Not Exactly AT the Beach ...

Malee pulls into a clifftop parking lot and the two of you get out of her car. You grab your rolled-up swim trunks and follow her to the car's trunk, to help with the day's beach supplies, sure, but also ... mostly? no, just also ... to be able to drink in the vision of her plump, perky ass beneath the tight seat of her gray silk slacks.

The sight of her backside is sublime: plump and muscular and perfect, truly worthy of worship. Unfortunately, "worshipping" in your current, caged state causes some discomfort for "little Erinn," making him (her?) crowd the already-filled titanium tube and ache at the enforced, downward-curving position. You grimace, but don't stop watching. So you're taken off guard ... enough to be **** to stagger backward but NOT enough to fail to notice the enticing sway of her breasts ... when she turns and shoves a basketful of towels into your arms.

The basket, actually more of a woven-grass tote bag, is heavier than you'd have expected, and you stagger just a bit under its weight. That, however, doesn't stop you noticing Malee's smile as she shoves it into your chest, nor appreciating the way her tight, toned, voluptuous body moves. Her body and your near-constant thoughts about what you'd like to do with it make you wince as your weiner tries to get hard yet again.

Malee lifts a much larger basket out of the trunk, closes it, and leads you toward the cliff face, where there is a white-painted timber staircase that matches the cliffside fence leading down.

"This is a private beach," she announces as she descends ahead of you, "one to which Kuhn Kulap owns a membership. It is far less crowded, and the view far less crowded by commercial enterprises, bars, restaurants and the like, than most beaches close to the city. So you might want to think if there is any way to express your gratitude to him."

"Sure."

At the bottom of the stairwell is a roughly four-hundred-yard expanse of pristine white sand, dotted with stands of palms and bamboo-frame cabanas roofed and partially walled with woven palm fronds. Close to the bottom of the stairs are a pair of red-and-white-striped canvas tents.

"You can change into your trunks in one of the tents," she says, pointing and taking the towel basket/bag from you. You smile, nod and enter the first of the tents.

Inside are a number of "privacy booths" made of the same canvas as the tent exterior, without any kind of closable door. You hesitate for a moment; there are several men in here, and you are painfully aware of the bright-pink-and-chrome accessory dangling between your legs. But you can't just stand here all day waiting for the tent to empty; you're already attracting attention, and besides, it's hot in here. You quickly cross to one of the open booths. There, you hastily kick off your sandals, drop trou, unroll your swim trunks and pull them up your legs, all the while facing the tent wall so as to minimize visibility of your ... secret. That done, you unbutton and strip off your shirt, fold it, and fold your khakis and underwear before turning around to leave.

There's a young, muscular Thai man in a swimsuit there, knapsack over his shoulder, staring and smiling at you. When he sees you start at seeing him, he shakes his head, still smiling, while waving his right index finger at you admonishingly. Then you notice that his left hand is doing a credible mime of ... jacking off.

You blush crimson and rush past him out onto the beach, his laughter ringing in your ears.

It takes a moment to find Malee on the beach, your shame at being seen confusing you. But you do finally see her near the other end of the beach, in the sun but near a stand of palms. She's waving to attract your attention, so you cross the beach to where she's laid out the towels. As you approach you see that she's wearing a sort of old-fashioned navy blue one-piece, the kind with an integral skirt around the hips.

"Here," she says as you apphroach, "lie down and let me apply some sunscreen for you. We wouldn't want to change that lovely, pale skin tone or give you tan lines before your very first photo session, now would we?" Her facial expression seems a little disappointed, and her eyes seem to keep flicking between your chest and your trunks, but she softens the implied criticism with a kiss, so you lie on your belly as she's requested.

She kneels beside you and squirts a glob of warm, coconut-scented sunscreen between your shoulder blades, then begins spreading it across your back and rubbing it into your skin. At first it's very relaxing to have your back rubbed this way, but then as her hands reach lower and lower, your arousal and discomfort begin to grow.

At first it's not too bad; Male rubbing your back while she applies the sunscreen, though pleasant, isn't really arousing per se. But then she finishes your lower back and begins to reach further, beneath your trunks and between your ass cheeks. You begin to squirm uncomfortably as your cock, already filling its titanium-steel prison, tries fruitlessly to grow larger and harder.

Malee giggles, pressing her hand further down your shorts and her fingers deeper into your ass crack until she's rubbing against your sphincter muscle. "That feel good, baby?"

"Yeh ... yes. Please st-stop," you stutter. Your imprisoned penis is actually starting to ache in its efforts to free itself.