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Sandra
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: STORY > Sandra
For the third day in a row, he was there.
Still fuzzy from her night of dancing and imbibing, Sandra was late to
rise Wednesday. It was nearly 10:30 when she drew the curtains of her
third-floor room and squinted into the bright Acapulco sun. Room service
tequila sunrise in hand - the hair of the dog, she slipped on the
sunglasses and into the deck chair. The warmth of the sun on the outside,
cool alcohol fire on the inside, and a smile between.
With a motion honed by repetition, Sandra next lifted the binoculars to
he eyes and felt a tingle begin between her legs as her gaze centered
on him. She had come for the sun, for a week without phones and
obligations. She smiled to think of how much of the first two days of
that week had been spent like this, enjoying also the bright yellow
bikini-style trunks he wore, which traced the bulging curve of his penis.
His cock was more revealed than concealed by the thin yellow material,
especially against the deep tan of his thigh.
Sunday, when first she saw him climb the beach to "his spot," dark
maroon beach towel over his shoulder, Sandra knew she wanted him. Her body
had responded even before the thought was formed...instantly she was damp.
She first noticed his chest, really. It was expansive, well-muscled but
not overly so, with glistening highlights from a light sheen of suntan
oil. Judging from his dark tan, she figured he had been here at least a
week. And he had just the right amount of chest hair, she decided
quickly. She had also watched his thighs and calves as he climbed the
slight rise from water's edge to the warm sand plateau that spread out
before the hotel.
He had been wearing a wide smile on his longish but quite handsome
features and had ringlet curls. He had obviously just come from the ocean.
So Sandra, on the balcony for the first time and still dressed in her
pants suit from the flight, had watched as he strode the few yards up the
incline toward her, and wondered about him.
"I'll bet he's gay!" she muttered half-aloud, then giggled in
embarassment that he might have heard, being only a few dozen feet away
and below. But he hadn't, and so she more quietly added, "Or married."
So for the two days since, Sandra had watched him, both teasing herself
with the anticipation and trying to figure him out. She had not intended
to need a man this trip, had reassured Steve about it before leaving, but
this couldn't be helped.
By Monday afternoon, she knew it had to be. She watched as he read for
a while on the sand, then trotted again to the ocean for another hour or
more of swimming and bodysurfing, then walked up the hill again, muscles
undulating...and she squeezed her legs together, enjoying the pressure,
the answering throb.
She had danced one dance with him, late last night in the bar, and then
disappeared...a move calculated to heighten the experience for them both.
She had seen him in the hotel bar Monday night, too, though he had not
seen her.
On the chance he would return, she had showered, perfumed herself and
done her hair when she returned from shopping yesterday afternoon. She had
slipped on her purchase, a clinging white dress of satin, and gone down to
the club.
The five-piece combo was good, and there was no shortage of middle-aged
vacationers and spoiled, unworldly young men with whom to dance. Lord
knows they hounded her enough. And the adulation, Sandra had to admit, was
nice, made her feel somehow wanton to be so in demand. But he was not
there. She had started out dancing, waiting and drinking, but ended up
drinking and dancing.
But just after 11 he came in. By this time she was quite well along,
more than two sheets to the wind, but Sandra summoned her composure,
ordered a coffee and watched as this tan man in the faded denim ordered
and downed a double shot of tequila. She particularly paid attention to
his tongue as it lapped the bit of salt from the back of his hand...a
long, tapered tongue that she suddenly thought, she needed to feel on and
in her.
She giggled a little when he asked her to dance, but had much less
trouble than she thought possible on the dance floor. Instead of clumsy,
the drinks made her seem to float on the music, the beat transmitted to
her hips, legs and feet effortlessly. Her arms created sinuous circles in
the air and she smiled still more widely, with half-lidded eyes, to see
his look of admiration and lust as he watched her breasts sway and bounce
beneath the satin. She knew without looking that her nipples were
enormous and that they would be clearly visible to him and that thought,
too, made her wet.
Partly as a result of her inebriation and partly owing to her
mischievousness, she had gone to the bathroom and out the back after that
dance. She wanted to be all there and in control when the time came.
As she lay back in the bed, hand between her legs unconsciously rubbing
in the few minutes before sleep overtook her, Sandra had wondered how
long he had waited. And she chuckled a bit before dropping into the deep
abyss of drunken slumber.
And now morning. He was here again and so was her need. As she sunned
and sipped, she looked again below at him, several times. He had gone
back out,swimming again, just after she sat down and was now hiking back
to his towel from where the waves had repeatedly pushed him, a couple
hundred feet south.
She held up the binoculars again, again centering her field of vision on
those trunks, that riveting bulge between his upper thighs. But she
noticed, nevertheless, immediately when he looked up to the balcony where
she was. Even as the bulge seemed to grow in her vision, she shifted to
look at his face.
He was looking straight at her, looking at him, and he smiled.
Deliberately he stuck his tongue out at her, open-mouthed, and twitched
the tip of it provocatively.
Sandra swung her legs to the side of the lawn chair and stood up. He
walked past the towel, onto the concrete decking of the hotel pool and
continued across until he was just below and in front of her balcony,
still looking up.
She moved her right foot to the side, spreading her legs, at the same
time she reached into the pockets of the light dressing gown, which was
all she wore, and parted it to show him her pussy.
His eyes widened, as did his smile. She looked down past her breasts at
him and watched as he again promised her pleasure with his outstretched
tongue. Then he disappeared under her balcony and into the building.
Sandra opened the door just as he was lifting a hand to knock.
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