Wife For A Week: A Billionaire, A Yacht, and a Hotwife’s Paradise

The ocean surf brushed my hangover out of the way, instead of whacking it with my wife’s morning-alarm snores.

That was when I knew this wasn’t a dream. It was my reality.

A week of carefree paradise before we returned to the daily grind in Alabama.

Days that started off with me starting coffee before swearing at my electric razor. Or Jill blowing the dust off her elliptical in the garage, only to make a martyr’s face and join me on the patio with our respective sins of the flesh: coffee and cigarettes.

Seven years of living as “Jill and Roy” had never felt anything but…lucky.

We’d raised a couple of teenagers and moved up from a beater to a nine-year old Camry.

Had the sex gotten routine and less frequent? Take a wild guess.

Was the highlight of my week throughout the years playing a round of 18 holes with the other ball-and-chained members of the Pigskin Tavern? Yes.

But it was only because Jill managed to keep the roof from caving in with her reliable-ass dental hygienist job. All I wanted now was to make her happy.

So, we’d been saving.

And this once-in-a-lifetime cruise (on the over-rich end of the spectrum) was Jill and Roy getting what they deserved.

Speaking of which...

I looked over at the bed.

The comforter was tangled at Jill’s waist, leaving her butt naked to me. At thirty-eight, her body was a topography of the life we’d built together—the swell of her hip from carrying our kids, the lines of her back. Her ass, full and pale in the dim stateroom light, was turned just enough in my direction.

A deep, hungry ache invaded my swollen cock. I loved that ass. I loved her, but in that moment, I wanted to own her.

I gave thanks for her snoring.

My cock was a hot, insistent steel beam against my thigh. I cuppedmyself through the thin cotton of my boxers, applying firm, even pressure.

The image of her from last night at dinner rolled through my mind—leaning over the table, the front of her dress open enough to offer a peek of the slope of her breasts.

My thumb circled the tip, already sticky with pre-cum. I didn’t just love her. I needed to be inside her.

Our morning sex marathons had gone the way of the dodo, but in my opinion, the back seat of the Camry was responsible for a resurgent spark of lust in my wife while our kids were visiting colleges.

She was even pretty good at not rolling her eyes when I cummed halfway through the affair—just my body’s way of letting me know how right the situation was.

She twisted under the sheets, moaned and wedged a pillow between her legs, smooth thighs flexing.

The rush in my boxers didn’t ease off, but I didn’t have the heart to wake her. Not on vacation.

She was probably dreaming about the lobster and chocolate-covered strawberries she’d already been gushing about at formal dinner.

“Staring at me again?” she asked, breaking the hush. She was awake.

I smiled at her. “Who told you?”

“Creeper,” she said, throwing a pillow at me and missing spectacularly.

I climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my knees. On top of her. Morning breath be damned, I kissed her, my tongue tangling into her mouth.

Jill gasped into the kiss, then her hands were on my ass, pulling me down, and she snaked her legs around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back.

My dick sprang loose, stiff and full, and I ground on her, feeling the heat of her cunt through her panties. She was already wet—the pink silk was drenched.

“Fuck, Jill,” I gritted at her neck.

“Now, Roy,” she whispered, her voice throaty with sleep. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

I hooked my fingers in the side of her panties and ripped them down, not off, just enough. Then I was pushing into her, and she was so fucking tight and hot and hers.

A choked groan ripped out of me.

She arched up, taking me deeper, her nails scoring my shoulders. There was no finesse. It was seven years of routine-boy bullshitted out through my frantic thrusts.

The queen bed slammed against the wall in time with my drives. Her moans weren’t muffled; they were wide open, gasping pants against my ear.

“There, right there, god—”

My brain couldn’t form the dirty thoughts and mashed-potato fantasies that often plagued me. There was only the sound of flesh on flesh, her snatch gripping my cock, the bestial sounds she made.

I felt her orgasm first, a vicious constriction of her inner muscles that wrenched a cry from her throat. The feeling milked me, pulsing my own explosion out of my balls in a hot rush. Driving deep, I buried the full length of my rod and pulsed inside her.

“Holy shit,” she panted, a laugh trembling in her voice.

Her body was limp under me, moon-bright with sweat in places. I kissed her, tasting salt and us, my cock still squeezing out the dregs.

“We’re going to have a great week,” I said, and it was a dirty promise.

The cruise was a seven-day party on a floating palace—and, by God if we didn’t save up to drain every ounce of pleasure out of it.

There was a world-class spa, professional gym, humongous pool and three restaurants, and the first full day, we walked around the ship, explored the islands in port and generally lived like people who’d never have to pick up a paycheck again.

When the sun went down, we showered and dressed to the nines for dinner at the main dining room.

I savored surf and turf while Jill used her knife like a murder weapon on the prime rib. We killed a bottle of red in between laughs and remembering the time our son watched the scrambled movie channel and invented a complex system of code words for boobs.

She looked beautiful in a blue, low-cut dress that did amazing things for her melons and ass.

I think the maitre’d almost choked on his own tongue trying to sneak a peek of her.

Leaving the dining hall, we opted to continue The Great Vacation Escapade at the forward lounge (a triple-room-sized club with light fixtures like Christmas trees caught in a tornado).

We sat between some other couples, nobody within arm’s length, and ordered more wine.

After soaking in the stares, we snuggled and exchanged witty observations before striking up a conversation with two neighboring couples.

Jill talked with a perky, sunbaked lady with a nose ring and I, with a nicely spoken older man named Victor Delacroix.

He was on an extended sabbatical and “needed to cool his heels” while his yacht was in port. He got a kick out of my line of work and our places of origin, so we went on to discuss sports, porn and dogs.

“Is she your wife?” he asked me at a lull, gesturing to Jill.

“Don’t mind me,” I said to Jill, taking her out of her discussion. “Just introduced Victor to the wonders of dogs in the States. He’s from Marseille, they don’t have retrievers so much.”

Jill smiled and—I’m pretty sure—was half in the bag from all the wine.

“Hi, there!” She reached out to shake Victor’s hand and I noticed how large his were. Her dainty paws were dwarfed by his.

I also noticed his eyes dart to Jill’s cleavage—for science, I assume, because she was glowing like a pearl dangling from her neck in a low-cut blue dress.

That was the first time I got a good idea of who Victor was.

He was older, fifties, but probably charismatic and sexy to ladies. He was fit, rugged, French Creole and with good features.

“Royand I were exchanging beach stories. What brings you to the islands? Vacation?” Victor asked my wife and I.

Jill jumped in, nodding, “Oh yeah! It’s been forever since we had a vacation. We just got here yesterday. One week in paradise, woo!” She turned to me and giggled, as was her family custom in paradise.

Victor nodded, “Splendid. I’m here until the yacht’s back in working order, maybe another week. Wife hates when I’m gone so long.”

I glanced down at his hand, spotting a wedding ring for the first time. We went on to discuss home life. Victor and his wife had been “dancing together for thirty years,” marrying at eighteen. We talked about grandkids, their kids, the jobs we did to put food on the table. We both got along with Victor, but it was getting late, so we said goodbye and left the lounge.

The first morning and afternoon of our second day were spent in the suite. There was a new sexual drive on vacation, and we couldn’t untangle ourselves from each other. Bedroom acrobatics was the order of the day, and I loved it.

Naples had breathed new life into our sex lives and I hoped it would continue.

After our ritual sex, we walked down to the beach. The sun was sinking and we found a spot. I watched my wife with sun-bronzed skin undress into a red bikini. Then, we closed our eyes and relaxed on the towels, basking in the Setting Sun of Paradise.

I was about to nod off when a voice rang out, “Hello, friends.”

I opened my eyes to see Victor smiling back at us.

“Hi.” Jill replied, lowering her sunglasses for proper greeting.

“Meetings ended early, so I figured why not seize the day?” Victor offered, eyes on my wife.

I also noted what great shape he was in for his age. His torso was ripped and I swear, he seemed even taller than in the bar last night. Certainly, it was due to me lying down, but whatever.

“All right.” Jill replied, continuing, “We’ve just had an amazing day.” She looked over at me, beaming, then stretched. Her face took on a hint of rosiness.

At first, I thought she was embarrassed to be in a bikini in front of Victor, in which she looked smoking, but I immediately realized that wasn’t the case.

Victor was wearing snug, navy swim trunks, not quite Speedos, but they hugged his assets. Men only wear those if they’re proud, and it was clear that Victor was proud. There was a huge, swinging trunk between his legs. It was insane and I turned my eyes away.

“Seizing the day is a vacation tradition,” Victor replied, grinning. “Don’t let me delay you folks. I’ll see you at the yacht club bar later.”

“Sure, man. We’ll probably be there tonight.” I replied. Victor assented and strolled off toward a more secluded section of the beach.

After Victor was gone, Jill turned to me, smiling, “Did you see that?”

I was honest, “The man’s packing.”

“How does his wife manage all that?” she tittered. Her comment was natural, but it threw me for a loop—and it made my dick throb, too.

My wife was not an angel, but she’d never spoken without a filter about another man before.

I had to have fun with her, “Don’t sell yourself short, baby. You could handle it.”

I joked with her about taking on a bigger man before, during sex, when hotwife cuckold fantasies consumed me. She blushed and called me naughty.

“Mike stop… Don’t tease me.”

“I’m just playing, baby.”

The salt air made me feel relaxed, and with my inhibitions lowered, I was comfortable with the notion of my wife being with another man, as a fantasy.

“I saw how he was looking at you. I’m sure he’d kill to get a piece of that beach pie.” I teased her. Her blush increased, but she replied saucily, flipping her hair.

“Who wouldn’t?”

I laughed, indulging the pretense of her brazen self-confidence.

Jill grabbed a can from the cooler and popped it open before taking a long drink. She appeared thoughtful, and then gave me a sidelong look, “Well, I’ve never been with a Frenchman before,” she snickered.

I smirked, the salt air was good for her willingness to banter, too.

As we walked to the bar, I thought about Jill’s observation. If she didn’t find Victor attractive or interesting, she would have denied it with her words. It was the first time my wife had acknowledged finding another man attractive, and I was sure his endowment kindled her curiosity.

We’d been sitting at the bar for an hour, and I was disappointed that we might not see Victor again. I was pretty sure Jill was scanning for him, too. We were four cocktails in, snuggled together, when he arrived.

“Hello, friends.” he said, pulling up a seat.

“Hi, there.” Jill replied, buzzed enough to seem delighted at the prospect of seeing him.

The three of us dove into conversation and the drinks flowed.

Victor turned up the charm with Jill, and I noticed that my wife was okay with reciprocating. Truthfully, it was only a matter of time before we met more provocative people. Cut to a ringing phone—someone on Victor’s end.

“Hello, my love.” “Oh, nothing, I’m at drinks with strangers.”

“Yeah, I told you about them.”

Jill and I exchanged looks. I guess we were that intriguing.

Victor laughed, “No, I didn’t ask. Not everyone is into the lifestyle.”

Jill and I looked at each other, brows up, she looked equally intrigued. I leaned in, but couldn’t catch parts of the conversation.

“Oui, I know.” Victor chuckled. “Of course, darling. Love you.” He hung up and smiled at us. “Sorry.”

I must have looked bemused because Victor said, “Is there a problem?”

Jill was four cocktails in (and sexual confidence at an all time high).

“Sorry, Victor. What’s the lifestyle?”

I backed her up, “Yeah, what’s that about?”

Victor looked amused, “You’ll forgive me for being direct?”

Jill looked over at me, her face was as red as the lobster she’d had for dinner.

He asked if we’d ever been cuckolded.

He asked if we’d ever done anything unusual, asking if it was something we’d want to consider.

I couldn’t believe my ears, but I couldn’t look away.

Victor made a show of removing imaginary lint on his pressed suit. “Ah, yes. La vie.”

He turned to us with a ‘my French is perfect’ grin, “My wife and I…we discovered long ago, monogamy is not for us.”

He held up a finger, “However, we have rules. If I fuck other women, they must be married and their husbands must be present.”

Jill looked at him like she wanted to ask for a list.

“How does your wife feel about all this?” I asked, catching Victor off guard.

He shrugged, “She loves the idea of me with naughty wives. She regrets not being here to see what I can do with naughty wives.”

Victor sat back, pointing to my wife, “I told her about your wife. She was the one who suggested I find out if Jill was as adventurous as she looks.”

My jaw hung slack. The fact that someone had identified me as a potential cuckold was both a thrill and a struggle.

The primal side of my brain wanted to puff out my chest and tell Victor to take a hike, but another part— the dirty, depraved part—wanted to hand him my wife and a bottle of olive oil.

Victor winked at my wife, “Takes a special man and woman to handle such a thing.” Jill blushed further, and Victor looked at her with fascination.

“Your husband is a good man. He respects your honor, no?”

She nodded, still blushing.

Victor nodded at my wife, “I told my wife, I think your beautiful Jill here was the real deal. That she might welcome a man with the reputation of bulls in Europe.”

Jill looked at me, so I stepped in, “She is the real deal.”

Victor looked at us, a challenge in his eyes, “Would you be interested in such an arrangement?”

He looked at Jill and then at me, “Or are you only interested in fantasies?”

The alcohol spun my brain, but I said, “Tell us more.”

I had to hear more.

Victor sat back, “A man such as me, with a reputation to protect, enjoys the company of women, but only if the husband is on board. If the idea of me having your wife excites you? Only if I can sense she wants it, too?” He made an expansive gesture, “And I would never act without the interested parties approving—a taste test if you will. If you don’t like, you send it back to the kitchen.”

I think I glossed my lips.

Jill was deep red, looking everywhere but at Victor. “I…no, that’s a little extreme for me. We’re not swingers or anything.”

“No,” Victor said, with suaveness, “but perhaps my reputation has preceded me enough to spark your sexual curiosity?”

Jill shook her head, but she was licking her lips as she did it. “I…”

Victor stood, sliding his considerable chair aside. “I don’t want to push boundaries. I have an early morning meeting.” He offered a wave, “Goodnight, friends.”

Jill and I exchanged a look, our faces hot and flushed. We burst out laughing. The elevator ride to our room was a forty-second journey with the numbers 4-2-0 floating her hands over my fly.

When we hit the suite, I jumped on Jill like a man denied love on the top deck. She giggled and wriggled out of my grip, but not for long.

When we hit the sheets, she was taking her morning breath out of my mouth. She stopped me a minute into my dick being on strike for higher wages.

“What are you doing?” she asked, “You going to turn on a flick?”

The subject matter at dinner had my brain in the gutter. She told me to choose something from the premium cable menu.

“You sure?” I said, “It’s been a while.”

She held out the remote like a cat giving me a dead mouse. “I thought you said you weren’t a prude.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, no doubt blowing a kiss with both hands, and I scrolled the menu. I took a hit of the ‘vodka’ flavored water and congratulated myself on winning at life as my wife took a bathroom break.

When she returned, she watched from behind as I was assaulted by moaning women.

“What the hell is this?” she said when she saw the screen.

“Interracial Cuckold Sluts,” I said, with a totally unintentional boner in my sweatpants.

She was boldly cupping her barely shaved pussy, as if to say, vacation detected, check my crotch.

“I…uh, saw the preview for Naughty Married Wives and hit play.”

I picked up the remote, “Sure you did, honey.”

“You don’t believe me?” I gave her a smirk.

“You want to listen to some weird Frenchmen and be naughty with your husband and a stranger?” She squirmed. “I was just flipping through.”

I dove for her honey pot, blowing a raspberry on her tummy. She squealed and tickled me until I stopped.

“Who am I to judge a woman just trying to get through vacation with her dignity?” I said, lips to her clitoris.

She spread her thighs and raked her hands through my hair. In between lashes of my tongue, I said, “You want to play with billionaire bulls?”

I watched her face—she had turned as pink as the cherry on her swimsuit. Her eyes were glued to the screen in the bedroom, and I intensified my efforts.

“I…well…sure, I like to watch. I can see a man with a big one.” Her admission set my blood pressure to hot tub temperatures, and I gave her the business even more doggedly.

“I bet you Victor is bigger than this,” I don’t know why I said it. She dug her hands in my hair, moaning. I took a deep breath and moved up on my knees, my dick slapping her wet mound.

“You can admit you find him attractive, I won’t tell.”

“Mike, stop…”

I thrust into her, and she started moaning.

“I can’t help it baby. You know I fantasize about you with a bull, right?”

“Oh, God, Mike, keep talking dirty.”

My newfound vacation balls and the drinks at dinner had obliterated my filters. “I’m going to ask Victor up here and take a break while he takes care of you.”

She started trembling, her eyes glazed and wild.

“I’ll be right here on the chaise lounge, watching him pound you.” I ordered, and she started bucking under me.

Jill’s whole body trembled as she moaned, “Geez, Mike, you’re such a weirdo,” and I dumped everything into her.

But I was happy and so was she. When we were finished, I went down on her again, my favorite hobby. Twice.

But when we stopped, we were passed out.

When I woke up, our towels were scattered across the floor and our clothes were closer to the balcony than the dresser. I

told her, “You want to be with others, you better make sure to tell the captain.” She said I was a pervert and laughed. I love my wife.

We woke up well past breakfast service, and after a shower, headed for the buffet, where I wasn’t allowed to wear a tank top. We were both subdued, processing the night before, until we sat down with mimosas and plastic forks.

Jill was as pretty as ever, organizing her bacon just so on the plate.

She didn’t hesitate to bring up the subject before I did. “Were you serious last night?” she asked.

I was eager to talk about it, but a little embarrassed. I said: “Yes. It’s not an everyday fantasy, but the idea of you with another man…gets me hard.”

She blushed, voice lowered, “You’re all I need, you horn ball.”

Jill was smiling as she said it, too, and I could tell, whether they made her feel dirty or not, she was hot for those cuckold scenarios. I met her on the DL.

“No, it’s just a sexy fantasy. But the stuff Victor talked about was hot.”

Jill blushed, looking away. She was thinking about going along with the plan. She was touching her bacon again.

I asked, as if joking, “Would you sleep with him?”

She set down her fork—clattering on the plate—causing a few tables to pause in conversation.

My wife said, “That’s enough, Mike.”

She didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I left it on the table.

After brunch, both of us took a nap. When we got up, I tried again. This time we walked the decks, spending a long time talking about the future.

We were holding hands, and for the first time in years, Jill squeezed mine like the first time we’d been alone—just us—after we got married.

She said, “I expect a naughty husband every morning.”

“You’ll always have a naughty husband,” I said, smiling.

I pressed her, “So we go to the lounge, drink some more, and he joins us at his table for a hot nightcap?”

Jill couldn’t look at me, but she was definitely interested in having a hot nightcap with Victor.

“I’m going to need that on video.”

She told me, “You’re ridiculous, we could never do that. I’m married!”

“We’ll always be married, baby, just a crazy one-time thing.”

I could see her gears churning. Could tell she was turning the possibility over in her mind, but she couldn’t say anything in public without the entire buffet tuning in.

“Okay, Mike, that’s enough.” She changed the subject to “look, there’s a rock band on the deck.”

This was as bizarre as a flamenco festival on Christmas. We stopped talking, and afterwards, she took a nap, both of us hoping we wouldn’t linger on the subject.

We took to the beach for a walk. Our towels were still there with our things, and after some time—a half an hour of staring at my wife’s ass in her red bikini—we came upon a gathering of palm trees.

The sign read: “Clothing optional. No cameras.”

Jill looked at me and shrugged. “Why not? Vacation all the way.”

We went for it. There wasn’t much to distinguish this half of the beach from the rest. Some folks were still in bathing suits, some were naked.

There was an old man, digging a hole, with a small penis and a big gut. Jill averted her eyes.

We walked past a couple in their late-twenties, naked, sunbathing. There was flirting, but everyone was relaxed. I’d never been to a nude beach and found it normal, even relaxing.

Until I saw Victor.

Jill stopped, hands in mid-step, looking at me. I had no idea Victor