Prisoner In Paradise Ch 01

As the taxi delivers you to the entrance to the hotel you can still feel the anger boiling in the pit of your stomach. This holiday had been planned for months and at the last moment your sister had pulled out. In the back of your mind you had always suspected that Sally would, and this only stokes your anger. It had taken ages for you to convince her that you both needed a break. You got her to agree that somewhere tropical would be nice. You suggested the island of Koh Samui in the Gulf of Thailand and she went along with your suggestions. Sally had even picked out a hotel that she had heard good reports about. You booked the tickets and she offered to pay. Her high-powered job meant that the money was nothing to her but you insisted on paying your share.

Then with two days to departure "an urgent and important" contract needed closing and she was not going to be able to "get away".

"Fuck her" you mutter to yourself.

Perhaps not quite to yourself you realise, as you catch the quick glance the bell-boy gives you as he unloads your cases. You tell yourself, for about the thousandth time, that you have made the right decision to come by yourself. You remember Sally's reaction when you told her of your spur of the moment decision to go anyway, without her. Her look of amazement had been almost comical. You remember the rage that grew when you realised that she expected you to cancel as well. She had just assumed that you would not be brave enough to go by yourself. This realisation had caused a whim to become a concrete conviction - you would go anyway, by yourself.

Now as you stand at the check-in desk you can feel your conviction flowing away. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. Drawing yourself up you decide to make the best of a bad situation and try to enjoy your week. The formalities complete you follow the bell-hop to your room.

The Boat House Hotel looks like any other luxury hotel in the world; from the front. But as you wind your way through the gardens you begin to see the first of it's hidden charms and surprises. The 'premium' rooms, closest to the beach, are actually boats. Traditional high-sided Thai boats, made of teak, have been converted to palatial cabins or suites.

You stop for a second to marvel at your boat/room, standing in a steel cradle that is concealed by tropical greenery. You follow the bell-boy up the short flight of stairs to the door that has been cut into the hull of the boat. You tip him and send him away quickly. You don't want him to show you the room; you have always enjoyed exploring for yourself. Locking the door behind him you begin to examine your new surroundings. The entrance foyer opens into the large, airy bedroom. Bright sunlight streams through the portholes retained in the boat and falls on the king-sized four-poster bed, looking slightly out of place in these surroundings. A large ceiling fan slowly circulates the air but the cool temperature is due to the efficient air-conditioner that you can just hear humming somewhere.

The bathroom is startling in it's sumptuousness. Huge mirrors, cream marble and porcelain everywhere. A big stack of luxurious fluffy towels - even a small spa bath. A small sitting room opens from the bedroom and leads onto the patio. As you throw open the curtains and the sliding doors your senses are almost overwhelmed by a flood of visual input. The patio to your room overlooks a scene straight out of a tourist brochure. A stream, dammed up by the beach, has formed a beautiful lake. The bright refection of the sun from the water causes you to shade your eyes as you continue to examine the vista.

The seamless blending of God's hand and an army of gardener's has created a riot of tropical foliage. You notice hibiscus and bougainvillaea growing amongst the palms. As you watch a large, silver fish leaps from the water once, twice and then a third time, before disappearing - leaving only a series of expanding circles on the calm surface. You laugh with almost child like delight at the sight and feel the tiniest bit of big city tension ease from your shoulders and neck.

The light breeze carries myriad scents to you across the lake. You can smell the perfumes of the flowers, somewhere a barbecue is cooking, but mainly you can smell salt. The elemental call of the sea fills your mind and you swap the idea of a shower for an immediate swim, to wash away your travel weariness.

Zipping open your suitcase you hunt for your bikini. Finding it brings back some of the anger you had begun to lose. Sally had always been the confident one and wore the skimpiest swimwear at the beach, often going topless with out any trace of self-consciousness. You had envied this and when you went shopping for the holiday you had been pretty daring with your swim-suit. The bottom half was a g-string style with high cut sides. The top was only a couple of triangles of colourful material that would struggle to contain your breasts. When Sally was going to be with you felt that you could carry it off, now you are not so sure.

With a sudden rush of holiday "devil-may-care" you strip, leaving your clothes in a heap and put on the bikini. You examine your reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors on the wardrobe, pleased with what you see. The extra work you put in at the gym before the holiday has paid off. The bikini is revealing but feel that you can carry it off. If you change your mind you can always buy something more 'modest' in the hotel shop later you decide. Despite this surge of confidence you throw on the beach-robe hanging in the bathroom before grabbing a book, a towel, sunglasses and some suntan lotion and heading for the beach.

The path to the beach passes the pool and as you walk the sight of your fellow guests causes your spirits to sink again. A first glance makes you realise that the hotel's clientele can be summarised in just a few words - rich, old, fat, in couples and mainly German from the snatches of conversation you hear coming from the sun lounges around the pool. Not much chance of romance here you conclude gloomily.

But as you hit the beach your heart soars. It is postcard perfect. Gleaming white sand is shaded on one edge by she-oaks and coconut palms and lapped at the other by tiny blue-green wavelets. The beach is totally deserted and overcome with abandon you pause only to throw down what you carry and strip off your robe before racing for the water with a whoop of delight. The first splashing of the water on your calves and feet feels deliciously cold but you continue to run, forcing your way through the incoming waves. When the water is thigh high you take a deep breath and throw yourself forward in an arcing dive.

As you body passes through the plane between air and water you feel an almost mystical experience of change. All your worries and cares from the "real world" seem instantly washed away by the caress of the sea. As you surface for air you feel like a new person, more alive in some way, capable of anything.

After swimming a few hundred yards you make your way to shore and stride out of the water to your towel, feeling like a goddess. A combination of the warm afternoon air and your towel soon have you mainly dry. You position your towel for a little sun bathing and open your book but cannot seem to get interested. The sensual, languid tropical air seems to have permeated your body. Tossing down the book you suddenly sit up and strip off you bikini top, something you have never done on a public beach before. But it would seem that all the other guests, inexplicably, would prefer to crowd around the pool than enjoy this beautiful beach, so no-one is around to see.

Careful to avoid sunburn to your creamy, D cup, globes you rub suntan lotion into your breasts and rosy nipples. The tropical mood that has invaded your soul continues to motivate you and your mind drifts of into a reverie as you massage the oil into your nipples. You snap back to consciousness when you notice that your nipples have crinkled and become hard -- 'standing out like organ stops' you think to yourself. In addition your pussy is ever so slightly damp and sticky. You wonder at the change that has come over you as you lie down on your back to bake.

After only a few minutes you hear voices approaching, male voices. Suddenly embarrassed at your virtual nakedness you roll over, to hide your breasts in your towel, and to find out where the voices are coming from. The first thing you notice, through the trees, is the Boat Hotel's next-door neighbour. Your hotel is a strip development from the road to the beach and immaculate for every yard. Beside it, like a photo negative, is it's complete antithesis, a Backpackers Hostel. Its 'suites' are ramshackle wooden huts on stilts, so weathered that they blend in with the trees, explaining why you had not initially noticed them. The facilities may not be the same as your hotel but for a fraction of the cost the backpackers could certainly enjoy the same climate - and the same beach.

The two men coming down from the hostel certainly intend to use the beach. As they come into sight you notice that one is carrying a volleyball. But that is not all you notice. As you watch from the corner of your eye, behind your mirrored sunglasses, you can't help but check out the first likely talent you have spotted so far.

The two men look alike in some ways. Both are well tanned, obviously having spent a long part of their extended holiday in the sun. The sun has bleached their hair dirty blonde and they both wear baggy shorts and T-shirts. But there the similarity ends. One is about 6ft tall and broad shouldered, thick-thighed and generally heavily muscled. The other is perhaps 5ft 8inches and lithe, obviously fit. They look like a middleweight boxer, or a gymnast.

As they walk past you feign indifference to their presence and they do the same. They commence a noisy game of beach volley-ball over a torn net. Their friendly insults and taunts reveal several things to you. You learn that the bigger of the two men is named Hugh and the other called Guy. You also realise that they are showing off like small boys, trying to attract your attention. Pretending not to notice, or look, you move on your towel to get a better view, still on your stomach. The men throw themselves across the sand, athletically trying to return the ball. Soon the sweat is glistening on their hard bodies. They have discarded their shirts and you can see the sand crusted to their flat, hard, chest muscles.

Without warning you can feel the warm, wetness returning to your pussy. You decide that perhaps you have had enough of a good thing, besides which the sun is starting to dip and the temperature has fallen a little. A sudden brazen thought enters your mind and you stand up without bothering to put your bikini top back on. You gather up your things without bothering to put on the robe either. As you walk away from the beach you try to pretend that you haven't noticed that the boys have stopped playing to watch you. But you give them an extra wiggle of your ass, knowing that it is almost completely exposed by your thong swim-suit bottoms.

You smile to yourself as wonder at this new woman that you have become. You also wonder how, or when, you will meet those two men again. Even your wildest imaginings could not have been right.

Your mood of tropical abandonment continues when you return to your room. Without bothering to dress you throw your things down on the bed and open the sliding doors to the balcony. You continue to be amazed at your new brazenness. Anyone might be able to see you but you no longer care. You had noticed some of the other female guests were topless around the pool and guess that people are hardly likely to complain.

Besides, you tell yourself, what you have to reveal is a lot more appealing than what you saw on display earlier. By now the sun has started to set over the lake and the colours are almost beyond describing. Multi-coloured parrots swoop and chatter in the trees as they prepare to roost. The temperature is starting to dip and your nipples crinkle and stiffen in the evening's cool breezes. Returning to the room a quick search of the refrigerator reveals a half bottle of rather good champagne. You banish all thoughts on how much you will be charged for it in a place like this and take it onto the patio with a glass. As you sip the wine and feel more of your workaday cares disappear like a weight slipping from your shoulders.

As full darkness descends with tropical suddenness the coolness drives you back indoors. You slide the door shut behind you, without locking it. Still topless you begin to unpack and start to get yourself organised. You pause to marvel at your eccentric choices when it came to packing.

Journals to catch up on for work. 'Fat chance' you think.

A travel iron? Your mother's idea. 'Almost certainly useless', you decide.

Your mother had even suggested clothespins and a length of rope. 'For washing and hanging out 'your "smalls" dear' she had insisted.

'At least six silk scarves,' you marvel to yourself. 'I must be as daft as my Mum. When will I wear even wear one?'

You soon become bored with the task. You are on vacation you remind yourself and this is too much like work. You decide to unpack only what you need tonight and ask the hotel house-maids to do it tomorrow. You leave the bag unzipped and wander back to the balcony again.

Unpacking reminds you again of how Sally has let you down. Before she decided not to come she had taken you shopping for the holiday. She had taken you to her favourite lingerie shop and encouraged you to buy underwear the likes of which you had never seen.

'You never know when you might get lucky.' She had joked.

Now you look at the lacy garments that you had purchased and then packed, despite Sally's cancellation. Your spirit of daring continues as you decide to wear the lingerie anyway. Why should her last minute cancellation make any difference you tell yourself? Your mind made up, you hang the 'little black dress' you have chosen for this evening on the door knob, leave your new underwear on the bed, and head for the bathroom.

The shower is hot and powerful and revitalises you as you scrub away the salt and sand of your trip to the beach. Without the usual pressures of rushing to get clean and get to work you take your time. The water splashing on your breasts feels amazing and again you feel your nipples stiffen, but not with cold this time. You revel in the sensuous feeling of the soapy sponge travelling over your body.

You 'wash' your breasts slowly and then spend an age making sure your pussy is really clean. Very quickly you feel that familiar tingling between your thighs and the beginning of wetness that has nothing to do with the shower. Unbidden your mind conjures up images of the guys on the beach. Pictures flash behind your eyes. (Hard, muscular bodies, twisting and throwing themselves across the sand. Sun glistening on their sweaty, tanned bodies.) Your hand unconsciously moves faster between your legs. With an effort of will you drag your mind back from that erotic realm and shut off the water.

Returning to your room you quickly towel yourself dry. You begin to dress in the lingerie you had picked out. Black, lacy hold-up stockings go on first. Your knickers are also black and lacy. In addition they are tiny and flimsy, almost transparent. (The sales girl in the shop had coyly told you that, "They won't show through your clothes. You will look as if you aren't wearing any panties.")

The bra is not like your usual practical type. In matching lace to the knickers, it is cut low at the front, but also unnecessarily padded in subtle style, to push your breasts up and make them look even bigger. Your nipples are barely covered by the lace-trimmed cups.

Pausing for a moment you study your image in the full-length mirrors on the wardrobe. You find it hard to imagine that the 'sex bomb' looking back at you is anyone that you know. Intoxicated with this vision you strike poses for the mirror. Trying to duplicate the models in 'girlie' mags that you had occasionally glimpsed in your brother's wardrobe. You cup your breasts with your hands and lean slightly forward as if offering them to a photographer or an unseen watcher. Turning round you bend over and wriggle your ass as you watch yourself between you widespread legs.

Soon the tinglings you felt in the shower return and this time you cannot ignore them. As you flop onto the bed you are distracted by what might be a noise, perhaps from the balcony. Your state of distraction and arousal quickly helps you convince yourself that it was just your imagination.

Lying on the bed your hands begin to roam your body. You continue to imagine yourself as the photographer's model, moving on from 'cheesecake' shots to something a little harder. Raising your knees and spreading your legs one hand slips under the waistband of your knickers. The other pulls down the material of your bra and gently begins to coax a nipple into stiffness.

Between your knees you notice that you can still watch yourself in the mirror. This adds to your horniness and soon your knickers are pulled to one side to allow easier access to your now very wet pussy. Your small, dainty fingers flutter between your swelling lips, occasionally delving into the wet depths of your sex. With the other hand you tweak your nipples, teasing them until they swell.

The combination is even more arousing than usual and you can feel your juices running from your slit and trickling over your ass. This wetness allows you to slide two fingers inside your pussy as your thumb begins to work on your clit. Your climax rushes up on you completely unexpectedly. At home this would have taken much longer. Everything about your sexuality seems different in the tropics. Your orgasm hits with amazing intensity and you feel your pussy spasm around your fingers. You moan loudly as the aftershocks reverberate through your body.

As you lie, limp on the bed, bathing in the afterglow, you hear another noise, definitely from the balcony. Yours eyes fly open as you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open. Stunned you watch as the guys from the beach saunter into the room, assuming a forced cockiness. So unexpected is their appearance that you cannot imagine how to react. The taller one is the first to speak.

"You certainly look as if you could use a little male 'company' lady."

Springing to your feet you are at first too stunned to react. Several thoughts rush through your mind at once. Scream? Grab for the phone? Run? But something about the manner of the two guys makes you choose a different option. They don't look dangerous, more like schoolboys caught performing a dare. Perhaps it is also your newfound sense of confidence that helps you decide to brazen it out with them. With your fists clenched on your hips you demand, "Just what the hell do you think that you are doing here? How dare you walk in here uninvited!?"

The shorter of the two guys (Guy, you suddenly remember from the beach) has the good grace to look almost embarrassed and begins to explain.

"Look we are really sorry lady. (Posh English accent you note.) It's just that we saw you on the beach and; you looked really nice and we just thought that,......well we thought we'd find out where you were staying and,......see if you,.....wanted to come out for a drink," he finishes in a rush.

Trying not to show that you are a little flattered by this explanation you continue in your aggressive mode.

"So why where you creeping about in the bushes, spying?"

Guy continues to try and explain, looking more and more flustered.

"We aren't allowed in the grounds of this hotel. They hate us unwashed 'backpacker' types trying to sneak into the bars or the pool. If security finds us we get thrown straight out. We had to be careful."