A Swim

A swim.

You glide through the water, your last couple of strokes taking you to the wall. Lifting your goggles and smoothing your hair back from your forehead, you think for the umpteenth time, "I need to get myself a cap."

But then again, the water feels so good winding through your long tresses - be a shame to restrict them under a shrink-wrap rubber cap.

The water is so rejuvenating. It's like the grime of the day washes away as you lap; mentally and physically. You can't think of anything else, just the steady rhythm of your strokes, controlling your breathing, and luxuriating in the silence, with only your heartbeat to pace yourself.

You slide over towards the ladder, pulse still elevated, face flushed pink and chest rising and falling slightly. A good workout. "There!" you think, "Another few thousand of those and I'll be damn proud of the shape I'm in. Hubby better notice."

As you reach for the ladder handles, your eyes move up and see me standing there, watching you.

"Hi." I smile. "Nice form."

"Thanks," you reply, surprised, "It's coming - my stroke is improving."

"No, I meant nice form. As in your figure. You look great. The lapping is paying off."

Wonderfully, you blush (just a tinge) and laugh off my compliment. "Throw me that towel will you?"

"In a second," I reply with a smile. "I want to make the most of this moment."

Smiling, you pose as you climb the ladder. "New suit, you like?"

Speedo. Racerback. I like.

"Yep, looks good. You look good in it."

"Yeah, well the goal is to look good out of it," you grin. "Gotta do something to get my man to take notice."

"He's a fool," I respond, and turn to pick up your towel. I toss it over and you wrap it around your waist, covering up those long, glorious legs.

"Sit, please." You motion to a deck chair. "I need to moisturize after all that chlorine."

"That's the secret. Do it right after, while the pores are still open," I agree. I'm watching your hands as they grasp the bottle of lotion. Firm. Long fingers. Nice.

"God, it's hot. What a summer it's been." You pour a small drop of lotion onto your palm and work it into your left calf. The towel rides up a little.

"I know. Having this pool here....what a godsend," I say. Meanwhile I'm thinking, "Watching you in this pool, here...what a godsend."

Your eyes close in the sun as you work the lotion into your leg. We make small talk as I kick back on the deck chair.

"Shall I make us a couple of drinks?" I ask. "G and T?"

"Perfect," you muse, but you aren't really paying attention. Your muscles are stiff from the workout, lactic acid building up, so you work a little harder with the lotion. Outer thigh, inner thigh.

"Wish he wasn't here," you think to yourself. "I could get some real satisfaction if I were alone."

I mix up the drinks. Lots of tonic, a little gin, lots of ice, and set one down beside you. As I lean in close to do so, I catch the scent of the lotion. Coconut.

"So, can you stay for dinner?" you ask.

"Well, first, I want to watch you get that hydrating done. I'm enjoying the view."

Your eyes snap open and you realize I am back on my deck chair, glass raised, but my eyes are drinking you in.

You can feel my gaze on you. You can't help it, but your nipples react. "Dammit!" you think.

"View? What view?" you ask mischievously.

"Your hands. That cream. Your shape under that suit. All of it." I breathe.

Your insides liquefy. You know what I am talking about. This isn't innocent banter.

"He wants me." you think.

"Can you rub some on me?" you ask, holding up the bottle, thinking you'll take charge of the situation.

"No. You do it. Let me watch."

"But..."

"No buts, I want to watch you oil up that hardbody. Now take some in your left hand and coat your thighs. Work it in. Those muscles are sore and need some relief."

"My pussy needs some relief," your internal voice says.

"OK, arms now," I break you from your reverie. "And your shoulders. You need to get those straps out of the way."

"I...." you start...

"Just do it." I say.

You comply. Your straps slip off your shoulders and the lotion glides onto your skin, cooling it, moisturizing it. Your nipples scream for my touch. You'll have to be satisfied with your own.

I watch you work the lotion into your neck and breasts. The suit slides down now, to your waist. You're using two hands and staring at me as you work them. I'm staring right back. A small smile. "That's it. Work it."

A tiny moan escapes your lips as you spread the lotion, massaging, sliding.

"Now." I say. "Tell me. Are you wet?"

"Yyyes...dammit. What do you think?" you grin. "I think you know all too well."

"You're right, I do. And I'm going to find out how you taste. But not yet. Keep moisturizing."

You moan and close your eyes.

God. You are exquisite. Hands on your breasts. Legs lazily stretched out in front of you, slightly parted. Your hips are undulating ever so slightly, finding a natural rhythm in time with your hands. This is how it begins.

One hand steals downwards.

"Go ahead," I instruct. "Touch yourself."

I watch as you obey, your hand sliding down, down. Your legs part and you slide two fingers under your suit. Magic starts to happen down there.

You are conscious of my gaze, but also are powerless to resist the urge to play with yourself.

I grant you permission.

I'm iron-hard in my shorts as I watch you finger yourself. One hand abuses your nipples, pinching and rolling them ads the other replicates the motions on your clit. Precome is oozing from me, but I'm ignorant as I move closer, waiting for your gush.

It comes, quickly, just a little one. A rise, a shudder, a moan.

"Moist enough?" I ask, smiling.

"Turn over and let me do your back. We're just getting started."