Eroticon 3

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Eroticon 3 Page 8

by J. P. Spencer


  The Prince was startled. Who was at the door? He moved and was about to throw his fair rider off to investigate. Grushenka, sensing the danger, threw herself forward and pressing him into the cushions with her weight, began to love up his face and head with kisses and the caresses of her hands. This brought about his crisis. He came with all his force and was unable to do anything but squirt his sperm into her. Thus the lovers had time to escape. Of course, the second party when Grushenka was riding the other way around, could not be observed by them, but, as by that time Nelidowa was already squirming under the pressure of her beloved 'soldier' perhaps it did not matter much.

  With Open Mouth

  Lean cheeks hot, heart pounding, Avelino the singer heaved himself quietly up the last two centimetres of rock to look down on the naked unsuspecting woman below.

  The noise of a dislodged stone as he settled himself in a niche was drowned by the washing of the surf close to the woman's prostrate body. He gazed at her with the frightened, formless anguish of his twenty-one sexless years and it was as if cold sea-water had suddenly swamped his loins.

  Avelino had come upon the woman quite by accident three days ago. He had been trying to catch a lizard on the craggy, solitary isthmus when, reaching the summit, he had looked down the sharper face and seen the slim, brown body stretched out on a ledge near the water's edge. Since then he had crept every day to the same spot during the sweating heat of afternoon when others were working or taking a siesta. Each day he had watched the woman for the few hours she lay in the sun, body brown and gleaming from her sun lotion. Each day he had masturbated desperately until his passion was spent - and even then he was unable to draw his fascinated eyes away until she made movements to leave. Then he would slither away like a rock snake and dash for the grove of olive trees which cut off the jagged isthmus from the dusty coast road.

  At other times during the day he had seen the woman in the little town which had not long outgrown its village state. He had seen her, too, at the open air dance in the evening at which he sang with the nine-piece band which all the tourists liked so much because, they said, it was typically Spanish.

  At first he had thought she was Swedish. The Swedish women had a reputation from some of the older members of the community for bathing in the nude. But later he had found she was English. She was always alone and she was beautiful. She sat alone, danced a lot, but always refused invitations to join another table. She appeared to be a rich woman who wanted soft music and to be left alone.

  She always came to this spot alone - with a book, a bottle or two of wine, wearing a scanty bathing costume under a bright, striped beach jacket. She would swim expertly in the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean, climb gently back onto her ledge, careful to avoid the prickling sea urchins which clung to its underwater surface, and then strip off her two-piece before soaking herself in lotion to imbibe the sun.

  Although she was much older than him, her body was the sort which would never grow fat, Avelino told himself. The bones were small, well formed, the skin tightly stretched on them.

  She was lying on her front now, reading. Her buttocks jutted from her brown slimness below him like twin balloons, small but well inflated. They were just slightly paler than the rest of her back view.

  Today while he watched she stiffened, cramped a little with her position and her bottom tensed, hollowing provocatively as if she were pressing herself against a lover. And then she rolled over onto her back.

  Avelino withdrew his head until he judged she had made herself comfortable in her new position and then peered over the ridge again.

  Now he could see her breasts, bulbous and glistening in the fierce yellow light of afternoon. The slimness of her body below her breasts, the supple broadening into the hips with their central muff of blonde hair, the long smooth thighs - all were revealed to him.

  His eyes roved hotly, half-fearfully over the first unclothed woman he had ever seen, but it was already becoming not enough to watch. He did not know what more he could do. He felt icy fingers run through his belly at the thought of discovery - but it was no longer enough just to watch. He longed desperately for the unbelievable happening of contact.

  Sometimes his mind floated off on a fierce fantasy in which he imagined himself in this lonely spot suddenly falling on the woman, pressing her nude rotundities under his weight and raping her with abandon. The horror of the thought made him sick and it was always a relief when he forced himself back to reality. At other times he thought of calling out to her - who knew, after all, what her reaction would be. Perhaps she would call him down, invite him to make love to her.

  He wondered what he would do if she did. And his mind would wander off again through the detailed action. She must be thirty. She would take the lead. He had to admit to himself that, although he knew how it was done, he wouldn't know how to set about it.

  For a long time he lay flat on the hot brown stone, aware of the white-flecked sea beyond and the occasional white sail far out, but never consciously taking his eyes from the woman's body.

  His hopeless desire was a sharp, hot pain against the rocks at his loins. His head ached from frustration. His body was sticky from the heat under his clothes and the rock had become almost too hot for his hands.

  Below the woman read, eyeless with the large sunglasses she wore, short, blonde hair sparkling - and gazing into the very pores of her skin, Avelino felt the thrill of an idea tremor through his veins.

  It was not a very good idea on the face of it, but it would take him nearer the woman and reveal him to her.

  Trembling with excitement so that he almost urinated in his thin gaberdine trousers, he slithered gently down the slope of the jut of the isthmus towards the mainland. On the flat neck of land over which the sea sometimes swept at high tide, making an island of the higher crag behind him, he walked quickly towards the western point of the isthmus.

  In a boulder-shaded cove close to the shore, he hurriedly slipped out of his clothes, experiencing the sharp thrill of the forbidden as he did so. He made a neat pile of his shirt trousers and the light espadrilles which all the local folk wore to protect their feet, and then stood for a moment in the sun, breathing heavily.

  The sun and the whisper of air on his body gave him a mixed feeling of freedom and evil. Particularly to the areas not usually exposed - his buttocks and his genitals - it seemed like softly caressing fingers.

  He hesitated for a moment. His body was slim and hard, but it had been well tapered by the sea. He knew he would probably have had a woman by now if it had not been for the timidity which a strict upbringing had instilled in him. Perhaps, then, he would have got rid of this inturned, mind-wracking torture which filled his thoughts and prevented him any peace of mind.

  By the time he dived cleanly into the sea, the sweat had already begun to glisten on his chest. He plunged deep and swam a few strokes towards the sea-bed before raising his hands towards the lighter region above.

  His head broke the surface with his eyes stinging and all desire momentarily gone.

  He had not been sure what he was going to do and now, for a moment, he considered swimming in the opposite direction, away from the woman, leaving the water after a few minutes and returning to the town. But he knew that with the evening, the long night of thought and solitude, she would flood back in him so that the next day he would be back with the same hopelessness, heightened by his failure to alter it.

  So he began to swim with a strong crawl, out, through the light undulation of waves, to the open sea.

  For the moment he was cut off from sight of the woman by a jutting promontory of rock, but in a few minutes when, he judged, he would be some hundred metres from the isthmus, he would be able to see the ledge on which she lay. He would then swim round the isthmus until he was parallel with the ledge. He had no thought except to see what reaction his presence would produce in the woman. He was not even sure he would allow her to see him.

  For some time she did not
see him as he swam in leisurely fashion opposite the ledge and then, from the corner of his eye, he was aware of her glancing in his direction. He continued to swim without looking at her, making no secret of his presence, as if he did not realise she was there. He saw her reach out for her beach jacket and slip it on.

  It was in the hurried carelessness of the movement that she knocked her gaily coloured towel so that it fluttered down to the surf a few feet below, receded from the shore, was washed in again, receded once more and then, sodden with water, showed signs of sinking.

  The woman tried vainly to reach it with her hands, lying flat along the ledge; then with the aid of the bottle of wine - to no avail. To plunge in after it meant she would have to strip off her beach jacket and don her swimming costume in his presence.

  Avelino turned openly towards the isthmus now: to pretend he hadn't seen the flutter of movement would have been ridiculous. He made a quick, nervous decision and then went racing in towards the ledge.

  The water here was deep and dark. She would be unable to see that he was naked unless he swam immediately under her.

  The woman had seen him coming in towards her and had relaxed her vain efforts. She watched as he approached, with an expression of uncertainty. Her beach jacket reached only a few inches down her thighs.

  By the time Avelino reached the spot some yards from the ledge at which the towel had disappeared, it was drifting down through the depths - a hazy shimmer of colour.

  He dived without hesitation, realising in the instant that his naked buttocks must have momentarily met the woman's gaze.

  With the towel in his hands he came to the surface. He indicated he would throw it to the woman and she held out her hands with a smile. He threw and the heavy wet ball was caught deftly in her arms.

  'Thank you very much,' she called out in Spanish, above the wash of the surf.

  'It was nothing,' he called back, dark eyes lighting up in a nervous smile.

  The woman spread the towel out on the rocks and he began to swim away, feeling the strangeness of the occurrence at that particular time.

  Seeing that he was swimming off, out to sea, the woman cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted:

  'Would you like a glass of wine?'

  Avelino could hardly believe that what he had heard was true. His immediate reaction was to pretend he had not heard, but that would have been too embarrassing as she was looking straight at him.

  He hesitated, mind searching frantically for a reason for refusal. And then he called out the truth.

  'I have no swimming trunks.'

  The woman laughed merrily and even from there he could see the evenness of her teeth. She didn't seem the slightest disturbed.

  'It is much better swimming without them,' she called back. 'But I have another towel here that you can wrap round you. I won't look while you climb out.'

  Avelino was astonished, in the first place by the fluency of her Spanish, in the second by the ease of her manner which made the boldness of her words - unacceptable from a Spanish girl - seem perfectly natural.

  The ardour-dampening wash of the sea had dispelled much of his nervousness, even his desire and he called back:

  'I don't want to disturb your reading.'

  'Not at all,' the woman shouted. 'I'm tired of reading.'

  'Very well. Where is the towel?'

  The woman indicated the dry towel and placed it along the ledge at some distance from her.

  With a spurt of energy, Avelino raced in to the ledge. Grasping it above his head, he glanced along at the woman. She was staring in the opposite direction, into the bay of the far side of which the white houses of the town shone in the sun. He hauled himself onto the ledge and wrapped the towel lightly around his waist. His nervousness suddenly returned.

  'May I turn around?' the woman asked.

  'Yes,' he said. And his voice sounded thick.

  When she turned towards him and he found himself so close to the object of his surreptitious desire, Avelino felt an acute embarrassment. He could think of nothing to say. But the woman was prepared to do all the immediate talking.

  'I'm afraid I would have lost the towel if it hadn't been for you,' she said as she poured the wine into a glass. 'I was too slow and I hate swimming underwater.'

  Avelino smiled. He could think of no answer.

  The woman seemed more beautiful at close quarters. She had a large, rounded forehead, a straight, thin nose and a firm, but not aggressive chin. Her possible age became more of a mystery to him. She was free from wrinkles and the whites of her eyes were almost luminously clear. Yet, somehow he had the feeling she was well over thirty.

  'You swim almost as well as you sing,' the woman said, smiling as she handed him the glass.

  Avelino stared at her in surprise.

  'You recognise me?' he said. Never during the dances had the woman appeared to even glance in his direction.

  'Of course,' she replied. 'How could I hear such a voice and not want to look at the owner.'

  'Oh, no!' Avelino gave a little laugh of self-disparagement.

  'Oh yes!' The woman laughed back at him. 'You have a beautiful voice. In England I think you would be a hit!'

  Avelino felt highly flattered although he did not believe the woman. Perhaps she did like his voice, but the rest could not be true.

  However, he began to find the woman was easy to talk to and his self-confidence slowly returned. She had another bottle of wine and they both drank luxuriously while they talked - or, rather, while she questioned him and he answered.

  They sat almost side by side on the ledge and with the return of self-confidence, Avelino was aware of the return of desire.

  Occasionally as they talked the woman's eyes gazed out over the sea at a distant ship on its way to Barcelona and then he would drop his eyes from her face to the brown, bulging skin of her upper breasts in the deep V of the beach jacket. She seemed to be not the slightest perturbed at the flimsiness of her covering, at the fact that the length of the jacket barely covered the junction of hips and thighs.

  After a while, Avelino had forgotten how much wine he'd drunk - the wine at home was neither so strong nor so plentiful - and his face was hot with a more urgent heat than that from the sun. Under the towel which draped his slim hips his penis had risen into a stiff cudgel of flesh which bulged obviously against the covering, try as he would to conceal it.

  'Do you often swim here?' the woman asked, eventually, turning to him with a lift of her thin, finely-drawn eyebrows.

  'I never have before,' Avelino answered, trying to cross one leg over the other to hide the enormous mound at his loins.

  'I'm glad you swam here today. How did you come to?'

  Avelino looked into the hazel eyes, serious and holding him. Could it be that he imagined a flicker of invitation? She too had drunk a lot. He stared down at the lipstick on the opposite side of their one glass which he now held.

  'Why did you swim here today?' the woman repeated softly, as if she knew the answer, wanted it confirmed.

  'Because I knew you were here and I wanted to speak to you,' he blurted.

  'You knew I was here - but how?' Her thoughts were inturned, racing back over the meaning of what he had said.

  Made honest with the wine and almost uncaring, Avelino replied with the truth.

  'I have watched you from the top of the rocks behind us for the last three days,' he admitted.

  There was a moment's silence and then the woman's gentle little laugh cadenced softly amongst the rocks. She looked at him again and her eyes took in the bulge at his hips as if he had given her a signal.

  'What a pity you watched from so far for so long,' she said as the laugh faded.

  Avelino gulped back the dregs of wine in the glass and looked at her. It seemed there was no mistaking her tone, but he had no idea what to do. Now, in fact, he felt a little more frightened than he had before. It occurred to him suddenly that she was, perhaps, being sarcastic, but her next
words dispelled the thought.

  'Have you ever made love to a woman?'

  'No,' he admitted, taken aback at the bluntness of the question.

  'A virgin,' the woman whispered. 'How delightful. I thought you were rather shy.'

  'Yes, I am shy,' Avelino heard himself saying. 'I wish I weren't.'

  Again the woman's eyes lowered to his hips. She had understood the implication of his words.

  'We all must learn,' she said softly.

  It was as if in a dream that Avelino found himself kissing her. The motion must have come from him, but it was as if she had directed it. He had kissed girls before - at parties - but this was different. The woman was breathing hard and she pulled him back onto the ledge. He felt, with momentary surprise followed by pleasure, the silky, foreign pressure of her tongue in his mouth. He had heard of this. Her arms were around him, fingers digging sharply into the flesh of his shoulders, of his neck.

  For some time they kissed, lips moving over each other's faces until he, too, was breathing as heavily, it seemed, as his uncle's donkey. She pulled him against her on the rock so that his penis under the towel was crushed against her hips. Her mouth opened and she gasped with quick little intakes of breath at the feel of his against hers. Under the towel he felt his penis throbbing as if it were undergoing a self-masturbation.

 

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