Summer Swap 3.17

There were things she remembered in the morning light.

Things like how it felt to be underneath a powerhouse of a man like Philippe. How he filled her and stretched her, how she’d been underneath him, disbelieving she could accommodate him. She remembered orgasms. She remembered Sully orchestrating Philippe’s actions, telling him, “She likes it like that,” and “Turn her over on her tummy, pull her ass up, she likes getting pushed into the bed that way.” Sully, Sully, Sully. Spilling all her secrets so another man could take advantage of them.

There were more things she remembered, her lashes beginning to flutter as she came awake, aware now of daylight soaking into her eyelids and reddening them with the promise of a bright and sunny day.

Sully had taken his turn as well, not content to just watch. She remembered them talking about her care and comfort, and the two of them pausing so Philippe could get some lube. She remembered a lot of lube. Could feel it now, too, as she came awake, a silky feeling between her thighs, laying in bed on her back.

Oh, shit. She remembered her request to see Philippe ejaculate. Her waking cheeks blushed with the shame of her saying it out loud. But it was well-received, and in the end now she remembered Philippe pulling out and struggling that condom off his massive endowment, pulling back on his flesh sleeve until that crab-apple cock head, shining wet and smooth, sent heavy streams of semen over her body.

“Fuck,” she whispered, frowning, eyes closed, a hand fighting with the bedding to emerge in the morning and seek out her hair. “Fuck,” she said again, finding her silky locks sweat-heavy and tangled with drying semen.

But then she chuckled, thinking how she’d wanted that and how Cheyenne wasn’t kidding Philippe’s eruptions were exciting and impressive. A strange sense of pride came with that, like it was her who’d aroused such a spectacular show of sexual prowess.

Then she remembered a discussion about how to get her back to the suite upstairs. Would they dress her first? Philippe said he’d carry her over his shoulder since the two of them carrying her would look like they’d murdered her and were trying to dispose of her body. Sully laughed and said they kind of had murdered her. Goof. Also Sully said something about if they got caught carrying her upstairs he didn’t want to be empty-handed and have another man seen carrying his wife, and him like holding her shoes. Philippe asked Sully if he could carry Scarlet all the way upstairs and Sully was offended, saying, “What, you don’t think I’m strong enough?” She remembered telling them to shut up because she was trying to sleep and they both laughed at that.

She sat up and eased her eyes open, fighting the brightness, wincing and crinkling her nose, then looked around the room through slitted eyes.

It wasn’t her room and for a second she couldn’t place it. Then she was embarrassed realizing she should. It was Philippe’s room. She’d never returned to her own suite last night.

There was no one else with her. She was alone.

She rubbed her forehead, leaning forward and trying to think. God, her vagina ached. Not just ached, stung. She groaned and held her stomach now. “What a fucking night,” she sighed.

Now she chuckled as more came back to her and her brain shrugged off its nighttime robe, ready to dress for the day. They’d all slept together in this bed, her in the middle. She’d slept in between the two men last night.

After sex and after Sully and Philippe found no satisfactory manner to return her comatose body to their suite upstairs, they’d said fuck it and slept in the same bed. She’d been lying there and they both got in buck naked, one on either side of her and Sully tried to steal her pillow. She’d hissed at him like a mother goose finding someone reaching for the eggs she sat on, then snuggled up to him and he’d put his arm around her. Philippe was warm and hairy. At some point she thought she’d had her arm around Philippe but couldn’t remember if it was real or part of a dream.

Then, more recent, Sully and Philippe awake and joking around. Fucking talking about basketball or something, some dumb guy stuff, point spreads and city names. Wait, yeah, and Sully asked her if she wanted breakfast and she’d shook her head no and covered up with a pillow to block out the light. He’d kissed her bare butt and re-covered her naked body with the bedding.

What fucking time was it?

She collapsed back onto the bed wishing her phone was nearby. Where did they all go? Did everyone know she’d spent the night in Philippe’s bed?

Probably.

There was a soft knock at the door, and she covered up with the bedding, and lay back down. “Yeah?”

The door opened and Carla poked her head in. She held a tray between two hands and Scarlet spotted a steaming coffee decanter. But despite the appeal of a coffee she was hit with a torpedo, sinking in the ocean with her hull blown open: Carla knew she’d slept with Philippe. She’d probably find out anyway, but Scarlet hated providing clear and inarguable evidence.

Carla said, “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hey,” Scarlet answered, wanting to hide under the covers but there was no point now. She’d been seen.

“I heard somebody has a tummy ache.”

“Who?”

“You do,” Carla said, coming in with the tray and using her foot to close the door behind her. She wriggled her nose like there was a funky smell in the room, pausing a moment in bare legs and feet and an oversized hoody.

Scarlet sat up, resigned to Carla’s knowledge of last night’s events and looking forward to a coffee. “What time is it?”

“About one-thirty.”

“One-thirty? Holy shit.”

“Yeah, I guess you were up late last night,” Carla said, setting the tray down on the bed right beside Scarlet, then climbing up to join her, the tray between them. Besides the coffee decanter there were two cups, two plastic containers of fruit-bottom yogurt, toast with butter, bacon, an orange, water—oh, thank the lord, she was so thirsty—and a small pillow.

“We were up late,” Scarlet agreed in a robotic monotone, trying to hide from her wily friend anything that might give away secrets of last night. “Where’s Sully?”

“Last I saw,” Carla said, passing Scarlet the glass of water, “he was playing pool.”

“Playing pool?”

“Yeah, him and Philippe were playing pool after breakfast.”

“Oh, god,” she sighed. So much had transpired while she lay sleeping. No way for her to frame the story or read reactions, it’d all happened without her knowledge. She was sure everyone on the yacht knew she’d had a threesome last night.

Carla produced from her pocket a small white bottle, twisted off the cap, and shook out two capsules and presented them to Scarlet.

“What are those for?”

Carla said, “Ibuprofen.”

“I don’t have a hangover.”

Carla cocked her head and showed a get-serious expression.

“What?”

“Not for the hangover. For the tummy ache.”

“I don’t have a tummy ache,” she said, frowning and sipping her water.

Carla waited a beat for Scarlet to catch on and when she didn’t, said, “Pussy ache?”

Scarlet set her water down and palmed her forehead. Fucking big mouth Sully. She groaned and rubbed her cheeks.

“Take them. It’ll help you feel better.”

Without looking at Carla, Scarlet took the capsules and drank them down with the water. She set the empty glass on the tray, sitting on small, extended fold-down legs. “Can you pour me a coffee, please?”

“Sure thing,” Carla said, pouring coffee into a cup. “Cream? Sugar?”

Scarlet nodded for both and Carla poured then presented the cup to her.

Scarlet took a long deep inhale then sipped and moaned with pleasure, already feeling the caffeine doing good things. She said, “What did Sully say?”

“About what?”

Scarlet took her turn to offer a get-serious expression.

Carla chuckled and lifted a yogurt container. “You want the cherry or the peach?”

“Peach, please. What’s my husband been saying while I was sleeping down here?”

Carla peeled the top on the cherry yogurt and stirred it with a spoon. “Your husband hasn’t said anything to anyone.”

“He hasn’t?”

“Nope.”

“Then how are you here?”

Carla smiled around a mouthful of cherry yogurt and paused to swallow. With good humor, she said, “Oh, he told me. But that’s because I asked him. He didn’t say anything to anyone else. That I know of.”

“Okay,” Scarlet said, nodding, satisfied for the moment. She’d pictured him strutting around, peacocking, telling everyone how they’d turned Scarlet inside out last night. “And Philippe said nothing?”

Carla shook her head no, then passed Scarlet the pillow. It was cold.

“Ice pack?”

“Bag of frozen peas in a towel.”

Scarlet said no more about it and tucked the chilly bundle under the covers, arranging it in the right spot, avoiding Carla’s eyes.

Carla scooped more yogurt, stirring, thinking. “If you have a heating pad, that’s good, too. On your lower back. Oh, you know what? . . . Use my hot tub, up in my suite. A hot tub and some Epsom salts.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Do you feel okay?”

Scarlet thought about it, drinking coffee, taking stock of her current physical well-being. “I feel pretty good.”

“I bet you do.”

“Yeah, I do. Just a little achy.”

“My hot tub, babe. I’m serious. I can find you some Epsom salts.”

“I will. I’ll take you up on it later. And thank you for the coffee.”

Carla finished her yogurt, then began showing Scarlet the other things on the tray. “There’s more. Eat something. OJ? You’re not going to say no to bacon...”

“I’ll eat the bacon,” she said, taking a strip then nibbling with her lips pulled back. She said, “Why would a penis be so big?”

“I know,” Carla said, scoffing.

Scarlet wanted to ask if Carla had ever swung with Philippe but felt a funny jealous feeling. Like if Carla had slept with Philippe, she wouldn’t want to hear about it.

Carla said, “To be honest, I like smaller ones.”

Scarlet laughed and put down the end of her bacon, using a paper napkin to get the grease off her fingers. “You do?”

“I do,” Carla said, nodding, smiling to herself.

Scarlet frowned. “But Cody...”

Carla looked up. “Yeah, but Cody’s gentle. I don’t mean tiny or anything.”

Scarlet said, “I didn’t think you did. It was just surprising to hear—considering the man you’re married to.”

Carla cocked her head, narrowing her eyes, looking to lecture on her situation. “Cody’s my true soul mate, my best friend. My best friend in life. I love him for what we have together, too—you, know, the life we’re building. . . . But I don’t think of Cody when I masturbate.”

When it sunk in and her auditory processing caught up with the most incongruous statement she’d ever heard, she burst into laughter. The laughter tightened her tummy and that hurt down in the basement and she clutched the ice pack against her crotch, now trying to stop laughing. “Ow, ow, ow...”

“What, is that crazy?”

Once Scarlet got herself upright, wincing and ouching, she said, “I think there are a lot of women out there who masturbate thinking about your husband.”

“Well, hooray for them. Go for it. But he’s mine.”

“Unless you say different.”

Carla showed a more serious expression now. “Yeah, that’s right. Unless I say different. Chey’s lucky I wanted to sleep with Byron.”

Scarlet thought it was a joke at first, then realized it wasn’t. “What, you really think of Byron when you masturbate?”

“Not all the time. But, yeah, sure I have.”

“Huh, wow.” Scarlet nodded in slow wags, letting it all sink in. “Chey told me Byron flubbed it.”

“Why would she say that? . . . She’s so mean to him sometimes.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She loves Byron.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t flub it. Chey should feel lucky the guy couldn’t perform because he couldn’t stop thinking of her.”

“Of Chey?”

“Who else?”

“So he didn’t flub it?”

“His mind was elsewhere.”

“And even the mighty Carla Weber couldn’t distract him?”

“Mighty? . . . You and Chey are both kind of mean sometimes.”

“We are? We are?”

“Callous, maybe. Not mean.”

“Callous,” Scarlet repeated, and looked at the ceiling while she considered it. She and Chey both thought Carla was the mean one. She sighed. “Well, sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I can be a bitch, too, believe me.”

Scarlet laughed again, saying to the ceiling, “Now we’re bitches?”

“Nah. Sometimes all three of us can be a handful to deal with.”

Scarlet’s laugh reduced to a chuckle. She said, “I really worked Sully over the last few days.”

“You guys seem like a great couple. Strong.”

“We care about each other.”

“You’re a good match. An equal match.”

“Thanks.”

“You feel guilty for working him over?”

She shook her head. “Psshht. Not at all. He tried doing it to me, too.”

“A battle of wits.”

“And I won,” Scarlet said, smiling.

“She says while holding a bag of frozen peas on her fairy cake.”

“Great victories don’t come without scars.”

“Sun-Tzu?”

“Scarlet Hill.”

“Never heard of her.”

“She’s a brilliant strategist.”

“She thinks.”

Scarlet turned. “What, I’m not?”

Carla smiled in a way that made Scarlet feel uneasy. They studied each other a moment, and now it felt like she was sitting with the Carla she was used to. Beautiful, sexy, savvy, dominant.

She said, “Chey says that about Byron because that’s what Byron told her happened. That’s what he thinks of his time with you. It’s not her being mean.”

“Okay,” Carla said, accepting it. “She’s setting us up again.”

“Wait, what? You and Byron?”

“Yeah,” Carla said, smiling with a small measure of pleasant anticipation. Then she shook her head and changed the subject. “Did they have sex last night?”

Scarlet frowned, bewildered. “Who?”

Carla said, “Philippe and—”

“Sully? No way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

“Not even like mutual handjobs or a blowjob or something?”

Scarlet stared at Carla, figuring her friend was looking to set her back on her heels, make her unsure or something. She shrugged, played it cool. “Not that I saw. But after I went to sleep, who knows what happened.”

“Men get so horned up.”

“Like we don’t?”

“Not the same way. They get that urge to hump and they’ll hump anything. If their girl’s not available, they’ll hump the couch, the mattress, anything that’s a good size and comfortable shape.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Scarlet muttered, remembering a time when she was younger, humping a human-sized pillow.

“Well, anyway,” Carla said, patting Scarlet’s ankle under the bedding and scooting back, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sully thinks you’re in sexual bliss down here but he doesn’t know what it’s like to get a beer can pushed into your hoo-ha.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Scarlet agreed. “What’s everybody doing up there?”

Carla paused bedside, lifting her sweatshirt and putting her hands in the pockets of her pink short-shorts, sunlight sparkling in her shaggy platinum blond bob. “Lily’s reading, your boys are playing pool—”

“My boys?”

Carla chuckled at her own joke, smiling wide. “Byron and Cody went to shore...”

“Is Chey around?”

“Sure. Want me to send her down? You’re okay with her knowing?”

“I guess I’ll come up. It’s the afternoon for crying out loud.”

“Ah, take your time,” Carla said, waving it off, pivoting then and going to the door. She opened it and then stopped. “Hey, Arlo’s prepping a huge, huge dinner, so don’t eat too much.”

Scarlet’s stomach growled in anticipation. “Another dinner again so soon? That guy’s a workhorse.”

Carla leaned on the open door, saying, “Oh, we’ve got a surprise guest coming tonight, that’s why he’s cooking again.”

“We do? Who?”

“Paloma’s plane just touched down on the island. That’s why Byron and Cody went to shore. They’ve gone to pick her up.”

“Wait, wh-what? Who? Paloma?”

“Yeah, she flew in to join us after all.”

“Philippe’s wife Paloma?”

Carla jerked her head back. “Do you know another Paloma?”

“No—”

“Yeah, that Paloma. Philippe’s Paloma. Anyway, take your time, go soak in my tub, okay? Toodles.” And with that, Carla was gone and Scarlet was alone in Philippe’s suite, naked in Philippe’s bed.

“Oh, holy shit, holy fuck,” she said, jumping out of bed and scrambling her things together as fast as she could, picturing Paloma climbing aboard the luxury yacht and catching her friend Scarlet coming out of her estranged husband’s bedroom suite with an ice pack on her cooch.