Tidal

The door swung shut beneath them on hotel hinges, but they barely noticed. They were entwined in arms, kissing, lips meeting lips. Long anticipation had boiled under them for ages, for hours that felt like years, and their appetites begged; now those appetites would finally be sated.

A day of soaring travel had brought them here to this waterbound paradise, where palms nodded in the wind and the sun made the white beaches glow with ecstatic joy each morning. The warm embrace of sunlight, the breathing of the waves... they had gloried in these things all day, blessed with them, blessed with each other. She could not remember being in a more beautiful place; he could not remember being in better company. They had never traveled together before, but they felt made for each other, felt as if all this had been made for them.

His arms around her were something she knew, a familiar thing in this vast sea of endless beauty. But they were new too, changed in the light of this alien moon, floating in its ocean of star-speckled night. His arms, his lips, the heat between his legs... they seemed transformed to her, renewed by their surroundings.

He drew her to him, his lips seeking hers, his arms cradling her. She had always been beautiful to him, but in moonglow and tropical air like warm breath it went beyond that. Her beauty was no longer a noticeable thing; now it was just a truth, like water. He could no more doubt his love for her than his breath.

Her hands reached up to stroke at the sides of his face; and then she drew him down to nibble at his ear, her touch like drops of water. He smiled even as the breath went out of him in a rush, that she knew so well what to do to his body. His arms tightened around her, drawing her in, urging her on.

She pulled back, a grin sparkling on her face, and ran her hands up under his shirt. He let her disrobe him, and then began to divest her of her own clothing. Her skin was pliant under his fingers, warm, soft, glowing like snow in the silver moonlight. She gave a sigh of pleasure as his fingers brushed across her skin; even that slight contact made her shiver.

His eyes shining, he began to back away from her, towards the bed; she gave him a smile as she pursued, letting her hips sway, leaving their clothes pooled on the floor behind them. She felt herself in the silver night: her skin tingling; her hair in a cascade across her shoulders, trapping warm air against her neck; the bristle of the carpet under her toes; the sand under her nails; the ache in her nipples, already half-erect, and the faint sliding beneath her of her nether lips rubbing against each other with every step. He was in front of her, the broad muscles of his chest kissed by silver moonlight, his member already half-erect. She felt his eyes on her skin, burning, caressing, drinking her up.

She knew he would expect her to lean up and kiss him, so instead she went down his body, sliding her hands and breasts down across his body until she knelt before him, his manhood level with her mouth, the carpet itching under her calves. He gave an incoherent noise as she sucked him into her mouth--somewhere between an exclamation and an exhalation--and brought his hands up to rest on her head. His cock was still somewhat flaccid: warm, but soft, the head still spongy. It was a different texture than she was used to, and she decided to enjoy it while it lasted. It wouldn't last long.

He gave another sigh as she gathered more of him into her mouth, her tongue already darting out to taste further down his shaft. He had had blowjobs before her, and women before her, but somehow it seemed that nobody had ever equaled her touch, her deftness. Pleasure broke over him, drawing a tingle of sweat from his skin, as her tongue began to lave up and down his shaft, stroking the ridge below, even kissing his wrinkled sac with the tip of her tongue. She couldn't reach it for long, of course, since his cock was longer than her mouth was, but she made the best of it.

As though a switch had been flipped on, he saw himself now, as he was: here, in this sun-washed paradise, the air warm around him like the breath of a lover; here, this woman before him, naked, glowing in the moonlight, kneeling, wanton, her eyes and mouth and face and body, her whole being, focused on his pleasure. The sound of the waves caressing the shore slid in through the open windows; moonlight drenched the curtains in a misty silver. And he was in her mouth; he was aware of every inch of his cock, of every bump and vein, and of the touch of her tongue. He felt it perusing gently down his shaft--the bump on the left, the scar of his circumcision, and then the ridge around the back of his head, a feather-touch of wetness rimming it round. And then the spongy, bumpy head of his cock, moistened now by her tongue as it meandered, finding the hole, flicking it gently before sliding down underneath.

Her lips closed around his shaft at the rim of his head, solid now and full of warmth, and her magic tongue continued its work, planting little guppy kisses all over it. Then she swallowed him whole, milking his shaft with her lips in a ring around it, sliding up and down as it firmed. Soon she had it to its fullness. He heard another moan escape him as her tongue went to work in earnest, sliding up and down his shaft, looping around it, sending waves of shivers down his spine. Each touch, each lick, each motion, drove the pressure upwards, drove the building ecstasy that threatened to overflow.

She knew he wasn't going to last long; they had been teasing each other all day, circling round each other like dancers, hands on flesh. She knew the fires that boiled beneath him. Still he surprised her: it wasn't long at all before his pleasure spilled over. She heard his breath catch, felt him stiffen; he felt the infinitesimal sensation of the dam breaking within him. And then it was pouring over, as his body jerked in delirium, his pleasure gushing through him in waves and torrents, his whole body it seemed being drained out through his member into her waiting mouth, as he moaned and spurted and shook, his balls discharging, clenching themselves into exhaustion, until he was spent and rocked back on his heels, his whole concentration (what remained of it) going into staying upright, and she tasted the rush of salt in her mouth, and smiled to herself, and swallowed.

She kissed her way up his body, taking her time, giving him a chance to recover. She let her lips trail over his body, little guppy kisses slowly working their way upwards. She knew these little bits of stimulation wouldn't be much compared to what she had just done to him; maybe he couldn't feel them at all. But she loved him, and that was more than enough reason to do it anyway.

But still, she was surprised when his arms snaked under her shoulders, lifting her to her feet involuntarily. His lips mashed against hers, passionate, demanding; she tasted the lust there, in his aggressiveness, in his tongue in her mouth, in the seawater taste of his seed. His chest was hard against her breasts and nipples, his heart beating strong and fast; his arms were like iron bands around her. Barely had she had time to snake her arms around him than he was drawing her away from him, casting her down.

Now she found herself face-first on the bed, sprawled, her bottom upturned, spraddle-legged from the unexpectedness of her impact. Her back tingled in the evening air, and rough cotton scratched under the soft skin of her belly. Her pussy lips parted were parted now, slightly wet; already she could feel the dull red of her desire down below. There was hair in her face, in her eyes, across her shoulders; she was reminded of an abandoned tangle of seaweed belched up on the sand, green strands in all directions.

She knew he was strong, but it wasn't something she thought about much; but now she realized that she was totally at her mercy—here, in this wet air, ass upturned and her legs opened down the front of the bed. And suddenly she realized just what an enjoyable thing that might be.

He was standing behind her, surveying all that was his: the arch of her back, the shapes of her shoulder blades under her skin, the warm curves of her ass that hid her underslung opening. He could picture it in his mind's eye, pink and deep and inviting. If he'd been hard, he might've plunged in right there; but he was not, and anyway he had a different tack in mind. He lowered himself to his knees, feeling the bite of the carpet as she had moments before, and began to kiss the soft skin on the back of her thighs.

Her body was a place of worship to him, a place of love and devotion. This was not the first time he had paid homage at her temple, but something was different today. Perhaps it was the environs, the sultry sun and endless waves. Perhaps it was the leisure and languor with which they had spent their day. The teasing and flirting—had that done it? It was not for him to know or say. But he was happy to use it to his advantage.

He laid a trail of kisses along her leg, taking care to find the sensitive spots no one ever touched: the inside of her knee, the crease of her buttock, the tender skin on the inside of her thigh (as much of it as he could reach, with her legs together like so). Her skin was warm to the touch, and startlingly soft, and fragrant as well: the faint smell of sweat, of the seawater they'd splashed in; the warm red scent of her skin. And over it all, faint but growing, was the musk of her arousal. Her breathing had thickened by the time he switched over to her other leg; by the time he had completed his journey up and down it, she was squirming on the bed.

He permitted himself a single grin.

It might've been better for her to move straight on in and get to work, but he wanted to tease her, to entice her, to draw out her desire. He began to scatter kisses across her buttocks, tasting the soft, pliant flesh there, and the skin at the small of her back. He found the tickly places on her flanks, nipped at the flesh of her butt, laid individual kisses on every vertebra he could find. All the while she continued to fidget, the undulant waves of her hips bringing fresh eagerness to his cock, as she waited for him to have his fill of her body; he could feel the warmth of her flesh under him, practically taste the tension in her muscles. When finally he began to kiss downward towards the inner skin of her thighs, she parted her legs, bringing her pussy into view. All at once the scent of her pussy was stronger, and he could see the signs of her arousal: the flush there, visible even in the dim moonlight, and the pursing of her lips, opening her secrets to his touch.

Her skin was a marvel—tender and pale and beautiful. He trailed feather-light kisses up her thighs and then into the cleft between them, circling her opening. He tasted the flesh of her underside: the warm fleshy buttocks, the sprinkling of grassy hair, even the little seams between leg and lip. Her breathing was harsher now, and her snatch warm with her need; he could practically feel the tension in her body as he lowered his face to her center secret, caressing it first with his breath, then with the merest touch of lips, and then finally with a kiss.

He let his tongue wander free over that perfect flower, tasting the sea-salt residue of their ocean play, laving it out until only the taste of her remained. He delved her petals—the outer ones fleshy and wide, the inner ones delicate, both of them now a darkening pink, awakening to match the tension within her. He leafed through them, taking one this way and that, before forming his lips around one of hers to suck at it with firm, steady pressure. Under his chin he could feel her wet tides rising, the increasing damp of her body. Finally, knowing it was time, he found the perfect pink bud at the bottom of her slit and gave it a single tentative lick.

She felt that swipe and jumped, her whole body seeming to contract; it was a good feeling, a wonderful feeling, maybe the best she'd ever known. She was awakened, sensitive, helpless; she could feel everything, she could feel things she'd never noticed before: the warm muscles of his arms in the crook of her knee, the stubble of his chin, the whoosh of his breath against her opening—his nose, she realized, was practically inside her, and her body was wanting, her body wanted, wanted anything. Anything. She hoped that he would give.

He put his lips around that little bud that was the center of her universe, and began to suck. Her hands clenched the pillows, her breath matched the roars of the sea, her body shuddered with sensation; she pushed her ass up in the air, offering her clit up for his pleasure, his and hers as well. He was happy to oblige. He widened his lips a little and placed his tongue right where it would be perfect for her, just inside her slit, and gave himself another smile as he sucked and rubbed and her breath grew ever more ragged.

He knew when it happened. Her moans reached a crescendo and he could feel with the tip of his tongue the way her muscles clenched, feel the tides that rose towards infinity. He knew when it happened: she stiffened, jerked, and there was a moment of perfect stillness. And then pleasure washed over her, her body pulsing in perfect abandon, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed within her, rushing back and forth to gush out onto his mouth and tongue.

In the silence after, she might have breathed his name.

He crawled up on the bed to sprinkle kisses on her neck and shoulder, on her perfect cheek glowing silver in the moonlight. Her lashes were dark, her eyes closed, her face the utter repose of sleep; only her faint gestures, the smile that grew as she felt his lips brushing her skin, the sigh of contentment, suggested otherwise. That and her hand, reaching up to stroke his face, his chest; and then reaching lower, reaching to find him ready and wanting. Reaching to guide him. Soon he was positioned over her, and without turning over she drew him in, drawing him towards that aching gap within her, the yearning hunger that, still unsated, needed to be filled. She was his vessel; without him she was empty.

And then he penetrated, and then she wasn't.

For a moment they lay still, breathing against each other, wanting nothing but sensation. She felt the strength of his chest against her back, the rush of his breath in her hair, the pressure of his legs slanting over hers. She propped herself up on her elbows to offer him her face, her lips, her kiss, her smile, and felt one hand slip beneath her to cradle her breasts. And he was home--his hard length, his manhood, his penis, his dick, his cock: it was with her, in her, filling her, her snatch cradling him, as it was meant to be.

To him she was warm and welcoming, a beauty beyond measure. Her pale skin, unblemished in the moonlight, stretched over her shoulder blades, down to her waist and out of sight. To him she was shy in that moment, her face veiled by a curtain of hair as she turned to him over her shoulder. Her breast was firm in his hand, her nipple a pebble against his palm; her ass pressed against his front, soft and warm and curvy and delightfully feminine. And her snatch had him; he was in to the root, pubic hair against his balls, and he could feel every ridge and fold and crevice opened to him, her whole body opened to him, welcoming him home.

The first time he moved, she felt a sense of loss as he withdrew; but the first trickle of pleasure washed it away, and she heard herself moan with the sensation. She felt the release of pressure as his hips backed away from her ass, felt the veins and ridges of his cock as they slid through her snatch. The head was always the best part, large and warm as it was, stimulating her inner walls. Then he thrust again, pushing into her, opening her up, bringing her home, and she felt that she could die of joy. To be here, beneath him, her ass upturned, her lips on his and her lips around his shaft, to have him buried here balls-deep within her--at this moment it seemed to her that there could be no greater joy in life.

And that was just one thrust!

But there were more; there always were. She moaned beneath him as he moved again, and again, and again; soon his pace had accelerated, and she was rocking back to meet his thrusts, their bodies flowing together and apart in a timeless liquid dance. Her head came back, showering her shoulders with hair, and he bent to kiss at her neck and ear. His every movement brought him into new places within her, but every thrust was aimed now at that perfect place, which seemed to make her melt with pleasure; his balls brushed her clit with every thrust, but the feeling of his shaft rubbing slick against that spot inside her seemed to awaken her further. Sometimes he stopped, pushing himself deep within her and remaining there, and at those times she felt the featherbrush sensation of his lips and tongue on her face, his fingers beneath them at her clit, each touch a new wave of pleasure rolling over her. She could feel her body trembling, feel her internal muscles squeezing in instinctive reaction; her whole self was submerged in pleasure, and she could do nothing but ride it out as she was ridden, bucking against him, driving them onwards towards the summit of their pleasure. And then she was there, her body a leaf on the raging current, and the world seemed to drown in a wave of ecstasy, and the only constant was the cock posted inside her, driving her on as her body clenched on him helplessly, and she could not feel the sky.

When she came to, she had collapsed again on the bed, and he was still in her. He was lying on top of her (mmm; just the way she liked it), and she felt the rumble of his voice against the skin of her back. She had grabbed his ass in the throes of her pleasure, and she thought she might have left finger marks.

He was lying there, pleased, kissing her, feeling the ebb and flow of her breath under him, waiting for the awareness to flicker back into her eyes. He had always loved to see her cum, and loved to feel it too; it always seemed especially explosive when he was inside her, but he had no cause to complain. But now he was still within her and aching for release, the pressure heavy in the tip of his cock; he was close, and wasn't sure what to do about it.

Then he felt her muscles contract on him.

It must have shown on his face, because she opened her eyes and gave him a sidelong smile—a smile of seductive promise. He was beginning to ask her when he felt it again—the warm walls of her snatch clenching on him, squeezing him, caressing him. It was nothing he had ever felt, nothing he had ever expected. He was

very

close, he realized... And, he realized, she knew.

The next one took him over the edge.

Again, she knew. She heard his moan, his gasp, heard them cut off mid-way; felt the shudder, the sudden tension in the muscles against her back. And then the groan, and the rush, and his shaft swelling within her, and the way he sagged against her, and the sudden liquid warmth against her walls as his pleasure gushed out to mingle with hers deep inside her, her body cradling them together, her body cradling him as he spurted and clenched and subsided down against her, spent.

She gave a single sigh of contentment as his lips touched hers again. He rolled away from her, and she rolled up to meet him, their bodies curled together like shrimp on a rack. And they slept, cradled against each other, deep in the warm air.