Club Caribe

We scored a partially canopied triple lounge chair overlooking the waves. The Club seemed to have them all over, probably to accommodate amorous couples after the evening parties broke up. We lay together and chatted about our lives outside work. I was having trouble concentrating, though, and despite the risk of someone walking in front of us and seeing in, I started running one finger over the profile of Liza's nearer boob.

"Mr. Gropewell!" she exclaimed, shocked, shocked, shocked!

I told her it was for her own good, to help her get into films. She didn't resist, so I lowered my attentions and ran a finger over the tiny mesh panel covering her mound. She looked left and right as far as she could, and then spread her legs a bit. I ran my finger lower between them, and after a bit she closed her eyes and spread further.

"This really is a nice suit," I said. We could use it in your first movie." She asked if she had qualified for a part yet. I said only a non-speaking part as a party favor, but I was open to further negotiation. I continued to stroke her pussy through the mesh. For some perverse reason I really wanted someone to come along and see us there, with her spread wide in that hot suit and letting herself be fingered by me.

Finally I heard voices -- lots of them. Liza stayed reclined, eyes closed, although she must have heard them. I increased the pressure of my strokes, forcing the mesh between her pussy lips.

The crowd was younger guests and an Organizer with a big cooler. It took a minute, but as they trudged past, a few of them looked into our lounge. They elbowed some others and a few stopped to stare. I whispered to Liza to spread more, and I ran my middle fingernail right down the center line of the fabric over her pussy, extra slowly. She sighed and humped my finger subtly for more. I got a few thumbs-up signs, and a few crotch-grab signs. Some of the girls giggled and whispered to each other. Then they trudged on, being, I suppose, polite about our privacy.

Liza asked if she was now on track for stardom, and I said she was doing a good job padding her resume.

It was almost noon. We got up and walked down to the volleyball courts, following the crowd that had passed us. Some kids were playing already, and even from a distance we could make out one player dominating the action. As we got closer it was easy to see by her enormous, bushy pony tail that the player was Sandy. She was powerful and graceful, dashing everywhere, diving for digs and soaring high above the net for spikes. The opposing team scattered even before she slammed the ball down. She was a symphony of churning muscles, sinews and tendons. And glutes; she wore only a minimal thong. It had a bow tied where the straps met above her ass, with long trailing end ribbons that, like her pony tail, were begging to be pulled. We watched in awe for a few minutes. Finally, I choked out, "Beautiful to watch."

"Just plain beautiful," said Liza. "I think she's hot, and I'm straight."

A whistle blew. The Organizer announced the start of the Famous Game and handed out the compulsory rum-dums. We each drank one and grabbed another; we were hot and they were free.

The rules were announced: as predicted, strip volleyball. The teams would be half guys and half girls. One player on the losing side of each point would shed a piece of clothing and chug a rum. The winning team would pick the player. Games were to eleven only, since each team of six would start with about nine items to lose. It looked like there were enough players for four teams, so there would be semifinals and a final. Captains were chosen to pick their teams. Sandy, obviously, was one, and the first player she picked was Liza.

Liza declined. "I'm not dressed for it," she said, indicating her tiny, wandering triangles. But the Organizer was unsympathetic. One more girl was needed to complete four teams; some of them (the less endowed ones, I noted) were already topless; the rum we had already drunk was for participants. She was still going to walk away, but I pointed out that this scene could make her whole movie career. She acquiesced, with misgivings.

To my amazement -- why I don't know -- she picked up a volleyball, locked her hands together, and experimentally bounced it off her wrists straight up in the air. Five feet, then 10, then 30. She caught it effortlessly against her hip, hardly looking. and held it there. "Practice?" I asked. No, just seeing whether her top would stay on, she said apprehensively.

The semis began. Sandy cracked an overhand serve with a motion like a major league fastballer. It went for a point completely untouched. A girl across the net was selected, lost her top, and chugged a rum. She was very voluptuous, and us boys enjoyed watching her breasts lunge around as she unsuccessfully tried to play topless. There was lots of hooting and howling. She was looking flushed. The loss of support, the humiliation, and maybe the rum, slowed her down so much that I could see there would be some strategy involved in picking the losing players.

But I had a hard time taking my eyes off Sandy as she flowed around the court trailing her ribbons. She served again, got a weak return and spiked it herself, with a vengeance. Another voluptuous player was selected, but perhaps seeing the writing on the wall she took of her bottoms before chugging. There were whistles and she gave a sheepish grin. Sandy served again with a similar result, but this time her teammates selected an athletic seeming guy to drop his trunks and drink. When he wasn't looking, Liza reached under the net and fondled him to stiffen his...resolve. I thought this made sense as a way to slow him down. As the drinks piled up, the opposing team got more inebriated, stiffer, and floppier, and the rout was on.

And then Sandy missed a serve. No point was lost, but the serve changed hands and a tall gangly guy on the other team got the nod. Until now, Liza hadn't had to move a muscle. But I could see the server sizing up the opposition. He was probably going to serve to a girl, and for sure that girl wasn't going to be Sandy. Liza was in the back row, and he served to her, a booming overhand knuckleball.

Liza dashed to her side, slid to a stop kneeling professionally, locked her wrists together, and delivered a perfect set up to the front line. A tall college kid watched it go up, jumped an inch, and smacked it over the net and into the sand.

Liza held up a hand and spent a minute returning her breasts to her mini-triangles before the game recommenced. Then she noticed that stooping had slackened her bottoms, and they had moved to the side. She furtively repositioned it on her pussy.

The serve was ours again, but no longer Sandy's. Our server lofted a high floater which was smacked back at Liza. She again executed the dig, with Olympic form except for her boobs, which roamed again. Her top was floating loosely around her neck when the next ball came back. Sandy dug it but the set up went right in front of Liza, who had no choice but to charge the net, jump and hammer it with a professional, overhand motion. The ball hit squarely in a far corner of the opponents' court. Liza's breasts nearly hit her in the face on her way down, then rebounded off her chest on landing. She recaptured them and rearranged her triangles, looking flushed. The crotch was now firmly wedged in her pussy and the resulting dent was plain for all to see. The crowd went wild. She glared at me. I was going to pay.

It was clear that with Sandy and Liza, and only one weak player, Sandy's team was going to the finals, but eventually the other team did win a point. There was a heated discussion about whether to pick Liza, or whether there was no need. They picked someone else, and eventually Sandy's team won with Sandy and one other nice-looking, chesty girl both topless, and one guy with no pants.

Having followed the other semi a bit, I knew the finals would be tighter. Harold was playing, and while he was heavy and flabby, he was also about 6' 6" and a strong spiker. Sandy held serve for five or six points, but there was an error, and the other team served well. Harold spiked everything at his half of the net. The other team picked on Sandy, Liza and our best guy player for drinks, to get them buzzed. Sandy was soon playing naked. Next point, Liza was relieved of the obligation of readjusting her top, but her boobs were so large and springy that she must have distracted the other team, because the time soon came that Sandy saw her chance, leapt about six feet in the air, and tomahawked the ball right off Harold's skull for the win. I can only think he was distracted by the sight of her bare snatch flying at him. I heard a familiar screech -- "Harold!!" -- from the stands, and then our team all cheered and ran out onto the court.

While Harold underwent a concussion assessment, our team and well-wishers celebrated mid-court. Still flushed from the game, Sandy ran up to Liza first and grabbed her in a tit-crushing hug. Then she ran over to me and gave me a big sloppy kiss and ran off. Liza fetchingly retied the upper strings of her suit behind her neck, came over to me and possessively leaned a boob against my elbow.

As the crowd dwindled, Sandy came back and stood slightly inside my personal space. She had her thong slung over one arm, so she was still technically naked by my definition. I could almost feel her nipples focused on my chest like lasers. She asked whether we were going to the event at the lodge that night. Then she reached behind her head and pulled the band off her ponytail. There was an explosion of hair and a huge halo of tightly curled, sandy brown locks surrounded her head. I briefly wondered how that would look when she was flat on her back.

"What event?" I asked suspiciously.

She now had her scrunchy around her fingers, and as she answered she put both hands behind her head to recapture her curly mane. She said it was a pajama theme party. Then she rocked her head from side to side as girls do when they are wrapping a band around their ponytail several times. She had a lot to wrap, and her firm little boobs shook. When she was done, she patted the ball of curls up with her palms. "I like my tail higher for social events," she said.

Now normally when a naked woman comes up to me, puts her hands behind her head, sticks out her boobs and shakes them, I'd suspect she was flirting. But with Sandy, it was so natural, so unselfconscious, so pure, it was impossible to tell. I glanced at Liza, but she was just staring.

"That way," Sandy concluded, "it's easier to reach." And she turned around, bent at the waist, pressed her ass against my crotch, and rocked her head back. "Is that good for you?"

Now she was flirting.

Someone up the beach called her, and she gave me a quick, chaste kiss and told us to call when we got to the party. Then she sprinted off at 40 miles an hour, her feet barely touching the sand. If you've never seen a fit, naked 5' 10" young athlete sprint away like that, it's you're loss.

"Good god," said Liza.

"She's so sexual but she's so totally innocent. How does she do it?"

"She's just never heard of an inhibition." said Liza.

"A force of nature."

"Hot, "said Liza. "And I'm straight."

"Is there an echo out here?"

While we walked back to our bungalow we discussed the pajama party. Liza thought it would be a giant college orgy by 10 PM. I asked what was wrong with that, and she swatted me, so I suggested we have an orgy of our own. She was uncharacteristically quiet.

****

Back at the room, we took a shower and had a long nap to shake off the sun and rum. Then we sat in our deck chairs overlooking Thong Beach holding hands and sipping a couple of Coronas. The breeze gently stirred the palm fronds and pelicans were commuting home in a long straight line. The sun was slipping lower and it sparkled orange on the ripples.

I thought we were being sophisticated by skipping the party.

Liza said, "I have a fantasy."

"Am I in it?" I asked.

"You're essential," she said. "The question is whether you have the guts."

"I'm in," I said. She smiled at that. I liked her smile. Also, no way would I jeopardize what might be the hedonistic experience of my life, something I would tell myself about when I was old and grey.

She continued after a pause. "I have to swear you to secrecy for all time." I crossed my heart. "Or I'll have to kill you. I haven't shared this with anyone else, so if it gets out, I'll know you're the leaker." I promised. I was dying to know. "OK, so here it is. Ever since senior prom, I have fantasized about being fucked on the dance floor."

I said, "Who hasn't?" I hadn't, but now that she mentioned it I probably should have. "That's hardly even kinky. It's just hard to get away with."

"Yeah, I know, that's why it's still a fantasy," she said. "But if I'm gonna do it, this is the place. And you seem like a good accomplice."

Parts of me were becoming very entertained by this line of thought. "Have you figured out how to do it? Mechanically, I mean."

"I've been dreaming about this for years. I know what I need to do."

Since I was a good six inches taller than her, I was concerned. But knowing Betty, not very concerned. I said it would be my pleasure to fuck her silly on the dance floor, especially right in the middle of a big crowd of people. I asked whether we should get some practice right now, but she said no, she wanted me "cocked and fully loaded." She squeezed my hand, and then reached over and experimentally squeezed my cock. "Getting there," she said.

We lolled around in the tropical breeze as the sun lowered and the waves rolled in. I could tell Liza was thinking. I was too, and I was getting both excited and nervous. We went over early for a quick buffet dinner, and then, at around sunset, Liza went into action.

"First," she said, "we have to dress you appropriately." She took the old long sleeved office shirt I had brought to ward off sunburn and cut the sleeves off. I tried it on. It looked weird but not dorky. It had tails hanging down in front as office shirts do, so it would cover me, but with a slit in front beneath the last button it gave easy access below the belt line.

Then she dressed in the bath and did the big reveal. She was wearing a sheer, strapless negligee that came down to her crotch in the back -- maybe. In front it was supported by her swelling boobs, though, so it dangled about 5 -- 6 inches away from her nice flat stomach and maybe 3 inches above her pussy. Fortunately it came with a tiny bikini bottom with bows at the hips. And, as I watched, she ceremoniously donned a pair of white six-inch platform heels. I swear I could hear them screaming 'Fuck me.' "I have to get up to where you are!" she said, all wide-eyed innocence.

"You can't go to the dance in that," I said. "You'll never even make it in the door!"

"Sure I can. I'll wear a beach towel. It's getting darker. When everyone is dancing, I'll whip it off, you'll be happy, and no one else will notice."

I thought Sandy was getting to her.

****

When it was twilight, Liza wrapped herself in a bath towel. It came down to her knees. We called Sandy, not without misgivings, and walked over to the lodge.

We encountered two glitches in the plan immediately: First, Liza was instantly recognized as the girl who gave the fabulous show the night before. Also the fabulous show at dodgeball. Also, the fabulous show at volleyball. She was royalty. Admirers gathered around ten deep as soon as we set foot on the lodge deck. Second, it was too obvious that her real outfit must be hiding under the towel. People started calling out, "Let's see it, Liza!" A chant of "Take it off!" started and gathered steam until the crowd was lifting their arms in a full-blown wave around us. The band started playing stripper music. I was starting to panic, imagining what the ravening drunken crowd would do to her when they saw her essentially naked in her fuck-me's.

"What the hell," Liza whispered, "Everyone here has seen everyone's everything by now anyway." And she whisked off the towel and threw back her arms to display herself fully.

At that moment, so help me, the puffy evening clouds parted and a last ray of sun illuminated Liza like a reddish spotlight. Her mountainous boobs were fully revealed, their tenting effect on her negligee clear geometric evidence of their awesome size and firmness. Their shadow on the lodge wall looked immense. Her tiny waist and stocking-model legs were silhouetted as well.

The crowd silenced. She turned back and forth. Her boobs followed her around at their own pace, then took a moment to settle. A new chant began, "Liza! Liza!"

Then another rolling chant began: "Take it off! Take it ALL off!"

Liza was turning red for the first time in my experience. I stepped in front of her. "Hey, it's a pajama party!" I said. "Let's see some other pajamas up here." But the band played on, inviting bumps and grinds.

Then, of course, Sandy burst out of the crowd and stepped in front of us. She was wearing a two-piece: a ruffled skirt above her boobs that covered down to her nipples, maybe, and another on her hips that came down to her crotch. Plus, she had a microscopic g-string and heels. The crowd applauded again, and she smilingly raised her hands to accept the accolades. She called for others to come out while decisively walking us over to the bar.

"Wow," she said to Liza, "your tits are all--world. You may be the hottest girl I've ever seen!" Without warning she put a hand under one tit and weighed it admiringly.

I rolled my eyes at Liza, but she just shrugged at me. "Thanks. You're hot too," she said. Sandy flashed a huge grin and scampered off.

We tried to stay lost in the crowd, but it wasn't easy because the crowd wanted to look at Liza. So did I, of course. I had the advantage of being with her but the disadvantage was that I felt I had to be discreet, which no one else felt necessary. People were ogling her and saying "Damn, girl" or "Nice titties" or the equivalent for the first half hour. Then the lights dimmed and everyone started to dance. I held Liza tight to my chest when the music allowed, and I ogled her shamelessly when it didn't. I told her sincerely that I was helpless, spellbound by ancient genetic programming. Eventually she found this amusing. "See why I need Betty?" she asked. I said yes, especially at pajama orgies.

About halfway to curfew Liza told me we had to get serious. We danced with my arms around her, crushing her all-too-visible boobs to me, and with her hands between us, stroking my cock under the shirt while we kissed and looked in each other's eyes. I particularly enjoyed looking at her because she was so incredibly beautiful, but also because I realized I was falling hard for her and no matter what she said, she was out of my league. I wanted to drink in every moment.

And then the band started a new tune and she said, "This is it!" She had asked for one that had a musical climax -- the Stones or Doors or something -- and we were going to fuck to it. I quickly got 100% hard at the thought, poking right out of my shirttails.

As the music got to the slow part, she pulled the bows at her hip and dropped her bottoms on the dance floor. Then she held my tip to her slit. She was excited too, and slippery. With the platform heels, she was just my height. With a bend of my knees, I slipped right in.

The music chugged along. It slowly picked up pace, and we got more and more heated as it got faster. She was rolling her hips at me, and I was flexing my knees and humping my hips at her. In my excitement I broke our hug and put both palms on her tits. She leaned into my hands. She wasn't laughing anymore; she was concentrating. As the music got faster and our efforts got more energetic she started to grunt with each stroke. I pressed her head into my shoulder with one hand to muffle the noises, and I moved the other hand down to her clit, leaving space between us where anyone could see our private connection. Faster and faster the music went. Louder and louder came the moans, but we were beyond caring. Finally, just when I doubted we could keep on rhythm any longer, she grabbed me tight around the neck and said "I'm gonna cum...I'm...now...fuck! Faster! Fuck! Me! Faster! Ohhhh................................!" And she redoubled her humping, threw her elbows over my shoulders, and pulled herself right off the floor. I grabbed her spectacular ass with both hands. She wrapped her high heels around my thighs and moaned into my neck for almost a minute as I pumped for all I was worth. Then she went limp, feet on the ground again. I looked around for spectators but saw none.