The heat blasted me when I slid the patio door open. I was used to tropical hot, but the heat of a Low Desert morning never ceased to amaze, or pummel, me. It was barely past 9am and it had to be 90°F. The mix of villa's adobe architecture, the Sonoran scrub and the unrelenting desert sun washed out everything in sight. Except for her.
She lay at the pool's edge, perpendicular to the water. Save her feet, which she dangled in the cool water, she was stretched long on the pool deck. She wore nothing but a black hair scarf.
Set in a secluded corner of the hotel grounds, the private villa allowed us to be nude most of the time. The only time we had to cover-up was in the presence of this morning's masseuses, and that was only for the pleasantries of welcoming them and bidding them farewell.
We enjoyed a full massage treatment in the privacy of our room. The freed blood flow, abetted by stolen glances of her on the adjoining table, made it difficult to not become aroused during our treatment. But, breathing deep, I kept calm as they carried on. At the end of the services, she retired to the pool while I settled the bill with spa technicians. Once I sent them on their way, I went out to join her.
Her body looked delicious. Her long caramel legs stretched to the water. Her soft abdomen was the color of tres leche, an effect of being forced into swimwear in other settings. Her heavy breasts poured off her chest, topped with relaxed but ripe nipples. Her brown arms chevroned and met at her hands, fingers entwined under her head, supporting it. Her radiant face wore a contented smile.
Approaching, I untied the terry hotel robe and slid it off my shoulders to the ground. With each step I could feel my cock unfurl, lengthen and swell as I gazed on her intently. I was far from erect, but it was clear that my penis—along with the rest of me—was happy to be unencumbered and alone again with her. I walked to the opposite end of the pool and dove in.
I swam the length of the pool in one breath, submerged. Her delicate feet as my markers, I surfaced easily between her smooth, muscular calves. Running my cool wet hands along her hot thighs, she let out a blended laugh/purr then, raising up on her elbows, said, "Hey baby! How do you feel?"
Met with a beaming smile and her magnificent breasts rolling down her chest, I paused, lost in my own lustful thoughts, before replying, "Good!" But returning instantly to the majesty before me, I added with a devious grin, "But not as good as you."
"You're too good to me," she answered as she lay back down.
I continued running my hands up and down her thighs, enjoying the suppleness that the massage oils afforded her. She was enjoying my touch, a long languorous moan coming from her throat, followed by deep, relaxing breaths. Her chest rose, elevating her breasts with it. A desert breeze rustled through the surrounding yucca. When the air stilled there was no sound beyond her breathing, the water lapping at the pool walls, my palms gliding across her legs and hips, and my own heartbeat beating in my ears. Lazily, my eyes settled on the gentle grasslands of her Mons.
Unbeknownst to her, my eyes stared at her womanhood hungrily, whetting my appetite for her. My strokes increased in pressure and velocity. I was fully, ravenously aroused, the tip of my erection pushing into the side of the pool. Resisting no more, I ran my right hand up her thigh and atop her mound. Unshielded from the sun, her pubic hair was searingly hot. Equivalently willing to accept as I was to give, she moaned again and widened her legs. As her inner lips emerged to greet me, I moved my left hand's caress to her inner thigh. I pressed the heel of my right palm caringly but appreciably against her Venus Cleft, moving it in subtle circles. My thought that the diffuse motion and pressure would carefully awaken her clit proved correct, and her body responded as I hoped. Her legs widened still, her breathing deepened, her moans amplified, her outer lips flushed from bourbon to burgundy. Like a butterfly's wings, her inner lips swelled and splayed. Gliding my hand down, I ran my fingertip over the hood of the clit, across the plane of her right labia, then returned to run down the panel of her left. I marveled at her softness, at the resistance caused by the influx of blood and desire, at the high art of her. Then, as if on cue, delight: a bead of her arousal escaped her lips and cascaded down her perineum. It stopped me cold. I nearly came.
Her voiced snapped me to reality. "Are you enjoying yourself?" Her query was tinged with worry. "You bet!" I responded enthusiastically.
"Really?" She sounded surprised by my answer.
"Are you kidding? I could do this all day if given half the chance."
She giggled, relaxed. I returned to my ministrations.
My cock ached. I adjusted my pelvis, unpinning my erection from the wall and allowing it to spring upward to a more natural position. Without the resistance, my penis relaxed, defusing my urge to come.
I caught the trickle of her femininity with the tip of my finger and spread it along her lips. As I gently massaged the oil on her petals, another dollop rolled out and down. As with the first, I nabbed it, rubbing it into her perineum. Her body responded, pushing against my rotating finger. Doing so forced another bead out. I drew it up on my fingertip and spread it across the tip of my thumb. With both fingers suitably glazed, I took her right petal between them and ran them up her length to her clit; when I returned in reverse, I added a gentle outward tug. I offered the same service to her left labia.
