Beaches and Cream (5 page)

She found all those little points on my feet and toes that sent the same sparks shooting through me. She luxuriated in coating my thighs, her hands making easy work of my girlish figure—nowhere near as full and ripe as her own. My body was simply melting into her hands. The last time she'd done this to me, I still had my bikini on. And I'd felt nearly defenseless. But now that I was naked, I felt like I may as well have been wearing a suit of armour yesterday. Now she could reach every part of me and, as her touch found my buttocks, I found myself almost imperceptibly pushing myself into her hands. She made slow, lazy circles over the two fleshy hills, her thumbs gently delving deeper between my thighs. I heard myself sigh as she did this, her fingers now just millimeters from massaging the thick outer lips of my private parts.

“We must cover every bit of you, darling,” she said softly.

I tried to say, “I know.” But my voice was so weak that the words emerged only as a sigh.

Her hands parted my thighs and buttocks as her thumbs traced the shape of my plumping vulva. The pressure would also now be separating the more delicate inner lips of my pussy. She would see how easily they separated. How flushed and full they were—and that they had been for some time. She would see that I was wet. And she would know it wasn't the lotion. A man might never have noticed. But a woman would. She would see that I was slippery and slick. And that I couldn't help it.

“Turn over for me, Mand,” she told me.

I did. And silently begged for her hands not to leave me, fearing for a moment that she might insist that I do the front myself. But Veronica was soon swirling the sweet cream all over my body—enjoying giving as much as I enjoyed receiving. She covered my neck and chest and shoulders in a fluid embrace—like at any moment she might come forward and kiss me. She oiled my breasts, and my excitable nipples proved as undisciplined as my gooey cunt, condensing to stiff peaks that her hands stumbled over and her fingers took extra care to protect from the sun. Her hands on my tummy tickled and delighted me simultaneously, and the little ripples shot right up to the nape of my neck and down to my pussy, serving only to intensify the endless surge of honey.

Her oily hands petted over the sparse down of my pubis.

“Spread your legs a little wider for me, please, Mand.”

She delved deeper between my legs, coating my inner thighs. Her fingers now shamelessly gliding past my pussy. The glide became a stroke as her thumbs took their time to oil my smooth mound right up to its crevice.

I thought I would lose my mind with lust. Veronica had teased and toyed with me to the very edge of sanity. I could not pretend that there was any way I didn't want this. Silently I begged for more. I looked into her eyes and implored her to open me, explore me completely, give me all the pleasure she'd been taunting me with since yesterday.

She gurgled a low chuckle as she cast her smiling eyes down. Without hesitation, her thumbs slid over the slick of my outer lips and onto the slicker, softer inner petals. My heart skipped a beat and the breath caught in my throat. With loving caresses, Veronica traced the intimate shape, running her thumbs and fingers over the folds, using the lubricant she found there to pleasure me expertly while commanding even more of the insubordinate syrup from that place.

I wanted to thank her. To kiss her, hug her, and smack her all at once. For teasing me into such a state, for tricking me, humiliating me, only to leave me so oily and horny in her hands that I would push myself into them like a starving kitten, and silently beg her to handle me so lewdly. And all with the knowledge that she had done the same to my father. I did not smack her. Nor did I kiss her. And I could not say thank you. But my widening thighs and slackening lips surely exhibited all the thanks and reverence Veronica would expect.

I writhed beneath her, my mewing and wriggling body demanding more and more. My pussy shamelessly slick and swollen. And all the time Veronica working on me with sure and expert hands, her pretty face a picture of satisfied yet loving authority. She slipped her fingers inside of me and I cried out. It was like she knew just how long to keep me waiting. Knew the right moment to slip her thumbs between my defenseless labia, deep into the liquid canal, to massage those pleasure places that no one could see.

“Shhh, sh, sh,” Veronica cautioned. “We don't want Tia to think there's anything untoward happening down here.”

I groaned softly. Knowing the burden of shame that would come down upon me, upon us, if we were caught. Knowing that no matter how beautifully Veronica touched me, I would have to control my delight. And knowing that I did not care enough about either of those things to make Veronica stop.

She moved from beside me to nestle down between my legs. She put two slippery fingertips to the entrance of my pussy and pushed. The yielding flesh gave way gratefully, and her two fingers pushed past the tight diaphragm to sink deep into the depths of my cunt. My back arched off the soft mattress and my eyes grew wide. My mouth fell open to call out, but I knew I could not. The wail caught in my throat, and I captured it there. The effort causing the whole of my chest and stomach to go tight, using all the strength I possessed to pull the cry back inside me so that Tia would not hear.

“Oh god, Veronica,” I whispered. “Thank you…..Oh my god…..Thank….you.”

Veronica began to move her fingers inside me. Massaging the slick sheath of my pussy in ways that boys never had. Her fingers were soft and sure as she began to stroke them in and out, deep and smooth. Right from the bottom, circling and stroking the unprotected tender walls of my cunt, all the while working her way round to the top. Every stroke brought a new jolt of delirium. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself right down onto her. Her pace was certain but unhurried. Gradually her fingers curled upwards and found a place of such secret and indescribable yearning that I thought I would scream. The pleasure was so intense, it was as though she was rubbing my clit from the inside. The blood pounded in my ears as I gurgled and gasped.

Veronica lowered her mouth to the swollen pearl of my clit and began to suckle. Softly at first, with a sort of feathery kiss. Then licking—her tongue snaking around and over the outthrust apex of my vagina. Then suckling—her sucking lips fastened to my fucking ones. The wetness of my pussy flowing and mingling with the wetness of her mouth, flowing and flooding around her probing, glistening fingers, still busy, still working.

My best friend's mother was going to make me cum. And there was nothing I could do. She was going to make me cum….and I wanted her to. I was awash with lust and shame as she forced me higher. I could feel my belly begin to flutter and then clench. My legs drew up and my pussy closed around the blissful intrusion of Veronica's fingers as her tongue continued to swirl. I thought I would pass out from sheer pleasure as I neared the brink until….

“Mum?” Tia called from above. “Mum, where are you?”

I froze. On the brink of explosion. We could not be seen. But Tia needed only to come down the stairs and enter the alcove beneath to find us. I was breathing hard and shallow. I looked at Veronica, my eyes wide with fear and the onslaught of orgasm.

Veronica lifted her head calmly, her lips glistening and sticky with the dew of my sex, her fingers still massaging and tickling me lazily as my pussy spasmed and clenched around them.

“Just a moment, darling,” she called casually. “I'll be up in a minute.”

Before I could recover, Veronica resumed her licking of my cunt. Earnestly now, she set upon me with abandon. And I melted back into her mouth. I could not believe my own body. I was on the verge of getting caught with my thighs spread wide while a woman old enough to be my mother licked and suckled me to orgasm. And yet that same woman had no difficulty pushing me right back to the brink from which Tia had recalled me. The fear and shame coiled and tussled with my insatiable lust and desire until I thought I would be torn apart. In the heat of that struggle, I came. My fists clenched uselessly, as I gnashed my teeth and my head lurched back and forth in violent silence. My tummy strained and hardened, as my lungs fought for breath against all those rigid muscles. And all the while my hungry, succulent pussy pulsed and gulped voraciously around Veronica's nimble fingers as she coaxed wave after wave of delicious, devilish, debilitating orgasm from my irrepressible cunt.

Veronica led me back down slowly and carefully, gradually trailing off her suckling until she was softly kissing my tender pussy, allowing my orgasm to subside, and my breath and heartbeat to regulate gradually. Muscles within and without relaxing and softening, as the breath of my traumatised body resumed its normal rise and fall.

“That was beautiful, Mand.” Veronica leaned forward and kissed me. “Thank you for letting me do that to you. And thank you for sharing such a beautiful orgasm with me.”

Veronica's fingers slipped from inside me, and my body gave one last involuntary convulsion as they did so. She rose and stood before me. I raised myself up on my elbows and watched her through hazy eyes as my knees drifted together in an attempt at some form of post-orgasmic modesty. Veronica raised her fingers to her lips and sucked from them all evidence of my sex syrup.

“Have a little tidy up, Mand,” she said gently. “We don't need Tia to find you like this and start asking awkward questions.”

I nodded dumbly, and Veronica strode out of the alcove. Each of her heavy, round buttocks rolling in turn, she sashayed into the sunlight as though she'd been doing nothing more than looking for a towel.

I looked down at my body, still flushed and glistening with lotion, my pussy still full and plump. It, like my thighs, slick and conspicuous with my own sex honey and Veronica's saliva. The only cover available to me was a cushion from the lounger. So I reached for that.

“Mand?” I leapt with surprise as Tia appeared in the wide archway. She took in my recumbent position, the cushion pressed between my legs, and the bottle of
Melonin
open beside me. “What are you doing down here?”

“I….I was just in the pool. Wh…why?”

“Really?” She looked confused. “I didn't hear anyone swimming. Are you…..are you naked?....”

I could feel the rush of colour surging to my cheeks. How long had she been down here? Surely she'd just seen her mother leave.

“Tia, I…..”

“Don't be embarrassed!” she burst in. “That's great, Mand!”

She flopped down beside me and gave me a hug. Her bare skin on mine rekindled a sudden, sensual spark still burning from the embers of what had just passed. I hoped I didn't smell like fresh sex. If I did, Tia didn't seem to notice.

“You see how relaxing it is? I never thought you'd go nude. You don't have to be embarrassed in front of us! Where's Mum?”

“I…I don't know…. I think she's upstairs.”

“Oh, ok,” Tia said brightly. “I just need to ask her something quickly.”

And with that, she leapt up and traipsed out into the sun, leaving me once again to recover my wits and let my heart settle down out of my throat.

Veronica made it easy for me. That night and the following day. Her demeanor was neither unduly cautious, nor suspiciously convivial in a bid to hide what we had done from her daughter. We talked and laughed as easily as we ever had. It was almost as if Veronica had done this before.

Nights full of laughter and imbibation had rapidly depleted our stores. This place offered the best of many things, and good wine was but one of them. Veronica dispatched us in the car, and Tia and I sped through the countryside to their favourite vineyard. The journey took us down broad avenues of cork oak, and high up into the hills amid orange and apricot orchards, before wending up the path of red earth and depositing us at the stone villa, nestled in the bosom of the buttes.

A jolly, elderly man rushed out to meet us, as though we were expected. He smiled warmly. His lined and rugged face, rounded belly and silver hair marking him out at 100 paces as an almost typecast denizen of the region. So convincing was his stereotype that I thought we would not be able to understand each other. But, much to my surprise, he spoke fluently with us in our own language—using colourful colloquialisms without a hint of hesitation. He asked after Tia's father and, with a twinkle in his eye, wished well upon Tia's “exquisite mama.”

“Come, come, ladies!” he beckoned enthusiastically. “My son will help you find something to hit the spot!”

He led us into the airy reception area. The walls were lined with casks or stacked high to the ceiling with an impressive array of flat and sparkling wines.

He strode busily through the room, calling as he went. “Anton?” he called. “Anton! Tia is back! Something to taste for her and her friend!”

From a stairwell at the back, a young man emerged from the gold-tinted darkness beneath the building. He rubbed his wide, dark eyes as he reemerged into the light, and ran a hand through an unruly crop of chestnut hair. Though the comb of his fingers had little effect. He glanced at his father, and a shy smile blossomed upon Anton's face as he set eyes on Tia. But there was nothing shy about Tia's broad grin. She bounded over to Anton and hugged him tightly, kissing him loudly on the cheek upon her release.

“Anton, this is my friend, Mand,” she said, beckoning me over.

“Hello,” Anton said politely, and kissed me lightly on both cheeks. He smelled of the outdoors, and of the wooden barrels deep in the subterranean cavern. His skin was smooth yet rugged at the same time.

“Anton, quickly!” his father exclaimed. “The seven-year-old Viognier, I think. And the white Guarnaccia! And the Mataró. Oh, and something sparkling for our sparkling guests!”

Anton dutifully retired briefly to the cellar, before finishing his selection with a few more bottles from around the room. Amid a flurry of popping corks and animated descriptions from Anton's effervescent father, we sipped and slurped our way through the most impromptu and wonderful private wine tasting. I had never tasted anything so magnificent. The cool, crisp rosés were, quite simply, like flowers poured from a bottle. While the rich, deep reds were like the nectar of fruits I never knew existed, and the champagne was utter decadence—sparkling sunlight in a glass. Anton's father was duly proud of his creations and seemed unwilling to let us go without just another sip of something (or, as he called it, “one more kiss from his sweethearts”).