By Paris Waterman
Exceptionally edited by Barney-70
This is not Tolstoy, or George R. R. Martin; it's a stroke story. Hopefully, it's passably written, but it is by design a stroke story, no more and certainly not less. I hope you like it and rush to tell your friends. PW
Chapter 1
10:45 AM Tuesday
The azure sea was sparkling calm and flat at the honeymoon resort in Puntarenas, Costa Rica as Mark looked over the pool through his telescope. The dark-haired girl with the fantastic body he was watching was climbing out of the pool and waked to a deck chair then leaned over-exposing most of her huge breasts to him before sprawling out in indolent repose, in the deck chair. The white bikini she wore seemed molded to her body. The resort allowed the skimpiest of bathing attire in the adult section, and what she had on barely met that criteria; in fact it might have been cause for the hotel to object were it not for the fact that they permitted women to go topless as long as they didn't strut about flaunting their charms to one and all causing guests to complain—none had, or would, but management felt comfortable having signage in Spanish requesting consideration of others in this regard.
And while the young woman was far from naked, she looked as if she were exactly that. The sight of her lean figure and over-sized breasts in a skimpy top and even sexier thong striding towards the deckchair in her high-heeled sandals was breathtaking. The diminutive triangle narrowed into a narrow strand that disappeared between the split curves of her high set buttocks and left bare the sleek contours of her long haunches, and the sheer perfection of her tight-cheeked young bottom.
Mark refocused the telescope as she settled into the deckchair and put on a floppy black hat, and then leaning forward did that seemingly impossible move women have perfected by reaching behind her and undoing the hook or knot that held the top up and let it slide down her left arm and settle on the ground beneath the chair. Gloriously topless now, she paused, straightened up in her chair, and with shoulders back, head erect, chin held high, her huge breasts were fully exposed to the warmth of the sun's rays and warm summer air.
Mark rubbed his groin in appreciation. A sixtyish bald-headed man spilled his drink down his hairy chest while watching her. A married couple--well the wife, anyway, hauled her husband away to the bar after he made a comment to her about the girl.
It was now 10:50 AM--a bit early for cocktails, even in Costa Rica.
An ache of intense longing came over Mark as he stared into the telescope, as the girl took a deep breath and her entire chest heaved upward. The up-tilted nipples, stirred by their sudden exposure to the moist sea air, seemed to be stiffening as he looked down at her from the fifth floor Honeymoon Suite he shared with his new bride, Marcie.
The dark-haired girl slid her hands up and lightly passed them over her naked breasts as she reached for the sky to stretch back languidly in a luxurious feline stretch, as if offering up her tremendous breasts to the life-giving sun. She held the pose for a good thirty seconds, then as a dreamy expression settled on her face, she slowly eased back into the chair, to rest back on splayed elbows. She wiggled her hips; her long tanned legs unfolded and sprawled carelessly in a loose vee. Her provocative nipples jutted out screaming for attention, and her lips curled into a blissfully contented smile.
Mark had grown accustomed to using the telescope he'd brought with him from Florida when in their villa; for he had, thanks to his bride, developed strong voyeuristic tendencies. He loved watching people, predominantly females who they had no idea they were being observed. Marcie had proved invaluable in this--knowing he was watching--approaching an unsuspecting woman and getting them to assume provocative poses while he looked on. It was a game she delighted in and he readily accepted it for he was a natural voyeur and she ever the exhibitionist.
He justified this perversion by convincing himself it helped understand women and their hidden desires; and to a certain extent he was correct in this. Of course, being able to observe someone when they are unaware of it does reveal many things about them that are ordinary disguised in one way or another.
But Mark had been watching this particular female from close up as well as from his room window. She was accompanied by a young man who was either her husband or boyfriend. They acted like honeymooners some of the time, and petulant children at other times.
"Are you watching her again, darling?" Marcie asked as she returned from the bathroom shower. She was nude; it was her style, her 'honeymoon fashion' she called it; as she sidled up against him, careful not to jar the scope and change his mood.
"I am she's wearing a white bikini today. She looks fabulous."
"Hmmm, you didn't say that when I wore my white bikini, Darling," she said peevishly.
"But I ate you out of the damned thing, didn't I?" he said defensively.
"You did, didn't you?" Marcie conceded, recalling the wonderful orgasm he'd bestowed upon her.
"Let me see this bikini you're so taken with."
He shifted over making room for her to sit beside him and after determining the focus was still correct surrendered the telescope to her.
"Ohhh, she's showing off, the little tramp!"
"What's she doing?"
"She's getting up. Aw, she's putting her top back on. Ohhh, she's leaving!" There was a selfish glee in her tone, and Mark picked up on it.
"Shit! I was ..."
"I know, Markie; you were going to jerk off watching her and then beg me to get you up again for a matinee screw."
"I never said any such..."
"Such thing, yeah, I know, but that's what you were thinking, admit it," as the words left her mouth she began dry humping his right thigh. Her cunt was wet from both showering and her excitement over the possibility of getting her newlywed husband hard enough for their third fuck of the day.
He groaned as she increased her humping, leaving a slug-like trial of her juices on his thigh that would remain there long enough to dry as they moved into other sexual activities.
"That's not fair, Marcie. I'm always thinking about getting it on with you."
She laughed and said, "It must be true that old saying."
"What old saying?"
"You know that men think about sex every seven seconds, no matter what the situation."
He laughed, and then said, "You have a valid point. I'm not sure about the seven seconds, but ... often enough."
Marcie was still humping his leg like a dog in heat, and he attempted to ignore her by swinging the barrel of the telescope around and caught sight of the girl in the white bikini returning to her deck chair by the hotel's sumptuous pool.
