Paradise Found (BBW Erotic Forbidden Affairs) (2 page)

With her anticipation mounting, Karen smiled at herself in the mirror and remembered how she got here, on this plane, with Bruno only a few seats away.

The night he asked her to steal away with him, they were at their regular Friday expat playgroup, Happy Hour Playgroup. They had spent the time chatting in a corner at the bar, while kids and other parents roamed the host’s five thousand square foot apartment. Five thousand square feet in Bangkok was the norm. Any less would mean a fruit and veggie tray on the food table and no booze. Any more meant house staff would serve hors d'oeuvres on bamboo trays while the host’s nannies followed kids around on their hands and knees. Five thousand square feet gave Bruno and Karen enough room to be alone in plain sight. None of the other parents had caught on yet, at least that’s what she was telling herself. For the last year, Bruno was the only stay at home dad to regularly attend their playgroup, and Karen had convinced herself it was all because of her. Maybe he had already made the rounds with everyone else and had finally made his way to her? She didn’t care. The attention he paid her filled her up, and she didn’t want it to stop.

After three cocktails and several shredded napkins later, their conversation had turned to Phuket. They talked about how they loved Phuket more than Krabi, and how their spouses hated it, how they complained of sand everywhere and the yawning stretches of nothing to do.

"Nothing to do? Watching the sea is something! Swimming her crystal blue waters is something!" Bruno held up his mojito glass to meet hers.

"Cheers!” Karen said, clinking his glass. "We should leave our grumpy spouses and take the kids to paradise ourselves."

"I’ll drink to that!" Bruno said, his Portuguese accent thickening with every sip.

He grew quiet then, and Karen was sure she had overstepped a boundary. He stared at his glass, swishing the remaining mint and ice around the bottom. And then he said it. He spoke in a low whisper that she almost didn't register his words.

"Maybe we should leave my grumpy wife and your grumpy husband, and all our kids, and take a trip to Phuket by ourselves."

Every moment Karen had spent pining for Bruno was justified–he wanted her. It wasn’t all wishful thinking. It wasn’t all in her head.

There was an unexpected knock at the bathroom door. She lifted the latch and found Bruno standing there, looking over his shoulder.

“Quick, before the flight attendant comes back.”

She let him in. The two stood face to face, their chests heaving with excitement. His scent engulfed her; he smelled of musk and man and the cologne she bought him as a secret Santa gift. Bruno grabbed her around the waist and yanked her towards him, crushing his lips to hers. He groaned as his tongue swept the inside of her mouth.

She slid a hand down the front of his Bermuda shorts, kissing his lips, his face, his neck, and his chest. He was rock hard and moaned softly as she unwound him. Overcome, he grabbed her hair in his hand and kissed her with a hunger that made her nipples peek. She stroked his shaft as her tongue darted inside his mouth.

“If you keep it up, you are going to unman me,” Bruno said with short caught breaths.

Unman him? Who talks like that? No one she had ever met before.

She kept her eyes trained on him as she slowly lowered to her knees. He hissed as she slid him into her mouth, inch by inch.

“My god,” he said, a little too loud.

“Shhhh,” she playfully scolded him. “If you keep that up, we'll be found out. You don't want that do you?" she cooed, gingerly stroking his length.

Her tease of him was too much to bear. Holding his cock in his hand, he placed himself onto her lips, urging her to take him in. “You are driving me crazy,” he whispered.

She toyed with him. Deeper and deeper she inhaled him into her mouth, lapping the fat head with her tongue, and then swallowing him up again. She grew more determined, faster and faster she pumped on his cock. Needing air, she withdrew him from her mouth, and feverishly stroked him off, her hand gliding over his slippery wet cock.

"Come for me, baby,” she said.

That did him in. With a groan through clenched teeth, every ounce of control in him was released, and he was lost to her. Hot surrender poured into her waiting mouth, and she eagerly drank it up.

He brought her up to standing and kissed her long and wet on the lips. He hugged her tight, cradling the back of her head in his hands. The sudden affection shocked her. She was turned inside out by his lusty touches, but this kind of passion undid her in a way that was both foreign and terrifying.

A jolt of turbulence rocked them out of their embrace.

“We should get back,” he whispered.

“You go first and I’ll follow.”

He planted one last hot kiss on her lips and she was shattered all over again. How? she thought. How was she going to survive this weekend if he kept on kissing her like that?

Two

When they landed at Phuket International Airport, Bruno gripped Karen’s arm and guided her through the throngs of people milling around baggage claim. He wouldn’t let her carry her own bag and grabbed it from her hand the moment she retrieved it from the carousel. It must be a Mediterranean thing, she said to herself. His protective grasp made her feel attractive in a way she never thought possible. As they walked in hurried steps, she stole glances of him. His light olive skin and dark curly hair alluded Portuguese hotness. His chiseled jaw and Roman nose told of a genetic history her own mutt-Americana could never understand. In Portugal, there were libraries older than her own country’s constitution.

Outside, Bruno handed their bags to a stout Thai man holding a sign that said, “Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” Karen giggled at the intrigue. He held the door open for her. She eased herself into the back seat, and he bounded in after her. As the driver stowed their luggage in the trunk, Bruno took her head in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. Heat throbbed between her legs. As if reading her mind, he shot one hand under her skirt and squeezed her mons over her panties. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her head shot back, and he kissed her throat as he softly caressed the moist white fabric.

The driver opening the front door broke their connection. He turned back to them and pointed to a sign hung behind the passenger’s seat. “No fucking in taxi. Ok, Boss?” he said.

Bruno and Karen laughed. He hugged her close, and she nuzzled her head into his chest. “Ok, Boss,” he said. “No fucking in the taxi.”

They rode away from the airport in silence. Karen kept her head on Bruno’s chest, listening to him breathe. She should probably call home, and tell the kids that she had arrived safely. Working as a freelance travel writer had its advantages, especially when she needed a cover story. She never thought she’d actually need one while living in Bangkok.

Many of her expat friends had affairs, and most of them as responses to their husband’s own infidelities. It wasn’t her style to hook up with men she barely knew, even before she was married. She didn’t want something hollow; she didn’t want to throw money at Thai men and have transactional sex like her friends did, like their husbands’ did, like her husband did right under her nose. She didn’t want to perpetuate the filth of needing to survive in a place using something that’s supposed to build you up, not tear you down. But that’s how things worked in Bangkok; expat men had their fill on Thai women, and kept their wives happy with gifts and lavish vacations.

Karen’s husband was beyond such approach. His practice was to hand her the American Express with a sticky note stuck to the top.

Last summer, she barely saw Jack, which meant there was a torrential rainfall of sticky notes left for her to find. “Stop $1000,” was for a trip to Krabi with the kids. “Cartier Under $800” for when he went on that weeklong golf trip, and “$600 Red” was for their anniversary he missed. Again. She had lined them all up on the refrigerator, convinced there was a code hidden inside. Her favorite, “Vacate $5000,” meant for a family Christmas vacation in Bali, she kept on her bathroom mirror. With eyeliner, she added her own suggested price, “Vacate $500,000?” All summer that sticky note clung to her bathroom mirror. He never mentioned it. By the time the kids were returning to school, “NO” was slashed across it in red lipstick. Their divorce talk was over. He wasn’t going to let her leave.

Shortly after, Karen and Bruno met at the first day of school morning drop off. She was drawn to him instantly. He had invited her to coffee and the two of them talked about books and travel and the woes of living as a trailing spouse. She soon started to time the school run so that she’d arrive when he did. Sometimes if traffic was bad, she’d only get a glimpse of him returning to his car and driving off, until she finally got the nerve up to invite him to the Friday afternoon expat Happy Hour Playgroup.

She knew she was in trouble when he unexpectedly left Bangkok for a month. When she saw the nanny dropping off his daughter at school, and missed playgroup that afternoon, Karen returned home and cried herself to sleep. She was convinced that whatever she thought was going on was all in her head. Her feelings were her own, and not shared with the man she couldn’t stop thinking about. When he suddenly returned and made contact, her insides tore to shreds all over again.

“Where are you?” was the text she received one late Friday afternoon when all her friends had assembled at their playgroup.

Not recognizing the number, she typed, “Who is this?”

“Bruno. I got your number from the phone tree.”

Karen knew there wasn’t a phone tree; she had asked about it thinking she could track him down. He was lying, and that was a very good thing.

“Are you coming here or what, Yankee?” he texted.

She smiled, her heart beating against her ribcage like a feral bat.

Karen: Where have you been?

Bruno: I had to go to Lisbon. Did you miss me?

Karen smashed the phone against her chest. There was a lot riding on what she typed next. If she said yes, she’d seem desperate–even though she knew she was. They were friends, and friends sometimes missed each other. Right? She decided to play it safe.

Karen
: Of course! Without your Isabella, Ava didn’t want to go playgroup. She’ll be happy to hear you guys are back!

Bruno:
Does that mean you’re coming? I have a mojito with your name on it…

Karen:
On the way...

That all seemed so long ago now.

In their taxi heading towards the boat that would take them to their getaway, Karen rested her head on Bruno’s chest. “Why did you go to Lisbon that time?” she asked. “What took you away for so long?”

Bruno ran his fingers through her hair. The backseat of the taxi was muggy, even with the air conditioning running full blast.

“I went to see my priest,” he said.

“Your priest?”

He kissed her wrinkled forehead. “I had to ask him a question.”

“Did you get the answer you were hoping for?”

He cupped one hand on her breast, eyeing the driver. He whispered into her ear, “I’ll never tell.”

The taxi rolled up to Rassada Pier shortly before dusk, where Karen and Bruno found a long tail boat waiting for them. Bruno offered his hand as she climbed aboard. Was there no end to his chivalry? The boat captain pulled the engine cord, and the motor roared to life. Bruno held on to her as the boat ripped out of port, and the busy pier blurred behind them.

Karen caressed Bruno’s arms that lay draped around her, and watched the sun slink low toward the horizon. The sea foam mist cooled them as their skin drank in the warm evening breezes. Within minutes, the coast was a thin line where the sea ended and the life they left behind began. It was then that her excitement took over. She looked out to the horizon and watched as the orange sun sank away, and her thoughts burned with dirty things she and Bruno would do to each other. Her mind flashed to how his fat cock fit snugly into her mouth, how his chest rose and fell with anticipation, and how his body tensed as he came. How she wanted to feel his warm breath on her pussy as she drenched his face with her juices. She wanted him to lay himself on top of her and never let go.

The long tail boat coasted to the shore entrance of the Hideaway Island Resort with waves gently slapping at its sides. As the captain made anchor and scurried to collect their bags, Bruno scooped Karen out of the boat and waded through the warm knee deep waters to the beach. There they found a plastic red carpet on the sand rolled out for their arrival. Tiki torches lit a path to the reception area: a hut covered in bamboo. The manager, a lean Frenchman, emerged from behind the desk and greeted them.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I presume.”

“That’s us,” Karen said with a smile.

“We’ve been waiting for you. I trust your journey was nice.”

“Very,” they said together. Karen blushed and Bruno squeezed her around the waist.

“Wonderful. I’m Pierre. Welcome to the Hideaway Beach Resort. We have your bungalow all ready for you, The French Connection,” he said with a grin. “I just need to make a copy of your passports and you’ll be all set.”

Bruno and Karen exchanged nervous glances. Pierre leaned on the counter and said, “We understand your need for discretion. We only keep copies for security purposes.”

Karen dug into her bag and reluctantly handed over her American passport. Bruno followed suit with his from Portugal. Pierre open to the picture pages and laid them on the copier side by side. Without missing a beat, he returned them and said, “There you are, Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Everything is in order now.”

He walked around to the front of the reception counter. “If you’d follow me, I’ll take you to your room.”

Karen’s chest tightened; her anticipation building to maddening heights. She could feel the heat in her crotch rise. She needed Bruno’s touch. She needed to feel him inside her.

Pierre led them down a sea shelled paved path to their bungalow, The French Connection. “Bungalow #12 is unique in that it is separated from the rest of the resort by a jetty. You’ll find that you’ll have ample privacy with your own secluded beach.” He looked back at them trailing behind. Pierre smiled when he noticed Bruno take her hand and kiss it. “We have a full house this weekend,” he continued. “A few regular reservations for this time of year, and you two, of course. Then last night a group of sixteen arrived together, taking over the last eight rooms. You’re neighbors,” he grinned. “It’s all very exciting for us.”