An Ending and a Beginning

My name is Amy; my husband's name at the start of this story was Alan; our histories since birth and details about our appearances are unimportant. All that is relevant is that at the start of this story we'd been married five years, as far as I'm concerned our marriage was between good and very good, I'm between and eight and a nine on the female hotness scale, and Alan is between an eight and nine on the male hotness scale (at least that's the feedback I've gotten from people we know or have met). I own three businesses including a locksmith, a cleaners, and a Mail Boxes Etc.; I spend at least two hours every day at each one; I'm a hands-on manager. Alan is an insurance executive.

I exercise a little bit – maybe three times a week I run, bike, or swim. I do Kegel exercises every day, though, ever since I read an article authored by a doctor at the Mayo Clinic saying how good they were for your sexual health.

There was an incident at New Year's Eve that did not make me happy with Alan and may have been the start of the end of our marriage.

There were two people at the New Year's Eve party of note. One was a single guy named Brian who is a ten on the male hotness scale. He's the best looking guy I have ever seen, and also appears to have a friendly and gracious personality. Alan and I not only have many friends or acquaintances in common with Brian, but he is in a business related to my husband's so we see him at some business-related events. For some reason Alan despises Brian; he has ever since a charity event where Brian was at our table and according to Brian paid too much attention to me even though we never kissed and danced only one slow dance together – at a respectable distance.

The second person of note at the seminal New Year's Eve party was a recently divorced female acquaintance of ours named Joan. Joan is between a nine and ten on the female hotness scale, including because she has enormous tits, and she was flirting with Alan most of the night at the party. I was blatant in coming up to her and Alan whenever they were talking and kept asking her "Where's your date, Joan?" She never got the message that she was pissing me off – or pretended not to – and Alan was in the same boat as she was. When I'd ask her she'd look around and say "Oh Jack is over there somewhere," and I'd then hang around until she and Alan parted.

It was no more than five minutes after Alan and I had passionately kissed at the stroke of midnight when I was talking to someone else and Joan came up and planted a way too familiar "Happy New Year" kiss on Alan. I swear that I saw his hand stroke and pinch one of her massive knockers when she did that. When she walked away I confronted Alan.

"What the hell was that?"

"Hey, it didn't mean anything, just an innocent kiss at a fun party," was his unapologetic response.

"And the tit grope?"

"Hey, I didn't try to grope her – her big tits were just in the way."

"You wouldn't mind me kissing other guys like that, then, and grabbed his crotch?"

"Hey, don't get your panties in a bunch – it was licit," he said with a tone that I didn't appreciate.

I stared at him a few seconds then noticed that Brian was only a few people away. I marched over to Brian and with a big smile on my face, and loud enough so that Alan was sure to hear me, said "Hi, Brian; great party, huh? Happy New Year."

With that I pulled Brian's face down to mine by yanking his tie, and planted a passionate kiss on him, and quickly but noticeably ran my hand over his crotch. He not only didn't resist, he put his hands on my ass. When I broke away I said "Have a great year."

Brian mumbled "You too – it got off to a great start."

With that I sauntered past a seemingly gobsmacked Alan and said "I'm getting my coat and leaving. Are you coming or will Joan be taking you home?"

I had the car keys because Alan has been known to get drunk at such parties, while I never get drunk because I never have more than one drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he grumbled.

I didn't answer him; I just got my coat out of the front closet of the house hosting the event, gave my thanks to the hostess and said that I had an early day so that I couldn't stay, and walked out the door. By the time that I got to the car Alan had caught up with me. "What's wrong with you – and why did you kiss that asshole."

"Nothing's wrong with me, and I didn't do anything that you didn't, so if you've got a complaint voice it looking into the mirror."

We bantered back and forth for the first mile or so of the drive. They we fell silent. Once we got into the house Alan's mood changed. "I want to start out the new year right, not with a fight – if there's anything left to hash out let's do it tomorrow."

"You just want to ignore..." I started to say, but that's as far as I got. Alan knows what buttons to push with me. He grabbed both of my normal-sized but highly sensitive tits, started biting and sucking on my neck, eventually picked me up by my crotch and laid me on the dining room table, and before I knew it his cock was stroking at a mile a minute in and out of my very wet pussy. I came like a freight train, and he came shortly thereafter. It was probably our most intense mutual orgasms in a couple of years. Alan carried me up to bed, and in the middle of the night fucked me again.

While I was happy with the ultimate outcome of New Year's Eve, I still harbored something akin to resentment or mistrust when it came to the Alan-Joan situation. Not one to let things simmer, New Year's Day as I served Alan brunch with a smile I said "I really enjoyed last night stud. That doesn't mean that I'm happy about the Alan-Joan smooch and grope, however. I don't want a repeat of that – it will make me hotter than Hell."

He first looked a little subdued but quickly recovered. "You're already hotter than hell if the two times you fucked m last night with your Kegel-enhanced pussy are any indication," he said as he pulled me close to him and kissed each of my puffy nipples. That sent shivers up my spine. "You have nothing to worry about, sexy," he laughed as he dug into the sausage casserole.

***************

Things seemed to move fairly smoothly for the next three weeks – at least Joan never called the house, and Alan never mentioned her.

There was an unexpected hiccup, however – Brian called me three times at work trying to get me to go out for a drink with him. I found it quite surprising since I had never allowed myself to believe that someone as hot as Brian is would pay special attention to me and since he always dates hot babes; "maybe I can kiss or stroke better than I thought or my ass feels better in someone's hand than I thought (ha, ha)" flashed through my brain. Anyway, on the third call I shut him down for good. What I told him will give you a little insight into my personality too.

"Sorry, Brian; I know that a player like you would love to parlay a drink into a roll in the sack, and if I wasn't married I would love to give your cock a try. However I'm married and serious about marriage vows so I need to decline; there is no hope of me changing my mind and having a drink with you."

"What about that plasma-hot kiss and grope on New Year's Eve?"

"I only did that in response to Alan kissing and groping that bitch Joan – sorry to use you, but I knew that if I kissed a good looking guy like you it would get the message across to Alan."

"Don't like Joan, huh?" he cackled.

"No – do you know her well?"

After he laughed for a few seconds he replied "Yeah, I know her in the Biblical sense from the days after her divorce was final – but she can't kiss like you can."

"Really..." I said. I knew that both Joan and Brian, an inveterate player, got around, but I didn't know that they fucked after her recent divorce.

"Yeah, really. You do know that she just moved, don't you?" he replied.

"No, as I matter of fact I didn't know that."

"Yeah she moved to a city about 100 miles away."

That brought a smile to my face. "So I guess I can't punish you anymore by using you as a foil for Alan kissing her, huh?"

"I don't mind being used that way," he chuckled "as long as you agree not to be shy and call me if you change your mind about that drink – or whatever."

"If I get divorced you'll be the first to know," I chuckled back, then terminated the call.

I was surprised at how uplifting my talk with Brian had been; I was in a good mood the rest of the day.

******************

Winter seemed to be colder, longer, and more depressing than I liked, so I decided that we needed to take a vacation to someplace nice and warm. As usual when we travel, I'd handle all of the arrangements, I just needed to get Alan's schedule. After a couple of days where he was checking his schedule – I didn't know why it took him that long to check, normally it's much faster – he finally got back to me.

"I can get away the last week in February; how does that sound?" he told me.

"I'll make it work," I smiled; and I did.

I decided that we should go to Anguilla, a British Island in the Caribbean. I booked a room at Viceroy Anguilla, a five star resort hotel. Alan seemed to be much more interested in all of our vacation details than he ever was before, but I was happy to accommodate him, and gave him all of our flight and hotel information as soon as I booked it on the last day of January. I made sure that both of our passports were up to date since we absolutely needed them both to enter Anguilla, and to return to the U. S. from there.

Sometimes Alan is ambivalent about vacations, but he seemed to be very excited about this one. I bought a new bikini and a couple of outfits for warm weather, and tried them out on Alan. He seemed to really like them – at least he passionately fucked me up against our bedroom wall when I modelled the bikini for him. As we lay in bed panting after that he said "I hope that you don't think that you're wearing that thing in public, do you. I'll have to fight the guys off."

"I'll only have eyes – and pussy – for you," I chortled, then started rubbing his testicles.

The flight to Anguilla was uneventful, although Alan seemed unusually handsy.

We checked into a nice suite, had a walk on the beach before dinner, danced for a while after dinner, and then had a nice fuck before falling asleep. A day switching between the pool and the beach really recharged my batteries. My bikini did draw a lot of attention, although I saw a woman show up the afternoon of the second day we were there who was virtually surrounded by guys at the other end of the pool. I couldn't quite make her out. "Bitch looks like Joan," I mumbled to myself, but never really considered the possibility that it was her.

Alan disappeared for about ninety minutes in the afternoon. He came back with a pamphlet about jet ski riding in the ocean, and snorkel trips. While he seemed interested in them, I was more interested in working on my tan and swimming. That night he begged off sex, saying that he was wiped out from the sun.

The third day we went on a site-seeing adventure in the morning that was pleasurable except for one thing. When we got back I walked into the hotel before Alan did – he was talking to the doorman about something. I thought for sure that I saw the woman who looked like Joan in the lobby. I wanted a closer look, but a group of tourists walked in front of me and by the time that they passed the woman was gone, out the front door. I went to the front desk and checked for messages, and walked toward the front door looking for Alan. Just then he walked through the door with a big smile on his face.

"Why the shit-eater?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, well...just a raunchy joke that the doorman told me," he stammered. "Let's go out by the pool.

While at the pool, reading and chatting with each other and some of the other guests, I was having a good time – this time in a one-piece since the amount of attention that I received the day before in my bikini was slightly disconcerting. About 4:00 p. m. I saw some activity at the other end of the pool around what looked like that same woman, so I decided to go for a swim to check it out. "Want me to get you a drink?" Alan asked when I told him that I was going for a dip.

"Sure," I replied, "how about a pina colada?"

"That's what I'll get for you," he smiled, rising from his lounge chair and heading the few steps to the bar.

Not to be too obvious I did a few laps in one area of the very extensive and elaborate pool, went under the waterfall for a bit, then dog paddled over toward where the commotion was – just in time to see a nice almost bikini-clad ass (the tiniest bikini that I'd ever seen) moving away from the pool area and lots of male heads turned that way. Not being familiar with what Joan's ass looked like, I didn't know if it was her, but again dismissed the idea out-of-hand.

When I got back from my swim my drink was waiting for me. I drank about half of it when I started to feel a little funny.

"What's wrong babe, you don't look so good," Alan opined.

"I don't know – maybe too much sun," I replied, feeling more light-headed by the minute.

"Let's go upstairs – we can take a nap before dinner," he responded, picking up our few pool items and putting them into a bag. He actually had to help me up out of the lounge chair, and I only remember getting to the door of our suite; everything after that is a blur.

******************

The next thing that I do remember is someone who had a stethoscope around his neck, a light instrument in his hand, and a concerned look on his face, staring at me, with another couple of people behind him.

I suddenly felt almost normal. "What's going on?" I asked, noticing that I was still in my bathing suit and lying on top of the covers in my bed.

Many natives in Anguilla have a very distinctive pleasant lilt to their voice and a British accent. I won't try and mimic it.

"You are just recovering from being unconscious from what I estimate is quite a long time," the guy with the light instrument said while looking in my eyes. "Did you take any drug?"

"Hell no," I barked as I sat up. "The last thing that I remember is getting light-headed sipping my pina colada."

"Who got the drink for you?" he asked.

"My husband," I replied. "Where is he?"

"You were here alone when the maid showed up at about 8:00 for turn-down service. You didn't answer her knock so she thought the room was empty. When she saw you, you didn't look right to her so she called me; I'm Dr. Dutra the staff physician at the Viceroy."

"How come I'm lucid now – what did you give me?"

"Although I can't be sure, I think that you were given a new street opioid-based narcotic that has recently become popular on the island. You got enough to knock you out for at least twelve hours. However, its effects are easily reversed by naloxone, and since you recovered within three minutes of getting the shot of naloxone that I gave you, I'm quite certain that is what you were given."

I was having trouble processing what he was telling me since it meant that Alan had given me a knockout drug in my pina colada – but why would he do that?

"Please come with me to my office and let me check you out – then you should be fine after you get some food in you," Dr. Dutra said.

"OK," I responded. I noticed that the two people behind Dr. Dutra were a hotel security guide and a maid.

"Are you the one who found me?" I asked the maid.

"Yes ma'am," she replied with a big toothy grin.

"What's your name?" I asked as I reached for my purse, on the nightstand next to the bed.

"Latisha," she responded.

I took two U. S. fifty dollar bills out of my wallet; even though the Caribbean dollar is the local currency everyone is happy to deal in U. S. dollars.

"Thank you so much, ma'am," Latisha beamed. "Thank you so, so much."

"No, thank you Latisha," I replied with a smile.

The security guy and Latisha left, I went into the bathroom and changed from my one piece swimsuit into a skirt and blouse, and then went with Dr. Dutra to his office. He ran a few tests on me for a few minutes, including taking my blood pressure, and a blood sample, and I left about twenty minutes after arriving. I got a quick hamburger and fries at the casual restaurant and then I went back to my suite still trying to process what had happened. No matter how many scenarios I played out in my mind, there was only one logical explanation – Alan had in fact drugged me with some local opiate that he bought from a native. But why would he do that?

I noticed one of his dresser drawers was open. It was then that I noticed that he had left his wallet, passport, and even cell phone in the top drawer of his dresser. I picked up his phone and turned it on. Alan was not astute enough to know that I knew his password – the same one he used for almost everything despite many warnings by all sorts of people to the contrary – the name of his first pet. Entering "Bosco" opened up his phone. It took all of forty seconds for me to find the answer. That bitch Joan was on Anguilla, and he drugged me to hook up with her.

I have never been so angry in my life – not even close. After a few minutes of throwing stuff around I calmed down enough to devise a plan. I went down to the front desk and asked to see the manager.

"Yes, how may I help you?" asked the charming young black woman with a beautiful lilting voice who was the night manager.

"I need to know if someone is a guest in your hotel, and if so what her room number is;" I held up my hand in a "Stop" motion before she could reply. "I know that is probably against hotel policy, but let's go into your office and talk about it."

When we entered her office she offered me a seat, which I accepted. "Someone drugged me at your pool today. You can confirm that with Dr. Dutra."

"You must be Mrs. Wilton – Dr. Dutra and I have spoken," she replied. "I'm so sorry, and I hope that you're doing fine."

"Thanks only to Latisha and Dr. Dutra I am doing fine. However, I am very upset that this could happen on your five star hotel grounds. That would not look good in the reviews that I will be writing about my experience here – nor would one of your local solicitors view it kindly I might imagine. Regardless of who drugged me they had to have gotten the drugs on your property."

The manager was pensive for a full two minutes. "Who are you looking for?"

"Joan Britton," I replied.

The manager typed things into her computer. Then she said "I'm sorry, I don't think that I can give you that information. I will go to the front desk to make a call to the day manager to be sure. I will be back in exactly two minutes – 120 seconds."

With that she got up and left with a smug look on her face. As soon as she closed the door I went behind her desk and looked at the screen. "Ms. Joan Britton – Room 208" was clearly visible on her computer monitor.

I smiled and went and sat back down. When the manager returned she said "I'm sorry Mrs. Wilton, but I just can't give you that information. I hope that you won't write a bed review because of that; we will do our best to make your stay a pleasant one."

"I'm sorry about what I said before," I replied. "You facility is wonderful and I wouldn't tell anyone anything different."

My next step was to find Latisha. She was still making turn-down rounds one floor above mine.

"Latisha, thank you again," I said as I approached her with a big smile. "I was wondering if you could do one more thing for me?" I asked as I handed her two more $50 bills.

"Yes ma'am," she beamed.

"Do you know where Room 208 is?"

"Yes ma'am, even though I don't ever service that area, it is in the opposite wing of the hotel, near the side entrance."

"I need you to come with me there, knock on the door, and do not take 'no' for an answer if the occupants do not want to open up."