Ixchel Ch. 01

Ixchel

Chapter 1

by Adam Gunn

The drink - no, two, including the frozen one at the reception desk - had already started a buzz in her head, a very welcome buzz. She was reclining on the pearly beach, a palm tree mostly shading her, her skin pale. Her neck length walnut hair was freshly cut, the nails ruby with polish, her brows plucked, eye-liner applied, her lipstick a soft shade of carnation. Further below, beneath the protection of the bikini bottoms, she knew the hair was short and trimmed, and completely removed from the important, most sensitive area.

Those were the things she could do something about. Then there were the others, and she was completely aware of all her faults, her broad nose and full cheeks. Even though she'd lost twenty three pounds due to dieting and worry since the divorce, her stomach was still marginally rounded, the hip bones amply padded. Her legs and arms weren't thin by any means, and her breasts were too small for the frame. But the three lovers she'd had in the previous twelve months had all reassured her she was 'cute' or 'hot.' Well, she'd just have to deal with those limited compliments.

Cheryl wondered what the next four nights at the Ixchel resort would bring. She was uncertain, fearful they'd be spent quietly. For that, she'd brought two novels, an Amanda Quick and a Harlequin Blaze, but there was also a copy of Hotel Sex Stories buried deep in the bowels of her suitcase.

She inspected the sands and ocean. The middle of the afternoon had passed, yet there were still three dozen people around. All the women, like herself, were topless but had their bottoms on; the check-in package was quite uncompromising about that - no full nudity in public whatsoever! Of course, the restriction didn't include Passionné Island, 250 yards away, almost close enough to touch, far enough away that the thought of it was still comfortable. The mixture of ages on this beach was interesting, a few were young, extremely desirable, most were nearly her own age or even older. A couple of men walked by, glanced at her. Even though she wore sunglasses, she shyly peeped back, inspected them as they were inspecting her. What, she wondered, would they be like?

She wanted to touch one of her nipples, even put a hand into her panties. But she resisted, for it wasn't something one did in public, was it? And besides, she'd done too much of that lately. Instead, she closed her eyes, relaxed in the warmth of the sun.

Later - seconds? minutes? - she sensed another body nearby. When she opened her eyes, it turned out to be a man fifteen feet away, lying on his side on a beach towel facing her. "I hope you don't mind," he said in a way of introduction, "but I was admiring your beauty."

What the man saw was a lady of medium height, he estimated her age to be not more than forty-five, perhaps a year or three younger. Had she sensed this she would have been pleased, for her true age was closer to his, comfortably past her fiftieth birthday. She had an oval face, deep set midnight green eyes, a mouth with a full lower lip and a lovely cupid's bow that, when at rest, slightly opened to reveal wonderfully white teeth. Her neck was slightly elongated, the shoulders wide. Although by some physician's chart she was probably overweight, any uncritical being would tell you she was just perfect for her full body. Her legs and arms showed few sign of aging, her hips were not overly broad, her breasts had lost the firmness of youth, yet had not begun to sag. They were slightly conical, the coral nipples slightly extended even when not excited, the surrounding circles tawny. In short, to most men at the resort, she was utterly fetching.

Cheryl smiled, more to herself than to him. "No, I don't mind you looking," she teased back in a well educated soprano. She turned on her side, facing him, and returned the favor. He was, if not handsome, then - that trivial word - 'cute', clean shaven, stocky, a modicum of chest hair. Cheryl's hidden eyes delved to his crotch, and was pleased to discover a pleasant lump seemed to be disguised by the thin material of his speedos. "I'm Cheryl."

"I'm Wes. Did you just get in?" he asked.

"Just today. How could you tell?"

"No suntan yet." He was golden.

"And you?"

"We got to Ixchel two days ago. This is our third trip."

"It's my first time here."

"Enjoying it?"

"So far, yes. I'm looking forward to seeing everything."

"I'd be happy to show you around," he flirted.

"Where's your wife?" she asked, for his ring finger was encircled. "Wouldn't she mind you were talking to a strange woman?"

"She met an old friend at lunch and I haven't seen her since. How strange are you?"

"Hmmm. Better give me multiple choices instead of an essay!"

That got a chortle out of him. "So, your husband? Where is he?"

"Don't have one. Or a boyfriend, either. I came all by myself."

"My goodness! What made you choose this resort?"

"Oh, I heard the sun and sand was great here. And I was told there's quite an active nightlife here." Suddenly she realized her nipples were giving her away, swelling with her thoughts. She grabbed her glass, sipped the last drops from it, using the ruse to symbolically cover her naked breasts with an arm.

The man offered, "Seems you need another drink. Let me get one. What is it?"

"Pina Colada," Cheryl admitted.

"Great. Save my place, will you?" And he was off.

'What am I getting into?' Cheryl mused, and then the other part of her brain answered, 'Exactly what you came down here for.' She rose, grabbed the sunscreen from her tote, began applying it to her cheeks and neck. By the time she was down to her shoulders, Wes returned, handed her the new drink.

"Let me help you," he suggested. "Lay on your stomach."

Willing to let this man touch her, she followed his directions. He knelt to her side, creamed his palms, started on the back of her shoulders, worked his way down the back, radiating the lotion out from the center. He had strong, confident hands, and his actions were as much massage as spreading of cream. He carefully applied the sunscreen to her side, stroking the fringes of her breast, but instead of going further as she hoped he would, he worked his way back to her vertebrae. When he reached the waist band of her bottoms, he tucked one sly finger inside of them, just a smidgen, and waited to see if she protested; she didn't. Then he moved to her feet, stroking the back of her calves. Up he came, slowly, over the back of her knees, up the thighs. Finally he reached the fanny, and when he put his hand between her legs at the very edge of the fabric, she subtly shifted one leg out, increasing his access. He took advantage of her invitation, and while three fingers were on her bare skin, one was squarely on the spandex hiding the opening. He rubbed it a bit without allowing anyone other than the couple know that foreplay was in progress. "This side's done, roll over."

She turned onto her back, and didn't worry that her nipples were sharply pointing to the sky. Wes tenderly rubbed the area around her collarbone with the ointment, then bent further over her, brought his lips to hers. She opened them, tasted him, allowed him to taste her. He shifted until he was lying beside her, they were wrapped in an embrace. His shaft pressed onto her leg, and it was no longer soft. It was certain what was going to happen, and the brochures insisted sex in public was prohibited, although the internet chat suggested - at night at least - the rules weren't strictly enforced. Cheryl whispered into his ear, "Let's go to my room."

"Sure." They quickly grabbed the tote and towels and glasses. Hand in hand they rambled forty yards to her garden view room. It took her an infelicitous moment to find her key and unlock the door, then they were in private.

Without any hint of the shyness she'd worried about, she led him to the bed, sat upon it and encouraged him to do the same. They renewed the kissing, and in a few moments he pushed her to the mattress. His hands, then his lips went to her breast; she was sensitive there, she could feel the beginnings of exhilaration commence below her navel.

Wes tugged at her bottom, Cheryl helped him remove it. Her hand entered his trunks and touched the penis, and she found its aroused state it was larger than average - she could barely wrap her fingers around it. She stroked it, and Wes placed a finger at her opening. He knew the craft, and found her clit buried within the soft folds. He gave it a few strokes, dipped the finger into the wet slit, stroked the clit again with the moist finger. It was as much as she could stand, she closed her eyes and tensed. The orgasm spread over her body, and when Wes put his face between her legs, sucked on the button and massaged the inside of her tunnel, the frenzy increased. It was almost as much as she could handle, she bucked and writhed. When she could stand no more, she pushed his head away and begged, "I want you now!"

She placed her back to the mattress, spread her legs to either side of him, and helped him aim the pole at her opening. Quickly it was propelled into the wetness, and Cheryl wondered at how, although he was larger than any she'd ever had before, the tunnel expanded to comfortably take the entire length and girth. Wes was quick with his strokes, and the friction within her spread again to her extremities. She held him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his hips, opened for him.

Although he was ready and could have exploded, for she was tight and the taking of a new woman is always intoxicating, he willed himself not to come, but slackened the movements and then, when he felt her palpitations subside, he withdrew, stood beside the bed. She knelt at the side, pointing her ass at him, and once again he entered. This time, he was slower, filling her more completely than she'd ever been before, and all Cheryl had to do was provide a firm target. He reached around, grasped a breast, pinched a nipple, moved his pelvis not just in an in and out fashion but also varying the specific angle of attack. Once again, with a little less force, Cheryl felt another orgasm approach. Over the edge she plunged, closing her eyes and sighing, over and over again, with the relief. She collapsed, and Wes's tool slipped from her.

She scooched around until her head was at his stomach, she wanted a better look at the monster. She hefted the still semi-hard pole, it was at least eight inches long, and she wondered that it fit so well into her tunnel - it didn't quite seem possible. Cheryl played with her new toy, pulling on it. Wes just laid and enjoyed the touch, and when she took the tool into her mouth, it slowly regained its denseness. Cheryl tried to stay with him, but the hugeness stretched her mouth too much, and she was relegated to licking the sides and tip.

She sensed he was ready for more action, and she was as well. This time she climbed on top. It was actually better now, she wasn't as desperate to come, more in control. Back and forth she wriggled, up and down, limiting the deepness or forcing it all the way down as the whim hit her. Her feet came up to his shoulders, forcing the linkage to the maximum. This way, it began to hurt, just a little, as the tip of his dick pressed firmly against her cervix, and after a few moments she shifted again to relieve the pressure. She bent over to kiss him, he grabbed a breast or a handful of her ass, when she raised back up he put a hand to her filled gap, tickled the clit. Another orgasm for her, slow and burning, lasting for not moments but minutes, then finally it was his turn. He turned her over until she was on her back, he above her, lying on her, savagely pounding in and out until he howled, "I'm coming," and she felt him let loose, sliding within her as his fluid streamed inside her.

As he slowed, she tussled the hair on his head, hugged him to her, felt the weight of his body on hers. He rolled off, and she knew though he was still in some ways a stranger, he was also a playmate, and that's what she wanted, nothing more. This was what the days were going to be all about, and she was glad her sabbatical had started so quickly and successfully.

They faced each other, and although the sexual tension was completely relieved, they touched each other, letting each other know how pleased they were with the fling.

"So, did I provide a good welcoming committee?" Wes joked.

"The best! Just what I needed."

They lazed on the mattress, the excitement of sudden sex complete, the taint of companionship dawning. "So, you knew what you were getting into when you chose a swinger's resort."

"I had hopes," Cheryl agreed. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Can't promise I'll keep it if they torture me."

"You're the first man I ever let . . ." the word she wanted to use was just too dirty, too raw, she substituted, "make love to me before the third date."

"I'm complimented," Wes observed. He'd found her to be a little more assertive than many swinger women. "Then I assume you've got more fantasies to fulfill down here."

"I've got some ideas."

Wes glanced at the clock. "I hate to say this, but I need to get going. I'd love to see you again . . ."

"You mean you want to fuck me again!" This time, the word came easier to Cheryl's vocal chords. They laughed together.

"Well, since you mention it! But you seem like a great person, and you've got a unique perspective. I'd love to get to know you, really. And I think my wife would like to meet you." By this time, Wes was bending down to retrieve his swim trunks.

"She doesn't mind, does she? I still find that so curious. When my husband had affairs, I was ready to scratch his eyes out."

"It's not like that with Pat and me."

He leaned over to kiss her a last time, stroke a breast. "Thanks, it was fun. And, listen, I know I wasn't at the top of my game so if you want to give me another chance to get it right . . ."

Her laughter followed him out the door.