The One-Way Road
It didn’t seem fair that Stacey and I were gliding through this godforsaken countryside in a smooth, air-conditioned luxury bus. Two weeks. Coordinating a two week vacation practically required an act of congress, especially for Stacey, whose role as an executive partner in a boutique public relations firm kept her calendar (and our bank accounts) full. Now we were to enjoy some of the fruits of her intensity, fourteen days in paradise with every whim accommodated. The facility was the pinnacle of all-inclusive, but it’s doubtful the management–as customer-focused as they were–could imagine just how full-service this resort would become for Stacey and me.
We couldn’t know that we were right on the life-changing precipice that was about to confront us, but we did know that our sexual dander was up. We’d spent the previous 6 months fine-tuning and indulging in our dark fantasy, each pushing the other to ever more detailed, realistic depictions of our mutual kink. We had imagined specific people, and real situations–courses of action that had the scent of genuine possibility about them.We both expected, I think, to drive these psychic nails deeper and harder during our time away, and we both looked forward to it.
“Your wife doesn’t care for blackjack?” I asked the dark-haired gambler next to us at the table. “No wife” he replied. And added, after a pregnant pause, “and now, no girlfriend, either.” He smiled sadly, engaging my stare. “I know–funny place to come solo. We split four days before the trip.”
“Ouch!” Stacey said, sympathetically.
“Great timing, right? But you know about the deposit policy. And I was already off work, and so I figured what the hell, there are worse places to drown your sorrows…so here I am, the only solo dork on the island. My name’s Thomas,” he added with a subtle tone of apology. “But don’t let me intrude on your time together…”
“Don’t be silly! Why don’t you have dinner with us?” I offered, and after several rounds of ‘I couldn’t possiblies’ and ‘but we insists,’ Thomas, Stacey and I decamped to one of the “casual” (translation: only four stars…) restaurants on offer.
Thomas. A charming investment banker from Chicago. A bit younger than we are–maybe mid-thirties, he turned out to have an edgy wit, a deep intelligence, and a wry awareness of his own rakishness. The girlfriend, it turns out, had been the dumpee rather than, as I had assumed in the casino, the dumper. “Not the marryin’ kind,” Thomas allowed of himself, and apparently said girl had a different agenda. As regards Stacey, I suppose I was more attuned than usual, given our recent fantasy life, to her attentions and while it would’ve been entirely believable that I projected her glow and her heightened energy, events in the end were to ratify my perceptions.
The three of us spent much the next several days in each others’ company. We each liked Thomas, and we had much in common with one another, and so our companionship was not an act of mercy but rather a pleasure. Between our meals, our outings, our poolside lounging, we got to know each other quickly and well. And it wasn’t only me who found Thomas appealing; on several occasions I would return from a nap or a run and find Stacey and Thomas deeply immersed in conversation together.
Stacey and I were naked together in our bed on the fifth night of the trip. As my hands and lips caressed her soft flesh, I whispered to her, “did that man come over last night?” A typical opening to allow her to mold the direction of our game. There was a long pause, and heavy, even agitated breathing on her part as my tongue found her engorged clitoris.
Her voice was wavering uncharacteristically, and halting, as she finally whispered in reply “do you mean…. Thomas?”
I froze. My tongue at that moment was pressed hard against her hood, but the name made my intestines convulse. Stacey’s body was trembling, and from the slick wetness sluicing into my face I knew what was about to happen: she shook, and came, her thighs first squeezing my head like a vise and then shooting open, wide and wildly out of control, her bare body writhing in the grip I desperately maintained on her ass cheeks. Her orgasm was overwhelming. And all it required to cause it was a name. Thomas.
As her twitching receded I slid slowly up her body and gazed into her eyes. She returned my stare with an expression I had to parse: aroused, of course, but also… eager? Searching? That was it: she needed to get my reaction. My steel-hard cock found her netherlips as I lowered my mouth to hers. I was moving entirely on instinct now, wanting conflicting things at the same time: to fill her and be received by her, to reclaim her (from one mention of a name!), to reassure her, and I also realized, to encourage her. As my cock slid up inside her sopping center, I held the kiss but opened my eyes. Her eyes were open too, staring at me, close range, kissing me, maybe pleading with me. I began to rock back and forth and the question came to my lips, unbeckoned, instinctive, magnetic. “Do you,” I whispered softly, “want him?”
Her gaze bored into mine, the fear enlarging, the arousal, too. She wouldn’t speak.
“Do you?” I prodded, just as my dick was prodding at her folds. “It’s okay, Stacey… you know that. Just be honest.”
She pulled her thighs even wider and grabbed my bottom, pulling me deeper into her. Her eyes shut as she concentrated to taking me into her body, as if to contrast her bodily motions against the thoughts that were coursing through her mind.
“Stacey, do you want to be with Thomas?” I urged again.
“I… I don’t know…” her voice barely above a hiss. She was frightened. I saw it all in an instant: of course, had she not been interested she would have easily said ‘no.’ As it was, she simply couldn’t be sure of my reaction, now that we were talking about an actual person, in an actual situation where it might be possible. I continued to thrust into her waiting for her eyes to flutter open, When they did I assumed the bravest and most benign expression I could muster (at least during the act of intercourse) and said “it’s okay, Stacey. Really…. it’s more than okay. We both want this.”
“Oh God, Steve… you do? Really?” Her incredulous tone nearly, but not quite, masked her hopefulness. She was torn sharply between the dictates of her body and her sense of duty. “Are you… are you sure? Because–”
“Stacey, my love,” I whispered, making my thrusts and out of her slower and more gentle. “I love you, with everything I have. I want this for you…. for us.” I held her focus until my semen erupted inside her and I could no longer keep my eyes open. Face clinched shut, I had just the barest presence of mind to finish my orgasm with a grunted “I mean it.”