Where's Brenda?

"I want this to end with us fucking like we've never fucked before, until we are so wrapped in the pleasure of the moment that we see and hear only each other. Feel only each other. He knew just what to do to bring their love-making to a new and higher plateau. Gently, he took Brenda by the hand and led her to the bay window overlooking the pool where they stood for a while, locked in a tight embrace. As he kissed her deeply, she knew without reservation what his intentions were.

"No," she breathed. "No, I'm not very comfortable with that."

"Honey, no-one can really see us this high up. It's just the thought of making love with other people around that's exciting," explained Bob. "And even if someone did glance up, you have a such a beautiful body no-one could take offense." He looked out over the pool. "There's hardly anybody there and no kids. All smart parents would have their kids in bed by now. This is our play hour. Come on. It'll add that last bit of spice. It's all that's missing. You. Me. And the show."

"Well, let's draw the drapes then," suggested Brenda.

"Okay, but we have to leave them open a little bit. You decide how much."

Brenda wriggled free from his arms, reached for the cord and began to pull the heavy curtains closed. Bob watched intently, wondering where she would have the courage to stop. When she did, he was surprised. There was still three feet of window showing when she released the cord, turned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and back.

"There," she said. "Good enough?"

"Not quite," replied Bob, reaching around her to tug the drapes open a further inch or two. "Now that's perfect," he said, smiling like a naughty schoolboy. Running his hands along her sides he gathered the fabric of her teddy together and raised the nightie over her head. The discarded bundle joined his shirt in a corner of the room. He got down on his haunches and pulled the thong down to her knees. From there it fell to the floor and she stepped away from it with a giggle.

Bob, anxious now to be inside her, positioned one of the wing chairs in front of the window and sat down, his shaft standing tall as a flag pole from between his thighs. He motioned Brenda to come closer, used his hands on her hips to turn her towards the window and coaxed her down to sit on his lap. She was so wet he had no difficulty holding the base of his cock and guiding it into her vagina. As she sat back he penetrated her deeply. He made no effort to move his hips. For a while, it was enough just to feel her enveloping him. She sensed the same need and for some moments they sat together not shifting their position, joined in this manner in harmony and united in flesh, lust and accord of purpose.

Then unable to resist her impulses further Brenda began to slowly gyrate her hips in a circular motion and Bob responded immediately, reclining further in the chair and thrusting his hips forward. She spread her legs wide and used her hand to alternately massage her clitoris and his balls. They achieved a natural rhythm to their love-making and both rose quickly to the point of climaxing.

"They're watching us," Brenda said quietly. "From the pool."

Bob reached around her to fondle both breasts lovingly and to play with the nipples, covering and then tweaking them before slowly removing his hand and exposing each nipple in turn to the assumed audience. He could see Brenda's face reflected in the glass. With her eyes closed she could not have determined whether voyeurism was in play so he knew she was imagining a spectator gallery. "Good," he replied. "Enjoy the attention."

With that he thrust deeply a few more times and reached an explosive orgasm, all the while shuddering and groaning with pleasure. Brenda felt the warmth of his cum jettison inside her and with this cue she, too, reached a powerful climax. In fact she doubted she'd ever experienced one that took her to such heights of ecstasy. Now holding firmly onto the arms of the chair she arched her back, pressing her thighs backwards and down to take in the fullest length of Bob's cock one last time. She uttered a series of loud, almost plaintiff squeals of sheer delight. And then it was over for her too.

When she had stopped moving Bob laid his head against her, noticing the goosebumps along her spine and across her lower back. She was silent now, breathing heavily but otherwise relaxed and enjoying the feeling of warmth that was the seal between their bodies.

Neither was aware of the passage of time but eventually Bob croaked: "Merlin, I'm a happy man. If anyone's wondering what this king is doing tonight, I'm not telling."

Brenda leaned forward, closed the drapes fully and stood up. Turning, she took Bob by both hands to raise him from the chair. "C'mon King Arthur. I believe a jacuzzi soak is in order. Without Merlin, mind you. And then some sleep time. We aren't kids anymore you know."

The next 36 hours were among the happiest of their long marriage. Bob and Brenda ate and drank too well, visited local tourist attractions and even stopped in at an adult store to buy some sex toys, something they had never done before. Stealing quiet times on several occasions in their suite, they learned together the pleasures of using dildos, vibrators, feathers, edible underwear and lotions.

On their last day they decided to try out the Eco-spa and Brenda placed a call to the help desk. The concierge who made the bookings had some questions and as he was confirming their times with the masseuse, he asked: "Brenda? It is Brenda, am I right?"

"Yes," she replied.

"I'm looking over the bookings for today and you know of course we're squeezing you in because this is your last day with us. But if you want to keep the 1:30 appointment this afternoon, I'm afraid I only have a male masseuse available. The same for your husband. Is that satisfactory?"

"Why yes," responded Brenda, almost too quickly. "No. I mean yes. That would be fine." She told Bob, of course. He would have found out anyway.

"Sucks to be me," he said. "Wish I could be in the room with you." Brenda wasn't at all sure he didn't mean it but dismissed the comment as bravado with just a hint of jealousy.

Around the appointed time they made their way through the corridors of the facility's left wing to arrive fashionably early by a few minutes. They signed the guest register and were led to the change rooms by the host. Here they were assigned their personal lockers. "Take off everything but your underwear. Brenda, you will of course also remove your bra. Change into your gown and make your way back to the waiting area," said the buxom 30-something red-head who seemed to take some delight in issuing commands in a sufficiently muted but stern voice normally reserved for a Regimental Sargent Major on parade. With that, she turned abruptly and left the two new customers to their disrobing.

"Well that's clear enough," said Bob, already undoing his shoe laces.

"True," replied Brenda. "You never did have much difficulty understanding the term 'get undressed.'" She smiled and proceeded to unbutton her blouse.

They slipped into their heavy terrycloth bathrobes and wool slippers. As they made their way to the waiting lounge Bob thought it opportune to ask the most obvious of questions. "What did you choose from the menu? I'm just having a deep therapeutic massage."

"Shhh," hushed Brenda. "Didn't you see the sign in Reception. Use your spa voice. They can hear you all the way in the sauna next door."

"Well", asked Bob with some moderation in his voice.

"Well, what?" asked Brenda.

"What ya havin'? And don't say the masseuse."

"Wipe that grin off your face. People will be wondering." After a pause, Brenda said: "I decided on the hot stone therapy, but tagged on a facial."

"Getting stoned in this country is probably a lot better than in some other places I can think of," remarked Bob. "Should be fun."

"Oh, here we are," said Brenda, making a sharp right turn into the lounge. "Now isn't this just perfect," she exclaimed. The lights were turned down low. A large aquarium ran the entire length of one wall and Bob, who had once owned his own ... it was a fish tank really ... marveled at how all the fish seemed to actually be alive and lazily swimming about. Incense burned from a tray arrangement of Sandalwood joss sticks arranged on a small table in the corner.

They took seats next to each other opposite three other customers, all women. Brenda carefully tucked the folds of the front of the gown between her knees and adjusted the material to fit comfortably and to modestly hide almost all of her legs down to mid-calf height. Bob, sitting with his legs apart, mimicked his wife when he realized the error of his ways. She caught his movement from the corner of her eye. Brenda turned ever so slightly towards him, nodded and smiled her approval.

"Weird," said Bob.

"What's weird?" asked Brenda. "And for heaven's sake keep your voice down to a whisper. Who knows what you're going to say next."

Bob leaned over until his head was almost on her shoulder. Enunciating his words perfectly so that he would be less likely to have to repeat them, he confided in Brenda that he was wondering about the ladies in the lounge opposite them. To think, he mused, they have practically nothing on underneath and are sitting with a bunch of strangers. "That would be a real turn-on for some folks. Only ever happens at pool parties."

"Since when were you at a pool party?" asked Brenda.

"Never. Except in my attic up here," he said tapping his temple. "You were there, by the way."

Before he could continue, a masseuse entered the room. "Hi," he said, surveying the occupants. "I'm Greg. Which of you is Brenda?"

"I am," said Brenda, almost jumping to her feet. Greg was tall, maybe six-foot three, had broad shoulders, a brush-cut hairstyle and chiseled facial features with a square, strong jaw and even white teeth, all the better set off by his overall bronzed tan.

"Right this way, Brenda. Our room is half-way along this corridor to the left. Follow me. We'll have you comfortable in no time." Bob winced visibly. The man looked like a college football star or something. Why could he not have been short, hairy and ugly? Nothing he could do about it now. Brenda followed Greg out of the lounge. She forgot to look back or say anything as she left the room. She just up and wandered off, leaving Bob with the strangers still awaiting their turn. 'I guess her mind is already in another place,' he thought ruefully.

Fortunately he didn't have long to wait for his masseuse to show up which was probably just as well or he would have felt obliged to say something to the 'ladies in waiting', something probably that would not have been deemed too appropriate. He had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth when in situations where he felt uneasy.

He dutifully followed the masseuse who turned out to be a quite unremarkable looking individual. Once inside the treatment room Bob patiently answered the man's questions. He didn't mind the preliminaries. It gave him some idea of what Brenda would be talking about with that linebacker a few doors away. Once the therapy had started, he lay relaxed on the bed and let his mind wonder, not thinking at all about one man touching him and another attending to his wife.

After an hour they met in the locker room and changed back into their street clothes. They were either too relaxed or simply unable to decide what to talk about first, so they dressed in silence. As they were about to exit the spa, thanking the host and leaving the obligatory 15% gratuity, Bob took Brenda by the elbow and escorted her out into the corridor. "My room was all decked out like we were in some kind of forest. And the music was weird. All sorts of little animal sounds."

"Polar Arctic," said Brenda, still with her spa voice. "Cold scenery. Hot rocks on my back. I didn't know there were icebergs in heaven." Bob didn't ask her about Greg, and she didn't offer to talk about her experience further. Let Bob have his fantasies.

The following morning they extricated themselves one last time from the heap of Mideast linen that had been their bed, packed, checked-out and had a light breakfast in the lobby before calling for their car. Bob winced when the elderly van was delivered by the valet to the front of the lobby. 'Brenda's right. Time to trade her in.'

****

Both Brenda and Bob anticipated a shorter drive home. Each felt they had so much to talk about, so much to share and wonder over. And to celebrate. Their conversations would make the hours fly by and, for some reason, the thought of getting back to the grind did not seem as daunting as it might otherwise have been.

An hour into the journey Bob thought the time right to ask Brenda outright about how much she enjoyed their dirty weekend away and, at the same time, try to solicit some confirmation from her that the past few days were only the beginning of a much happier time awaiting them back in the country.

He began the conversation by itemizing the physical details of their love-making episodes and asking her how she felt about what they had done and experienced. She seemed comfortable and happy to converse with him, saying only positive things about what had happened and the way it made her feel about herself. She promised to make more time for them. She even suggested they make up an erotic 'bucket list' to go by and make a game of it, scoring their adventures and checking off each item as they went.

Bob was well pleased with the suggestion and gave it his wholehearted support. "I gotta say, all this talk and remembering and planning... well, it's kinda making me really horny."

Brenda did not move a muscle. Did not even raise an eyebrow. She sat perfectly still in the front passenger seat staring out the windshield directly ahead. At first Bob thought she could not have heard him. As he was about to repeat his confession, she suddenly responded: "Know what Bob. Me too."

Bob studied the road ahead for some minutes, taking time to absorb what she had said. This was a new Brenda. Their recent exploits had revived long dormant sexual urges for her. She was again someone who, having been in touch with her inner self, had rediscovered her sexuality and appetite. Where was this going to lead, he wondered. "Be careful what you wish for," said Bob, accidentally voicing his thoughts.

"What was that?" inquired Brenda.

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud is all," replied Bob.

"No, seriously. What did you say just then?"

Bob thought quickly. "We can play dare if you wish."

"What. Now?"

"Sure," he blurted out, wanting to keep up appearances.

"Okay, you go first," offered Brenda.

'Nice return,' he thought. "Hmmm. Let's see now. Lemme think." After some moments he volunteered his first dare. "I was looking at this website some time back and on it they had photos of girls who were flashing their tits. Some were even driving. I dare you to do that."

"I'm sure you mean flash, not drive, right?" she replied casually. "But what if people can see in?"

"Nuts. It's almost dark anyway. Have a look at the oncoming traffic. Can you see anyone's chest?"

"No, I guess not. Anyway, I'm not dressed for it."

"That's no problem," offered Bob. With that he turned safely onto the shoulder of the highway and stopped the car. "There. Now you can change into something more comfortable. The suitcase is right there on the back seat. C'mon, I dare you."

Intrigued by where this was leading Brenda studied her husband's face to see if she could read anything more there about his intentions. All she could read in his eyes was mischief. 'Right', she thought. 'Let's play.'

She got out of the car and pulled the side door open. Retrieving the suitcase she flipped the locks and extracted a knee-length lightweight skirt with a bold red and gold floral print. Next she pulled free a loose-fitting scoop-necked black blouse with short sleeves and a string tie at the neck forming a bow which, when undone, allowed the material to fall open to her mid-chest area. Two small, widely-spaced buttons directly below the bow gave the wearer total discretion as to how much more frontage she wanted to share.

Brenda waited patiently for a break in the two-way traffic and leaned the top half of her body into the interior of the vehicle. She was very aware that Bob was observing her in the rear view mirror which he had not neglected to adjust already. Quickly she removed the top she was wearing. Stopping only briefly to place the item of clothing into the suitcase, she next deftly unhinged her bra strap and let that fall to the floor.

This was a critical moment and she hurried to slip the black blouse over her head, wriggling the hem down to her waist with practiced efficiency. She then felt she had the time to studiously wipe the palms of her hands over the blouse in a vain attempt to get out some of the wrinkles. In so doing, she was also touching her breasts. She glanced at Bob's eyes in the mirror.

"Okay," he said. "So what's the skirt for?"

"Observe," she counseled simply. One long look at the traffic situation and her hands flew to her belt and undid the buckle and zipper of her jeans. She let them fall to her feet and stepped away, the wide pant legs slipping easily over her cork platform shoes. Standing there in her panties, she felt both vulnerable and extremely excited. She hesitated, enjoying the sensation, and then surprised Bob further by bending slightly at the waist and pulling down her panties. These too were discarded on the gravel shoulder.

Naked from the waist down and with the cool evening breeze playing around and between her thighs, she was moderately surprised to realize that she was already sexually aroused and wet. She could not decide whether it was the dare offered up by Bob, or the thoughts she had been having about Greg the masseuse. The result was the same. And she could not be happier. She stepped into the skirt, buttoned it tightly to her waist, picked up the discarded items and placed them in the suitcase. With an authoritative swing at the elbow she closed the side door of the van and got back into the front passenger seat.

"Drive," she commanded Bob.

"Damn you're hot," he said as he too aggressively put the gear leaver in drive and pulled away onto the asphalt, scattering aggregate behind him. Quickly the van gathered speed.

"You're so hot," he repeated. "I can't believe you'd do that. Right out in the open like that. Wow. You've woken up my pecker big time."

They traveled for a short distance in silence. The sound of the road disappearing relentlessly under the tires was all that kept company with their thoughts. Bob knew something more was expected of him and he wanted to say just the right thing to further the sexual tension and sense of anticipation for them both. "Clear," he said then.

"Clear?"

"Yes, clear. No traffic. Back or up-front. I'll say clear and you flash. That's the way it works. So, clear."

There was a moment's hesitation. He glanced sideways, smiled and passed along an exaggerated wink. Brenda sighed, feigning boredom. She raised her hands to the bow just as the van crested a rise and drove into the headlights of an oncoming transport. Bob held the van steady as the 18-wheeler sped past. He glanced over at Brenda again. She hadn't moved. "Clear," he said.

At his command her fingers began to work the bow strings. As the neck of the blouse opened he could hear Brenda take a short, deep breath. 'I wonder how far she will take this,' he thought. With the bow undone Brenda looked at Bob, saw him nod and began to undo the buttons. First one, then the second. She hesitated for just a second longer, then took one side of the undone blouse and slowly pulled it aside to expose the ivory colored swell of her breast and, gradually, the areola and a slightly recessed nipple. She was teasing him.