I recommend you read Binoculars on the Beach before you read this conclusion. It can be found under “Voyeur.”

The next morning Robert was just about to leave for his walk along the beach, eager for another rendezvous with the woman in the yellow blouse, when his wife snapped at him.

“Robert! Don’t forget. 10.30. Not before - you’ll interrupt my yoga. Not later, you’ll keep the Olsens waiting.”

“Yes, Mildred, I know the rules,” Robert replied in a singsong, mocking voice.

“And, thank God, they’re paying for our breakfast,” she went on. “We’ve hardly got a dime left.”

“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t counting on you having four of those hot rock massages,” he mumbled as he went out through the half drawn drapes, stepped over their little patio railing, hopped down onto the lawn just below and set off past the hotel pool towards the beach.

Just two days before, they had met the Olsens, Philip and Abigail. Philip was probably around 80 and at the stage in life when he said what he was thinking without any regard for anyone else’s feelings. If he saw a fat woman, he would have no hesitation in saying, loud enough for all to hear, “Heavens to Betsy, what do they feed that whale, raw blubber?”

Abigail looked as if she were still in her twenties, and she certainly wasn’t Philip’s granddaughter. She was his trophy wife, and she did an excellent job of it. She was always at his side, holding his hand, looking up at him adoringly and showing off for him.

Philip was obviously wealthy and he could easily have afforded to buy more cloth for the bikini that Abigail wore. It was surprising that hotel security had not asked her to cover up because she was practically nude as she sat beside her husband, leaning back against his chest and thrusting her tits forward. Only two tiny triangles of polka dots across her chest and the thinnest of thongs around her waist prevented her from being entirely naked.

Robert and Mildred had found themselves, quite by chance, sitting in adjacent deck chairs with the Olsens, and they had struck up conversation in between rounds of Mexican bingo. The women talked about yoga and show business personalities, and the men spoke about the stock market, Robert pretending that he knew what he was talking about, but actually didn’t.

Abigail rested one hand on her husband’s lap and every time she giggled at something, she gave his package a squeeze. He loved this arrangement, and you could also tell how much pleasure he got when many of the hotel guests who were strolling by were totally unable to pull their eyes away from his wife’s incredible figure.

The fascinating thing about Abigail, apart from the obvious animal sexuality she oozed from every pore, was the fact that she behaved in one way very much like a man. She never made eye contact when she spoke to Robert; instead she stared openly at his crotch. This was fine with him, because as a diehard voyeur, he could stare back at her tits without any of the comments he was used to, like “My eyes are up here, buster!”

Equally fascinating was the way she stared at Mildred’s tits. They were nice enough - certainly large enough, but they were modestly covered in a one piece bathing suit - and in no way comparable to the younger woman’s Lagonda head lights. Robert thought that his wife might have been turned off by this behavior because she had always been openly hostile towards lesbians, but he was surprised to see her taking an equal interest in Abigail’s brazen display. And what was that he saw? Were her nipples pushing hard on her bathing suit? He had never seen that before, but he could tell that they were definitely aroused.... as was his own junk which he constantly had to adjust to remain somewhat decent.

So! They were all going to go out for breakfast together this morning. Robert’s mind was conjuring up possibilities as he walked along the beach. What would Abigail be wearing to go to a restaurant? If she wore a skirt, how short would it be? Would she be going commando? What were his chances of catching a glimpse of her pussy as she sat down?

Suddenly he stopped and felt his forehead. It was boiling hot and it wasn’t just from all his steamy daydreaming. It was the Mazatlan sun burning down on him. He’d left the room without his hat. He quickly searched his bag. No sun block either. Oh no! Sun damage! His dermatologist was always scolding him, reiterating the damning words in his grating delivery, “Sun damage! Sun damage!” over and over every time he froze yet another pre cancerous spot off his face. “Sun damage!”

“I’ve got to go back to the room,” he told himself, knowing full well he would face the fury of his wife who hated the slightest interruption in her yoga practice.

“Maybe I can sneak in while she’s resting in child’s pose,” he lamely suggested to himself. “I mean, my health is as important as her’s,” he reasoned.

And so he set off, back along the beach, unsuccessfully trying to balance his bag on his head to give himself some shade.

He hurried past the hotel pool, crossed the lawn and gingerly climbed over his patio railing. On tiptoe, he approached the open door and the half closed drapes. Peering inside he could see nothing at first with his eyes accustomed to the bright sunlight outside. But he heard sounds! And they didn’t sound like the usual yoga exertion sounds he was used to.

His view was largely blocked by the large sitting room wicker couch, but slowly his eyes made out the shape of the back of Mildred’s head.

She was nodding, breathing hard and gasping. He eased in through the drapes and got a better view.

His wife was sitting on the floor on her yoga mat, completely naked. Over her shoulder, Robert could see another head bobbing up and down between her legs.

“Oh my God,” he thought, “who is this guy she’s having sex with?”

He was about to protest loudly, but being a cautious man, he took a moment to create the words he was going to use. He ran a sample line through his mind. “Hey, who the hell are you, fucking with my wife?” That sounded tough enough. But what if the guy got up and punched him out? Better think about it for a moment.

In that moment, his eyes grew used to the dim light in the room and he saw with a mixture of shock and excitement that the head between Mildred’s legs belonged to a woman! The narrow waist and curved backside that he could now see belonged to a very shapely female of the species and she was very busy pleasing this other female. This was something that Robert never thought he’d witness in his lifetime, not even in his wildest dreams, and specially not with his wife being one of the participants.

The woman looked up and saw Robert standing there, open mouthed. She didn’t seem surprised, but he certainly was. It was Abigail! Robert didn’t know what to do. This was a sudden, unexpected turn of events. Hoping to catch a glimpse of her pussy at breakfast was one thing; seeing her, naked, going down on his wife was another. He stood there, transfixed, as if bolted to the floor.

Robert had no idea how to proceed. If his wife saw him back from his walk so early, she’d be mad at him. But, wait a bit, shouldn’t he be mad at her for having sex outside of their marriage? Oh no, he couldn’t exactly do that - he’d been guilty of that himself only yesterday.

Before he could reach a conclusion, Abigail beckoned him with her eyes to come around behind her. The message was quite clear, the invitation to join in the fun was unquestionable. As he moved around the side of the couch, Abigail raised her ass high into the air and by the time Robert was behind her, she was in the classic downward facing dog position - not an easy yoga pose if you want to keep your face busy between your partner’s legs.

“Wow,” thought Robert, “she’s got to be a level three yogi at least!”

Abigail spread her legs and Robert dropped to his knees. Looking between her legs he could see that Mildred’s eyes were still tightly shut as she leaned back on her elbows receiving ripples of pleasure.

“Breakfast can wait,” he told himself. “I’m hungry now!” and he stuck his tongue way out and took a first taste of Abigail’s damp, bald pussy.

The young woman’s body shook in a spasm of delight and Mildred felt it. She opened her eyes to see what was going on. When she saw Robert she automatically barked at him, “Didn’t I tell you never to interrupt my yo.....” Her voice trailed away into silence as she realized that her rules no longer applied.

Robert took advantage of his wife’s awkward situation. He stood up, dropped his pants around his ankles, and making sure that Mildred was watching his every move, he grasped Abigail around her hips and steered his already rigid cock right between her delicious pussy lips.

Robert could not resist mocking his wife as he did this. “Downward facing, “he said slowly, “doggie style!”

Mildred couldn’t say a word; she was forced to sit there and watch her husband have every right to fuck this gorgeous young woman right in front of her eyes. It took a while, but slowly her rage morphed into passion and she looked for a way to join in. She squirmed closer and began suckling on Abigail’s dangling tits as Robert rhythmically pounded her from behind. She reached her hand out and grabbed hold of her husband’s balls, pulling on them in the way that she knew he loved.

All three of them now grunted in unison and the noise level slowly grew in a crescendo until suddenly it stopped as they heard the bathroom door open. Looking round, they saw Philip shuffle around the corner.

“What’s all the noise? Oh, Jesus!” he cried as he saw the three of them frozen in the act.

“Robert!” he exclaimed. “You too? I suppose you’ll want 500 as well.”

“500?” thought Robert. “What’s this thing with 500 all the time? And what do you mean “you, as well”? Did Mildred ask for money to have sex with Abigail?”

“You little whore!” he whispered to Mildred.

“We need the money,” she hissed back.

“Oh yeah, right,” he thought. “Yup,” he spoke loudly to the old man, “500. That’s my usual fee.”

“OK,” replied Philip. “Abby, are you done? I’m ready for breakfast.”

“Not yet, dear. Give us another 5 minutes,” she sang out innocently. “We want our money’s worth, don’t we dear?”

“I suppose. But I’m not buying them mimosas for breakfast. Only coffee. And no lobster omelets either,” he grumbled.

“That’ll be just fine,” said Robert.

“Shut up, you,” steamed the old man. “Get your pathetic little cock back inside my wife and give her the big O. Come on! Move it!”

Five minutes later, after much coaching and insults from the side line, they finally reached a point when they all slowed down.

“We can finish this later,” whispered Abigail as they dressed and headed for the restaurant. It turned out that she did wear a very short skirt, and Robert, walking behind her, soon got his wish when she stopped and bent over to fix a loose buckle on her sandal.

“Does life get any better than this?” he wondered.