Chapter 2

This is an alternate version of the same story, which veers a bit from the original ending. Let me know how you like or dislike this one, but be constructive, not vicious.

So, there I was, on my fucking honeymoon, locked out of the main bedroom in the grand suite, because my new bride got drunk and took some guys back with her to fuck her there. The guys didn’t like that I was present and felt deceived or betrayed or whatever that she was married, so they took it out on me and locked me out of the main room in the suite until they were done with her.

This wasn’t what I had in mind when I granted Jill a hall pass and demanded one in return for the duration of the honeymoon. It was her idea, which was funny because she had been the one to convince me that she could give me enough to make monogamy worth my while. No sooner did we get married and go on our honeymoon, but she pulled this stunt out of left field. It didn’t look, or feel good for that matter. She asked me to tag along to ... participate, but the other guys stopped being cool with that once they knew that I was her husband.

I wasn’t sure what exactly Jill had been drinking other than tequila. Given that the last sex that she and I had was on our wedding night itself, I wasn’t in the mood to put up with it. No sex, not even the hot, messy, steamy sex that we had that first night, which included anal, was worth being kicked or locked out of my own bedroom. The fact that it wasn’t our home master bedroom wasn’t the point. This was a serious breach of contract here and there would be hell to pay.

At this point, I didn’t care what she did or thought or if she was sincere about my own hall pass or not. I was going to fuck another woman, maybe two, maybe three, and then I would leave, probably just go home early. Part of me wondered if I could cash in the rest of her credit for the round trip ticket. It would be fucking hilarious to leave Jill stranded back in Barbados while I went home and changed all of the locks. Yeah, I was pretty sure that I was done with her.

Hell, since we didn’t have kids together, I could just cash it all in, catch a cruise, or slip away to another part of the same island and fuck anything that moved. Or I could leave for Europe or Cancun or something. I didn’t have to put up with this shit from anyone and I refused to do so. Jill’s behavior since our arrival the day before had just gotten weirder and weirder still. I didn’t need this crap and I refused to stick around for more like a glutton for punishment.

I grabbed what I could pack together and crammed into my suitcase, jumped into the shower to clean up from where I had apparently puked out my guts, and then dried off quickly. I brushed, flossed, used mouthwash, and got dressed in a hurry. I didn’t want to see Jill, not right now. I didn’t want to lose my cool to that extent. She had broken our pact and I was livid enough that I didn’t trust myself not to commit murder or something like that in a fit of rage.

I took what I could get, grabbed my keys (this was an older building that had physical, manual locks and keys, no fancy key card system), and took them to the front desk. The concierge expressed some surprise and regret that I opted to depart so soon, but the expression on my face made it clear that I was in earnest. He could see that I was quite grim and that I wasn’t having the good time that I intended on my honeymoon. It wasn’t his fault, but Jill’s. Even so, I wasn’t going to stick around for this kind of disrespect.

“I assure you, sir, that I do not blame you or any of your staff for this ... situation. It was my bride at fault and she will pay for it. One way or another. There will be hell to pay and nothing to give the Devil,” I told the man as I relinquished the keys and only took a partial refund that wouldn’t include today.

While I didn’t enjoy the thought of covering for the rest of the day that began hours earlier (it had taken some time, of course, to get everything in order for my departure), I didn’t want Jill to have any warning just yet. I wanted her to be oblivious to her plight until it was far too late to reverse it. I abruptly decided to cash in her return trip ticket, after all, which she had foolishly left out in the open and I took with me. This could potentially land her in legal trouble with the authorities, as Barbadian law required foreign citizens to have a return trip ticket with them during their stay as proof of their intent to return.

I smirked as I paid a decent gratuity to the concierge for his trouble and departed in a taxi for the airport. I hadn’t slept any, but I just wanted out of there as soon as I could leave. I could sleep on the plane, after all. I would take my vacation, soon enough, but it was time to handle some business, legal, marital, and financial in nature. I wanted my life completely disentangled from Jill’s. Her own messy situation would make it rather difficult to stop me, which was another reason to leave her stranded in another country. She would have to overcome that hurdle first, before even worrying about me.

When I made it to the airport, I rushed to get my refund, even as the ticket agent looked at me with some surprise. She noticed that I had paid for both and wanted a refund, but that my bride wasn’t with me. There were unasked questions in her eyes, but she coughed and I noticed that she had a wedding band on her left hand. I naturally wondered if she was a better wife to her husband than Jill was to me. I hoped so, but my brief experience of marriage left me a bit jaded about the institution, of course.

“We had some ... irreconcilable differences about some things. It looks as if she’s staying here longer than I am. I have no intention of enduring her disrespect. This is going to be a very short marriage, I would say,” I announced now, causing her to raise her eyebrows.

“Well, sir, if you should ever wish to return here on your own terms, we shall welcome you back. It’s just a thought. I married a Yank, and he began here as a tourist. It can be a very warm welcome for you, as it was for him,” the ticket agent reassured me, her hand hovering over mine just enough to make me wonder what kind of marriage they had.

Was she hitting on me? I had to keep wondering for now. It was time to get the hell out of the country and Stateside, so I could cut the legal and financial strings that attached me to Jill. I was done with her and I didn’t want anything to do with her ever again. It would be a disappointment for those in my family who had high hopes for her as my wife and for our marriage. They would just have to get over it.

I boarded the plane with surprising speed after that, and then found myself dozing off on the flight, eager to get to JFK in New York City pronto. From there, I would have to fly back to Phoenix, which would require some layovers, of course. Even so, I would get home well ahead of Jill, and she wouldn’t know what hit her. I also did my best to cut off all sources of funding to the bitch, so as to make her situation even more dire and prevent any kind of retaliation from her to me. I didn’t expect to have to refund anything, anyway, if I got my annulment, after all.

I awoke to find the ticket agent next to me, having evidently boarded the plane soon after I fell asleep (which I did almost immediately after I sat down). She had her head on my right shoulder, much to my shock, and when I rose to go to the john, I had no choice but to awaken her. We were somewhere high in the sky over the Atlantic, I realized, perhaps above Nassau or whatever. I must have been out for a little while, I knew. I was sure that she’d fall back asleep.

Instead, almost as soon as I was in the lavatory to piss, she opened the door, and bent over the cramped sink next to me. Her skirt was pulled back up to her waist and her panties were down. I did my business and went to wash my hands, but she did that for me, and then bent over again in an obvious invitation. I was pretty hard-up right then, due to having missed out on planned honeymoon sex, so I did what came naturally in my half-groggy state. I slid into her slick, wet pussy and began pumping in several strokes, even as she started playing with her own anus.

That really jolted me a bit and I took the hint, sliding my fingers up her ass, while I saw her biting her bottom lip good and hard. The more I fucked her, the more she began bucking her hips and pushing back hungrily at me on every last thrust. I had never been intimate with a black woman before, but if she was typical, I would have to consider it more often. I had also never been with another man’s wife, come to think of it, and it was heady wine to plant some kind of horns on another man so soon after others planted them on me.

“Jared is going to really be thrilled that you bred me, Martin. You see, he’s sterile and he’s also a bit of a voyeur. This is being recorded and I’m going to send him the file to prove that I joined the Mile High Club with another Yank like him, a white Yank to boot. He’s white, too. He wishes that he could breed me, but at least he’s making lemonade out of the lemons, right? I’m Karissa, by the way, in case you missed it. Karissa Thorne, originally of Bridgetown, of course,” the young woman told me as she did her absolute best to milk my cock and balls with her slippery snatch.

“You’re ... trying to get pregnant?” I grunted as I continued screwing the holy fuck out of Karissa, of course.

“Fuck, yes, I am ... and I’m very fertile right now! Just don’t try to claim it, okay? Donate your swimmers and let us raise it as Jared’s and mine! What kind of surname is Van Root, anyway?” Karissa begged me as I humped her with a fury by now, enjoying both holes.

“Dutch. New York Knickerbocker, to be precise. That’s my heritage. Father’s side, anyway. Why do you ask? My mother’s side are Jews, though. Mizrahi Jews, mind you. That’s Middle Eastern Jews. The Second Israel, some call us. Folks kicked out of Arab countries and Iran and Turkey for being Jews when Israel was founded or not too long after that,” I related, even as Karissa squeezed my prick like a vise and I added another finger to her cornhole.

“Oh, fuck ... an actual Jew ... sweet! My baby will be one-quarter Hebrew! Are you ... of the Faith? Do you ... observe?” Karissa delighted in this news for some reason, not the usual response that one expects after centuries of persecution.

“Yes, if you don’t count the adultery that I’m committing right now with you, another man’s wife!” I teased her and slapped her bottom as she clinched my dick.

I then erupted inside her twat while she moaned out a soft and low climax. There was a knock at the door, and we hastened to freshen up a bit, so that even though anyone could tell what we just did, they didn’t have any proof with which to confront us. The flight attendant who saw us playfully wagged her finger at both of us and licked her lips before grabbing one of my buns on the way out. Then Karissa handed the lady her panties and she brought the pair to her nose to sniff them, winking at both of us before closing the door behind her.

“You still have your wedding band, you know. That’s like a red flag to a bull in some women’s cases. They love chasing married men. Don’t let the ladies fool you with their feigned outrage. A cheating husband is the ultimate badass, because while he still chases skirts, he manages to provide for a wife and family as well. He’s the best of both worlds, at least to ladies like her. She’ll let you into her knickers in a heartbeat. Ladies love to poach each other’s game, too,” Karissa reassured me, sitting down next to me again and doing her best to remind me of my cum still squishing in her cunt.

“Speaking of knickers, she has yours now,” I reminded her, even as she laughed and kissed me very hard on the mouth.

“I hope that she wears them at some point. I love the thought of some other cunny brushed up against my knickers, getting my cunny juice all over her! Maybe I should borrow hers someday and feel her juices on me, right? I love the thought of her juices and mine mixing together inside both of us! Maybe we should have a threesome someday, or even a foursome including my husband! I would especially love to watch you bugger him some time!” Karissa whispered to me.

“Yes, but would he enjoy that?” I wondered softly.

“Oh, trust me, he would. I’ve found his smut. I know very well what that little pansy loves! He is a pansy, but he’s my pansy, savvy? I adore him for who and what he is, and I would love for him to get some strange, too,” Karissa made it clear that she had no shortage of affection for her man, whatever escapades she might have with me or someone else.

We were soon engrossed in the movie that she suggested for us, and that took a bit more time, losing track until I saw a dainty lightly brush her shoulder. It was the same flight attendant, taking our orders for our in-flight refreshment. I didn’t typically drink on flights, as the booze was usually quite overpriced. Besides, I didn’t want to risk being too plastered to board the plane on my trip from the Big Apple to Phoenix. Even so, I didn’t resist Karissa’s urge to get us both some Scotch and soda. After cleaning out the accounts, I could absolutely afford it.

I saw the mischief in the flight attendant’s eyes as she handed Karissa a pair of her own soaked underwear, as if to say that she was now wearing hers. It appeared that my new friend the ticket agent would get her wish after all. Both of them also slipped me their phone numbers and social media info, while Karissa gestured that she would like mine. I grinned and gave it to her, after which the flight attendant checked it, added me to her contacts, and went back to work. I had the sneaking suspicion that I would have at least two booty calls in the future. I could certainly use that on the cusp of divorce or annulment, either way, right?