Double Dog

"So, I've got us totally covered!"

Stacy unloaded what had to have been the most mis-matched, tacky assortment of gaudy flip-flops, shorts and touristy t-shirts I had ever seen.

"I got all of it on clearance," she continued, excited about her purchases.

"I can see why," I responded, holding up a t-shirt with a caricature of the president wearing a hat emblazoned with marijuana leaves.

She handed me a pair of shorts that were best described as "blinding" - with one leg the brightest neon yellow I think I had ever seen a covered with (obviously misplaced) Gucci and Louis Vuitton logos and the other side a red-white-and-blue American flag. For her own outfit, it was a tiny pair of booty shorts with "SEXY" emblazoned across the ass and a shirt so baggy it was obvious it would appear she wasn't even wearing any.

What I wasn't seeing were swimsuits.

"Well," she said, pulling open a final bag, "we're so close to Haulover Beach I figured we don't even need any swimsuits."

She had my attention.

"But," she continued, "what we do need is some grooming."

She held the electric clipper set, still in its plastic clamshell packaging, in front of my face.

"Aaaaaaaannnnddd, since you still owe me my dare. Whadaya think?"

If it meant getting to spend time with her, there was very little I wouldn't have done.

"So, to clarify, is the dare to let you groom me, wear these awful clothes or go to the nude beach with you?"

"All of the above," she said, stepping into me and taking my dick into her hand.

"That's a big dare," I whispered, leaning into her for a kiss.

"Yeah," she purred back, "double dog."