tagErotic CouplingsBroken Bikini Sunset

Broken Bikini Sunset


For a very special friend

* * * * *

"Honestly, Ronnie, I thought it was a relatively simple task. All you had to do was change three pages of the presentation. It's due tomorrow, and here I find that you used the wrong numbers. Are you trying to make me look like a fool in front of the new owners? They didn't buy Osborne Products because they think I'm stupid."

"But Mr. Peters, you gave me those numbers yourself. I only did what you said to do."

"Yes, but I later gave you different ones, which you seem to have totally ignored, and I wanted those on the presentation. Didn't you see them?"

"No. You put the note in my out-box instead of my in-box. I don't usually check my out-box for messages."

"Now, see here, Ronnie. Don't get testy with me about your own mistake. I left that note in the right box. I can't help it if you can't keep them straight. Get those numbers changed and the new presentation on my desk by this afternoon. I'm leaving for the day. If anybody wants me, I'm golfing with the Hastings buyer, and I don't want to be disturbed. Is this all clear, or do I have to write it down?"

She finished the work at noon, and decided that if Peters didn't have to work, neither did she. The slam of her car door echoed through the parking garage, and she sat for a few minutes to cool down before the drive home. That jerk. Why does he do this to me? I can't afford to quit, and he knows it. I wish he'd just fire me instead of pulling this shit all the time. I do something and he wants it changed. I change it like he wants, and it's still wrong, because he changed his mind again. Half the time he just drops a little note on my desk somewhere, and expects me to find it. And why in Hell can't he remember my name? Dammit, I've told him a thousand times that I'm Veronica, not Ronnie. Oh, God, I hate the name "Ronnie".

She got a burger at a drive-up, stopped by her apartment to change into the string bikini and pick up some wine coolers, blanket, and the novel, and headed for the beach. Her destination was not just any stretch of the miles of sand that blanket the Pacific edge of Southern California. The little hidden cove was actually on private property, but the owners never ventured down. She steered the car past the rickety gate that proclaimed "TRESSPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED", and followed the dusty gravel path for half a mile. The seclusion, the orchestra of the surf and seagulls, and the scent of the salt air breeze wafted through her mind, and the stress began to melt into the distant past.

The sun was starting it's downward, arching dive into the sea when Veronica stepped into the small, concealed sector of beach between the towering dunes. Walking in the warm sand was better than any foot massage and she she kicked off the sandals to feel the gritty heat. She spread the blanket, dropped her sandals at the end, and eased herself down. Her dark brown hair spilled in shimmering waves over her soft shoulders when released from the confines of the barrettes. Veronica rubbed her scalp with her fingertips and then tossed her head. The brunette mane swished into a haphazard array of soft curls and she combed them from her face with a clawed hand. Peters had made it clear that she should look like a professional instead of what he described as a "sandal wearing slut", and she had to pile it on top of her head every morning. It felt so good to be rid of that severe, asshole-dictated hairdo. Peters worried a lot about hair, it seemed. Veronica smiled when she remembered the day she peeked in his office and saw him remove a mirror from his desk drawer and begin adjusting his toupe. She had managed to make it to the ladies room before she burst out laughing. After that day, it was difficult for her to look at him without giggling, and every time she drove over some road-killed animal, the picture of him staring into that mirror while he primped flashed into her mind. Ha! Mr. Peters. Mr. Primpyprick was more like it.

Veronica twisted the cap from an icy cold, peach wine-cooler and tipped the bottle to her lips, and she held the mouthful of orange-pink liquid for a moment to savor the smooth, sweet taste. She swallowed and smiled as she formed the picture of Peters watching her in the little bikini and trying hard to keep his dick down. Mr. Primpyprick should see me now. Aw, Hell. He'd probably just tell me he changed his mind again and for me to go back and change his precious, friggin' presentation. He wouldn't know what a woman was for if one jumped up and bit him. She growled out loud. I'd bite that son of a bitch, bite him right on his balls. Oh, God, yuk, no. That'd make me puke.

The sun was still high enough to burn her already golden skin, and besides, she liked spreading the lotion over her body. A quick squirt filled the palm of her hand, and she set about smoothing the creamy liquid over her skin. The lighter areas under the three small triangles covered by the bikini were not to be neglected, and Veronica watched in amusement at her body's response when she rubbed the lotion over her nipples. Their sensitivity to touch never changed, and they immediately stiffened into little rubbery tips perched on the dark, bumpy aureole, and she felt the twinge in her belly. The shaven edges of the dark-furred strip on her softly rounded mound received their share of the protective coating, and the familiar tremor floated through her body. She thought it strange that stress or strong emotions always increased her desire. Enough of this! I'll be humping my hand if I keep going.

Soon she was stretched out on her stomach and deeply involved in Chapter three of "The Sand Castles of Cimmaron". The novel had caught her eye as she absently gazed over the grocery store book section. The man on the cover was tall, muscular, and his dark eyes and black hair hinted at Hispanic descent. The voluptuous woman in his arms gazed into his eyes with a look of uninhibited passion. She had scanned the first two chapters, and found the story to be tantalizingly erotic. After reading "Maria whispered, yes, Raoul, and he entered her", she dropped the paperback in the basket. She had read the first two chapters the night before, and then had dreamed of the tall, dark man. He was staring into her deep, emerald eyes as his hands caressed her body. She woke to find herself hugging the extra pillow to her breasts and belly, and drifted along on the half-conscious dream of his hands on her body, of his lips working against hers, and of his hard manhood slipping between her thighs to satisfy the desire that burned in her soul. Veronica slid her slender fingertips between her morning-wet lips and exhaled deeply as she stroked the slippery surface. Raoul was preparing her body to accept his rigid organ, and in her mind, she begged the man of her imagination to mount her. She could feel the power of his touch as he caressed the wrinkled, wet inner surface of her sex, and her hips began to rock into the sensations created by her fingertips and mind. Veronica could almost feel his weight as he settled over her for his entrance. The large purple head was spreading her swollen lips and teasing at the entrance to her passage. As she lifted her hips to accept him, the alarm buzzer screamed at her, and the stranger evaporated into the dim light of the dawn that streamed through her bedroom window. The orgasm that staggered her in the shower was good, but without the vision, her fingers only succeeded in relieving a bit of the desire.

Chapter three was consuming. The heroine was watching Raoul as he disrobed in preparation for bathing, and was obviously quite taken by his appearance. Veronica devoured the description of the short, dark curls that blanketed his sculptured chest, and of the veins that stood out from the bulge of his biceps. Maria described the rippled belly and more curls just visible at the low waistband of his pants. She described his muscular hips and thighs when he removed the pants, and Raoul was about to turn to face her. After reading the paragraph twice without comprehension, Veronica gave up; the warm sand beneath the blanket and the stressful morning were conspiring to make her sleep. Her eyelids wouldn't stay open and she kept nodding into the book. Her face slowly lowered to her arm, and her mind flowed back to that morning. The book fell closed on the blanket as her breathing became deeper.

The calm of the cove was shattered by a pair of shrieking seagulls that wheeled and tacked on the updraft, and the sound woke her. The sun was a half circle of dark red waiting to be swallowed by the Pacific. Even though this location was fairly well protected from discovery in the dark, the beach was no place for a woman to be alone at night, and she groggily raised herself to leave. The wine cooler was warm, so she poured it into the sand and placed the empty in the cooler. The blanket needed to be shaken to remove the sand before she folded it and she bent to lift the edge. Even had she not been in this off-balance position, the heavily callused skin that hit her in the buttocks would have knocked Veronica to the sand. She screamed as she fell, and expected the blow to be followed by groping hands turning her to her back before the man threw himself on her belly. She drew up her legs to be ready to kick out as hard as she could, and lay terrified as she listen for the soft squish of footsteps in the sand.

The snuffling breath in her ear told Veronica this was no man, and she slowly turned her face to her attacker. The big wet tongue that licked her from chin to eyebrows convinced her it was safe to turn over. She stared into the deep, soulful eyes and grinning mouth of a tail-wagging, black labrador retriever. Her smile was promptly followed by a sloppy lick across her lips and open mouth that left her spitting. She grabbed his ears to hold him off.

"Hey there, big guy. I'm a lady. Don't be so rough. Where'd you come from, anyway?"

The pink tongue was reaching for her, but she held it at bay and laughed.

"God, if only you were a man."

It was hard to sit up and hold the flailing tongue at arms length. She managed, though she received many sloppy licks to her arms in the process, but almost fell back down when she was startled by the deep, baritone voice.

"Rocky! Heel!"

A chill trickled down her spine as he approached. The lab pulled back, and ran to the man's side. They stopped a few feet from the blanket. "Rocky! Sit!"

In the late afternoon light, Veronica looked up into a kind, smiling face framed with curly black hair. The dark brown eyes stared at her; they swept over her body, and she instinctively brought her hands to her breasts. To her shock, she felt bare skin. The quick glance at her chest revealed the reason. When the dog had knocked her over, the bikini top had slipped up, and her breasts now swayed free of any support or covering. She grabbed the blanket and tried to pull it across her front, but since she happened to be sitting on it, it wouldn't reach. The quick effort to replace the top to its concealing location succeeded only in breaking the thin string that tied in the back.

His intention had been to apologize for Rocky's behavior. The beauty of this nearly naked woman, and the cute, feminine modesty she displayed over the baring of only those tiny additional areaa of her body intrigued him. He allowed his eyes to graze over the lush curve of her breasts. The dark coloration of the nipples was particularly erotic, and whether because of exposure to the incoming breeze, or because of some unconscious quirk of her body, they stood proudly from the soft breasts that rolled gently as she struggled again with the blanket. His mind cried out to touch this woman, to stroke the smooth valley between her back and hips, and to seek and taste the sweet flower of her womanhood. The body responded to the will, and he felt himself begin to thicken. She moved to one of those positions attainable only by a woman and he found himself staring at the pouch of the bikini that peeked seductively from the indentation between her thighs. Her breasts swayed sensuously from her chest as she reached for a fresh grasp at the blanket. She pulled at the edge as she turned to face him. "For God's sake, stop staring. Haven't you ever seen a woman before?" She finally pulled the blanket free and covered her chest.

Yes, but not one such as you for a long while, he mused. To feel your body lying aginst me would be wonderful, little one, and loving you would be heaven.

He didn't answer and her face assumed a look blended of fear and half-hearted bravery. "What are you doing here? This is a private beach."

The strange man took a step forward.

"If you touch me, I'll scream."

The stranger took another step. The dog followed and then sat back down.

The realization flashed through her brain that screaming would do no good anyway; no one would hear her. The chill flashed up her spine to her brain as the possible outcome of this meeting became clear. The stranger stepped closer, and she could see the dark hair that outlined the muscles of his bare chest. She stood up and was careful to bring the blanket up with her. The best thing to do would be to get out of there, and fast.

"I think it's time I was leaving. Don't you dare follow me."

The first step was also her last. She inadvertently stepped on the blanket, and her forward motion pulled her off balance. She pitched, headlong, toward the sand. The blanket went flying as she reached to catch herself, and she felt his arms slip under hers. He pulled her up, and her breasts flattened into his bare chest.

The yielding caress of her breasts sent shivers through his muscles, and he felt the exotic, dark nipples again rise and harden as they brushed across his skin. He could not let her go, and pulled her tight to his body. The sensation of this fair creature against him was exquisite. She pushed away in anger and tried again to pull the top back down over her breasts. He realized the cause of her alarm was his silence, and caught her arm as she turned to leave.

"Miss, I'm so sorry. I've probably scared you to death. I just want to help you, and I'm very sorry about the suit. I'll buy you another. Rocky loves people, but sometimes he gets carried away. I always let him run, and I couldn't stop him before he knocked you down. When I caught up, I couldn't think of anything to say at first. You're very beautiful, and I couldn't stop looking at you.

The voice seemed sincere, and the face was gentle. His apparent honesty piqued her curiosity, and his bronzed face and firm, muscled body ignited a small flicker of desire in her belly. She willed the fire to die, and attempted to reason with herself.

Veronica, turn around and run as fast as you can. You don't know this guy or anything about him. He looks good enough to eat, but half the murderers in prison probably look the same way. But..., his face looks so kind, and he probably wouldn't bring a dog with him if he was looking to -.

"I can see you're still scared, so I'll just leave you alone. Here's my office number. Buy another suit, call this number, and tell my secretary the cost. What's your name?"


"OK, Veronica. I'll tell her you'll be in touch, and she'll take care of getting the money to you. Rocky. Heel."

Veronica's internal struggle intensified. He had looked hurt and ashamed as he turned to leave, and the pain had touched something deep inside her. The tiny flicker of passion had returned, and the flame was quietly licking at her practical sense.

"Hey, mister! How'm I gonna do that when I don't even know your name? I can't just call her up and say some guy's dog ruined my bikini and she's supposed to pay for it."

She held her breath until he stopped and turned.

"Tomas, Tomas Cordoba." He began walking away again.

He was still leaving and she didn't know how to stop him. She felt the free end of the thin backstrap dangling at her side.

"Mr...., I mean, Tomas!" Since you made me break my strap, could you come back and try to fix it? I can't drive home wrapped up in a blanket."

He couldn't understand what had changed, but he turned and walked back. Maybe she finally believed him.

Veronica held the small triangles over her breasts as he fumbled in an attempt to tie the broken ends of the strap. It was inevitable that the back of his fingers would brush the soft curve that could not be contained by the mere scrap of material. He thought he detected a tiny tremor at this accidental touch, but the beautiful brunette said nothing. The strap was broken close to the bottom of the triangle, and he really needed to pull it out a little more, but she was holding it tight to her chest. He tried to slip the sleeve of the triangle away from the short end, but only succeeded in uncovering part of the dark nipple bed. He looked into Veronica's face to see if she was upset; the look was dreamlike and she licked sensuously at her pouting upper lip. Damn, she seemed to like being touched. If she kept this up, he would have to leave before things got out of hand.

At last, he managed to will his shaking hands to join the broken ends, and then walked behind her to secure the top with a new tie at her back. Unconsciously, he dropped his hands to the smooth curve of her waist as he inspected the new knot.

"There, I think that should do until you get home. Don't forget to call Judy when you get the new one. She'll take care of everything."

He was leaving again, and she wanted him to stay. His hands had been shaking as if he had been afraid to touch her. The unintended brush of his fingers over her breast had tuned her every sense to razor sharpness, and she had been standing there with every nerve screaming for another touch. When he had dropped his hands to her waist, her knees had almost given way. She quickly turned to block his exit.

"Would you like a wine cooler?" God, that sounded dumb the second after she said the words.

"A few minutes ago, you were going to scream if I took one more step, and now you offer me a drink?"

Veronica shrugged, and traced an arc in the sand with her toe.

"Well...I didn't know you then... and I owe you something for fixing my suit."

Tomas knew she was not so innocent as she pretended, but he told Rocky to stay, and sat down beside her after she had smoothed the blanket. He didn't especially like wine coolers, but she had insisted.

"This is a private beach. How come you walk your dog down here?"

"Oh, I know the owners, and they don't care. They seldom come down here anyway. How is it that you're here? They never mentioned giving permission to a woman."

"Well..., they didn't exactly give me permission."

"So then, you're really trespassing?"

"I suppose you could say that, but nobody ever uses it, and I'm not hurting anybody."

"The owners told me they didn't want people here having parties down here at night, but they're an older couple so I guess they're bound to think that way." He smiled at Veronica. "You don't have parties down here at night, do you?"

"God, no. I don't even have a boyfriend." She blushed at this revelation of her personal status, but then maybe it would put him at ease. Veronica hoped so; the flicker in her belly had consumed the last of her common sense and the ashes held desire for this man.

"You should."

"And why would that be?"

"A beautiful woman should be held and loved."

"I never thought of myself as beautiful. Kinda pretty, maybe, but not beautiful." She touched his arm in what she hoped would seem a casual gesture. The muscle tensed at her touch. "Thank you for saying that. It sounds nice, even if it isn't true."

The touch had intensified the senses already as tight as bowstrings. Was she trying to tell him she wanted more, or was the soft caress some habit. He knew people who touched everyone indiscriminately without really even knowing they had made the motion.

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byronde© 12 comments/ 87935 views/ 14 favorites

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