Summer Swap 4-18

Chey twiddled her thumbs, hands interlocked on the outdoor table, Caribbean breeze tossing her hair. Cody’s large hand covered over hers, stopping her nervous compulsion. She’d even been chewing her cheek.

Cody said, “You’re going to get them tied in a knot if you keep doing that.”

“My thumbs?”

“Or you’ll start a fire.”

She couldn’t even smile. A heavy storm hung on her horizon; a gloomy dread. It’d been a long time since she’d felt that dark forewarning, and knew sometimes those churning clouds could bring the stinging rain of inexplicable panic.

She said, “How do you guys manage this?”

“Manage what?” He smiled, his handsome face resting in the palm of his other hand, elbow on the table, looking so cool and collected, unbothered. His eyes sparkled, and his hand holding hers somehow imbued an unexpected comfort. “You mean...?” He darted those turquoise eyes toward the yacht interior, where somewhere inside the anfractuous guts of this sea vessel, her loving husband shared private time with another woman. Cody’s woman. But her husband had shared time with that same woman before. And she’d synchronously shared time with this man who comforted her. But that last time, she’d been preoccupied, charmed or hypnotized into some sex-programmed automaton, her robotics fueled by flammable lust. Tonight she was organic, desaturated, and her veins pulsed tepid and timid blood. What a difference a few days could make.

“Well, how do you do it?”

He shrugged a shoulder, watched his own hand as he played with one of her hanging locks. “I’m happy for my wife. What’s there to overcome?”

“I’m happy for Byron.”

Cody let her hair go and sat upright as Lily and Arlo returned with cocktails, the two of them gone to the kitchen to make frosty blender drinks for the lonely grumps left together at the dinner table, playing cards while all the others went about some kinky business. Although, given what she’d witnessed from Lily, maybe somehow, by midnight, the four of them would end up in a bed somewhere in the yacht.

* * *

Now they sat on the bed together, side by side but facing, like two legitimate teenagers at boarding school, tense and unsure, Carla biting her lower lip and driving him crazy doing it. He snuffled a small laugh, letting his head bow as a good feeling of fun washed up from his heart.

Carla ran hair behind an ear, saying, “What?” and laughing too.

He said, “I never thought I’d make it to your room, and I don’t know what to say to you now I’m here.”

“You thought the matron would catch you?”

“At the least, stop me, chase me out with a broom or something.”

Carla laughed again—not like the Carla laugh he knew, the superior almost sadistic one. No, her current laugh was timid and innocent. She’d been transformed before him from buxom bombshell to a waif away from home in a foreign country. He wondered if she did go to boarding school, and wondered where-oh-where did her roleplaying fantasy come from. She said, “Matron’s a swatter.”

“A swatter?”

She touched the top of his head, careful not to muss his hair, saying, “She’d have swatted you with the broom. She goes crazy when she sees Shoreham boys anywhere in the vicinity of Pashley House. Even if they’re just down by the dock getting a fish and chips.”

“Boys are always up to no good.”

“They certainly are,” she said, and started that weaponized lip-biting, making his heart hurt and his cock ache. Then she darted her mouth closer to him, whispering, “What made you so brave?”

“To come to Pashley? . . . I was bored, I was thinking of you, out for a stroll, the next thing you know...”

“You’re knocking at my door?”

“Pretty much.” He got bold, putting a hand up to touch a shaggy twirl of her blonde hair.

“You were thinking about me?” God, the lip-biting again.

“Maybe I think about you a lot,” he said, noncommittal, not wanting his private school bad boy character to be too gushing. Total turnoff.

“You do not,” she said, playful and alluring.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Maybe I don’t,” scratching his head and ruffling his own hair.

Carla snatched a pillow and batted him with it. “You’re so terrible.” Then she held the pillow in her lap, looking at him a moment, tossing the pillow aside, putting her weight on her hands spread out on the mattress behind her. A come-hither posture. Her eyes had gone sultry and narrow in a more familiar Carla fashion. She said, “And yet you’re here in the girls’ dorm. In my room.”

He looked around her room, saying, “I told some of the guys I could get in, take a look around, report back and say if you girls have better dorms than we do.”

“You just wanted to look at the dorms, huh?” The way she sat now pushed her huge breasts against the cotton fabric of her dress shirt. She knew it, he knew it, she knew he knew it.

“Maybe I wanted to see something else.”

“A lot of maybes from you today.”

“I’m an ambiguous guy.”

That made her smile wide. Then she looked mean at him. “You’re just a boy sneaking around the girls’ dorms, looking for any peeping tom opportunity, catch a girl changing her clothes.”

“You’re besmirching my honor,” he said.

She laughed, tossing her hair, moving in a way that got a gap opening in her shirt and revealing a white bra. Fuck, it had been over a decade since a teen girl’s bra had excited him; he’d graduated from his high school teen-sex years with flying colors and put it all behind him—but Carla Weber’s roleplaying was doing wild and erotic things to his brain. He felt that old time teenage excitement mixed with dread at the possibilities of the next moment and the next moment and the moment after that.

“You’re not here to catch me changing?”

“I wouldn’t have knocked on the door.”

She raised a slender eyebrow. “That’s a good point.”

“But if you wanted to get ready for bed, you go right ahead and find your flimsy nightie...”

She leaned forward and smacked his shoulder. “You’re terrible. That’s all you want, isn’t it?”

“If only it were that simple, sweet Carla,” he said, wondering where his fucking boldness was coming from, getting into the role of this confident young man.

“Oh, so what do you want? Did you need tutoring?”

He smiled a devil’s smile. “I’m a little behind on Sex Ed.”

Her mouth fell open and her playfulness evaporated. She looked legitimately offended, and he was sure he’d fucked up the roleplaying.

Then she whispered, “I can’t believe you said that.”

“I’m joking, Carla, and you know it.”

“How do I know it?”

“Everyone knows I aced Sex Ed.”

She laughed and looked away a second, bashful, kicking her legs, drumming her heels against the bed frame. “I didn’t,” she said and bit her lip again.

“Look who’s the one who needs tutoring,” he said, touching that twist of hair again, Carla pulling her head away, but smiling, flirting with him, encouraging him to come even closer.

* * *

Scarlet’s ass danced side to side in a confident way he’d never seen before. Not like she was ever a timid or demure woman, but good lord, right now her ass swayed and bounced and rolled like she was doing burlesque. Scar was slender, kind of skinny, not a pancake ass by any means, but he’d had no idea it could put on a show like the one he was watching right now.

She walked three paces ahead, and he trotted to keep up—but still maintaining a distance that would allow him enjoy the rump-show she was putting on—his cock swinging around, champagne glasses clinking, bottle of Pol Roger icy cold in the grip of three fingers. They passed the dim amber light threshold of the yacht’s muted nighttime interior, out into the cool blue Caribbean night, their shadows casting long out ahead of them, touching the hot tub before they even got there, two hot as fuck sex participants smiling and glad to see their return.

Paloma pouted and said, “What took you?”

And fucking Scarlet said, “We were as fast as we could be, honey bun, but sometimes when hubby and I get to talking we lose track of the time.”

He chuckled and shrugged, caught Philippe’s eye. Philippe nodded, winking, smiling in that thick black beard, happy to see proud Scarlet return from her sojourn in the land of the meek. Sully raised the bottle and the glasses to show them even more of a good time had returned. Philippe shot a happy finger-pistol in his direction.

Scarlet didn’t slow her roll, hip-swaying strut all the way to the tub, hiking a leg over the edge and stepping in, standing proud and naked in the tub’s center, towering over the two seated occupants, looking up at her now. Looking down on them, a hand on one hip, Scarlet held out the other hand to the side, not even facing him, but saying, “Sully, honey, can you pour me a cold one?”

He chuckled, stopping at the edge of the tub, putting down all the glasses, hustling to peel the foil off the top of the champagne bottle and not keep his outstanding wife standing too long with an expectant hand held out. He placed a champagne glass in Scarlet’s hand, then locked the cold bottle under an arm and twisted at the cork. Philippe watched them both, smirking, enjoying the show, knowing what they were like as a couple, while Paloma huddled into him, not sure what the heck was going on. The poor beautiful woman had probably never met two people as odd as they were, and as difficult to get in the sack. But, fuck, this was fun to play it this way, and he couldn’t wait to hear what plan his wife had ready for them.

The cork came off with a resounding pop, and he held the foaming bottle aloft in celebration, then filled Scarlet’s glass near to the top.

While he splashed champagne in the remaining glasses, Scarlet said, “I want to toast our evening,” raising her glass.

Paloma and Philippe smiled, bobbed closer to Sully so he could pass them all their own champagne. Sully stepped into the tub and took hold of Scarlet’s free hand. They all raised their glasses and waited for their strong-willed toastmaster to speak.

But all Scarlet said was, “To us,” raising her glass higher, then putting it to her lips and draining the glass dry. They all looked around, then followed suit.

Scarlet placed her empty glass on the tub’s edge, swallowed, clapped her hands together and addressed them all like an executive at a corporate team-building retreat, saying, “Now, let me tell you all how this is going to go.”