Full Caribbean Moon - Sex Stories

Full Caribbean Moon

... "Jonathan, why don't you join us?" "You don't mind?" the man replied. "I wouldn't want to be a third wheel." "On the contrary, sit down." A drink was ordered for the man, conversation ensued. They found that Jonathan was down from Chicago for some R&R, and they in turn revealed how they were slaves to a large Victorian home in a Pennsylvania suburb, their lives as a computer technician and high school teacher. Still another round was delivered and the band returned, this time playing more reggae. It was clear that Terri felt the rhythms and wished to return to the dance floor. "Why don't you take her out again?" Will suggested to Jonathan. "This isn't my kind of music." As he gazed at his completely faithful wife reveling with the other fellow, he was reminded of the fantasies he'd had for years. Perhaps this was the night? Once again she swirled and dipped around her partner, faux symbolisms of sexual attraction, and Will was happy she was enjoying herself. Jonathan moved with her, obviously enchanted with the woman. Three or four numbers passed, lively songs from the seventies, and the images of what might be captivated Will. The band played a slow song and Terri and Jonathan returned to the table. "My turn," Will demanded. "Don't go away," he said to Jonathan, "we won't be long." When they were among the other dancers, he held his wife close, waited a minute, then began to share his imaginings with his wife. "You seem to like Jonathan." "He's a good dancer," Terri ...

... admitted. "Do you think he's cute?" "Sort of." It was a bit noncommittal, unsure of where the conversation was heading. "Listen," Will continued, realizing he had only a few moments to communicate with her. "You know how we've talked about you being with another guy? This might be a good time to try it." She reflected on the hundreds of times he'd fantasized about her making love with another man. Most of the time she'd played along, concocting stories of how she'd meet a man at a bar, have a few drinks, then go to his apartment and let him screw her. To her, it was nothing more than tantalization, a game, but for Will it was a craving, and once, more out of a desire to please him than any real hunger on her part, she'd agreed to go through with it, if and when. Since then, he pestered her from time to time, never insistent, always challenging. Was now 'if and when'? "You want me to go to bed with him?" The question was guarded, strained. "If you want to," Will retorted. "You like him, it's clear that he likes you. We're away from anyone we know, anyone who will ever know us. It's the perfect set up." He stopped, waited for a response that didn't come, wondered if he'd overstepped a bit. "If you'd rather not, it's okay," he retreated, "but if you're ever going to . . . ." She realized if she simply said 'no,' he'd bring her rejection up over and over again for years. "Let me think about it," she replied, just as the music sped up. "I'm not promising anything." "Fine," he agreed. ...