by Carter Blake
I stop just short of letting Madeline’s coursing pleasure reach its conclusion, and we both take another small step backward into reality, staying swaddled in each other’s arms.
Our timing couldn’t be better, as the front door of Uloji chooses that moment to swing open loudly. As Mad—I’m trying that one out—and I turn to the door, we probably look like a couple scared, guilty teenagers.
An older lady, wrapped up in Burberry outerwear that looks way too warm for the weather, steps out with dignity, followed by a man in his early seventies—probably her husband—decked out in what looks like a Brunello Cucinelli dinner suit and a driving cap.
The man tilts his cap to us in greeting as the couple passes by, and I watch in as they continue to stroll at their stately pace toward the hotel.
“Should we sprint past them?”
I snap back around to the playful sound of Madeline’s voice and absorb the sight of her eyes shining with their usual laughter. I don’t know if she’s amused at that idea or keyed up by the notion of finding a spot less obvious than the honeymoon suite to quench our well of want.
Because I sure as fuck am.
I point up to the sky.
“No need for that, Mad. We’ve got the Milky Way right above us, and the beach just seems to keep calling our names.”
“Did you just fucking call me Mad? That’s no way to earn your clothes back, mister.”
A sort-of-run is great for, say, leaving a Michelin star restaurant in a hurry, but a voyage to the pleasures of the island coastline calls for something a bit fucking quicker. I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, and I don’t care, but the pace that Madeline and I take to the beach sands feels like a damn hundred-yard Olympic dash-style sprint, if there ever was one.
The feeling of fucking tearing across the sand and watching the ocean approach rapidly with a stomach full of pricy seafood and champagne is not as bad as you’d think. Although the feeling of Madeline’s hand hungrily gripping mine and my growing desire at the thought of making her come like crazy under the star-filled sky might be softening the blow a bit.
We slow down as we near the quiet, remote section of the beach, far enough from the main resort buildings, roads, and parking lots that it’s like we’re on a desolate desert island—the only two people around for hundreds or thousands of miles.
“I remember this,” discloses Madeline as she scopes out the scenery.
“I don’t.”
That small wood building, with its weird mid-beach location, catches my eyes.
“Let’s take a jog,” I pronounce loudly as I start trotting to the structure.
“The fuck’s this now?”
Madeline’s muttering and a bit peeved, but she follows me and is easily caught up with me by the time I throw open the unlocked door.
Stepping inside, we’re immediately enveloped by the fragrance of industrial-strength laundry detergent. It’s dark, but Mad—I’ll try it one more time—somehow finds the switch and turns on the harsh, overhead fluorescents almost immediately.
We’re suddenly in a forest of clean, white beach towels. Towels are piled up in large bins, folded in stacks on top of washing machines, lying in rumpled heaps on shelves and some just sitting on the ground.
“This seems private, and...clean, I guess,” Madeline notes.
“We can’t see the Milky Way, though,” I respond, pointing at the ceiling. Mad delightfully looks up, as if to make sure.
“You’re right. Lets’ go where it’s starry.”
I grab the nearest towel, and we sprint the fuck back out there, then down the beach a bit, then north toward the pier, ending up by an abandoned little patch of boardwalk that’s little more than a couple sturdy wood poles.
“Good spot for a picnic,” I state blankly while laying out the beach towel.
“You’re hungry again?”
Madeline’s question is hardly finished by the time we’re consumed with each other again, making out with wild fierceness, grasping at each other with a blind desire that overshadows everything.
The sand softens our fast, mad fall onto the towel. We’re on our sides now, our lips still fastened tightly, our tongues tangling in a sort of savage ballet.
We stay like this for a span of time that falls somewhere between an instant and an eternity. All I know is that we gently fall out of it at one point, the waves still splashing softly against the sands and the dense tapestry of stars shining overhead.
Our shared intuition now stronger than ever, Madeline rolls smoothly onto her back as I move down to my favorite fucking position to be in life.
“This time, I go first,” I remark.
Madeline’s already grabbing handfuls of beach towel in preemptive pleasure while I undo her skirt’s only button.
Mad giggles wildly as I slowly pull the distressed denim down her legs, my mouth growing dry with raw desire as I watch their silken luster come alive in the moonlight.
Mad lifts her head and shoulders slightly as she pulls down her panties. She gives up once they’re past her knees, flopping back down with a fresh volley of giggles.
I finish the job, pulling her lacy royal-purple panties down past her ankles and tossing them on top of where her skirt is now resting at the far corner of the towel.
Laying my hands flat on both sides of Mad’s hips, I swoop my head down with purpose, like a lion readying a mighty roar. My cock is throbbing powerfully in my pants as I sense the wetness of Mad’s pussy before I even get a good look at its moonlit magnificence.
I begin by resting my lips mildly just above the top of her cunt, the warmth giving her clit a bit of tiny, barely noticeable stimulation before lifting my head back up and moving delicately to her left inner thigh, massaging her skin with some tantalizingly soft kisses—kisses she almost wouldn’t feel but become less and less faint as I blaze a trail back to the outer edges of her thoroughly soaked pussy.
The teasing evolves to more serious business as I run my tongue up the outer edge of her heavenly lips, giving an unhurried, delicate lick that causes Madeline to vibrate with another husky moan of ecstasy.
I go with the moment, starting another smooth, measured tongue migration, this time encompassing both sides of her lips from bottom to top.
Common sense would dictate that a cock would never literally explode from arousal, but as Madeline thrashes with uncontrollable pleasure while thrusting her cunt against my tongue, I start to worry about the way my dick is possibly reaching new levels of engorgement as it strains against the sandy ground.
I unthinkingly lift my head up a couple inches, but Mad is having none of that. She grabs two fistfuls of my hair and pulls me back to her.
Maybe it’s good I didn’t get that trim yet.
“You don’t want to lose more clothes, do you?” Madeline’s doing a fine job articulating through her breathless ecstasy.
“These you can take, because you taste so fucking good.”
I sashay my tongue around her opening, the heat of excitement coursing through me.
If a tree falls in the forest...
I try to think about Zen kōans, I try to think about baseball, a fast pitch, low and inside...
As my tongue moves like a magnet toward Madeline’s eager clit, it’s of no use. All I can think about is this fucking goddess beneath me.
Mad’s feral moan moves up and down in an unruly wave as she erupts wildly.
I look up to see Madeline’s gratified face glowing in the night air. It’s full of crazed excitement, and my cock is rock fucking hard.
“You need a break, Eth?”
“You can call me whatever you want, and no, I don’t fucking need a break. I don’t want to waste another goddamn sec—”
In an instant, Madeline has me pinned on my back, only partially on the towel.
“Damn, Mad. Are you in the WWE, by any chance?”
“Fuck no, that shit’s fake.”
The way Madeline swings her leg around to straddl
e me as her hands continue pinning me securely to the ground makes me feel like I just left decades of monkhood with a lifetime’s worth of built-up horniness and a world record-breaking load ready to shoot out at any moment.
My cock’s already straining, struggling to be let out for some of this marvelous beach air.
Mad lets go of one shoulder to free some pins from the back of her air, to free all of her untamed golden locks to either flow softly in the breeze or fall down her gorgeous face and tits.
“Your torturing me, Mad.”
“Oh, you think that was bad?”
Madeline gracefully pulls her T-shirt up over her head, revealing her gorgeous tits resting in their purple bra cups.
“You didn’t even see these last time, did you?”
“Cruel and unusual punishment, Madeline.”
Mad unhooks her bra and proceeds to let her perfect rack bounce out into the open air.
If things had worked out differently for me, I never would have gotten to see such an astonishing pair of tits in my life. Even with their heavy fullness, Madeline’s tits are practically fucking buoyant, with just the right amount of asymmetry to let you know that they’re beautifully fucking natural.
And those perfectly proportioned, cherry-red nipples...
The sound of one hand clapping…
Fixated on those wonderful tits, I don’t even notice that Madeline’s finally letting my cock out for some fun until I hear her opening my zipper.
I feel the relief wash through me when Mad insistently pulls my pants and boxers down past my knees, and my cock gets a break from running an unbending path down my pants leg, finally springing forth into the cool, salty breeze.
There’s precum glistening all over the head, and Madeline is regarding my flagpole with pure delight.
“Mmm. Let me clean this up for ya.”
Madeline shoves her tongue out with her trademark goofy-sexiness, and to keep from fucking coming, I focus on just fucking breathing as she brings her tongue down to my shaft.
“Yeah, you like licking that up?” This shit usually doesn’t sound so ridiculous when I say it. I’m always pretty good at taking control. But Madeline giggles, and I don’t mind one fucking bit.
“You know it, Pennybags. You got a pretty nice fuckin’ cock.”
Madeline slides her tongue slowly up the entirety of my cock, from bottom to top, seeming to echo my simple technique—a technique which apparently works because, holy fuck, does that feel fucking amazing.
When Madeline switches it up by moving just the soft tip of her tongue in a zigzag pattern around the top of my cock, caressing the rest of it lightly with her fingers, I actually need to grab my forehead and lay back flat, surrendering to a level of pleasure I can barely process.
I keep my eyes set on the night sky—the thousands of tiny white dots, the milky haze of the Milky Way—as Madeline’s lips wrap around my shaft and her tongue runs up, down, and around its lengthy girth with abandon.
Finally adjusting to this crazy fucking pleasure, I lift my head up to Mad concentrating on the task at hand, which she’s so fucking good at, and her amazing tits just floating around gently, coming so close to touching me but not quite making it.
Like she’s reading my mind, Mad lets my cock fall from her lips slowly.
“Should be pretty clean now,” she murmurs.
“Is there a way to be sure?”
“You wanna test it out?”
“Not sure what that mean, but fuck yes.”
“Let’s see then.”
Madeline grips the base of my cock and rubs it lightly against her right tit.
“Seems good,” she continues, “but I could use your help up here.”
I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but in two seconds I’m sitting upright and massaging Madeline’s tits.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she chirps excitedly as I start licking around one of her nipples.
I need to stop and take a breath. It’s not like any of this is new to me—but on this beach it feels like I’m discovering it all for the first time.
“What does it all mean then?” I leave it open for Mad to make the next move.
“Not sure. I think it means that I just gave you an incredible fucking blowjob and that you should take that big cock and fuck me like it’s going out of fucking style.”
I instantly find that magic destination toward the back of Madeline’s neck with my lips, inspiring her to let out an overjoyed shriek.
“Yes! Perfect place to start,” she screams, loud enough to reach the mainland.
I move myself around so I’m behind Mad completely, and almost instinctively arches her back, pushing her magnificent ass toward me.
Madeline starts grinding herself against my hard cock, and with both of us bottomless, it’s not hard to make the transition to fucking right then and there.
My steely cock slips in easily. She’s so fucking wet. Those waves of immense pleasure start up immediately.
“Fuck,” Madeline yells. “Fucking fuck me! Come on, Pennybags!”
“Oh, that’s how you want it?” I grind out.
So instead of easing into it, I pick up the pace. I start building up momentum with each thrust, and I reach around to squeeze one of Madeline’s tits.
“Ooh! Oooh! Yes! There we fucking go!”
We reach a good pace, and I move my hand down to reach between her legs from the front.
“We started this back at Uloji.”
Mad whips her hair back and moans with animalistic fervor, and I do the same because it can’t be fucking helped right now. We’re just two creatures in the midst of primal intensity, fucking amongst the volcanoes.
I feel myself getting closer to an insane full-body fucking climax. As we both groan softly, almost in rhythm, I easily find Madeline’s clit with my fingertips. As I caress it, Madeline’s low moan modulates to a colossal squeal.
I wait for Madeline to finish coming before finding my own release, emptying myself into her as her pussy clenches and grips my rock-hard cock.
I drop my head against her back as we both catch our breath, then I chuckle.
“How am I doing, ‘getting my clothes back’-wise, Mad?”
“It’s a start,” Madeline answers, still facing forward but reaching up to run her fingers along my jaw.
Fuck. I can’t even process how fucking amazing she is.
Mad can keep my clothes as long as she goddamn wants.
Ethan
The beach bar is actually open today. Sometimes, it seems like everything that happens is something that's going wrong.
Less than a goddamn week ago, the beach bar being open would’ve been annoying, and the beach bar being closed would’ve seemed like just another goddamn thing that’s gone wrong.
Just a few days—a meaningless, almost nonexistent stretch of time—but just a few days have been enough to turn my well-worn New York City-perfected curmudgeonly approach to every stupid little goddamn thing that happens and transformed it, like some fucking psychological magic trick, into a shiny new appreciation for the things that I do have in life.
Which is a goddamn lot.
Maddie’s waving at me from halfway across this odd little section of the beach with the small bar and the sporadic buffet. I give a perfunctory wave back.
That’s right: Maddie. Not fucking Mad, because that makes her mad. It’s Maddie.
Maddie from Boston. She finally spilled the baked beans on that one.
I told you that a few days can make a big fucking difference.
Maddie’s happily lost in whatever conversation she’s having with Dominique, and Dominique’s daughter, Sally, and that guy who walks around in a shark costume.
Shark costume guy is supposed to be a mascot or some shit. Whether he’s a mascot for the whole resort or just part of the resort or just this part of the beach, I may never know.
But he has a pretty sweet gig walking around all day and posing for
photos with whoever asks. Usually he ends up posing with families with little kids, like Dominique and Sally, but sometimes adults want their own photo.
Adults like Madeline. She likes doing things like digging through the props that shark guy keeps around, like those fake mustaches on sticks and plastic tiaras that say Naughty on them in cursive letters. She also likes doing things like posing with the shark guy and a bunch of those props, poking out her tongue or doing her goofy-sexy duckface for the camera.
Maddie’s looking at the prints from her photo session and talking to Dominique and Sally, who both took a shining to her instantly—from what I’ve seen, literally everyone does. I can’t hear their conversation from where I am, but I hear Madeline break out into her siren-song laugh.
Would I ever get sick of hearing that laugh? No fucking way. Not that I’ll ever find out.
I’m only about halfway through my Captain’s Demise as I watch Maddie walking back in my direction in her ocher sundress and pink Chuck Taylors. She pulls off the sneakers and a dress thing with panache—probably a combination of choosing the right pairings and having the attitude and confidence to make it work.
Speaking of attitude and confidence, is it possible to believe that I still get a little nervous watching Madeline walking toward me? I mean, fucking A, right? Who would’ve seen that one coming?
Whoever I do end up with probably won’t make me feel like that, but that will be for the fucking best.
I also feel like the luckiest motherfucker on the planet watching Maddie saunter closer and closer to me, knowing she’s on her way to the barstool right next to mine. That’s one of those things I’ll miss about Hawaii, but it’s not like I can stay here for-fucking-ever.
I’m rocking khakis for one of the first times in my life, and I feel my usual stirrings underneath the beige fabric as Madeline smilingly sits down to her own Captain’s Demise, which is still nearly full.
“How’d they come out?”
Maddie’s poking around her frozen drink with her straw.
“You should’ve posed with me.”
It’s still out of habit that I avoid shit like that, but I’m really fucking regretting it now. If nothing else, it’d be a tangible memory of my time here. If anything’s certain in life right now, it’s that I’m never gonna have a week like this again.