The McCain Marriage Contract

I found out that her name was Camille, the freaky French girl that had given me the riding of my life. I had tried to reach her before, since the beginning of my travail with Valerie, but she wouldn't pick up. Clearly, she was a stickler for her coital standards, unlike mine that I quickly ditched for some good pussy. But no one would refuse an all-expense-paid trip to the Maldives, high standards or not.

"Bonjour, Camille," I started, trying to impress her with my minimal grasp of the French language. "Ça va?"

"Who's this?" She asked, not sounding at all impressed.

"C'est moi, Raymond," I said. There was no response from her end so I had to explain. "The guy that wanted to fuck you more than once?"

"All guys want to fuck me more than once," she said.

Of course they did, I thought to myself. "The one that screamed for your vagina when he wanted to cum?"

"All guys scream..."

"Goddamn it, I specifically said 'Vee-Jay." I felt very ashamed of myself for using Valerie's nickname to negotiate a booty call but I couldn't think of any other way to describe myself.

She chuckled and I felt like an errant child. "Oh, the pitiful rich boy. And a beauty, too."

"Am I beautiful enough for you to fly to the Maldives for, s'il vous plait?" I delved back into my epileptic French hoping it would create a sort of kinship in her heart and make her consider. It was amazing the amount of money I was willing to spend for pussy but this wasn't just any random, inexperienced pussy; this was Camille's golden pussy, the one I could not seem to forget about.

She sighed. "You can drop the French, honey. You ain't pronouncing the words right. And, yes, I would love to come to the Maldives."

I squeaked in delight. "Great. Let me know when you're free to fly and I'll make the arrangements. And, please, come with all your kinkiness for daddy," I said in a deep, sexy voice.

She hesitated. "You know we ain't fucking right? I told you about my rule."

What? Who was she? Why else would I be bringing her all the way to a private island in South Asia... for a book club meeting? Besides staying in one of the most romantic and expensive resorts in the Maldives, the Cheval Blanc Randheli, without having sex should be considered a crime punishable by law. "You're willing to fly all the way here and we ain't fucking? Why did I call you then?" Frustration was very evident in my voice.

"Honey, I thought you just wanted to pay for my relaxation. Some of my clients do it; it's nothing new. I don't fuck a person twice, pretty boy. Goodbye."

Did she just say "clients?" Damn. "Au revoir," I whispered in desperation, hoping this last attempt to tug at her heartstrings, or G-string as it were, would have some effect. It didn't.

"Fuck it, I'm going down to the pool," I said to myself. Valerie, as usual, was nowhere in sight and I was more than grateful for that.

The last time I set eyes on Valerie was the day we arrived at the Cheval Blanc Randheli Private Island. The place was a masterpiece and even me that was used to luxury lacked the words to describe it. It was an exceptional residence in every sense - artwork and furniture, tropical gardens, exotic views that were second to none, three-stars Michelin restaurants, excellent spa services, and a whole lot more. I found myself hating my dad all over again. This place was heaven on earth, but my stay would be hellish because my companion was easily my worst enemy. I hated taking strolls around the villa; there always seemed to be people making out wherever I turned. This place was not for people like me and Valerie. We were staying in the master suite of the villa and my goodness was it perfection! Good enough it was as large as a full house and there were two bedrooms and bathrooms, so even though we stayed in the same building we saw little to nothing of ourselves. It was no different from how we lived back in San Francisco and I had adjusted to it. The vacation, slated to last a full week, was going to be a really dull one for me if I didn't do something to change that. I had to do something.

The second I got to the poolside I regretted showing up there. Everyone seemed to be making out all at once like there was some competition ongoing. Only I walked solo, crestfallen, and frustrated. And horny as fuck. I had not had sex since I got married to Valerie and it was surprising I was still alive. This was the longest time I had gone without any action and I feared that this deprivation would take its toll on me pretty soon. I was bound to experience extreme withdrawal symptoms at some point and I dreaded the thought of that. I had to do something and fast.

I stopped walking and smiled. I had figured out exactly what to do.