I had already kicked off my shoes. She stripped me down to my shorts and singlet. We danced on, writhing, edging into an embrace. I massaged her back, felt her aroused breasts under the boned corset. We swayed ourselves breathless. My inner fires were rising, seething.
“Now, for the deeper plunge, we’ll do a swim together.”
We left our clothes in a heap in the ballroom. Marina led me through a long, dark corridor to the pool. It was huge, glass-roofed, warm, exotic, flanked with palm trees. The water was turquoise—an encapsulated lagoon. She pointed to the changing room in the far corner. There’s a costume for you in there, okay?”
What suspense as we changed! Marina had been telepathic in her planning. They were fifties-style Jantzen trunks. I got a wonderful thrill as I pulled them on in a real flush of hitherto unfulfilled youth. Never before had I felt so sexy in trunks, with someone eyeing me up who I really wanted to do just that. It was almost as if I was going to appear in a male strip show, displaying myself to all the most beautiful women in the world, sighing in ecstasy at the sight of my body. Marina felt like all those beautiful women rolled into one.
We both tiptoed out of our cubicles and came to the pool’s edge. Now was the other side of the coin. What really turned me on was the corset, but now Marina was in a clingy purple swimsuit with white stripes top and bottom. My bathing icon was before me, the sight of her glorified by the tinting of subdued light. Ursula Andress and Esther Williams rolled into one. Had there ever, in my whole life, been a plunge like this?
I got into the water first, and drew Marina down by the shoulders to join me. Such beautiful shoulders, too, just muscular enough. We splashed about a bit at first, and then raced together, on and on, until I lost count of lengths and laps. All this unaccustomed exertion was releasing even more energy. We did many different strokes, but my favourite was to see Marina doing the backstroke, her lovely breasts and thighs thrusting up through the water. My reverie alternated between the pool and a bed. We felt so youthful, so healthy, so supple, and so strong. The heady power of this exercise was turning us into two supermodels.
We submerged, embracing under water. Our self-made maelstrom was tightening our clinch. This was a breath taking build-up—the flow, the ripples from outside building up the flow, the ripples from within. The Swim Fan sequence surged through my brain. I loved the first stirring of erection in my trunks, and sensed her fires were rising with mine. We were within an ace of doing it there and then, but Marina held me firm.
“We’ve got to go one step further on our path to make things complete.”
She took my hand and led me on. We approached a shower cubicle and she grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in.
“Next item in the unwinding sequence.” she whispered.
It was so delicious. The steamy water pouring down, that tight embrace in front of the mirror, with us still in costumes, the slow peeling down, the clinch, the soap foaming, the gel, the abandoned thrusting in quasi-tropical heat, the total cleaning, the thrust together of all body parts, the rubbing all over with voluminous towels. It was so transporting, we could have been anywhere in our world of travel dreams.
We went back to collect our clothes.
“We’ve done the water element and now it is time for the air. We’re going to parachute to ecstasy.”
Whatever happened next passed in a flash. We rapidly dried and changed, then, zoomed into a taxi, a careening but coolly controlled the ride through the night to a small airfield. We opened the taxi doors, and a warm breeze caressed us.
There was a charter plane waiting for us, sleek, with swept-back wings, its piston engine purring alluringly.
In the cabin were two parachutes and jumpsuits, one for each of us. The pilot was tall, lean, angular, a bit Latin looking who rapidly veiled his face in goggles.
The plane did a quick take-off, almost vertical.
Marina beckoned me to the porthole. The whole of the planet below felt fleshy, voluptuous, crying for us both to join in its embrace.
“See the earth below, darling,” Marina said, the woodland and scrubland bristling along with the shimmering veins of streams and rivers. “Now, we’re going to take our plunge through the air, just as we’ve taken it through water.”
She put on her jumpsuit and parachute and I followed suit.
The cockpit cover slid open and we tumbled out of the plane, embracing and kissing in free fall. The sky bore down on us while the ground rose to clasp us. Then our parachutes ecstatically bloomed above us. We swayed to the ground, and cast off our parachutes as they billowed aside, writhing erotically.
“You’ve passed your test, and earned my love. Now, take me, darling. I’ve toned up your body, so now you’re gorgeous. It is time for you to give your all to me, every gram of your firm flesh, your every muscle, sinew and bone. Give me all!”
A wind was rising around us. We kissed deeply, going to the bottoms of our lungs as if drawing from the power of the wind. We unzipped. There was a thunderstorm above us, answered by our own. Some night-owls made a brittle accompaniment. Our lusting bodies electrified our limp wet clothes. Off they peeled, to show us to each other like two naked gods, proclaiming themselves to the elements.
I threw myself on the ground and pulled Marina on top of me. The earth was soft, the grass was thick, and the natural bed was just yielding enough. We lunged into the bed of nature. It was so fulfilling, so wonderful to feel the wet leaves on the flesh of my back, and Marina on my chest, heaving as our muscles clinched. We rolled over, upper and lower rotated into an exquisite blur, hard strength came swelling, muscular. It felt as if the thunder clapped to our every thrust. It was long and slow, strong and deep. Time froze, suspended by our volcanic fires. Earth, water, fire and air welded in orgasm around ours. Then the thunder did clap, for real, with our climax, and released a warm shower to bathe and bless our fulfilment.
She moaned. “I’ve come, darling, I’ve come. I’ve always been able to choose. I’ve had so many, and some of them were really good, but of all of them, you’re the first man who ever really made it with me.”
Chapter Three
We must have fallen asleep on the lush ground. The next thing I remember was a long, breathy kiss waking me up, finding myself back at the hotel. Marina was wearing a bright blue dressing gown, obviously fresh from a bath or shower.
“You outstripped my expectations—hmm. That body, that self-assurance. We’ve really sealed our pact, darling. Now, we must both part to make our big marks on the world, to meet again with all the wealth and power we have won by the strength we have given each other. However, let’s make it special, and make our parting add the finishing touch to our perfect sensuality.”
Looking down, I realised I’d had had my clothes changed while I was asleep.
She led me to a luxury suite. All was soft and sheltered, in counterpoint to the elements. In addition, there was that fresh satin underwear. What a fabulous modulation on the open-air theme. Wild nature and the heights of artifice certainly did fill in each other’s gaps. Dew and quality soap combined to refresh us totally.
There was a last clinch and goodbye in the airport lounge. Something really great had happened…Marina built me up.
Chapter Four
All through the account, Rowena was rapt, riveted, penetrating my eyes with her stare.
“Well, I was really hypnotized by your story. You can really feel positive about the world now, can’t you,” she breathed, “and so can I. For the first time ever since I started practising, I’ve really gotten through to a patient. It feels to me as if all the blocks that you built up since childhood have been cleared away—yours and mine. I feel so fulfilled. I—” She blushed and stopped short.
“What is it?” I asked, a little taken aback. In a split second, we reversed roles. My prompting instruction came quite naturally.
“Yes, this is two-way, now. You can tell me.”
“Did that really happen to you?”
�
��No, it didn’t, but I really wanted it to.”
“If you really want something enough, you can will it to happen, Just let your imagination take you over… You…made me feel like Marina. I want to be Marina. I want to have that effect on you.”
My courage gelled. “You can be—you are.” This was the realisation. We joined each other on the sofa, quivered to an embrace, held a breathy, tongued kiss. Our arms, shoulders, legs, hips all harmonized.
Rowena took a deep breath. “I love dressing up, feeling caressed and massaged by soft, delicate fabrics, feeling clinched, embraced by tight-fitting but comfortable shoes, belts, bras, blouses, jackets, even the occasional hat. It’s like music, really. It’s great for the whole process to go in reverse, getting undressed—the flip side of dressing in front of a mirror, fabric caresses being phased into body caresses—play the film backwards, then let the caresses of a body take over from those of the fabrics, the elastic, the leather, allowing an interlude of gentle wafts of air…”
The words coagulated in my throat, then burst out in a loaded whisper. “Be yourself, find yourself, reveal yourself. Let the layers of your body answer the layers of your mind, as if you were luxuriating in a Turkish bath. Please…undress.”
Rowena stood up straight. For a moment, she looked almost cold and official, as if she was professionally going to end the session, which, by the way, is always a turn-on for me. I always find hard professional women so sexy. Then, a power far greater than her status radiated through her.
“I must confess…I have often fantasized about being a stripper, ached to do the seven veils…but it’s so much better when it’s a real, personal response.”
Rowena disrobed magnificently, with all the freshness of novelty and coyness newly abandoned, half-giggling, half shyly, but getting more of a thrill at every move on zip or button.
My zips and buttons made a delicate harmony with hers. Her sober, dark green consultant’s outfit came off, then her crisp cream blouse. Now, she stood before me in a clingy black crimped body stocking. She blossomed out of her repressive cocoon. How her breasts had strengthened! Her eyes lit up at the sight of my legs and torso as I revealed them to her. My body, too, was what she wanted.
In her secret world of thoughts, she had probably prepared for this occasion. So had I. I had put on my sexiest black briefs in anticipation. I divested to accompany her. She beamed with delight and panted. “Your body’s so gorgeous.” Our undressing almost felt like athletic rivalry. But we both came out winners. What a revelation when the clinical detachment of a profession was cast aside, along with the clothes!
Necking and petting rose to their fullest refinements. Rowena raised her arm in the air.
“We surrender, darling,” she cried out.
The suspense was almost unbearable as I pulled down her body stocking to reveal her in brief underwear to match mine. “Give yourself to me, as I to you,” I said, panting.
We took each other with the full force of our deepest dreams and longings. Every sensual vibration of my account of Marina came into concentrated play. Rowena had had a repressed childhood. It almost felt as if it was worth all those years of repression for both of us to get such a fabulous turn-on from this final release. We crowned every move with kisses and clinches of muscle, all over—breasts, armpits, hip to hip. Erections, general and specific, beautifully extended as we dived into the immersion of two-way orgasm.
First, the carpeted floor, after that, a shower, then the consulting couch, then the bath, then the bed, giving us both the most marvellous therapy either of us had ever given or received. Rowena’s in-depth consultation had really worked on me—and mine on Rowena. It was good to bridge the gulf between the professional and the personal!
Now, both of us really can face the world positively. Our interviewing and persuasion skills have improved a thousand fold. We’ve confined all the blushing and fumbling to areas of intimate encounter. And we’re both super-fit now, too—ace swimmers and parachutists, unflinchingly, perpetually camera-ready, determined to preserve our sexy bodies, to clinch and caress to perfection.
Wouldn’t it be great if everyone’s life could be like that!
About the Author
Born in the UK in 1940, David has been writing erotica since the mid-1980s. Published extensively in magazines and anthologies along with several books, poetry and prose, he also recorded and is the singer-songwriter of a vinyl album, Bricolage, recorded by Billy Childish for Hangman Records 1992, CD albums Bacteria Shrapnel and The Burglars of Britain—1998. He also has a short story, Explorations. He has several reviews on the Internet.
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