Holding the Cards

by Joey Hill

  His fingers tightened over hers and he nodded.

  The ocean stretched below them, the perfect blue of postcards but even more vibrant. Its white foam was the same crystal sparkle as snow. As her eyes traveled to the horizon, the green-blue glass darkened into turquoise, sparkling in a dazzling tapestry of light, paying homage to the sun. It was perfection in the way only Nature could pull it off. The air brought her the smell of brine and seaweed, contributing to the view's arresting impact.

  "Makes you wish they had never eaten that damned apple, doesn't it?" Josh murmured.

  She pressed her chin to the point of his shoulder. "Do you believe that story?" she asked.

  He lifted her head with a shrug.

  "Sounds just like us," he said.

  Lauren couldn't help but agree. Unable to accept Eden, man had to delve into its one place of darkness and try to prove his mastery.

  She spent a great deal of time analyzing the art forms of power. She had learned that domination could and did sculpt the factors within one's control for pleasure, but mutual pleasure was the ultimate prize. If done right, the Master or Mistress reached a point where he or she could let go, and magic took over. Then there was no more need for games or thinking, just simple existence. That had been the miracle God gave Adam and Eve in Eden, dominion as a gift, not a tool.

  "It makes a person feel…so small," she said. He brushed her cheek with his jaw.

  "But in a good way," he echoed her feelings. "Like there's nothing you've done that can't be fixed."

  "Or forgiven."

  "Or healed," Marcus suggested. Lauren twisted to see him sitting up, his arms braced against Isabel's rump to prop him while he watched their interplay with as much aesthetic appreciation as Lauren had displayed when gazing at the view before her. "I brought sand buckets, by the way."

  He had the face of an angel and the mind of Lucifer, she decided, with a quick grin. "Plastic shovels too, I hope."

  "Of course. No trip to the beach is complete without them."

  Lauren turned back and squeezed Josh to her, pressing her palms over his rock hard abdomen. He worked his fingers around one of her hands to lift it and surprised her with a tender nip on her knuckles. The moment needed nothing more.

  Isabel raised her head and trumpeted as they gained the beach, like a bus driver announcing a stop. Marcus slid off first and Lauren slid down into his grasp, holding onto Josh's forearm and bringing her knee back over the elephant's back. Once having her, however, Marcus did not put her down, instead tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry with surprising strength. He clasped his arms over her thighs to keep her struggling body in place as he backpedaled.

  "Got to catch me to get her back, Josh," he cheerfully challenged the man still up on the elephant.

  He pivoted and took off, more bloody quick on his feet than a New York art dealer had the right to be, proving he hadn't lost his Iowa farm boy roots, though an Iowa farm boy would have given her an advantage by wearing underwear. She could have caught the elastic under the loose, twisting waistband of his jeans and yanked the fabric up to constrict his balls and make it a more uncomfortable run.

  Even without her sabotage attempt, Josh's long legs and athletic build, and the extra weight Marcus was carrying, were eating up the ground between them. Rescue was imminent; though she was laughing so hard she was afraid that would do her in first. Then Marcus feinted right and heaved her into the air. Lauren had time for a short scream before she landed with a resounding splash in a crashing breaker. The two men dived under it on either side of her.

  She surfaced, snorting water and chuckles, and pounced on Marcus as he emerged, shoving him back under. His hands gripped at her swimsuit and she shrieked and twisted away, but not before he got hold of the back of her and, in a deft move, unhooked the fastening.

  Lauren spun away from him, and backed into Josh. He caught her about the waist, not realizing her predicament, and his knuckles beneath the water grazed the bare undercurves of her breasts. His touch stilled and Lauren stopped breathing, stopped moving, waiting to see what he would do.

  His hands left her rib cage, moved upward. She felt their movement by the flow of the water, like fish gliding around her, just above the surface of her skin. He found the floating fabric of her bikini top, while his cheek pressed against her temple. Lauren leaned back against him as he pulled the fabric back down, fitting it into place by light, maddening touches on the sides of her breasts. His grip slid to where the two portions of the clasping straps came out of the triangles and he pulled them around her, nudging her forward, and re-hooked the suit at the center of her back. His fingers lingered there, on the sensitive indentation of spine.

  "Now, Josh," Marcus winked at her. "She might be a European girl. You never gave her a choice."

  Lauren splashed at him and moved away from them both, turning so she could float on her back in the water. "This is incredible," she murmured, trying to take her mind off the raging inside her body and the unsettling mystery of the man causing it. "How can you bear to go back to New York, Marcus?"

  "I use this place as my reward for good behavior. And since I am rarely good," he tugged on her foot and she kicked playfully at him, "I don't deserve to be here for more than a short time anyhow. However, keep in mind, dear heart, that one man's Eden," his gaze flicked to Josh, "is another man's self-imposed Purgatory."

  "Surf with me until we're hungry enough for lunch," Lauren said, not wanting the shadow that crossed Josh's face to linger. "And no adult thoughts," she decided, shooting Marcus an emphatic look. "You're six, I'm seven, and Josh is five. We have no responsibilities, no past, no history, no baggage. If we had any white sunblock, I'd paint it on all our noses."

  "And there are so many other fun places to put it," Marcus chided. At her quelling look, he grinned. "I'm a rather mature six year old. Do we get to make sand castles?"

  "Absolutely." She dove into the next wave and then swam away from them like a dolphin. Her ankle still hurt, but in the buoyancy of the water, she felt unencumbered by the injury and more certain of herself. She spent the next hour playing tag, dodging under waves and enjoying impromptu splash fights until her ploy succeeded and they were all three laughing, red-eyed and relaxed as children in truth. Even the sexual tension melted away before the joy of pure play.

  She couldn't outlast their energy, though, so when she was doing more floating than swimming, Marcus made the suggestion they retreat to the beach and open their picnic basket. Two wet men, bronzed and muscled in shorts plastered to their bodies, made an agreeable escort to shore. Per her request, they let her limp, testing the strength of the ankle, but they stayed close. Their readiness to catch her if she toppled one way or the other both amused and touched her.

  Marcus had pulled the blanket from Isabel's back before she wandered back into the forest on more elephantine pursuits. Now he spread it out to form a table for bread, cheese, wine and grapes. There did not seem much need for conversation, all of them wet and panting from their exertions in the water, so they ate, gazing out to the sea with their own thoughts for awhile, and listening to the random cries of the few seabirds keeping them company on the beach. Lauren reflected that she had not felt so relaxed in a long time, and watched idly as Josh picked up a handful of dry sand and let it trickle over her calf, following its progress until he had created a small cone leaning against the relaxed calf muscle.

  Marcus's attention was drawn to it as well, and a light came to his eyes that Lauren was beginning to anticipate, with a mixture of delight and trepidation.

  "I'm ready to build a sandcastle now," he announced, taking a swallow of wine.

  "Mmm." Her eyes were half closed behind her sunglasses as she turned her head to look at him. They had let the blanket be the table, but she had passed on the folding beach chair he had brought in a duffel bag. Instead, she lay stretched out comfortably on the sand, wiggling until its hills and valleys supported her concave points comfortably. "I'm taking a
nap."

  "Excellent." He rummaged in the bag and produced a large purple plastic sand bucket with a bright yellow handle. Lauren chuckled. "One of Lisette's?"

  "No, my dear girl. I bought it at one of those tacky little beach places before I came across. You can't be at the beach without a sand bucket."

  "You know," she said, "They have those molds now that are shaped like castles."

  Marcus made a horrified face. "Cheating. As blasphemous as copying the Mona Lisa. Every work must be an original to be called art. It's like re-creating a movie or song someone else has made famous. I have more respect for an original piece of crap than I do for someone trying to ride on the coattails of someone else's success. At least they made an effort to create rather than being an artistic copy machine. It's just re-manufacturing, piggybacking the genius of the original artist. Parasitic art industry, not worth our notice."

  He stomped toward the ocean.

  "You know, he should open up more," she commented. "Express how he really feels."

  Josh chuckled somewhere to Lauren's right. "I keep telling him that."

  Lauren slanted him a glance over her glasses and grinned. "But not everyone can be as talkative as you are."

  "Exactly."

  "Here we are," Marcus returned with a bucket sloshing seawater. As he placed it on the sand, Lauren saw the bucket was a half-and-half mix of sand and water. Her scrutiny turned to wariness as Marcus dropped to his knees beside her.

  "You said I could make a sand castle," he reminded her. "I'm partial to drip castles."

  Lauren caught on and scrambled to a sitting position. "Oh no," she shook her head. "You'll get my swimsuit all nasty."

  "So take it off."

  The trap closed with an audible snick, reflected in the devilish challenge in his eyes. Lauren glanced at Josh. She couldn't see his thoughts behind his sunglasses and she reached over, drew them off with both hands so her fingers brushed the soft hair at his temples. His gray eyes were almost as opaque as the lenses. "Do you like to make drip castles, too?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

  "I'm developing an interest."

  The warm breeze from land whispered up the column of her spine, lifting her hair off her neck and spilling it forward, over her breast. His eye followed it, and her nipple tightened at his regard, hardening and lifting further at the responsive darkening around the pupil.

  Lauren drew in a breath and looked out at the sea, that blissful scenic reminder that she was in a different place, could be whoever or whatever she wanted to be here. She didn't have to be afraid. After all, she was the one holding the cards. They had both said so.

  "Okay," she said. "But you better not let me get sunburned."

  Marcus chuckled and lifted her hair, giving her hands the freedom to work off the tie at the neck. "Believe me, dearest, I'm sure neither one of us wants to slick your bare body down with aloe vera gel at the end of the day."

  "Mm-hmm," she said dryly. "Just keep in mind how much fun it will be, oiling me down while I'm screaming, 'Ouch!', 'stop that', 'No! Don't touch there!'" She felt Josh's hand on her back, unfastening the strap, and shivered as his fingers touched her skin.

  She closed her hand on the front of the swimsuit as it came loose, but only to deliberately pull it away from her body and rise.

  "If you'll allow me," Josh nodded at her bikini bottoms and shorts from his kneeled position. "I can take those off so you won't have to put so much weight on your other ankle."

  Lauren pivoted partially toward him, to study his face and to give him her profile, her raised chin, the curve of her throat, the sun gleaming on the spherical surface of one bare breast. She nodded her permission.

  He stood up on his knees, which brought him just above eye level with her chest, so close that his breath touched that bare breast and rippled across the skin, raising the fine hairs on it. He gazed at her breasts a moment, unmoving, content to look with silent, obvious pleasure at their weight and shape. His attention slid along the outer curve of the right one, from where it began its crescent just at her armpit, down to its fullest point, resting on her rib cage, the dark mauve nipple full and soft as a pussy willow bloom.

  "You're beautiful."

  "Mistress."

  Lauren looked over at Marcus, startled by the serious, slightly stern tone. He squatted behind her, and cocked his head. "You should call her Mistress, Josh. As long as she holds the cards, that's what she is to you, until she gives you permission to do otherwise."

  It was another step, and she waited, seeing if Josh would take it. She was fascinated by the myriad of thoughts moving behind his eyes. It was even more intriguing to see that Marcus's words affected him in a manner she could discern. His erection, already noticeably swelling behind his zipper when she had removed the top, was now full and tight, straining against the constriction of the wet jean shorts.

  Her eyes lifted back to his face, and the flush on his neck. He swallowed. "You're beautiful, Mistress."

  It was the most natural thing in the world to reach out and fondle his jaw, and push a lock of his hair back behind his ear, which of course made an interesting spectacle of her breasts before his avid gaze. She could almost see saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth with the desire to taste them.

  "My swimsuit, Josh," she reminded him gently. "I'm waiting."

  He tore his gaze away and put his hands to the waistband. He was able to easily slide his fingers over her bare hipbones and slide the clothes over her backside. He could have let them drop to the sand unaided at a certain point, but he took them down, a smart man who took advantage of the opportunity. He managed a light brush of her clitoris through the crotch of the damp swimsuit, smoothed his palms down her slim thighs and calves, caressed her ankles, even the bottom of her feet as she stepped out of the shorts, aided by Marcus's steadying hold on her waist.

  His eyes lifted, taking a leisurely amount of time. His gaze was a warmer caress on her body than the wind at her back. When his face did rise to where she could see his expression, she was jolted by the combination of fierce hunger and pleading submission there. It almost broke her. Almost. It would have if Marcus had not been there, a steady third party influence that helped her get a grip.

  She wanted to twist the rubber band a bit tighter. Balanced equally with the lust in her own body was the desire to prolong his, to draw it out to the point of explosion. What would it be like to get him so visually excited that she could whisper softly, "Come for me", and watch his body explode without any stimulation other than her cool command?

  God, the idea sent a flood into the channel between her legs and made them tremble beneath his hands. She needed to lie down, now, before her need trickled down over his fingers and gave her away.

  When she bent her knees to do just that, he guided her down to her back, his hands at once caressing and protective.

  Despite feminist protestations of self-sufficiency, she could still be melted by a man who obviously considered it a point of honor to protect a woman, keep her from harm. The gesture of respect and care, coming while she was completely stripped, added a level of eroticism to it that weighted her down. She was unable to do more than just lay still, reclined under their attention and intent. She was content to watch the fire in Josh's eyes flare as Marcus scooped wet sand and ocean water into his palm and let it slide through his knuckles, just over her abdomen.

  The impact of the first small crescent of sand was cold, and quivered through her, sweeping down her shoulders and raising goosebumps across her breasts. She remained still, watching Marcus. His brow furrowed in concentration as he increased the flow of sand to build up the dripcastle, covering her navel. He moved upward, increasing its coverage along her rib cage. Some of it slid down her waist in tiny rivulets of earth and ocean. Most stayed where he placed it, rough turrets of gleaming wet sand, a castle wrought by nothing but the movement of his fingers and the inclination of the sand and water itself as it came in contact with her flesh. There were flecks of g
litter in the sand, so the sun made his creation gleam amid the hills and slopes of her body.

  "May Josh play, m'lady?" Marcus asked absently, "Or must he just watch?"

  Lauren pulled her gaze from his hands and looked over at the intent eyes the color of doves that were devouring every slight movement of her body in reaction to the sand. "He may play."

  Josh reached over her, slipped his hand into the bucket. She watched his long brown fingers emerge, covered with dripping earth and sea water, and then hover over her hips. Her stomach drew in with her breath as he began to construct his own annex of the castle along the inside of her left hipbone.

  "Your panting is ruining my work, my dear," Marcus whispered, as he leaned in and pretended to brush some sand from her temple. "Just close your eyes and relax. Let us enjoy you and this beautiful body of yours."

  Lauren smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgment. She took one last deep breath, using it to pull the tension from her muscles and relax. She settled her head into the indentation of soft sand behind her, and closed her eyes behind the sunglasses. It took some effort, but she was a Mistress after all, and knew the rewards of control. She was just out of practice. She shifted her focus to the lazy flow of sand and water across her skin, rather than the eroticism of how it was being placed there.

  The sun warmed her where the damp sand did not cover, and because of the contrast, she felt every new addition to the foundation of her body. When her eyes opened to slits, Marcus was building a crescent of turrets along the undercurve of her breasts, trailing water down her sternum. Josh worked his way across to the other hipbone, and formed a triangular city, the three corners being her hipbones and her shaved mound. She knew, with his head bent close in concentration on his work, he must be able to smell her arousal, and see the cold slide of sand and salt water over her swollen clitoris. Her thighs trembled once, but for what reason, or for all reasons, she did not know.

  She watched how Josh's hand moved, his fingers twitching in the same gesture they would have made if he were manipulating the labia in tortuous friction against the clitoris. His range moved from one thigh, back to the other, wrist dipping and twisting as gracefully as a dancer. Each passage across the channel of her thighs received a touch from the medium in his hands. She was so mesmerized by his intense concentration that she barely noticed when Marcus sat back to watch with her.