Chapter 1

Planning the Trip

My wife and I found the travel agency in the building directory, in tiny letters, room 617. It was a large industrial building, in a crowded old part of town. The elevator creaked as it took us to the sixth floor, the dimly lit hallway made it hard to read the door numbers. However, once we opened the door and stepped inside, the small office was bright and modern, almost too bright. The woman behind the desk was pale and blonde, her clothes professional and tight-fitting. She greeted us with a big smile.

“Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable.” She spoke with a bit of an Eastern European accent. “I believe this your first time using our agency?”

“Yes.” answered my lovely wife, Helen.

“In that case, welcome! And will this be your first experience with sex tourism?”

“Yes, that also.”

We sat in the comfortable chains. There were posters of tropical scenery on the walls, and large books of photographs on the desk.

The woman rested her hand on one of the books. “And what kind of place would you like to go? In particular, do you have a preference for a specific race or color?”

“What are our options?” I asked.

“For standard white sex tourism, we work with a Mediterranean island, off the coast of Croatia. It is stocked with sex workers mostly from Ukraine and other ex-Soviets. There are no under-aged workers there, since it is so close to European enforcement. If you are looking for under-aged, we can make other arrangements if you want white people, or there are options in Asia and Africa.”

“What counts as under-aged?” asked my wife. “We’re both attracted to women and teenage girls, but we don’t want children. We’re not pedophiles.”

“Under-aged here refers to under the age of puberty - roughly 12 years old and younger.”

“Um, no! We don’t want anyone that young!” I emphasized.

“Not a problem.” The woman behind the desk smiled at us. “There are many options.”

“Do you have somewhere tropical?” asked my wife. “I’d like something a little more exotic than Ukrainian girls.”

“I’d like somewhere we can enjoy their services, casually.” I put in. “Not just inside a hotel, but perhaps outside, like on a beach?”

“Outdoor sex is a turn-on for him,” explained my wife.

“That is not a problem. Several of our resorts offer abundant outdoor opportunities,” offered the woman cheerfully. She pushed one of the photobooks in front of us and opened it. “This one is in Micronesia. The people look a little bit Asian, somewhat like Polynesians, dark skin but not as dark as Melanesians. We have an excellent island there, perfect for open or casual sex.”

Helen and I leaned forward to look. The first page was snapshots of Micronesian women in traditional clothes. They looked very pretty and they were smiling for the camera. The next page had more women, now topless; some looked teenaged while other were fully adult. There was variety in the breasts and the body shapes, mostly medium to plump; no girls were skinny. The next couple pages had them fully naked and posing in provocative poses. To my pleasure, many of these were clearly outdoors, on the porches of native-looking houses, or even completely outside leaning or posing against coconut palms.

“How much does it cost?” asked Helen. “Do we pay the women per sex act, or is it all inclusive?”

“Most of the vacation is all-inclusive, but you will tip them also. It is $6000 per visitor, which covers your food and accommodations. The tip depends on the service. At our Micronesian resort, is generally $5 for oral sex, $10 for fucking, more for anything unusual. For the island economy, this is a very reasonable amount for them.”

“$6000 for each of us?” I asked.

“No, your wife is half-price.” The woman smiled. “They don’t get as many women tourists, and they are considered easier.”

“So I can expect full service from them, no taboo on woman-woman sex?” asked Helen.

“Absolutely full service. The women at all our resorts are fully trained in the complete range of foreign sexual tastes.”

“So,” said Helen, “$6000 for my husband, plus $3000 for me, plus tips, and travel. The South Pacific is a really long way to go, so that’s an expensive ticket.” She paused. “Do you have anything closer or less expensive?”

“Yes, certainly. There is a resort in Africa which is half the price, it is also tropical and exotic, and fully stocked with an even larger number and variety of women. Flights connecting from the UK are quite reasonable. The expected tips are also smaller. A $5 tip will cover any sex act you can imagine.” She set the Micronesian photobook aside and brought out another book, this one full of pictures of Africa.

“That sounds good,” she said. “How about you, Trevor? Care to fuck a lot of African women?”

“I’m not picky,” I said with a grin. “Do they speak much English at the African resort?”

“It varies. This resort accepts workers from all over the local region, and the longer they are at the resort, the more they learn English All of them will know all the sex words in English, German, Japanese, and a few other languages, but only some women will be fully conversational.”

“What about pregnancy and STDs?” asked Helen.

“The African resort is on an island in one of Africa’s large lakes. Everyone on the island is tested regularly, and access to the island is strictly controlled. You’ll both be tested for STDs at the island’s clinic on arrival, and you’ll wait a day for results before you can begin to enjoy their services. As for pregnancy, some of the women are on birth control, some are already pregnant, and a few might welcome a half-foreign baby and they will tell you so. It’s up to them; as far as you’re concerned, you don’t have to worry about where your husband ejaculates.”

The woman turned the page in the photobook. It was full of African women engaged in sex with foreign tourists, on their backs, bent over, standing up. The camera angle obscured the identity of the foreigners, but left nothing to the imagination for what sex acts these women would happily provide. A few photos showed beautiful dark African girls with their heads between the legs of pale European women.

My wife tore her eyes away from the photobook and looked to me with a huge smile; she looked a little flushed and she was breathing heavy. “Yes.” she said eagerly.

I reached for my checkbook.

On the way home, we were so turned on that my wife undid her seat belt to bend over and sucked my cock as I drove; we got inside our own house and didn’t even make it to the bedroom, frantically fucking on the living room furniture, until we each came the first time, then we made it to the bed for a slower, longer fuck.

It took two weeks to arrange the trip. It was hard to focus on work, with my mind already imagining our destination. Helen and I talked about it each day, which usually ended up with us in the bedroom, or the living room if we didn’t get that far. We are both very highly sexed.

“You realize, this is perfect for us,” she said in the car on the way to the airport. I was driving, and she was looking out the window, her seat slightly reclined, her hand between her legs, under her skirt. “You know how you are, always wanting to have sex for hours, and I eventually get sore.”

“Yeah. I should be able to find out just how far my endurance goes, and fuck all day! And it’s perfect for you, too. My tongue gets tired after a while licking your clit, but at the resort you should be able to get enthusiastic cunt-lapping for as long as you want.”

“And as many women as I want. God, I’m getting so horny just thinking about it. The same for you, endless cock-sucking. After the first couple times you come, you just keep going, and my jaw eventually needs a rest. At the resort you could just go from one hot mouth to the next and keep going forever.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I moaned happily, imagining it.

Arrival

Two long flights got us to the regional airport. The air was thick and warm, and the time difference make us groggy. A driver held up our names on a card, escorted us to a Range Rover, and drove for three hours, past endless dry fields and shacks, over a small mountain, and across a wide plain down to the shore of the lake. In the late afternoon sun, the landscape was beautiful and barren. The lake was so large it could have been the ocean, yet its surface was calm. Porters carried our bags down to a pier and loaded us only a small boat, which took only a half hour to arrive at the island.

The sun was setting as we walked up the pier. A group of people waiting for us, an older woman in an elegant African attire, two men that looked security, and two lovely young women in soft colorful robes. All of them were smiling.

“Welcome!” said the older woman.

“To fantasy island?” said my wife softly. I giggled.

“I am Mrs. Kalungu.” She made no motion to shake our hands, so we stood there. “I am the manager of this resort. I hope your trip was uneventful?” She spoke with a deep, rich voice and an amazing accent, unplaceable. We nodded. “Good! Follow me to the guest hotel.”

We walked with the group down a gravel road with mesquite trees. Mrs. Kalungu made conversation with us about our trip, the time difference, and the weather. We approached a large building with immaculate and extensive landscaping. Mrs. Kalungu explained about the number of rooms and guests. I was looking at the young women walking with us, the way their hips swayed. My wife noticed where I was looking and smiled.

“Just through those doors is the clinic, they are expecting you.” We went in and were quickly checked out, then sent back into the lounge. Mrs. Kalungu waved us over and sat us down, then she started to explain about the resort.

“Africa is a very large place,” she said, “but much of it is not suitable for tourism. There are wars, and religious fighting, and disease. This island is a sanctuary from all those troubles, both for our guests and for our sex workers.”

“Where do the women come from?” asked my wife.

“A great many women in this part of Africa are left without support, when they lose a husband to war or other causes. Many end up in refugee camps where their life is not good and they have few options. We find the women who want a better life, and do not mind having sex with foreigners. In fact, we seek out women who enjoy all kinds of sex very much. For variety, for our guests, we look for women from other regions and many ethnic groups.”

“Do the women have to leave their families?” asked my wife with concern.

“We avoid that when possible. A woman can bring her children, or parents, as long as they are all healthy and willing to come. Not everyone who comes here is a sex worker. Relatives can work in their hotel or the fields. You will know who the sex workers are, by the small pouch they carry around their neck.” Mrs. Kalungu motioned to the two young women beside her, and I noticed they wore what looked like small leather pouches. “The pouch is to receive your tips. If a woman is not available for sex, she will simply not wear her pouch that day. Or she may say no when you ask her for any specific sex act. But she is not likely to say no.”

The two young women giggled. I was already fantasizing about pushing my cock into their curvy, dark bodies in various ways.

“So we should ask before doing anything?” I asked.

“Ask before penetration. If you just want to touch a woman, you don’t need to ask.”

“That seems simple.” said Helen. “So, do women stay here for life, or do they leave?”

“They leave when they want. Everyone here is free.” She smiled. “Free as in freedom, but not as in price. They stay to earn money, and for education. We operate a school that teaches English and some job skills. Our resort has been operating for twenty years, and many women have left with a lot of money and skills, to find a good life in a city. We even have services that support them in their transition to the outside world and set them up with jobs and businesses. That is what your money pays for: a better life for these women and their families. Also, some for security, and some to the local government to look the other way.” She smiled.

“So we can have sex with the workers ... anywhere?” I asked.

“He likes public sex.” added my wife.

“Yes, anywhere. That means that the entire resort is, effectively, clothing optional, and of course sex optional. Do not be surprised if you see other guests, especially our many German guests, walking around nude and having sex in various places. And of course you are welcome to wear whatever you like, or nothing at all. However, we do recommend some protection from the hot African sun.”

“How about ... kinky stuff?” asked my wife.

“Just ask. All our workers know all the words for sex acts and fetishes, so they can simply tell you yes or no.”

“Anal sex?” I asked.

“There are packets of lubricant in every guest room, in convenient sizes. If you offer to use it, most of the women will be agreeable.”

“And just to be sure, they have no trouble ... eating my pussy?” asked my wife.

“No trouble at all. Every single woman comes here in the full knowledge that she will be expected to perform, and even enjoy, every sex act with a man or woman. You may of course ask them to have sex with each other, as well, if that is something you would enjoy watching. We train them on many particular skills, not the least of which is oral sex on a woman. I have done a lot of that training myself.” Mrs. Kalungu smiled, and we smiled with her.

After a few more questions, we were directed to our room. We showered and fell asleep exhausted.

Day 1

The morning light woke me. Helen was already up and moving around the hotel room, wearing just a thin robe. After five years of marriage, I am still very much in love, and lust, with my wife. We have our ups and downs but sex has always been a strong point of our relationship. We are tightly bound emotionally, but I learned early our courtship how open-minded Helen is sexually when she invited me to have a threesome with a friend of hers. I also learned how comfortable she is having sex with women. It might have been a kind of test. We had hot three-person sex, and I stayed emotionally focused on Helen, and won her heart. We were engaged soon thereafter, and had occasionally included another person in our married sex life ... but nothing like what was in store for us at this resort.

I got up and went through my morning routine, unpacked a little and put on shorts. There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Kalungu came in with the same two women from the night before, in different but similarly colorful outfits.

“Welcome, Trevor, Helen,” purred Mrs. Kalungu. “You passed your clinic tests, so you are ready to enjoy the pleasures of this resort. Let me introduce you to your greeters.” She waved to the women.

“My name is Shasha,” said the taller one, her spoken English accented but confident. “I’m 22 years old, from the Republic of the Congo, and I’ve been at the resort for four years.” She giggled. “I like sex, and I find both of you very attractive.”

“My name is Goma,” said the shorter one. “I’m 21, and Shasha is my older sister. We came here together and have learned English well, which lets us do the job of greeter. And ... oh, I like sex very much. Every kind of sex.”

“If you like, they can be your guides for the first day,” explained Mrs. Kalungu.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” agreed Helen.

“Very well. I’ll leave you in good hands. Enjoy our resort.” Mrs. Kalungu nodded slightly then left.

There was a brief, awkward moment, with Helen and I sitting on the bed, and the two young women facing us, smiling.

“So ... we can have sex with you?” I managed to say. They both giggled.

“Yes, of course.” said Goma.

“Or maybe you want to go down to breakfast first? We are available to show you around.” added Shasha.

My wife smiled. “Well, all this talk of sex has me incredibly horny. Shasha, would you eat my pussy?”

“Yes, ma’am, with pleasure.”

Helen smiled, lay back on the bed and opened her robe. Shasha smiled, went over to the bed, knelt between my wife’s legs, and kissed my wife’s pussy. A wet, long, tongue kiss. Helen moaned.

“Well, that seems simple.” I said, as Goma drew near to me. “Um, do we ... take your clothes off? Do I kiss you? I really don’t know how this works.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled sweetly. “You can take my clothes off, or have me undress for you. And you can kiss me, if you enjoy that. I do enjoy kissing along with everything else. Simply tell me.” She was right in front of me. I looked up and down her features, her dark, pretty face, wide nose, short-trimmed natural hair. I reached to put my hands on her clothes, and she helped wiggle so that her top fell away and her breasts were exposed. My hands moved over them, feeling their weight, their perkiness, the way the nipples felt between my fingers. Moving my hands up, I pulled her lips to mine and kissed her. She carefully returned my tongue in her mouth with her own. I was incredibly hard. It was easy for me to wiggle out of my shorts, lay back onto the bed, and direct her head down to my cock. Her lips and soft tongue sucked me into her mouth, and she took it quite deep, with obvious skill. It felt fantastic.

There we were, my wife and I, side by side on the bed, barely minutes into our vacation, as two young African women pleasured us. I reached out and Helen reached back, clasping our hands and looking over at each other.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” gasped Helen. I knew the tone of her voice well; it meant she was already close to orgasm.

“I can’t believe it either.” I felt Goma’s mouth working me up and down, looking down to see her obviously enjoying her work. “She’s so good at what she’s doing.”

“So is her sister,” gasped Helen. “Oh my God. I’m coming already!“

After a few minutes of writhing, Helen pushed Shasha’s head away. “Too much! Give me a minute to recover.” She rolled towards me to watch. “You gonna come in her mouth?”

“I’ve been struggling not to come too soon. But you know...”

“ ... the first one is always slippery.” Helen giggled. “Go ahead, may as well. Does she like to eat cum?”

“My sister loves to eat cum,” answered Shasha, “and so do I.”

“Well then, I think you should come in both their mouths,” concluded Helen.

“Yes,” offered Shasha, bending over to put her face next to Goma’s bobbing head, looking up at me with a smile. “Please, let my sister and I eat your cum together.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I started to come. Goma held it in her mouth just long enough to get the first blast, then quickly pulled back and let Shasha suck hard to get the rest.

“That was hot.” gasped Helen. “I’m dying to watch my husband fuck you ... but I think we’d better go down to breakfast.”

“Yes, give me a minute!” I gasped, chuckling. “Um ... do we tip you now?”

“Yes, please.” Goma loosened the drawstring of the leather pouch around her neck. Helen rummaged for her pocket. We had exchanged hard currency for local coins before, so we knew that one coin per sex act was the standard tip. Helen handed each of them a coin, which they put into their pouches and smiled.

Slowly, my wife and I straightened our clothes, and our guides led us downstairs.

The hotel’s dining area was buzzing with activity. A few dozen international guests sat eating, surrounded by at least as many attractive African women. Some people were partly dressed; a few of the guests were naked. Looking around, I noticed that a large number of the guests looked like, as Mrs. Kalungu had said, German men.

Shasha and Goma guided us around the food tables and we learned about everything that was available. There was European and American breakfast that was familiar to us, and a local breakfast of legumes and flatbreads that was less familiar. Shasha said that the German guests rarely ate the local foods, which made me want to try them, so I did, and they were delicious. Helen liked them too. We sat and ate pleasantly with our guides.

“So what’s next?” asked Helen as we pushed the breakfast away. “Up to our room for more sex? Or shall we look around?”

“Why don’t we let them show us around,” I suggested, “and then we can fuck somewhere outside.”

“Mmmm, that sounds good,” purred Helen encouragingly. “Girls, is that OK?”

“Of course,” said Shasha, as Goma giggled. “We can give you a tour, and you can fuck us anywhere and anytime you like.”

We went up to our room to get the recommended sun hats and sunscreen. First we got a tour of the building, through the meal hall to the lounges and the large veranda. There were two couples having sex on the veranda, both pale white men being ridden by naked, dark-skinned, full-figured African women. Helen and I smiled at each other at the open display of sexuality. After touring the building, they led us out around the landscaped grounds of the resort, along a wide trail that led around trees, flowers, and benches. One of the benches had a man with two half-naked women between his legs, sucking his cock, which made me smile and remember my morning.

The grounds of the resort were set on a plateau above the rest of the island, and a hill behind the main building was yet higher. At the end of the grounds was a stone wall, edged with flowers. The path led right up to the stone wall and there was a view looking down across the island, with a network of dusty roads and trails, buildings, and fields.

“Those are the bungalows,” Shasha was explaining and pointing. “And those are the school buildings. Some workers live nearby, both in modern buildings and also traditional huts, and there are buildings further away where more workers live.”

I moved behind Shasha and ran my hands down the curves of her clothed body. “This would be a beautiful place to fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled and pushed out her chest proudly. “How would you like me?”

“I think you should strip for us, slowly.” suggested Helen, then she smiled big. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea. Why doesn’t your sister strip you for us, slowly?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Goma giggled and moved to embrace her sister. The two of them stood right on front of us, by the wall. Goma moved her hands down Shasha’s shoulders and slowly loosened her top.

“These are my older sister’s breasts,” explained Goma as they came into view. She held them and jiggled them in her hands.

“They’re beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you,” said Shasha with a smile.

I had already removed my shorts, my hard cock springing forward, and my wife reached over to gently stroke me.

Goma peeled away more clothes, running her hands down her sister’s dark smooth belly, then turned her around and slowly lifted the long flowing brightly-colored fabric. “And here is my older sister’s ass.”

“Very hot, a very fine ass,” said Helen as we took in the sight of Shasha’s firm, round, dark buttocks.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Goma ran her hands all over her sister and loosened the remaining clothes. Shasha spread her legs slightly and Goma ran one hand down there. “And here, is my older sister’s pussy.” She giggled. “She is already wet for you.”

My eyebrows went up. Goma didn’t seem to have any hesitation about touching her sister’s pussy. I made a mental note of that.

“Let me feel.” Helen moved to them and ran her hands down Shasha’s body, feeling between her legs. “Sure enough, she’s hot and wet.”

“Excellent.” I moved to them, turned Shasha around and bent her naked body forward so her hands were comfortable on the rock wall. I moved behind her and she pushed her hips back invitingly.

“Allow me,” said Helen, grabbing my cock and leading it into Shasha’s pussy as I moved forward and sank in.

For the next few minutes, I focused on fucking. Shasha moaned and pushed back. Her pussy was tight, strong, wet and ready. Beside me, I was aware of Helen directing Goma to her knees and pulling the young woman’s face into her pussy. The hot, African morning sun beat down on us. The scent of flowers hung in the warm tropical air, along with the scent of sunscreen and fresh pussy. I held Shasha’s hips for leverage and give it to her strong and steady. There was the sound of birds, the sound of flesh slapping, and the sound of my wife and both girls moaning, each in a different way. Helen, moaning with pleasure as getting her large clit sucked. Goma, humming with her mouth full. Shasha, gasping moans as I fucked her with increasingly depth and speed.

“Are you going to let yourself come?” asked Helen after a long delicious time.

“I’ve been considering it. I know I’ve got to pace myself.”

“I know you’ve got pretty good control, after the first time.”

“Yes, and you know I can go for hours.”

“God, don’t I know it!” Helen chuckled.

“I’m going to hold myself back. What about you, Shasha? Can you come this way, getting fucked standing up?”

“I have come once already, sir!” she gasped. “If you keep going, I may come again.”

“Well, then, let’s keep going.”

By the time Shasha came, more obviously this time, I had come close to coming several times, and carefully backed down each time, varying my strokes and the angle of entry to her pussy, modulating my own passion. I had to juggle mentally, to be fully aware that I was outdoors, balls-deep in a beautiful 22-year-old African woman, with my wife moaning encouragement, and not lose it. Shasha’s orgasm was strong enough that her knees wobbled. I stopped thrusting and helped hold her up, her pussy clenching around me.

“That’s it for now. I gotta save myself,” I said, pulling after Shasha had regained her footing.

“Would you like me to stay naked, sir?” she asked.

“No, I like watching you undress, and we can’t do that unless we keep dressing you.” I explained.

She giggled as I found my shorts. Helen let go of Goma’s head and straightened her clothes. I found coins in my pocket and gave one to each of them.

We walked around the grounds some more, saw some more sights and plants, and also a few other sexual couplings. The standard pairing seemed to be one guy with one or two African women. One guest was an Asian man, and he was fucking a woman with wide hips, doggy-style on a large blanket on the lawn, by a gazebo. He waved as we walked past.

“Takeshi,” he said, not slowing down on fucking his woman.

“I’m Helen, and this is Trevor,” answered my wife.

“Good to meet you,” he responded. As we walked past, I noticed that his cock was in the woman’s ass. I made a mental note.

I kept some form of erection all the way up to the resort building. Helen and I walked hand in hand, with the sisters walking in front of us. When we got up there, it still wasn’t quite time for lunch, so we went up to our room.

“I’d appreciate a fuck,” said Helen to me.

“Just you and me?” I asked. “Shall we send the girls away?”

“No, you know how much I love to have my nipples sucked in the middle of sex.”

“Yes, I do!” I swept her up in my arms and lay her out on the bed. Shasha and Goma came over and the three of us slowly undressed Helen’s body. I caressed each bit of skin as it became visible, and the girls followed my lead. After losing my shorts, I got between my wife’s legs. Helen was looking at me, my face, my body, and my cock, with a look of pure lust. I kissed my way up her body and pushed inside of her. For a long time, we fucked gently, just making love, almost forgetting our two sex workers.

My wife doesn’t usually come from straight fucking. She’s really partial to getting her pussy eaten instead, at least from the standpoint of orgasms. She likes fucking, and sometimes craves it, as she apparently did just then. She just doesn’t usually come that way.

She was getting really close when she pushed me up a bit, and motioned Shasha and Goma to us. Each one took one of my wife’s nipples in their mouths. Helen, almost incoherent with lust, told what to do, how to suck, and then gently bite, and then suck again. I kept up my firm, strong thrusts, seeking the tempo and angle that my wife liked best.

Finally, we succeeded. Helen’s vaginal orgasm crept up on her and rocked her body for a full minute. I almost lost it myself, but held back. Slowly, we untangled our bodies. I kissed my wife while Shasha and Goma, with just a wave my hand, eagerly took my cock, dripping with my wife’s orgasmic juices, into their mouths and sucked it clean.

We slowly dressed and went down for lunch. Sitting at the table across from Helen, I asked Goma if she could keep sucking my cock through lunch. She smiled and nodded, ducking under the table. Helen’s eyes sparkled, still glowing from sex, and gently teased me throughout the meal, knowing my cock was deep in a hot, eager mouth. It was, indeed, distracting, but also simply fun, to juggle my attention between the food, the conversation, and the blowjob.

As we sat there, a few women came by, clearly offering themselves for sex. Each of them wore the small leather pouch around their necks, indicating their availability. Tall, short, plump, skinny, with all sorts of different looks. Shasha explained again about all the surrounding countries, and the great variety of African languages, cultures, and ethnic groups.