0 comments/ 27893 views/ 0 favorites Waves By: soft_touch She twisted off the hot water valve tightly. The last few drops of steaming water fell into the clear pool. The air over the bath seemed to shimmer slightly, then fell deadly still as only air over very hot or very cold water does. She'd been looking forward to this all day. Too many phone calls, too many bothersome reports. No dog or husband or boyfriend to come home to that evening... just the promise of a long soak in hot water and soft bubbles. Relaxing. Just soak the worries away. Nodding in approval at the water, she undid the tie to her robe. The white terrycloth slid to the floor, revealing the golden curve of her back, the swells of only slightly heavy breasts, tan thighs that rippled as she stepped up to the side. The cool air coupled with the steamy mist from the tub floated up to brush against her legs and briefly exposed pussy. She shivered. The water seemed to rise up and suck her down. She purred, sinking under the surface, feeling the hot water press up all around her. It felt like a cocoon, caressing her skin, pushing the heat into her while pulling out the knots in her muscles. For a while she just lay there, covered to her neck in the steamy bathwater. Soft sounds of rippling waves slapping against the sides of the tub, her light breathing were the only sounds in the room. She felt peaceful, relaxed... alone, yet not lonely. Nearly floating in the water, she let her mind drift as well. Thoughts of the day came and went, washed away by relaxation. Then came the strong image of... hands. Big, masculine hands that would touch her, would hold her. She smiled with her eyes closed. The hands did not belong to anyone, they were attractive in and of themselves. She pictured the hands, strong and slightly rough, grabbing her on her shoulders. Sliding down her smooth skin to cup her breasts. In her mind she felt these hands grabbing her, and she knew she'd give up anything they wanted. To feel her nipple pressed hard against one of those palms, to feel those fingers slide between her legs... Without really thinking about it, her own hands rose in the tub to mimic the hands in her mind. She placed her hands flat on her shoulders, and let them slide down to her breasts. She concentrated on the feeling in her breasts, as the hands moved over them and eclipsed them. In her mind the hands squeezed, and in the tub, her fingers dug into the flesh of her breasts. Grabbing and taking, that passionate groping that always got her hot in the backseat of a car. The water rippled and rolled to her movements. Her hands pulled her breasts out of the water, into the cool air... then plunged them down again. When two of her fingers found their way on either side of a hard pink nipple, a slight moan slipped out of her lips. It bounced back in the nearly silent bathroom, somewhat surprising her. Still, she was alone and nobody could hear... She rubbed her nipples, alternating sides, back and forth between wet fingers. She felt her body flush, warming as she imagined the hands in her head playing with her breasts for hours, teasing her, leaving her wanting... One hard squeeze, a pinch of her left nipple, and she groaned. Loudly. No longer was this a slightly pleasurable enterprise; she was getting turned on, and wanted to get herself off fiercely. With a man it might be quick and passionate, but there was always a chance it would leave her unsatisfied. Alone, she'd give herself everything she needed. That meant teasing. That meant sexual torture. Her hands took on a life of their own. She closed her eyes, and felt her fingertips explore her body. Felt her skin be exploited by need and sweet caresses. Up the side of her neck, where her pulse throbbed as a pinky brushed it. Between her breasts, drawing a line down to her navel... then back up. She wanted to keep going down, she needed it... but satisfaction too soon would be weak. She didn't want to trip over the edge, she wanted to fly right off it. Her lips found themselves being plundered by wet fingers, insistent and demanding. Not content with a few swipes across her mouth, they pressed inward. She moaned, loving the feel of something violating her mouth, even if it was just her own fingers. She imagined other objects, other body parts pressing into her willing mouth. Those male hands, perhaps. She sucked on her finger, fantasizing about seducing a man with her oral skills alone. She swirled her tongue around the finger, pleasuring it, visualizing a thick shaft entering her mouth, demanding to be sucked. For her, she got off on the sensation of a huge cock in her mouth, just so that she could "see" it with her tongue, discover the veins and velvet skin and engorged head. The sensation of being stuffed with cock never failed to excite her powerfully. Just thinking about it made her pussy tingle, and she squeezed her thighs together to help contain the excitement. In the water, however, that proved more arousing. Her thighs brushed up against her pussy and pressed on it, and she groaned once again. Her other hand chose to travel up and down her legs. Her thighs screamed to be touched, caressed, stroked. She spread her bent knees, resting them on either side of the tub. Instead of feathery touches, her palm pressed down firmly and rubbed. Up toward the knee, fingers splayed... underneath the knee, teasing the sensitive spot there... and always on the inside, tender flesh crying out for physical contact. This was the torture, to stroke her inner thigh, to imagine hands and lips traversing ever closer toward her pussy... but never reaching it. She involuntarily thrust her hips up, aching to have her pussy touched, but her own body betrayed her, and continued to rub arousing and frustrating paths near... but never too near. Her mind flashed through scenarios, memories, specific emotions. Being kissed for the first time. Sex in the hard rain. A cock exploding inside her, suddenly hot and wet and full. The time her boyfriend stopped an elevator to push up her skirt and lick her pussy until she came in convulsing moans. Phone sex with a husky voice, fucking her with that voice. Arms around her, comforting and warm. Her college roommate, drunk and horny, asking her to fingerfuck her ass. A lover keeping her up after a marathon lovemaking session, pushing her for just one more orgasm... just one more... Somewhere in the middle of all these thoughts her fingers met her pussy, feeding its desire with rapid strokes and excited circles around her clit. Her hips kept rising to meet this onslaught of fingers, pressing them hard against her wet sex, splashing as she writhed in the water. She felt the strong primal urge to be fucked, hard, severely, unrelenting. The thought of a cock pounding away at her pussy from behind, shaking her entire body with each thrust... Two fingers pressed against the folds of her pussy, between them, inside. They couldn't penetrate far enough or fill her up full enough, but damn did they feel wonderful. As her orgasm rolled in, both hands worked between her legs furiously. Her eyes clenched shut, her mouth hissed as she felt the release coming, her body tightening up every muscle in anticipation... When it arrived, blazing nerves and breaking sweat, she paused for a brief second. All was still save the splashing water. And then she convulsed, once, twice, moaning in hard breaths, feeling it sweep over her, throwing her out of control, hands rubbing harder, stopping, starting, riding the wave, let it never stop... Once was not enough, she knew this. She craved more, would be riding a cock, grinding it right now had she the chance... she looked around for a substitute, anything to fill her, stuff her, stretch her pussy and make it ache inside to match her throbbing cock. Her eyes settled on one of her conditioner bottles, thick and round. A shaking hand grabbed it and brought it underwater. It took her minutes, painful and pleasuring, to work the bottle even an inch inside. Her free fingers manipulated her pussy lips, teased and urged them to swallow the smooth plastic. From that slight start, it went in easy, her hand pushing it in as her hips bore down on the thick... oh so thick... She didn't need to even fuck herself with it; just a good push to work it inside, her cunt walls pulling it in, strong muscles embracing the intruder. Once full, she twisted it ever so slightly, rolling her hard clit between her fingers, overcome by sensation and delight. Her second orgasm never peaked but made a good case for staying forever. Once it started, a mere stroke of her clit sent waves of ecstasy up and down her body. She rode it, rode the bottle that she pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in hard. She knew she'd be sore soon, but tired and happy. In the meanwhile, the water rushed back and forth, her hands were not her own, and her throaty gasps made it a night to enjoy. Waves (Author's Note: Dedicated to the incomparable EyeofSerpent: may your tapestry find the immortality it so richly deserves) She bent down and touched the water. It was warm. She smiled wide because Everyone knows the water near the mouth of the Amazon is as cool as the Atlantic. But it was warm to her. As warm as His touch. She laughed. Loudly. Touched herself down there, just to compare. Even warmer. But still not as warm as His touch. She had come a long way. For someone who had traveled the world by boat, airplane, balloon, dog sled, bicycle, mule, submarine and foot, she still felt that special tingle down there every time she found a new way to get from one place to another. But nothing like this. She gave a small gasp, despite herself. And touched herself again. Her guide looked at her peculiarly. "You want I should leave?" he asked, in broken English. She put her hands to her head, as much to keep her yellow hair from whipping this way and that in the wind as to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as she peered out over the endless expanse of the ocean. "Yes, please," she answered without looking at him. "When should I come back?" he asked, bending down to pick up his pack. "Never," she giggled. She couldn't remember the last time she giggled. How she was looking forward to this. He looked at her incredulously, even as he slung his sack across his shoulder and took a step backwards. "Pardon?" She smiled and turned to him, her hand lowering to unclasp her belt. "Here," she said as she tossed him the belt with the pouches attached. "Five thousand more, American. No argue!" She turned back towards the ocean and bent down on her knees again. "Buy your family a new house." "But...Miss Sutherland...?" He stooped down to pick up the belt. "You heard me," she whispered in the same tone as the crashing tide; without turning, closed her eyes and smiled as she heard his footsteps in the sand. Five minutes later, she could still hear them as they stepped from the sand to peat soil. Ten minutes later -- the sound of oars chopping the waves. That made her wonder if she could hear the Sunday church bells back in Toronto if she had a mind to. She gasped for air once again, and fell to her knees in the sand. Her hands dug deep into her trousers. No, no church bells. Better. * * * "Where did you hear about me?" His voice. His blessed voice. Low as the rumbling of the tuba her father used to play, but twice as deafening. Her first instinct was to cover her ears. Didn't help. She began to have second thoughts. This was not at all what she had expected. This...Thing in the hospital bed. Fucking hell, his wrinkles had wrinkles. His right eye was swollen shut from some disease or perhaps simply because he was just so bloody old. But that voice? It pierced her hands. Deep, endless as the echo you hear when you hold a seashell to your ears. "I asked you where you heard this from?" He asked again. "What? Are you deaf, woman?" Her mind reeled from the contradictions. An East Texas accent? But that voice was surely older than any of the six flags that flew in front of the government hospital overlooking Galveston Bay. Hell, maybe this WAS who she was looking for after all. "Money," she answered, finally, drawing a notebook and pen from her purse. "I'm a fairly rich woman." She flipped open the notebook and swept back her hair with her other hand. "I pay very well for information I'm looking for." "Bah, money," he made a gurgling noise deep in this throat that startled her a bit. "Never had much use for it myself." He lifted an arm. It was so thin that a small layer of flesh hung down an inch from the bone and swung back and forth as he moved. His fingers was knotted in places where there were no joints. She turned towards the window that overlooked the bay. "I always bartered for stuff I needed." He chuckled. It sounded to her like, of all things, waves hitting the seawall. "If I ever needed stuff." Sensing he had finished whatever he was doing with that ghastly arm, she turned back. "The nurse said your name is Rihaku?" She looked down at her notebook. "Pardon me for asking, but you don't look Japanese to me." He turned his head slightly. His right ear was gone. "I've had so many names that I can't remember 'em all. But I always liked that one best - Umi no Rihaku." He smiled. He had two teeth left. She turned back towards the window again. "Know what it means?" She grinned despite herself as she watched gulls circle a shrimping boat in the distance. "Rihaku the sea," she answered. "Yep," he chuckled again. "You're pretty good for a youngster." She took a deep breath and turned back to him. "Well, let's just say I've been around the world more than once." She tried, she really tried, but found herself focusing on the wall above his head. "How many names DO you have?" "How many languages you speak?" He smiled again, but she wasn't looking. "Was that a question?" "No, darlin', that was an answer." He made that strange gurgling noise again. "I reckon I got a name in just about every language you speak and probably close to a dozen you don't." She forced herself to look at him and her eyes narrowed as he continued. "Not counting those new made up ones like Esper..." "Esperanto?" "Yeah, that one." He coughed. "Stupid people ain't got enough different ways to talk past each other, they got to go looking to make up more of 'em." She jotted down some notes. "I guess you've been around a while," she said without looking up. "Exactly how old are you?" He drew a breath. "Now, that's a really good question." He closed his good eye for a moment. "I'm gonna have to think on how to answer that one." She noticed a chair near the window and pulled it over to the bed and sat down while he lay there silently for a few minutes. "Depends," he answered, finally. She crossed her legs and peered at a spot on the wall behind him. "On what?" "On how bad you wanna know?" Oh, yeah, she thought, here it comes. She reached for her purse. "I told you I got no use for money," he said, making that strange noise again. It was starting to sound a bit familiar to her. "You listenin' to a word I say?" "Of course..." "Well, you sure as hell ain't lookin' at me, so I gotta ask." She stood up. "Look, I'm sorry if I wasted your time, but I really don't know if I can do this..." "Of course you can, darlin', you got the waves in your eyes. Your pretty ass ain't made for sittin' and your feet got a lot of miles on 'em. I can tell, darlin', 'cause I've seen thousands just like you, though maybe not quite as good lookin'. Hundreds of thousands in my time. Maybe millions. Hell, they used to pray to me, you know." She sat back down. "You liked that last part, eh?" He grinned. "Yeah, okay, so maybe some of that money of yours found the right hands. Not many of those left, I reckon. Who was it?" She put the pen to her book and forced herself to look at his good eye. "Is it really that important?" He smiled and it only grew wider when she didn't look away. "Naw, I guess it ain't." He looked at the window and reached for the bed controls. "Not much left to fear, anyway." He continued to stare out of the window as the bed rose to give him a better view. "And I kinda figured once I couldn't move no more it was just a matter of time before someone tracked me down." He wiggled what was left of his eyebrows. "I'm just happy it was someone as pretty as you." * * * She tossed her bra behind her and heard it fall on the sand a foot to the left of her shirt. She could feel the very salt in the air as it swept across her breasts. It tickled her nipples. But it didn't make them hard. They'd been like coral for a half hour now. Ever since she heard His voice. Even now it carried from wave crest to wave crest and every bill of every gull and egret for miles around sang His opera. Slowly, solemnly, she stepped into the water. Even through her boots and trousers, she could feel His touch. He called to her, begged to her, cursed at her, but she simply smiled. She was no slut. Sandra Marie Sutherland was no mere whore to be commanded, even by one such as Him. She had always loved playing hard to get and He would have to work for her. But she tweaked her nipples and giggled just to give Him a proper incentive. Stepping up to her knees, through her leathery boots, she felt His hands around her ankles, His lips upon her toes. This was more like it. She laughed. She called his name, taunting him playfully. Wondering aloud how the Master of the Deep could be thwarted by mere cowhide and human engineering. But just as the last of her words escaped her lips, the sand beneath her turned to ice and she fell backwards onto the beach, her back descending onto sheets of silt and salt, her head cushioned by a pillow of brackish water hollowed suddenly in the sand and her yellow hair caressing the shells and pebbles at His command. She lifted her head and laughed loud and hard as she watched the waves flow over her legs, invisible fingers tugged at the laces of her boots, a strand of seaweed, long and thin and strong, slid underneath her and snaked between her legs. She felt him rush between her socks and her pants and jet up her legs and his teeth grasped hard on the metal of the zipper and she heard a gull cry in victory overhead as the fabric ripped itself from her waiting hips in all four directions. She broke into fits of giggles as she brought both hands down to the front of her panties. "No, no, please, no," she laughed as she watched her boots sprout fins and finally swim off her feet. "Help me!" she tittered as the strand of seaweed slid across her stomach and between her breasts and silty fingers rose from the sand to warmly caress her earlobes. Slowly and passionately, wave after wave formed thin sheets of foam that lathered over the skin of her legs and hips and stomach, sliding softly and warmly over every inch of her lower flesh, glossing and polishing and oiling away the cursed dryness of her birth, making her over into that which could be blessed by His nature. Of this, she could say nothing. Her lips could only tremble at the glory of the seduction. She could never, in a hundred lifetimes, dream this. Her arms lifted from about her sex and lay floating in His hands, His watery mouth taking each finger in turn, each nail cleansed to the root and the fragile hairs inhaled and combed and replaced as they were. His sand rose up between her toes, scouring the tender bottoms of her feet, and she could feel his tongue tenderly tasting of the flesh about her ankles. Tears began to roll down her cheeks to her mouth, her salt mixing with His upon her lips. The waves came more frequently now and she could feel the sand beneath her begin to move again. Sensing His intentions, she opened her legs for Him. Holes opened up in the earth beneath her feet and as each of them fell into place, she felt the sand cover them and grasp her ankles firmly. Velvety sheets of silt ran up and down the underside of her legs to her thighs and back down again. The green and blue seaweed strand was suddenly joined by dozens of its slimy brothers and sisters. They wrapped themselves around her arms, and under her back, weaving a mesh of salty rope that slid into knots about her wrists and elbows. Foam from the tips of larger waves kissed and licked at her breasts, one after the other after the other after the other in an unending assault. Involuntarily, she spasmed, her back arched up, but the waves rose up to meet her and the kelp rope tightened about her, forcing her once more to the sandy bed. "Fuck, yeah," she grunted. Deep within, she felt her own wetness rush out to meet his. She could feel His fingers on her cotton prison, the only remaining remnant of her dryness. "Fuck, yeah," she repeated. "Do it." "Do it!" Suddenly jets of water whipped around and between her thighs. She could feel the water pressure around her hips and waist increase tenfold. Something hard pressed firmly against her throbbing clit. Ten thousand microscopic fingers slid between the cotton and flesh and pulled in ten thousand directions. The seaweed constricted, squeezing her arms together underneath her. A tendril of sand shot up from the sandy bottom and danced between her asscheeks. She screamed. More than once. * * * "You got all your fingers?" He was still staring out the window. She closed one eye and peered at him. It was getting just a tiny bit easier for her now. "Yes, last time I looked." "Nails painted?" "Uh, no." She glanced down at the pen in her hand, just to make sure. "Good." He turned back to her. "I got no use for decorations no more. Used to be a big thing with the Children, some kind of holdover from the old days, I guess..." He craned his neck and peered over the edge of the bed with his good eye. "How 'bout your toes?" Instinctively, she shuffled her feet underneath her chair. "I don't see as how that..." "Let me see 'em." His neck made an odd, slight crinkling sound -- like Christmas wrapping paper -- as he edged further out over the bed. She drew her hands into her stomach and grasped the pen and pad tightly. "Really, I don't..." Suddenly his head drew back over the bed and he stared right through her. "You want to know how old I am? Take off those sandals and show me your toes." She hesitated for a moment, then smiled. Fucking dirty old man. She unfolded her legs from beneath her skirt and stuck them out and rested her feet on the side of the bed. "You do it." His head did not move. Neither did his lips. "That is not our pact." The voice rumbled, low, slow, vibrant, and seemed to flow in with the sea breeze through the open window. Startled, she turned her head there for a moment and raised a hand to her neck. He cackled loudly as she turned back to him. "I learned that from a holy man down in Peru, back before there was a Peru." He pointed to her sandals. "Now show me your toes." She took off her sandals and placed them below her chair, then raised her legs, one by one and placed them on the side of the bed again. She noted he barely glanced at them as he spoke. But that thought rested in the back of her brain for only a bare second, because the voice, that amazing voice, seemed to flow from everywhere and nowhere. It hung about her ears like mist, tickling the hairs within her very lobes and running right down her throat. Again, his lips did not move. "For every toe on your right foot, I have lived two lives. For every toe on your left foot, with the exception of that especially cute little one, I have lived a thousand years per life. Your left thumb represents the ten percent of all my lives spent in quiet contemplation of who and what and why I am and how I came to be. For every other finger on your thankfully unmanacured hands, I have wasted ten percent of all my lives in hedonistic and violent pleasure, existing only to fulfill my carnal indulgences." As he spoke in that marvelous voice, she found her eyes move down to her feet, then her hands, until finally she was staring at one thumb that was extended in front of her face. She blinked, then shook her head. Her pad and pen lay on the floor. "And you're lookin' at the leftover thumb, darlin'." He laughed and leaned back to look again out of the window. After pausing only a moment, she picked up her pad and pen and did some quick mental calculations. "Nice trick, but your really can't expect me to believe you're THAT old," she sighed. "And you know you can't really ADD percentages..." He smiled broadly at her math lesson, peering out the window and changing the subject. "You know why they built that seawall out there?" "Hurricane, I imagine," she shrugged. "Now, what exactly did you mean by the..." "Not just a hurricane, darlin', THE hurricane," he interrupted. "Blew in here about a hundred years back, killed more folks than damned near every hurricane before or after. A Lover's knife, it was, and the reason I'm sittin' here talkin' to you now. She tried to get me then 'cause I snubbed Her one too many times, I reckon, but I thought it was actually kinda sweet in a Medea kinda way. So I stayed around these parts, just to piss Her off." "I'm not following." "You were gonna ask about that last thumb, right?" He turned back to look at her. "Why I'm sittin' here talkin' to you like one of the locals crabbers down on the piers instead of in ancient Greek or Latin or somethin'" "Okay, I'll bite," she smiled and put her pen to pad again in anticipation. He cackled loudly again, then that voice went low and soft and rolled across the room like a dense fog. "It's 'cause I AM one of the local crabbers down on the piers, darlin'," it whispered. "After thousands of years of tryin' and tryin' I finally got it right. And She don't like it one bit." She started to jot something down, then stopped. "She?" He leaned back in his bed and coughed. "Take off your shirt." He said it casually. "I will not," she smiled and shook her head as if he made a bad joke. "The nurses know better'n to come in here unless I call 'em." He winked at her with his good eye. She laughed. "I don't take off my blouse in front of just every ordinary crabber, you know." "Fair enough," he exhaled through that wide, toothless smile. "We can talk about something else, then. Maybe about what the best time of the day is for watchin' the dolphins? Or where along the beach you can find all the best shells. I know tons of stuff." She looked at him for a moment, then put down her pad, gave a heavy sigh and reached for the bottom button. He turned back to the window. "Now, I don't know what you come here thinkin' to find, but I figure it was some good-lookin' hunk with magic tricks and death rays or whatever, 'cause that just what those folks who took your money told you to expect. Well, truth is, most of us that been around a long while are not a whole lot different from you right now." She'd reached the third button and paused for a moment. "The world sees this nice, smooth, pretty synthetic skin 'cause that's what we want 'em to see, but underneath it's all appendectomy scars, bullet wounds, cuts that never healed right, elbow surgeries from tumbles down hills..." She stopped at the top button and bit her lip as he turned and looked through her again. "Scars from bad boob jobs." She crossed her arms in front of her and started to get up. "What?" he shrugged. "You wanted magic tricks, I'm giving you magic tricks." She sat back down, but kept her arms crossed in front of her. The smile was gone. The bravado was gone. She hung her head and slowly, very slowly, opened her blouse to him. "I..." "You come to me seeking to walk where there are no footprints. To swim in a sea that has never tasted human flesh. You look at the moon each and every night and do not see the Eye of the Ancients, but only a place where there stands an American flag - a symbol of the reach of mankind. You come to me hoping that there is a place for Sandra Marie Sutherland in the written history of the world." As the blouse fell from behind her shoulders to drape over the back of the chair, he drew a heavy sigh and looked away. "Sorry, darlin', but what you really want is somethin' I just can't give you." * * * She leaned back in the sand and smiled up at the sun. They always told her that you cannot look at the sun without harming your eyes. Her smile grew ever wider as she stared. She studied the trees, the bushes, the clouds. She imagined the clouds were sheep, mountains, elephants, barbecue potato chips, her grandmother's smile. The peak of Everest, where she left her wedding ring. Waves She closed her eyes and saw Pepi, her pet dog, the first of many. She saw them all, remembered their names. The last one somehow turned into George, the captain of her high school track team, so she quickly opened her eyes to look at the sun again. Glorious. Rolling every so slowly towards the horizon. She felt a slight change in the waves as they lapped at her breasts, so she instinctively looked down to her legs as they rested in the sand. A small crab chased a piece of carrion as it was swept over her right foot. It turned its eyes ever so slightly towards her and one claw seemed to point to her sex before it captured its quarry and shot off sideways into the distance. She laughed and turned back towards the clouds. There was a horse, a gelding she used to ride. Her mother's house in Manchester, the one with the fireplace and marble statues in the hall. One of the squirrels that she used to feed pecans to. She closed her eyes again and looked hard for Enrique. Ah, there he was, in his flight jacket and cap, smiling as always. The vision of Candace Bernard, her father's first ex-wife, wagging her finger at her and telling her she'd never amount to anything. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She lifted her head and turned to the left. Not much to see, unfortunately. Sand. Shell. Bits of rock. She looked hard for an ant, a scorpion, a bug of any kind. Finally, after a few moments, she sighed and turned back towards the clouds. An igloo, just like the ones she saw from the dog sled five years ago. A Chinese dragon from the Year of the Rat celebration in Hong Kong. A long, thin layer that looked like...no. She giggled and closed her eyes. There was Noe, walking across the darkened room towards her, his massive cock swaying and bobbing in front of him like a dowsing rod that had just discovered the Pacific Ocean. Which, of course, it had. She laughed so hard, she had to open her eyes. The wetness trailed down her cheek. Again, she felt a slight change in the tide as it swept over her breasts now, and she looked down. A conga line of brine shrimp was dancing slowly towards her, rolling this way and that in the tide. The first reached her pussy lips and gave her a kiss before turning and darting off into the distance. The second did the same. And the third... She rolled her eyes. "Not yet!" she said, and waved her arm at the watery horizon in front of her. "I'm not ready yet!" She watched as the last of the shrimp did its duty and vanished from view. "Fucking romantic," she giggled, and turned her eyes back to the sun. * * * She bit her lip, closed her eyes. There was a large stone in the depths of her stomach that was made of lead. Her throat tightened. "Can't give me?" she finally managed. "Or won't?" He gave no immediate answer, save that strange gurgling noise deep in his throat. Put a hand to his scarred and wrinkled forehead and rubbed his good eye with a bony finger. From somewhere outside, a seagull cried. "You really don't know what you're askin'," he whispered. "I pray." "I know, darlin'." He drew an audible breath. "I've heard enough of 'em to know. I've heard 'em pray for rain, pray for wind, pray for calm. But mostly pray for safe passage." "Then you understand." She wiped the wetness from her eye. "I even applied to NASA at one time, but failed the psych profile. By the time there's viable private ventures, I'll probably be too old." He looked out his window. "Nothing much up there to see anyway," he said. "You can't taste it, feel it, smell it. It'd get old five minutes after you go weightless." "Climbed Everest twice. Been to the spring of the Nile, touched both poles, walked across every major desert. Every direction except up and down." He adjusted himself in his bed. "Trouble is, darlin', the place you pray to explore isn't really a place. It ain't up or down, right or left." He turned to her. "She's a lover who chooses Her Own by birth." "I don't..." She felt the stone down there growing ever larger as he continued. "Whoever you spread your money around to sold you ocean front property in Arizona, darlin'. It's kinda like air and water. You don't swim in Her as much as you breath Her. And your kind just ain't born with the right equipment." "So, it's not...possible." Her face lost all color and fell into her hands. And settled there. A blast of warm salty air blew into the room and drifted about her like a blanket, slowly moving the strands of her long yellow hair this way and that as she let the wetness flow. He swallowed hard and that strange sound moved up and down his throat as he studied her. Shivering and sobbing like the widows and children at the thousands of memorials on thousands of beaches throughout thousands of years. They once prayed too, with prayers unanswered, their wetnesses merging and dripping into the little river in a way he could barely hope to understand. Until now. He lifted a finger to his cheek and touched it. Lifting one eyebrow, then the other, he brought that finger to his good eye and studied it in awe. Sniffed at it. Tasted it. Hungrily, he poked another finger to his cheek. But it was dry now. Dry. The irony was not lost on him. He looked back at her as she bent down to retrieve her shoes. "I didn't say it was impossible," he said in that voice, now soft, low and full of beckoning. She sat up and reached for a sleeve of her blouse which she used to dry her face. She noticed him watching intently as she did so but didn't pay much attention, as his last words still echoed. "Please?" She sniffed. He drew a breath and closed his good eye. The humidity in the room seemed to rise as he spoke. "First, I feel I got to tell you a story. You're not the only one with dreams, darlin'. I seen thousands of 'em come and go. Some want somethin' from me, some want to give me somethin' because they think I did somethin' for 'em." The large mirror on the wall behind him began to fog up as he continued. "There was one guy I remember really well. He was a kind of an explorer a lot like you. He wanted to look Her over long and hard and find out how to make Her do stuff for him. So they went out dancin' and they danced for years and years and years, until he finally figured out what made Her tick, even found out how to make Her cum. And when I tell you they made mountains move, I ain't exaggeratin' by much." He opened his eye and turned towards the mirror. Sandra could see the water forming streams running this way and that on its surface as he spoke. "Anyway, turns out that even though She could keep dancin' forever, he eventually got tired and wanted to see his Kinfolk, his Children and other lovers and such and decided he didn't want to dance no more. But by then they'd danced for so long that She got real jealous and wouldn't let him go. So, with both of 'em being the stubborn sorts, they finally came to an agreement that She'd let him go for years at a time, but he'd have to promise to come back and stay for a visit every so often or She'd take him back forever and never let him go." The water on the mirror swirled and danced in circles as he smiled. "But in order to make sure he kept his part of the bargain, She kept a hold on his body and only let it out when She said so. So he became sort of like the water he used to love so much. She let him loose as a cloud, he came down to earth as rain, got swept down into a river and finally back down into the sea where she reclaimed him. But to make sure he always came back, She would change him a little each time so that his Kinfolk wouldn't even recognize him anymore, and refused to grant him any favors all those years he was away." She watched in amusement as the droplets of water twisted this way and that, forming ever-changing faces on the mirror. "Anyway, after years and years of living like this, he gets those waves in his eyes again and decides he wants, like you, to go where none of his Kinfolk have ever gone before. So he sends Her a nasty message saying he wants a total divorce and jumps out of the river on to dry land before he ever gets to the sea. He finds he really enjoys crawling and walking and running instead of swimming. He catches all sorts of ugly land diseases, like malaria, the plague, ebola, smallpox, you name it, he gets it. But She keeps chasing him and kissing him with her wetness and won't let him dry up, no matter how hard he tries." Sandra smiled despite herself. "And, I bet he ends up in a hospital bed in Galveston," she interrupted. He looked at her and frowned. "Oh, you heard this one already." The droplets on the mirror formed a smiley face, then ran down to the bottom in a hundred tiny rivers. She put her hand to her mouth to suppress a laugh. He chuckled. "Okay, I got another one I know you ain't heard." He winked with his good eye. "From one explorer to another." "Try me," she said with a defiant smile, she shook her hair back, and put her hands on her hips. Her nipples stood out from her small breasts like bullets. "You got any tattoos?" "No." "Piercings?" "No." "Good for you, darlin'." He turned back towards the window. "Kids today got no respect for their bodies. Like they think they OWN 'em or somethin'." She detected a hint of sarcasm, she was beginning to understand the eddies and currents of that marvelous voice. "Take off your skirt." This time there was no hesitation. She stood up and let it fall to the floor around her feet. "Everyone knows the Amazon is mighty, but few know all her secrets. When she talks to Mother Ocean, she speaks loudly, feeding Her fully one-fifth of what She needs to replenish the lives of her countless Children and Grandchildren. Her voice speaks with such power that it reaches out and into her Mother for three hundred miles in all directions. Still, she knows her place in the cycle. At her mouth lie dozens upon dozens of islands, each caught up in the never-ending conversation between Mother and daughter. Upon one of these islands is a sacred place where the Children and Grandchildren have come to make sacrifices to Mother and daughter for centuries. There, even within the very powerful throat of her daughter, Mother's voice is louder still. It is a place of power and you can hear it and smell it and taste it if you have knowledge in the ways of the endless cycle." He turned again to her and his voice was like a horn through the fog and mist. "How much are you prepared to sacrifice for your dream?" * * * As she watched the sun make its exit, she searched the sky for the Eye of the Ancients. And laughed when she thought of that American flag. It seemed like years ago, that conversation. She started picking out stars as they uncloaked. Those astronauts could have their empty heavens. None of them would ever go where she was going. A sudden and unexpected noise caught her attention. Thunder. She turned her head to her left. Dark clouds. Dark beautiful clouds. One last gift from her new Mother. Or was it from her new Mistress? She giggled. Absolutely giddy. She could not feel the rest of her body now, but she knew, positively KNEW she was wet down there. She thought back to that time in college when she and Debby Wilson had that drunken bet about who could stay wettest the longest. Poor Debby had no chance. She'd been wet for days now and it looked very much like she'd stay that way forever. The water lapped at her chin, a reminder that she had business elsewhere. Lightning flashed nearby. She tried her best to catch it out of the corner of her eye, but each time she turned her head to look, it was gone. Psych! What a tease. She could hear the drops coming miles away. Then yards, then feet. As she felt the first of them on her left ear, she heard His voice rumble from nearby. She lifted her head as much as she could manage. A water spout. Tall. Dark. Magnificent. A pillar of His glorious wetness, dancing this way and that upon the waves of the daughter's mouth. Strange sounds mixed with the small drops falling all around her. She turned her head one last time. All manner of fish were falling from the heavens into the sand around her. Crabs. Shrimp. Squid. A tarpon fell onto its back ten feet from her and flopped this way and that before making its way back into the waves. She laughed. Written record, indeed. Demeter. Amphitrite. Aethra. Medusa. Sandy Marie Sutherland. Write it down, Candace Fucking Bernard. He nibbled at her right ear now, kissing the hollow of her neck. She could feel something twisting her hair behind her, braiding it with warm, wet fingers, pushing it down and underneath her head. She stared up at the dark clouds with pure, unadulterated passion. "Fuck yeah," she whispered to Him. "Do it." His tongue licked at the sides of her mouth, warm and salty. She laughed hysterically. "Okay, yeah, I swallow." At that, a bit of foam jumped up and into her nose. "Well," she whispered to Him, "actually, I never have, but there's a first time for everything." He leapt up to ravage her lips. "And I always wanted to use that line." She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to receive Him. Down He went into her willing throat. Again. And again. And yet again, until she choked. Once. And only once. * * * "Sacrifice?" She could barely see him through the watery haze that filled the small room. Her body was soaked, her hair laying down behind her shoulders. "Yeah, darlin', I know you gals today think a sacrifice is not havin' kids 'till you're forty and millionaires, but it used to be a bit different back in the day." She instinctively reached down to her belly as he continued. "Back then, gals used to throw themselves into rivers and oceans. Never their idea, of course, always some old geezer who thought he knew best behind it all. Hardly ever did 'em much good either. And you know the sad part of it all? No one I know, old or young, ever paid much attention to all those kids thrown in all that water. 'Cause it ain't really a sacrifice if you got no choice." "All those little girls had dreams, just like you and me. Dreams that drowned along with 'em. That kind of thing does no one no good and just makes the water ugly and dirty. Some of 'em even had those waves in their eyes. I seen more than my share of it from both sides of the water now and it don't make it any easier knowin' I used to be one of 'em that laughed at those old geezers thowin' their daughters away." She could feel him looking at her. "You have any kids?" "No." She hung her head, her hands still on her belly. "The doctors say..." "More old geezers who think they know best," he interrupted and made that strange sound again. "Kin of the kin of those folks who had those kids drowned for rain or good crops. All those "virgins" they would throw away. I mean, how the hell they know they're virgins? So they throw the ones that ain't had kids, 'cause that's easier to tell for sure." Her hands moved slowly down her belly to her panties as he continued. "But they all had dreams. Dreams that died. One thing that comes from livin' on dry land for so long is that you come to really appreciate what real sacrifice means. You can't just dive in the river when someone's tryin' to hurt you, so you marvel at those who can manage it for their entire miserable lives. And you really come to appreciate their dreams because they aren't just somethin' they can wait forever for and know their dreams will just walk up to them because all they have to do is live long enough. Makes their sacrifices really powerful." The mist soaked her through to the bone as she stood up. "That fella I was talkin' about earlier, that other explorer. He had a dream once too, and thousands of years it took him to get right up to where he could stare it right in the face." The slickness of her legs helped the underwear slide smoothly down to the floor. "And then, just when he figured he'd gone and done it, some silly kid with waves in her eyes and a dream of her own comes down to the water aimin' to throw herself in. And she doesn't even have any old geezer pushin' her." She walked over to the side of the bed, her bare feet sliding across the cold tile floor. "And he starts thinkin' about all those hundreds of times he laid there and laughed at all those other kids who drowned for someone else's dreams. All those prayers he ignored or couldn't answer." The fog was so thick now that she could not see. She felt for the bed sheets and found them there, wet and dripping. She closed her eyes as she pulled them back. And listened to that marvelous voice, thick as the mist that filled the room. "And he throws up his bony little arms and says, fuck it, what's another couple thousand years to someone who can afford to wait?" She felt his form flowing underneath the sheet and lifted her legs to straddle it. "'Cause he now understands how much her kind of sacrifice really matters." She reached beneath herself with two damp fingers and spread for him, lowering her wetness to meet his. The air around her began to move as he rose up to meet her. She felt a slight pressure on her petals as she went lower and then her entire insides were engulfed, her small body bloated with him as he filled her. So sudden was it that she almost fainted, both hands lowering instinctively to the sides of the bed as she fought to keep her balance. She groaned with pain and pleasure and her abdomen cramped horribly and it took every effort to fight to keep her legs and thighs from failing. She could feel him rise within her, never lowering, only higher, ever higher. Her stomach, lungs, throat, breasts, even the tips of her thousands of hairs felt him now. His glorious wetness. Mist swirled around her face, neck and ears and just when she felt her body could take no more of him, it was over. One last whisper in that voice. That amazing voice. "Thankee, darlin'." Then it was gone. She awoke, startled, to the sound of gulls screeching in unison outside the window. The bed beneath her was empty, save for the wetness. His glorious wetness. It stood an inch deep in all corners of the room, filled the walls, the closet, the little yellow trash can in the corner. Her shoes. She lifted a hand to her belly. It groaned in response. Water leaked from beneath her. She touched herself, then brought it to her lips. Salt. She laughed. Loudly. Turning to the window, she waved a hand at one of the gulls that had landed on the sill. "What?" she asked with a smile. "No ring?" It just stood there, perched, and cocked its head from one side to the other. She wagged a finger at it as her feet splashed their way to retrieve her very wet clothing. "You go tell him Sandra Marie Sutherland is no common tramp." She smiled as it let out a shrill cry and departed. "Damn right, you better hurry," she chuckled. * * * "Damn, girlfriend, you're a fucking mess." Sandy didn't answer. She was busy bobbing up and down in the surf. "Can we please do something about this?" she asked Him. "Well, darlin', most of the time we just let the crabs have 'em. I mean, they gotta eat too, right?" "Is that supposed to be a joke?" "Nope. C'mon, you gotta stop thinkin' like you're still driftin' on the waves of the little river." "Make you a deal. I'll try and stop thinking like that if you stop talking like that." "Sorry, force of habit." "Wow, this is so fucking cool. Been together less than a day and already we sound like we've been married for years." "Bah. Humans." "Hehehe, you're so funny. So, where do you usually go on your honeymoons?" Waves For Tricia........who inspires me. A newborn wave my love is. Brave and bright in the sea of my life. Rising to foaming crests of emotional ecstasy, and crashing and splashing the joy of your presence on the shores of my thoughts. My moments with you, sparkle, like sundiamonds collected in the troughs of the sea. My heart soars with the gulls at your words. Cathy Webb had not left her home in over ten years. Now, in late summer, she stood gazing from the window of The Seabreeze Hotel and considered the things that had brought her here. Time, time to get away, to take a break, to regroup, to take stock and to get out of the apathy in which she had wallowed since the separation. Somewhere quiet. DuBois Beach was certainly that. Just two hundred and seventy feet of rocks and sand. Pretty though, she thought. She had chosen New England and this time for the leaf-changing. A metaphor for the changes she knew she had to make. Cathy smiled at herself. Was she herself not in the late summer/ early fall of her life? She turned from the window and attended to unpacking the suitcase that lay open on the queen-sized bed. Placing things in neat piles in the available drawers, hanging things in the open closet, shoes, just three pairs, in a neat row beneath the garments. From the case, she chose to leave out the white sundress, which she would wear tomorrow over a bathing suit, and the white strap sandals that she had brought with her because they "went with everything". The white one-piece swimsuit was new, still in the package. Cathy planned to be up early, and out. To explore the beach alone, before any late tourists arrived. She disrobed and shut the closet door. On the back was a mirror. She smiled at herself. A radiant smile she had had since childhood. That, thought Cathy, I have not lost. Standing naked before the mirror she appraised herself. Thick bodied but not obese, she spied traces of the body that used to be. The body before kids and perhaps some self esteem loss, caused by two, now defunct, marriages. Her breasts were full and large, the areolae almost silver dollar sized. They sat proudly above a rounded belly still fairly tight for a woman nearing forty. The legs were thick and strong with not too much cellulite. Altogether not that awful, Cathy thought, then walked to the shower. Cathy turned on the shower and set it at a tolerable temperature, stepped in and began to shampoo her shoulder length strawberry-blonde hair. The warm water cascaded over her, caressing her body. Her hands slid the sponge over her naked form soaping her. She passed it over her breasts, brushing the nipples, down her body, over her thighs and between her legs. The body wash and water ran down her inner thighs as she washed her shaven vagina. Cathy was warm and relaxed now. The water massaging her. She pushed the sponge between her sex lips and squeezed it, a gush of soap and water bathing the opening, ennervating her. She released the sponge and it dropped between her feet, her fingers stayed at her sex. Cathy slipped one inside of her as she had done on countless occasions during and since her last marriage. She inhaled at the digital invasion, her excitement growing, pushed another finger into her vaginal hole alongside the first and began to masturbate herself. Pushing them in and out of her, stirring the juices. She pinched a nipple with her other hand teasing it hard, then slid it down her body, finding her, now erect, clitoris. The fingers of her left hand pushed in and out of her, as her right teased and excited the sex bud between the top of her lips. She gasped and tightened as she brought herself to the edge of release. She pulled the pumping fingers free and pushed down hard on her clit. A moan escaped her, and her legs buckled slightly, as her juices flooded from her vagina. They flowed onto her thighs and the cascading water carried them away. She stood under the sweet rain for a short while regaining her breath, then stepped from the shower and dried herself. Leaving the bathroom, she made sure her room door was securely locked, slipped naked between the hotel room bed sheets, set her alarm for six-thirty, and slept. By six-thirty, the sun was clawing it's slow way above the horizon. Cathy looked out across the sea from her window and watched as the rising sun scattered a path of diamonds across the ocean surface to the shore below her. She opened the package containing the swimsuit and put it on. Looking in the mirror, she turned and checked it's fit. Not bad, she thought, fourteen is not that big. The white suit gave her body a little more tightness. The neutral color gave line and shape. The scooped neck was not too low, yet low enough to show a couple of inches of cleavage. Cathy took the sundress from the hanger and slipped it over the suit. It was gently belted and the one-inch buttons went from bodice to the lower hem. She leaned down and undid the bottom two buttons, making the skirt open to her knees. Cathy pulled the white, strappy sandals from the closet floor and buckled them at her ankles, closed the door, and picked up the straw tote bag from the bedside. In it she had packed a book, a large beach towel, her billfold, a pair of sunglasses and spf 45 sunscreen. She turned went out of her hotel room door, made sure it was locked behind her, and headed downstairs for the continental breakfast. It was seven a:m. Cathy grabbed a warm croissant, some blueberry jelly, and made tea from one of the little teabags provided at the buffet. The morning, being as cool and pretty as it was, Cathy decided to eat her breakfast on the wrap-around porch of the hotel. She took her plate and teacup, walked through the open stained glass doors and deposited herself in one of the white wicker chairs on the porch. She placed the bag beside her chair, looked out to the beach and ocean, and ate her croissant. She felt, for the first time in along time, relaxed. The sun was well above the horizon when Cathy rose, placed her plate and cup in the trash, pulled the tote bag up onto her shoulder and headed down the steps of the hotel to the small, secluded beach. She followed the boarded walkway down over the rocks and stepped off into the warm sand. The New England breeze played in her hair as she stood deciding on a direction to explore. She reached into the bag, removed the sunglasses and placed them on her face. Cathy turned to her left and headed along the beach. The open-toed sandals allowed the soft, warm sand to weave it's way in and over her toes. She would stop, now and again, to inspect an interesting shell she spotted at her feet, though, sadly, most were broken. As Cathy strolled along the rocks and sand, and the sun climbed higher in the sky, she became warmer, eventually turning right and walking some two feet or so into the gently lapping waves at the ocean's edge. The water felt good, cooling her somewhat. The sand beneath her was softer but even and firm, and she did not worry about the damage the sand and surf may do to the cheap sandals she had purchased just for this late summer escape. Cathy walked on, lost in thoughts of her yesterdays and her tomorrows. Pondering the events that had brought her here, and wondering what life a single, woman approaching forty may have for herself. Would she spend it alone, loveless, directing her attentions to an already grown child and young grandchild? Perhaps, she thought, I am one of those that has loved and lost and all I can do is accept it. When Cathy looked up from her reverie she found she had wandered quite a way. She was beyond the end of the beach. To her left was a sheer cliff, to her right ocean. Fortunately, the water had not deepened and she had maintained a straight path. She looked behind her and could see the end of DuBois Beach and the rise of the cliff to her right. Ahead, she could see the same cliff, its left edge descending sharply to the earth. Cathy stood and considered her options. She smiled to herself almost cynically, thinking this whole trip is about decision and discovery, angled herself in toward the edge of the cliff and strode towards the shore. What Cathy found at the waterline both pleased and scared her. She had happened upon about forty feet of pristine beach enclosed by the walls of two cliffs. At the water's edge, at her feet were shells. Lots of them. Most unbroken by the tramplings of tourists. She gathered a few of the prettiest. Cathy looked around her. She was completely alone. She walked about ten feet up the twenty feet deep beach, reached into her tote bag pulled out the towel and laid it on the unmarked sand. Placing the bag on the ground beside the towel, Cathy removed her sundress, folded it and placed it behind her to use as a pillow, pulled her book from the bag, kicked her sandals off of her feet, applied some sunscreen, sat down on the towel, laid back and began to read. The late summer sun climbed slowly into the sky warming the ocean, beaches, and the people in and upon them. The morning tide crept slowly up the beach as Cathy read her romance novel. Sometime shortly after nine a:m Cathy fell asleep, the book tumbling from her hand and landing open, face down beside her. The incoming tide slid up the beach towards her. It was the water that awoke Cathy. She sat up with a start, finding herself sitting in an inch of warm saltwater. Already flustered, she let out a half gasp, half scream as she looked up and saw the man standing above her. He was tall, perhaps six feet. She guessed he was in his early forties. He wore sandals, beige slacks with a brown belt at the waist, and a rust colored polo shirt. Cathy gradually regained her composure. "Oh!, she exclaimed, "Umm, I must have dozed off." "I suppose you must have", said the man, "I'm Grant Buckner." "Cathy Webb", said Cathy beginning to get up. She was startled again as the tall man leaned down and reached for the crumpled sun dress. He paused, realizing her nervousness. "You might want to put this back on", he said, picking it up. Cathy, now vertical, looked down and flushed in embarrassment. The white swimsuit was all but transparent when wet. The water that had awakened her with such a start when it lapped against the globes of her ass and in the vee of her thighs had made a picture frame of her shaven crotch. The labial separation clearly visible, dark pink under the now, almost non-existent material. The cleft of her sex was clearly defined. She took the dress and wrapped it around her though she did not button it, she fastened the belt. "I, I guess I should be going", she stammered. Grant smiled at her. "Look", he said, "I live atop the cliff, in fact, you are on my private beach, perhaps you'd like to come up and maybe we can find you something less embarrassing to put on under that dress." Cathy pondered her position and said, "Well, as long as you assure me you're not some serial killer." Grant chuckled, meeting her half humorous response with his own humor. "Well", he said, "I have had some experience with things serial. I am a writer. I bought the beach for it's seclusion. It helps me in my work. Come, besides it's not every day I find anything so lovely washed up on my beach." Cathy blushed slightly, but began gathering her things. Grant waited and when she was ready, began to lead the way to the back of the beach. There, nestled in the corner of the far cliff was a stairway cut right into the rock. "After you Cathy", said Grant, "Up there, if you should slip I am right behind you." The wet swimsuit dampened the light fabric of the sun dress, and Grant watched the motion of the outlined globes of Cathy's ass as she climbed the stairway. She felt his eyes on her as she climbed and smiled to herself. He had, she mused seen more of her already than any man in the last two years. Somehow, that fact seemed less embarrassing now. When they reached the cliff top, Cathy saw a cottage style house. Pretty and not at all ostentatious. Grant stepped ahead, opened the door and invited her inside. the lits though dimmed were warm and invitin,. the furniture mostly antique but not at all giving the feeling of being in a museum. This was, Cathy thought, a nice home. A fire burned, dried driftwood beneath an ornate mantle. Cathy followed Grant to the space in front of it. He smiles at her and said, "Through that door in the corner is my room, and in the corner of that is the bathroom and shower. If you look in the closet you may find something to wear. I'll fix us a drink." Cathy nodded, "That would be nice", she said. She took her things and entered the room. The fireplace was double sided and burned brightly in the bedroom. Opening a closet in the room, Cathy found an assortment of women's clothing. This raised a question in her mind, but she selected a skirt and cotton top that looked as thought they would fit well enough and headed to the bathroom. Cathy pinned up her hair, disrobed and stepped into the shower. When she was done she stepped from the shower and put on the skirt and top, she had, of course, not selected underwear from another woman's closet. wrapping the swimsuit in the sundress, she put them in her tote bag and re-entered the bedroom. Grant was there. "It's a tad early", he said, "so I chose a medium sherry, I hope that's alright." Cathy reached for the drink. "Lovely, thank you." She looked at him. "Um, the clothes?" she asked. "Aah, yes the clothes", Grant said, "They were my wife's, she passed, I just never had the heart." "I am so sorry, said Cathy, silently relieved. She sat down on the bed, more comfortable now. "And how about you?, asked Grant Cathy told him about her two year old divorce and her evaluation vacation. They talked, and sipped their sherry. Grant looked at her. "You chose the clothes well", he said, "Very pretty. Please keep them." Cathy blushed slightly and thanked him. "What do you write?", She asked. Grant chuckled, and said, " Actually, Cathy, I write erotica. I would hazard that you have not read any of my work." Cathy laughed. "That would be a good guess", she said. Grant took her, now empty glass, and went and refilled it. when he returned he sat on the bed beside her and handed her the drink.. She could feel the warmth of his thigh through the fabric of the skirt. "To life, love and new directions", He toasted. They clinked their glasses smiling at each other, and sipped their drinks. Cathy had not been touched by a man in two years. Whether it was the sherry, the closeness of him, the warmth of the room and the fire, she felt comfortable there on this man's bed. Her heart rate increased as they sat and chatted. An anticipation coursed through her mid-aged body that she had not felt in a long time. She remembered her nakedness beneath the top and skirt she had selected. Grant, she thought, had been nothing but kind and gracious. He exhibited none of the callousness she had experienced from other would be suitors, on and off, during the two years she had been alone. The nerves of her body tingled at the possibilities of her situation.She handed him her empty glass. "Thank you", she said, "you have been so kind." Almost unknowingly she kissed his cheek. Grant put the glasses down and turned to her questioning her eyes, then he leaned in and kissed her long and deep and full. Cathy tensed momentarily, then relaxed and let him kiss her. Her mind was racing as the sensations assailed her body. When he teased at her lips with his tongue, she parted them giving him access to a deeper, far more sensuous, kiss. His tongue found hers and she instinctively responded, her breath shortening. She lay back on the bed and he followed her, his tongue conducting a symphony on hers and sending the notes of exhilaration through her body. Grant's hand moved to her thigh and slid the skirt up it as they kissed. Cathy barely noticed. She was inside her own romance novel. He in his erotic writings. Cathy could feel his hardness urgent against her body. Could feel the juices beginning to lubricate her vagina. She seized his lower lip in his mouth lost to the needs so long inside her.He began unbuttoning the cotton blouse, and she moved to help him. Pulling it apart, Grant caressed Cathy's full breasts, teasing the nipples to hardness. she gasped under the warm, exciting touch. He lowered his head and kissed her cleavage,eliciting another soft gasp of pleasure. Soft kisses and tugs at her bosom flesh made Cathy arch beneath him. He sucked a warm, hard, brown nipple into his mouth and Cathy's entire body tensed and released in ecstasy. She could feel ther pussy tingling, wanting, and as Grant kissed and sucked at her nipples, he, almost as if he had read her mind, slid the skirt to her hips, baring her under him. Cathy was now captured in the sensations of their embrace. He could do anything as long as he didn't stop. She caressed him, lifted his head and kissed him hard pushing her tongue into his mouth. She pushed a hand down between them feeling the heat from herself and grasped for his hard cock . She rubbed it through the fabric of the beige pants, feeling it throb, pulse and grow. She fumbled for the zipper. Grant stood and slipped the polo shirt over his head baring a smooth yet manly chest that sat above strong abs. He undid the beige pants as Cathy watched him,, herself removing the cotton blouse. Grant lowered the pants and underwear simultaneously and stood before Cathy, naked and hard and , to her, beautiful. she sat on the bed, naked herself save for the soft skirt bunched at her waist. She lifted to remove it and at the same time leaned in and kissed the navel of the man standing in front of her. She looked up into his eyes, then reached and pulled him to her mouth and she rained soft sensual kisses on his torso. Lower and lower. She kissed above the rampant penis and reached for it rubbing it against the soft skin of her face. warm clear pre-cum lightly painted her cheeks. Cathy felt the cock pulse at her touch. She kissed it's length and teased the dark head with her tongue, tasting him. slowly and deliberately she opened her mouth and drew the head between her lips, her tongue lathed him as she took him into the hot, warm caresses of her mouth. She took him as deep as she could, looked up at him again and began to suck. He had barely moved, thought Cathy, a far cry from the rough, insistent men of earlier days. Her hands cupped his firm ass and she made love to his cock with her mouth. She felt it twitch and pulse in her mouth as she devoured it. Then, Grant leaned back and slowly withdrew, his penis still hard as the wet head slipped from between Cathy's lips. Grant leaned and reached for cathy, puliing her forward on his bed. Her feet dangled from the edge as he slid a pillow beneath her soft ass lifting her. He knelt and kissed her moist, warm pussy lips and Cathy arched in pleasure. Oh yes, Cathy thought, he can do anything, anything but stop. Grant's tongue teased Cathy's labia apart and traced the hot cleft downward flicking from side to side. Cathy writhed and squirmed as her pussy reacted to the hot oral carresses. Her ass humped off the pillow to meet Grant's mouth. His hands rested on her thighs and he probed her vaginal entrance with his tongue sucking her now copious juices over it. Cathy gasped in pleasure as Grant deftly took her to new levels of ecstasy. slowly Grant slid back up the cleft splaying her labias. When his agile tongue reached the top of her now burning sex he flicked his tongue across her clitotis sending more jolts of pleasure through Cathy's ennervated body. Already erect the bud reacted to his administrations and Grant sucked on it as hard as he could. Cathy screamed with pleasure and felt her pussy spasm, juices flowing from deep within her. Grant slid up her body kissing her with lips coated in her nectar, kissing her nipples again leaving them glistening with juice, kissing her mouth. He raised above her and slowly and gently entered her wet, open cave. Cathy inhaled deeply as she felt the thick, rigid shaft slip into her, and, upon exhaling, when he was buried in her, she uttered words she had never before spoken. Waves "Fuck me" she gasped, "just fuck me!" Grant had no intentions of doing that thing. At least not in any way that was selfish. He began stroking into her, long, deep, full strokes that pushed his balls against her upturned ass. Cathy felt the strong, deep thrusts and arched to meet each one, inviting him still deeper, wanting him, reveling in sensations almost forgotten. Grant kissed and caressed and excited her, with his hands and mouth, never breaking the long, slow, deep, luxurious rhythm of his strokes in Cathy's gripping, flexing sex. The French call orgasm, "La Petite Morte", "The Little Death", but in this moment Cathy Webb was alive again. She was being re-born. She was younger, more vibrant, desirable and sexy! She had thought she could never feel any of that again, and she gave herself to it. She clasped Grant to her, fucking up at him as he impaled her, silently urging him to take her, to lead her to a nirvana she thought was beyond her. She trusted him completely, this lover/stranger who had made her feel like a woman again. She was unabashed in her passionate abandon and gave herself up to him. She felt his blood gorged cock thicken and pulse and gripped it as he pushed so deep into her enflamed womanhood, She arched and wrapped her strong legs across his back, letting out a low guttural sound. He felt her tighten, and thrust one last savage time into her, his cock exploding, sending a burning string of white hot sperm splashing against her cervix. At that moment, Cathy melted onto his driving cock, gasping, wrighting, feeling every sensation, flexing on it, milking him. Grant collapsed on her body kissing her deeply, stealing from what breath they both had left. Cathy held him there with her legs, not wanting to release her liberator. She kissed him back, and they lay in the sweet afterglow of mutual ecstasy. The afternoon had all but gone. The sun lay low across the ocean surface when Cathy and Grant finally rose and showered together. A long, slow shower of caresses and mutual cleaning and kisses. They made no commitment of the spoken kind, and Cathy thought about the few days left of her vacation and how they would be spent. Grant knew that she had to leave, but hoped that they would meet again before that event. When Cathy left to return to The Seabreeze Hotel, she kissed Grant fondly, holding him tight. Then, she walked away, lighter, freer, happier. She had been re-awakened, she thought, and tomorrow, and many tomorrows in the future all looked like brighter days. Waves We met in a bar on a quiet remote beach some way away from the nearest village on a small Greek island, both of us seeking a cooling drink after the heat of the day. We were almost the only people at the bar and inevitably started to talk, each enjoying the other's company as we chatted over a bottle of wine, the cooling sun sinking slowly over the calm sea in the background. The level of the wine in the bottle more than kept pace with the setting sun and we were soon into our second, our mild intoxication making the conversation even easier. The sun began to dip into the sparkling blue of the sea and I suggested that we both walk up the small wooden jetty down the beach from the bar to watch the dying embers of the sun slip into the cool water. We walked slowly up the beach, the soft sand now cool under our feet and climbed up onto the smooth sun bleached wood of the jetty and stepped the 25 meters or so to the end, the small waves lapping gently at the wooden supports beneath our feet. At the end we stopped and faced the sun, its beautiful cool orange glow slowly being quenched by the darkening blue of the Mediterranean. We stood entranced by nature's wonderful display, you slightly in front of me but not quite touching. Moved by the beauty of the setting sun and without thinking I reached down and put my arms around your waist, folding my arms around you. In turn you sank back against me, your head resting on my shoulder, bringing our bodies close together. The sun sank lower, appearing to move more rapidly now as we watched for several minutes in total silence other than the gentle movement of the waves. Overcome by the beauty and serenity of the scene I decided to be bold and lifted the hair from the side of your neck and let my lips sink to the sensitive skin beneath. You moaned very quietly and lifted your head to let my lips brush your throat, your heady scent filling my nostrils as my lips moved gently across your smooth skin. You pushed back against me, pressing yourself back into my body as my tongue traced a feathery pattern around your neck and shoulders, my hand cupping your head as it rolled back to expose your tender skin. Despite myself, the feel of your body against me, the smell of your hair against my face and your soft skin against my lips made my cock start to rise. I tried to move it away from you so that you would not feel me hardening but my movements only seemed to be making it brush against your buttocks making matters worse. I was sure you had felt me stiffen against you, but since you had not moved away I felt bold enough to put my hands on your shoulders and turn you around to face me, pulling you towards me as our mouths met in a deep kiss. Our tongues met and intertwined, tasting each other as the kiss became more passionate and breathless. My hands held you close, pulling you against my body, my erection now obvious as it pushed against your hips. Equally obvious was the way you pushed back at me enjoying my excitement as our lips searched hungrily for each other. I sank to my knees in front of you, resting my head against your chest, my hands around your hips cupping your rounded buttocks. You felt my fingers drift up over your waist and onto the soft mounds of your braless breasts. I squeezed you gently, feeling the weight of your firm ripe breasts nestle into the palms of my hands through the thin material of your dress. My fingers left your breasts and began to undo the buttons down the front of your chest, stopping only once your dress was undone to the waist. Slowly I pushed the thin cotton back off your shoulders and let it slip down to the wood beneath our feet, freeing your beautiful rounded breasts, your dark nipples thrusting forward for attention. Like a baby I automatically lifted my mouth to your nipple, sucking it between my lips and feeling the sensitive flesh swell against my tongue. I heard you moan with pleasure somewhere in the distance as I continued to enjoy the tip of each succulent breast, my hands all the time squeezing and gently caressing each beautiful mound. I pulled you down towards me and kissed you again deeply, tasting your enjoyment on your sweet breathless lips. You lay down on your dress, only a white lacy thong protecting you from my longing gaze. I stood again and pulled of my t-shirt then quickly undid my jeans, sliding them down over my hips and thighs before removing them altogether and standing over you proudly displaying my erect penis. The hard flesh thrusting up from my body silhouetted against the half light of the dying sun. I knelt beside you kissing you again and letting my mouth wander over your body to enjoy your breasts once more then on down across your stomach. My hands held each side of your lacy underwear and slowly pulled the thin strip of material off your unresisting body. You sighed as the soft lace slipped from between your thighs to expose the soft downy triangle protecting your delicate sex. I looked into your eyes and moved over you, my hard heavy penis sliding over your thigh and stomach leaving a trail of moist excitement on your creamy skin. Your thighs parted hesitantly and I moved my knees between yours. I sensed the slight doubt as I looked deep into your eyes but then the rounded tip of my hard penis touched the soft folds of your excited sex, your eyes closed and your hands pulled on my hips, drawing me down towards you. My prick pressed gently but firmly against the swollen lips of your pussy, seeking the entrance to your body. I felt your petals open around the tip of my probing penis then we both felt the exquisite moment of first entry as my erect flesh began to pierce your body. Slowly but insistently my hardness began to push into you, moving slowly at first as my thick shaft stretched your aroused vulva. Moving myself in and out gently I anointed my throbbing cock with the tears of excitement running from your body, moving deeper with each thrust of my hips until my body was firmly buried deep inside yours, the entire length of my engorged prick surrounded by the soft warm protective sheath of your beautiful pussy. I gasped with pleasure as I sank myself into you, my lips searching hungrily for yours as we shared each other's excitement. Your body moved under mine pushing up at me so that your breasts were crushed against my chest and your clitoris rubbed against the base of my engorged shaft as it slid up inside you. I started to move in and out of you with long slow strokes of my cock, almost pulling myself from your body before thrusting right back inside again, forcing the whole length of my long curving prick in and out of your tight little vulva. My movements began to get faster, the thrusting of my hips more eager, the powerful pumping of my hips grinding your excited sex against the hardness of my groin. Your own legs lifted around my waist opening your thighs wide and presenting my pounding cock with the hungry mouth of your aching sex. I put my hands under your writhing buttocks to drive even deeper into your body knowing that you were near to coming. Suddenly your body let go, a wave of pleasure bursting up from between your wide open thighs at the point at which our bodies met. You dissolved into a world of ecstasy, wave after wave of pleasure rolling up from your clitoris, all your senses focused on the pounding of my prick inside you as I continued to thrust in search of my own release. It came as your tightening cunt gripped me with fingers of steel in the throes of your own orgasm. A paroxysm of pleasure traveled down the length of my prick, from the tip down deep into my balls, forcing a flood of rich musky semen to pump from my thrusting twitching penis as I emptied myself inside you. Your subsiding contractions continued to milk my softening cock as we lay breathless in each other's arms, protected by the darkness of the early evening and our new found love for each other. We recovered slowly holding each other and kissing gently, then smiling I rolled off the jetty into the cool clear blue water, sinking below the surface then coming up and inviting you in. You laughed and slid in after me, the cool water refreshing on our hot excited bodies. Naked we embraced under the water, our warm bodies contrasting with the coolness surrounding us. I found I could stand on the soft sandy seabed while you clung to me, wrapping your arms and legs around me as we started to kiss, tasting the salty seawater on our lips as they met and parted. The cool water and the excitement of our sex had made your nipples stiffen into hard points of desire which pressed into my chest as we kissed. I clutched your buttocks and pulled you even closer, pressing myself between your thighs, the soft curls of your pubes brushing the top of my penis as it began to harden again and rise up against your sex. I became stiffer and you felt the hot length of my cock start to rub the swollen folds of your pussy as our hips moved against each other. I reached down and put my fingers under my penis, lifting it so that it rubbed against you more firmly, your delicate lips opening under the pressure and allowing it to slip between. We both knew what was going to happen, the tip of my prick was moving back and forth between the lips of your pussy glancing your clitoris, only a small change in movement would send it plunging into your body rather than sliding beyond your parted lips and up between your buttocks. We were both aching for each other again but were also determined to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible. The feel of your warm sex against me inflamed me to the point where I could hold back no longer, eagerly the burning tip of my cock sought the heat inside your pouting vulva, the head pressing into you, your soft velvet lips parting as you moved your hips towards me. Gripping your buttocks I thrust myself up into your heat, my thick shaft sinking effortlessly deep into your body in a single long slide eased by the wetness of our sex from a few minutes before. We both gasped with pleasure, the tight warmth of your pussy contrasting against my cock with the cool salty water around us. I began to move in and out of you feeling the alternate cold of the water and the heat your burning sex touching the sensitive skin of my inflamed prick. You too felt the heat of my rigid shaft fill your open sex only to be withdrawn and replaced by the coolness of the water until my hips thrust again and filled the aching void with my hot swollen flesh. I held your hips, pulling you on and off my upright prick, the water swirling between us and increasing all our sensations as we fucked passionately. The water buoying you up so that I could let all your weight settle on the firm anchor of my cock, letting you impale yourself on my engorged sex before lifting you off and letting you sink down on me once again. You wrapped you legs around me and gripping your buttocks hard I began to pump steadily in and out of your succulent hole, aching to come inside you once again. The friction of my prick plunging in and out of your body was heightened by the water, the sensations building as I worked myself in and out of your body, desperate to make us both come. The rapid movements of my cock inside you driving us both to the edge of sanity in our frantic search for the pleasure of orgasm. It seemed to last forever, both of us gasping and begging for release, and then it came at the same instant for both of us, the fire spreading out from our connected bodies to burn across our limbs and make every inch of sensitive skin tingle with ecstasy. Thick sperm now pumping strongly from my body and flooding deep inside you to mix with your own creamy juice and the cool salty seawater around us. Our passion reaching new heights as we took each other once more into the realms of absolute pleasure, our ecstasy spreading between us and out into the surrounding water like the ripples created by our lovemaking moving across the smooth surface. Waves I am on vacations in this typical resort in Mexico. I get out to the balcony and the night shakes me like a child who watches the mystery of his first porn. She The Night is swarming with clichés, the silhouetted line of palm trees, the caressing breeze, a spectral white on the deserted beach, the deepest blue of the ocean, and from it the panting breath of the waves that keep coming. Overall that known but incredibly stunning sky seeded with stars, constellations, the fucking galaxy staring at you across thousands of light years. But no matter how trite She may show herself with her firmament and such, she fucking gets me. She asks me a question that I cannot discern but nevertheless I look back at her and keep searching for an answer. I let myself collapse back on a chair and breathe. I breathe to the stride of the waves and a soothing calm soaks me from my stomach up to my head. I get that serenity, the one that allows me to do the most terrible things to her, my slave. The most unthinkable things done to her because that is the way I should use her, like a second nature. I then call her and tell her to put a towel on the floor in front of the chair and get there on her knees. No more explanations needed. I unbutton the shorts and slide them and the briefs down and she immediately starts sucking avidly. In fact too avidly, my cock hardens all the way without transitions, like a spring that she had triggered with her lips and her also avid tongue below. In a hushed but admonishing voice I told her to slow down, much slower. She shudders for an instant as if I was already going to punish her, and carries out my instructions with all the exactness that she can present. That is so beautiful, she glows on her obedience, surrendered and so trained without even the need to materialize the punishment. I may still punish her frequently, just because I enjoy it, just because her soul needs some lovely reminders, just because I will always keep perfecting her and taking her further, but she already doesn't need any of that to always follow my orders. And I don't wish anything extra this night. Along with sex I may normally submerge her on an overwhelming universe of pain and pleasure, or at least grab and pinch her nipples while she sucks, perhaps to the point of making her cry in pain, or in more than pain; such an lovely stance while she pleasures my cock. But this night I wish to reach an extended simplicity, I just want her to suck and suck my cock into oblivion. I let her move slowly and tightly up and down all so well by herself, rubbing and kissing every bit and every capillary of my cock. I keep a hand in the back of her head, not to push her but to let her feel she is there on my terms. It is much more than sex what she has in her mouth, it is her submission, her humiliation forcing her throat; it is the taste of my cock dousing a head that belongs to me. I feel She The Night observing us, and I wonder which are her starry thoughts. Perhaps she is thinking in the stereotype of male dominance using and abusing a woman; but the corseted stereotype can literally suck my cock. Perhaps She is jealous. Perhaps She would like to join us in a threesome, but She is too cold and distant, too dignified, to ever do something like that. Oh, how many delicacies She would enjoy if She would willingly came down crawling from that dignity. But She knows that, She may know everything, but still She cannot do anything. She cannot move, only stay there ready to be raped, bound to the space with her white legs spread across the sky and her wet oceanic pussy teasing the earth. I may rape you She The Night. I may do and make in the world. I would rape you and love you; even I know you are never going to be mine. I will be yours some day, and you will eat me with your worms, but until then will I thrust you with all my lively passion. I now look down at my lovely slave. She keeps on her endeavor with complete dedication. I am sucked into such pleasure. I wonder if she feels any of my thoughts, if she can taste the light of the stars thru my cock. I guess she doesn't. She appears lost in another world. I guess she is submerged down in the earth, her only taste being my prosaic precum and her own gag as she keeps pushing herself further. I guess she thinks on me, on giving me all she has. By now I can much read her, and she also knows me. I so much enjoy that connection, and take good pleasure on that mixture of flesh, heaven and hell where I take her. She may not know my exact thoughts but I can feel how she swallows all the sensations that come from my savage hands. Look at her, now she is making those slurping noises that I love. I keep observing her, pleased of being so well pleased. She is just dressed with a sheer negligee and a g-string holding up a small plug in her ass. I put that in there hours ago, and now I perversely rejoice on keeping her a little fucked. I know that her pussy usually gets quite wet while sucking my cock, and I can almost smell that drenched spot on her panties. On another time I may check it and tease it, just to make it more desperate, but at this time I just want her to stay there, on her place. I love that perverse outlook, knowing that her pussy is so needed and anxious and still willfully neglected while she keeps pleasing me. And she well knows my depravity; in fact I think that makes her even wetter; and the cycle of twisted excitement traverse us both further. I then told her to look at me, and she moves her eyes up with difficulty while she keeps moving up and down. She asks me with her eyes and that deliciously helpless expression. I told her that she is doing so well, that she is my obedient whore, my little girl, mine and properly used. I then give this stare back at her, a stare that tells her that I will take care of her, in all the good and dreaded extension of its meanings. I look back at the sea and think about all those waters interconnected. I have been up and down the Pacific coast, the Caribbean, the Atlantic and the Mediterranean from Morocco to Greece; all of them soaked in the same soup, the same salty fluids that now start involuntary dripping down her mouth. I wonder if some ancient Greek was thinking something similar while looking at the Aegean. Sure they were. Nevertheless they were the most prolific, sexually and of course on everything else. They already created everything. I guess one of them even wrote a manuscript about looking at the night and the sea while getting a blowjob. One that was stored in a corner with some luscious others in the Alexandria's library; and with the library then finally burned into oblivion as it happens with everything else that matters in the world. I put my hands on the sides of her head, burying my fingers on the hair behind her nape, and then push her utterly down, holding her there. Look at me. Her eyes start deliciously crying while I can feel her throat and mouth badly gagging and gulping with such anguish. Still she stays there, without even trying to force an escape, the pungent memory of a vicious cane or an unrelenting pinch reminding her of never contradicting my commands. She is now drooling and crying awfully. What a delightful mess in my hands. She is crying for the lost of the Alexandria's library without knowing it. I tell her that I am so proud of my girl and that she should be also very proud of herself. It may be the crying, but I see a nice spark on her eyes. I let her move and continue sucking with as much devotion as ever. My cock fucking throbs and pulls from my innards. Dear physicists, I think I have just bended the space-time. A black hole has appeared in this balcony without even the need of a particles' accelerator. And it is sucking me down. All thinking goes away; just here and now, here and now. My hand fondly touches her face. I don't want to cum. Just to live here.