A Valentine's contest entry from me, not that I expect much from this piece, but contest entries get put up quicker than regular submissions. This one started after I had the good fortune to be behind a hottie in a pink bikini as we walked along the beach the other week. It wasn't intentional, she just happened to be on a walk from one end of the beach to the other and I happened to be behind her. I got to thinking, and ...
Thus the embryonic scene was born. I started writing and it just got out of control. I added the blonde to the mix and then the nympho second sister-in-law came along.
Then it got messy.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the piece that I ended up with. It's a tad unbelievable, and I usually try to maintain an element of realism in the stuff I do, but I thought to hell with it and just filled my boots.
I appreciate feedback of the constructive kind. If you don't like a particular aspect of the scene then let me know. Also, if you particularly enjoyed the piece then I'd like to know that too.
There are likely to be typos and maybe errors in the text, if there are then please forgive me; I hope any fuck-ups don't detract too much from your enjoyment.
If you do send feedback, it can be by PM on Lit, Public Comment below, or email. If you want a reply or response then email is best -- but give me an address, I can't reply to anonymous.
OK, here it is.
GA -- Langkawi, Malaysia -- 20th of January 2013.
One -- The Bikini Princess
Four months had passed since I'd last seen her, my princess in her pink bikini. I'd missed her more than I'd have expected from a holiday romance -- if what we got up to could be called romance -- but the day had arrived at last, the day I'd see her again, all of her, lithe and naked and smiling. My cock swelled at the mere thought of the night that awaited me. It was February 14th, Valentine's day, and I was standing at the arrivals gate in the south terminal of London's Gatwick airport waiting for her to come through the doors.
Our meeting had been unconventional to say the least. I'd been on an extended trip around the world while Katia had been on a three week holiday with her family. I'd been sitting on a rocky outcrop between two beaches on an island in the Andaman Sea when I saw her and another woman -- who I'd discover was Katia's sister-in-law, one of them anyway -- approaching.
When they passed me the older one said something to the girl, who then glanced at me sitting there on the rocks. She giggled and muttered something to her older companion, something that made them both laugh. I shrugged to myself and watched their arses jiggle in their bikini briefs as they walked further along the beach, with my attention focussed on the younger one in bright pink.
It was another scorcher of a day, expected in this corner of South East Asia, and there were a fair number of sunbathers laid along the shore in varying hues from blue-white, lobster-red to mahogany-brown.
I sat on the rocks a few feet from the Andaman Sea, lulled by the rhythmic shush of the waves as they rolled onto the sands, breaking with effervescent regularity. I had little to do, an article to write, five thousand words, not too difficult, so I sat there and day-dreamed dirty thoughts about the two women in their bikinis.
As they receded into the middle distance towards the rocky, impassable outcropping at the far end of the beach, I wondered if I'd caught them on the return leg of their walk or if they'd pass by my position again. I looked forward in hope to the latter, especially since I wouldn't mind another look at the younger girl's backside in her pink bikini briefs. The older of the pair, a woman I'd estimated quickly to be in her early thirties was a cutie as well -- nice round boobs, quite big as they bulged in her bikini top, blonde hair pinned up so as not to spoil her suntan, slim and trim and tanned -- but it was the other one I had the hots for the most. I'd put her at about eighteen or nineteen, another blonde but with smaller tits, and hips that swayed with that oh-so-feminine roll as she walked away from me. There had been something in her eyes too, a hint of mischief that told me she was very probably a dirty bitch in bed.
Twenty minutes later, as a couple of jet-skis bounced past, their hulls slapping down onto the surface of the water, rooster tails of spray jetting from their rear ends, I saw the two women approaching.
"Morning, ladies," I said from my perch on the rocks.
They both stopped and the older one said something in a language I couldn't understand. Russian, I thought. The woman repeated her obla-bobla-kasputnik at me and walked on.
"Good morning," the younger one said in a heavy accent. She grinned at me from behind her sunglasses and gave a waggle of her fingers as she walked on after the older babe.
I saw them that evening as I passed by one of the myriad restaurants along the busy tourist strip. They were part of a group of seven. It looked like a family group to me: a couple who appeared to be in their sixties -- mother and father I deduced -- along with two men who bore a resemblance to the old man and had to be his sons. There were the two women I'd seen on the beach as well as another woman with long, dark hair and a facial expression that could curdle milk. In fact everybody looked a little glum as they sat there, with nobody speaking, nobody smiling.
The younger girl saw me and nudged the thirty-something blonde she'd been with on the beach. The girl waved and the blonde smiled shyly. The dark-haired woman caught the girl's wave, looked at me, and scowled.
Thank fuck she wasn't included in the morning stroll along the beach -- the sour-faced twat.
The next day, just on the off-chance, at the same time as previously, I was back on the rock wondering if the women would be making an appearance.
It wasn't very busy that day, the overcast sky keeping the beach bunnies close to their hotels and dorms in the hostels along the strip. One or two were out on their towels, die-hards who lay out on the sand if there was even a hint of a chance that the sun might make an appearance; but apart from the sprinkle of sunbathers I practically had the beach to myself.
It didn't look like my luck was in. Maybe they'd gone home, their holiday ended? Perhaps that was the reason for their long faces at the restaurant the previous night? Ah well, I decided. Never mind. It would have been nice to have clocked their lithe figures again, especially that girl's arse in her pink bikini.
I'd just decided to head along to one of the bars for a cold beer, it was just past eleven in the morning so I didn't count it as being too early for a cold one, but then I saw two figures in the distance. At first they were too far away to recognise, but I saw one was wearing a pink bikini and I began to hope.
As they drew closer I could see it was definitely them, the same pair as the previous day.
"Good morning, ladies," I said as they drew level, a shit-eating grin plastered stupidly to my grid.
They both stopped and the older one gave it the booble-vladivar talk again.
"Good morning," pink bikini replied.
The older one said something to the girl, cast me a look as though I'd just taken a shit right on the sand in front of her, and walked away.
I blinked and stared after the woman. "Something I said?" I asked the girl.
Pink bikini looked at me for a moment before glancing at the other woman. Her forehead creased as she returned her attention back to me. "I don't understand," she said slowly, as though English was a recent acquisition for her.
I pointed at the woman walking away from us. "She ... doesn't ... seem ... very ... happy," I responded slowly.
The girl tossed her head and I assumed she rolled her eyes, which I couldn't see because of her sunglasses. "She is not." The girl made a slicing motion with one forefinger over the other, rubbing them together several times. "She have fight with her husband. All the time they argue. Is nothing new." She gave a shrug as though the woman was always pissed off. The girl slipped the shades into her hair. She looked at me intently for several disconcerting seconds with pale blue eyes. "Where you from?" she asked.
"England," I replied.
"I am Russian." The girl eyed me, her head tilted. "Alone?" she asked. "Wife in hotel?"
"Alone," I confirmed. "No wife."
