A Creative Challenge Ch. 22byPvidal©
"Wake up, Sam, it's a beautiful day."
I felt something land on the bed next to me and opened my eyes just as a naked Amy swung one leg over me to sit kneeling astride the tops of my thighs, taking my morning erection firmly in both hands at once.
"Mr Happy's up early this morning, even if you're not," she laughed. "Come on, sleepy, it's gone nine, and breakfast is on its way."
I rubbed my eyes so I could see her beautiful body better, and tried to juggle two important thoughts in my head at once – not an easy thing to do only seconds after waking up. The first thought was that I should remember once again to count my blessings carefully because I could not believe my good fortune, being here in paradise and waking up with this gorgeously uninhibited young woman who, incredibly, seemed to want me right now as much as I wanted her. The second important thought was 'Fuck, that feels good'.
Amy pushed my cock down flat against my belly and shuffled her hips forward. She put her palms on my chest, and slid her super-smooth pussy forwards against the underside of my penis, holding me down with the front of her pubic bone, not quite letting the opening of her vagina get to its tip before pausing and sliding back down its whole length. She teased me like this five or six times, long enough for her wetness to get both of us nicely slippery, and then she slid that extra half an inch forward. My cock sprang up against the sudden softness of her pussy lips and as she slid backwards, it disappeared inside her.
Both of us exhaled loudly at the same time from the sheer joy of this amazing sensation, which started both of us giggling.
"Breakfast!" said a loud male voice from the doorway.
"Come in, Buckingham," called Amy looking back over her shoulder, but making no move to get off me or pull a sheet over us.
"Buckingham?" I said, rather weakly. "Amy, get off."
"That's what I was about to do, before breakfast arrived."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"I know, but don't worry about Buckingham, working in this place he's seen worse, I'm sure."
Behind Amy I could see a tall and very fit looking young man dressed in just a pair of white board shorts pushing a trolley into our villa. His skin was the colour and silky texture of the finest melted Belgian milk chocolate, and he had long dreadlocks tied back into a ponytail. When he saw us, he stopped pushing.
"Good morning. Would you like me to come back later?"
"No, it's OK, Buckingham, we've got all day to finish what we just started, and I'm starving," said Amy, pulling herself off me with a faint squishy 'plop' and standing up, leaving my upright pole glistening in the mid-morning light.
"I have no say in this decision?"
"Not this time, no. Sam, this is Buckingham, Buckingham, this is Sam."
Buckingham stepped forward smiling and bent down, offering me his outstretched hand. I tried casually to throw a sheet round me as I shook his hand, but the bedclothes were tangled up in my feet and I only succeeded in making myself look and feel even more awkward than before.
"Welcome to Fantasia," he said.
"Thank you. Whoever you are," I said.
"Buckingham's our butler, Sam. Not just ours, he looks after four of the beachside villas. Whenever we want something, Buckingham will get it for us."
"Like privacy?" I said.
"Oh Sam, don't be a miserable curmudgeon. Buckingham's very nice and he's made us a beautiful breakfast."
It was true, he had. On top of the crisp white linen covering the trolley was fresh orange juice and a fruit salad with mangos and papaya and lime juice, and yoghurt and warm-from-the-oven croissants, and a pot of hot strong coffee. There seemed little point in me getting dressed, and it was clear that Amy had no intention of doing so either, so I followed both her and the trolley out onto the deck where Buckingham transferred our breakfast to the table.
"Can I ask you something before you go, Buckingham?" said Amy, leaning against the railing with her back to the sea.
"Sure," said Buckingham, not pretending to look anywhere but at Amy's gloriously naked body.
"Why do we have to keep our clothes on in most parts of this place? It's supposed to be 'adults-only' and when I booked to come here I thought we wouldn't need to wear clothes at all if we didn't want to."
Buckingham thought for a few moments and then was careful how he answered this question. I assumed he didn't want to appear to be criticising his employers.
"This place is not really for people who are sexually liberated. It's for people who aren't. Most of the couples who come here are Americans, and most of them are much more uptight about not wearing clothes than you two."
"So why do they come here?" she said. "Why not go to Coney Island or Hawaii instead?"
"It's moistly the husbands who book the vacations here, hoping that a more relaxed atmosphere will encourage their wives to lose some of their inhibitions and spice up their sex lives. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Most of the womenfolk wouldn't come at all if this place had naked people everywhere. Some of them spend a whole week here without plucking up the courage even to go topless for five minutes on the beach."
"How sad," said Amy. "They don't know what they're missing. Thanks, Buckingham."
Buckingham turned to leave, then stopped.
"Would you like some advice?"
'Yes please," said Amy.
"I'm not supposed to tell you this, because it's not resort policy, but it's really OK for you to be topless anywhere in the resort. None of the staff will stop you, and the management know that in Jamaica they can't legally discriminate between men and women. If men are allowed to go around without a shirt, then women have to be able to as well. Some of the more conservative female guests may not like that, but perhaps this is not the right sort of place for them anyway."
"Thank you for telling me. I'm so glad you did," said Amy, walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek. "You're a legend, Buckingham, and this place would be even better if you didn't have to wear those shorts all the time."
"I agree, that would be much more fun."
Buckingham seemed to walking on air when he left our villa. Amy had made another friend, and I knew we would get sensational service for the rest of our stay. I thought for a moment that she was going to insist on pulling his shorts down like she did to me so long ago when she first moved into my home. She didn't, but I had a very strong impression that the thought had crossed her mind at the same time as it crossed mine. Give it time, I thought, and Amy's impulsive thoughts sooner or later turn into actions.
"How did you find out we had a butler?" I asked.
"I was up hours ago, while you were still snoring. Buckingham saw me come back from checking out the beach and he introduced himself. That's when I ordered breakfast."
"Unusual name," I said.
"His mother calls him Desmond because that's his real name, but his family name is Pallas, so everybody calls him Buckingham. For obvious reasons."
It never ceased to amaze me how easily Amy won new people over. Within minutes of meeting her, people were telling her their life stories, because she is so open and such a good listener. When she switches on her charm, someone like Buckingham doesn't stand a chance.
When we finished breakfast, I thought we would complete our interrupted and unfinished business on the bed, then go for a swim and a stroll up the beach, but Amy said she wanted to explore the resort first, and pick up where we left off earlier after lunch. I guessed she wanted to see if what Buckingham had said was true, and also that she liked the idea of provoking some repressed American housewives. I knew that being nude in public always made her even hornier than normal, so I was happy to wait till later.
Amy picked out her lightest and flimsiest sarong and tied it in a single layer round her hips, knotting it to one side, so that when she walked in it, one leg was bare right up to the knot. That was all she wore, except for a small necklace of wild flowers which was on her pillow when we arrived the night before. The semi-transparent wrap was very low on her hips, emphasising the length of her beautifully fit and slender torso. Her skin was very white, so I insisted on rubbing some SPF30+ sunscreen into her back and her shoulders and especially into her precious breasts and sun-sensitive nipples before we left the villa. The only difficult thing about that particularly pleasurable job is eventually forcing yourself to admit that you've put on more than enough cream, and massaging no more.
The resort map in the villa showed us that there was a path through the forest that would get us to the main part of the resort on foot almost as quickly as the train, so we decided to walk. Amy was right, it was a beautiful day, deliciously warm and sunny, but not uncomfortably hot, and walking through this very different terrain hand in hand with this almost naked young woman was another in a long list of new experiences that I had been privileged to enjoy since being with her.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
From somewhere in the dusty decades-old archives of my mind suddenly came these lines from a poem that I could not recollect ever learning, but I knew these few words from it with certainty and I knew that Lord Byron must have written them about the woman whom I was now equally certain that I loved more than anything else in the world.
She walked with Byronic style and effortless grace, like a cheetah, her back straight, and her hips tilting from side to side. As always, she looked like she was never meant to wear clothes, and was completely comfortable in just her skin, wherever she happened to be.
Behind the reception building was a big entertainment area with a café and several different restaurants and bars around its shaded edges. Outdoor tables with comfortable chairs encouraged al fresco drinking and dining, and towards the middle of this area sunlounger beds and coconut palms surrounded each of the different plunge pools and waterfalls and spa tubs.
About a dozen couples were relaxing in this area, all of them either casually dressed or wearing swimsuits or bikinis. As Amy walked slowly through towards one of the bars on the far side, all heads turned and all eyes were on her. Some of the women and men watching her smiled in appreciation, but some of the men stopped smiling when they received an elbow in their ribs from their less amused partners. As Amy passed one middle-aged couple, perspiring in neck-to-knee 'resort wear', I saw the woman glare at the man by her side as if to make sure he wasn't enjoying the scenery too much, and as I passed, I heard her go "Tch, tch" quietly.
But not quietly enough.
Amy stopped and turned back to face the woman, with a broad smile on her face.
"Hello", she said sweetly, "did you say something to me?"
"No, I didn't say anything. But since you mentioned it, I do think you should have the courtesy to be properly dressed in this part of the resort."
Amy's smile didn't falter, and her tone became even friendlier.
"Oh, but I AM properly dressed for every part of the resort. Really I am. And I guarantee you would feel much more comfortable in this climate if you were dressed more like me."
"I don't think you're right. You can only be... like that," she waved vaguely at Amy's bare tits, "on the beach or in the pool bar."
"I'm afraid you're wrong." Amy turned to me and patted my bare chest. "If my man can walk around like this, then so can I. That's the law on this island."
'My man'. I liked that. Behind Amy on one of the loungers was a young woman in a very small and tight bikini. She sat up when she heard what Amy said .
"Is that true?" she said. "It's OK to be topless anywhere?"
"Thank goodness for that," she said, undoing her bikini top and taking it off.
Her husband or boyfriend on the sunbed next to hers whistled softly and clapped his hands in appreciation, and she bowed to him. As the word spread, several other women in the sunning area took off their bikini tops or rolled down their one-piece suits.
"Can I sit down with you for a minute?" said Amy to the tch-tch woman, and then sat at her table without waiting for permission. She spoke to the woman's husband who had so far made no comment at all.
"Tell me honestly, does my body offend you?" She looked him straight in the eye with a smile. He hesitated for a moment and then smiled back and said "No."
"Would I be right if I took a guess from your accent that you're from New York?" Amy addressed this question to the woman.
"Yes, we are," she replied.
"Did you know," said Amy, "that in the whole of New York State, there is nowhere where it is illegal for a woman to be topless? Did you know that you could walk down Broadway topless and not be breaking the law?"
"Is that true?" the woman turned to her husband and asked. He shrugged his shoulders.
"I never heard that. If it's true. It can't be," he said.
"I assure you it's absolutely true. You can check it out when you get home. But in the meantime, why don't you get into the spirit of this place and let some of this wonderful air and sunshine nearer to your bodies? I promise you'll like it if you do."
Before they could respond, Amy stood up, still smiling, took my hand, and started to walk on. I was impressed with the way she had made her point without making enemies.
"Is that true?" I asked her. "About New York and how it's not illegal to be topless?"
"Of course. Same as in Toronto. Would I lie?"
"I don't think so. How did you know that?"
"When you like to get naked as much as I do, Sam, it's handy to know when you're actually breaking the law and when you're not. Anyway, there's lots of things I know that you don't."
"Such as how thirsty I am right now. Let's go get a drink."