A blonde, invited.
The blonde sat under a huge umbrella, swaying lazily in her hammock. Her skin glowed from hours of tanning. Now she preferred the coolness of shadow, sipping a drink while listening to mellow jazz on her iPod.
She idly scanned a magazine.
Looking up, her eyes caressed the outlines of a body she knew well by now. It lay stretched out where sand and water met. Her gaze traced the shining roundness of a hip, the softness of a belly. She felt her clit tingle from recent licking; her body sang with the warm memories of satisfaction - and all the while her mind shuddered from the sheer, unspeakable madness of it all.
As she watched, a gray shadow sped by the dozing girl, huge paws causing fountains of droplets to rain on her.
The girl jumped up with a cry, starting after the dog, her dark hair streaming behind. She scooped hands full of water on his dashing body, her voice competing with the booming surf until both she and the beast disappeared in the rolling waves.
The blonde put away the magazine and sipped from the white wine the girl had brought her.
The balmy breeze played with the sarong she'd wrapped around her naked body. It felt so good to be away from dreary New York and find this place where the wind was as warm as the blood in her veins. She smiled, looking over to where the girl and her dog had returned from the waves. She seemed small beside him, her deeply tanned arm around the dog's neck as they plodded through the water.
"Get over here," the blonde cried out, adding the girl's forbidden name. She waved and patted the free space in her roomy hammock. "Please?"
The girl came out of the glaring sun, its rays painting a halo around her silhouette. She ran - like a child, the blonde thought, an innocent child - plunging carelessly through the sparkling surface. Her feet kicked up the water, her voice adding a melody to the rhythm of the ocean's waves - as did her bouncing titties.
***
The blonde recalled how they first met, back in New York at her Manhattan office.
It had been a rainy day; the kind that made her thoughts slip into gloomy depression. But seeing the girl changed that. She was infectiously sweet, moving her petite body with sensuous ease. She remembered the sway of her hair... how her chocolate eyes looked up from under deep black eyebrows, hiding a naughty sparkle... her generous lips smiling, pouting...
It was hard not to like the girl.
She oozed a shy kind of sexuality that went straight to the blonde's lesbian heart - and deeper. The meeting had been mercifully short, the following lunch long and sweet, stretching into a careless afternoon. She'd taken her to a live concert. The weather had improved enough for a picnic under the trees.
Then, after returning to her apartment, they'd had sex.
First, it had been the tentative making out of people meeting for the first time. But soon that changed. As she licked the girl's pussy, sucking on her clit, she went crazy, demanding to be treated harder and rougher. She begged her to torture her nipples, pulling at the piercing in her left breast. And when her climax neared, the girl's nails raked her skin, clawing, scratching until she arched into a thunderous orgasm.
The girl had rolled aside, close to unconsciousness.
It was then that the blonde saw her backside, and the bluish marbling of the perfect olive skin on her ass cheeks and thighs. She traced it with a fingernail, making the girl shiver where she touched.
After they regained their breath, she'd asked her about the piercing and the girl made it sound like a madness from the past, at once diminishing its importance when she noticed the alarm on the blonde's face.
The blonde hadn't dared asking about the bluish traces after that.
The girl flew back home the next morning, leaving her puzzled behind. The blonde wasn't an innocent by far, but the petite girl's body and stories had hinted at a perverse obscenity she wasn't ready for; it kept lingering in her mind. Something was off - not enough to be called sick, maybe, but way too much for the vanilla tastes of this particular New York lesbian.
There was a new meeting scheduled.
The blonde decided to be nice, but to return to a more businesslike relation. She remembered the pain in the girl's eyes when she turned her down - softly, sweetly. The girl had left right after their second meeting; there'd been no lunch, no getting together.
It would be untrue to suppose she'd forgotten the girl, but it was surely a surprise when, weeks later, she walked into her office, unannounced. The memory was as painful as the occasion had been.
Then she remembered meeting the pale, black-haired woman, and her first impressions when she'd walked into the small Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village where they'd agreed to meet.
Stunning is such a common phrase, yet at times it's very apt.
This woman was stunning in a calmly provocative way. 'High-end Gothic' might get close to describing her - very high-end. Her hair was black, as was her outfit, and her skin was almost translucent. She was tall and dressed in a way that was beyond fashionable. Her jacket and skirt were of the business variety, but too tight and too liberally cut to be businesslike - as were her laced, high-heeled vintage boots.
The woman moved gracefully towards her table.
Her hand was warm and strong, her smile spontaneous, but her green eyes stayed intensely watchful, brooding even. Then there was the voice - low and hoarse. It lilted with a European accent she could not place; but it went straight to a nerve that made the small hairs on her forearms rise.
They'd ordered salads and talked.
First about the business proposition the woman had called her about 'while she was in New York anyway'; then about more and more personal things while the Chardonnay flowed.
The soft, hoarse voice spun a web around the two of them; a gauze tent of intimacy. The green eyes became harder and harder to escape from. It struck the blonde how much the woman and she seemed to have in common, and how easy it was to just sit there and talk.
They'd ended up at the blonde's apartment, having sex.
It was wonderful and very skilled sex; and it had been only while they rested in a foam-filled tub that the woman mentioned the girl. She did it in a mix of other names and in a totally natural way.
It surprised them both to find out the blonde knew her as well.
By now she'd found out it had all been a set up, but back then she'd had no suspicion. She admitted having been taken in by the 'petite bombshell.' She and the girl had had a lovely time, she said, hitting town, visiting a concert and making love. But she'd suspected 'something off' with the girl, something boding trouble - a red flag waving.
The woman had chuckled at the red flag warning. "Yes," she'd admitted, "the girl is special" - before dropping the subject and getting back to things more physical.
To make a long and delicious story shorter - the woman left the next morning promising to keep in touch. She kept calling and made one more visit while she was in New York again.
So, when she called, almost half a year later, to invite the blonde for a stay at a tropical island 'with friends,' she'd looked out of her window into the dripping wet New York streets and heartily accepted the invitation.
***
A blonde, gobsmacked.
The chartered jet stood parked near a hangar.
Looking down from a cabin window, the blonde watched a limousine drive up until it almost touched the roll-on stairs. A chauffeur got out, the tails of his coat flapping in the wind. He walked over to the left passenger door, opening it for a pale woman dressed entirely in black.
While she waited on the tarmac, holding her coat closed with both hands, the driver walked to the back of the car and opened its trunk. From it jumped a Great Dane, pulling a petite naked girl along. The blonde peered into the falling darkness, trying to make out who the girl was and why she was naked.
The dog's leash, she saw, was connected to a collar around the girl's neck.
It lost its tautness after she scrambled out of the car as well and took her place next to the dog - pushing her shivering body into his for warmth.
He licked her face, almost dwarfing her in comparison.
The woman in black turned and walked up the stairs, confidently ignoring the precarious height of her heels and the tightness of her skirt. She never looked back to see if the creature and its chained companion would follow.
Inside the plane, the blonde saw how a smiling young pilot waited at the entrance to welcome the new arrivals. He was immaculately clad, his cap tucked under his arm.
He welcomed the woman in black with a nod. "Always honored to have you on board, Ma'am."
The woman chuckled as she whisked away an invisible speck of dust on his chest. Then she brushed her cheek against his in a faux kiss, breathing a few words in his ear.
They made the young man blush and the woman grin.
She turned half a circle on her heels, clearing the way for her entourage to enter.
"Let me introduce you to my Great Dane, darling," she said, cupping the brute's skull with her hand, scratching behind his ear. "And his little bitch, of course."
The girl kept the dog between herself and the young man, a finger in her mouth like a shy schoolgirl. She seemed to look down bashfully, a blush on her cheeks. The blonde suddenly saw who she was and it made her heart miss a beat.
Then she was even more amazed at the woman's next words.
"Mon capitain," she said, "I bet the little slut would love to fly with you, even before we take off."
She chuckled; then she nodded as her eyes moved from the girl to the man and back. The girl at once sank to her knees in front of the pilot, busy fingers unzipping his fly. The young man's cap dropped to the floor as his hands closed around her head. Soon her very wet activities filled the air as his considerable member started filling her.
The woman chuckled again, looking on.
"Mmmm," she whispered, leaning towards the girl's ear. "Remember, honey cunt - this is why they call it a cockpit."
She undid the chain from the girl's collar and walked into the cabin, leading the dog beside her.
"Ma chère!" she cried out, greeting the blonde woman seated there. The blonde smiled and mumbled a response, but her eyes were captured by what happened behind the woman.
She'd bet her life that the girl was a pure lesbian. She'd told her so, and now she swallowed this cock like a starved whore. She sat straight and craned her neck to see the girl's silhouette at the entrance, her mouth sliding up and down the erected cock of the standing man.
"Is she..?" she asked, pointing her finger. "She
is
, isn't she?"
The woman let go of the dog and walked up to the blonde. She guided the woman's face away from where she was looking and pressed her lips on hers.
"Welcome, darling; so great you could make it," she said, slightly out of breath. "And yes, I guess she is and yet, she isn't."
The blonde's eyebrows rose at that.
"She is the girl, isn't she? The girl I, eh, worked with in New York," she said, puzzled.
