Joel chose this "green," adults-only resort for our getaway. Our secluded villa has only three walls, allowing tree frogs and the sound of the deluge unfettered access to our bedroom. We look out onto a private lanai, a grove of mango trees, and the turquoise Caribbean. Off to our right, a rocky piton, the remnant of an ancient volcanic eruption and the confluence of massive geological forces, stretches two thousand feet skyward. Its phallic shape is both disconcerting and alluring.
The rain falls in sheets.
I stand naked, sheltered from the downpour but exposed to a fine spray caused by the rain striking the roof's overhang. The coolness of the spray is refreshing in the heat and humidity of this tropical paradise. Behind me, Joel sits cross-legged on the bed, dressed in his neatly pressed Egyptian cotton pajamas, working his New York Times crossword puzzle. His reading glasses perch on the end of his nose.
"I didn't know it would rain all the time." It sounds whinier than I expected.
"Rainy season means rain. We knew what we were in for."
What Joel doesn't say is that we came here during the rainy season to take advantage of the less expensive rates—not that it's cheap with $600 per night rooms and $20 cocktails. But full price would have been more difficult to explain to his wife and partners who think he's here on business, attending a continuing education seminar.
"I'd just like a little time on the beach," I say.
"Can't you relax? At least you're not at work, stuck in an office."
Over the first two days of our trip, we made love and slept. Rainy days melted into rainy nights. His cock melted into my pussy. This morning, we’re drinking room-service coffee and bickering.
"At least you have an office," I remind him, "instead of a fucking cubicle."
"All of our associates start in a cubicle."
"You didn't."
"That was a long time ago. Anyway, I've worked my butt off to get to where I am, Allie."
"Yeah, you've said that before."
He's thirty years older than me, 58 to my 28. I'm dark-haired and brown-eyed and a little soft around the edges. Not exactly trophy wife material, but I didn't expect him to leave his wife for me. He's blue-eyed with steel-gray hair, hard angles, and muscle even at this age. He’s a senior partner at one of the city's most prestigious law firms. When we started out, he could make me come just by sucking my nipples.
I hear the rustle of his magazine. "Why don't you come back to bed? There's nothing else to do."
I thrust out my ass, reach behind and spread my cheeks, showing him my pucker. "I know what you want," I say over my shoulder.
"That's nice, Allie. Real mature."
I shake it at him. He's wanted my ass since the moment we arrived. But I've never given my ass to anyone, and so far, I've refused to give it to Joel.
"Bring it over here and I'll fuck you good," he says.
Instead, I step into the rain. It pummels my breasts, my thighs. I have to keep my head down to avoid drowning. I spread my arms and spin around. I bend over, touch my toes, and shake my ass again. I sit on the edge of the lanai, facing him. I bounce up and down like I'm taking it up the rear. I squeeze my breasts and make mock fuck noises, taunting him.
"That's it, fuck me in the ass. Fuck me, Joel." It's my best falsetto.
He slides off the bed and walks to the doorway. He's a graceful man, Italian by heritage. He removes his pajamas and folds them over the back of a chair. His cock, long and curved when he's aroused, hangs limp between his legs. He doesn't say a word. He stands there watching me, arms crossed.
After a few minutes, I cross the patio and push past him, dripping water onto the tile floor. When he reaches for my arm, I pull away.
"Don't," I say. "Okay, just don't."
The look he delivers is withering. "You're making a mess. Someone could slip and get hurt."
"Maybe you should clean it up."
I'm halfway to the bathroom, when he grabs me from behind. He spins me around and pushes me onto the bed. "I've had about enough of your shit," he says.
"Yeah, well, what're you going to do about it?"
He's on top in a flash, his thighs across my chest, his knees pinning my arms to the bed, his cock in my face. His pubic hair, coarse and wiry, is redolent with the scent of the tropics, musky and damp.
"Stop it," I tell him.
"Really?" he says, his cock hardening against my lips.
"I don't want to, not like this."
"I know what you want."
I try to push him away, try to wriggle free, but it's useless. "Goddamnit, Joel."
He leans over and hisses in my ear. "You could have had anyone, but you chose an aging senior partner with a shitty marriage to a Stepford wife. I know what you like, Allie."
"I'd just like a little sun."
He slaps my cheek with his stiff cock. "I don't think so. You liked it that time I finger-fucked you under the table at Café Boulud. You liked walking out with that wet spot on the back of your dress and the other diners whispering as you swept past."
"No, I didn't like that."
He pushes the head of his cock between my lips and begins to pump. "And you liked it that time you sucked me off in the back of the limo returning from Napa. You liked it when the limo driver jerked off in his pants, while watching you in the rear view."
"You're disgusting."
"I'm not the one who stood in front of the office window and stripped bare-ass naked. It wasn't me who rubbed one out for all the pervs in the Chrysler building."
I can taste him, salty and rich, feel his balls slap my chin. My hips thrust, my thighs squeeze together. I'm wet down there. "You made me do it."
His strokes are long and deep. He's fucking my mouth, using me as a receptacle. I wrap my tongue about him, apply suction.
"How about that time with those Saudis, Allie? Did I make you do that?"
If he doesn't touch me, I'm going to scream. My clit throbs like a little heart. "I was drunk," I manage, before he plunges into me again, his cock pushing down my throat.
"Drunk is flashing your tits, Allie. Drunk is lifting your skirt. But what is it when you let seven strangers come all over you?"
They did, too, seven Saudis in robes and turbans, while I bounced atop an eighth. Firelight flickered in our suite at the Ritz as they anointed my breasts and belly with their sweetly scented semen. The eighth Saudi's load I took square in the face.
"They were clients," I remind him, as he withdraws and retreats to a kneeling position between my thighs. "I did it for the firm."
"And the firm appreciated it."
He pushes my legs up and apart, knees flush against my breasts. His tongue is in my ass before I can resist.
"Don't. Goddamnit, Joel, I said no."
But he's just begun. He's got two fingers inside my cunt while rimming my rectum. He looks up, eyes over my belly. "You don't know how to say no, Allie."
"You're a dick," I tell him, but he's got a point.
I didn't say no to my Y camp leader, Mr. Philbert, when he wanted me to blow him behind the cafeteria. I didn't say no to the frat boys who wanted to share me with their buddies. I didn't say no to that law professor who wanted me to dress up like a little girl. The only thing I've ever said no to is my ass.
"Remember that time you had to pee," Joel says, peering over the rise of my pubic bone. "We were at that board meeting in DC and your bladder was bursting. You said you had to go, but I wouldn't let you."
"You douche bag."
Then it's his tongue again, his fingers. I'm squirmy and slippery, entering a place with only one exit.
"After the meeting, you wanted to rush to the ladies room, but I still wouldn't let you go. Remember that, Allie, remember how worked up you were?"
"Oh my God."
His fingers are at my opening. He circles and probes that virgin orifice. I flinch.
"On the train, on the way back, you peed standing up. Remember? You peed into that plastic cup, with your dress hiked up and your panties down, and that grizzled old bum watching. Remember, Allie?"
"Oh my God."
"You're such a slut."
"And what does that make you?"
"Relax, Goddamnit."
The bucking of my hips makes my asshole a moving target. But he persists, pushing one finger inside, circling, working in and out.
I fall into his rhythm. "All right, all right."
"Not so bad, is it?"
"No, that's good, that's good. Just like that."
"Just like that? Just like that, Allie?"
I grab for him. "Don't stop, don't stop. I'm almost there."
But he does stop. He reaches into the dresser drawer, his eyes locking on mine while he lubes up. "I'm going to fuck your ass," he says.
In his absence, my fingers have found my slit. I can't stop touching myself. "You think so?"
"I know so. You're going to beg for it."
"I'll never."
"Yeah, you will."
The rain has stopped. The roar of the downpour has been replaced by a stillness punctuated only by the occasional frog's call, the pitter patter of drops falling from leaves onto the ground, the shouts of people on the beach, nearly a mile away.
"Fuck you," I tell him.
"Say it," he says. His fully-lubed cock dances before my opening.
"No."
"Say it, slut."
I feel the resistance slip away. I feel the shame, the wonderful shame wash over me.
"Fuck me in the ass," the words escape in a whisper.
He pushes forward, the tip of his cock making headway.
"Louder, slut."
"Fuck me in the ass," louder this time.
He's there now, half way in, rocking slowly. My clit is on fire. It stands out, proud and swollen above my gaping pussy lips. I tap it with a forefinger.
"Scream it," Joel commands, "so everyone can hear."
"Fuck me in the ass, you fucker. Fuck me in the ass, make me come. Fuck me in the ass."
"That right. That's my girl, my nasty little girl."
The pain I first felt gives way to a dirty pleasure.
"Oh, that's good," I say.
"Yeah? You like it, baby?"
"Fuck yeah."
I take him deep. All the way, all the way. Just like I took the football team in the back of the bus, my father's best friend on his boat, the guy I worked for at that restaurant on Bourbon Street, cinders burning the palms of my hand as I knelt in an alley.
Joel fucks me while I rub my honeyed clit, while I scream it out for everyone to hear. "Fuck my ass, yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck me hard in the fucking ass."
"Oh baby." Joel's face contorts.
"Shit, Goddamn, motherfucker, sonofabitch." I go on and on.
This orgasm is like no other. It's dark and slow and far inside, like tectonic plates grinding against one another. And it doesn't stop. It goes on and on and on, wave after seismic, gut-wrenching wave. When I think it's over, he shoots hot inside me and I come again, shuddering, belly muscles seizing.
Then there's only our breathing and the knowledge that we've crossed a line. We can't go back, but don't have to go forward.
We lie next to one another, fingers entwined, on a bed damp with our juices and the rain I brought inside. The overhead fan circles, a mute witness to our passion.
He'll want lunch at the restaurant. He'll want to parade me around, the woman who screamed to be fucked in the ass. He'll want to show me off in a white linen dress that's low cut and short, no more than a wrap really. He'll want me to go unwashed and without panties, his cum staining my thighs, my body filling the air with the scent of our rut.
Of course, I'll do it.
I turn and lay over him, breasts flat against his chest. I kiss him, my tongue darting. "I love you," I whisper.
And for a long moment, I teeter on the precipice, eyes over the ledge, two-thousand feet to the sea below.
Finally, "I love you, too, Allie."
I nuzzle my face against his.
"What are we going to do, Joel?"
He rolls out from under me, crosses the room, and looks onto the lanai, the piton, and the ocean below. His shoulders and ass are like sculpted marble.
"I don't know," he says. "I don't know, Allie."
This from the man who knows everything. This from the man to whom people pay $500 an hour for advice. This from the man who played it safe and pretended to be someone else all his life.
Until he met me.
Off in the distance, there is lightning and the crackle of thunder as a new storm approaches.
Originally published November 2008