Annual Leave

by Ben Boswell

  “See, it’s not so bad.”

  “It’s not,” she admitted.

  As long as she could keep from tensing up, it felt, well, not good necessarily, but different, exciting. Something she could try, if mostly because she knew it was something Damon wanted.

  Still, he didn’t thrust in further. Instead, he continued to play with her pussy, slipping a finger inside her and then slowly, slowly withdrawing it, running it along the length of her slit and then circling her clit. She moaned softly.

  “Nice, huh?”

  Heather groaned. “That’s just the tip, though.”

  “Just more of the same. You ready for it?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward and and down, letting some saliva drip into her butt crack. She felt it, warm and damp, pool against his shaft where it entered her. He thrust in, a little deeper this time.

  She tensed again. A pulse of pain, but quickly receding. And again, he slowly, gently calmed her. He was patient and tender. And before Heather knew it, his fat prick was several inches deep into her ass.

  “That’s it, beautiful. Now I’m going to fuck your ass.”

  Oh God. Those words. So crude. So obscene. So hot.

  He began sliding his prick in and out of her butt. Slowly at first. Pausing when she tensed. Adding more spit to keep her lubed. Then harder, faster. Heather gasped louder and louder.

  Then suddenly, laughter on the path, just on the other side of the shack. Damon stopped thrusting as Heather tensed. Reality came crashing back in on her. She was in public. Having sex in public. Anal sex in public. Anal sex, in public, with a virtual stranger!

  And yet, she didn’t want to stop.

  “Fuck me, Damon. Fuck my ass,” she growled.

  Her words seemed to inflame him. He thrust in harder now, deeper.

  “Cover… ugh… my… ugh… mouth,” she begged.

  “Yeah?”

  “I… ugh… need… ugh… to… scream,” she hissed.

  He clamped his powerful hand firmly over her jaw. Heather imagined what she looked like then, spreading her own ass cheeks, a huge prick sawing into her butt, gagged by a strong, black hand. Obscene.

  He fucked her harder, harder. She lost the ability to form words, and couldn’t have gotten them out even if she tried. Instead, she just screamed into his hand, feeling it become wet with her spit. Deeper, deeper.

  Oh God, he’s going to tear me apart.

  Then suddenly he thrust in deep and groaned, and Heather shivered from the sensation of his come in her ass. And then a weird satisfaction as she felt his cock almost immediately soften a little. She’d done it. She taken it in the butt.

  He removed his hand from her mouth and slowly eased out of her.

  “That was amazing, Heather. You’re amazing.”

  She swelled up at the compliment.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls you assfuck,” she joked.

  “I do. But it’s still true.”

  “I didn’t come,” she noted.

  He laughed. “You still owe me a couple.”

  “Oh, I think this squares us.”

  He kissed her neck. “Okay, fair enough. We’re back to even.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  After cleaning up, Heather joined Damon at the Beach Shack, though the name and décor were just a conceit. All the “authentic” beach accoutrements, the old fishing nets, the sea shells, the buoys, were obviously planned, corporate, sanitized. But the ocean was still the ocean. The waves crashing, the salty breeze, Venus appearing in the early evening sky.

  “I ordered you a margarita,” Damon said.

  “My favorite.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s about the only thing you do know about me.”

  “Not true,” he replied. “I know you’re married. A dog. Three kids. I could probably pull out their names if you gave me a hint or two.”

  She smiled.

  “Yeah, and I know you’re an architect from Atlanta, and your dad’s a doctor and you have at least one brother who’s a lawyer.”

  “See, not too bad.”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I mean, doesn’t it strike you as odd that we’re, you know, so intimate and yet strangers.”

  “See, but that’s the point of a fling, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, yeah, the Zipless Fuck.”

  “Huh?”

  “It was like, supposedly the ideal. No names, no past, no future. Just two strangers and their genitals.”

  Damon laughed. “Okay, a man definitely thought that one up.”

  “A woman. Erica Jong. Fear of Flying. Read it in some feminist theory class in college.”

  “Uh oh, you were one to those?”

  “Oh please, Damon, don’t tell me you’re opposed to civil rights for women.”

  “No, but, the word always conjures up angry women,” he paused. “Hairy legs.”

  Heather laughed despite herself.

  “But you’re right. I have this awful paranoid thought that feminism was mostly invented by men so that they could like, fool around a little more. You know, women, free your minds, free your bodies, sleep with me.”

  “Was that French accent?”

  She nodded. “Julie Delpy. Before Sunrise.”

  “Movie?”

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Oh, and why is that?”

  “It’s because you’re black, Damon. Because you’re black.”

  “See, it’s always there,” he replied with a grin. “No, but seriously.”

  “Because you’re a man, and most men aren’t interested in seeing a young Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy roaming around Vienna and exchanging witty, romantic banter.”

  “Actually it sounds pretty neat. There are car chases, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Of course. And a big gunfight. Right before they blow up the Schlossburg Palace.”

  He paused. “I don’t really need a gun fight in every movie.”

  “Okay, so what’s your favorite movie from the past year?”

  He began to answer, then stopped. She laughed.

  “Fuck you, Soccer Mom.”

  “Ha! Tell me.”

  “You won’t believe me, but Fast and Furious 7 was actually really good. I teared up at the tribute to Paul Walker at the end.”

  She laughed. “I believe you did.”

  ***

  Conch fritters, more margaritas. They continued to banter easily. It was the thing that disturbed Heather the most. It wasn’t just animal attraction.

  What is it you’re supposed to say when confessing an affair? It was meaningless. Just a stupid moment of weakness. Purely physical.

  She couldn’t say that.

  Or alternatively, I was just so lonely. Desperate for any connection.

  And she couldn’t say that either. Jeff wasn’t distant. He wasn’t emotionally abusive. Yeah, he sometimes worked long hours, but when he was home, he was home. It was more than she could say recently, her mind roaming to far away places even as the kids melted down in front of her… because the kids were melting down. Jeff, instead, was attentive, helpful, good with the kids, kind with her. How many working husbands offer to send their stay-at-home wives on a vacation? Insist on it even?

  The problem was, she wasn’t just attracted to Damon. She liked him.

  “You ready to go?” he asked as he signed the check.

  She nodded.

  “Walk on the beach?” he suggested.

  She nodded again. He helped her up and took her hand as they walked toward the sea.

  “You’re very quiet all of a sudden.”

  Heather sighed. “This is hard for me.”

  He stopped and turned toward her. He took his other hand in his.

  “We can stop whenever you want.”

  She laughed. And cried another tear.

  “That’s what makes it hard. I don’t want to stop. I want to walk on the beach. I want to stop and kiss. I want to feel your
hard body against mine. Feel you inside of me.”

  “Then, let go,” he suggested.

  She chuckled darkly. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not breaking anyone’s heart.”

  “He doesn’t need to know.” Damon paused. “I’m not just saying that because I still want you.”

  Heather shivered. Cold? Excitement? Anxiety? All of the above?

  He continued, “Even if we say goodbye right now. He doesn’t need to know. You only break his heart if you tell him.”

  “So lie. Lie by omission, but still lie. How is that not betrayal?”

  “Heather, look, don’t do this to me. Don’t make me the bad guy. Don’t tempt me to talk you into it. Because, baby, I want to. Right now, I want to pull out all the stops, because I want to spend the night with you.”

  She looked up at him. Damn, he was handsome. And amazing in bed.

  “I want to spend the night with you too,” Heather replied.

  He grinned. “You scared me there for a minute.”

  They resumed their walk toward the beach.

  “Yeah, poor baby, if I turned you down, you’d have had no choice but to track down Shelby and fuck the shit out of her.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. You are a cheating whore. Go back to your room and call your husband.”

  She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

  He yanked her against his hard body, and wrapped his hand around her waist.

  “I like you Soccer Mom.”

  ***

  The beach stretched on for miles, a pale crescent shimmering in the moonlight. Palms swayed, the waves crashed against the shore. At intervals along the beach, small fires burned. Music and laughter carrying for miles, intermingling with the surf to create the unmistakable feel of the beach, of summer romances, and drunken flings among the dunes.

  “You want to go for a swim?” Damon asked.

  “I don’t have a suit.”

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  Heather looked around. They were in a secluded spot, between two resorts, and yet they’d come across other couples as they walked.

  “People will see.”

  “No they won’t. And so what if they do?”

  “You just contradicted yourself.”

  He laughed. “Oh no, Soccer Mom, did I just fail my formal logic final exam?”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “Okay, you sit here, by yourself. I’m swimming…”

  He peeled off his shirt and quickly stripped off his pants and briefs.

  “…naked!”

  Heather couldn’t help but giggle as she watched him run, buck-naked, and dive into the waves. Damn, he had a great ass too.

  “Come on, Soccer Mom, it feels great,” he screamed from the surf.

  “Shhhh!”

  He laughed loudly. “COME ON!”

  She shook her head and laughed. It was crazy. And yet, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so alive. She stood and cast a quick glance up and down the beach. It was still quiet. She pulled her dress over her head and flounced into the water after him.

  “Fuck, it’s cold!” she hissed.

  He laughed and pulled her close. “Let me warm you up.”

  He leaned down and kissed her hard. She looked down to see his dark arms wrapped around her, melding into the inky sea, even as the moonlight make her skin glow. He was invisible in the night. She felt she was on display.

  “This isn’t fair. I reflect the moonlight.”

  “You glow.”

  “People can see me.”

  “Let them.”

  He kissed her again. “I want you.”

  Did he want to leave? Then she understood. “What? Here?”

  He reached down and lifted her out of the water. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.

  “Yes. Here.”

  He kissed her again, hungrily. Her nipples, erect, sensitive from the cold water, pressed into his chest. His hands were cupping her ass, bearing her weight, but also kneading her cheeks. She could feel the warm sea breeze on her ass, her pussy, and then his prick, stiffening, curving upward, tapping against her butt as the waves jostled them. He reached down and began to rub his prick against her wet snatch.

  “Tell me you want it.”

  “Oh God, Damon, I want it,” she hissed.

  He thrust upward. She gasped as he penetrated her yet again.

  “Fuck, I love that,” she moaned.

  He didn’t answer. He just kissed her passionately as he slowly worked his prick deeper into her eager, tight pussy.

  It was like when he’d carried her in from the balcony, impaled on his cock. The sensation of being filled almost less exciting than the ease with which he handled her. His controlled strength, his focused power was exhilarating. He could take whatever he wanted from her, and yet he never had to, because his dominance was not about what he could demand but what it made her want to offer.

  He handled her like a ragdoll. Effortlessly, he began to bounce her up and down on his fat prick. He lifted her until he was barely inside her, and then allowed gravity to impale her again on his cock. The sensation of falling, skewered, caught by his manhood was almost unbearable. Out of her control. No choice but to submit, and yet she was ecstatic to do so.

  Damon was using her like a sex toy, she realized. Masturbating with her pussy. It was something Jeff would never do. He probably could if he wanted to. Not as easily as Damon, but he was strong enough to lift her easily. Yet he never would, and she wouldn’t let him either. But with Damon it felt so natural to just surrender, to become nothing more than a sexual plaything, at least for a time.

  He stopped bouncing her on his cock, pausing for a moment, his huge prick completely inside her. Instinct took over, and she began grinding against him, her hips circling clockwise, then counter-clockwise. She kissed him, almost violently mashing her lips against his.

  “Damn, Soccer Mom, you’re on fire,” he exclaimed as she broke the kiss and resumed her grinding.

  “Mmmm, you make me crazy.”

  “Lean back.”

  She arched her back. He bent forward and sucked her on her nipples. Heather growled, redoubling the gyrations.

  “All the way,” he encouraged.

  Heather released her grip on his powerful neck and let herself fall backwards. He caught her and held her like that, perpendicular to him, her head inches from the dark water. In that position, she couldn’t grind against him, but he took over again, thrusting hard into her.

  She was, for a moment, as if alone in space. Her back and hair dipping into the waves, looking up at the limitless sky, stars twinkling. Alone… except for the relentless, delicious sensation of his cock entering her again and again, bringing her closer and closer.

  “Oh God, Damon, that’s so good… sooo good.”

  Her encouragement fed his excitement. He fucked her still harder now. Heather gasped and then cried out in passion. She didn’t care who heard, who saw, who knew. And then she was coming, her body shuddering and writhing in his strong hands. Gasping for breath. Dizzy.

  He pulled her upright and she collapsed against his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she muttered into his cheek.

  “Ack, Soccer Mom, you’re killing me.”

  It took a moment to penetrate the fog. Then she released her death grip. She grinned sheepishly.

  “Sorry.”

  He laughed. “For a little thing, you’re awfully strong. Damn, you come hard.”

  “Only with you, Damon. I’ve never…. You bring it out.”

  He began walking back toward the shore.

  “I’m going to finish you on the beach.”

  She shivered at his words, at the casual eroticism of it. But she also shivered at the sensation of bouncing on his cock as they walked. And at the thought of what being finished might entail.

  As they left the surf, Heather not
iced the footsteps in the sand, a reminder that they were not alone on the beach. She giggled.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just thinking about what we look like.”

  “What? The whole interracial thing still freaks you out?”

  “Yup, it’s that. Not the whole naked, having sex standing up thing.”

  “Technically we’re not standing. We’re walking. Or I am. You’re being carried.”

  “Yeah, impaled on your prick. Nothing to see here, move along,” Heather waved away imaginary gawkers.

  He was walking toward the relatively privacy of the line of palms bordering the beach. Then he stopped.

  “I think you secretly fantasize about people seeing us.”

  She shivered.

  “Told you,” he added gleefully.

  “It was just the cold.”

  “Nah uh, Soccer Mom. You’re a closet exhibitionist. Well, then let’s make it easy for potential voyeurs.”

  He slowly lifted her off his prick. They were in the middle of the beach. Out in the open. Heather could hear voices, laughter coming from the distance. Were the sounds coming closer?

  “Oh no, Damon, not out here. You’re crazy.”

  “I want you on your hands and knees,” he said simply.

  “Damon…”

  “Do it,” he insisted.

  “Oh God,” she sighed.

  Still, Heather knew she wouldn’t deny him. She spun around and dropped to the sand.

  “Be quick, okay?”

  He chuckled and dropped down behind her and rubbed his cock against her swollen, wet slit. He thrust in firmly.

  “Not a chance,” he replied gleefully.

  She wanted to protest, to insist, but he just… felt… so… good. Slowly churning his huge prick inside her again and again.

  More laughter. She looked up. Was that someone approaching?

  “Are you close?”

  “Not even a little. I want you to come first.”

  “Oh please, Damon, I don’t want to….”

  He thrust harder, deeper.

  “Ohhh,” she moaned.

  “Don’t want to ohh?” he laughed.

  Harder. Harder.

  “Oh God.”

  “Cat got your tongue Soccer Mom?”