It's all my fault. No matter how much I blame the GPS it was still my mistake. Trusting technology over common sense got us into this situation. Damn! I can call it a situation, but it's more serious than that would ever convey. We're lost. Stranded and freezing. We could soon die, if we don't do something. If I don't do something. It's all my fault.
***
The sandy surface of the California shore was burning our bare feet as we crossed down closer to the tide line. Daphne was kicking the sand up with her wriggling toes, as she giggled and tickled my palm with her long, delicate fingers. Then she spread out our large beach towels, and I placed the picnic basket where we could reach it. I gazed out at the waves rolling in, and felt the sun in my eyes, and on my brow.
A trickle of perspiration dripped down my temple. After wiping it away I put an arm around Daphne hugging her close. Her soft skin was damp with moisture. I bent to taste her kiss, and the salty droplets on her moist lips. It was good to be with the one I loved most in the world. We had driven here in my Range Rover wearing our bathing suits. Now I put up a beach umbrella to give us some shade from the shimmering sunlight.
Daphne was wearing a new bikini, purchased just for this trip to Carmel-by-the-Sea. At just over five feet tall, she was like a pixie, with a dancer's legs. They were taut and firm, from the work she did at the barre. Her breasts were small, but upright, and they were now sweating through her bikini top. Whenever I touched her she became aroused. It was adorable the way her nipples would project out, sometimes causing her to blush, adding to her charm. She had allowed me into her life.
It was an unseasonably balmy fall here on the coast. October usually cooled off the air north of Los Angeles along the shore, and in the coastal mountains west of the Central Valley. But this year we were feeling the effects of odd weather patterns. The state was suffering drought. The skies displayed few clouds and little rain. We were glad to be on the beach enjoying swimming in the still cool waters, as we delighted in our honeymoon holiday.
The shore was completely empty of vacationers, or beachcombers. There had been no storms for weeks, so few were gathering the sea shells tossed up by inclement weather. Besides, it was Friday, and kids were in school. Parents were back at work. We had the beach to ourselves. We could have walked from L'Auberge Carmel, but Daphne's feet were tender.
We sat and cuddled, mixing the perspiration on our damp flesh. Her chin lifted as she sought my mouth, and she ran her fingers through my hair. Daphne's tongue softly and hesitantly sought mine, then they met, fervently.
Daphne keeps falling asleep, and I awaken her, as gently as I can, but forcefully. She mustn't lose consciousness. Neither of us may. That would end in our taking the long sleep. The descent into darkness, and the abyss. Our shivering bodies cling to each other, and we whisper soft words of love and regret. She doesn't blame me. No, she tries to blame herself, but that will not do. The burden is mine.
I looked up and glanced both directions along the beachfront. No one in sight. I smiled and quickly pulled the slipknot at the back of Daphne's bikini top. I pulled it off as she giggled. Then she took the initiative and reached into my trunks, finding a hardness to stroke. I moaned with gratitude. I returned the favor, swiftly and precisely pressing my calloused fingers into her bare, swollen mound. My little ballerina was always eager to feel my sculptor's hands on her treasure.
I rose up and hunched out of my trunks. My manhood sprang free. Daphne discarded her bottoms too. I lay back again, allowing her to take the position she loved. She straddled me, facing out to sea, and I held her waist as she guided my girth into her slit with her small hands. I chuckled as I saw the dimples above her rounded derriere. Then she settled down, slipping my stiff member deeper into her tight pussy. She called out, louder than the quarreling gulls, "Julian, my love."
Her strong legs controlled her rise and fall. I fondled her poor feet, heartbreakingly damaged from her discipline, and caressed her long red hair. It was frizzy in the sea air, even if there was little moisture in the atmosphere. I pulled it as I humped up to thrust into her honeyed chamber. She cried with ecstatic passion as she took me faster, delighting my senses. I could hear her bell like voice, and felt her fluids flowing down my shaft. Her body made love to mine, and we were close. It was always good to share orgasmic rhythms.
We did feel it together. My seed burst forth, jetting into her, and her spasms gripped my shaft, as she felt her own sweet joy. It caused her body to tremble, and she continued rising and falling, with a suctioning motion, feeling me filling her. Her artistic fingers were gripping my thighs, leaving tingling impressions of her fervor. We came.
***
I start the engine of the Range Rover one more time. The fuel gauge still registers empty. I let it run until it abruptly chokes and dies. We didn't really get any heat from the effort. We certainly didn't feel it in our deep core. And now the gas was gone. No more heat, and the drifting snow keeps covering the vehicle. I can see little out the rear window, other than large flakes, covering the trunk and glass. Our hands and feet are so cold. So dreadfully cold.
We gathered our gear, walking back up a trail to the parking area. It was hot, even as the sun sank lower. The afternoon was nearing an end. Our lovemaking had been as fulfilling as always. Having the wine and cheese afterwards had been a tasty way to put a topping on our day's adventure.
***
The ocean had cooled us down as we swam offshore, but the sweat was breaking out again. We put our towels on the seats to keep them from getting wet. Our inn was close, in Carmel. It was a treat for both of us. I was a "starving" artist, and she was a dancing instructor. But she deserved it, for being the light in my darkness.
She had been in some local dance troops in Southern California, but had never been fortunate enough to be a star. Dancing was her life, though. Until I found her. Now she told me I was her life. The same was true for me.
I was working on a sculpture of her en pointe. I didn't usually work in a realistic format, and an abstract piece might actually capture her essence. But for my first love gift I wanted to display her as she first appeared that day in the studio. Back arched, arm curved above her head, and both feet raising her up to glory. Her strength and red hair, in it's little bun, would work well in bronze.
That evening we dined at the Dametra Cafe. We both loved Mediterranean food. If we had been a little richer we might have sailed away to Greece for our honeymoon. But this was perfect, anyway. We got back to the inn before midnight, with plenty of time to play. Daphne was holding my hand, caressing the rough skin. That came from working with metal and stone. They were hard, but could be gentle to those I adored.
We had both worked up a sweat again, as we walked back to the inn. The weather was maintaining it's unusual heat. As I waited for Daphne to come out of the bathroom I idly srtoked my prick. I saw her in my mind's eye, with her conical breasts, and the pink nipples jutting out. I drifted, gratefully thanking the gods for my good fortune. She came out smiling at me.
"Julian, please let me do that. My hands are small, but if I use both I can handle you, sir."
She hopped on the bed, gleefully grabbing my hardness, and then squeezing my jewels, gently. I became more rigid, and reached out to pull her close. I could handle her like a toy, she was so tiny. As she giggled, I rested her upon the bed, on her hands and knees, and leaned down to taste her nectar.
