Holiday Showmance

      Viva Jones

      As the sun set over the Mykonos coastline, Vicky sipped her chilled margarita and snuggled up to her boyfriend, Stuart. She could hardly believe they were there. Just four days ago they’d decided to find a last-minute, end-of-season holiday, and, after an evening of trawling the internet for bargains, had chosen pretty much the first one they’d come across: seven nights on the Greek island of Mykonos, breakfast and dinner included. For two years they’d each been so engrossed in their new ventures – Vicky with an upmarket high-street gift store, Stuart with his painting and decorating business – that they hadn’t enjoyed any kind of break at all. Sex was their de-stress activity, it was their indulgence.

      Vicky’s passion was neither shoes nor lipstick; it was sex toys, outfits and delighting Stuart with her never-ending imagination. Already, sitting at the table watching the sun dip below the sea, she was scanning the place for hideaways where she could pleasure him: the cluster of olive trees on the hills, perhaps, behind the little chapel to the west, and why not deep in that warm blue sea itself?

      She had another sip of her margarita as Stuart, unshaven and relaxed, enjoyed his beer over the tourist brochure.

      ‘How about a day trip?’ he suggested. ‘It says here there are cruises to a deserted beach, lunch included. What do you think?’

      ‘Yes, we could,’ Vicky replied with less enthusiasm. Across the bar, she spotted a single woman, blonde, sipping a cocktail, her eyes fixed on Stuart as if Vicky didn’t even exist. He was looking even more handsome than usual, she had to admit, now that he’d allowed a little stubble to grow on his chin and his hair was a couple of weeks past its usual cutting time. For his job, he liked to look presentable. It was important to win the trust of the local women who made the decisions about repainting the sitting room or changing the bathroom tiles. He couldn’t look like a slob. Vicky knew he had his admirers in the town, which was why his business was such a success. She knew how lucky she was to have him, probably the most reliable, honest and decent man she’d ever met. This was one of the reasons she had to work so hard to keep him, she thought, studying the blonde woman who was so openly admiring her man.

      ‘It says here there’ll be plenty of time for sunbathing and swimming,’ Stuart added, oblivious to the silent battle that was developing between the two women. ‘Sets off at ten tomorrow.’

      ‘Or we could stay in bed all day and have some fun?’ Vicky countered.

      He turned to her, amused. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have the fun tonight, and do the cruise tomorrow? Come on, Vick, it’s not every week we’re on a Greek island. We’ll regret it if we don’t.’

      That night, Vicky took a cool shower before returning, naked, into the bedroom, where Stuart was lying on the sheets in his boxer shorts trying to find a news channel. With her she’d brought a newly acquired bottle of massage oil, scented with jasmine, tea tree, aloe vera and basil, which, with one leg raised on the side of the bed, she started to massage into her calf. As she worked her way up to her thigh, Stuart continued to channel-hop, apparently oblivious to her seduction routine, until settling on something that most resembled current affairs. What about their current affair, Vicky asked herself, switching legs and repeating the motion. Then she poured some more oil into the palms of her hands and massaged her arms. Stuart, who was trying to concentrate on the sports report, kept glancing sideways at her. Pretending not to notice him, she started working on her chest, stomach and breasts, by which time she could see his hard-on emerging clearly through his boxers.

      ‘Help me moisturise?’ she asked, handing him the bottle. ‘Do my back.’

      She spread herself down on the bed in front of him, and Stuart started massaging the oil into her shoulders, then her back, then down to her buttocks. She spread her legs open, as he made sure that no patch of skin was left unattended. She turned over, her legs apart, and he admired her body, taut from hours of yoga, and massaged more oil between her legs. She looked down to admire herself and her newly waxed pussy. She had only the slightest tuft of hair on her pubic mound.

      Giving up on the TV, Stuart pulled open her pussy lips and then sank his head down between her legs to eat her. As ever, it seemed he could read her mind, placing just the right amount of pressure just where she needed it, and once he’d slid his finger inside her, Vicky knew she would orgasm soon. As it built up, Vicky pictured the blonde woman at the bar watching them through the window, and could only imagine the jealousy she’d be feeling. Perhaps she’d start touching herself, wishing she was with them too? Vicky came in a loud, shuddering outburst, rising to meet Stuart’s finger and his tongue, demanding and receiving more pressure, coming in swirls and mounds of pleasure, as if all her body had melted into the scented, sensual massage oil.

      Once her orgasm subsided, Stuart pulled off his boxers and slid inside her, filling her with his cock, and it didn’t take many thrusts before he, too, had come deep and hard.

      Vicky lay there, imagining the blonde woman through the window envying her, and kissed Stuart deeply. She didn’t stand a chance.

      The following morning, after a breakfast of bread, croissants and the type of sweet strawberry jam that only ever tastes good on holiday, Vicky and Stuart made their way to the pier, and their cruise. Stuart had been right, she told herself, they should get out and explore. And what could be nicer than a gentle cruise with her man to a deserted beach, followed by a long and lazy lunch by the seafront? But as the boat was preparing to leave, Vicky spotted the blonde woman, wearing an overly short skirt and clutching a wide-brimmed floppy hat, hurrying along the pier to join them. Once on board, she sat opposite, and gave them both a pleasant smile.

      ‘Nearly missed it,’ she said with a faint accent that Vicky tried to place.

      Vicky gave her a tight smile back.

      ‘We’re staying at the same hotel, I think? I’m Kristen.’

      Stuart introduced them both – a little too readily, Vicky thought – and then paid way too much attention as Kristen told them that she was a Swedish jewellery designer who’d come on this trip at the last minute to get over her recent divorce. She was in her mid-thirties and coming to terms with a new lifestyle, without the benefits of her technology boss husband, who was currently looking after their two young children.

      ‘I only see my kids on alternate weekends,’ Stuart told Kristen, and Vicky tried not to feel left out as they embarked on