Extract:

 

I am walking down Orient Beach in St. Martin, it is a beautiful sunny day, and the view is spectacular, because 25 meters in front of me is a beautiful long haired brunette. She is still pale, a light brown that is evident she has been in a tanning booth prior to arriving here, the way women do to not get burned beet red on their first few days on the vacation beach. Apparently, she has not been on the island long.

The sun is gleaming off her thin coating of suntan oil, coconut based. I am close enough behind her to still catch the hint of it in the air. her black hair is pulled back and held with a scrunchie. She is barefoot. And wearing nothing ther than the dark sunglasses over her eyes. She is carrying a swimsuit cover of some sort in her left hand.

The woman appears about five foot six or seven inches, 128 or so pounds, in shape. Her pert ass is flexing with each step, her long legs are moving in a steady stride, gracefully, almost gliding. The indention of the muscle on the side of her thighs shows with each step. She walks taller, erect, shoulders back, her ample breasts thrust out, bouncing with each step, and she walks proudly, confident. While she is pretty, in shape, her air of confidence makes her more appealing and sexier. Her broad smile to those that pass her light up her face, giving off both sexiness and an air of approachability.

Men notice, they follow her with their eyes. Further ahead, 100 meters or so I see three young black men staring, talking among themselves, and the bolder of the three stands, his hair in long dreads, dark black, an assured smile, and he stands, glances back to his friends with a "watch-this" toss of his head, and turns down the beach toward the beautiful woman walking up the beach.

As an observer of people, I see a collision of sorts as they near. Not one of physical collision, but a mental fender bender. She slows and turns at times, looking behind her, surveying the beach or the ocean, in those half turns is when I see her smile, and the outline of a beautiful ample pair of breasts.

She is buck naked, as is the black man approaching. He is sporting a long uncut cock, exceptionally thick, swinging with his steps.

I'm close enough by now to hear her say, "Bonjour".

He sounds Jamaican. "Hey, you are one fine looking Momma," he says, turning to walk beside her. They walk faster, more animated, walking out of my hearing, but their conversation is animated.

The beautiful woman laughs, the young black man smiles. He says something and she shakes her head no, and he points to a bar with red umbrellas and chaise lounges. She nods, says something else, and by now they are approaching his two friends. He peels off to return to them, smiling. They give him a high five, he says something to them, and they laugh in obvious congratulations of some achievement.

The woman in front waves to the three black men, again a peal of laughter, and she parades on, still smiling, her back a bit straighter, thrusting her breasts out proudly, but a different sort of smile. A nice sway to her tight ass. She half turns and sees me closing.

In my hand is a long silver chain, designed to go around a woman's waist. She stops and I approach her. I reach out with the chain. "May I?" I ask. "You appear under dressed."

I reach around her waist, snap it so that it hangs at an enticing angle from her waist at an angle toward her hip.

"I wondered where you went," she said.

"The vendor down the beach, I stopped to haggle. This looked like you," I said.

"It is nice, thank you."

"Happy anniversary," I said. "Who's your new friend?"

"A very personable young man with confidence, good taste in the woman he approaches, and a nice thick cock," she said.

"And?"

"He invited me to join him for a drink around 6. He was very convincing."

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"What do you think I would tell him," she says with a half smile and a glint in her eye. "I said I would, did you see the cock he is packing?" she says, pausing, "you are invited as well."

"He knows that I am your husband?"

"No, but you can sit back and watch the play, or we can lay out the guidelines on how we play, however you would like to play it," she says.

"It is your anniversary, why don't you play it the way you would like," I offered.

"It is your anniversary too. Why don't we play it by ear," she said. I laughed.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I think I can predict how this is likely to end," I said.

"I've never fucked a Jamaican before," she says, as if the summation of her reasoning.

"That's my wife, can't take her anywhere," I joke.

"Hey, you are the one that brought me here, remember."

"I love you," I smile.

"I love you too," she says, taking my hand, and we continued up the beach, holding hands with the beautiful naked woman who is stopping conversations as we continue.

I think back to less than a year ago, when this woman I am holding hands with was a modest, conservative prim and proper woman, with no confidence in her appearance, too shy to speak to strangers, and who became offended if I even hinted at her fucking someone else outside of brief moments during role play.

We came to this same beach a year earlier, where after much convincing Eleanor stripped nude, but balked at sitting up and adamant that she was not going to walk nude down the beach with me. No way.

Much can change in a year I thought, as she half turns to me and I catch the sun gleams off a thin gold bar neatly piercing each nipple.

Actually the change took place over only eight weekends. My wife was trained by the first man to fuck her outside our marriage.