Peter Jensen - The Captive Bride

"What are you thinking of doing?" Becky said to her husband, who now stood before her dressed in his bathrobe.

"First, I'll get dressed, second, I'll have a drink, and, third, I'll have another drink," he said and opened the portable bar across from the bed, withdrawing a single half-empty bottle of scotch from the compartment.

Becky sighed. It wasn't enough to have a raving sex maniac in the room. In a few minutes, Jack Thompson would be drunk, and she didn't know what else she would have to contend with.

He sulked with his scotch by the half-open window, some of the late night traffic noise wafting up from the street below. The honeymoon's over, Becky thought ironically to herself. Tomorrow, providing that Jack would come out of his surly mood, they could begin to pick up the pieces. She got up and walked across the room, exposing herself not only to her husband but also to the lecherously prying eyes of Olaf Jorgensen.

What a sweet young fuck she would make, Olaf smiled, if only he could have put it to her the way he wanted. Jack Thompson was a novice at all this. He didn't really know how to get to these bitches, how they groaned over a man shoving his wet mouth between their legs and licking his tongue into their hot moist little pussies. Thompson probably didn't even know you could make a bitch cum like that, just by playing with her splayed-open vagina a little with your hands and then running your tongue into the soft curls of her pubic hair until you had found the small erect bud of their clitoris.

But now the bastard had cum and all the fun was all over, Olaf thought as he took one last look at the ravished young bride, one of her breasts standing out, still red and hard at the nipple from her husband's insane gnawing and sucking.

The Swede had moved from the wall and walked slowly to the window overlooking the street to the bay of Palma. After three years as a menial desk clerk, he was ready for a drastic change. His demeaning job was not in keeping with the expectations he had when arriving in Mallorca five years ago. At that time, he had imagined himself becoming an instant success in any number of deals connected with the booming tourist trade on the island. But his optimism had vanished as he watched his meager savings squandered away on foolish enterprises. In the past year, things had grown worse as he had fallen into the company of Palma's "low life," men who operated mainly at night and whose incomes were made through illicit trade, smuggling and prostitution.

Now he retired to his room for the night. He had gotten his money, had watched the fucking, as wild and chaotic as it had been, but somehow that was not enough, not nearly enough. He needed something more and he would kill for it if necessary.

The next day, Jack Thompson was changing his clothes in the bridal suite of the expensive Hotel Del Palacio. His mind raced over the argument he'd just had with Becky when she hadn't wanted to return with him from the caf? to their hotel room.

Coming back from American Express, the young husband had just picked up his new bride for their siesta when they'd run into Fritz Schneider and Christina parked in a Jaguar XKE on the hotel's wide circular driveway, and the German had offered to drive them around the island. He had been in no mood for anything but another go at his young wife in bed, while Becky had been insistent on accompanying the German and his wife… too insistent, it seemed to Jack. He just stood there and watched as she scooted into the back seat of the Jaguar with Christina, her face flushing with a resurgence of enthusiasm. Jack had been so furious that – without realizing what he was doing – he had abruptly walked off and left her in the car with the couple.

Then, for some reason, Christina came back for Jack. The young husband smiled awkwardly as he opened the door of his hotel suite and saw the curvaceous Italian woman standing there, an expectant smile playing across her lush lips.

"Darling, I thought you'd never come out," Christina murmured huskily.

"Well, here I am," he said.

"Every bit of you," she smiled.

Jack crossed in front of her and sat down on the edge of the huge sofa.

"My, you are quiet," Christina said from where she sat in a plush chair beside the open window. Suddenly, she reached over to touch his knee, causing Jack to blush as a lust-enticing view of her hugely set breasts swept before his eyes. "Aren't you wondering why I came back?" she said.

"As a matter of fact, I was. Where's Becky?"

"She's off for a drive with Fritz. I decided to come back to get you. I suggest we go get a drink and we'll join them for dinner later."

"How are we going to get there?" Jack lowered his sights until he had a complete view of the young Italian's smooth bronzed thighs.

"We'll take a taxi," she said.

They had several drinks in the hotel bar before Jack realized it was late afternoon. Now, in the taxi, all Jack knew was the continuous lurching as they sped around hairpin turns and the teasing assault of Christina's hands and breasts against his body.

The taxi reeled around one sharp angled bend in the road. She fell against him, her lips brushing with hot breath down his neck while one hand played over his thin summer slacks at his excitedly throbbing penis. Jack glimpsed a patch of acid blue sea, and, out of the comer of his eye, saw terraced hills rising up to meet huge mountains.

Then the taxi swerved down a curved gravel drive and approached a large stuccoed house set back in a grove of trees. Christina pulled abruptly away from him and sat up, straightening her hair for a moment. Outside, the only signs of life were the chirping birds and a few distant lights blinking on at the approach of evening.

Jack watched the taxi disappear down the circular driveway and suddenly felt very much alone. He looked past the house at the impressive palm-shrouded swimming pool and the sculpted terrace that merged with carefully pruned gardens. Whatever Fritz Schneider's enterprises, they were more lucrative than he had imagined. Then his thoughts turned painfully to his wife. He hoped she wouldn't sense what had happened with Schneider's mistress in the car. But Christina seemed lighthearted as she swung her hips in a provocative motion up the marbled steps to the door of the villa.

Jack followed her into the enormous living room and sat down in the nearest chair.

"They're not here," Christina said simply as she poured a glass of Pernod for Jack from the living room bar overlooking the swimming pool outside.

"What do you mean… not here?" Jack exclaimed, suddenly rising. "You told me that she and Schneider were waiting for us."

Christina slid her tightly clad hips across the plush white sofa towards him. "Why don't you just sip your drink and relax?"

Jack shrugged in confusion. He felt the Pernod's mind-glazing effect as it raced through his already reeling brain. "Well, where are they? What's the explanation?" he asked wearily.

"There's no explanation! Perhaps Fritz drove Becky back to the hotel," she said. "Yes, that's probably it. They waited for us a few hours and, when we didn't appear, returned to Palma. Fritz will drive you back to Palma when he returns. Meanwhile, we're free to entertain ourselves!"

Christina smiled and excused herself, leaving Jack alone with his smoldering thoughts.

Now Becky was back in Palma, Thompson reflected, probably expecting him to be waiting for her in the hotel room. It was growing completely dark outside. A strip of fading purple lay on the flat horizon and a star rose over the garden, casting its pinpoint light across the swimming pool. Jack already felt less guilty about being alone with Christina. He was even beginning to wonder what was keeping her! He sipped the Pernod and laughed sardonically to himself. He had half a mind to give the drink to Becky sometime and see what would happen… it looked like he was going to need all the help he could get. When it came down to it, he actually had no idea how he would manage to overcome his wife's puritanical attitudes.