Chapter 8: Summer Vacation

Brenda Oliver had gotten the name and location of the Baxter Mountain Resort from one of the women who had blogged about adult resorts. She had posted a note asking for suggestions and was surprised when one was only a couple of hours away. Steve and Brenda had driven up Route 7 to Bennington and then continued on Route 9 through Wilmington and then north on 100 to West Dover. Five miles past West Dover was Baxter Mountain. Baxter Mountain was smaller than nearby Mount Snow Resort.

They had taken several adult weekends in the Poconos since they got back, but while the resorts had all the heart-shaped beds and champagne-glass bathtubs they could wish for, they generally didn’t have the sorts of outdoor activities the Olivers had enjoyed in the Maltesanos. Couples’ massages, facials, and night clubs might be nice, but they were looking for something a bit more ... intimate. The website mentioned adult hiking, which sounded interesting.

“After lunch, let’s walk around a bit, maybe find out about hiking and such,” suggested Brenda. Steve simply nodded agreement. He was wearing cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt while his wife was wearing a denim miniskirt and a tank top; both had on running shoes.

After lunch, Steve signed the check and they headed back to the lobby, where he picked up a map of the resort and a brochure on hiking and biking. Then they went out a side door towards the pool area. The adult nature of the resort was apparent not from any intimate activities, but by the absence of anything child specific. There were no children’s playgrounds, no arcades or children’s games. There were two pools, with multiple pathways into hedged areas that seemed very private. One of the pools looked like it had started as a toddler pool, but somewhere along the way, the resort had stopped being family friendly. Several couples were swimming, and while two of them were fully dressed, two others had the woman topless, and one couple was skinny-dipping.

“I think this would be the perfect place to wear your crochet swimsuit,” commented Steve. He had bought her a bikini with some holes strategically placed.

“I can’t believe you bought that for me,” replied a blushing Brenda. “I can’t wear it anywhere!”

“You look good in it, and you can wear it here.”

They kept walking, and a pathway took them past the pool area and towards the lake. There were several more walkways into what seemed like private cul-de-sacs. “Let’s see how private things really are,” said Brenda. She tugged her husband’s hand and pulled him towards one. She noticed a green card on a holder at the entrance.

Steve allowed himself to be led aside. If they really were private, maybe he and Brenda could get a little afternoon delight al fresco.

The path led them into a small glade, perhaps fifteen yards wide, a grassy glen that was obviously mowed and tended. It was also both private and not empty. Another couple was there, and the man was taking pictures of the woman. She was in a bikini and lying on a wildly colored beach blanket and was letting the top slip off. He was using what looked like a high-quality camera and not a cell phone to take pictures. She looked over at the intruders and smiled, then waved and said, “Hi!”

The man looked at who the woman was waving at and lowered his camera. He waved, too, and said, “Welcome. How are you doing?”

“Sorry to have disturbed you,” said Steve. “We didn’t know if anybody was here. We’ll leave you...”

“No, that’s okay. Cindy and I are just doing a photo shoot.”

Cindy added, “You can stay. It’s no big deal. I’m Cindy and that’s Bill. We’re the Wanamakers.”

“Hello,” said Brenda. “I’m Brenda Oliver and this is my husband, Steve.”

The Wanamakers looked about a decade younger than she and Steve, in their early thirties. She was a slender blonde with short hair and blue eyes and had a tattoo of a butterfly on her back; Bill was tall and skinny, brown-haired but already losing the battle with baldness.

“Feel free to watch. We don’t mind,” added Cindy.

“We put the green card at the entrance,” said Bill.

“Green card?” asked Steve.

“Next time you are in the lobby, get a card from the front desk. They’re red on one side and green on the other. Then, if you want to fool around in one of the little nooks, just put it on the card holder at the entrance. Green means people can come on in and red means you want some privacy,” said Bill.

“We’re always green,” said Cindy. “I love to have people watch us fuck.”

“Uh ... cool,” said Steve. That was pretty explicit, he thought.

“You’re doing a photo shoot? You’re a model?” asked Brenda. Something seemed odd about that. All the modelling shoots she had ever heard of had lots of extras and lights and mirrors and differing wardrobes.

“Not really. This is for Wicked Weasel,” said Bill.

“Wicked Weasel? Don’t they make swimsuits?” asked Steve.

Bill and Cindy nodded. Bill explained, “They have a customer website, and you can put up pictures in a Wicked Weasel swimsuit. Then, others on the website can donate money, tips they call them, to a bank account that you can use to buy more swimsuits.”

“I got this one from tips,” said Cindy. She stood up and showed them a tiny red bikini that was made of a transparent lace. “Now, with tips from this gallery, I can earn tips towards another swimsuit.”

“Huh! People pay to see you in a bikini?” asked Brenda.

Cindy blushed but admitted, “You make a lot more if you end up topless or nude. That doesn’t bother us, but I know a lot of the models don’t do that.”

“Wow!”

“We were just about to go topless. If you want to watch, that’s fine. Just stay behind me,” said Bill.

Steve simply went, “Uhhhh...”

Brenda finished for him. “Okay. We’ll stay over there. Don’t mind us.” This was turning her on something fierce! She would have to look them up on the Internet.

Neither Bill nor Cindy said anything. Instead, Bill pointed his wife back to the blanket, which Brenda noticed had what looked like a Wicked Weasel logo on it. Cindy assumed the same position she had before the Olivers had arrived and dropped the straps of her top off her shoulders. Over the next fifteen minutes, with Bill giving directions, Cindy lost her top and then undid the ties on the sides of her bikini bottom. That slipped off next, and Bill began taking shots of his naked wife, though the bikini parts stayed near her. Cindy commented that if some Wicked Weasel parts stayed in the shot, they wouldn’t cut it. She called that ‘moderated’ since website moderators would cut the photos that were too risqué or didn’t have their products in them.

Eventually the photoshoot began winding down, though it wasn’t clear to the Olivers, at least not immediately. Cindy wasn’t wearing anything and was laying back on the Wicked Weasel blanket with her legs spread wide. Brenda nudged her husband and whispered that the Wanamakers were about to fuck their brains out, and then she dragged him away. Steve nodded, noting that Bill had a major league boner in his shorts.

Once they were back out on the path, Brenda pulled her husband further from the pool area. “We need to find another one of these private places!” she told Steve.

“Oh?”

“Yes! I need to get fucked!” She grabbed his cock through the front of his slacks. Like Bill Wanamaker, Steve’s cock was stiff in his shorts.

Steve laughed and allowed his wife to drag him to the next cul-de-sac. “Works for me!”

Brenda pulled him to the next pathway and dragged him into the next private glen. This one was empty, and she promptly dropped to the ground. Brenda knelt on the grass and ordered, “Fuck me, Steve! Fuck me!” She pulled her skirt up to her waist. “Fuck me!”

Steve grinned as he loosened his belt and unzipped his shorts. This weekend away was working out better than he had expected. He stripped off his pants and knelt behind Brenda. He ran his hands over her ass, and after hearing her moan, moved closer and slipped his cock inside her pussy. Brenda gasped and pushed back. She was as juicy and as hot as he’d ever felt her, and he began to pump into her from behind. “Fuck me! Fuck me!” she demanded. “Fuck me!”

Steve fucked his wife hard, his cock slicing in and out, his hips slamming into her rump. Her asscheeks rippled as they took his pelvic thrusts. Brenda was in a state of continuous orgasm once his cock entered her. She kept begging him to fuck her, over and over. Steve’s cock was in a soup of hot girlcum. It became too much. Groaning loudly, he slammed forward, pushing her to the grass, and his cock seemingly exploded, flooding her pussy with cum. He collapsed onto her as his balls emptied, his cum pulsing through his cockshaft and blasting into her. Only when nothing more came out did he roll off her prone body.

“Wow!” said Brenda.

“I think we need to get back to the room and finish this somewhere more comfortable,” said Steve.

Brenda climbed to her feet and the Olivers headed back to the resort. “I feel like everybody is looking at me and seeing your cum running down my thighs!” whispered Brenda, blushing at the thought.

Steve snorted and gave a quick laugh. “Nobody can see my cum running down your thighs. They’re looking at you because you are wearing a very short skirt, and your nipples are visible through your top.”

“Steve!”

“Hey, you asked. It’s a good look, too.”

Brenda groaned and kept heading towards the resort. They went inside and headed directly towards the elevators. Steve pulled out his keycard and Brenda entered as soon as he opened the door. Once inside, she went straight to the bathroom. “I need to clean up.”

Steve was emptying his pockets onto the dresser and missed what she was saying. He went to the bathroom door and asked, “What was that.?”

“I said I needed to clean up.” Brenda was already getting undressed when she told him.

“Sounds like a plan.” Steve also stripped off his clothing and shoes and went into the bathroom. Brenda’s clothing was on the vanity, and her shoes were in the corner. She was already in the shower, adjusting the temperature. Smiling, he opened the shower door and stepped inside.

“Welcome. Planning to save water?” Brenda asked.

“Probably not, but I bet we can get very, very clean together.” He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. His stiff cock pushed up against her bottom.

“Mmmm ... sounds wonderful!” She passed the soap back to him. “Get to work.”

Steve kept his wife facing away from him as he began soaping her up from behind. Sometimes he was washing her back and sometimes he was reaching around and soaping her front. Brenda began moaning as his fingers spent time on her nipples, her belly button, and her clit. Then he pushed her forward, so she was leaning against the shower wall, and he slipped his cock between her legs. Brenda spread her legs, and he pushed his erection inside, to begin slowly fucking. She gasped as he began moving behind her, driving his cock slowly.

“Oh my God, Steve! Fuck me!”

Steve had a different idea. Though he kept pushing in and pulling out, his eyes were on the little brown rosette nestled between her buttcheeks. He took the shampoo from the wall-mounted holder and drizzled some in her asscrack. Then he pulled his cock from her pussy and laid it in the valley between her cheeks. His fingers spread them apart and he pushed into her bottom. Brenda shivered at the intrusion but whimpered as her body responded. Even though she hadn’t cleaned up ahead of time, the running water obviated the need. Steve began fucking her ass, enjoying the sensation of pounding into the tight tunnel. “Only slutty whores take it up the ass,” he whispered into her ear. One of his hands went around her front to caress her breasts and the other began diddling her pussy.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” she begged.

“You slutty whore!”

The pair continued in this vein until Steve got too excited. Grabbing his wife’s hips, he thrust in hard and pressed her against the shower wall. Grunting loudly, his cock began pumping out a heavy load, thick ropes of cum that blasted into her ass and coated her bowels. “Take it! Take it!” he groaned. Even when he finished cumming, he kept her against the shower wall, gasping for air as he suddenly ran out of steam.

A minute later, Brenda pulled out from under him and began rinsing off. Steve sank down onto one of the seats precast in the shower. “That was very nice, honey. Ready for round two?”, she asked.

Steve gave a tired laugh. “Ready for a nap!”

Brenda laughed and took the adjustable nozzle off the wall and sprayed it over her husband. “Come on, sleeping boy. Clean up and dry off and maybe you can come alive again.”

Steve stood up and allowed Brenda to rinse him off. Then they turned off the water and dried off. They went to bed, but Steve fell asleep before Brenda could rouse him for another round.

Brenda laughed to herself quietly before pulling the sheets up around themselves. She dozed off as Steve snored lightly. They slept several hours before Steve woke. He glanced at Brenda but needed to use the bathroom. Brenda woke when she felt the bed shifting. “Feeling better?”

“Just fine.”

“You pretty much collapsed earlier.”

“You pretty much drained me dry earlier,” he said with a smile.

“We should probably get dressed and go down to the restaurant,” said Brenda.

Steve looked at the clock on the nightstand. “I’ll take a quick shower. For some reason I smell like I’ve been sexually used and abused.” Brenda gave him a quick laugh at that, and then closed her eyes again, while Steve went into the bathroom. She dozed until her husband came back out.

Steve took a quick shower and then quickly dried off. He went back into the bedroom to find Brenda starting to stir. Naked, she looked good enough that he was tempted to crawl back into bed with her, but she stretched and smiled. “Forget it. I know what you are thinking and that will have to wait until after drinks and dinner.”