On the Beach

On the Beach

by Chloe Tzang

© 2016 Chloe Tzang. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

This one's a stand-alone story from start to finish. It's a bit different from

"Happy Birthday to Me"

but I hope you all enjoy it reading it as much as I did writing this one. ... Chloe

On the Beach

"Phone for you Barbie. Boo-toe somebody or other." My Petey-bunny was leaning through the door into the garage with my cell phone.

"Huh? Tell them to hang on, I'll be thirty seconds." I rolled myself out from under the car, sat up, looked for that rag. Found it. Wiped my hands. Changing the oil was messy but I liked doing it myself.

"Thanks honey." I took the phone. "Hi, Barbara speaking."

* * * * * * * * * *

"Peter ... Peter ... I got the job! I got the job!" I was squealing with excitement two seconds after I hung up the phone. I'd wanted to squeal the moment they'd told me, but the HR girl had so many questions she wanted answers to. Thirty five minutes later, I could finally squeal freely. My first full-time job! Yes!

"Wow! Hey, that's great! Which job, Barbie?" My husband of two whole years looked up from the couch where he was sitting back watching football and pecking away on his laptops during the ad breaks. He was working from home today. Sometimes it was nice to have him at home. Today was one of those days. Someone to share the good news with instantaneously.

"That interview from last week, the one at Boutot Arms, you know, the ones that make those cool guns I told you about, like, they make one of the best three oh eight semi's around, I didn't think I had a chance, but they just offered me the job and I was like, YES." Wow wow wow wow this was just so cool. A job to die for. Really, I thought I'd bombed that interview. I mean, my degree was in Mechanical Engineering and everything, but really, I'd felt like I was totally under qualified for it. But they'd picked me. ME! Yaaaaaaay.

Oh no! I thought I'd grown out of jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Guess not.

"Barbie, that's just great, when you do you start?" Peter was laughing at me.

"Monday 18th," I said. "A week and a half." I wanted to keep jumping up and down with excitement. Sing and dance. Turn cartwheels or something. This really was my dream job. I'd been applying for jobs since well before I graduated from College. You know how it is. I'd worked like a bitch to get my Mechanical Engineering degree. I'd worked the last two years in an engineering company as a co-op using CAD design software doing two-dimensional drafting and three-dimensional solid design. I had a part-time job in a local gun shop and thanks to my granddad, I'd grown up shooting. Handguns. Rifles. Shotguns. I wasn't a bad shot and I was an NRA Certified Instructor. But still, I really didn't think I'd done that well in that interview.

The guy that had asked me all the questions, Andy somebody or other, he'd been tough. Actually, I'd been surprised to even get an interview at all. I'd seen the position listed on their website, they were looking for a junior design engineer with some experience in 2D and 3D CAD design. I kind of crossed my fingers and hoped my co-op experience and my part-time job and that NRA Instructor qualification and living locally might get me at least an interview, not really expecting they would. The call to come in for an interview had been a surprise. To actually find I'd gotten the job was a bit more than a surprise. It was a shock. An excellently good one.

I'd only graduated a month ago. The interview had been last week. Something had really gone right. Great local company, good starting pay. Actually, far more than I would have dreamt of ever asking for and I hadn't had to ask even. And Boutot Arms was growing. Lots of business. Demand outstripping supply. Every time some politician said "gun control", the orders surged in - they had an enormous backlog. In the interview, they'd asked if I minded getting my hands dirty working on the factory floor helping out on overtime. I told them what I'd been doing at the gun shop. Out the back, repairing guns. Getting my hands dirty. They asked me what tools I used. You name it, I'd been doing it. I loved it. Maybe it was that hands-on experience that swung me the job. God knows I had the enthusiasm.

With Peter's job and me now working, we could finally look forward to buying that house instead of leasing. Life was looking up. Although honestly, it hadn't been bad since I'd met Peter. He'd been in his final year when I'd been a freshman. We'd started dating just about right after we'd met, he'd graduated, got a good job locally, he'd proposed. I'd said yes without a second thought. We'd married when I was nineteen. My parents hadn't objected, although they thought I was a little too young. His parents hadn't objected either, although they'd thought he was a bit young too. But we won his parents round and as for mine - well, what parents of a Chinese girl would object to her marrying an Accountant? Not only that, his parents and mine spoke the same dialect. Game over.

That first year of marriage had been wonderful. Peter was handsome. He was Chinese, like me. A bit taller than me, fit, smart, a good sense of humor. Good in bed too, as I found out very quickly after we married. And yes, I was a virgin when we married. I'd always been a good Chinese girl. No going all the way until we were married, although before we were married I got really good at blowjobs. I intended staying a virgin until we married but that didn't mean I wasn't going to satisfy my fiancée. At least. not once we were engaged and I had that ring on my finger. I liked giving Peter blowjobs. And yes, I swallowed, okay, so don't ask. Right from the first blowjob I ever gave him, which was also my first blowjob ever, incidentally. He

was

my fiancée and I loved him. I wanted him to be happy.

Peter had been very happy.

He'd been even happier after we married. So had I. Peter had finally gotten what he wanted. Me. I'd gotten what I'd been looking forward to since our engagement. Peter making love to me. It'd been wonderful. That first night, he'd made love to me seven times. Seven different positions. Including me on top. That was the first time I climaxed as well. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I wished I'd found out what sex was like before - I wouldn't have waited until we were married. Whatever. I could hardly walk the next morning. I'd been embarrassed, my girlfriends had laughed; his friends had slapped his back as I limped in for that wedding breakfast. He got blow jobs again for the next few days. Until I could walk comfortably again anyhow. But after that, the sex had been wonderful.

I mean, just because I'd been a good girl and stayed a virgin until we married didn't mean that once we were married it was going to be boring sex. I was conservative, I wasn't silly, and once I'd actually experienced it, I found that yes, I liked sex. I REALLY liked sex. Lots and lots of sex. Having tasted heaven, I was willing. More than willing. And Peter was an enthusiastic husband, willing and eager to work diligently at satisfying his wife. As a good wife, I offered him every encouragement and more than enthusiastic cooperation. I was a good student myself. Over that first year of marriage, we did our best to work through every position imaginable, as well as working our way around the apartment giving the furniture, such as it was, a hard time. If there'd been chandeliers, I'm sure we have tried doing it while swinging from them.

I liked being Mrs. Kiu. Barbara Kiu. Just the sound of my new married name made me feel hot!

Over the last year, I'd been a little disappointed to find we were making love less than we had been. From two and sometimes three times in a night, and often as soon as we both got home as well, I now found that after two years of marriage, we made love once a night at best. Sometimes, to my disappointment, we'd miss a night, or even two despite my best efforts to arouse and excite my husband. But when we did make love, it was still good. And we loved each other very much.

Sometimes I wondered if marrying when we did had put too much pressure on Peter. Maybe we should have waited until after I'd graduated and started work. Money hadn't really been an issue, but it had been tight. We'd managed but we'd had to budget and Peter had worked overtime whenever he could for the extra money. We were just lucky his company still paid overtime when so many didn't. But now I too had a job. A good job.

Maybe this was a good time to take a short vacation?

Peter had vacation time owing. I had a week and a half before I started my new job and nothing much to do before then. Why not? It'd be good for both of us. Maybe the Caribbean. I'd been there with my parents when I was a teenager. Not that long ago. I'd loved it. Beaches. Sand. Sea. Sun. To me, it sounded like a plan. Especially if we added something that hadn't been on my teenage vacation agenda. Sex. Lots and lots of sex. Speaking of which, I could finish changing the oil later. Right now there was something else I wanted serviced. I flipped the TV off. Fuck football. I'd much rather my husband fucked me.

"Hey!" Peter protested.

"Hey yourself." I unzipped my overalls, stepped out of them, kicked my panties the rest of the way off; swung myself onto the couch to kneel astride him. "We've got a week and a half before I start my new job, I've still got some money in the bank, let's take a vacation." I kissed him, started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, what did you have in mind?" His hands were sliding up my thighs.

Good. He was forgetting all about that silly football game. Honestly, what was so interesting about a bunch of dumbass's kicking a piece of inflated leather around a field of plastic grass and running into each other. I peeled my bra off. That'd give him something far more interesting to look at. And kiss. And suck on. You couldn't do that to a football. Well, you could I guess, but why would you?

"Ooooooohhh." He did. To me, not a football.

"Ohhhhh Jesus, yes." I loved it when he pushed two fingers inside me like that.

"Uuuggghhhhh." God it was suddenly so hard to think. Especially when he did that thing inside me with his fingers twisting and pressing in just the right place. He had me on the verge of climaxing right then and there. "How...how ... how .. how .. about a week in the Carribbean," I squeaked, "some is .. is .. island. Beaches. Swimming. S-s-s-s-suuuuunnnghhh."

"Sex and debauchery," Peter laughed, rolling me onto my back, pushing his shorts down.

"Lots and lots of sex and debauchery," I gasped as he moved between my legs, spreading them eagerly for him, my hand looking for his cock, guiding it to where I wanted him.

"Tiny bikini's and fucking my honey-bunny on the beach," he breathed, his cock right on target.

"A nude beach," I moaned, "so you can look at me lying naked on the sand. Put it in me for god's sake ... Please Petey-bunny ... please fuck me..."

"And then I'll get so excited I won't be able to hold myself back from fucking you," he breathed, entering me gently, sliding all the way up inside me. Bull's eye! God, that felt so good. He didn't stay gentle though, not once he was all inside me. "In front of everyone..."

"Uuughhhhhhh," I said. "Uuughhhh ... ughhhhh ...ughhhhhh." I loved it when he fucked me hard. He kept on fucking me hard. Further conversation became more or less impossible as his cock pounded into me. When he got going like that, I'd quite happily have let him fuck me in front of everyone. Anyone. Whatever... Just keep doing that to me!

Fast and hard. I liked that a lot. I liked that so much. My hands slid down, grabbed his butt, pulled him into me, encouraging him, revelling in what he was doing to me. I climaxed far too quickly, arching up beneath him as his cock slammed into me, driving me down into the couch as I clung to him, my body awash with my own fulfilment. When he came, I welcomed his spurting culmination, enjoying that flooding eruption within me.

Afterwards. After he'd finished, lying on me, still inside me, he'd murmured, "why don't you book that vacation honey, I'll book the time off tomorrow."

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days later, Friday midday, we were in Miami standing on the airport parking lot or whatever it was called looking at a small twin-engined turbo-prop Twin Otter that was going to fly us to some place called Sweetwater Cay, down in the Bahama's.

"What the heck's this?" Peter eyed the plane suspiciously.

"It's a Twin Otter," I'd told him, sounding as if I knew what I was talking about. Okay, I'd looked it up on the internet when I was booking. "They build them up in Canada, it's designed for short takeoffs and landings. This place we're going too, its way out there, it only has this little private airstrip. And these aircraft, they can land anywhere. Look at those big balloon tires; they can even land on a beach." Okay, keep in mind, I AM a mechanical engineer. I love these details. Peter's an accountant. A numbers kind of guy. And okay, he's a good cook too. But he's just not into stuff like this. Spreadsheets and accounting software, that's his thing.

"Uhhh, Barbie, honey, just where did you say you booked us into?" He sounded nervous.

"It's a lovely little island," I said enthusiastically. "It's a really small private resort, there's only one flight in and out every day, and this is it. Don't sweat honey, I did all the research."

"That's kind of what's worrying me." Peter was sweating as we climbed into the small aircraft.

I hoped he wasn't going to bring up that camping trip I'd organized last year again. It'd only been a small bear looking into our tent. And I'd only shot it after the bear spray didn't work. It wasn't like they prosecuted me or anything. And the bear skin did look nice on the floor in our apartment. I just wished Peter didn't twitch every time he came near it. I'd told him it was bear country. I'd

told

him not to bring food into the tent, but no, he just had to sneak in that midnight snack. That poor bear had wanted a midnight snack as well, only, once he saw us, his idea of a snack was fresh meat, not chocolate ...

If only Peter hadn't screamed so much, that bear might have left. The bear spray might've worked if Peter had just kept quiet, but no, he'd had to scream and scream. It's not like I'd wanted to shoot it, but I preferred to not be a bear's midnight snack ... Ah well, the Ranger had been so understanding, Peter had only got a lecture on not letting your wife bring food into the tent, they'd even told me I was lucky to have such a capable husband who could protect me against a bear when I was silly enough to bring food into our tent in bear country. Oh well. Water under the bridge.

I still wanted to make love on that bearskin rug though.

The plane was small. I'd known that when I booked. Nineteen seats. A one and two configuration. Peter actually counted all the seats. I smiled. My numbers guy. He was so sweet. We were right up near the front where one of us could see through the hatch into the cockpit and past the pilot. Actually, we were right behind the pilots. I'd made sure of that when I booked. There was no cockpit door on this aircraft. Too small. I wanted to make sure I got to see everything. Peter looked a little pale as I urged him into the window seat. There were another dozen passengers. Plus the pilot and co-pilot. All the luggage went into the cargo hold. No overhead bins. Small.

"Are you sure this plane's safe?" Peter asked as the co-pilot shut the door at the rear of the cabin. The Pilot started the engines up. I loved the sound of those turbo-props.

"What's that?" Peter jumped, looking around. "There's something wrong with the engines. They don't sound right."

"It's a Twin Otter, Peter." I patted his knee. "Relax, it's a turbo-prop, not a jet. It sounds different."

"Not a jet?" He sounded panicky as the engines wound up, the little plane jerked, started taxiing across the airfield as the co-pilot walked past us. "Why isn't he up there? Where's the door into the cockpit?"

"Peter, have you ever flown on a small plane before?" We never had together, I'd just sort of assumed he had. I mean, I had, back when I'd done skydiving in my last year at High School. What a buzz. It'd been awesome. Even more of a buzz than bungee jumping. Peter had just about had a heart attack watching me bungee jumping that time. He'd point blank refused to do it himself. He'd been white as a sheet when I came back up. Even my wet t-shirt hadn't brought the blood back to his cheeks. Oh well. One of these days I'd find some kind of outdoor adventure he liked. Maybe on this vacation?

"No. I. Have. Never. Flown. On. A. Plane. This. Small." Honestly, he was so uptight sometimes.

"Uh, Peter honey, just relax, this is perfectly safe." Okay, I could see this was going to be an interesting flight. I giggled. "It's not like you gotta jump out of this plane."

Peter paled further. I'd never seen a white Chinese before. Kind of an interesting look.

The intercom squawked. "This is Jeremy, your Pilot, speaking, I've finished reading the instruction manual and I think I more or less know what we're doing, so we're taking of now Ladies and Gentlemen, next stop, Sweetwater Cay. Hang on to your hats..."

The little plane's engines roared, we leapt forward, straight of the concrete and onto the grass.

The intercom squawked again. "Oooops ..." Peter screamed, covering his head with his arms. "...Naaaah, just kidding folks, we got cleared to use the grass, but we gotta stay outa the way of the big boys so when we're in the air, we're gonna do a sharp bank to the right before we head out to sea. If anyone back there sees a jet coming our way, sing out and let me know so we can dodge around it, okay?... just kidding folks, honest..."

Peter was as white as a sheet.

We bounced a couple of times and then we were in the air. Peter had his head down by his knees, whimpering. I grabbed his collar, pulled him back up. "LookattheviewPeterisn'titamazing." I was just about climbing over him as we rocketed into the air. Peter sat up just in time to look out the window as we banked right hard, the little plane standing on its side, the wingtip looking as if it was going to brush the grass. He screamed again, clutching at the armrests. He really did look almost as white as the gweilo guy sitting in the single seat to my left, looking at us and grinning.

"Fuck... fuck ... fuck ..." Peter sounded a little shaken as the pilot leveled us off.

"Okay folks, we're in the air, heading out to sea. Fred here'll come thru with some refreshments in a minute, we sure do hope you enjoy your tranquil scenic flight with Sweetwater Air."

"What did you do to us this time, Barbie?" Peter really was panicking. "Where are we going?"

The guy in the seat across the aisle grinned, passed me a hip flask. "Give him a shot of this Miss, it'll help him get back to normal... or maybe just relax a bit."

"Thanks'," I said gratefully, taking the hip flask, unscrewing the top and holding it to my Petey-bunny's mouth. He took it and drank automatically. I heard him spluttering behind me as I turned back to the gweilo, extended my hand across the narrow little aisle. "Hi, I'm Barbie, Mrs. Barbara Kiu, we're staying at Sweetwater until next Saturday. This is my husband, Peter."

He took my hand, a gentle clasp. You could feel the strength there though. "Hi Barbie, pleased to meet you. I'm Nick, Nick Smith. Me too, staying at Sweetwater that is." He looked at my husband, still spluttering, still pale. "Tell you what, keep the flask until we're on the ground. He's going to need another snort when we land."