TSIFOL 30 Six times on my birthday

TSIFOL 30 Six times on my birthday TSIFOL 30 Six times on my birthday

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

A night at a fancy resort to celebrate Karen's birthday gives our lovers plenty of time for sex

Summary

A night at a fancy resort to celebrate Karen's birthday gives our lovers plenty of time for sex

Content

Submitted: February 21, 2014

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: February 21, 2014

A A A

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By the end of January I had to confront the fact our holiday was nearly over. I would soon be separated from Greg, even if it was only for the period between when my family went home and Greg came down to start the new Uni term two weeks later. It was a thought that disturbed me – even before I contemplated the loss of physical contact with him and the necessary breeching of the two day rule I’d set myself right back at the start of our relationship.

My birthday is on the 31st January. This was to be my 21st. Dad had asked me if I wanted a party – even after we got home from the holiday. I’m not resorting to pathos when I say I don’t have enough friends for a party; that’s simply who I am and it’s a skin I’m comfortable in. Plus large drunken parties are not my scene – even if it was to be my party.

Then he asked would I like a fancy more intimate dinner for a smaller group of friends; even if the rest of my immediate family wasn’t part of it. He volunteered the friends would be welcome to come up to the holiday town and stay the night if that’s what I wanted. It was a more tempting offer but I just wasn’t that worried about having a big celebration for the birthday.

Greg came closer to hitting the mark when he suggested a night away somewhere with him. When dad got wind of that he conspired with Greg and the night away ended being at a six star beachside resort about an hour’s drive North of the holiday town. I feel sorry for parents these days; after all my dad had just substantially funded an expensive night away for his only daughter in full knowledge she was going to – if you’ll allow a little poetic licence - get her pussy pounded to a cum filled pulp in the 24 hours she was away, just so she could celebrate her birthday

As the date approached, I started to think of it as a sort of final fling before the reality of everyday life started to creep back up on me. This summer with Greg had been so special – had let us indulge in so much - that even though going back to Uni with my boyfriend was a big improvement on last year, it almost seemed like a reversion to the mundane.

I’d done a bit of research on the hotel using Google Maps. Like a lot of this part of the coast, there was no shortage of bushland adjacent to the beach nearby. A little further North again – almost a walk from the hotel, I spotted a large area of sand-dunes fronting on to the beach with a small car park giving access to it. At this time of year, with the school summer holidays over, I figured there’d be a good chance we’d have the beach to ourselves on the mid-week day on which my birthday fell.

Rather than just arrive at the hotel 2 pm check-in time, I suggested to Greg that we go up late-morning and I’d pack a picnic lunch for a picnic at this place. As you know I’d already admitted to Greg one of my more powerful sexual memories was being fingered to orgasm by him on that first day. It wasn’t just the orgasm, it was the whole seduction thing; the sexual tension as we walked along the beach, being aroused by his semi-nakedness in his speedos, the sight of his erection nearly tearing his swimmers apart, kissing him standing up while I swayed back and forth with his shaft between my legs, that first feeling of his fingers on my crutch and finally feeling the string ties on my bikini being slowly pulled to have my nakedness revealed to him.

We’d spent the rest of the summer having sex on the beach, so many of the elements of that were now an ordinary part of our lovemaking. But of course we’d also moved on. Sex was real sex; arouse, undress and penetrate. I loved Greg inside me – it was a vital part of our lovemaking experience. I love the feeling of our bodies thrusting together. I’m not suggesting I wanted to move back from that. Maybe the real fantasy was to try and recreate the innocence of that day. Not innocence lost, but the innocence of two people exploring sex for the first time.

Plus I wanted to video it. I wanted something to masturbate to for those two weeks I’d be without Greg. Why couldn’t I just arrange all that at our usual spot on the beach – after all that’s where it actually happened? I’m not sure. I think I needed to have a day when I was sure Greg would indulge a rather peculiar request and by being somewhere different from our usual spot, I thought it somehow would be more ‘first time’ in its feeling.

I know Greg and I had agreed we could ask for sexual experimentation, but for some reason I felt more reticent about coming straight out and asking for all of this – not least the videoing of it. I felt as though I just needed to make it happen. Of course I couldn’t control everything. For instance, away from his home beach, there was no guarantee Greg would strip down to speedos; there was not even a guarantee he’d be wearing them under his board shorts. Yet that was part of the fantasy. There was also no guarantee we’d have the right weather or the beach to ourselves, but that was something I had even less control over.

When the day came the weather was beautiful; but then it rarely hadn’t been through this summer. From a strictly selfish point of view, droughts are good for something.

When we arrived at the car park, it was otherwise deserted. I suggested we first of all cool off with a quick dip. That at least would get him stripped down to swimmers. I had on the same bikini I’d been wearing that first day; while taking off my sundress I’d already pulled the top down to the ‘just there’ coverage and the bottom up to the camel-toe position I’d used on that first day. As I feared, he initially just stripped down to the board shorts he’d worn on the drive up. I asked him to put sun-cream on me and when it came my turn to reciprocate, as I applied the cream right down to the waist band, I undid the button and Velcro zip on his boardies and started to pull them down with a “you don’t need these today”, adding as I saw he didn’t have anything underneath “did you bring any speedos”.

“I thought you girls didn’t like speedos”

“I like you in them – I’ve never complained when you wear them at our usual beach”

“I thought I could just get away with them because we were swimming laps and running the beach”

“No, I prefer you in them to boardies if you’re comfortable in them”

Even as we’d been talking, he’d started to ferret in his bag for a pair. I quickly kissed him on the lips and said “hold there just a tic”, producing from my own bag a small soft package wrapped in gift paper. “Try these”

“I thought it was your birthday and I’m meant to give you presents”

“In a way they are a present for me”

Greg opened the package and discovered the swimmers I’d bought for him. These were black with a large “Rip Curl” logo in red and white across the bum. They were identical to a pair of his that were actually one of my favourites – they were lower slung, fitted him better and were cut with a downward curve at the front. I’d also noted on previous occasions how well they stretched to sheath his erections. The point of difference was that after buying these ones I’d taken great care to cut the lining out; something I felt compelled to point out to Greg by way of explanation of my behaviour.

After he put them on I helped myself to a kiss with a bit of a grope; being rewarded by a surprising amount of detail in the anatomy my fingers could sense through the material and the pleasing reaction Greg’s body gave me. Already my tendency to over anticipate things was causing my own body to get ahead of proceedings in its state of arousal.

I lifted the picnic hamper and the bag containing our towels out of the car so they came with us as we headed down the path to the beach

As we came out of the path through the dunes onto the beach, I scanned up and down. Spotting what looked like an area that would offer the combination of privacy and a view of the water, I pointed down towards it. “Are you a bit peckish after the drive? How about we have something to eat first”

“I thought you wanted a swim”

“Yea, but it’s not so bad now we’re out of the hot car, a bit of a walk down to that dune and a drink might take precedence”

“It’s your birthday. I am a slave to your every request”

I just hoped he actually meant that. The truth was that wet swimmers weren’t part of the equation. They looked great on him when they clung – as I’m sure he liked the effect with mine - but were a bit more cold and clammy when he was feeling me up, so I never intended to go in the water first.

Walking hand in hand alongside him, I made sure our bodies brushed against each other with every moment. In some ways that sort of walking is much sexier than even being locked together with arms around the other’s back. If you’re locked together you tend to be forced to walk in lock-step. It’s almost like marching. But if you walk close together and just brush, it’s a whole different sensation. Thigh brushes against thigh, hip against hip. As your hands swing together they can come up against all sorts of things; not least crutches. This was meant to be a teasing seductive walk – as much for me as it was for Greg. By half way there, Greg’s body was announcing all too clearly that it was having the intended effect; as it was no less for me.

At the chosen spot, Greg laid out our towels side by side while I organised the food. It was nothing elaborate, but I’d bought a bottle of champers to have with it, so one of my first tasks was to pour us both a long glass of it. As we sat down on our towels for a drink, I positioned myself so that my hips and the length of my legs mirrored and were in full contact with the matching part of Greg’s body. As I settled down I noticed with some satisfaction that the contact was still having the desired effect on him; not full on – but more than enough to be obvious and to know I had his attention.

As lunch continued I maintained the contact, cuddling up to him and generally being as touchy feely as the mood took me. I wasn’t just being manipulative. That was how we usually interacted. I was just being a little more seductive and opening myself a little bit more to the sense of being seduced.

Periodically through lunch I took up the waterproof camera Greg had bought me for Christmas and took snapshots of him or of both of us, putting my camera down each time on top of the picnic hamper which I had strategically placed for that purpose. As we neared the end of lunch, I turned the camera to video mode and put it down again; positioning it carefully this time. The fact was I had experimented at home with exactly where the camera had to be placed relative to me to properly frame the shot I wanted. At this stage I hadn’t pushed the record button.

As we finished eating, I stood up to tidy up the remnants, placing them in a bag which I set down by the hamper without otherwise disturbing it. While fussing about like that I also hit the record button. Then I offered Greg my hand – effectively inviting him to join me in standing up.

With the Dutch courage the champers had given me, I pulled him in to me and kissed him. “Remember how I told you how special my memory of the way you slowly undressed me and fingered me to an orgasm on that first day was. Would you mind re-enacting it for me?” With that I brazenly slid a hand down between our bodies, tucked his still sheathed erection between my legs, joined our faces together in a kiss and started rocking back and forth on his shaft. I knew at this stage the camera would at most only have our waists down in shot, but the foreplay was just as important a part of the fantasy, so I wasn’t missing out on it.

I did intend to tell Greg about the camera, but thought if I did it before hand it might be a distraction to him. It could be erased if he didn’t like the idea; but I had little doubt he would.

After a few minutes, as he had done on that first day, Greg started directing me to the ground; maintaining the rest of the contact between our bodies and the tongue I had deeply embedded in his mouth. As we went down I made sure I was positioned in frame and lay on my back – Greg leaning over me still in a kissing embrace.

To prove he had forgotten nothing, Greg now ran his hand down along my flank, followed the hem of my bikini bottom around my back and his hand over my bum cheek – all as he had the first time. His fingers penetrating toward my groin, his hand continued down my outer thigh. Then, as he lifted his hand off at the end of the stroke, I spread my legs apart, his hand coming back to rest on my inner thigh.

My hand fumbled down between our bodies, felt out his still encased erection and wrapping itself around it. I bent the erection down, holding it in to contact with my lower stomach as I slowly played with it; liking the additional sense of contact the unlined material conveyed into my palm.

Travelling up my leg, I felt his hand’s contact with my crutch. It hesitated a moment and then a single finger pushed my bikini bottom deeply in to the valley of my crutch; travelling up and down its length, feeling it, exploring it, finding the now cavernous entrance to my tunnel and pushing in to it all the while stimulating it and making me moan with pleasure.

Greg was going slower than the first time; correctly deducing I was no longer a sex starved virgin likely to explode into orgasm at the first touch and that I actually wanted to have time to savour the process.

His mouth was on my bikini top, teasing the nipple underneath, his tongue exploring underneath the hem for direct contact. I was as excited as the first time as I felt his mouth hunt out the lose end of the bikini top tie and then arch up in to my line of vision has he pulled the knot. Attuned this time to what was happening, I felt the top pop off my breast as its previously tensioned material went slack. My nipple – the whole of my breast – was encased by Greg’s lips as his tongue swirled my nipple around his mouth.

Now the back of his thumb was travelling up the front of my bikini bottom. He hooked the hem and pulled it down and memories of that first contact with the flesh of his fingers came flooding back in to my brain. The waist of my bikini pushed in to the small of my back as he stretched it down at the front bringing his fingers inside over my mons and giving them access everywhere that counted.

In good time his fingers followed the leg hem up to where our bodies were joined at the waist. With almost uncontrollable anticipation I felt the knot being pulled and the pants almost pop off my pubis as the tension was released. I felt the other knot also give up its resistance and Greg’s hand pull the pants from under me before casting them aside.

Greg had been pretty good at knowing how to finger me even on that first day. By now he was expert. Long before I wanted to I started to feel that sensation in the back of my arse that presages an orgasm. Something in a moan or my breathing communicated to Greg what was happening. He backed off a bit, trying to give me time to savour the feeling. It delayed things only a moment. Almost with the next touch I came; a powerful, explosive orgasm that had me clamping his hand to my crutch and arching my hips skyward, just as I had on that first day. By now all rational thought of exact re-creation had gone. As the second wave hit, I simply arched again – higher and more muscularly with a loud groan, my legs involuntarily rocking my hips back and forward like some teenager’s poor imitation of sexual thrusting.

I hung there, letting the orgasm wash itself out of my system. Then I relaxed down on to my back beside Greg, turned on my side toward him and kissed him; pushing my crutch in to his.

Fantasies are malleable things. Now it was Greg’s turn, but there had always been other aspects of that first day fantasy. One had been studying the base of his shaft as his erection pulled the waist band of his swimmers up as I had washed his hair. There was something about how it had captured my eyes, tempted me to play with it, almost told me it would take my virginity and of the possessiveness I had even then felt towards it that had always lodged in the fantasy section of my brain.

I rolled Greg on his back, but instead of just mounting him, I leant over him from his head, my knees at his shoulders bring my face down over his stomach. I bent the erection upward, repositioning the swimmers so that – like that first day – they sheathed the shaft and held it perpendicular to his body, trying to maximise the stretch and clinginess my modification of these new ones would induce. If Greg wondered what I was up to – especially as I readjusted his swimmers rather than taking them off him – he didn’t say anything. His shaft surged furiously as I played with it and all the while I admired the details of his anatomy that were now transmitted through the thin material; generous amounts of pre-cum seeping through the material out of the plainly visible dimple at its head.

The fingers of one hand circled its sheathed tip and held it upright. I sild the fingers of the other under the waist band of his swimmers and circled the base of the shaft with them before gently sliding them up and down; on the upstroke pushing up in to the area sheathed by the swimmers. This caused the tip to swell noticeably enlarging the circle made by the other fingers holding it. I wanted the camera to capture my play even though it was off to the side, so bent the shaft back even further and pushed the waist band around a bit to expose more of the base.

I leant in to lick the base with my tongue. I hadn’t meant to put myself in the 69 position; I just wanted a good angle down the waist band of his swimmers. But as I’d leant in, I’d put my own crutch directly over Greg’s face; albeit at kneeling height. I felt his fingers between my legs, separating the lips of my crutch. Then I felt his tongue on my clit.

A moan escaped me as I was temporarily distracted by the pleasure Greg was giving me. I never was really sure what I had hoped to achieve by playing with Greg the way I was. The fantasy was always somewhat vague. I really just wanted to recapture that original multifaceted sense of temptation before I turned around to strip and mount him. With Greg now pushing me toward another orgasm I felt I should take it further.

For a moment I was even tempted to mount him while the swimmers still encased him; pushing it as far into me as the material would allow; but once again even with the passions raging inside me thoughts of hygiene inhibited me. Instead I undid the knot of the waist band and released his shaft from its prison; pushing his swimmers down his thighs as I had on the first day. Then I put my lips over the shaft and pushed it in to my mouth.

Giving oral sex was not one of my favourite things. As Greg knew, I didn’t mind a bit of foreplay sucking but was not keen on him climaxing in my mouth. So tempting as it was to stay there and have Greg finish me again, I was sure he wasn’t surprised that after a short while I turned myself around, sat over his hips and pushed his shaft in to me. Tightening myself on him I lifted myself up and down on him until it felt so good that I knew he must be about to come. As he did so I ground my crutch down on to his pubis and found my own second orgasm.

My favourite post sex position is to be lying limp draped over Greg while his shaft is still hard inside. I just let my body rise and fall with each breath that Greg takes usually while he strokes my hair. For five minutes that’s where I stayed; taking just a moment to lean over and turn off the camera.

By then the midday sun was very much beginning to make its presence felt on my back. A swim was a good idea.

While I might have liked to recreate the water’s edge scene which was also part of our first day, on this day there was a strong surge on the water’s edge kicking up a lot of sand. I quickly decided such an idea could be very – shall we say – abrasive. However now his new swimmers were wet the absence of a lining really made itself known as they clung to his anatomy; more like it had been spray painted than covered. Even as I gave into the temptation to play with it, tease it up and admire it more I found it somewhat disturbing just how much my own lifetime fetish about swimwear had been transferred into Greg.

What we’d had on the beach was the first of six love making acts during our overnight stay.

The second occurred as we shared the spa bath in our room while preparing for dinner and I would claim was entirely Greg’s fault. We were sitting one at each end, our crutches meeting in the middle, our legs each to the side of the other’s hips.

I needed to wash my hair, so naturally had to immerse it. The only way I could do that was by moving my body further in Greg’s direction and the only way I could do that was by pushing my crutch up along Greg’s stomach almost to chest height. As I did that he started to play with it and things sort of progressed from there; ending up with me sitting on him cow-girl style in the bath. As I said it was Greg’s fault.

After dinner we fell asleep lying together, Greg inside me; the slight after dinner tipsiness promoting an easy slumber. Half an hour later I woke up to find he’d slid half way out. When I pushed down on him to bury him back in, he pushed back. As he did so, he brought his body close up against me and wrapped his arm around my back; something which I reciprocated. I slid my other arm under his neck while he suffered the spare elbow effect, the hand of the trapped arm covering my breast and teasing up its nipple. But rather than just permit us to fall back to sleep in this position, Greg’s hand started caressing my skin. For the next fifteen odd minutes that hand seemingly explored every inch of my skin; penetrated every crease; found and exploited and stirred up every erogenous zone. Sometimes his hand glided gently over an area, teasing the nerves in the skin underneath. Sometimes fingers pushed firmly into a more sensitive zone, massaging just enough to create an erogenous place where I didn’t know one existed. His hand stroked my hair; seemingly feeling out every individual strand and separating it while massaging the scalp underneath. All the while our groins were still, just the occasional firm push together of our pelvises promising me the final outcome of this glorious extended foreplay.

I tried to reciprocate as best I could. I loved touching his body the way I was. But I knew the forces he was unleashing within me were distracting me from really pleasuring him the way I should be; either my concentration was repeatedly ripped away from his pleasure while I savoured what he was doing to my body or I didn’t want a clash of our arms to divert his hands from what they were doing for me.

Passing from my back his hand worked over my hip and down toward my pubis; teasing me with its slow ever more provocative approach to that part of my body that was now growing more and more desperate for his attention; once again worked up to that state where it was like an overripe fruit ready to burst its skin. And then his fingers found it; foreplay moved towards the endplay. He bent his head to my chest; ensuring his mouth and tongue stimulated the nipple that his other hand couldn’t reach.

At first I just let his fingers do the work, but soon I found myself rocking my hip back and forwards to the rhythm of my own rising excitement, pleasuring myself on his fingers while I also gently thrust on his shaft. For a moment there was a clash of tempos but Greg quickly recognised what was happening and held his fingers still while I optimised my pleasure.

I came; massive pleasurable contractions. Squeezing my thighs together, I kept rocking, pushing down harder on his fingers; drawing out and intensifying the orgasm. But even as it passed I felt compelled to keep rocking. A whole new cycle of pleasure was developing. It was his turn but I wanted more; I wasn’t finished yet. Uncertain what to do, Greg just kept doing what my excitement, vocalisation and movements were telling him was working – keeping his fingers hard into my crutch and his mouth and other hand to my nipples.

It didn’t take long for me to start to move toward a second orgasm. But I could tell from Greg’s breathing and the way he was trying to minimise the thrusting effect my back and forwards rocking was having that he was struggling to hold back his own climax. I won’t say I didn’t feel just a little guilty, since I knew under those circumstances his wouldn’t be the best one he’d ever had. But I still wanted my second one.

It became a bit of a race. Once Greg came I knew he’d start to soften, he’d feel that post climatic sensitivity guys get to further stimulation from my rocking and it would quickly get bed damp patch messy; all of which might bring things to a halt. It was a race I won. As I came again, I pulled Greg in close, tightened myself on him and encouraged him to thrust as hard as he needed to get the best out of his own quickly following climax.

After that we fell asleep with Greg on his back and me curled up by his side, my hand resting on his pubis just above the base of his now flaccid shaft. When I woke up two hours later his night erection was resting over my hand; automatically surging every time my hand moved in contact with it. I couldn’t help playing with it just a little, which woke Greg up and led to the fourth; a wild, physical, passionate, thrusting fourth that left us both exhausted and instantly asleep again.

There’s something about the crisp starchy feel of hotel sheets that encourages sexual activity. We were both lying awake in the early morning light deciding whether it was time to get out of bed when the mood struck us to have the fifth; a playful, giggling, rolling, position changing, trash the bed fifth.

After breakfast and as we dressed for the beach, the sixth was cause by me telling Greg about the filming I’d done the day before and showing him the footage. I’d say by his actions that he certainly didn’t disapprove and by the effect it had on me watching it that if I needed something to masturbate to, it was going to do the job. Sitting on the ottoman at the foot of our bed as we watched it, we played with each other’s quickly aroused crutches during the video. As we gave more physical vent to our passions among the remnants of our hastily removed swimwear once the video had finished, the ottoman slid on the tiled floor away from the bed. So we finished with me riding Greg cowgirl style as he planked between the bed and the ottoman; allowing me to put my feet on the ground between them. Equestrian wise I suppose you might describe me as having done a rising trot; although I doubt any equestrian teacher would have approved of the style – I was definitely leaning too far back.

It was certainly a birthday I was going to remember.

The whole thing got even better when we came home to find my father had been conspiring with Greg’s parents. If we wanted, instead of me just going home with my parents two weeks before Uni started and being separated from Greg for that time, I could stay a week at Greg’s place and he could come down the following week and stay with us until his term accommodation became available.


© Copyright 2017 joanmcarthy. All rights reserved.

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