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theGreatxIam

Darkness Considered as an Elemental Plot Device, or,
Lights Out
Part 3 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

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.

The sounds of sex made him smile. Randall and Lucy were
really going at it, he thought. But then he winced at a
twinge in his back. Knowing Paula could take a
half-hour easy in the shower, he thought longingly of
the relief a firm bed could give.

Lucy's! Of course, he realized; it would do the trick.
He got up the stairs somehow. After a bit of confusion
when he somehow went to the wrong door and almost
walked in on that hound, Pete, he got to the empty bed
and blissfully lay back.

And suddenly, there she was all over again. Lips
pressed to his, a soft hand on his cock. Even more
astonishing than the idea of Paula seeking him out
twice in one night was the notion that he could
respond.

But there it was, undeniable. A hard-on springing up
like a howitzer. Steve tried to thrust immediately, but
she wiggled so much he couldn't aim.

The encounter grew even more astonishing when those hot
lips began to move down. Down to his neck, little love
bites. Down to his chest, a trail of fiery kisses. Down
to his cock, pillow-soft lips touching him there. Steve
tried to speak but all that came out were inarticulate
animal noises. A tongue swirling around, hands jacking
him off -- he was afraid he'd blow his load right then,
and a third try would have been unthinkable.

But only the almost unthinkable happened -- he held
off, even as blast of pleasure rocketed through his
loins.  He held off, even as she swung around and
lowered her cunt to his mouth. He held off, even as she
slowly pressed her lips down, down, down his shaft
until -- sweet honey in the rock! -- she had all of his
dick in her mouth.

It was absolutely unprecedented, the whole night was.
Steve was so excited that he lapped at her pussy like a
wild dog, tongue flapping, poking in and out. His hands
squeezed her perfectly round ass, pulling her right
into his mouth. He could barely breath, but he didn't
care. It was too damn good to worry about something as
trivial as breathing.

And what she was doing to his cock! She seemed to know
every pressure point and just how much he could take
without going over the edge. It was too wonderful for
words.

He almost cried out when her lips pulled off his dick.
But then she was maneuvering again and something else
warm and wet -- and even tighter -- was surrounding his
shaft, swallowing him whole.

Steve at first just took what she had to give, letting
her set a leisurely pace. She sat erect, grinding her
hips onto him over and over as his hands caressed her
smooth waist, her proud tits. He said a silent prayer
that light would somehow sneak into the room. What he
wouldn't give to see the lusty sheen on Paula's face!
But the blackness continued to hug them like a blanket.

Steve's erection was setting all-time records for
longevity, and it inspired him to creative heights as
well. He rolled over on top of her and she came almost
at once, a rocking, moaning climax. As soon as she
settled down he swung her heels up to his shoulders,
squeezing her box tight as he plunged into it again and
again.

Next he spooned her, sliding his pole in from behind as
he held one of her legs straight up in the air. She
came a second time.

He rolled her onto her chest and pulled her down until
her legs were hanging off the bed. Standing with his
knees pressed against the side of the mattress, Steve
plowed into her fertile delta yet again.

Finally he tugged her off the bed and swept her into
his arms. Staggering a little, he cupped her butt in
his hands and eased her cunt onto his cock. She wrapped
her arms and legs around his body. As sweat poured off
them, they rutted passionately. Steve ended up with his
back pressed to the wall as they fit prick to pussy
wildly, over and over and over. 

Release was a long, gradual process, building and
building in infinitesimal increments before peaking in
a rush of hot cum, Steve's deep groans mixing with the
sounds and fury of yet another orgasm for her.

---- ---- ----

Walking bow-legged and wiping sweat from her face, a
woman opened the door of the bedroom. She leaned
against the doorjamb for a second, taking deep breaths.


As she took a step into the hall, a whisper froze her. 

"Wow, Paula," was all it said.

The woman had turned to stone. As she stood, one foot
in the hall, one still in the room, a door clicked open
across the corridor. She held her breath.

Someone -- just a darker shadow in the blackness --
stepped into the hall. There was more whispering,
sounds so soft they wouldn't make it to the bed behind
her. When the whispers died and footsteps paced down
the hall, the woman's nostrils flared. She stepped back
into the room only long enough to snatch her clothes
from the floor, then turned and tiptoed out and down
the stairs.

Shortly afterward, a man came out of the bedroom she'd
left. He stumbled around and eventually bumped into the
end by the stairs, putting his hands to the wall and
moving them around as if feeling for something.

The sound of a toilet flushing came from the far end.
The man paused, turned his head. By the time he'd
started walking toward the noise, someone else had left
the bathroom and padded down the hall, turning into an
open doorway and shutting it behind. As the latch
clicked, the first man passed by.

---- ---- ----

Paula stumbled and took a step to steady herself. Her
foot came down on nothing. She pitched forward,
windmilling her arms. 

Her foot finally landed on a stair, but she was
off-balance. Her right hand slapped the wall but found
no purchase. Her left brushed something hard -- the
railing, but she got only a fingertip grasp. It slowed
her, but her momentum ripped her away and sent her
down. She took the next few steps two at a time,
bouncing from side to side. Somehow she got turned
sideways. She managed to get both hands on the rail and
breathed a sigh of relief. Then her foot slipped off
the edge of the stair, catching her by surprise. The
strain on her arms pulled them free and she felt
herself falling through space. All she could think
about was the bare concrete pad at the bottom.

Then hands were grabbing her. One second she was poised
in midair. The next she was sitting on the stairs,
breathing hard, her heart racing. Soft hands were on
her shoulders. Warm flesh was pressed to her back.

Slowly she became aware that the warm flesh was
womanly. And the soft hands slipped down, skating over
her heaving breasts, landing on her nipples. 

Paula turned toward her savior. Wet lips pressed to
hers. A probing tongue entered her mouth.

She threw her questions aside and returned the kiss
lustily. Her hands traced the mystery woman's contours.
Like a blind man, she put her fingers to the unseen
face, but it yielded no clues. It didn't matter. Her
adrenalin surge had energized her other hormones as
well. Sex was all that mattered.

In the dark, there were no inhibitions. Whoever this
woman was, Paula wanted her. Completely. 

Her lips found the other woman's breasts. Her teeth
tugged at the erect nipples, and it seemed she could
feel it on her own body.

As her hands again drifted to the unknown face, her
fingers were sucked in, one by one, to a hot and hungry
mouth. Paula shivered every time.

And she shook when other fingers came out of the dark
and found her slick cunt, dove in, gave her the knowing
strokes only a woman can give another.

There was just her and this other woman, Paula was sure
of that. But she could have been in an orgy. Every part
of her was aflame.

They writhed against each other, flesh on flesh. The
fingers inside her pushed deeper, faster. In the
blackness of the night, Paula saw stars pinwheeling
inside her fluttering eyelids.

It hit suddenly, an impact that almost tore her apart.
She laced her fingers together behind the other woman's
back, hugging her tightly as her body shook. Golden
warmth raced through her. Her back arched and a purr
like a fine racing engine filled her throat.

When it was over -- or, rather, when it was ebbing; the
effects seemed as if they would last for days -- Paula
was surprised to discover that she had melted several
steps lower. Her face felt the musky heat of a woman's
sex.

She turned to it as if it were a roaring furnace in the
midst of an icy wilderness, basking in its warmth.
Tenderly her hands crept up the doe-soft skin of
well-shaped thighs. Her fingernails did figure-eights
drawing closer and closer to the treasure at the
center.

The minutes stretched out as Paula played a prolonged
tease, reaching the very edge of the outermost lips
before dancing away. She planted feather-soft kisses on
the inner thighs, rubbed her breasts along the other
woman's legs.

When, at last, Paula's tongue hovered above the slit
and dropped in, gentle as dandelion fluff, the other
woman's hips suddenly heaved upward. Paula was
astonished at the intensity of the orgasm, which almost
knocked her over in the woman's flailing convulsions.

---- ---- ----

Steve splashed water into the sink and fumbled around
until he'd found a washcloth to rinse his sweaty body. 

Feeling bold and carefree, he marched back down the
hallway, stopping when his hand brushed a door frame.
One more time he was confused. The door was closed. He
was sure he'd left it open. He tentatively reached
across to the opposite door. Open? With a shake of his
head he stepped in to search for his pajama bottoms.

He was running his hands over the bedsheet when two
arms pulled him down. 

"Paula? I thought you went downstairs," Steve said,
allowing himself to be drawn onto his back.

She only giggled, but she got on top of him, her tits
trailing across his chest as her pussy ground into his
flaccid penis.

Steve groaned. "Oh, no, I couldn't. You wore me out the
last time. I -- oh."

She had moved down and her lips were coaxing new life
out of his soft flesh. 

"I don't believe it," he whispered as his cock sprang
back, growing rigid in her mouth.

"God, you're so hot," he sighed as she straddled him,
pulling his hands to her breasts. "You're so very, very
sexy."

She braced herself with her hands on his chest and
lifted up. When she came down, he felt his dick nestle
in her velvet folds. She took him as slow as molasses,
down and down until she was sitting on him, her ass
rubbing his balls.

Her ministrations had revived his prick, but they'd
done nothing for his worn-out muscles. He could only
sag into the mattress and let her do all the work. That
she did, performing something like a hula as she lifted
up his shaft and slid back down, again and again.

Steve thought he would be numb, but the wiggling made
their fucking just as exciting as ever. He let his
hands fall exhausted from her tits and concentrated on
the mind-blowing sensations roiling his groin.

He lost track of time. There was only the two of them
and that sensual rhythm. He was Superman, she was
Wonder Woman, and they could do anything. Anything!

Most especially, they could fuck. And they did. Her
pussy gobbling him up, over and over and over and over
until he felt the sharp edge of orgasm sneaking up on
him. It crept closer, closer, then arrived --
shockingly understated, a popgun after a nightlong
cannonade. But he was too spent to be regretful. And
she wouldn't let up even when he began to beg her,
wincing at the overload to his nervous system. Only
when she came too, in shuddering, throbbing waves of
passion, did she allow him to slip out of her tunnel.

After a minute or two he heard the bedsprings creak and
she was gone. He opened his eyes -- and was stunned to
see the first dim hint of dawn at the window. He sat up
in bed, scratched, looked around in vain for his
pajamas. Vaguely he sensed something wrong. Then he
figured it out.

He needed to pee. Bad. He trotted into the hall and
peered at the faint outlines. Paula must have gone to
the upstairs bath. Steve went down, slipped past the
snoring body of Randall sprawled across the sofa bed
and raced to the master bath.

He was standing at the toilet when it hit him. Randall
was alone in bed. Where was Lucy? Could she -- he
staggered, spray whizzing onto the floor before he
caught himself -- could that have been? An icy dread
trickled down his back. Surely not, he told himself.
Lucy would have said -- wouldn't she? And Paula wasn't
in the bedroom. Didn't that prove something? Unless she
had seen -- Steve staggered to the bed and fell in. His
mind raced as he tried to recall the woman he'd so
recently fucked. It all was a blur, details lost in a
testosterone haze.

But surely Lucy -- ? His mind swam and he clutched at
mental flotsam. Did it feel like Paula's pussy? Was the
hair as soft? And where were his pajamas? 

He was worrying and wondering when he heard someone
walk into the room. He opened his eyes. Yes, that was
definitely his wife. She didn't look angry. She looked
-- well-fucked. And that smell -- there was no
mistaking it. Steve smiled.

---- ---- ----

Paula noticed a faint square of pinkish gray over her
head. It took a little while for her to figure out it
was the frosted-glass pane in the front door. She got
up and pulled the door open. Dawn poured into the
stairwell.

She blinked at the light and turned away from it. She
looked down at her mystery lover.

And gasped.

"Margit! How did you get here? What -- you left in
Atlanta!"

The woman she was talking to was a Latina -- a very
well-built Latina, which Paula could see very clearly
because her naked body was sprawled over the stairs.

Margit sat up and told a simple story as she picked up
pieces of clothing strewn along the stairs and got
dressed. She had changed her mind in Atlanta, but too
late to catch the same flight as the rest of them. She
played catch-up, but the grounding of the island's only
plane service stalled her, until that night. She'd
bummed a ride from the airport, determined to surprise
Pete and save her marriage.

"But the son of a bitch was screwing some woman," she
snarled. "I ran into Bobbi Jo when I got here. She was
in some kind of argument with that friend of hers, but
she pointed me up the stairs and told me how to find
his room. And the son of a bitch is fucking -- who was
that? Lucy? That other friend of yours, right? What
kind of whore is she?"

Paula smiled. "Lucy? Give her a break. Her husband's a
lousy lay, and she says he's the best she's ever had.
Hell, my husband's better than him."

"Whatever," Margit snorted. "But you'd be pissed if she
went and fucked -- what is it, Steve?"

"Nah. I mean, not that Steve would ever have the balls
to do it. That's your trouble. That husband of yours
can't keep it in his pants. He screws anything with
tits." She paused. "Anyone who'll do it, I mean."

"You're right. God, what an idiot I am. I got him when
he played around behind his last wife."

"Wait a minute," Paula said. "If you went up and caught
him, how come you were coming downstairs naked?"

"I -- I was going to surprise him, like I said. You
know." She winked. "Big surprise. But fuck him. I'm
getting out of here." 

Margit stood up. A pair of pajama bottoms fell out of
her mauve skirt.

She looked down at them. "Oh, right," she said. "Those
are Pete's, the little shit."

"Huh," Paula said. "Steve has a pair just like them."

"You take them, then. Stick them in Steve's bag. I got
'em out of Pete's room and I'll be damned if I give 'em
back."

Margit handed over the pajamas and came down the
stairs. Her bags were neatly stacked next to the cars
in the garage. "Now I'm catching the next flight out
and get to a divorce lawyer just as fast as I can."

Paula stood naked, letting the rising sun warm her. She
looked out into the empty street. "How are you going
anywhere?"

"We'll take her." Sam walked over, arm in arm with
Bobbi Jo. "The rest of you should be able to fit in the
other car later on. Just tell them we were in a hurry."

With a wave, Paula went upstairs, past Randall's snores
and into her bedroom. For a second it struck her that
Steve might wonder where she'd been, if he'd woken in
the night to find she was gone.

But when she crawled into bed he actually snuggled up
to her. She usually cold-shouldered him, but it was
their anniversary weekend, after all. She rolled over
to face him and put a hand onto his cock. It was soft,
and Steve pushed her away.

"I couldn't," he said, "I really couldn't."

Paula shifted onto her back and turned her head to hide
her frown. Typical, she thought. Who could blame her
for getting a little on the side, with a dud like that
for a husband.

Steve put a hand on her stomach. She tensed.

"But," he said, "it really has been the perfect
weekend, hasn't it? I think this is just what we
needed. You were right. Thanks, honey."

She endured his kiss and then rolled onto her side.
This, she thought, this was his idea of a perfect
weekend. God, maybe Lucy is the one who should pity me.
At least her husband's not a eunuch.

THE END