Professionals with Benefits

The woman trailed her fingers in the water as the boat made its way along the stream. Dragonflies hovered nearby; a fish jumped behind them.

The man looked about from time to time. Seeing an island ahead, he altered course slightly. The boat grounded, its nose on small shingle. When he hopped out of the boat, I was surprised to see that he had already removed his shoes and stockings and had his trouser legs rolled. In a few seconds, the boat's painter was tied to a convenient bush. The boat swayed as the woman rose to her feet. The boy waded back into the water, picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other under her back. He set her down on the island grass, received a quick kiss of thanks and again stepped into the water, returning this time with a picnic basket and blanket.

The girl took the blanket, shook it out and laid it out under the shade of a tree. The two sat beside each other, holding hands, talking softly. A brightly-colored kingfisher swooped in to hover just a few feet away, its head twitching back and forth, looking down at the water. It darted down, plunged into the water with scarcely a ripple. A second later, it emerged with a small fish in its mouth. Landing in a tree, it beat the fish against the branch several times before swallowing it head-first. It looked about, darted off. The girl said something, leaned in to hug the boy before opening the wicker basket and laying out their own meal -- sandwiches, fruit, pickles of various sort, cheeses.

The two ate, watching the area. From time to time, one would give the other a soft kiss. Finishing his sandwich, the boy picked up a strawberry, put it between his lips and leaned toward the girl. Smiling, she leaned in, took half the small fruit between her lips. Sharp teeth bit the berry in half, leaving her lips pressed against his. Both chewed softly, not moving their lips, swallowed and then leaned in for a more solid kiss.

The kiss continued as her hand swept behind his head, caressed his neck. His hand caught up her hair, let it trail off through his fingers as his hand moved over her shoulder and down to her waist, squeezing tenderly.

The woman broke away from the kiss. Her hand touched his cheek, moved down, fumbled for his bow tie. A gentle tug and it came undone.

The man chuckled, caught her hand, brought it to his lips, tenderly kissed the inside of her wrist. The woman laughed happily. She gazed at the boy for a moment, then shook out her hair and reached behind her back. Entranced, the man watched as her slim fingers undid button after button. The dress started to slide down her arms; she caught it under her breasts with crossed arms, smiled wickedly, as if daring him.

I was surprised when, leaving his shirt in place, he instead lay down with his head in her lap. Again she laughed, white teeth flashing. The boy joined her in her laughter, but his hands stayed by his side on the grass.

The girl shook her head in mock reproach. She reached for his undone tie, felt her dress slip; her upper arms caught it, held it against her flanks. She eyed him and again laughed. This time, she freed the sleeves, letting them slide down her arms. The bodice slipped off her breasts, leaving them bare. Again I found myself jealous of the flawless beauty of another woman's body; firm, high on her chest, her heavy boobs were capped with coral nipples and large areolae. They swayed as she again shook out her hair.

His hands came up to cup them, his large, flat thumbs gently tracing the shape of her nipples. She smiled and again my heart was tuned to the deep love between the couple. Pulling the tie out from his collar, her hands turned to his shirt buttons. She made a small production out of each one, giving a small yip of staged triumph with each. The boy continued to play with her breasts, first one, then the other, his long fingers squeezing and stroking her soft orbs.

His shirt open, his arms still in his sleeves, one of her hands slid inside, stroked over his broad chest. The other came down to rest over his trouser fly. I could see his stiffness under the fabric, watched the smile grow on his face as her fingers stroked its length through the cloth, tickling, teasing, fondling.

She used both hands to undo his belt, then his trouser button. His hands squeezed her orbs more firmly now, lifting, cupping, mounding her flesh. Taking her time, pausing between each, smiling playfully, the girl's thumb and forefinger very slowly unfastened his fly.

I became aware of Peter, now sitting beside me on the sofa. At some time, lost in the dreamscape before our eyes, one of us had found the other's hand. Peter felt warm, solid. I took a quick glance at him, saw that he was captivated with the video as I was.

I turned back to the screen. The boy had propped himself up on one elbow; his other hand continuing his exploration of the girl's bosom. As she lowered her lips to his, her hand finally eased inside his trousers and I could see his eyes close with pleasure.

He sat up, grasping the girl's dress, pulled it lower, around her hips. Her abdomen was flat, smooth. Almost effortlessly, her hand remaining inside his trousers, she rose to her knees. The boy pulled on her dress again; it slid off her body, puddled around her knees on the ground, leaving her in a thong matching the dress. His thumbs slid inside the waistband, pulled it down to join the dress.

Her hand began to move more quickly now inside the boy's trousers. I could feel my own nipples, hard, anticipatory, eager now and watched the boy's lips bent to her buds, sucking them inside his mouth, releasing them, his tongue swirling lightly around her long tips.

The girl pulled him in harder against her chest, her own eyes closed. His head moved from one breast to the other, then the girl pulled back, stood to her feet, shook off her dress and thong, kicking them to one side. Her hand reached down, helped pull the boy to his feet. He shrugged off his shirt, tossed it aside, let his trousers fall, pulled silk boxer shorts loose and stepped out of them.

His cock, dark, rigid, swayed with his movements, its head engorged with urgent need. His body had been shaved; his cock and balls looked larger in their bareness and I felt my own sex churn at the sight.

The young woman pushed the last remnants of the picnic off the blanket, pulled the man down to join her. They fell into soixante-neuf,  lying on their sides, heads on open thighs.

The man began to nibble her soft inner flesh, lips clasping, pulling. The woman's mouth, lips masking sharp teeth, flowed over his crown, took him deeper, deeper still. His hips started to press forward, stopped when her other hand caught his fragile twins in its grasp, pulled against his movement.

His tongue licked her lower lips, top to bottom, again and again and the girl cried out gently. Her free hand seized his shaft below her lips and began to slide his soft skin back and forth along his solid core.

Peter squeezed my hand.

My mind riveted to the pair on the screen, I squeezed back, ran my thumb over his hand.

Abandoning her labia, his mouth moved to her bud, seizing it between his lips, his tongue tip lashing at it inside his mouth. The woman, her cheeks hollow with suction, began to shake her head, flailing his cockhead inside her mouth.

The girl's body shook as the boy moved a thick finger, probed her entrance. It slid inside her, one knuckle at a time.

I could practically feel the woman's orgasm. She shuddered, almost convulsed. His wet organ fell free as her head fell away, lost in echoing, endless bliss. He continued to work her womanhood, mouth and fingers driving her higher and higher.

The girl almost cried when his head pulled away from her, her legs quivering, hands clenched. The boy seized her with strong arms, lifted her bodily, laid her on her back on the blanket.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Peter stroking his own length inside his shorts. My tummy tightened still more as I saw his hand pull the leg of his shorts up his leg, leaving half his cock exposed.

My eyes flicked back to the screen. The girl cried out as he nudged her legs apart with his knees, leaned in, cock swinging in the light. His hips shifting, he found his aim and eased forward, began to bury himself in her softness.

I watched, breathless, as his length slid slowly out of sight. His hard stomach pressed against hers, his weight pressing her form down against the ground. His organ reemerged, glistening with her wetness, before diving in again, fast now, hard. I could see her flesh ripple as their bodies collided.

The woman's mouth was open in continuous orgasm, wave over wave. Her nails left long lines on his back. He pulled himself into a half-kneeling position, reached back for her ankles and lifted them up, over her torso. His hips sped up, cock driving into pussy. The boy's body abruptly stiffened, stopped. I could seem him panting in his own pleasure.

I suddenly wanted, more than anything, to be that girl, to feel him in me, over me, pressing me down with his weight, holding my legs high and apart like that.

I had thought I couldn't be more aroused. I was wrong. Looking down, Peter had pulled his length entirely out of his shorts, his crown swollen, a drop of moisture on its tip.

I dragged a breath into my lungs, watched him roll his length against his hard thigh with the palm of his hand.

This was so frustrating, so stupid!  

"Stop that!" I hissed.

His hand stopped, jerked away as if his manhood had been red-hot. His eyes darted down from the TV to my face, his eyes wide.

"Crap, Peter," I said. "Richard has no idea..."

My hands slid under my sarong, pushed it off my shoulders. Reaching behind my back, I found the ties to my bikini top. I paused, looking at him.

"Nobody can possibly expect us to spend a month watching this together without..." I said. Was I rationalizing, looking for an excuse?

"Betts," he said, very softly. My heart nearly exploded when his hand came up, touched my cheek. "I..."

"It's crap," I said again, flatly. "We can be professional in the morning, Peter." That didn't sound any better, but it's what I had.

I pulled on the tie, collapsing the bow, felt my bikini top start to slide off my boobs. Like the girl had done, I caught the side-ties with my arms, pinned them against my sides.

Dammit, I needed him right now!  My body's need shouted against my mind's caution.

"Peter," I said, almost timid now, fearing his rejection, "I know I'm not as beautiful as..."

My head nodded toward the screen, towards the image of the brown-haired spirit on the screen.

Peter's forefinger touched my lips. Silence.  His finger slid, slowly, gently, down my chin, my neck, hooked under a side tie for my top. My world collapsed into two things, his blue eyes and his fingertip on my skin.

I released my arms and the bra came away in his hand. He dropped it to the coffee table, leaving the girls bare before him. I don't know why my hands rose towards them. It doesn't matter; Peter's hands caught mine, held them while he admired my boobs. After a second, he released my hands; I deliberately put them on my lap. His eyes seemed bluer, wider, deeper every second.

Then he smiled, an easy, reassuring smile. His eyes flipped up to my eyes.

"Betts," he said, very softly, "They're beautiful." His hands came up towards them, stopped just short.

"May I?" he asked, almost respectfully.

My heart turned over at the need in his  voice. I nodded, gasped as his long fingers closed gently on the girls. It's what my body had been fantasizing about for days.

Pete was an expert. Waves of pleasure filled me as long fingers gently clutched my boobs, strong thumbs played with my nips.

My hand felt for, found his cock. I'd been fantasizing about that, too. I ran my hand under his balls, slid along his length. My fingers found his head, swirled around it.

Screw foreplay,  I thought. I'm ready now. A solid twitch of the thing in my hand told me he was, too.

"Your bed or mine?" To be honest, I'm still not sure who said it. It might have been Peter; it might have been me. I was certainly thinking it.

His arms scooped me up into them, like the man in the video. Our lips were locked as he strode across the room, kicked his bedroom door open.

He sat on the edge of the bed to lower me onto it. Breaking the kiss, smiling just a little, I deliberately licked along his jawline. I could feel the whiskers on my tongue.

I seized his hand, dragged him onto the bed. Losing his balance, he half-fell, cock waving as he landed on his back.

Works for me!  I thought.

I climbed onto him, a leg on either side, pressed his shoulder down with one stiff arm as I used the other hand to guide him into me. I moaned as his hot, solid manhood slowly filled my waiting emptiness. I let my body slide lower, felt him ease in further and further, until there was no more to receive, no more to give.

Peter's eyes were locked on mine, his smile an explosion of happiness.

His hands came up to my boobs, again began sweeping over them.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "These  are beautiful."

Fully seated on him, I began rolling my hips, slowly, feeling the waves of pleasure running up from my pussy collide with those flooding down from my boobs.

"Beth," he half-groaned, "I'm not sure I can last..."

I leaned down, rested my body on his, felt his hard chest under me as I continued to grind my sex over his.

"Good," I whispered into his ear. "Because I can't, either."

And I didn't. I never believed in that 'simultaneous orgasm' thing. I'd never had it happen, didn't believe it possible.

Permit me to tell you that it is.

I felt Peter's body stiffen under me. His fingers squeezed my nipples; I felt a boiling pleasure burst through me, flooding my entire body as his cock pulsed and throbbed inside me. It seemed endless, pulling me further down into a cauldron of ecstasy.

I came to, eventually, still lying on Peter. His one arm rested lightly on my bum, his other was gently sweeping my head. He was still inside me, half-hard. I squeezed him with inside muscles and he chuckled.

I lifted my head, looked at him. He raised his own, bent down for a light kiss.

"How're you doing, Betts?" he said softly.

"Right now," I whispered, "the only word that comes to mind is 'blissful'."

He chuckled again. His hand on my bum squeezed my cheek.

"If this works out as I think it will," he said, "Richard is going to be pleasantly surprised."

We slept a while, made love again, slept more. Sometime in the night, I woke, smiled at Peter's soft breathing beside me, drifted off again.

Happy as I was, I knew that the basic issue remained; Peter had already put his finger on it from his point of view. For me, the problem was that Richard was expecting me to spend weeks in a tropical paradise, watching porn with a drop-dead-magnificent specimen of man and 'let's see what develops'. In some ways it was nice, but a girl can't spend a whole month...

Can she?

Chapter 5

Waking again, very gradually, just before dawn, it was nice to snuggle against Peter's warmth in the darkness, to feel his heartbeat as my head lay on his chest. I would have been happy to just lie there forever.

I'm not sure when I noticed that his breathing had changed. I turned my head slowly, saw his eyes open and looking in my direction.

"Hey," I whispered.

"Hey, back," he replied. He yawned, white teeth in the dimness. His eyes flipped back and forth, then his body stiffened just enough to let me know he had realized what had happened and what it meant. His eyes closed; I could almost hear the wheels going around and around in his head.

Have you ever made an impulsive decision, then woken up - figuratively or literately - to a really, really awkward reality, a situation where you had to make the choice between slinking away in humiliation or else living up to the consequences and somehow make a questionable choice work better than any other might have?

This was more than some ethanolic college-days one-night stand, something that could be papered over after an embarrassing escape. If our personal relationship fell apart, it would potentially threaten the whole project.

I knew that there was no chance - zero - of pushing this particular toothpaste back into the tube. Whatever and wherever Peter and I had been yesterday, that relationship was dead in the ditch. Some men, I knew, would be happy to keep this running as a non-stop sexual Olympics, but I thought Peter had more depth, more professionalism than that. I hoped so. Fun thought it might have been, this was a job and I needed both of us at least semi-focused.

There weren't all that many options. I wasn't ready to fly home in defeat, to admit to Richard that I simply couldn't keep my knees together. Nor was I going to pretend that last night had never happened and spend the rest of my time here in a series of cold showers.

Peter and I had to make this work, run with the hypersexualized football Richard had passed us. Our only choice, as I saw it, was to accept it a new deal - 'professionals with benefits', maybe?

That all took about two seconds to scamper through my squirrely brain. Then Peter's hand began to gently sweep down my bare back in a friendly, comforting gesture. Door Number Three suddenly seemed to have a lot going for it.

I rolled over onto him, felt my breasts pull over his chest hair. I could see his eyes in the first light struggling to slip past the curtains. I tried my very friendliest, most hopeful smile. He surprised me by speaking first.

"Has anybody told you that you're beautiful in the morning?" he asked.

"Me?"  No woman thinks well of the way she looks first thing in the morning. But, hey, it was a good line, at the very least a solid effort on his part and points to the kid for trying.

Deep breath. Maybe we could  make this work.

I brushed hair off my face, moved up the bed to rest my head in his shoulder. I ran my fingers over his chin, felt morning stubble. I slid my hand down to his chest, let my fingertips trail through his chest hair.

"Don't tease me," I said softly. "It's not fair."

"What do you mean?"

I pushed away from him. There was enough light now to see his suddenly-serious expression.

"Look, Peter. I'm cute, OK. I get by. But when a boy as good-looking as you calls a girl like me 'beautiful', it means he's either trying to get into her pants or else he already has and is looking for the least-embarrassing way of escaping."

He stared at me. His hand came up and pulled my head against him.

"Don't be silly," he said gently. "Give it a rest, Betts. You're cute as hell, you're smart, you're funny, you're good to work with and..."

"...And?" I asked.

"You're pretty good in the sack."

He said it very casually, like a comment about a passing cloud. I felt myself blush, pushed it aside. He hadn't complained last night that I could I recall, but self-confidence comes hard sometimes.

I could feel his grin now. He rolled his head toward me for a kiss. "Morning breath," I said, pulling my head back.

"Like I care," he chuckled. Strong hands pulled my face to his. A light kiss, a very light kiss, and it didn't matter anymore.

My hand moved over his body and - I shouldn't have been surprised - ran into something very solid.

And, with that perhaps, the decision more-or-less made itself for me - accept it, enjoy it.

His hand began to wander, found a breast, zeroed in on a nipple. I felt a warm glow spread out from there across my body.