tagNonConsent/ReluctanceTime Stops in the Mediterranean Day 14

Time Stops in the Mediterranean Day 14


Day 14

The early morning on the island; I mean the really early morning with the sun not yet up is wonderful. Just silence. I like to rise very early and sit in a borrowed villa by the pool or perhaps out in the countryside or by the sea. To just sit and think as the sun rises in the silence. Usually naked of course as the sun feels better and the sense of oneness with nature stronger. Silence except perhaps for the occasional bird song and then, all at once, a bee buzzes past - a strong sound and then gone; the sun gets hotter and the land brighter; another bee goes by on its way and then, as if someone has flicked a switch, the Cicadas start like a machine getting going and the steady scratchy, oscillating drone carries on until dusk as a background whirr to the whole island. I love it. I often think of those early mornings in winter when it is cold in England and do so wish myself back on the island in the sunshine.

Wish myself back indeed! For this was my last morning on the island and tomorrow I would wake back in England and the island already a memory; perhaps until the next year.

Packing my few things into my rucksack I left the hotel; leaving behind the newly married couple, leaving the German girl and leaving the pretty swimming pool with the ever open bar: perhaps next year I might visit again though, really, having my own villa was better.

The plane was not leaving until the evening so I still, at least, had the day

The last day so, of course, I went to the beach. I wanted a last swim, a last laze on my towel and a last play with all those lovely warm feminine bodies. A pleasant time fondling pairs of boobs, a pleasant time stroking bottoms and curly hair and undoubtedly a time or two using my cock in fun ways.

Down on the beach I sat and looked about making choices; I was after quantity rather than the focus on the one; such a choice would come later. As so often I was struck by the variety in girls; if you take just breasts they really do have lots of different shapes and I do not just mean large or small. A lovely little thing ran past all ginger hair and freckles with pale white skin. She would have to be careful in the sun and certainly the big floppy hat hanging down her back was sensible. A very feminine shape but no breasts at all. Yes, she was wearing a bikini but it was like a little girl's - really there for fashion rather than necessity or modesty. This girl was not a little girl, not just pubescent or anything, but rather late teens probably fresh out of school. I wondered about the hidden curly hair - hair that would show she was not so little! Was it actually curly, how much was there, was it a darker or lighter shade of red? Fascinating questions; should I, perhaps, find out?

Going in the other direction another girl was the opposite. Not in any way fat, no not at all, but with what might rather crudely be described as a 'rack.' Her breasts were, frankly, huge and despite the bikini top's efforts they could not help but bounce around in a quite hypnotic way. She knew they were impressive alright, you could see that in the way she walked. Whereas the ginger girl had just been running with little thought of how she looked: this girl was all about image. It was all I could do not to stop time, slip her bikini top off and return to watch her surprise and consternation as her breasts were suddenly freed to do their own thing - completely. Would it have thrown her, made her lose her poise or would she have carried on regardless?

It would have been really enjoyable to watch the two girls making out with each other; such a pleasing contrast: though even more fun for me to join in!

From the other direction another girl in an all in one swimsuit with more modest breasts but round like half oranges; by round I mean really round. I wondered what the pips were like?

A pair of girls chatting - as they do - one with a rather smaller bikini than she was used to. Her skin nicely bronzed but just to the side of the cups enclosing her breasts, where the thin string wound around her to be tied in a bow at the back, was pale skin. It so emphasised the swell of her bosom: not by a pronounced visible cleavage, though that was there, but the way it drew attention to where the mounding started at the side. I was tempted to rise and pull at the bow.

Her friend kept moving from placing her weight on one leg to the other as they chatted; first one hip raised a little and then the other; the dimple of her tummy button stretched first one way then the other as she moved her weight from one long leg to the other.

It was a pleasant half hour contemplating, but time came for a swim to cool off and, moreover, enjoy the water for the last time on the holiday. I hastened over the baking hot sand and swum lazily trying to hold the moment so I could remember the soothing warmth of the warm water when trudging through the January snow.

Walking from the sea, dripping water but feeling anything but cold in the sunshine it seemed to me that it was time - time to stop time and engage in a little fondling of the girls. I had done enough watching. Silence fell and the world stopped moving - even the lazy moving of the parasols in the light breeze ceased. Undoing the cord I let my swimming trunks fall. There was no longer a need for modesty but I was careful to hang them on a parasol so I could easily find them again - later. I always think there should be a little fanfare as my shorts drop. Da, da! But of course there is no one seeing the sudden appearance of my cock, erect or not, and who am I kidding -- it is not that impressive a sight!

So many lovely girls with such little scraps of brightly covered material covering their intimate bits. It was time to move these aside.

She was tall, she was fair and what I liked was the pose. Frozen in time of course but with one arm raised to call to someone, sort of half turned so her tee shirt rose up a little way causing a bit of her midriff to show twixt shirt and green bikini bottoms. Athletic with all that hint of musculature under the soft skin which so distinguishes the woman from the man; the tautness of the shirt across her back making the little bumps of her spine show; long, long legs with just a fine dusting of sand where she had been sitting. Probably she would brush the sand off in a moment - when moments came again.

Like the earlier girl, who had been all poise along the beach, this girl too had that slightly unbalanced look of a really large 'rack.' Great fun for the men but no doubt a nuisance for her. If she was keen on games, perhaps hockey or netball, how annoying to have all that to carry and bounce about on your chest even with the restraint of a large sports bra. How popular she would be at beach volleyball with her height and that chest - especially if unnecessary beach clothing was dispensed with. What is a more wonderful sight for a man than to see a young big breasted girl running naked or engaging in exercise and seeing her breasts bounce around - all wonderfully out of control! Imagine the effect on an opposing male team. Would they be able to keep their eyes on the ball with the counter attraction of the bouncing breasts of their opponents? Would they in turn distract the girls by allowing their penises to rise and present their shiny knobs, bounding and catching the sunlight, as they leapt for the ball? Would the game degenerate and the ladies run squealing along the sand only to be floored from rugby tackles by the men seeking to inseminate their opponents? It was an attractive speculation. I would certainly have loved to race after this girl but what if her long legs meant she eluded me?

That was a disappointment I would not have to face. Clearly not, as I was already pulling her bikini bottoms down!

Let me extend the description. A well shaped bottom with pleasing dimpling to the apex of the divide between the cheeks and a charmingly fine covering of hair to the bifurcated mounding of her mons veneris. Not yet the wild curliness but, instead, rather straight, fine hairs mirroring themselves each side of her little divide in their neatness. The interesting little valley acting almost like the parting on a head of hair. My fingers did, of course, gently stroke both with and against the grain as well as cupping the soft mounding of her mons.

Rising, it was time to lift the tee shirt and reveal the bikini top and the deep valley of her breasts - and the valley was deep! What a pleasant surprise came when I undid the clasp and released her breasts from their support. In my hands their lovely weight - great mounds of softness in my hands to lift and mould - but, also, she had simply enormous areolae. I was surprised I had not seen the dark pigmentation just edging into view around the bikini material. Naked on the beach she would have caused quite a stir - and, yes, I do mean in men's swimming trunks - the size of her dark brown areolae would have drawn all eyes like a clever advertisement - an advertisement for sex. Men would have queued up to hold and fondle her breasts or, if she had been minded, to splatter her breasts with their comings.

I could easily imagine her sensually rubbing the cum into her breasts as a sexual lubricant; taking pleasure in it; making her fingers slide easily on the wet skin in such a sticky, tactile way as I or some other privileged man tickled her labia and clitoris before gently easing into her. Easy to visualise her nipples rising hard and dark on all the excitement. Imagine the envious glances of the women on the beach as she walked, content in her recent fucking down the beach to the sea simply dripping with the cum of all those women's men, her wonderfully big breasts with their big dark areolae shining with their collective spendings - and perhaps not a little more running down her thighs.

There she was, in reality, exposed to the whole beach - even the person she was in the act of waving to - but only I able to see. It was time to ready her for intercourse. Thinking about fucking her was just not enough for me - it had to happen. Standing as she was, the act was not possible; I needed to re-position her. Parting her legs would have been sufficient but it was pleasanter to bend her down onto all fours, carefully of course. It was important not to hurt her and important also to remember her original pose and position. I stood back and admired my handiwork. No longer waving, but instead resting on all four limbs with her bottom pleasingly presented. There before me was her little wrinkled bottom hole - an inviting prospect now unusually revealed in the sunlight but anal intercourse is so very difficult without preparation on the beach. Even more than her vagina it was not readied for the insertion of a substantial male organ but, visually, it was pleasing to position myself as if to attempt anal penetration.

I am sure the best anal penetration is where the act is controlled by a second or indeed third girl. The whole process taken at a slow and gentle -- a controlled - pace. Both male and female participants being prepared by the girls. The careful lubrication and easing of the anal muscles. Perhaps an earlier enema undertaken by the girls perhaps even fairly to both parties. The assisting girl's fingers as much busying themselves in the man's rectum as the woman's. The man feeling the girls' fingers sliding into him as his penis explores further and further into the prepared woman's back passage. A sexual adventure taken leisurely over time. No urgency. Despite the obvious dominance of the man in penetrating the woman's most intimate area the whole act being under the full control of the assisting women. The man told what to do. His bottom smacked at any transgression or, worse, the hanging vulnerability of his testes punished. Perhaps there will be lesbian activity as the man waits patiently and unmoving with his erection firmly lodged within the bottom - only the sighs and the occasional brushing of his scrotum indicating the sensual lapping at the woman's sex. It would not do for him to come before being told: but hardly unpleasant to wait when so tightly held.

A modicum of sun oil carefully applied to my erection eased entry and I slid happily into my tall, big breasted girl -- no, not her bottom but the other place - and began to slap my sun loosened balls against her as I vigorously went at her. Do women find swinging balls as sexy as men find swinging breasts? The parallel seems obvious but clearly so much more is made of breasts; perhaps because they are larger.

Disconnecting, I played with those delightful breasts. In her new position, instead of firmly pushing forward from her chest they just hung below her, somewhat more pendulous and easy to set moving. I swung first one and then its fellow so they knocked against each other and rebounded; and then forwards and backwards but in opposing synchronisation. As one swung forward: the other swung backwards. A delightful game. I sat on the sand happily wanking a little and playing with these wonderful toys. How much better if she could have played a similar swinging game with my balls!

The question was did I dare come within her and leave behind the tell tale evidence of intercourse in her bikini bottoms? Alas, there was no reason to upset her in that way. As always I allowed myself to the very brink but then paused. No, it would not do to come within her. Should I go in search of another girl. Seek out another girl engaged in intercourse - not always that easy to find when in great need!

My earlier thought of men ejaculating on her breasts came back to me. It was an attractive image. Repositioned on her knees with her chest jutting forward, I stood over her looking alternately from her pretty face still calling out to a friend, or acquaintance, and then down to her breasts with their big dark areolae. My penis loomed large above her. Stroke, stroke, stroke and I came. The semen spurting from my cock to land first on her right and then on her left breast, catching her areolae and then dripping to the sand.

She looked a bit of a mess in one respect but equally does a woman not look fine with a goodly spread of semen across her breasts? It is an aesthetic judgement I suppose!

I had aimed well, missing both tee shirt and bikini pulled up to her neck. Carefully pulling her back into position I lightly touched her anus with my still dripping cock leaving just a hint of damp semen there -- perhaps with the sun oil I should have attempted that after all - would she feel it as time restarted? I pulled up her bikini bottoms and eased her back into a standing position. A fine figure of a woman standing on her long legs, body slightly turned and semen running in spurts across her naked breasts.... Yes something needed to be done there! Without tissue the easiest thing was to lick her breasts free of my cum. That is not something I mind doing - both licking and sucking breasts and consuming my own ejaculate. The former being the more pleasing!

All was back as it was before. I actually nearly forget to retrieve my clothes hanging from that parasol. I could have been so engrossed in watching the girl when time restarted that I might have forgotten my own nakedness complete with rather shiny and, perhaps, still dripping cock. Not a good plan! Retrieving my clothes I settled back into the position I was in when I had stopped time.

Moving swiftly I was over by the girl and pleased to see no apparent distress on her part. To her nothing had happened. I had left no trace of my naughtiness. She moved towards a young man and they kissed. Had I perhaps missed an opportunity? It did not matter. Time for a short walk, a last fish lunch - perhaps an excellent pizza Al Mare simply covered in tomato sauce, mozzarella, squid, octopus, shellfish, prawns and olives or, instead, a simple calamari salad together with a glass of chilled white wine - and then a need to make my way to the airport.

I sat in the departure lounge and thought back. I had not kept a tally of the number of fish I had eaten, the walks I had taken or the sights I had seen: but I had kept a record of my sexual exploits. 11 wankings, 2 oral ejaculations, 1 anal comings and 16 vaginal ejaculations - a total of 30 ejaculations. I shrugged - one less than last year. Fairly consistent really at an average of just over two per day! It was not something I could keep to the rest of the year even with my ability to stop time. It was a holiday thing; not, you understand, that I don't enjoy myself during the week at work or at weekends but rather less so than on holiday. I try to concentrate on my work and really there are very few suitable subjects at my firm's office.

Well, 'few' does not mean none... and of course there are my regulars that I visit. A trio of couples I can do the rounds of an evening, just before bed, if I feel 'in the mood.' I have the keys and can let myself in to see if I can join in any fun. Will they simply be sitting watching television or more interestingly in the bath together or intimate in bed. Normally, if I time it right, one couple or another will be playing the 'beasts with two backs' game or a variation and it is easy to become a participant - a bit more semen than usual is just not noticeable! It can be a bit of a squash in the bath though!

My score for the holiday was one less than last year. Even so, there was still time to make it evens with last year. My eyes searched lazily around. Was there a girl who would not mind having to sit through a flight with a very damp and squidgy pair of panties? Perhaps it would be unfair of me in making her board the plane feeling unexpectedly wet and a little uncomfortable. Or should I wait until we were airborne and join the 'Mile High Club' as I fucked one of the pretty stewardesses without her knowledge? Perhaps the captain announcing there was going to be some turbulence and me making sure there certainly was!

The realities of Economy Class and budget airlines do not make airborne sex a practical proposition for people. First Class long haul maybe but I had not done that - not on my salary and I am not prepared to use my powers to steal. I am quite ethical really.

It would have to be the airport.

It was then, as I was reviewing options, that I saw them, right at the departure gate - the girl in the grey dress and her boyfriend. She was not actually wearing the thin figure hugging dress but, instead, a yellow tee shirt, short denim skirt and sandals. She was looking marvellous with her long limbs and good tan to say nothing of her smiling pretty face and long fair hair now tied into a pony tail. They recognised me as I recognised them or at least thought they did. They turned away.

Should I? It would certainly be more than pleasant to see her naked again, even in the stark lighting of the terminal building. I wandered into the Gents', popped into a cubicle and stripped off. You might have thought a naked man walking through the crowded terminal would have been apprehended by Security almost immediately but strangely nobody so much as blinked an eyelid. Nonetheless it still felt strange, even after all these years of walking naked through groups of time frozen people. I had to find the girl in the grey dress again and not get too distracted on the way and with the girls all dressed for the hot weather it was not easy.

"Hi Dave. Mind if I fuck your girlfriend again?"

He looked rather blankly at me which was odd considering my words had been clear and the state of my penis a strong indicator of my intention.

Up came the yellow tee shirt over her tummy and up came the bra - not terribly aesthetically pleasing but such a bother to get off completely: on the other hand her small breasts were as pleasing as days before when she had been bra-less in her grey dress, the sheer material clinging to the soft roundness. I remembered my imaginary image of the night when we had first met, an image of Dave and me walking naked in the warm darkness taking it in turns to fuck her, lifting the hem of that super grey dress a little and slipping the upturned ends of our cocks under and into her.

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