More Than Scenery Ch. 02

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Day two of the cruise brings tears of pleasure.
4.9k words
4.7
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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 02/11/2006
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dizzylia
dizzylia
73 Followers

Author's note: It has taken me over nine years to return to this story, though it's been on my mind so many times. First-person perspective is always such a departure for me that it leaves me feeling a little lost. Here's hoping I've found my way back without losing too much of the story. It's a little sappy, but it's honest sap. For those of you who need forewarning, there is toy usage toward the end of this chapter and the mildest of rougher play, so if that's not your thing, you might want to browse for other stories.

*****

The need for clothing and the limitations of time required that I leave Clare alone in her cabin while I returned to my own. My clothing clung to me, shirt still clammy from yesterday's heat, panties and shorts almost too damp to wear again. Not wishing to hold up my amazing new traveling companion, I hurried through my shower and quickly dressed. Rather than go for shorts again, I chose one of my sundresses, not entirely without ulterior motives. After all, they offer so much more access, among other things. Especially when I skipped the underthings.

I met up again with Clare near the gangplank. She was wearing a clinging dress of sky blue, and the large, floppy hat from the day before. It seemed hard to believe so little time had passed since yesterday morning. She waved to me as I watched her eyes travel my body from tip to toe, causing the tiniest stirring of butterflies in my stomach. Then she patted the small canvas bag at her hip. "I've got everything I need. Ready for a day in town?"

I laughed, nodded, and gestured with my camera bag, fighting a sheepish feeling at the back of my mind as I played the tourist. I felt so small next to Clare. So inexperienced. The greenest of green travelers. "I'm all set," is all I said, however. Hey, if I was green, I may as well find myself a tour guide, right? "I don't suppose coffee is somewhere on that list of assignments," I told her, trying one of the puppy-dog looks I'd seen just moments before on the face of a small child.

Clare laughed and merely reached for my hand, unapologetically twining her fingers through mine before turning to lead me away. We trailed down the gangplank with the meagre crowd of shipmates, and I got my first good look at the island. You could do a lot worse than the Bahamas, that's for sure. It was beautiful, alive with the sounds of voices, of the constant surf, of the engines of small cars as they puttered down the streets. Of... tourists.

My disappointment was gradual, but it must have shown on my face. Clare tightened her hand and led me off the main road. Within a minute, the bustling noises faded, and the few people who shared the narrow road with us were also on foot and had the look of natives. Just another workday for them.

After studying a few dusty street signs along the way, Clare seemed to find what she was looking for and turned left. A block farther brought us to a small, open-air bistro on the corner, bordered by a bakery on the side nearest us. The smell of baking bread mixed with freshly ground coffee brought a ready smile to my face as we walked into the bistro. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Clare write something in a small wire-bound notebook, but she quickly put it back in her bag as an older man approached us.

"We are so busy today! But I will do my best to serve you," he told us in a drawling accent that sounded almost French. Clare laughed. As I looked around at the rest of the bistro, I could guess why. Aside from us, there were only two other people enjoying their morning coffee at a sidewalk table.

"We won't take much of your time," Clare assured him, sounding amused. She winked at me before walking toward a table along the other street. The first couple ignored us. Retired, I thought. Flew south for the winter, stayed forever. Not that I could have blamed them.

We ordered our coffee and pastries and settled in to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. It was quiet here. Peaceful. Clare bent over her notebook while I studied the street beside us, the narrow buildings lining it, the little brown birds that waited near our table, hoping for crumbs.

"This is amazing," I commented once my coffee was all but gone. Clare looked up, glanced down the street with a distracted look and nodded slightly.

"It is now, at least," she replied. I frowned, noting sarcasm in her voice. It wasn't obvious, but it was there. She shrugged, smiled, put away her notes. "Around noon, the tourists start to wake up again and flood the streets. By sunset, the snowbirds are in bed, and the revellers are out in full. Sir," she added as the server from earlier reappeared, "you open too early for this sleepy town."

It was his turn to laugh as he answered her with a shallow bow. "They miss the mornings. I miss their money. So it goes. Thank the Maker for weddings, or we would surely starve."

His sincerity made me frown slightly, but as I glanced through the door back into the bistro, I could see the cake being prepared back in the kitchen. "Oh, that looks amazing," I murmured, fingers reaching for a pastry that had already been reduced to crumbs. He seemed delighted and promised that, should I return, he would gladly share whatever was left.

After that, I kept quiet as he and Clare chatted. I was impressed with how she managed to get information out of him without being obvious about it. How long had the bistro been there? What sorts of things do they serve throughout the day? Are their supplies handled locally, or do they import? It didn't take long. She was soon thanking him for his hospitality and the excellent coffee. She left him a healthy tip, and we were soon on the street again.

"So, you really do this for a living?" I had to ask as I shyly slipped my hand into hers. I had no idea where we were walking, other than away from the water. There were a few more people on the streets now, and we all moved out of the way as trucks and cars made more of an appearance.

After one of the older delivery trucks passed, its rusting hull seemingly held together by wire, Clare looked at me, her expression a curious mixture I couldn't quite place. I didn't understand then why she was so hesitant to answer, but she finally did with a simple, "Yes." It had that weight of carrying more, but she left the rest where it was.

I didn't press. Was I curious? Of course. But then, everything about this woman seemed to make me curious. The hesitation did make me worry, however, and when the next automobile approached, its tinny horn squawking at us, I let my hand slip from hers as we moved out of the way. My footsteps slowed to a stop, and a beat later, so did Clare's, her eyes seeking mine.

I used the excuse of the closed shop next to us, avoiding her gaze as I studied the painted ceramics in the window. How to even begin to explain? We had only just met. Was she supposed to pour out her life's history and background? She must have once again sensed my thoughts, however, because I could see her reflection in the window as she drew nearer, saw her hand rise before I felt it caress my bare shoulder.

When I turned to her, she smiled weakly, and her hand squeezed my arm. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but my own weak smile cut her off as I patted her hand, then gestured for us to continue walking. I would love to say it was because I was feeling strong, but the truth was it was easier to say how I felt when I didn't have to meet her gaze.

"It's a small, sad irony," I explained quietly, "that I have so many trust issues of my own, but I still feel hurt when someone else doesn't trust me. I didn't mean to push that onto you, though."

Clare's steps faltered for just a beat, but she was soon right beside me again, her hand gripping mine hard enough that I stopped to look at her again. Up until then, I had only known the fun and confident side of Clare. I was entirely caught off-guard by her distressed expression.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she explained in a rush, as if that was the only way she was going to be able to say the words. "I flirt and dance, eat and drink, but I never... never share," she continued, her hand tightening more. "Maybe the one-time visit, my room or theirs, but not... like this. No mornings-after."

I wasn't sure how to take all this, and I felt the shop's glass at my back before I realized I had backed away from Clare. It wasn't exactly that I felt uneasy. Just unsure. "Look, let's not... you know. Make this heavy. It doesn't need to be," I said quietly, hating the pleading note in my voice. "You don't need to do or say or... or anything you don't want to," I added, confused at being the more confident one at this particular moment.

Traffic on the street was picking up, and several people gave us odd looks as they walked around us. Not that we seemed to care overly much just then. Let the strangers look.

She released my hand as she took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, I could see the other Clare returning. An unspoken agreement was shared then, and the rest of the morning and afternoon continued with lighthearted banter and an absolute avoidance of speaking of our lives outside this vacation.

That was hardly to say I didn't want to know more. To know everything. I'm not a one-night-stand sort of woman, and my psyche was fighting the idea that this, whatever it was, would end when the cruise liner returned to New Orleans. At the same time, wasn't this still part of why I went on the cruise in the first place? To get away for a little while from what had been? Find my feet again?

Besides, if this was a rebound relationship, what a way to go.

* * *

My winter-bound skin was unused to all this sunlight, and by mid-afternoon, I could tell I'd likely be paying for it if I didn't find some skin protection, and soon. At least now I knew why Clare looked so tan. This was not her first cruise of the season, as it turned out, just the first one this year on this side of North America. She was sharing some of the points she preferred of this side or that as we turned back toward the harbour, where we could see the ship waiting for us.

As our conversation lulled into a rare silence, I felt surprised that we'd had so few breaks in conversation, given the limited field of topics, most of them related to prior travels. It was pleasant, yet intimidating. How much more safe discussion could there possibly be?

Despite the foreboding of my overactive imagination, the silence was not uncomfortable, and I once again felt Clare's hand curl around mine. It was such a small gesture, but one neither of us seemed inclined to go without for too long. This time seemed different, though. Clare's palm felt so hot against my skin, and her fingers kept tightening. I looked down at our hands, then up to see her looking at me. Before I could ask, she pushed me toward an alley, gentle but relentless. A thrill churned through me, insides tightening.

The alley was deserted, and those walking by didn't seem to notice as Clare pushed me against the wall. The rough stucco felt amazingly cool against my skin, though not entirely pleasant against my burning shoulders. I had other things to distract me, though. Clare pressed against me, her face barely an inch from mine. "If not for the fact the ship will gladly leave without us in half an hour..." she said in a throaty whisper, trailing off as her mouth closed over mine.

I groaned quietly against the heated kiss, wishing we were already back on the ship, hidden from prying eyes. That last was one of her lesser worries, apparently, because I suddenly felt her hand on my thigh, moving under my dress. With surprise, I tried to push away and felt the stucco cut into my skin.

Clare smiled, unconcerned, as her fingers found me damp, waiting, and entirely unencumbered by clothing. She bit her lower lip, blue-green eyes smouldering. "I've been dying all day to find out if I was right about that," she purred. I could only gasp as her finger pressed between my lips, sliding up against the slick hood over my clit. "And you've been dying all day for me to find out."

My blush was an unnecessary answer that made her laugh with delight. She kissed me until I was breathless, then slowly backed away, letting the hem of my dress fall back down to my knees. I watched as she raised her finger to her lips, much as I'd watched myself do in the mirror just two days prior. She took a deep breath, then smiled as she held her hand out to me, beckoning.

* * *

I have zero recollection of the rest of the walk back to the ship, though I do remember coming very close to tripping up the gangplank and plunging over the side. Clare didn't give me time to feel embarrassed, however. Every chance she got, she touched me, caressed my arm, brushed my hair from my face. Any excuse. It was dizzying.

I barely recognized that we were in Clare's room before she tossed her hat aside and slipped out of her shoes. In the next moment, she was on me again, hands gathering the skirt of my dress, bunching it around my hips. She stepped between my legs, her hips guiding me toward the bed. It was tantalizing to feel her body so close to what had become a pulsing need, yet no matter how I angled my hips, I could not seem to get her to touch me again, not in the way I desperately wanted just then.

I gladly let her push me onto the bed, and imagining she would be pulling the dress free, I lifted my arms to make it easier. Pull she did, and I sighed with delight as the fabric came away, letting the cooler air touch my skin. Just as I was about to move my hands back down, I felt the fabric suddenly tighten around my forearms as Clare pushed me down to the mattress.

My breath caught as I looked up at her, really looked for the first time since the uncomfortable moment that morning. What I saw was a desire that made my heart skip a beat, but there was something more. I felt her move her thighs under mine, forcing mine to rise. She leaned down, once again so tantalizingly close to touching that tiny centre of need that my hips rocked toward her, thighs pressing down onto hers as my legs parted just a little farther. By now I realized she was doing this on purpose, denying that pleasure as she watched me writhe.

Slowly, she leaned closer, the fabric of her dress just kissing my skin as her lips brushed my neck. I could feel the cotton slide against my hardening nipples in an agonizing tease as my body tensed. It was surprising to me how easily she held my arms in place as I lay beneath her, knowing she was toying with me, both of us loving every second of it.

Her tongue slid between my breasts, leaving them to ache for more attention as only the cool air gave them any solace. My skin tingled wherever her mouth went, at times nearly crossing the line from heated pleasure to tickling pain. I thought perhaps she might continue further downward, but she didn't seem inclined to release my hands just yet.

Instead, just as I felt the heat of her breath on one throbbing nipple, I felt her hand reach between my thighs. Her fingernails raked gently through those tight curls of hair, sending a sudden tingling thrill through my whole body. Her touch danced to either side of my clit and lips just as the tip of her tongue began to circle my breast, drawing closer until she took my nipple between her teeth. I could feel her tantalizingly gentle bite just as her finger finally slid between my lips, too light to be much more than a tease.

I groaned, back arching as if I might force more of me into her mouth or trick that finger into filling me. She laughed, however, ready for both, and the vibration of that laughter against my nipple was an excruciating tingle against my skin. I felt both finger and mouth pull away, and as I looked at her, I could see the delight of hunger in her expression.

"You want more, Lis?" she asked, biting her lip as she rolled her own hips forward, lifting mine.

"God, yes," I replied, not at all surprised to hear the husky rasp. I didn't just want more. I needed more. I needed her. In that moment, I realized that she already knew that, and that knowledge had given her power over me. I would have done anything she asked. Perhaps that's why she let go of my dress and finally lifted it free. She smiled when I left my hands right where she left them.

"Stay right there," she instructed, leaning down to kiss me softly. "Just like that. And no cheating."

I wasn't quite sure what she meant by the last part until she had moved away from me and off the bed. The desire to touch myself in that moment was so strong, and as I heard her go into the bathroom, I very nearly did, but something compelled me to keep my hands right where they were. My need became its own pleasure, and I closed my eyes, happily enjoying it.

When I heard Clare return, I had only a moment to see as I opened my eyes before I felt her place a blindfold over my eyes, sure hands securing it in place. My hands moved slightly as instinct kicked in, but she flicked my forearm with a light slap that made my body shiver. This went beyond my prior comfort levels, yet I didn't ask her to stop. She had asked if I wanted more, after all. This definitely qualified.

By breathing was quick and shallow, anticipation driving my desire even higher. I could feel Clare kneel on the bed again, could feel the heat of her skin near mine as she moved between my legs. She leaned over me and took my hands again, then moved them toward her to press against her bare breasts. A mewling little groan escaped me as I marvelled at the differences and similarities to my own. They were just a little heavier, fuller, and unbelievably pliable. As I found her nipples and gave them an experimental tweak, I was delighted to hear Clare's small gasp of pleasure.

My exploration was short-lived, however. She moved my hands down to the sides of my hips, once again pinning them to the bed. There was no preamble this time as she took my right nipple into her mouth, her lips pinching as her tongue flicked against the flesh. I cried out with mingled pleasure and surprise, unused to this sort of attention, much less treatment. My past lovers had been... let's just call it uncreative. This? This was something else altogether.

Clare let go of my wrists, but I kept them where they were, my fingers twining into the bed sheet as my body arched toward the other woman, both inviting and begging her to continue. With her mouth still pleasantly tormenting my nipple, I felt one of her hands grip my other breast, almost rough as she squeezed and subtly twisted, two of her fingers capturing my other nipple with sudden pressure.

I could sense her other hand moving, but I couldn't tell what she was doing until I felt something slide along my labia. It was far too cool to the touch to be her hand, but I was so distracted by what Clare was doing to my nipples that it took me longer than it should have to realize she was aiming to use a toy on me.

It's not that I'm a prude, but I had almost no experience with toys, and all I could imagine was some of the more bizarre looking things I'd spotted in sex stores over the years. My body tensed, and while I couldn't exactly pull away, my trepidation was clear enough that I felt Clare's lips let my nipple pop free, and the teasing toy stopped moving.

A second later, I heard Clare's voice, still holding that husky burr of desire. "Say the word, Lis, and I'll stop." I wished just then that I could have seen her. I knew how much she wanted to continue, but I also knew she meant what she'd just said. Not trusting my own voice, I shook my head quickly and swallowed the lump in my throat as my hips involuntarily thrust forward toward the touch of firm silicone.

dizzylia
dizzylia
73 Followers
12