Island Fever 6: Sanctuary
Chapter 1: Eros

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Wife Watching, Incest, Sister, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Spanking, Light Bond, Group Sex, Orgy, Polygamy/Polyamory, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Double Penetration, Tit-Fucking, Analingus, Small Breasts, Big Breasts,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Eros - The sixth installment of the "Island Fever" saga picks up as Jeremy and his seven wives have returned to their tropical paradise on a family vacation in the South Pacific. There is a new wedding in the works but, as Jeremy soon finds out, life is not always filled with sunshine even in the most idyllic of locations.

-- Saturday, September 24, 2016 --

-- The Island --

“Wait. So the big steak knives don’t go in the regular silverware drawer is what you’re saying?” Devon was trying to take all of this in. “What does it matter?”

“Trust me. It matters,” I insisted, accepting Shredder’s leash so Devon could kneel down and tie her shoe laces. My 30-year-old wife and I, along with the family dog, were in the midst of a morning jaunt from the mansion here on the island down to the east beach, then back again.

Although it had been well over a year since we were here last, the island had a strong grip on our family as a whole, continually pulling and reeling us back with promises of incredible beauty and endless adventure. Go on, gaze into that fiery volcano, swim in a sea of rainbow-colored fish, hike through a rainforest to hidden waterfalls, or kayak into the deep waters of the ocean, where whales leap out of the water for reasons still unknown. Looking to relax? Life moves at whatever pace one prefers here. Extra doses of sun and sea allow both body and soul to fully recharge and heal. This island is a sensory experience that will remain with you, forever locked in your memory, long after your tan fades.

So, could anyone blame me for opting to bring the entire family back to this tropical paradise for another extended vacation from the other side of the globe? Back in our home country (Norway), the temperature was quite chilly right now with the autumn season in full force.

Shredder loved the island and whined out his enthusiasm as we made our way toward a clearing up ahead in the thicket, where the Labrador Retriever no doubt had visions of playing his favorite game - fetch - with the tennis ball I had stashed in my backpack. It would be an understatement to say that Shredder pranced his way toward the clearing in front of us. Shredder the Dancing Dog was a more accurate description.

I glanced at Devon as we walked, dodging a bumblebee along the way. “To you and me, knife placement sounds very minor in the grand scheme of things. And it is. But to Amy, it’s her kitchen and she prefers keeping it nice and wrapped up, but most of all, orderly, in her own, special way.”

Devon smiled. “I’ve always known that Amy believes that she is the queen of the kitchen, and she rightfully is, but I did not know the true magnitude of just how much until she began flipping out on Thursday night after I unpacked all the steak knives from the suitcase and put them away in the drawer. The WRONG drawer! All I was trying to do was help.”

“You have no idea,” I deadpanned. “I deal with it back home when I do dishes at night. Amy has a certain spot for everything in the kitchen. Any little thing out of place - a fork, a spoon, one of her steak knives - she goes nuts. It’s like the only thing that makes her go ballistic.”

“I think I might have to move everything around just to mess with her a little.” Devon grinned at the thought, much like a mischievous child looking to test her parents. The expression upon her face was so playfully smug.

I placed a hand on Devon’s forearm and glared into her eyes with concern. “You’re a braver person than me.” I could envision Amy getting all worked up and sexy-angry, using her authoritative mother hen voice to set Devon straight. Actually, that was not a bad visual at all...

“There’s really no other way to put it,” Devon proclaimed. “Crazy kitchen bitch. That’s what we should all call Amy from this point forward. C-K-B.”

“WHOA.” Suddenly, I could not stop laughing. “Honey, I don’t think that’s very nice...”

Devon was smiling as well. “We should swap all the steak knives in that one, specific drawer with plastic utensils and see what happens. Kitchen Armageddon. Attack of the C-K-B. The Red-Head Who Kills for Misplaced Cutlery.”

With tears in my eyes from laughing, I held up a hand. “You have to stop now. My stomach hurts.”

“Fine. But it was kind of cute how Amy got all worked up and out of order over something so trivial. I was like, whoa girl ... take a chill pill. Or something.”

I inhaled a deep, fortifying breath to regain my composure. “Well, it’s the kitchen. Her kitchen. Don’t mess with it.”

As we stepped into the clearing along the jungle pathway, Shredder yipped and leapt vertically a couple of times in celebration of what he hoped was about to happen. I reached into my backpack and handed the old, battered tennis ball to Devon. “Want to do the honors?”

“Excuse me, Shredder-the-dog? Is this what you’re after? Shredder-the-dog wants me to throw it?”

I grinned at Devon. “I think he likes it when you call him Shredder-the-dog.”

“It’s his name. Duh, Jeremy.”

At just the sight of the ball, Shredder nearly lost his mind. He turned in a half-dozen frenzied, wild circles, then shrieked loudly and wagged his tail as fast as it would go. When Devon chose not to immediately throw it, Shredder used his front two paws to bounce off of her chest. He kept doing that, in fact, until Devon held up both hands. Of course one of them contained the ball, so he came undone all over again. “All right. All right. And ... fetch!”

Like a rocket, Shredder tore off after the ball - his leash dragging behind - as if the fate of the world depended on its prompt retrieval. Devon tilted her head at the sight. “I think he is getting faster with age.”

I had to agree. “We should enter him in the Dog Olympics.”

“He’d win,” Devon said.

“All the gold medals.” I waved my hand about dramatically.

“They would re-name the Dog Hall of Fame after him because he would be the most decorated dog Olympian of all time.”

“He would need a parade.”

“Lindsay could organize it.” Devon sipped her bottled water. “So is it true that Trish actually dragged you out of bed this morning at five o’clock and made you do cardio with her?” Devon seemed to mull on this and a lazy smile took shape. “You know, Jeremy, this daily exercise is probably going to make your back feel much better in the long run.”

“My back has been hurting for the last several years,” I frowned. I had degenerative arthritis in the lower part of my spine. Getting older was certainly not aiding the situation at all. “If exercise helps, then I am all for it.” Shredder had since returned and nudged the tennis ball against my foot.

Devon scoffed playfully and rolled her eyes at me. “You’re all for it? Trish said you whined and complained this morning, Jeremy, being pulled out of bed at five. You know Trish goes through her exercise routine early in the morning, before anyone else wakes up. If you’re truly all for it, as you say, quit crying like a baby!”

I chuckled. “Wow, you’re full of venom today.”

“Time to be hardcore about getting in better shape,” Devon advised me. “You’re not getting any younger. I am in the best shape of my entire life right now - at age 30 - thanks to Trish and her exercise regime. I feel better than I ever have before. I feel like a million bucks.”

“Yeah, yeah ... I know.” I threw the ball for Shredder, whose tongue was now hanging sideways out of his mouth from his glory-filled exertion. But he refused to give in and bounded back out in search of the offending tennis ball.

Devon was obviously in a very chipper and playful mood as we enjoyed the last leg of our nature walk. As usual, my charming bride was a sight for sore eyes in a mouth-watering kind of way. Devon wore faded denim jeans with a hole in the right thigh, and a white tank-top underneath a pale yellow shirt that she left completely open and unbuttoned. And it just so happened to make the color in her eyes pop vibrantly.

After stealing a moment to take her astonishing beauty in, I stood up straight, trying to act tall and unhindered. “Bah, being woke up at five o’clock doesn’t really bother me.”

Devon began laughing. It sounded more like cackling, because she knew that I had just lied to her. “Yeah, right. NOT.” She shook her head and chuckled lightly. “You better get used to it, Jeremy. Trish does exercise bright and early every morning, well before Jackson or any of the other kids throughout the house are supposed to be awake. Hardcore? Talk about hardcore? Trish is hardcore when it comes to physical fitness.” Devon began cackling once again. “I, for one, want to see Trish whip your ass back into shape!”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, I am,” she joyfully snickered.

I could smell Devon’s perfume, albeit faintly. Some kind of intoxicating strawberry fragrance was clouding my brain and affecting my ability to think clearly. Devon rolled out of bed every morning and transitioned into her alter ego - fashionable billboard model - with sheer ease. Almost as if she was a mythical superhero. It was one of the countless qualities that made her intriguing. Not to mention desirable. And ultra hot. She had so many delicious layers to uncover.

As we made our way closer to the house, Devon lifted a hand to shield the sun from her eyes. “Oh, there’s that poor Jeep. It needs to be washed so bad.” Devon was making reference to the old, beat-up, black 1987 Jeep Wrangler (it of the 205,000 miles) that was parked just outside the southeastern corner of the mansion. My first-ever vehicle, this Jeep had been a part of my life since high school, although it had stayed here on the island even after we moved and uprooted our family to Norway nearly three years ago. The Jeep was a fabled momento to me - something from the past - though its rightful home nowadays seemed to be the island.

“Oh, it most definitely does need a wash,” I agreed. Although the Jeep had been covered by a tarp since our last visit in the summer of 2015, corrosion had definitely set in. At least the engine and its working parts seemed to be in decent order, although its outward appearance needed some love.

Devon trotted on ahead and circled the vehicle once. “Do you know if we still have cleaning supplies in the garage? Let me wash it for you, Jeremy. Just like old times?”

“What? In your bikini?” I teased her.

“No bikini today, I am afraid to admit,” Devon told me. “But ... seriously. Look at this thing. It needs a wash. Looks like there is something ... growing ... on the tires.”

“Plenty of supplies in the garage,” I offered, tossing her a keyring. Devon flashed me a killer smile as she went over to the garage, unlocked it, and opened the door. A few moments later, I sat down in a folding lawn chair with Shredder perched at my feet and took in the view.

And what a view it was.

After giving the Jeep a thorough spray-down, Devon leaned across the front of the vehicle and lathered its hood with a healthy amount of soap and water that also covered her arms and parts of her shirt. Her long, golden blonde hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, but as was often the case, it refused to hold, and loose strands fell haphazardly around her face. My eyes drifted down Devon’s tiny, yet curvaceous frame, taking in her low-slung jeans and the hole that offered a glimpse of the smooth, immaculate skin beneath. How was it that a woman was allowed to look as good as Devon?

I watched for a bit longer until she turned and definitely caught me in the act. I feigned sudden interest elsewhere. Devon, in response, tilted her head to the side and quipped, “Were you checking me out?”

“Uh, no, I wasn’t. I was looking at the Jeep. Such a magnificent ... bumper, it has.”

Devon stymied a giggle; that comment was pure lunacy on my part. “You were totally checking out my ass.” I then noticed a tiny droplet of sweat make its way down her neck. So not helping me with my case right now.

“Can you blame me?” I finally admitted.

Devon shot me a questioning glance and went back to work on washing the Jeep. Ten daydream-infused minutes later, I knew that I was about to burst if I did not snap myself out of this lust-filled haze. I scrubbed my face in an attempt to wake myself from the blatant desire that had overtaken every inch of my being. And I do mean every inch. Multiplication tables style. Six times nine was fifty-four.

But it did not work because academics just made me imagine Devon in the sexy glasses that she wore while reading, which simply took me to a whole new fantasy. Perhaps playing dress-up for me in one of her naughty schoolgirl uniforms?

Time to seize control. “Want some help?” Physical labor would be an excellent idea. A nice distraction.

“Nope, I don’t have much left. All you have to do, Jeremy, is sit back and watch. Let me do all the work for a change.”

And watch I did. Devon looked like a cover model for Lowrider magazine right here on our very own island in front of me. It was an amazing sight to behold.

“What?” Devon asked, regarding my overt, direct stare.

“Nothing. You just look...” Edible, my brain supplied, “like the sun might be getting the best of you. Maybe you should take off that outer shirt you have on. Just wear the tank-top underneath. Might be ... more comfortable.”

Devon glanced down and grasped the front of her open shirt curiously, almost shyly. “This one?”

“Yeah ... it may help cool you off. You know, hot day and all.” I fanned myself for added effect.

“Thanks so much for being concerned with my welfare.” Devon shot me an amused smile before shrugging the shirt from her shoulders and returning to the task at hand in her tank-top, which did nothing but increase my libido even more. She even made certain to accidentally spray her upper half with the water hose, dousing her breasts in the process.

Nothing in the world could have possibly turned me away. In a last ditch effort to keep my sanity, I concentrated on Devon’s car washing technique instead of how awesome she looked. I failed miserably at it after just a second or two. Devon was a walking wet t-shirt contest with soaked jeans. How in the hell was I supposed to keep my composure, my cool?

At long last, Devon dropped the sponge back into the bucket. “That is a wrap. Care to inspect my work?”

I walked over and did a once around the Jeep. I planned on complimenting Devon regardless because she put a good amount of effort into this, but the end result was actually quite remarkable. The Jeep gleamed underneath the hot sun.

“You’re good at this.”

“Just like old times!”

“You did, however, manage to get about as much water on yourself as you did the Jeep, but I suppose everyone has their own method and way of doing things.”

Devon gasped. “That sounds like judgment!” And with cat-like reflexes and quickness, Devon pulled the sprayer’s nozzle and a steady stream of water hit me directly upon the shoulder. I stood there, not moving at all, water dripping from my shirt and down the rest of my body.

“I cannot believe you did that. You got me as wet as you.”

I re-played that last sentence back in my mind. It did not sound right. Not right at all. Devon obviously agreed, because she was frantically giggling with a raised eyebrow. “I meant the hose, Devon. The water you just ... ahh, hell. You look really hot right now.”

A slow, sexy smile took shape on her lips. “Yeah?”

I sighed deeply. “You have no idea.”

Devon set the hose down on the ground and closed the short distance between us. With a swift, determined look, Devon placed her hands on the vehicle’s hood, on either side of me, effectively boxing me in. We were not touching, but I could have sworn we were from the way my skin hummed and the aching I felt down below. Devon’s dazzling blue eyes never once left my mouth in a move that sent shock-waves all the way down to my very core. Damn it all, she was truly captivating.

“We should go inside,” I whispered, inclining my head toward the mansion. “Much better than out here.”

“Only if I get to kiss you.” Devon smirked and turned around in one, easy motion, then casually headed toward the side entrance. Oh, what a taut, magnificent ass she had in those tight jeans! I took Shredder’s leash and followed her in, enjoying the view (or perhaps the show).

I went still and stared after Devon once we both made our way into the mansion. Who would have ever thought that a car wash could be such great foreplay? Devon knew that I was watching her, and it turned her on. I know it did.

When she ventured into the kitchen, I began moving again. I found Devon at the counter, taking in a swig of bottled water. I approached her from behind and carefully swept her hair to the side, exposing the back of her neck. I took it in for a brief moment, that neck, the smooth, simplistic beauty of it. I kissed it delicately, drawn in further by the warmth of her skin. Devon turned around, and the look on her face caused my stomach to clench. Her eyes were hungry and it looked damn good on her.

Devon stepped closer, with her lips parted slightly. She cradled my face with both hands and pulled me in gently. The kiss was equally slow, but trust me, beyond good. I loved the way Devon kissed. It was thorough, quite tantalizing, and tasted like a sweet slice of Heaven.

There was a large and very inviting sofa in the next room, and I was quick to angle Devon in that direction, our kiss still unbroken. There was no option at all to break that kiss. I palmed Devon’s left breast through the tank-top that she wore in a move that made her gasp with hot, wanton desire. My thumb circled the nipple; I could feel it straining against her bra underneath the thin fabric.

At the last possible moment, Devon spun us around and pushed me back onto the sofa and slid on top, all soft, determined, and incredibly sexy. With each and every breath Devon took, her breasts rose and fell against my chest.

I growled once our kiss finally ended, but Devon began to trace circles upon my neck and shoulder with her tongue. I reached up and pulled Devon more firmly against me, needing so much more and not wanting to wait any longer. But Devon gently grasped my wrists and placed them on either side of my head in a signal that she was the one in charge, a move that nearly quadrupled my already intense level of need.

Devon proceeded to trail her lips and tongue down my chest, to my sternum and finally my abdomen, and then she began to unbutton my jeans slowly, excruciatingly so.

But when it seemed as if the world had came to a screeching halt and pure Heaven awaited, there was a reminder that, as the proud father of a two-year-old toddler, intimate moments like this could be interrupted at any time.

When Kaden, my oldest son (with Kristanna), came bounding into the living room, Devon sprang up like a tigress and landed on the floor just in front of him. She dropped to her knees before Kaden, sat down, and hugged him to her. “Hi, wild man!” Devon greeted him. Just like that, Devon easily transitioned from sexy seductress to gentle caregiver. She truly did have superhero-like qualities. “Where’s Mommy at?”

“Og Mommy oh doe play,” Kaden said in toddler speech.

“Oh, there she is!” Devon gushed, looking off in the distance. A few seconds later, Kristanna came rushing down the hallway and caught up with us in the living room.

“I’m sorry, Devvy, but Kaden got away from me,” Kristanna told her, before glancing over at me. Kristanna, of course, was one of my seven wives. She was also married to Devon. “Kaden, don’t run away from me like that again!”

I chuckled lightly and pushed myself up, but Kristanna got the idea I wanted to convey here. Kaden interrupted some crazy almost-sex because Kristanna allowed him to slip away when she had promised to keep a close eye on him so Devon and I could enjoy some privacy this morning. Suddenly, Kristanna seemed disappointed in herself. “Oh, I’m doubly sorry, Jeremy...” Keeping up with Kaden was not an easy task, though, so I really could not blame Kristanna too much for this.

“Daddy sheep?” Kaden asked, motioning toward me.

“No, Daddy isn’t sleeping,” Devon told him. “He is just ... resting on the sofa.” She held his hands and smiled at him. Meanwhile, I licked my own lips and savored the last remnants of Devon’s kiss. My wife then tickled Kaden’s cheek. “Did you have fun with Mommy and Amy, Dani Grace?”


“What did you do?”

“Trinkle, trinkle, willow...”

Devon gasped. “Did you sing to Dani Grace again?”

“Yeah!” Kaden answered. “Trinkle, trinkle willow swar...”

“Wow!” Devon exclaimed. “That’s so good!” Kaden then recited half of the alphabet, but I will not even attempt to put into words the way he said it. “That’s so good!” Devon repeated. “You’ve been practicing!” Kaden then put his hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Yeah, my shirt is wet. Do you feel that? Aunt Devvy has a wet shirt. I washed Daddy’s Jeep outside. His Jeep was really icky. Kind of like how his hair is each morning when he wakes up.” I squinted my eyes at that comment, but then stifled a laugh. Devon just took a shot at me over bed-head? “You hungry, wild man? Want to go into the kitchen with me and get some doughnuts?”


When they went into the kitchen in search of a snack, I was suddenly left alone in the family room with Kristanna.

“It seems you and Devvy were in the middle of something.”

“It seems?” I returned with a playful grin, snapping the button on my jeans back into place.

My eyes widened as Kristanna’s denim-clad legs moved and she took a step closer to me, her tall, slender body following suit. Kristanna flipped her golden, long-flowing blonde hair over her shoulder and pinned me in place with a seductive glare, accompanied by a quick lift of a single eyebrow. Hmmmmm, Kristanna was so insanely beautiful! Her jeans were snug-fitting, clutching her hips and thighs gracefully. My 26-year-old wife wore a flirty tank-top as well, hers red, and I saw the pink straps of a lacey bra stretched across her shoulder trying to peek out from underneath.

“Maybe I can make it up to you, Jeremy?”

“How?” I managed.

Kristanna reached for my hand and those ocean blue eyes took a slow stroll down my body, making my mouth go dry. She leaned forward, but my own eyes quickly darted toward the entrance to the kitchen. I did not see Devon or Kaden, but I could hear them conversing about what type of doughnut he wanted to snack on. Kristanna and I could not become intimate here at all; not with Kaden closeby. I then closed my eyes for an instant, imagining the possibilities if indeed we actually were alone, and promptly felt Kristanna plant a faint kiss upon my cheek.

“You look delicious,” she whispered.


How was I supposed to respond and think clearly when Kristanna, all of a sudden, acted like sex personified and said things like that? Her eyes suddenly full of mischief and delight, Kristanna was happy with herself; I was like a dog in heat now. Which, you know, was what she wanted.

“Wow, Krissy. You look great.” Devon returned to the living room with Kaden, who was munching on a glazed doughnut, by her side. Kristanna sat down upon the floor and nuzzled up against me as I was still on the sofa, then pressed the side of her face to my upper thigh and rested there like it was a pillow. Her own personal pillow. “I really like your belt,” Devon added. “It’s pretty.”

Indeed, Kristanna had a colorful belt - vibrant and popping with flower and tropical designs - cinched around her waist. All of my wives were very vocal and quick to throw compliments toward one another whenever the opportunity presented itself. And trendy fashion was one of their favorite topics.

“Thank you,” Kristanna graciously returned.

“Doughnuts ... yummy!” Kaden proclaimed in toddler speech. “Uhhhhh ... Gramma’s house has doughnuts! And applesauce!”

“We’re a long way from Grandma’s house,” Devon reminded Kaden, kneeling down beside him and wiping some of the excess doughnut from his face with a paper towel. “Remember, Grandma is in Norway? Maybe we can hook up with Grandma and Pa-Paw a bit later on through the Internet and Skype. Would you like that?” When Kaden nodded his head, rather enthusiastically, Devon hugged him to her. Kristanna and I simply relaxed and looked on; she, no doubt, thinking the same, exact thing as me - Devon was going to be an excellent mother herself one day.

“Me big, big, big, big, big!” Kaden suddenly blurted out.

“Yes, you are!” Kristanna laughed. “Hey, Kaden. Tell Aunt Devvy about that awesome movie that you watched yesterday. Finding Dory? What did you think of it? Tell Devvy.”

“I finda Dory etch allpa uh procran.”

Devon gasped at him. “And you had popcorn? WOW! Did you like it? Did you share some with Mommy and Daddy? I know they watched the movie with you.”

“Yeah. Eat eh ... all gone.”

“Was Ariel with you too?”

“Ariel ... sheep.”

Devon nodded at him. “Ariel was sleeping?”


“Who else watched it with us?” Kristanna asked him. “Who else was in the home theater with us? Tell Devvy.”

“Pamela and ... Pie-pah.”

“Her name is Pammy, Kaden,” Kristanna corrected him, and I held back a chuckle as a result. “Not Pamela, but Pammy. Get it right. This is something you must learn.”

Devon was laughing as well. “Pamela’s gonna be mad!”

Alison stood and fidgeted about, inspecting herself in front of the full-size mirror in the closet, clearly still not pleased with her latest attempt of finding the perfect swimsuit bikini to wear while receiving her first-ever surfing lesson, courtesy of Trish. Behind her in the bedroom, on the chair with the plush blue cushion, and the bright yellow and orange throw pillows, was the entirety of Alison’s bathing suit collection; there were at least a dozen tops and bottoms in various shapes, sizes and designs.

At this precise moment in time, Alison wore an aqua-colored bikini scrunch bottom with a purple band made of lace around her waist and a matching top with a lacey band over top of each breast cup. Alison looked downright adorable in the little, two-piece swimsuit - beautiful, smoldering, exotic - but the problem was not the bikini itself. It was Alison.

The 20-year-old felt insecure in her own skin, obviously trying to figure out what the older (and much more curvaceous) Trish would think was sexy on her. All Alison ever did was compare herself to the likes of Pamela, Devon, Amy and yes, Trish too, and promptly felt inadequate and underdeveloped because of their voluptuous bodies. Young, sweet and oh so pink, Alison still had yet to realize that her barely legal appearance - the small, A-cup breasts, her drum-tight ass and that darling, pretty face - was quite a powerful aphrodisiac for everyone in the family. Alison was a little firecracker, a burning stick of dynamite, that all of us wanted to finally realize that she was absolutely perfect just the way she was. Yet, that was proving to be an incredibly tall task.

Alison bit her lower lip and glanced at her cell phone, then sighed and stepped out of the closet, and shut its door. “I’m going to be late!” she whined, apparently signaling that there would be no more bikini changing today. That was quite unfortunate, because I had been enjoying myself for the past 60 minutes or so as I eavesdropped on her from the comfort of my trusty, old voyeur room here in the island’s mansion. How many countless hours had I spent here in the past?

Alison went to the bed, where she had already laid out the sandals she would wear and her cinch sack. The innocent, demure, little blonde quickly slipped into the multi-colored capri pants and sleeveless tank-top that she had picked out an hour earlier and checked out her reflection once again, this time in the dresser-drawer mirror.

Alison seemed to become frustrated, then grunted and whisked herself away from the mirror. She stepped into her sandals and flung the sack over her shoulder, and rushed out the door.

Earlier this morning, Trish asked Alison if she would like to try her hand at surfing alongside the northern shoreline of the island. Trish fully realized that Alison had never been surfing even once in her life, but volunteered to show her the ropes and offer her some instruction. Wanting to appease Trish, and perhaps out of her own curiosity, Alison agreed to come along. Still, she seemed to have a few reservations about it.

Trish knew full well that Lindsay, Alison’s older sister and mutual love interest, would never go surfing in the ocean with her. To this day, Lindsay was still afraid that a massive shark (or Jaws as she so eloquently called them) would emerge from the watery depths and have her as a bite-sized snack. She flat-out refused to go more than ankle-deep out into the ocean. Only on the rarest of occasions had she made an exception.

Thus, it only made sense (since Lindsay would decline) that Trish ask Alison to spend a few hours at the beach with her. If Trish could not be with the absolute love of her life - Lindsay - then her younger sister was clearly the next best option. Especially since they were romantically linked, too.

Alison hurried down the steps and then along the pathway that led to the northern coastline. The sun was bright on her face as the island’s surveillance system, though inactive for over a year, proved to still be in excellent working order. I had yet to come across a malfunctioning hidden camera or microphone since arriving back here a few days ago.

I planned on spending time outside and being active with the family on our vacation, but there were still going to be times - like now - when I felt overly compelled to sit back and simply observe from the voyeur room. I loved watching the various women in one-on-one situations, seeing them talk and interact; noticing the subtle differences in how they treated each other. It was actually quite fascinating to me. I also enjoyed hearing any comments they made about me.

Alison smiled as she spotted Trish, appearing to be a pristine, island goddess showcasing her own lavish, sensual gifts in a black, two-piece bikini. Physically fit and tone in the shining sun, Trish’s body was a smooth, bronze color, and her brown hair was wet as she stood and grinned at Alison on the beach as she quickly closed the distance between them.

“You made it!” Trish exclaimed at Alison in glee, picking up one of the four surfboards she had brought along with her from the portable, rolling cart. “I was afraid you would chicken out, like your sister always does.”

Alison shrugged. “I thought about it. Lindsay says this area is teeming with sharks.”

Trish laughed, as long, supple fingers dabbed at her own chin. “Oh, don’t listen to her. In all the time we have spent here in the past, Ali, I’ve never once seen a shark.”

Alison tied her cinch sack onto the surfboard cart. “I was talking to Krissy awhile ago; she said she has seen a shark from time to time here over the years. But never any dangerous ones. Of course, Krissy has spent a lot more time here on the island than you have, Trish, I guess.” Alison glanced all about, and suddenly appeared pensive. “Do you think Jeremy is watching us right now with his cameras?”

“I’m sure he is,” Trish nodded. “He told me earlier that he probably would. Why do you ask?”

Alison frowned. “I don’t want to humiliate myself in front of him. You know, looking foolish trying to surf.”

“You need to have a better attitude than that,” Trish advised Alison, before looking her up and down. “Be more positive! You also need to get rid of most of those clothes. You do realize that you’re going in the water, right?”

Alison sighed and kicked off her sandals. “I know, I know...” she muttered, shrugging out of her tank-top. I noticed Alison’s eyes flash toward Trish’s much larger pair of breasts before glancing down and frowning at her own for a split-second. Oh, poor Alison. “Is there any chance, Trish, that you think I could maybe wear a wetsuit?”

“Why would you want to cover up a body like that?” Trish asked incredulously and soon, they both locked gazes, their eyes wide and looming. “I don’t get you, Alison,” she then offered, her voice soft. “You’re perfect the way you are. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

Alison giggled nervously, all anxious and uncertain, and obviously confused. This girl and her 103 pound body was stunningly gorgeous; she had taken me to Euphoria City on several different occasions since joining our family earlier in the year. Her figure, those smallish breasts, were made for her tiny, flexible frame. Why did she fret over them?

“So what are we doing first?” Alison asked, changing the subject, stepping out of her capri pants. Now standing there in nothing more than her little, two-piece bikini, Alison eyed Trish with raw intent. “When do I get to go into the water?”

Trish clapped her hands together. “Hold your horses, girl. Before we begin, I want to go over a couple of simple basics with you.” Trish motioned for Alison to follow her as she retrieved a second surfboard from the cart and laid it upon the sand. Trish was already sweltering beneath the intense heat of the sun, while Alison was well on her way.

“See how the board is bigger - wider - in the middle?” Trish asked Alison, her hands going over top of it. “That is where you want to focus your energy...”

Trish continued with the impromptu lesson, her voice soft and soothing. It was easy to tell that Trish had a love for the sand and the sea, and no doubt was happy that our family had decided to take another vacation here to the island. It was a far cry from her mindset during our last visit here, in May/June 2015, as Trish had just lost her father in a gruesome automobile accident. She had still yet to recover from it.

Alison seemed to fall under Trish’s spell as the sun illuminated her vibrant, healthy skin, her full lips and her brown eyes. In fact, Alison appeared to be daydreaming while Trish carried on with the verbal instructions and guidance. Perhaps Alison had visions of something much more erotic than surfing with Trish since they were alone on the beach now?

“Hey,” Trish said, playfully snapping her fingers in front of Alison’s eyes. “Did I lose you? Where did you go?”

“Sorry,” Alison cringed, holding back a smile at the same time. She bit her lower lip and confessed, “Just nervous.”

Moments later, Alison knelt in the sand, her taut, youthful frame glowing with perspiration as she waxed her surfboard. Trish stood idly by, yet watched Alison’s every move, the sand kissing her knees, the purple, lacey bikini band around her scrunch bottom, the way Alison’s chest heaved as she exerted herself with every rub of the board, showcasing those small, tender breasts that glistened in the afternoon heat.

Alison was insanely gorgeous; she was so sweet, so fun to be around. No one recognized this more than Trish, who was wildly attracted to her. Yet Alison’s insecurities were quite perplexing to Trish, as was the case for everyone in the family. How could Alison not understand her own sex appeal? “Oh, me? I’m nothing special,” I had heard her say on several occasions. Alison was still young and somewhat inexperienced, so perhaps that was an issue. But I also realized that many girls in Alison’s age group were unable to grasp how amazing and attractive they were, so it was a widespread problem. Lindsay, in fact, had the same issue when I first met her over three years ago. She had since moved on from it.

Trish smiled, watching Alison finish waxing her surfboard with vigor and determination. “That’s good for now,” Trish said, extending her hand outward. Alison smiled shyly and accepted it, then rose to her feet. “Time to go surfing!”

“Okay,” Alison nodded.

The island had a wide variety of terrific beaches to choose from, but this particular one along the northern coast was extra special. Jet-black sand was continually caressed by an endless surf, magnificent sea arches and caves dotted the shoreline, and a forested pathway led to a secret swimming hole (nicknamed Kristanna Cove by yours truly in 2011).

The two ladies paused at the water’s edge, Trish’s surfboard looking comfortable and natural under her arm, Alison’s appearing careless and awkward. The incoming waves fizzled around their feet as Trish turned to glance at Alison and noticed the trepidation in those pretty eyes.

“We can catch some waves, but you can lay on your board instead of standing on it to start,” Trish instructed her. Trish began taking slow steps into the water - one at a time - and Alison followed. It was as if she was baiting her out. “The idea is, Ali, that you have a lot of fun today.”

I sat back and watched from the voyeur room as Trish first taught Alison how to ride her surfboard under, not over, a wave. Alison hitched in a deep breath and swooped underneath the wave, then popped out the other side glistening wet, but also mighty proud of herself. “I did it!” she squealed.

“Awesome!” Trish swooned, nodding toward another approaching wave. “Now see if you can do it ten more times!”

The next wave caught Alison off-guard, but she displayed a sudden toughness and resiliency, not to mention a fast learning curve, taking the few sets afterward easily. By the time there was a brief lull between the stronger waves and those merely cresting, Alison already looked like a seasoned professional.

Trish coached Alison on how to get atop her surfboard before easing into a seated position. She quickly got the hang of it, but not before a few slide-offs and one hilarious fall-off.

Eventually they sat there, the tropical sun serenading them from above, enjoying the crests beneath their surfboards. “Can we just stay out here all day?” Alison asked, her blonde hair damp and messy on her shoulders, her body glowing and ... ripe.

“We can if you want,” Trish mused. “Lindsay and Amy are keeping watch on Jackson for me up at the house.” Jackson, of course, was my seven-month-old son with Trish. He was one of the seven children I had with six of my seven wives. The only one who wasn’t a mother by now was Devon. That, by the way, was something that needed to change. In a hurry.

“I’ve missed the island so much,” Trish added, gazing out in all different directions. “Last time we were here, I did not get to enjoy it as much because my father had just died. My mind, unfortunately, was elsewhere.” Trish paused, then gently added, “I love the Pacific. I love this island.”

Alison was frowning now, looking at Trish with sympathy as their surfboards were so close, their knees were almost touching. “I know all about losing a parent. My dad died in November 2012. I was only 16. It was devastating. Still is.”

Trish turned and found the perfect elixir to guide them away from the depressing subject. In the distance, there was a crest of a nice, smooth, soft wave coming toward them. It was the kind of wave that Trish could ride in her sleep. “Oh, that looks to be ideal,” Trish said, but Alison had already laid down on her surfboard and, as they had practiced during prep time on the beach earlier, began paddling to catch the wave.

Alison missed the best part of it by a hair, but Trish watched with pride as her student paddled furiously until the wave caught up with her. Perhaps on instinct, Alison stopped paddling and gripped the sides of her surfboard with both hands and then rode the wave to shore - no issues at all - with a happy, exuberant grin upon her gorgeous face.

Watching that wet hair fly, those long limbs flail and hearing a mix of squealy giggles, it was if Alison had become a child again. Good job, Trish, I said inwardly. The goal was for Alison to have fun today, and she most definitely did.

Alison was breathless as she paddled herself back out toward Trish. “That was a rush!” Alison erupted, full of excitement, but her eyes were already focused beyond Trish’s shoulder as she spotted the next wave. Before Trish could say anything, Alison was once again paddling away furiously.

This time, Alison caught the wave in its entirety and rode it sooner. But things became much more interesting when she stood up - no, she actually wobbled precariously - on the surfboard, but still managed to stand just the same.

Trish laughed as Alison, her body all tense as she stood, soon lost her balance and toppled over into the ocean froth. But still! Standing on her very first try, even if just for a couple of fleeting seconds. Well, almost standing. It was quite an impressive feat for a novice surfer.

“Awesome job!” Trish encouraged Alison, clapping, as she emerged from the depths.

Full of energy, Alison bent to her surfboard and made her way over to Trish. She clung to it as she soon faced Trish, side by side, in the water. Alison then moved in even closer to Trish, and sought her mouth for a kiss. Their lips pressed together and Alison closed her eyes, willing herself to relax and chill, while Trish seemed very surprised, but equally pleased. Alison worked her mouth slowly against Trish’s, her tongue eventually being granted entrance. Their tongues touched and danced in unison for a few blissful seconds.

“Thank you for bringing me out here today,” Alison swooned, forcing herself to back away from the kiss. Her grin was wide and her eyes were totally unassuming. “I’ve had a blast.” Alison then motioned toward the next incoming wave with her head. “I’m gonna try and stand the whole time.” And with that, she shoved away on her surfboard.

“Do it!” Trish encouraged Alison, holding a pair of fingers to her very own just-kissed lips. Trish watched Alison with a twinkle in her eyes, and hot, smoldering desire etched across her face, as she immediately landed in the ocean with a heavy thud when trying to stand. But Alison was not done trying. Again and again, she went back for more. Again. And again.

Nearly an hour later, Alison had stood up and successfully rode the wave in at least a dozen or so times. She was becoming quite tired, though, and her shoulders were starting to redden underneath the glare of the sun. At long last, Alison was spent; she had enough surfing for the afternoon.

“How about we go back up to the house and get something to eat?” Trish chuckled as she paddled out to catch up with Alison, who had just taken another header into the incoming tides. I must reiterate that Trish looked downright stunning in her little black two-piece bikini, all rich, full curves and caramel, sun-kissed skin, glistening in the blazing sun. “Looks to me as if you’re worn out.”

Alison slowly climbed back atop her surfboard and straddled it on her frontside, squeezing the excess water out of her hair. Trish then saw an approaching wave and readied herself. She paddled forward, just in time to catch the wave’s subtle swell. It carried Trish forward, effortlessly, as she just as effortlessly gripped the sides of her surfboard and stood, swooping down as the wave crested, and nearly rode it to shore. Clearly, Trish had been surfing for many years.

“I’m going to be as good as you one day,” Alison proclaimed moments later, paddling her way to dry land as well. “I’m going to tell Jeremy when we get back up to the house that I want him to find me some good surfing spots in Norway.”

“I already know of a few,” Trish mused.

Alison tossed her surfboard onto the beach in a safe spot, but then turned and looped back underwater. She soon emerged, her slender, little torso shining bronze and wet, and flopped down beside Trish in a shower of tiny, diamond droplets.

“I’m fine out here for a little while longer,” Alison told Trish. “Unless you’re hungry, and want to go back up.”

Suddenly, Trish was finding it difficult right now to concentrate on anything other than Alison and her immense beauty. Small, glittering beads of water were still adhering to her slim, magnificent frame. Alison’s sweet, wholesome innocence was almost irresistible, and her body with its subtle curves disappearing into the briefest of bikinis was altogether too distracting. The beguiling sensuality that Alison radiated was clearly causing Trish an overpowering wave of urgent desire. I could tell just from Trish’s body language alone.

That undeniable draw sucked her in, and finally Trish’s arms closed around Alison’s body and her mouth sought its just reward. A scorching, red-hot kiss ignited the emotions and desire that had been building between them since Alison first came down to the beach nearly two hours ago. Trish’s tongue darted out in a quest for Alison’s and she seemed to lose herself in that ripe innocence. Trish pulled her younger lover closer, tighter, nearly into her lap, as she slipped a hand between Alison’s thighs and began diddling away on her nether regions with a trio of skilled fingers through thin fabric.

Alison tilted her head, allowing Trish greater access to her mouth, her own hands sliding across Trish’s back, gripping her waist. Driving Trish wild, much like her sister had done so many times before. Wet and ready, Alison’s tongue then slipped past Trish’s lips and pleasured her relentlessly.

But Trish upped the ante, tugging at Alison’s hair, tilting her head back and re-claiming control. Without warning, Trish rolled Alison beneath her and pinned her to the sandy beach below for an exquisite three count. Trish’s mouth drifted to Alison’s throat as her hands untangled from that slick, stringy hair to cup the back of her head, drawing her against those magic lips. Alison arched into Trish, and a moan escaped her throat, echoing as the incoming waves fizzled out nearby.

All at once, Trish’s hands seemed to be everywhere, racing down Alison’s sides, her shoulders, her hips. Loosening up the little bikini top. Alison’s breasts popped out and Trish cupped one, contorting herself to draw its perky nipple into her mouth. Trish held the 20-year-old firmly in place as she pleasured her with her mouth. Shutting her eyes, Alison let the sensations cascade all throughout her, damp heat gathering at her center.

This time, Trish’s right hand snaked underneath Alison’s bikini thong and found her folds. Experienced fingers danced over Alison’s hot, tingling flesh. Inside, out. She arched her hips high off of the sand, reacting favorably.

Alison roared out like a lioness and opened much wider, encouraging Trish to go deeper. Faster. Harder. Alison’s breathing was ragged as Trish drove her powerfully, expertly, sucking at her breast, touching her intimately.

And soon, one final stroke shattered her resistance. Alison went through the joyous progression of sweet orgasm, crying out at the extreme level of pleasure Trish had provided for her. Trish glared back at her, total love and devotion in her eyes. Even as she crested downward from its pinnacle, Alison brought her hand to the back of Trish’s neck and kissed her as if she was drowning. The two ladies rocked together, their physical chemistry off the charts.

As if Trish had read Alison’s mind, she pulled back. Eyes steady on her lover, Trish removed her own bikini top and shook her head quite vigorously. Her silky-smooth, long brown hair tumbled gloriously over her breasts. Trish’s nipples were pink and upturned, her breasts full and blossoming, and Alison could not resist as she brought her mouth to one for a taste.

Soon their lips were smashed together yet again; the two ladies leaned into each other, pawing, groping, tasting with wild aggression. Trish brought both hands to Alison’s taut, little ass and squeezed it harshly, wanting to claim sole possession. But Alison’s ass, I thought inwardly as I watched from the voyeur room, did not belong to Trish. It belonged to me. (Just ask Alison, and she will tell you.)

Regardless, Alison slipped a hand between Trish’s thighs, underneath her thong, and jammed a series of fingers into her with the same urgent rhythm as their tongues mashed together. Trish felt such extreme pleasure that she broke the kiss and tilted her head back, and it was all she could do to not cry out. Alison began sucking on her neck as she kept probing, stroking, wanting to provide Trish total satisfaction.

Trish wrapped her arms around Alison’s neck and reclined back until she was laying upon the sand, bringing her young lover down with her. Alison, taking the initiative, kissed Trish on the lips and let her mouth travel south, paving the way for her hands, lingering, exploring her breasts and what carnal delights they had to offer.

“That feels so good,” Trish sighed, holding the back of Alison’s head, her tongue flipping away at a lush nipple.

Alison then kissed a path down the flat, toned plane of her stomach. She used her hands to help dispense of Trish’s thong bikini, both of them exchanging smiles as they maneuvered around a bit to fully get it off. Alison then reached out and rubbed at Trish’s clitoris with her thumb, caressing it gently. When Alison’s tongue found that wetness, Trish breathed harder. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, her fists clutching at Alison’s hair as her hips rose off of the sand.

Trish then moved her right hand between her own thighs. “Touch me,” she begged, and Alison complied by stroking her around that hand. Alison inserted three fingers and shifted them about and, when she found the perfect spot, Trish moaned. She then bit her lower lip, her face flushed, as she glared down at Alison with hot, smoldering lust in her eyes.

But Trish could not hold out for much longer as she soon tumbled over the proverbial ledge, riding out the shock-waves of release until she collapsed limp and satisfied upon the beach. Her breathing was quick and shallow, but Alison was right there as she moved up, their lips mere inches apart. “I love you,” Trish proclaimed, caressing her hair. Alison nodded and stared back into her eyes. She was enjoying this moment. The way Trish’s body felt against hers. The sound of her voice. The way her eyes lit up when she looked at her. The feeling, quite obviously, was mutual.

“I love you too, Trish.” Alison gathered her in her arms and touched the 33-year-old’s forehead with her own. “I love you more than you will ever know. And I love our family.”

When I walked by the home office perhaps 20 or 30 minutes later, I found Pamela and our daughter, Piper, seated together on the floor inside with a video camera on a tripod in front of them. Pamela, who was six months pregnant with our second child (a boy!), had Piper in her lap and was directing her attention toward the camera. Neither had noticed that I was just outside the door in the hallway as of yet, so I thought that I would simply stand here and see what they were up to.

“Hello!” Pamela said to the camera, waving a hand at it. “I’m going to do an interview of Piper today. I think this is something that I would like to do as she gets older, just regularly, doing interviews of her on-camera so we can one day look back and remember what she was like.” Piper stood and hopped about; she was quite antsy, as usual. “Are you ready for the questions, honey?” Pamela then asked Piper. “Come here,” she added, pulling her back down into her lap. Piper squirmed and clapped her hands, forever happy, as Pamela tried to get her to focus on the video camera.

“The first question is ... how OLD are you?”

“Oneta have,” Piper answered in toddler speech.

“One-and-a-half?” Pamela grinned in response. “Yeah? Well, you’re actually almost two! Two more months until you’re two.” She held up a pair of fingers and fluttered them about. “You’re growing up so fast! Getting so big!”

“Uh huh,” Piper nodded in agreement.

Pamela had that certain, unmistakable glow to her that could only come with being six months pregnant. Her skin was somehow radiant, her smile bright and blushing, her blonde hair much shinier than normal. To me, Pamela was simply gorgeous right now. Drop dead stunning. And she kept getting sexier the more pregnant she got.

But what made her even more beautiful to me, at least at the moment, was that she had our little daughter with her. Our pride and joy; the product of the immense love we shared.

“Okay ... what’s your favorite color?”

“Pur-pah,” Piper answered without hesitation.

“Purple?” Pamela giggled. “Or are you just looking at something purple? What’s your ... favorite thing to drink?”

This time, Piper was silent for a good ten seconds as she glared into the camera lens. “Smilk,” she finally said.

“Hot milk? Do you have hot milk every morning?”


Pamela gasped. “Mickey Mouse?”

“Mickey-o’s shack.”

“Mickey Mouse shake?” Pamela clarified, running a loving hand through Piper’s hair. I had the cutest and most adorable kids alive, bar none! “What is your favorite thing to eat?”

“Hamorg,” Piper replied, starting to become fidgety.

“No, that’s a drink. What do you like to EAT?”


“Crackers?” Pamela chirped, and suddenly Piper began to laugh and giggle uncontrollably. She was so precious! “Okay. And what is your favorite toy?”


“Elsa? Where’s Elsa?” Piper pointed off to the side. “Do you want her? Okay, let’s get her.” Pamela reached for and then gave a doll figure to Piper of Elsa, one of the main characters in the 2013 Disney movie, Frozen. Piper yelped and hugged the doll to her; Frozen was her favorite movie.

“ELSA!” she roared, whipping the doll about.

“Who is your best friend?”


Pamela laughed. “Elsa? Not Kaden? Or Lindsay? What’s your favorite game to play?”


Candyland?” Pamela grinned. “And who plays Candyland with you? Mommy? Kaden? Krissy?” Piper squeaked and nodded her head wildly. “Yeah, we all love Candyland.”

“Pay alsa can-lan.”

“You wanna play ... what?” Pamela did not quite catch that.

“Pay alsa dan-lan.”

Disneyland or Candyland?”

“Peek ... can-lan.”

“You want to play Candyland with Elsa? Okay. Hmmmmm ... what is your favorite treat?”


“Fruit snacks? Like apples? Apples are SOOOOO delicious! Okay, okay. Tell Mommy ... what are you EXCITED ABOUT?”

“Mer-mee toy!” Piper immediately exclaimed.

“Your mermaid toy?” Pamela returned. “The one Daddy bought for you at the airport in England?”

“Yes,” Piper said. “YES!”

“Okay, honey,” Pamela mused, shifting her about in her lap. “We’re almost done. I want you to say three words to describe yourself. So, finish this sentence. Ready? Piper is...”


“Piper is wonderful! What else? Piper is...”


“What? What did you say?”

“Silly boy!”

Pamela laughed. “Silly boy? Are you a silly boy?”


“Who’s a silly boy?”

“DADDY!” Out in the hallway, I shook my head and chuckled. Still, neither of them had yet to realize that I was there. This was too priceless of a moment to step in and intrude. Keep rolling that camera, Pamela, I said to myself. I will just stay out here in the shadows, hopefully unnoticed.

“Daddy is a silly boy?” Pamela was laughing too. “Oh, I have to agree with you ... he is. Do you love Daddy, Piper? I love Daddy. And he loves you, too. Do you love Daddy?”

“Yes.” And thus, my heart was suddenly melting...

“You love Daddy with all of your heart? Hope to die, stick a needle in your eye?”


“Okay, Piper is wonderful,” Pamela continued. “Can you think of any other words? Piper is? Any other words?”


“Wonderful again. Okay. Any other words? Piper is...”


“Piper is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!” Apparently, Pamela came to the conclusion that she was not going to get two other words out of Piper. Silly boy did not count, right? “Okay, one more question. I was wondering, what do you like to do with Daddy? What’s your favorite thing to do with Daddy?”

“Ip-in ... pane.”

“Oh, you like to sit on his lap on the airplane?”


“Where do you want to go on the airplane?”

“Ummmmm...” Piper seemed to mull that question over for a bit before pointing toward the left. “Dis wave!”

“That way?”


“Well, maybe we’ll go that way soon on an airplane when we fly back home to Norway in a couple of weeks.”

Not wanting to interrupt the ongoing interview, which was being recorded, I snuck away undetected and resumed my way down the long corridor. I did not want to ruin the video by making my presence known. Just let them keep talking...

Past the resting room, then the boudoir and the lounge, I happened upon the study which, as long as we were on the island, was serving as Ariel’s private nursery room. My daughter with Kristanna, Ariel - one week removed from being a happy and healthy six months old - was sleeping in her crib.

Ariel was born four weeks premature on March 14, 2016 amidst a lot of chaos and uncertainty, two things which our family was not accustomed to dealing with. Kristanna’s water broke the day before and, because of a pre-existing infection within Kristanna that could prove deadly for an unborn child when combined with a compromised amniotic sac (the water bag), labor had to be induced as quickly as possible.

Kristanna gave birth in the overnight hours and our daughter, again born four weeks premature, appeared healthy at initial glance. But the doctors and nurses whisked Ariel away no less than a minute after she was born, allowing Kristanna to hold her for just a few seconds. Ariel was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) where, rest assured, every conceivable test was performed on her.

Kristanna and I did not even get to see Ariel again for six hours, and were given very few updates. I still remember wheeling Kristanna into the NICU for the first time and the look - the sheer outpouring of love - across her face when the doctor allowed her to hold our baby girl for a few moments. And, I vividly recall the way Kristanna cried and threw an absolute temper tantrum when the nurse said that we had to leave the NICU and let Ariel resume her therapy.

As it turned out, Ariel was initially diagnosed with infantile jaundice - a yellowish discoloring of her skin which was quite common in premature babies, as well as full-term ones. It was an easy fix, though, as bili light therapy - specialized lights being shone down upon her in an incubator - cleared the yellowish haze up in about 48 hours.

A day after she was born, however, Ariel was then diagnosed with a respiratory disorder called periodic breathing. Ariel would randomly stop breathing for up to 10 seconds at a time - almost always in her sleep - only then to exhale a ragged breath and resume breathing on her own. It never got to the point where the doctor(s) felt it escalated to the more serious ailment of apnea of prematurity, which would require Ariel to wear breathing and/or heartbeat monitors at all times, but it was still downright scary and nerve-racking nonetheless.

Trust me, it is not easy to watch your newborn daughter stop breathing completely out of nowhere, only then for you to just stand there for up to ten seconds (which, quite frankly, always seemed like ten hours) and wait for her to resume breathing on her own. Not easy at all. If we had tried to stir Ariel into breathing, perhaps rattle her awake during an episode, the doctors told us that it could cause brain damage. Thus, we always had to wait for Ariel to breathe on her own.

The periodic breathing seemed to go away by itself after a couple of months, just as the doctors promised it would. Two weeks after she was born, however, Ariel was back in the hospital again - this time with a respiratory infection (bronchiolitis) that kept her in the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU) for several days. At the time, she was very sick.

It had been a rough and tumble few weeks for Kristanna and I as her parents, as uncertain and as scared as we were with the premature birth and all of these medical issues, and the sudden hospitalization really put us to the test. Frankly, I had never seen Kristanna so very depressed before. But we were able to pull through all of the turmoil, as did Ariel, and I can proudly say that our precious daughter is six-plus months old today and as healthy and as active as can be. Ariel has not had any illnesses since the bout with bronchiolitis, and her doctor back in Norway says she is doing absolutely great.

Another definite newcomer to our family unit was Dylan, my five-and-half-month-old son with one of my other wives, Scarlett. Dylan was born back on April 5, 2016 in a very easy and relatively drama-free birth. Two other babies (Jackson (son of Trish) and Kaylee (daughter of Lindsay)) rounded out the younger-than-one-year-old section of our family. Being the father of all four, not to mention the slightly older Kaden, Piper and Danielle (Dani) Grace, was quite the monumental daily chore for me. But I welcomed it fully. In many ways, these kids absolutely ran my life.

We sought out individual advice from their respective doctors on whether it would be safe for each of them to go on such a long and potentially taxing airline trip from Oslo, Norway to Lima, Peru (7,100 miles). We had our own private family jetliner and flight crew, though, and I made certain there were plenty of pit stops along the way in case there were any emergencies or discomfort. From Oslo, we had stops in London, Toronto, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Fort Lauderdale, Dallas and Bogota before reaching our destination of Lima.

The doctors said there should not be any major, serious issues with any of the children since they were all at least five months of age or older. They were mature and developed enough to go on a transoceanic trip. Some did not ultimately enjoy it, but we tried our best to keep them as comfortable and as much at ease as possible. Fortunately, none of them seemed to actually despise the series of flights, or have any extreme discomfort. From Lima, we hopped on a boat and arrived here on the island four hours later in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. That was just this past Wednesday.

In the study - my old office here on the island - I smiled down at a peaceful and snoozing Ariel in her crib.

“I would have given my life for your health and survival five, six months ago if it was necessary,” I told Ariel in a quiet, hushed tone. And it was true. It was not the easiest thing to admit or even think about, especially considering that I had six other small children to protect and raise (and more on the way), but I would have traded my life for Ariel’s if need be when she spent all that time in the hospital. Ariel did not deserve to experience any of those horrible struggles that she endured during the first few weeks of her life.

Of course, I felt the same way about all of my children. I would sacrifice life and limb for them. As they all grew and matured, I knew that, as their father, I would also have an incredible influence on every aspect of their lives. My job was to make certain that influence was strictly positive.

In my mind, a father is the fundamental role model for his daughter regarding the qualities she looks for in a man and the standards she maintains in her relationships. He is the first man in her life and models how a man should treat a woman, how a man should act, and how a man shows healthy love and affection to a woman. He also sets the standard for how a daughter feels that she deserves to be treated by men. He even determines how a girl feels about herself. If a father shows his daughter love, respect, and appreciation for who she is, she will believe that about herself as a woman, no matter what anyone else thinks. Girls deprived of this fatherly love and affection make poor choices in an effort to fill that void. I was not going to let that happen with any of my daughters.

As for my sons, I had a different, but ultimately similar viewpoint on how best to raise them. What did my own father teach me about being a man? About values? Love and family? My father was my role model and someone I still admire to this day, but he made his fair share of mistakes along the way. If I could change the past - my past with him - would I do it?

Kaden? Jackson? Dylan? Any future boys I have? I was going to share with them the best parts of my own childhood and, hopefully, give them the things I never had.

My own choices, actions and values would be the barometer that each of my sons will use to measure what matters in life. If I worked long, countless hours back home on the farm, no matter my reasoning, my sons will make decisions about work, about family, and about my priorities. If I tell them that I value honesty, but they hear me bragging about how I got one over on someone, they will make their own decisions about ethics - and about me. The way in which I treat each of my wives - their mothers - would speak volumes to my sons and demonstrate to them how a girlfriend or wife should be treated later in life. I felt it was a huge responsibility on my part. I always treated my wives with total dignity and class.

All of my children will be given unconditional love and the utmost amount of encouragement and approval while growing up. I will make mistakes along the way, as all human beings do, but I will ultimately learn from them and become a much better father as a result. Everything I do will center on respect and trust, and will be in their best interests.

“Ariel is a miracle.” A small smile lit up Kristanna’s features as she appeared at the doorway and then made her way into the makeshift nursery with me. Kristanna bit her bottom lip as she latched both arms around my right elbow and gazed at me. “So is Kaden. Part of you, Jeremy, part of me ... all wrapped up into two amazing, little bundles. Two miracles.”

“DADDY!” I heard Kaden squeal with glee, and soon I felt him tugging and clutching at my leg with both arms. The two-year-old had rumbled into the study shortly after his mother did. Kristanna then loosened her grip on my elbow so I could reach down and ruffle Kaden’s hair with my right hand.

At the same time, Ariel’s eyes opened and she emerged from her slumber. She seemed confused for a moment, but then focused on me. Ariel gently reached out with her little arm and grasped my left index finger with a happy baby sound.

Kaden, my first-born, hugging my leg. Ariel, who once struggled for survival, squeezing my finger. A wave of tenderness and awe, and a million other wonderful emotions I could not even begin to describe, overtaking me all at once. And Kristanna, suddenly pecking my cheek with a kiss.

“I love that look on you.”

“What look?” I asked, almost in a whisper.

“Your heart is all over your face,” Kristanna responded. “And it’s beautiful, Jeremy. Just beautiful...”

“So is this place really yours?” Alison asked me, perhaps still unable to believe it, as she stood in the entryway and looked upward toward the ceiling that soared three stories tall in the living room. It was much later in the evening now. “And you willingly decided to leave this mansion - this island - to go and live in Norway?”

“It was for the children,” I reminded Alison yet again. This was, after all, Alison’s first time ever stepping foot on the island. Until this trip, Alison had simply heard stories about it. A newcomer to the family, she had never been here in the past with us. “We cannot raise our children on a remote island without others around.” Devon, Trish and Scarlett whirled past us, engaged in chatter about swimsuit colors and which barbeque sauce was the most delicious.

“I’m just really happy to be here,” Alison told me.

“Of course. I’m happy you’re here, too,” I assured her. Although she and Lindsay were actually going to marry each other in a small, quaint ceremony at the end of our island vacation, I still felt Alison was trying to find her way - her niche - in our family hierarchy and structure.

“Don’t be a cheater,” Kristanna warned Lindsay. “You’re a serial cheater. I know this because I’m married to you.”

Lindsay narrowed her gaze and made a face at Kristanna. “Please. What I am is very good at this game, and you are terrible. You just don’t want to admit that I’m better.”

Pamela seemed to be following the ensuing showdown with mild concern. “Krissy, why don’t we let Lindsay and Amy have the good room? We will be happy no matter where.”

“That’s really not the point,” Kristanna whispered back.

“You should listen to your wife,” Lindsay told Kristanna, whispering as well.

Devon glanced over at Kristanna with both palms up. “I really don’t care what room we sleep in to be honest.”

Pamela bumped Devon’s shoulder with her own. “That is because you are low maintenance in the best way possible.”

“Why, thank you,” Devon responded, grinning.

“Shhhhh,” Kristanna insisted, reaching back and squeezing Pamela’s hand. “This is important and requires intense focus. Keep an eye on Lindsay. She is just itching to cheat.”

“I am not!” Lindsay squealed in return.

I watched both ladies face off in a fun, spirited game of Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who got the master bedroom to sleep in for the evening. It no longer had the bed that could comfortably fit all of us - it had been shipped off to Norway last year - so we were forced to break off into groups and use guest suites for sleeping arrangements. Kristanna was really intent on securing the master bedroom for her, Pamela and Devon, however. It had a breathtaking view facing the ocean and a jacuzzi to die for. And there was pride at stake.

Round one went to Lindsay, who trounced Kristanna’s scissors with a rock. Kristanna came back with full force, though, and tossed paper over Lindsay’s rock, securing a point.

“Way to change up your strategy, Lindsay,” Kristanna said in a sarcastic voice, clearly in competition mode. “A little fixated on that rock, aren’t we? How incredibly boring.”

Lindsay met her gaze with a gleam in her eyes. “Don’t be jealous. At least I have a strategy.”

“Shock! Gasp! Horror!” Kristanna exclaimed, her jaw falling open in offense. Finally, in a dramatic tiebreaker, Kristanna lost when Lindsay stayed true to her rock-throwing form and once again smashed Kristanna’s scissors, sending her falling backward onto the couch in dramatic defeat.

Typical Kristanna.

“I can’t believe I lost to a rock. This is totally tragic. And a great injustice. I shan’t recover.”

Pamela glanced down at Kristanna and grinned. “You’re so cute when you’re tragic and say shan’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Kristanna pushed herself up on her elbow, moving closer to Pamela’s mouth. “I shan’t help it,” she added, which earned a chuckle and tender kiss from Pamela.

As Kristanna and Pamela entered the land of goo-goo eyes, Amy clasped hands with Lindsay and declared, “Good job! I am glad you won us the master bedroom, Lindsay, but maybe Krissy, Pamela and Devon should get it instead.” Lindsay shot her a surprised glare as Amy went on, “You know, with Pamela being six months pregnant and all. That bed is probably a lot more comfortable to her than any of the ones in the guest suites.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine wherever, honey,” Pamela told Amy, running a hand over her blossoming baby bump. My next child - a boy named Peyton - was growing inside of Pamela right now. In about three months, we would finally get to meet him. “Don’t worry about me. Thank you for offering, though, Amy.”

Trish nestled up behind Alison and lovingly embraced her with both arms. “That means you get to spend the night with me and Scar-Scar, baby.” Alison smiled and blushed at the mere idea as Trish added, “Jeremy is staying with Lindsay and Amy tonight, I hear. It’s their turn to have him.” Trish turned and focused her gaze upon me, her eyes twinkling with erotic mischief. “Tomorrow night, Jeremy, you’re mine.” And I felt an immediate, hot shiver travel right down my spine.

“I heard you went surfing today with Trish,” Kristanna said to Alison, although she was still snuggling with Pamela on the sofa. Kristanna picked up several strands of Pamela’s hair, but then dropped them. It was a very simple gesture, but spoke volumes about their strong love and togetherness. “Did you have fun, sweetheart?”

“Lots,” Alison assured Kristanna. “Trish and I spent a good two hours at the beach, surfing and enjoying ourselves.”

“You’re lucky Jaws didn’t have you for lunch!”

Kristanna made a sneery face. “Lindsay. Hush.”

In the background, Amy debated with Devon and Scarlett whether it was better to have their volleyball game in the morning once the kids were down for their early naps, or wait until the evening when they were actually in bed for good. The current time was 9:00pm and all of the children were actually in bed sleeping, but I knew any of them could wake up and start screaming at any given moment. Such was the life of being a father. Especially with seven kids.

I excused myself to one of the side rooms and checked both my e-mail and stock reports via my laptop computer. All seemed well, so I opened the window and inhaled some of the glorious seaside air. Alone with my thoughts, I reflected on our amazing family and how most of it came together on this very island back in the summer of 2013.

Kristanna and I brought the original six - Pamela, Devon, Trish, Lindsay, Amy and Camille - yes, the forgettable and loathsome Camille (remember her?) - to the island well over three years ago. The idea was for me to find a wife out of those six - a lone wife, of course - but things sort of began happening rather quickly, and suddenly I found myself engaged to none other than Kristanna herself.

Kristanna developed much grander ideas, however, and the thought of a three-way marriage involving Devon was tossed about. Soon, with Camille now banished from the island (my last words on her), Trish was added to the mix. Then Amy. And then Lindsay. Suddenly, the idea - crazy as it sounded - of me having up to five wives was a distinct possibility. Kristanna had slowly but surely orchestrating everything.

After my initial wedding - the one with Kristanna - Pamela finally came around (to her senses, as she would tell you) and decided to join the family. I married Amy, then Pamela. It was like a line of dominos falling. Lindsay was next, followed by Trish and Devon. Eventually, Scarlett came into our lives, and I married her earlier this year. Scarlett has since married four of the seven other ladies in the family. The only one who was left for me, personally, was Alison.

Having any sort of intimate relationship with my wife’s sister, let alone marrying her, still did not seem right to me. But Lindsay was happy. Alison was happy. Our entire family was happy. And this was what everyone wanted. They wanted Lindsay and Alison to wed and get married because the two of them were madly in love together. And after that, the ladies wanted me to tie the knot with Alison as well. “Put a baby in my sister so I can watch her belly grow,” Lindsay literally begged me on several occasions.

But I digress. The reason for this little vacation to the island was that it would culminate with Lindsay and Alison’s wedding. The ceremony would be very small, very intimate - and there would be no prying eyes, no unwanted visitors or gossipers. Lindsay and Alison could celebrate their incestuous love, their devotion for each other, without fear or ridicule. That was why we chose the island for the wedding’s location.

When I re-entered the central room a few moments later, I felt that familiar warmth in my soul as I glanced around at Lindsay and Alison snuggled together in their chairs and Pamela leaned back against Kristanna’s front from her spot on the floor. The other ladies were all present as well. Apparently, they were having a discussion about television and what a guilty pleasure it could be.

“All I’m saying,” Trish proclaimed, “is that modern television pales in comparison to the great shows of the 1960s. Give me I Dream of Jeannie over The Bachelor any day of the week.”

“Thank you!” Pamela said in solidarity. “Precisely!”

Lindsay sat a little taller. “You’re entitled to your opinion, of course, but I’m still going to watch every new episode of Game of Thrones when it comes out next year and love every minute of it. I refuse to feel guilty about that. I cannot wait until Queen Cersei gets what is coming to her.”

Alison stared at her sister. “You’re a mystery to me, you know that? That show is so ... wretched. And evil.”

Lindsay leaned over and nuzzled Alison’s cheek. “You love it that I keep you guessing.”

Alison surrendered into a dreamy smile. “I do. Oh, I do.”

“Marshmellow me,” I said to Scarlett, who promptly tossed the bag of delicious treats my way as I sat down upon the sofa.

“So you and Trish had sex on the beach earlier?” Amy chimed in, her gaze focused upon Alison. The 20-year-old hesitated, but then nodded shyly in response. “Hmmmmm,” Amy added. “The beach. The beach is SOOOOO incredibly sexy. Tell us about it.”

“Did you share sexy, sandy kisses?” Kristanna teased her.

“Was there tongue involved? Like this?” Lindsay boldly placed her hands upon Alison’s waist and crushed her mouth to her sister’s. There was no delay, no teasing, no working up to it ... no soft, light touches. Lindsay simply took what she wanted most, a full-on kiss, a ten on the seismic scale of lip-locking, and Alison melted under its significant power. One sister madly kissing the other.

Alison’s entire body went limp and numb as Lindsay’s tongue slipped inside her mouth and found hers. All eyes were on them as the temperature in the room seemed to rise tenfold. Lindsay plundered what was hers, she devoured, she owned her sister’s mouth. But before I knew it, the kiss was over.

Lindsay released Alison and met her eyes, then bumped noses with her. “Sorry, but I had to do that.”

“You’re kind of gorgeous when you get all flustered and caught off-guard like that,” Pamela told Alison, offering the sweetest smile. “Has anyone told you that before?”

“She’s just like her sister that way,” Trish agreed.

“I think we should pass Ali around like a party favor and take turns kissing her in our laps,” Kristanna beamed.

I felt a soft, manicured hand palming and then caressing the growing bulge within my shorts. I glanced downward, then turned toward the right as Scarlett, seated beside me, did me the honor. Off to the side, Kristanna massaged Pamela’s baby bump and tenderly kissed her from behind. Scarlett smiled at them, then me, and her green eyes soon danced with an even mixture of total contentment and undying devotion as I sighed, tossing my head back in the process. Oh, what a life.

Seven extraordinary wives that I had such a bond with that I could hardly imagine any other man in history had enjoyed. A fiancee; my wife’s younger sister, the ultimate forbidden fruit, on the side. The nine of us, together, enjoying our lives in a way none of ever thought possible, taking care of each other, playing with each other, loving each other.

However, I would be remiss if I did not mention the fact that a big portion of my daily routine is spent doing dishes, cleaning up spills, changing diapers, breaking up toddler fights, and picking up the many toys and clothes that are constantly strewn throughout the house. Although I may not elaborate on that aspect of my life in the story, trust me when I tell you, it is not all fun and games around here!

I was drowsed in a peaceful slumber, interrupted a mere three times throughout the night by the sounds of an upset Dani Grace or Kaylee via their baby monitors, when my eyelids began to flicker. All of the other children had been tended to by his or her respective mother throughout the night, but I shared in the responsibility for those two. At least tonight. The curtains in the guest bedroom rustled above my head and warred with the crashing ocean off in the distance. There was the sensation of something all too familiar closeby, but downright scintillating nevertheless.

“Lindsay?” I grumbled. “Honey? What ... are you doing?”

Looking down my body, Lindsay was hunched over my naked pelvis on her knees, her little hand wrapped around my hard cock and her lips pursed, barely encircling its tip. Even better, Lindsay was in all her glory, completely nude.

“Lindsay is horny again,” came Amy’s voice from elsewhere in the room. “She woke me up earlier too, with that pretty, little mouth of hers. Going through one of her wild phases.”

Lindsay giggled. “It’s not a phase! I’m always wild!”

I turned and found Amy, leaning in the doorway, fuzzy pink slippers on her feet, impeccably perfect legs drifting up toward the frayed bottom of a faded black concert shirt. Amy’s luxurious red hair was up, piled on top of her head and held in place with two vibrant pink chopsticks. I tried not to let my eyeballs burst from their sockets, but it was quite challenging. Amy was like a centerfold come to life.

Yet my entire body flinched and I was reminded that Amy was not the only woman with me in the bedroom when Lindsay gave the underside of my shaft a long, thorough swipe with her wet, velvety tongue. “Oh, Lindsay,” I moaned in pure wanderlust as my 21-year-old bride offered quick licks and subtle kisses inbetween nuzzling my cock with her lips. Those blue eyes of hers - so beautiful - fixated on my face. She let out a little, satisfied moan of her own, as if throating my cock tamed an unquenchable appetite.

“Suck it, baby,” Amy encouraged her. “Suck it like the good, little girl you are.”

Lindsay swirled her tongue all over the head of my shaft, bathing it in her saliva, then slipped half of it into her mouth. I gasped in delight and moved my hands down to cup the back of her head in an effort to show my appreciation. What a way to be lulled out of my sleep so early in the morning!

Again, Lindsay had her way, sucking and swallowing me down at her own leisurely pace. It was beyond heavenly. Her lips soon formed a tight circle around my pulsing erection, her blonde head bobbing up and down, her tongue gliding along its delicate, ultra-sensitive underside. I tossed my head back onto the pillow and let the sensations just cascade over me. Lindsay would perform fellatio on me all day if she could.

“It’s four-thirty in the morning and Lindsay cannot control herself,” Amy observed, easing into the guest room, those long, coltish legs of hers seeming to glide, as she sipped a cup of coffee. I admired the way the lower curves of Amy’s flawless, round ass appeared from underneath her Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt with every step that she took. “Lindsay must want to give you your morning cocksucking, Jeremy, before Trish comes calling for you in 30 minutes to begin your exercise routine.”

“Climb up and ride me, sweetheart,” I instructed Lindsay, kicking the blankets away from our prime bodies. But I also had another idea in mind for the impish nymphomaniac.

Her submissive tendencies set in immediately; Lindsay withdrew my cock from the luscious grasp of her mouth and throat, then moved up and slowly impaled herself upon me. She had always been very attentive and eager to listen to me. The look of pleasure etched across her lovely face was simply irrefutable as she then eased and lowered herself onto my cock, its length sliding and disappearing between her tender folds. Her tiny, 95 pound frame felt just right atop me.

“Amy,” I said hoarsely, glancing at my other wife. “Get my belt from the chair. You are to use it on Lindsay.”

“Belt?” Lindsay asked, her eyes popping with excitement.

“Yes, the belt,” I clarified for her. “Lean forward so Amy can get some good shots on you.”

“You don’t think it’s too early in the morning for that?”

“It’s never too early to give you a spanking,” Amy advised her. “Or, even better yet, a whipping. Now, lean forward just like Jeremy says so I can punish you.”

Lindsay cried and whined out her discomfort as the first lash of the thick belt made contact upon her tight, upturned ass. She clutched me with her arms and hands, her little body shuddering. “Not so hard, Amy! Not so hard...”

“You be quiet, focus on fucking Jeremy and pleasing him, and let me do my job,” Amy ordered, slicing the cruel belt through the air for a second time.

“It hurts!” Lindsay squealed after the heavy thwack of leather-meeting-ass echoed loudly throughout the bedroom and bounced off the walls.

“You like it when it hurts,” Amy admonished Lindsay, and it was true. But she also liked to whine and complain. It was part of the game and added to her pleasure, as well as ours. “The more I punish you, the more turned on you become. And if you truly are a good girl this morning, maybe Jeremy will let me join in so he and I can double-fuck you together. Now be quiet; don’t make me gag you with Jeremy’s sock again.”

I winced as Amy drew her arm back and the sound shot through the air yet again, pausing in my motions as Lindsay cried out in pain. The trust that I had in Amy’s vast skills and experience in delivering a proper punishment did not completely eliminate my instincts to protect myself from the harsh leather that was landing only a few inches from my embedded cock.

Lindsay yelped; the whipping hurt her, no doubt, but she had the innate need to sometimes be forced, be controlled, to be made to have her body be used strictly as an instrument for the enjoyment of others. Moments like this definitely qualified. She had all of the qualities that one looked for in a true submissive. Lindsay’s hips began to rumble and churn about as she rode my cock, buried in her pussy. She glared at me, a pretty pout upon her lips, tears streaming down her cover-girl face. And mad, wanton lust in her eyes.

“Use your hand, now.”

Amy tossed the belt elsewhere at my command and lifted her right hand. She brought it down in three sharp slaps to right, left, and center of Lindsay’s ass. The center one, the hardest of them all, caused her to cry out at the pain, the indignity.

“Lindsay is already very wet,” Amy informed me. “Can you feel it, Jeremy? Can you feel how wet and slippery her pussy is around your cock?” As a matter of fact, I could. There was a good amount of moisture. Amy then focused her attention upon Lindsay. “You’re a girl who needs to be punished and fucked on a daily basis. Aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?”

“Yes, Amy,” she whispered. “Oh God, yes.”

I held Lindsay in place, my twitching cock still inside of her, as Amy laid four more exacting swats across the span of her ass. The sound was enough to even make me flinch. More tears began to form in Lindsay’s eyes and she whimpered once again. Amy then roughly pushed her forward, onto my chest, and placed a single finger against her tiny, puckered anus.

“I’m going to use the pink strap-on dildo that you like so much,” Amy said. “How hard do you want me to fuck you?”

“As hard as you can!” Lindsay begged in response. “Use lots of lube, please.” She dug biting fingernails into my shoulders, preparing for Amy’s invasion of her rectum. Along with my cock in her pussy, Lindsay would be double penetrated. Not many things in this world made her happier than that.

Amy disposed of the old concert shirt in short order. She then stepped out of her G-string panties and now, totally nude as well, went over to her legendary bag of sex toys upon the dresser and promptly retrieved the aforementioned strap-on dildo. Amy quickly slipped it around her waist and thighs, tightening to fit with a few tugs on its long straps. The dildo itself, pink in color, protruded outward from Amy’s pelvis in a most obscene, yet highly erotic manner. Amy then added fuel to the proverbial fire by stroking and frigging its full length with her right hand as if it was a real cock. Her eyes then focused squarely on Lindsay’s ass; her anus.

I stole a moment to gaze upon the length of Amy’s body, admiring its flourishing beauty and voluptuous curves. While some women lie about their actual age, Amy was proud to be my oldest wife at 34; she was a MILF reveling in her sexual prime who knew what she wanted, and was not afraid to take it. With bright green eyes, an hourglass figure and fiery red hair, Amy truly was like a centerfold pin-up come to life.

Lindsay moaned as Amy applied a generous helping of lubricant to her anus with a pair of fingers. She also made sure the dildo itself was well coated, then pressed its hard, unforgiving tip to Lindsay’s rectum and entered her there. When Amy pushed harder, Lindsay gasped and cried out.

“Look at me while your wife fucks you!” I demanded, my own eyes flaring, as I held Lindsay in place by the hips. I had to exert a certain level of dominance over her too, right? Tears still streaming, she glanced at me and nodded her head. The expression upon her face, being so stuffed, was priceless.

Amy pushed again, this time deeper, and Lindsay emitted a groan of satisfaction. I could feel the pressure of the dildo between the thin tissue that separated the two orifices, resulting in a sensation of extreme tightness that was nearly unbearable to withstand. I gave Lindsay’s ass an open-handed slap for good measure, then started to bounce her about upon my cock as Amy caught a nice rhythm and busily humped her from 0 behind. Lindsay screeched out and rolled her head in response, her blonde, swishy pony-tail whipping about wildly, as the double penetration picked up steam and tempo in a hurry.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

“Such a good girl!” Amy complimented her.

Lindsay’s cries awakened my dominance even more, as her pussy gave my shaft the utmost in pleasure. I could feel the orgasm swelling within my testicles almost from the beginning, and the lewd, degrading manner in which Amy pumped and filled Lindsay’s anus was downright monstrous. Regardless, Lindsay had no complaints. She rode me like a champion, continually plunging herself up and down upon my cock, squirming like mad, so wet, so horny, so completely erotically undone.

Amy quickened her thrusting, deepened it. Lindsay wailed out at what we were doing to her. Amy leaned all the way forward, trapping Lindsay’s body between us, and began kissing me flush on the lips. My left hand moved to the back of Amy’s head as I slid my tongue between her lips and seized control. Lindsay glanced sideways at us, her mouth hung open a little, and her breathing came very quickly and shallowly.

Together with the feeling of my body beneath her and Amy’s above, all along her back, my cock jammed in her pussy and Amy’s dildo violating her ass, Lindsay’s arousal exploded as a powerful orgasm overtook her all at once. Full and squirming, Lindsay was literally red as a turnip as I held her hips still with a single hand so Amy could keep pistoning in and out of her ass through it all. In the process, my cock violently erupted inside of her and Lindsay gasped, gripping my shoulders so hard that it actually hurt - a sensation that I adored, because it meant that she was experiencing pleasure of her own.

When Amy withdrew her lips from mine, I smashed Lindsay’s mouth with a kiss, driving my tongue far and deep as she crested down from her orgasm. At the same time, I pumped the final remnants of my seed into her pussy. Amy pulled back and loosened the straps of the dildo, letting it slide from her hips and thighs, and then flicking it onto the floor.

“Oh, Lindsay,” Amy said, kissing her neck, her disheveled hair. Amy easily transitioned from bossy taskmaster to sweet, loving wife at the appropriate time whenever I allowed her to showcase her dominant skills over Lindsay. It was really not that often, though, because I still preferred Amy to act and feel quite submissive herself. “Oh, sweetheart, you are so incredibly awesome. I’m sorry - I know that whipping hurt, and you must be sore - but I just had to fuck your ass.”

“I’m glad you did,” Lindsay murmured, breathless, breaking the kiss with me. “You can fuck my ass whenever you want. I have told you that for years, Amy.”

“Good girl,” Amy grinned. “Did you like being fucked that way? Double penetrated, squished between me and Jeremy?”

“Yes, Amy.” Lindsay took hold of her wife’s right hand and brought it to her lips for a loving kiss. Amy then pushed her long, supple fingers between Lindsay’s lips and made her taste her own juices from her pussy. Lindsay pretended that Amy’s fingers were my cock, yielding her lips and tongue just the way that I preferred her to - reverently and respectfully, so that her mouth became a soft, wet place for me to enter.

I let out a deep, satisfied growl at the mere sight and felt my cock, still inside of Lindsay but soft now, give a little movement, as if it were coming back to life. Lindsay giggled at the feeling, her lips pursed around Amy’s fingers, which now began to slide back and forth ever so gently. At the same time, Amy nuzzled my neck and splayed kisses along it.

I took a deep breath and glanced at my two amazing wives. God, how I loved them both. “I am going to lie back in bed now, girls, and you’re going to lick and worship each others’ pussy in the 69 position. Whenever Trish shows up for our morning exercise, maybe 15 minutes from now, she can join us.”

“Can I help put your cock in Trish’s pussy?” Lindsay begged.

“Yes, honey,” I smiled at her. “Of course you can.”

From the very moment I found Pamela in the kitchen earlier, preparing a lunch for three, to right now, watching her chase around an elusive mango chunk in her bowl of tropical fruit soup with a fork, I had been given constant reminders of why I was so attracted to her in the first place. With every word, every look, and every funny, playful moment between us, it just reaffirmed my notion that Pamela had evolved, over time, into the ideal, picture-perfect wife.

It wasn’t just the thick, silky swirls of star-gold hair that cascaded over Pamela’s shoulders, her suntanned skin, or even her heavenly curves that made my head swoon. It was a thousand intangible things, from her reserved, unassuming nature to the way Pamela pressed the tip of her tongue against the inside of her cheek whenever she was lost in thought. I was a total sucker for Pamela’s luminous, chocolate-brown eyes and the keen intelligence they conveyed, their pure warmth and devotion, and the way she literally hung on every word that I said. I felt the exact, same desire; I would like nothing more than to continue talking with Pamela until the end of time.

Chewing a bite of pineapple from my own bowl of soup, I lifted my gaze and smiled at Pamela. She wore faded jeans and a snug, short-sleeved maternity scoop-neck purple blouse that had her radiating color and energy. Seated closeby at the small, circular table, I then traced gentle curves along her abdomen and nuzzled her neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

Pamela giggled and arched back, allowing me full access to her throat. “Let’s see if you’re saying that when my belly is blown up even more, like a beach ball, in three months.”

“You’ll be even more beautiful.”

Pamela stifled a laugh. “Oh, I forgot. You’re Jeremy.” That’s right; I was Jeremy, of the pregnancy fetish. And nothing would ever change my fascination with pregnant women.

I used my fork to spear a piece of kiwi fruit from the soup bowl. “Krissy and I had lots of fun earlier. Ariel had her first swimming experience at the indoor pool a few hours ago. It wasn’t like a crazy experience...”

“Uhh pool,” Piper, my 22-month-old daughter with Pamela, interjected. Piper was at the table with us as well, a plate of diced flounder and green peas in front of her. Unfortunately, she was being very finicky about eating it.

“Yeah, you were at the pool with us too,” I told Piper.

“Kwissy pool.”

“Krissy came too?”

“Yes! Hup Kwissy!”

Pamela laughed. “You want to hug Krissy?”

Piper tossed her arms up and began singing incoherent toddler babble, signifying that she would indeed love to give Kristanna a hug right now. Piper was so precious.

“We made sure the water was warm at the indoor pool,” I said to Pamela. “Ariel seemed to enjoy it. She was happy, playing, laughing. Six, seven months has proven to be a good age for most of the kids to begin to learn how to swim.” I turned toward Piper and mused, “Tell Mommy what you did earlier when Ariel tried to steal your necklace.”

“NO!” she countered, defiantly.

“You tell Ariel no?”

“Ariel loves to grab at your clothes, your necklaces,” Pamela grinned. “So does Dylan. You don’t like that.”

“Ariel was babbling earlier, as she tends to do, with a couple of consonants ... which was really fun to listen to. Ariel mostly says...” I again focused on Piper, diverting, “Honey, tell Mommy what your sister was saying earlier.”

“Bah-bah-bah,” she answered, extending the words out.

“You need to take another bite of your fish, sweetheart,” Pamela then told Piper. “Come on, one more bite for Mommy. You can’t have your chocolate chip cookie for dessert unless you take another bite of your fish.”

“That fish looks yummy!” I nodded. “If you don’t hurry up and eat that fish, honey, I may have to eat it myself! I LOVE fish.” I gave her a leery, sideways glance. “You would finish off that whole plate if it was corn dogs, wouldn’t you?”

“CORRRRRN DOGSSSSSS!” Piper exclaimed, referencing one of her favorite foods (at least for the moment). “Crack-ahhs!”

“Corn dogs and crackers,” I chuckled. “What a combo.”

“Take another bite of your fish,” Pamela reiterated. “No chocolate chip cookie, Piper, if you don’t.” She pointed at me. “Daddy will eat your cookie right up.”

“NO!” she huffed, glaring at me menacingly.

“That was awfully mean,” Pamela admonished, frowning and shaking her head. “Why did you yell at Daddy like that? I think you need to apologize. Say you’re sorry. Tell Daddy that you’re sorry for being so mean. Look at him. He looks so hurt. You really hurt his feelings. Aren’t you sorry?”

“I sowwy,” Piper mumbled at me.

“Eat your fish like Mommy says,” I instructed her. When she finally took another bite, I clapped my hands and did a little cheer. “Good job, Piper!”

Pamela handed her the cookie as a reward and offered up a big smile. “Thank you for doing what we asked, sweetie.”

“Yoo belcome,” Piper acknowledged, taking a quick bite. Now, she was happy. “I love cookies, Mama.”

“I know you do,” Pamela nodded. “Did you help Amy make them yesterday in the kitchen? Did you make them together?”

“I help.”

“You helped?”

Piper’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Come see my roo! Come see my roo...”

“I’ll come see your room later,” Pamela advised her. “But Daddy told me it’s a VERY BIG MESS. Daddy said you and Dani Grace made a BIG MESS when he was looking after you by himself this morning.” Indeed, it appeared as if a tornado had ripped through the room that Piper shared with another sister of hers, Dani Grace. Pamela was a bit upset at me earlier, as was Amy, for allowing that to happen. “Did you make a big mess?”

“No,” our daughter said, her attention suddenly shifting yet again - just like that - to her favorite doll. This was typical behavior for her. Piper pointed at Elsa, and Pamela promptly handed the figure to her. “She is wondah-ful.”

“She is wonderful?” Pamela gushed.

Piper clutched the doll tightly. “I love her.”

“Oh ... Elsa is such a great singer,” Pamela swooned. “Isn’t she? What else is she?”

“She ... ELSA!”

“She is? She is so ... so ... so ... brave? Strong?”




“She’s a good sister? At the end of the movie?”

“Yep!” Piper tugged at the doll. “Elsa’s pony hair.”

“Pony hair?” Pamela laughed. “It’s a braid, honey. One day, I’ll do your hair in a braid like that, maybe, if I ever let it grow out long enough.” She patted Piper’s head with her hand. “I like your hair being short. You look so cute.”

What had been a very touching and special few moments with my wife and daughter was interrupted and brought to an abrupt, screeching halt, unfortunately, when Kristanna suddenly burst into the sun room with a distressed look upon her face. In fact, it appeared as if Kristanna had been crying.

What was wrong? This was not like Kristanna at all. She was not joking around; this was not one of her famous pranks. I could tell by her uneasy demeanor and body language. Oh no ... what if the past had returned, and something horrible happened with Ariel? Or one of my other children?

“Jeremy, you have to come with me now!”

“Why?” I quickly stood up from the table, demanding, “What’s wrong? Tell me!” Piper began crying immediately. Oh, something was definitely wrong. Horribly wrong.

“It’s Devon ... Devvy,” Kristanna shrieked. What? What was wrong with Devon? Was she injured? Did Devon fall and hurt herself in the jungle? My mind began to race with the possibilities. What if Devon needed immediate medical help? At least Scarlett, a nurse back home in Norway, was here...

Kristanna held up a cellular device that I recognized as Devon’s pink iPhone. She was trying her best to keep her composure, her calm, to tell us exactly what it was that was going on at the moment. “I was with Devvy earlier, and she got like five calls in the span of seven, eight minutes. It was her younger brother from Pennsylvania, Seth. But, you know, Devvy is not on the best of terms with her family and did not want to answer it, but finally did on the fifth call.” Kristanna took a deep breath, a tear streaming down her face.

“What is it?” Pamela wondered, hugging Piper to her.

“Her brother left a few voice messages on the early calls,” Kristanna frowned, tapping the iPhone. “Here is the first. I’ll put it on speakerphone for you.”

“Devon, Denise said to call you.” A man’s words - Seth?, her brother? - came out in a rush; the panic was evident in his voice. “The ambulance just left and they said they’re not getting a response. The sirens are on and they’re hurrying. They think it was a massive heart attack or something. We are driving there now. We were out for dinner and it just happened all of a sudden.”

“Devon, you need to get here!” came another upset voice from the background. “Your mom is in that ambulance!”

Oh, Christ. A million thoughts raced throughout my mind in succession. Seth? Devon’s brother? Devon’s mother just had a heart attack, it seemed, and was being taken to the hospital? I had never even met Devon’s mother. In fact, I had never even met anyone from Devon’s family. None of us had.

How many times over the past several years had we taken vacations to visit Trish’s family in Toronto? Pamela’s family in Baltimore? Lindsay’s, Amy’s, my own, in Cincinnati? Yet during all those trips, despite Philadelphia being just a short flight away, Devon adamantly refused our countless offers to go there so we could meet and greet her own family.

Devon had always been very secretive concerning details as to why she had such a disdain for her mother, father, sister and two brothers in Pennsylvania. I knew of an incident from her high school years that she shared with me shortly after arriving on the island in 2013. It involved a horrible lapse in judgment on Devon’s part - drug use at a party - and led to the subsequent death of her best friend at the time, who had an adverse allergic reaction to the substance.

But that happened on January 19, 2002. Almost 15 years ago! How could Devon’s parents possibly still hold a grudge against her for that one mistake as she claimed they did? According to Devon, her parents still wanted nothing to do with her to this day because of that one night 15 years ago.

But I always knew there was more to the story; something Devon was not telling me. Or perhaps a lot of things. What was the real reason for the feud with her family? The rift with her parents? How could Devon refuse to see them, even once, during all of the vacations we had taken to Canada and the United States in the past? If we pressed her, tried to prod her, Devon would invariably become horribly angry and snap at us, insisting that we not even consider going there. Apparently, Devon refused to even speak with her family on the telephone, which was why it took five tries in a row before she finally accepted Seth’s call just moments ago.

I was not on the best of terms with my own brother and sister from Ohio, Dan and Di, but I would never outlaw them and refuse to even acknowledge them as my own flesh and blood as Devon had done with her own family. Plus, this was Devon. Dear, sweet and lovable Devon; the woman with a heart of pure gold, the biggest smile, the willingness to look after and take care of any of the children in the family on a moment’s notice. Always happy. Always cheerful, a wonderful influence on the kids. Devon, the total sweetheart. My wife. Our wife.

And the same woman who could become downright hateful if we tried to convince her to finally go home for a visit. I had been with Devon for over three years now, yet knew no one in her family. Never met them; never even spoke to them. Nothing.

“Lehigh Valley Hospital,” the original voice said - Seth? - on the recorded voice mail. “Devon, we need you here. Mom needs you. Please, I’m begging you. I know what happened between you and Dad in the past, but you need to get here for Mom. PLEASE? Call me when you get this.”

Tears in her eyes, Kristanna tapped the message off. She looked at us as Piper now sniffled away in Pamela’s arms.

“Where is Devon now?” I simply asked, my voice calm.

“In the recreation room,” Kristanna said. “Crying.”

My whole world went white. Feud or not, this was Devon’s mother, and her life was at stake. She may already be gone. Family disputes and squabbles like this always seemed to be set aside in times of a medical crisis.

“You need to go to Pennsylvania with Devon right now, Jeremy,” Kristanna proclaimed. “She doesn’t want to go there alone. She wants you to go with her.”

“WHAT ABOUT US?” Pamela asked, her tone shrill, suddenly upset. “I want to go there with Devon, too!”

Kristanna was crying now. “We can’t, Pamela. The kids. The babies! We just got here. I don’t want to take them another 3,500 miles in the air after touching down here just four days ago. We have to stay behind with them. And you...” Kristanna pointed toward Pamela’s baby bump. “You don’t need to go, either. Last week’s flight was uncomfortable for you. You don’t need another airline trip until we go back home.”

“But I love Devon!” Pamela suddenly sobbed. “I LOVE HER!”

“Kristanna,” I announced, gaining her attention. “Tell Devon that I will get on the phone with our pilot, Mike, and ask if he can fly us out of Lima later tonight. He won’t tell me no. He and his crew are still visiting and touring the city, I think. Tell Devon that I will help pack her things, too. We will be at the hospital first thing in the morning.”

Suddenly, I had an even better idea.

“In fact,” I said, already leaving Kristanna, Pamela and Piper behind in the sun room, “I will tell Devon myself.” And I went running off toward the recreation room, ready to console my wife and tell her I would get her to her mother as soon as humanly possible.

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register