What I Let a Stranger See on Our Honeymoon
It was the first time I had ever flown so far and the first time I had truly seen the Caribbean, that impossible blue I had only ever seen on postcards. Lucas and I had gotten married on a rainy Saturday in October, and two days later we landed in Bahía Esmeralda, our skin still pale and our hopes set on a honeymoon unlike anything else.
The heat changed everything. I, who was always covered up in my own city, found myself choosing the lightest things in my suitcase: a denim miniskirt, a halter top, thin blouses. No bra, and almost never underwear. I liked that new feeling of walking around half-dressed, noticing the air against my skin and strangers’ eyes sliding over me, feeling my nipples harden beneath the fabric whenever some unknown man lowered his gaze to my chest.
I had never dared admit how much I liked being looked at.
On the third afternoon, we were sitting in a plaza in the tourist district, undecided between two restaurants, when I told Lucas I was going to the bathroom. I crossed between the tables and, as I turned a corner, ran straight into an enormous man. Tall, with incredibly broad shoulders and a white T-shirt that barely contained his chest. There was something imposing about him that stopped me short, and without meaning to, my eyes dropped for a second to the crotch of his Bermuda shorts, where a heavy bulge showed plainly.
“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked me with an open smile.
“Yes,” I replied, still a little bewildered.
His name was Dorian, and he worked as a guide at a nature reserve outside the city. He offered me an excursion, a hidden swimming hole tucked away in the jungle. I told him no, thank you, that I was only looking for the bathrooms, and he very kindly pointed me toward the hallway at the back. I thanked him and continued on my way.
I don’t know why I turned around. He was still there, standing and watching me leave, one hand resting brazenly over his fly. He smiled at me again, unhurriedly, like someone with all the time in the world.
***
When I came out of the bathroom, to my surprise, he was waiting for me. He wanted to talk, to ask where I was from. I told him I was on my honeymoon, and as I spoke I noticed him shamelessly adjusting his cock inside his trousers, making no effort to hide it, while my gaze dropped on its own and then rose again, my cheeks burning. I covered my face, laughing from sheer embarrassment.
“Does your husband enjoy you like this too, in that miniskirt?” he said, amused, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Does he fuck you good, newlywed?”
I was speechless. The conversation had changed its tone, and I hadn’t done anything to stop it. He moved a little closer, so close that I felt the heat radiating from his huge body and the hard bulge barely brushing my hip.
“Your nipples are showing,” he murmured. “I like that. And your pussy looks swollen beneath that little skirt. I like showing off too—look what you’ve done to me.”
He took me by the wrist and placed my hand over the fabric, on that hard, thick cock pulsing like a trapped animal. I yanked it away, trembling, but not before I had felt it all: long, with the tip already wet, making a dark mark in the denim.
“That’s how I like to dress,” I said, hearing myself say it with a calm I didn’t feel. “But my husband is waiting for me.”
I tried to slip past him, and as I went by, as if by accident, he brushed his hip against mine. I felt his cock pressing against my buttock again. I took a few quick steps and moved away, then turned around once more. Once again, he was following me with his eyes. Just then Lucas appeared, asking where the bathrooms were, completely unaware of what had just happened three meters from him.
“Who was that?” he asked me afterward, nodding toward him.
“A guide. He was selling me an excursion into the jungle,” I replied. “Do you want to go?”
Lucas shrugged and said yes. Dorian came over, closed the deal at half price, and arranged to pick us up at our hotel the next morning. I nodded along to everything, my heart beating strangely and my panties already soaked beneath my skirt, knowing perfectly well what I was agreeing to and pretending I didn’t.
***
I barely slept that night. Lucas mounted me as soon as we reached the room and fucked me for a long time, on my back, my legs spread wide, and while he thrust into me I had the image of Dorian’s swollen cock showing beneath his shorts in my head. I came twice in a row, biting his shoulder, and when Lucas emptied himself inside me with a long groan, I closed my eyes and imagined it was another orgasm, thicker and belonging to someone else.
I chose carefully what I would wear the next morning: a short denim skirt, a T-shirt that left my navel bare, nothing underneath. No panties and no bra. I looked at myself in the mirror, lifting the hem slightly, and saw my shaved pussy, still glistening with semen and saliva from the night before. I put the tiniest white bikini I owned and my toiletries into a backpack. Just in case, I told myself, as though some part of me didn’t know exactly what I was looking for.
The van arrived on time. Dorian got out, opened the door for Lucas, and, smiling, asked whether we had enjoyed our first night as newlyweds. Lucas laughed and said yes. I gave him a discreet elbow, my cheeks blazing, and we climbed into the minibus.
We sat in the third row. Dorian settled directly in front of us and spent the whole ride turned around, chatting: where we were from, how many days we had left, what we had liked about the trip. Without thinking too much about it, I let my legs fall slightly open. I noticed his eyes searching beneath my skirt, and instead of closing them, I slid forward in the seat so the fabric rose even higher and my pussy was left completely exposed. I saw him swallow, saw his pupils dilate when he realized I was wearing nothing underneath.
Lucas stroked my thigh while he chatted with him, as though nothing were happening. Then his hand moved higher. His fingers found me wet and messy, and without looking at me he began rubbing my clitoris with two fingers, slowly, while continuing to talk about excursions and prices as if nothing were happening. I stayed still, holding my breath, growing wetter every second simply from thinking that the other man was watching my husband touch me with a discretion that fooled no one. I felt one of his fingers enter me, then two, curling inside me, coming out shining with my juices and returning to my swollen button. I clamped my legs shut when I felt the orgasm coming over me in full, and Lucas, startled, tried to open them again. I wouldn’t let him; I would have come screaming in front of everyone. When I got off the minibus, I saw the damp, almost transparent stain left on the vinyl seat.
***
At the entrance to the reserve, they gave us bicycles for the final stretch to the coast. I climbed onto mine, and when I sat down I felt the entire seat, hard and hot, pressing against my open pussy with nothing between us. I looked down and saw that my skirt covered absolutely nothing: my pink lips were visible, parted by the edge of the saddle. Lucas noticed and didn’t say a word.
We started pedaling, me in front and him behind. A group of tourists passed us, Dorian among them. When he saw me, he slowed until he was riding on my left, while Lucas, unhurried, took the right. The three of us pedaled together along the dirt path, and every so often they both looked down, toward me, toward the pussy opening and closing against the leather seat with every stroke of the pedals, almost at the same time. I kept riding as though I didn’t notice, burning inside, feeling a thread of juice run down the inside of my thigh.
“Watch out for mosquitoes,” Dorian said in a rough voice. “Put repellent on those legs. And up there too—you’re showing everything.”
I lowered my gaze and saw myself completely exposed between them. I didn’t cover myself.
***
We reached a river of clear, fresh water. Dorian explained that we could swim from there to the sea, about twenty minutes downstream. I put on the white bikini, with a razor-thin strip in back that slipped between my buttocks, and stepped into the cold water. Lucas swam close beside me, and laughing, beneath the surface, he untied my bikini until it came loose. I felt his hands squeeze my tits free beneath the water, pinching my nipples, hard from the cold.
“There’s no one here,” he whispered in my ear, his erect cock brushing my hip beneath the water. “Swim like that.”
And I did. I swam naked in that river, feeling the water slide between my buttocks, enter my pussy, and cool my stiff nipples, until we reached an area with more people and I asked him to give me back my bikini. He gave me only the bottom. I climbed out of the water covering my breasts with one arm, my pink nipples peeking between my fingers, my cheeks flushed and something electric running along my back.
We looked for a patch of sand where we could lie down. The hammocks smelled of other people’s sweat, so I lay directly on the warm sand, my breasts in the sun and my eyes closed. I was just about to relax when a shadow blocked the light. It was Dorian.
“The beach over there is deserted,” he said calmly, and I noticed that he was speaking while staring fixedly at my tits. “It’s a nude beach. You can take the kayaks from that dock.”
***
We each took a kayak and paddled to the other shore. The sun burned my thighs, my shoulders, and the breast I kept bare the entire time. When we arrived, there was absolutely no one there. Lucas stripped completely and lay on his back, his half-hard cock resting on his thigh. I knelt beside him to rub sunscreen onto his abdomen, and unable to stop myself, let my hand move lower until it closed around his cock and slowly massaged it with the cream, feeling it grow between my fingers.
Then I saw him in the distance. Dorian was walking toward us, completely naked, without an ounce of modesty, his huge body outlined against the sea, his cock hanging heavily between his thighs, long even at rest, thicker than I had imagined. I didn’t know what to do. Lucas had his eyes closed and didn’t see him. I decided to keep quiet and let him come closer, without letting go of the cock in my hand.
When he was about five meters away, he greeted us, and Lucas jerked in surprise when he found him standing there. For a second I thought he would get angry. But he only looked at me, kneeling and naked beside him, his hard cock between my oiled fingers, and said with strange calm:
“Lie down. I’ll put sunscreen on you.”
I lay facedown on the sand. Lucas began running his hands slowly over my back, while Dorian sat a couple of meters away, squatting, his cock already waking between his spread legs. I felt my husband’s fingers move down my spine, part my buttocks to spread sunscreen between them, slide along the cleft until they brushed my asshole, then continue toward my pussy.
“What a beautiful woman you have,” the stranger said in a hoarse voice. “And what an ass. She has such a pretty pussy—from here I can see everything.”
“Thank you,” Lucas replied, without stopping his caresses, sliding an oiled finger halfway inside me. “My Mariana is beautiful. And she loves being watched, don’t you, sweetheart?”
He asked me to turn over. I did, and when I opened my eyes I saw Dorian still there, staring at me without hiding it, his cock fully erect, thick, its purple, glistening tip held in his right hand and stroked slowly. I opened my legs almost without meaning to, purely on instinct, and Lucas didn’t hesitate. With his hand coated in coconut oil, he ran it slowly and thoroughly over my entire body, knowing the other man was watching everything. He rubbed oil over my tits, pinched my nipples until they stood hard and red, moved down my stomach, opened my pussy with two fingers, and showed the stranger its pink, wet interior as though displaying a ripe fruit. I moaned loudly. Not because of the oil or his fingers, but because I knew I was being watched, that my husband was offering me as a spectacle—and I loved it.
I don’t know what was going through his head, but I didn’t want him to stop.
Lucas pushed two fingers deep inside me and drew them out shining, dripping with my own juices mixed with oil, then rubbed them over my clitoris in slow circles. I turned my face toward Dorian and saw him masturbating while he watched me, his entire fist closed around that enormous cock, moving up and down and tracing every vein. Lucas didn’t look up; he kept doing what he was doing, focused, opening me, closing me, burying his fingers to the knuckles, until the stranger released a deep, guttural groan and came there on his feet, over the sand, shooting thick streams of white semen that spattered his belly and fell at his feet. I watched him come without looking away, my mouth open, and I came too onto my husband’s hand, shaking against his fingers and choking back a cry. I was stunned to be living through that. And yet I liked it more than I ever would have admitted.
***
On the way back, already in the minibus, I was exhausted, sunburned, and covered in mosquito bites, my pussy still throbbing and my panties—which I wasn’t wearing—replaced by my own juices drying between my thighs. I reclined on my side in the seat, and Lucas did the same. More passengers got on, heading back to the hotel district. I tried to pull down my skirt, but it wouldn’t reach, so I placed my hand over my lap to cover myself.
After a while I felt someone sit down beside me. I knew before I looked. It was Dorian again. I have him even when I close my eyes, I thought. He thanked everyone aloud for coming, wished them a safe journey, and I pretended to sleep.
Then I felt his hand. Slowly, with infinite patience, he moved mine away—the one covering me. I let him. I allowed him to look, to keep staring at my naked pussy beneath the raised hem, but it wasn’t enough for him. I felt his rough palm move up my leg, his thick fingers slowly opening a path between my already soaked lips, sinking to the knuckles into my swollen pussy. Lucas snored softly at my other side, unaware of everything, while I let a stranger finger-fuck me a meter away from my sleeping husband.
I grew wet beyond all control, wetter than I had ever been in my life. His fingers went in and out with a wet sound that seemed deafening to me, curling against the spot he knew how to find without searching, while his thumb pressed my clitoris in slow circles. I turned to embrace Lucas, and with that movement I offered my body to the other man: my back, my bare buttocks, everything. I waited to feel his weight. I waited for him to open his fly and fuck me from behind. I waited for what my whole body was begging for to happen. I felt him adjust himself, felt him carefully lower his zipper, felt the thick, hot tip of his cock search between my buttocks, sliding through my juices until it found the entrance. I felt it there, pressed against me, pushing slightly, opening me a centimeter, two, the crown already inside and pulsing against me. One more thrust and he would have split me in two, on the seat of a minibus beside my sleeping husband, and I was asking for it with my ass raised.
But I only felt the tip of him brush against me, barely for an instant, before his fingers took control again. He held back. I don’t know whether it was out of fear, or whether he preferred to leave me wanting forever. His fingers sank back inside me, three this time, stretching me, while his thumb pounded my clitoris mercilessly.
He made me come harder than ever, in silence, biting my lip until it bled so I wouldn’t wake anyone, squeezing his fingers with the walls of my pussy in long waves, lifting my knee slightly to give him more room. I felt the liquid spill out of me, run down his wrist, and stain the seat. When he understood that I was satisfied, he stopped, brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, and sucked them one by one, savoring me. Then he adjusted his still-hard cock inside his trousers and looked out the window as though nothing had happened.
But I wasn’t satisfied. Not completely. I would have given anything to feel him truly enter me, to have him fuck me all the way with that enormous cock, to feel his hot release filling me while Lucas slept beside us. I would have given anything to cross that final line my body had opened and my mind, at the last moment, hadn’t dared let him cross. The minibus dropped us at the hotel. We said goodbye with a polite handshake—the same fingers that had made me come, squeezing mine with cynical calm—and I never saw him again.
That night, with Lucas inside me, riding him astride while he squeezed my buttocks, I closed my eyes and imagined that the cock opening me was the other one, the thick one, the stranger’s, and I came so hard that Lucas came behind me, emptying himself completely without understanding why his wife was trembling like that.
Years have passed. Lucas and I are still together, and we have never spoken about that day, as though it were a dream neither of us wants to name. But sometimes, when I close my eyes and touch myself alone, I return to that seat, that beach, those thick fingers buried inside me, that cock resting against my entrance without quite going in, that stranger’s gaze that set me alight like nothing ever had before. And I understand that what I truly discovered on my honeymoon wasn’t the Caribbean, but a part of myself that is still there, awake and waiting.
