Just a Little Holiday, She Said

He starts at my forehead, stroking slowly backward. I lean my head back and feel the sensuous pull, the bristles on my scalp, again and again. I arch my back and my breasts rise to the sun, nipples taut. Sven has finished my arms and shoulders and starts oiling my forehead, my eyebrows, my cheekbones, my jawbones, my neck. His hands glide down, surround my breasts, and he begins oiling them too. Now he's rubbing my nipples. I'm starting to feel warm. I close my eyes. I purr.

Yes. I am your golden tiger-goddess. Worship me.

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I'm on my hands and knees now in the hot sand. Jean is spread-legged before me; watching with big eyes as I stroke him in that little spot behind his balls and suck at the tip, probing the little opening with my tongue, tasting. I taste him, yes, but I think I can taste a little of my sister-goddess too.

His hands ruffle my hair, seize my shoulders; he moans, bucks. I explore a little more; he groans and bucks again. I press on, undeterred.

All the while, Sven, that Nordic god, is behind me, sliding himself lazily in and out, in and out. He's so big, so warm, I'm so full. I'm all warm and tingly inside; I'm getting hazy, hazy. He has me by the hips, kneading, then he slides his hands around below and starts squeezing a nipple with one hand while the other teases the little soldier again. Sven is thrusting harder now. The little soldier is losing his way again! No! Oh! OH!

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I'm on my back, eyes closed, my head on someone's knee. I look up; it's Red. He caresses my face, pushing stray hairs away; he leans forward and licks my face. He's licking off something sticky; I think Jean left it there. I tilt my chin up and kiss him softly and slowly.

Someone else is down below, stroking my thighs; I don't even know who. He touches that little nub in behind, between my cheeks; I twitch and moan. He touches it again; my hips jump and I fade a little more. My little soldier is standing at attention again; but now someone is giving him a bath with his tongue, twirling him around and around. He's dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Everything is going hazy again. Hazy, hazy. Now a rush in my ears, and then nothing more for a long while.

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All four of our worshippers lie sprawled on the sand, naked. Two sleep quietly; another snores; the fourth gazes at us listlessly. My golden friend and I stand a little way off, watching. She turns to me: "You're a little damp down there." She slides two fingers between my legs, rubs them against her thumb. "Sticky. Sandy." She raises them to her lips. "Salty too." Then, "Let's swim."

We turn and trot over the firm wet sand into the surf, dive shallow and swim slowly out. After a while we drift back until our feet touch, then stand rocking

gently in the swell, rubbing each other down, cleaning all those sandy, sticky, and salty places. It's nice and cool in the water; her hands feel smooth and wonderful on my skin. Afterward, we stand holding each other lightly at the hips, touching noses, and then we kiss softly. She strokes under my breast with a finger and toys with the nipple; I feel warm. I caress the curve of her bottom; she purrs.

We touch like this and kiss quietly as we float lazily in the surf back toward the shore. As we stand again, she looks over at our beach and says, "Men, after all, I think -- not boys."

"Yes, they've all shown a man's skill."

She contemplates them quietly for a while.

"But worthy as they are, they're clearly spent, and night is not yet come." She pauses. "Let us go and seek others."

I nod, and she takes my hand as we walk side by side from the water and start along the beach, then splash past the rocks. I swing my head; my hair fans out behind me.

We are goddesses; she a lioness, I a tigress. As we walk, the warm wind tosses and dries our manes.

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* * *

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The sun is in the west; we walk toward it. The tiger-goddess at my left hand twitches her nostrils. Yes, I too smell food, faintly in the distance. We walk, hand in hand, toward the smell.

"Marquesitas!" she cries, and breaks into a run. Her auburn mane sails behind her in the wind. I run too.

We skid to a stop, a little breathless and hair all askew, beside a tiny push-cart on the beach. A barefoot young man in a tee shirt and loose shorts stares at us, speechless. It's late in the afternoon; we're alone on the beach together.

My sister-goddess points to the griddle and says, "Dos."

The young man looks at her; he looks at me; he swallows. He turns to the griddle, ladles on some batter, and then spreads it out thin. A moment later, when the batter bubbles and crisps on the edges, he flips it over and spreads on a sweet brown paste and sprinkles on cheese.

He turns to his left to stare at my sister. I'm on his right; just behind him now. He stands very still. I touch him on his left arm; he starts.

"Ready, I think."

He nods twice quickly, flicks the edge with his spatula and rolls up the treat. He lifts it with the spatula and offers it to my mate. She steps up close to him and takes it in her fingers. He clears his throat quietly. She stands very close to him and bites down.

"Mmmm. Muy buen gusto."

He's looking into her eyes; I think he's trembling a bit. From behind him, I touch his arm again, but this time, I leave my hand there a little longer, stroking his forearm with my fingertips. I lean close.

"Another," I whisper.

He turns away with a shudder, pouring more batter on the griddle. I move my hand to his upper arm and massage it lightly; I slide my right hand to his hip, and look over his shoulder at the griddle. He's definitely trembling now, almost shaking. I stand on my toes, look down farther and see something poking at the fabric of his shorts.

He lifts the roll from the griddle and turns to me, looking relieved that I'll be occupied with it for a minute or two.

He's right. We haven't eaten all day, and the aroma, the crisp, the sweet, salty, and tangy taste overwhelm me.

But he's not out of trouble -- no, not at all. In fact, he's drifting farther and farther from shore.

He's up against the cart now, and my tiger-goddess mate is standing very, very close to him. She's rubbing her calf against the back of his leg and purring softly; I think he's stopped breathing.

She takes his hand in hers, licks two fingertips, and uses them to dab at the crumbs between her breasts. I hear the spatula clatter off the ledge and fall in the sand.

I want a better look at what we have here, so I come up close behind him and catch both sides of his shirt at the waist. I lift up gently; he raises his arms without resistance as I pull the shirt over his head. He's trim, nicely muscled, with long curly black hair. I put a hand at his waist; with the other, I trace his backbone. He shivers.

Now that his shirt is off, my tiger-goddess sister leans in even closer. She toys with the hair on his chest. She fixes him in her gaze.

"Touch me," she says. "Everywhere."

His hands start moving, a little shakily, starting at her hips. She's close enough that the point in his shorts presses against her and her nipples graze his chest.

I'm running my fingers down his back and squeezing his amazing, taut, ass. I move my hands to his waistband and start to work it down. My tiger-mate strokes his shaft slowly up from below, then flips his pants down over the tip. He gasps. His pants slide to the sand.

I reach my right hand around in front of him to stroke his inner leg and tickle his balls. I pull myself close, my breasts against his back and my groin against his bottom. I wrap my right leg around him; my pussy lips spread against his cheek. My little hidden nub rubs against him too.

She's stroking him; I'm stroking him; we're both as close to him as we could possibly be. He's panting softly; I don't think he can stand this much longer.

My mate has slid her leg up higher, stroking his hip with her thigh, hooking her calf around behind him. I'm nuzzling the back of his neck; she's kissing him passionately.

Now they're shifting their weight, squirming a little, then I hear a little gasp and sigh from both of them. I'm rubbing myself against his bottom, and they're thrusting too. We're all sweating, breathing loudly, and then I start to lose focus. She cries out, he groans desperately, and I lose focus completely.

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We're all in a tangled heap on the sand. They're kissing; I'm stroking him; she's stroking me. I roll away and lie back on the sand. I hear her little cry as she comes again.

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She's standing before him, looking deep into his eyes. "Come, Carlos," she says.

"My name is--"

"Carlos," she repeats.

A long, long pause. "Carlos," he says quietly.

She takes him by the hand, and starts leading him away.

"My pants!" he says.

"You won't need them," she replies.

I wrap an arm around his waist and stroke his bottom lightly. He gasps a little; something low down in front starts to stir. We walk west, into the setting sun.

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It's darker now; just a hint in the west. We're sitting around a little table in the sand at a beach-side cantina, the last table out toward the sea. There are a few strings of lights by the bar, but not out here. Carlos sits very close to my tiger-goddess mate; she's half in his lap, her leg over and between his. They're kissing softly and fondling. Carlos is in full flower.

A waiter comes over. Calf-length dark pants, a white buttoned short-sleeved shirt, napkin over his arm. He does a double-take. He's very cool though, and just raises his eyebrows gently at me.

"Señora?" he says.

"Tres cervezas, por favor."

"Sí, Señora." He nods and walks away.

A moment later, he's back.

"Cerveza, Señora." He places the drinks on the table.

I look deeply at him and smile softly. He swallows, backs up a step, then turns abruptly and walks away.

The beer is cold, clear, and sharp; it's so, so welcome after a long, hot day.

Later, feeling satisfied, I'm standing looking out to sea, stretching and yawning. My tigress sister is draped on a beach lounger; Carlos kneels beside her, licking her nipple and fondling her between the legs.

I hear the waiter behind me. I turn and stand with my legs slightly apart, hands on my hips. I gaze at him. I toss my hair; it cascades in the evening wind. I don't need a mirror to know how I look. He stands very, very still.

"Do you like your job?"

A long pause. "It's a job."

I step forward to stroke him lightly under his forearm. He sucks in a breath. I move closer, and toy with the top button on his shirt, then open it.

"Then come with us."

Another long pause. He can see what Carlos and Tigress are doing. He's torn. I tangle my fingers in the hair above the button.

My sister sees my difficulty; she rises like the great, lithe, cat she is, and pads over behind him. She puts her hands on his hips, rubbing slowly and lightly up and down. He swallows uncomfortably. After a pause, she slowly pulls his shirt-tails out. He drops his order-book.

I unbutton his shirt slowly and push it back, exposing his shoulders, sliding the sleeves down his arms. My favorite sister-goddess comes in closer and starts running her hands up and down his back and massaging his buttocks. I'm squeezing his bicep with one hand and running the other hand flat over his chest. He's breathing shallowly, quickly.

I slide my hand down his arm, then take his hand and place it on my hip. I raise his other hand to my lips and kiss the fingertips, then bring the hand to my breast. Hands appear from behind him to unbutton his trousers. I reach down and run the zipper down. He starts to moan, a little plaintively.

The hands pull his trousers down, showing us his navy-blue briefs. There's something truly large there in the front. I stroke it gently.

"Kick your shoes and pants off; let's go."

Without taking his eyes off mine, he does. I take his hand and lead him to the water.

.

We're in neck-deep water, face to face. Actually, it's up to his neck and over mine; my toes don't touch bottom. He holds me lightly by the hips; I bob easily there.

He seems still a little unsure, so I lean close and kiss him tenderly, stroking the back of his neck with my fingers. He shivers and sighs; I feel him relax a little.

I reach down and touch the thing in his shorts, then pull them down. They slide down his legs. He kicks them off, and they begin drifting away to points unknown.

My hands are on his shoulders again. He takes me by the hips and lifts me a little. I'm so buoyant. He does this again and again, bouncing me slowly up and letting me drift down. It's an amazing feeling; it's like I weigh nothing.

I turn a little to sit sideways in the crook of his arm and we kiss, slowly, languorously. I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips.

He lifts me up higher and takes a breast in his mouth. He toys with the nipple, then opens wide, sucking in a great gob, twirling my nipple with his tongue. I'm immediately light-headed; I gasp.

He releases my breast and I kiss him hard. I probe with my tongue. The hand behind me explores between my cheeks. We're so wet and slippery. I make little cries.

Every time we move, I can feel his rock-hard cock against me. With my hands on his shoulders, I raise myself a little to bring the tip to my opening. His eyes go wide and roll back. Little by little, I slide myself all the way down, then wrap my legs around him. He pulls me very close, his hand behind my head on his shoulder, and thrusts again and again. My God, I'm coming already. He gives a last great thrust and squeezes me tight. My world fades.

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We're lying side-by-side at the edge of the surf; the water laps over our legs and up to our chests. He traces a nipple with his finger, then with his tongue. I stroke his hair.

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It's later; we've dried off in the wind. We're lying on the sand by a copse of trees. Tiger-girl and Carlos are here too. I lay down on my side and curl up to sleep. I'm a little chilly, though.

"Manuel, come lie beside me; keep me warm." He comes closer and spoons with me. I can feel his erection between my legs. He puts his arm over mine and cups my breast. I purr and drop off to sleep.

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Something wakes me; it's very dark, but the water sparkles. Manuel is still cuddling with me; I pull his hand over me and tuck myself in closer. Cozy. Sleepy. Mmmm.

.

I open my eyes; it's just dawn now. There's someone kneeling a little way off, hands on his knees, naked, watching us quietly. I shade my eyes and look closer; it's Sven.

"Sven; how did you find us?"

"I was nearly asleep, but then I saw you leave. I followed. I brought the oil and the brush."

I smile and murmur approval, and then I lay my head back down and doze a little more.

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My tiger-sister is already up. She's leaning back on her elbows with her head tilted back, knees up, legs outstretched and open. Carlos kneels behind her, brushing her hair, while Sven is nosing between her legs. Just watching them is making me warm and tingly inside. I turn to Manuel, and between his legs I can see he's been watching too. I kiss him deeply, and he slides his hand down between my legs. I purr.

.

"How about some breakfast?"

We walk down the beach, looking for somewhere to eat. Manuel traces up and down my backbone with his fingertips. I wriggle and sigh.

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* * *

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I'm the morning manager of this little beach cantina -- but then I'm the greeter, waitress, busboy, cashier, and garbage hauler too. At least I don't have to cook.

The owner makes us open up really early even though there's seldom any customers. Today's different though; there's a party at the last table out in the sand.

I walk over, but as I come closer I sense something a little odd about them. Then it hits me; they're all naked as the day they were born. Well, you do see strange things on the beach sometimes.

As I stand in front of them, studying them, my opinion changes. They have no clothes on, sure, but somehow the two women are not really naked. They are so achingly, stunningly beautiful and so completely confident and at ease, it's me who's a little out of place, not them. The men are a bit different, though. A lanky man with high cheekbones and short, nearly-white hair seems comfortable enough, but the other two find it maybe a bit harder to meet my eye.

The women are lying back in their chairs, watching me quietly but intently, waiting for me to finish my thoughts. Their waist-length hair cascades to the sand.

I turn to the blonde woman. "Señora?"

She smiles, and in a clear, quiet voice, says, "Buenos días, Señora. Huevos, frijoles refritos, tortillas y salsa por favor. Oh, fruita también. Café con leche."

"Sí, Señora." I nod, and turn and walk back to the kitchen.

There are five of them, so I bring a large fruit basket: oranges, papayas, grapes, dragon fruit, mangoes. As I place it on the table, I see one of the darker men standing behind the redhead woman's chair, brushing her hair. She's leaning back with her eyes closed, a very dreamy look on her face. The blond man kneels in front between her legs, rubbing oil on her thighs. I get a glimpse between his legs; he's clearly enjoying it too.

The blonde woman gazes at me. "Muchas gracias, Señora."

Wow.

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The two women are knockout gorgeous, to be sure, but I'm no hag myself, and I don't need anyone to tell me so. My ancestors were Cuban, which really means Spanish and Caribe with a pinch of African thrown in. It's a good combination. My features are sharp; my skin is quite dark -- it glows when I'm in the sun.

My long, straight, black hair ends below my waist. Yes, it's a pain sometimes, but it's my hair, and I'll have it the way I want it, thank you very much. I'd as soon just let it fly, but at work I clip it together at the back of my neck to keep it out of the food.

It's hot again today, even this early in the morning. In this weather, I wear a loose white sleeveless blouse over my red silk gym shorts -- lots of airflow is the key. Rather than wear a tight blouse to show off my tits, I like it extra loose to let them move. Big boobs in a tight blouse are the sign of a show-off -- tacky.

And no bra, dammit. It's hot, and I don't care what you think about the girls swinging around.

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I take the food out; it's a big tray with lots of dishes. As I approach the table, the blond-haired man jumps up to assist. The help is appreciated, if a little surprising, but that big dong swinging between his legs is a bit distracting.

As I turn to go, I see them tear into the food. They look hungry.

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While I get things ready for the lunch trade, I keep thinking about that table, especially about the men. I don't think I heard them say a single word, but instead they just watch quietly, going about their "work". Damn. I could use a boyfriend like that.

Not like slaves, though. They're clearly very happy where they are, doing what they're doing. Not like little puppy-dogs, either. They're strong, quiet, confident men.

Acolytes. That's it; they're acolytes. They worship those two goddesses not in word, but in quiet deed.

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As I look out to that table at the end, I can see they must be finished; they've shifted to the nearby beach chairs. I walk out to collect the dishes.

When I arrive, instead of the usual crockery chaos, I find the dark, curly-haired man just finishing up stacking the plates neatly. He turns to me and smiles, and then helps me load the tray. But damn, that big swinging dong is distracting.