Bali Vacation Part 1: Shark takes Blondie

Thank Chatgpt for the story and me for the sex....

Chapter: Paradise in a Bikini...or the Fantasy Destroyer…Blondie Dithers

The sun blazed like a golden god above the turquoise horizon, and waves rolled in soft white plumes along the sparkling shore. Music drifted from a beachfront bar made of driftwood and neon, where three young surfers—shirtless, sun-kissed, and loose-limbed from hours in the surf—sat sipping tall cocktails and arguing about who had the best cutback form.

Then, like a scene from a beer commercial, she appeared.

Blonde. Tanned. Radiant.

In a barely-there coral bikini, sunglasses perched high in her golden hair, and with the swaying hips of someone who knew every eye was on her.

“Two Mr. Bali Hais, please,” she said to the bartender, her voice sweet with Midwestern honey. Then, she adjusted the edge of her bikini bottom, oblivious—or perhaps entirely aware—of the three surfers' mouths hanging open behind her.

She turned, flashing them a dimpled smile. “You boys locals?”

The tallest of the trio—sun-blasted, lean, and confident—recovered first. “Nah, we’re from San Diego. But we come here every year. Surf season.”

“Well, shoot,” she said with a grin. “I’m from Joplin, Missouri. Blondie Dithers.”

They caught the name—Blondie—but what they really caught was the glinting wedding ring as she sipped her neon drink.

Married? To who?

The confident one took the lead. “You ever been to Ubud?” he asked. “There’s this monkey forest up there. Sacred temples. Incredible food.”

Blondie leaned in, genuinely interested. “That sounds amazing,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Tell me more.”

He was about to ask her to join them tomorrow. Maybe even tonight. He could feel it—something

was clicking. Until—

“Blondie, darling!”

An older man, gray-haired, thick glasses, wearing socks with his sandals and holding a wrinkled shark-diving brochure, stumbled onto the scene. “What if we try this scuba diving with sharks? Eh? Something thrilling!”

Blondie turned, lit up. “Jules! You’re going to get us killed!”

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed his cheek with sincere affection, and turned back to the dumbfounded surfers.

“Boys, meet my husband. Julius Dithers. He’s on this kick now where he wants us to nearly die on vacation.”

“Nice to meet you,” Julius said politely, squinting at the trio. “Is Ubud where the monkeys are? Blondie wants monkeys.”

“It is,” the tall surfer muttered, jaw tight.

“Perfect,” she beamed. “But I want some more sun first. Then a nap. Then monkeys.”

She looped her arm in Julius’s, drinks in hand, and they sauntered off along the shore.

Julius glanced back at the surfers. “You’re ruining those boys’ fantasies, walking around in that bikini.”

Blondie adjusted it with a proud tug. “I gave birth to your child and still fit in this thing. I earned the right to wear it.”

Julius chuckled, smug and satisfied. “You’re going to give the whole island a complex.”

She leaned into him. “Good.”

Together, they disappeared into the golden haze—her laughter rising above the tide, his arm snug around her waist, the perfect picture of paradise and the perfect ruination of surfer dreams everywhere.

Chapter: Shark Takes Fish

The bungalow rose like a dream from the sea—one of those private overwater sanctuaries tucked away in a crescent of paradise. The warm timber floor gleamed beneath open luggage and tossed clothing, the room alive with the marks of a vacation deeply enjoyed. The centerpiece was the glass floor—clear panels revealing the ever-changing reef below, a living aquarium that danced with light and color as the sun moved overhead.

The bathroom was its own retreat: polished marble, bamboo shelves, and a gold-trimmed Jacuzzi tub shaped like a conch shell. A glass rainfall shower, orchids by the sink, a mosaic of tropical fish along the walls. It smelled of salt, coconut oils, and Blondie’s expensive skincare products.

In the bedroom, caught between a king-sized bed with rumpled silk sheets and the sliding doors that opened to a deck over the sea, Julius Dithers adjusted his gray Louis Vuitton suit on a low couch. He admired its cut in the mirror—tailored elegance—but truth be told, he hadn’t cared about brands until his second wife insisted.

Blondie. Blondie Boopadoop... now Blondie Dithers.

Funny to think of her as his second wife. The moment he got serious about her, he’d dropped Cora like a bag of dirt. Left her on the roadside with a check and a shrug.

The room bore signs of indulgent living—an empty box of candied strawberries, two wine glasses by the bed, a heavy-bottomed whiskey tumbler on the dresser. Julius reached for a bottle—empty. The next one: Macallan. Good stuff. He poured.

He puffed his pipe and watched Bloomberg on the bedroom screen. Oil futures. Ghouls in suits panicking over desert wells and winter forecasts.

He leaned back, his shoulder brushing a silky something—Blondie’s bra. He picked it up carefully and placed it on the bed beside her matching turquoise lace panties. A set that would’ve caused a fistfight back at that beach bar.

He smiled. He’d kept up with her—gym workouts, long beach walks, and yes, in bed.

Those sheets didn’t lie. Sometimes he was even the one begging for more. She was... more than a fantasy. She was the fantasy. The one who let you in on the secret and stayed after sunrise.

He remembered the boys from the bar, jaws on the floor. Her bikini still hung drying outside, fluttering like a flag they’d never claim. He saw her take it off later that night, casual, confident, utterly his.

Then his thoughts drifted. Cora. What would she look like in that turquoise lace? A sad puddle. A gray smear. He laughed aloud.

“We’ve been in birthday suits a lot on this trip,” he muttered with a grin. “Best kind of suit.”

“What’s that, dear?” came Blondie’s voice from the bathroom.

“Nothing,” Dithers said quickly.

She could smell the smoke.

“Julius Dithers!” she scolded, poking her head out of the ornate bathroom.

Her beauty stunned him anew. Her makeup was expertly done—soft coral lips, golden-bronze cheek shimmer, eyes lined with just enough drama to kill a man. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high, teased bun, strands curled just so around her cheekbones. A goddess on holiday.

“You lied!” she said, hands on hips.

“I didn’t!” he protested. “It’s a pipe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Outdoors with that, you old fox.”

He chuckled, grabbed his drink, and stepped out to the deck. The sea shimmered below through the glass, a world untouched.

Below him, a school of small fish passed lazily, refracted by sun and motion. Among them swam a lone beauty—sleek gray body, electric yellow fin, darting under the bungalow like a lightning thought.

“Can you see that fish?” Blondie called from inside.

“I see it,” he said. “As beautiful as you.”

She giggled. “I’m checking the internet.” A pause, then the sound of her phone clicking a picture. “I uploaded it to see what kind it is.”

He sighed and smiled. “You and that damn internet.”

“It's a Blonde Naso Tang!” she shouted with delight. “A Blondie! Like me!”

The fish reappeared below him—vibrant, darting, wild. Full of color. Full of life. He watched it slip into the shadows under the deck.

Then he saw something else.

A shape. Older. Bigger. Slower. A gray reef shark, drifting just beneath the planks. It didn’t chase. It waited. It calculated.

Like him.

“Oh my god...” Blondie gasped, peeking out from the bathroom again. “I think a shark got the Blondie!”

Julius took a slow puff of his pipe, eyes steady on the water.

She had no idea.

Chapter: The Brightest Star

The bathroom gleamed like a royal spa—walls of polished coral-pink marble, gold trim along every edge, and a Jacuzzi tub in the center rimmed with glass tiles that shimmered like pearls. Glass sconces shaped like sea anemones bathed the space in a warm, honeyed light. Blondie stood barefoot on the heated tile floor, the scent of coconut oil and jasmine filling the steamy air around her. She sipped a chilled lychee martini, the pale drink glowing slightly pink from the smear of her signature ruby lipstick on the rim. In her other hand, she held a peeled rambutan, its sweet, translucent flesh resting like a jewel in her manicured fingers.

She melted into the moment. The indulgence. The decadence. The absurdly good lighting. This wasn't always her thing—jacuzzis, rare fruit, $1,400-a-night villas with glass floors—but then again, she hadn’t always been with a man like Julius Dithers.

Tipsy, yes. She had been most of the trip. And thank the stars for it. Between late-night stock dinners, photo ops, video calls to promote Blondie's Catering and Bakery (now featuring a five-star resort menu package), and fundraising for her latest culinary app, she needed something to take the edge off. The success was dizzying, even with Julius greasing every wheel in sight.

And raising that devil child of his? A full-time job. A grinning, plotting, suspiciously quiet little creature with his father’s eyes and poker face. She missed the little rascal.

“Did you call the nanny?” she called out from the bathroom, unwrapping another rambutan.

“Which one?” came Julius’s gravelly voice from outside. “And yes, I called all of them. Fifth time, darling!”

The sweet perfume of his pipe had vanished. Now, through the louvered bathroom window, she smelled something bolder—mahogany, leather, and spice.

A Cohiba.

Of course. She sighed and smiled. Julius wouldn’t dream of drinking Macallan 25 with Bali pipe smoke. It just wasn’t done. And honestly, how could she fault him? If she could wear bikinis that left surfers gasping for oxygen and skirts that made waiters knock over drink trays—all under the bold flag of body positivity and radical self-love—then Julius could damn well have his cigar.

She turned back to the vanity. Hair curled just enough to suggest waves, like the sea they hovered over. Her makeup flawless: glowing cheekbones, fluttering lashes, crimson lips still fresh from the martini glass.

And now… the shoes.

There they were. A box she swore she wouldn’t touch. But he bought them. “You wanted these,” she murmured to herself.

Out came the Taylor Swift Showcase Maison Christian Louboutin’s Chandelier-Inspired Sandals—the ones with crystals like a falling star cascade and thin silver straps that wound sensuously up her calves. Five-inch heels. Absolutely impossible.

It took time. But when she stood, everything locked into place.

Julius stood on the deck, the Cohiba between his teeth, the Macallan 25 in his hand. The ocean breathed beneath the glass floor. The stars above blinked alive one by one, brighter here than anywhere back home. Far from markets and noise, he was finally still.

“What do you think, baby?” Blondie called.

He turned—and forgot how to blink.

She stood in the doorway like a silver bullet of glamor. A tight, shimmering dress clung to her like it had fallen from the sky just to wrap around her body. The neckline plunged low, displaying her cleavage with artful precision. The hem barely reached the line of decency, catching a breeze that promised danger. A single misstep and she’d become the evening news. And she knew it.

“Do I look like a model or a starlet?” she purred, twirling. First front. Then back. Then a pose. One leg out. One hip cocked. Confidence radiated from her like heat from a sunlamp.

“You look like the brightest star in the sky,” Julius said truthfully.

She laughed, striding toward him—heels clicking, lights catching. He met her mid-deck, his little firecracker of a wife nearly a foot taller in those heels. Fine by him. She could tower over mountains, and he’d still be her man.

She bent down, kissing him. Lipstick and scotch, glitz and grit.

“Look at us two,” she said, facing the full-length mirror inside. He followed, both of them framed together. Silver and gray. Curve and crag. Youth and age. Beauty and beast, but which was which?

“Dinner?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Blondie snatched his cigar and whiskey like it was nothing. She sipped—coughing, wincing, trying to be smooth. She puffed the cigar—again, a cough, but she recovered. Another puff. This time, a perfect ring.

“You trying to keep up with your old man, huh?” Julius teased, retrieving his drink.

She looked back at the tousled bed. Hair wild. Sheets tangled. Her voice lowered into a laughing whisper. “No freaking lie… I honestly can’t.”

So she drank, he smoked.

Then he drank, she smoked.

Trading back and forth, the rhythm natural. A shared indulgence, a shared life.

She pulled the Cohiba from her lips, exhaling a perfect smoke circle. “I smuggled these in those panties back there,” she said proudly.

“I know,” he chuckled. “Still smells like customs in my briefcase.”

She nestled in beside him, arm looped under his.

“You brought birth control, right?” he asked casually.

She raised an eyebrow and poured herself another generous glass, dropping in a single ice sphere that clinked like a tiny gong. “Such things are for young, single people, dear,” she said with a wink.

“I thought you said this trip was about women’s empowerment?”

She bent over the railing, the silver dress daring the stars to peek. “And I thought you said it was about baby factories!”

“Women’s Lib: 3. Baby Factories: 2,” she added, toasting the sky.

“You didn’t score a third point

upgrading the flight. My card did that.”

She gave him a playful slap and pointed to his iPad—now perfectly configured. By her. All the apps, shortcuts, camera functions… even the market tracker he hadn’t known existed.

They laughed. They drank. They smoked.

And as the sun vanished fully behind the sea and the stars blazed brighter, Julius looked not upward—but at her.

Because the brightest star wasn’t in the sky.

She was right there.

Blondie.

The old man's old man was responding to the dress. Hell, it'd been responding to her very presence. His hard cock yearned for the youthful pussy under that dress. It was his. His to enjoy. His hand went to her ass, her eyes never leaving the horizon. The hand slipped up her hemline, under the skirt of the dress, grabbing white orbs of ass. She giggled. He didn't stop. He lifted her skirt, exposing the green turquoise thong.

"Julius," she playfully scolded him. She could feel him moving her panties. Unzipping his fly. "Right here....it's open," she protested with her words but not her body. He was directly behind her. His prick now teasing her exposed and very wet slit. "Someone will...." she was cut off by a cock slipping into her cunt. "Unnnnnnhhh," she moaned. If she truly cared about getting fucked on the open deck, she didn't act like it.

Sensing he had leverage now and had hit his mark, Julius grabbed her dress at her hips and slid his old cock in deeper causing the young beauty to stand on her tippy toes in the heels. The old codger impaling his young wife against the railing. He picked up his pace.

Her resistance turned quickly to pleading. "Don't stop....don't stop..." she cooed. "Ohhh Julius I'm cumming," she whispered softly. But her pussy was anything but whispering about the orgasm. Her tight hole tightened even more. Pulsing on his old prick.

"Good dear god!" The old businessman cried out to the stars. His cock pumped and pumped cum into his wife's young pussy. A conquering elderly prick bedding a youthful cunt. A cunt the old dick had once seeded and look to conquer again. He fell on her. They breathed. And laughed.

"You're gonna kill me," he sighed rubbing his white hair.

Blondie chuckled. "It'll be a good ****."

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