7 Days

Day Two

I arrive on the beach. It’s another beautiful day in paradise. Carlo greets me with a kiss and a smile. We sit together.
I’m pensive, confused about Carlo’s departure last night. He’s not in a talkative mood either. I don’t mind; the night was rough. I was much too horny for decent sleep. A lazy day would suit me just fine.

The morning passes without incident. We talk some, but mostly enjoy the sun and surf quietly.
When I turn over, Carlo offers to apply the lotion. He takes his time to pour the oil. I know it’s deliberate, and it does make me long for his touch.
He begins with my shoulders, just as he did yesterday, only slower. His touch has an even greater effect on me today. I become hopeful of a repeat performance, but he doesn’t pursue. Disappointed, I lie quietly and can’t help but re-live my every moment with him. The sun doesn’t help. By the time afternoon rolls around, my cunt is soaking wet.

“Let’s go for a swim.” Carlo disrupts my fantasies. “I’m sure you must need some cooling off by now.” He says this with a sly smile as he rises, taking my hand.
I give him a skeptical look and follow.
The water does cool me off. Carlo plays with me, splashing and dunking as the waves come crashing. It’s fun, but not a substitute for what I really need.

At four o’clock, Carlo announces it’s time to go in. Apparently, I don’t need a choice. Fortunately, his decision happens to coincide with mine.
At the elevator, he gives me a quick kiss. “Be ready at six-thirty,” he instructs. But before I go, he adds, “Wear underwear tonight.”
With another skeptic look, I head for my room thoughtfully. I’m still clue less as to how Carlo’s mind works. Doesn’t look like I’m about to get one anytime soon either.

Carlo knocks on my door exactly at six-thirty. Fortunately, I tend to be on time. Tonight, he wears jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks so sexy.
“Emmm.” He surveys me up and down.
Guess he likes what he sees too.
Then he hugs and kisses me. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I answer, turning back for my purse.
“You don’t need anything,” he informs me, nailing me to my spot.
I have no explanation as to why I obey Carlo’s every instruction, but I do–without an inkling of hesitation or second thought.
He suddenly squats and reaches under my skirt with both hands. He pulls my panties down to my upper thighs and leaves them there. “Let’s go,” he says, standing.
I wet again, then we leave.

Someone drives a Jeep up as we come out of the hotel. Carlo opens the door for me, then goes around to the driver’s side. I don’t hear much of our conversation on our way to town; my mind is stuck elsewhere–deep under my skirt.

We eat in town–more delicious seafood. We stroll down the promenade, with my panties around my thighs. Luck smiles upon me and they don’t drop. But there is a light breeze that keeps me on alert.
There is nothing erotic about having my panties around my thighs, yet they’re keeping me in constant wetness. It’s because I’m doing it for him. I am admitting I want him enough to discomfort and humiliate myself just because he has asked me to. It’s not a right I have granted anyone previously. But Carlo has not only swept me off my feet, but also somehow managed to earn my complete trust, and therefore the privilege. The irony is that the more power I give him, the more satisfaction I derive. Carlo buys an ice cream cone and we take turns licking.

We soon reach the poorer end of town. There are far less tourists, restaurants, and lights here.
As I silently count my own blessings, I’m suddenly pulled into a narrow passage.
“Come here.”
Carlo pins me against the wall and kisses me with enough passion to scorch my lips. In an instant, he has poised my body for complete submission to him.
He gropes me savagely. I’m grateful to catch a glimpse of his desire. Temporary weakness in a man who holds such power over me is reassuring–he has a heart.
His hand quickly slides under my skirt, then his finger into my cunt. I wonder if anyone hears my moan of satisfaction. I’ve hungered for this for an eternity of two days.
He fucks me with his finger, then withdraws to my disappointment. He stops kissing and sucks my juices. “You taste sweet, baby.”
He reinserts the finger and this time, he watches my face as he fucks me with it.
“Does my finger feel good?”
“Yes,” I reply, breathing hard.
He pushes deeper, then leans closer and speaks more softly. “How do you think my cock ‘s going to feel?”
“Ohhh….” He doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?
He continues to stare into my eyes as he suddenly removes his finger, then smells the back of his hand. He inhales a second time before he holds it to me.
I have an overwhelming urge to suck his finger for my taste, but he moves it out of my reach. I continue to amuse him by darting my tongue for licks. He takes a moment of pleasure in teasing me, then smears my juices against my mouth and sucks up my lips.
I should be expectant of another abrupt move, but I’m not. I suddenly find myself pinned to the wall, facing it.
Carlo holds my head against the wall with one hand and circles my hips with his arm. In a jerk, he pulls my legs back so that my ass sticks out to him. An image of him fucking me pops into my head and my rear wiggles against his hard cock, asking for it.
“You like being fucked from behind?”
“Ohhhhh.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He keeps his hand against my head, but moves more to the side. “Pull your skirt up for me.”
I’m afraid someone may see us, but my hand reaches back anyway. I pull my skirt up slowly until I’m completely exposed. I can imagine what I look like with my panties around my thighs. I’m embarrassed. And I’m turned on.
He releases my head and slides his arm under my tummy. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, rubbing my ass with his free hand.
Does he need to ask? “Yes.” It’s not good enough.
“Say it.”
“Yes, Carlo, I want you to fuck me,” I blurt, swallowing hard.
He reaches under and strokes my pussy. “That’s good, baby, but you remember on the beach–your ass had to really ask for my finger, didn’t it?”
O’ myyy!
He teases my clit until I’m writhing and moaning, then speaks again. “I especially like it when the asking is being done without words.” Saying this, he slowly removes his hand and lowers my skirt.
When he turns me to face him, to my horror, I see his fire has diminished. He’s stopping. I’m convinced this torture will end my existence. “Nooo, Carlo, please,” I whine.
He takes me in his arms and holds me. He reaches under my skirt again and very lightly, strokes my pussy. It calms my intensity, but not my need.
“Carlo, why? I need to come, please.”
“I know you do, baby, I know you do.”
Guess that’s considered to be an explanation.
I don’t plead verbally any more, but my body language is open advertisement.
He takes my hand and kisses it gently. “Let’s go.”

As we walk back to the car, I know every man we pass can see me for the bitch in heat that I am. It’s a gift that seems to be bestowed upon men. The world knows how badly I want Carlo to fuck me, and I find satisfaction in that. Go figure.

During the drive back, I ache to feel Carlo against me, but it’s impossible in the seats of the Jeep.
With his eyes on the road, he reaches and pulls my skirt above my panties. Then he turns his head and says, “Spread your legs.”
I spread them as wide as I can. I even scoot lower in my seat to make myself more accessible. The embarrassment makes me wet some more. Instead of Carlo, I settle for the warm wind to stroke my pussy.
Neither one of us speaks the rest of the way.

As we walk past the front desk, I see a signal transpire between the two night clerks.
Both men smile at Carlo. “Buenos noches, senior,” they say politely.
What they really mean is “congratulations, pal, you’ve got yourself a hot fuck.” If only they were right….
I pray Carlo will stay the night, but somehow know he won’t. I feel lovesick when he leaves–another sleepless night.