Be Careful What You Wish For

They were both on edge and couldn't relax. Ben knew he needed to make something happen fast to lighten the mood.

The vibrator hummed to life with a buzz as Ben removed it from their suitcase. Clare's face turned red, her hand found Ben's hip and pulling him closer to the bed's edge. Ben's breath was rough. He pressed the vibrator firmly against her, watching her clitoris swell up. Her pubic hair caught the Florida sunlight from the window, exposing the auburn tint that didn't quite match the brown hair on her head.

Clare's grip tightened on his cock, pumping it faster as her arousal built. It only took a little over a minute. Her thighs began to shake, the release starting deep in her belly and worked outward. She came with a sound that wasn't quite a moan, more like breath that was held too long and then released in short bursts. Her body fell onto Ben's, vibrator still pressed to her clitoris, and Ben watched the contractions ripple through her stomach, the muscles flexing beneath her pale skin.

Ben shut the vibrator off and placed it on the nightstand. His hands pushed her knees wider, spreading her pussy completely. His erection ached as it pointed almost straight in the air. When he entered her, the wet heat consumed him immediately, her orgasm's aftermath making her grip hot and slick but also tight.

Ben humped with desperate speed, hips slapping against hers with wet sounds. The hotel bed creaked as the headboard hit the wall. Only lasting about 45 seconds, he pulled out with a gasp, pumping himself as the orgasm started. The hot stripes of cum sprayed across her belly. Some reached her breast, but most pooled into her belly button. He sagged forward, forehead touching hers and giving her a quick kiss, tasting salt and smelling hotel soap on her. They are now able to get ready to go out and experience the resort.

After collecting themselves, Ben adjusted his flip-flops against the tile floor, the rubber thong between his toes already collecting sweat. He caught his totally naked reflection in the dresser mirror, pale skin, average build, the full bush of brown pubic hair that seemed to stick out more in the natural light. His penis hung small and soft now, the post-orgasm shrinkage making him aware of what every stranger at the resort would see.

Clare stood by the door, her jean shorts covering her bush and butt. Her small, perky breasts remained exposed, she felt comfortable enough topless, though she kept her arms loose at her sides as if prepared to cross them at any moment.

"You look great," Ben said, his voice offering reassurance.

She didn't answer, only reached for the door handle. Ben watched her hesitate, looking noticeably insecure, and he felt the familiar feeling with his own anxiety. He'd pushed for this. He'd shown her the reviews, the testimonials about body acceptance and freedom, omitting the parts that mentioned the erotic charge. He thought a nude resort would be a fun, new experience for their 11 years of marriage. After all, they haven't vacationed alone in 9 years, since their first daughter was born. Ben was sincere in thinking unplugging this way would be effective. No book bags or lunch pales to pack. No softball gear to round up. No toys or laundry to organize. Just the 2 of them with their 34 year old naked bodies in the Florida sunshine was Ben's sales pitch to Clare.

The door clicked open. Clare stepped into the hallway first, her bare, pale back to him. Her shapely ass swing side to side in her jean shorts. Ben followed, the flip-flops slapping his heels with each step. An ice machine gurgled somewhere around the corner. They walked past several doors before a naked couple emerged from room 214. The older man, with his shaved penis and testicles that were pulled up tight in his sack from the hotel air conditioning. The woman topless with her saggy breast and her bald pussy exposed. The man nodded at Ben with the easy camaraderie of shared exposure, but his eyes lingered on Clare's younger breasts, on the mystery inside of her shorts, and Ben felt his stomach tighten with the complicated heat of jealousy and arousal he'd been anticipating for weeks.

The pool deck opened before them with an array of people, every body a different age and shape and varying degrees of sun exposure. Clare paused at the railing, her eyes tracking across the scattered loungers and the water where a woman with silver hair and large, saggy breasts sipped on a daiquiri. Ben adjusted his grip on their beach bag, his bare shoulder brushing Clare's bare arm, helping him feel anchored.

Two sun bathing chairs sat vacant near the deep end, shaded by 8 foot round umbrella. Clare moved toward them, her shorts riding up her sweaty butt crack with each step. She set her towel down on the sunnier of the two chairs. Ben took the other, positioning himself to face the pool, his knees spread open in a posture that felt he stole from the confident men he'd been watching.

"Want me to grab us something at the bar?" Ben asked, the question hanging between them.

Clare smiled and nodded, her sunglasses catching the glare off the water.

The tiki bar stood at the far corner. The bartender, a woman with a tattoos and tan lines wiped down a blender with a rag that had seen better days. Ben ordered two beers and a water. On his way back, a group of 40-something men at the swim-up bar sized him up as he passed, their eyes locking in on him.

He settled back into his lounger, the seat warm against his hamstrings, and twisted off Clare's cap before handing it over. The cold beer helps settle their nerves. The silver-haired woman pushed herself from the pool, water streaming from her white pubic hair, large, deflated breast swinging with her movements and reached for her towel and started walk towards Ben and Clare.

Ruth extended hand, her palm warm and soft against whatever skin it touched.

"First time, sweetheart?" she asked, the question carrying no judgment. Water still beaded off her saggy breast, catching light of the sunshine. "You looked terrified. I could spot it from the main gate."

Greg appeared at his wife's elbow, a little man with a potbelly and scooped shoulders, though his posture suggested he still saw himself as the college basketball player he once was 50 years ago. He extended his own hand to Ben.

"Don't let her spook you. She terrorized me my first three visits back in 1977," His laugh came out mischievous.

Ruth swatted her husband's arm, the skin there loose and freckled with age spots. "I was welcoming. You were the one hiding behind your towel like it was a security blanket."

She turned her attention back, eyes displaying warmth. "The trick is remembering nobody's studying you half as hard as you're studying yourself. We're all just beautiful creatures out here."

Greg fetched two additional loungers and positioned them at an angle that created a small conversational cluster without crowding. He lowered himself carefully, then retrieved a flask from his cooler, unscrewed the cap, and takes a sharp, fast pull.

Ruth settled onto her lounger with the ease of long practice, her aged skin creasing at hip and thigh. She turned her full attention toward Clare, eyes studying her.

"You have absolutely lovely posture, dear. Most women your age slouch without realizing. Always staring at their phones and carrying tension in their shoulders."

Her gaze traveled with frank appraisal, also openly admiring, almost maternal in its warmth.

"That dark hair against your skin, the way your waist curves, your husband's a fortunate man, it's a shame it all has to stay covered up."

Clare's fingers had been nervously picking at her shorts and at Ruth's words, the tension in her shoulders visibly loosened. A small laugh escaped her, breathy and uncertain.

"There's my girl," Ruth murmured, leaning forward. "The most beautiful ones always hesitate longest. They've got more to lose in their own minds."

Talking with Ruth for about 20 minutes makes Clare feel comfortable. The button on her shorts came undone. Clare let them slide from her hips, catching it in one hand before it before them hit the concrete. Her dark bush, thick and untrimmed, caught the sunlight differently than the rest of her pale skin. It was a stark declaration against the grooming fashions Ruth had quietly complained to her husband across decades of visits.

"Now that's a proper woman," Ruth said, no trace of irony, her voice carrying to the nearby visitors. "These young things with their bare little lips, looking prepubescent. Where's the mystery? Where's the woman in that?" She reached over and touched Clare's hip briefly, a grandmother's blessing. "You keep that. Men who appreciate women will thank you for it."

Ben's attention had drifted to Greg, watching the older man's eyes settle on Clare's newly revealed hips, the unexpected thickness of her bush. Greg shifted on his lounger, his shrunken penis nested in gray pubes, thickening slightly, lifting from his thigh semi-erect. The old man was enjoying Clare.

Ben noticed this. He felt his own cock getting heavier between his legs, the comparison favoring him. Five inches of pale, untrimmed fullness against Greg's modest, aged penis. The tightness in his chest, that familiar compression of inadequacy he'd carried since the locker room at fourteen, unclenched slightly. He let his own legs fall open a fraction wider, the gesture unconscious, claiming the prestige of the situation.

Ruth's eyes studied the scene before her, noting the subtle shifts in the boys posture and the erections. She'd seen play out a thousand times across 50 years of resort visits.

"Look at them both, dear," she murmured to Clare, her voice carrying the warmth.

She pushed herself back up in her chair, her own empty breasts pooling against her ribs. "You should wear that like perfume. At 72, I'd trade these tired sacks for your small, perky breast in a heartbeat. The way they point forward when you move, no surrender to gravity yet. The way men track them without meaning to, then catch themselves."

Ruth let her gaze linger deliberately on Ben, on the visible thickening of his penis revealing his modest length. Her smile broadened, knowing, carrying no mockery but instead something almost maternal. She'd watched husbands here for decades, witnessed the particular vulnerability of men who get stuck by a beautiful woman.

"Keep that penis serviced properly, sweetheart," she said to Clare, quieter now with intimate instruction. "You have a beautiful gift between those legs, don't let it go to waste. That husband of yours wants to please you, wants you seen and admired. Service him well and he'll keep opening doors wider than you thought possible."

Greg's semi-erection had softened as they kept talking. His hand rested near it, not touching, letting it fry in the August heat. He turned toward Ben with something between acknowledgment and competition, two generations of men caught in the same inadequate gesture and exposure.

After about an hour of conversation, Greg and Ruth gathered their things to head back upstairs, Ruth tossing her beach bag over her shoulder.

"Evening dinner on the beach, if you two make it," she called back, her heavy butt cheeks jiggling across the pool area to main building, Greg trailing with one hand light at her waist.

Clare is now full of bravado as Ruth has boosted her confidence. She now acts like she was never nervous to begin with.

"Let's get a couple more drinks and mingle," she tells Ben with excitement.

The bar alongside the pool, had a shaded area where bamboo stools faced the pool. Music drifted from the speakers, with a loose, rolling rhythm. Three men looked up as Clare approached, their conversations stalling in that particular way Ben was learning to recognize.

The tattooed bartender nodded greeting. "You and your husband need another beer?" Her eyes drawn to Clare's dark triangle, something appreciative and brief, before settling on drink orders.

Clare settled onto a stool, her small breasts shifting with the movement, nipples tightening momentarily against the air conditioner's subtle chill. The man beside her, thirty perhaps, light brown complexion, his penis thick and even at rest against substantial balls leaned slightly into her space, not touching but inviting.

"First timer? I've got the eye for people like you." His smile showed a nice set of white teeth. "You're carrying yourself like you belong here."

Ben felt the observation land, the man's attention mapping his wife with careful assessment. He got his new beer, foam spilling over, and let his own gaze travel the patio. There was a blonde woman in her 20's with fake breasts and a waxed pussy laughing with two men, and her breasts swaying rigid. Then an older couple slow-dancing near the rail, his penis pressed unashamed against her hip. Next a group of men in their 20's clustered with beers, their eyes tracking Clare periodically, gazes brushing her pale curves, the dark brush between her thighs.

The man at the bar said something that made Clare laugh, her head tilting, breasts lifting with genuine amusement. One of the 20's men openly adjusting himself, caught Ben watching, held his stare longer than accidental before grinning and raising his bottle in something between toast and challenge.

Ben tasted his beer, ice cold in the hot sun. A redhead with larger breasts and a landing strip fewer than twenty feet away met his eyes, held them, nodded in acknowledgment before returning to her conversation. The variety of bodies from hanging stomachs and defined abs, surgical modifications and untouched aging, pubic hair on most of the men with most women being bald, created a landscape of exposure that felt increasingly natural and normal.

Clare adjusted herself on the stool, her thighs parting slightly, letting her clitoris poke out between furry pussy lips catching afternoon light that filtered through the roof. The man beside her gestured toward the beach, some invitation, his penis visibly thickening, not full erection but engaged interest. Ben watched his wife register it, something in her posture opening further, shoulders back, the particular quality of attention she'd begun exhibiting since Ruth's encouragement.

The bartender slid a shot across to Clare, unasked. "On Darius. You keep these boys aroused, they'll buy all afternoon." Her smile held genuine warmth and friendliness. "That bush of yours, they'll remember it. It's pretty rare to see Darius' cock get hard. He's a veteran here."

Darius accepted her acknowledgment with a slight bow, not interrupting, letting his forearm rest near Clare's on the bar surface, skin almost touching. Ben drinks his beer more aggressively, feeling his own penis not responding. It was simply existing at its compact resting state while other men's thickened and announced their attraction to his wife. Which everyone was. Which was precisely the point of this place, the contract they'd both signed without spoken negotiation.

The gate to the pool are swung open, two men walked in. Both black, both moving with the coordination of athletes still in training years, though they'd crossed thirty. The shorter of them stood six-two, his chest a ball of muscle, his huge penis long and swinging against his thighs, thick as a wrist even when soft. The taller one had longer limbs, a runner's build with big calves and shoulders that spoke to rowing or swimming, his cock long, dark, resting against his heavy ballsack with the weight of a club. Darius turned, grin spreading, and raised his hand in greeting.

"You guys made it!"," he called, and the three of them clasped hands, pulled close, the casual intimacy of long friendship.

"This is Clare," Darius said, stepping aside slightly, presenting her to their assessment. "New here. Brave woman."

The shorter man's name was Marcus, and his eyes moved over Clare with deliberate, unhurried appreciation, taking in the pale contrast of her skin, the bush between her thighs, the small jiggle of her breasts.

"Beautiful," he said, simply, no elaboration needed. The taller one, Devon, nodded agreement, his gaze holding longer on her face than her body, some different quality of attention, then dropping to take in what she'd revealed.

Clare's face was getting red, Ben saw, that flush spreading down her throat, across her chest, the particular red tint she'd get when genuinely flattered. She didn't cross her arms or close her knees. She let them look, and something in her spine straightened further, chin lifting.

Ben became aware of himself standing apart, his pale compactness, the reminder that he had a smaller penis. He could feel the frizz of his own pubic hair, the way his belly wasn't sculpted, the absence of definition in his arms. The men's cocks hung low with gravity's assistance, and he understood with stomach-clenching clarity what Clare's secret desire was encountering.

He moved anyway. He walked across the concrete, and he placed his hand on Clare's shoulder, rubbed down her arm, settled his palm at the small of her back. Her skin was hot.

"I'm Ben," he said, extending his other hand. "Clare's husband."

Darius took it first, grip firm but not crushing, no dominance play, simply the confidence of a man who'd never needed to prove it.

"Good to meet you, Ben. Your wife's been keeping me company." A pause, his eyes meeting Clare's, some communication Ben couldn't decode. "Good woman."

Marcus's handshake was equally warm, his other hand coming up to clasp Ben's forearm, the gesture of equals, no condescension in it. "Welcome," he said. "First time at a place like this, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ben said. "First time."

The bass thumped harder through the speakers, some Caribbean rhythm that seemed to pulse through the concrete underfoot.

"Music's calling," Darius said, and extended his hand toward Clare with an unhurried confidence that made the gesture feel like invitation rather than demand. "Care to?"

Clare's response came bright and immediate, her voice pitched higher than Ben had heard in months, that particular frequency of genuine excitement. Her hand found Darius's palm, and she moved with him to the dance floor.

Marcus and Devon joined in on each side without discussion, the three of them forming a loose corral around her as they crossed toward the scattered dancers. Ben remained rooted, his hand still hovering at the space where Clare's had been. He reaches for his beer.

The four of them found an opening. Darius faced Clare directly, moving with the rhythm that seemed built into his hips, while Marcus and Devon surrounded her from behind. Ben watched Darius ease closer with each measure, the thick cock between his legs swinging forward to brush Clare's belly, then retreat, then return with deliberate timing. Marcus's hand found her hip, supposedly to guide her movement, but his knuckles dragged lower with each pass, grazing the dark triangle of her pubic hair, as if he was doing it on accident.

Clare's nipples had became rock hard, her small breasts bouncing with a free movement now, unrestrained against her pale skin. The flush had spread down to her sternum, visible even in the shifting light. She is laughing and having the time of her life. Behind her, Devon had grown thick and heavy, his cock lifting away from his body as it became erect, the head thick and darkening, and Ben could see the strain of it, the impossible length. it had to be 9 inches at least, probably more, swinging with its own momentum as he bounced it against Clare's ass cheeks.

Darius was fully erect now too, his shaft lifting nearly straight out from his stomach, the girth of it thick and round, and it pressed against Clare's belly as he pulled her close for a slower passage of the music, her breasts flattening briefly against the hard muscle of his chest.

Ben looked down. His own cock had tightened to itself, retracted almost to his body, a little thing nestled in his bush, the five inches he'd never thought insufficient before this afternoon now seeming like a useless feature. He felt the nervous sweat break fresh under his arms, across his lower back, the vulnerability of standing alone, watching his wife disappear into the orbit of three men who dwarfed him in every measurable way. His hand twitched, wanting to cover himself, knowing the gesture would only draw attention to what he'd concealed.

After a few songs Clare looked over to Ben and they locked eyes. She looked sweaty and exhausted. She signaled Ben to head back to the chairs where their beach bag rested. Ben nodded and Clare told the boys she needed a break.

The boys were stroking their big black cocks, slow deliberate pulls that showed off their length, the heavy heads darkening further as blood rushed to fill what Clare's departure had left aching.

Her pale ass cheeks tightened and released with each step across the warm pool deck, the opening between them briefly visible when she moved through the sunlight, the dark flourish of her bush just peeking below the curve of her belly from behind. Darius's fist moved faster, his hips pulling forward as if offering himself to that Clare's jiggly bottom.

Ben pushed off from the bar, abandoning his beer. Clare's figure growing clearer with each step, her flushed breast still heaving, charged with whatever the three men had ignited. He felt the eyes on him too, other guests noticing the mismatch, the husband trailing after his flustered wife while strangers tease her with superior cocks in her wake.

She reached the umbrella first. Ben arrived beside her. The chairs sat as they'd left them, towels still creased from their earlier sitting, two glasses of melting ice water beaded on the small table between.

Ben stood at the umbrella, his small cock dangling loose and irrelevant in the open air. He reached for his chair, the plastic warming his palm, and waited for whatever Clare would do next, his body directly next to hers while the men on the dance floor lost interest in Clare, thinking they lost her and moved back to the bar.

"Are you alright?" Ben cautiously asked.

"Oh my goodness, that was incredible," Clare replied. "Watching those huge cocks get hard over me felt so good. I need to cum."

Ben's throat got dry. He watched Clare's fingers work the vibrator from her bag. She settled back into the chair, and her knees fell apart assuming her familier masterbating position. Ben's stomach turned knowing what she'd be relieving herself to.

The hum cut through the evening noise, distant splashing, the thump of music still rolling from the dance floor. Clare pressed the vibrating head to her clit, and the sound changed pitch, wetter, absorbed into her body. Her hips rolled into position, and she let out a breath that wasn't quite a moan, not yet, held back by being in a public space.

Ben stood frozen beside his own chair, his hand still on its backrest. His flaccid cock hung visible, inches from her. He stands in the way to help keep anyone from seeing her.

Clare's eyes had slipped half-closed, she licked the edges of her mouth. The vibrator buzzed relentless against her furry pussy lips, which were swollen and glistening where they'd parted with arousal. She worked it in small tight circles, her wrist rotating with practiced efficiency, chasing what the dance floor had built in her without completing. Her free hand gripped the chair arm tight.

"Ben, I want to fuck those guys. I want a big cock in my bush," Clare breathed, the word barely shaped. "I'm sorry. I hope I'm not taking it too far."

Ben realized what he had to do. He seen how bad she needed to cum and decided to play along.

"Absolutely not," he told her. "It was so hot watching you get their cocks hard. Tell me how you felt."

"My pussy got so wet when Darius started getting hard at the bar. I'd never seen a cock that big. I loved the way he studied my body. Then the other 2 showed up and I felt so warm and surrounded. I loved their cocks slapping my body on the dance floor. The way their hands rubbed me. Especially when they slid their swollen cock heads across my bush."

The wet sound intensified, her arousal coating the vibrator and her pussy.

"Do you wish I had a big cock like that?" Ben reluctantly asked as he grabbed her free hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Yes, yes, yes! I want a real cock. Not your little thing. A man's cock. I'd want you to pound me everyday, hard and deep. I cradled Devon's big ballsack in my hand. I want cum from those huge balls. I want to be pumped full. Fuck!" She gasped.

Ben felt the sharp bite of her nails through his hand before his brain registered the sound pattering the concrete. The water-spray rhythm intensified, not a trickle but a forceful, juices hitting the patio stone with splashes that seemed loud against the resort's distant murmur. The vibrator still buzzed, half-submerged now in the flooding from her hairy pussy, its sound muffled and liquid.

He couldn't look away from her squirting. The smell hit him then, not urine but the dense musk of her arousal and its intensity. Ben's cock ached standing straight up, the arousal sharp and unrelieved. He watched the last tremor pass through her body, the way her small breasts settled with her slowing breath, the damp dark curls between her legs still soaked with what she'd released.

"I hope I didn't overdo it," she said. "I just didn't think I'd be desired like that."

Ben assured her she hadn't and that he was happy she enjoyed it. Although he was wondering when, and if his cock would get attention anytime soon.

They wiped Clare's chair off and she decided to clean herself up by jumping in the pool. Clare's petite frame cut through the water, her small breasts breaking the surface with each stroke. Ben watched from the pool's edge, his cock now softening in the hot Florida air. The water beaded off her fit body as she pushed herself onto the deck, droplets racing down the curve of her round butt, clinging to the hair between her legs until she grabbed a towel and scrubbed roughly at her skin.

"Greg and Ruth mentioned that seafood place on the beach," he said, the words coming out casual, testing. "Thought maybe we'd join them."

Clare pressed the towel against her forehead, her brunette hair darkened to near-black from the water. "My head just started splitting with a headache," she said sternly. "Too much sun. Too much to drink."

Ben felt the disappointment settle, familiar, married. He'd pictured it differently, the four of them at a crowded beach, Ruth's laugh carrying, Greg's easy confidence.

"Want me to run to the vending machine and get you Tylenol?" Ben asked concerned.

"Don't do that," a random voice cut into our conversation. "Tylenol is hard on your liver. You shouldn't take that stuff."

Kaden's shadow fell across Ben's head before his voice did.

"Sorry to overhear," he said, the words carrying a particular confidence.

He stood tall and straight, his dirty blonde hair messy. He looked barely out of school. Maybe 22 at the most. The kid's chest was smooth, ribs showing faintly beneath the tan skin, muscles not built in gyms but from whatever work or sport had formed for him. His long cock hung relaxed and thick between his legs, with a blonde bush to match his head, and Ben felt his own body shrink inward, his penis suddenly conscious of every degree of evening cooling.

"I'm licensed," Kaden said, producing nothing to prove it, his smile to Clare as she pressed the towel to her temple. "Tension headaches, they're usually suboccipital. Five minutes, maybe ten. I've worked this resort three summers now."

The kid's eyes stayed on her face with professional distance, but something in his eyes suggested he'd registered what stood before him. Clare's pale wet skin, the auburn colored bush between her legs still dripping, her small breasts lifted slightly with her raised arms. Ben felt the jealousy pool, warm and familiar in his gut, the same sensation from the bar earlier, from Darius' cock beside her, from every glance that had traveled across her body since they'd arrived.

"Up at the main spa they're booked through Thursday," Kaden continued. "But I've got my table set up in the garden. Quiet. Private." He smiled again. "No charge. It will be fast. You can still make your dinner then."

Ben looked at Kaden and then to Clare. He could tell she was in serious pain. Even if she took Tylenol then it would still be an hour before she started feeling better and we'd miss dinner. As jealous as he was of Kaden he decided make the best decision he could as her husband. He looked back at Kaden and gave him a nod of approval. The young man's cock twitched slightly, thickening as he stood there, and he made no move to cover it.

"This way," Kaden said, turning toward the garden path.

Ben walked behind Clare, watching her hips sway, the droplets from her hair tracing down her spine and disappearing into the crack of her buttocks. Ben's own penis remained tight against his body, a frustration he couldn't control, while Kaden's swung ahead of them with casual weight. Ben glanced, he couldn't help it, and looked away before the comparison could settle deeper.

The garden was covered with flowers, beautiful and colorful, a single table set beneath a canopy. Kaden had placed hot stones in a line along its edge, smooth and black, still holding heat. He gestured Clare toward the face cradle. "On your stomach first. The massage works better that way."

Clare moved to the table. Ben found a wooden chair tucked against the wall. Kaden stood at Clare's head, his hands hovering, waiting.

Kaden's thumbs pressed into the meat of Clare's shoulder, finding the tension there and working it in slow, deliberate circles. His hands were large, the fingers long, and they moved with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before. Ben leaned forward in his wooden chair, watching the way Kaden's palms flattened against her skin, taking notes thinking he could someday help her headaches.

"Breathe," Kaden murmured, not quite to anyone in particular, and Ben saw Clare's ribcage expand beneath her. Kaden's hands traveled down her spine, counting vertebrae with his fingertips, pressing at each one until he found the spots that made her exhale sharply. He moved to her lower back where the muscles bunched from years of carrying their daughters.

Kaden's palms spread wide, spanning her waist, then slid lower. Ben's fingers gripped the chair's armrest as the Kaden's hands traced lower to her bottom. He told himself this was clinical, therapeutic, that the jealousy he felt was his own problem.

Then Kaden's hands were on her cheeks, lifting and separating slightly with each stroke of the massage, and Ben found himself unable to look away. The crack of her butt cheeks parted with the pressure, revealing the tight pucker of her asshole, nestled within a faint line of dark hair that ran from her tailbone downward to her pussy. Kaden's thumb grazed the crease, deliberate or accidental, Ben couldn't tell, and the kid's own cock hung heavy between his legs, visibly thickening as he worked. Ben's cock started getting hard and pressed uselessly, a pathetic counterpoint he couldn't escape.

"On your back now," Kaden instructed Clare to flip her body over on the table.

Kaden's thumbs traced slow circles against Clare's temples, the pressure deliberate and knowing. His fingers worked into her dark hair, working the tension at her scalp with a soft, tender touch. She lets out a couple soft moans in approval. Kaden shifted his weight, and his cock swayed with the motion, the thick pink head bobbing inches from Clare's mouth. She opened her eyes and could see the vein running along its underside, the way the shaft curved slightly upward, heavy with blood.

Clare's eyes track the movement of Kaden's testicles as they swung with each shift of his hips, those low-hanging balls covered with blonde hair, visibly full and heavy. The musk of them was in Clare's nose, primal and unmistakable.

"Neck's tight here," Kaden murmured, his voice attempting to carry some professionalism.

Kaden's palms moved downward and cupped the swell of Clare's breasts, his thumbs brushing deliberately across her erect nipples. He kneaded with practiced patience, watching her chest rise and fall, the rhythm quickening as his hands worked. His cock hung heavy between them, so close he could feel the warm air releasing from her breath on the head of his cock.

Ben stood up and was frozen at the foot of the table, his own smaller penis fully erect, forgotten and ignored. His hands hung useless at his sides while clenching his fist. He watched Kaden's thick shaft pulse with each movement, watched it bob closer to Clare's mouth with every shift of the masseur's hips, and something cold and familiar twisted in Ben's stomach.

Yet Ben didn't speak. Didn't move to intervene. His feet seemed bolted to the bamboo flooring. Kaden's testicles swung low and full, brushing faintly against Clare's collarbone as he leaned forward to increase the pressure on her breasts, and Ben was stunned and left with his mouth opened, dry as the Florida heat.

Kaden's hands stilled against Clare's breasts, the warmth of his palms lifting away slowly, reluctantly. He straightened, his spine with the controlled grace of someone who had done this hundreds of times, though his swollen cock betrayed him, totally erect.

"That's all the time I have tonight," he said, his voice roughened by breath he hadn't quite regained. "Are you feeling better?"

Clare stretched beneath him, her back arching off the table, nipples still peaked and red from his fingers.

"Yes, I feel so relieved," she breathed. "Absolutely wonderful."

Then she moved. Her knees drew upward, feet planting flat, and she let them fall open with a sound of sweaty skin parting. Her pussy spread before him, the dark hair matted and glistening from her arousal fluids. She held her pussy lips open with two fingers, displaying the pink entrance and the swollen clitoris that seemed to grow with each shaky exhale.

"Massage me here," she said. "With your thick, hard penis."

Her head turned. Ben stood motionless at the table's foot, his face completely pale. His erection had softened to something halfhearted, almost apologetic in its diminished state. Clare's eyes locked onto his, and something flickered through her expression that Ben couldn't read, that he wasn't permitted to access.

"I'm so sorry," she said to him. The words came flat, stern, stripped of guilt. "I want his cock. I need a big cock to fill my pussy. I wanted it so bad earlier. Please let him fill my bush. I need it."

Kaden and Ben lock eyes. Ben, feeling defeated again, nods his head to Kaden, giving him permission.

Kaden's hand closed around his own shaft, adjusting the angle, stepping between her spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed her inner thigh, leaving a wet trail of precum on her skin. Ben's mouth closed. His hands rose as if to gesture, to intervene, to claim some of authority in this vacation he had organized, engineered, begged for--and they fell back to his sides. Kaden shifted his weight forward, the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing against Clare's entrance, pausing there while they all held their breath. Ben most of all, his chest seized around air he couldn't release, his eyes fixed on the penetration already beginning, the way her body yielded to dimensions his own penis could never do.

Kaden's hips pushed forward, watching the thick shaft disappear in her dark bush, sinking into wet heat inch by inch. Clare made a sound that built from somewhere deep in her chest, rising through her throat unchecked. It was a raw, broken moan that filled the garden. Her hands gripped the table's edges as her pussy stretches to accommodate him, the sheer girth spreading her open in ways she never knew was possible. He gave her long, slow thrust, pulling his penis almost completely out then driving back in. It was like he was trying to make her beg for it.

Kaden's hands found her breasts again, fingers closing on her rock hard nipples. The pressure started gentle, almost teasing, then tightened. Clare squirmed against his hold as he squeezed harder, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. The dual sensation drew another moan from her, this one deeper and louder.

His pace accelerated. What began as measured, almost reverent strokes escalated into harder, more insistent thrusts. The table shifted beneath them, its legs screeching slightly against the floor. Kaden's abs flexed with each powerful drive, sweat beading along his hairline as their bushes pressed together. Clare's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper still.

Kaden's rhythm faltered for half a beat, then resumed with renewed vigor, his heavy balls slapping harder against her ass. The slap of flesh filled the garden air, punctuated by Clare's ragged breaths. Ben stepped forward until he stood beside the table where his wife lay splayed. Kaden's hands still gripped her breasts.

Clare reached up, fingers reaching for Ben's brown hair, and pulled. His head came down to hers with the force of her demand. Their mouths crashed together, Clare's tongue driving past his lips, attacking his tongue. The kiss was anything but gentle, their teeth clicked, breath mingled in desperate pants, her grip in his hair tightening with each powerful thrust Kaden delivered into her body.

"Thank you so much," she gasped against his lips when they broke for air, her voice thick with something that made Ben's stomach twist. "I love you. I needed this so bad."

Kaden chose that moment to sink deep, thrusting his hips slow and deep that made Clare's back arch off the table, her cry swallowed back into another fierce kiss she initiated herself.

"This has been a dream day. I've been wanting a cock like this for a long time," she breathed, and her hand found him, fingers closing around his five inches for hard cock.

Ben's leaned forward into her grip, his pubic hair coarse against her knuckles, his mouth still kissing hers, tasting the salt and sweat. The garden lights caught the sheen of sweat on Ben's cock as Clare pumped his penis for him.

"I'm gonna cum," Clare gasped against Ben's mouth, the words hot and broken. "Both of you--don't stop--"

Her hand left Ben's cock, and she plunged those same fingers between her legs where Kaden's cock split her. She found her clit, hooded and swollen, and rubbed with the desperate speed of someone chasing the orgasm she'd already accomplished twice today. The table creaked beneath her. Kaden's grip on her breasts tightened, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks, and he watched her face in awe as her thighs began to tremble around his hips.

The orgasm hit her like a hurricane crashing into shore, her back arching so hard that only Kaden's weight kept her from bucking off the table. Fluid gushed from her pussy, hot and sticky, running down her ass crack to pool beneath her, soaking the table, soaking the base of Kaden's cock where he still pumped through the clenching resistance of her body. The sound of it was unmistakable, wet and filthy, her cry loud and uncontrolled in the Florida sunset.

Kaden's breath faltered, his thrusts turning to short, hard jabs. "Fuck..... Clare!--"

He buried himself to the base, his heavy balls drawn tight against her ass, and pulsed. Thick ropes of cum flooded her hairy pussy, mixing with her own orgasm, overflowing around his shaft to drip onto the table beneath them. His chest heaved, covered in sweat, and he stayed locked inside her, twitching, emptying, his forehead dropping to rest against her chest as Ben looked on, his neglected cock still rigid and wet against his stomach.

Kaden withdrew slowly, his cock coated and half-hard still, cum leaking out of Clare's gaping pussy. He stepped back, breathing hard, giving Ben space at the table's edge where Clare lay sprawled and open, her chest heaving, her skin completely red from throat to knees.

Clare turned her head toward Ben. Her lips red from kissing, and she watched him with heavy-lidded eyes as he moved into position where Kaden had stood.

Ben aimed his penis, short and hard enough he could get it in hands free. He pressed forward into the swollen, dripping pussy lips. The slide was effortless, almost too much so. Her walls were surprisingly tight considering Kaden's girth, flooded with mingled fluids that squelched audibly as he pushed to his base. His pubic hair matted against her wet bush. He leaned down, elbows surrounding her shoulders, and found her mouth with his.

She tasted of copper and salt and something else, something that made his hips began their rhythm. He drove harder than he'd intended, chasing friction in the slippery vagina, the table creaking beneath them. His smaller cock bumped places Kaden had stretched, the difference in sensation a fresh humiliation that spurred him to try going slower and deeper.

"It's your turn," Clare murmured into the kiss, her voice hoarse, almost tender. "Fill me up, Ben."

The words detonated something in his spine. His thrusts turned fast and hard, the wet slap of their joining filling the garden air. He groaned into her neck, his body tensing, his balls drawn tight as he came inside her in thick, desperate pulses. She milked him with subtle contractions, and he shuddered through it, emptying himself into the mixture already there, his cum and Kaden's creating a heavy deposit.

He kissed her once more, slower now, the urgency spent, and withdrew. His cock emerged shrunken and shining, a rope of their combined ejaculates trailing from his head to her auburn haired pussy.

The three of them looked down at her spread beneath them. Her thighs covered with overflow cum, her labia flushed and parted, a milky puddle widening beneath her ass on the massage table. The smell rose thick as the sweat and semen competing with the flowers in the garden.

Kaden grabbed his towel from the chair and tossed it onto the table, blotting the milky puddle with quick, efficient swipes. The towel was soaked immediately, saturated with the evidence of what they'd done. Ben found his own towel draped over a small tree and worked on Clare's thighs, dragging it through the mess they'd made.

Clare sat up slowly, her movements careful, and accepted Kaden's offered hand to stand. She kept the towel pressed between her legs as she walked, a makeshift pad catching what still seeped out of her. Kaden gathered the used towels into a bundle, and disappeared toward a service door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY without a backward glance.

Ben and Clare followed the path barefoot, the stones still warm from the day's sun. The pool's blue glow grew brighter as they approached, the underwater lights casting rippling patterns across the surrounding deck. They didn't speak. Clare dropped her soiled towel onto a chair and stepped to the pool's edge. She dove in with barely a splash. Ben followed with the water engulfing him, the cool water tickling the sensitive skin of his softened cock. He surfaced, blinking water from his eyes, and watched Clare tread water nearby, her dark hair slicked back, her breasts breaking the surface with each stroke as she swam lazy circles to rinse herself clean.

They climbed the ladder together, water streaming down their bodies, the chlorine doing its work. Clare stood with her back to him, squeezing water from her hair, the position arching her spine and lifting her round ass in a way that made him horny despite just ejaculating.

Footsteps on concrete approached. Greg's voice came first, "There you two are."

He and Ruth emerged from the hotel, both still nude, Greg's heavier build moving with confident slowness while Ruth's gaze found Clare immediately and stayed there, traveling down her dripping form with open appreciation.

"We're thinking of walking down to the beach for that sunset supper we told you about," Greg continued. "Fire pits, fresh fish, the works."

Ben's eyes found Clare. "How's your head?" he asked.

"So much better," she said, the words simple, her hand lifting to touch her temple in a brief gesture.

"Beach sounds great," Ben said, turning back toward Greg.

Ruth had stepped closer to Clare, close enough that water from Clare's hair landed on Ruth's chest. Ruth didn't flinch. Her eyes held Clare's with an intensity of motherly love.

"You are so beautiful," Ruth said, the words soft, separate from the boy's conversation.

"Thanks," Clare smiled at Ruth, "My husband is so wonderful for planning this trip. It's been great meeting you guys." Her hand found Ben's forearm, fingers wrapping around wet skin, "It's helped me more than I can describe."

Ruth's smile flickered. She stepped back and tucked herself against Greg's side. "Shall we?" Greg asked, already angling toward the beach.