Playground of Delights

Opportunity flirting with chance, stimulus reacting to responsive urges, instinct guiding impulse, closeness stirring intimacy, genitalia pushing together in a simulation of coital engagement, the pulsing limb inside his shorts pressing urgently against her pubic bone, arousal and expectation fuelling the fire of passion, a tingling sensation exploding inside her vulva, vaginal fluids pooling between her legs, pulses racing, senses swimming, a wanting woman coming to life.

Heels tapped in rhythmic echoes over marble floors as they headed along the corridor to the lift, pushing a black button on a stainless steel panel, the brief interlude giving them enough time to embrace in a passionate kiss, a bell chime and the sound of the lift doors opening momentarily breaking the sexually charged atmosphere.

The sexually charged atmosphere followed them into the lift. The embrace impulsive, the kiss responsive, the pursuit inevitable, impatient hands sweeping urgently over intimate parts, touching and feeling, squeezing and groping, a mutual interaction of reckless foreplay, the straining bulge inside his shorts betraying evidence of his untimely arousal, the sound of the bell chime signalling that the lift was about to stop at another floor interrupting their impulsive moment of intimacy.

A well-built Spanish security guard smoking a cigarette and smelling of alcohol entered the lift. "Hola," he offered, pressing a button on the control panel, looking at his reflection in the mirror and muttering something under his breath, smiling at the beautiful woman dressed to perfection, frowning at the man fumbling with an embarrassing lump inside his shorts.

"I'll have to take these off," she said, resting her hand on his shoulder, lifting one foot and then the other, removing a pair of towering heels that weren't designed for walking in sand. "That's better," she smiled, giving his bottom a playful squeeze before taking his hand, strolling along the beach under a ceiling of glittering stars, listening to the sea lapping on pebbles, the moonlight throwing light over of her white silk dress, the alluring shadows silhouetting impossible curves, two people embarking on a courtship of expectation, both wondering how the night would unfold.

The invitation of an upturned fishing boat provided the opportunity for a cigarette and to remove particles of sand clinging to her feet. He was on his knees and lifting her feet to his chest before the cigarette had touched her lips, his fingers gliding over insteps and arches, removing sprinkles of fine sand between her painted toes, running a warm hand up her long smooth legs and squeezing her thighs, teasing the mysterious junction between her legs, a promiscuous smile lifting the corners of her mouth, the cigarette abandoned in the sand, a persuasive gesture and an outstretched hand getting him back on his feet.

A meeting of eyes, lips greeting lips, mouths coming together in a smouldering kiss, tongues duelling in a gripping endurance of oral foreplay, pulses buzzing, heart beats increasing, breathing accelerating, a tangle of hands searching in the darkness, groping and squeezing, sweeping over curves, over genitalia, over flesh, over cotton, over silk, squeezing bulges, caressing breasts, squeezing each one gently in the palm of his hand, feeling them rising and falling beneath the soft fabric, lowering his hands to her waist, tracing the curvature of perfection, reaching around with both hands and clutching her bottom, gripping the soft flesh beneath the silky material, flexing his buttocks and thrusting his hips, letting her feel the throbbing pulse inside his shorts.

A burning inferno between her thighs, lust overflowing with passion, need sweeping away caution, the promise of expectation forcing her to her knees, impatient hands fumbling in the darkness with his button and zip, the capture of fastenings eventually yielding under a chorus of curses and frustrated sighs, long painted fingers pulling his shorts and briefs over his thighs and down his legs before gathering at his feet in the sand.

The promise of expectation inflaming need, an insistent pulse between her legs, her breathing increasing, her breasts rising and falling, her fingers curling around the swollen limb, her dark eyes taking in the full glory of the white veined column throbbing in her hand, her eyes twinkling with hungry appraisal, her smile seductive, her lips forming words, a flirtatious invitation of promiscuous suggestion whispered in mocking enquiry.

"I hope that can deliver what it promises," she mused, lifting the weighty object in her hand, working the length back and forth, pulling and tugging, sweeping her warm tongue over the scrotum, probing the rugged skin and teasing his hairy testicles, marking a warm wet trail up the impressive length, nipping the foreskin gently between her teeth, sweeping her tongue over the open eye, feasting on the sticky essence, gripping the awesome flesh, easing him into her hungry mouth, easing him out, scraping her teeth over the bulbous head, breathing him in, swallowing him deep, feeling the head assaulting the back of her throat, blowing him out, letting him slip from her mouth in choking gasps for air.

"Your cock is so big. Are you going to push all this inside me?" she smiled, flashing her eyes and lifting to her feet, brushing hair from her face, turning around and leaning over the upturned boat, lifting her dress over her hips, the silk fabric slipping between her fingers before gathering at her waist, both hands flat against the cool timbers, her legs parted, the impossible curves of perfection held in alluring capture beneath a shadowy veil of secrecy.

A brief pause to focus his eyes and take in the architectural wonder poised in submissive offering before slipping his fingers into the elastic waist and sliding the silk knickers over sculptured curves with agonising slowness, his lustful eyes following every second of perpetual movement, pulling the soft fabric over her shapely bottom, gliding over mouth-watering thighs, sliding down never-ending legs and gathering at her feet, the silk garment abandoned in the sand, the insistent voice of a wanting woman interrupting the silence, breaking the solitude.

"Put it inside me. All of it" she pleaded.

One hand pulling the cheeks apart, his other hand gripping his meaty cock, shuffling his feet in the sand, an urgent manoeuvre and a gentle thrust, the threatening limb slipping between the moist flaps and folds, easing inside her body, growing in length and thickening in girth, breathless gestures of encouragement and whispered words of reassurance stumbling in a muted monologue of compliments and broken promises, wriggling her bottom and moving her hips, shuffling her feet in the sand, clenching her teeth and pushing back, closing her eyes and twisting her face, the gruesome flesh stretching and filling, breaching and penetrating the burning inferno between her legs.

Eyes watering, mouths dry, visions blurred, pulses racing, moans chasing breathless gasps, hard flesh hitting soft flesh, genitalia embracing genitalia in a mutual interaction of carnal connection, a synchronised motion of give and take, pushing in and pulling out, entering and retreating, moving inside her body with determined thrusts, penetrating deep, bucking and thrusting, banging and grinding, all the way in, all the way out, plunging into her entrance, stretching and bruising her body with an unforgiving force.

"Fucking hell...," he blurted. I'm...I'm...coming," he announced, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, his body shaking and shuddering, his legs almost giving way under him, moaning and groaning through a chorus of euphoric grunts and breathless wheezes.

"Don't stop. Come inside me. Let it all come inside me," she insisted, reaching back with both hands and clutching his buttocks, wiggling her hips and pulling him forward, his balls exploding, the heat of passion rushing up his shaft, the ejaculation powerful and sustained, firing in four consecutive spurts, a copious amount of seminal solution splashing with an unforgiving force inside her body, coating the inner walls of the vaginal vault, pulling his softening cock from her body, the last remains of liquid passion decorating her bottom and pooling between her thighs.

Sitting in the sand with their backs against the upturned boat, listening to insects humming around them, puffing and panting and sucking in air, sitting in silence, waiting for calm, waiting for their racing hearts to return to normal.

In the distance a police car and an ambulance sped along the main road, the wailing sirens joining in musical rhythm with a howling dog somewhere on the beach. A group of drunken people with threatening voices fought to do battle with each other in a narrow street, the two lovers on the beach oblivious to the mayhem, both uninterested in what was happening in the world around them.

Martina's outstretched hand with a cigarette broke the cacophonous interlude.

The first intake of nicotine helped to ease the frustration of his premature release. He traced her eyes and forced a smile, a compelling urge to apologise hovering behind his teeth.

A painted finger touching his lips interrupted his gesture of apology, her eyes flashing with amusement, her smile genuine.

"You must come to the yacht tomorrow night for drinks," she invited. "About eight o'clock will be fine," she said, removing her finger from his mouth, a flirtatious smile lifting the corners of her mouth, the determination in her voice leaving little or no room for negotiation.

"But I must warn you that I'm fond of a little bondage and domination," she smiled, blowing smoke above her head, her dark eyes seeking an answer.

"Eight it is then," he confirmed, the promise of furtive suggestion getting his full attention.

"I must get back to the yacht." she smiled, taking his outstretched hand and lifting from the sand, skipping along the beach, stealing kisses under a million stars, fireworks lighting up the sky over the distant hills, shooting into orbit, exploding into a halo of white lights, living and dying in a heartbeat before falling back to earth in a tableau of silent pirouettes.

"Buonanotte" she smiled. "Or should I say arrivederci," she added, stealing another kiss and letting go of his hand, gliding graciously to her destination, the moonlight playing upon exquisite curves, the silk material slipping between the cheeks of her bottom, smiling and blowing a kiss from the palm of her hand as she walked onto the yacht, the silhouette of perfection melting away into the shadows of darkness.

Heading along a dark deserted footpath back to the Palm Beach Hotel, a shadowy silhouette appearing from the shadows startled him. He turned on his heels to see Frank blowing lazy smoke rings into the air above his head, the bright red ash from his cigarette glowing in the darkness, lighting up a triumphant face.

"Have you had a good night Frank? You look like the cat that got the cream."

Frank smiled at his brother and pulled on his cigarette. "Not bad," he replied. "That Sally Morgan got well and truly fucked tonight," he added, notching up his conquest by punching the air above his head. "She was gagging for it. I had her screaming for mercy," he grinned, with a hint of smugness. "The couple next door weren't very happy. They said they couldn't sleep because of the noise of the headboard banging against the wall for over an hour."

Although he had no reason to doubt his brother's description of the night's events he was aware that any emotion Frank had was delivered from below his waist. Frank was never particular with his choice of women. With some of his conquests a dimmer switch and a bottle of Jack Daniels were compulsory. He had lots of casual relationships, most of them one-night-stands. And if you asked him about marriage his reply was always the same.

'Marriage is like a pack of playing cards. In the beginning all you need is two hearts and a diamond. By the end, you wished you had a club and a spade.'

"I think I should mention that I had a confrontation with that pretty boy Julian Greco." Frank said, crushing his discarded cigarette under his foot, the putrid smell of an overloaded sewer forcing them to move away from the narrow street.

"As soon as I met that bloke I knew he was a dodgy geezer and someone who couldn't be trusted," he added, lighting another cigarette as they headed back to the hotel.

"I noticed that he seemed to visit the toilets too many times during the evening. Nobody needs to piss that often," he smiled. "And then I spotted a small speck of white powder in one of his nostrils. At first I let it go, thinking it was none of my business. But when I saw him taking a couple of the girls into the toilet I couldn't ignore it so I followed them in. I caught him trying to get the girls to snort the white stuff, so I asked the girls to leave."

Frank pulled on his cigarette and sniggered. "Julian told me to fuck off and mind my own business or he would have me thrown out of the party. Well at that particular time I had a raging hard-on and I was about to take Sally back to my room, so I ignored his threats."

He smiled and lit another cigarette from the one he was already holding, his voice growing in confidence. "I told him I was about to leave but before I did I was going to cleanse his body of that filth. I grabbed him by the hair, pushed his head down the toilet and flushed it.

I did that a couple of times until he was gasping for air and begging for forgiveness. I would have left it at that but he kept telling me how sorry he was and then he offered to give me money if I promised not to hurt him."

A tired looking security man smoking a fat cigar greeted them outside the hotel entrance, the revolving door squeaking in quiet protest as they entered the solitude of the foyer, Frank's enthusiastic voice breaking the early morning silence and attracting suspicious looks from a couple of concierge staff sitting behind a reception desk.

Raising a hand in a muttered apology, pressing a button for the lift and stubbing his cigarette into an ashtray, Frank lowered his voice and finished his confession.

"There are some things in life that I can't tolerate. Drugs, Fools, Cowards or Pity, and Julian Greco had them all," he smiled, hunching his shoulders. "So I smacked him across the face a couple of times and left him in the toilet crying like a little girl."

It was only seven o'clock in the morning and already the day was incredibly hot.

A beam of sunlight sliced through a gap in the bedroom curtains straight into his sleep deprived eyes, the voices inside his head blaming the unbearable humidity for the lack of sleep, his morning glory stirring beneath the bed sheet a precious reminder of the night on the beach with the Italian beauty, Martina Sasso.

Her gentleness and understanding, her elegance and beauty, her passion and sexuality, her dark bewitching eyes and sensuous full lips, her smile, her long smooth legs, the capture of shapely curves hidden beneath exquisite underwear. The blow-job... The fuck over the boat...Martina was a beautiful woman. She had style. She was rich. She had a figure to die for and a smile that made wedding rings vanish from fingers. Martina had everything... Except fidelity.

The smell of her scent teased his nostrils, the promise of bondage and domination on the yacht later tonight filling his head with endless possibilities, slipping his hand beneath the cotton sheet, curling his fingers around his throbbing companion, images of her nakedness guiding his hand, pulling and tugging, the release fast and powerful, the bed sheet soaked in a sea of seminal fluids.

It was a strange name for a pub that didn't have a piano but the sign in the window reading, 'WE ONLY CLOSE FOR ONE HOUR TO ALLOW THE STAFF TO EAT AND SLEEP' was enough information for Frank to convince his brother that a few drinks in the Piano Bar mixing with gorgeous women would help to take his mind off what Frank referred to as, 'that fucking Italian woman.'

The Piano Bar was unexpectedly busy for an afternoon, an overcast sky and a shower of rain forcing people from the beach into pubs. The music was loud. The fragrance of feminine aromas mingling with male testosterone filling the room with the promise of expectation, the flirtatious acquaintance of two girls sitting on stools at the bar getting Frank's attention.

He didn't have time to find out their names before he was spinning on his heels in retreat, a dismissive hand gesture and a string of abusive remarks following in his wake.

"Fucking lesbians," Frank barked, pulling up a stool at the bar, lighting a cigarette and reaching for his drink, burying the bitter rejection inside his glass.

In the ensuing silence that embarrassment always brings, Frank ordered another round of drinks, pulling on his cigarette as if deep in thought, the cogs of time moving inside his head, searching his memory files for a suitable story to lift the mood.

"I'll tell you a story about a friend of mine called Kevin Mills," Frank volunteered, pausing to pay the barman for the drinks.

"I met Kevin on a tour of Northern Island. We kept in touch after we left the army. Kevin had a passion for speed. He was an adrenaline addict. Fast cars. Fast bikes. Fast women. He was killed in a motorbike accident on the M6 motorway after colliding with an army vehicle.

"A fucking army vehicle," he cursed, crushing his cigarette into an ashtray.

"When Kevin discovered that his wife was having an affair he thought long and hard trying to think of a way to punish her. That's when an old army friend introduced him to a tattooist," Frank said, smiling into his glass.

"Kevin saw this as the perfect opportunity. After weeks of persuasion he eventually convinced his wife to have a tattoo. She decided that a single red rose discretely positioned on her lower back would be tasteful. When the work-of-art was completed she was told to keep the dressing on until the following day."

Frank grinned and lit a cigarette, the smoke curling above his head.

"The divorce that followed was extremely messy but the perpetual body art of a red rose growing from the small eye of a huge cock and two hairy balls just above the bikini line gave Kevin Mills a great deal of personal satisfaction."

After an unconvincing snigger from Chris, Frank turned to face his brother, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, a hint of patronising cynicism in his voice.

"When you get through with fucking that Italian woman, I'll see you in the Piano Bar later tonight," he mocked, swirling his glass on the wet surface of the table, tapping his feet beneath the bar stool as Thin Lizzy launched into 'The Boys Are Back in Town.'

He didn't want to keep Martina waiting. He wanted to look his best. He chose a pair of white chinos and a striking white designer shirt which he thought would be appropriate for a surreptitious night of bondage and domination.

He left the hotel just after seven-thirty taking the fifteen-minute walk to the marina.

A yellow orange glow settling just above the distant hills signalled the final minutes of the day would soon slip away and a galaxy of stars would be lighting up the Mediterranean sky.

A cruise ship sounded a horn as it headed into port and several yachts and motor launches were mooring up for the evening.

A tourist boat with a string of coloured lights draped around the open deck moved slowly out of the harbour, a group of elderly people laughing and sipping champagne under a soft serenade of violins, embarking on an evening trip around the headland.

He traced the route from the previous night, strolling aimlessly along the marina, following a myriad of brilliant white crafts and endless rows of gleaming white boats, some of them bigger than houses, pausing to read the name 'Sasso' written in bold script letters along the bow of one of the most prestigious boats in the harbour.