Ch. 01 - Point Break

The first time I saw Becca, she and her girlfriend were giving a pair of guys a serious spanking on the beach volleyball court; serious enough that we and a sizable crowd had gathered court side to watch, Truth be told, though, Becca could have drawn a crowd just by sitting there.

She was worth getting close to all by herself; tall, trim, tanned, and poised with an ineffable self confidence that radiated from her most clearly in her smile. Only the sleek curves held tautly restrained by her sports bra and bikini bottoms kept her from being described as skinny. The rest was long, lean, and taut. I didn't get to see her eyes until later. Throughout the match, they remained hidden behind her dark Ray Bans.

Her last set-winning spike hadn't bounced out of the court yet before she was strutting over to the sideline and sizing us all up with a predatory grin. "Who's next?"

I had expected a crush of takers, but it was I that stood up first, after a nervous pause.

"Rod and I'll give you a game," I said.

She looked me up and down, sizing me up. Sweat glistened on her bronzed limbs and belly. Pale bits of creamy white flesh peeked out where her gear had ridden up out of place, in stark and erotic contrast to her tan.

"Hmm," she mused, pausing only a moment as all of Rod's six foot, four inches stood up and she cast him a measuring glance as well. "Yeah. You might do," she taunted with a saucy smile.

She didn't turn her head an inch, yet she deftly caught the ball when her teammate tossed it to her. She just reached out, snagged it out of the air and presented it to my midriff with a strong shove. "You can serve first," she said, then she took a step closer. I could feel the moist heat radiating off of her sun-kissed body. She bent her lips to my ear and murmured, "Just know this: You're going down!"

She drew back and deigned to tug her Ray Bans down her nose to grapple me eye-to-eye. Startling amber irises seemed to bore hotly into me.

"Nothing I'd rather do," I assured her, letting her see me taking her in from head to toe.

"Hmph!" was all she said, but I had an idea I'd rattled her. Rod and I took the first game handily, 21-14.

We met at the net as we switched sides.

"Good game," I said as we passed each other.

She pivoted quickly and stepped right up to me, still breathing hard from the last point. "I said, you're going down!," she reiterated, "and one way or another, you're gonna go all the way down!"

With that, she boldly grabbed the front of my board shorts with the fingertips of one hand and pulled the waistband sharply back, releasing it to smack me smartly in the pelvis. I wasn't sure, but I imagined that she'd taken the moment when she had my waistband pulled back to check out my johnson, which was at that point flushed to half mast with the exercise and with increasingly persistent erotic thoughts vis-à-vis Becca.

It riled me something fierce. We lost the next game 21-12.

"How're you feeling now, Sport," she chirped at me as we changed sides for the final game.

"I'm thinking," I said.

"About," she prompted.

"Your promise," I told her, standing close enough to feel her body heat radiating against my skin.

"Really, though," I continued, "I'm just having a great time!" I smiled at her and her smoky lenses reflected my grin. I leaned in close and murmured close to her ear, "I love going down. And I can't think right now of anyone I'd rather go down to..."

She turned away. To her bronzed back I murmured, "or on"

We lost the serve to a vicious return. It wasn't at all sportsmanlike of me but as she tossed the ball for service, I followed up on my previous comment with "For real!"

Fault

She went to serve again.

"Seriously," I gushed as she lofted the balll.

Double fault.

My serve. Four aces, clean. The next volley was a furious exchange that ended up with me charging the net to set a looping prayer of a ball to Rod. On my knees at the net, I saw Becca lunge in to block it. Incredibly, she swatted his power spike back into our sand, but ended up right next to me on her knees afterward.

"Huh," she gasped, "you play a hard game," she teased, casting an inspecting glance at my groin.

"I like to think we rise appropriately to the competition," I retorted.

She just hmphed at me again, with mock dismissiveness.

We battled the last game to 13-all.

Becca and I faced off at the net for the next serve.

"How're you feeling," I asked sportingly.

"Ready," she grinned.

"Hmm," I replied.

"Yeah," she panted at me, sweat glistening on her neck and shoulders and pooling in her cleavage, "it's... it's not like sex! Somebody's gotta come first!"

On the next volley, I blew a block, leaving Rod to loft a diving bump shot that set Becca up for the spike, the kill, and the set and match.

My (huge!) consolation prize was that Becca decided it was their last match of the day. There was still an hour or two left before sundown, and we soon found ourselves sipping after-match beers and sharing tapas together at one of the beach hotels. It seemed that Becca found more opportunities than normal dining customs would suggest to press her smooth, warm skin against some of mine. By the end of the impromptu dinner, I was seriously hard and hot for her and I had no doubt that that was her precise intention. I walked her back to her bungalow and felt my tackle humming expectantly.

We held hands comfortably, and arousingly, until our stroll came to a stop in front of her bungalow door.

"Look," she said, pressing her hot palm and fingers against my slightly sunburned chest, "I'm not the kind of girl that fucks, or even sucks cock on the first date."

"Of course n..."

"Shut the fuck up!" I did.

"That said, for some strange, mystical, biochemical fucking reasons, I so wanna fuck the hell out of you right fucking now!"

Her chest heaved in the moonlight.

My cock throbbed in my shorts.

"So... what do we do now, then," I mused, with more calm than I was feeling.

"Second date: tomorrow night!" She flashed a wicked grin at me.

We agreed on a time and place. Then she grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me in the hottest no-tongue kiss I'd ever had.

"Promise me no touching until then," she husked, as she finally pulled back.

"Huh," I asked, still stunned.

"You're gonna wanna go back to your hotel and spank that hard junk. You're already thinking about it right now, yeah?"

I didn't disagree.

"Don't! I'll make it well worth your while!"

"Oh. Okay. Uhm. Sure! No problem!"

"Seriously," she rasped, grabbing me by the back of my neck again and pulling me in close, "I fucking want your cum! All of it! So no touching, okay?!"

"Yes,ma'am," I promised.

She squeezed my hand and stepped back, but lingered. Something in my expression must have betrayed the image that was starting to form in my mind: Becca sprawled across the bed in her bungalow, thighs spread wide and hands working furiously on and in her soggy pussy.

"What," she asked, looking straight through my eyes and into the churning inner world of my mind.

"What about you," I asked.

"What about me?" She shot me a mischievously teasing grin.

"Well," I grinned stupidly, "if I'm not gonna..."

She stepped in close again and pulled my ear to her mouth. "Oh, Baby! Fuck, Jake! I'm so fucking creamy hot wet for you right now that I'm gonna be screaming your name while I drill my hot pussy to toe-clenching orgasm before you even get back to your hotel room!"

With that she bit my earlobe lightly, as she ground her mons against my cocktent. Then she just danced away backwards, making cock-stroking motions with one hand and no-no warning motions with the other.

It would have been a pretty impressive display of coordination if I hadn't hadn't been so achingly throbbingly hard.

"Til tomorrow, Babe!" She grinned and blew me a kiss.

I adjusted my junk as best I could and walked carefully back to the hotel.

To be continued...