Kristina has a little surprise for me

I’m waiting for Kristina. I saw a client after class, then dropped by my dorm room to wash my face before heading home to our apartment. We’re going out to dinner tonight, so I had expected her to be ready to go, but she’s in the washroom. She told me through the door that she’d be out in a minute, and said she has something she wants to show me for our spring-break trip.

That’s still a wonder to me. There’s still a lot of time between now and spring break, but apparently a friend of Kristina’s family has a condo in Hilton Head which she’s allowed to use for spring break every year. In the past, she’s taken Rob, of course, and sometimes a couple other friends as well; this year, she’s going alone with me, and looking forward to it immensely.

Thinking about this spins me off thinking about my parents’ reactions to it, and to Kristina. They really didn’t know what to make of it when I brought her home the first time. Their only son went off to college having never had a girlfriend, then brought home a serious girlfriend who was a) a senior, b) beautiful, and c) stacked. My mother has always been of the “nothing is too good for my boy” school of thought, but I could see it clearly in her eyes: she thought Kristina was too good for me. The fact that Kristina was obviously and unabashedly deeply in love with me only made that stranger.

I told my parents that we had been introduced by a mutual acquaintance and had gotten to be good friends. I told them the story of her fiancé, and that I had been there for her as she dealt with her shock and grief at his ****. My account had the advantage of being true while leaving out almost all the important details, and it made it plausible for them that a stunning college senior would fall for a rather nerdy college freshman. Kristina followed up by thoroughly embarrassing me, telling my parents at some length how wonderful I am. She’s more than smart enough not to gush; she was quiet and understated in her manner, and thanked them for how well they raised me as she praised my maturity and the depth and breadth of my interests. It was still embarrassing, even as it raised my parents’ opinion of me.

I can’t say for certain, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the noises Kristina made that night as I made her cum four times raised my father’s opinion of me as well. I’m not sure, but our house is neither all that large nor especially soundproof—and I think I surprised an appraising look in his eyes at breakfast the next morning.

Even as they’ve come around to believe that I have actually managed to land a woman like Kristina Lewis, my folks are still bemused by the spring break trip. They don’t have to pay anything, and they have no objection to us having sex, so they don’t have a problem with the trip at all; they just can’t quite believe it’s actually going to happen. They haven’t said as much, but I can tell. I haven’t told them that I feel much the same way. I don’t doubt Kristina at all, it’s just—

My thoughts suddenly turn into a 20-car pileup on an icy freeway as my girlfriend walks out of our washroom wearing a flame-red thing that can only loosely be called a swimsuit. I’m dimly aware that my jaw has dropped and my eyes have gone very wide at the vision before me. Two spaghetti straps that are little more than dental floss with delusions of grandeur come down either side of her neck and run down her breasts to cups shaped like scallop shells. The cups cover the front of Kristina’s 36E tits, and that’s about it. The straps continue down to meet at her pussy, where a narrow triangle of fabric stretches between them. There’s a clasp connecting the straps just a little below her tits. Other tiny straps tie at her hips to pull the fabric over her pussy tight against her skin, keeping it from being held away from her body by the angle to her tits. As it is, the suit covers the bare minimum of her neatly-trimmed bush and the front of her slit; without the ties at her hips, it would cover essentially nothing.

I’m sure my face looks as stunned as I feel, but my cock knows exactly what it’s thinking, going fully erect in record time. Kristina giggles lustfully, then says coyly, “You like? Maybe you’d better make sure.” She spins around slowly; the only thing covering any of her body from the side is the big red bow on her hip, which doesn’t make her look any less naked. If anything, it makes her look gift-wrapped. When she turns her ass to me, she looks over her shoulder and smirks at my groan. The bottom part of the suit is of course a thong, which emerges from her ass crack to attach to what looks like a lacquered wooden ring. Also attached to the ring are the straps that tie above her hips and a single strap that runs up her spine to a point between her shoulderblades; there it attaches to another ring, which anchors the straps that run over her shoulders and down her tits.

Kristina bats her eyes at me, which makes me giggle even through my haze of gobsmacked lust. She grins at me, then asks in a mock-little girl voice, “Do you really think it looks OK? Is that big cock all for little old me?”

When I finally find words, what comes out of my mouth is, “You couldn’t possibly swim in that, could you?”

Kristina looks at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing. It does wonderful things to her figure; I’m not sure how the suit stays on, but it does. “No, love,” she gasps, still laughing. Once she has herself under control, she says, “Not all suits are for swimming, by a long shot. Suits that are for swimming cover too much if you want to sunbathe—and suits that are good for sunbathing usually don’t stay on in the water. This is for tanning—and for showing off. It’s to make every other guy on the beach wish they were you, and to make sure I get well and properly fucked every night.” Her smile is avid and lustful, and the look in her eyes melts me.

I take Kristina in my arms, filling my hands with the perfection of her naked ass. She hums in pleasure and rubs herself against me. I kiss her gently and passionately, then pull back to look in her eyes. “Trust me, baby,” I say in complete sincerity, “you don’t need the help.”