He put one hand on my mound and pushed against my clit, steadying himself there with his palm. His effort to not collapse on top of me was his most brilliant move yet.
His pace slowed down a bit, but he kept ravaging me, slamming his cock into me. It was a little rough, but I wanted it rough this time. I hadn’t gotten the thought of good cock out of my mind in months.
He pushed on my clit, in a rubbing like motion, sliding forward a little, and the orgasm just shot through my body, unexpected. His cock touched something at the same time his palm did and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“OOOOOHHHH!” I cried out. “Yes! I canmyfuckimanifiugargh!”
I’m speaking in tongues. Holy shit. I make no sense.
“I’m gonna come,” he said.
Then he pulled out of me, leaned forward, and shot it on my stomach.
What the fuck!
He looked like he was going to cry. His come face was a sad one. Like he’d just done something bad.
And it kept shooting out, landing in a warm pool on my belly. I’d never had that done to me before and I was in awe.
I’m glad I couldn’t see my face because I’m sure it was the look of “what the fuck is this, get it off me.”
He collapsed next to me on the sand and nestled his face in my arm. And what could have been a really cute gesture, the post-sex snuggle, was more like “I know you didn’t just bust all over my stomach and pass out.”
I pushed him off of me and got up.
“I’m not a porn star,” I said as I made my way to the water.
I dipped my body in just enough to snatch up a handful of sand and scrub my stomach with it. I stayed in the ocean for a while, making sure I got it all off. I kept scrubbing and scrubbing.
Do you guys like that? Am I the only one that thinks that’s gross?
Come inside me, okay if you’re the right guy and I’m on the pill.
Come in my mouth, okay on occasion if I’m really into the guy.
Come outside me, okay as long as you spit that shit somewhere beyond my body.
But NEVER put it on my stomach or on my tits or on my face. The porn industry was not started by women, fellas. We don’t rub it in and take pride in the money shot.
That’s fake bullshit!
Valentino was dressed and waiting for me with my clothes when I got out of the water.
“Close your eyes,” I warned him.
“But I’ve already seen…”
“Just close your eyes please.”
I was being way too bitchy. I didn’t need to be. I mean that was an asshole move in my opinion but he did make me come a couple of times. I guess I should have shown a little bit of gratification.
Valentino closed his eyes while I got dressed. Once I had all my clothes on he hugged me from behind, wrapping his hands around my stomach and putting his chin on my shoulder. It was sweet. I instantly felt bad for getting so angry.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “It was kind of an accident. I just didn’t think it would be okay to…you know…inside of you. You know. You’re a single woman here on vacation. I don’t think you want that kind of souvenir.”
What kind of fucking souvenir is he talking about? He better not have something.
“You want to be a Mexican’s baby mama?” he joked.
Whew, that kind of souvenir. Okay, breathe Mandy. Breathe.
I laughed and leaned back into his embrace, putting my hands over his at my stomach.
“This was really nice,” I said.
I wondered if he did that kind of thing with a lot of girls on vacation. I’m sure he probably did. It wasn’t my right to ask really. This was his life and I was just making a pit stop in it.
Sex please? Yes, fill ‘er up. Thanks. Ciao.
“I still like you,” he said.
I fucking hope so.
“You better,” I said.
“When do you leave Cancun?”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“Hmm.”
“You wanna take me to that party now?” I asked.
“I would like that. I would like to introduce my friends to the woman who swept me away on vacation. Her vacation. I was trying to be smooth that day by the pool. But in the end you were the smooth one. The heartbreaker. I know this sounds stupid, but I will miss you.”
Aww. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.
I turned to face him and I kissed him.
I’d succeeded in my Cancun conquest and my vacation wasn’t even over. We still had the party and we still had the rest of the night and tomorrow until noon.
Maybe I’d pull him away from the party and do it all again.
Maybe I wouldn’t.
Maybe I’d invite him into my room for the rest of the night.
Maybe I’d extend my vacation a couple of days.
Maybe not.
Life is so full of maybes. Settling on one decision too quickly can add a lot of pressure to a girl’s life. I decided to stick with maybe…and Cancun is so full of maybes.
THE END.
Stay tuned for the next Chris Genovese steamy erotic story and if you really liked hanging out with Mandy, MAYBE we’ll do it again sometime. Maybe.
If you want to know more about Mandy and what else is on its way from Chris Genovese, make sure you check out http://www.eroticmayberry.com. You’ll even find FREE Mandy diary entries.
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Keep reading to get a sneak peek at my next erotic novella, the first in a new series that’s all about single mothers and their workplace fantasies.
Sneak Peek at Checking Him Out (a Single Mom’s Erotic Fantasy)
Tuesday mornings suck.
The only thing worse than a mad rush, is a maddeningly slow day and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I’d just finished working my regular shift, the graveyard, which was always slow.
My night consisted of three types of customers: shift workers on break, cops, and drunks. Those are the only kinds of people who stop by a grocery store at two o’clock in the morning.
I’d barely made it to my seven o’clock stop time when Pam pulled her usual shit. She waited until a few minutes before I was supposed to clock out to say she really needed me to work a double.
I hated working doubles. My fingers were sore, my eyelids were heavy, and my brain felt like it was ready to explode.
If I have to hear the store’s jingle one more time, “Shop at Savory Saves and make your savory savings shine,” I think I’ll walk over to the giant rock hard salamis and bash in my own forehead.
But Pam knew I’d accept the extra shift. I always did. It’s what a single mother does, especially so close to the start of the school year. You should have seen the list of shit the first grade teacher was expecting my six-year-old to bring to school that year.
Since when did three different sizes of Tupperware containers and a disposable camera become necessary school supplies? It was insane.
So Jonathan would have to stay home with my mother AGAIN. She’d be fine with it, but I really missed my boy. He’s all I had since my husband left me for that nineteen year old twerp.
How can I, at thirty-five years old, compete with a nineteen year old?
It was the question that plagued my mind at least once during every work night. At the start of the evening, when the young blonde bombshells were shoving six packs of beer and bottles of rum into their boyfriends’ shopping carts, some of which were twice their age, it dragged me down so much I literally felt tears threatening to pour from my eyes.
Then I reminded myself that I didn’t need a man like that. I didn’t need someone who was willing to abandon my child and me just for a new and hotter piece of pussy.
That’s what it was you know. The sex. First it would have been the
curiosity of it. My douchebag of a husband had seen her in his wine shop a few times, sauntering around in short shorts or super tight jeans and wondered how it would feel to shove his cock inside of her.
He wondered what kind of sounds she would make and just how flexible those legs were. He wondered what it would feel like to have her lips moving up and down along his shaft.
And that would all be before she actually said a word to him. Trust me, I work with enough males to know exactly how their minds work. Those fantasies of his would be nothing more than nasty thoughts…until she gave him the “all clear” signal, which would probably be something as simple as leaning forward at the cash register to show off her cleavage.
Or maybe she’d passed him her phone number and asked him to call her whenever he got in something really good. You know…a bottle of wine she meant.
Then, suddenly, she was riding his cock every single afternoon.
That’s how it went down, I’m sure of it. And where was I during this time? I was picking our son up from kindergarten or maybe I was making him mac and cheese with hot dogs chopped up in it the way he likes it.
What I wasn’t doing was finding my own young stud to fuck.
That’s what I should have been doing, right? Well not me, I’m Gina the dependable.
Gina the great mom.
Gina the nice lady next door who always lends a cup of sugar.
Gina who doesn’t mind that your music is a little too loud.
Gina who will gladly accept a double shift.
Never Gina the cock riding whore.
Secretly, I wished that were me.
As I started my double for the day, right at the seven o’clock hour, the store was still empty. It would be filling up soon with people rushing to buy gum, cigarettes, and lunch for their work day.
I stood alone, my legs and back aching, checking myself out in a small mirror I kept on the side of my register. I was exhausted, but I didn’t look so bad. My eyes were slightly red but my reddish hair was still pulled back into a tight ponytail. My lipstick needed a little touch up on my next break.
Beyond the stuff I could fix, I thought my face was pretty cute. My cheeks were a little bit chubby but I knew a lot of the guys at work thought I was attractive. One of the young baggers called me a MILF once when he thought I wasn’t listening.
A MILF. A Mom I’d Like To Fuck. Nice. I’ll take that.
Thinking about it made me kind of excited. I sat down on my swivel chair and thought about the kid. He wasn’t a kid really. Maybe eighteen. Okay, a kid but why is it okay for my husband to fuck a girl a year older than that and I can’t even fantasize about it?
Exactly.
He was a strong kid with a big powerful chest, short hair, and a wisecracking grin. He was the store clown but he was quite good looking.
How would it happen? How would it be possible?
To me, that’s the key to fantasy. Just imagining it is not enough. I have to envision how it would possibly happen. It can’t be the fake porn kind of scenario.
You know, where the guy shows up to fix the girl’s sink and she says, “But I don’t even have a sink” and then lets him in anyway. Suddenly he’s giving her that gigantic plumber’s pipe.
So how would Jimmy the bag boy make it work? Let’s say he offered to give me a ride home from work. Then, while in his car, he tells me that my shirt must’ve gotten dirty at work and offers to have his mom clean it for me back at his place…
See? No, that’s where the fantasy has to stop. It’s not real. How could I imagine a guy bending me over his washing machine if he just mentioned he could have his mom, his MOM wash my shirt.
These are the kind of internal arguments I have with myself all the time. In reality, Jimmy didn’t say any of this, but I’ve already ruled him out as a potential fuck.
How do men do it? How do they set themselves up for a one-night-stand or just a quick lunchtime fuck at the office? I can’t even make it through a damned fantasy of my own.
Let’s stop the sneak peek there. Just know that Gina does figure out how to have a proper fantasy…and then her fantasy becomes a reality.
Keep your eyes open for Checking Him Out (A Single Mom’s Erotic Fantasy) by Chris Genovese.
Thanks again for reading,
Chris Genovese
P.S. Don’t forget to check out http://www.eroticmayberry.com
Margaritas by Moonlight (A Romance Novella): Maybe Mandy 2 Page 9