Professionals with Benefits

The darker girl shivered as a pale hand found her mound, tugged lightly on the small hair left, then slid gently down between smooth labia. She lifted her head away from the other's breasts, her mouth open in a small O.

The ginger shifted, the dark-haired woman now under her. It was now freckled lips on tanned boobs, freckled fingers deep between tanned thighs.

I watched the brunette's young body begin to twist and writhe under her lover's expert stimulation, felt wetness on my own sex. Peter shifted; out of the corner of my eye I could see him try to rearrange his hardness under his clothing.

When I next talked to Richard, I could assure him that, if nothing else, T.C.A.'s Three Tulips wash was a out-of-the-ballpark home run for both boys and girls.

The brunette - why had I thought of her as shy?  - rolled, pulling her lover with her, slid her head over a tight freckled stomach, down lower.

She pressed the redhead's thighs apart, exposing her flower. Pale fingers tangled in the brunette's dark mane, the slender girl pulled her head into her sex with an urgency that made my own pussy ache.

Laughing, the darker girl nibbled the insides of sleek thighs, soft lips moving over tender skin. The redhead's hips began to roll, lift up, fall back to the grass below her.

I was as aroused as I'd ever been. If this was the Three Tulips wash I'd watched unawares, I could see with absolute clarity why I might have been happy to see the label on a liquor store shelf.

From the length straining against the fabric of his shorts, I could see it was having the same effect on the silent boy beside me on the sofa.

Turned on or not, I felt I was missing something.

"Peter," I whispered, then, louder, "Peter!"

"Whatzit?" he mumbled, half-turning his head, his eyes still fixed on the same screen as myself.

My breath caught as I watched the redhead pulling her love's mouth against her own lower lips.

"Hey! Why are boys so into two girls making out?"

Foolish question? Inopportune timing? I don't know. Yeah, probably, but it suddenly felt absolutely critical that I understood. As enjoyable, as arousing as the video was, I had  to know.

The brunette moved her buried face up and down the other's sex. One hand stretched up, fumbled for and found a breast; thumb and finger settled on a taut nipple, teased it, played with it, rolled it. Her bead continued to bob between the other's thighs. In my imagination, I could feel her tongue on me - lashing, lapping, probing my depths.

The redhead's head had fallen back, eyes closed, nostrils straining to find the air she needed.

I understood that, too. My own breathing was ragged and I had nobody's tongue on my vag.

"Peter!" I nudged him with my elbow. I couldn't move my eyes off the scene, so missed his arm and got him in the ribs.

"I mean, I can see boy-girl, but why girl-girl? Answer me!"

...hard nipples between breast-clutching fingers...

Eyes locked on the screen, the boy was slow to respond.

Smith had been right. This was extraordinary.

The redhead came with a silent roar. Feet now planted under her, she lifted her hips off the ground, her hands pulling her lover's head harder and yet harder into her. Her whole body shook, shivered with the force of an incandescent orgasm before she fell back, almost boneless. The other girl moved, laid her head on her chest, a loving smile on her face, the smile of success, of having completely pleased someone you love.

With that, the video ended, leaving me with my jaw hanging and my subbrain desperately longing for the brunette to be knocking on our suite door, right now.

I sat, almost quivering. I suddenly became aware of Peter, could smell his masculine desire. Looking down, his shorts were seriously stretched over his cock, the shape of his sizeable mushroom clearly visible. To my horror, I noticed my bikini bottom had a very noticeable wet spot.

Blushing like crazy, I jumped to my feet, sprinted to my bedroom door.

As I closed the door behind me, I could see Peter's face, still staring slack-jawed at the blank screen. A minute later, I heard his own bedroom door close.

Did I what?

Well, of course I did! What sort of stupid question is that? I'd just watched some of the most beautiful, amazing and, yeah, erotic  erotica I'd ever seen. Unlike so much porn in the Net, this had been scripted to appeal to women, had been really well directed and beautifully shot in a wonderful location. And the two girls had not only been smokin' hot, but also, unlike so many porn stars, very good actresses. It had been stunning and had me darned near ready to die if I didn't get off.

So, yes. Yes, I did.

And, back home, I'd packed in such a hurry that I'd forgotten a battery-operated boyfriend. Not that I needed one, not after that.

I was out of my bikini before the door closed behind me. My boobs were aching, my nips were darned near on fire and my falling bikini bottom had spread Bettsjuice down one thigh.

I tossed two pillows into a pile on the bed and lay down with them in the small of my back, arching my tummy up into my favorite solo position. My hand was on its way down before the pillows had had time to settle.

This was not time for teasing or subtlety or stretching things out. This was Release with a capital R.

I got it. My fingertip had no sooner slid between my lips when the first orgasm started, sharp, fiery, demanding. It hit me so quickly I wasn't ready for it and was embarrassed by a series of cries I couldn't have kept down to save my life. I only hoped Peter had his radio on or something. The orgasm set fire to my clit, flames rushing out across my body. It seethed through me and I'd never need one so badly, had never been left so shivering and shaken when it finally faded.

Then my finger moved again, slid inside my lips, deeper, found my G-Spot, felt its solid form, slid across it and pulled just slightly.

If the first one had been a wildfire, this one was an earthquake. My body shook with it, my hips heaved back against my hand. I shuddered with the power of it, the glorious enormity. I was however ready this time and had my hand over my mouth. I think I kept the screams in.

Most of them.

It went on and on, a city-shaking 9.0 on the Richter Scale of Orgasms. It slowly faded, but I have no idea how long that took. There were aftershocks, too, windows breaking, trees shaking, power cables to falling to the ground, sizzling and snapping with ozone sparks in the darkness.

It was half-dark when I woke up. I lay there, content, happy. Then another thought burst into my mind.

Peter! Oh, crap! What would he be thinking? What a way to start off a working relationship!

I smelled strongly of Betts. I took a quick shower, pulled on a sarong and just stood there like an idiot, my hand an inch from the door.

Time to face the music.   I took a deep breath, grasped the handle and opened the door.

The main room was dim, unlit, the television and both computers dark. There was no light under Peter's door.

I started tiptoeing around, afraid to wake him, relieved not to have to face him. I stepped out into the balcony and there he was. I felt like running away, but had too much pride.

He was sitting in a chair, facing out towards the sun setting over the sea. He was bare-chested, a towel around his waist, his feet up on another chair.

"Hey." His voice was low, subdued. He didn't turn his head towards me however, just stared at the setting sun.

I took a deep breath. Just do it. Get it done.

"Hey, you," I said.

"Hell of a sunset," he said. The beer bottle in his hand moved, pointed toward the other side of the table. Looking down, I saw a cooler half full of ice, bottles and cans.

Right then, the last thing I could face was anything by Three Tulips. My face was burning red with embarrassment - heck, my whole body was blushing. I pulled out a Coke, looked at it, decided I needed some grown-up nerve tonic and traded it for a beer.

When I stood up, Peter hadn't moved. I opened the beer, took a gulp.

"Look, Peter," I said.

He cut me off. Without moving his head, he spoke.

"I'm really sorry, Betts. I apologize."

My mouth opened, snapped shut in my confusion.

"I didn't mean to go all perv on you, Betts. I'm sorry."

I found my voice. "Peter, what are you talking about? I'm the one..."

"Like you didn't notice me sitting right beside you with a major hard-on? Really?" His voice was low. He sounded sincere, mortified.

The reality of it hit me.

That wash had been a tsunami. We'd both been hit, both caught up in something massive.

I lost it, started to laugh.

Peter's head snapped over to look at me. I could see anger on his face now. He didn't understand; he'd apologized and thought I was laughing at him.

I tried to stop laughing, waved my palm back and forth towards him. His expression turned to puzzlement. Still chuckling, I pulled up a chair.

I was glad the sun was almost down now. The near-darkness made it easier.

"Peter," I said softly, "please listen to me. It's OK. Seriously, I came out here to apologize to you."

"Say what?"

I took another gulp of island beer. It was actually pretty good. I took a deep breath, tried again. "Look, Pete, if I understand it, you think you should be apologizing to me for being turned on by the video."

His voice was so low I could barely hear it.

"I embarrassed you. You ran away."

I giggled, tried to sound serious. It was difficult.

"Peter, I 'ran away' because I was so horny I'd made a major wet spot on my bikini bottom and didn't want you to see it."

The truth, dragged out into the open, seemed better than hidden. And our misunderstanding was actually pretty funny.

"You're serious, Betts?"

"Damn straight, Pete. I thought you would be weirded out or something."

There was a long silence. As I watched, the rim of the sun suddenly vanished under the horizon.

He giggled, then both of us exploded in laughter. Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

When it faded, I could sense him shake his head. "Helluva vid," he said softly, then snickered again gently.

We sat for a while in the darkness before I dared raise the issue again.

"Look, Peter. I don't want to embarrass you further, but we're here for a reason. I'm trying to be professional and objective, believe me, but I need to ask you some stuff. There's stuff I need to know, things I don't know, things a girl simply can't  know, things inside a boy's head."

I took a deep breath. "I need you to be honest about them."

"Such as?" His voice was suddenly very cautious.

"Well," I said, trying to arrange my thoughts. Where to start?  I took a deep breath.

"Okay... Let's go right to basics." I turned my head away from him, knowing that my blushing was beyond pointlessly stupid in the darkness. "Look, most guys watch porn. You do, right?"

There was a lengthy pause, long enough that I started to wonder if I'd just torpedoed this partnership.

"Yes."

"OK. So do I, for the record. So, you having watched what's on the Net, how hot would you rate that video we just saw, say from 1 to 10?"

His voice was flat, but I could sense his smile.

"Seriously? Eleven."

"Oh."

He continued. "That was the hottest thing I've seen in, I can't say, like... shit, forever."

I giggled a little, trying really hard not to.

"What about you?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Super hot. Peter..."

I ran out of steam, totally chickened out.

"Yes?"

I could smell him now, the body wash from the showers. He'd had a shower, too.

I closed my eyes.

"When I left. You went into your room. Did..."

"Yes." Just the one word. I wondered if he  were blushing.

"Oh."

"Did you?" His question caught me by surprise.

"Yes," I whispered. "I had to. I would've died..."

He chuckled, softly.

"I know. Yeah. I wonder why Smith isn't selling that stuff on the Net." He paused. "Betts?"

"Yes?"

"So, just so I'm sure I understand. It turned you on? As a woman?"

"Yes. It really turned me on, Peter. Like a bolt of lightning. And, for what it's worth, I'd never thought of myself as being even a little bit bi."

He grunted, then, "You know what I was thinking about, before you came out here?"

"What?"

His chair creaked a little as he shifted his body.

"It occurred to me that Richard is paying me to spend two months in a really, really good island resort..."

He paused, continued, "...doing nothing but watch porn with a beautiful woman as my boss. There's no justice sometimes."

What little confidence I had kind of collapsed at the word 'beautiful'. Having just watched those two goddesses in the wash, Peter thought I was beautiful? Was he teasing? Maybe he was overreacting, trying to make up for what he still saw as a social gaffe?

More than anything, I wanted to reach out to him, touch his arm, reassure him. That would have been the entirely wrong thing to do and I knew it.

"Peter, if it matters, I've been thinking much the same. Let's try to keep this professional though." I was starting to hate that word.

"Right."

Damn you, Richard!

"Why couldn't he have checked it out himself?"

"Gay, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Last question, Peter."

I heard him sigh a little. "What?"

"Look, my timing was seriously off, I know that, but what is it with boys and lesbian videos?"

He thought a long time.

"Betts, I don't really know. What is it with guys and boobs?" He thought for a moment. I sensed him taking a deep pull on his beer. "It's a given. It just is."

He took another swallow of beer. I heard a dull clink as he set the bottle down.

"Maybe it's the unattainable -- seeing girls hot and squealing with happy, but knowing, deep down inside, that they'll never be yours, will always be on the other team? Maybe it's twice the women at one time? I don't know...

"How about it's not having to compete subconsciously with a porn actor's ten-inch dick? I really don't know, Betts, but it's hot as hell."

"OK," I said. "I guess I'll have to settle for that."

"It's getting late." he said. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

I snickered. "Your call, Pete. Room service or room service."

"Such a choice."

Chapter 4

The days passed without word from T.C.A. Peter had his laptop full of games, some of which I tried, but none of which interested me all that much. TSN was available in the suite and he was content.

I spent more time at the beach. There were very few people there, no surprise. I was happy to see some tan starting to build but was in any case felt like a cat snoozing inside a sunny window; it was enough to be warm and well-fed.

I'd tried to dial down the sexy bikini thing in front of Peter. Both of us had enough on our minds. We hadn't repeated our joint viewing, either. I think both of us had been embarrassed by what we had seen in ourselves, in front of the other. I certainly had been.

It wasn't until the fourth day that we heard from Mr. Smith. I was again on the beach.

GOT IT -- COME UP

I hurried. I stopped outside the suite door however and made sure my sarong covered everything.

Top on the hit list was a fairly new movie. I hadn't seen it, but the reviews I'd read had all suggested it would be up for some major awards.

I opened the streaming site, found the movie. Before I opened it, I turned to Peter. "Want to join me?"

He looked at me, a bit cautious. "Would that be a good idea?"

"The movie, Pete. We'll think about the wash afterwards."

His face was still somewhat cautious. I giggled when I realized why.

"No, Peter, it's not a chick flick. It's a drama, super reviews, even a chase scene."

He joined me, but I noticed he kept his distance from me on the sofa. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Again, even looking for it, I couldn't see any evidence of a wash. The film's later scenes were in an airport; the final scene was actually set in an airliner. Having decided she'd lost the hero, the heroine had decided to fly home. In a fairly predictable ending, the lost boyfriend was of course on the airplane and love triumphed, the end.

OK, I got a touch sniffly at the ending. It was happy sniffles; sue me.

As the credits started, I noticed Peter hadn't fallen asleep during the film, which I took as a good sign. I sat back, tried to think about how I felt about airlines and flying.

"What do you think, Pete?"

"It's an okay movie, I guess. Good camera work. I didn't see anything... special."

"Nor did I," I said. "Um, can you rig me a split screen or something? It might help if I could look at both the primary and the wash at the same time."

"That should be simple enough. Erm, do you want the primary on the television or on your laptop? I can put them both on the big screen, but we've already seen the movie."

I thought for a second. "Primary on my laptop, wash on the main screen. Then you go for a walk or something."

He looked at me.

"Betts... I probably shouldn't. I think Richard wanted us both here for a purpose. I promise that I'll keep my hands to myself."

I shrugged. "I'll try to keep mine to myself, too."

After a couple of seconds, seeing the look on his face, I hastened to add, "That was supposed to be a joke, Pete."

His face lightened. "OK." He looked a little sheepish.

Peter fiddled with this and that for a minute or two, trying to get the two synchronized.

The movie restarted on my computer, but the large TV remained blank, with a rotating circle, the 'wait' symbol.

"If you fast-forward the primary," Peter said, "the wash should follow."

It did. As the female lead showed up at the airport, the big screen on the wall flickered, came alive as the wash began.

It was another simple, pleasant, comforting scene. Again, the light, the staging, the camera angles somehow all stressed peace, contentment and deep love between the two actors. I felt a quiet warm glow inside me.

The setting was a small river in a bucolic countryside, with green meadows and trees on one side and endless daffodils on the other. The water was millpond-still and the sky an amazing blue, with just enough clouds to be interesting.

A man and a woman were in a small rowboat, she in the stern and he facing her at the oars. The boat was made of wood, painted white except for the red gunnels.

The woman was young, late teens or early 20s. Her dress was not quite what you would call a wedding dress, but I got the impression they might have just come from a wedding. The bouquet of flowers she held in her hand might have been a clue; if not the bride, maybe she'd just caught the bridal bouquet? She wore no ring that I could see.

The white fabric of her gown was light, lacy. The skirt reached down to her ankles and, while the loose sleeves were long, her tanned shoulders were bare. The dress clung to her figure, suggesting a splendid form. Over her shoulder rested a lacy parasol for shade.

She wore her long, light brown hair loose and it blew a little in the breeze. Her eyes were brown and she wore little makeup. I caught my breath at her first smile, a distillation of beauty.

Her partner, older by a year or two, wore his dark hair quite short and, oddly to my eyes, parted in the very middle. He had a strong jaw and was cleanshaven except for a dapper handlebar moustache. It suited him, I thought. His shoulders and arms were solid, muscular. He too wore white -- white linen trousers and a white dress shirt with an exuberant plaid bow tie. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway up his forearms.