Isle of Lays Ch. 03bySkinandSin©
After taking a short power nap on the massive bed, Charlaine got settled in and was enjoying the sound of the slapping of sea against wet sand (why did that sound so erotic in this setting, like the sounds of balls slapping thighs and a hard cock fucking a dripping cunt?).
She listened to the rustle of breezes through bamboo and and the trills and cooing of exotic birds coming in through the open picture-windows that opened out on the Villa Erotique's enclosed patio, which housed a raised hot tub big enough for six.
The patio was covered in smooth and bamboo slats buffed to a high shine and it offered an excellent view of her very own infinity pool bordered by graceful stands of bamboo and delicately scented by rare jade vine blooms.
Charlaine looked over the brochures and menus spread out on the marble coffee table in the sunken living room beneath the loft at the eastern side of the villa, picking them up to read what other delights the Odalisque Resort offered. These brochures and in-house magazines are beautifully done, she assessed with a discerning eye and they did more than pass muster.
They piqued her sense of adventure and turned it to thoughts of sexual creativity. Let's get this house in order to get the show on the road, then.
She'd already selected her chambermaid (Jamaica, a willowy mulatta with endless legs, sparkling gray eyes and a lean, definitely feminine body any red-blooded woman would turn lesbian over), her butler (Miguel, who else?), her chef (Pietro, Italian, naked, with a 12-inch monster of a wang, killer obliques and delts, and a gorgeously wicked gleam in his clear green eyes) and a physical trainer/masseur (African-American, Matthew, with close-cropped hair, chocolate eyes you could lose yourself in, a beautifully-sculpted body, and hands that looked capable of playing Charlaine like a virtuoso violinist would play a solo Mozart piece on a Stradivarius at La Scala).
As for her wake-up call, Charlaine set it for 6 a.m., with Matthew and Pietro kissing her awake in all the right places and, if she felt really, really horny, well, poking her awake in the best of ways in every possible port. That way she could have a work-out and breakfast before seeing what they could do with her and the swing.
Next, she checked out the pantry, which had (thanks to her pre-departure e-questionnaire, of course) been stocked with her favorite brands of foodstuffs and beverages, plus some other items that she'd explore later -- including what looked like edible gourmet body paints and a soft, soft paintbrush that could, in another world, have been used for calligraphy. Perhaps it would. On her. Prior to a tongue-lashing of the sort she had high on her must-have sex list.
Charlaine's clothes had been arranged expertly in the walk-in wardrobe beside the loft bedroom. She also found a most impressive display of vibrators (small, dotted, two-pronged, double-headed, glow in the dark and impossibly huge, among other descriptions), things that looked like clamps linked by fine silver chains, velvet- and fur-lined handcuffs and leather shackles.
There were also scarves and blindfolds of raw silk, naughty swimwear that looked like cobwebs of dental floss in seven candy colors, fuck-me platform pumps with six-inch stiletto heels in red and black, kinky thigh-high boots of the softest caramel leather, a rainbow's worth of teddies in delicate lace and leather corsets cut to show off one's nipples, ass and cunt to perfection, delicate stiletto mules and filmy robes to match the teddies, condoms and cock-rings.
That was just one of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. The others would wait because Charlaine was getting so very wet all over again.
On a large, raised circular dais in the center of the room and sitting on the thickest red shag carpet she'd ever seen was a top-of-the-line sybian with all the dongs and prongs amid an artful mess of large, fluffy, silk-covered throw pillows in black and red. I've only ever heard of this machine, read about it, Charlaine thought as she bit her lip and smiled. I'm going to have myself a lot of fun on that.
Facing the dais were several beanbags. Obviously for partying with more than one person, she concluded with a raised eyebrow. Kinkier and kinkier. I could be riding the sybian for an audience that's getting it on or jacking off for me. Hello, Private Show.
The closet doors, when closed, formed banks of mirrors and, as she looked up, she saw the ceiling itself was mirrored and that the lights were cleverly concealed in the cornices. One "closet" actually concealed a vanity table with strategic lighting and the best cosmetics and scents money could buy.
Oh, man, I am such a sucker for mirrors. I can see myself giving the best head ever while Miguel watches himself come in my mouth. Or maybe Matthew could be fucking me while I enjoy the chiaroscuro contrast of his cock pumping in and out of me. The possibilities of this room alone swirled around in Charlaine's head.
She exited the wardrobe and crossed over to the other side of the loft to what could only be the bathroom. There she found a heavenly shower with eight shower heads, a choice of piped in music or bring-your-own-playlist through an iPod dock and digital controls for setting the water temperature, controlling the music and the shower heads.
It was also big enough to hold at least four people and had metal-rimmed eyelets. For restraints, perhaps? The thought made Charlaine go into a heat haze.
Sunk into the Italian tile floor was a hot tub big enough to seat six, surrounded by free-standing shelves that held huge canisters of bath salts, bubble bath and other luxe toiletries, as well as warmed towels so thick and soft they could be used as shag carpet.
Across the hot tub was a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the sea. Oh, wow, the possibilities of that, Charlaine smiled as she indulged a mini-fantasy of being fucked from the rear right up against the glass. Oh, yes.
Behind a tempered glass wall shielded by canvas blinds was the commode (it even had a warmer in the seat) and sink over which sat a mirrored cabinet full of scented hand soaps, hand-towels and, of course, condoms.
Several colorful dildos, butt plugs, lubricants (flavored and plain), clitoral vibrators and a well-stocked first-aid kit sat in a glass-fronted cabinet by the sink. The goods were displayed to perfection by track lighting inside the cabinet and the sight tweaked Charlaine's imagination some more.
She glossed her full lips with a very wet, very tense tongue as she undressed and stepped into the shower, tuberose-scented shower gel in hand and a definitely naughty smile on her face. She lathered up a luxuriously lush natural sponge molded like a set of cock and balls and began scrubbing the skin on her breasts with it.
I wonder if someone is watching me, she thought to herself. Perhaps I should put on a show, like Miguel and Chrissy did. Because if someone is watching me, that would be so godamned hot, now that I think of it. I'd love to have someone get all horny for me, watching me touch myself in the shower.
She rubbed the lather and sponge over her swelling breasts, taking extra time with her distended nipples, running the sponge between her legs and up and down the delta at the apex of her thighs as if she were fucking the lathery cock.
Charlaine rubbed herself all over the areas she could reach with slow, sensuous motions as she fantasized about an audience of hard penises, furiously stroking hands, wet pussies and their choruses of gasps and groans issuing from o-shaped mouths.
There is always something good to be said for setting one's mind free, was Charlaine's last logical thought as her slippery fingers danced over her hard nipples and clit, as they pinched and twisted and plunged into hot cunt and hungry asshole and she came spurting all over the lowest showerhead, which was, surprise, level with her cunt and squirting back hot jets of water that felt oh-so-good on her pussy.
Charlaine was descending the carpeted loft stairs to check out the TV offerings when her villa's doorbell rang. It was Miguel, clad in a most proper butler suit complete with lightweight coat and mirror-shined black patent leather wingtips.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Caro. I am Miguel, your butler. Welcome home to the Odaliqsue Resort. Is there anything you require? A cup of coffee perhaps, or something stronger from the wet bar?"
Charlaine barely had Miguel's words for the magnificence of his physique and the purely male beauty of his face. Then she remembered to breathe and settled her gaze on his as she moved aside to let him in.
"You had me at 'wet,'" she said, mustering all the sexy she could and cocking her head to the side as Miguel moved to the bar and opened its cabinets to show her the available beverages. He quirked eyebrow and sent her a questioning look as she cleared her throat softly.
"There is this, well, this thing inside the wardrobe, sitting on a platform? Can you tell me what it is, Miguel? Oh, and call me Laine, please." She was nervously licking her lips, hoping to goodness Miguel would actually find her attractive as she tucked a stray curl behind one ear, her fine-boned face cast in shadow as she tilted her head forward and to the side.
"Well, Laine, that's a sybian," Miguel said in an unflappable 'butler' voice. "It is a fucking machine with multiple speed and vibration settings. You can use it for single or double penetration if you attach the dildos, or just for clitoral stimulation without them. Would you like help with a test drive of the machine, perhaps?"
Miguel's friendly smile grew wolfish, his brown eyes sparkling with simmering anticipation as he eyed her pretty, bare toes and skimmed up her smooth, long legs.
Oh, God, the way he looks at me is making me so horny I could dry hump him now and come repeatedly, Charlaine thought. I have to make a good impression, so I'd better behave myself first.
She sat down on the leather love-seat and pressed shaky knees together as she sat, palms pressed to thighs.
"If it is not too forward of me, Laine, you are a very beautiful woman. I would love to show you how to use the sybian for your pleasure -- and mine."
His eyes were taking in the gentle flare of her hips and her narrow waistline, flicking over the flatness of her belly and ascending the promontories of her C-cup breasts.
"I also find myself wondering if your nipples are as delicious as they seem to be -- poking up as they are through your lovely top." Miguel licked his upper lip lightly and Charlaine's eyes followed that red tongue tip as if her life depended on it.
"Oh, my," she replied, rubbing her thighs together in a gesture that said she wanted this but wasn't so sure how to go about claiming what she wanted. "Oh, I mean, yes, please show me how to use the sybian. But can you kiss me first? I like kissing. A lot."
She began to rub her neck with one hand and one thigh with the other. Hot and bothered did not begin to describe her as she closed her eyes, wondering if she'd gotten wrong-footed.
Miguel sat on the love-seat and took firm hold of Charlaine's neck with one hand, his fingers thrusting up through her hair. Then he pulled her gently, but inexorably into his arms and touched his lips to hers, licking them lightly as she let out a sigh out and wrapped her arms around his neck. He tasted of warm, dark chocolate and she found herself hungry for him. So very, very hungry.
"I do hope you followed the dress code for new arrivals, Laine," Miguel's voice was husky and rough now as he stood her up at the edge of the loveseat. "I'm such a stickler for rules and I would chastise you for being a bad girl if you didn't."
That sent shivers up and down Charlaine's spine and made said shivers detour straight to her cunt, triggering a fresh flow of very copious natural lubrication down the insides of her shaking thighs.
He put one arm around her waist, pinning her to the hard bulge at his groin as his other hand skimmed her shirt up, exposing her breasts. "So far, so good. I reward good girls. Now, pussy check." He tweaked her nipples as a reward and drew from her a long, low groan full of lust and anticipation.
Miguel's fingers slowly trailed up from her right knee, veering inward to the line dividing pudendum and thigh and he rubbed his middle finger up and down the length of her wet, wet slit.
"You are a good girl," he said against her neck as he gave it a soft bite. "Lovely." He put his middle finger into Charlaine's pussy. Slowly, as slowly as his tongue was licking the shell of her ear.
"You are also a horny little thing, aren't you, Laine? You want me to do this?" He began a slow finger-fuck, holding her tight against him so she couldn't buck her hips at all. "I'm fucking you with my middle finger, sweetness. The finger for signing 'fuck you' to someone. You know what that means, don't you?"
All Charlaine could do was hiss out an affirmative while his dirty finger curled within her to rub her G-spot, the palm of his hand skimmed lightly over her clit and he whispered exactly how he was going to fuck her brains out right into her ear with flicks of his tongue darting into that now-sensitive ear for punctuation.
Just as her pussy clenched hard around his finger and she was about to come all over his hand, Miguel stopped, withdrew his hand from her pussy and turned her around.
He gave Charlaine a hard, demanding kiss that was tongue and teeth and pheromones as he lifted her, planted her wet pussy right over the hardness in his pants and began bucking his hard, pants-covered penis against her clit, drawing squeals of pleasure from her throat and causing her to wrap her legs around him as tightly as she could.
When she began to rock on his cock, he gave her ass an admonishing slap -- a slap that made her pussy get even hotter.
"I call the shots here now. Do stop moving or you will be sorry." His voice, while soft and respectful, held a definite note of steely command.
Charlaine stopped moving her hips, biting down hard on her lower lip, her eyes begging him for release because she was horny beyond words.
"I am going to put this fat cock into that tight, hot cunt of yours and fuck it silly, Laine, don't you worry," Miguel turned his gravelly whisper into a caress against the softness of her neck as he tweaked a turgid nipple through her tank top.
"I am going to screw you long and hard and keep you coming until you pass out. But, first, I am going to show you how to use the sybian." He began walking up the stairs with her in his arms and strode into the wardrobe's mirrored interior.
He ascended the dais and laid her on the pillows, motioning her to stay put as he attached a medium-sized dildo covered in soft rubbery spikes to the machine, lubricated the dildo and set pillows on either side of the device's saddle.
Miguel then picked Charlaine up again and set her astride the machine, slowly lowering her so that she felt every ridge and nub of the dildo enter her. He stripped her top off and told her to look at herself in the mirrors.
"You are so beautiful with your hair all messed up and curling wild like that. I am going to be fucking a goddess," Miguel whispered in her ear as he picked up the machine's controller and turned the knob to the lowest speed setting.
"Now, you just enjoy that, while I summon some more staff for you. I believe you need your trainer. And the chambermaid. Perhaps the chef, just in case you get hungry."
Charlaine barely heard the mirrored door of the wardrobe open and close. Her senses were all focused on the low, insistent thrum of the sybian.
Miguel had strapped her thighs to the machine, so she couldn't lift herself up off it. Not that she wanted to. She released herself to the vibe caressing her G-spot, tickling her clit and stimulating the ring of nerves that was her asshole. All she could do was play with her nipples, squeeze her breasts and groan, all sense of time gone.
But, dammit if the machine had not been set to keep me primed but not high enough to set me off, Charlaine thought, wondering what was to come next. Pun intended.
"My, my, my, she is in good shape, as you said, Miguel. I am going to like training her." The masculine voice floated down to Charlaine from quite a height as she kept her eyes shut tight. "She looks magnificent like that, sitting on the brink of orgasm." Large hands began stroking her flanks and her back, skimming the parts of her that were screaming to be touched, thanks to the sybian.
A low, animal moan filled the walk-in closet to end all walk in closets and Charlaine realized she had made that sound.
Somehow, I don't think the word 'trainer' means the same thing as it does off this island. The thought intruded on Charlaine's still-rising horny tide as she listened to the voice above her, a voice that evoked smoke and honey for its smoothness -- fuck, for the testosterone and pheromone cocktail it contained.
She opened her eyes to see her personal trainer standing before her, clad in white shorty-short cycling shorts that showed off the beautiful sheen of his dark skin to delicious perfection. Matthew stood before her, his fabric-covered cock level with her eyes and bulging to almost frightening proportions.
"She is delicious," another voice chimed in, feminine, alto and oozing sex. "I would love to help with this demo of the sybian with her, boys. Those breasts look like they would appreciate a good lick and flick."
That has got to be Jamaica, Charlaine was finding it hard to focus as the sybian revved up to a higher intensity of vibration and she came closer to a stunning peak and began to moan softly. "Oh, fuck," was all she could say as she watched her chambermaid tweak her own nipples through that brief (oh so very brief) French maid costume with one hand and trail fingers lightly over the inside of one caramel thigh with the other.
"Delicious is my territory," spake the naked chef, Pietro, who was striding up the dais monster cock in hand. He took the spot right in front of Charlaine as Matthew moved behind her. "Be a good girl and do a taste test of me, Jamaica." The chef's accent was heavy, sexy, like a fine chianti and Jamaica knelt before Pietro and bent forward slightly, showing off a wickedly curved behind and a bare, wet pussy outlined in slightly darker brown tones by keeping her knees just inches apart as she took Pietro in hand and mouth.
That wet pussy was so close to Charlaine's mouth she could just flick her tongue out and taste it -- and how she wanted to taste it with slow licks and spear her tongue in that slick heat. The flavor of desire, she decided, is salted caramel.
Miguel lounged on a beanbag just below the dais, his butler clothes in place and immaculate except for the fly, which was undone. His penis was inside a Fleshlight of custom proportions as he played with the wireless controls of the sybian, intensifying the vibration so Charlaine's back arched and her breasts shot straight into Matthew's large hands.
Hot breath on Charlaine's left ear presaged the light nip on the earlobe and she cried out: "Fuck, fuck, yes!"
"My name is Matthew and I am you personal trainer, Laine," Matthew said and licked a hot, sensuous line from her earlobe to her clavicle. "I am going to train you to come on command. When I'm done with you, you will be able to orgasm when you want, without touching your pussy at all. Do you like that?"
"Gods of war, yes," was Charlaine's breathy answer in a voice soaked with sex and shuddering with anticipation as her pussy pulsed around the vibrating dong trapped in it.