Nap in the room

We devoured lunch, praying the food calms the swashing of liquor in my stomach. I stumbled to my room, and crawled into bed. Fantasies of my friends’ wives prevented me from rest. Courtney, the uppity brunette with perfect makeup, who’d would look even hotter with eyeliner streaking down her face, my dick stuffed down her throat, begging to breathe. Katy, the busty petite blonde with the crooked smile, whose thong bikini needed yanked to the side to expose her plumb pussy, that needed stretched. I stroked vigorously on the edge of completion.

But unwanted visions intruded, and ruined my pleasure. Rachel with Nick and Zach. Her long thin body bent between massive grizzly bears, each ravishing her. Eyes squeezed shut in orgasm. Her nostrils the only holes on her body not stuffed by another man.

Before I finished in my hand, I hoped my wife would walk in, tell me the preposterous reasoning for this trip, and ask if we could get another room. Avoid the drama of mixing sex with friends.

I awoke with Rachel nestled beside me, her hair tickling my ear. Her inquiry about my nap echoed through the room, a casual façade concealing the secrets lurking beneath.

“It was good,” I muttered, the weight of this afternoon’s drinks at the pool lingering. “Hopefully, I didn't turn into a lobster. How was the spa? You look like you've dipped into another realm.”

She spoke of the spa's serenity, but then, like a shadow emerging from the depths, she broached a subject laced with dangerous allure – partner swapping, the reason for our invitation to a Caribbean paradise.

Shit. Her eyes bore into mine, awaiting an answer that would reveal more than I intended. Keep it cool, don't betray the wanting.

“The way they talked about it," I replied with calculated nonchalance, "it's like a twisted form of therapy. A distraction from the chaos we've been wading through for months.”

Rachel’s smile, a mix of relief and anticipation, signaled that my response hit its mark. She probed my soul, questioning jealousy, the silent specter that danced on the periphery of my desires.

“I've pondered that,” I admitted, the words a delicate dance on the precipice. “It's all in good fun. Like I'm not jealous of your vibrator.”

Her laughter, a hint of mischief, echoed in the room. A kiss followed, one that spoke of desires not fully voiced. We surrendered to the moment, the anticipation lingering as we prepared for the evening's escapade.

Dressed in linen, I observed Rachel's choice, a cleavage-revealing ensemble that defied her usual restraint. The evening promised a dance with temptation, and I couldn't help but voice my appreciation, "You're looking great, babe."

In the restaurant's ambient glow, we joined the other couples, maintaining a charade of normalcy. Yet, beneath the surface, a current of anticipation pulsed. As the meal concluded, Courtney, with eyes that held secrets, seized my hand, her smile an invitation to a night veiled in shadows. “What do you want to do tonight?” she whispered, the question lingering like a provocative promise.