They were in one of the restaurant's trio of private balcony placements overlooking the beach. Alone, unless they tapped the button that called their waiter to the table.
Honor grasped the railings, gasping quietly, arms spread to either side of her body when he entered her, her lips parting in a smile of pure uncomplicated pleasure and no small amount of relief.
She had immediately known that she was going to be having sex on the balcony as soon as the host led them up to it. It was more than private enough, and, to be fair, she had been shaking with arousal, wetness literally leaking out of her by then.
Besides that, he had promised her that he was going to fuck her in the restaurant.
Thankfully, she had been pragmatic in her choice of outfit, which meant her skirt only needed to be repositioned and her breasts required no effort to uncover. After all, she had reasoned, when he had pointedly left her to her own devices on what to wear, being always ready and available for him was the deal.
Along with him 'displaying' her. Which meant she had dressed for easy access and exposure.
Even then, whether or not she would end up walking home nude was still an open question.
After being naked all day, getting fucked on a public beach and returning to the villa completely naked, among other preceding episodes of being paraded around in varying states of undress since he had come into her life, she had come to accept that her sense of modesty was on an extended hiatus where he was concerned.
The island was simply somewhere she could let it go without consequence.
The problem was that she found herself fantasizing about feeding his fetish off the island, and not just in Thailand, and what she had found most disturbing about that was how little her mind's frequent intrusive visions of being publicly nude, being publicly taken by him, actually disturbed her.
She had found a minimal fly-away strapless crop top, and she had worn her hair up to expose most of the tattoo he was so proud of. She matched it with a low-rise asymmetric maxi skirt, the slit going right up to the hip. Underwear was decidedly not a feature of her life with Marq Haydn; she only wore her bodychain underneath it all.
He had approved, as predicted, and he had immediately seen that her breasts were simply a lift of fabric away. Also as predicted, he had indulged himself as soon as she had stepped out of the room, stripper heels on her feet, making her hiss and quiver, arms locked to her sides as he licked and bit on the pointing brown tips, making them stiffen even more to attention, before taking her lips with a growl of hunger she had matched with her own.
Then he had added something new.
"Lift up your skirt, Miss Banet," he had ordered, after their lips had parted.
Pressed against the wall, she had grinned at him, and instead stretched the skirt's waistband and shifted the slit to the front.
"Is that satisfactory, Mr. Haydn?"
He smiled back, all predator. "Very much so, Miss Banet. Now, close your eyes."
Then he had kissed her again and she had kept her eyes obediently closed as she felt him kneel in front of her exposed mons, bracing herself for his touch.
She shook when his finger touched her, moaning and spreading herself wider as it stroked over the thin strip of hair he had left behind, then over her clit and pressing between the butterflied lips of her pussy before pushing in. When he withdrew it, she didn't need to look to know it had come away covered in her liquid.
She had expected his tongue at her cleft next, or his finger again, perhaps accompanied by another. But what pushed at her entrance instead was something else entirely, startling her, her eyes popping open as she sharply looked down to see, her instinctive attempt to move away blocked by the wall behind her.
She found him looking up at her, and he had let her see the three balls of ribbed and knobbed silicone connected into a single flexible wand before he pushed it into her pussy, her spread legs and lubrication allowing the sinfully black plug to easily slide all the way inside her.
She had spasmed and arched against the wall, hands closing into fists as her mouth opened in a silent scream. It was no more than four inches, but it was wide and heavy enough to make its presence impossible to ignore.
The largest ball was at the end, the retention chain at its base with its clasp now dangling out of her entrance, and as she watched, hyperventilating, still adjusting to its sudden presence inside her, he attached it to her body chain where it encircled her waist.
Done, he stood up to his feet and kissed her again, his hands distractingly stroking over her bared hips and belly, playing over her chain and pulling on her nipples as she helplessly kissed him back. He helped her shift the slit back over to the side again before taking her hand and leading her out of the villa.
Walking with the plug turned out to be a revelation, every step unpredictably reshaping and twisting it inside her, the striations and nodules adding random sparks of sensation to the feeling of fullness, making it difficult to concentrate on anything beyond simply placing one foot in front of the other.
Her steps started faltering before they had gone much past the villa's gate. Minutes later, she was letting out a quiet moan with each tottering step, and she was panting, squeezing his hand, not much longer after that.
"Stop...!" she had finally gasped, planting her feet and stopping them.
The sheer absurdity of her situation hit her; in a top so thin and brief that a gust of wind would expose every inch of her breasts beyond just the undersides of them it had left uncovered, a skirt with a slit so wide and high that another gust could easily reveal that she not only was not wearing any panties, but that she was walking around with 'something' stuffed inside her.
That 'something', of course, being why she was standing stock-still in the middle of the pathway, body quivering as she bit her lip. Her nipples were so engorged that the nooses around them were making them sting.
The island guests sharing the path with them eyed them curiously as they passed, many clearly seeking experiences on offer that were far more exotic than dinner at a restaurant. A group of giggling young women walked by in nothing more than bodypaint and bikini bottoms, glow sticks in hand while a woman only wearing knee high boots and pasties over her nipples had eagerly hurried past them, hand in hand with a man wearing a matching leather mask and pants.
Even with the plug wreaking havoc with her mind, she had recognized the famous actor under the face covering.
"What is it, Miss Banet?" Marq disingenuously asked, an eyebrow raised behind his glasses.
She wanted to kiss and curse at him at the same time; he was the ultimate cause of her predicament, not the twisting and turning item in her pussy.
She had been preparing for her wedding just a few days ago, she had thought confusedly, looking at him. To someone else.
"I think I'm going to come..." she whispered.
His smile was cruel. "Then, why not... come?"
Honor gasped as he pulled her toward him, making her take multiple jerky stumbling steps forward. The 'something' inside her twisted one way, then another, adding to the sudden shock of her painfully erect nipples being abruptly pressed against him as he caught her in his arms, and she buried her face in his neck as it took her over the edge.
"You... bastard!" she had gasped after her orgasm had, mostly, run its course. She was still shaking, the aftershocks of it still coursing through her as he ruthlessly seized her lips. She could feel the rivulets of liquid running down her inner thighs as she clutched at him, her heart pounding in her chest.
She felt his hardness pressing against her belly, adding to the inferno the plug was still stoking up between her legs.
