A holiday in Greece
A few years ago, when they were on a Greek island holiday, Natalie and her man wandered into one of those beachfront shops bursting with beach balls, cheap sunglasses and rubber diving goggles and flippers - the smell of warm rubber diving gear permeated the place.
On a rack on the pavement radiating summer heat she idly leafed thru the T-shirts and bathing shorts, but something caught her eye and she pulled out a crochet bikini top and bottom on a hanger, in dark green.
She held it against her pale skin and liked the contrast. The holes in the weave she liked even more. Five minutes later they left the shop wearing their cheapo shades and sucking on Chuppa Chups lollies.
In her string bag was the green bikini. She rolled her tongue over her strawberries and cream flavoured lolly, enjoying the sweetness of its little sugar ball, and a little smile crossed her bulging cheek at how similar it was to the tip of her man's cock.
If only they did a salted caramel Chuppa Chops, thought Nat.
But you couldn't get salted caramel anything in the nineties, it literally hadn't been invented. Back in the bedroom of the villa Nat slipped off her flip flops and let her running shorts drop to the cool tiles.
She lifted off her T-shirt and stood naked in the room, feeling the cool tiles under her feet. From the bag she took the crochet bikini top, put it around her waist and tied it up before slipping it round and pulling it up over her firm little breasts.
Just the feel of the fabric was a turn on and as she jiggled her tits she felt her nipples push into the holes where they could just be seen through the weave. Bending down to pull on the bikini bottoms she took her time and slightly opened her legs, just enough to show the smooth lips of her cunt and her tight arsehole to her man, who was looking on approvingly from the doorway.
'Wow these are skimpy', she gasped as the green crochet bottoms barely covered her bum and only just hid her trimmed pussy. Turning to face him, she put her hands on her slim hips and pouted, too late to help him out as he pumped his hard cock and spattered spunk onto her white tummy and the cool tiles of the villa.
Later that day
The white sand was almost too hot to walk on as she left the shade of the parasol and headed up the beach towards the little beach bar fringed with olive trees. Greek pop music was playing on a cassette and the aroma of fried calamari and chips wafted towards the sea. The hot sand was just about bearable, and the feel of it flowing through her toes was such a liberating contrast to pounding the wet pavements in sensible shoes back home.
And how often, she mused, do you get to enjoy the turned heads and lustful looks of yourself wearing a green crochet bikini, through which your nipples are visible, and bottoms so skimpy they show most of your tight buttocks and ride deliciously along your crack as you walk slowly up the beach.
By the time she reached her man, who was sitting on a bar stool with a cold beer, she was tingling with the arousal of all the attention and her nipples were hard and poking through the bralette top.
The thick weave was wonderfully arousing when she moved and her pussy was throbbing and wet. Lifting herself onto a barstool opposite him, she put her hand on his tanned thigh, he was only wearing a swimsuit, and let her fingers trail lazily towards his well filled trunks. She could see his cock pushing against the material but it was tight and he let out a little sigh of frustration as his fist tightened around the bottle.
'Fanta lemoni parakelo?' she asked the young barman Kristos, who put down a glass he was drying and padded across to a hefty American fridge humming away at the end of the bar. Pulling on the big chrome handle, it thunked open like an old Cadillac door, the glass bottles chinking against each other.
He bent down and she noted with approval his slim brown legs and snug fitting Fila tennis shorts. She was reminded of Bjorn Borg, a heart throb of her mum's during Wimbledon week.
The door shut with a clunk and Kristos returned with a lemon Fanta, popped the cap, and placed it on the bar in front of her. The classic bottle was already frosting over in the heat, and its elegant neck and slender ribbed body, with the euro cool Fanta logo, was something that the later cans would never match. Holidays in the plentiful noughties would never be the same.
She let her forefinger linger on the top of the bottle and slowly traced a path through the frosted neck and down the ribs, behind the orange lenses of her oversize sunglasses she lowered her eyes to Kristos's shorts, where an unmistakeably large cock curled seductively down one leg.
He wasn't wearing anything underneath, that was clear, and each rib on the bottle that she caressed seemed to add another few millimetres until she could see the tip of his helmet poke out from one leg.
She may have imagined that last detail, but there was no denying the size of his tool. Kristos placed the little plastic dish with a printout on it and the man slipped a ten drachma note under the clip holding it down.
The fridge was buzzing and as she sank the last of the sweet, cold lemonade, her brow prickled in the heat as a wicked thought entered her mind.
She glanced over at her man and winked at him, and with a grin he gave a tiny nod back. The young barman returned the dish with a few coins on it and then she reached across the bar and put her hand gently on his.
