Chapter 3

The rain swept in from the ocean, a gray shroud, spattering on sand and stucco.

Inside the condo, the sizzle of the first drops landing on hot glass had changed to a drumbeat. As the rain continued, water cascaded off the roofs, splashing down the architectural obstructions.

Lucy was the first to wake up. She smiled when she turned over to see Steve sleeping next to her, still unaware. But she didn't tarry, speeding to the master suite's bathroom.

At the same time, downstairs, Sam rolled out of Bobbi Jo's embrace and padded to the small bathroom off the patio that they shared.

Back on the main floor, Steve blinked, smacked his lips, patted the empty space next to him in bed. Scratching in various spots, he walked toward the bathroom. Finding it occupied, he shuffled out into the kitchen and to the half-bath there.

As he was shutting that door, Lucy emerged from the master bedroom. She slipped past the sofa bed, climbed the stairs and entered her bedroom.

As her bedroom door clicked shut, the one across the hall opened. Pete, a quizzical look on his face, turned his head to scan the corridor before he went to the bathroom at the far end.

One floor down, Paula awoke. Throwing aside the covers, she stumbled to the master suite, blinking and rubbing her eyes. The door closed behind her and the sound of a shower joined the rain's chatter.

On the floor below that, Sam came back from the toilet and pulled clothes out of several drawers. Bobbi Jo sat up and turned to her. "What's that noise?" the older woman asked sleepily.

"Rain," Sam said, pulling on a pair of black panties.

Bobbi Jo groaned. "The perfect ending. Think we'll be stuck inside all day?"

"Maybe," Sam said, shimmying into a tight pair of red shorts. "Maybe we'll all have to entertain ourselves. Who knows what we'll do?" She laughed as she pulled on a belly-baring T-shirt.

Sam wasn't laughing.

As they were talking, on the top floor, Randall had kissed Lucy but then seemed struck by a more urgent need. He flew out of the bedroom and almost ran into the closed bathroom door, then tumbled downstairs only to find the bathroom there in use as well. He knocked.

"In a minute," Steve said.

Randall sat on the sofa bed, legs crossed, tapping his foot. When Steve came out, the other man rushed past him. Steve walked into the master bedroom as Paula stepped out of the bathroom toweling off her hair.

"Quite a night, last night," he said, smiling.

"What?" She looked to the room's big window overlooking the beach. Rain was sheeting down the glass. "Oh. Yeah. Well, we had a dry spell, I guess."

Steve chuckled. "I'll say. But we're making up for it now!"

Paula stared at him. "Whatever," she said, leaving the room.

Paula felt like an animal in a cage. The rain stayed with them all day. The house took on the odor of mildewed mackerel.

Everyone else seemed to be keyed up, too. When Sam proposed a drive to town, they all piled into the two cars and took off -- only to find everything shut down. "It's Sunday, don't you know," an old woman cawed at them. "Day of rest!"

The only action at all, in fact, was at the airport. When they tried to confirm their return flight for the next day, they ran into a crowd of natives and nearby islanders milling around the unmanned airline counter. "Don't you know," said a bearded guy somewhere between 30 and death, "been no plane since Thursday. Broke down, it did."

Paula was apoplectic. "What are we supposed to do? Our flight's at 11 tomorrow morning!"

"Maybe you go, maybe you don't," the guy said. "If they get the plane fixed, they gonna fly all night to catch up, they say."

Paula was slightly mollified. "So we'll be OK?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no. But relax, pretty lady. Worse come worst, you stay on Mestife maybe more. That's not bad."

They went back to the cars with tails dragging.

Back at the condo, Steve and Bobbi Jo pulled into the garage seconds apart. Bobbi Jo got the space closest to her room and said she was going to pack a suitcase right away. The rest of them went upstairs to discover that a kitchen window had blown open, letting rain pour in. Having to lend a hand in the mopping up did not improve Paula's mood.

In fact, almost everyone else discovered a crucial task to do elsewhere, so she got stuck mopping with only Sam to help. It was sloppy work. The rain and wind had also brought in bits of trash and sand. "We have to get it clean," Bobbi Jo had helpfully pointed out before disappearing downstairs, "or we'll lose our security deposit."

By the time they had the kitchen clean again, Paula was wondering why they hadn't just said screw the money. She hadn't done work like this since -- since never, she realized.

And it wasn't just the dirt. With the windows closed against the rain and no air conditioning -- not even a fan -- she and Sam were soaking in sweat.

For Sam, that meant her yellow T-shirt was plastered to her ample breasts. Paula found herself staring at the erect nipples. There was something about the woman's dark skin, Paula thought, especially now that it had a sheen like polished marble.

She was still thinking about Sam when Steve, Pete and Randall tromped in from the manly task of cleaning the grill -- a task so arduous it took all three of them and the last of their booze. Most of the rest of the daylight hours were spent packing or finding other excuses to get away from as many people as possible. Dinner was remnants of anything that hadn't already spoiled or gone sour.

Night came early, and it was blacker than ever. The group had come together at dusk, drawn to the guttering flame of their last candle.

Paula was sitting on a stool off to one side, worrying silently about the next day's flight. She couldn't take another day in Mestife, she just couldn't.

Two things happened at once.

Someone's hand slipped down her back and inside her shorts, squeezing her ass.

And a faint buzzing that had been growing louder turned into a full-throated roar overhead.

Of the two, the plane's return excited her more. She joined in a group cheer -- one so enthusiastic that it blew out the candle.

In the pitch black that immediately descended, the hand in Paula's pants slithered around to her front and plunged into her pussy, while another hand flew up her T-shirt and squeezed her tit. Just as quickly, the hands were gone.

In the next instant, she saw Steve on his knees, holding a match to the tiny stub of candle. The flame went out before the wick caught. In the match's flare, Paula had seen Pete across the room, next to Lucy.

Steve tried again, but the matches were too wet. From somewhere in the gloom Bobbi Jo's voice suggested they just call it a night. Amid general agreement, a whisper floated into Paula's ear. "Meet me in the hot tub. You won't need a suit."

It sounded like Sam. It had to be Sam. But in the darkness, Paula couldn't see a thing. When she reached out, there was no one there.

Several minutes of confusion followed, a black tableau filled with thumps and muttered apologies. Paula made her way to her bedroom without major injury, quickly shucked her clothes and pulled on a robe. Steve, or at least a shadow that sounded like him, walked in. Paula told him she was going downstairs to retrieve a few things she'd stowed away in the car by mistake.

It was a feeble excuse, but she was hoping he'd just nod off and never know how long she was gone. She left quickly and padded downstairs. It was tough to negotiate between the cars in the dark, and she banged into something. A door somewhere squeaked open. She heard Bobbi Jo calling: "Someone there? Sam? You OK?"

Paula held her breath. Bobbi Jo called out again, louder. At last Sam answered and the door squeaked closed. Paula made it to the hot tub with only a couple of curses as unseen obstacles attacked her.

She found the tub by poking her arms in front of her like feelers and climbed in, slipping off her robe. She shivered for a minute before she adjusted to the lukewarm water. There was silence.

"Lucy?" she whispered. "Are you... Oh." Her fingers brushed soft skin.

"Sssh," Lucy hissed. "I was afraid it was Bobbi Jo. I think she's suspicious."

"What if she --"

"She won't, I think. She can't be sure. And, besides, she doesn't own me, and she knows it. I think her attitude is don't get mad, get even."

"Get even? How? I'm here and I'm pretty sure Lucy's getting it on with Pete tonight. God knows they've both tried."

"There's more than one sex, you know."

"Bobbi Jo with Randall? She couldn't get past the snores."

Sam giggled. "Didn't you bring a man with you?"

"Steve?" Paula almost shouted, then quieted back to a whisper. "Oh, please. He's no threat."

"You never know," Sam said.

"Enough talking," Paula murmured.

Their lips met. Under the water, fingers found havens.

Sam was clearly more experienced than Lucy had been. Indeed, Paula thought, even she was learning a thing or two.

But passion couldn't overcome discomfort. The tub's water was giving her a chill. They got out. Sam spread towels on a beach chair. Paula was still a bit cold as a breeze brought some of the rain under the overhang that sheltered the tub, but as they settled into a 69, Sam soon took care of warming her up.

There was something marvelous, Paula told herself, about coupling with a person who understood exactly what you were feeling. Sam's tongue didn't stab into her like a faux penis or lap at her like a dog. It was a precise instrument, unfolding multiple layers of sensuality.

Her hands roamed the younger woman's lithe body. Though Paula would admit to no imperfections in herself, she did admire the taut muscles in Sam's thighs, the sinuous curves of her back. And, especially, that ass -- round and almost plump, so in contrast to what she thought of as her own trim rump. It was a delight to squeeze and feel the ripe flesh bulge between her spread fingers.

All in all, a grand bit of sex -- so grand that Paula let out with moans once or twice before Sam could shush her. Let Bobbi Jo find out, she thought, I don't care. Nothing could interfere with something this sweet.

Then it got even better. A warmth welled up from her loins, turning her entire body to a ruby-glowing coal. The tremors started and in a flash transformed into wholesale convulsions. Vaguely she was aware of Sam coming on top of her, but little could penetrate her euphoric haze.

As the glow wore off, though, Paula became aware of the mist again. While Sam scampered back to her room, Paula trailed after, tugging on her dark, fleecy robe.

As she passed Sam and Bobbi Jo's room, she heard the young woman shouting: "I knew it!" She momentarily wondered about it, but in the next second she stumbled into something sharp and noisy. When she got back to her feet, cursing, she just searched out the stairs and went up to the main floor.

It hadn't gotten any brighter, but it had gotten more dangerous. A suitcase -- she identified it by the handle that dug into her shin as she landed on it -- tackled her two steps into the living room.

She was clambering up when the snoring a few feet away ended in a snort and the sound of clanging springs.

"What's that?" Randall's voice came nearer. "Who's -- Lucy?" His hands closed on the bathrobe Paula was wearing -- the robe, she remembered, that she'd borrowed from Lucy the night before. She kept quiet and thought furiously.

"Lucy? It is you, is--" Randall's question was smothered by a kiss.

They tumbled onto the sofa bed in a tangle of arms and legs, robe and pajamas flying off. They wasted little time on preliminaries; Randall was obviously horny and Paula was afraid of doing something unLucylike. So in no time at all she was on her back, legs spread, and Randall's cock was splitting her pussy lips.

"Wow, you're already so wet," he said. "I can go right in. Oh, baby, yeah!"

They fucked wildly, making the sofa bed's springs screech and squeal in protest. Randall's technique, such as it was, involved often stiffening his legs and torso while his ass pumped up and down with jackhammer frequency. It was not the most stimulating lovemaking, so Paula ad-libbed, wiggling her body underneath him.

He surprised her by coming far too quickly and trying to roll off. Paula clamped her thighs around him, dug her fingers into his fleshy middle and held tight. Randall groaned as she ground her pussy against his softening cock.

"Lucy, Lucy," he pleaded, "no more!"

Paula gritted her teeth and held on. Eventually she was rewarded with a mild resurrection. Rolling him onto his back, she rode him hard. Only when she added her finger to the action, though, was she able to touch off a relatively inconsequential orgasm. It took forever, but in comparison to the fireworks she'd expected, it was a damp squib.

That time it was Randall who wanted more, but Paula pushed him away and tiptoed away.

She walked across the kitchen and pulled open a window. A faint, salty breeze cooled her sweaty skin. The rain had stopped. With the planes flying, at least they stood a good chance of getting out of Mestife after all, she thought.

Randall was calling to his wife. Paula eased onto the windowsill, keeping quiet.

Poor Lucy, she thought -- that was what she called her best fuck?

It seemed like an eternity before snores were rattling from the living room. The coast was clear. She softly stalked toward her bedroom, wondering why she was bothering to be quiet. Those snores could mask the sound of a tank battalion. How could Lucy live with him?

Paula was still shaking her head when something smacked into her from behind and she stumbled, suddenly realizing with a lurch that she'd gotten confused in the dark and stepped toward the stairs.

Steve rolled to the side of the bed and swung his legs down. Whatever Paula had gone to retrieve, it was taking an awful long time. Should he go down to check?

He dithered, feet dangling. There had been some odd noises. On the other hand, she always said he was overly protective; she'd virtually banned him from calling home from work.

Still... With a sigh, he dropped his feet to the floor, padded out past Randall's snores and went downstairs.

Damn, he thought, it really is dark. He floundered around, bumping into one thing after another. Softly he called out his wife's name, not wanting to disturb Sam and Bobbi Jo.

Without warning, a body was pressed to his, warm lips were covering his face in kisses, soft hands encircled his neck. "Paula," he murmured when they came up for air, "what -- why?"

Another insistent kiss was the only answer.

Such an aggressive approach was very unusual for his wife, but Steve heartily approved. This was a very unusual weekend, after all. And being pursued in the dark was a definite turn-on. His cock was rising. Feeling the firm, naked body under his fingers only aroused him more. His dick popped through the fly of his cotton bottoms, landing on a patch of hair before a hand grasped it.

She squeezed and pulled until he was hard as rock. All the while, insistent lips covered his face in kisses.

Then he was pushed back until he felt the smooth metal and glass of a car pressing into his back. She reached above his shoulders, taking hold of the car's roof, climbing on top of him. His cock prodded at something wet and hot.

Steve used one hand to hold her ass; the other guided his dick into place. He was going to slide it over her slit, tease her a little, but she was having none of that. As soon as his prick touched her cunt she let herself down onto it, letting it drive deep inside her.

He groaned into her mouth. She was wiggling up and down, giving him sensations he'd never had before. Her slippery pussy walls even seemed to grab at him.

"Paula, Paula, oh, sweet Paula," he whispered. "I love you so much!"

Again she answered with a kiss, her tongue pushing into his mouth, his lips devouring him.

When he tried to speak once more, she shushed him, and she squeezed her thighs around him, stilling his thrusts.

In the silence he heard rustling, someone talking -- it sounded like Bobbi Jo's friend Sam -- and a loud clatter. After the thumps of someone going upstairs, it was quiet again. And she was at it again, bouncing on his dick. He humped back at her, like old times, he thought, fucking like minks anywhere, anytime. Like they hadn't a care in the world.

All too soon, he drove deep into her once, twice, and a spurt of cum pumped into her quivering cunt. He sighed, sagged against the car, and became painfully aware that a door handle had been digging into the small of his back. He let her off and put a hand to his back, rubbing the spot. By the time he was able to stand up straight, she was gone. He called softly and got no answer, but then he heard the muffled sound of a shower. Stiffly, he started upstairs.