Pesos and Facials Pt. 01

1. Cock-baiting.

It was hot. Like, waytoohot. And out there on the water it was beginning to get a little worrying. The sun cream was protecting her already bronzing skin from the midday sun, but she was glistening with sweat and getting a little flustered. It wouldn't be too long before she began to feel ill. As Emma rounded the last outcrop of rocks in the motorboat, the welcoming sight of a small cove surrounded by trees sprang into view.

That's the next few hours sorted!

With a little effort, she pulled her boat aground on the cove's hot sands and took her towel and bag to the shaded bit of the beach. As she began to unpack her satchel was when she heard the voices.

The break up with Mark had been hard on Emma. They'd been together for a long time, over ten years, so the sudden transition to single-dom had been scary territory. Nearly six months had passed and though it was getting easier, she was far from over it. Naturally, as time went on, slight chinks in Mark's glimmering armour began to appear. Some things she came to recognise for herself (the vanity, the inability to take criticism, the ignorance) and some things she'd had to be told straight. Apparently Mark had been about as faithful as a stray cat. Initially heartbreaking, over time this discovery had become more irritating than upsetting. That the bastard had got one over on her was now simplyannoying. Mark had tried several times to win her back, but with the help of her closest, she'd stayed strong and was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

She needed a holiday. Convincing her friend Amanda to accompany her, the two of them booked a five star trip to the Dominican Republic. Amanda had been before and swore by it; promising fantastic weather, fantastic nightlife and fantastic men. And she hadn't been wrong. Just lying on the beach was like a front row seat at a Chippendales show. The amount of beefy hunkage on show was incredible..

Amanda had been chatting to one of these beefcakes and Emma had been left alone at the loungers, soaking up the rays. She always went a bronzey colour pretty much straight away thanks to her Romanesque complexion and this time was no disappointment. Furthermore, and for reasons she couldn't quite fathom (although in truth, it probably had something to do with the fact that her confidence was gaining momentum), Emma was hitting the beach wearing skimpier and skimpier clothing. That morning she was in the smallest bikini she had ever seen (let aloneworn). It was a gorgeous silk red that barely contained her supple, sweating breasts. Her dark, protruding nipples were all but on show, poking up, straining to get out. The fabric against them was heavenly. They were crying out, screaming to be touched. And the bottom half? Well, regular waxing was essential! Emma's luscious, triangular mound strained beneath that divine fabric, as though her entire pussy had been laminated in silk. The G-string at the back rode high into the sumptuous bronze cheeks of her ass. She loved laying on her front for a few minutes to watch from behind dark glasses as the admiring gazes flooded in. No wonder Amanda wanted to take that beefcake elsewhere to chat! Pre-break up, Emma would never even entertain the idea of such behaviour. Now it just seemed like she couldn't help herself.

Cock-baiting was fun, but left alone for so long (and with nobody brave enough to come and speak to her) she decided she'd hire one of those motorboats she'd seen a few days before and do a little coastal recon. She sent Amanda a text to let her know she was off to find adventure elsewhere.

2. A bit of eavesdropping.

She was like a naughty schoolgirl. A nosey little busy-body. A peeping-Tom. With excitement and trepidation in her stomach, Emma peered from behind the trees at the small party of people gathered a few feet ahead of her in the tiny, rocky clearing. It was a photo-shoot, complete with model, photographer and lighting technician, with a few various other people standing around with apparently undefined roles. The shoot was already underway, with the photographer dishing out various, indiscernible instructions and snapping away with his camera seemingly at random. Emma's eyes were drawn immediately to the model; an incredibly good-looking, uber-fit, 6 feet plus black guy wearing nothing but a pair of very small, very tight and very revealing swimming trunks. Even from here, at over 30 yards away, Emma could see he was packing some serious hardware in there.

Briefly, her thoughts skipped to Mark and his envy of the fabled size of black men's penises. It was a huge generalisation, she knew, but that was how Mark thought; in huge generalisations, and right now this particular generalisation was under no threat whatsoever.

The snapping, smiling and posing went on for about another 10 minutes and , having done quite enough admiring for now, Emma was about to make her way carefully back to her boat, when she caught the words that rooted her to the spot. Either the light breeze relented in its rustling of the palm trees for a second or there was a momentary break in the lapping sea behind her, but for the briefest of times, she heard some actual words.

'Okay, Kyle- let's do the nudes', the photographer casually announced.

Emma's heart rate went up several notches and her stomach did a small somersault.

As she digested the photographer's words, as the flicker of excitement had barely built in her stomach; the model; Kyle, peeled off those ridiculously small trunks unabashedly. There was a perceptible gasp on the set as the he revealed his arsenal.

Emma's eyes went wide with disbelief and her face flushed red. His cock was like nothing she'd ever seen; a huge, meaty black baton that seemed to fall to his knees.

She was mesmerised. 'Oh my God!!' she whispered, frozen rigid in her little hiding place.

There were a few awkward shifts of feet from the crew, but within seconds the shoot was again underway; Kyle adopting various engaging poses. He was amazing to look at, all clean, crisp lines of supple, yet understated muscle. He was a thing of beauty. But despite Kyle's physical majesty, despite his astonishing good looks, his commanding poise; Emma was entranced by only one thing. She'd never found penises to be particularly attractive things, but right now she was experiencing a full-on cock-fixation. Already, she was fantasising about how it would be a great way to even the score with her ex.

If that's what it's like when it's flaccid, what does it look like when it's....

But before she could finish her thought, again on instruction from the photographer, Kyle took that wonderful cock of his in hand and began to give it long, hard strokes, all under the flash of the camera, all under the gaze of the crew. Emma felt her jaw drop slightly and her cheeks flush redder.

Oh. My. God.

She could see the huge pink head at the tip of his cock flash into view on every down stroke, getting perceptibly bigger and more pronounced. Emma could feel herself swallow hard, her heart pounding as Kyle wanked that awesome pole of his. Within seconds he'd pumped it to a staggering erection, repeatedly holding back his foreskin and exhibiting that swollen pink head for the camera. Again on instruction, Kyle retreated to a rock behind him and sat, his masturbating getting harder, faster, the camera seeming to match his vigour; flashing more regularly, more frenzied.

Finally, with a colossal groan, and as Emma began to feel dizzy in the intensity of the moment, Kyle shot a plume of thick, white cum into the air. It travelled for a good few feet before it came to rest on his thigh; a streak of white on his brown flesh. His massive black pole was exploding, fountainous white cum erupting from that rigid, spasming cock, hitting him everywhere, covering him in his own juice as he groaned and bucked with intense pleasure. The camera caught it all, reeling off the shots now, keen to forever immortalise Kyle's magnificent display on poloroid.

Emma felt a tremor; that began in her arms, soon encompass her entire body. She was breathing heavily and sweating, sweating like she was standing under an industrial sized hand-dryer. In her mind, she could see herself knelt before him, her head tossed back, open-mouthed, waiting impatiently as his white nectar splashed across her delighted face. It was everywhere. In her hair, her mouth, gushing down her neck and on to her heaving breasts.

She had to get out of there. She was disgusted, thrilled, ashamed, delighted all at once but she couldn't move, her arms heavy, her legs useless. If she couldn't move, then she had to avert her eyes before she was corrupted any further. She screwed them shut but knew it was useless; she had to again take in the wonderfully abhorrent sight before her. The black knight was still atop his throne, shuddering in the final throes of climax, covered in that wonderful juice.

But suddenly, striking an unsettling, shattering crack through the moment was the awful sound of a cell phone. It took Emma roughly a second to come to the appalling conclusion that it was her own. She snapped back behind the shelter of the tree from which she had been spying, gasping; her head spinning with sudden terror. She couldn't tell if anyone had seen her as her sweating breasts heaved up and down in front of her, but she was going to make off all the same and force those spastic legs into action.

'Is somebody there?' A sudden, faint voice called from the rocky clearing behind her.

She was already walking, clumsily orienteering over the awkward terrain, gasping for air like she'd run a mile. She dared not look back, for to do so would be to reveal herself to her unwitting entertainers and admit her guilt.

'Hey you', came the shattering call from back there.

Her faltering legs were running now, but she could have sworn she was running through quickly setting cement.

'Did you get a nice view?' Someone called in broken English.

She was running for her very life, her heart in her mouth, ready to explode at any second; the shame unbearable.

'It's not nice to spy on people', someone else cried.

It was only when she had her feet on sand again that she dared allow herself a quick glance backwards, but by now she was out of sight, almost home dry. She'd get in that boat and get the hell out of there and breathe normally again.

And that's when she froze dead for the second time that day.

'Oh no', she breathed, barely even words.

The boat was drifting lazily out to sea, a good hundred yards into the ocean already. Emma's world was melting away all around her, the slight relief she'd felt at finding the beach evaporating at once. There was a giant base drum in her chest, beating out her imminent demise. She could feel her legs buckling beneath her.

'Have you lost your boat?' A sudden, unwelcome voice said from behind her.

To be continued.....