The Best Erotic Stories.

Beachhouse
by Tori Dylan

The sun was low, but still hours from setting. She rested on the chaise, enjoying the ocean view from her rental cottage. She smiled at passersby, with her sarong around her shoulders, her bronze skin in sharp contrast with the white 2-piece bathing suit. He cancelled their late lunch, which, she reasoned, was probably for the best. This was a business trip for him; however, they had managed to meet everyday for lunch since they met. Playing with fire. She knew that she was attracted to him from the moment she saw those hazel eyes. A married woman acting like a giggling schoolgirl over a very married man. With only 3 vacation days left, she had her first afternoon alone since their flight landed in Cancun. She needed to feel wanted, connected, better. She loved to see men's faces follow full chest bounce, but walking the shore alone seemed pathetic. Shopping meant that she would have to cover more skin, and frankly she liked the way her heavy round breasts and full hips filled the swimwear. She satisfied her exhibition need-- lounging on the porch, laid out in full view, less than 100 feet away from the high tide shoreline.

His warm hand touched her ankle and followed a line up to her thighs. She woke up to the sensation. Her pleasure hindered by the worry that her legs weren't thin enough. His tongue on the slight hallow of her hip made a icy tingle flow through her ... the power of his lips on her flesh excited all of her at once. Open her eyes and place her palm on his hair. And for a moment, she pretended that she was still dreaming.

He sat on the edge of the chaise, partly turned to look at her directly. Her thoughts were manic ... she wanted him but, fear had her. Is there any possible way of having him and not be wrong? The question she could not deny asking herself. It did not matter, she would not say no. In that moment of determination, she wanted to find reassurance that she was not dreaming; that what was happening was real.

She told her friends that she was not going to have an affair, she knew herself better than that. But this, what they were, was not about lust. Almost from the moment she met him, she wanted to know what it was to kiss him, to be held by him. She was certain it could not be lust -- the only lust she has ever known was hot, and prickly, and waned with orgasm. This desire for him was like nothing else. Anger, endearment, confusion and dismissal ran course through her mind. The only power she to fight her desire for him was fear...not about her husband finding out, but about this married man refusing her. She did not know his feelings and the possibility of rejection wounded her. With this fear, she could restrain herself from ravishing him. The desire for him grew, despite her motivations to get rid of these feelings for this man she should not want.

The unspoken attraction pulled them together. This attraction also burned her: her conscience, love life and faith. There was the safety in the quiet struggle ... like she could be free to feel exactly what she wanted to feel without anyone knowing. Perhaps it was too late to ask whether she should have allowed the mental compromise. For now, she did not have the desire to struggle against her feelings for him.

Before tonight, she tried to content herself with pleasure of touching him. Like enjoy the sensation of the forbidden fruit without tasting it. The departure day was soon -- it made her more anxious about returning home, leaving this place, leaving him. It was the stolen caresses that fueled the fire that slowly consumed her failing morality. As the heat from his body wrapped around her, she entered into the beauty of the moment. They came to this moment though hours of talking, enjoying each other company. They had a union of souls ... she and he became the world, and no one else matter or cared. He was connected to her, and even if today was their last day, she was his, and he was hers. The sweetness of what was happening filled the painful emptiness that into which he fit perfectly. Her fear faded and, for one pure moment, she knew what is it like to love -- it was the desire to fill and complete the one who has made you whole.

His eyes showed no evidence of the battle that confused her. The fragrance of gentle flowers and the sound of the surf set a seductive scene. He could not blame her; the moment was right for what was to become of them. Before this night, he felt the presence of a hesitation so heavy that he was sure she did not want to cross the line and go too far. But now, with so few hours left, he would risk hurting what they were -- to have he wanted.

She wanted to spend her life kissing him. Warm waves of passion bathed her eyes, breasts, hands, back, and her very center. All felt alive, new, aching to be kissed with those lips. She could not recall ever having a dream that made her feel like this. She gave herself up to the moments as they fell like the rain, in concert with each other, swelling like a string quartet. She heard music without the power of instruments.

They created the dark and silent place were the senses are more aware. Each touching, tasting, and taking in the scent of their lover ... was making the memories that would have to last their life apart. Whenever he is with her, especially in this place filled with only the liquid sounds of two lovers in their first embrace, he was free. The newness of her sent strong currents of energy through him, his mind fought against the urgency of his body. The anticipation was delicious. Right now, he desperately wanted just her. Only twice when she seem to move away a bit did his mind threatened to shame him back to the sacred vows. The ones that he swore to someone else. But each time, he would resume the probe of her mouth with his tongue, stroking the thin lycra that covered her breasts. He was all here with her. And it was quiet as before. 1 He could remember when he was in high school. It was a time that kissing was a way to distract his girl from the awkward struggle of undoing the hooks. Then, in college, he began to realize the power the kiss had over a young lady's objections. He fell in love with the look of the woman in his arms, weakened and melting after he kissed her. Now, he was melting. He did not mean to be this open to her, to trust her like this. But it felt too good, giving so much, so openly to her. He did not want to hold back. At that, his mind silenced and he kissed her deeply wrapping his arms around her, keeping her still just enough.

His desire grew to caused him pain in the position that he was in. twisted, seated at the edge. The mouths hotly played together as he laid himself along beside her, stretching out his legs and then fitting her chest and mouth on top his own. Her breaths became soft pants. His hands guided her hips to meet his. On top of him, she swayed and rocked instinctively, almost imperceptibly.... like her hips were riding little waves.

Her mind toggled between wanting to remain in this kiss and passing the point of no return. She thought that if she could keep her panties on, that there would be less to recover from. That they might be able to salvage their friendship and save themselves from having a secret that would devastate their families. They could stop here; kissing without sex would not be like having an affair. Ultimately, she wanted to keep this pure and sex always seems to carry emotional baggage that a kiss did not. She like what they were, but how could that be when we are home again, if this continued. His hands were on her buttocks, pressing and smoothing the skin, spreading and cupping them. Warm glistening moisture from her inner lips moistened her panties. If she were with her husband, she would have taken them off by now. But here with a man she has only known for a little while, they were the last door between her as wife and adulteress.

He turned slightly on one hip and his right hand maneuvered between them to touch her clitoris. When she moaned, he broke the spell of the kiss to look into her eyes.... his lips curving slightly in amusement at her innocent confusion and complacent submission. His left arm angled and propped his head. He could the gray crests of the black ocean. The sun had set since he walked onto her porch. The ocean air carried the scent of her, waving soft whiffs under his nose. Without thought, he tasted the wet fingers. Carried by the wanting, he moved down her clothed body, with his hands fixed to the sides of her panties. She slid her legs up to impede the removal, but he was oblivious to the objection. His hands covered her bent knees and press them outward. Once again, she felt his tongue, this time on the smoothest of her skin. Time stood still as the tiny flutters of orgasmic pulses rippled through her. The soft black curls barely contain the sensitive swelling. It seemed to being reaching up to kiss him. His whole hand touched her vagina, then stroked the line from her pink pearl to her center. One long thick finger disappeared within her sweet walls...she was melting all over again.

His sun kissed white flesh made beautiful contrast to her brown skin. Sounds of his chest hair on her breasts echoed the rhythm of his legs rocking between her own. Her chest heaved into his as she breathed. Her hands rubbed at the muscles of his backside, then soft lines from her nails invigorated his thighs. His cock was strained and taut. This time, the moan came from him. There was a moment of silent stillness, full of peace. He left the warmth of his kiss on her lips to move down her body. He took the pink-topped chocolate nipple into his mouth. The feel of her breast in his mouth made her shiver. It was an eternity of caressing -- the full mounds with his hands and face. Then, at last, he left the dark summit to take a mouthful of the smooth caramel skin and pressed his stiff flesh past the moist petals into the pink silky glove. The motion were long rolling crests of rising and falling, tender peaks that broke over and again. His face, hands, legs worked to stimulate the rest of her body, forcing his memory into her soul. Stormy sea -- wet and powerful, relentless and awesome. Her heart pounded like rain -- she felt as though she was dying and being born at the same time. Lightening and thunder flashed and died. The calm water yielded to the waves again building on the horizon. Her arms and legs hugged him as they created a new tide of heat and friction. The sex and feel of someone new, someone who had an intimate awareness of her even when her clothes were on, made her giddy. She was drowning in the waves of pleasure and orgasms, one sewing into another until she felt the surge in her fingertips. Her energy flushed over her in pulsing waves joining and intensifying his own. The power of his release flowed from his head, spine from the base of his cock and erupted within her ... the rhythmic concentric wave of her sweet muscles massaging his throbbing volcano. Everything within him, set free.

The morning was hours away. The warm Mexican air carried the sounds of the surf and footsteps on the wet sand. The art of the vanilla and mocha bodies adorn the lounge chair. The nude lovers lay still. "She is asleep," he thought, with his arms curled protectively around her. The moments passed with her deep sighs and peaceful stillness. The quiet movements became more frequent, and soon she was sitting beside him, he could see the blue light of the moon shining on her bare chest. He became roused and a little annoyed knowing that the lovers beside the shore could see her. He reached for her but she just smiled and held her place. For only a moment was she standing, in full view. With precise calculation, she folded her legs on either side of his knees and began to kiss his soft penis. She could take all of him in this state. She let the heat of her mouth and the full blanket of her tongue stir the flesh to life. Once attentive, she began to suck with little effort, gently arousing him. Her mouth worked him with full long draws. He was content: eyes closed with his hand stroking her hair and cheeks. With each stroke up, her mouth became more resistant, every so often pressing the tip of her tongue in the grove where the shaft and the head triangulate. All the while, her hands manipulate his testicles, her fingers dancing in his hair, rasping her nails in the long wavy strands. She enjoyed the pleasure she gave him. The salty-sweet mix of their sex lingered on him ... the taste of them thrilled her. The smooth glands of his head was nearly too much to bear as it pressed into the soft palate, the pressure made her instinctively swallow. Her miniature vacuum made his cock throb and twitch in her mouth. Sweet drops of clear foretaste preceded the final surge of blood into his engorged member. He loved each delectable sensation given by such a strong willed woman tamed between his legs.

She never grew tired of bathing his harden thick cock between her lips ... only after he decide that he could not come that way did he reach to kiss her warm salty lips. She eagerly shared the flavor with him, all the while bringing her dark fringed labia above his hips. She moved her smooth flesh on his swollen cock, stroking it with the pink pillow within. His hands grasped the curve of her hips and brought them forward. The soft lips made a wet kiss on his stomach, and then a line as he moved her towards the tip of his shaft. Sweet velvety thrust joined them. She took to the task of riding her full hips on the head of his firm penis. Her sex circles slowed, and she lowered to sit completely on his cock without bruising her tender loins. Fully seated, she rested her motion to allow her beautiful sex to be stretched. Then, with little motions, she rocked side to side. He was in ecstasy as she began to make the ripple of her vaginal muscles hug his erect scepter. Full pumps of her thighs sent her vagina complete up and down the shaft. Her precious design manipulating the glans to it own epitome ... soon he would have to stop her and fuck her at his own rate. But for now, he enjoyed getting to the point near hypersensitivity. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. With a low groan he took hold of her. He brought her hips down as he thrust himself deeper within. Her breasts shook and dance at the percussion of his grind. Careless touches and licks were passed between them. This fevered pitched sung out -- her large breasts caressing him, crushing him when her arms wrapped around his head; firm wet thigh working against one another; loud sound kisses on his chest and face. Her climax peaked; each ring of her sweet cleft vibrated and shook, tugging at his rigid cock. He, however, was not ready to slow. He alternated between bucking and making little circles with his hips slightly off the seat; his penis rubbed new delightful sensations against her rippling walls. Her back muscles trembled and relaxed. She muffled her sigh with a mouthful of his hickey-ed shoulder. The few beachcombers that made up their audience began to turn and leave the direct view of the lovers on the veranda. She lay with her head at his chest, still enjoying the pleasurable little waves of orgasm. 1 With a light peck and a gesture, he motioned for her to go inside. She nearly got to the bedroom door when his hands seized her. "Here." His hand went up her spine from her curvy bottom, directing her torso across the arm of the sofa. Now, her full pouty lips, crimson from the sex, were presented to him. His hand stroked his penis while he watched the glistening hair move as she pressed her legs together. "Open for me." She widened her stance a little, tipping up her hips to receive him. He squeezed into her, slowed by the swollen engorgement of her vagina. The new friction recapture his full erection, and he felt the familiar ache that he was looking for. His hands reach to the front of her thighs, gripping them while she returned every thrust he gave. Their rhythm was perfect. Beads of sweat ran tiny streams down his face and back as she rolled her nipples between her fingers. The spanking pats of his hips against her bronze moon spurred him on. He struggled to watch the pink flesh piston into her. His arms stretched to fondle her fleshy rosebud until his white explosion ended.

He let his full weight rest on her across the sofa, their legs dangled haphazardly off the side. He woke to find her nearly free from beneath him, then again at the touch of a warm cloth around his cock. She bathed him with great care and attention, her body still damp and wrapped in a towel. He tried to continue to sleep, but found himself looking in awe at this woman. "What am I going to do with you?" She smiled, "more of the same, I guess." It was not long before her brown frame warmed his skin to slumber until day.

If he wanted to keep this secret, he would have to work hard to hide the dark red mark on his shoulder. He had been through similar snares before, and figured that his wife would be oblivious to the little signs of indiscretions. But then, he had never let it go this far before. The other times were when the marriage was still new and a great deal of alcohol was involved. As long as he did not "fuck" a woman, he did not consider himself cheating. A blowjob was the same as a kiss, just lower. And he always kissed his female friends, at one time or another. This, sex, was a lot more risky. Women tend to get caught up in the "what does this mean" part. Not to mention the fact that he had not used a condom in 10 years. At least she was married. She risked her family too. He looked at the clock, 12:28p, damn. He was sure that his wife had called his room by now. He searched for an answer: went out for lunch, breakfast, whatever, all day. If he bought some gifts, that would cover the morning and afternoon. However, if she called last night.... He dismissed the possibility, " she won't look for something she was not ready to find." And with that, he thought no more about home for the rest of the day.

She handed him a glass of juice and his pants. "Good morning, or afternoon..." her cheery face was ginger red. Zipping up, he caught her staring at his hips. "You are red. Are you blushing?" She laughed. He let his body do what came natural. His arms hug her waist, and pull her down on his knees as he sits. His lips press on hers. Their tongues work like two horny teenagers while his hands invade the narrow space between her bra and skin. Her silent protest fades quickly and soon she removes all the clothing on her breasts. The perky milk chocolate nipples feel like gumdrops. The tiny textures around them contract in his mouth. He lifts a tan orb in each hand to appraise the fullness... he would never complete the task of licking every inch of her breasts. Instead, he focuses on the crowns. Every so often enjoying the sweet liquid taste that sprinkled from the centers on their pink tips when he nurses. She is much more vocal than last night, each moment; she lets go of more of her inhibitions. The effects of his oral talents are felt within both of them. Soon she is between his legs, her body arced to kiss him and press her belly against his bulging crotch. Her hands work at his pants, and, once again, he delights in the feel of her face on his waking prick. This time she works efficiently. Her pointed tongue dance on his scrotum, licking hot wetness on the thick tubule passage found under them. Her left hand pumping his large stem, bringing the slack fold over the rim of its head. He did not need to be worked from flaccid; he woke up nearly ready for her. He was hard enough to enter her, and this time, he was intent on wearing her out for a while.

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