once upon a time....

Not all girls are made up of sugar and spice and everything nice.

Some are made up of words. And fire.

And a thousand desires.

 

 

Dedicated to all those stupid fuckers who didn't want

to stay and play.

 

1. Poke

 

Her neighbors were at it. Again.

The knowing look. "The rooms at the Kona King Kamehameha Hotel are notorious for thin walls." The explanation they had given her when complaining at the front desk. Accompanied by a smirk.

"I require a different room," her voice was adamant.

"Let's see," his long finger went down the ledger of guests. "L. Carmichael." His finger slid to the next room on the schematic. "Oh, no."

She'd seen them earlier along the seawall on Ali'i Drive. The woman posing to be photographed wading in the water. Then later at Huggo's on the Rocks. Not even knowledgeable enough to order their famous liliquoi margarita.

This woman was less than impressive.

They had hit the ABC Store. Now the newly purchased sarong was tied tightly around her neck. Not an inch of cleavage showed. Nor even a nipple bump through the stiff new fabric.

No toe rings. Ankle bracelets. Missing were the universal signals for availability. No arm bangles.

Nothing suggesting raciness. What a pity. Yet there she was. The lucky girl was on a fuck trip with her boss.

The man? At least he was more impressive. Older, good looking, and obviously with money. "Not his first rodeo." She made herself laugh.

No longer happy with inappropriate office touching. Nor a quick romp at a cheap hourly motel, fooling around with the boss clearly had been taken to the next level. They were on their first vacation together.

Lu fondly recalled her first getaway with the boss. "Walter," she breathed softly. With remembering.

Mr. Whitlock had taken her to his Sonoma vineyard. A dinner for two had been set up in the draped cabana.

At least she knew how to dress. Sparkly thin scarf to tease him. Topless on top. The repurposed gold earring rings clipped to each rouged nipple. Every curve and lure visible.

Walter had been impressed with that. His wife sure had never dressed up this way for him. Even back in the days when sex had been hot and heavy between them. Diane now preferred her women's retreats. And he got to do this.

Things got even better when she stood to greet him. Her long, illuminious skirt was open all the way up the front. A shaved pussy greeted him when she pulled the opening wider.

"That right there is naughty," he told the truth. Pointing.

There was the sparkle of a clit jiggler right at the crease of her cunt. "I can't wait to dive in." His voice sounded different.

But that's what she did. She made him wait.

"Sit down," she ordered and began her promenade. Circling around his chair. At his back, her hands got busy untying the skirt. Coming around in front again, there she stood. Almost buck naked. Intimate jewelry right where it should be glittering in the candlelight. On teetering black satin stilettos, she squatted all the way down onto her heels. And displayed. Her open crotch glistened with the sheen of wet girlie juices.

"This," was all Walter could say. His eyes wide. Nostrils flared at her smell. "This," is what she said. And poked a finger into her hole.

Up to the knuckle, then out and right into his mouth. At the taste of her cream, he nearly lost his first load of the night. Right there in his trousers.

 

He looked around and dismissed the wait staff. Dropping his pants, he pulled her up to standing and sat her on the table. Her lovely arms settled around his neck. Dishes fell, glasses shattered. The knocked over candles set the tablecloth on fire. Neither cared. Her finger still in his mouth, he bent his erection forward. And began entry. Her keening filled the hillside. And ricocheted up and down the rows of vines. Night birds took flight. And staff up at the house closed windows.

He kept his entry slow. Even though she begged.

"Fuck me." It became a yell. Then a demand. "Fuck me."

He would not. And gave a slow nudge in. Then waited. His teeth landed on one swollen nipple and he bit. Cruelly for most women. And a suck.

"Just right," her words. Eyes rolled up into her head in ecstasy. Now with a whisper, "Thank you."

Impaled, he picked her up and headed to the woods. When he dropped her in front of the big old tree, she laughed. And went up on all fours.

His mystical, faceless creature. Blonde hair swirling down past her waist. Long legs spread wide. A girl hole wet with want. As he entered, she found her voice. And sang a high wordless aria as her wave of orgasms began. Her cunt pulsed and squeezed on his dick. It fluttered with her cummings. And then she rolled. And was on him. Her big tits slapping him in the face as she pumped on him, making him lose his mind. His mouth seeking the nipples. His cock pulsing, then drawing back. She rocked and rolled on his stiff erection as his yell began and filled the forest.

She made out his words too late. His warning. He was cumming. She had wanted his ejaculation in her mouth. Then he spewed. Hot spray against the back of her hole. The stink was riveting.

It left them breathless and seeing stars. Scraped and bloodied from the ground. Grass around the dinner table had fared even worse by a small fire. Which had been discreetly put out by staff with averted eyes.

It had been one of her all-time favorite fucks.

Dragging her mind back to Hawaii, a decision was made. She would shower and knock on their door.

"Room service."

 

2. Akrotiri

 

The famous archaeologist at the Santorini site of prehistoric ruins watched her on a

closed-circuit camera. Ren Reid's nose twitched. Pussy smell was in the air. Phantasmagorica anthropomorphs. His favorite species to study. In-depth. This one was truly gorgeous. Amazed, he decided this required a closer look. Pulling on his signature cowboy hat, he eased out the office door.

They had been watching her for twenty minutes. The all-male staff had a running competition to see who could bang the most visitors. Though much older, so far, Ren was the clear leader. The rest of the team huddled around the monitor. They were about to watch a masterclass in seduction. Sometimes they stepped outside the office to help set up and compromise the target. This time, however, there would be no need for them to help him acquire the notch.

The single woman with long blonde hair had been in the exhibit for over an hour. She dutifully stopped and mindfully read each plaque card. Even taking occasional notes. The longest pause had been in front of the bio of the lead archaeologist. The famous Reginold Truman Reid. This interest in their world would usually impress the whole team. But in her case? No. It was the dress. Or what there was of it.

Normally, this level of nudity was frowned upon in Greece. But not by this group. Being men, they weren't quite sure what it was that she almost had on. But they liked it. Most of the top of her flowery sundress had been removed. Her full breasts were nude. Shiny ribbon straps rose along each side of her torso, up over each shoulder, and criss-crossed down her back. A tiny translucent pink sweater had been modestly tossed over her shoulders. Nearly covering their version of perfect tits. The vision was extraordinary.

She was the first woman to traipse through their dirt floor exhibit in towering stiletto high heels. Extra points for that, they all agreed.

Their riveted attention was rewarded when she reached up to tuck a blonde strand of hair behind an ear. They would freeze this shot and post it online to their buddies later. There it was. Their first look of an entire full breast, tipped with a virgin tittie pink nipple. Just the right size for their mouths.

And in he stepped. Knowingly blocking the view. Their boss.

They quickly changed channels. Fingers crossed. Hope grew. They held their breath. But no. She had not used the loo.

Switching back, the boss had moved. They had a clear shot. As he leaned in to say a certain dirty double entendre discreetly into her ear, a miracle occurred. Her hand reached to his leather belt. And gave him a small tug toward her.

Well, now. His mind raced. The whole crew was put up at the one hotel in town. Never, ever, could any of them expect to bang a wanton lady on those premises. The proprietress, an old Greek yai-yai, had sex exactly six times in her life. All times fully clothed. And six children to prove it. Once with the priest on her wedding night. Five with her husband.

In her tall high heels, Ren and the blonde visitor were nearly the same height. Both her hands were warm at his waist as she toyed with the clasp of his belt. The two stood inches apart. His eager erection had grown down the left side of his linen trousers. Apparent for the entire world to see. Including her glance down. Ah, good. She said to herself. She would not be disappointed.

His hands boldly came forward and encircled her small waist.

Cheers in the camera room were possibly audible. He couldn't tell for sure.

His thumbs came up. And just like that. He was tickling the nipples of one of the hottest women he had ever seen. Right there in the middle of Akrotiri archaeological site.

This screw would be too good to waste in the van parked outside.

She was speaking. "I sometimes wear rings on the ends of my nipples," her turn at ear whispering. "Would you like to put them on for me?" She gave it a pause, then added, "They excite me."

His face turned beet red. And a wet patch of happy anticipation seeped out onto his trousers leg.

Her laughter at that sight reached the office without the help of speakers.

To the astonishment of everyone present, she stepped in front of him and hitched up the back of her skirt. Without a second thought his thick middle finger slid up and down along the thong cutting between her butt cheeks. And gave her ass a loud slap.

The wetness from between her legs joined the smear of iridescent pearly goo on his leg in a long obscene rub. When she decided to treat him to a small piddle, the look on his face was priceless.

This was as far as they could go inside. The red beach it would have to be. Getting sand in their cracks.

How to say it. That was the dilemma. He needed to hurry.

He lied when he called it a picnic. They might eat later. But it wouldn't be food.

More knowledgeable, of course. She solved it. Pointing to the table, she led the way. While he looked around, she climbed up and sat on the top. Before his very eyes she pulled her flowery skirt up and incredulously moved her wet thong panty aside with her middle finger. Her wet slippery jewel was apparent between soft hairless cunt lips.

He came at her in a lunge. Tongue out, wiggling. Knees on the bench. His insistent suck on her engorged clit created a shriek loud enough to turn heads down on the red beach. Then he bit her. With tears in her eyes she was singing. Her aria of orgasm. The soprano song of passion soared out into the hot Greek air. As his tongue tickled and sucked her clit, she went around the bend and even higher.

At the very moment of her climax, he lost his own in his pants. And slumped forward, face down in her lap. In le petite mort, he was gone for a minute. Then, like ether, the cunt juice smell awoke him.

"My turn." He joined her on the tabletop. Now completely oblivious to the stares from the beach he pulled her onto him. At her ripe smell, his cock had recovered and was seeping already. Taking deep breaths, he tried to slow it all down. But settling down on to him with a silky slide, his cock began the rapid firing of goo. Eager to join hers.