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Chapter 1 We Have Been Blessed
“What an absolutely beautiful suite. We have been blessed,” I exclaimed before silently thanking the Lord for our good fortune. I wasn’t exaggerating. The Toltec Suite on the top floor of Ritz Carlton Cozumel was spectacular. With four large bedrooms arranged over two floors each having an incredible ocean view, it was like a different world. The rich furnishings and sumptuous decoration were overwhelming for a financially struggling middle class family from the suburbs of Boston.
Our accommodations were far beyond our family budget but we were paying the single room rate thanks to my friend Michelle and her half brother, Robbie. She and her family were in the Mayan Suite next door. The two suites occupied the top floors of the luxury hotel.
“Come look at the view. Blue water as far as the eye can see,” said my husband Warren from the balcony.
“I don’t know how we are ever going to thank the Evans enough,” I said. Michelle and her husband, Wes, were our next door neighbors and best friends. Robbie Cantrell, Michelle’s brother, managed the Ritz and was comping us the suite.
The vacation had all come about very quickly. Three weeks ago, Robbie contacted Michelle with an incredible offer. A fabulously wealthy Arab prince from Dubai had reserved and paid for the hotel’s top floors then canceled his visit. Robbie was able to offer us two suites at an incredibly attractive rate.
We’d met Robbie last Thanksgiving. He and Michelle were orphans, raised in different foster homes. Over the years, she lost track of him. Several months ago, he contacted her to reestablish their relationship. We found him to be a charming bachelor filled with interesting stories about the hotel’s famous guests.
“I’m going to change and go to the pool, Mom,” said Celia, my impetuous and increasingly difficult fourteen years old. I pray every day for the wisdom and patience to rear her properly.
“I want to go too,” said Bryan her older brother by one year.
“I’ll make sure they don’t get in any trouble,” said Wendy, my step daughter who was headed to Bowdoin College in the fall. Coming up with her tuition had strained our family budget to the breaking point.
“You kids go on,” said Warren. “Your Mom and I need to unpack.”
I was hanging up clothes when Celia tried to sneak past me in a bathing suit I did not recognize and would never have allowed her to buy. It was a thong bikini whose top did not completely cover her breasts and the bottom in my view was scandalous, better suited for a prostitute than a young girl. A tiny triangle of flimsy material in the front left nothing to the imagination. The outline of her vulva was visible. I was amazed that she was not embarrassed by her highly visible camel toe. A thin strip of material in the back disappeared into her cleft. I did not doubt that waves would knock it askew exposing her to the world.
“Hold it, Young Lady. When did you buy that?” I asked in my angry mother’s voice.
“At the mall with my birthday money, all the girls my age wear this style” said Celia her voice taking on that defiant tone that was making ever more frequent appearances.
“I think it looks cute on her,” said Warren doing the one thing good parents should never do. We’d always agreed to act as a team where the children were concerned. But lately, he seemed to delight in taking a more permissive attitude.
“Wow, Sis, nice ass,” said Bryan arriving on the scene to slap his sister on her bare behind.
His inappropriate comment and action added to my dismay. I’d noticed my two siblings had become increasingly close in ways I wasn’t comfortable with. “Go change into the green one,” I said.
“Dad said it looks cute. Let’s go, Bryan,” said Celia heading for the door intent on ignoring me. There are times when every mother wishes she was barren and for me this was one of them.
“Ready,” said Wendy appearing in an equally brief bikini. Wendy’s attractive figure attracted the wrong kind of attention in my opinion. She was the spitting image of her mother, Warren’s first wife. Warren had divorced her after he caught her in bed with her sister and brother in law engaged in deviant acts including lesbianism and incest.
A creature of Satan, the woman had absolutely no morals. After the divorce Warren learned she had been having sex with her father and brothers since she was in middle school.
To make matters worse, while this orgy was taking place, five year old Wendy was watching. Warren believed that if he had not accidentally discovered her infidelity they would have eventually included Wendy in their debauchery.
I’d worried that Wendy had inherited her mom’s immoral nature. But she was a sweet girl, seemingly unconscious of the impact her tanned athletic body had on the male sex.
“See, Wendy is showing more than me,” said Celia pressing her small girlish breasts together.
It was true. Wendy was more exposed. Portions of her areola were visible. I wondered what degree of exposure was legal on the public beaches of Cozumel and whether they would be arrested.
“She’s got more to show,” quipped Bryan making a gesture communicating the superior size of Wendy’s breasts. She was a 36D like me. The poor child had been a 34C when she entered high school. The boys taunted her unmercifully and other girls were jealous.
“Asshole,” said Celia.
“Come on, the sun will be down soon,” said Wendy heading toward the door with Celia and Bryan following.
I started to say something but Warren put his hand on my shoulder stopping me.
“Let them go,” whispered Warren.
“That suit sends all the wrong messages,” I said conscious of my defeat.
“I thought they would never leave,” said Warren pulling me to him and kissing me. His tongue forced my mouth open, and I reluctantly accepted its invasion of my person.
“I’ve got to unpack,” I said trying to push him away. It was obvious what Warren wanted and as his wife I should be accommodating but the situation was Celia had soured my mood.
“Look, you promised we would spend some quality time together on this trip,” said Warren reaching down to grasp my buttocks. His strong hands kneaded my flesh as he ground his groin against mine. Quality time was his code word for sexual intercourse. He pulled me tight against his crotch. I could feel his manhood pressing against me. Physically, it felt right but I was too put out with Warren’s attitude toward Celia’s bathing suit to respond.
“You should have supported me with Celia. We’ll have no one else to blame if some boy gets her pregnant,” I said trying to change the subject, but Warren was having none of it. His lower brain was pressing against my sex signaling it was in control. He ground his crotch slowly against mine communicating an unwillingness to be denied.
“Little Miss Abstinence get pregnant; somehow I doubt it. She’d have to quit wearing her silver ring,” said Warren referring to Celia’s membership in the Silver Ring Thing, a Christian organization in which teens pledge to remain sexually abstinent until marriage.
Last year, Celia had taken a leadership role in the Silver Ring Thing at our church. She asked both of us to be present when she signed the pledge of abstinence and accepted her ring from our church’s youth pastor. I felt very proud of her that day.
But since then I have seen a change in her attitude about boys and sex. I pray that the onset of her adolescent hormones does not cause her to forget her pledge.
Personally, I was barely able to withstand temptation until Warren and I married. Every day was a struggle to maintain my chastity especially after Warren and I became engaged and he wanted to start having sex. But with the help of our good Lord, I remained chaste until my wedding night. To this day, I am proud of my restraint and I tell both my girls how much my chastity meant to me.
“I hope you’re right,” I said but with the firm belief he was wrong. Celia was headed for trouble.
“I am. Now forget about the kids for the moment and remember your promise,” said Warren putting his hand on top my shoulder and pushing me downward.
“Here, now?” I questioned reluctant to service him orally. We were in the suite’s master bedroom and the door was wide open. Why couldn’t he wait until I was more in the mood?
“Yes, here and now, the kids won’t be back for hours,” said Warren pushing harder forcing me to my knees.
Lately, my forty year old husband had been acting like an overactive teenager. However, I’d promised Warren to be sexually accessible during the trip. But at the moment I was regretting it. Sex or rather the lack of it had become a serious issue between us. Our views on which acts were permissible in a Christian marriage were completely divergent. After several bitter inconclusive arguments, we sought counseling with our pastor, the Reverend Frank Dougherty.
Reverend Frank had counseled troubled marriages of church friends and we turned to him when we realized matters were about to get out of hand. In a few years we would be empty nesters and that is a dangerous time for a marriage.
Much to my surprise, the counseling sessions had taken a decided turn in Warren’s favor. Reverend Frank made me read passages in the Bible he interpreted to mean that the wife had an absolute duty to please her husband in the marriage bed. Warren graphic descriptions of sexual acts he wanted me to perform embarrassed me to tears. I was shocked he could be so explicit in front of our pastor. But Reverend Frank didn’t blink an eye when Warren began his want list with anal intercourse.
I almost died when Warren used terms like, back door action, riding the Hershey Highway, and playing the Rusty Trombone. The last one I had to look up in an online slang dictionary. I practically gagged at the thought of playing Warren’s Rusty Trombone. He was going to have to be squeaky clean for me to place my mouth and tongue on his anus. I find it hard to believe married couples engage in such acts but Reverend Frank assured me it was common practice among the congregation.
“These are acts that any Christian wife should be happy to perform, Kathy,” said Reverend Frank after Warren described his sordid unmet needs. “You are putting your marriage at risk. If Warren were to seek such acts from prostitutes and contact an STD, you would have no one to blame but yourself.”
At our last session right before we left for Mexico, I promised Warren and the Reverend to be a good Christian wife and do whatever it took to please my husband thereby keeping our marriage strong. The three of us had knelt and prayed together. I committed to using our family vacation to renew our sex life and that included oral, vaginal, and (God forbid!) even anal sex.
Although I had committed before the Reverend and Almighty God to overcome my reluctance to meet Warren’s desires, I was experiencing difficulty at the moment.
“Can’t we do this later,” I asked?
“No, now,” said Warren. “I want you on your knees like a street whore, Bitch. Now suck my cock and swallow my hot slimy load of pecker snot.”
“Pecker snot,” where did that come from? Yuck! Just speaking the term caused my stomach to churn. I’d been shocked when Reverend Frank agreed with Warren that using sexually degrading language was not only permissible but should be encouraged if it made the sex more enjoyable for Warren. Warren stated unequivocally that expletive laced speech raised his Eros level and was therefore something I should practice. I’d always avoided bad language and during our engagement informed Warren that it was not to be part of our love making or for that matter family life. Now I found myself overruled by my Pastor, a turn of events I would never have predicted.
Warren’s a big man and I was no match for his strength. He used both hands to push me to the floor.
“Take my pecker out, Whore, and make love to it with your slutty mouth,” said Warren.
I decided to quit arguing and accept my fate. I asked the Lord to guide my hands and mouth as I grabbed the tab of the zipper and pulled. Then I reached in with one hand and extracted my husband’s manhood. Warren is exceptionally well equipped. At least, I believe he is based on my very limited experience. It is the only grown male penis I have examined up close. Other than adolescent fondling in high school, my knowledge is based on pictures. I was still a virgin when I met Warren at Boston College.
The aroma of unwashed flesh filled my nostrils. We had just finished a ten hour flight and hadn’t showered. “We should shower first,” I said wrinkling my nose at the odor of sweat and urine.
“Fuck that, Cunt. I want you to suck my dirty dick and tell me how good my piss tastes. Tomorrow, you get to rim my nasty ass,” said Warren his voice taking a harsh demanding tone. He grabbed my auburn hair in one hand and his cock in the other. “Stick your tongue out and beg me to cockwhip you.”
Warren slapped his penis hard against my cheek. I sensed that he was testing me. If I failed, I would violate my pledge to Reverend Frank and my commitment to God Almighty.
I reluctantly complied. “Slap my face with your penis, Warren. Slap it hard.”
“Say cock, not penis, you fucking cunt,” barked Warren slamming his erect penis against my cheek. It hurt.
“I meant cock. Cock whip me, Warren,” I corrected ignoring the disgust I truly felt.
“Tell me how much you want to suck my slimy dick and make me believe you,” said Warren.
Actually, the thought of putting his unwashed penis in my mouth revolted me, but I was determined and for that matter I’d agreed to put my mouth in worse places. I got verbally creative to hurry matters along. “I want to suck your nasty, dirty dick, Warren. Please let your whore wife lick the slime off your prick.”
“That’s good. Now pull your top up so I can see your big tits, Slut,” said Warren as he forced his cock head past my lips.
Be a good Christian wife, Kathy, I told myself as I raised my shirt then lifted my breasts from the bra cups. Warren immediately reached down and gave my nipples a painful pinch then twisted them. He practically lifted me off the floor by them.
He was punishing me for all the times I refused him. “That’s hurts,” I whined.
“Get used to it, you fucking whore,” said Warren applying more pressure as he slapped me hard across the face.
I was shocked at his behavior. Warren had always been so gentle. However, I recalled in our sessions with the Reverend, he admitted that he found it difficult to suppress his anger at my lack of responsiveness.
“I want to be brutal with Kathy and hurt her, Reverend Frank. I feel like it’s my due for all the years she’d neglected my needs,” said Warren.
Reverend Frank totally agreed. “I see your point, Warren. Kathy, recall the suffering the early Christian martyrs endured for their faith. Accept a degree of erotic brutality from your husband as penance for your neglect of his needs. Warren, keep it reasonable, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t allow pent up aggression to surface during your love making. You need to get it out of your system.”
Based on the Reverend’s remarks, Warren described sexual fantasies in which he was cruelly hurting me. Reverend Frank said that was normal in such situations and there was nothing wrong with rough play in the marriage bed as long as it didn’t get out of hand and do real damage. He confessed that he and his wife, Eileen, enjoyed rough sex.
Reverend Frank flummoxed me by describing how he liked to paddle Eileen, frequently turning her bottom bright red before they enjoyed intercourse. He recounted how he had gone online and purchased a selection of floggers and a three foot leather paddle with brass studs on the business end. “She gets real hot and bothered when I tie her down and warm up her fanny,” was how Reverend Frank expressed himself. I was appalled.
I’d been amazed that he used his laptop to access a Web site where such things are sold. At his suggestion I visited the site myself. All manner of sexual aids including sadomasochistic implements were on sale. The congregation had bought Reverend Frank that laptop for Christmas. He stated that it was Eileen’s idea to make those purchases. She found spanking very arousing and often begged him to tie her to the bed and paddle her until she pleaded with him to stop. The next time I saw Eileen in church I could barely look her in the eye.
As I licked around the head of Warren’s penis, I pushed aside the thought that the urethra was the source of urine. I focused on techniques I learned from The Joy of Sex videos the Reverend Dougherty lent me. One entire DVD was devoted to oral sex and I watched it twice. I did find it surprisingly erotic and for the first time in months masturbated while I watched.
“Now reach down into your panty and play with your pussy as you suck my dick,” said Warren. “Show me what a filthy cock hungry whore you are. Moan for me, Bitch.”
That turned out to be a worthwhile suggestion. When my fingers sensed that my vulva was already well lubricated with my secretions, it reinforced Reverend Frank’s statement that my body was not the problem. It was all mental. I moaned deep in my throat as my fingers massaged my sex and a wave of pleasure traveled from my groin to my brain. It was proof positive that Reverend Frank was correct. How could I have been so wrong about such things?
“You’re fully capable of pleasing Warren, Kathy. Allow your body to speak for you. Shut down that overactive Puritan brain of yours when intercourse begins. Just do whatever Warren says,” advised the Reverend.
“I’m already wet,” I said pleased with my physical response. I held up my fluid coated fingers for Warren to see and approve.
“See, you can be a cock crazy whore just like Reverend Frank said,” said Warren. “Keep jerking your twat. I want you to come with my prick in your mouth.”
Cow girl up, Kathy, and suck your husband’s cock I told myself. This is important to your marriage. Reverend Frank stated that keeping Warren sexually satisfied was my responsibility. If he strayed to another woman’s thighs, it would be the result of my foolish pride.
Warren’s manhood had achieved a full erection. Relying on my DVD instruction, I took one of his testicles in my mouth and gently sucked it as my hand stroked the shaft. His increasingly rapid breathing indicated I was on the right track.
“Going to face fuck you, Slut,” said Warren placing his hands of the sides of my head then forcing his penis deep into my mouth. The head reached my throat opening, hesitated a moment then pushed slightly inside choking me. I gagged and tried to push him away but he held me tight, taking small strokes into my airway. He held me in a vise like grip as he pinched my nostril’s shut cutting off my oxygen. My struggles for breathe excited his lust. It was a cruel thing to do but perhaps I deserved it for neglecting him.
“Choke on that cock, Bitch. I’m going to fuck the living shit out of you every day,” snarled Warren.
When he relented I gasped for air and choked as saliva poured out over my lower lip onto my breasts. My eyes were watering.
“You’re disgusting, you filthy pig. Now beg me to face fuck you, you cock sucking slut,” said Warren slapping his cock hard against my cheek. My face was starting to feel bruised.
“Please Warren, face fuck me with your big cock. Make me choke on your monster dick,” I said working my slippery sex with my fingers, flicking my clit with my thumbnail. The fact that I was about to orgasm was a surprise, especially since Warren was treating me with such brutality. It had been several years since I climaxed while having sex with Warren.
We continued on until Warren announced. “Going to blow my load all over your face, open your mouth and stick out your tongue and beg for my load,” said Warren taking his penis in his hand.
“Shoot in my mouth, Warren. Squirt your hot jism all over my face,” I said furiously working my clitoris to bring myself to a climax. The fact we were almost done and I hadn’t failed to please him I found encouraging.
As I felt the first warm drops land on my tongue followed by several squirts that covered my face from forehead to chin, I climaxed. The muscles lining my sex convulsed as I shook violently. Everything seemed to let go all at once. I heard my voice scream, “Shit, I love this shit.” But it could not have been me. I don’t talk like that.
When I recovered enough to look around, I saw my three and Michelle and Wes’s three standing in the door watching us. We’d been so distracted we didn’t notice their arrival.
“Your dad has a huge cock,” said Katlyn, Michelle’s oldest who was the same age as our Wendy.
Later when I had time to think about her remark, I realized Katlyn was expressing her desire for Warren’s manhood. I’d already noticed how the little slut flirted with him. I’d even spoken to Michelle who laughed it off saying I should be proud to have such a handsome husband.
“He’s enormous,” agreed Wendy.
“Jesus, Bryan, look, your Mom pissed herself,” said Doug, Michelle and Wes’s son and Bryan’s contemporary, pointing to a puddle of urine underneath me.
To my utter dismay, I realized I’d lost control of my bladder when I orgasmed. That had never happened before. I climaxed with such intensity that I didn’t sense I was urinating. There was a sizeable round yellow stain on the carpet.
“Mom, you’re a hypocritical slut. Plus you’re disgusting,” said Celia in her most disapproving voice. I’d spent hours explaining to her that while other girls in her school engaged in oral sex with boys that it was very wrong and even unnatural.
I shrieked my shock and embarrassment and ran to the bathroom and locked the door. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that Warren had covered my face with semen. What an unbelievably shameful thing for mine and Michelle’s children to witness. Urinating in front of the children was beyond the pale. I was humiliated to tears. How was I to ever live that down?
It took Warren an hour to talk me into coming out. And that was only after he assured me that the children were downstairs having dinner.
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