by Vince Clarthough
(12/24/08)

Sally Pecatti resolved that before this trip was through she would commit at least one act so scandalous that she'd spend six years in purgatory scrubbing herself clean. She owed herself that, to make her island getaway a tribute to newfound singledom. And she owed it to Tom -- that bastard -- for dumping her just eight days before their Big Vacation.

Sadly, she'd yet to fulfill that promise. She had a nice tan, yes, and she'd written more than usual, but she wasn't getting nearly as much action as the characters in the stories she'd been writing. Her vacation was nearly finished -- just over a day left -- and the only sins she'd committed so far were gluttony and sloth.

And envy, she thought, as a pair of twenty-something blondes walked by, blocking her sun as they passed. She sighed, closed her laptop, and sipped a strawberry daiquiri, wishing her head would stop aching. She'd spent last night fantasizing horrible revenge on Tom, dancing around her bungalow with a bag of limes, a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke, and a pint of coconut rum. She tried to remember whether drunkenness counted as a deadly sin.

She'd much rather be committing the sin of lust. In her stories, lust just happened. Two sexually repressed coworkers become trapped in a broken elevator. Carnality ensues. A foreign exchange student takes waltz lessons from a handsome widower in Venice. Carnality ensues. Draco imprisons Harry in a dungeon beneath Hogwarts. Carnality ensues.

In real life, lust requires initiative. She'd have to earn her time in purgatory. And what better place than here? For surely any crimes committed between twenty-three point four degrees north and south of the equator count for less in the final tally.

She was thirty-four years old with a teeny bikini, an awesome tan, and brand-new highlights. She liked her chances. The vacationers on the island were mostly elderly (who else has the time or the money?) but, even so, there were plenty of suitable men for a girl like her to choose from.

Her first instinct was to seek out a man slightly older than herself, with distinguished-looking salt-and-pepper hair. That was her "type," but she'd learned from Tom that salt-and-pepper hair does not make a man distinguished.

No, better pick someone as unlike Tom as possible. Someone just young enough that it was naughty, but not so young that it was creepy. She'd been watching her guy all week, actually. He had beautiful biceps and shaggy hair. He seemed nice and all that, too, and his bungalow was near hers.

So she waited for him at the resort's bar that night, though it meant listening to the same Rihanna song four times. She'd worn her tallest heels (the ones Tom never noticed) and her shortest black dress (which she'd bought for the trip just to spite Tom.) She got a piña colada blended with mango, which wasn't a bad way to pass the time while she waited.

Her guy showed up around eight and ordered a drink, whiskey-something on ice with a cherry. He smiled slyly at the bartender, an insultingly pretty, dark-skinned woman, and she smiled right back. Sally imagined the two of them in bed and hated the other woman at once. She gazed at her guy, seductively, she hoped. He sipped his drink, greeted an older couple at a nearby table, and then came to sit next to her at the bar.

He ate the cherry from his drink off a plastic sword and pointed the blade toward her.

"Sword fight," he declared.

She pulled the sword from her piña colada, chomped the pineapple chunks off the end, and crossed blades with him.

"En garde," she replied.

They fenced playfully for a minute or so. He smelled wonderful, like...well, like he'd spent some time and money finding something classy for the ladies.

"So, what's your name?" she asked.

"Not so fast!" he said, holding up his free hand. "We've just met."

So, that was the game. The trick is to take everything in stride and act like everything he says is just what you planned.

She pushed her sword down, pinning his to the table. "Wonderful," she said. "Then I'll call you Jules for now." Good: belittling enough to punish him for being difficult. But it also made her think of his jewels, which was distracting.

"Alright," he said, slipping his sword out from under hers. "I'll call you Flo."

Touché.

She set her sword on a cocktail napkin, indicating they should move on.

"Tell me about yourself, Florence."

"I'm a writer," she said. But not for money, she did not add. "What about you, Jules?"

"Veterinary student."

She almost gushed something like, "Really? I love animals!" but then thought better of it. She'd nearly come up with a wittier response when a tall, blond man stopped by and put his hand on Jules's shoulder.

"Hey, Mark," said the tall guy.

Mark! Ha, now she knew his name and he didn't know hers.

"Game starting?" Mark asked.

"Fifteen minutes. Be there." The tall guy walked away.

"Soccer game against the resort staff," said Mark/Jules. "World Cup champs; they're gonna kick our asses. See you later, Flo."

"Bye, Jules," she said, disappointed.

He gulped down the last of his drink, stood up, and turned to go. At the last second he turned back, reached to Sally, and touched her hair. Uh oh...was there a piece of lint?

"Your curls are adorable, Florence. Too bad you're such a brat." Then he turned and walked away.

Brat? What had she...?

She sniffed. "I'm not a brat!"

Mark kept walking, giving no sign that he'd heard.

"I'm not a brat," she muttered again, slurping up the last of her drink.

She glowered at the check, left a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and went back to her bungalow.

When she got there she took out her laptop and tried to work her story. But, a little drunk and a lot horny, she couldn't decide whether it was realistic for her heroine to fit two cocks in her mouth at once, and she was having trouble not imagining Mark all sweaty from playing soccer. So she closed her laptop and shrugged off her clothes.

She played with herself halfheartedly for a while before deciding that if she was going commit outrageous sins on this trip, she had to do it tonight. No choice: her earlier promise to herself was binding. Fortune favors the bold, or at least it favors she who can swallow the lump in her throat long enough to get the job done.

She slipped into lacy black lingerie from her suitcase and wrapped herself in a sarong. Then she fortified her courage with the last few sips of rum from the bottle and headed toward Mark's bungalow.

As she expected, he wasn't there yet. His bungalow, like hers, had flimsy thatch windows; she was easily able to push one open from the outside and climb in.

The layout was the same as hers -- a dresser, a cabinet, a small refrigerator, and a queen-sized bed. Stomach aflutter, she slipped out of the sarong and lay on his bed to wait. She wondered if he'd had that bartender, right here where she lay, and scowled. But she bet the bartender had never surprised him in her underwear.

He'd be slick with sweat when he came back. Sally licked her lips. And he didn't even know her name.

Of course, she didn't know how long he'd be. As the rum wore off, she realized that a number of things could go wrong. What if he came back with the bartender? Of course, if that happened in one of her stories, three-way carnality would ensue, but in real life she'd just be humiliated, put on her clothes while they watched, and run off. Ugh. Her gut knotted with worry.

Maybe he had something that could calm her down? She went to the fridge and looked inside. Happily, there were two partly full six-packs inside. She pulled out a beer and checked the label: "Belikin Stout." Yuck, too dark. She grabbed one of the others in her other hand, to compare. "Red Stripe Jamaican Lager." Better.

The door opened and Mark walked in. She turned to face him, startled, in her underwear, with a beer in each hand.

Thankfully he wasn't with the bartender. But when Mark flipped on the light, Sally saw he wasn't alone -- the tall guy was there, along with another guy wearing an irritating striped fedora. All three seemed startled to find a woman waiting for them, in lingerie, with beer.

Mark looked back at his companions, perhaps wondering if they'd set this up for him. They gawked; he turned back and smiled at Sally's blushing. He walked up to her and took the stout.

"Thanks, Florence," he said. "This place has great room service."

"Ummm..." mumbled Tall Guy. "We could leave...you know...if you've got company."

Fedora laughed.

"No one has to leave," said Mark, grinning. "Flo, can you grab us another couple of beers?"

Was it worse to stand there getting ogled or to put on her clothes and walk away in shame? Then, in a moment of icy clarity, she remembered what she'd told herself earlier: the trick to saving face is to act like everything that happens is just what you'd planned. This was her last chance at depravity and she wasn't about to let it go to waste.

Also, they could get their own damned beer.

She put her arm around Mark's neck and kissed him full on the lips. He startled for only a moment before responding in kind. The other two men whistled.

She pulled away from Mark and winked at him. Trying not to tremble, she twisted the cap off the Red Stripe, slammed back a big gulp to replenish her courage, walked over to Tall Guy, and kissed him as well. She had a serious weakness for athletic, perspiring men. Finally, she went to Fedora, took off his hat-- honestly, he was kind of cute without it -- and kissed him, too.

"God damn," said Tall Guy.

After that they were speechless, which meant she'd regained the upper hand...for what that was worth. She set Fedora's hat on the fridge, took one last swig of beer before setting it next to the hat, slinked onto the bed, and smiled at the men, still blushing.

Mark lay beside her on the bed and kissed her, more gently than she expected. She stroked his cheek with one hand and with the other she beckoned Fedora and Tall Guy to join them. The bedsprings squawked and the frame sagged alarmingly as the other two men joined them, but nothing seemed to break. She sighed, smiled, and closed her eyes.

More hands wanted to touch her than could find places to touch -- they fumbled, stroked, and ran into one another. She'd made the right decision. Mark stopped kissing her and someone else started, someone who smelled different but just as wonderful. Every caress and every kiss was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were a dream that might fade if they clung to her too hard.

If only Tom could see her now.

Clothing wriggled off and skin slid against bare skin. Someone kissed her belly, and then her thighs. A hand covered hers, guiding her fingers to a cock. She stroked it. Then a cock was in her other hand and fingers were on her pussy. She opened her eyes, knowing this reverie was progressing to something more torrid.

There was, however, one thing she needed to get straight before they continued.

"Condoms," she said.

Their faces fell, but she didn't fancy explaining this situation to a child-support judge. Tall fished a foil packet out of his wallet and Mark dug through the shaving kit by his bed. Fedora looked sheepish.

"Guys?" he said. "Anyone have an extra?"

Tall shrugged.

"Sorry, dude," said Mark.

Fedora pouted.

"Don't worry," Sally said. "I'll take care of you."

She put her hands on his hips and lowered her face into his lap, slowly, teasing. When she finally took him in her mouth, all three men sighed. Sucking cock was fun in its own way, but exhibition was the real thrill tonight, knowing that two more men watched, and two more cocks saluted her, each longing to be next.

She gave Fedora the most photogenic head of her life, with lots of tongue-flicking and gratuitous moaning. She pulled away from him before he could come and turned to face the other two men. She took Mark's cock in one hand and Tall's in the other and smiled impishly at them before bending down.

She went down on them each in turn, back and forth. She wanted them wild, so they'd agree to her fantasy.

It was time to pull out all the stops.

"I want both these big cocks in my mouth at once," she said, whining like a porn queen. "Please? I need it."

In their excitement, the men couldn't figure out the logistics. Fortunately, she'd given this issue some thought earlier that evening, at her laptop. She had Mark and Tall kneel at right angles to each other while she sat between them. Fedora, rapt, watched from beside the bed as Sally stretched her mouth open wide.

Mark's cock head slid easily into her mouth, but Tall's just barely fit alongside it. The sensation was as delicious and slippery as she'd hoped. She rubbed the cockheads together, pulled them out and licked them, rubbed them against her face, sucked them back in.

She didn't want to stop, but the men were going to come soon if she wasn't careful. She took one of the condoms off the nightstand and tore it open.

"Mark. Please fuck me."

Hamming it up, yes, but she got the reaction she wanted. As soon as he had the condom on, he shoved her onto her back, lifted her feet, and wrapped his arms around her legs. He groaned as he thrust into her; she didn't think he'd last long.

There was something she wanted, first.

"Hold my arms down!" she cried.

She closed her eyes and reached behind her to Fedora and Tall, spreading her arms as wide as she could. When they pinned her wrists against the mattress she struggled, and realized she really couldn't get away. It was heavenly. She starting coming the instant Mark touched her clit, and then he was coming, too.

When Mark pulled out, Sally was panting. Who knew having sex with three men would be so tiring? Her muscles ached, but Tall and Fedora still needed her help and she had one fantasy she'd yet to fulfill.

This one might work better on the floor.

She helped Tall with his condom and then got down on the floor on her hands and knees, facing Fedora. Too tired for seduction, she simply thrust her backside up and stared at Fedora's cock. They got the idea. Fedora knelt in front of her while Tall grabbed her ass, slid his cock into her pussy, and pushed her forward into Fedora. Sally took Fedora's cock in her hand and guided it into her mouth again.

Balance was difficult with one man pounding her from behind and another squirming in her face; she grabbed Fedora's hips to brace herself. Tall started coming after only a few minutes, and Fedora lasted only a little longer before filling her mouth with cum. She closed her eyes, summoned all her remaining courage, and swallowed it all.

When the carnality ended, the spell wore off a bit. Condoms came off. Mark offered her a beer, which she refused, fearing she might fall asleep. The four of them talked, not really saying anything: "That was amazing," "You were great," and so on.

Best to end on a high note, before things got awkward. She gathered up her underwear, wrapped herself in the sarong, kissed each man one last time, and left.

Dizzy with exhaustion, she stumbled back to her bungalow and slumped onto her bed with her laptop beside her. She wanted to capture the experience in words while it was fresh in her mind. But fatigue was too powerful, and she sank into sleep through a haze of pleasant emotions: relief that she had one more day to recuperate before she flew home, horniness left over from the evening's revels, pride that she'd restored three men's faith that those letters to Penthouse were true, and satisfaction that she'd kept her promise to herself and made her vacation all she'd dreamed it could be.

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