The sound of the water falling in Zahra and Reza's “cave” overpowered them for a moment, but after a while Helena heard them over the dull roar of the water: the unmistakeable squeaks and squeals of a woman who was having something sexual done to her.
Helena felt another surge of arousal. It layered on to the dull ache that had nestled between her thighs already. She looked around her, and cocked her ears so she could hear better where the sounds were coming from.
There was a cabana near the cave-end of the pool. Surely they were there. Helena listened.
She could feel her mind thinking, and she almost couldn't believe the idea it was coming up with. She wouldn't.
And yet, her body seemed to be taken over by another person. She felt like a puppet, and the puppeteer was some crazy, slutty woman. Her limbs were moving, pulling her through the water in the direction of the stairs at the south end of the pool where the cabana was. Her mind was calculating how long it would take for her footprints to dry up on the hot pavement after she walked closer. She was thinking of excuses for being there, for being behind the cabana if she got caught. Her neck turned her head and her eyes sought out maids or gardeners who might see her. But the vast yard was empty, and the windows of the house were hollow eyes.
Emboldened, Helena took a towel and dried herself as she walked toward the cabana. She looked behind her. In the sweltering heat, her footprints had nearly baked away on the stones, which were dark and porous and swallowed up water.
She could not believe what she was doing, even as she did it. She walked straight to the cabana, the towel very loosely around her body, and then she stepped around the side. There was a door on the east side of the cabana that led to a descending set of steps, where a hot tub was carved into the rocks at the bottom.
The windows of the cabana were open, and so Helena could hear every ragged breath as she approached. Zahra's moaning, then, as she got closer, slurping and stickiness.
There may have been a time in Helena's life when she would have run away from these sounds, or had the decency, at the very least, not to creep toward them. But her pussy was actually throbbing, and her body was tingling with an arousal that she had never felt before. She crept along the side of the small building and lowered herself to a crouch.
She heard Reza's voice, low and tangled in the difficult sounds of Persian. Helena gathered courage and peeked into the room.
She jerked her head back, and processed what she had just seen. Then she looked back in, unable to look away.
Zahra's legs were the first thing in her line of sight. She was crouched on the cabana's chaise lounge, with her ass toward the door where Helena was peeking. Still with her heels on, her feet twisting a little in obvious pleasure. The string of her bikini was off the side of her snatch, the dark pink folds of her gash were pried open by Reza's fingers. He was knuckle deep inside of her, with one finger playing with her clit. Zahra's ass was in the air and her head was down, in Reza's lap, bobbing over his cock.
Helena sucked in her breath. She wished she could see the details of his cock, and Zahra's mouth moving over it. She looked at Reza's face: he was watching his wife as she sucked on his cock, his eyes trained on where her lips must have been. His mouth was moving and he was speaking to her in low tones. Helena didn't know Persian, but she knew it was dirty as hell, whatever he was saying.
She could hear the slurping of Zahra's blowjob. Reza's fingers made sticky sounds as he began to fuck Zahra with his fingers, his arm relaxed over her back.
Helena wondered if he was thinking of Zahra. Or if he was recalling the woman he had just ogled by the pool.
She slid her hand between her legs, almost without realizing she was doing it. Her fingers pushed aside the scrap of bikini and dipped into her dripping cunt in search of her own clit. She rubbed herself lightly as she watched, and her climax rose up inside of her quickly. She paused, not wanting to come just yet. Her face was flushed and she was sweating; she could feel the droplets of sweat rolling down her body, between her breasts, licking at her like a tongue.
She heard Zahra's muffled moan and watched as Reza's fingers became coated in her sticky cum.
She felt herself getting closer to the edge, and she began to stroke herself furiously to get there. But she couldn't take her eyes off of the couple.
And then, Reza lifted his gaze.
Right toward the window.
His eyes met Helena's.
Didn't they?
She felt herself coming at that very moment, She thought she saw him smile, but she threw herself back against the wall, out of the view of the window, and bit into the flesh of her hand to stop herself from screaming with her orgasm. The sucking sounds continued inside the cabana, for just a few moments, and then she heard Reza groan, and give out a yell. More dirty Persian.
Helena struggled to her feet. She was dizzy with her orgasm.
She ran to the pool, as quickly as she could without making noise. She dove in, and stayed underwater as long as she could, all the way to the other end. Her body was tingling, the water felt sensational around her, like silk. Her thoughts raced: what the fuck had she done?
When she finally came out from under the water, she was still alone. She swam under the water again to the other side. Still no one. God, what was going to happen?
Reza's stare still burned through her.
When she came up a third time, Zahra's black heels were in front of her.
Helena looked up. Her stomach twisted in fear. How could she explain herself?
“You there,” Zahra said, and Helena felt like her chest was being squeezed. “Mermaid. Do you want some lunch?”
She was smiling, one hand on her hip.
Helena looked around. Reza was making a drink at the bar.
She almost believed, for a moment, that she had imagined the whole thing.
“Sure,” she said, and Zahra, in a typically Zahra move, turned and walked over to a chair and sat down in it, as though the act of asking the question had been too exhausting for her to continue without taking a break.
“I had the worst time of it with Suisse Bank,” she complained to no one in particular. She adjusted her sunglasses.
Reza appeared and handed her a drink. Then he turned to Helena. On his face was a smile. Friendly. Unreadable.
“You. You should wear a lot of sunscreen if you're going to fall asleep in the sun like that.”
And then he winked.
Helena's mouth feel open.
Luckily Reza had walked away, and Zahra had turned her face up to the sky. “Oh Reza,” she said. “Don't nag. White people know all about sunscreen. And go tell Haley we need some lunch, will you? I can't be bothered.”
Reza disappeared after lunch, and Helena could feel that she was both grateful and disappointed. Grateful, because she could feel herself thinking and acting in ways that almost scandalized her. And disappointed, she supposed, for the same reason.
They had returned to the pool, and Zahra had been called away by Haley, the mysterious jean-clad “maid” and chef, who had brought her a phone.
Helena had settled back into relaxing, trying to steer her thoughts away from the brewing naughtiness in her head.
And then.
“Is it true?”
Helena had to fight hard with her body to keep the shudder that went through her from surfacing in a way that Reza could see. She probably wasn't successful. Just the smooth sound of his voice was enough to drive her wild.
The thought went through her head was that Reza wasn't supposed to be there. It was why Helena had allowed herself the indulgence of actually relaxing by the pool. With her top off.
Right? That was why she had done that, wasn't it? Not because she had secretly hoped he would come back and see her again?
Now her heart was racing, and she was positive this kind of start was terrible for her health. She fought to remain calm, and keep her eyes closed, and behave more like Zahra.
Zahra. That's w
ho she should be thinking about. And Steve.
And not herself, not the fact that she could feel her pussy throbbing already, just from the caress of his voice over her skin.
What had he asked her? How should she act?
A long and awkward pause unfolded why she struggled to come up with a reaction.
She pushed her sunglasses into her hair and smiled at Reza, who was standing over her and took her opened eyes as an invitation to sit on the edge of her lounge chair.
“I thought you weren't...here,” she said. She realized she was topless, and resisted an urge to cover herself.
Reza gave a glance back at the house, as though he read her scattered thoughts and plucked, from all of the things she was thinking, the thought about Zahra. Zahra her good friend, whose half-naked husband was sitting on the lounge chair, tan and sculpted.
“Zahra's going to be on a conference call with the bank for a bit,” he said casually.
Helena's pulse began to race even faster, so fast she felt dizzy. Her stomach twisted, her insides went cold and hot.
There was no denying, though she tried very hard, that she wasn't having the same immature thoughts about Reza that she had about many a boy when she was an adolescent. That in spite of the way it would violate her wedding vows, and her friendship, she liked to sit in the sun and fantasize about Reza running his eyes all over her again, and that he secretly was attracted to her, and then even more intense fantasies than that. She liked to think of all the places she could hide away with Reza and feel more than just his eyes on her.
But now? Now that he was right here? Staring at her? And she was topless? And Zahra was “on a conference call” just a short walk away, in her giant house full of windows?
Now she knew she should do something, like stand up and get in the pool. Or put on her top. Or something. Anything.
Instead her thoughts were empty, and the only thing in her mind was the acute awareness of Reza's thigh being pressed to her ankle. The heat of his body was stirring her up sexually, a sexual pleasure that was somehow radiating from her ankle, running along the inside of her thigh, and pooling between her legs.
She found her voice, remembering he had asked her a question.
“What?” she croaked. “is..is what true?”
She watched as Reza produced from seemingly thin air a bottle of sunscreen and poured some of it into his hands. Was this actually happening? She couldn't tear her eyes away from his big, strong hands rubbing the sunscreen together. His face had an expression of...what? Pure confidence? Desire? Satisfaction? Control It was hard to say, maybe all of these things were mixed into the face her wore as his lightly smiling lips said:
“That white people know all about sunscreen?” And then her motioned with one hand, and she knew that he wanted her to turn around, and let him put the sunscreen on her back.
What she couldn't believe is that she did precisely that.
Reza's hand was smooth and gentle, but an undercurrent of wild strength was below the surface of his touch, electrifying Helena's skin. She felt an involuntary spasm ripple through her. It traveled around to the front of her body and turned her nipples hard. But she was lost to the sensation of his hands on her back.
“It seems to me you haven't reapplied,” Reza said, but it sounded more as though he had something like, it seems to me I want to lie you down and fuck you.
Okay, she thought to herself. Okay. This is just a friendly application of sunscreen. After all, people need someone to apply sunscreen to their back. Friends do it, you can ask a kid to do it...so by itself this is not specifically sexual.
Of course it was not racing through her body in any kind of asexual way. She realized she was holding her breath.
His hands were moving in strong circles, ever-closer to her ribs, to places on her body that were not the sorts of places..well, the sorts of places a person couldn't reach herself with sunscreen.
As he rubbed the lotion into her neck, he stroked the lobe of her ear with his thumb, and her skin came alive with gooseflesh. Had he done it on purpose? Did he see, and did he know what effect he was having on her?
Obviously, by now.
He rubbed his thumb on her other earlobe, and Helena heard her breath escape her.
Helplessly, she closed her eyes. She knew she should do something, but as his hands moved around her ribs and inward on her chest, toward her nipples, she wanted him to touch her so badly that she was powerless to stop herself or him.
He cupped her breasts, and rubbed her nipples gently, as though he were still trying to sustain the illusion that he was clinically applying sunscreen. Helena felt herself lean backward and her back touched his hot skin. He moved his hands down the length of her body, and then he paused, making a big show of putting more sunscreen on his hands in front of her.
Helena tried to force herself to think about what she was doing, how plain in sight it was, how wrong...but she could only think of the white lotion on Reza's fingers, and how he was going to return to where he was last applying the lotion...down her torso, so close to the strings that held her only piece of clothing in place.
He rubbed the lotion along her sides, down to her hips, and under the strings of her bikini. She shuddered as he did, and she felt his breath on her neck as he slid his arms beneath the strings. He turned his hands inward, and his fingers stroked the super-sensitive skin of her inner thigh, down close to her ass, then back up. She felt her clit throb. She had never wanted anyone to touch her more than she wanted Reza to keep going, to keep digging beneath the fabric, and into her flesh, and then to push her onto her hands and knees and fill her up with his huge cock...
But suddenly, the sweet pleasure of his hands slid back up, out from under the bikini strings, and up her torso. “I think that should do it,” he said, in a low voice, and she felt him standing up.
Moments later, Zahra came trouncing out of the house, yelling in Iranian.
Jesus, thought Helena, as she unsteadily reclined in the lounge chair and pressed her knees together. What the fuck was she doing?
Zahra bitched by the cabana to Reza for a few minutes, and then came over to sit down by Helena.
“Darling,” she said, her voice like syrup. “I have to go into town and talk to these idiots at the bank. But you stay here if you want.”
Helena looked over at Reza, at his muscled back and his firm thighs, at the roundness of his ass in his shorts. A shudder went through her as she remembered the feel of his strong hands on her thighs.
“I...no, you know what, that's good, I should probably...go home sometime...” she said. She jumped up, wrapping a towel around her in a flustered desire to have some modesty. The whole spell of the crazy afternoon was wearing off as oxygen came back to her head. She threw her swimsuit cover on and slipped her feet into her flip flops.
Zahra looked at them in disapproval. “Tomorrow we'll get you new shoes,” she muttered. “Okay then. I will see you soon,” she said.
Helena waved at Reza as she left, and, as though nothing had transpired at all, he raised his hand to her. “See you!”
She drove much too fast at first, while she tried to fill her head with thoughts about her husband. How much she loved him. How she needed to put the brakes on all of this somehow.
But her thoughts turned, and she started to drive slower and slower, as she lost herself instead in the memory of Reza's touch, his staring at her body.
After all, it was just fantasy.
After all, she hadn't done anything yet.
After all, getting some sunscreen rubbed on you wasn't exactly adultery.
She drove right past her exit, and was miles down the highway before she realized what she had done.
6
Steve discovered on Friday that what he had optimistically agreed to after his delicious romp with his wife and her bare pussy was a party on Friday at the Tehrani's. And to stay over, so that everyone, as Helena put it, “could have a really great time.”
As the remainder of the week went on, Steve found himself enthralled with the new Helena: relaxed, sexually excited, and dressed to kill. But he couldn't help feeling as though something was also slipping out control. Maybe her, maybe him. Even though he was enjoying that she wanted him to eat her out on the couch or the sunroom lounge chair, and that her skin was smooth as glass and that she was walking around the house in skimpy bikinis, he couldn't help but feel disoriented by his “new wife.”
Friday rolled around, and Helena was already dressed when he got home.
“Hurry up,” she said playfully. “I'm starving and they have these great appetizers planned.”
“You look...” Steve struggled for the right word.
She looked fantastic. She was wearing a black and white striped dress. It was skin-tight, the stripes were vertical, and the collar dipped so low near her breasts that he was afraid a slice of her nipple might be revealed if she moved wrong. She had given him a little spin, and her round ass warped the stripes in the back in such a pleasant way that Steve was certain no man would be able to stop staring at the shape it made. The dress ended mid-thigh, so it was not too short, but its almost conservative length somehow only made it sexier.
Helena didn’t wait for his adjective. She placed a hand on her hip and turned back to the mirror. Steve watched her own eyes travel over her body, and he was surprised to see no traces of the critical scowl that normally turned up as she appraised herself. Instead, she glowed. “It's great, isn't it? Zahra was throwing it out, and so I snatched it up.”
It was easy, and quite pleasant, to imagine Zahra inside of this dress. It was also easy to see her taste in it. Fashionable. Some strange hint of Eastern in it. Expensive. Not quite slutty, but almost there.
Like Zahra.
“It's...hot,” Steve said lamely.
Helena leaned toward a mirror in the kitchen with a lipstick tube in her hand. “I'm thinking of wearing this,” she said, and Steve watched as a stain of red-orange filled her full lower lip. Then her upper lip. She pressed them together and looked at him in the reflection in the mirror.
A Summer Vacation: A Wife-Swapping Novella Page 5
