Misc. Erotica A Hotwife Adventure in the Indian Ocean

[samcuck2]

Chapter 1 Part A: LOTS OF SWINGS
“What do you think they’re doing up there?” my wife whispered.
Shweta propped herself up on her hands. She was looking up at the ceiling, as though she could see through the deck and get a view of Wasim and Neha, and whatever it was they were doing up there.
    Her tone was playful, which I was relieved to hear. She propped her head on her hand and looked at me, and I was also relieved to see a little smile creeping into her mouth. Shweta was recovering from her initial reaction to the discovery we had made last night about Wasim and Neha. The fit, graying Wasim and his much younger, trophy-wife Neha, were unabashedly into “the lifestyle.”
Well...
To clarify, the “discovery” was mostly Shweta’s. I was not actually unaware that Wasim and Neha were swingers.
Truth be told – and I wasn’t about to tell the truth to anyone - Wasim and Neha’s status as swingers may have even been a deciding factor in my decision to join them for a lengthy cruise on their sailboat in the Maldives. It had been a toss-up between going with them, or with another couple in my sailing club.
I’d be lying if I said that Wasim and Neha’s sexual energy didn’t appeal to me more than Pankaj and Shikha’s... well, lack of it.
The official story – for both my wife and Wasim and Neha – was that we were there strictly to try out the sailing life.
Sailing only.
I wanted to get my own boat, and I dreamed of spending weeks in the water, cruising around from island to island. And I really had in mind sailing, not what Wasim and Neha were up to (however much their “lifestyle” admittedly piqued my interest).
I had always loved sailing. I had a small boat of my own before I married Shweta, for racing in the lake. Shweta never cared for it, especially the racing part, and the boat was a J/ 22. Not exactly woman-friendly, and the one time I took her out the weather soured and she ended up vomiting over the side until we reached shore.
For a few seasons, the boat had sat largely unused in a very expensive marina. I moved it north, where it languished some more. I sold it when our son was a year old, and it became obvious to me that I wouldn’t be sailing any time soon. Now, the kid was a little older and could stay with Shweta’s parents for weeks at a time, though. I had joined a sailing club just to have access to a boat and get back in the swing of things.
I really hoped I could convince Shweta to join me in some more peaceful sailing. If I got a big enough boat and sailed in the ocean, those factors would be challenging enough to replace my racing desires. (Or so I hoped.)
And the “big boat” part, I could tell, appealed to Shweta. Shweta had reluctantly agreed to come on this cruise after I had shown her pictures of Wasim’s boat, a luxury 50m super-yacht. It was really a marvel, from Shweta’s perspective and from mine. For Shweta: the master suite had a marble bathtub and shower, and the cabin was spacious enough to stand upright comfortably after ducking through the hatchway, even if you were tall, like me. Wasim had spared no expense on furnishings and fixtures: new red oak hardwood floors gleamed everywhere, leather couches and tasteful modernist decor followed a fashionable mineral gray theme, splashed with red, throughout the boat. There was a large deck for sunbathing, and it included an area large enough to have couches and tables (in the same ultra-fashionable theme) and an optional pull-out canopy.
From my perspective, it was a huge boat with two masts, and incredible fully-automated system that allowed for manual override.
Wasim, who had shelled out a lot of extra dough to be able to sail his own boat, did not believe in automation. He liked to have at least one extra pair of hands on board to help out, which is where I came in.
(Neha, apparently, knew how to sail but would only do it under duress.)
 Shweta had envisioned a lot of relaxing sunbathing, reading on the deck, floating in clear Maldives waters on an enormous flotation device, and sipping martinis on the gray couch on the deck under the stars. I had really waxed poetic about all those things.
 She had also liked that the huge yacht would not (could not) be involved in any racing. After I had shown her pictures of the inside to assure her that it had not been stripped down for such a purpose, she had agreed to take this cruise.
I just wanted a boat. I wanted her to have a really good time on a yacht and hopefully agree to let me get one (I would break the news to her later that our boat would not be nearly this fancy).
Back to the issue of Wasim and Neha: in order for Shweta to have to have a good time, I had to get her on the yacht, and in order to do that, I figured it might not have been the best idea to tell her about their lifestyle.
It wasn’t that Shweta was a prude. I just didn’t need to take any chances.
Wasim and Neha, for their part, had assured me that our inclusion on the boat didn’t in any way implicate us in their lifestyle. They had assured me that the Maldives was full of couples who did want to play, and they had also assured me that they were not extremely overt about their practices.
But the topic had come up at dinner, because they had run into some “friends.”
It had started off innocently enough. Even I had thought the “friends” were just “friends” when they first arrived. I suppose that even though Wasim and Neha had chatted lightly about their lifestyle, I hadn’t really imagined it as a real thing they did.
The friends were a couple closer to Wasim’s age, Shaun and Riley Marino. Riley might have been in her mid-forties, but the only way you might have guessed it is because she told you. She had long, sun-bleached brown hair that flowed to the middle of her back. She was tanned, with slender, sexy legs she seemed to have stolen from a twenty-year old. Her husband was a fit man in his late forties, a little gray, suntanned and athletic.
 Dinner went along like any other dinner, with everyone having wine and chit-chatting, talking about what they did and whether they liked it. All normal.
But at the end of dinner, Wasim headed back to the navigation area to check on something. We were sitting at the table on the deck under the canopy, and Neha offered to get us more drinks.
She returned from the cabin and handed us the drinks, went back for the rest of them, and then, as casually as ever, came back and sat down on Shaun’s lap.
The way she did it was so natural that for a moment neither Shweta nor I noticed. Riley was talking, and she didn’t miss a beat. Neha’s thighs were bare and she kicked her feet playfully.
I remember thinking it was just an innocent game they played, Neha and Shaun. Shweta must have thought that as well, because she didn’t seem very ruffled by it.
And then she leaned in and kissed Shaun.
But not a peck on the cheek.
They kissed like dirty porn stars. Their tongues were out of their mouths, darting in quick circles for all of us to see.
Riley looked right at them and smiled, then kept talking.
Shweta almost dropped her wine glass. Her jaw literally fell open until she was gaping like a cartoon.
She looked over at me.
I held up my pointer fingers, which was ersatz sign-language for “I can explain,” and hoped she would catch my drift.
I wasn’t exactly sure how long this would go on. A quick check back at the navigation area revealed that Wasim had his eyes on the deck, and not the controls.
 While it wasn’t the first time I had imagined what it would feel like to watch my own wife with another man, this was the first time I had such a visceral reaction to imagining it. Looking at Wasim watching his wife sent a thrill through me, as I pictured myself in his position, and Shweta on Shaun’s lap. Shweta’s mouth getting probed by his tongue, Shweta’s thighs being felt up right there on Shaun’s lap, her ass resting on the hard, solid length of his cock.
My own dick got hard almost instantly.
I had no idea what to do, so I leaned forward to get my martini, and I focused on it as though it were the most important thing in the world. But my mind was on those two, on Wasim and how he must be feeling, on my own fantasy about Shweta.
Shweta, for her part, froze completely.
I don’t know how things might have ended, if Neha hadn’t broken off to push her hair out of her face and look over at Riley. She turned slightly on Shaun’s lap, and her butt must have rolled like a hot wave over his cock.
As she turned, she saw Shweta and her aghast expression.
Riley followed her eyes, because Neha actually looked a little apologetic. “Oh, sorry. Shweta, excuse us, I forgot you guys aren’t...”
Shaun brought his fingers up to Neha’s dress, a skimpy little black thing that dipped low across her breasts. He peeked in at her ample bosom.
Then, it was as if Neha’s statement made its way through his mind. “Oh,” he said. He turned to look at my wife.
His eyes moved over Shweta’s body, and as they did a rolling wave of heat moved from my toes to my head. My cock throbbed.
“Too bad,” he said. Riley bit her lip. “You sure?” she said to me, with a smile.
I nodded and set my hand on Shweta’s to reassure her. I took a sip of my martini. “We’re sure,” I said cheerfully.
Neha stood up. She slapped Shaun on the thigh. “Let’s go downstairs,” she said. “Leave these two to watch the stars.”
Shaun shrugged, his hands moving up Neha’s skirt, far enough to have his fingers on her mound. Riley stood up, and the three of them giggled their way back to the hatchway. Snippets of their conversation reached us: “Really?” “Such a shame.”
And then their voices faded as they went deeper into the boat.
Shweta turned to me. “What the?” she mouthed.
I shook my head, as though I was as much in disbelief as she was. I set my drink down.
She pulled her feet up under her, and set her cheek against her hand. “So Wasim... he like, knows about this?”
I moved my head in the direction of the control room, which was empty. “Looks like.”
“Are they... swingers?” she said. But she didn’t wait for me to answer. “Oh my God, they are. They’re real, actual swingers.”
She opened her mouth wide and looked at me in disbelief.
I did my best to turn the expression on my face into disbelief.
Shweta sipped her drink. We sat in silence for a moment. It was a beautiful night, warm and lightly breezy. The marina was alive with light laughter, people having drinks and dinner on their boats.
“Well, I don’t want to go down there now,” Shweta said.
I was relieved, at the time, that she didn’t seem overly scandalized, like it wasn’t something she couldn’t live with. She held up her glass. “But I want another drink,” she complained.
Then she looked at me, and we exchanged a look before we started laughing.
“What should we do?” she asked.
I shrugged. “There’s a bar over there,” I suggested. It was part of the marina, and it seemed to be pretty hopping.
Shweta looked over her shoulder. She had already had quite a bit, and it was unusual for her to drink so much. “Yeah,” she said, happily. She set down her glass. “Because I definitely don’t want to run into those guys, you know... down there.” She grinned.
“Well,” I said, slapping my thighs. “Let’s go. If my lady wants a drink, then a drink she shall have.”
 The drink turned into about four, and Shweta got pretty drunk.
She kept returning to the scene on the boat, though. She really wanted to talk about it, even though she wanted to act like she was scandalized about it.
“So, do you think that... is this like a thing they do, when they come down here?” she said, leaning across the table conspiratorially after her second gin and tonic. Her speech was slightly slurred, and she had a gleam of excitement in her eyes.
She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Because those guys... Kylie and Braun, oh sorry Riley and Shaun,” she paused to laugh at herself before she got serious again. “They knew them, like, they do this all the time!”
She finished her sentence by waving her hands in the air excitedly. Then she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “I mean, can you imagine?”
I played with the corner of my napkin. I could imagine, and in fact I did imagine, something similar.
I wasn’t so much interested in the swinging side of things – though don’t get me wrong, women like Neha and Riley were beautiful, and their bodies, so different, so unique, provided their own set of attraction for me.
But I was less into thinking about that than I was into thinking about my own wife. About her body, and her curves – being explored and plundered by another man.
“You’re not into it, are you?” Shweta said.
She had a teasing tone to her voice, and she was smiling when I looked up at her.
“Of course not,” I said, and I hoped it sounded convincing.
Shweta brought her fingers to her lips and strummed them over her plump lower petal. “I wonder if all of these people are swingers,” she said, her eyes moving around the restaurant.
It was on my lips to ask her if she wasn’t into it, and I wanted to say it desperately.
But I wanted that boat. I really did. So even though I’d had a lot to drink, and my wife was looking a little stimulated by the idea of swingers, and the night was pretty and warm and a lot of enticing people in swimsuits surrounded us, I kept that last question to myself.
For then.
  We ended up drinking too much and stumbling back to the yacht. It was a lot of fun, walking around drunk with Shweta. We almost boarded the wrong boat, which was pretty funny because the one we nearly got on was half the size of Wasim’s boat.
Wasim and Neha were on the deck when we got in. Neha looked over the railing and smiled at us. She reached out a hand to help Shweta up the gangplank.
“Looks like you two discovered the drink specials at Bar,” Wasim commented.
Shweta looked around. There was no sign of Riley and Shaun.
I ran my eyes quickly over Neha, wondering if they had actually gone to do what I thought they had with Riley and Shaun. I wondered how it worked: did they all have sex together, or separately as couples? Did Neha play with Riley? (My mind created a filthy picture, of the two of them being fucked by the wrong husband from behind while they kissed and rubbed their breasts together)
And what did Wasim do afterward? Did he like to reclaim his wife, taste another man’s cum on her lips, or maybe in her cunt?
I knew that’s one place I would never go, personally, but there was something twistedly delectable about thinking about it, imagining Shweta’s pussy filled up and dripping seed from another man…
I had to stop. I was getting worked up again.
“You two better be careful,” Wasim said. “The number-one cause of death in the Maldives is drowning in a marina.”
Neha put her hand on my arm as she passed me, carrying a drink she had produced out of seemingly nowhere. “He’s just talking out his ass,” she said.
“Could be true,” Wasim mused. “It’s very dangerous being this drunk on a boat.”
Shweta’s eyes grew wide and she looked at Wasim seriously.
Wasim cracked a smile. “I’m just teasing you, Shweta, dear. Get as intoxicated as you like. Just be careful your inhibitions don’t get lost completely.”
As he turned to me Wasim raised his eyebrows. “Someone might take advantage of that,” he said under his breath, so that only I could hear. “Get you a drink?” he said more loudly. “Not that you need one.”
“Oh, gosh, I’m wasted,” Shweta giggled.
I looked over at her. She really did seem to be losing her inhibitions. Either that, or she’d completely forgotten about Riley and Shaun. She reclined on the couch and put her feet up.
Because she was wearing a short skirt over her swimsuit, there was a direct line from where I was standing up her skirt. Her bikini had somehow folded a little, oddly at an angle, and the smooth, bare curve of one of her outer lips was showing.
Wasim handed me a glass, and I brought it to my mouth without taking my eyes off my wife’s pussy.
Then I realized that Wasim, too, had paused right where I was standing, and that his eyes were trained right between Shweta’s legs.
Shweta seemed to not be conscious of what she was doing – she was recounting a story to Neha – but then again, I couldn’t be sure. Surely she knew her bikini, at the very least, was being shown to all? She played with her hair, lying on the pillow wantonly, and moved her legs without ever blocking our view.
Heat was building inside of me as I stood next to Wasim, knowing that he was watching my wife’s pussy beneath her loose bikini, and enjoying the view.
But I especially enjoyed savoring the idea that Shweta was perhaps doing some of it intentionally. The more I watched her moving her legs about playfully, hiding her pussy and then revealing it, the more I thought she knew what she was doing.
And the more Wasim enjoyed it as well.
This went on for a bit, and then the girls’ conversation deflated with a  sigh from Shweta, the end of some girlish laughter about whatever they were discussing.
Shweta looked over at us, but she didn’t change the position of her legs when she saw we were both staring. Neha also turned to look at us. She brought her drink to her lips and took a seductive sip, running her tongue along her upper lip to get a stray drop with her tongue.
“What are you two doing over there?” she asked, in her husky voice. She was smiling.
Wasim gave her a grin. “Indeed.” He hopped up and over to his wife.
Shweta stared openly at the two of them as Wasim slid his hand along his wife’s thigh and under her swimsuit cover up right to her pussy, where he stroked her openly as he leaned in to give her a kiss.
This was a little too much for Shweta. She watched, transfixed, for about a second, and then she sat up abruptly, as though being shaken out of a dream, and looked at me with a kind of desperate expression on her face.
Wasim and Neha were kissing quite passionately, and Shweta and I looked at each other, wondering if they were just going to fuck right there on the deck. Shweta pulled her feet over the side of the couch and leaned forward to set her drink down. She was getting ready, I could see, to clear her throat and tell everyone she was going to bed.
Before she could, however, Wasim and Neha separated their mouths with a loud, sloppy smack and Wasim collapsed between Shweta and Neha. He had his hand on Neha’s knee, and I felt my insides turning over in circles of desire, hoping he would set his other hand on my wife’s knee.
I felt it so viscerally as I imagined it, it almost seemed like it happened: he placed his large, sailor’s hand on Shweta’s knee, moving his thumb over the inside of it, up to her inner thigh. Just a little flicker, just a tiny bit over the line.
What would Shweta do, if he did that? Would she let the shiver it gave her travel up and down her thigh, enjoying the thrill, before she made a big show of moving away? Would she jump up and say she had to go to bed? Or would she maybe go rigid with excitement and fear of impropriety, and wait and see what happened?
Wasim reached forward and took the drink he had set down on the table instead.
But he did extend his arm over the back of the couch, encircling my wife without touching her. He looked at me. “Whadya doin’ over there, Piyush? The ladies are all here.”
Neha’s eyes glimmered mischievously as she smiled at me.
Shweta clasped her hands together. She wasn’t leaning back on the couch, so Wasim’s hand wasn’t touching her – yet. She looked at me, almost as if she wanted help.
I would have loved it if she had reclined, and Wasim had run his fingers over her shoulder, but I wanted Shweta to be comfortable (and I’ll just be honest – getting my own boat was still somewhere at the forefront of my mind at this point, so I didn’t need Shweta having even a remotely bad time).
I yawned, loudly and theatrically. “Guys,” I said. “I think I need to pack it in. Aren’t we taking off tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Shweta said quickly. She wasted no time standing up and gathering her glass from the table. “I shouldn’t have even… I’m pretty drunk...”
She lost her balance a little, and Wasim reached out to take her hand. He held it firmly and smiled up at her. “Careful, there,” he said in a low voice.
I felt like they looked at each other there for a moment, and a semi-illicit thing passed between them, a flicker of heat. But then Shweta gave him a nervous laugh, and stepped away. “Thanks,” she said.
She practically ran over to me.
Neha curled up, leaning in to Wasim. “’ Night,” she warbled, her voice husky and sexy. She winked at me.
I followed Shweta below deck.
  When I closed the door to our cabin, Shweta turned to face me. “Holy crap,” she said, and her eyes were wide. “Those two are...” Her eyes widened and she shook her head.
“I think Wasim has a thing for you,” I said, putting my hands on her waist. I pulled on her gently and she let me bring her close to my body. I admired the nice view I had of her breasts snuggled in her bikini below my chin.
“He’s… first of all, I’m  too old for his tastes,” Shweta said. “And he’s… not my type.”
I stepped back and gave my wife an expression of disbelief.
“Huh,” I said. “So it’s not so much that he’s not your husband, as that he’s not your type.”
Shweta’s face did some really remarkable things. “I… no...” she held her hand to her head. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly.
“Hmm,” I said. I was actually pretty trashed so my inhibitions were at an unusually low point. I slid my hand into her little skirt. “So you wouldn’t even think about another man, not even in a situation like this one?”
Shweta was caught off-guard by this. She was also drunk, and it was slowing her reactions.
And, I discovered as I slid my fingers into her bikini bottoms, she was also a little bit wet. The smooth, freshly waxed surface of her pussy (a nice treat for me, courtesy of her plans to wear a bathing suit all the time) was slick with her juices.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I… of course not,” she said. She moved in my arms, squirming a little. “That’s… not what I...”
I was stroking her clit now, and she was losing her train of thought. How much of that was drunkenness and how much of it was her giving some serious thought to “another man,” I have no idea. I was a little too drunk to find out.
I pushed her onto the bed and tugged off her skirt and her swimsuit bottom. I fell onto her, kissing her. Her body was warm and she responded to me by pressing up against me.
It was a pretty standard lovemaking session – a little drunken, but nothing too wild.
Except for the fact that Shweta was, without a doubt, wetter than usual. And for being so drunk, she came like a rocket.  
The next morning had started out like any other; breakfast, Neha not awake yet.
  Wasim had made himself a cup of coffee and then told everyone he was moving the boat. He used the motor to get us out of the marina and then down the coast a bit, out in the middle of the water near a strip of beach with some roofs tucked away in the jungly forest.
Wasim had then gone for a swim, jumping off the side of the boat and disappearing for an hour.
Neha had come up to the deck lazily, her small robe loose around her fantastic body. She had microwaved something with the sloppy, dorm room etiquette of a late millennial, smiled at us, and trudged back to her room.
We went to the deck to get some fresh air with our coffee. It was a glorious morning. Wasim had returned, and we had all sat there on the deck without saying much.
Shweta moved to the lifeline and hung her feet over the side. I joined her. And there, sitting side by side at ten in the morning, holding coffee cups, we had gotten wildly turned on.
I couldn’t even say what had precipitated it.
She had reached over to feel my cock, and her fingers played with it through the material of my swim trunks. I slid my finger under the hem of her shorts, seeking her swimsuit, or her panties, with my fingertips.
As she had stroked my cock, I could feel that precum had started dripping out and making my suit stick to my cock. We had looked at each other, both of us, I think, a little surprised by the sudden and uncharacteristic heat between us, seemingly prompted by nothing at all.
I had yawned theatrically. “Eagh. I need a nap.”
And Shweta had followed suit.
That’s how we ended up stretched out on the bed at eleven in the morning, sweaty and smelling of sex. It was beyond my wildest expectations for this trip.
Shweta ran her fingers through her  hair.
Her hair was the darkest thing about her, and in only two days of sun it was bleaching out. Her eyes were an icy, pale blue. The round pools of flesh around her nipples, and her most intimate parts, were pale pink clit like her generous mouth. Absolutely nothing covered the pink petals of her pussy, which I took the time to sneak a peek at by lifting the sheet.
“You have a sunburn,” I said.
Shweta panicked and looked down at her body. “What?!” she said.
Finding that I had lied, she slapped me playfully on the butt, which is what I had really been after, anyway. “I do not,” she said, almost defensively.
I traced the line of her swimsuit along her shoulder and over her breast. I made a circle around her ample bosom, and under it, back up to her shoulder on the opposite side. “You do have a tiny bit of a tan,” I said.
My fingers started down, headed for the barely visible tan line on the lower half of her body. Even though we had just sneaked in a quickie, to my surprise and delight, I was ready for another round. The sea air seemed to have invigorated Shweta.
Or possibly – and this was a hope I nurtured very close to my heart, because it was so unlikely – possibly, she had been invigorated by Wasim and Neha’s lifestyle?
“Hey-you-guys!” Neha’s voice, a singsong lilt heavily coated with the valley-girl intonation so typical of her age group, called down through the forward hatch. “We’re leaving for the beach in like fifteen if you’re coming.”
We heard her feet above us. “I know you’re not sleeping,” she teased. “Come on, Piyush. We have to sail a bit to get there.”
Shweta smiled at me. “Come on, Piyush,” she said.
“You better come up, too,” I said. “You’ll get sick down here.”
Shweta rolled onto her back and gave a sexy, feline stretch that almost set me to wanting to fuck her again. “I’ll be up in a bit. I, um… need a different suit.”
I picked up her bikini bottoms. They were, in fact, encrusted with her dried excitement. They smelled incredible. I took a long inhale.
Shweta pushed herself up like a lightning bolt and snatched them from me.
“Gross!” she said.
I shrugged and shimmied into my swimming trunks. Then I headed out the door.
“Sunscreen!” Shweta warned me.
“Sure thing,” I said, not really intending to follow up on it.
Shweta took her time coming up to the deck, and by the time she got there the boat was heeling hard in a brisk wind and we were really clipping along.
She had put on a new bikini, a purchase she had made in Male. I secretly believed that she had been influenced to buy the skimpier suit after seeing Neha sunbathing in her own skimpy bikinis. Neha had taken her shopping, and had repeatedly complimented my wife’s excellent body.
This all happened before she knew that Wasim and Neha were swingers, but I liked to believe that she had been a little interested in the attention that men were giving Neha. A little turned on by the idea that they would give it to her as well.
The new suit was black, and, as she had said herself, she was really glad that she had gotten a Brazilian wax before the trip. This was standard procedure for Shweta whenever we went to a beachy vacation (and was just one more motivator for me to get a yacht)… but because we hadn’t been on a beachy vacation in quite some time, the wax was as new and exciting to me as though she hadn’t ever had one before at all. I loved to cup her smooth pussy in my hand while we spooned. I loved the feel of her bare skin, the promises her wet insides just beneath the surface…
The bikini was one of those skimpy bits that had nothing but small triangles to cover her breasts and her mound, and the suit became a little loose when it was wet. Not loose enough to actually see anything, but loose enough to tantalize with the promise of revealing some private part of her.
Over the bikini, she had a very loose-fitting cover-up. Alternating transparent strips teased like a stripper’s costume, giving snippets of her bikini’d body and then hiding them away, over and over again from just below the curve of her ass to her shoulders, where it hung sexily and loosely.
She sat down on the couch on the deck, a little unsteadily because of the heel of the boat, and stretched her legs out to get some sun.
“Hun,” I said, from the navigation area. “You have to have your life jacket on.”
Neha held up the end of her own life jacket and grinned. Even the spectacular Neha had to wear one. They were, luckily, those self-inflating ones that didn’t cover up too much of the ladies’ lovely swimsuits.




I had a hard time concentrating on trimming the sails with those two stretched out in the cockpit. Which says a lot, because I love sailing. Shweta returned with her life jacket on, and it pulled her swimsuit cover up to a delectable length that let a small part of her well-turned ass hang out. She started to apply sunscreen, rubbing the white liquid along the length of her legs erotically.
Wasim got the boat on a steady course and I hopped down to the cockpit to help my wife get the sunscreen everywhere it needed to be. Then we settled in for a quick sail to the mysterious Kaya’s Beach, near Rock Sound.
  “So Neha was telling me,” Shweta said in a whisper, taking my arm and shutting the door to our room even though I was only retrieving our beach towels, “that this is a… you know… swinger’s island.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“What does that even mean?” she said. She held her hand to her mouth, as though in shock, but her eyes were smiling.
“There are a lot of swings,” I said.
She slapped me on the arm. “Such a corny joke. I’m serious. Like… if we go, we don’t have to… you know….”
I pretended not to know. I made a stupid face and cocked my head.
She slapped me lightly again on the arm. “I’m serious. We don’t have to, um… participate or anything, right?”
“Actually,” I said, after giving it some thought. “I don’t know.”
Shweta bit her thumbnail. “Well, should we ask them? Maybe we should just stay here.”
I smiled. “Oh. I thought you were totally into swinging.”
This was a complete joke, but Shweta’s face did a very strange thing at that point. “Nooo,” she said quickly. “No, I’m – oh, God, you’re joking.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “You almost seemed a little… guilty-sounding there.”
“What?” Shweta said, and this was the most guilty-sounding thing of all. “I’m not… what are you talking about?”
Butterflies exploded in my chest. She was really acting like someone who’s just had her dark desires ferreted out. Someone caught watching porn, or thinking about something they wanted to keep private.
Well… it was really more like she was in fifth grade, and I had just accused her of “liking-liking”  The Class Hunk or something.
“So you’re not into swinging?” I teased.
“Stop it.” “I’m just making sure. Definitely a ‘no?’”
“Shut up.” “Because you seemed a little -”
Shweta rolled her eyes and threw the door open. “I swear it is like being married to a thirteen-year-old,” she complained.
But her sense of humor was intact. I watched her butt as she mock-stomped down the hallway, and then I quickly gathered our beach stuff, and joined her on deck.