“I want to eat you and fuck you, run my fingers all over you, and then take the whole day to just gaze at you, but I know you’re anxious to get to the beach, so I’ll give you a one-minute head start to get your suit on and grab your beach bag before I put my agenda before yours.”
“I kind of like your agenda,” she said with a coy smile, “but I know if I play my cards right, I can have both today—a day lying on the sand and a night lying under you in bed.”
“You heard my ultimatum.” He looked at his watch, “you’ve only got forty-five seconds left.”
She squealed and grabbed the towel from his hand and ran for the bedroom. The drawer was pulled open and a bathing suit bottom and top were tossed onto the bed along with her beach bag. She turned and stepped into the bikini bottom and threw the string bikini top over her head not bothering to tie the side strings. Grabbing the bag and the towel she raced for the door. At the door she slipped into her flip-flops. As he advanced on her she opened the door and slipped out. Juggling everything, she managed to wrap the towel around her torso to cover the portion of her breasts that weren’t yet tucked behind flimsy triangles.
She smiled back at him as she closed the door behind her, “See you on the beach!”
The door clicked closed and she could hear his boisterous laugh. Then moments later he joined her, lying beside her on the pristine sand. As he settled beside her, both on their stomachs, he lifted himself to his elbows and reached over to untie the knot and to pull the string she had just finally managed to get tied.
“I wouldn’t mind if you tanned topless.”
“Well, I’m sure that lifeguard over there might.”
“No, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t mind a bit,” he said with a roguish grin.
“Forget it. This is a family beach. Besides, I sure don’t need a burn there.”
“That’s true, since I plan on mauling those puppies later, it would be best if they weren’t overly sensitive.” He bent over her and kissed her bare shoulder blade.
“I brought something,” he said as he moved a cooler into view. He slid the handle back and lifted out a sipper cup with a tall straw attached. He made sure little drops of ice cold water dripped onto her warm back. She shrieked and he bent and licked them off as he handed it to her.
“What is it?”
“Something that will assure me I will be able to have my way with you.”
She gave him a sideways quirk of an eyebrow. “As if that wasn’t a sure thing . . . what’s in this?”
“Screwdriver.”
She took a tentative sip and shuddered from the strong alcohol-laced drink. “There’s a lot more screw than driver in this.”
“I’m all the driver you need, trust me. Looking at you, being here like this . . . I am as hard as a pile driver. You just worry about being the screwee.”
She took another healthy swallow and smiled. “A woman could get used to this life. Sun, sand, sex.”
“You soak it all up, as soon as I put some sunscreen on your back and legs I’m going to get some sleep so I can be ready for the all-night marathon.”
“All night?”
His sunscreen-coated hand slipped between her thighs. “All night. There isn’t anything I want to leave untried by morning.”
“Making up for the time lost you spent overseas?”
“Maybe. Mostly making good use of the time I still have left. I expect it’s only a matter of time before your husband comes to collect you.” With that, he laid his cheek on his crossed hands and closed his eyes.
Callie looked at his handsome profile while she sipped the very potent screwdriver.
An hour later Rand opened his eyes to a clearly snookered Callie. If the dazed look in her eyes wasn’t a clear indication, the fact that she had completely removed her top and was lying on her side facing him surely was.
He sat up and looked around. Thankfully, their little area was many yards away from the nearest group of sunbathers, all facing the shoreline and not aware of the couple close to the dunes.
He draped his t-shirt over her breasts and kissed her pinkening nose. “One would think you were proud of these,” he said as a finger delved below the white cotton tee and grazed a pebbled tip. “Do you like showing these off? How does it make you feel when a man looks at your breasts with lust in his eyes? Lust, full and throbbing, palpable in waves like those roaring just a few feet away?” His voice was low and lyrical and his lips soft as he kissed around her ear.
He should have felt badly that he was using hypnotherapy techniques he had honed in school while plying her with alcohol, but he didn’t. He had a burning desire to know what was going on inside this beautiful woman’s head. He felt an overwhelming need to know how anyone with her beauty could end up so insecure, so needy that she would actually remove her bathing suit and show herself to complete strangers.
“Tell me how you met Clint.”
“Oh, I worked at the library—”
“The truth. I hear you met at a party.”
Her eyes opened in shock, “Did he tell you that? I didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone the truth about that night.”
“Never mind what he told me. I’m asking you to tell me. Here, have some champagne, it’ll loosen your tongue.” He opened a small split and filled a plastic flute. Tucking the empty bottle back into the cooler, he put the sparkling wine in her hand. He sat, one arm draped over a raised knee and said, “I’m listening,” in his most commanding officer’s voice.
Callie took a big sip as if to fortify herself and began. “It was one of those bachelor things I sometimes worked. Nine of us were hired out as a team; some were flagrant—strippers really. Others like me were more conservative and we just mingled. The company policy was that the girls only had to take off what they wanted to take off, and no one was ever allowed to touch them. I was one who never took everything off. I was the classy one, usually in a low-cut gown with a long slit showcasing my legs.
“Before we came into the room someone had to read the policy card of ‘I’m Your Babe,’ the company we worked for. We wore any number of costumes: nurses, teachers, schoolgirls, French maids, policewomen, even nuns, whatever was arranged when the party was booked. The night I met Clint I was a French maid—short black dress, ruffled petticoat underneath, skimpy pinafore covering breasts propped high in a bustier, all topped with a cute hat over hair curled every which way. Vampy, but classy, if you know what I mean.”
Clint nodded and opened another split for her.
“We always got a lot of catcalls, especially on the way up to the apartments. The minute I was announced and stepped into the room I knew there was going to be something different about this party. Although it looked typical, something felt wrong. Twenty military guys, all in uniform—or mostly at least. Some were half-dressed. There were a few other women there, wives or girlfriends, and some of the guys had their shirts and shoes off. A few had their pants unzipped. Two of the girlfriends were running around topless and everyone was feeling them up as they passed out drinks.
“This one guy sat at the end of the sofa, his arm draped on the armrest with a drink dangling from his hand. He looked like he’d just come from a dress parade compared to others. He was taking it all in, a cynical smile on his lips.”
“Clint.”
“As you say—Clint. His eyes met mine and held. We had that meeting across the room with your eyes kind of thing the whole time the host was reading the rules about how we were to be treated. Then the bump and grind music one of our girls carried started and broke the spell.
“But this guy’s eyes didn’t move far from mine, they dropped to my chest and he waited. He waited until I had used my feather duster on every man’s chin, smiled into all their blood-shot eyes, and turned to swish my bustle-clad de
rriere in their faces. I unbuttoned the pinafore straps and let my top fall exposing the tops of my pushed-up breasts. His eyes burned into me, I could actually feel the heat as he looked at me. I had a set of much-used silver sequined pasties on and I remembered hoping I had used enough glue to keep them on in case a nipple happened to pop up over the edge of the bustier. My contract didn’t call for me going topless; I didn’t get paid the extra fee for doing it, and I simply didn’t do it. Everyone knew that.
“Still, I felt dirty and ashamed; it was the first time I had felt that way in all the months I had been doing this. I remember I had to force myself to prance around the room, smile and shimmy my shoulders to make my tits jiggle. Then things went bad.
“The groom-to-be grabbed my breasts, pulled them free and squeezed them hard. I screamed, and as a reaction to the pain, I slapped him. That made him angry and he hit me, sending me into another guy who pawed at the dangling ruffled top of my pinafore as I tried to get away. He ripped my dress clean off. Then more hands grabbed at me from behind and not being able to pinch my nipples for the pasties that I was wearing, they tore them both off. It hurt real bad.
“I was topless and wearing only a skimpy pair of bikini panties. And I was stunned and mortified. I remember trying to cover myself, screaming ‘Stop! Don’t!’ and then as tears were streaming down my face two guys in camo started tugging me down the hall toward the bedrooms.”
“I don’t suppose our chivalrous Clint allowed that.”
“No, he did not. He stood, pushed several guys out of the way, punched the guy in the face who was dragging me down the hall, Judo-kicked his friend, and then he bent and picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder. I remember bouncing against his shoulder as he ran down the outside steps with me, and then I was in his car, on the front seat hugging myself and sobbing while he screeched out of the parking lot and drove off.
“‘I need my costume,’ I cried, rocking myself back and forth as he drove through the worst part of town.
“‘Fuck the costume! What the fuck were you thinking? Those guys are animals! Most of them haven’t had a woman in months!’
“I looked over at him and saw that he was staring at my breasts instead of looking at the road. ‘I needed the money! And you’re not much better! Where are you taking me?’
“‘I am not unaffected by your nakedness, but I’m not about to rape you.’
“He asked me where I lived and despite the fact that I had been admonished never to give a client my home address, I gave it to him. I wanted to get home. I needed my clothes. It was only a few blocks away and I thought I’d be safer there than where I was, practically naked.
“He wrapped me in his shirt and carried me upstairs when we got to my apartment. He set me on the mat outside my door and shoved three one hundred dollar bills in my hand. Then with that stern look he has he said, ‘You will strip for no one else but me, from
now on.’
“I didn’t know what he meant by that until the next night when my boss came to my apartment. She told me to get dressed and took me to a downtown hotel. As ordered, I was dressed like a schoolteacher. I thought the other girls were already inside the room and that my boss had come to personally escort me to the job when I hadn’t bothered to show up for work. When she knocked on the door and Clint answered I was stunned. A fistful of cash was crammed into my boss’ hand and she left. He pulled me inside.
“‘We sat on a tiny sofa watching old movies and eating pizza. He didn’t ask me to take anything off. Every night for a month he paid me three hundred dollars to meet him at a different hotel. After the second week he asked me if I would go topless for him, but he didn’t touch me, he just looked at me.
“While I ate whatever carryout food he’d brought in, and watched late night TV, he looked at me. He watched me as if memorizing me. After a while I was desperate for him to touch me and he knew it. One night I was asked to take everything else off while I sat beside him watching Larry King. During the last week he asked me to lie down on the bed and spread my legs for him.
“He sat with his head between my thighs staring until I finally begged him to touch me. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he said, looking up at me with the biggest grin on his face.
“That night he gave me pleasure, pleasure I had never known before. When he paid me that night he said he had to go overseas in a few weeks. And that he didn’t want anyone else to see me without my clothes on so he wanted me to marry him. He told me if I married him he could cut out the middleman, not have to arrange all this with the escort company. That I could pocket all the money he was paying for me instead of splitting it with the company I worked for. He said I’d have a house to live in that wouldn’t cost me a dime. He never said he loved me, just that he wanted to protect me.
“And he said he wanted to have a beneficiary for his government life insurance. I was already in love with him, so I said yes. We were married the next day by the post chaplain and on our way to the Bahamas for a quick honeymoon before noontime.”
Callie had drained her second glass and was sitting up staring off into the distance. She was now wearing Rand’s t-shirt and he could see the outline of her breasts with their tightly puckered nipples.
He sensed there was something about that honeymoon she was going to gloss over so he lied. “I heard there was something special that happened there.”
“Good Gosh, is nothing sacred? I can’t believe he told you that!”
“As I said before, two guys in a bunker, shells exploding all around . . . a good time to talk all night because you sure can’t sleep.” Clint was going to kill him for this.
“Well, he found out something I wish I had been able to keep secret a little while longer.”
“Such as?”
“I thought he told you?”
“I want you to hear it in your own words.” He refilled her glass for the third time and lifted it to her lips. He was starting to feel guilty about plying her with alcohol. But he wanted to know all there was to know about her. To him the end justified the means.
“Well, we were celebrating. And I suppose I had one too many rum punch drinks. I don’t do well with alcohol. It definitely does relax my inhibitions. I started stripping out of my clothes before we even got to our beachfront room, and so we practically fell into the room making out and groping each other. Clint went to the blinds to close them and I told him not to. In fact, I begged him not to, pleading with him to leave the drapes open.
“And so he did. Soon we had an audience, a group of college kids out for a night on the town. They had stopped at our window, seen what we were doing inside on the bed, and they were whooping and hollering about what they could see. Both of us were naked and Clint was taking me doggie-style in the middle of the bed. I don’t know what came over me, but I begged him to let them see where he was entering me. I remember pleading for him to pull out and to let them look at my cunt.
“When he finally turned me to face them, my legs splayed wide, I asked him to not only let them look at me but for him to use his hands and spread me open for them. He said no. I whimpered and cried, begging him to show them my vagina, and then reveling when he finally did. Through the glass I could hear all the lewd comments about my pussy, my cunt. How it was, ‘such a cock stiffening sight,’ ‘fucking beautiful,’ ‘and can you believe this shit, he’s showing us his wife’s pussy!’ I started to come and he helped it along and then tripled the effect by smacking my ass hard and whispering in my ear, ‘Naughty girl, you’re showing them your cunt, my cunt. What a bad girl you are.’ I came and came and came, drenching his fingers and the covers below us. He flipped me over, stepped behind me and fucked me so hard I had to grip the mattress through the covers to stay on the bed. I’ll never forget the sounds he made when he came, like an animal keening in the night. When he was finished shuddering and quaking, he
pulled me down beside him, drew me close, and reached over to turn off the light, effectively shutting out the outside world and the leering boys with it.
“He knew now, if he hadn’t before, that the reason I had been skirting the lifestyle of an exotic dancer was because I had a secret desire to exhibit myself—that I had an overwhelming desire to show off my body, particularly my pussy. I had fought it for as long as I could. I had hidden it from myself as much as anyone could hide something so deviant in their nature from themselves. I was so ashamed.
“I cried and I cried that night as he held me. I told him I was so sorry and he shushed me. Some things are fantasy, they’re never meant to happen, they’re only meant to tantalize and titillate—they’re never meant to be more than what’s in a woman’s head. This event, while powerful and wicked in the moment, was pure evil and horror in the hours and days after. It was a perversion I didn’t want—that I couldn’t stand to think came from inside me. The thought that it could conceivably happen again threatened to shut my mind off from everything. But Clint made it okay, said he wasn’t ashamed of me, and that he’d see to it that I was never vulnerable in that way again.
“I wondered how he could possibly love me after that. Lord, I had insisted—begged him to display me, forced him to allow complete strangers to examine my genitals, allowed them to see me spasm and shudder in orgasm. And I had reveled in it. I was afraid he would be disgusted with me and send me away. Instead he held me and soothed me and told me how much he loved me. And when I asked him to please forget this, to never discuss it again, he simply stroked my hair and said. ‘Okay.’
Flash Drive Page 9
