Country Pleasures (18 page)

She allowed one hand to return to her flat stomach, and moved her palm over it in small circles, sending messages all over her body that caused her nipples to pucker up and the inner fluttering to quicken. Her thighs fidgeted across the towel, parting still further and, while she moved one hand to her breast, the other hand sidled downwards until it met her warm nest of dark hair. She entwined her fingers in the wet curls,
pulling one or two strands upwards out of the tangle, straightening the hair, feeling the roots tug on the excruciatingly tender skin underneath. Her middle finger extended down to her crack and she gave a half gasp, half giggle, as she felt the blood-heat warmth spread inside the moistening lips. That wasn't just the damp from the sea, she thought, although she wondered, as she lay there caressing herself, what she would taste like now. She wiggled her finger, felt the soft sliver of sensitive flesh, and shocked it into tingling response. Janie moaned softly, sure that the sound was only in her ears.

A shadow crossed her closed eyelids, and she shifted, thinking it was a cloud obscuring the sun, but it seemed too solid for that. She opened her eyes and saw a tall shape standing a couple of feet away. Sally? she wondered stupidly, raising herself onto one elbow. Her tit swung against her arm and, as she raised one knee to get herself upright, a droplet of juice ran out of her crack and across her thigh.

It wasn't Sally. It was one of the surfers. He had his short wetsuit rolled down his torso, and his back to the sea. He could see Janie clearly, but she was half blinded by the glare. She raised one hand to shield her eyes and examined him more closely. He was lithe and tanned, and his face was young, so young. Tiny gold prickles of barely-shaved stubble speckled his brown cheeks. Hectic flushes of blood were just visible under the skin. She tried to remember her own youth. It wasn't that long ago, for heaven's sake. He was seventeen, maybe. Definitely a boy rather than a man, and yet his body was worked on, hard, no ounce of puppy fat, and his arms were big with muscle.

Janie let her eyes flutter slowly back to his face. She
opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn't about to make polite small talk. His bright-blue eyes were fixed on her tits, as they hung there boldly in the sunshine. Of course, raising her arm to shield her eyes had only lifted them higher. The realisation of her pose, like some sort of nude sculpture there on the towel, triggered her nipples into an intense reaction and, despite the heat of the sun, they shrank into tight arrowheads, which pointed directly at him.

The young man swallowed, registering their message, and shifted his bare feet in the sand. She thought he might be trying to get away. But he stayed where he was. Through his tight wetsuit she could see his groin bulging against the black neoprene. She itched to know if he wore anything underneath.

‘Surf up today?' Janie heard herself asking into the tingling silence. She could imagine Sally cackling at such a clumsy attempt at surf-speak. ‘I thought there were two of you out there.'

The boy nodded and tossed his head back towards the waves. His hair was beginning to dry into bleached strands.

‘My brother's still out there. I got a cramp.'

‘I can see that.'

The flutter she had felt earlier in her stomach was back with a vengeance, and felt more like hysterical determination. The old Janie would have lifted the towel by now to cover her nakedness. She might have made some shy, dismissive remark to send him on his way, but his frank stare at her naked body and his unmistakable hard-on were too tempting for her to let this scenario pass.

‘Want some lemonade?'

‘My dad says you should never accept drinks from
strangers,' he croaked with a lopsided grin, and Janie laughed. She took the bottle from the cool bag and waved it at him.

‘You're big enough to look after yourself, I should say,' she remarked, patting the towel beside her. He stepped closer, leaned across her, and took the bottle for a swig. ‘So, what brings you here? Do you know this part of Devon?'

‘No. It's my first time.'

More colour flooded his cheeks as he said it, and Janie knew to keep back her dirty chuckle. Instead she quietly took the lemonade from him, keeping her green eyes calmly on his burning blue ones, and without wiping the neck of the bottle she flicked her tongue round the wet rim before tilting her head back to take a deep swallow. His eyes were fixed on her long throat as the cold liquid swished down.

‘I mean, it's the first time we've been down to this coast,' he stammered. ‘Dad's rented a place for the summer. He insisted we come here this year. Normally we go to Constantine Bay, in Cornwall. The surf's miles better over there. So's the surfing crowd. I mean, it's just dead round here, isn't it?'

‘That depends what you're after,' Janie replied lazily. The bottle was still poised above her open mouth as if she was about to give it head. She licked it again, then wrapped her lips round it, swallowing a little more lemonade, then she screwed the lid back on. On an impulse she put the bottle down, not back in the cool bag, which would have been the sensible option, but between her legs, resting it up against her pussy, and stifled a gasp as cold plastic met sensitive, warm flesh. She leaned back on her elbows, forcing herself not to grab the bottle and start rubbing it up and down her thirsty slit. The urge to do that wouldn't go away, but
then, nor would the boy. ‘There's plenty to entertain you if you know where to look,' she said.

‘I'm beginning to realise that.'

Without the lemonade bottle the boy didn't know what to do with his hands, and he started rolling the wetsuit back to cover his stomach.

‘It's too nice out here today to cover yourself up. It may not be the Med, but this lovely weather has got to be a record for Devon. Sit down for a moment. Like you said, there's nothing to do round here, so there's no rush, is there?'

‘No rush,' he echoed, and his young voice dipped violently into a deep manly timbre, at odds with his adolescent face. Janie's pussy gave a couple of uncontrollably cheeky twitches that practically nudged the bottle away. She watched the young surfer wrestle with the twin urges to come and sit near her or to stand there and remain cool. Time to be a little less obvious, thought Janie. She relented and drew her legs up so that her bush was temporarily hidden from his confused, hungry gaze, but of course that only brought the bottle harder against her, its long shape pushing between her pussy lips and nudging against the tiny bud of her clit. As she gripped it between her thighs, she could feel the droplets of condensation mingle with her own moisture. Her breath was beginning to rush again, as if she was still swimming. She wanted to show the boy what she could do with the bottle, but it was too soon for that, and might be too shocking. She hitched herself up the towel, pulling her shoulders back in an effort to look more sophisticated, but all that did was thrust her breasts out so that his baby-blue eyes, which had struggled to keep politely to her face, swivelled back down to watch the instant tightening of her red nipples.

‘It may be a bit quiet in this neck of the woods,' said Janie, ‘but where else can you get quite so close to nature, after the city smoke? I expect that's what your dad was after.' She virtually whispered, trying not to giggle out loud with delight. Something in her warned her to act very calm and very still so as not to alarm him. ‘That's why I'm stretched out here, starkers. Never do that in London, do you? Hope you don't mind me being topless like this?'

He shook his head violently, like a little boy trying not to tell a lie and, at last, like an animal tempted in from the wild, he squatted down just by her feet. He rubbed the salty strands of yellow hair off his hot face, and kept rubbing.

‘So. You here on holiday, or what?' he asked.

He couldn't take his eyes off her tits, even though he was attempting to make conversation. She didn't dare look down at herself in case she distracted him, but she could feel her nipples hardening and darkening more and more every time his curious eyes returned. His pale-pink tongue slid across his white teeth and he gulped. Janie kept her smile faint but encouraging.

‘It's a mixture,' she answered. ‘Work and play.'

‘So which is this bit? Work or play?'

A soft wind came off the sea and ruffled his hair. He swiped it impatiently out of his eyes. Janie felt her own hair tickle her face, and the wind caressed her bare skin like delicate fingers.

‘Oh, that's easy. Play,' she whispered, not knowing if the wind had snatched the word away. ‘This bit is definitely play.'

She tilted forwards onto her knees. Now she was right by him. She paused for a moment as he blinked hard, focusing in closer on Janie's tits. Then she picked up one of his hands from where it was digging frantically
about in the sand, lifted it like a warm animal and placed it on one swollen breast. Her nipple spiked up even more, and poked against his palm. His mouth dropped open, and Janie's head fell limply back on her neck as his fingers closed round the mound of smooth flesh. She spread her knees a little to balance herself more comfortably in front of him, then leaned her hands behind her on the towel so that her spine was arched and her breasts were pushing at him, jumping up with each heartbeat.

The dry grass rustled in the slight breeze, and far away the waves curled with a collective sigh onto the beach. Both the surfer and Janie were breathing fast, their breath mingling with the wind. At last he brought his other hand up, and both her breasts were enfolded in his hesitant fingers. He glanced up at her, his blue eyes blazing with a crazy request for permission, and her insides melted. Again her head felt limp and heavy on her neck. Already she wanted to subside beneath him, open her arms and her legs to him, let him grab and take and thrust and pummel. She wanted to make him into a man. But she also had a glorious, blue-eyed opportunity here. Privacy, sunshine, open air, and a young man with the body of a god waiting for her to show him the way. And she had all the time in the world.

The fluttering in her stomach tightened into a clump of fierce desire. She watched his fingers digging into her breasts, moulding them, making them rise, letting them fall. Then she knelt up and placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed her tits into his eager face. There was an electrifying pause. She felt his breath whistle against her flesh. What had Sally said? ‘Some lucky bloke is going to nuzzle in between those breasts and love them.' Yes, she wanted her cleavage to be his
first real woman's cleavage. Forget any teenage groping he might have enjoyed. She wanted this to be something he would remember forever; she wanted this to be his first time, with her playing the older woman. She wanted to smother him, keep him there. He nuzzled his face in between her breasts, pressing them into his cheeks with his hands, and then he drew back. Janie cupped one breast and offered it. She rubbed its taut dark nipple across his mouth as if urging an orphaned lamb to suckle. The tip of his tongue flicked out tentatively. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched more firmly to his shoulders, to keep her balance and to keep him in place right there, her tit angled right into his mouth.

His tongue flicked across the nipple again, and his hands, that a few minutes ago had been wrestling with a surfboard, squeezed Janie's breasts together until they sang with delicious pain. Then his soft lips nibbled her nipple, his tongue lapping round it, and he drew the burning bud into his mouth, pulled hard on it, and began to suck. Janie looked down at his bleached-blond head, the salt water dried in granules and flecked white across his cheekbones. She wanted to stay like this forever. She looked away over his head, across the dunes and over the ocean, experimenting with the idea of distancing herself from what was happening, but his mouth, his teeth, kept tugging at her aching nipple and pulling her attention back. Charges of sheer electricity started to streak directly from that spot down through her body to her empty, waiting cunt.

He had got the hang of it now. He had the other breast up by his face, and turned his head this way and that, lapping and sucking, snuffling through his nose to breathe, groaning, biting and kneading harder as if he owned her breasts now. It wasn't enough for
one breast to be suckled, they both had to be stimulated, and then she began to experience the promise of real, selfish satisfaction. In an echo of the increasing ferocity of his mouth and hands, Janie pushed herself more roughly against him, seeking, searching for more pain at her nipples to communicate more pleasure through the rest of her. She parted her legs and lifted her knees to plant them on either side of his still-kneeling thighs so that she was straddling him, and still had his head crushed between her tits. Slowly she pushed at him so that, still sucking on her nipples, he lowered his back onto the sand. He kicked his legs out straight underneath her, and then she was on top of him, her tits dangling over him, their size and weight accentuated by their new position, the round globes pale in his tanned fingers. She tilted her pussy desperately towards his groin and rubbed it briefly against his wetsuit. Even through the tough material she could feel the length of his dick. Keeping her tits over his face, she grabbed at the wetsuit and started to roll it off him like a second skin. He raised his hips obligingly, unquestioningly, eagerly. Janie wondered if he knew how big his hard-on was. She yanked the wetsuit down and his erect penis thumped free, juddering out from the rough tangle of blond curls, golden-brown like the rest of him. Its surface was smooth like velvet, and the mauve plum emerged eagerly from beneath his soft foreskin. She held her hand out, and the gorgeous dick sprang into it. Now it was her turn to fold her fingers round something, and as she did so its owner bit her nipple hard and she yelped with delight, leaning over him to settle herself above her new toy.

‘Just take a little break. Try something new,' she whispered, both to herself and to him. She started to wriggle back down his body so that his head followed
for a moment, still nibbling at her nipples, but then he fell back as she slithered down towards his groin and he could only grab at her wet hair. Her face reached his cock, which stood up like a beacon. The tip was already beading in anticipation, and she thought how much sweeter it would be to go down on this fresh young stick of rock than Maddock's rough, rustic old pole. Nevertheless, she was glad Maddock had shown her how to do it, because now she could exercise it as her own skill. So, with no further ado she opened her mouth and drew it all in until the boy's round knob knocked at the back of her throat.