Tropical Heat

Megan had a challenging day.

Not a bad day by any means, it merely challenged her in ways she was unused to.

It had started with the intention to relax. A new book, a fresh drink, a new bikini, and a seat by the pool. A perfect vacation day.

The book wasn’t erotica, by any means, but even the limited romance had stoked her fires. It was an ongoing issue.

The spa day had lit a fuse she’d doused with stress and stool samples so far back she’d forgotten what it felt like to be aroused. Now, with freely flowing liquor, freedom to relax, and a constant parade of bare skin, she couldn’t feel anything but.

She felt like a teenager in heat. It had been so long since she’d been this horny, Megan had forgotten how to manage it. She was starting to flirt with strangers, and look for excuses to make bad decisions in the hopes of getting railed.

She’d not done anything stupid, thus far. Vigorous self-maintenance helped, to a degree. However, while her self-induced orgasmic releases quenched the flames, the fantasies developed during her private sessions added fuel for future fires.

Her attempt at relaxation was further complicated by the appearance of a regular performer in her fantasies.

She had, for years, returned to his prick as fodder for the rare occasion she felt the need to come. A simple fantasy of climbing on top of that outstandingly erect member in full view of her students and having the kind of ride that was sure to get her fired.

It was hot and harmless in her head. But having the figment of her fantasies in plain view rattled her. Him lying back on a lounge chair with a couple of beautiful young women beside him made those visions inescapable and gave the illusion of them being possible.

After a display of strength, flexibility, and public sexuality on the far side of the pool, she was too hot and bothered to stick around. She needed distraction, so decided to go statuette hunting.

She threw on a cover-up she’d purchased with the last of the BP she’d been gifted, though that was a generous term. It made her feel clothed, but it was so shear, her royal blue bikini was clearly visible through it.

Her hunt was largely fruitless, though something compelled her to keep looking. As the evening turned to night, she found herself in a pool hall being approached by a cute blonde woman who gave the impression of being a mischievous imp.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was shooting pool next to Plato’s prick.

It was a lovely evening. Val kept drinks and conversation flowing, and Martin was charmingly awkward and smelled of lust and caramel.

At some point Val had vanished. Megan couldn’t remember if she’d even made her exit known, she was horny and tipsy and having a better time than she could remember. She was flirting shamelessly, and Martin was adorably flustered by it.

She even pressed her ass back against his crotch while taking a shot, in case he’d somehow missed the message. If this was the best chance she’d have to feel that dick against her, she was going to take it.

He walked her home, like a gentleman. Arm around her waist, not even copping a feel. Simultaneously sweet and frustrating.

She didn’t let him go without a kiss.

On the porch of her cabana, in full view of anyone who chose to look, she pulled him in by the collar.

+5 VP Kissed the master

Breathing deep his intoxicating musk, she dove in, hungry for his lips.

She held control briefly. He reeled from the attack though did not retreat. Once he had his bearings, he rallied and gave as good as he got.

Powerful arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, pressing their bodies hard against each other. She melted into him, allowing him to take her weight as she focused on the sensations.

His lips on hers, his tongue pressing into her mouth, daring her to a delicious duel. Her chest pressing hard against his, straining the containment of her top. A swelling in his shorts, that fantasy member pressing against her. The mere possibility of seeing it again in the moonlight filling making her bold, fearless, demanding.

She ran her hands up his back, then her nails back down. He groaned into her mouth.

He tangled one hand in her hair and pulled her harder against his mouth. She whimpered in exaltation.

Her hands roamed, but his stayed put, firm and strong and so goddamned respectful. She wanted them to grab and fondle every part of her. Her breasts pleaded for attention, her ass begged for fingers to dig into it, her pussy burned with need, but he treated her bikini like barbed wire.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her sex **** to press against him even if through layers of clothes. Together they fell back against her cabana door with a thump.

Footsteps from inside and a rattling of the door handle dumped cold water on the proceedings.

The door swung open and standing in it was Tabitha, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and a knowing smirk.

“Megan,” she said. “you’re out late.”

Sitting out on a desk in another cabana, was a short story about a woman Aanya had seen that day. A story about a statuesque beauty and a brief rendezvous with a gentleman under the moonlight that left them both wanting.