The Chalet (2 page)

She began to buck her hips and said softly, “Please…..please…”

I reached behind me and slid my hand over her belly, down to her pussy. Her cunt was gaping now, swollen with desire. As her cunt-honey flowed, her fine pubic hair became slick and glistened with the lubricant. Her breathing became heavier as she pressed her tits harder together, taking each nipple between thumb and forefinger. My balls had already started to tighten and I could feel the volcano rumbling in the small of my back and spreading to the pit of my belly.

Her cunt was so wet now that I knew I would not hurt her if I touched the sensitive insides. Slowly, I curved two fingers gently into her and began to stroke the textured tunnel of her vagina, just behind her clit. Eventually, I slid my slippery fingers out and placed them over the swollen bud of her clitoris. I rubbed in a slow, circular rhythm as she writhed beneath me. But she would not be dislodged. I had her pinned to the ground as I fucked her big breasts relentlessly. If she kept this up—if we kept this up— I knew I wouldn't be able to take much more.

Behind me, her legs were spread wide and her knees raised. Gently, my fingers found their way beneath the protective folds to the pearl of her clit where, carefully and directly, they began to caress her sensitive button. After a few moments her throbbing, aching, grasping sex couldn't take anymore. Her pussy contracted once, and then again. For a split second her body was frozen with every muscle tensed before she let go and brought forth the storm. She lost control of her voice and the whispers became cries. Her hips bucked in triple-time. My fingers entered her again and her pussy closed around them, as her pliant ass jiggled and bounced up and down on the ground.

Between the delicious friction on my cock and the expression on her face, she'd drawn me past the point of any restraint. My cock muscle began to jerk and pump and semen spilled out of the swollen head. There was no stopping it and the thick tide just kept flowing. Cum splashed into her neck and onto her cheeks. Laughing, she tried to turn her head away but every way she turned she was splashed again. Warm, creamy spurts caught her on her chin, in her hair, and splattered into her mouth. I felt like I'd cum forever.

“…..Hot…It's so hot,” she said, as fresh jism came to rest on her tender skin.

“I know….” I told her through my gasps. “I know.”

As the flood subsided she lay still, spent and glowing. I dismounted and put my own hands to her breasts. There was cum everywhere but she seemed not to mind. Her mouth glistened with it. It collected in the valley of her cleavage and rolled down her cheeks and shoulders. My hands slid over her neck and breasts and belly—all slippery with jism—as I massaged her flesh with my seed. As I caressed her, she took my balls gently in one hand, closed her eyes and smiled.

“That was beautiful,” she said. “Simply beautiful.”

Yesterday I arrived. Stepped out of the plane and melted into the searing white heat of the Mediterranean. There was hardly any wind and the heavy air was thick with the scent of jet fuel, hot tarmac and jasmine. Away to the north, green mountains thundered into the sky, their peaks shimmering behind a hot, humid haze of dew suspended drop by drop in the air. Behind me was the dappled plain of the sea, protected in the embrace of the sienna hills. The airport terminal was a low concrete bunker with little distinction between indoors and out—the sort of disregard possible only in warm lands. Closure was made with the help of a series of battered shutters, without need of glass or screens. The sky was heavy and lightly cast over, but not melancholy. The tumescent shroud lay over the land and dispersed the ferocity of the sun. So, there on the tarmac, the sun did not beat but rather spread its heat through air and liquid to sit heavily around me, melting like butter over my skin, down my throat and into my eyes. The abundant heat makes me so aware of my clothes. Aware of how heavy they are. Aware of how little I need them. Aware of my body supporting them, and of my nakedness underneath.

The air here is sweet. During the winding drive through the country, I had the top down on the small jeep. The sides of the vehicle were also open to let in the breeze, the heat, and the light. The urgent breeze swirled over the exterior of the vehicle and danced with my hair while the soft, hot zephyr within alternately pressed my thin cotton dress tight to me before whipping it away again in a sudden gust. I laughed at how easily this place could put me under its spell, teasing my clothes away from my body. No sooner had I smoothed a fold back into place before the breeze lifted another edge and exposed more of my bare skin to the elements.

There are others staying at the chalet. They are easygoing and friendly. Within minutes of meeting we laughed and spoke as easily as friends of a lifetime. Our natural comfort and the dark heat of the night did away with unnecessary unease and allowed us to swim naked together without shame. Nude, we splashed and played together until long into the night. Though I stayed late, I was not the last to leave. Whatever occurred between the last to leave I don't know, for I slept soundly.

In the mornings I've taken to having a short workout outdoors. It feels good to stretch and bend my body in such a way that I seem never to have the space or time for when I'm at home. My limbs grow long and supple as my skin becomes softer and browner in the sun. I notice a light glow of moisture condensing all over my body, defining many curves and crevices on my warm skin. I spread my legs wide and touch my toes, feeling the fire in my thighs as they go tight under the strain. I like this heat. I like this thin sheen of sweat and the tightness that comes in my belly and thighs. I like to feel my body working—like when I wrap my legs around a lover and hold him fast. Bodies are meant to work, to twist and bend, to glisten with effort. I feel the warmth of the terracotta hot on my buttocks as I sit down to stretch my legs. The warmth of the earth caresses every inch of the skin it touches. Hot and direct under my bottom where the contact is firmest. But only warm and gentle under my thighs and calves where contact is less direct. In the bright sunlight my hair becomes warm to the touch and the heat brings out of it the smell of lavender. Dew forms over the surface of my skin, droplets condensing here and there among the imperceptible down and in the imprint of my navel.

Upon finishing my exercise, I have the luxury of being able to bathe in the sea. I used to strip out of my workout clothes and into a bikini. But, having found myself alone, I saw little need even for the bikini. There is no one here to judge my body or school me in the ways of decency. No one except the sun, the air, and the sea. And they all welcome my nudity—the sun with the kisses of her warm rays and the sea with the million lapping tongues of every wave in the surf. The water is pleasantly cool between my legs, bringing respite to the heat of my thighs and of my vulva. The swell makes my breasts buoyant and I can hardly feel their weight as the sea takes me. In time, the salt water of the ocean rinses clean my own salty flesh, and the newly wet skin sparkles in the sun. It's so easy to be naked here. Sometimes it feels so natural that I fear I might walk out of the sea and into the town before I realised I was wearing nothing at all.

As the sun bursts high into the sky and its heat becomes fiercer, it's good to get indoors into the shade. I take a quick shower to rinse off the salt of the sea and I find that, unlike at home, I need almost no hot water. The clear, crisp water washes through every crevice and over every hill of my body. After the gentle sea and the warm, still air, the cold shower is revitalizing. The sudden change brings out gooseflesh on my skin and for a moment I can feel my nipples tighten and harden into prominent peaks on the softer, suppler globes of my breasts.

In the heavy, languid heat I consider drying myself with a towel. But the effort would only make me sticky and hot all over again. Instead, I decide to lay naked and uncovered on the wide, soft bed and let the heat and the gentle breeze dry me in time. The bed sheets are soft and smell faintly of rosewood. They are warm to the touch and I melt into them, molded in their softness.

This warmth, this freedom, this happiness I feel reminds me of being a girl on holiday with my parents. I remember this same sort of heat—deep and pervasive. I had been beside the hotel pool with my parents when suddenly I had the strongest, strangest, most wonderful feeling. It was like one hundred sensations of pleasure and joy that I'd had as a girl all coming together at once as the desire of a woman. I left my parents at the side of the pool and hurried back to the hotel room. Locking the door behind me, I spread myself out across the bed. It all happened so naturally, the way the wetness spread through my vagina and how my fingers, so new to giving myself pleasure, knew exactly where to touch. It was so wonderful because it felt so natural and so right. My body wanted this. Needed this. And I could find nothing wrong with touching myself until I had an orgasm.

Even now, I love to find that pleasure again. I cannot understand how so many women have so much reluctance toward their bodies; how giving themselves so much pleasure can embarrass them. I love the way my opening can be so secret and tight at one moment and so yielding and welcoming the next. I love the feeling of my short, sparse hair under my palm as my hand makes its way over the mound and my fingers find their way to deeper, softer recesses. The tender inner lips of my pussy swell into bloom as the outer lips spread wide, opening me to the warmth. My clitoris too becomes more prominent, but is at first so tender and sensitive that I must stroke it through its cloche—a proud peak protecting the delicate bud from the maddening pleasure-pain.

A lover has introduced me to the pleasure of toys along with the pleasure of my touch. Toys often work best on me in the hands of another. But when I feel like this, so hot and carefree, I know that my own hand will make the toy come alive. What I've brought with me is soft to the touch but firm through its length. The toy is thick with a wide base and a round, tapered tip. After my fingers have coaxed opened my pussy lips and my cunt honey flows shamelessly, I moisten the toy slightly with my mouth before slowly pressing the tip into me. I angle the toy upwards and allow it to touch my aching clit. Waves of pleasure pass through me as I manipulate the piece. Before each wave subsides, almost before I can stand it, I push it just a little deeper into me. I nearly cry out with joy as the fleshy tip moves along the ridges of my hidden depth. For a while I move the toy slowly, almost imperceptibly, as it and my fingers touch me in so many of the right places at once. When my pussy, my fingers, the toy and even my thighs are slick with the proof of my pleasure, I push the toy deep inside me, all the way to the hilt. Its soft thickness spreads me wide, just like a man. Although I've been playing with myself and feel like my hot, swollen pussy is gaping and boundless, I feel a sweet tinge of pleasure-pain as the fleshy member stretches wide the ovular muscle at the opening of my cunt. The opening of my pussy pulses hungrily around the thick base of the member while, from deep inside, honey flows over the tip and down the shaft as the toy finds my innermost joy. As I rock the toy back and forth, in and out of me, I allow my fingers to stroke my clit directly. It is less sensitive now and the direct pressure of my fingers plus the motion of the toy send ripples of delight undulating into my belly.

Soon the pleasure overtakes me and my head starts to swim. I feel almost like I might lose consciousness. But I don't stop, for I don't want this feeling to end. I feel my stomach grow tighter as my thighs and buttocks grow taut in anticipation of the explosion. I feel pins and needles in my legs as all the blood rushes away from my extremities and into my middle. Everything gets tighter….and tighter……and tighter. My stomach, my thighs, my pussy….all squeezing, all bearing down. I can hear my own breath coming hard and short. And still everything pulls tighter as I near the peak.

There is a millisecond of silence before the surge. Then, all at once, I am awash with the flood of orgasm. I feel so much pleasure and so much helplessness. I couldn't stop this feeling if I tried. Each cascade of my orgasm is stronger than the last and with every wave of my cumming my body is convulsed harder and harder until I'm sure I must be writhing uncontrollably. This does not embarrass me. Many a lover has told me they find me beautiful when I orgasm this strongly.

As the rage of pleasure subsides, I feel like I am no longer bound to the earth. The warm Mediterranean air envelops me in her cocoon and, for a few minutes as my panting subsides and my hands lay to rest, I float somewhere between heaven and earth.