[Note: This is part short story and part therapy session. The events here are certainly fictionalized to a great degree, but they are based on a very real life experience - one that I am not entirely proud to announce is mine. As I was saying to a Lush friend yesterday, sometimes when I reminisce about past sexual exploits it's to unpack things about myself that I'm not so sure about. Never fear, though, dear reader. Your task is not to cure me. It is but to observe and, I hope, enjoy.]

"What would you say if I asked you to dance?"

"I'd say that I was wrong about the whole God-not-answering-prayers thing," I said, grinning like the canary eating cat.

Of course, I hadn't really prayed that I'd get to meet the stunning blonde woman now standing at my table. I'd hoped, of course. Over the past few minutes, in fact, I'd wished, I'd strategized, and I’d even fantasized. And though some of those fantasies had involved one or both of us calling out to God at some point in the evening, I hadn't actually, technically prayed. Given enough time, however, I just might have. And now here she was, grabbing my hand and leading me to the dance floor.

"My name's Candace," she announced as she pulled me along. "And it's time for us to start my vacation."

It was almost time to end mine. I was in a bar in my favorite place in the entire world - the resort town of Tulum, Mexico - and I was wrapping up a solid week of getting away from it all. It had been a tough winter, and I had come to Mexico with a desperate need to unwind. The large sale to a potential client I had been working on all year almost fell through a month before the final deal was inked. Everyone at work had been scrambling to keep the deal afloat, but none more so than me. I was the one that had initially sold my bosses on the idea of diverting so many resources to get the contract. For everyone else a scrapped project would have meant no Christmas bonus. For me it would have meant certain unemployment. Long days turned into long weeks. By the time Christmas and New Years hit I was working ten-hour days, seven days a week.

We finally managed to not only salvage the deal but also get the client to sign at a substantially greater price. The day they signed the owners brought in a case of Dom for all of the employees. After many happy toasts they gave everyone on my team the rest of the week off. They rewarded me with a fat bonus and an extra two weeks of paid vacation, which they told me I could take whenever I wanted.

"Now," I said without hesitating. "I'm going to take them right now." I went back to my office, booked a room at my favorite Tulum resort, and bought two plane tickets for the very next day. I called my girlfriend, Jenny, and told her she needed - needed - to take the next week off; I was flying her out of this miserable Seattle rain and taking her to paradise on Earth.

"Gosh, Stephen" she said dryly, "that does sound like fun. But I suspect that Kevin would be a little annoyed."

"Who's Kevin?"

"Kevin is my boyfriend."

I laughed, still giddy with champagne and the thought of sunshine and beaches. "I'm your boyfriend."

"No, you were my boyfriend, back when we used to date. But now Kevin is my boyfriend." Her voice was clipped and annoyed, and I suddenly had the sinking feeling she wasn't joking.

"Um... don't we still date?" I was very confused.

"No, because you never call and you never return my messages or emails - in fact I bet you never bothered to listen to them or read them."

"No, honey, I did," I lied. I had always meant to get back to them when I had time, but with the 70-hour workweeks the past month I never got around to it.

"Really?" Her voice was getting louder and far more hostile now. "Then perhaps you'll remember that email where I told you I was breaking up with you - that I sent three weeks ago!"

"Really? Three weeks? Wait, that's... Hey, that's the week before Christmas. You broke up with me the week before Christmas? That seems a little harsh."

"Asshole," she hissed as she hung up.

On the plus side, I did have an empty seat next to me the entire flight to Mexico. And as I sat on the plane I found that I couldn't actually remember that much about Jenny, other than what she looked like. I'm not sure we ever talked at all, really, even when we were together. Why were we together, anyway? We were the same age, we came from roughly the same socio-economic background, and we’d each gone to similar schools. She was a knockout, and I knew that I was considered very attractive to women. It was like people somehow just paired us up together at the Halloween party three months ago and neither of us had bothered to ask who the other person really was - or who we were, for that matter. The truth was she just agreed to the relationship because she really liked the sex; I don't think that she'd ever liked me. And who could blame her? I'd been a terrible boyfriend, I realized, but the mere act of asking her to commit to a relationship I wasn't willing to put any effort into so quickly after meeting her was probably far crueler.

By the time the plane landed, I realized that I was done with relationships for a while. All I wanted to do was relax, have fun, and do everything possible to get laid many, many times while on vacation. My first night there I met Lucy, a gorgeous redheaded sprite with a tiny waist and enormous breasts. She told me she was 22 and still a senior at UCLA. We danced and traded tequila shots off one another's chests while couples from other tables drunkenly cheered us on. Later that night we went for a walk on the beach and furiously made out under the obligatory palm trees. When she unzipped my shorts to stroke my cock, my hand started to wander downward from her breasts. She grabbed my hand and put it back on her breast.

"Not yet," she said.

There were several more not yet moments before she rolled me over on my back and straddled my feet. She placed my cock between her breasts, and, squeezing me them tightly with her hand, began to jack me off with them as I watched. Because of the past month at work it had been more than four weeks since I had even masturbated, let alone had sexual contact with a woman. In less than five minutes I shot my load, making her gorgeous breasts even more slick and delightful.

"Ewww," she howled, suddenly standing and staring at her cum-splattered chest. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that? I would have still given you hand job. I'm not a bitch, you know, it's not like I wanted you to have blue balls. God, this is totally gross."

"You've never seen cum before?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, but I've only ever given hand jobs before now." She was rubbing my fluid off her chest with her hands, and then wiping them on her shorts.

"Really? You're a college senior that's only ever given hand jobs? I didn't think people like that actually existed."

"I'm not really a college senior," she said with annoyed exasperation, still trying to wipe the semen from her body. "I only tell people that because I look so mature for my age."

"Wait... how old are you? Twenty? Nineteen? I mean, you're surely eighteen, right?" I felt panic begin to creep into my voice.

"Like I said, I look really mature for my age."

After that I stayed clear of any woman that was not clearly in their late twenties at least, regardless of how hot they might have looked in beachwear. I had fallen into one other dalliance; she was a med-school intern from Boston. The sex wasn't great, but she was. I'd have liked to have spent more time with her and worked on making the sex great, but her plane left the morning after we met. The next few nights were fairly uneventful. And now here it was, the night before it was my turn to fly back home. I decided to let the sex go and enjoy my last evening just hanging out. Which is how I came to be sitting happily by myself in my hotel's bar when Candace walked in.

I was pretty sure she was older than me, but not by a lot. Late thirties, perhaps - maybe early forties. Her blonde hair hung loosely past her shoulders, and her eyes were almost unnaturally blue. My first impression was that her legs were long and her breasts huge. In retrospect, though, her legs weren't that long and she probably had a C cup. But on her small, lithe, frame, they respectively looked longer and bigger. She looked like what swimsuit models hope they'll grow up to be. After she had a drink in hand, her eyes scanned the bar. When her scanning reached my table, she saw that I was looking directly at her. I expected her to look away, but she didn't - and so I didn't. We looked at one another for a long while. Her gaze was smoldering. She was gorgeous, and she was sexy, and she was sultry, and I was already beginning to reconsider my no-sex decision when she walked up to ask me to dance.

The first few dances were fairly fast paced, and Candace danced with an abandon that was infectious. "I don't get to dance much anymore," she shouted over the din. "When I was I teenager I was a wild child, and I went out dancing every night!" When the slower, sexy songs came, she walked right into me and put her arms around my neck. She grinded more than swayed, and when my crotch began to swell hers ground against it more intensely.

"I'm glad you were up for a little dancing," she purred, her head against my chest.

"I'm glad you asked." Now that we were touching, I could detect the scent of perfume and sun lotion. She smelled of coconut and oranges, and as I breathed her in I felt myself grow harder.

"I could tell you were glad," she giggled, pushing her pelvic bone against my erection. We quietly moved to the music in one another's arms for another few minutes, and then she said, "I'm married."

I said nothing, but kissed the top of her head.

"You don't mind?" She pulled away just enough to look into my eyes. "Because I very much want to go to bed with you. I have a feeling you'd be fun."

I leaned my head down and kissed her on the lips ever so slightly, lingering for just a few seconds before softly biting her lower lip and raising my head back up.

"Damn. You looked like a good kisser, and you are" she said, sighing sadly. "No matter, we'll talk about the rules later." This last comment seemed just a tad off, but before I could ask about "rules" she broke the embrace.

"I'm going to go back to my hotel to shower and change for proper cocktails. Do you know where Las Palmas Maya is?" I did indeed. Las Palmas Maya was a very chic combination spa and hotel down the coast a few kilometers. They're reputation for catering to expensive tastes is well known, and if Candace was staying there it suggested that she and her husband were pretty well off.

"I'll be ready in ninety minutes. Meet me at the hotel bar, and wear something nicer than this if you have it - it's a very nice place. I'll wait for you for a little while, but if you're too late I'll have to make other plans. Do you understand?"

It was not the most romantic seduction I had ever been party to, but I nodded.

She smiled. "Good." Then she leaned in closer, and purred in my ear, "If you're not too late, I promise to see if I can make that bulge in your pants even harder."

"I think you just did." She giggled at that. It was a younger woman's giggle, and for just a moment I could see that wild teenager she used to be.

"We'll see about doing even better." She gave me a quick peck on the cheek, then turned and walked off the dance floor and out of the bar. The wild teenager who'd just peeked out from behind the curtain was gone; that was the walk of a confident, grown woman.

________________________________

"Stephen, I'd like you to meet my husband, Roger."

The bar at Las Palmas Maya was indeed swanky. Its operative word was white. White walls, white linens, white plates, polished white wood. The entire room was filthy with clean, spotless, never-dirtied white. And yet it somehow avoided feeling at all sterile; it gave off a kind of warmth that seemed to soothingly say, "Welcome! Please sit and have your every whim catered to... provided, of course, that you've brought your platinum card." Unlike the bar in my hotel, it was quiet and serene. Most of the men sitting at the tables were older and well groomed; most of the women at their sides were in their late teens or early twenties, wearing expensive outfits and wedding rings with large diamonds. Looking around, I was glad that I had brought my best casual black suit to Tulum and glad that Candace had suggested the change.

Candace was sitting at a table on the bar's patio that overlooked the beach. There was no moon that night and so you couldn't see the ocean, but the sound of gentle waves rolled back and forth across the bar and the sharp smell of sea salt mingled with the scent of money the bar gave off. Sitting by Candace's side was a gentleman that looked to be in his mid-sixties. He was distinguished looking and handsome enough, if not a little rounded and softened by the years. He stood, smiling, and extended a hand.

"Stephen, a pleasure." His handshake was firm, and his smile genuine. "Candy's been telling me all about you."

I looked over at Candace, who was smiling. "Has she?"

"Absolutely, absolutely," continued Roger. "Here, pull up a chair - let us buy you a drink. You look a little surprised to see me, to say the least!" He chuckled as retook his seat.

I sat down slowly, trying to regain my mental footing. "Well, maybe." I looked into Candace's face, searching for a sign or signal that I needed to be discreet. There was none. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure I know what I was expecting."

"Really?" asked Roger, smiling. "I would have thought you were expecting to have sex with my wife." I sat in silence, having absolutely no clue what to say next.

"Stephen, it's really all right." Candace reached out and put her hand over mine on the table. "My husband and I have no secrets from each other. We've been married for twenty years, and we're aware that we each have needs and desires. We each allow the other to enjoy moments like this because we love each other."

My brain was still earnestly trying to roll with this sudden sea change when the waiter approached and asked me what I'd be drinking. "I think at this point " I said slowly, "at least two martinis."

While I drank my martinis, Candace and Roger filled me in on an abbreviated version of their life story. Roger was a highly successful commodities trader who was married with children when he met Candace. She was a teenager then, a temp that had been sent to his office to do filing work. "I took one look at that ass and I knew I was going to make her mine," said Roger. A divorce and two decades later they were sill together, and still quite happy. They had two prize show dogs, a second home on Martha's Vineyard, and Candace's work on the boards of charity foundations in Manhattan was, according to Roger, "legendary." But over time, they each realized that their sex life needed some extra zing. So now, once a year, they had what they called playdates.

The whole story brought the evening into a very different focus for me, but at least I was feeling like I was on solid land again. I hadn't been to this particular shore often, but I'd been often enough. So when Candace finally asked if I was still up for sleeping together, I took the time to be clear.

"I would very much like to be with you, Candace. And to be honest, you're not the first couple I've ever been with. I've actually been with couples several times, and those experiences have mostly been a lot of fun. But I do feel I need to say this now to avoid things being awkward later on: I'm not bi or bi-curious at all. At all. That being said, I'm not uncomfortable being around other naked men having sex. I think it could be fun to pleasure you with your husband, but I just want you both to know..." I trailed off as Rogers and Candace erupted in laughter.

"Oh heavens, Stephen," tittered Candace, "Roger isn't going to join in with you. That's not his thing. We don't have threesomes, we have trades."

"You see," Roger's voice was suddenly hushed as he leaned in closer, "once a year Candace allows me to be with a young woman of my choice. I don't like strings, so I always use my playdate to hire an escort. A high-paid classy escort, mind, not some cheap whore." I noticed that Candace's expression flinched the tiniest bit at the words cheap whore. "Now, I do that alone without her. I don't want for Candace to have to see me with a woman that's younger and more physically desirable than she is. I'm just talking physically desirable, mind you, because Candace knows that in terms of the whole package she's my all time favorite." Candace may have indeed known this, but that didn't stop her expression from flinching again when he said it.

"There are some rules, however," explained Candace. "I'm sure you'll understand there have to be."

I was starting to finish my second martini when I realized I had finished off my second twenty minutes ago. When had the waiter brought a third? When had he been told to do so? I was in danger of getting more than tipsy now, and so I asked to get a few shots of espresso.

"A few?" asked the waiter after Roger had called him over.

"Yeah. Three, four. Maybe five. Something like that." Yep, I was definitely and officially drunk. Candace and Roger waited until I was downing my last espresso before they patiently explained "the rules."

"First of all, I will be there to watch," explained Roger.

"Really?" I asked. "Why?"

"I enjoy seeing my wife pleasured by a young buck such as yourself."

" 'Young buck?' "

"I will not disrobe at all, and I will not be masturbating my penis, if that's what you were thinking about."

"I was actually still thinking about you watching," I said. "But now I'm thinking about you masturbating your penis. Thanks."

"Also," Candace chimed in, "anal will not be on the menu. I've never done anal before, and I'm not going to do it tonight, so don't ask."

I nodded. "Actually, that's part of the rules with most women I've known."

"Oh, it's not because I would never do it," corrected Candace. "It's an intriguing idea, and one that I do want to try some day. But that honor will go to my husband."

Roger nodded, and gave me a conspiratorial wink. "Oh yes, I love anal sex. My favorite part of being with my teenage girls is drilling them up their chutes. If you think a nineteen year-old's pussy is tighter than my wife, you can imagine what being in her pooper feels like." I didn't even have to see Candace expression to know she flinched this time. Roger continued. "Also, no multiple shots for you. It's one and done, even if that's just five minutes. And with you young bucks, it usually is."

More and more, this was all really starting to sound like a mistake waiting to happen. "Look, Roger, I totally understand that you feel the need to make rules like this -"

"Oh, he doesn't make them, I do." Candace was all business. "I can choose to do anything I like; it's the rules of playdate. I could do anal, if I wanted, or even have sex multiple times. But I have these rules so that Roger knows that even if I'm with a handsome and phenomenally well-built man such as yourself that it's still him that I choose. It's also the reason why there will be no kissing of any kind. Period. The only man I ever kiss is Roger. "

If I was already climbing up the deck railing before, I was officially jumping ship after being informed of the ban on kissing. Kissing isn't just one of my favorite parts of sex, it's the most important. I wouldn't write a letter without vowels; I wouldn't have a barbeque without meat. I certainly wasn't going to have sex without kissing.

"You know, I want to thank you both for the offer and the drinks," I said as I got up from my chair. "You both seem like really nice people - and Candace, I can't think of a woman I'd rather be inside of at this moment than you." She smiled at that. "But I'm not really big on rules in the bedroom, and I don't know that I have any interest in being with you if I can’t kiss you. Without the kissing, I'd feel like a walking vibrator."

"Perhaps," said Roger pointedly, "but you'd certainly be a handsomely paid vibrator."

"Yeah, I get that, but... wait, say what?"

"Didn't Candy tell you?" Roger glanced over at Candace who shook her head, smiling. "We pay my girls in Manhattan, and we pay the young bucks that service my dear wife. Makes it less sticky, more of a business arrangement. Everyone knows where everyone stands. It's why we pay the young bucks exactly what we pay the escorts, even though they're just strays from the bar."

"Say what?"

"Stephen, we're asking you to bed my wife in exchange for 10,000."

"Say what?"

_________________________________

I almost bolted when Candace went into the bathroom to change into "something sexier."

Their hotel room was massive; in fact, it was actually several huge rooms put together.

There was a spacious dining and living room, an enormous deck overlooking the ocean, and two bedrooms. Hell, the bathroom was bigger than my entire room back at the resort. The master bedroom was ridiculously spacious, for which I was grateful. Roger was sitting on the divan that faced the king-sized bed, but even so he was still a good twelve feet away - which was starting to feel twelve feet too close.

"Would you like some advice about women, son?" he asked while we waited for Candace.

"Not really, no."

He leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the divan, legs crossed; he was the picture of contentment. "Do you know where men usually fail in their treks through the mysterious jungle of a woman's sacred libido?"

"Is it using phrases like the mysterious jungle of a woman's sacred libido?" I asked. He ignored me.

"Men fail because they do not see that what a woman truly wants is comfort. We men crave pleasures of the flesh, and because of this we mistakenly assume that they, too, seek such pleasures. But women do not; they give pleasure, but they do not feel it. Well, not much, anyway. Part of the reason they will give pleasure at all is to be assured that when they leave the bedroom, their common sense needs will be met in exchange. They really care little for things like sex."

I said nothing, and we waited another few minutes in silence. I was about to nix the whole deal and leave when the bathroom door opened. Candace stepped into the candle-lit room, and I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

Her blonde hair scattered around her long, tanned neck, and those deep blue eyes offset her prefect white teeth in their mischievous smile. She was wearing a silk bustier, black and gold, with twin spaghetti straps. Her partially revealed breasts stood beckoning. They looked firm and supple; it was truly difficult to pull your eyes away from them. The fabric on the bustier was so smooth around the breasts that I could not see what held them up. Cosmetic surgery perhaps, but they looked too perfectly positioned to be fake. The bustier ended just above the navel, revealing a tight, taut abdomen. The muscles were not overt, but you could definitely make them out when turned around to let me see the whole package. Candace may have spent many hours working with Manhattan charities back home, but it was clear she spent many more working with personal trainers. Between her legs, a tiny triangle of the same black and gold silk covered her treasures; the thin wisps of black that held them went all the way up to her slim but curvy hips. I didn't need her to turn around to know that those black lines would continue into the slightest of thongs, and that the thong would disappear between two exquisite and perfectly toned cheeks on their way back to where they'd started - but I enjoyed it immensely when she did it anyway. Her black heels could have been registered as weapons.

"Do you like?" she asked impishly, knowing full well that I did.

"I don't know - it's hard to say from this distance. Come closer."

She grinned and walked ever so slowly across the room until she was just a few feet away. I began to casually walk around her, my eyes feasting upon every square inch. "You know, at a distance I was thinking this outfit wasn't my style at all, but now that I'm up close it kind of works." She giggled at that.

"You look lovely, Candy." Roger piped up from the couch.

"Roger, this is my playtime. You know you're not allowed to talk or interfere."

"I know, my dear, but I was just entranced by -"

"Hush," scolded Candace, "or I'll make you go in the living room."

"Be nice," I cooed at her shoulder. "I think he just likes to look at you. Any man would; probably any woman as well." She giggled again. I softly took her shoulders and turned her to face her husband. "I think you should allow him to see you. I bet he'd like that. I bet he'd like to see you touch yourself for him."

Not wanting to be banished to the living room, Roger held his tongue - but it was clear from the smile on his face that he would have added his approval were he allowed. Candace looked a little unsure of herself as she began running her hands over her body for Roger. It occurred to me that although she'd had sex with other men under his watchful eye, maybe she had never masturbated in front of him. Her hands touched her breasts and reached between her legs, but they were awkward movements - touches that look designed more to be a show than to deliver self-pleasure.

"No, Candace, you're not doing it correctly," I whispered into her ear. She stopped, unsure of exactly what was happening to her five-minute role in the hay with her annual pool boy and not sure what she was supposed to do next. "Let me show you."

I got behind her and pressed my chest against her back. I slid each of my arms down hers, until my hands covered hers, each of my fingers directly over hers. My lips were at her ear:

"I'm going to be touching you tonight, Candace, and I'm going to be touching you a lot." I lifted my hands in a way that brought hers up with mine. "I'll be touching your breasts..." I moved a hand to slowly cup and caress the nearest breast. But although I was the one in control, it was her hands underneath mine that felt the silken fabric of the bustier. "I'll probably pay special attention to these." I made Candace's fingers lightly tweak her already hard nipple. She gasped in a way that suggested her doing so surprised her. I moved my other hand up to her other breast; Candace's other hand came along for the ride. "You look so sexy in this outfit; I'm going to let you know now that when I take you, you'll still be wearing it... at first." My fingers were tracing circles around her nipples, pausing now and then to pinch them. Candace's gasps were beginning to turn into ever so slight moans. My hands drew hers down to her ass cheeks.

"You have an amazing ass, and throughout the evening I'm going to caress it like I'm making you caress it right now. Do you like the way that feels? So gentle, so sensual? Can you feel what touching you like this does to my cock?" I pressed myself into the small of her back.

".... yes..." Her eyes were closed and her whispered voice sounded a million miles away. I glanced at Roger. He was smiling bigger than ever as he watched the look on his wife's face; I was clearly an interesting and unexpected surprise.

"When I fuck you, though, I'll grab your ass like this -" My hands made Candace's grip those cheeks tightly. "- so that when I push into your pussy, I'll go as deep as you can take me." She cried out, now. Roger was grinning ear to ear. "In order to do that, however, I'll need to make sure you're wet for me."

"Oh god, I'm already wet. I'm so wet for you, baby. I can't believe how wet I already am," she moaned. The smile on Roger's face flickered.

"Let's see just how wet you really are," I whispered, and moved our right hands around her hip and between her legs. I spent long, agonizing minutes touching thighs, stomach, hips, just under, just over, just to the side, anywhere but the button I could tell she was dying to touch. I began to hear her mutter please under her breath. It was clearly too quiet for Roger to hear, but he could see the desperate longing in her face and the corners of his mouth slipped down that much further. When our fingers finally slid beneath the panties, she was indeed slick. The moan she let out was low and long. I began to make slow circles around her hardened button.

"Pay attention," I advised Candace. "When I'm gone, you're going to want to touch yourself the way you're touching yourself now. You're going to want to touch yourself like this a lot."

"Oh my god, I am, I am, I am," Candace moaned. She continued to say it over and over, I am I am I am, faster and faster until the wave she was riding finally caught up with her. She yelped as she came, and she shuddered with such intensity I released her left hand so that I could use my arm to grip and steady her as our right hands continued to pull every ounce of life out of that orgasm that we could. When we finished, she turned and held onto me.

"Oh, baby, that was amazing. That was just so amazing. I can't believe I came that hard. I want to keep coming. Make me, make me keep coming."

Roger was no longer smiling.

I took her by the hand and led her to the bed. As we stood at its foot, I told her to undress me. She hurriedly pulled my shirt out from my pants and began unbuttoning. When she finally pushed it off of my shoulders and it fell to the floor she looked like a kid in the candy store.

"Wow, your chest is amazing." She used a finger to trace the outline of my pectoral muscles, and then smiling coquettishly, continued her trace through the maze of stomach muscles. When she finally reached my waste, she stopped and looked up. "Do I have your permission to see your cock?" she asked, still smiling a flirtatious smile.

"Right now, I'm not sure you have permission not too." She giggled that wild teenager giggle, and began fumbling clumsily with the belt. She opened the slacks relatively easily, stuck her thumbs under my underwear at each hip, and in one move pulled everything down to my calves, dropping to her knees as she did so. There, she stopped short.

"Wow," she whispered. I was mostly but not entirely erect at this point, but I could feel my manhood continue to grow at the feel of her breath as she moved her head about to look at it from different angles. "Wow. It's really beautiful." She looked up at me. "What do you want me to do with it?" I smiled down at her.

"Whatever you want. It's your night." She looked at it again.

"I want to put it in my mouth."

Clearly whatever skills Roger lacked in the pleasing-a-woman department, he had in spades when it came to teaching a woman how to please him. Her skills were amazing; easily the best I'd ever encountered. There were lips that were firm, teeth that were gentle and a tongue that seemed to be everywhere at once. Her eyes were closed and she seemed completely lost in the task at hand.

"Look at me," it was a gentle command, but it was a command nonetheless. Those deep blue eyes looked up at me just as her tongue was completing its arc over my swollen head. Just below, the cleavage of pushing out of her bustier glistened with both sweat and fallen saliva. I quickly grabbed her head to make her stop.

"What's wrong?" She looked worried that she had done something to displease me.

"My god, nothing," I panted. "Seriously, that was amazing. Too amazing, really. But if I only have one shot tonight, I'm not taking it until I've discovered what it feels like to have my cock move inside of your beautiful pussy." Her frown slowly moved into a grin. I bent down, lifter her into my arms, and lay her down on the bed. She lay there looking up at me, still grinning in delight. I bent down and whispered in her ear, "Are you ready to be ravaged?"

"I've never been more ready for anything," she said.

Normally once a woman is first lying on a bed for me, I might take my time teasing them, getting them ready. But she had already come once, and I was being driven by three martinis, four shots of espresso, this amazing body wrapped in the sexiest lingerie in the world, and the greatest blowjob I'd ever had. I was in no mood to just fuck around; I was in a mood to seriously fuck around. I walked back to the foot of the bed, threw my shoulders under her thighs, pushed the silk panties to the side and began a long, slow lapping of every nerve I could find between those magnificent legs. Her moans coincided exactly with the movement of my tongue. As I increased speed, her cries became louder and sharper, until eventually I was sure she was getting close. I stopped, not wanting het to cum again quite yet. I rose up above her and saw the hunger in her eyes. Seeing her there made me feel famished, and I felt my self-control slipping away like a thief in the night.

Snarling, I reached down and easily snapped the strings from her panties with one quick pull, and tossed the ripped garment aside. I moved the head of cock to the slit between her legs. I slid the tiniest bit of the tip inside of her, and held it there.

"Oh my god, " she gasped as her eyes lost focus, "I can't believe you just did that. I thought you said you were going to wait to undress me." I bent down until my face was right above hers, and I grabbed the top of the bustier with both hands.

"I lied," I growled, and as I ripped the bustier all the way down the center I thrust forward with my hips. Her scream was magnificent. I moved desperately in and out of her, her legs and arms wrapped around me tightly, nails digging into my back. She had been so close to coming before I entered her, so it shouldn't have surprised me that she came again so quickly. But it did surprise me, and it aroused me even further, and without wanting it to happen I felt the floodgates open in my own loins. I shot hot and deep, and as I did I heard Candace whisper in bewilderment, "Oh my god, I can feel it. I can feel it pour out of you."

He legs and arms fell away, but I kept up my stroke. I was still hard, and I didn't want to go soft. I tongued at her nipples as I glided in and out. She looked up at me with half closed lids.

"Oh my," she purred, "Oh, my. I think I might be a little sorry that you're done."

"Look at me," I said, and she continues to gaze up with those half closed eyes. "Look at me." My inflection was sharper the second time, and her eyes were suddenly fully open, aware and focused on mine. "I'm not done," I said as I moved inside of her. "I'm not done fucking you."

A slow smile crept over her face. "You're not?"

"No, I'm not done fucking you."

"You are done," Roger called from the couch. I admit I'd forgotten about Roger for a moment there. He was still on the couch like he had agreed, but his face betrayed a simmering fury. "You can't do anything else to her, you've already had your one orgasm."

"Yes I can." I straightened up so that I was standing upright on my knees. As I did so, I grabbed Candace's hips and held them up in the air off of the bed, so that I could continue fucking her when I turned my head to face him. "The rules aren't what I can or can't do, the rules are for me to do what Candace wants." He opened his mouth to speak, but was caught up in the truth of what I had said. I looked down at Candace.

"Do I have permission, Candace? Do I have permission to fuck the ever-living shit out of you, right here and right now?" I asked her.

"Oh fuck baby, yes. Please, please, yes."

I leaned down and kissed her, hard. It was a savage kiss, a kiss that lacked any kind of tenderness at all. She responded just as wildly with her own mouth and tongue. We kissed for a long, long time, her hands gripping my hair, while I continued to grind into her. I picked her up and rolled over and scooted us around 90-degrees so that she was on top of me and I could turn my head and look at Roger. He was still angry, I'm sure, but there was no fury in him now. He looked defeated, completely and utterly. The kissing had broken him.

I'm not the kind of person that revels in the sadness of others. I don't like to see anyone's spirit crushed, and if you had told me an hour ago that I'd have crushed Roger's I'd have told you to keep the ten grand; it wasn't worth that kind of money to do that to another human being. But as I watched him sitting there, feeling Candace impaling herself over and over on my swollen member, something utterly primal took hold of me by the throat. For reasons that I can't explain, the sight of Roger looking so miserable as I did things to his wife that he had never done made me feel invincible. My cock was going to burst into a million pieces, it had gotten so hard, and I felt like the king of the fucking world. I became another person altogether. Or at least I hope I did - I hope that the man I became in that bedroom wasn't really me.

I twisted my head back so that it was looking up at Candace as she rode me.

"Harder," I barked. "Fuck me harder." She didn't say anything; I'm not sure that she could have. Her moans were now a loud, unending wail. "I said, harder!" I reached up and grabbed her breasts from underneath, hard. I began to jackhammer into her from underneath as she soared from above, using my firm grip on her breasts as leverage.

"Do you like that, baby?" I growled over the sound of our bodies slapping together. She didn't hear me; she was lost in her own moans. I let go of her breasts and slapped her falling as cheek - hard. She cried out in pain, but she looked down at me.

"I said, do you like that, baby?" Sweat was beginning to flow off of her, and the smell of her sex was almost overpowering now.

"Oh god, baby, I do, I like it so much. Please, fuck me baby, please keep fucking me."

"Do you like my cock? Do you like feeling it in you?"

"Fuck, your cock is so big and so beautiful. It fills me up it's so big."

"Tell me you love my cock," I said between breaths as I thrust up with extra gusto.

"I love your cock so much. I've never been filled up so much. Keep filling me up, don't stop."

I glanced over at Roger, to make sure he heard what his wife was telling me. The expression in his face said that he heard it all too well. His eyes met mine, and there was no fight in them at all. Without taking my eyes off him, I told Candace to kiss me like she'd never kissed a man before. She was wild and out of control, so she didn't notice immediately that my head was turned to look at her husband. She practically attacked the side of my face with her mouth. I sneered at Roger, and then turned to feed as hungrily off of her mouth as she was feeding on mine.

As she kissed me, I asked loudly enough to make sure everyone could hear, "Does Roger ever do this?" I reached between our bodies and rapidly flicked her clit back and forth as she bounced up and down on my member, and at the same time I reached behind and stuck my index finger up Candace's virgin ass.

"Oh god no, god no, that feels so good baby, that feels so good, Roger never does that, it feels so good," and she was coming again. But I still wasn't quite done. I rolled back over so that I was on top of her, then pulled out and tossed her over like she was a rag doll.

I lifter her ass off of the bed and positioned myself before I said, "I'm going to fuck you in your ass right now. Your beautiful, amazing ass. An ass this perfect needs to be taken, and I'm going to take it right now. Alright?"

Her yes was barely a whimper. When I came that second time I was buried deep inside of her bottom, tightly gripping her blonde hair with both hands, and I let out a Viking cry of victory that was surely heard by anyone within a thousand miles.

Later, as I got dressed, Candace lay on the edge of the bed, purring dreamily and reaching out to touch my legs and ass. Roger got up quietly and walked out of the room. When he returned a few minutes later I was sitting on the bed, tying my shoes. His wife was next to me, her arm reaching up to stroke my back. He threw a thick envelope in my lap.

"There's your money. That was the deal."

I stood up and looked him in the eye. My fever was starting to break, but it was still there and it was still in control, driving me. I handed the envelope back.

"This money is for when I'm done. Keep it for now. I'll pick it up tomorrow morning before my flight. Your wife might need more fucking then." I heard Candace moan in approval at the idea. "If I don't come back, money's yours."

By the time I was back to my hotel, showered and in bed, the fever was gone and I was feeling more myself again. I felt truly nauseous about what I had just done. Jenny was right. I was an asshole. Worse, I was a cruel and vicious asshole. As I turned off the light I promised myself to wake up first thing in the morning, get in a cab and get my butt to the airport. What happens in Vegas, and so forth. In a week or two I'd forget all about it.

As I closed my eyes and sleep began to wrap itself around me, I heard that tiny voice inside my own head - a voice I'd never heard before, a voice I now knew would always be there just under the surface. As I drifted off, the voice asked the question I wasn't sure I wanted to answer:

If you're really so disgusted with yourself for what you did, it asked with a crystal clarity, why is it that you're so hard thinking about it? And with that I submerged into the darkness of sleep, and dreamed Viking dreams.