’t mind.” And she was back over next to Abbie, giggling between them.
I started pleading, “Abbie, Sharon? Please, don’t leave me. I’m so close.”
They giggled again, Abbie told me “If you’re that close then you can finish yourself, it won’t take long. We don’t mind.”
I was tempted, but caught Paul’s eye and the thought of wanking myself off with him watching did at least help by reducing the desire to cum. Paul had the same thought, “No you don’t mate. That’s not what I want to see. Genevieve, go and sort him out.”
Genevieve climbed off his lap and stood up, hands on hips, staring down at him. “Say what?” she spat.
“Go on, sort him out then we’ll get out and go to our room and you can do me. I’m paying the full Girlfriend experience rate now.”
She shook her head in disgust, looked to Abbie who shrugged. “If you want, and only if YOU want, not him” she jerked a thumb at Paul.
Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. She knelt down in front of me, grabbed my still swollen cock, rubbed it a couple of times, opened her mouth and popped my head in, way back beyond her teeth, closed her lips and sucked sensuously, pulling her cheeks in, moving her head back and forth. I was pretty quickly back up to the point where I was about to blow, I started gulping air in when she stopped, sucking and aimed me at her chest. Paul freaked, “No, get it in your mouth, it’ll clog the filters if he shoots in the tub.”
Fuck sake. Wrong thing to say mate. She dropped my cock, leaving me hanging, close but not close enough. “Fine, You fucking do it” with a splash and a tirade of angry abuse she sat down next to Abbie. She went on “In fact, for that authentic Girlfriend experience, you’re fucking dumped you pig. Sharon, can I share with you tonight. I’m going home tomorrow.” She turned to me. “You can finish yourself off, I don’t mind, just keep it out of the filters.”
I sank back into the water, frustration etched into my soul, wondering where my good mood had gone. Jeesus what a shite trip this had turned out to be, not like our last trip away. I lay back, remembering that three day weekend on the Isle of Wight. The two nights with Angie the older woman. She’d been around forty and I had been thirty four, was it really four years? Blimey, she’d been insatiable, demanding and inventive, shagging me to exhaustion, demanding one final go in the toilets on the car ferry taking us back to the mainland. Unfortunately she was also infected with Chlamydia, fortunately I’d not had sex with Abbie before I found out and managed to avoid it until the antibiotics cleared it up.
Abbie, Genevieve and Sharon all climbed out, I could at least still enjoy the view as six tits of varying size jiggled their way indoors. Paul and I sat in the tub, neither wanting to get out, I still had the remains of my erection keeping me in there, I think Paul was stunned at Genevieve, a woman he was paying to be with him, refusing to be with him. If I’m honest it sums him up. I realised I wasn’t going down any time soon and with a mental shrug climbed out. Paul complained I could have his eye out. I invited him to kiss my arse, it was an exchange of which Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw would have been proud.
I took my erection into the kitchen where the girls were wrapped in towels and killing a bottle of pink wine, opened the fridge and grabbed a bud. Abbie made the same putting an eye out joke, this time I invited her to do something about it. “I told you to finish yourself off, I don’t mind, in fact the girls and I would like it. Wouldn’t we.” Genevieve and Sharon gave an enthusiastic thumbs up as they necked their wine.
It was the best offer I was going to get, I tried negotiating their towels to be dropped, in the end Sharon took pity and put herself on display, I took hold of my aching cock, the swollen head showing angry and red and started to rub, massaging my sore bollocks I built the speed up, squeezing harder I stared at Sharon’s beautiful tits, big, soft and tempting. Faster and harder I worked, Abigail was watching with an amused smirk, Sharon seemed genuinely fascinated, and Genevieve looked bored.
It was probably Genevieve’s disdain that did it, and with a grunt I shot two jets of cum across my thighs, where it dripped down onto the kitchen floor. Abigail stood up and passed me some kitchen towel, telling me I was allowed to sleep next to her, but I should clean up before coming to bed.
Next morning over breakfast Coop and Michelle announced they were going home that afternoon; they were on the same flight as Genevieve. Abbie announced that we would be going home on Wednesday, which was the following day, Sharon said she’d do the same and she was spending all day by the pool.
Two days later we were in our kitchen at home, Sharon was there with us, we’d given her a lift back from the airport and we were just enjoying a beer in my case and wine for the girls. Abigail looked at me with her head on one side and asked “So where are you going to live?”
Not certain I’d heard right I asked what she meant.
Once again she asked “Where are you going to live, because it’s not going to be here any more. We’re done. I put a lot of effort into this marriage and you pissed it away with that slapper on the Isle of Wight, so where are you going to live? Not that I actually give a fuck, Goodbye. Oh, and before you go, look at this.”
She picked up her phone, scrolled through the pictures and stopped on a series of a couple shagging in what was clearly at least three different places, there was a car, what looked like no it fucking was our bedroom and another bedroom. Fuck it was her, and Ken. I scrolled back and forth, it was definitely her, I was fascinated by the sex but horrified by her being a participant.
“It’s amazing gow hit he found me asking for selfies was. I didn’t send Ken’s wife any that could identify me but she could make out her husband, and her bedroom.”
“Why the fuck did you do that you mad cow?”
She looked at me with sad eyes. “There were four of you went to the Isle of Wight, all four of you helped fuck up my marriage, so all four of you will suffer the consequences. That tart gave you fucking Chlamydia, and I bet she’s not the only one you’ve been with. We’ll sell the house, half each. I keep the cat.”
I slammed my mug down, I was bang to rights and there didn’t seem much to argue about.
Lucky I was already packed, and my Golf clubs were in the car.
I looked back across what had been my kitchen up until ten minutes ago.
“Babe, I’m sorry, it was just, you know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
Her voice was strangely hard as she answered. “This isn’t Vegas.”
A few days later the final part of her revenge came apparent when Paul was lifted by Customs smuggling a quarter of a million quid’s worth of Heroin in some antique clocks, they traced the owner through to Canny Mike, both of them should be out for the 2044 Olympics.
I still play Golf occasionally with Coop.