All She Ever Wanted

Note: This is a slow burn narrative that explores the depths of strained relationships, corruption, power dynamics, predatory lust, reluctance, humiliation, risk, prostitution, pregnancy risk, and more. While it subverts many tropes of the NTR genre, it simultaneously embraces them while adding more contour, nuance, and as much realism as possible to the narrative and its characters. Please observe the additional tags associated with this narrative series. If they are not appealing to you, it is completely understandable, however I would still challenge you to read on regardless of how you end up feeling about the story. Thank you, I truly appreciate any and all comments and ratings. Enjoy.

Alicia started in arabesque, flowing into a faultless pirouette. Still limber, but past the readiness necessary for competition, yet dutiful in her practice. Pride remained in her movements, the strength of her en pointe, the strain of her thighs and arms expressed a passion that was held long ago, smothered by time. The blinding lights of the studio cast long shadows of younger ballerinas, who moved with an elegance and balance that she herself once knew. After her set, she sat down and grasped the back of her neck, tension working through her, a prelude to exhaustion. She smiled softly at the younger women as she watched, envy buried behind her eyes as she stood and headed towards the front of the studio to decompress from her exertion..

It was in that studio, weekly, challenging herself with grace and focused study, where she found solace. A consistent reprieve and distance from the burdens of life. It was one of the few things she had for her, a nourishing form of expression that she cherished. She tapped into a deep calm, beginning her yoga with Tadasana. She let go, releasing, breath a steady rhythm, trying to bleed away the stresses of life with a cadence of focus and patience as she changed into different yoga stances. She closed her eyes as she tucked in her core, then relaxed. She shifted into Shavasana, and after some stillness mimicking the calm of death, the only thing that remained was the lights flush against her eyelids. She sat up, a resurrection of release. She crossed her legs, and drank from her tumbler, it's stern weight and coolness an elixir for her exertion. She knew this calm would not last, and would soon be disrupted by the inevitable deluge of texts from her husband, her son, co-workers, her sister, and her alcoholic father.

She would ignore it at first, making a vow to not check her phone or enable notifications until she was settled. Her focus was on wellness, on deliberate rituals. Take a warm bath, utilize her diffuser to concoct new fragrances for aromatherapy with chosen oils. To be an apothecary with vitamins, wellness shots, and supplements. Gifts from nature she saw unseen and unused by those around her. In the bathroom she let the lights of candles burn softly, let the wicks melt against swirling flames. She would meditate, manifest and partake in the space she cultivated, to absolutely no result.

All of her efforts fell to waste, a woeful pairing of anxiety and dread becoming skeins of persistent torture as she lifted her phone and saw endless communications. She checked her husband Brett's message first. It was thankfully, without drama.

"Hey, going to be late at the office. I have some additional drafts to complete. Stakeholders for that project I took on are getting antsy. Technical writer called out, so I'm pulling double. Love you."

Alicia scrolled through more notifications. A calendar notice. "Cruise next week." She forgot. They forgot. After being booked a year in advance, the stress and exhaustion of the months between, dulled any excitement and awareness for the vacation itself. She forwent dinner, and went to start packing early. Grabbing from their still under-furnished bedroom closet, a pink expandable set of luggage. In what felt like a lifetime ago, during her time in sales at a prestigious tech firm, she had bought the luxury set, thinking it would be something she would use endlessly. It was the first time in seven years she even pulled it out from the closet.

Yoga attire, midriffs, athleisure, flats, sandals, modest heels, a series of elegant dresses for dinner. She browsed her underwear drawer, packing functional underwear, and a lace and chain wireless bustier with garters, colored a robust dark blue, holding it against her olive skin, watching the careful contrast between. She held it in her hands, it too, never used. She packed it away, unsure if she would ever even feel comfortable enough to adorn herself with the fitted set in front of Brett.

She had been married to him for twenty one years. Meeting when they were just nineteen. He was charismatic, with an amazing sense of humor that made loving him easy. He was always overdressed, stylish, mostly diligent as a father to their son Noah, who was a beautiful but challenging accident that occurred a year after they started dating.

Brett was also loyal, at least physically. An office emotional affair two years ago ruined his peerless record, forcing a transfer, and an accompanying set of of rumors that spread among his former teammates, his absence only creating more conspiracies. He had in recent time, developed pronounced difficulties, taking care of himself, indulging far too much, he was heavier, still handsome but having lost his definition, and with it his confidence. He had grown looser with his spending and imbibing. Two things which had always reminded her of the worst times of their younger days.

There was no denying the awful disquiet that filled the space between them. Two years ago, their bedroom died. He began ruminating, begging, speaking of his desire for Alicia, and she felt the claustrophobic, suffocating notion of reconnecting with someone she had grown so distant from. After Noah left for college, both remained leading lives of quiet disconnect, mired in the same spaces. Rather than prolong the discomfort and continue their habit of either arguing or retreating to complete solitude, they started couples therapy, a measure which they struggled with.

What was divulged in tears and anguish was admittance, guilt, attempts at forgiveness, with the goal of intimacy and romance lying at the end of a phantasmal timeline. Suggestions of dating again, participating in each other's lives with greater focus, quality time spent, seemed plausible, yet there was little initiative from either of them. For as much as Brett wanted her, she seemed mired in anxiety, a herald of her changing needs, body, and desires. The trust she had for him eroded, and with it the confidence she had in their marriage.

She finished packing, proud of her inclusion of the lingerie, seeing it as a token of effort on her part. She withdrew Brett's luggage and started to pack what she could for him, wanting for her own sake, to try and ensure that their trip would occur smoothly. He didn't come home until she was already in bed, under the cool sheets she felt him kiss her lightly on her head, he took the far side of the bed leaving the center empty, a placeholder of space for what they hoped to have again.

She spoke, soft and weary, a large yawn delaying her high pitched voice. "We have the cruise next week. Monday. We, somehow forgot."

Brett sighed and threw his head back against the pillow. "Fuck. I can't believe it. I gotta put in for my PTO." The cruise wasn't a particularly expansive one, five days, to the Cayman Islands and Cozumel, three days at sea. What should have been an opportunity for relaxation already seemed like more trouble than it was worth., between planning, packing, and inevitable weekend overtime for Brett.

On Monday, they left their home outside Tampa, checked their bags, idled in security and waited in lines, an experience of things to come. Once they were called to board, they were surrounded by cruise line photographers, instructed to take photos at anytime to try and sell to them for exorbitant prices later. They smiled falsely, wearing already the most relaxed attire possible, not looking the part of the hokey luxury background they had to pose in front of. As they headed up the ramp, Brett noticed that Alicia in her most relaxed attire, a boxy midriff top draped over her narrow shoulders, with wide legged gray sweatpants and a messy bun, no makeup at all, looked experienced, alluring and exotic among the masses of pale college women that boarded the ship along with them.

Their luggage was nearly lost, their room barely prepared, they waited too long on a deck that was nothing more than a writhing mass of passengers. Shortly after disembarking, their luck realigned, they settled into the small room, in the bowels of the massive ship. They explored, idled, ate a mediocre lunch, not realizing that it would herald nearly their every experience on the ship. Their floor of the ship met with the assistant cruise director, Tania. As she stood in front of them in far too high heels, and far too low cut of a blouse, her thick Eastern European accent managed to wrest enough attention away from her attire and prominent, clownish augmentations. As she instructed the passengers regarding events and safety, Brett playfully nudged Alicia's elbow and spoke. "Geez, if I were her I'd sue my plastic surgeon."

Even though his volume was inappropriate, the smiles and chuckles of others who overheard made Alicia comfortable to partake giggling. As the first day at sea dragged on, Brett and Alicia examined every opportunity, every event, each one seeming more dull than the last. Between the panicked planning of the weekend, overtime, and general exhaustion, the appeal of most activities seemed like even more labor to them. Brett reexamined the list and spoke, mirth in his bright smile and blue eyes. "Hey, this sounds so weird, but, hey check it out there's a single mixer tonight." Alicia barely grinned. Going to find someone else?"

"No, babe, why don't we go and play pretend, like meeting again, you know? It would be kind of fun right? Like isn't that something that the therapist suggested?

"Fun? Come on."

She cocked her eyebrow up and went back to scrolling through her phone already terminally bored from the first day at sea. She sighed before speaking. "I really, really, and I cannot stress that enough, don't have an interest in that." He shook his head, "Babe we're supposed to try new things, remember?"

She groaned, and as she studied his kind face, she decided she would. If for anything deciding that her attempt wouldn't find her in the shackles of guilt later in their next couples session. She didn't overdress, she kept her appearance studied and modest, with an ankle length black romper with a lower neckline. They both removed their wedding rings and placed them on the dresser. As Brett rolled up the sleeves of his neatly tucked chambray shirt he raised an eyebrow in a playful fashion. "Oh, this is already pretty fucking sexy right now." She rolled her eyes and scoffed playfully. "We haven't even left the damn room!"

He laughed as he placed his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "So? I mean, we could be anybody right? On a cruise like this, we could you know, have a really sultry one night stand. Just two strangers meeting for the first time." She shook her head as they let the door close behind them, arriving far too early at the mixer, noticing they were almost the only ones there. Brett clicked his tongue. On her mission of compliance she made her way over to the mahogany bar, settling in on the comfortable leather stool as Brett began his earnest attempt at role playing. He took a deep breath, and made his way to approach her, for the "first" time, not realizing how intimidating the prospect would actually be, she was a fortune, that much he knew.

As he took a single step forward, a husky and tall sunburnt older man, poorly dressed in cheap vacation attire, bearded, disheveled, balding with long frazzled black hair, and reeking of stale cigars and scotch, sat next to her. Alicia looked over her shoulder to the older man and offered barely a glance before the man began speaking to her, his voice gruff and far too loud, his posture slouched, his focus that of deliberate aggression. "Name's Roy. Yours?"

He held his hand out, to which Alicia kindly refused and ordered her gin and tonic. She peered back over to Brett, begging him already to save her with wide pleading amber eyes. Brett made his way over to the stool down from her, biting his lip to hide how amusing he found her discomfort. Being an observer he wanted Alicia to mire in the discomfort for a bit, for experience, but also to show how lucky she was as well. Roy signaled the bartender by snapping loudly. "Put her tab on mine."

He handed the bartender his room card to scan as Alicia protested. "That's nice, but you don't have to do that. Thanks."

The bartender was confused, eyes darting back between them, slumping his shoulders in frustration he took Roy's card instead of hers, sliding her card back to her across the damp counter. She sighed loudly drowning out Roy as he spoke. "So, I saw your card, Alicia huh? Pretty name. I got a boat named that if you can believe it."

Brett ordered an old fashioned and laughed hard into the crook of his elbow as Alicia stared at a wall, bored and annoyed. Roy barely acknowledged Brett but passed a glance over him, observing his stature, demeanor, presence and aesthetics. He had already discerned that Brett was either interested in Alicia himself, or was already with her, either way it wouldn't phase him in the least. Roy took out his old phone and scrolled through dozens of photos, mostly all blurry, of times and places he'd never print out, simply stored as data like so many others have. He showed her the side of the luxury boat with the name "Alicia" on the side of it. "Beauty ain't she? Like you."

She smiled halfheartedly as she set her drink down. Doubting with all conviction that this man could possibly own that boat. She didn't care about ships. They were boring as her and Brett were painfully realizing. Roy's boat, if it was his, to her was a status symbol born of a disposable income. It was a symbol of a boorish obsession with beaches and water, a false freedom that was kitsch, hollow. Yet, the coincidence was of mild interest. Roy tapped his fingers on the bartop. 'Silent type huh?"

Alicia didn't respond this time, only catching the shimmer of his old Rolex, clad in gold with a scratched dial and numerous dents. It was as storied, and worn as he was. A true tool watch, meant to be used as intended instead of mere status and a collectors preservation.

Brett ordered another old-fashioned, unable to believe the persistence of the older man, finding it not only pathetic, but deeply humorous. Every annoyed expression of Alicia's was another moment of comedic delight for him. Roy ordered a cheap beer and downed it in nearly a single gulp, he spoke to Alicia again who was preparing to leave, even if it meant abandoning Brett. Their attempt at playful rekindling had already turned into an exhibition of embarrassment. Roy belched, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and spoke."I'm from Ocala, you a Floridian?"

Careful and not wanting to divulge any aspect of her life she spoke, plain and calm.

"Atlantic Coast."

"Nice. Yeah, I got two places out there, Palm Beach, rentals. Real nice."

She wriggled her shoulders slightly as she finish the cocktail expediently, too strong a pour burning down to her toes and clutching at her vision. Alicia stood, grabbing her clutch.

"It was nice talking with you."

"Hey, hey! Where you going sweetheart?" Roy rapped his thick hand on the bar top, as if to beckon her to stay.

Alicia scorned his advances as she freed herself from the interaction, and Brett's whimsy at her own discomfort. Roy watched Alicia walk away, admiring her firm, tan back as she left, noticing that Brett too was slowly getting up as if to provide consort. He walked over and clapped him on the shoulder with a dense, chubby, hairy hand and spoke through a coarse laugh. "Great little ass on that broad huh?"

Brett looked at Roy. He decided he would be cordial, assume the very best about this situation and being aware that neither he nor Alicia accounted for others intervening, an unspoken rule they had not addressed.. When Brett spoke it was polite yet firm as he removed Roy's hand from his shoulder, repressing his own ire for the older man.

"Listen. Roy was it? That's my wife dude."

Roy feigned being surprised, he had in his encounters developed a preternatural sense for this, far be it from the first time he had savored a married man's proclamations of boundaries.

"Really!? Oh wow, jeez buddy I had no clue. It was a singles friggin mixer after all."

Brett nodded as the room filled with more people, the atmospheric music shifting from ambient to a pulsing low end.

"Yeah we were just trying to fool around, have fun. Do something new."

Roy grinned, pretending to be stupid, using his intuition to read Brett and see the couple for what they really were.

"I getcha." He extended his hand. Brett shook it hard while looking into his eyes, direct, calm, and matching his bravado. Roy spoke again.

"No hard feelings big guy. You got a great lady."

"Thanks. I know."

Brett gestured to the dozens of women around them.

"Plenty of fish in the sea Roy. I'm sure you'll find a catch somewhere."

"Oh I'm sure I will."

Brett took his leave, letting the tension of the conversation fall behind him. What he had found to be deeply amusing he knew would be a contentious matter with Alicia. A blemish on his efforts to connect them again. As Brett hurried after Alicia, Roy was already infatuated with the icy woman. Considering every potential vector to acquire Alicia's pussy. He was obligated to, after meeting her husband directly. Brett was fuel for his cause, nothing personal, just savoring a rare and exotic experience, the complete conquering of another man's wife, he retreated to his luxury suite, grinning all the while as he whistled an old forgotten tune.

When Brett opened the door to their room, the brisk temperature caused him to shiver. He saw Alicia getting undressed for a shower, something she was habitual about, no matter any exertion or activity. He looked at her modest tits, drawn down slightly with time into the shape of beautiful teardrops, but still full, with small brown nipples. She still stunned him every time he saw her. She spoke as she stepped out of her romper fully.

"Thanks for leaving me hanging!"

"Oh come on, it was kind of funny."

"It really wasn't. Really. He was a weird gross old guy!"

Brett smiled as he bent his head down.

"I mean you attract a type."

"That's the problem! It would be flattering if it was a handsome guy for once! It's always weird fat old men."

"He prefers hefty actually."

She giggled, the joke tempering her honest frustration. Brett spoke.

"You ever think that you're intimidating?"

"What?"

"Listen I felt it. When I saw you sit on that bar stool, I would not have the confidence to approach you. I mean like now, if we weren't together."

"That's ridiculous."

"No it's not. It's true."

She covered her chest with both arms as she walked towards the shower, grasping the faucet and turning the heat to its max, filling the bathroom with a grasping fog that made the tile slick with condensation and the mirror turn to a dim semblance of clarity. She looked down to her thick black pubic hair.

"Fuck I forgot to shave. I have do that tonight before the beach tomorrow."

Brett nodded his head, still observing her as she waited for the shower to heat up further.

"You heard what I said right?"

"Yes and it's silly."

"Ok. But at least consider it. You're more intimidating and more alluring than you think."

"Well, you don't have to worry, you're all I ever wanted."

As Brett walked away to undress, the statement brought him comfort, he had it heard is so many times when his confidence had waned, it was a mantra for ease and peace to him, and she never said it without a hint of dishonesty. She stepped into the shower. She had at one point considered Brett's proclamation, but it remained difficult to grasp, let alone confirm. The notion to her remained preposterous. Brett didn't lie, at least not about his feelings or observations about her, and he always had a concerted study of others which she had learned from constantly. She thought herself invisible to men, she was anything but.

The shower was a bastion of relief to Alicia, a soothing calm after the debacle of the mixers event. The water pressure was different on the ship. The bathroom was spartan in it's furnishings and near pristine. It wasn't like their bathroom back home, with it's familiar scuffs and stains and tub pursued by mold held clear by bleach and brush habitually. She grasped the base of the head and let it slowly flow over her long unbent hair. The thickness of the stream was significant and slow, tumbling across her round brow and cheeks and down her chest, as the stream caressed her pubic hair, matting it.

She removed the handheld shower head, and her fingers nimbly changed the settings to fast, full and narrow the chrome plating beaded with almost scalding water. She instinctively moved the shower head against her sex and maneuvered it, the direction only instinctive, brought about by the freedom of the space and a massive surge of hormones and a distant spark of desire. As the background of the distant TV produced a droning noise, she carefully pressed the head against her thigh and angled it slightly, finding it's proper spacing and placement slowly, stunned at how it felt.

It was freeing, constant and rhythmic, she felt her hand grasp at the tile as she sighed, her body's warmth increasing as the steam rose. Her strong toes gripped against the drain as she tried to maneuver the chrome head in frustration, the elusive point of pleasure causing anguish, as the jet spread across her folds, full of a deft vibration that climbed through her back and ignited her core as she clenched her thighs. She lifted a leg slightly, leaning back against the wall, trying to find the perfect trajectory for the stream.

She winced, it felt good, better than any attempt she had remembered in years, the tempered consistency of the nozzle had her breathing heavy, stilted, her fingers grasped at the wall and faucet, the hose slack against the floor. As she pursued the feeling of release, it built to a frustration that she grew to loathe. The moment was gone. Evaporating like the steam itself that rose around her. It was like this as long as she could remember, a curse in her eyes. Was it her insecurity? Was she just broken, or dulled by disappointment? Emptied and discontent, she dried off, and went to bed, the firm mattress, crisp clean sheets, and full pillows as well as the gentle rocking of the ship soothed her to a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning close to docking at the Grand Cayman Islands, Brett and Alicia rose to attend a poor buffet, with soggy scrambled eggs, overly acidic coffee, and stale pastries. After their culinary disappointment, they spent the morning exploring the ship again, convinced they had missed something to actually do. They made an earnest attempt at shuffleboard, something which neither of them understood to their own laughter, and drank rough espresso in paper cups while people watching. In the late morning, Brett went to peruse shops, Alicia decided to sunbathe, to try and recapture her favorite summers of her early youth, where beaches were empty, seagulls and waves a symphony of calm. The poolside deck was the opposite in every fashion.

From a careful distance, Roy watched Alicia under her wide brimmed straw sun hat and large sunglasses, black hair braided, draped over her slender neck. As she laid on the deck chair the nearby pool was full of the rambunctious cackling of college youth. Roy walked over, beaming as he observed Alicia's prone form, wondering how tight her cunt was. He smiled a gold tooth visible at the back of his mouth in the ceaseless brightness of the afternoon as he began his hunt in earnest. "Well well, fancy seeing you here."

Alicia's eyes opened as she heard his gravelly voice, and rolled them back, her eyelids fluttering shut as preparing herself once more to tolerate the annoyance, beguiled he'd even have the courage to approach her again after last night. She remained steadfast, her silence its own dismissal, which he blatantly ignored. He sat on the lounge chair next to her. His large weight buckling against the plastic straps. Roy stretched his back and spoke.

"Want a drink?"

Alicia shook her head.

He chuckled and leered at a younger bikini clad woman who walked by, giggling, their flawless skin radiant. He directed his attention back to Alicia and spoke.

"You sure? My treat."

The way he said "treat" made her irrationally upset. She spoke through her teeth.

"No."

"Suit yourself."

He made his way over to the closest bar, a tropical styled affair with fake thatched straw roof, tiki torches and ironic signs that signaled to patrons that for the overpriced spirits and beer you were somehow "free" and experiencing "relaxation". He came back with a bucket of beer and let it thud to the ground as he sat back in the deck chair. She grimaced, seeing that every other chair was now occupied. She contemplated even asking someone else to move, but struggled with how she would justify such a request.

The realization came that she had recourse. She had not yet informed him of her actual married status, she looked to her ring finger and saw she still hadn't put her ring back on. She sat up, lowering her sunglasses as she spoke, her wide almond shaped brown eyes locking on Roy setting a clear boundary.

"You know, I am married right? The man next to me last night? He was my husband."

Roy grinned. Evidently Brett hadn't informed her of their interaction they had after she left, a fool's mistake and a sign of his inattentiveness.

"I know. The pretty boy right?"

She raised an eyebrow and held her sunhat against the developing and furious seaborne wind.

"What do you mean you know?"

He cracked the top of the cheap light beer, finishing the can in one gulp, exhaling with accomplishment.

"I could just tell. It's easy. He had that protective look about him. You guys swingers or something?"

"No. We're not."

He crushed the can with ease, bending it back to a primitive shape, and threw it behind him, somehow managing to make it into the trash, not even checking to see if anyone was potentially in the way. Proud of his throw, he spoke.

"So what are you?"

"Married. Like I said. We were trying to have fun."

"Fun?" He cracked open another beer.

"Yes, maybe you're heard of it."

He chuckled, appreciating her retort.

"Yeah. I love fun. Its what I live for. Why I'm here."

She remained silent, crossing her arms over her maroon one piece bathing suit and sat up.

"You're hitting on a married woman, get it? We were playing around."

He finished the second beer and this time set it down. The empty can rattling on the ground as the ship rocked back and forth, waves lurching against the hull, the balance of everyone adjusting to it.

"You were playing?"

The ship rocked again, another incursion to her tranquility.

"Yes. We were."

He nodded slowly, contemplating her words. His hunt had changed, realizing that his quarry was more elusive, and would provide a challenge. He had to change his approach. Rely on his dynamism, his experiences, he held his hand up as if to dismiss his prior forwardness.

"You know, I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah yeah, no I get it. I misunderstood clearly. Hey, let me buy a drink, you know? Just as an apology OK? You drink gin and tonics right?"

She didn't expect him to even have the word apology in his vocabulary, he certainly didn't look it, let alone remember her order. The drinks were outrageously expensive and she set a strict budget. A free drink sounded good. She didn't want to entertain him further however."No, I'm alright. That's nice of you though."

He stood and retreated to the bar, his open Hawaiian shirt a menagerie of pink and blue flowers drawing attention to his large rounded hairy stomach. She had prayed for anyone to take the chair next to her while he was gone, and her wish was granted. An older woman with a sweet wrinkled face and white hair smiled and slowly sat down, seeking to warm her bones. Roy walked over, heavy feet thudding as he handed Alicia a gin and tonic, a lemon settled on the rim instead of a lime to her chagrin..

"You don't need to drink it. But, least I can do."

She hesitantly took the drink, watched Roy turn and walk away and calling out to the entire deck with a booming voice "next round is on me everyone!"

There was a clamor of excitement and a throng of passengers barreling through, bartenders flung into a flurry of disarray. She tallied it quickly in her head, it couldn't have been less than a thousand dollars what he just did. She sipped her drink, it was far too strong, and shook her head wondering how someone could be so irresponsible with their income. She set the drink down, basked in the sun, and finally closed her eyes settling into a light sleep.

When she woke, Brett was smiling at her.

"Hey babe. We're about to dock at the port."

Startled slightly she felt the burn of the midday sun on top her feet, her french pedicure brightened by the redness of her feet.

"We have aloe back in the cabin."

As Alicia awoke she craned her neck. Speaking through a grimace.

"Oh my god I gotta tell you before I forget. Remember the old guy last night? Roy?"

"Yeah he's kind of hard to forget, I don't know if the look he's going for is a bloated Jimmy Buffett on a bender purposefully or what, but I mean hey, points for uniqueness."

She laughed, covering her mouth. She loved Brett's wit since they met.

"Yeah he actually came up here and apologized to me."

"Apologized? For what?"

"I guess for being so forward. Hitting on me? It was odd. He bought everyone on the entire deck a round. Said he could tell we were married."

"No way. That would cost a fortune. There's no way he could tell, we didn't even say a fucking word to each other."

"That's what I was thinking."

"Weird, weird guy."

Between the exchange, Brett felt a slight panic, not for Alicia's loyalty, but for Roy's persistence.

That afternoon, the cruise ship docked at the Cayman Islands, and packed like cattle into old vans, the passengers embarked to varied destinations. The islands, aside from being a fascinating and complex tax haven, was as predicted by Brett and Alicia, utterly boring. How an attraction called "Hell" and a beach with crystal blue water offered almost no allure at all was a testament to their already subterranean expectations.

Brett clad in his sun shirt, baseball hat and shorts was an amusing sight, wildly different than the attentive and careful appearance he cultivated. Alicia spoke as she adjusted her leather sandals.

"You look like one of those guys that makes his entire personality fishing, like you know in those dating app memes?"

He laughed and slapped his knee.

"Real salt of the earth? Is this doing anything for you?"

She playfully tapped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear

"No. Not at all."

"Why can't we work two days a week and fish five days a week?"

She giggled, he kissed her cheek as she stepped back, smiling widely, her round cheeks and soft, wide button nose made her look much younger. She wore a light blue sarong high above her waist, a yellow bikini underneath, still ashamed of the scars and stretch marks she bore, which Brett had no objection to at all. Over the years every inch, every imperfection of her body he grew to adore, for it's familiarity but also how well he knew it.

Brett walked alongside Alicia, his hand at the small of her back, towards the beach. To her relief, as she scanned the expanse of the white sandy shore, Roy was nowhere to be seen. She was able to embrace the peace of the beach, a fixture she had always appreciated but never embraced around Brett, who famously loathed beaches due to his pale complexion. She held hands with Brett as they laid under an umbrella. She spoke softly.

"It's pretty relaxing here right?"

Brett pulled his legs out of the sun, already weary of the heat. Speaking as he admired her slender legs.

"It's not bad. Kind of like, well, any beach really."

"Yeah. You're right."

"Do you like it? I mean that's what matters to me."

"It's alright. Maybe Cozumel will be better."

She took a deep breath, trying to meditate and calm herself, letting each wave that chopped against the sand mirror her breath, each inhalation following the retraction of the sea, the source of all life as she had come to respect it.

***

Roy had much different plans compared to passengers pressured into purchasing excursions and chintzy local products, obligated to somehow uplift local economies with their paltry spending. His tastes were carnal. He was used to this process, he'd fucked whores everywhere he went, enjoyed the ability to savor anyone he'd like. Money talked the same everywhere he went, and he had become a veritable professional of exchanges, willing to overpay if it meant he could get his cock wet without congress. He figured by this point he had around maybe seventy kids worldwide he'll never know about. He knew without a doubt he would have dozens more by the time his personal world tour was over, satiating his need for breeding conquest. Everything was for sale if you looked long enough, he found it honest, refreshing, without pretense. There was no posture of morality, just pure business. Some prostitution was legal in the Cayman Islands, but he knew where to get the best for the least.

He took to the streets, observing stands selling oxtail and local cuisine, coconuts and rum punch for tourists and those staying at the nearby local luxury hotel. Cheap gift shops full of mass produced shit. He wasn't interested in any of it. He took several narrow streets away from the beach, where there were far less people, the area still sand covered, with gritty, unfinished asphalt.

He would pick the first whore he could find. He saw two towering local men covered in tattoos, shirtless, lean and athletic, standing next to a very short woman with gold jewelry and narrow eyes. She wore a pink string bikini top strung against her ample, heavy natural tits, her curvy waist visible between her unbuttoned high waist denim shorts. Roy approached, prepared with his proposition and spoke firmly, "How much for this piece of ass?"

The two hustlers looked at each other, surprised at the American's boldness. One spoke in a heavy dialect.

"You want this pussy? It's good brother. Two hundred dollars for fifteen minutes. Cash only. You use a rubber alright? Pull out. Got it big man? And no rough shit either."

Roy nodded as he hungrily observed the young woman.

"No problem. I carry... protection. What's the cunt's name?"

The two men looked at each other, the taller of the two replying.

"Bijou. Now you go to the alley back right there, ok? Between the brick buildings." The man pointed across the street to a clear alley that stretched to a rusted awning. Roy clasped his hands together in anticipation, he loved an audience, and was familiar with this routine. Roy spoke.

"The alley?"

"Yes the alley. That way. You go there with her, it's quiet there. Trust me. No one comes by, it's out of sight."

Roy was only slightly hesitant, he saw the two machetes on their person, but he had bought cunts in far more dangerous places than this. He felt the alley was visible enough from passerby's who strayed free from the manicured beach, he felt safe enough. He knew how to handle himself. He started walking with Bijou across the beach, the water a reflection of the sky, a boundless blue infinite, a vision of nature, and man's perversion coexisting simultaneously.

Alicia turned her head, and as if conjured by her discomfort for the man. Roy appeared.. He sauntered clumsily, barefoot with a very curvy local on his arm easily forty years his younger, with long beaded hair, and an ethereal Nubian face. In another time, and another birth place by virtue of her appearance she would been a model, she didn't have that opportunity.

Brett saw Roy approaching and spoke softly to Alicia. "You know. She's gonna be really disappointed to find out that's he's not famed Hollywood actor Ryan Gosling just "preparing for a role"."

Alicia laughed uproariously, even snorting slightly. She heard Brett's own laughter, a deep and boisterous sound. It always made her feel good. She loved his laugh. He spoke, shaking his head.

"Seriously he can't have that much game, but he's probably got deep, deep pockets. Which is impressive for a dude who looks like he drinks sixteen Busch lights a day and lives inside a trailer with no roof." Alicia laughed again.

Roy indeed, did have deep pockets. Money was of zero consequence to him, a millionaire several times over, money was something that he never even thought of. He was enjoying his life now, doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, retirement on his terms. Not looking the part was the point, not only was it good camouflage to avoid the parasitic desperation of so many others, but also to be what he wanted to be without expectation or judgment. He didn't have to impress anyone. His bank account would do it for him.

He paused with the young woman on his arm as he saw Alicia and Brett, he was wearing rounded sunglasses that looked atrocious on his square face. Two intimidating men passed by him towards two brick buildings far away from the beach. Roy gestured wildly.

"Well well, if it isn't Alicia and Brett!"

Brett tried to offer a smile that appeared earnest, Alicia already exasperated, nodded. The young woman on Roy's arm waved at them both awkwardly. Alicia smiled at the young woman as Brett spoke to Roy.

"Going sightseeing huh?"

"Oh yeah. Spending some time with the locals. Getting to really see the island proper, not just the tourist stuff. Bijou here, she's my tour guide!" Roy grinned ear to ear, the implication hanging in the air.

The young woman just nodded, but didn't say a word, still uncomfortable from the role she had been give. Alicia offered a fake smile as she spoke, exasperated.

"Yep. Well, enjoy the tour."

"Oh I will. It's a beautiful place you know. The locals love those that really want to... take it all in."

Brett cracked his knuckles and looked away from Roy, dismissive.

"I'm sure they do."

Roy waved goodbye as he trotted off with the young woman.

Brett looked at Alicia, dropping his sunglasses to let his eyes meet hers. As he spoke.

"Dude must have paid a fortune for her."

"Oh come on you think she's a prostitute?"

"Babe. Come on. Did you look at her?"

"Yes, I did. Just because shes cute and well umm you know. It doesn't mean shes a whore."

"I didn't say that, I mean come on. You really think hes just going to pick someone like her up?"

"I don't know! Maybe she doesn't know better."

Exasperated, Brett tilted his head back, ending the conversation given Alicia's fervent stance on agency, an issue that had caused far too many disagreements in the past.

Roy followed Bijou to the side alley where the two tall men waited, arms crossed, ready to watch and make sure their asset was protected. Once under the cover of the buildings, clad in shadows in the alley, Roy produced from his wallet a cheap, small condom, made of green latex, tearing the package open with his teeth and spitting the foil aside. He spoke as he unzipped his stained cargo shorts."You ready? I don't need to handjob, no blowjob, just pussy. Got it slut?"

She laid back on the concrete and spread her curvy mocha colored legs on the ground, pushing her shorts aside along with her bikini bottoms, trying to get herself wet quickly with concerted motions of her long delicate fingers. Roy spit on his hand, knelt and rubbed it across her cunt, razor burn visible around her shaved vulva in the dim light. He growled. "Come on bitch. Earn your money." The two men watched with arms crossed, agitated by his aggression, tolerating the brute's behavior for the sake of business. Dying embers burnt in a small grill next to them as Roy's firm hands spread Bijou's cunt, entreating it to wetness as she scorned him. Bijou's cunt tingled against her own will. Roy was anything but timid, his hand clasping her broad ass, smooth flesh clasped in his hand as he spoke.

"You ready for daddy now whore?"

Roy grabbed her cunt greedily, his hand migrating across her stomach to her tits as he ripped her bikini top off, throwing the nylon behind him In the dark, he enclosed the cheap condom around his bulging cock, the thin rubber barely making it halfway. The two men peered over, watching Roy fold her curvy thighs back, her knees forced to her shoulders, her beaded long hair clacking against the ground as he held her wrists captive above her head. He thrust into her from hilt to tip, mauling her barely went cunt, she frowned as her eyes closed, with almost no concern from the two men watching the spectacle as he stretched her viciously. The material of the condom quickly tore from his thickness, turning the cheap ill fitting rubber into a torn ring of plastic, just the way he liked it. He was relentless, his fingers wrapped around her delicate wrists, squeezing them hard enough that she writhed under him, her thick ass jiggling with each thrust as his cock pummeled her brown cunt. Her handlers were clearly getting upset, speaking to each other in stern whispers, machetes nearby, incensed that he was being so rough with their newest earner.

To her effort, she pulled her wrists free from his grasp and placed them on his chest, her long purple acrylic nails digging into his skin, trying to prevent Roy's hulking form collapsing on her, as her arms squeezed together to offer her reprieve, her tits formed an abundant cleavage, large brown nipples erect as Roy's girth pulled at her throbbing clit, a soft moan from her ruining her attempts to conceal her shame and reconcile her own pleasure. Upon hearing Bijou's pleasant gasps sound over the wet slapping Roy's rapid thrusts the two handlers chuckled a bit, retracting some of their fears, finding it amusing that she was feeling anything at all. She wasn't supposed to enjoy this, it was just work after all.

In the shadow cast by the shade of the tall building, they saw how high Roy was lifting himself to plunge into her, unable to discern his size, surprised at how excessive in force he was with each plunge, they figured there was no way he could have been that big. Americans in their observation especially had small cocks. They found this out in often hysterical fashion, often gesturing to each other and sometimes openly mocking those they knew wouldn't dare say a thing back.

Roy licked his lips as he looked down, lowering his head to nibble at her full lips and kiss her, she turned her head. Her folds tingling from each brutal advance into her, fraying her nerves, his steady thrusts bringing her to bliss as she turned her head to the other side, fever working through her stomach as she came, avoiding his kisses. Roy licked his lips and spoke.

"Playing hard to get huh?"

His other arm supported him, a pillar as his closed fist remained against the concrete, his other hand caressing her throat softly before choking her gold rings buried into her slender neck. He spoke menacingly. "There you go. Good little cum slut."

The two men spoke.

"Hey! No rough stuff! You want do that you pay extra! Go easy shithead!"

Roy looked up as he choked her softer.

"Such gentleman you have watching you. Don't worry... daddy's got the cash."

He spit on her face as her hips burned and quivered from being held down for so long.

"That's a good look for you fuckdoll."

The heavy spit rolled down her round cheeks, like a trail of sludge, some spilling into the crevice of her parted lips as she recoiled, his tongue digging into her mouth, as her tits heaved below his body, relief stretched across Roy's face, as he rooted his hand against her throat, halting his piston like thrusts, slowing, girth burrowed fully, releasing. In a mocking voice he spoke. "Hehe. Oops."

She shouted and slammed her fists against his shoulders and shoved him off as she felt the raw twitch and warmth, indicating that the condom was gone. He stood up, letting her curvy thighs fall back, a thick cobweb of cum evident across her gaped cunt. He held the shredded base of the far too small cheap condom and dangled the cream laden rubber in front of them like a prize, discarding it as it hit the side of the brick building nearby. He chuckled as he spoke.

"Don't worry. You'll look good with a bump. Get even bigger tits then what you have."

He threw a wad of bills at her, zipped up his shorts, and threw a few hundred more at the men and casually and walked away, the men furious at his callous display as they engaged in a screaming match with each other and Bijou. They began to think they should have robbed him, considering that it wasn't too late, machetes nearby awaiting their hands. But as she rose, the thick stream of cum running down her thigh, brighter in the sun against her dark skin, they knew they had other obligations to take care of their new earner.

It had been a good day for Roy, he got some good cheap pussy and left Bijou with a gift of his own, saw Alicia at the beach, further contemplating how he would take her. He always found his mind to be clearer, more objective, when his load was spent. As he embarked the ship, its strident horn signaling the return of the tourists who between sun soaked excursions and day drinking already looked deceased, he felt positively jubilant.

His plans and tracking of Alicia were proceeding, with careful pacing and plotting, he would unravel more of her, tempt her, exploit her already observed vulnerabilities, and use every trick he had to win her. He whistled a jaunty old rock tune and saw Tania as she welcomed passengers back on the ship, he paused, smiled, and walked towards her as she beckoned him excitedly.