Authors: Jennifer O'Donnell
I laughed. "I will. The guys
at the shop didn't try to up sell me." She smiled and shared that the shop
owner knew I'd be back if I really got into cycling. It seems many people buy
bikes that only sit in the garage. I told her that I thought I'd be persistent.
The group rides seemed like a great idea. We sipped our beers, and I felt at
ease with the scene. We surveyed the crowd that milled around the pub, and she
gave a quick description of their backgrounds. All were local people who lived
at the shore year round. People were swapping stories, comparing mileage, and
making plans for future rides. I liked how they welcomed me.
"We have been doing this for
years," she explained. She and the shop owner had formed the club to bring
the racers in touch with the local residents. It had been good for both. As we
chatted, she counseled me farther. "One more thing, don't wear anything
under the cycling shorts."
I looked at her quizzically. She
laughed and advised, "The seams in your underwear will feel as bad as your
shorts did today. The guys at the shop probably won't tell you that."
I laughed and thanked her for all
the advice. Secretly, I chuckled since I had not worn under garments all
summer. I chose not to tell her or the guys at the shop that little secret.
It was getting late, and the crowd
started to break up. I bid everyone thanks and got my bike from the ones stowed
at the door and rode home as the sun set. My butt hurt again, and I felt the
seams of my shorts chafe the tender bare folds between my legs. At home, I took
a hot shower and watched TV before bed.
The next day was Friday, and my
husband arrived late that night. We made love as soon as he arrived. To be
blunt, I fucked his brains out. My pent up horniness exploded, and the
courtesan attacked her king. My fears that he was somehow losing interest were
nonexistent. We collapsed and slept soundly. The wet spots on the sheets, and
there were several, did not interfere with our slumber.
In the morning I arose first. He
was deep asleep. I admired his fit body; he looked like one of the “fast”
group. He was sprawled on the bed. I liked how his soft cock and empty balls
draped on his hip. I did not wake the sleeping monarch and slipped silently
from the bedroom. I showered and washed crusty splotches from my hair, breasts,
and thighs. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror. My tan was uniform. My
hair was lighter from so much sun. My arms, abs and legs looked toned. I must
have lost a little weight; my body was tighter and firm. I liked how I looked.
My taut body and bare pussy made me look years younger. I'd need to be careful
with the sun, though. My tan was all over and plenty dark.
Later that morning he wandered into
the kitchen. I was on the deck wearing his shirt and watching him. He peered
into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of OJ. He was scratching his
balls as he looked for a glass. I laughed to myself as I entered the kitchen
and bid my king "good morning." He looked at me with bleary eyes. His
courtesan wore his white dress shirt, totally unbuttoned and open. The fabric
draped outside my breasts and fell to my thighs. My flat belly led his eyes to
a delicate crease.
"Have a seat. Let me get you a
coffee," I said as I poured him a cup.
He sat at the table by the door to
the deck. I brought him the cup and kissed his face. He reached up and cupped
my breast.
"Breakfast?" I asked. His
hand reached to my back and ran down to cup my bare ass. "Did you like
last night?" I whispered slyly as his hand inched between my thighs.
"Unbelievable." He sighed
as his hand withdrew and reached for his coffee.
"Let me make you some eggs.
You need your strength, my lord. Your kingdom awaits you." I danced away
and made him a breakfast fit for a king. I sat with him as he ate. He talked
about the week and his work. Then I pointed to the bike parked near the pantry.
He checked out the bike and saw that this was a good one. I explained that I
planned to ride routinely, and, while expensive, it was less than a health club
membership. He liked my enthusiasm, and, if he questioned my resolve, he did
not say it.
We decided to spend the day at the
beach and take a long walk. As he showered, I made a few sandwiches and put
them and a few beers and sodas in a small cooler. I was in the bedroom putting
on a bikini when he came in from his shower. He looked refreshed. He sat on the
bed. I was wearing a white string bikini bottom. The top was tied around my
chest but the cups fell below my bare breasts. I went to my king and kneeled
and pressed my face to his warm cock. He smelled great.
"I missed my majesty's
member!" I exclaimed as I kissed the tip. "Every majestic inch!"
He fit softly between my tanned tits.
"You were incredible last
night." He almost moaned with pained delight.
I rose and fastened the cups to
cradle my breasts. I turned for him as a model to show off my body. "How
do I look?"
He inspected his wife as he would a
damsel from a conquered kingdom. My white bikini was the smallest of the few I
had bought at a local shop. The triangles of the bottom and top could be
expanded or shrunk by shifting them along the string ties. I shifted the bottom
to become little more than a g-string. My full shave left no hints of my
long-gone tuft. I shrunk one, then the other cup. The thin swath of white
fabric almost covered my areola. My nipples hardened and pressed on the bunched
fabric. His cock thickened, and I was tempted to dive back to my knees.
He shifted on the bed. "You
look gorgeous!" I was pleased that my king approved of what he had invaded
and conquered so forcefully during the night. He rose and found a bathing suit
in the dresser.
I rearranged my bikini to be
presentable in public and covered myself with his dress shirt. We locked the
house, walked down the driveway, crossed the shore road following the path to
the beach. The crowd was farther down the shore where the public parking lot
made access easy. Some had walked down to the beach in front of our house, but
the people were spread out for more privacy. Families with kids preferred the
beach near the lot since lifeguards were only on duty there.
We spread out a large towel and
rested. We dozed off. We awoke and swam to cool off. The surf was mild, and the
water was refreshing. We sat on the towel and had lunch. We chatted about our
unique summer arrangement. His work was demanding because a new project was
underway. He described how he spent a lot of time at the office. He usually
went out to dinner with friends, but he still found time to exercise some.
I explained my routine. The
painting, the reading, and relaxing that I enjoyed seemed luxurious in
comparison. I suggested that maybe I should spend some time back at our place.
We talked about that and wondered if my aunt would mind. My aunt wrote now and
then and seemed to be enjoying travels with my uncle. I didn’t think she would
mind. My husband offered that it was my call. He did mention that our weekends
were probably so wild because of our separation during the week.
I thought of all he was saying. If
he wanted me back, I'd go. That he did not say that made me think he liked our
arrangement. I thought it over and felt the same. Something bothered me,
though. It seemed we needed to be more open about our feelings. I was changing
somehow. One nagging thought was my simmering dissatisfaction with my job. I did
not want to go back into the stress of teaching. The kids were great, mostly,
but the administration was a source of stress. Some were jerks. The idea of
losing my growing happiness, my sensuality, was lurking in my thoughts. My work
sometimes drove me nuts. I wondered if we could move permanently to the shore.
But I decided not to raise the issue.
"Honey" I asked,
"did you like how we fucked last night?"
"You better believe it!"
he exclaimed. His enthusiasm matched mine. "You are awesome," he
said. "Insatiable." He paused and stared out to sea. "Like a
skilled courtesan!"
I thought back to the night before.
I had fucked with a newfound passion. My cravings matched his. His orgasms were
equally pleasurable to mine. We had exhausted ourselves and slept in the sticky
mess of our come. A burn smoldered between my legs as I recalled the night's
passion.
"I've been reading porn,"
I told him, "and using the beads." I watched a couple stroll along
the water's edge. They could not hear us. "I have these wild fantasies,
and I have to play." I wanted him to know this. I wondered if he did the
same. I paused, wondering if I should go on.
"So, what do you fantasize
about?" he asked as the couple moved away.
"Well, you know the king and
courtesan thing," I murmured.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed.
"Love that!"
"The stories I'm reading are
really turning me on. Some are so real, I imagine I'm in them."
"Yeah?' he asked with deep
curiosity.
"Yeah. Some suck. None are
exactly “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” or anything."
"What the hell is “Lady
Chatterley’s Lover?" he asked.
"Jeez, they didn't teach you
much in business school, did they?" I teased. "It's erotic literature
that was banned in its time."
"Ah, my liberal arts queen,
tell me about Lady Chatterley," he said with royal command. He grabbed
another beer and prepared for my lecture.
"Nah. You need to read it. But
the stuff I'm reading is really pornographic. I can't put the book down."
He sipped his beer. I took a taste
and handed it back. I decided to tell him.
"I dreamed of getting fucked
by a young workman." I didn't feel the need to tell him I dreamed this of
one of the landscapers. "I dreamed of masturbating in front of a guy at a
resort. He watches me through a window, while he flirts with a girl." I
stayed huddled on the towel as I disclosed this. My pussy was burning wet.
"Wow!" he said as he
looked at me intently. "You are a sexy girl!"
I looked at him. He looked
pleasantly surprised. "You okay with that?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said directly.
"I jerk off to porn... thinking Angelina is doing me."
I laughed. "Angelina?" I
inquired, my voice trailing off. I was relieved to see his reaction. It felt
good to know and accept this of each other.
"Yeah, yeah...never mind
Angelina," he said. "You're fucking blowing my mind these weekends."
I took his beer for another sip. He
was sitting on the towel facing me, one leg tossed to the side. I uncurled my
hold on my legs and turned towards him. I leaned close and kissed him. My hand
fell to his crotch and squeezed his now hard cock. "I'll blow this, that's
for sure," I promised with a voice I imagined Angelina would use.
He shifted, and I slipped my hand
into his shorts. His cock felt hard and damp. I tugged the soft skin along his
hard shaft. We looked around the beach. People were scattered about. I squeezed
him. Simultaneously I squeezed my cunt like I had so often with the beads.
"There are too many people," I observed with dismay. "I can jerk
you off, or we can go back to the house." I felt his cock twitch. A little
cream foamed at the tip.
The king pondered his options as he
scanned the beach. I was sorely tempted to taste his cream and ignore the gazes
of onlookers. "Let's go back," he said with hesitation. We gathered
our stuff and headed back to the house. I secretly wished that we had stayed.
We crossed the road to the house
and passed through the gate to the deck.
"I should shower again,"
I said, feeling sand in my suit.
"Me too." He looked a bit
sunburned and sandy. I gestured to the shower stall.
"I'll get towels for us."
He looked at me a bit sheepishly
and went to the shower stall. I heard the water running.
"Can I get you a drink?"
I asked.
"Sure," he called from
the splashing water.
"Beer or Margarita?"
"What are you having?"
"A Margarita."
"Same for me." I hoped he
would say that. I went to the kitchen and poured a good bit of Patron for two
glasses and tossed in a little Grand Mariner. I then added Margarita mix and
ice. I tossed them in a shaker and poured them in salt rimmed glasses.
I stripped off his dress shirt and
my bikini. I rinsed off in the shower near my bedroom and got the blue
mini-skirt and white tank from the bedroom. I quickly put them on and returned
to the kitchen for the drinks.
I splashed some ice water on my
face and let some fall to my chest. I was mindful to splash only a little to
appear like a messy effort making the drinks. The effect was perfect, maybe too
perfect. My nipples were hard already, but the cold water made them hard to the
point of hurting. The thin white fabric of my tank top hugged my wet and tanned
tits. I waited in the kitchen until he exited the outdoor shower and came to
the deck. I pushed open the French doors from the kitchen and walked to him
carrying the two glasses. Maybe I had an extra bounce in my steps. My tits
jiggled with each step and as I neared him and held out his glass.
"My lord," I intoned as I
offered him a glass.
"Those look great." he
said.
I know he meant the Margaritas, but
I silently knew he was also talking of my tits. My nipples were not retreating.
"I hope you like it," I
said. "I've acquired a taste for tequila."
We sipped the drinks. They were
strong but tasty. When we had finished most of them, I asked if he wanted me
there or in a bedroom. He looked at the lounge chairs on the deck and decided,
"Let's go to bed."
I was a bit lightheaded as we
walked to the bedroom. Would I fuck him first? Suck him? Wild thoughts ran
through my head. I wondered if he thought the same. Does he dream of other
women calling him into their bedrooms? Should we pretend I'm a princess from a
conquered kingdom?