Loading...It was a hot July day, the sun beating down as if this was the middle of the desert. I decided to use my season pass and go to the amusement park two towns over to cool off. Lakefront Park has its own beach, a water park and of course amusement park rides, games of skill and the holiday junk food you always find at such places. I tossed a towel, a blanket and a bottle of water into a canvas tote, climbed into my van and drove off.
I could tell from the lot full of cars that the park was going to be crowded. Lakefront is a favorite destination for families day-tripping and is popular for corporate outings, reunions and political rallies. I parked in the season pass-holders’ lot and headed for the beach. I saw that the medium sized picnic area was reserved for a family gathering and the large one for a company picnic. Although Lakefront has snack bars and a buffet type restaurant, the management has never had a problem with visitors bringing their own food and charcoal and using the grilles the park provides to cook it. Being accommodating to their customers in areas like bringing their own food and such has a lot to do with why Lakefront is a going concern. The park has been around for more than a century, run by the same family and surviving when many other amusement parks have either been absorbed by chains like Six Flags or have gone out of business.
Showing my pass at the bathhouse and finding an open spot on the beach near the dock, I spread my blanket, stuffed my keys and sunglasses into the bag and got into the water. Threading my way through the bathers to water deep enough to swim in, I ducked under and came up blowing like a seal. Setting a slow stroke, I headed towards the diving float where a college-age lifeguard stood flirting with the teenage beach bunnies in their barely-there bikinis. I didn’t climb on but simply floated for awhile, enjoying the cool water and watching the teens walk through the steps of the mating dance, remembering my own days as a lifeguard at this very park twenty years before. After awhile, I started back in, swimming parallel to the wooden dock the marked the west side of the swimming area. It was then I saw her.
She looked to be about 40, my own age, give or take a couple of years. She wasn’t precisely a cougar, but she wasn’t bad-looking. She had great legs, pretty feet, a nicely rounded ass and good boobs from what I could see beneath the crocheted net shirt and two piece bathing suit she was wearing. Loose skin in the belly, a souvenir of pregnancy, spoiled her lines somewhat. She had an oval face with a sharp nose and a pointed chin, and black hair with brown skin. A finely woven floppy straw hat with a colorful scarf for a hatband shaded her eyes and a digital camera dangled from one wrist. She snapped a couple of pictures of some kids in the water and caught me looking at her. She gave me a smile and a wiggle as if to say, “Like what you see?” and I smiled appreciatively with a respectful nod. I took my time walking past her, giving her a good visual inspection as I went. She pursed her lips in an air-kiss at me, not seeming to mind male admiration at all.
I lay in the sun for awhile, baking in the heat like a lizard on a rock before returning to the lake to wash the sweat off with another swim. She was still on the dock, dangling her feet in the water and chatting in Spanish with a pair of women a little older than she was. As I waded past, I gave her a sidelong glance. She returned it with a lascivious wink unseen by the two older women (cousins? sisters?) talking above her head. I responded with a smile and a raised eyebrow before breaking forward into a racing dive and heading for deep water. When I came back out, she was putting her camera into a shoulder bag, but paused to give me a speculative look and a smile before turning to follow her relatives, hips seesawing as she walked. Smiling to myself, I packed up my own bag and returned it to my van before heading into the park to enjoy a few of the rides.
The biggest draw at Lakefront is the Green Dragon. It’s an old-time wooden coaster that ranks in the Top Twenty of America’s traditional wooden roller coasters. Its design was inspired by Coney Island’s famous Cyclone, but it’s 30 feet higher and the track is a third again as long; and unlike the self-contained Cyclone it runs through part of the park over the heads of the amusement-seekers. It passes next to two or three of the other rides, and there’s an arcade that makes use of the dead space under it. The line for the Green Dragon runs alongside the Lakefront Giant Carousel, one of the last in the country that still has a complete set of wooden carousel horses that were hand-carved by master woodcarvers in the 19th Century. My waterside mystery woman was on it.
She was waiting for the carousel to start up, sitting on one of the taller horses. She spotted me and smiled at me. I smiled back. She gave me an impish wink, and to my surprise and delight began to move on her motionless mount.
Her thighs clamped to the wooden horse, she arched her back and shimmied her shoulders, her full breasts wobbling in their swimsuit top beneath the crocheted shirt. Throwing back her head, she raised her butt up out of the saddle and pressed against the pole running up to the overhead cranks that move the horses up and down, humping it, working it like a stripper onstage with a wriggle that gave me an instant erection. A bell rang twice, warning the riders the carousel was about to start moving, and she blew me a kiss. As the line for the Dragon moved ahead I tried to spot her on each rotation, but couldn’t be sure if she saw me.
I am fond of the Green Dragon. The old wooden coasters have a sense of panache and barely controlled danger induced by the shaking of the cars on the tracks that the newer steel coasters and newest suspension coasters just can’t match. They may have higher drops and you may pull more gee’s at the bottom of the drops and in the turns, but the wooden coasters make it seem like more. I looked at the sky to the west as we climbed the first hill. The air was heavy, and that boded not well. Storm clouds were brewing over that way. I wondered how long the rain they promised would hold off and how long it might last when the storm broke. I forgot about the weather as we topped the hill and with a “Yeee-HAH!” went screaming down.
I got off at the end of the ride, simultaneously exhilarated by the adrenaline rush and disappointed that it was over so soon. I walked down the stairs, intending to get back in line and ride again, when the woman in the crocheted top and straw sun hat came up to me.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in a voice with a sensual purr in it. “I’d like to ride the roller coasters here, but it’s no fun by yourself. Interested?” She slipped her arm through mine. I reached over to stroke her arm, enjoying the feel of her soft skin.
“Consider yourself escorted.” We got in line for the Dragon.
We exchanged names (Richard and Paloma, respectively) and chatted while we waited for our turn. Paloma had driven up from Fort Lauderdale for her family reunion, as she did every couple of years. I’d seen a neatly lettered sign by the medium sized picnic area marked “Reserved for the Marielito Family,” but of course had thought nothing of it. Her two kids were grown and out on their own. She owned a small swimwear shop across from the beach that earned her a nice living.
I in turn told her about the antique shop I’d inherited and ran with two assistants and a retired furniture maker who worked on commission restoring pieces I found at estate sales and auctions. Summer and fall are my busy seasons, but as I prefer the quest for wares to sitting in the shop, much of the time I was on the road. That the sales which had looked promising this week had been on Thursday and Friday, not Saturday, was what had left me with a free afternoon.
Our turn came and I turned to her. “Front or rear?”
“I like the rear better,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze. When the gate opened, I hip-checked a teenage stud aside and beat him to the hindmost seat. I waved Paloma in and sat beside her. Without asking permission, I reached up and plucked the hat off her head. She looked a question and I pointed to a sign prominently displayed by the launcher’s station: WE ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR LOST HATS, GLASSES OR OTHER POSSESSIONS.
“Oh.” I used the scarf to tie up the brims over the crown and tucked it behind my calves. She tucked her arm in mine again and I laid my hand over hers on the safety bar, our fingers intertwining as the launcher pulled his lever and sent us on our way.
As we climbed the high hill, she snuggled closer and rubbed her leg against mine, looking at me. I smiled back and leaned in to kiss her as we went over the top and plunged down. She shrieked with delight, her black hair streaming in the windblast as we dropped, heedless of the dark clouds gradually closing from the west. We were thrown against each other again and again as we whipped around the turns, catching glimpses of other rides and flying over people on the ground that seemed close enough to touch as we rocketed along. Her eyes were bright as we eased to a stop back at the starting point.
“What other rides do they have here?” she asked. Arm in arm, we set out to try the other thrill rides Lakefront has to offer. She delighted in the Log Flume and the Whitewater Rafts in the waterpark and the Slide of Life that flies you on a pulley on a wire over the parking lot, and was laughing as we joined the line for the Squirrel Slalom.
The Squirrel Slalom is an ‘inside’ coaster, like Disney’s Space Mountain. You don’t get the steep drops the way you do on an outside coaster, but it uses centrifugal force more effectively than most open-air coasters. The Squirrel heightens the effect with darkness, sudden bursts of strobe light in curved tunnels with animatronic yetis, snarling wolves and the like to scare you, unexpected misting sprays and by the bottom, a fog-blaster that makes it seem like you’re about to drop off a cliff – right before the brakes cut in and stop your car in the matter of a few feet before allowing you to trickle back into the launch station.
The cars are small, more like an open cockpit airplane than a roller coaster car. The first rider slides all the way to the back, the second sits between his legs, a safety bar comes down and a cover closes over the two of you and locks down before you’re sent on your way. I got in first, and Paloma sat in front of me, tossing her hat by her feet. The lid came down with just enough room for our heads to protrude, and off we went into the dark unknown.
Paloma pressed back against me, her buttocks up against my groin. She felt for my hands and brought them around her, purring. I tightened my hold on her. She responded by lifting my hands to her boobs as we slowly climbed. I squeezed them through the openwork top and her swimsuit as she twisted her head around and whispered, “Kiss me.” Our lips met, touching lightly. Hers opened beneath mine and her tongue tip brushed mine. She brought my hand under her crocheted shirt and into her suit top. I could feel the weight of her tit in my hand. The car came level and I broke the kiss.
“Hold on,” I whispered.
We dropped and whipped into a right-hand turn as lights twinkled in front of our faces. We passed through a mist-curtain and swung back the other way as Paloma cried out. I involuntarily let go of her; she grabbed both hands and put them where she wanted them, one on her tits, the other on her crotch. There was a strange drumming in the air as we whistled down the run. We were tossed back and forth as the car raced down the course, tilting, rising, falling, and slamming through the turns. I heard Paloma moan as my hands tightened and loosened on her as we were flung about, the friction and pressure arousing her.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Good! Oh, yes!”
I could feel the bottom of her suit getting damp where the fabric covered her pudenda. She bucked back against me, feeling my erect tool against her but unable to reach it, locked in as we were. We went into a three turn spiral, the car up at a 30 degree angle, came out of it, and dropped what felt like straight down before being hit with an icy blast of water vapor, the car rising. In total blackness, we were thrown forward as the car abruptly decelerated. We came to a complete halt for about one second, then sedately slid into the station. To my surprise, the platform was deserted as we were helped out of the car.
“Where is everybody?” I asked. The attendant laughed.
“Can’t you hear the rain?” He gestured toward the fiberglass shell that enclosed the ride. “It’s pouring out there! Management shut all the rides down and we have to clear out. You two were the last car we launched. C’mon, we have to go.” He shepherded us to the exit, where he reached for an umbrella that he kept there for just this kind of situation. He waited impatiently for us to leave.
I looked at Paloma and at the rain coming down like a waterfall. “Where are you and your family parked?”
“I’m in Area 4-D.”
I shook my head. “Around here, we call 4-D ‘Outer Mongolia’ because you’re about as far from the park entrance as you can get. Look, I’m in 1-B, the season pass-holders’ area. How about if we run for that and shelter in my car?”
Paloma put on her hat, grabbed my hand and we ran out into the rain. Before we had gone 15 feet we were soaked to the skin. The rain was warm and not unpleasant, but it was so heavy I had trouble seeing where I was going. The lots had thinned out from what they had been when I parked. Lots of people had cut their afternoons short when the storm hit. My red extended minivan loomed ahead of us; I pressed the key already in my hand, popped the rear hatch, shoved Paloma inside and clambered in after her, yanking the hatch shut behind us. The rain beat on the roof like a rock drummer working his snare and the thunder boomed like his bass pedal, but we were out of the wet at least.
“Got a bar of soap? We could take a shower together,” she laughed.
“I can offer you a towel,” I said, extending my beach towel to her. She took it, stripped off her string shirt and started to vigorously dry her hair. I shucked out of my Hawaiian shirt and dried off with the beach blanket. Eventually we were more or less dry. Paloma glanced forward and took note of the curtain that ran across behind the front seats.
“That curtain makes things nice and private,” she said.
“Uh-huh. When I’m on a buying trip and I have to stop somewhere, I don’t need nosy people looking in and seeing there’s something worth stealing inside. The tinted windows block the rear and the sides, but you can still see in through the front windows and the windshield. I rigged it today to keep the heat out.”
She moved closer. “So no one can see inside now?”
“No.”
“Good.” She came to me, lips already parted, her eyes eager. I gathered her in and our lips met, hers opening wide under mine and sucking my tongue into her mouth as we shifted to find a comfortable position. Our hands roamed over each other’s bodies, stroking, scratching and caressing as we encouraged the lust in each other. We ended up with her on top of me, rubbing her pubes on my erection as I squeezed her tits through the fabric of her swim top. She sat upright, reached between her boobs, undid a catch and tossed the top aside. I reached out and pulled the strings on her bikini bottom and drew it off her, sending it after the top. She reached down and worked my baggies over my buttocks and off my legs. They landed with a plop on the carpeting next to her suit.
“Much better,” she purred. “Let’s take our time, shall we?” She bent forward to kiss me deeply as my hands found the breasts hanging in front of me, the erect nipples ready to be teased. I squeezed her full mounds and pulled on her long, baby-suckled nips, pinching and twisting them as she moaned against my mouth, nibbling on my lower lip and whispering to me.
“Yes! Like that! Oh, that’s good! Don’t stop! That’s good, lover! Oh, that’s good!”
She was rubbing her clit up and down on my cock and I could feel the moisture starting to seep from her, wetting me and easing the friction. She moved up a bit, arching her back and I got my mouth on a tit, sucking and nibbling her nipple while I tormented her other breast sweetly. She moaned louder and humped her clit faster on me.
“You like that, baby?” I asked around a mouthful of tit-flesh.
“Yes! Don’t stop! I’m close! Bite it! Hurt me! I’m gonna – gonna – gonna – CUM!”
Her arms locked rigid and she ground into my crotch as she shrieked the last word into a clap of thunder. I could feel her shuddering as the climax burned through her like the cymbal crash of the lightning bolt that momentarily illuminated the inside of the minivan. She began to slide up and down, rubbing on my cock again, revealing her continuing horniness. I decided it was time to introduce her to my thick seven-inch prick.
“Are you on the pill, baby?”
She leaned forward and kissed me hard as she masturbated herself on my fuckstick. “Don’t need it, stud. After my second C-section, the doctor did a hysterectomy. Stop talking and fuck me! I want your beautiful dick, Dick! Open me up and fuck me!”
I grabbed her butt and moved her up a tad more. As she started to move back down I raised my hips and slipped my cock into her wet pussy, parting her cunt lips and shoving it deep inside her. She cried out with pleasure and by the third stroke Paloma’s box was filled by my cock while I continued to torment her tits, pinching the nipples and twisting her mams as I used them for leverage.
“You’re so big! I feel like you’re splitting me in two! Oh god, this is good! Fill me up! Fuck my pussy good, Dick! Fuck me! Fuck me! Don’t stop! Ohhhhhh!”
She corkscrewed down as I thrust upward, ramming together as fast as we could. She came again, her hair and eyes wild, bracing herself on my chest as her cunt clamped down and spasmed around the cock driving into her. I didn’t stop, keeping up the beat as she surrendered to the ecstasy induced by my prick in her twat. She rose and fell on it, twisting, squeezing, wriggling, seeking more sensation as I fucked her, our minds retreating until nothing mattered but the slippery friction of our bodies melding together. Paloma thrashed and moaned on me, her cunt impaled like a butterfly pinned to a card by my invading male flesh. She immersed herself in the power we shared as I manipulated her willing body, denying me nothing. I could feel my own climax building, the pressure like liquid rock as we rose and fell together. At last I could hold back no longer.
“ARRRGGGH! Oh, yeah!”
Grabbing her by the hips, I forced her down as I thrust up into her. Our pubic bones met and as if that was the trigger, the red-hot magma of my climax erupted into her waiting pussy. Seconds felt like minutes as my penis jerked inside her, my cum shooting up like molten lava at the mouth of a volcano. Her answering shriek told me she had made it too, a very satisfying sound indeed.
As passion subsided, Paloma slipped off of me to lie on the floor of the van beside me, gasping as out heart rates slowed and the world sped back up again. I looked into her dark eyes, soft with satiation.
“Thank you, my stud. I needed that, and I think you did too.” She kissed me softly. “Listen. I’m staying at the Twin Pines Motel, about ten minutes from here. Room 31. You know it?”
“I know where it is,” I said.
“Meet me there in, say, an hour. I want to pick up where we left off, Dick. I want you inside me again, but in a bed where I can treat you right.”
“Don’t your relatives expect you for dinner or something?” I asked.
She chuckled as she tied her bikini bottom. “The whole reason I take a motel when I come to these family reunions is all that family togetherness drives me nuts after awhile. The happiest day of my life was the day I moved out of the house into a place of my own, where I didn’t have to share the bathroom with five sisters and had a bedroom all to myself.” She slipped into her top and tossed me my trunks. “C’mon, lover. Drive me over to Outer Mongolia and my car. I’ll be waiting for you. Eagerly waiting for you.” I smiled and put my trunks back on.
I left the park and drove down Highway 36 toward the Twin Pines. There was a strip mall I remembered from my lifeguarding days on the way, and I pulled in. Back then, I’d liked it because it had the only liquor store in the area that didn’t look too closely at ID cards. These days, it also had a discount store and a bakery that made really good pastries and cakes. I hit the three in that order and got back into the van. I had repacked my away bag before I set out for the park, and now took clothes from it. When I knocked on the door of Unit 31, I was dressed in a sport shirt, chinos and loafers, and carried a loaded tote.
Paloma opened the door and waved me inside. She closed the door behind us and clicked the deadbolt and the safety bar on. I continued to the table in the room and began taking things from the tote bag, setting them out. A slender vase accepted one silk rose. A molded glass tray received a dozen pastries of various flavors and kinds. I set a magnum of champagne and two glass flutes on the table and took out a silver plastic ice bucket, and a dozen lightly scented candles to set the right mood.
“Do you have any ice?” I asked as I got the candles lit.
“Right here,” she said, handing me one of the square ice buckets motels across the country put in every room. I took it without looking at her and busied myself with icing down the champagne as she set the candles around the room and turned off the lights. I turned around and got my first good look at her in the dim light.
Paloma was wearing a lacy black corset, matching high heels and a filmy robe trimmed in fur. Her hair shone and she’d painted her lips and nails dark red. The corset left her breasts, her ass and her hair-free pussy exposed. If she’d set out to match my mental picture of a slut ready to be fucked, she could have done no better. She walked slowly and sensuously to me.
“Do you like me this way?” Her voice was a come-hither lust call.
I took her hands, pulling her to me. “Very much.”
“Show me.” Her head tilted up, eyes half closed, her lips slightly parted so I could see the gleam of teeth.
I kissed her, gently at first but quickly abandoning any pretense of subtle seduction as Paloma made it clear she was hot to trot. She wound herself around me, french-kissing me as my hand dropped to the round globes of her ass and squeezed them like ripe fruit. She pressed against the lump in my pants, rubbing up and down as she threw her head back and I lightly bit her neck over her pulse point, one of my hands probing her nether lips and slipping a finger into her. She threw a leg around me and arched her back, using me like the pole in a strip club as she displayed herself to me. I bent my head to her boobs and latched onto a dark brown nipple, pulling it between my teeth as I finger-fucked her box. She hissed her reaction to the mixed pleasure and pain but made no attempt to disengage. She dry-humped my cock as we teased each other, letting our desire for each other build. I felt a hand wind around my back, fingers coming to rest on my head, her nails dancing on my scalp with tiny pinpricks as I pulled on her turgid nip with my teeth. She moaned with need.
“Yeah, lover. I like that. Unh… oh yes… oh yes… unh… unh… oh yes… please…”
Her back arched ever more, causing the black cherry atop her breast to pull s-l-o-o-w-w-l-y through my teeth and out of my mouth as I flicked my tonguetip over it. As it came free, I shifted my grip on Paloma and picked her up, one arm under her shoulders and the other under her thighs. I carried her the three steps to the bed she had turned down and laid her on it, her head on the pillows that were piled against the headboard, her legs parted. Unasked, she pulled her knees apart, spreading herself wide. I caressed her firm thighs, butterfly touches on that silky cinnamon-colored skin, and brought my head down to her pussy.
The inner lips were prominent and dark with the blood that swelled them. The contrast between her labia and the glistening wet pinkness between them was erotic, as was the wetness waiting for me on them. I leaned in and slowly licked them, tasting her nectar like a bee with a lily, savoring the spiciness. Her head came up, startled, and settled back down as I brought my tongue out of her slit to the clitoral shaft at their apex. It was a nice big one, the tip of her clit already starting to peek out of its protective hood. Ignoring it for the moment, I ran my tongue very slowly along the shaft, my spittle providing the lubrication to let me orally service her.
I took my time, not only because I enjoy going down on a woman but because I wanted to give Paloma a mind-shattering orgasm. It’s not something you can do with every partner, or even every time you bed your partner; but she showed all the signs of sensuality that meant she was able to surrender to passion without fear or shame. It takes awhile to fully arouse a woman like that, but if the two of you get her passions up, the results are well worth the effort. A woman who freely gives control of her body to her partner is the best kind of lover, and I was determined to give her my best.
Up and down, along the edges of her nether lips, between them, and back to the clitoral shaft I went, trying not to follow a pattern or predictable path. At the same time I ran my hands over all of her I could reach to heighten her sensations and build anticipation. She purred under my ministrations.
“Oh yesss… oh, yesss… don’t stop, baby… please don’t stop… I love it… please… don’t stop…”
Her hands fell away from her spread legs. One finger circled her aureolas, the friction just short of scratching. The other twined itself into my hair, playing with it as I continued to lick her honeypot. I began to nibble at her clitoral shaft, making the tiniest of bites, like a child eating a cookie as slowly as possible by grinding it one millimeter at a time between his teeth. I heard her gasp at this new feeling and knew I was on the right track. I could feel her female oils on my chin now and slipped my index finger into her box, going in, out, in, out, adding a twist of the wrist to arouse her even more. Without conscious volition, her hips began to move. A second finger joined the first and the speed of their strokes increased little by little. Her breathing was deep, with an occasional gasp as I worked her pussy.
“Yes! Oh yes! Like that! Don’t stop, lover! Finger-fuck my twat! Give me more! More! Oh! Please! Faster, darling! Please! I want to! Please! I wanna cum on your hand! More! Please!”
A woman begging you to use her is the best aphrodisiac in the world. I could feel my erection threatening to burst through my slacks, but my cock’s demands would have to wait. I shifted my attention to her clit, standing free of its hood now, and licked it. Paloma’s ass rose off the bed and her hand tightened on my head, trying to jam it into her cunt. I felt her muscles clamp down on my fingers and knew she had to be close.
“AAHH! Yes! Yes! Yes! Like that! Oh god oh god oh god, I’m close! Please don’t tease me! Make me cum, Dick! I want it! I need it! Oh – AIIEEEEE! YESSSS!!”
I had pressed my other hand against her rosebud in frottage. As her cries approached a peak, I forced a finger into her anus, shoved the fingers in her pussy as far in as they would go, pressed down hard with my teeth on her clitoral shaft and at the same time brutally lashed her clit with my tongue, “Brrrrrr!”ing with my lips. Her orgasm exploded in her head, her lower body coming up off the bed, muscles rigid, demanding as much pressure as she could get as she orgasmed for me, her juices spurting onto my face. She dropped back down, limp, gasping with pleasure. I got up and stripped, tossing my clothes on the floor beside the bed until I was naked. Without asking permission, I climbed between her legs, rose up on hands and knees, and entered her.
Paloma reacted to my cock sliding into her most intimate recesses by wrapping her arms around me, locking her legs around my waist and pushing back against the invading prick in a rhythm that allowed maximum penetration. Her hot, dark eyes and red lips locked on mine. Her mouth sucked my tongue into it, hers swirling around it as she writhed under me. I felt her nails dig into my back as she urged me on, breaking the heated kiss so she could get the air she needed to fuck me properly.
“Yes, baby! Fuck my pussy! Fuck it! Fuck me hard! Fuck me like a whore! I want it hard! Fuck me, Dick! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Her legs fell away from me and she kicked off her stiletto heels for better traction on the sheets, fucking me back with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. There was nothing subtle about her lovemaking now. She was Woman, a sexual being that eagerly sought release by taking my cock as deep inside her cunt as she could get it, urging the man who was servicing her to ram her like a stallion covering a mare in heat, to mount her and drive his male flesh in and out of her waiting pussy, to use her as men have used women since the dawn of time: to fuck and be fucked; to be pleasured and to give pleasure; to be the receptacle of Man’s lust and to lust after him and his magnificent cock in return.
A limber minx with great sexual experience, Paloma and I wrestled together on that bed for a very long time. She was cumming faster now, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow with the force of her orgasms; and because of our earlier session in the back of the van, I was able to continue pleasuring her for far longer than I would have thought possible. I felt her nails tearing at my back but I didn’t care. She was not resisting me, she was urging me on, wanting all I had to give her. Pleasure and pain mixed to form ecstatic sensation for both of us. My own climax built despite my attempts to forestall it, wanting to use her, to never stop using her, to make her cum forever under me and for me, until at last biology overrode training and I could no longer contain it.
“OHHHHH!”
“AIEEHH! YESSS! YESSS! AAAAHH!”
Her pussy clamped and released spasmodically as my cock pumped my sperm into her belly. My climax merged with her orgasm, going on and on and on as my vision narrowed and darkened until my eyes rolled backwards into my head and I collapsed onto Paloma’s sweat-soaked body, passed out from the ecstasy we had given and taken.
When I awoke or came back to myself (depending on how one looks at such things), I was lying beside Paloma, our arms and legs still intertwined. The look on her face was sweet. She took my hand and brought it to her mouth, caressing the palm with her lips, tasting the dried pussy-juice on the fingers I’d used in her cunt.
“Richard, darling, thank you.”
“Whatever for?” I said, gathering her into my arms and feeling her come willingly to me.
“You know. I’ve never had a better first time with a lover, and damned few experiences as marvelous as what we just did together.” She shifted herself so she could look at me in the candlelight, her breasts brushing against my chest and her fingers playing with my hair. “I don’t play the slut with every man I meet, darling. Until I met you, I hadn’t had sex in months. I hadn’t met a man I wanted in my bed, or in me.”
“It can’t be from lack of opportunity, Paloma. I mean, you work on one of the most famous beaches in the country -”
“Across from it, actually,” she teased with a smile.
“Don’t interrupt. With your looks, the line of beachwear you sell, and your location you must have men fawning over you all the time. So why me?”
She snuggled down in my arms again, her nails tracing my muscles. Although I’m no fitness fanatic, I do exercise every day and in the course of my travels schlep furniture and heavy boxes around. This keeps you in good shape. She replied, “You’re right. I do get lots of men in the shop. Lots of businessmen hitting on me in the bars after work; lots of visitors trying to pick me up on the beach, especially during Spring Break every year.
“But very few men turn me on. The businessmen, nine out of ten have slipped the leash and are out for a bit of slap and tickle with no concern for the girl except that she look good on their arm and in their bed; mice playing while the cat’s away, or more exactly mice who are away playing until they have to return to the cat.
“The tourists are mostly unattached but they all think they’re Don Juan. That is, except for the ones who think they’re the Marquis de Sade and men are naturally dominant over women. I won’t play those games with men like that.
“And the college boys! If they aren’t self-involved studs whose only concern is to get the girl in bed, ravage her and get their rocks off, they’re either scared kids who know nothing of sex; or they’re trust fund babies who think they’re men of the world but know less than nothing about how the world really works. They’re pathetic. All they are is pale reflections of what they’ve seen on TV, with no more knowledge of life than a spoon has of the sweetness of the sugar it dips from the bowl.
“But you. You’re experienced enough to understand indirection. To appreciate a woman’s beauty and her talents without trying to own them. To read signals, but not so forward as to intrude where you might not be wanted without an invitation. And bold enough to accept the invitation when it’s offered.” She brought my hand to her mouth and kissed it again. “Besides,” she finished, “I like the way you smell, your personal odor. I place a lot of store by scent. You don’t try to mask who you are with aftershave or cologne. You’re honest, clear and clean. I can tell. When you passed close to me on the way into the water while I was sitting on the dock, I knew I wanted you.”
“And now that you’ve had me?” I replied, not sure where Paloma was going with this.
She reached down to find my prick, feeling it stir in her hand. “I want more of you, Richard. Lots more.” She let go of me and climbed out of bed, kissing me as she passed. Taking a cellphone from her purse, she opened the room’s phone directory, flipping pages as she looked over at me. “We need to keep our energy up. What do you like on your pizza?”
“Anything but anchovies, pepperoni, and bizarre toppings like pineapple and poi.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’ve had that on pizza?” she chuckled.
“In Hawaii, once. It’ll never replace sausage and mushrooms!” She smiled with her eyes and finished dialing. When her call was answered, she listened to the person on the other end.
“Habla Espanol?” Apparently receiving an affirmative answer, she broke into a torrent of Spanish. I understand some Italian, Spanish, Yiddish, Pennsylvania Dutch, a little Polish and Russian, and several American dialects because it’s good for business if you can at least be polite to the folks you’re buying from in their own language, but Paloma lost me two seconds into the conversation. She ended the call and turned back to me, extending a hand.
“They say they will be thirty minutes or so. And I have a bar of soap…” she trailed off, eyes twinkling with mischief, referring back to the thunderstorm. “Want to scrub my back, lover?” She swayed off toward the bathroom, shedding her robe. I got up and followed.
I did indeed scrub her back and rub her shoulders, but I was far more interested in Paloma’s front. She had her hair tucked up in one of those bath caps motels provide, which spoiled the ambience a bit but not enough to put me off. I brought the soap around to her chest; she responded by leaning back against me and wiggling her lovely ass against my crotch, smiling knowingly as my cock stiffened and nestled between her cheeks. She closed her eyes as I worked up a lather on her boobs with both hands, moaning softly as my fingers squeezed and pulled at them, tweaking the nipples and feeling the weight of her tit-flesh on my palms. The soap found its way south, washing her belly and moving toward the valley of delight. She rubbed up and down on me and made no move to resist. I used the soap like a dildo for awhile, working around the outer lips before I let it fall to the shower floor. Making sure my hands were free of suds, I brought my left hand back to her tits and used my right to finger her. She moaned louder as they found her clit and nipples. They teased her and she liked it.
“Yes… stroke my clit like that… that’s good, baby. So good. I like that. Don’t stop…”
Stopping was the farthest thing from my mind. I moved my hand, leaving the stroking duties to my thumb, while my index and second fingers found their way to her inner lips and slid between them. I began to finger-fuck her, slowly at first but gradually increasing the tempo.
“Oh, you’re bad! Bad, bad Richard! I love it! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”
She groaned as my other hand added to the sensations by squeezing her firm boobies and pinching the nipples. Maybe she’d gotten herself implants or a breast lift; I didn’t care. They were supple and firm and felt great in my hand. I got my hands going in time, not together but in a one-two pattern. She gasped and squirmed, clearly enjoying it. Her breathing was deep and hard as she pulled in the air she needed. My left hand could feel her nips, tightly swollen and sensitive between my fingers as she reached for her orgasm. My right hand was wet with her hot pussy juice and I worked a third finger into her as she moaned in need, her language regressing as physical pleasure overrode intellect.
“Uh! Uh! Uh! Oh yes! Oh yes! Please! Uh! Uh! Please! Make me! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Oh please oh please oh please – I – I – I – I’m – OHHHH!”
Her knees sagged and I took her weight on my hand, my fingers driving in deep and holding her up as her cunt grasped greedily at them while she climaxed. I held her, taking satisfaction from the shudders that ran through her body, knowing I’d made her cum powerfully. Finally she straightened and turned to kiss me under the streaming water.
“You, sir, are a rogue,” she chuckled. “Ravishing a girl in her shower and making her cum for you! And making her like it! What am I going to do with you?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I said, taking her by the hips. She smiled and changed position, her right leg wrapping around my waist, leaving the way to her sweet spot open as she put her arms around my neck…
There was a loud knocking at the door. I swore and Paloma laughed.
“Go pay the nice man for our dinner, Richard. And try not to be too annoyed with him. We have all night, you have a willing wench to use, and I have a manly man to use me. We aren’t done by a long shot.”
I wrapped a bath sheet around myself. Paloma took a brooch from the bag sitting on the sink and pinned the towel at my waist to make sure it would stay put. She was drying herself off as I grumbled my way to my wallet to pay the pizza delivery boy.
We had our dinner of different kinds of pizza and champagne at the table by candlelight, elegantly clad in terrycloth. Paloma had pinned two towels together at one shoulder and the hips to make a sort of toga. We did not eat our pizzas in the traditional fold-the-slice, New York City style of pizza consumption. Instead, we cut them into bite-sized bits and fed each other with forks. Definitely more romantic, and probably much neater. Afterwards, we threw the boxes in the trash and settled onto the bed with champagne flutes and pastry. We rested together, a forgettable movie on the TV for background noise as we simply enjoyed the feel of our bodies against each other in our bathroom finery.
Paloma set her glass on the nightstand and got up with the remote. She pointed it at the television and selected a different channel. I looked up as the sound of porn reached my ears.
On the screen, a tanned Muscle Beach hunk was performing cunnilingus on a Latina with raven-black hair, nice tits, good legs and a plush body. Her cunt was bucking against his mouth as she rolled her hips and he lashed it with a long tongue. She was moaning and digging her nails into his scalp. She gave a little shriek, obviously cumming.
The scene changed. Now the brown-skinned slut, naked except for a pair of black patent leather stilettos, was on her knees before the Anglo stud, sucking his cock. Her head bobbed up and down, her moans mixing with his groans as she fellated him, pausing every 10 seconds or so to stroke his massive erection while she caught her breath. Paloma didn’t move, transfixed by the scene of a Hispanic woman having sex with a muscular white male.
I came up behind her and took her in my arms. She turned her head and kissed me hard, her mouth hot and seeking as she brought an arm behind my head and pulled it to her. My hands fumbled with the brooches and undid them, the towels falling to the floor. She moaned against my mouth and turned in my arms. She reached down, unfastened the brooch holding up my towel kilt, and tossed it aside. Dropping to her knees, she stroked my cock lightly with her nails and took me into her mouth like the starlet on the tube.
Paloma was a much better cock-sucker than that actress. She had mastered the trick of rotary breathing. That meant she could suck me without having to stop, remove my prick from her mouth and masturbate me until she had enough wind back to suck it some more. I stood at the foot of the bed, watching her move it in and out, wet with her saliva as she gave me the best blowjob I’d ever had. I could feel her tongue lashing the frenum as she paused with just my cockhead in her mouth before moving back down the shaft, her cheek hollowing as she sucked. With each stroke she gained a little more, until finally she had her nose buried in my pubic hairs and the head of my cock in her throat. She hummed and I almost lost it right there. She looked up at me and I saw her eyes smile before she resumed her steady movement up and down my shaft. Her eyes shifted to look past me at the picture over the bed, where she could see a reflection of the TV screen.
On the TV, the fellatio scene faded to something new. The Hispanic pornstar was standing and holding onto the edge of a bed. The white actor who was hung like a horse was fucking her from behind. A close-up showed his thick rod moving in and out of her cunt with such force her breasts swung back and forth while she cried out, loving it. Paloma pulled all the way back, my cock coming free of her mouth, got to her feet and grabbed the edge of the low bureau the TV sat on. She looked over her shoulder at me, eyes burning with lust, and waggled her butt at me, her legs already parted to show her pink, wet pussy. I didn’t need a second hint. Stepping behind her, I took hold of her hips and pressed forward. My cock slipped between her pussy lips and sank home like a hot knife through butter. She sighed at the feeling in her cooze and began to fuck me back.
“Give it to me hard, Dick! Fuck me like he’s fucking her! Pretend I’m her and fuck me like a porn star!” she ordered.
I slapped her ass with a snap like a pistol shot. “I don’t need to pretend you’re a porn star! You’re a better lay than she’ll ever be, Paloma! I’ll fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked! But if it will make it better for you, I’ll do you that way. Fuck me, bitch! Fuck me like you mean it! Show me what you can do, slut!”
Sensing she didn’t want to be screwed slowly and lovingly, I played her game. I fucked her hard and rough, hearing her tits slap against the bureau while I kept an eye on the screen. When the porn actor yanked his partner’s hair, I did too. When he smacked her butt to urge her on and she screamed as she came, I spanked Paloma so hard I left red imprints of my hand on her asscheeks. When he reached around to find the Hispanic girl’s clit, I did the same. Locating her clitoris by feel, I gathered up some of her dew on my fingertips and took the shaft between fingers and thumb, rubbing it as it if it were a tiny penis. She shook with the pleasure-shock as she orgasmed from that, moaning in harmony with the gal in the movie. I could see her face in the mirror behind the TV. Her eyes were shut tight as she lost herself in the moment, only the sex mattering to her.
Her eyes flew open as she felt my cockhead probe at her anus. Before she could protest, it yielded and I was in her ass, working my way deeper with every stroke.
“What are you doing?” she snapped.
“What you asked for, baby! Look at the TV!”
The actor was firmly embedded in the actress’s ass, that huge penis sawing in and out of her as she raised her head and moaned passionately. Her face squeezed tight and then relaxed as she cried out, obviously cumming from the intruder in her rectum.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No! Do me like her! Fuck my ass! Fuck me like a slut! Don’t hold back! Use me like her!” she begged. “Give it to me, Dick! Give me your cock in my ass!”
I pulled her cheeks apart so I had a good view of her rosebud. My well-marinated cock was a tight fit; it was clear she didn’t do this every day. But as she accustomed herself to the feel of my dick in her butt, she began to move against me and we worked together in harmony. I saw her eyes close in the mirror as my own prick sawed in and out of Paloma’s ass like the couple in the movie. I reached around and found her clit again. She moaned as I resumed masturbating her while I fucked her ass. Sweat broke out on her skin as I continued screwing and rubbing her. She gasped and began moving her rounded globes in a figure-eight as I thrust in and out.
“Oh god – oh god – ohmigod – you’re so big! I don’t – I can’t – oh – oh – oh YES!”
Paloma shuddered around my cock as she came again. I didn’t stop my deep strokes while she shook in the throes of orgasm, but kept going. Her head came up and she looked at me in the mirror, smiling as she put her head back down and actively thrust back at me, savoring my invading dick, trying to milk it with her ass and get me off too. We fucked each other long after the porno flick with the Latina chick and the Anglo guy ended, with her cumming again, until at last I couldn’t deny my own climax.
“Oh, F-U-U-C-C-K!”
“AAAAHHH!”
We came together, my cock jerking and my milky spunk shooting into her guts as she shook from the force of her orgasm and female juices coated the hand I was using to masturbate her. When it was over, I withdrew from her and walked to the bathroom to clean up. I returned with a hot washcloth to find Paloma sprawled on the bed, exhaling soft, sensuous groans. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently sponged her off. She looked at me with tenderness. When I was done, we cuddled together under the covers and drifted off to sleep.
Twice during the night we woke amorously. Once, she sucked me off until I shot my wad all over her face and those firm tits of hers. The other time, I woke her by going down on her and bringing her off with teeth, tongue and lips. I used her, she used me, and I could not remember a night I had passed with so skilled a lover, ever.
But the sun must eventually rise and end even a wonderful lovenight, and today was no exception. Paloma busied herself making coffee and setting out the remainder of the pastries I had brought while I hastily showered and used the courtesy razor provided by the management to shave. I poured the coffee and found an innocuous radio channel while she performed her ablutions. We were dressed for the street as we ate, touching hands frequently and stroking bare forearms with fingertips, but we didn’t say much. I’m not a telepath and have never claimed to be; but I had the feeling Paloma didn’t want this to end any more than I did.
Breakfast eaten and the trash disposed of, I stood in front of the television, unsure what to say or how to say it. She came to me and we held each other. She looked up at me.
“Do your travels in search of antiques ever take you as far south as Florida?”
“Funny you should ask. There’s this old mansion way out past Weston, the Hazlitt Estate. You ever heard of it?”
She frowned as she searched her memory. “Yes! It’s on Alligator Alley, off State Route 84, isn’t it? Way out in the sticks? Big castle-looking place?”
“That’s the one. It’s on about 1500 acres of sawgrass. Joseph Hazlitt made his pile in chemicals and munitions during World War II. After the war, he went to Europe and bought up antiques and buildings at starvation prices. I think he was more than a touch eccentric; seriously influenced by Citizen Kane, if you get my drift. Anyway, he built his Xanadu there and retired to it in the late ’50s, and he and his equally eccentric wife globetrotted and sent back all kinds of stuff from all around the world until they died in the late ’80s. Their kids have been arguing about who gets how much of what ever since. The state wants its cut of the loot, and so does the IRS.
“Well, they finally got the will probated and came to a settlement early this year. No one’s lived in that old mausoleum since Hazlitt and his wife passed away; it’s just been moldering. They were like magpies, not serious collectors, so it’s not like we’re talking museum quality stuff here. As I heard it, the settlement is something like this. The state buys the property for a state park and waives taxes and death duties. One condition is it is not to be turned into a housing development or anything like that, ever. The Feds get their money from the heirs after the sale, and the state is holding the biggest private tag sale in the history of the State of Florida in three weeks to clean the place out and recoup some of what they waived.”
“And you’re planning to go?” she asked softly.
“It’s the sort of sale that happens less than once in most lifetimes. I wouldn’t miss it.” I paused, trying to phrase what I wanted to say just so. “Would you mind if I came by your store and took you out to dinner while I’m in the area, Paloma?”
She responded by going to her purse and taking out a business card. She wrote something on the back of it and tucked it into my pocket as I fumbled out my wallet and handed her mine.
“I’ll look forward to it. And don’t worry about making a reservation at a motel when you come. My house has a spare bed – not that you’ll need it.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a long, lingering kiss. My hands wandered over her body, re-exploring her curves. At last she broke the kiss and looked into my eyes.
“You’d better be going. You still have a business to run. Call me.”
“Of course,” I agreed. Without looking back, I walked out the door and closed it behind me.
The sun was behind a cloud as I walked to my van. I took out the card and read what Paloma had written on the back. There was a phone number and a note:
“I like estate sales as much as dinner.”
The sun broke out from behind the cloud, lighting up the parking lot, and I smiled.