Lost In Paradise

He watched her sitting on the towel, struggling to rub the sunblock on her back, then approached her. "Forgive me for I am so forward, but may I help you with that?" When she hesitated, he said, "I won't do anything you are not wanting of me. This sun can be hard on the skin of the tourist."

"How do you know I'm a tourist?" she asked, deciding on a leap of faith and handing him the bottle as he knelt beside her. This was the man she'd been watching plunge in and out of the soft waves, tan and robust, about 40, like her. Except she, admittedly, was not robust. She felt wan in spirit as well as skin, recently divorced from a distant husband, on her own for the first time in 16 years.

"Ah, but you are pale, yes?" asked the man, gently rubbing the lotion across her shoulders. "I am Marcel."

"Lara." His touch felt good. The hot sun had apparently readied her senses, and it had been a long time since she'd been touched more than in cursory hugs from family.

He slid her bikini straps down, left them there as he continued rubbing down her back and sides. "How long are you here? You are not free yet?" He motioned to a group of women not far away, laying in the sun bare-chested.

"A month or two. What do you mean, free?" Lara thought at first he was referring to her divorce.

"Women here go free of suits," he said. "Especially women as beautiful as you." Though she'd kept fit, she was taken aback by the comment. But Marcel had continued, talking about the local customs, about blending into the land, the sun, the sea. "Communing," as he put it. He had finished with the lotion on her back and she thought of asking him to put some on her legs, though she'd already lotioned there. Just then he grasped her hand and pulled. "Come with me to swim!" he enthused, and she did. They swam and dunked and splashed, and Marcel slapped her behind a few times in an impromptu game of tag. He was virile, excited and spirited. Lara found herself giggling and easily joining in his enthusiasm. She felt a weight lift.

When some of Marcel's friends showed up, he introduced her as "my luscious Lara" and they all swam into the deeper water, talking and laughing. When they returned to shallow water she allowed herself a long game of "pollo," riding Marcel's shoulders and trying to dislodge a young man from another's shoulders. She enjoyed her thighs clamped around Marcel's head and chest and sides, his arms gripping her legs-when he wasn't pushing at his opponent.

They finally said their goodbyes to his friends as Lara claimed she had to go eat. Marcel squeezed her ass as she came out of the warm sea.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked, pleased but not sure if she should be offended.

"Because your ass is so delicious, like the rest of your body. And you like it, no?"

"I suppose so," Lara said, smiling, pulling on her beach shirt, a thin flowery style that hung mid-thigh. She gathered her towel and lotion.

"There are many ways I can touch you and you would like," Marcel said matter-of-factly. Lara felt a heat deep down. "Shall we eat?" he asked.

She hadn't expected him to go with her. "I have to shower and change."

"Nonsense. This is a beach community and it is daylight. Indeed, you have less sand and more clothing than most." He flicked at her shirt, in doing so nudging her nipple, which immediately stood out, electrified.

"Okay," she assented.

Marcel put his arm around her waist and guided her past the towel drop at the cabanas. "Leave the lotion as well; it will be here tomorrow, no?" He took her to an outdoor hide-away not far from the beach. As they ate, it became increasingly crowded around the tiny tables and they had to sit more and more closely together. Lara thrilled at the heat of Marcel's arm and his thigh pressing against her amid the din of strangers, many speaking different languages.

"Eat this," Marcel ordered her a few times, putting some delicious morsel or another to her lips. After the second or third time, he didn't even use a fork, only his fingers, so that Lara was tasting them along with the delicious food. Soon, he left his fingers to linger on her lips, tracing them. Lara felt the urge to bite them, to suck them, shocking herself. How long had it been since she'd had any urge? How long since she had felt anything? But wasn't this the point of her trip, to shed her old closed-off, unattended self? She gave in and licked his fingers the next time he presented them. He kept them in her mouth, easing them in and out. He moaned and the sound made Lara moan. Then he quickly replaced his fingers with his own mouth on hers, and soon they were passionately kissing.

"I will carry you away," he whispered, holding his hand out to help her stand, then stooping to pick her up by the legs so that she was above the crowd, her hands on his shoulders, his face beside her belly. He carried her through the throng like this, telling the host on the way out to put the bill on his tab. Once out of the bustle, he set Lara down. They kissed more, pressing their bodies close, mashing themselves together. Lara's nipples were hard, poking through her thin garments.

"Do you want?" he pulled away to ask. Lara nodded. "Good. I want also. I want you." He leaned in and they swallowed each other's tongues greedily. But Marcel stopped abruptly again. "But Lara you must tell me to stop if you do not want, and I will stop. Immediately. Everything. And leave you to yourself. Agree?"

This alternate scenario sounded rather sad to Lara now, and she did not want this fiery enthrall to end. "I agree," she said. She playfully swatted his bulge, to emphasize and to check if it was for real, for it had seemed almost unrealistically large when pressed against her.

At that, he picked her up again, this time flinging her over his shoulder, as they both laughed. He drummed at her rear end as he carried her to the bungalows. He drummed her so much her ass smarted and the heat of the smacks spread to the heat of her lust, the growing wetness between her legs.

When she told him which bungalow, he set her down at the door. Before they were even inside, he pulled her shirt aside, pulled her bikini top off her breasts and began sucking, licking and tweaking her nipples, murmuring, "So beautiful." He alternated between breasts, kneading one as he sucked the other. Lara heard herself moan, low and animalistic. At that moment she didn't care about anyone passing by. She wanted him.

Marcel stopped and pushed them through the door. He tugged off her shirt and bikini completely. Then his own. His erection pulsed, veiny and alive. He gently lay her on the bed and stood over her, his cock inches from her skin, his eyes gazing at her entire body.

"You want," he stated. He fingered circles aroung her nipples, traced a path down her stomach. At her mound, he circled again, slid a finger through her wet slit. Lara moaned, involuntarily opening her legs. "Wider," he whispered. "Show me how wide you spread yourself to me." Lara complied; she was on fire, aching for him to be inside her, juices flowing freely. Marcel climbed on top of her. Slowly, deliciously, he entered her. They swayed and thrust and grunted. When he moaned, "I'm coming inside you!" she came also, grateful for his jizz filling her.

They continued their tryst for the next two hours, before falling into a weary, satisfied sleep. It was only when a group of drunken revelers awoke her briefly as they passed outside did Lara realize that the door had been wide open, their extensive tanglings on display the entire time.

******************************************

In the morning, Marcel was gone. Lara had a moment of panic, then of resignation, before seeing his card. It had his address and handwritten: "Lara, I will be available at 3pm if you wish to continue this wondrous connection. Yours, Marcel."

Lara showered, ate at a bistro, went to the beach and swam and read her novel, all the while thinking of Marcel. She wondered what he was doing. His card read, as he'd told her, that he was a photographer. Perhaps he had a "gig" today? He'd told her enough, and given to her enough, that she felt safe. And his friends had been nice enough; that was a good sign. Still, what had overcome her? She found herself happily replaying the events of yesterday and last night. She felt excited and relaxed at the same time. She'd been seen and cared for, something long lacking. She decided she'd continue, do something different for once, be someone different. She mumbled to herself, "This is the point, isn't it? To escape my old self, to take care of my lost self?"

Lara arrived at the mid-sized house at 3pm. She pulled the conch shell hanging by a rope to ring the bell. No one came. She pulled again. Nothing. A pit of disappointment began to spread in her stomach. She began to shuffle away.

Marcel shouted from the corner, "Lara! I am here!" She blew out her breath in relief and gratitude as Marcel strode toward her, two blank wooden picture frames beneath his arm, his other arm gesturing toward her. "How wonderful!" he shouted. He wore khakis and a belt, with a short-sleeve silky-looking button-down that accentuated his strong chest and arms. Lara immediately felt her face flush as she noticed this. Even in these clothes, wearing sandals, he was manly.

Marcel kissed her firmly and opened the door. "Let me put these inside. So joyful to see you!" He was like a warm old friend. He set the frames amid others and returned to her, appraising. "This dress accentuates your breasts; what a nice gift to me." He reached out and squeezed her breast, quickly, then released. Lara blushed, stammered. She had chosen the dress for this very reason, she realized. "No matter," Marcel went on. "Did you swim today? Shop? Think of me? I have been waiting to taste you all day," he suddenly finished. He stood before her as the heat spread throughout her body. Slowly he said, "What do you want to taste?" She thought of his fingers in her mouth. "I will get coctails for us, yes?"

As they drank, he showed her his work, portraits and island scenes, some touristy and some more artful. "Now, my Lara, would you like to have fun?"

He brought her parasailing, scary and thrilling and fun. They laughed and hugged and kissed. "What an adventurous couple," remarked the trainor. Lara smiled and Marcel winked at her and pinched her bottom, twisting a handful of her flesh.

On the boardwalk after, they ate some tapas and Marcel bought heavy rum drinks for her. They jostled each other and kissed every few feet. They made out in front of street musicians. Lara began to feel tipsy, letting Marcel touch her more freely, one of his hands on her breast, kneading, while the other reached beneath her dress, caressing and squeezing her ass. She knew they were being indiscreet, that their crude display was noticed by many people, but she felt daring and freed. As they kissed, she even let her own hands roam hungrily across Marcel's body, and pressed herself into his bulging crotch. "You feel so good," she said. "I love your hard body."

Marcel kissed her neck, nibbling, and whispered, "Do you want my fingers in your cunt?" The crudeness, the word, shocked her. And it brought more heat to her body. She was sopping now. She couldn't help but answer truthfully, "Oh, yes."

"I will give you, my Lara. Let us go in here." He led her into a Tatoo and Massage Parlour and spoke in French to the man behind a counter, boisterously gesturing to Lara, accentuating with pats on her ass. When he finished talking, Marcel grabbed her hand and led her to a second room. They stood just inside the doorway. Marcel told her, "I have surprises for you. You will do something for me, yes? And I will do many things for you."

He kissed her neck again, her mouth, pulling at her ass as he did. Quickly he tugged her panties down to her knees and began to explore the folds of her pussy with his fingers. "My beautiful slut," he whispered, again shocking and thrilling her. "I will touch you however I want...First like this," he said, thrusting his finger deep inside her, slick with her juices. He probed her noisily, insistently.

She knew the man working in the next room might see them at any moment, could certainly hear and guess what was going on. It shamed her yet excited her. Now Marcel pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in just her bra, and instantly was kissing her and probing her again.

This is too much! she thought through her lust and drunken state; anyone walking into the front door would see her naked body, Marcel thrusting his fingers in her pussy. Still, she couldn't pull her mouth away from his, couldn't pull herself away from his fingers ramming her pussy, now two, pushing deep inside, sliding out, circling her folds and her clit before plunging again.

She'd waited so long. She cried out and came, twitching and moaning, her legs all but collapsing as Marcel held her up on his fingers, his other arm around her waist. She felt self-conscious, dizzy, alive, spent.

"Lie down here, on your stomach," Marcel guided her to the padded table with a space for her face to rest: a massage table. She did as he said, wanting to float in the feeling, vaguely wondering if he was surprising her with a massage, and wondering if he would close the door to the room yet.

"You are so naughty, Lara. You can't help yourself, can you?" Marcel began slapping her bare ass with each word he spoke. "You-" slap. "Are-" slap. "So-"slap. "Naughty-" slap.

"Marcel, what are you doing?!" She started to tear up from the sting of it, the rising shame, the knowledge of the man listening outside the doorway. "Why are you doing this?!" she asked, panicked, sobered, struggling as Marcel pressed his other arm down against her back.

"Because-" slap "you-" slap...He spanked her harder with every word: "Need. It. You. Wonderful. Slut. Lara. My. Whore!"

She cried freely now, in confusion and pain and post-orgasmic relief.

Finally, Marcel stopped spanking her. He rubbed her sore bottom, gently caressing. He leaned in and asked softly, "You came beautifully, Lara, yes?"

"Yes," she sniffled.

"You want what I give you, yes?"

"Yes," she said, calming down as he continued to caress her bottom, her thighs, her back. Her head was spinning. She gradually relaxed and let the feelings wash over her, let herself sink into the table.

Marcel took a bottle of oil from beside the table and rubbed that into her bottom, letting it seep into her crack. Marcel called out and Lara heard the man from the next room come in, saw his feet near the table. She saw him take a box of vinyl gloves from a low shelf. Then felt as these new, large and vinyl-covered hands rubbed her oiled bottom. The man grunted and spread her cheeks and rubbed oil there, fingered her anus.

Lara cried out. Marcel soothed her, pulled a chair to her and murmured, "You need this, Lara. I know you. You want me. And I want you, all of you. I want that you do these things for me. And you know the wonderful things I do for you. Yes?"

Lara nodded into the table, unsure, as the stranger still fingered her anus.

"Good, you agree, now turn over." Marcel helped her turn onto her back. He pulled her bra straps from her shoulders but left them on her arms, then pulled each breast out of the bra cups so they were exposed, flesh swollen by the dishevelled bra pushing beneath them.

Red-faced, suddenly aware of her whole body bare and shining beneath the bright lights, Lara glanced at the man standing beside the table and pleaded to Marcel. "I don't want anyone else to see me, please, Marcel."

"Ah, forgive me, Lara, but I should have introduced you. This is my friend Jacques. He is helping me, my dear Lara. Do not worry, you are so sexy. Let him do this job, he has seen many person's bodies. He is professional."

"A professional what?" she asked meekly as Marcel signaled to Jaques. Marcel lifted Lara's legs and pulled her so her ass was at the end of the table. He began pushing her knees to her chest, her feet above her head. "Let yourself be sexy," he said. The cool air wafted across her oily bottom as Jacques positioned himself in front of it, squirting more oil. As Marcel held her legs against her from the side, effectively pinning her to the table, he used his other hand to smooth the hair from her forehead, pressing her head to the table as he did so.

The man-Jacques-rubbed his gloved and oiled finger around her anus. Around and around, then dipping just the tip inside. She did not want anyone playing with her ass, and was afraid. She knew she could do nothing about it, though, since she couldn't move and Marcel was not letting her go. She tried to relax. This was a foreign sensation for her. But it did not feel bad; it was actually pleasurable, she realized.

Jacques worked more of his finger into her anus. He turned and twisted and then plunged his finger in and out, meanwhile rubbing his other thumb across her clit with each plunge.

Marcel murmured, "Give in, Lara. I want that you feel good. Let yourself make your noises."

She did. She groaned and writhed. She felt a flame building and began to buck Jacques' sliding finger in her ass. But suddenly he pulled his finger out. Disappointment surged up. Marcel still loosely held her legs back and Jacques intently stared at her privates, licking his lips. Her whole body, and especially her pussy, were pulsing with heat. To her surprise, she wished Jacques would finger her again.

Jacques complied, working his finger back into her anus. Marcel watched her face carefully. But this felt different. This was bigger. It wasn't a finger, but an object, hard and rubbery. "Oh my god, no," she said. She struggled to no avail; Marcel still pinned her legs against her, pressed her against the table so her ass waited for its assault. Slowly, Jacques pushed the object into her ass, which got wider as it went deeper. He pulled it out slightly, dribbled oil, then pushed further each time. Her anus was stretching, gaping around this thing that was wider and wider the further it entered her. Tears rolled from her eyes.

"Relax and enjoy the feeling," Marcel soothed. "It won't hurt if you relax." But it did hurt, a searing pain. Marcel rubbed her clit as the object pressed her insides, and this combination of sensations electrified her pussy. To her horror, she was dripping wet and aching again for release. All while her ass was being sorely violated by a stranger while Marcel, whom she'd only known 2 days, mercilessly flicked her clit.

Her orgasm threw her over a cliff. It was quick and intense. She flew and flailed and moaned loudly, nearly screaming. Her insides pulsed and grabbed to haul anything they could into her depths.

In her woozy cum-state, she felt a plop as the object lodged in her ass. Her ass felt uncomfortably full, stretched to the limit beside her pulsating pussy.

"It is a plug for your tasty ass," Marcel told her. "Keep it in until I tell you, for the next few days..." Days! Her horror wrenched her from her peaceful state. "...Take it out only to expel, then clean yourself carefully and push it back in with the oil. You remove it with the ring..." Jacques picked up a mirror and flashed it for her to view her ass. There, sticking out of her own widened, oily anus (her ass still fiery red from the spanking, her own juices spilling down on it), was a loop of bright purple!

She couldn't believe this was her. She sunk into herself as Marcel let her legs down and moved her up the table. Jaques left the room and she heard him washing in a sink somewhere, though dimly, for Marcel was again massaging her clit, reanimating her with mini electrocutions. "What I do for you," Marcel said with a final flick of her nub. He pulled a strap across her waist and cinched it, then another across her shoulders. Marcel left the room. For a brief moment she was afraid he would leave her there! Then she heard him whistling and washing also.