Masquerade

‘Do you know the sea air is having a strange effect on me? I… I…feel wild. I’m actually in a mood to take something really big and hard in my mouth and…suck it. What a shame we have to wait. The thing is,’ I add languidly, ‘I might not feel like this later.’ I lean back slightly on the table so that I am almost stretched out on it.

His eyes leave mine and flick to the raw invitation between my legs. I see that he is badly affected, but I also see his fists sitting on the table. Determined as fuck not to let me win.

Well, I’m not giving in either.

Slowly I slither—and when I say slither, I really mean slither: a snake couldn’t have done better—upwards. His eyes are like popsicles on sticks. I sigh elaborately as my nipples trail over the tabletop. Eventually coming upright, I walk to the chair. But this is not the walk of any ordinary mortal. This is the ‘I see you shaking that ass’ walk à la Billie. I’m giving it all I got.

When I get to the chair I swivel it onto one leg. His head tilts. I’ve got him. I know I’ve got him. I put the chair back between my legs and slide my slit along it. I sneak a sly look, filled with lust, at him.

He is staring at me. His mouth is parted.

Now for the pièce de résistance. The chair has two little balls at either end of its back. Slowly, slowly I lower myself on one ball. It is hard and smooth and terribly, terribly taboo.

‘Oh,’ I gasp and turn to look at him with the ball of the chair inside me.

With a deep growl he stands, sweeps away all the food to the ground, because he is that dominant, falls on me, and fucking devours me. I stare at the leaves of the Causarina tree as I scream, ‘Oh yeahhhhhh.’ Did I ever tell you that this guy sucks pussy better than any lesbian? I did? Well, it’s worth repeating. He’s that good. My muscles start clenching.

‘Don’t stop,’ I command, and fuck him, he instantly does the opposite. He takes his mouth off me. I open my mouth to swear at him, and it becomes a shocked gasp as I am bodily picked up as if I am some life-sized doll and spread on the table, face down, legs splayed open. Before I know it, a big, hard, sun-kissed cock slams into me. The force shoots me forward.

The man’s a fucking animal.

He grabs me by the hips and pulling me back, keeps a firm grip on me while he fucks the living hell out of me. Suddenly he stops. Picks me up again, his man-toy, lays me on my ass, spins me around and pushes me back on the table with my head hanging over the side.

‘Did I hear you say you were in the mood to suck something very big and very hard?’ he asks very close to my ear.

Before I can answer, his cock, covered in my juices, has been pushed into my mouth and right down into my throat. I don’t hesitate. I suck for England. It’s only fair. But after a while I lie back, close my eyes and allow him to fuck my mouth. He starts thrusting strongly. All I can do is smell the man smell of his pubic hair and taste the saltiness of his skin.

He comes in hot, jerking spurts. Without taking his semi-hard cock out of my mouth, he casually leans over my body and clamps his mouth on my clit and works it until I break apart. It’s a good climax. It smells of the sea. He pulls out of my mouth, helps me sit up, and stands between my legs. He runs his fingers playfully in my wet folds and looks regretfully at the chicken pieces strewn on the ground.

‘See what you made me do.’

‘You started it.’

‘Yes, but I’m very, very hungry now,’ he says plaintively.

‘I make a mean cheese sandwich.’

‘I really wanted Gwen’s chicken,’ he says sadly, and inserts a long finger inside me.

The finger is distracting but I keep my head. ‘You’ve got a cheese sandwich. Take it or leave it.’

‘You’re a hard woman, Billie.’

We break apart at the sound of the men coming back with the fish they have caught. It is funny to watch him hopping into his trousers. I sit on the table, reeking of sex and as naked as the day I was born, and laugh.

By the time he comes back into the house with the fish, I am wearing one of his T-shirts and have already cobbled together his sandwich. He puts the fish—the men have gutted and cleaned them—in the sink and goes to sit at the table.

I slap the plate with the sandwich in front of him.

He opens the richly buttered bread and looks at the filling: thick slices of cheese and tomato in layers. He raises his eyes up to me and grins. ‘Dude food?’

I grin back. ‘Exactly.’

He picks it up and takes a big bite. ‘The milled pepper is a nice touch.’

‘Thank you,’ I say graciously.

I sit next to him and watch him wolf it down and feel almost protective of him. Woe betide anybody who tries to hurt him. It’s an odd thought.