1. Cock-baiting.
It was hot. Like, way
too
hot. And out there on the water it was beginning to get a little worrying. The sun cream was protecting her already bronzing skin from the midday sun, but she was glistening with sweat and getting a little flustered. It wouldn't be too long before she began to feel ill. As Emma rounded the last outcrop of rocks in the motorboat, the welcoming sight of a small cove surrounded by trees sprang into view.
That's the next few hours sorted!
With a little effort, she pulled her boat aground on the cove's hot sands and took her towel and bag to the shaded bit of the beach. As she began to unpack her satchel was when she heard the voices.
The break up with Mark had been hard on Emma. They'd been together for a long time, over ten years, so the sudden transition to single-dom had been scary territory. Nearly six months had passed and though it was getting easier, she was far from over it. Naturally, as time went on, slight chinks in Mark's glimmering armour began to appear. Some things she came to recognise for herself (the vanity, the inability to take criticism, the ignorance) and some things she'd had to be told straight. Apparently Mark had been about as faithful as a stray cat. Initially heartbreaking, over time this discovery had become more irritating than upsetting. That the bastard had got one over on her was now simply
annoying
. Mark had tried several times to win her back, but with the help of her closest, she'd stayed strong and was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
She needed a holiday. Convincing her friend Amanda to accompany her, the two of them booked a five star trip to the Dominican Republic. Amanda had been before and swore by it; promising fantastic weather, fantastic nightlife and fantastic men. And she hadn't been wrong. Just lying on the beach was like a front row seat at a Chippendales show. The amount of beefy hunkage on show was incredible..
Amanda had been chatting to one of these beefcakes and Emma had been left alone at the loungers, soaking up the rays. She always went a bronzey colour pretty much straight away thanks to her Romanesque complexion and this time was no disappointment. Furthermore, and for reasons she couldn't quite fathom (although in truth, it probably had something to do with the fact that her confidence was gaining momentum), Emma was hitting the beach wearing skimpier and skimpier clothing. That morning she was in the smallest bikini she had ever seen (let alone
worn
). It was a gorgeous silk red that barely contained her supple, sweating breasts. Her dark, protruding nipples were all but on show, poking up, straining to get out. The fabric against them was heavenly. They were crying out, screaming to be touched. And the bottom half? Well, regular waxing was essential! Emma's luscious, triangular mound strained beneath that divine fabric, as though her entire pussy had been laminated in silk. The G-string at the back rode high into the sumptuous bronze cheeks of her ass. She loved laying on her front for a few minutes to watch from behind dark glasses as the admiring gazes flooded in. No wonder Amanda wanted to take that beefcake elsewhere to chat! Pre-break up, Emma would never even entertain the idea of such behaviour. Now it just seemed like she couldn't help herself.
Cock-baiting was fun, but left alone for so long (and with nobody brave enough to come and speak to her) she decided she'd hire one of those motorboats she'd seen a few days before and do a little coastal recon. She sent Amanda a text to let her know she was off to find adventure elsewhere.
2. A bit of eavesdropping.
She was like a naughty schoolgirl. A nosey little busy-body. A peeping-Tom. With excitement and trepidation in her stomach, Emma peered from behind the trees at the small party of people gathered a few feet ahead of her in the tiny, rocky clearing. It was a photo-shoot, complete with model, photographer and lighting technician, with a few various other people standing around with apparently undefined roles. The shoot was already underway, with the photographer dishing out various, indiscernible instructions and snapping away with his camera seemingly at random. Emma's eyes were drawn immediately to the model; an incredibly good-looking, uber-fit, 6 feet plus black guy wearing nothing but a pair of very small, very tight and very revealing swimming trunks. Even from here, at over 30 yards away, Emma could see he was packing some serious hardware in there.
Briefly, her thoughts skipped to Mark and his envy of the fabled size of black men's penises. It was a huge generalisation, she knew, but that was how Mark thought; in huge generalisations, and right now this particular generalisation was under no threat whatsoever.
The snapping, smiling and posing went on for about another 10 minutes and , having done quite enough admiring for now, Emma was about to make her way carefully back to her boat, when she caught the words that rooted her to the spot. Either the light breeze relented in its rustling of the palm trees for a second or there was a momentary break in the lapping sea behind her, but for the briefest of times, she heard some actual words.
'Okay, Kyle- let's do the nudes', the photographer casually announced.
Emma's heart rate went up several notches and her stomach did a small somersault.
As she digested the photographer's words, as the flicker of excitement had barely built in her stomach; the model; Kyle, peeled off those ridiculously small trunks unabashedly. There was a perceptible gasp on the set as the he revealed his arsenal.
Emma's eyes went wide with disbelief and her face flushed red. His cock was like nothing she'd ever seen; a huge, meaty black baton that seemed to fall to his knees.
She was mesmerised. '
