Tags: BDSM, Fsub, Mdom, Bondage, Denial, Teasing, Oral, Blowjob, Cum swallow, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism
October has come around quickly. The heat of summer eases quickly from early September, and the cooler air invites storms and rainfall that the ground so badly needs. The barren looking landscapes are secretly hiding so much life, just waiting for the rain to release it. In the space of 2 weeks the dusty land becomes covered with thick patches of vegetation. I look forward to the start of the rain and storms. I know the transformation that it brings.
My visits to the Beach's villa had changed too. I'd been timidly avoiding the villa, especially alone, since first seeing Jane exposed the way she was. I was relatively young, and definitely inexperienced. It was a lot to take in. But those images ran through my mind every single day. Seeing Jorge with Jane had changed things further. I knew I could trust him. I knew I was safe with him. I knew that it would remain private - as private as sex in the open air, with an audience, can ever be at least.
I was visiting the villa frequently now. Almost every week I found a reason to go. There were rules - mostly unspoken - and we all fell quite easily into our different roles.
I remember one of my last visits. A storm had very suddenly opened up, seemingly right above the villa. Rain pelted down, hard and fast, and the four of us dashed indoors. I remember Jane standing just inside the glass doors of the family room. She was almost a shadow, just a silhouette for a moment. Mr Beach, Jorge and I all faced her, each with our own thoughts in that moment. She bowed her head very slightly, as though she was sensing the mood change the way an animal senses it's become prey.
Mr Beach led her into the space between the sofas. He's very gentle with her, but there is an air of expectation. He simply places his hand on the small of her back and they step forward together. Jorge and I created a space without a word.
"Undress for us". Mr Beach spoke sparingly in these situations. I could feel the tension in myself and in the room. Anticipation. Words were barely necessary.
Jane removed her clothes easily, and was naked under her shirt and shorts. I think she seldom wore underwear, and it had occurred to me that she was probably always available at a moment's notice. The idea of living like that - ready, and even more so that people KNOW you were ready - was thrilling to me.
"Undress Jorge"
Jorge stepped forward and blocked part of my view. He pinched the front of his own t-shirt and held it away from his chest. An unspoken instruction. Jane didn't pause but simply stepped closer and pulled his shirt over his head. A smooth, well practiced movement. His presence dwarfed Jane. They were opposites - him tall and muscular front of her short and slim frame. Jane dropped her hands to his shorts and opened them with both hands, sliding them over his hips and ass until they fell to the floor under their own weight.
They were both gorgeous, but in opposite ways. She's feminine, delicate, fine, and naturally a beauty. He's big, powerful, muscular and handsome (in a rough way). They stand there naked and unashamed, both of them knowing what was to come.
Mr Beach crossed the room and brought a large cushion - MY cushion - which he dropped on the rug in front of me. We were both to watch, but our roles were not the same. I knelt carefully on the cushion and sat back on my heels. Mr Beach sat on the sofa, on the other side of Jane and Jorge, facing me in the gap between these two strikingly naked people.
Jorge drew Jane towards himself, turning her in the process so that her backside pressed against his thighs and hips. His hand drew up across her hip, over her belly, between her breasts, until it rested lightly on her throat. Not grasping, but holding and controlling Jane's body. A slow skimming movement. Jane's breath caught in her throat as his hand rose, and her nipples visibly stiffened as his arm brushed over her on it's journey.
Jorge's other hand was resting on her right hip. I could just barely see the back of his hand as he moved it across her abdomen and down towards her crotch. He moves so slowly. I imagine the feel of his rough hands on her silky skin. I imagine the feel on my skin too. He's caressing her, and while her husband watches. While we both watch.
Jane's hips start to rock. Jorge's fingers have found her lower lips. Stroking through her. Opening her. Spreading her own wetness from its source up to her bud. He spends minutes like this. Taking his time. Holding her in place against him. Teasing from her the reactions he wants. No rush or pressure, but the certain knowledge that he WILL get those reactions from her.
I remain kneeling. Fully dressed, albeit in a t-shirt and shorts. My hands rest on my thighs, palms down. There's a pressure in my chest, which builds as they stand in front of me. My own nipples are as stiff as Jane's. The heat between my thighs is as hot as hers. I know that if I were to touch myself I would already be soaking.
Jorge's steady, slow exploration of Jane continues. It'd been minutes that felt like hours. He's leading her upwards. Bringing her gradually closer to a release that we all know she will not reach. There's a delicious cruelty to it, amongst the care he shows her. He never gives her that release. He stops his movements, allowing brief moments for her body to uncoil itself. And then he begins again. With each renewal her movements quickly become more erratic - hips twitching and pushing forwards, her breath unsteady and sharp in her chest. She knows she won't be released. I think she doesn't even want the release anymore, or at least not as much as she wants the feeling of balancing precariously on that edge.
