A Piece of Paradise

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He stopped and looked at me expectantly.

"Do you know why you can't have my pussy?" I teased him as I stroked his trembling flanks, "Because I want to play with you. I want to watch you spurt like all the times you spurted standing in the shadows watching me."

"Do you want me to play with you, baby?" I asked him.

I already knew the answer to that question. His hips were twitching and jerking, his cock now desperate for some contact to relieve the pent up tension of his arousal. I fished out a small bottle of almond oil from the bedside drawer and moved to kneel beside his body. I tipped a small pool of oil into the hollow of my palm and began to slowly lather my hands with it, warming the oil on my flesh. I was not doing any of this quickly enough for him. His eyes were now glittering, half crazed with need and he was moaning in a fever of anticipation.

After my palms were evenly coated with the sweet scented oil, I slowly reached for his body. Desperate now for the relief of my fingers on his engorged flesh and terrified that I would tease him some more, he was holding completely still, his breath trapped in his lungs. My hand was almost at his cock when it shifted slightly and dipped lower to gently cup the silken skin of his balls, rolling them. That last act of betrayal tore a strangled cry from his lips and his body, now taut as a bowstring and no longer able to stay still, arched upwards, thrusting his cock into the air. At the peak of that arch, I gently gripped his cock with my free hand and eased his body down. Then I began to stroke him.

His cock, starved of stimulation, bucked like a straining horse. It was not long before he was poised on the edge of a cum, his hips twitching wildly, his balls tightening and his lungs working like a bellows. I released him abruptly, ignoring his thrashing body and his strangled, incoherent pleas. I lifted his head gently and slid a thick, fluffy pillow under it.

"I want you to be able to watch when I play with you," I explained sweetly, as I curled up against his trembling body and rested my head on his shoulder. I reached for his cock again and held it loosely. He froze for a moment, expecting me to stroke him towards the cum that he needed then more desperately than anything else in the world.

When my hand continued to remain still, merely holding him, he groaned in despair and began to surge upwards, fucking my fist. It offered him some relief, but my fingers were wrapped too loosely around his shaft and slid too smoothly against his flesh to afford him the final release that he so desperately craved.

As I rested my cheek against his shoulder, watching languidly as his cock pistoned in and out of my fist, I suddenly noticed that my bedroom window was open and so was his. I caught myself wondering if Mrs. Stevens ever went into Andrew's room when he wasn't at home. I felt a strange mixture of anxiety and arousal at the possibility that she may at any moment appear at Andrew's bedroom window and see us – naked on my bed; his body, bound and helpless, cradled in my arms as his young hungry cock fucked my fist.

My grip on his cock involuntarily tightened at the thought and he groaned at the added sensation. His eyes were now glazed, unseeing, his whole world drawn into the smooth slick rhythm of his cock against my palm. I finally admitted to myself, with a touch of regret, that he couldn't last the exquisite friction much longer. I shifted my body then, my face near his hips and my pussy once again poised above his face. I wanted him to drown in the vision of my engorged cunt as I finally tore his orgasm from him.

I placed my palm against his hip bone and flattened him down on the sheet as my hand that gripped his cock quickened its pace. When the first jets of cum began to spurt from his cock hole, I lowered my pussy onto his lips. As he moaned into my cunt, his mouth filled up with my pussy flesh, his lips and his tongue shuddering helplessly, twisting and writhing in my slick folds. He came for an impossibly long time, gobs of sperm splashing onto his thighs, the bed, even the floor. As his body jerked with the aftershocks, I gently pulled down his foreskin and suckled the pink glistening head of his cock, drawing into my mouth the last traces of his release.

After he grew soft in my hands, I released him. His face was still buried in my cunt and I marveled that he had even been able to breathe. I lifted myself off and moved around to lie beside him. His face and his throat were wet and glistening with my juices. As I reached up to untie his hands, his wet nose scrunched up and he sneezed. He looked heartbreakingly cute then, like a lost little child and I giggled as I felt a wave of affection for this boy rush over me. He giggled too as he sniffed and scratched his itching nose with his newly freed hand.

I took his face gently in my hands and slowly lapped up the evidence of my arousal, tasting once again the salty sweet flavor of my excitement. As I softly sucked on his swollen lips, I felt his cock harden again, twitching against my thigh. It seemed to have a life of its own. For a moment, I considered rolling onto his body and sliding his hardening flesh into my cunt, yielding to him finally what I had denied him for so long. But it was only a fleeting impulse. I knew that I needed some time alone to fully absorb what had just happened. I brushed his hair back with my fingers and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his sweat stained forehead.

"Go home now, sweetheart," I whispered, "Your mom will be worried."

There was a brief flicker of disappointment in the soft, brown pools of his eyes – disappointment that something so beautiful could actually end. But there was also a child like wonder at what had happened between us and a fierce hunger that I could almost taste.

He quietly got up and began to dress. I watched unblinking, as his naked body slowly disappeared into his clothes. What a waste, I thought wistfully, his is the sort of body that ought to be naked, always within easy reach of eager fingers or hungry lips.


As he turned to go, his gaze drifted almost against his will to the junction of my thighs. I smiled at him and spread my thighs apart exposing myself to those eyes so full of longing. His face jerked upwards to look at mine and then his eyelids fluttered closed as if his inflamed mind could no longer endure the vision of my wet steaming cunt. He spun on his heels and left without another word. I had no doubt that this was one young man who was going to come back for more. As I watched him leave, I wondered, with an odd sense of detachment, whether Mrs. Stevens would suspect anything. I had borrowed her son as a handyman and returned him, reeking of sex. But, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to worry or feel guilty or be ashamed. It was as if all the nerve endings in my brain were so engorged with pleasure that every other emotion was blotted out.

I heard, almost as if from another world, the front door click shut behind my lover's back. As I lay there quietly, listening to the silence reclaim my house from the sounds of passion and longing that had erupted from our hungry lips, I knew that my life would never be the same again. I was weeping within me at what I had missed for so many years, what Andrew had gifted me so generously – the feel of his naked body in my arms, the taste of his flesh, the texture of his skin, the sweat soaked, cum drenched scent of his arousal. I knew that I couldn't deny my body any longer.

The morning had been a revelation. I had discovered things about myself that I had never suspected. I had discovered the unutterable delight of being in control of my partner's pleasure, of knowing that every moan, every tremor, every whimper was a tribute that I wrenched from his desperate body. But while I teased and tormented Andrew's naked heaving frame, there was also a part of me that wanted to be him. I realized with a lurch in my stomach that I wanted to be controlled as I was controlling him. I was unbearably aroused at the thought of yielding my will to a lover, surrendering my body to his whims – to be fucked, to be taken, to be used. Just the thought made my pussy leak. I wondered what other secrets, what other exquisite unnamable hungers my body and my mind would yield on a little probing. I knew I had to find out. For that, I also knew that I had to break free from the gilded cage that I had built myself. The next day I applied, in response to an ad placed by a major airline, for a position as a stewardess.

That was the beginning of a long journey, in more ways than one. I quickly learnt on the job. I enjoyed the challenge of acquiring new skills after years of living for others – as a wife and as a mother. I discovered that I had a talent for hospitality and people management and to my gratification, these skills were quickly noticed. ... Then, there were the other things I learnt.

I learnt to relish the softness of a woman's body against my own, the taste of her sex, the unhurried gentleness of the lovemaking. I learnt that when it came to sex, there is nothing like too many pairs of hands or lips or tongues, that there was nothing unusual in wanting all my yearning, hungry holes filled at the same time - with fingers, dildos or eager, throbbing cocks. I learnt that depriving one sense – taste, touch, sight or movement – heightened others and that the best sex is often when you didn't get what you wanted ... or thought you wanted. My journey of sexual discovery revealed breathtaking vistas at every turn, full of passion and beauty that seemed inexhaustible.

There was only one moment, when I turned 40, that I felt a fleeting pang of doubt. I wondered whether I would still be found attractive, whether my hunger would continue to be matched by opportunity. The moment quickly passed. I knew that I was desirable, confident, sure of what I wanted. I also discovered that for most young men, an attractive, confident mature woman was an irresistible wet dream. It certainly had been for the young man I had brought back to the cottage yesterday evening.

*****

I saw them out of the corner of my eye as I sat at the bar, nursing my gin and tonic; taking tiny little sips that could make a drink last the evening. They looked like college kids. They had that odd mix of nervousness and arrogance; pretending indifference, but craving attention – their movements a little too emphatic, their voices a little too loud. There were six of them – four boys and two girls. Two of the boys had a proprietary arm draped over the shoulders of the girls who looked uncomfortable at the clammy contact, but also vaguely proud to be owned, proud not to be alone.

Even from where I was sitting, half the length of the room away, one of the boys seemed different from the rest – quiet, subdued, almost contemplative, removed from the noisy vortex whirling around him. He must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up momentarily to meet my glance and then looked away. The other boys on the table were not oblivious to my presence either. I have been a single woman in too many bars for too long to be fazed by male attention. After a while, it becomes part of the furniture, a brooding presence that you learn to blot out until a face or a voice detaches itself from that undifferentiated mass to accost you. I had become used to that intrusion as well and often, it has been welcome.

A stranger in an unfamiliar city is always an opportunity. Your paths have never crossed before and they will never cross again. The absence of any baggage is liberating. No past, no future – just a present that is breathtakingly alive where, cocooned in a bubble of anonymity, both of you are truly free to be. Your conversation is inane, inconsequential; but the air grows heavy with anticipation. You circle each other like swordsmen, testing the other's defenses with a feint, a parry, a thrust. And every so often, there comes an indefinable moment – his hand brushing his hair from his eyes, your glass descending from your lips stained with your lipstick, your fingers accidentally brushing on the table – when you know with complete clarity that before the night is over, he will fuck you. He knows it too.

From that moment, you don't hear a word he is saying. Your mind is reeling with visions – of his lips on your taut nipples; his fingers plumbing your depths; his cock hard, throbbing, waiting. By the time you stumble together into your anonymous room in an anonymous hotel, your fingers are clawing at each other's flesh and your body is trembling, frantic with need, ripe to be taken.

I heard a voice behind my shoulder.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

I swung around on my stool to face the voice. It was the quiet one. I looked beyond his shoulder at his table where the three remaining boys were hooting and hollering, yelling what passed for encouragement. The girls were giggling nervously, trying desperately to belong.

He glanced back at the table fleetingly and turned back towards me, his face flushed a deep red. I could see that he was embarrassed.

"You can," I said, evenly, "but you need to answer a question first."

"What?" he asked.

"Are you buying me a drink because you want to or because your friends want you to?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"I want to," he said, finally.

I smiled at him and patted the stool next to mine. Two drinks had already appeared as if by magic. The bartender had already slid away beyond earshot, quiet, unobtrusive. My respect for his breed never ceases to grow.

He was sipping his drink, glancing over the rim at me with clear blue eyes, which seemed guileless.

"So, tell me, what do you do?" I asked.

Once he was past his native shyness, he was charming and voluble, with a self deprecating sense of humor. He told me that he had grown up in Frisco and had come to Hawaii as a student a year ago. He wanted to major in geology and seemed passionate about volcanoes. He appeared to know a great deal about them and prattled on animatedly about Hawaii's volcanic origins. Not my average come on, I thought.

He also seemed genuinely interested in what I did and where I was from. He struck me as perfectly comfortable in his own skin and was not trying overly hard to impress me with wit or worldliness. I found his innocence disarming and felt myself relax completely for the first time that evening.

"You know, I should thank you for not humiliating me," he said, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

He gestured with his head at his table where a pall of gloom seemed to have descended at the apparent success that he was having with me.

"I was tired of their needling and came over on a dare. It's not the sort of thing I would normally do."

"I am glad you did," I said, "I would rather spend the evening with a handsome young man than a stiff drink. Liquor has its limitations."

He blushed and looked pleased. I found his utter lack of dissembling endearing. I glanced over at the table of pallbearers.

"If you really want to make their jaws hit the floor," I whispered conspiratorially, "reach over and kiss me. I will then grab your hand and drag you out like I can't wait to have you."

"Would you let me do that?" His eyes widened. He sounded disbelieving.

"Sure, why not?" I coaxed.

He glanced around nervously and then leaned towards me. I let him come within a few inches of my face and then bridged the gap to capture his lips between mine. His lips melted at the intimacy of that kiss and he sighed into my mouth. I let his lips linger for a while on mine, tasting my breath. He half whimpered in protest when I broke the kiss. I smiled at him softly before I took his hand and pulled him off his stool towards the door. He followed me meekly as if in a daze. He didn't even notice when I slid a couple of bills to the bartender to pay for our drinks.

His friends were in a state of catatonic shock. They gaped at us wordlessly as we swept past them and out the door. As I dragged him past their table, he turned around and fluttered his fingers at them regally – a lord deigning to briefly acknowledge his bondsmen.

We ambled along the beach, hand in hand, the moonlight shimmering on the water. It was quiet, the silence if anything deepened by its occasional interruption - by muffled notes of music, by the tinkle of distant laughter and by the breathing of the ocean as the surf rolled in. When we reached the cottage, I stopped.

"This is where I am staying," I explained, as he glanced at me questioningly.

He was still holding my hand. He laughed, all of a sudden.

"Did you see the expression on their faces? It was priceless," he chortled, referring to the gloomy garrison that we had abandoned in our wake.

"Yes," I said, smiling in my turn and then added softly, "but there is a problem."

"What?" he said, his face clouding with concern.

"I didn't walk out with you, hand in hand, to impress your friends," I said, turning him gently towards me, "I walked out because I was tired of sitting in that bar full of strangers when all I wanted to do was to take you to bed and fuck you senseless."

His body shivered as if from an icy wind and he blushed. I knew that my words had knocked him off balance and I intended to keep him that way.

I took his face gently between my hands and whispered, "Do you want to make love to me?"

He groaned.

"Do I take that as a Yes?" I teased.

He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. I took his hand in mine and pulled him towards the door. He stood motionless as I fumbled with the key. I had forgotten to turn on the light in the patio when I had gone out earlier in the evening. I got the door open after what seemed like an eternity to let us in.

His lips parted to speak, but I placed a forefinger against them, silencing him. His lips were dry and parched. I moved in closer until my body was only a few inches from his. I held his baby blue eyes with mine as I reached down to unbuckle his belt. His eyes widened with surprise at my directness as I snaked the belt out of the loops in his jeans and dropped it to the ground where it landed with a metallic clink.

As I softly raked my nails along the crotch of his jeans, tracing his hardness, he trembled but kept his eyes locked to mine as though hypnotized. I popped the metal button of his jeans and unzipped him. I reached inside the open vee at his crotch and pulled his cock out of his boxers. I leaned my forehead on his chest and looked down as I hefted his cock in my hands as if weighing it. He grew larger and thicker as I babied him. I held him cradled in my left palm as the forefinger of my right hand explored the tracery of veins that marked the velvety skin. His cock twitched in response, bouncing on my palm. The contrast between our fully clothed bodies and the sweet vulnerability of his intimate flesh, trapped in the soft warmth of my hands, was unbearably erotic.

"You are beautiful," I whispered, my voice now thick with desire.

Wrapping his swollen flesh in my palms had whetted my appetite for more. I wanted to stroke him and taste him and fuck him. I wanted to ravage his sweet, hot flesh until he begged me to stop. And then I wanted to ravage him some more, twisting frantic helpless noises from his throat. I began to unwrap my unexpected gift, teasing him out of his clothes, my fingers drifting over his skin with feather light touches.

After he was fully naked, I stepped back and began to strip with quick efficient movements, his eyes racing to take in the swathes of newly exposed flesh. After my last garment – the flimsy lace panties I had pulled on earlier in the evening because I wanted to feel sexy – dropped to the floor, I closed the distance between us once again.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his face down to mine for a long, soul searing kiss. I gently sucked his upper lip between mine and ran my tongue along the inside. He sighed softly, surrendering to my impetuous touch. I explored the corners of his lips with my tongue and then slowly licked along the length of his bottom lip before sucking it into the wetness of my mouth. His cock was hard and throbbing now, trapped between our yearning bodies, pulsing to the rhythm of his heartbeat.