Poolside

Mark lasted five minutes. Maybe less. His cock was a hammer against his shorts, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted laps. He mumbled something about needing to cool off, then bolted for the pool, diving in headfirst.

Emma laughed softly, stretching like a cat, the bikini strings cutting into her flesh as if they knew they had no business containing her. Every movement made her tits bulge, her pussy lips slip free from the useless patch of fabric. She could feel eyes on her skin, the stag lads and other men and women spread around the pool, pretending to talk, to drink, to scroll their phones, but every single one of them was watching.

When Mark returned, dripping and flustered, he snatched up a towel, muttered that he was going to the bar. “Cocktail?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Emma rolled onto her stomach, her ass peeking bare where the bikini rode up, and purred, “Something sweet. Something strong.”

He left, and she untied the string at her top, baring her back, sighing as the sun poured heat over her skin. She parted her legs slightly, the thin triangle of her bottoms slipping between them, her bare slit pressing into the towel.

She didn’t open her eyes when she felt the shade fall across her. Didn’t need to.

In her strictest, poshest tone, the one that always made him twitch. “Lotion. And every area. I won’t have sunburn on delicate skin.”

The hands were on her instantly rough. Thick palms sliding oil across her shoulders, down her spine. Over the curve of her arse. She flinched, then melted.

The touch spread her cheeks, rubbed oil between them. A finger slicked her anus, circled it, pressed just enough to make her gasp, then moved lower, sliding through her bare pussy lips, dipping inside. She bit the towel to muffle the moan.

Her nipples burned against the lounger. A hand reached under, smeared oil across them, pinched hard, too hard, the pain spiking into filthy pleasure that made her buck.

Then — gone.

Emma blinked into the light, breath ragged, clit throbbing like it had been shocked. Mark stood at her side, holding two cocktails, dripping glass sweating in the sun. His brow furrowed. “Strawberry daiquiri or pina colada?”

Emma pushed herself up fast, tugging the bikini top against her tits, eyes scanning the pool. Packed. Men everywhere. Not one looking at her.

She smiled, took the daiquiri, sucked the straw between her lips, her cunt still wet from stranger’s hands. “Thanks, darling,” she said sweetly, and clinked his glass.

Mark sat down, sipping hard, his thigh bouncing with barely checked energy. Emma sipped, tasted rum and sugar and her own secret, and thought, this was only the first day.