Chapter 17: Risky Sex with Vilde on My Honeymoon

After my successful stag weekend, I was exhausted enough to abstain from sex until the wedding night. Thanks to the impeccable planning my London lovers, Angela and Francesca, had poured into the event, this promised to be a day to remember, not for the sex, for once, but for its emotional depth. That might seem ironic given my escapades, my entanglements with so many others, including my ongoing affair with Francesca, and my work as a male escort, but none of that changed the truth: I loved Susan more than anything. Marrying her, now that we had these two adorable twins, was the pinnacle of my life.

The celebration was nothing short of breathtaking. Angela had leveraged her connections to secure the finest wedding planners, florists, live bands, DJs: everything orchestrated to perfection. Francesca, ever the queen of high society, had ensured that London’s elite graced the event, mingling effortlessly in an atmosphere of luxury and sophistication. Of course, the staggering wealth my work generated made it easy to spare no expense. It’s astonishing what the right people and the right amount of money can achieve.

As a particularly wicked nod to my profession, Francesca had arranged for many of my most stunning clients to attend with their partners. Quite a few of them were heavily pregnant, their round bellies undeniable proof of my virility. Watching their cuckolded husbands beam with pride as I shook their hands, congratulating them on their impending fatherhood, was a uniquely satisfying experience. Even better was catching Francesca’s barely concealed smirk when she overheard these exchanges, the two of us reveling in that shared, perverse thrill of deception.

Tempting as it was to sneak away for a quick rendezvous with some of these luscious beauties, I remained disciplined, devoting myself entirely to my stunning bride. Susan was having the time of her life, glowing with happiness, resplendent in a custom-tailored wedding gown, one meticulously curated under Francesca’s experienced eye. That was just another advantage of having a fashion model as a mistress, I mused.

The dress framed her awe-inspiring tits to perfection, their sumptuous, gravity-defying fullness sculpted into an almost indecent display of pure femininity. Her soft, overflowing curves commanded attention, an irresistible vision that left both men and women spellbound. Francesca and her fellow models had deliberately toned down their own appearances, a silent tribute to Susan’s radiance, ensuring that she was the undisputed star of the evening.

Susan basked in the attention, glowing with the effortless grace of a woman at the peak of her beauty and joy. She moved through the crowd like a queen, her radiant smile enchanting every guest she spoke to. The women, particularly my pregnant clients, clustered around her, eager to share stories of motherhood. Susan, ever warm and open, delighted in discussing her own experience carrying and delivering twins, offering reassuring words and affectionate laughter as she listened to theirs. She had no idea that every single one of them had been put in that condition by me, an irony that made each conversation all the more delicious.

The evening unfolded in a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and swaying bodies on the dance floor, the air filled with the rich scent of roses and expensive perfume. A live band played classics, setting the perfect rhythm for the celebration, while guests mingled beneath the grand chandeliers of the stately North London venue. Champagne flowed freely among the revelers, though Susan, ever the devoted mother, stuck to sparkling water, still nursing our little ones.

As the night deepened, the energy of the party only grew. Conversations turned looser, inhibitions melted away, and the air hummed with the quiet thrill of indulgence. But for Susan and me, the weight of the day had taken its toll. We stole away from the revelry, slipping into the sanctuary of our honeymoon suite while the music and laughter carried on below.

Anticipation had lingered between us all day, a quiet undercurrent beneath the spectacle of the wedding, but when we finally collapsed onto the pristine sheets of our bed, exhaustion overtook us. There would be no wild, passionate consummation, just a slow, intimate joining, a reaffirmation of everything we had promised each other that day. Her body, still soft from recent motherhood, molded perfectly against mine, her warmth, her scent, her gentle sighs pulling me into her in a way that no feverish encounter ever could. It was tender, unhurried, the kind of lovemaking that spoke of something deeper than lust, a quiet certainty, an unshakable bond.

Tomorrow, our new chapter would begin. Susan had chosen an exclusive resort in the Seychelles for our honeymoon, a secluded paradise where time would slow, and pleasure would stretch into infinity. Angela had arranged every detail to perfection, ensuring nothing but the best.

She had booked us for two weeks at an ultra-exclusive five-star resort that occupied an entire private island, a paradise untouched by anything but luxury. Our accommodation was a secluded, air-conditioned hut nestled at the farthest edge of a pristine white-sand beach, shielded by towering palms and lush greenery. It was the kind of place where the world beyond ceased to exist, where the only sounds were the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

As we drifted into sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other, the distant hum of celebration still echoing in the halls below, I knew that what awaited us wasn’t just an escape, it was an indulgence in pure, uninterrupted bliss, our first time truly alone since the twins were born. For two whole weeks, we would be just husband and wife again, free from midnight feedings and diaper changes, while Susan’s mother doted over our little ones back home. The thought of it, of having Susan all to myself in our private paradise, made sleep come easily, carrying me into dreams of sun-drenched skin, rolling waves, and endless, uninterrupted pleasure.

For the first three days, we barely left our hut. It became our entire world, a cocoon of silk sheets, warm skin, and lazy indulgence. We made love whenever the mood struck, sometimes slow and languid, other times with the pent-up hunger of two people finally free from responsibility. When we weren’t tangled up together, we ate: fresh tropical fruits, grilled seafood, and decadent desserts, all delivered straight to our door.

The food was brought by a rotating staff of young, uniformed maids, all delicate and petite, their long black hair cascading down their backs in thick, silken waves. They had slim waists that curved into tight, perky little asses, their skinny legs moving with a natural grace that made their every step look effortless. Their fresh-faced innocence only added to their allure, dark, almond-shaped eyes peering up shyly before darting away, full lips pressed together in demure silence.

They were mostly Tamils of South Indian descent, their dark skin a striking contrast against the crisp white of their uniforms. They carried themselves with quiet grace, their large dark eyes downcast, their movements precise and efficient, yet there was something incredibly enticing about their presence, an almost unintended sensuality, as if they weren’t even aware of how captivating they were.

However, for those three days, I kept my urges in check, resisting the undeniable temptation they presented. Not because I wasn’t tempted by their youthful innocence, far from it, but because I wanted to prove to myself that I was still in control, that I wasn’t ruled by my own insatiable appetites. And, more than anything, out of respect for Susan. This was our honeymoon, our time, and for now, I was content to lose myself in nothing but her.

It was on our fourth day that Susan announced she had fulfilled her wifely duties. In her opinion, we had had enough sex for the trip, and she wanted to focus on other activities for the rest of our stay. Being an attentive husband, I wholeheartedly agreed, at least when it came to her conjugal duties.

With a teasing smile, she offhandedly remarked that, given the abundance of pretty young maids fluttering around the resort, she hardly felt guilty for taking a break. If my libido still demanded attention, I certainly wouldn’t be left wanting. It was a thinly veiled permission to satisfy my urges elsewhere, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken rules between us, a reminder that she understood me better than most.

As usual, when she hinted at giving me free rein, I responded with something that sounded like a protest on the surface but was carefully worded to keep the door open. I pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and murmured, “You know I love you, Susan.” She just chuckled, shaking her head, fully aware of what I didn’t say.

After breakfast, Susan decided to walk to the front desk on her own to inquire about possible activities, leaving me alone in our private paradise. As soon as she disappeared down the path, my attention snapped to the young maid who had just arrived to clear our table. My balls ached from the forced abstinence of the night before, a dull, insistent pressure that demanded relief.

She was perfect for the task, petite, dark-skinned, fresh-faced, and utterly submissive. In my state of lust, knowing that Susan had just given her blessing and overwhelmed by this beauty laid out before me, all my good intentions to dedicate the honeymoon to Susan and Susan alone ... blew out the window.

Instincts took over. My mind locked onto her razor-sharp, like a hungry tiger crouched behind the brush as the most innocent, delicious gazelle wandered unknowingly into reach. My body tensed, every muscle primed, my cock already aching with anticipation, knowing that within moments, I would claim her completely.

With a quick, practiced motion, I gave her a discreet spray of tx34, the potent aphrodisiac working its magic almost instantly. Her movements slowed, her breathing deepened, and when her large, dark eyes flicked up to meet mine, they were already glazed with lust. A soft gasp parted her lips, her petite frame trembling as the heat spread through her body, overtaking her senses.

A single tug at her uniform, and the thin fabric slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she practically melted into my arms. Her perky, dark tits pressed against me, her stiff, sensitive nipples dragging along my chest, sending a shiver through her already trembling frame. Her breathing came in shallow, needy pants, her delicate fingers digging into my arms as if to steady herself while the overwhelming desire took hold. Her soft thighs pressed together in helpless agony, slick with need, her tiny pussy already aching to be filled. The moment she whimpered, her hips instinctively shifting toward me, I knew she was mine.

I drowned myself in the sheer, intoxicating pleasure of her tight, eager body, my hands exploring every inch of her petite frame, grabbing her tiny tits, squeezing the perfect curve of her ass, spreading her open as I prepared to take her from behind. Her slick, trembling cunt kissed the swollen head of my cock, her walls pulsing as if her body instinctively knew what was coming.

I pressed forward, feeling the tight resistance of her virginity, her muscles clenching around me in hesitation. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as I pushed harder, her tiny entrance struggling to take me in. Her fingers gripped the sheets, her breath quick and uneven, her body caught between fear and desperate arousal. Then, with one firm thrust, I broke through, feeling her delicate barrier give way, her slick warmth suddenly molding around me, gripping me hard.

She let out a strangled cry, her petite body tensing as she adjusted to the intrusion, her thighs trembling against mine. I paused for a moment, savoring the sensation of being the first to claim her, feeling her pulse around me, so impossibly tight, so perfectly stretched around my cock. Her virgin pussy fluttered with every small movement, instinctively trying to accommodate me, her gasps turning into soft, breathy moans.

The contrast of her smooth, dark skin against the crisp white of her discarded uniform only heightened the thrill, the way she shuddered beneath me, her petite tits bouncing with each hesitant thrust. The raw, overwhelming tightness of her untouched depths made every inch of her surrender that much sweeter, a perfect counterpoint to my pent-up hunger.

The moment built fast, raw and primal, the pressure coiling tight until it finally snapped. I groaned in satisfaction as I drove deep, emptying myself inside her, feeling her squeeze around me, her body instinctively milking every last drop.

Guilt flickered briefly in the aftermath, but I quickly brushed it aside. Susan had all but encouraged me to take advantage of the resort’s ample temptations, as long as she never found out. Was it wrong to cheat on my honeymoon? Most people would probably think so. But after years of indulging, my sense of morality had long since adjusted to my reality.

By the time Susan returned half an hour later, the maid had already hurried out of sight. A wise move, because between her unsteady breathing, the lack of panties beneath her miniskirt, and the unmistakable streaks of cum still glistening down her thigh, she was in no condition to play the dutiful, professional servant.

From her perspective, she had been overtaken by a sudden, overwhelming need to have sex with this foreign guest on his honeymoon, a desire so intense it had drowned out all reason. The pleasure had been staggering, leaving her breathless and weak, but as clarity returned, so did the shame. She had thrown herself at a married man, indulged in reckless lust without a second thought. Flustered and unsettled, she hurried out, too distracted to notice that in the heat of the moment, I had taken not only her panties but also the master key card.

Susan returned in an exceptionally enthusiastic mood, bubbling with excitement. She had just signed up for a scuba diving course that was about to depart on a speedboat. She hadn’t expected me to join her, knowing full well how much I despised the pressure on my ears, but she also knew I wouldn’t mind her going alone. The day’s plan was set: they would have lunch on the boat, hop from one dive site to another, and be back in time for dinner.

She quickly packed her essentials, slipping a sleek swimsuit into her bag alongside sunscreen, a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and a few other necessities. As she zipped up her tote, she threw me a teasing look. “You’ll be fine without me for the day,” she mused, then, with a sly smile, added, “and with all these pretty maids running around, I doubt you’ll be bored.”

It was another one of those half-jokes that wasn’t really a joke, her way of acknowledging what we both knew without spelling it out. I just smirked, giving her an innocent shrug. “You know you’re the only one who matters, Susan.”

She rolled her eyes, smirking as she leaned in. “Yeah, yeah ... but if I had a big, fat dick like yours and the stamina to go all day, I’d find it hard to resist sampling a few of those sweet little things. I bet half of them are still virgins.”

She let out a playful sigh, shaking her head as if lost in thought. “God, I wish I could experience that just once. Breaking them in, feeling that tight little barrier give way, watching their pretty faces twist between fear and excitement as I stretch them open for the first time. The way they’d gasp, squirm, trying to handle it, their bodies trembling while I push deeper ... That’s got to be a hell of a rush.”

Then, as if brushing the thought aside, she took my hand and asked me to walk her down to the dock. We strolled hand in hand, just like all the other couples, blending seamlessly into the romantic resort atmosphere.

As we reached the pier, it became clear that we weren’t the only separated couple, though almost everyone else staying behind was a woman. Diving seemed to be more popular with the lads. Susan, with her radiant smile and, more importantly, that massive, attention-commanding rack barely contained by her tiny bikini, would no doubt be the subject of much flirtation. The deep cleavage alone was impossible to ignore, her soft, heavy tits practically spilling out with every subtle movement, the thin straps covering only a small fraction of her generous curves.

And it wasn’t just her tits. Her toned, sculpted ass swayed with every step, the tight fabric of her bikini bottom riding up just enough to tease at the fullness of her perfect, round cheeks. Even under the water, she’d be a sight to behold: her large, buoyant tits floating weightlessly, her curvy body moving effortlessly through the waves, her long, powerful legs kicking gracefully beneath the surface.

As we reached the pier, it became clear that we weren’t the only separated couple, though almost everyone else staying behind was a woman. Diving seemed to be more popular with the lads. Susan, with her radiant smile and, more importantly, that massive, attention-commanding rack barely contained by her tiny bikini, would no doubt be the subject of much flirtation on the boat. The deep cleavage alone was impossible to ignore, her soft, heavy tits practically spilling out with every subtle movement, the thin straps covering only a small fraction of her generous curves.

And it wasn’t just her tits. Her toned, sculpted ass swayed with every step, the tight fabric of her bikini bottom riding up just enough to tease at the fullness of her perfect, round cheeks. Underwater, she’d be even more mesmerizing, those massive, weightless tits floating freely, her curvy frame slicing effortlessly through the waves, her powerful legs spreading and closing in smooth, hypnotic motions.

I knew that the thin, water-slick fabric of her bikini bottoms would be stretched tight across the entrance to her wet, waiting cunt, the pressure of the water pressing against her folds, outlining every forbidden detail. It was the kind of sight that would make any man’s cock ache, every one of them picturing the same thing: gripping those strong thighs, tearing that flimsy barrier away, and sinking into her deepest heat.

I could already picture it: men sneaking glances at her full, jiggling tits as she stretched or adjusted her towel, pretending to focus on their drinks while stealing another look. But I wasn’t worried. Susan had been dealing with male attention ever since puberty, effortlessly handling the constant stares, the lame pickup attempts, the not-so-subtle gawking at her impossible curves. She had long mastered the art of smiling politely while making it clear that no one would ever get a taste.

Not that I minded the attention she got. If anything, I found the idea rather amusing.

After the boat left, I chatted with some of the left-behind chicks, all of them honeymooners temporarily abandoned by their husbands for the day. The resort was clearly designed for newlyweds. Most of these babes were in their early to late twenties, a mix of enticing beauties and sophisticated young wives. Some had that fresh, dewy glow of newlyweds, playful and wide-eyed, while others carried themselves with a more refined, practiced allure. Their outfits ranged from skimpy bikinis that flaunted their toned bodies to elegant summer dresses hugging their curves just right, every one of them a perfect display of feminine temptation.

Now, this was like locking a wolf in the sheep pen: a handful of fresh young brides, all left unattended, and me, a man with an impregnation fetish. Could it get any better? Unlike the young maids, who were tempting in their own right, these fertile babes were on a whole different level. Polished, pampered, and already accustomed to pleasure, they carried themselves with a confidence that made them far more enticing prey.

The best part? No one would suspect a thing if a bride was knocked up on her honeymoon. It was the perfect cover. My offspring would be raised by an unsuspecting father, nurtured in financial stability, given that they had all chosen this exclusive resort. No one would question it. No one would ever know.

Well, the brides would, of course, know they had a fling during their honeymoon, but few would ever connect that moment of indulgence to their pregnancy. A little wishful thinking, a little blind hope ... convincing themselves that this one transgression couldn’t have aligned perfectly with their ovulation. How could they possibly know that I would make sure it did?

Yes, it was perfect. A little tx34-laced sunscreen, subtly rubbed onto their delicate hands, was all it took to get a bunch of these sexy brides just aroused enough to accept my invitation for tea at my secluded hut. Of course, I focused on those promising maximum pleasure and irresistible variety, from a statuesque, pale Scandinavian goddess to a fiery, curvy Mediterranean bombshell.

Five of them, glowing with that honeymoon thrill, still buzzing from the excitement of their weddings, convinced it was nothing more than harmless fun. At first, they kept it playful, their laughter light, their words teasing but innocent enough to quiet any doubts. But as we made our way to the hut, their energy shifted. Their giggles turned breathy, their gazes lingered too long, flickering down my body, drinking me in like they were already imagining how this would end.

Their touches started out subtle: a brush of fingers against my arm, a casual lean that pressed soft curves against me, but quickly grew bolder. Their hands trailed lower, teasing at my waist, their voices softer, laced with anticipation. Two of them clung to me as we walked, their tits squished against my chest, warm and heavy, their breath hot against my neck.

By the time we reached the cabin, their flirting had escalated into something unmistakably sexual, far beyond innocent teasing. The second the door clicked shut, bikinis hit the floor. Lust burned in their eyes, their bodies already flushed and eager, hands on my skin, lips crashing into mine, greedy tongues tangling. Five newlywed sluts, soaked and aching, ready to be taken.

We had nearly eight hours before their husbands returned, so I took my time, savoring every moment. One by one, I fucked them properly, stretching their eager little cunts, making them scream through multiple orgasms before I filled them. Each one got her turn, a single deep, deliberate breeding, ensuring that by the time they left this cabin, they’d be carrying my seed, returning from their honeymoons carrying my offsprings.

Each time I pumped my load into a waiting womb, I let out a deep roar, my whole body shuddering from the release, that primal surge of pleasure so intense it felt like I was claiming them completely. The others clapped and giggled, flushed with arousal, watching in eager anticipation for their turn.

Between rounds, I gave them a chance to show off their blowjob skills. They circled me, desperate mouths open, eager tongues lapping at my shaft, sucking me back to hardness. Now that their gag reflex had mysteriously vanished, they were eager to test their limits, each one determined to take my cock even deeper. They stretched their throats around my shaft, drooling, gagging, eyes watering as they hollowed their cheeks and swallowed me down. I let them work for it, letting my body recover while they worshiped me, moaning like proper sluts, competing to see who could deep throat me the best before the next lucky one got her turn to be bred.

We had an orgy all day. While I was busy breeding one, the other four sprawled naked on the deck chairs, their fingers lazily stroking slick, needy cunts as they watched, their eyes locked onto the filthy show in front of them. They moaned softly, teasing each other, whispering about how good it looked, how much they craved their turn. The sight was mesmerizing: five perfect sluts, writhing, desperate, completely lost in their own debauchery.

And to think, I had the foresight to capture it all. Hidden cameras placed around the cabin ensured that not a single second of their depravity was lost. Every gasp, every dripping orgasm, every hungry thrust recorded for my private collection.

Maybe one day, I’d let my offspring see the truth of their conception. A little family revelation, once they were old enough to handle the reality of their mothers cheating on the men they thought were their fathers. That decision was decades away, so no need to dwell on it now. For the time being, those videos would provide some exquisite material for my personal entertainment.

At some point, we ordered lunch, not even considering covering up when it was delivered. This time, it was two handsome young Indian lads who brought the food: fresh-faced, polite, completely unaware of what they were walking into.

They never stood a chance. The moment they stepped inside, they were attacked, four eager sluts descending on them like starving animals. Hands tore at their uniforms, pulling out stiffening cocks before the poor boys even had time to process what was happening. Then came the real show: a demonstration of their newly acquired deep-throating skills.

They dropped to their knees, taking turns choking down every inch, wet gagging sounds filling the room as they competed to see who could make the delivery boys squirm the most. The lads groaned, their bodies betraying them, hips twitching helplessly as their loads were sucked straight from their balls. Within minutes, both had been drained dry, left red-faced and stumbling, deeply embarrassed by their unprofessional mingling with the guests.

After lunch, I finished by inseminating the last two women, making sure each of them left this cabin with a belly full of my seed. When all five had been properly bred, I stopped administering tx34, letting their arousal levels slowly return to normal.

One by one, they gathered their things, flushed, sweaty, legs still weak from their endless orgasms. It was almost amusing to watch as reality crept back in. As if, all of a sudden, they remembered they were on their honeymoons, and that maybe, just maybe, it was slightly inappropriate to spend the day getting fucked by a stranger.

They fidgeted, clearly conflicted, the guilt of obvious adultery warring with the undeniable afterglow of the best sex of their lives. And to make things even more amusing? Their bikini bottoms had mysteriously disappeared. With no choice but to return to their rooms in nothing but towels hastily wrapped around their waists, they shuffled out, trying to look composed, though their freshly-fucked bodies and shaky legs told a different story.

Only one woman, a Norwegian model named Vilde, lingered after everyone else had left and the tx34 had fully worn off. She had been the best fuck of the bunch: easily aroused, unbelievably flexible, her slim, athletic body moving with perfect grace. Her tits were gorgeous, full and perky, and her delightfully small bubble butt was pure temptation. And that face ... angelic, pristine, almost innocent-looking, especially when she was mid-orgasm, lost in pure bliss.

Vilde helped me clean up, still completely naked, making no effort to cover herself. She even took the initiative to organize fresh towels and, when the hotel boy arrived, dropped to her knees and sucked him off like it was the most natural thing in the world. I watched, amazed at how effortlessly slutty she was, even without the stimulation of tx34. It was as if the drug had simply unlocked something in her, stripping away whatever restraints had kept this side of her buried. Now, freed from inhibition, she was exactly what she was meant to be, a perfect little nympho.

We spent the time until the boat was due back tangled together in the hammock, naked, kissing lazily, hands roaming over each other’s bodies in slow, lingering caresses. There was no urgency now, just the warm afterglow of everything we had done.

Finally, we strolled arm in arm toward the pier. Vilde didn’t even bother stopping at her room to get properly dressed. She simply wrapped a towel around her waist and walked barefoot to the dock, her tanned, bare skin still glowing from our time together. The way she carried herself, so effortlessly confident, so utterly unconcerned about the risk, made me smirk.

When the boat arrived, we greeted our spouses and listened to their excited chatter, the big fish they had seen, the turtle that startled them, all the little details of their innocent adventures.

Vilde threw herself into the arms of an older man, embracing him with almost theatrical affection. There wasn’t a hint of guilt in her expression. If anything, she seemed to relish the game, pushing the boundaries just to see how far she could take it. Showing up in nothing but a towel, her bikini-bottoms mysteriously missing, she was practically daring someone to notice.

This girl was seriously naughty. I couldn’t deny it. I admired the way she played with fire, tempting fate with a devilish smirk, knowing full well what she had just done.

Susan greeted me with an unusually affectionate hug as well, pressing her warm body against mine with a softness that caught me off guard. When I raised an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic public display of affection, she leaned in and whispered against my ear, her breath sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.