She awoke to the sound of the sea. Consciousness crept in slowly like the tide, and she luxuriated in that perfect moment that exists between sleep and wakefulness. Her body felt vital and alive - all her muscles relaxed and all her senses heightened. For a long time she lay quite still, as if fearing that even the slightest movement could break the spell and evaporate her warm sense of comfort and wellbeing.

The bed beside her was empty, but her lover's shape was still imprinted on the tumbled sheets. He must have left early and been unwilling to disturb her. Smiling, she thought of his face, his kind eyes and sexy mouth. She felt a jolt deep in her loins as her mind threw up an image at random, of that mouth fastened to her breast, suckling hard whilst his tongue teased her nipple.

A whole string of other pictures, feelings, and sounds flooded through her awareness, as if triggered by the first. The sound of her own breath, loud and gasping in her ears. The look of his eyes, screwed up in concentration as he came. The feeling of his sperm trickling between her thighs as he fell asleep beside her, his arm thrown across her body.

She enjoyed the memories for a few minutes, but gradually the need to pee became stronger than the desire to remain recumbent, and she got up and wandered into the bathroom, gathering up a robe from the floor as she went.

When she emerged, the seagulls were calling outside and she wandered out onto the balcony to look across the beach. The whole flock was way out over the water, chasing after a fishing boat whose wake sparkled brightly in the morning sun. The robe was wrapped loosely around her and she shivered slightly in the cool breeze blowing along the shore.

Returning inside, she grabbed a cool glass of orange juice from the fridge and went to sit down at her computer. Firing it up, she skipped quickly past the work applications she had so sincerely intended to spend time with over her vacation, and flipped instead to the folder containing her web browser. In seconds, the modem was screeching it's binary welcome down the line to her local access provider, then it all went quiet and she was on line. Calling up her bookmark sheet, she selected her favourite chat room, then entered her handle.

The screen blandly announced her presence: Welcome Beachcomber!

A half dozen other messages, sent prior to her arrival, disappeared up the page. She scanned them quickly, learning that Hard8" was a fuckwitted wanker, Ron was feeling lonesome, and Shelley (f/23) was either having a real good time or else was in some very serious pain.

Smiling to herself, she reset the number of lines to 20, enabling to see more of the previous conversations, then typed her own message:

Beachcomber: Good morning party people! Are y'all early risers, or aintcha been to bed yet... to sleep, that is *Grin*

The replies came trickling back:

Hard8": Early riser? Beachcomber, honey, you know I'm a riser at ANY time - night or day! Like to PM me this morning?

Ron: *YAWN* Been up all night, Beachcomber - you m/f?

Shelley: (f/23) UUURGH! OH! Yeah! Yeah! NO! NONONONONO! ARRRGH! I'm CUMMING!

Checking the user list, she was disappointed to see that none of her other friends were there. Hard8" was OK, but his imagination was severely limited - almost as bad as Shelley (f/23) seemed to be. No doubt the two of them would get on well together - probably already were, which would explain Shelly's outpourings. Someone really ought to show the poor girl how to send PRIVATE messages to save her blushes. Of course, it was always possible she liked being watched.

Beachcomber smiled at that thought. She typed again:

Beachcomber: Shelley - are you just masturbating for the rest of us to enjoy, or have you got some sneaky partner who hasn't bothered to show you how to PM?

Shelley replied quickly:

Private Message from Shelley (f/23): Just showing off a little... Uh! Uh! Uh! HrrrNNNGPH!


That about exhausted the possibilities for chat as far as Beachcomber was concerned. On impulse, she decided to E-mail John at work.

LOVER, she sent, after switching to her mail server, GIVE IT ALL UP AND CUM HOME TO ME...


Before logging off completely, she flicked back to the chatroom. on the off chance that someone interesting had arrived. A new message intrigued her.

Welcome: Don Juan!

An interesting choice of name, she thought, and quickly typed:

Beachcomber: Anyone tilting at windmills out there?

The reply came:

Don Juan: Wrong Don Juan, I'm afraid, Beachcomber... *S* I was thinking more of 'Don Juan de Marcos' The conversation continued rapidly.

Beachcomber: *Sly grin* In that case, have YOU ever really loved a woman?

Don Juan: *LOL* I haven't made 1502 yet... but I'm working on it!

Are you m/f, Beachcomber?

Hard8": He's never REALLY loved a woman, Beachcomber, not up the ass - you need ME for that!

Beachcomber: I'm all woman, honey... and in search of a little love right now. You want to swell your total? Or anything else that comes to mind? *Blows him a kiss*

Shelley (f/23) Take me, Don Juan! I'm spread wide open, waiting for you!

Beachcomber: *mildly* Shut up, Hard.

Don Juan: *Catches kiss and presses it to his lips. Swirls cape.* Beachcomber, it would be an honour to make love with you... *Dark eyes smouldering*

Hard8": *Meekly* Yes, Beach. Whatever you say. Shutting up right now. You won't hear another peep out of me. No, not even a little one!*LOL*

Don Juan: Shelley, my apologies, but it would be an insult to the gorgeous Beachcomber if I were to give her any less than my full attention.... Beachcomber, tell me how you are looking tonight...

Beachcomber: I'm not sure about the 'honour', DJ - but I certainly hope it will be a PLEASURE! *S*

As the last message from Don Juan appeared, Beachcomber paused to consider... what should she tell him? It was fun sometimes to beguile them with impossible fantasies, but this guy seemed more genuine than most and unlikely to be impressed by a lie. And besides, it was even more fun to think of him fantasising over HER! She decided to tell him the truth.

Beachcomber: Well... I'm about 5'6" tall, with long, curly dark hair. I'm 31 years old with luscious blue eyes and a build that has been described (recently!) as 'shapely'. I'm dressed in a soft white bathrobe, tied with a long belt...and underneath - well, you'll have to find that out for yourself... PS I'm a little dishevelled right now, having only just crawled out of bed!

Shelley (f/23) *Humph* Suit yourself, Don 'daftass' Juan - you don know what your missing. Wanna play, hard8? PM me.

The line was silent for a while as Hard8" and Shelley (f/23) slipped into PM land. Beachcomber updated several times, wondering if her new lover had left her, before his next message arrived.

Don Juan Beachcomber, your face and body delight me *shiver* I tremble in anticipation of our love. I am 23 years old, but I hope you will not let this discourage you... I adore older women - they are so sensual and alive.

I am 5'11", slim with a youthful physique. I have dark hair and smouldering eyes. I am dressed in belted black trousers, a black shirt and black calf boots. I also wear a cape.... guess what? Black.

*Takes your hand and kisses your fingers* Let me share pleasure with you...

She typed quickly:

Beachcomber: *Shivers in response, then pulls you to your feet* *Deep kiss, running hands over your chest* Undress me!

Don Juan: Loosening your belt, I open your bathrobe, pulling it down from your shoulders, then leaning forward to kiss the exposed flesh. Then I stand back to admire you... what do I see?

Beachcomber: My creamy white breasts are pushed forward within a midnight blue bra, which complements my eyes. A matching pair of knickers hide my secret flesh. All of my skin is smooth and soft... there is a sense of yielding ripeness to my body. I use the space you have made between us to reach out and unfasten your shirt...

Don Juan: As you work my buttons, I raise my hands to your breasts, feeling them and testing their weight. The smooth silky material of your bra feels good under my fingers, and I can just discern the texture of your nipples as they begin respond to my touch. As you reach the last button, I shrug out of the shirt and reach behind to unclip you.

Beachcomber: *soft moan* MMmm, yes... free my breasts. I want you to suck on them, close your lips around them and make me feel good.

Don Juan: Nuzzling and kissing your neck, I remove your bra completely, letting it fall to the floor by your robe. My hands slip round to hold your full, rounded breasts once more, and my tongue dances downwards to circle your left nipple - teasing, coming close, but never quite making contact.

This was starting to sound good. Easing her robe open, the Beachcomber began to caress her own breast, her hand imitating the actions Don Juan described. With the other hand, she typed:

Beachcomber: Holding your head to my breast with one hand, I try to guide your mouth to my nipple - at the same time, my other hand reaches down and unfastens your belt. I start to unzip you.

Don Juan: I shift my hips back to assist you, and my shaft springs free. It feels warm and alive and throbs slightly in your hand. My mouth moves across to finally engulf your nipple, my soft tongue caressing your skin as I begin to suckle gently.

Beachcomber: That feels NICE... My hand moves on your shaft, holding you firmly but softly. My fingers curl underneath to touch your balls.

Don Juan: *Groans* MMmm.. *Backs off* Let me get rid of these... *drops pants and steps out of them, leaving boots behind. Cape rustles to the floor* I take your hand and lead you to my bed...

Beachcomber: I come willingly, following close behind you, but when we get there, I skip ahead and lean forward across the bed, presenting you with my silk- clad behind.

Don Juan: Standing close behind you, I press my hardness into you through the silk of your panties. I am exited now, and a little moisture oozes from me, increasing the size of the wet patch that is already there...

Smiling to herself, the Beachcomber allowed her hand to drift down from her breast, to press into the gusset of her panties, imagining the feel of this handsome, enigmatic stranger's knob pressing there instead. He was right - there was a wet patch, and she moaned, spreading her legs a little to touch herself more easily. As she typed her next message, she was unaware of the door opening downstairs.

Beachcomber: MMMmm... I wriggle my ass backward, making your cock butt against my pussy through the single layer of damp silk that separates us... 'Take them off,' I gasp.

Don Juan: I lean forward to kiss your neck, grinding my hips hard against you from behind. Then I hook my fingers into the waistband of your knickers, and lean back once more as I draw them slowly past your hips and thighs before letting them drop to the floor...

Shifting her hips, the Beachcomber pushed the gusset of her knickers aside, in too much of a hurry to bother removing them. Her questing fingers stroked along her wet opening, then settled on the hood of her clit, making her shiver with the tiniest of melting climaxes. Outside of her awareness, the door behind her opened.

Beachcomber: I lean even further forward, spreading my legs to let you see the secrets you have uncovered. My labia are thick, swollen with the blood that is rushing through them, and my clitoris pops out from under its hood of its own accord. I am glistening with moisture, and the aroma of my sex wafts up to fill your nostrils.

Don Juan: I stand behind you a moment, placing my hands on your buttocks and pulling them gently apart, the better to admire the sight with which you gift me... I inhale deeply - the smell of you is a heady drug which intoxicates me. Then I kneel, slowly, reverently, and place my tongue precisely on your centre of pleasure.

A sudden movement behind her brought the Beachcomber back to her senses. John was there. She turned just in time to see his pants join his shirt on the floor, then, with a smile he ducked beneath the workstation. Two hands now free, she felt his tongue run the length of her slit as she typed her response.

Beachcomber: MMMmmm! Oh! I wriggle my ass once more, pressing back into your face. That feels SO good! Stroke my bum while you lick me. But not for too long - I don't know how much longer I can wait to feel you inside me.

John's tongue moved in her pussy with vigorous excitement, lapping up the juices that were now flowing freely from her. He even turned his head to kiss her thighs and lick the juices from them. She moaned, waiting eagerly for Don Juan's response.

Don Juan: I taste you, kissing all around your sweet entrance, delighting in your flavour, before pushing my tongue deep inside you. I withdraw it slowly, then push back in rhythmically, bringing one finger up at the same time to stroke your clit. My touch is feather light and teasing - too good to want me to stop, but never quite enough to make you cum.

The thought aroused her further, and she bucked her hips forward onto John's tongue, sneaking one hand down at the same time to rub furiously at her clit. The other continued her conversation.

Beachcomber: I reach back and take hold of your head, pulling you up by your hair until you are leaning right over me. My other hand slides between my legs, grabs your prick and guides your cock head to my pussy. I rub it a couple of times across the gaping entrance, then slide you in and wait for your response.

Don Juan: Taking hold of your hips, I pull you back onto me as I feed my whole length into you in one slow, smooth stroke. I grind my hips against you, moving them in a deliciously erotic circle. Then I withdraw and start to pump in earnest... I would prefer to be restrained and sensual, but I'm too excited now, and I thrust deep and hard.

John's tongue had withdrawn now and he was busy feeding as many fingers into her as would fit. Once inside, he curled them up, crossing and uncrossing them to expand the soft walls of her pussy in directions she wouldn't have believed possible. She pressed her thighs in hard against his head as another climax shook her. She managed one last message before losing control completely.

Beachcomber: Oh yes, that's just what I need. OOOOH! I'm so wet for you, I NEED YOU. God, that's good - fill me up hard and deep I - I - I'm CUMMING!!

With that, she stood, knocking her chair out of the way, and drew John up from under the workstation, kissed him deeply, then manouevered him behind her as she placed both hands on the workstation and lent forward towards the screen. Don Juan's last message appeared even as John's nimble fingers spread her wide open before nudging his thick cockhead into her.

Don Juan: Feeling your muscles clench around me, I lean forward and squeeze your breasts as you cum, twirling the nipples between thumb and fore finger. I can feel my own passion rising as you buck and writhe on my cock. A few more strokes is all it takes to send streaming ribbons of cum flying up inside you... I groan out loud and call your name, pump a few more times, then collapse, resting my weight on top of you...

As she read it, and imagined the feel of her cyber- lover's body on top of her own, the pressure of John's cock moving inside her made her insides seem to churn and a sublime, melting climax engulfed her. Her knees buckled and she was supported only by her arms, and by John's hands on her hips. Her internal muscles flexed wildly and she felt the entrance to her womb being butted by the force of John's stroke, and as he came, she was sure she could feel those streaming ribbons of cum shooting up inside her.

'Oh god,' she murmured, her face and chest flushed a bright strawberry pink, 'that was SOOoo good... Oh God, oh Don!'


Slumped together over the desk, they lay still for a short while, breathing deeply and enjoying the languid sensual aftermath of pleasure. Regaining some composure, John began to kiss and nibble gently at the base of the Beachcomber's neck, sending shivery tendrils of pleasure down her spine. She moved beneath him and felt his cock stir within her in response. Squirming, moving herself around him as the dull flame in her belly flickered back into life, she wondered if he was ready for a second round - but it was not to be.

With a rude squelching sound, he pulled reluctantly from her, his softening prick twitching in vain as it attempted to regain its former glory. She sighed, knowing that it was only rarely that John was able to maintain an erection beyond the first orgasm - more usually, his manhood would wilt, becoming hypersensitive, almost too painful to touch. It was a shame...

Recognising the look in her eyes, John smiled mischievously. 'Still need some more, baby?' he asked, already knowing the answer. Without waiting for her to nod her assent, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. With one arm wrapped around his neck, the Beachcomber could feel the muscles in his shoulders moving as he walked. In a sense that she could only think of as silly, his strength and power were reassuring as well as sexy. She always felt safe in his arms, in an odd way that had nothing to do with any tangible threat.

Then all rational thought fled as he placed her gently down on the bed and proceeded to tease her wet sex lovingly with his tongue, coaxing her toward climax once more as he sipped on a heady cocktail of their mingled juices. His actions were slower this time, less urgent, and she lay right back, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the slow building of pleasure. When she finally came, her breath was released in a drawn out sigh rather than any kind of exclamation, and Johns lips closed over her labia, engulfing her sex completely as her orgasm tremored through her body.

Then, reluctantly, he withdrew, lingering before breaking the contact completely and leaving her to drift slowly back to earth while he dressed hurriedly for work. By the time he was ready, she had recovered enough to straighten his tie, and kiss him soundly before shooing him out of the door.

'Don't work too hard,' he called from the driveway. 'Try to get some air, and don't forget that we're at Phil and Susie's for dinner tonight!'

She grinned. 'Not very likely,' She shouted back. 'I don't think I need any memory tips from the man who forgot his own birthday last year, thank you!'

He grimaced. 'I don't think I'm ever going to be allowed to forget that one', he said mournfully.

'No,' she agreed, 'probably not. I have to try to get you to remember something!'

Later, when she was once more on her own, the Beachcomber fell to wondering about the question of stamina. Why should it be that John was left high and dry whilst her own pleasure continued unabated. Sometimes it seemed that after his climax he became no more than an adjunct to her pleasure. Not that he ever complained ~ it just struck the Beachcomber as somewhat unfair.

But there had been times ~ a few, glorious times ~ when John's erection had continued beyond orgasm and he had revelled in the sensation of moving inside her vagina whilst it was awash with his own seed. Like the first time she had put on a blue movie as inspiration, for instance. And at those times the Beachcomber's pleasure had been unending... not just at the physical sensations of prolonged orgasm, but also at an emotional level as she took delight in his unfeigned ecstasy, his joy at being able to match her stroke for stroke, shudder for shudder, gasp for gasp.

But such occasions were lamentably rare. It should, she reflected, be like that every time. Then she reconsidered... perhaps not every time, as it might become boring. Ninety percent of the time would leave room for a deliciously erotic sense of uncertainty.

Mulling this thought over, she glanced at the clock and realised she had better get on with some work. Half the day was gone already. She dressed quickly, throwing on a flared skirt and short t-shirt well suited the heat of the day. She was tempted not to bother with clothes at all, but she knew that she would concentrate better with them on than off.

Firing up her PC once more, she resisted the temptation to go back into the chat room, and forced herself to get on with compiling a series of reports she would have to present on her return to work. Boring stuff about long term recruitment and training needs, she livened it up where possible with coloured graphs and visuals to be used as overheads. She wished that her work colleagues were a little less stuffy and conservative, so that she could really go to town on the graphical side of the presentation, but it was important to keep it 'appropriate'.

When she finally decided enough was enough, she was still quite a way from finishing. But, she figured, this was supposed to be her vacation, after all and she had at least made a start.

Purposefully refusing to feel even the slightest flicker of guilt, she logged on to the net and headed back to the chat room. It was busy this time - booming, in fact - and she spent several minutes X-ing out all the people she knew she didn't want to talk to. Two of the names scrolling down her screen, however, made her break out into a grin, and she quickly sent a message to her longtime cyber-friends.

Beachcomber: Hi, Bel! Hi, TJ! How are you both doing? TJ ~ don't bother replying if your fingers are tied up with someone else (again!)!

Tapping her fingers impatiently on her workstation, she waited for their responses. TJ, it transpired, was not tied up with anyone, but was open to offers, and Bel was doing fine... just hanging out and chilling while fending off (or just plain ignoring) all the PMs from lonely, horny men. Such as TJ.

That comment provoked a brief row until TJ was convinced Bel had just been kidding, and then they exchanged small talk and banter for a while until the Beachcomber got up to fetch a drink. When she returned, TJ and Bel were bitching about her slow response time... and suggesting that she had dipped out into PM land for some private cyber-sex. They were even threatening to leave the room without her. She also noticed that another friendly face had appeared whilst she was out of the room and was asking for her.

She grinned and sent her reply.

Beachcomber: TJ, Bel... don't you two run off & leave me just 'cos I'm not as FAST as you would like. That's the mistake a lot of guys make! Hi, Knight! How's things? Listen, I want to talk to you guys... something on my mind...

Their responses arrived pleasingly quickly.

Top Jimmy: Hey, don't worry, Beach - we were only kidding! You KNOW I'll go as slow as you like! *s* What's on your mind, hun?

Knight: Things are fine with me, Beachcomber... except that I just discovered I'm not Bel's favourite cyber- lay any more *pout* *lol* Bel: What's up, B? Something bugging you?

Hard8:Don't you want to talk to me, too, Beach? I have the answer to ALL your problems! *smirk*

Beachcomber couldn't help laughing. Hard8's persistence was admirable, if nothing else. She replied:

Beachcomber: I'm sure you do, Hard, honey... but I wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to play it with yourself. Why not go and do that right now?

TJ, Bel, Knight... It's nothing serious. It's just been on my mind lately how unfair it is that men don't generally get to have nice long slow orgasms or to cum more than once in a row like the rest of us. I wondered if you had any thoughts on that? ... and before you say a word, Hard, I won't believe anything you say, so don't even bother, ok?

There was a short delay before the replies came. Tj's was the first to arrive.

Top Jimmy: Hmm... that's a tricky one, Beach. I can only guess that we make up for it in intensity? Or am I deluding myself? BTW, have you ever considered sharing your multi-orgasms with the world in the form of a wav sound file? *lol*

Knight: I have been sulking about that ever since I first heard about multiple orgasms... I blame women's magazines personally. I didn't mind them inventing single orgasms for women, but they've gone and put things all out of balance, now!

Bel: You having man troubles Beach? Is your lover from the 'roll over fart & fall asleep' school of after play? I think you deserve better, girl!

Hard8": I'm hurt, Beachcomber! You don't believe I can cum & keep right on cumming for over a minute, unleashing endless hot sticky torrents of sperm... then rest up & start over three minutes later? I can send you an Mpeg movie file to prove it if you like!

A brief flurry of typing, and the Beachcombers next post was on its way, and the conversation continued from there.

Beachcomber: TJ... I don't know - I never experienced a male orgasm ;-)

But mine are pretty intense... AND prolonged! (And no, I'm NOT gonna record them for you, ya perv! :-) ) Knight... what can ya do with the media, huh? Bel...No, hun - my lover is wonderful... perfect (?)... he leaves me surfing on waves of pleasure, and gasping for him to stop. I would just like to be able to produce the same reaction in him.... watch HIS face as he rolls around in helpless ecstasy for minutes on end... and then be able to start him all over again. Is that too much to ask? *lol*

Top Jimmy: Beach... wish I could let you know just EXACTLY how good an orgasm feels for a guy... but on the other hand, the idea of you having me helpless with pleasure for some time is also pretty appealing :-) PS No, Brad - I'm straight, ok?

Hard 8": So you want this movie or not, Beachcomber? I can go fetch the video camera now... all I'd need would be for you to provide a little inspiration...

Knight: OH, Beach! You ever learn how to do that and I'm yours for life!!!

Bel: Hmmmm, I don't think you're gonna get that from a man, beachcomber... perhaps you need to experiment a little? Where's Tina when you need her, huh? Hard8 - I really don't think Beach, or anyone else (except maybe Brad) is interested... so here's a little inspiration (or at least a suggestion) for you - why not GO FUCK YOURSELF!!!???

Beachcomber:*lol* Thanks, Bel - I couldn't have put it better myself!

Top Jimmy: Yeah, Brad... give Hard8 a go! I'm sure HE'LL oblige you...

Beachcomber: TJ... yes, I really would like to know how it feels for you guys, but I guess I never will. Knight... you're mine for life anytime I want you, anyhow hun ;-). Bel..... mmmm, interesting suggestion, but I don't know that I'm ready for all that... I'd miss the feel of a nice warm cock in my hand.... and other places. Besides, it's one person in particular I have in mind, and he's a man... My man!

Brad: So how about it, Hard8? Do you have any idea how good it feels to be sucked off by another guy, who KNOWS how good it feels to have a soft tongue slide over your glans while a warm palm cradles your balls? Are you man enough to cope with ME? I don't think so...

This taunt unleashed a rabid torrent of homophobia, in the course of which the Beachcomber learned a few new and interesting ways to mix 'n' match profanities. Then all went silent as Hard8 fled the room, fearing, no doubt, for his innocence. The Beachcomber thought it was strange that someone so fascinated with other people's asses should be so violently protective of his own.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as the Beachcomber chatted idly with her friends, and played at teasing some of the men. She half hoped that Don Juan would reappear, but he did not and she caught herself on the verge of feeling disappointment when she finally heard John's key turn in the front door. This time, at least, she was not too distracted to notice his arrival.

'Hi lover,' he grinned as he strolled into the room. 'How was your day?' He peered at the computer screen, then switched his attention back to her face. 'Have you been on that thing all day?' he asked.

'Most of it, I guess,' she replied airily.

'And you've not been outside at all?'


'That's very bad of you, you know,' he said, putting on his 'stern' voice. The Beachcomber smiled inwardly as she recognised the tone, but was careful to hide her laughter as she bit her lip in apparent concern.

I'm sorry, baby,' she said, 'but I was so lonely here without you...'

'That's all very well,' he said, 'but you know this vacation was supposed to be for you to relax and look after your health... I think that if you are forgetting to do so, I may have to punish you a little to help you remember. For your own good, of course.'

'P-punish?' She said, her eyes wide and her little-girl stammer artfully contrived.

'Yes. I think I am going to have to spank you,' John pronounced solemnly, in the same voice he probably used to announce a drop in the company share price.

Suddenly, the Beachcomber grinned and leapt up out of her chair and made a dash for the doorway. 'Well you're gonna have to catch me first, Mister!' she exclaimed, then slammed the door behind her as with a whoop, John dropped his briefcase and made chase.

The house was large enough to run in circles without crashing into each other, and they were both red faced and panting by the time he cornered her in the lounge. Grabbing a large blue cushion from the sofa, she shook it threateningly as he approached, his arms spread wide to prevent her from dodging past to renew the chase. As he moved into range, she swung hard, bouncing the cushion of his head. He staggered back slightly and she swung again, pressing home her advantage as he tried to shield himself with his arms. Then, on her third swing, just as she had almost enough space to get past him, the cushion burst, showering the room with a cloud of small, blue-dyed feathers. She hit him again, both of them laughing by now, but her weapon had gone decidedly limp after its explosion, and he warded it off easily and grabbed her by both arms. 'Now,' he said melodramatically, 'Now you are mine!'

With that, he sat immediately on the sofa, ignoring the platoon of feathers that took flight once more around him, and threw her unceremoniously across his lap. The Beachcomber shrieked and kicked her legs, laughing as she tried to break free. Before she could do so, John managed to land three or four wildly aimed slaps on her buttocks with the palm of his right hand. They were swift, and more teasing than painful, but even so the Beachcomber felt the padded flesh of her behind quiver resiliently in response. When she finally managed to squirm out of his grasp, evading the fifth blow completely, her skin was tingling with heightened sensitivity, and she could feel the shape of his hand almost as clearly as if it had been imprinted on her bottom.

Even though she had rather enjoyed the physical sensations of being spanked, she was not about to let John off lightly for the humiliation of the assault. Grinning victoriously, she turned and sped away once more, leaving John to fumble around adjusting the set of his suddenly bulging crotch. This time, she had a specific destination in mind, and by the time he caught up with her in the kitchen she was armed and ready for him.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen at top speed, and found himself face to face with the nozzle of the plant sprayer that had caused so much aggravation in the Garden Centre the month before. It was, he thought as he waited for the inevitable blast of cold water, ironic that she had been the one insisting that he only wanted the top of the range battery-powered model as some kind of toy.

For a second nothing happened, and he wondered whether she might perhaps have forgiven him or - heaven forbid - decided to be sensible about the whole thing. Then her eyes narrowed and time almost seemed to stop as she squeezed the trigger in agonising slow-motion. What spurted from the nozzle, however, was not water but some kind of foam, and it arced towards him with all the graceful unstoppability of a New England Linebacker. The first blast took him square in the chest, ruining his shirt and splashing up underneath his chin. Reality surged back, at full speed and he turned to run, hoping to escape further punishment. It was not to be, however. A treacherous puddle of foam pooled around his foot, pulling it out from underneath him as he took his first step.

A brief sail through the air later, he landed in an undignified heap face down on the floor. About a nanosecond after that, his lover landed heavily on top of him, sitting astride his hips and laughing hysterically, the foam still spraying out of control, soaking them both to the skin. With an effort, he twisted beneath her, rolling face up and trying to fend off the spray with his hands.

The Beachcomber grinned. John was wriggling, squirming underneath her, and the almost incidental grinding of their hips together made her damp in a way that had nothing to do with the foam. When her vulva bumped and rubbed over a cock that was unmistakably hard, a sudden jolt of lust arrowed tinglingly along the length of her spine. Throwing the plant spray carelessly to one side she bent forward, her hands going to the buttons of his shirt.

'Let's get these wet things off you,' she muttered half to herself as she pulled his shirt open. His hands went almost automatically to her breasts, caressing and squeezing them through the clingy wet fabric of her t- shirt and rubbing his thumbs repeatedly over her protruding erect nipples. She moved backwards, divesting him of his pants, then sat up, unclipped her skirt and pulled the shirt over her head, enjoying the look on his eyes as her breasts bounced happily into view. She leaned forward to slide them through the small cushion of foam that had collected on his belly, brushing her nipples lightly over his slippery skin and her face fell forward against his chest. Not wanting to open her mouth in case she got foam in it, she moved her chin caressingly over his flesh, pressing down quite firmly into the twin muscular pads of his pecs.

He touched her arm, brushing off a stray patch of foam and gently massaging it into her shoulder.

'MMMM, ' she breathed, 'feels nice.'

'I know,' he said just a little smugly. Then he glanced around at the flooded lino. 'What did you put in that thing, anyhow?'

'It's a secret,' she wrinkled her nose at him, then laughed. 'Bubble bath, if you must know. Works great, doesn't it?'

'Let's see,' he scooped some up and planted it on her ass, smoothing it into the skin, kneading her flesh and slapping lightly, awakening the memory of his earlier blows and making her shiver. His fingers dipped into the valley between her buttocks, and slid down until they brushed tantalizingly against the lower folds of her labia. She shifted her hips forwards and up, to give him more room, and felt herself being spread gently open. For an instant she was achingly aware of his cock head just inches away from her own gaping sex, then she was lowering herself onto it, engulfing him, accepting him deep within her body. She seemed to feel every ridge and vein on his shaft pass one at a time through her lips, and she was dully aware of her tightly gripping walls relaxing and opening to him, her juices flowing down over his shaft to mingle with the foam on his belly.

Then he was inside her completely, and she ground her hips down against his, feeling her clit bumping up against his pubic bone, and his fingers still gripping her ass. Reaching up to pinch her nipples, knowing he was watching her do it, she began to ride him, humping her hips not up and down, but back and forth, so that his shaft pressed back and forth against her inner walls, even as a few scant centimeters were drawn out and then slammed back inside. A wave of heat rose up through her body and she looked down through heavy lidded eyes to see his face contort in agony or ecstasy. He reached for her breasts and she surrendered them to him, covering one of his hands with her own, but leaving the other to do as it wished as she reached downwards to rub her clit in ecstatic circles whilst increasing the range of motion of her hips, riding up and down his shaft in long smooth strokes. and feeling her orgasm approaching fast.

He caught her mood and began thrusting with his hips, bucking upwards to meet her on the way down, his hands pinching and twisting roughly on her nipples. With a cry, she came, hurling herself down on him and kissing him deeply as the tremors racked through her body. He grabbed her hips and continued to pump his cock inside her as wave after wave of pleasure flooded her senses. His groans told her that he was also close and, surprising him a little, she lifted herself suddenly off his cock, and crouched between his highs, pressing her tongue firmly against the underside of his shaft.

Wrapping her fingers around the upper half of it, she began to stroke him with the same rhythm they had been sharing. His eyes flew open and his hands clutched helplessly at the air, his hips moving completely out of control as she clearly felt the pulse of his orgasm travel past the location of her tongue. His seed shot out in four staccato bursts, landing on his chest, his stomach and even, in one particularly impressive spurt, on his forehead. He pulsed once more, with considerably less force and a little sperm tricked down his shaft onto her tongue. She rose up between his thighs and straddled him, enjoying the slick feel of his skin against her still tingling sex as she kissed him once more.

He sat up looking slightly dazed and glanced around at the mess on the floor.

'I know,' she said, 'we should clean up.'

'Uh, not just yet, hun' he murmured. 'We still have to get ready to go out, remember?'



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