The Vacation Wife by David Stone (best selling autobiographies TXT) 📕

That stab to the gut I felt when Susan said, “I’ll be sleeping with Greg that night”, was really just a cupid’s arrow sting signaling the pains of love and the joyful agonies of desire. I liked that pain and agony. It said, “God, I love this woman. This torture is the proof.”

“I am so up for this,” said Marci, when we arrived home after the dinner. “God, just fuck me right now, Ryan.” She led me to the living room, tore off my clothes, and descended on my cock like it was an oxygen hose and we were at 50,000’. After a few minutes she was sated, her panic of desire briefly quenched, and she stood and removed her clothes.

“Wait a minute,” she said, once naked. She went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She set them down and moved to the curtains, which she opened before returning to the sofa. She filled the glasses, then sat, leaning back with her legs spread and knees raised while holding a glass of wine. It was an extremely naughty and suggestive posture.

“Eat me,” she instructed. She took a sip of wine. “Eat me for a while, and then fuck me, Ryan.”

I descended and licked her languorously, dipping my tongue in here and there, purposely holding back, knowing she loved this teasing. When I looked up at her face, I saw her eyes acquiring a half-lidded, blissful look. She smiled, took a sip of her wine, then closed her eyes. I knew she would come in no time.

She did. The signs were always clear. Her hand would push my head down as her pelvis heaved into it, then she would grind herself into my tongue as epileptic fits seized her body. It was quite a ride from my perspective. Having her orgasm telegraphed through my tongue was a sensational experience. Her swollen lips would caress my face as they slid up and down, soaking me with her appreciation.

For sure, nothing strokes a man’s ego more than being with an orgasmic woman.

After orgasming again during intercourse, she pulled herself away, told me to stand, and took me in her mouth. After no more than a minute I couldn’t hold back any longer. Her technique was out of this world. Sensing I was there, she released me from her mouth and pumped purposefully while aiming my cock at her face.

“Jesus, Marci, what…”

“Just come on my face!”

“I don’t want to…” I was having trouble speaking. “It’s not a thing for me….”

“Just do it, Ryan. I want you to!!! Come on my face dammit!”

I could resist no longer. My cum jetted over her cheeks and eyebrows, into her hair, down her chin, and onto her breast. Blinking heavily, she looked into my eyes as the final streams cascaded over her beautiful, willing face.

It was true this wasn’t a thing for me. It wasn’t on my wishlist, but boy, it was hot. A woman willing you to come on her face, wanting you to, insisting that you do so—it was beyond description. I felt both dirty, like I’d done a terrible thing to this woman, but also exhilarated. It was a strange mix.

I sat back on the sofa as Marci used my discarded shirt to wipe her face. Once she’d done as good a job as she could under the circumstances, she sat on top of me and gave me the grandest kiss of our entire relationship, like she was inhaling my soul.

“Bet you didn’t see that coming,” she said while sitting up.

“No. I can’t believe you wanted to go there.”

“I know, right? Swallowing is much tidier. You’ve got cum all over me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I asked for it.”

“Why?”

She gave it considerable thought before replying.

“I wanted to shock you.”

“You did,” I said. “Job done.”

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Nor will you have to again. But I get it, I think... I think I know why you did it.”

“I wanted you to know how special you are to me, and that anything is okay. Really, Ryan, anything you want, I’ll do it.”

“I think you’ve just convinced me.”

“And you see, I’m not really your wife. I’m your ‘other woman’. I’m the one you can do things with because I’m not your wife. Do you get it?”

“I think so.”

“You’ll see.”

∞∞∞

The pilot, not fully on his game, landed our plane a few feet beneath the runway. Marci was startled awake just as I was startled out of my revery.

“What the fuck?” she said.

“We’ve landed in Cancun.”

“Are you sure we didn’t just crash?”

“Look out the window. We’re in one piece.”

She stretched and looked out the window, drawing her dress wide open at the crotch thus revealing her lovely panties. For the week ahead, she, along with everything else about her, was all mine. I felt giddy. Who was it that said marriage was the death of all hope? They were greatly mistaken. My hopes and dreams were quickly taking new forms, in addition to all of their other existing forms.

“It looks like Miami,” she said, making an accurate observation. It had that look flying in.

“A bit. Plus, the Yucatan and Quintana Roo are flat like Florida, except where we’re headed. There’s a slight rise there where it meets the sea and Mayan ruins.”

“Quintana what?”

“Think of it as a county. Tulum is in Quintana Roo like Miami is in Dade County.”

“Gee,” she said, mockingly. “You must be the smartest person I know on this plane.”

We followed signs to immigration which, once there, involved being waved through by several sleepy officials. I could have been carrying a bazooka without being bothered. Within another hour we were exiting Alamo Car Rentals, heading south on the 307 for Tulum.

“Where’s the ocean?” asked Marci while examining the horizons.

“You missed it when we were flying in. It looked gorgeous. It’s a few miles to the east.” I pointed left in case her north-south bearings were off.

“Okay. Hey, I’m hungry.”

“You also missed the meal service on the plane.”

“And what’s your