by Alessia Brio
"I love the way you feel. I could never imagine being with someone else," Mike whispered against my skin. I moaned as his tongue began to lightly lick my pussy, sliding between the lips, flicking my clit slowly. I moved my hips with every stroke of his tongue. His hands burned my skin as he held on to my hips, sliding his fingers around to grab hold of my ass. I grabbed his hair not knowing if I should pull him up, or push him deeper into me. As if he read my thoughts, he looked up at me with a rain-drenched face, his lips glistening of a mixture of me and the rain, and I felt my heart beat harder.
When Mike began to remove his clothes, I playfully slapped his hands away and took my time peeling off his shirt. I licked his skin, kissing his chest, sucking the rain and tickling his nipples with my tongue. "Lie down," I commanded him, and I continued to kiss his stomach. I undid his shorts, removed his boxers and then laid my body against his for just a second, reveling in the way the misty rain created a warm, wet blanket around us. Slowly, I slid my hands up and down the sides of his body, using my fingernails, creating tiny goose bumps.
One of the things I love about him are his shoulders. They are so strong from working out and I kissed them lovingly, nibbling gently at the top and working my way down to his biceps. I caressed the skin and watched as he closed his eyes, enjoying every part of my lovemaking. I returned my kisses to his chest, again licking a line down his stomach, I felt his cock pressing against my chin. I love his cock; thick, smooth, perfect. I loved the way it felt in my mouth, my pussy, my ass. I buried my face in his pelvis, growling into the warm flesh and nipped him. I laughed at his response of moans and groans. He reached for me and pulled me up.
"Yes," I thought as I looked into his eyes. "This is just what I've been wanting." I knelt before him, and looked up at him. Mike slid his hands up my ribcage, pulled me up along his body. I moaned as he lifted me up and slid into me. My nipples rubbed against his chest hair as I wrapped my legs around his waist; my thigh muscles contracted and pulled his body closer.
I moaned as he entered me, my hands gripping his biceps, and I bent my head to lick and bite his shoulders. He began to fuck me slowly and gently with long strokes. I pulled my hips up and down, sliding my wet pussy against the hard shaft of his cock, bringing him deeper inside. It was impossible to keep my eyes open in the rain, but I tried to watch his face through half-closed eyelids. Watching the lust play out on his face brought unbelievable pleasure to me, and I was crying out when he began to pound into me, faster and faster. I could taste the salt rain on his lips and I slid my tongue into his mouth. My fingers entangled themselves into his hair and just for second we paused, letting the passion fill our bodies, listening to a background of thunder and the rain pattering on our blanket. His hands gripped my hips and he began to thrust harder. I closed my eyes and felt his warm breath upon my face. I felt his nails biting into my flesh, pulling me closer, pushing into me. I gasped at the pleasure mixed with pain as his cock plunged deeper into me. I whispered in his ear words of pleasure and desire. My tongue licked at his ear and I kissed him along his jawline.
I whispered against his neck that I was ready, my cries mingled with his moans of pleasure as he began to strain and push harder. He plunged into me over and over again, filling me with his aftermath of pleasure.
Exhausted, we lay against each other until the rain stopped. Our bodies were slick with sweat and rain and we hugged each other tightly. He lightly stroked my hair and kissed my face until our breathing came back to normal. When I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, I opened my eyes and told him that we'd better get dressed before we got arrested!
"You're right, wouldn't want to scare anybody!" Mike said, playfully smacking my butt.
After getting dressed and gathering the very wet remains of our picnic, we made our way to the hotel. I groaned as we passed my car, looking at Mike and pouting.
"It's alright," he said, hugging me tightly.
"I guess we'll get it sodomized?" I asked. I pressed my nose up against the driver's side window, whimpering.
"What?! No!" He laughed. "It's called simonized—and no, that's polishing and waxing. Sodomy is... well, actually, I'll show you what it is..." He lunged at me. I screamed and ran towards our room. I laughed as he captured me, pinning me against the door. While he kissed me, he fumbled with the key and then pushed me through. Almost falling on the floor when the door opened, I turned around and stopped dead in my tracks. There was a sign over the bed that read: "Will you marry me?"
I couldn't breathe. I was in absolute shock and turned around to see him on his knees holding the most perfect diamond ring.
"Yes," I whispered, my hand against my lips. "Yes!"
* * * *
Rubbing my back, I smile as I feel the diamond skim my skin. Bringing my hand around I stare at it again, touching it just as I have for the past day and a half.
I hear the shower start and breathe in deeply. "It's Monday," I think to myself. "What a wonderful way to start the week and the rest of my life."
Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I undress quietly and enter the shower, to be greeted by my fiancé and a huge smile...oh, not to mention a huge hard on as well!
~ ~ ~ ~
Wetter Has Never Been Better
© Alessia Brio
The shrill alarm jarred Stormy into consciousness. Her bare arm darted from beneath the sheets and swatted the snooze button, knocking the clock onto the floor. Dazed, she freed herself from the tangled bedclothes and struggled to her feet. She didn't feel as if she'd slept at all, in spite of turning in early. Restless didn't even begin to describe her night. "Damned deadlines!" she muttered to herself.
This particular deadline, more so than any other in her brief career, weighed very heavily on Stormy's mind. She desperately wanted to nail a major account, and this was her big chance: her chance to make a name for herself. A successful ad campaign would certainly open doors, and it would prove that she'd made the right decision in turning hobby into vocation.
Just over a year ago, Stormy burst onto the advertising scene. New in town and with no real experience or training in the field, she surprised the industry insiders with her gutsy ideas. Her freelance work caught the eye of a seasoned agency exec and, with a mixture of relief and regret, she accepted his job offer. Although she ultimately wanted to start her own company, the lure of a steady income was just too seductive. Since then, she'd been routinely cranking out quality work that, for some inexplicable reason, just wasn't producing the expected sales.
Stormy poured all her energies into her work, leaving precious little time for a social—much less a sex—life. She was good at it, and she knew it, which only heightened the frustration when her material was not as well received as she'd anticipated. She felt she really needed to pull off a major coup: an elusive campaign that succeeded beyond anyone's wildest expectations. It would give her the name recognition needed in order to successfully launch her own business.
Her company announced the challenge on Friday afternoon, three days ago. Not a competition. Oh, no! That word was too laden with—well, competitiveness. Advertising executives, ever attuned to nuance, instead challenged the staff to produce, by one week from Monday, the outline of a multimedia ad campaign for a big new client. As incentive, the employee best rising to the challenge secured the position of lead project manager for that campaign with the freedom to handpick the project team.
As she drew her bath, Stormy recalled the rampant speculation preceding the announcement. Who was the client? What were they selling? Why an agency-wide challenge instead of just a regular assignment? Management assured them that the details would be revealed at four-thirty, on the dot. It was so typical of an ad agency to make a big announcement that there would soon be a bigger announcement. First rule of advertising: hype the hype!
At precisely half past four, the P.A. system crackled to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have been blessed with an unprecedented opportunity," the voice of the CEO boomed. "We
have been given the chance to succeed where several of our major competitors have failed. If—no, WHEN—we succeed, we will have landed the largest account in the history of this firm. I know you will each give this challenge your best effort.
"The client is the government of Costa Rica. Tourism is a major source of income for this country. However, that income fluctuates significantly throughout the year due to the vagaries of the weather. The challenge, therefore, is to produce a multi-media ad campaign intended to increase tourism by at least fifty percent during the country's rainy season.
"The deadline is nine o'clock sharp Monday morning, ten days hence. Get busy."
For the last few minutes of the workweek, an eerie silence encompassed the office. Staff spent what typically would have been a time of jovial chitchat about weekend plans deep in thought. Everyone retreated to their cubicles and put on their proverbial thinking caps. Challenge indeed! What could be more of a challenge than making a vacation destination appealing in bad weather?
Over the weekend, Stormy immersed herself in the project. The Internet produced a trove of information about Costa Rica. All very interesting, but the ideas—brilliant or otherwise—continued to elude her. She flipped on the television and plopped onto the sofa with her coffee, mulling over what she'd learned. The Central American rainy season lasted from May through November, with the Pacific slope getting the most rain in September and October. She also learned that the Pacific slope featured the country's most popular tourist attractions: the active Arenal volcano with its hot springs and the Monteverde cloud forest.
Why, she pondered, would anyone want to go there this time of year? Was there a particular demographic group that could be targeted? The answers completely escaped her. Perhaps, Stormy told herself, she should just go there and find out for herself.
Impulsively, back on the Internet, she had no trouble finding a last minute spot on an abbreviated five-day/four-night Costa Rican tour. The charter flight departed Pittsburgh in less than four hours. Her passport was still valid. She had—just barely—enough cash. With surprisingly little internal debate, Stormy convinced herself to go for it. She dialed her supervisor's line and got through to the receptionist.
"Della, it's Stormy. I won't be in today. In fact, I won't be in all week. I'm going to take my vacation now, if that's okay with What's-his-face."
Della giggled. What's-his-face, their supervisor, was notorious for his inability to remember anyone's name. The staff returned the courtesy by bestowing the nickname. "I'm sure it will be, but what about—you know—the challenge? I figured you'd be all over it by now."
"I am, sugar. I am." Stormy explained, "I'm going to Costa Rica."
"Oh!" Della exclaimed, and after a pause to digest the significance of that revelation added, "You go, girl!"
"Do me a favor, will you? Please don't tell anyone where I'm going."
Della's pledge of secrecy obtained, Stormy realized that she had very little time to prepare. She rushed about, putting a hold on her mail, taking her cat to the neighbor's, making a few phone calls, and packing a small, waterproof bag with just very basic clothes and toiletries. By the time she'd finished, it was time to head for the airport.
Stormy enjoyed an uneventful flight from Pittsburgh to Charlotte, even managing, uncharacteristically, to nap from take-off to landing. During the brief layover, she grabbed a bite to eat and examined the challenge anew.
It was in Starbucks that she first noticed him: tall with curly salt-n-pepper hair; clean shaven; business suit with cowboy boots. He had an air about him. Supremely self-confident, but not arrogant.
Choosing an adjacent table, if those Frisbee-sized things could accurately be called tables, Stormy caught a whiff of his cologne. Mmm! One of her favorite scents. He pecked away at a fancy-looking laptop, thoroughly absorbed in the activity.
Stormy studied him obliquely. The suit looked expensive. The boots were polished. Square jaw. Amazing hands. Long fingers, rugged but not calloused. No wedding ring. Impeccably groomed. Broad shoulders with not a trace of pudge around the waistline. Seriously fuckable, was Stormy's final assessment as she tossed her empty cup in the can and strolled to her boarding gate.
Looking forward to a full three hours' rest during the non-stop service from Charlotte to San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, Stormy found her seat and grabbed three tiny airline pillows. The flight was far from full, and with any luck, she'd have a whole row of seats to herself. Next year at this time, she vowed to herself, this same flight would be booked to capacity thanks to her winning campaign.
She buckled up to avoid being pestered to do so at take-off, rested her head against the window, and closed her eyes—putting on her best "Do Not Disturb" persona in the hopes that the adjacent seats would remain vacant so she could stretch out later.
Waking with a start, Stormy realized that the plane was in the air and that she did indeed have the row to herself. She turned sideways to put up her legs and noticed HIM—the Starbucks guy—across the aisle. He looked at her intently, with a rather cryptic expression on his face, and his gaze was unnerving. Stormy felt her body respond.
"Business or pleasure?" he suddenly asked.
"What? Oh, um—business, actually. Maybe some pleasure. You?"
"Same," he said, extending his hand across the aisle. "I'm Charlie."
Unbuckling, Stormy scooted over to the aisle seat, "Stormy. Nice to meet you."
She would have gladly continued the conversation, but Charlie turned back to his newspaper. So, Stormy put up her feet and tried again to sleep. Images of this enigmatic man danced through her mind, making her fidget a bit. She realized that perhaps she should have packed her vibrator. After all, the last thing she needed was the distraction of perpetual horniness. On such a short trip with such an important objective, she simply did not have time for such diversions.
The next thing she knew, Charlie's hands gripped her ass. His lips met hers in an exquisitely languorous kiss—their bodies one, sweat shimmering on skin. Intense. Grinding.
Stormy's own groan woke her. Disoriented, she looked about, with realization slowly dawning. A dream. Just a dream. But, wow, what a dream! Maybe, she thought, if she could get right back to sleep, it'd pick up where it left off.
As she shifted to a more comfortable position, she noticed Charlie studying her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Blushing, Stormy again closed her eyes. Hours later, she was awakened by the flight attendant instructing her to buckle up. Alas the dream had not returned, but perhaps that was for the best, she mused. Stormy stretched and retrieved her carry-on, fully rested and ready to experience whatever Costa Rica had to offer.
* * * *
Juan Santamaría International Airport buzzed with activity, but it couldn't be considered crowded by any stretch of the imagination. She breezed right through Customs in no time flat, even with only two of the four booths opened. Next year, she vowed, there would be the expected delays due to the influx of rainy season tourists. Stormy took a table at the outdoor café near the terminal's exit and watched for the tour van, which was scheduled to depart San José for La Fortuna at seven p.m. local time.
Although the sun still shone when she arrived, the day's inevitable rain would soon come. The clouds approached from the western horizon. Rainy season didn't mean rain all day, every day, Stormy had learned during her research. Often, the days started clear and sunny with rain beginning in the late afternoon and ending sometime during the night.
As if on cue, the skies opened up. No wind accompanied the steady downpour. Thoughts of Starbucks Charlie popped into her mind, as did an immediate desire to touch and be touched—to feel warm, wet skin against her skin. She felt way overdressed, even though she wore only khaki shorts, a sleeveless top, and sandals.
With a pang of regret, Stormy noticed Charlie duck into a taxi, which immediately sped away. She would've welcomed his company right about then, to say the least. She had convinced herself, after all, that the man poss
essed an extraordinarily talented tongue, and she would have now jumped at the chance to verify her assessment.
The splash of warm rain from the pavement wet Stormy's bare legs, yet she felt completely comfortable remaining outdoors beneath the café awning. So, apparently, did the couple at the next table. They sat side-by-side, rather than opposite one another, facing the street, and they appeared to be having a casual conversation. From her vantage, however, Stormy saw their hands suddenly dart beneath the table.
The mature couple, perhaps in their mid-forties, seemed as if they'd been together for a long time. Stormy struggled to put her finger on the reason for this assumption when the woman caught her eye. Winking at Stormy, she brazenly slid her hand up the leg of her companion's baggy shorts. Although Stormy forced herself to look elsewhere, she could've sworn she saw an invitation in the woman's gaze.
The ache for physical contact intensified, and Stormy found her eyes returning to the couple just as a van pulled up. The driver polled the bystanders, "¿Arenal? ¿La Fortuna?" The amorous couple rose and collected their bags. In her halting Spanish, Stormy managed to confirm that it was, indeed, her tour.
An interesting mix of travelers boarded the van. The groping couple took the bench in the far back and wasted no time getting back to business. Stormy slid into the middle row along with a striking woman who did not have the aura of a tourist at all. Stormy guessed that she was a local resident catching a ride on the under-booked tour van.
Two pleasant-looking young men whose luggage consisted of backpacks and duffle bags occupied the foremost bench. Mid-twenties with fair hair and skin, they looked enough alike to be brothers, although Stormy was somehow sure they were not. Another four passengers could have easily fit into the van if they employed the roof rack for their luggage. Once again, Stormy vowed that next year the van and all the others like it would be full.