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Korean Cindy Visits Jamaica

I never thought our Jamaican getaway would turn into this, but looking back, maybe I should've seen it coming. Cindy and I had been married 25 years—me, the retired Army guy from Virginia, her, my tiny Korean firecracker who'd traded her wild past for church Sundays and real estate deals. At 59, she still looked damn good: 4'11" of petite curves, that narrow waist flaring out to those thick thighs and a round ass that jiggled just right in her sundresses. Her black hair in a simple ponytail, pale skin glowing under the tropical sun, and those small 32B tits with dark nipples that poked through fabric when she got chilled—or excited. We'd come to Ocho Rios for relaxation, rum, and maybe a little spark in our routine sex life. But deep down, I knew her old cravings lingered, especially for big Black men like the soldiers she'd entertained back in Korea. And Jamaica? Well, the locals had a reputation for showing vacationing wives a good time—turning shy tourists into eager memories. Korean women were rare here, I'd heard, and when they showed up... let's just say the island knew how to make the most of them.

We hit the beach bar on our second evening—white sands, palm-thatched roof, reggae pulsing low. Cindy wore a simple white bikini under a sheer sarong, the kind that clung to her hips when the breeze hit. She sipped a piña colada, laughing at my bad jokes, oblivious to the stares. I noticed them, though. Especially from the bartender, Devon—a tall, dreadlocked local in his mid-30s, skin like dark mahogany, built like he hauled boats for a living. Broad shoulders, veined arms, board shorts slung low enough to show the V of his hips. He had that easy Jamaican charm, gold tooth flashing when he smiled.

"Evenin', folks. What can mi get yuh?" he asked, eyes flicking over Cindy as he poured my Red Stripe. Casual, but I caught the linger—the way his gaze traced her ponytail down to the curve of her ass on the stool.

Cindy smiled politely, her accent soft and thick. "Another piña colada, please. This one's delicious."

"Comin' right up, pretty lady. Yuh from Korea? Don't see many like yuh 'ere. Make di island feel exotic." He winked, sliding her drink over, his fingers brushing hers just a second too long. She didn't notice—thanked him sweetly, turned back to me talking about the waterfall tour tomorrow. But I saw it: the subtle lean in, the way he mirrored her posture, complimenting her "glow" from the sun. "Dem Korean women... rare as blue mountain coffee. But when dey come, mon, dey bring dat special flavor."

She giggled, thinking it was just friendly banter. "Oh, thank you. First time here—loving the vibe."

I shifted on my stool, a familiar heat building in my gut. Not jealousy—excitement. I'd seen this dance before at parties, conferences. Devon kept it light: stories about hidden beaches, offering to show us "real Jamaica" off-resort. But his eyes kept dropping to her chest, where her nipples had stiffened against the bikini top from the evening chill. He passed her a complimentary shot of rum, "for di beautiful visitor," and when she took it, he held her gaze. "Yuh know, we Jamaicans love treatin' rare tings right. Make sure dey leave wit' memories."

Cindy blushed, sipping innocently. "That's sweet." But I heard the undertone in his voice—the promise. My cock twitched in my shorts. She chatted on about our life in Virginia, not catching how he steered the talk to her "exotic" looks, how "small packages hold big surprises." By our third round, he lit a spliff behind the bar—thick, earthy ganja smoke wafting over. "Try? Pure island medicine. Loosen yuh up fi di night."

She hesitated, but I nodded—why not? She took a small puff, coughing cutely, her cheeks flushing deeper as the buzz hit. Devon grinned. "Dat's it, likkle Cindy. Let it flow. Yuh feelin' irie now?"

As the bar thinned out, his seduction ramped up—less casual, more direct. He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Yuh husband lucky mon. But if yuh wan' see di real side o' Jamaica... mi shift end soon. Private spot up di hill. Ocean view, more ganja. No strings—just fun fi adventurous couples."

Cindy's eyes widened a bit, but the ganja had her relaxed, giggly. "Oh, I don't know... Tom?"

I met Devon's knowing look. "Sounds intriguing," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. "Lead the way."

His bungalow was a short hike—open-air, bed under netting, sea breeze carrying salt and weed. Devon sparked another spliff, passing it around as we settled. Cindy sat on the bed's edge, sarong slipping off one shoulder, still chatting obliviously about the beach. But Devon moved in smooth: sat beside her, dreads brushing her arm. "Yuh skin so soft, Cindy. Like silk from Asia." His hand grazed her knee—casual at first, like adjusting the spliff pass. She didn't pull away, the ganja making her pliant.

I took the chair across, watching. My little wife, so proper back home, was melting under his touch. He leaned in, whispering something about "rare Korean fire," and kissed her—slow, lips parting hers, tongue slipping in with that smoky ganja taste. She gasped softly, eyes fluttering, but kissed back. "Devon... I..."

"Shh, likkle one. Yuh husband here. He cool." He glanced at me, smirking. I nodded, hand already palming my hardening cock through my shorts. God, seeing her like this—seduced right in front of me—had me throbbing.

He peeled her sarong away, then the bikini top. Her small tits bounced free, dark nipples rock-hard peaks. "Mmm, dem perfect likkle buds." He palmed them roughly, big black hands dwarfing her pale skin, thumbs rolling her nipples until she whimpered—high, needy sounds that went straight to my dick. "Yuh sensitive, eh? Bet yuh pussy even more so."

Cindy moaned, accent thickening. "Tom... this okay?"

"Hell yes," I rasped, unzipping now, stroking slow as I watched.

Devon grinned, gold tooth flashing. "See? He love it." He tugged her bottoms off, spreading her thick thighs wide—exposing her pink, slick folds. "Look at dis... tight Korean pussy. Rare fi we Jamaicans. But mon, we know how fi use 'em. Stretch 'em proper, make 'em sing."

He knelt between her legs, dreads tickling her inner thighs as he dove in—tongue lapping broad strokes over her clit, slurping noisily like he was devouring forbidden fruit. Cindy's back arched, small hands clutching the sheets. "Oh god... Devon... so good..." Wet smacking sounds filled the room, her juices shining on his beard. He fingered her too—two thick digits curling in, stretching her, making squelching noises that had me stroking faster.

"Dat's right, beg fi it. Yuh Koreans act shy, but yuh crave big tings." He stood, dropping his shorts—his cock springing free, massive, veined like a tree root, easily 10 inches and thick as her wrist, curving up with a fat head already beading pre-cum. Cindy's eyes went wide, lips parting in that old hunger I knew so well.

"Tom... he's so big..."

Devon chuckled, fisting himself. "Bigger dan yuh used to, eh? But yuh gon' take it all." He rubbed the head along her slit, teasing. "Tell yuh man how bad yuh wan' it."

She looked at me, glassy-eyed. "I... I need it, Tom. Please."

I groaned, pre-cum slicking my hand. "Take it, baby."

He pushed in—slow at first, inch by inch, her small pussy lips stretching obscenely around his girth. She cried out—sharp, pained pleasure—her thick ass lifting off the bed. "Fuck... so tight. Like virgin fi mi." He bottomed out, balls against her ass, holding there as she whimpered and adjusted. Then he started thrusting—deep, rhythmic strokes, skin slapping wetly. Her tits jiggled with each impact, nipples bouncing.

"Take dat Jamaican dick, Cindy. We famous fi dis—usin' dem vacation wives hard, sendin' 'em home full." He gripped her ponytail, yanking her head back, exposing her neck for bites. "Yuh hear dat, Tom? Yuh wife pussy grippin' mi like she own it. Squish-squish... she soakin'."

The sounds were filthy: her moans turning to Korean babble—"Oppa... no, Devon... harder!"—mixed with the slick plunge of his cock, balls smacking her ass. He flipped her onto all fours, facing me, so I could see her face contort—mouth open, drool dripping, eyes rolling as he re-entered from behind. His big hands spread her cheeks, thumb teasing her ass while he pounded deeper, her round ass rippling like waves.

"Look at yuh man while mi breed yuh. Show him how Jamaicans handle rare tings." He sped up, grunting, sweat gleaming on his dark skin. Cindy's body shook, thighs quivering as she came—walls clenching, a gush soaking his shaft. "Dat's it... cum on mi big black cock. Yuh Koreans love it—come 'ere fi dis."

I was edging myself, loving every second: her screams, the way she pushed back greedily, his dirty talk claiming her. He finally roared, slamming deep—hot pulses filling her, cum leaking out around his thickness as he held her impaled.

He pulled out with a pop, her pussy gaping, dripping. Cindy collapsed, panting, a satisfied smile on her swollen lips.

Devon lit another spliff, grinning at me. "Yuh wife well used, mon. Rare treat."

I came then—watching the mess, hearing her soft whimpers—spurting hard with a groan.

We stayed awhile longer, her sucking him lazily while he talked more filth: "Worship it, likkle slut. Yuh man enjoyin' di show." I did—every sight, every sound.

Walking back, Cindy leaned on me, cum trickling down her thigh. "You liked that?"

"More than you know," I whispered.

Jamaica had us hooked. And the week was young.

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