Fantasy, Reality and Intimate Love Pt. 03

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Hardcore

Chapter 12

The months passed and the seasons changed, yet the passion and love between Beth and Allan merely grew, their relationship strengthening like your grip on the arm of the dentists chair. Infidelities were ignored and love blossomed.

Interestingly enough, the fantasies and role plays continued, although with a more subdued approach but the consequential result was the same. Fucking good sex! Who needed soft swing anyway?

Beth and Allan shagged as though their lives depended on it, that Oxygen was second only to ravishing each other’s bodies at any conceivable opportunity. And they took most opportunities. The sauna at a well known plush hotel in Hinckley was probably their most adventurous, the glass door from the pine-wood sauna room allowing passers by wandering to and from the pool an ideal angle to see Allan enter Beth from behind, lifting her bra top over her globes and fondling her tits whilst pounding her cunt.

Or the event of a quiet drink one Sunday afternoon by the river Avon when Beth had given Allan a hand (or a hand job to be more precise) under the picnic table at a local pub.

Beth had grown in confidence, wearing skimpy underwear was once something kept simply in the bedroom but recently, Beth had taken to wearing many of the items of lingerie Allan had bought her as everyday underwear items. These, combined with her usual wardrobe of sexy clothing, had increased her sexuality, made her even more of a sex icon as they wandered round the Bull-ring shopping centre on a Saturday or as they strolled around many of the local beauty spots. She even looked dashing when she went with Allan to watch the football, despite her teasing Allan that his favourite soccer team should be called “Aston Villa nil!”

It was their similar tastes to life in general, their similar sense of humour and their total devotion to each other that set them apart from the crowd. Their relationship had become stronger, their love had evolved into total bonding and they were inseparable. Not to say they didn’t have their own friends and socialised separately, but they needed each other as much as a junkie craves crack. Except Allan craved a different sort of crack! Beth’s!

Sure, they had their spells of bickering as well, which is normal and healthy in any type of relationship. It only added to the strength of their relationship and their love flourished.

It was a cold and miserable Saturday morning and Beth had surfaced from her slumber, donning a dressing gown and picking the post from the door mat.

She opened the white envelope because it didn’t look like the brown envelopes which were usually a demand for money. It was a wedding invitation. A cousin was getting married in Jamaica. Wow! Both she and Allan were invited. Beth had yearned to go to the Caribbean and this was the perfect opportunity.

Beth’s mind began to wander, visions of silver sand and crystal clear water, the sound of jet ski’s and the taste of coconut rum, a gentle breeze blowing in over the Gulf cooling the effects of the sun on her scantily clad body. Heaven!

It would be as far away from the Midlands of Britain as she could want to be, a week or two of relaxation without the local pressures of work and routine. She’d heard there were some pretty good clubs out there, too as the locals were so chilled out which was in total contrast to the climate. Visions of tall local lads dressed in sleeveless shirts playing basketball flitted into her mind, the taste of freshly caught local fish. In Beth’s mind, she’d already landed and cleared customs!

A change of scenery would be just what she needed right now, a chance to catch up on some reading, writing letters, re-assembling her thoughts. The last few months had been a period Beth would rather not have happened yet somehow, she was pleased that it had, the result having moulded her attitude and approach beyond previous belief. What the heck was wrong with her? Nothing was wrong. But she did feel different. Mentally different, that is.

Confidence was always part of her personality yet she seemed truly confident, more definite in her total approach to life. Had she just been putting on an act, pretending to be confident? Beth still couldn’t work it out in her own mind, but whatever the result, she felt a million dollars. Being totally infatuated with her husband may well have had something to do with it.

Beth placed the invitation back in the envelope as she padded into the kitchen and absent mindedly switched the kettle on, almost like she was on auto pilot. Her body was here in the kitchen but her mind was thousands of miles away, soaking up the sun on the beach.

She sat at the breakfast bar, gazing out of the window, the dull overcast clouds making the Saturday morning gloomy, the remnants of the previous shower still dripping down the kitchen window, endeavouring to bring Beth back to reality. She pulled a mild grimace on her face as her warped mind mulled over the weather forecast from the previous evening, the forecaster gaziantep escortları describing the general synopsis as a large depression over the region. She laughed to herself but the laugh had no humour in it. Depression summed up not just the weather but her emotions at that moment. Beth turned the envelope in her hand over and over on the surface of the table and her smile returned but this time, with genuine delight.

“Jamaica” she whispered to herself. “Jamaica”. Her eyes glazed over in her daydream, the rivulets of rain on the window pane no longer visible, her mind saw beyond the glass, beyond the visible horizon. Palm trees and lush hills, the sound of distant reggae music and motorcycles rung through her ears, drowning out the sound of the electric kettle boiling and switching itself off.

Allan surfaced half an hour later, the vacant space in his bed forcing him to go in search of the woman who told him “I do”. By this time, Beth was in a buoyant mood, swanning around the kitchen like Torvill and Dean. The CD player played a selection of classic Bob Marley tunes and Beth joyfully busied herself in the kitchen, creating some form of ginger cake judging by the aroma.

“What’s all this, then?” Allan asked, scratching his testicles as he yawned.

“You sure know how to turn a woman on” Beth joked, taking in his unkempt hair. It’s never like that in the Hollywood movies, everyone has perfect hair and make up, even after a night of passion. And she certainly couldn’t imagine Patrick Swayzee or Hugh Grant rubbing their balls!

Allan grunted and sat at the breakfast bar, wishing he could reach the CD player and turn the music down a bit. He’d had a few drinks the night before and maybe one or two too many.

“Why the sudden burst of cooking and frivolity?” he asked, inspecting the dregs on Beth’s coffee cup, hoping he’s be able to drink hers instead of having to make his own.

“Sorry for being happy and gay!………” she said, “…….or should it just be gay?……”

Allan was not quite awake enough for that type of humour at this time of day, especially when his mouth felt as dry as a desert.

“What have I got to do to get a cup of coffee around here?” he said, his voice humourless as his head pounded.

“Oh, sorry dear…..” Beth said, approaching him and squatting down until her eyes were level with Allan’s. “……there’s a button on the top of the kettle, switch it on and the water boils like magic!” and with that, she swanned off to the bathroom for a good long soak. Allan went to move off his stool and jarred himself.

“Bollocks!” he cursed as he crossed the kitchen.

Refreshed with copious amounts of caffeine, Allan eventually managed to get to the bathroom, Beth having occupied the place for so long, he thought maybe she’d been abducted by aliens. Her constant singing the words of the song “Uncle John from Jamaica keeps on calling every day………..” rattled around Allan’s ears. To make matters worse, not only did Allan not particularly like the song, it was so darned catchy, he kept singing it to himself, making him even more pissed off.

He looked at Beth, his eyes confused and uncertain. Beth, on the other hand, danced around the lounge like she was a member of the Bolshoi Ballet, her mood high and happy. She glided over to Allan, her smile beaming and radiant, handing him an envelope. Allan looked at her quizzically, his head tilted slightly. He hadn’t seen Beth this motivated and happy for some time and it was a pleasant change.

He read the card inside and nodded his head in much the same way that Courtney Walsh would do when he took a wicket. It was beginning to fall into place, the inclement weather outside and the mental picture of a Caribbean break made Allan burst into smile himself. They’d saved some money for a holiday but following their escapades on their previous break, they’d not actually got around to booking anything.

“So, are we going or what?” Beth beamed, her smile as infectious as the flu. Allan tried to keep a stern face but poker face soon gave way to the grin that bloomed within. He grabbed Beth by the waist and twirled her round, nestling his face into her neck.

“Bloody stupid question. Of course we’re going” he replied, barely able to contain himself. They embraced, their lips meeting slowly at first but as the passion began to rise, so did the intensity of their kiss. Allan lowered Beth to the floor gently, smothering her body with his, pinning her to the carpet like a wrestler and Beth offered no resistance. On the contrary, she wrapped her legs around Allan, pulling him towards her, wanting the closeness of him pressed against her. Their tongues continued to wrestle with each other, their heavy breathing drowning out the sound of the rain beating against the window, the grey clouds overhead unable depress the feelings of the couple as clothes were unceremoniously removed, garments filling the air like a shower of linen.

“Will we need any jabs for the Caribbean?” Beth asked after drawing breath from the elongated kiss. Allan smiled.

“Don’t know. But just in case, I’ll give you an injection of my own” he said as he entered her.

“Will I feel a prick?” she asked, jovially. Allan loved it when they fooled around during sex.

“You might feel a bit foolish!” he responded. She slapped him playfully on his exposed buttocks.

“Oh, I do hope it’s a big prick” she whispered in Allan’s ear. Allan continued but his mind started off at a tangent, his mind slipping back all those months ago when his lovely wife was fucked by Juan and his incredibly long penis in all her holes. Then Allan recalled with great intensity the blond haired Scandanavian, Kris, who’s cock was so fat, it was bordering on being obese. (Or should that be obscene?). Whatever, Allan’s mind had begun a train of thought which had his emotions negotiating the cape of good hope on a rubber dinghy.

Beth moaned as Allan made love to her, her breathing was fast and shallow and his hips pumped into hers, their pubic hair entwining as they copulated.

“Will you inject me with serum or semen?” she panted. Allan smiled. God, he loved her humour. His actions became more intense as they fucked, his entire weight pressing against her, causing her arse to rub against the carpet.

“I thought we were flying to Jamaica. Now it feels like you’re pushing me” she said as she found herself several feet across the carpet from where she started. Allan smiled.

“We’d by at Plymouth by now if you’d stop pushing back into me!” he joked.

Chapter 13

The weeks passed quickly and they found themselves touching down in Jamaica, the sun gold and warm, the sea crisp and clear. They disembarked from the long haul Virgin (rather inappropriately) flight wondering why they’d taken coats into the cabin with them, the rain from Britain long since forgotten.

Warm friendly smiles greeted them as they made their way through the terminal and the ambience was one of serenity, the likes neither had ever experienced anywhere before, let alone in an airport. It may have been thirty Celsius outside but the atmosphere was totally chilled out. Allan wondered if he’d need his coat after all, to keep away the frostbite of their attitude!

The taxi ride was a little strange, it was almost like being in Malta where the road users ignore the white line in the middle of the road, they drove in the shade because it was cooler. The mountains in the distance took on their own beauty and a cool breeze blew intermittently, taking the edge off the burning sensation of the piping hot sun. Locals on bicycles rode precariously close to cliff edges as they journeyed through the island. Beth and Allan barely spoke, both taking in the scenery and atmosphere, the island being everything they’d imagined it to be. Lush green hills contrasted with barren fields as they travelled towards their accommodation, a large complex owned by Harry, an uncle of the bride groom who had lived in Jamaica for some years. They’d originally lived in Barbados as rich land owners, having moved from the UK back in the 1960’s. Harry had inherited some money and had invested it wisely, doubling his money in just 18 months. He’d sold up his business ventures and taken semi retirement in the West Indies and had enjoyed his life very much, operating a tourist business in Jamaica for the last 12 years. All bar 2 of those years, he’d enjoyed with Maria, his one and only wife and soul mate. Beth had recalled how she’d been told about their relationship and it was almost like a fairy tale, full of dreams come true and magic wishes. From a very early age, Beth had yearned for a relationship like that and had waited patiently for the knight in shining armour to appear. She’d found that in Allan. He, to her, was her knight in shining armour. He had been able to provide those dreams come true, the magic wishes. Allan had given her love, comfort and fun. He was a good bloke, decent, kind, caring, considerate, good looking and matched her sexual appetite.

Harry had run a successful tourist business, everything from coach excursions to the hiring of jet ski’s. Maria had been his faithful business partner, confidant and lover until two years ago when she was tragically taken by the angels, her body riddled with cancer which had left her either in so much pain or so heavily drugged she was unable to function. Harry had nursed her through her sickness and when she died, his world fell apart. He sold his business, taking a big financial loss in the process, but it got him away from people for a while. Being a white man in Jamaica was never going to be easy but he’d made many friends over the years and they’d supported him through his hour of need.

Harry had resurfaced and was rebuilding his life, he owned a massive mansion on the more select part of the island and was renowned as being a local celebrity, not least for his resourcefulness. Still involved with tourists, Harry provided some creature comforts for those who felt home sick. A wide array of popular tea bags filled his small store together with typically British things like marmalade and Scots Porridge. It was a form of escapism as he kept all the things that Maria had loved in her life and by providing these goods, he was keeping her memory alive.

Now Harry’s niece was getting married, he’d offered the use of his large mansion to accommodate some of her guests she’d invited and Allan and Beth were honoured to be amongst them.

The cab pulled up outside the electric gates and pressed the intercom. The gates opened and they drove up a gravel driveway, the tyres crunching as they approached the imposing white building. Two black lads dressed in white suits appeared and removed their baggage from the trunk, taking it up the steps into the building.

Harry bounded down the steps, his movements belying his 66 years, looking like a man 20 years younger. Obviously the Caribbean way of life had suited him well.

“You must be Beth” he said, holding out his arms for a hug. Beth had only met the man once when she was little and he’d visited the UK. His skin was tanned but very subtly but his accent was no longer Wolverhampton, it was pure Jamaica. Black country to black country in one foul swoop, she mused.

“It’s good to see you, uncle!” she said, genuinely happy to see the man.

“Hey. It’s Harry to you, OK? Less of the uncle!” he beamed, his chastisement nothing more than good humour. “And who’s dis gentleman?” he asked, knowing full well Beth had been married 2 or 3 years now.

“Allow me to introduce my husband, Allan” she said, her palm indicating to Allan who was still taking in the surroundings.

“Good to see you, fellow” Harry bellowed, shaking Allan by the hand so warmly the vibrations ran through his body to the extent he felt he would be concussed. “You is a very lucky man” he said, winking at Beth in a friendly and harmless manner. “Let me show you around, den we’ll have some tea!” he said, placing an arm across Beth’s shoulder and leading her into the air conditioned house. Inside, Beth might easily have been forgiven for thinking she was in a palace. Marble floors with marble pillars greeted them, porcelain ornaments and bronze statues decorated the lobby which was light and spacious. Paintings adorned the walls of the impressive spiralling staircase, mostly landscapes of a nautical nature showing big galleons or schooners with a backdrop of local islands. A compass mosaic was set into the marble at the foot of the stairs and windows into the bar area were actual port hole windows. Harry must have spent a lot of money making the house as he and Maria liked, the paintwork light and airy, occasional blue and red circles painted on the walls to look like safety rings and a gigantic chandelier like the one in the film of “Titanic”. Allan almost expected to see Leonardo ready to shake his hand at the foot of the stair well.

Harry was talking to Beth, pointing out some of the plaster gargoyles around the ceiling but Allan was lost in the atmosphere. He followed them through to the area which had been set up like a bar, cellar as well. It could have been some swanky hotel for all Allan knew, five star rating with a nightly rate of 3 months salary!

“You like fish?” Harry said, interrupting Allan’s thought process.

“Mmm? Oh, yes!” Allan responded, aware he’d been caught off guard, looking round for the tank he was expecting to find full of tropical fish.

“Good. We’ve got freshly caught swordfish for supper” he said, unaware of Allan’s confused state.

“Can we see more of the island Unlce…….sorry, Harry?” Beth asked, her voice excited like a kid on Christmas eve. Harry laughed out loud.

“Dere’s plenty of time for dat tomorrow. I’ll show you around personally” he grinned. “Now let Paul here show you to your room so you can get freshened up. Dinner is at seven, OK. Dress in shorts, nuttin’ fancy you hear?” he said, his grin never receding.

A well dressed black lad escorted them to their room, the long winding staircase looked almost endless at one point. Their cases were already in their room and many clothes already hung from hangers in the wardrobe. Large patio windows lead out onto a balcony, the hills to one side and a view of the bay ahead of them, the sun glistening off the water like a mirror. Small yachts in the distance made small white scars in the water as they gently sailed across the clear sea, echoes of a jet plane making it’s final approach somewhere in the distance.

Beth turned to Allan, her smile radiant and her eyes full of excitement.

“Well?” she said, almost hopping from one foot to the other.

“I’ve stayed in worse” Allan replied, trying to keep a straight face. Beth was about to thump Allan when there was a tap on the door. Allan walked across the room and opened the door to be greeted by one of the lads who’d brought their cases up. He was armed with a silver salver with cocktails on, condensation on the outside of the glass implying the contents of the glasses were ice cold. Allan took the tray and reached into his pocket to tip the lad but the lad smiled and shook his head.

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