Forbidden Bikini Teen

It was early morning, the first time he saw her.

The weather had been hot; not unbearably so, but enough to wake him earlier than normal. The fact that the hotel's air con only seemed to work intermittently didn't help matters, and he was typically driven out onto the balcony by 6am, coffee in hand, to watch the sun rise slowly out of the ocean.

On the third morning, bleary eyed and yawning, he stepped through the sliding glass doors and sat down on the plastic chair dressed only in the hotel's thin white robe.

He took a sip of his coffee and settled down, waiting for the day to start, when he sensed a presence to his left. He glanced around, searching for the source of the disturbance, and saw a girl leaning on the railing of a balcony just a couple of floors down from where he stood, staring out to sea.

She looked to be around eighteen or nineteen years old. Her long, tanned, slender legs extended down from tight, cut-off jean shorts, which hugged her pert ass, its perfect roundness accentuated by her pose, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the balcony rail. Above the waistband of her shorts, her smooth, light brown back was interrupted by a simple, tied bikini top and long, straight, soft brown hair. She was staring down at the screen of her phone, and appeared lost in a world of her own.

He had always had a thing for bikinis. He felt himself staring and thought, 'I should look awa'. But god she was sexy. As he admired the cleft in the centre of her back, the shadow where it disappeared into her shorts, the suggestion of roundness where the cut off denim hugged the beginning of a curve, he began to harden. And he looked away.

This trip was supposed to be about reconnecting with his wife. They were only in their late thirties but, already, things had begun to go downhill. If they did talk it was about work or their two kids and, other than an occasional drunken fumble, they hadn't had sex in over a year. So, when his mother and father in law had offered to take the kids for a few weeks so that they could get away, they'd jumped at the chance.

And now here he was, three days in to their holiday, staring at a bikini-clad teen like some old perv.

But, then again, he really wasn't that old. He was 38, but he looked after himself, and, after showering at home, would often stand, admiring his stocky but toned body in the mirror for just a few more minutes than was necessary, noting the hint of muscles in his arms and chest, swinging his large dick so that it slapped against his thighs.

The after image of the girl a few floors down was still burned on his retinas. He glanced back, and wasn't sorry.

She was still staring down at her phone, but had turned and was leaning back, resting her elbows on the top of the railing and stretching out her legs so that her thigh muscles tightened. She was wearing small round mirror shades with gold frames and her hair fell to each side, framing a sweetly proportioned face: a small, snub nose above full, suggestive lips. He couldn't help thinking about them tight against his cock, and he hardened again. Beneath her chin and soft jawline, her slender neck joined with slight yet muscular shoulders, over which the thin, black bikini straps traced down to a triangle of nude material, framed in black, which covered two perfect breasts: full, pert, beautifully curved and, was that the suggestion of darkness in the centre? The shadow of her nipples.

By now he was really staring, but he didn't care. His cock was pulsing with desire, and the thin robe was standing 8 inches from his body. It had begun to fall away when the unthinkable happened. Perhaps sensing his presence, just as he had hers, she looked up. She looked right at him.

For a few seconds they simply stared at each other. He felt queasy. His stomach boiled. Then, she simply raised a long, slim arm in a casual wave and called 'Ciao', before stepping lightly back through her sliding balcony door and out of view.

Had he been staring too hard? Had she noticed him looking at her breasts? He looked down to where his robe had now fallen away. Had she seen his massive erection? He didn't care. He turned and, quietly but quickly, stepped back inside and into the room's en suite bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him. He moved to the toilet, wrapping his hand around his still hard, pulsing cock, and began to pump it furiously. The image of her was still there, perfectly preserved in his mind's eye.

He imagined a sheen of sweat on her perfectly flat stomach; undoing the silver button of her jean shorts and sliding them down over her tight ass; the string of her bikini top loose, undone, trailing down her back; the taste of her nipples, hard in his mouth; reaching fingers, searching in the tangle of her pubic hair; his hands on her hips; and he came, violently, bucking, imagining his cock pushing into her deep, tight wetness.

*

It was a few days before he saw her again.

Tentatively, at the hotel's evening mealtimes, he had glanced around during lulls in conversation with his wife, hoping to see her. At breakfast too, and by the pool. But, no luck. He had begun to wonder if she'd left.

In the subsequent days after that morning on the balcony, he had masturbated several more times, taking the memory of her body and her light, lilting 'Ciao' and placing it in different fantasies: balcony girl as a schoolgirl sitting meekly at a desk, a short, tight skirt riding up her thigh; balcony girl getting changed in a window, pulling her top over her head to expose a lacy, black bra; balcony girl in doggy style glancing back at him as he thrust into her for the first time, a strand of hair falling across her cheek.

As sexy as all this was, she had become a porn version of herself in his mind. He wanted the real thing. And he got it and, like so many things in life, it came suddenly and unexpectedly.

Midway through their holiday his wife had booked them onto an excursion with their tour company to see the best of the local area. The tour began with a short shopping trip in a chic, local town, before heading to a wine tasting at a vineyard, and finished with a visit to a waterfall where the party could bathe in the cool, deep blue pools and shower off the heat of the day.

As they sat waiting in the minibus, his mind wandering over his clothing choices for the day - had he been right to wear swimming trunks under his trousers, ready for the falls? - the minibus began to fill up. It got to the point where there were just two seats free opposite him and his wife. 'We're just waiting for two more people' the driver called back in a thick accent, as people began to cluck with disapproval. Suddenly, two people hopped onto the bus calling 'pardon! Excusez-moi!' to the other passengers, and flopped hurriedly into the seats opposite them. It was her. Oh god, it was her. His stomach did a little flip as he mentally reset his image of her from the porn version of his fantasies to the smooth, tight, beautifully delicate reality.

She was wearing the same tight jean shorts, but this time paired with a black, full body swimsuit, over which she wore a loose, unbuttoned, white linen shirt. Her hair was down, resting on her shoulders, and a wide brimmed hat perched on her head, which she quickly removed, along with her sunglasses, and placed in her lap. As she looked up from buckling her seatbelt and the bus began to move away, she caught his eye.

'Oh, hi' she said, before quickly taking out her phone and beginning to tap away.

His wife leaned to his ear, 'Do you know her?' She asked.

'Oh, just some girl from the hotel' he replied, as casually as possible. Inside he was burning.

The rest of the day was an exercise in staring without being caught.

In the chic town he watched through the window of a clothes shop as she held up dresses against her slender frame, admiring the way the lay over her perfect body.

At the wine tasting he watched as she raised the glass to her full, supple lips and drained the liquid, her tilted head causing her long hair to cascade down her silk-skinned back.

And then, the moment he'd been waiting for since she'd jumped on the bus that morning, the waterfall.

A changing area was provided for those who needed it but, since he had chosen to wear his trunks, he could simply get changed on the rocks by the water's edge before diving in. And so could she.

As everyone else trundled off to the changing rooms, including his wife and what he presumed was balcony girl's mother, he, the girl and a few other members of the tour party walked to the water's edge and began to undress. How right he'd been with his clothing choices.

She turned her back to him and removed her linen shirt. He could now watch unashamedly as she unbuttoned her jean shorts and pulled them down, slowly, over her perfect round ass, framed by the solid black of her swim suit. He admired the gap at the top of her thighs as she bent forward, raising her ass in the air suggestively, and placed her hat and shirt in a neat pile on the ground. Was she bending over for a little longer than necessary? Was this a show for him? He batted the thoughts away - girls like her weren't interested in guys like him.

She turned but her eyes were away from him, looking towards the falls where they roared and splashed into the deep plunge pool. The swimsuit sat high on her hips, exposing the tops of her thighs and the bottoms of her hipbones, and creating a v effect which led his eyes to her mound.

Could he almost see the tangle of pubic hair beneath the thin swimsuit material? How he longed to bury his face between her legs and lap at her moist clit.

He removed his shirt and trousers so that he was standing in just his trunks. His bulge was certainly bigger than normal but he was just about keeping it under control. And now, was she looking? It was hard to tell through her mirrored shades. She had her head turned his way as she tied up that long, shining hair in a loose bun. Was she running her eyes over his athletic build, his muscular arms, the bulge in his trunks? Suddenly she smiled, cheekily, coquettishly, then turned and dived into the plunge pool, bursting up again quickly gasping from the cold, her nipples hard against the sheer black material of her swimsuit.

And he followed her in, as the rest of the tour party returned from changing.

They swam for half an hour or so. He laughed and joked with his wife, but he was constantly aware of her, chatting and diving, her wet hair darker now, plastered to her tan brown back.

Then, at the end of their time at the pool the bus driver lined them up for a photo. They stayed in the shallowest section of the pool, but the water was still up to their waists. He stood with an arm around his wife as the driver got everyone organised. Then he heard 'Simone! Simone! Here.' The woman to his left was gesturing to... her. Simone. So that was her name. He rolled it in his mouth, purred it. She waded over to the line up and slotted her pert, taut body right next to his. 'A little closer. Bunch up.' The bus driver called, and she squeezed herself to him. Her breast brushed his bicep. His right hand, which had been lying limply at his side beneath the water, was pressed against her rounded, toned thigh. He couldn't help himself, his cock hardened. He was harder than ever. The head of his penis felt as if it was going to burst, pressing at the waistband of his trunks. The driver called '3-2-1' and that was when he felt it - a hand grabbed his cock beneath the water. He glanced to his left at his wife, but she was standing, smiling for the photo. Disbelievingly he looked down and saw, refracted and shimmering through the water, a long, slender hand stroking the head of his penis through his trunks. He looked to his right. Simone was staring forward but her youthful, innocent face was interrupted by a devilish grin. Without taking her eyes from the camera she mouthed, 'You're. So. Big. So. Hard.' He couldn't control himself. He exploded into his trunks, just as the camera flashed, letting out a desperately muffled whimper.

'You Ok darling?' His wife asked, as people began to disperse. 'Fine. I'll be out in a minute' he muttered. As his wife clambered onto the shore he looked around for Simone, but she was gone.

*

The minibus ride back had been intense. Simone had sat in a different part of the bus, chatting and laughing with her mum, occasionally glancing his way. Meanwhile he had sat in a state of shock, trying to process what had just happened. She wanted him? Did she? Had he dreamt it? Was this a fantasy?

The next two days passed uneventfully by the pool and, again, he didn't see Simone. He told himself it was a one time thing. A dare. Her friends had put her up to it on social media and now she's headed home with a funny story about getting some random old guy off in a waterfall plunge pool.

Two days had passed since the excursion, and he had pretty much resigned himself to not seeing her again, when suddenly, there she was.

This time it was 5.45 when he stepped out onto the balcony. She was already there, leaning on the railing looking out to sea. She was wearing a simple, long t-shirt, which just covered her ass; her long tanned legs were completely bare and her hair hung loose down her back. Clearly, this was what she slept in.

She had heard the door to his balcony slide shut and turned to look up at him. For a few seconds they stared at each other. He was close enough to see her deep brown eyes, to detect a mischievous tint.

Again, as at the pool, she mouthed a word to him, 'Watch', then slid a hand down over her flat belly, pulling the t-shirt taut over her breasts, clearly bare beneath. When her hand reached the hem of her t-shirt she lifted it, slowly, until her tight black underwear was visible. He stared, open mouthed, salivating, as she turned, showing him it was a thong, her round buttocks marked with cute tan lines. When she had completed a full 360 degrees, he saw her glance around to check no one was watching. Then she placed her right foot up on one of the lower rails of the balcony, rested her weight back, giving him a good view of her crotch. Slowly, she snaked manicured fingers down over her body until her hand covered her mound, and began to move, rhythmically, regularly, her fingers, toying with her clit, running her finger through the moistening lips of her vagina.

He stood, spellbound, hard as rock, watching the crotch of her thong as it gradually darkened beneath her expert fingers. She moved her other hand up her body and clutched greedily at her breast, closing her eyes and emitting a soft moan, playing with her nipple.

Her hips were rocking now towards her fingers, thrusting. He reached for his solid cock but, sensing his movement, she opened her eyes and mouthed, 'not yet'. His hand fell away obediently. He belonged to her.

He stood watching as she grew wetter, her thrusting becoming ever more insistent, her moans harder to stifle, and saw her bite her full red lip, eyebrows raising in ecstasy, hips bucking uncontrollably, as she orgasmed.

She stood for a few moments in that position, then smiled and looked up at him. 'Room number?' She mouthed. '303' he mouthed back. She disappeared from sight.

He rushed back into the room, as quietly as he could. His wife lay sleeping. The clock read 6.34. There was a light knock at the door. He went to it and opened it slowly, quietly. The corridor outside was empty, but the door to the stairwell was still swinging shut. He looked down and there, on the floor, was a black thong.

He grabbed it and quickly shoved it in his robe pocket then closed the door as quietly as possible and went back to the balcony. He looked down for a few moments but Simone's remained empty, so turned and went inside to the bathroom, gently closing the door and turning the lock.

With a shaking hand he reached into his pocket and withdrew the crumpled black thong. It was stained and damp with her juices. His cock stiffened again as he shrugged off his robe and rubbed the crotch of her thong against the head of his penis, feeling the dampness. She must have been so wet, he thought to himself, raising the crotch to his nose and inhaling, drawing in huge gulps of her sweet, musty odour; he stuck out his tongue and licked it until it was clean, swallowing her cum and pussy like it was sweet tea, stroking his cock as it throbbed with desire he placed the crotch to his penis and blasted his cum where her crotch had been just minutes before, then let it fall to the floor and collapsed onto the toilet seat.

He sat staring at the thong where It lay in a small mound on the floor. It had fallen with its label facing upwards and, as he looked, he noticed something scrawled, very small, in black biro on the white part of the label: 101. Her room number.

Excitedly, he jumped up and gathered his robe around himself once more, then left the bathroom quickly and went straight out of the door, grabbing a key card as he left. It was still early. The corridors were empty, save for a few abandoned cleaning trolleys. He leapt down two flights of stairs to the first floor, then rushed along the corridor, scanning the room numbers, until he arrived at 101.

For a moment, he stood in a fit of indecision. Should he knock and wait? Was this the time? How much longer would his wife sleep for? Was Simone's mum in there with her? He made a decision, ditched the thong outside the door and knocked lightly, just as Simone had done, before racing back upstairs.

When he got back to the room his wife was stirring. 'What are you doing?' She muttered, sleepily. 'Nothing. Just can't sleep. You get your rest.' He responded, soothingly. She murmured something and turned over. He went back to the balcony excitedly and slid open the door. She was there already. Waiting for him. She held the black thong in her hand. She was still wearing the same t-shirt. Facing him, it barely grazed the tops of her thighs. Was she wearing anything? He wondered. His cock stiffened again and, this time, he opened his robe to show her.

She stared for a few seconds, and raised her eyebrows. She mouthed something to him, her full lips parting slowly and deliberately, 'I. Want. You. Inside. Me.' He nearly came right then and there. Then She raised the thong to her mouth and slowly, deliberately licked his cum from the crotch. As she did so, she raised her t-shirt slightly to show him a perfect v of trimmed pubic hair, framed by tan lines. She mouthed one more thing, '3.30. Today. My room.' And was gone.

*

The day couldn't pass quickly enough. They spent it by the pool, reading and drinking coffees, but he couldn't focus. That morning felt like a dream. He kept seeing her tongue, flecked with white. Seeing her swallowing his cum. He daydreamed about burying his dick in her tight pussy.

Then, she was there. Suddenly, by the pool. He had been staring at the same page for ten minutes, looked up and saw her laying out a towel on a sun lounger directly opposite. She was wearing the same outfit as the first day he'd seen her, jean shorts, tight and short as hot pants, and a bikini top. Her skin was impossibly smooth and tanned, her stomach toned. She glanced towards him, then turned and slowly pulled down her shorts, bending over to show him her tight ass, then turned and lay on the sun lounger. He looked at his watch. It was 2.30.

The next hour was surreal. He spent time staring at his book, trying not to simply stare at Simone's crotch, directly opposite, and came up with his excuse - feeling unwell, heading up to the bathroom. That should do it. His wife was engrossed in her book and would be happy for hours.

At 3.15 Simone stood and dived in the pool, swam directly towards where was sitting and then slowly raised herself from the water. It dripped from her breasts and coursed in rivulets over her toned stomach. Her brown hair hung black and wet down her muscular back. She pulled herself up out of the pool and walked back to gather her things. He watched her glistening wet ass and felt himself beginning to harden. Then, she glanced his way and headed upstairs.