One Miami Night

So he wouldn’t be coming, and she’d be alone on this last night of her vacation. It was such a shame.

It was now almost midnight and the shaved ice had long ago melted in the silver bucket that held the unopened bottle of champagne, leaving a sad and dispirited icy slush. She’d been silly to order champagne. Now when room service picked up the cart they’d know that she’d been stood up, and how pitiful was that? Or maybe not. Maybe one of the staff would just steal the bottle himself and take it home himself. It really didn’t matter to her. She’d be checking out tomorrow anyhow.

The whole thing had been foolish anyhow: leaving the keycard to her room there on the chaise lounge by the pool where he could find it. They’d been talking for hours and the sun had long since set. She couldn’t in good conscience sit there in the dark, so she’d left her keycard under his towel on the chaise, right were he should find it. She’d hoped he’d take the hint. There’s been enough flirtation when they’d talked, but it hadn’t worked out. She should probably feel embarrassed about that kind of schoolgirl come-on, but she was old enough that she didn’t embarrass easily. Maybe he hadn’t found the card, or maybe he’d found it and just turned it in to the desk.

But Greg hadn’t looked like the kind of man who would miss a hint dropped by a lady, not with those dark eyes that seemed to see right inside her and that air of sensual intensity about him. She could tell that he was looking or a woman just as much as she was looking for a man, and she’d caught him staring frankly at her breasts when he thought she wasn't looking. When she made her exit after planting the keycard, she’d seen his reflection in the sliding door, watching her as she walked away, so she’d even put a little sway in her walk to give him something to look at. That sway had made her aware of her own wetness, a wetness that had started while she’d still been talking to him, looking at his lips and thinking of what he’d be like.

So she’d been sure he’d come. Even if she wasn't a twenty-two year old hottie like the other girls around the pool, she was still a very attractive woman and she looked great in a bathing suit. She still made men stare. When she’d gotten dressed in expectation of his arrival, she’d been pleasantly impressed with how good she looked in the mirror: tanned, rested, and healthy, with that erotic depth she noticed in her eyes whenever she needed a man’s company. Had he shown up, he wouldn’t have had a chance. But obviously she’d miscalculated somewhere.

Well, it was too late now. She sighed, thinking of her own silly vanity, and blew a lock of dark hair out of her face, stood up and removed the clingy sundress and hung it back in the closet. She stepped out of her panties—she hadn’t worn a bra, she didn’t need one; her full, slightly disproportionate breasts were one of her best features—and took out a sarong and wrapped it around her naked body, tucking the fabric in over her breasts. The sarong had been everything on this vacation: robe, bathing suit cover, housecoat. It had been the one thing she could wear after her first days of sunburn when everything else felt like emery paper against her skin. Now it just felt natural, her second skin, and her nakedness beneath it was just naughty enough to remind her that she was on vacation.

The champagne bottle caught her eye, the hard length of the neck protruding from the silver bucket, the cork still wired tightly to the bottle. It stood on a white-draped hotel service cart, along with a plate of shrimp and a dozen fresh oysters centered around one perfect peony blossom. The oysters would have been her little joke for him. The peony was for her.

She picked up the flower now, and ran it over her face, feeling the cool softness and inhaling the cloying scent. She looked at he champagne and decided, no, she didn’t want to drink tonight, not alone. Up until tonight it had been a wonderful vacation: swimming, sunning, shopping. Her body felt strong and toned and ready for anything, and her light sunburn made her skin glow and feel exquisitely sensitive. It would have been wonderful to feel a man’s lips on her body tonight, but she hadn’t really been looking for romance on this trip and she wouldn’t let its absence spoil things now.

She turned off the room lights and plopped down on the bed, flicked on the bedside light and picked up her book. She leafed through the pages, trying to find her place, then sighed and tossed the book aside. She needed more than printed words. She picked up the flower and sniffed it, then sat up and tucked it behind her ear. She got up and went to the balcony, opened the sliding door and leaned against the sill, looking out at the night. It was warm and balmy, and the stars were brilliant over the ocean. She slipped into the heels she’d worn that evening and stepped out onto the balcony.

The night was velvety soft and fragrant, and the warm offshore breeze felt like a caress against her new tan. Below her was the sapphire glow of the swimming pool, empty now, and as blue and as smooth as a piece of ice. She looked over the palms that screened the pool from the ocean, and off across the darkened beach to where the moon shone on the ink-black tropical waters, making a road of silver that led straight to where she stood. She looked up at the other balconies above her, then down to those below. Each was shielded from prying eyes, but as far as she could tell, she seemed to be the only one out enjoying the night.

It was a beautiful night: calm and soft and filled with mystery, the air a sensual pleasure against her skin. Darkness and beauty, and that inexpressible ache, that soft longing. The night had always spoken to her, had always called to her, some message she could never quite make out. She felt the darkness within, the mystery, something soft and yielding, but shot through with threads of wild light. The sound of the breeze through the palms and the surf upon the shore. She leaned upon the balcony and turned her face to the wind, letting it take her hair, bathing in its dark promise.

She was deliciously tired. If she hadn’t gotten so sexually aroused earlier by his eyes and shoulders, the way he used his hands, she would probably be in bed asleep by now. But as it was, her weariness only made her that much more aware of the empty ache in her body. She felt tired, but she longed to feel a man’s arms around her and feel the hunger in his kiss. She felt exquisitely alive.

Susan ran her hand down her throat, over her chest, and then down over her breast, imagining his hand on her, the way he’d touch her: softly, with trepidation, and yet with a sense of command that would leave no doubt as to what he was going to do with her. His hand would cover her breast like a cloud over the moon, encasing it in shadow, in the delicious darkness of the night. And darkness would come from him. He would be a shadow covering the light. The mystery of the night would come from him and eclipse her, folding her into his exciting darkness and drawing her in.

She had played this game before, trying to touch herself as her phantom lover would touch her, but she’d never been able to create that feeling she sought, the urgency and savage desire she dreamed of feeling from a man’s hand on her body. She knew what it would feel like: it would feel like the waves upon the shore, like moonlight on the dark ocean. She could feel it with the certainty of a dream, but so far she’d never actually felt it.

The breeze picked up her hair and blew a few strands across her face, tickling her lips. She smoothed it back in place, and her hand slid down her body to where she needed to be touched. The wall of the balcony was solid, no one could see her below the waist, and there was nobody out now anyhow.

It was so beautiful. She took the night into herself, opened herself up to it and breathed it in. The very air was like an aphrodisiac, thick with the scents of flowers and ripe fruit and the sexual musk of the ocean. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the waves on the shore, powerful and rhythmic and steady. Her hand found the spot on her sarong and she pressed her fingers against herself, pressing the fabric up between her legs. She would need some relief if she were ever going to get to sleep tonight. Her breasts felt unusually full and heavy, and she ached with a feeling of hollow emptiness. She could feel the waves of the ocean inside her.

Her vibrator was still in her make-up bag, but she didn’t want that now. She leaned on the balcony and slid her hand inside the sarong, feeling Greg’s fingers there instead of hers. He was touching her, as softly and knowingly as the warm breeze that enveloped her. He was holding her in his arms and touching her, unable to help himself, determined to make her let go tonight. She was trying to tell him no, that she hardly knew him, but that was only for form, to ease her conscience. She wanted this too: his hunger for her made her weak.

He dropped to his knees in front of her as her hand slid inside the sarong and against her wet and aroused flesh. Oh, he was wicked! He grabbed her buttocks in his hands and pulled her towards him. She saw him on his knees, his mouth open and his tongue reaching for her, and she was already starting to melt against his lips even as she protested in her mind and told him no. But he would not be put off. It was a favorite fantasy of hers that her lover wouldn’t stop, no matter what she said, that he would take her, rip her out of her own reserve and bring out the wildness inside her. It was her own deep secret. She felt his hot breath upon her, the strength of his fingers as they dug into her buttocks and held her tight, insisting that she yield to him.

He let her go suddenly and then slapped her on the ass. A hard slap, as if she were a naughty girl, as if punishing her for her own desirability. He pulled her back against his mouth and began to get violent in his lust, his tongue getting wild, losing himself in his need for her. Susan groaned softly as she felt her own wetness on her probing fingers. He was savage with her; he needed her so badly.

She impatiently pulled the sarong apart so that the tuck over her breasts just barely kept it closed on top as the rest split around her body and filled with the gentle breeze. She leaned her forearm on the rail of the balcony and spread her legs. The wind filled the sarong and billowed it away from her body so the sweet air caressed her all over, sliding up under her heavy breasts and between her legs.

“Yes, darling, yes! Touch me!” she whispered, just to practice the words on her lips. Her fingers found the spot, the spot she always used, where her fingertips could tease her opening while her palm pressed against her clit. God, it felt so good! She should have just come out and told him, told him she wanted him to fuck her. What good was her pride when she needed him so badly?

Lost in her fantasy, she didn’t even hear the lock click open behind her, but she felt the sudden rush of air from the room and saw the shaft of light from the hallway project his shadow on the floor behind her. Then the light was cut off as the heavy door thumped closed and she heard the lock slick shut. She froze, adrenalin surging through her body. Her fantasy melted away. He was really here.

She felt him step forward into the darkened room.

“Beautiful,” he said softly. “Don’t move.”

She was caught, totally embarrassed, leaning with one arm on the balcony, her legs spread and her ass thrust out, one hand between her thighs as the useless sarong flapped across her back. Hot blood rushed to her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to say anything, unwilling to move. Slowly, hoping he wouldn’t see, she drew her hand away from her crotch. Maybe his eyes weren’t adjusted to the dark yet. Maybe he hadn’t seen.

“Please, Susan. I told you not to move. Just let me look at you.”

Above the thudding of her heart she heard him cross the room and stand behind her, so close she could feel him. She could feel his presence like the heat of the sun on her backside. The sarong hung uselessly to the side, so that her naked backside was completely revealed to him, from the backs of her ankles all the way up to the small of her back, her naked and aroused pussy, wet with her juice, framed by the tanned columns of her thighs. The heels she wore elevated her bottom that much more, giving him a perfect view of everything she had. She would die of embarrassment.

Still she didn’t move. She seemed paralyzed.

“Yes,” he said, and she felt his hands on the bare skin of her back. Big hands and strong, cool against her sunburned skin. He slid them up and spread his fingers over her shoulders, then pressed his fingertips into her skin and drew them down, as if he was drawing her into him. It was a gesture of possession as well as appreciation, and Susan felt herself grow weak at his touch. It was the touch she’d always dreamed about, her phantom lover’s touch, the touch of ownership. It was that exactly.

Goose-flesh broke out on the backs of her arms and across her chest. She felt her nipples harden on her hanging breasts, and despite her warmth she felt a wonderful chill.

“You could have knocked,” she said, trying to defuse some of the erotic tension with a little joke. But her voice quivered as she said it and it didn’t come out as a joke at all.

“Hush,” he said. “Don’t spoil it.”

His hands slid down over her buttocks, and he took one on each hand and squeezed gently. She had never dreamt that such erotic potential lived in her behind, but now she felt a pang of pure lust race through her body as he squeezed her. It was the way he did it, so masterful, so sure of himself, as if her buttocks were a pair of melons in a market stall. She felt small beneath his hands, small and deliciously powerless. She hung her head and let him have his way.

His hands were on her ass, caressing her, teasing her; now just barely touching her, then taking great handfuls of her flesh and squeezing hard, making her moan. Susan closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation of being touched in just the way she’d always dreamed about, as if he owned her body, as if she didn’t matter at all.

His hands left her briefly but still she stayed as she was, leaning over the balcony, her breasts hanging beneath her, the sarong blowing over her back. She thought to say something when she heard the soft whisper of his zipper but she didn’t. What was there to say? She stood there not moving. She knew she was already wet and ready for him and she knew that he could see it. What really was there to say?

But she wasn't prepared to feel his mouth on her ass, kissing her, opening his teeth and biting her like an animal, not hard, but with enough force to make her feel it. He gripped her thighs in his big hands and her legs trembled as he bit his way along the bottom of her buttocks, at that sensitive place where they joined her thighs. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes.

His hand came up the inside of her leg and his fingers found her wetness like a burglar finds a hidden treasure. Susan moaned and shoved her hips back instinctively in lewd invitation, without even thinking about it. She was like an animal too, like a bitch waiting to be taken and that thought made her gush with wetness, thinking of her own shameful desire.

She should stand up, turn around. At least look at him and kiss him, make some joke about starting without him, make some human contact. But the night was in her veins now and this seemed so right: without words, without explanation, without affection. His mouth on her, his hunger on her ass as raw as the darkness. She heard his passionate breathing, the soft, satisfied groans he made as he ate her, his own sounds of surrender.

Now his tongue was there, trying to touch her where his fingers had been, but he couldn’t reach that far. She felt him take a hold of her buttocks and spread her apart as if she were a piece of meat, and she had one horrified moment to realize what he meant to do before she felt him push his face into the dark intimacy of her ass, his nose pressing against her anus as his tongue reached up for her sodden pussy like a bear licking honey from a jar.

“Nooo!” she wailed, humiliated beyond bearing by this assault on her most private flesh. She reached back to stop him, her hand tangling in his curly hair but he just stopped and slapped her sharply on the ass: once, then once again.

“Put your hands on the railing and keep them there,” he said in a voice of command.

She bit her lip and did as he said.

He dug his fingers into her cheeks and pulled her apart again. His tongue came up between her legs and licked at her drooling cunt, his thumbs on either side of her asshole holding her open. Susan gripped the rail of the balcony and rested her face against the back of her hands, moaning in shame and desire as this stranger ate her pussy from behind, then slid his tongue back and ran it in circles around her asshole.

“Oh God! No!” she moaned. She’d never felt anything as lewd and depraved, and she bit the back of her hand to keep from crying out further. His tongue circled her anus, then stopped and pressed against it. She tried to clench her buttocks shut, but he still held them open, and all she managed to do was make her little rosebud jerk under his tongue. She felt the tip trying to work its way into her. Despite her shame, she spread her legs to give him room, lowered her waist and pushed her ass up against his mouth.

But then he was done. He left her, leaving his saliva cooling on her skin. Her position was grotesque now, her legs spread, her ass in the air, her trunk horizontal with her breasts hanging down. He unfastened the sarong, pulled it from her body and threw it aside, leaving her naked but for her shoes.

“Please, Greg! Let’s go inside. Someone could see!”

Her suggestion only got her another spank on the ass, and then she felt the thick velvety head of his cock sliding up and down in her crease, looking for her opening. And she felt her opening looking for him too.

“Oh God!” she moaned, “Wait! Wait!”

But he wouldn’t wait. He put one hand on the back of her neck and held her in place like a dog as she felt him enter her, easily pushing aside her congested tissues and sliding forward on a film of her own wetness, pushing into her like a bar of hot iron sinking into butter and filling her with the hardness she’d been aching for all evening. He let go of her neck and grabbed her hips in his strong hands and pulled her back as he shoved, holding her there as he worked his thick stalk up inside of her, making her eyes roll up into her head, he felt so good.

He looked down at her, bent slave-like before him, and he leaned back slightly so he could see his cock gripped in the tight coral mouth of her pussy. She was totally shaved so he had a perfect view, and he groaned at the salacious sight of her lips pulling out and clinging to him as he withdrew his cock half way. When he pushed in again they both groaned.

“You still want to go inside?” he asked as he held her ass against him and flexed his powerful cock inside her. Susan couldn’t speak. She was so stuffed with wonderful male meat she could only shake her head.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t think so.”

He brought his hands up and slid them up her back again as he’d done earlier, feeling her soft skin, the female musculature beneath, He spread his fingers out over her shoulder blades and then drew his hands back down, as if coaxing her back against his impaling hardness.

“You should see what you look like,” he whispered. “Do you want me to tell you what you look like? Do you want me to talk to you, Susan?”

She could only whimper. She wasn't sure she knew what he was talking about. In any case, she could hardly be bothered with that now. He was moving inside her, filling her, giving her exactly what she needed and she was fused to him, his body moving within her and possessing her from the inside. The night was all around them and the shadows scraped over her skin, turning her back into a montage of moonlight-white and dark black as her muscles flexed, working him around inside her.