Tan Lines

Author's note: this is my entry for the 2017 Summer Lovin' contest. Please vote and leave comments if you have the time. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious and are eighteen years of age or older. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*

I was a deer caught in the headlights when he opened the front door of their house. "Can I help you?" he said to me.

I stared at Katie's father, dumbfounded. The sight of him always took my breath away, made my heart flutter, and made me feel all tingly inside. He had classic movie star good looks, and a lean, toned body to match. "Uh . . . Um . . . Hi, Mr. Hamilton, I'm Ginger, Katie's friend. Is she home?" I stammered.

God, I'm such a dork.

"No," he replied, "I'm afraid she got called into work. Were you guys planning on going to the beach today?"

"What?" was my brilliant response.

"The way you're dressed, looks like you're ready for the beach."

Mr. Hamilton was correct. I was wearing sunglasses, a swimsuit cover-up over my bikini, and sandals; my curly red hair was pulled up into a tight bun. I did indeed look like I was ready for the beach, but I really wished that I looked like I was ready to get fucked, because that was exactly how I felt whenever I was around him. I hoped and prayed that someday Mr. Hamilton might look at me that way. "No, we were just going to lay out by the pool and work on our tans," I replied. "Summer will be here before you know it," I babbled on awkwardly.

As if he didn't know that, and summer was already here. Thanks, inner-dork, for offering up that suggestion.

"Unfortunately, Katie won't be home until later this evening. I'm surprised she didn't text you."

"She probably did, but . . ."

"But what?"

"I lost my phone privileges . . . overage charges," I explained.

"Watching too much porn, were you, Ginger?" Mr. Hamilton teased.

I blushed.

Oh my God! How did he know?

"No, it wasn't that, I swear. I was just watching . . . uh, Anime." Some of it was Anime Porn, so technically it wasn't a total lie.

"Anime? What's that?"

"Japanese cartoons."

"You mean like Speed Racer?"

"Yeah, something like that. Look, I probably should be going," I said, figuring that I had already made a big enough ass out of myself and worn out my welcome.

I was about to turn and walk away when I heard him say, "You can stay if you want."

What? Did he really just say that, or was it the voices in my head―the horny, demonic voices in my head.

"Really? I can? You don't mind?"

"No, of course not, not at all. You don't need Katie here to work on your tan. Come on inside, Ginger." Mr. Hamilton welcomed me into the house and asked, "Can I get you something to drink? Iced Tea? Diet Coke?"

I was nervous, incredibly nervous. My knees were shaking when I replied, "Iced Coke, Diet Tea―I mean a Diet Coke would be great, Mr. Hamilton."

"Do you know the way to the pool, Ginger?"

"Yes, I've been here before," I reminded him.

Didn't he know that? Obviously he had never noticed me before, and certainly not in the way that I noticed him. Why should he?

"Oh, that's right. Well, why don't you get settled in by the pool, and I'll bring out your drink.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was rubbing sunscreen oil on my freckled upper arms when Katie's father arrived with my drink on a small, round tray. "One Diet Coke, as ordered, madam," he said, all waiter-like―like I was at a resort or something. I found the small gesture to be, like him, adorable and charming. "Can I get you anything else?" he asked. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry right now, and besides, I'm on a diet." Okay, I really was hungry, hungry for some cock, his cock, but I didn't have the nerve to tell him that―and technically I was on a diet; I'm always on a diet. "But could you . . ."

"Could I what?"

Do it, Ginger! Say it!

"Could you put some sunscreen oil on my back, Mr. Hamilton? I don't want to get burned." Truth be told I was already burning―burning hot with desire between my legs.

He smiled. "I'd be happy to."

Yes!

"Thanks," I said, then handed him the bottle and turned over, lying face down on my stomach.

Mr. Hamilton studied the label on the bottle. "Gluten Free, Organic, Free Range, Sunscreen Oil. What will they think of next?" he remarked before sitting down on the wide lounge chair next to me. I heard him squirt a glob of the sunscreen oil into his palm, and flinched as he applied it onto my neck and shoulders. "You're awfully tense, Ginger."

"Uh . . . Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm a little bit nervous."

"Nervous? Nervous about what?"

You, being around you,

I wanted to say. This was the first time we had ever been alone together. It was a dream come true. I always found Katie's father to be incredibly handsome, and had been having sexual fantasies about him for several years now. "Oh, I don't know. I'm kinda always this way, I guess," I said with a nervous laugh.

"Nothing to be nervous about," Mr. Hamilton assured me, "just relax and enjoy it."

He didn't have to tell me that. I was already enjoying it, enjoying his big, strong hands massaging my soft, supple skin. "Mr. Hamilton?" I asked.

"Yes?"

"Could you . . ."

"Could I what?"

"Could you undo my bikini top? I don't want to get any tan lines."

Mr. Hamilton untied my bikini top and moved the strings away from my neck and back. I was now completely naked from the waist up. Okay, true it was only my back, but it still made me feel naughty, incredibly naughty. I contemplated whether I had the courage to sit up,

accidently forget

my top was untied, and expose my small breasts to him. But before I had a chance to consider acting on that thought, Mr. Hamilton's hands were once again upon me, gently, but firmly massaging my back. Paralyzed in the moment, I was melting in his hands. I tried my hardest to stay quiet, but I couldn't help it. As his hands worked their way downward towards my hips, I began to moan softly. I didn't want him to hear me, but I secretly wished that he did. His hands stopped at my lower back, just above my bikini bottoms. "Okay, Ginger, there you go," he said.

What? No! It can't end now! Think, Ginger, think!

"Wait! What about my legs, Mr. Hamilton? Can you do me . . . uh, I mean do my legs?"

Mr. Hamilton started at my ankles and worked his way up, alternating legs back and forth as he went. Inch by inch, he moved seductively up my legs. Inch by inch, my pussy was getting wetter and wetter. Inch by inch, my mind and heart were racing out of control. I was panting now and moaning louder. I didn't care if Mr. Hamilton heard me―I wanted him to hear me, hear how aroused he was making me feel. His hand was now rubbing the silky skin of my upper-inner thighs, perilously close to my swollen sex. I wanted him to go further. I needed him to go further, but I didn't have the confidence or courage to ask him to.

"Okay, looks like we're done, Ginger," he said.

I panicked.

Wait! What? Done? We can't be done. It can't be over. I knew I should have worn a thong bikini.

Okay, so I don't really own one―I think they look skanky, which, don't get me wrong, is fine, if skanky is the look you're going for. Instead, I opted for a red bikini with white polka dots―cute, modest, tasteful, and revealing just enough to hopefully tantalize him.

"Oops, looks like I missed a spot," Mr. Hamilton said surprising me.

Spot? What spot?

I wondered.

Does he mean my wet spot? Did he notice the puddle leaking out of my dripping pussy. Was it that noticeable? Please let it be that. Please let it be my wet spot!

I soon found out the spot he was referring to when Mr. Hamilton undid my bikini bottoms and yanked them completely off of me.

I was now bare-assed to him and to the entire world. Shocked by his actions, I reacted stupidly without thinking. "Oh my goodness, Mr. Hamilton, what on earth are you doing?"

Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Why did I say that?

"You said you didn't want any tan lines, didn't you, Ginger?"

Yes, he was right, I did, but was that the reason he pulled my bottoms off―the only reason? "Yes, but . . ."

"But what?"

"I've never sunbathed in the nude before, what if someone sees me?"

"The walls are high, and my neighbors are elderly and don't climb trees all that well anymore," he joked. "No one will see you, Ginger."

"You can see me, Mr. Hamilton, and . . ."

"And what?"

"You don't think that . . ."

"Think what?"

"That my butt is too big?"

"No, of course not, Ginger. I think you have a lovely round bottom," Mr. Hamilton said and then gave my ass a playful slap that sent shivers up my spine. "And women are meant to have curves. Now, would you like me to do your bottom?"

"What?" What he did he just say?

"Would you like me to put some oil on your bottom, Ginger, so you don't get burned?"

Hell yes, I would,

I thought, but I tried to play it cool. "Yes, please, that would be very thoughtful and nice of you, Mr. Hamilton."

Nice? Did I really say that? Fuck! What is wrong with me?

Mr. Hamilton drizzled some of the oil onto my pale-white booty, and his hands were once again upon me, caressing my bare bottom. I was in heaven in his hands. The sunscreen oil smelled like pineapple and coconut, sensory impressions that would forever be sexually imprinted on my mind.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, please don't stop," I said, desperation dripping from my voice.

"Spread you legs apart if you want to me to go further, Ginger."

I definitely wanted him to go further, desperately needed him to go further, desperate for him to touch my aching sex, so instinctively I spread my legs apart for him, allowing him total access, and desperately tried to imagine what was going to happen next.

Mr. Hamilton's hand slid up between my thighs. My body shuddered when his fingers brushed against my swollen pussy lips. He began to gently rub them, stroking up and down, occasionally letting his deft touch drift to and come in contact with my sensitive clit; each time it did, it sent a jolt of pleasure through my entire body. I couldn't believe this was really happening. It seemed surreal, too good to be true. On and on it went, pushing me ever so close to the edge of orgasm without letting me surrender to it. No one had ever touched me like this, had ever made me feel like this, feel this good, feel so incredible.

"You need to come, don't you, Ginger?" Mr. Hamilton said to me.

I never needed to come so bad in my life. "Yes. Please, Mr. Hamilton!" I pleaded.

"Then you need to ask for it?"

"Please, Mr. Hamilton. Please let me come."

"Very well, I suppose you've suffered long enough." His fingers focused their attention on my clit and I went off. Body tensing, hands balled into fists, I cried out, "Oh my fucking God!"

It took a while for me to recover from the sensory overload of the incredible orgasm. When my heart and my breathing returned to normal I said, "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Thank you

so very

much. That was amazing!"

"You're welcome. Are you ready for more, Ginger?"

"More?"

"Are you ready for my cock?"

"More than ready." Okay, maybe that sounded a little bit slutty, but I was feeling

more

than a little bit slutty. Mr. Hamilton climbed onto the lounge chair on top of me and straddled me, positioning the head of his cock against my slick slit, and pushed into my wet cunt. I let out a loud gasp when he penetrated me. He was much thicker than my Ex and I struggled a bit with his thickness.

Always the gentleman, Mr. Hamilton took his time, slowly rocking his hips back and forth, in and out, gently but firmly going deeper and deeper until he was fucking me in long, luxurious strokes. I'd never been fucked like that before; I never knew how much I had been missing out on. With my Ex, it always happened so fast, too fast, flash fast; it was always over before it even got started, at least for me.

Mr. Hamilton started to quicken the pace: faster, stronger, harder. "You're a horny little girl, aren't you, Ginger?" he asked, more of a statement than a question. No one had ever talked dirty to me during sex. The only words I had ever heard during sex were "Oops" or "Sorry". I never imagined I would like being talked to this way, but I did―I loved it.

"Yes," I proclaimed proudly.

"Then tell me," he demanded.

"I'm a horny little girl, who needs to be fucked, Fucked hard!" I confessed. Now he was making me talk dirty to him, and I was loving it even more.

"Harder or softer?"

"Harder! Please fuck me harder, sir, please make me come. I need to come again. Please! Please!" I begged.

He started to pound my pussy, rapidly, roughly, relentlessly; punishing me with pleasure. Once again I was on the edge. I couldn't hold back anymore and went off in another mind-blowing orgasm. "I'm coming, sir!" I yelled out and started to climax on his cock. I don't know why I started calling him sir, it just felt right, I guess. I kept coming and coming; it just kept going and going. It was, in a word:

amazing

. After it was over, he pulled his still rock-hard cock out of my wonderfully fucked cunt.

Mr. Hamilton hadn't come yet, at least I didn't think so. I wondered if there was something wrong, something wrong with me. He got up and sat down next to me on the edge of the lounge chair. "Are you ready for more, Ginger?" he asked.

More? How much more can there be?

I wondered. I had already come twice, two times more than I had with anyone else before. I couldn't possibly say no, even if I wanted to, which of course I didn't. "Yes," I replied, "I want more, sir. Please give me more."

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass, Ginger?"

Oh, so that's what the more was.

"No," I replied honestly.

"Would you like to try?"

"I don't know. I've heard that it hurts."

"It doesn't hurt if you take your time and do it the right way. In fact, some women find it quite pleasurable. Why don't we start with a finger and see if you like it?"

"Okay," I said. "I trust you." And I did, completely.

Mr. Hamilton drizzled some more of the pina colada scented oil over my pink, little rosebud and began to gently brush his index finger against and around it. "How does that feel, Ginger?"

"Good, sir," I said. And it did, it did feel good, surprisingly good.

He continued caressing me this way for several minutes, then said, "I'm going to begin to push inside of you. Try to relax for me. Okay?"

"Okay, sir, I'll try."

He gently pushed the tip of his finger inside my ass up to the first knuckle. At first it felt strange, intrusive, but as he gently stroked it in and out, I began to tolerate it, then more than tolerate it; it started feeling better, and better. I started to enjoy it―

really

enjoy it.

Occasional he would just hold his finger inside me, gently applying pressure against the resistance of my tight muscles, before going back to stroking it in and out. He pushed again and it happened, my ass allowed him inside, so his finger could penetrate me completely. The more he kept stroking me, the more my ass relaxed, until his finger was now easily sliding in and out. I was loving it.

"How does it feel, Ginger?

Fucking fantastic

, I wanted to say, but I tried to play it cool. "It's good, pretty good," I said trying to downplay how aroused it was making me feel. I guess I felt guilty. What he was doing to me was making me feel so naughty, and I was reluctant to admit to him how much I enjoyed it. Good girls weren't supposed to behave this way and weren't supposed to feel so good about being so bad. Maybe I wasn't such a good girl after all.

"You're doing great. Do you want me to keep going? Are you ready for more, Ginger?"

"Yes, sir. I'm always ready for more. Please, sir." And I was. No point in trying to play coy and hide it anymore. I desperately wanted more; I wanted it all; I wanted everything. The more he stroked his finger in and out of my naughty little hole, the more the muscles of my ass relaxed, accepted, and enjoyed it.

I had never imagined something so dirty, so naughty could turn me on this much. The pleasure ramped up and intensified when Mr. Hamilton's middle finger slid into my pussy. He was now working both of my holes, finger-fucking me.

When he added his ring finger to my pussy and continued the double penetration, I knew I was going to come again soon. It was inevitable, unavoidable. I couldn't help it; it was going to happen, and I knew that's what I needed, what I craved.

"Lift your hips up," he commanded.

I complied of course. How could I not?

His right hand continued the double dose of finger penetration, while the tip of the middle finger of his left hand started flicking my swollen little button. Once again I went off, coming even harder than I had before. I collapsed down into a helpless heap on my beach towel.

"Are you ready for more, Ginger?" he asked when I had finally regained my senses.

"More?"

How could there possibly be even more?

I wondered.

"Are you ready to take my cock up your ass?"

I didn't hesitate a second before I answered, "Yes, sir. Please, sir."

"Then ask for it."

"Please, sir. Please fuck my ass!"

I felt the bulbous head of his big cock pushing against my tiny, little butthole, before he pushed into me. I let out a loud gasp. His cock was bigger than his finger, way bigger. It felt huge in my ass. Though I wanted this, wanted to please him more than anything, and give him the pleasure he had given me, I began to have second thoughts about whether I could actually go through with it.

Thankfully, once again, Mr. Hamilton was understanding and incredibly patient. He held the tip of his cock still inside my ass, allowing me to get used to it, before gradually penetrating me deeper and deeper.

I'm not going to lie, it did hurt a little bit at first, but the sensations of pain soon faded away, and were replaced by incredibly intense feelings of pleasure. And the more it went on, the more he fucked me, the better it felt. Pinned underneath his muscular body, I felt helpless and hopeless, and I didn't want it to feel any other way. "Harder or softer?" he breathed into my ear.

Did he really need to ask?

"Fuck me harder, sir. Fuck my ass! Make me your bitch!" I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.

"I will fuck you harder, Ginger, but first I want to watch you come again. Reach back and play with your pussy, and ask for my permission to let you come."

I started rubbing my pussy while he continued to slowly fuck my ass in long deep strokes. It felt amazing. I was horny as hell and was desperate to come again. "Please, sir. Please let me come!" I begged.

"Not yet," he replied.

"When?" I desperately asked.

"Soon."

My arousal was skyrocketing off the charts. I didn't know how much more I could take. I wanted to come so badly, but I didn't dare disobey or disappoint him. I had to force myself not to touch my clit.

On and on it went, how long I don't know. "Now," he finally, thankfully announced, and I came again hard, so hard that I blacked out for moment.

When I came back, Mr. Hamilton was furiously fucking my ass: rough, raunchy, relentless. The loud sounds of his body slapping against mine were only drowned out by my screams of pleasure. "I'm going to come," he finally announced, and thrust hard into me one last time. Burying his cock deep in my ass, he held it there. The feeling of his throbbing, pulsating cock unleashing its pent up pleasure into my pleasantly punished ass made me go off one last time.