Club Caribe

We finished our jitney rums sitting on our deck and then wandered over to the buffet lunch. Everyone else was in swimwear. I felt overdressed. Liza just shed her vest and dominated.

One of the "Organizers" (think camp counselors for adults) started to announce the schedule for the rest of the day. The big event for newcomers -- most of us, this being a big turnover day - was "adult dodgeball" at the nude beach on the far side of the point. I wondered what I had got us into and I was about to propose to Liza that we sit this one out when she came back with a couple of big rum drinks and said that adult dodgeball sounded like fun.

I love confident women.

We returned to our bungalow and, as instructed, changed into our swimsuits. Liza disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with her hands behind her, wearing a microscopic plain white bikini top of handkerchief-grade material and a similar wrap around her hips. She was flaunting lots of top-, side- and under-boob; the tiny triangles seemed to float in place on her nipples. I was beginning to understand that Liza didn't need adornment. It only distracted from her spectacular body. She came over and, with a grin, stuck her boobs out at me for approval.

"OK so far," I said.

Then, with a flourish and a big "Surprise!," she handed me a tiny white speedo-like suit. This was going to be a problem, since I was already hard as nails. She was unsympathetic. "Fair's fair," she said, "if you want me practically naked, suck it up and stuff it in!"

I did, but especially under her watchful eye it was uncomfortable and the little pouch in front bulged so far you could look right in from the top. I took a towel and wrapped it around my waist for the walk to the jitney. I didn't help that Liza laughingly made an extra effort to bounce her giant rack all the way over. I told her that revenge would be swift and unexpected.

There were plenty of other scanty suits waiting for the ride, but only one bod like Liza's. It seemed to me that everyone was staring at her all the time. This must be something she was used to, and a good demonstration of the reason for her alter ego. But as Liza she seemed to revel in it. She held her shoulders back, swished her hips, and brushed by stunned guys left and right as we assembled. She had a perma-grin. I felt out of my league again and was beginning to miss Betty, but after we boarded she grabbed my arm, hugged it against her boob, and planted a big kiss on my cheek. "This is so cool," she said. "and exciting. Thanks for bringing me. Let me know if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"Only the part of me in this swimsuit," I said.

Then the steel-breasted monster showed up, late, wearing a black suit with leather straps going all over, including down her cleavage and ass crack. I'll admit she deserved, and got, a certain amount of attention, since she looked straight out of a porn comic. Apparently she was with a hulking but overweight, balding guy, since she made a big show of sucking face with him. There's no accounting for taste, I hear. His, I mean.

Everyone was given another jitney rum drink to bury our inhibitions for good, and we were off in a cloud of tropical dust.

The beach was actually a walkable distance, but I supposed we were going to need a ride back, because the jitney pulled up to a table full of more rum punches, and we were told our first mission was to chug one, no exceptions. Liza seemed to be having no trouble. I was already buzzed, and as intended, another whole punch made me officially drunk.

We went down to the water's edge, and the rules were explained: In a word, strip dodgeball in the water, with about a dozen balls. Liza said she was good at this, and I said not to brag, everyone could tell she was good at being naked. She smacked me one.

Our radar-domed bondage slut grabbed a ball and waded in first, followed by a few smart folks who figured out it might be better to start with a ball. I was still assessing the situation when Liza ripped my towel off and threw it on the beach. Looking down, I realized I'd be better off in the water, so I quickly waded in.

Liza dropped her own cover-up revealing her tiny handkerchief-weight thong, and just stood there for a moment at water's edge with her hands on her hips, being Liza. Suddenly there wasn't a sound, and everyone was staring at her, dumfounded, including the organizers. She was absolutely stunning, she knew it, she liked it, but she didn't overdo it. In fact, she modestly placed a forearm across her boobs and a hand over her crotch, and waded in and dunked herself. The top became effectively transparent, and Liza swiveled around looking somewhere between embarrassed and humiliated. Calculated, I thought. But fetching.

A whistle blew, and the game began. For some reason, about four balls hit Liza at once. She mock-cringed, then straightened and looked around. Again, nearly all activity had stopped. Haltingly Liza reached behind her back and found one end of the string that held the top in place. She put the other arm across her breasts again, and pulled the string. The suspense in the air could be cut with a knife. My tip of my cock popped out of my suit, but I backed into deeper water and unconsciously started to stroke it. Liza now had the top just hanging from her neck. With her free hand she pulled the string at the back of her neck. The top strings joined the others hanging off her tits, but the triangles stayed in place. She lowered her arms. They still stayed, by capillary action.

Slowly it started. Someone was going clap, clap, clap, like at a sports event. Soon everyone had taken it up. And everyone was looking at Liza. I think she actually blushed. She knew it was hotter not to act too brazen. She put her face in her hands as though she was mortified by the whole thing. The clapping got louder. Finally she gripped a string from each triangle top between thumb and forefinger, and reluctantly pulled slowly down. The triangles slowly peeled down and off, and fell into the water. For a second she stood there, arms at her sides, with her magnificent breasts fully exposed, her tiny waist on display, and her slender thong straps running over her hips and down into the water just barely above where her crotch would be. And then she suddenly crouched and let the water cover her. I eventually started to breathe, and after some cheering the game slowly resumed.

Boys being boys, the girls got most of the early attention, and soon the air was filled with bouncing, swaying, jiggling tit flesh. Girls fought back and boys lost their one and only garments. Suits piled up at the waterline. Liza zipped a fast one at me and, since I was understandably distracted, it ponged off my head. In a slight daze I heard Liza say "gotcha!" I reached under the water and peeled off my so-called bathing suit. She waded up to me and grabbed my dick. "Just want to be sure you're in good condition," she said, standing before me, topless, and stroking it just under the surface. I didn't resist. I had to bring myself back to reality when she stopped.

Steel-boobs was still trying to be the center of attention, but she was having a lot of trouble getting her suit off. It was all connected, there were lots of buckles, and she was clearly smashed.

Finally the game came down to hunting for people who weren't yet fully bare. Liza had lost her suit early, and we watched the hunters and their squealing prey from a safe distance, up to our waists in the water. Liza showed no apparent concern about her toplessness, and when I pointed out that the staff was collecting all the suits off the shoreline, she was completely unphased. I was learning she liked to look good, and for her, naked was a really, really good look.

When there were no more victims left, we were called out of the water. Some people, like me, were shy about exposing our lower halves, in my case because girls were sliding glances at my super-hard dick. It certainly helped to be buzzed.

The head Organizer said we had to get dressed and go back for dinner. It was only 4 PM and there was some scattered hissing and booing. "Don't worry," he said, "we have rules about this. You may enjoy them." There was a murmur of anticipation. Or was it worry? "These little games and tasks are good icebreakers for those of you who came single," he said. "We don't want any singles, so we are giving you plenty of chances to meet...up close and personal. The couples here are just going to have to grin and bear it. The walk back is over there," he said gesturing, "But we recommend getting in the spirit of things."

The first requirement was to drink another rum punch, but this time, he said, we could "take our time and mingle for five or ten minutes while we arrange your swimsuits." Since we were all stark naked, this made happy hour look pretty lame. Fortunately my boner had mostly subsided. Liza had a group of guys surrounding her already. Her confidence seemed boundless, and I bet they were all wishing they were in her league. I chatted with a mixed group and found it amusing how little eye contact was made. Eventually we were told to find our suits and reassemble. They had been spread out on the sand, but the bottoms only. The girls complained, but not too much, and the boys seemed to approve.

"Alright," said the Organizer at last, "here is how we put suits on at Club Caribe. Over there are two lines in the sand." They were parallel to the shore and about a foot apart. "I want the girls to line up on the one nearer the water, facing the ocean. The guys please line up on the other one, facing inland." We did it. There was a certain amount of butt-contact and drunken giggling. "Now sort yourselves by height," he said, "tallest near me, but stay facing away from each other. No peeking." More butts touched and more giggles ensued. The Organizers, girls for boys and boys for girls, made a few adjustments in the height order. Thank god I wasn't hard.

When we were organized to his satisfaction, the head Organizer announced, "Here's the drill. First, reach behind you with both hands and hold the hands of the person behind you. They are your partner." I located two hands behind me. It wasn't easy holding our arms way back, so eventually we touched butts and stayed that way. The butt behind me gave a little wiggle, and I bumped it a couple of times to acknowledge. "Your mission is to put your partner's suit bottom on. But there are restrictions. Your partner must remain standing and may not use his or her hands to help." I could tell everyone was trying to envision how this would work. "The next rule, to preserve privacy" (there were snickers) "is that you must only look each other in the eye. Violators will regret it." This with a devilish grin. I believed him.

There was a collective groan. All I could think of was the ridiculous suit I'd been given, and a cute girl trying to put it on me. I started to get excited. Which certainly wouldn't help.

"OK, break!" said our overlord. "Find a nice spot and get started. Last team to finish walks home, naked!" This time I really hoped he was kidding.

I released one hand and turned around. My partner was tall -- only about 4 or 5 inches shorter than my 6' 2". I pegged her as a college senior. She was definitely cute in a tennis/soccer athlete sort of way: very fit but modest curves. You could see the muscles working under her clear, tan skin. Nice face. Sandy blonde hair in a giant bushy ponytail of tight, kinky curls.

"Hi!" she said. "I'm Sandy! You're cute!" A lively one. Drunk.

"Thanks, you too," I said. "Are you OK with this? No pressure. And I may have a little problem."

"Oh yeahhhhh," she slurred a little. Maybe she wouldn't remember any of this. But she seemed very willing. And naked. Did I mention cute? It was hard not to stare at her bod. I was hardening up. Great.

"Well...," I said, "there's something you should know. My girlfriend over there..." I pointed to Liza "...bought me this tiny swimsuit as a gag and it may not be easy..."

"THAT'S your girlfriend?" she interrupted. "She's unbelievable. Hot! Hell, I'd fuck her and I'm straight! Have you known her long?"

That was a tough question. "We just started dating," I said.

"How about I find someone I don't know and we do a foursome?" she asked. "Names can be optional."

My boner got harder. I declined politely and we looked for a good spot to get on with our task. I insisted on starting with her suit, for one very outstanding reason. She handed it over.

It was a black-lace themed number with frilly edges and big leg holes, which would help. It seemed sort of thong-y, but low all around. I asked her which was the front. She directed me how to hold it. I looked her in the eyes and knelt in front of her holding it out for her to step into. Her balance wasn't too good, and she missed the leg holes a few times. She put her hand on my head to steady herself.

I was looking in her eyes but her hairless pussy was right in my peripheral vision. She was looking straight down at me, not really in my eyes. "Nice..." she said. "Is that for me?" Finally she said both legs were in, and I whipped it up to her legs and snugged it up to her crotch.

"Ugh," she said. "There's sand in it!" And she arched her hips forward toward my face to indicate I should fix the problem.

I was now hard as iron. Looking her in the eyes, I pulled the waist back down again. I found myself staring right at her snatch. It was waxed, close and fully displayed. It was covered with sand. "Brush me off!" she said. She spread her legs.

I brushed lightly at her pussy and ass crack, and she wriggled like she was having an orgasm. I shook out the suit, she put her hand on my head again, and I pulled the suit back up her legs. It came only an inch or two above her crotch. She smiled. "Better. Now you."

What to do. I had to stand up. I had to hand her my ridiculous suit. She checked it out with disbelief, and then held it up to my boner. "No way!" she said. Still, for lack of alternative, she knelt down in front of me. She attempted to stare right in my eyes, but my straining cock was right in her sight line. She gamely held out the suit at arms' length and I stepped in, ignoring the sand problem. She hoisted it up as far as she could and then let the waistband snap around my thighs. She surveyed the result. My balls were covered. The rest stood out like a rocket. "That's not going to do it," she said.

When I had a tough problem at the office, I called on Betty. Right now she would only make it worse, but I was willing to bet she had the same problem Sandy did. I looked over.

She was paired with the overweight boyfriend of the bossy girl with the soup tureens. Her back was to me. All could see were her mane of golden wavy hair, now wet and plastered down her back, two globular ass cheeks outlined by the lacey bands of her thong, and of course the outsides of her boobs. She had her hands on her hips and was looking down. Given her hotness, there was no way she didn't have the exact problem Sandy was, literally, facing. I watched.

She wheeled to the side and I saw big boy's hard on. I also saw that one boob was mashed against him. She crooked her index finger and slowly lowered it. With great ceremony, she ran it along the underside of his shaft while gazing into his eyes. He shot his load about six feet and nearly fell over. After a minute, she tucked him in and walked off.

I looked at Sandy, who had followed my gaze. She was slack-jawed. She looked at me. I shrugged.

"Harold!" a voice screeched from across the beach, and the brunette with the double soccer balls cruised over, gave her boyfriend a good, stern correction and then glared at Liza's back.

A voice below me said, "That should work," and I felt a hand encircle my cock. I re-fastened my eyes on Sandy's, and she matched me, except that both my cock and her hand were now in the way. She levered herself up a bit, which cleared the view but put my tip an inch from her mouth. Almost by reflex, she sucked it in. Then she ran her fingernails up the exposed underside of my shaft, did some quick strokes around the edge of the glans with her thumb and middle finger, and took the whole thing in. All while staring me right in the eye. She was not bashful with strangers, I decided.

I had been hard for a while, there were still dozens of bare boobs around, Sandy was young, cute and avid, and Liza was walking over with her tits in full motion, all of which explains why I almost immediately said, "Watch out!" But too late. The first load went in her mouth, the second on her upper lip as she backed off. Then she pumped me over her shoulder, getting only a little in her hair. Some dribbled onto her boob.

When I was spent it was still quite a project to stuff me into the small pouch of the suit, but she was a trooper and made it work, albeit with quite a resulting bulge.

Liza arrived and looked at my crotch, then at Sandy, then at Sandy's face. "Nice job, guys!" she said.

"Are you real?" Sandy asked. "Can I touch you?"

****

We were back in our room, nearly passed out on the bed from all the sun and rum. "Don't blame me if you're not getting any this afternoon," I said. "That overachieving jock strap you got me is responsible."

"I thought it was cute!" she said. "I bet Sandy did too." Her brow furrowed adorably. "Did you think she was hot?" she asked. "Hotter than me?"

"She's certainly enthusiastic. I just hope she was legal," I said. "I guess you have to be 18 to come here. But actually, she thinks you're the hottie. So do I."

She perked up. "Who was last to get their suit on, did you see?"

"I'm sure it was that bossy girl," I said. "She had so many buckles and straps it would take a team of specialists to untangle it. Incidentally, even if she had to walk back naked, I'm glad I wasn't with her. If she turned quickly she could knock me down."

"Hey, I could do that," said Liza. "You just might not travel as far."

"You could knock me down by just batting your eyelashes at me," I said truthfully.

****

We awoke soon before dinner. There was going to be a dance. Liza looked out the back window and reported that girls were wearing club dresses. She headed for the shower to wash off the salt and change.

She returned naked and dug around in her suitcase. Her first find was a pair of white stockings that came a few inches short of her pussy. Then she put on a black thong and some black school-girlish shoes with low heels. Finally she fished out a dress of some silver-gold material and dropped it over her head. The hem cascaded down to mid-thigh and rebounded sharply. It was actually made of tiny metallic chain links. To say it draped her would be an understatement. It cascaded over her tits and ass cheeks and fell into her crack and cleavage, faithfully following her every curve. It fell between her legs when she walked. It was entrancing.

We were late, so we got a quick dinner and hit the dance floor. It was dark and the girls there were showing lots of leg and boob, but as usual Liza seemed to have her own spotlight. Crowds parted for her, boys ogled her, and girls stared down their boys to little effect.

We danced in what I hoped was a dignified manner suiting our ages, but around us things were getting wild. Two girls stormed the bandstand and became volunteer go-go dancers. The lead singer, a woman, offered one of them the mike, but she was too drunk to notice. Liza, by contrast, was suddenly excited. "This is like college!" she said. "I've missed this. Can I leave you here for a minute? Will you be good?" I assented, of course, and she lithely ascended the stage and put her head next to the bass guitarist, who talked to the lead at the end of a song. The lead handed a mic to Liza, and the band struck up a new tune.