Blue striped adjustable loungers lay decadently discarded across lush lawns, the pattern indiscernible except for the direction of focus: the pool, sun-soaked and sparkling, wantonly inviting, laid out like a seductress beckoning. The chairs strewn around her waters are like so many articles of clothing, abandoned where e’er they may fall en route to pleasure.
And pleasures we find.
Sumptuous. Delightful. Extravagant. Secretive. Elegant. Simple.
Let’s away, I said. And we did.
This place of quiet where he coaxes moans from my throat, marking the soft of my thighs with the scrape of his beard, bruising the flesh of my mons with the force of his lips – pressing emphatically against my instinctive squirm, tongue lapping in flattened percussive downward strokes, insistent against the hood of my clit.
This place of ambient noise, of bubble and splash, that drowns his pleas – his please – in the jetted waters that flow across his naked flesh while he bucks and thrashes and begs for me to fuck him.
And I do.
Harder, more. Again. With curled fist and teasing fingers I stroke and penetrate to a frenzied stop, full and sudden and achingly unexpected, before beginning again, slowly. I probe and pump, deeper, faster, until he is gasping, and then I go still. Holding his hard in my hand, I listen to the harsh of his breathing until it slows to match the natural hush of the wind in the surrounding pines.
Majestic conifers, standing guard, sway to the rhythm of our exertive sufflations.
It is that kind of place.
A place set deep enough in the woods to encourage serenity and close enough to nature to inspire wild. A place of healing waters and heat, a place to quench thirsts and incite hungers. A place to state and sate cravings, to try and to taste.
There is food here, a surprising array of culinary delights, and something to please every palate. We discuss this anomoly as we linger over breakfast.
There is a spark in his eye.
You taste amazing, he says.
He tastes of sweat and sunscreen, relaxation and lust. A cocktail of summer, salt, sex, and sweat.
My cool glass of mineral water is sweating rivulets against my fingertips. Lifting it to my lips, I drink him in.