by Alison Tyler
His shadow moved toward her. Though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him, his potent scent of sweat and sea acted like an aphrodisiac. She continued to caress herself with the lotion.
“Why don’t you give me the bottle so I can show you how that stuff should be applied?”
“My goodness! You’re American!” She exclaimed, meeting his gaze.
His face, a tanned masterpiece of rugged good looks and intelligence, brightened into a relieved smile.
“Yes. Does that make me less intriguing?”
“Who said you were intriguing in the first place?”
“Are you going to give me that bottle or not?”
“If it pleases you,” she relented, slapping the bottle into his outstretched palm. “You can do my back, if you like,” she added, leaning forward to give him better access.
“It’s not your back I’ve had my eye on,” he replied, slipping his fingers under her swimsuit straps, which already hung under her arms to avoid strap marks. The smell of him, so near now, nearly made her swoon. The crotch of her swimsuit clung to her, drenched with her juices.
He tugged at the straps and she watched without protest as the fabric covering her breasts peeled away, slowly exposing her white breasts to the sultry Caribbean sunlight. Her nipples pointed forward as if to determine the wind direction.
“Caribbean women sunbathe topless. No tan lines,” he explained in a husky, soothing voice just before his big hands covered her ample breasts. With the lotion as emollient, he massaged her breasts with sensuous attention, as if every pore required his touch. He kneaded and smoothed expertly while she fought valiantly against her urge to moan with pleasure.
“You know, tan lines aren’t really an issue in Minnesota.” She didn’t like the way her voice trembled. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice.
He chuckled but said nothing. His hands followed her curves, sweeping along every slope with firm intent. When most of the lotion had seeped into her skin, his fingers gently tweaked her erect nipples, rolling and stroking them until her hips squirmed.
And then he stopped.
She clutched a handful of her hair, furious. He stood by her side now, his bulbous pouch straining his thong. Why was it she didn’t want to initiate sex? She couldn’t recall.
His crotch hovered near her face. Leaning toward it, she briefly wondered how she might stop. Before she could decide, he’d freed his member and it was in her mouth.
And now she did moan. Freely. His intoxicating aroma, the hard flesh sliding in and out of her mouth, and now his hand at her breast once again—her mind spun with unspeakable pleasure. He bent down to kiss the top of her head. In response, she reached behind him to hold a firm cheek in her hungry hand.
After a few minutes, he pulled away, muttering “no.” Who was he talking to? Himself? Her?
She was far from finished with this man.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think I can restrain myself, if you know what I mean,” he said a bit sheepishly.
“So, you’ll leave me unsatisfied, too?”
“I’d like to satisfy you. Very much. I’ve wanted to since I saw you yesterday.”
Was he playing with her? Confusion mixed with unthinking carnal need; logic eluded her. She wanted him but was angry and aroused beyond measure. The sea sparkled around them and the only sound that invaded the quiet was the occasional cawing of a sea gull. The moment sat heavily between them. She knew he didn’t mean to torture her. She sensed he was a good person. Instinctively, she knew he’d be a fantastic lover. But she could not let go of this frustration he’d created in her. Until an idea occurred to her.
“I’d like you to lie across me.”
“What?”
“Face down, so your butt sticks up in the air.”
He grinned and shrugged, still rock hard. Positioning himself across her smooth legs, he was about to ask if he was where she wanted him when she administered the first slap to his buttocks.
Ah! That felt good! She slapped him again with the same serious playfulness she’d used the first time. His buttocks absorbed her puny blows without a tremor. She enjoyed watching him clench his well-developed backside.
Pushing her naked breasts into his back, she whispered, “Get up so we can go to my cabin.”
He complied instantly and she noticed his erection stood taller than ever. She rose, took his hand, and led him in the direction where her friends had gone earlier. She giggled as they sneaked below; he with his hard-on sticking out of his thong and she with her breasts bouncing free of her swimsuit. He seemed to know what she found amusing and started to tuck himself back into his underwear. She stopped him.
“Why put it away? You’re going to need it very soon.”
In the privacy of her cabin, they couldn’t help but hear the wild wailing and thumping noises from the other cabins. The sounds fueled her own desire and she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her.
She laid him on his back and mounted him, gasping as he entered her. Making love to him dissolved the role-playing and made a mockery of the flirtatious games she’d played.
Every move, every touch electrified her, but her heart told her it was more than sexual. When they’d climaxed and lay in each other’s arms, she worried that the wine coolers or the insidious sunshine might be behind her happiness. She confessed as much to Dean, who reassured her otherwise.
“I’ve been a crewman on these yachts for years—what happened with us is not standard.”
The women did not emerge from their cabins until morning. To Renee’s bewilderment, her friends treated the crew as if nothing had transpired the day before. The men were there to serve and the women to receive. As they resumed their places on their chaises, Renee’s curiosity consumed her.
“Well, ladies, you’re awfully quiet this morning, which is a sharp contrast with what I heard coming from your cabins last night!”
Pamela groaned and Susan shrugged. Both of them fought obvious hangovers.
“It was fabulous. Everything I could’ve hoped for, really. But, I don’t know. There’s nothing else. We just had to get it out of our systems, I guess.” Pamela lowered her voice. “He hasn’t got much going on upstairs,” she added, tapping her finger against her temple.
“Are they both American?” Renee inquired.
“Yeah, and that was pretty disappointing,” Susan complained. “At least they could’ve faked it. Invent a country or something. What would we have known?”
They laughed. As they enjoyed their little joke, Dean approached, freshly showered and wearing a gleaming new uniform. He carried a case full of chilled wine coolers.
“And what about you, Renee? How did things go for you?” Pamela asked.
Renee lowered her eyes, disappointed in Susan’s lack of tact. How could she answer the question with Dean right there? An awkward silence pervaded the foursome until Dean paused to take her hand and kiss it.
“Ce soir, ma chérie?” His French accent was impeccable.
“Mais oui,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, delighted by his performance for her friends.
He sauntered away, exuding sex and confidence. Renee’s grin felt permanent.
“I take it somebody’s planning a rendezvous?” Susan tendered.
“Oh, sure. She gets the French one!” Pamela whined.
Renee responded with hearty laughter, disinclined to share the details of her night with Dean. She purposely got less sun and drank no alcohol throughout the day to test her theory about whether those were the catalysts for her fireworks. Dean kept a respectful distance but whenever she caught a glimpse of him moving about the ship, her pulse quickened.
As she dressed for dinner, a shy knock sounded at her door. She opened it to find him with a large tray holding dinner for two.
“I was hoping we could dine in,” he said softly, a glimmer of hesitation in his eyes. How adorable, she thought. He actually thinks I might refuse him. She invited him in and
they dined on fresh sea bass by candlelight. For the remainder of the trip, in fact, Pamela and Susan saw Renee only in daylight. Each night after that, long after the yacht had been retired, Dean and Renee enjoyed each other’s company for dinner and for so, so much more.
Sex on the Rocks
STEPHEN ALBROW
Believe me, buddy, what I wouldn’t give for a soft-top! Days like yesterday were just made for convertibles, but we’ve got kids, so Marie insisted I buy a safe, reliable family car instead. It wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s a five-hour journey from Marie’s mom and poppa’s place back to our apartment block on the West Side of Manhattan. In the winter, the drive is just about bearable, but when it’s a hot August day, like yesterday, then the sweat comes pouring off me in buckets. Jeez, by the time we’d made it home, I figure that I’d lost close on four of five pounds in perspiration. So then to get inside and find the air conditioning had upped and died was just about the worst possible way to end what had been quite a nice vacation, till then.
“The super says it’s been busted all day,” Marie said to me, as she put down the phone. “And he can’t get a mechanic in until Thursday,” she added, while stripping off her T-shirt. We’d left the kids back with Marie’s parents, and this gave her the freedom to parade around half-naked.
I gazed across at her standing there in her bra and jeans. She looked real cute, but all I could think of was that old Cole Porter song about it being “Too Darn Hot.” Moving across to her, I planted a kiss on her lips. “This heat is gonna kill me,” I said, then I went to the refrigerator, hoping to find an ice-cold beer.
There were a couple of bottles of Corona inside, so I flipped off the caps, then took one over to Marie. She took a swig from the bottle, then pressed it up against her forehead, using it like an ice pack. When she pulled it away, little beads of moisture were wetting the skin just below her fringe.
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips against her flesh, kissing away the beads of water. Marie responded by wrapping her arms around my body, which made her tits press up close to my chest. Releasing her arms, she took a step away from me and began to undo my shirt buttons. “It’s too hot for clothes,” she said, stripping me out of my shirt. She then demanded that I kick off my shoes. No sooner had I done that than she was tugging down my pants.
After the blistering heat of the car journey, it sure did feel good to get naked. I sipped on my Corona, while Marie knelt down to pull off my socks. Job done, I grabbed her hand and helped her back up to her feet. Having put both of our beers down on the coffee table, I reached around her body and undid her bra. Her breasts were covered in a thin layer of perspiration, which made them glisten in the last brainfrying rays of sunlight streaming through the windows. It looked just like they’d been covered in baby oil, or suntan lotion, or something. It was a beautiful sight and, despite my misgivings about the heat, I found myself starting to get just a little bit excited.
Since we were cuddling real close, Marie spotted my excitement right away. Giggling, she shoved her hand inside my boxer shorts, and like she’d read my mind, she began to hum a few bars of “Too Darn Hot.” I smiled when she did that, like I always do whenever Marie begins to say something I’ve only just been thinking. It happens a lot when you’re truly in love with someone. Probably it’s just coincidence, but whenever it does chance to happen, it sure makes you feel like you were truly fated to be with one another.
“I was just thinking of that song,” I told Marie, as she hummed a few more bars of Cole Porter.
“Great minds think alike,” she said, and having squeezed my cock to test it for rigidity, she grabbed my hand and led me straight back to the refrigerator. Bemused, I watched her pull open the door, then open the freezer compartment, like a big idea had just popped into that great mind of hers. The refrigerator was virtually empty, since we’d thrown away all the perishables before we’d gone away on vacation. All that was left inside were some ice cubes and some slushy, mushy, frosty stuff, which looked like little snowflakes.
“Suppose we scoop that out and stick it in the bathtub,” said Marie, then she took a breath, like she was breathing in the coldness to counter the effects of the too darn hot August night.
“My dick would shrivel away to nothing,” I said, as I felt the cold chill coming out of the refrigerator.
“Not with me around, it wouldn’t,” said Marie, real huskily, which seemed a pretty good way to counter my argument.
Marie demanded that I fill an ice bucket with as much slush and ice as possible, which appeared to be heaps. The freezer hadn’t been cleaned out properly in years, so it looked as though there’d be plenty enough to fill the ice bucket several times over. Which was true. I got it from the drinks cabinet and, with the aid of the ice pick, I had soon chipped away enough of the stuff to build a fucking igloo.
“Here I come,” I shouted to Marie, who had run off into the bathroom.
Or so I thought. I rushed in after her with my first bucketload of ice, only to find the bathroom empty. It was then that I heard a yell from the balcony, telling me to hurry outside. Following the cry, I found my wife standing in the open air with the plastic paddling pool we had bought for our kids the summer before. Happily, we had left the kids at Marie’s mom and poppa’s house. Even more happily, Marie seemed determined to take advantage of their absence, because she was standing on the balcony topless, ready for some loving.
Maybe a little too ready, if you ask me. Sure enough, we live ten floors up, but that wasn’t to say that some voyeur in the building across the street couldn’t have spotted her with her breasts on show. I mentioned it to her, but she just laughed. Then she said that there was no point having a west-facing apartment if you didn’t take advantage of the setting sun.
It was hard not to see her point. She placed the pool in the puddle of sunlight that was just then flooding the balcony. And what with Marie’s multicolored potted plants rising all around it, it looked just like a magical oasis in the center of the Sahara. Next, she demanded that I pour the slushy bits of ice from my bucket into the pool (which required five or six trips to fill the thing up) and then get in. Although perspiration was still dripping off my body, made worse by hauling all that ice back and forth, it still looked mighty cold in that pool. “Quick, before it melts,” said Marie, trying to encourage me to jump into the slush. She then crept up behind me and tugged down my boxer shorts, leaving me standing naked on the balcony.
I steeled myself and jumped on in, with a holler they must have heard four blocks away. The pool was freezing and I felt like an Arctic explorer, so I quickly shouted for Marie to join me, hoping she could warm me up a little. She asked me how cold it was, as she dropped her jeans and panties to the balcony floor. I told her it wasn’t too bad, then I reached for her hand and dragged her into the ice with me.
Goose bumps appeared all over her body as she got covered in the icy slush. She called me a liar for having said that it wasn’t too bad, then we began to play fight, which helped to raise the temperature a notch. First, Marie slapped my butt, then I slapped her thighs, while taking a juicy bite at her shoulder. She wriggled around like crazy, because her shoulders are very ticklish. Then she lay flat out on top of my body, so that she had the sun on her back, while I had the ice on mine.
“That’s not fair,” I said to her, but she soothed my dissatisfaction with a kiss. Her tongue pushed in and out of my lips, while her mouth twisted and turned on top of mine. As the passion in the kiss intensified, so gradually my body got used to the subfreezing water. I began to enjoy how the coldness of the ice below me contrasted with the heat of the sun above. The initial shock at the sudden change of temperature had worn off, leaving me free to enjoy the benefits of a nice cooling bath on a scorching summer’s evening.
Not the least of those benefits was the way Marie’s nipples had hardened into two rigid bumps. I could feel them digging into my chest, so I made her roll right off my body and pressed my lips to them. Taking the first
of them into my mouth, I was struck with an idea. I grabbed an ice cube and used it to circle her erect nipple. As the warmth of her body caused the ice cube to melt, streams of ice-cold water darted every which way across Marie’s breasts. I licked up each of those Arctic streams, then created more with the help of the cube. Marie really seemed to get off on the way the ice froze her skin until my mouth and tongue hurried along to breathe a little heat back into her flesh.
In fact, the hot–cold combination worked so well on her tits that it wasn’t long before I was licking my way toward her cunt. Marie parted her legs as I reached her pubic hair, then she let out a groan as I pressed the ice cube up against her clit. Her clit got just the merest kiss from the ice cube before I replaced it with my mouth. I swirled my tongue right around her nubbin, then I flicked it right across her gash.
Marie was very sticky; enough to make me moan with delight when I tasted her juices. I’ve always been a connoisseur when it comes to Marie’s pussy. Keen to keep the juices flowing, I planted a huge French kiss on her pussy, while titillating her clitoris with my fingers. More and more juices dripped out of her, right up until the point where I decided she was ripe and ready for fucking.
I gave her clit one last kiss, then climbed on top of her. She grabbed my prick and guided it into her pussy as I lay flat on top of her. Once my dick had penetrated her, she wrapped her arms around my torso and told me to make her hot.
With a swing of my hips, I gave her the full length of my erection, then got into a steady rhythm. Marie whispered little cries of ecstasy to me as my cock pushed in and out of her hole. I could feel her nipples, still hard as bullets, scraping through my chest hair as I rocked back and forth on top of her.