The Island - Anita's Day 01-02

I quickly unbuckle the strap, take off my bikini top and toss it somewhere, all with one hand, immediately feeling the cool air and the sense of ultimate freedom on my hard nipples. I am still holding him with my other hand as my knees gently bump into the bedframe. He collides with me, his hard dick poking right into my tailbone and bending slightly, until its firmness makes it extend again, this time sliding upwards along my spine.

"Been waiting long for this?" Martin whispers into my ear and immediately proceeds to kiss my neck without actually waiting for my reply.

I shiver and inhale violently. "Ya 'ave no idea 'ow long..." I whisper. My hand instinctively reaches behind my back and grabs his cock. It is veiny, and yet incredibly smooth. I pull down his foreskin, feeling the smooth, silky skin of his glans, lubricated with precum, as it rubs against my hot skin.

"Bend me down, luv," I tell him, trying to skip any and all introduction to the inevitable.

I hear him smirk just before my torso gets pushed forward by his strong hand. He is moving down my back with his tongue, the tip of it ever gently touching my vertebrae, each contact sending new and stronger impulse throughout my body. His breath is warm; it is making me shiver every time he exhales. I am so fucking horny that I want to scream at him to drill that cock straight into me. He reaches my bikini bottom hem and stops. I wait there, for what seems to be an eternity. I wait for him to peel those suckers off of me. But he doesn't. Instead, he bites into the exposed part of my ass cheek, simultaneously squeezing it with his hand. He does it all. He reads my mind, knowing not what I want, but what I need.

And then, suddenly, just as his grip on my butt softens a bit - he pulls hard, the fabric rips, the ass is bare, I am all uncovered for him. His tongue immediately slips between my cheeks and goes down. I bend forward all the way, my face and my arms are on the bed. I submit fully. I don't want any control, not even that slightest bit. No safe words, no pretends. I need to be his delicious, horny, fuck-worthy little slut.

"Oh yes, go there..." I say through the moan as his tongue touches my rear door. He spreads my ass and drills his tongue directly inside that hole, giving me a shot of almost unbearable pleasure. He reads my mind; he knows my every desire even before I say anything.

His fingers rub against my thigh, approaching my hot, steaming cunt as it drips its juices in expectation. I push back a bit, losing every control that I have. Touch me, play with me, fuck me like I'm the last person you'll ever fuck.

"Baby, play with my pussy, come on..." I say out loud. But he's not going there yet. His tongue is deep in my ass, but his fingers are half an inch away from where I want them to be. He's driving me insane now. I want to scream at him to do what I want, but it's not how this game is played. He is player one, he has the controls.

And then his fingers go inside me. I am tight, but they slide inside without any resistance, as the river of juices lubricates me beyond belief. Suddenly, he's inside both of my holes, rubbing, tongue-fucking, preparing me for what is to come.

"Oh yes, oh yes luv, tha's it, tha's fuckin' it..." I scream into the bedsheet underneath me, fighting to muffle the sounds as best as I can. I love to talk when I fuck, I love to say what I feel. It entices him even more, and he ups the tempo. His thumb is now rubbing my wet, hard clit. I could come right now, right here, but I fight against it. I will not come until I feel his cock inside me.

He senses it. Now his tongue moves away, his fingers are out. But his dick is coming. I feel it just like the prey feels the hunter is approaching. I tense up, I push my ass further back... And he drills inside me, all of it, right to his pubic bone he's filling me up with his stiff, amazing rod. That's it. I can't take it anymore!

"OH, MY GOOOOOOOOOOD!" I yell out, not caring one bit about the world around me because that world has disappeared. The only thing I know is his cock, conquering my throbbing, squeezing cunt and those exterminating waves of pure orgasmic destruction passing through me at the speed of light. "I LOOOOVE YOU, MARTIIIIN!" I scream as my brain experiences yet unknown level of ecstasy. I never ever said that while fucking, but this one is special. This one matters. This is the deepest truth I carry with me ever since I learned what love is.

He hears me. My piercing shriek makes him shiver, shake and release a loud groan. I feel the flood of warmth inside me, his sperm jetting out of him and directly into the depths and it gives my orgasm another push, an extra force with which it busts me, a supernova exploding in my core. I scream, he grunts. I moan. He groans. We slow down. I collapse on the bed. He tumbles down next to me. I look at him, my smile wider than the ocean. His grin a world beater. I blink. He says:

"Love you too, baby A."

***

I slept in. It was almost noon when I woke up, so I got out of the bed pretty fast. Completely unlike normal me, I was very much under the impression of everything that happened yesterday, including that sweet little lullaby I made for myself. Gosh, what love can do to a person, right. Who'd knew that something buried so deep inside you could come back out to the surface in an instant, given the right circumstances? Well, psychiatrists would, but I never hung out with that bunch -- most of them were studying it because they had serious issues themselves.

I chose to avoid any contact with Martin until dinner time. Teasing him some more would only make me anxious, so I decided to distract myself with going about the day as if there was no Martin. At all. Yeah, right, like I could do just that. I mean, it actually went pretty well for the first hour or so. It was too late in a day and too hot to go for a morning swim and sunbathing, so I settled for a good shower -- and no, I did not masturbate. It was just a shower. Just some water, shower gel, shampoo and the conditioner. I quickly snatched a light summer dress and put it on my naked body, sans any underwear or swimsuit underneath, naturally.

I went to get some coffee out in one of the cafés on the Square. And whaddya know, who did I meet? Martin's fuck buddy from yesterday. OK, she was dressed this time, but there was no mistake in identifying her. Those lovely, sexy lips, that luscious hair of hers, that thought of her riding Martin's cock like a professional rodeo rider... Oh, Anita, you really needed to stop making everything sexual, I told myself. And then snickered at that thought as I dismissed it immediately. I passed by her as she sat at the café table with a friend of hers, a lovely redhead with big sunglasses and even bigger tits. She didn't notice me, although I tried to walk by as sensually as possible, looking at her and smiling. She was deep in some serious girl talk, so I might have been coming at her swaying a truncheon, she still wouldn't notice. Well, unless she was leaving the Island today, there would be a lot of time for her to notice me -- I'd surely take care of that.

And so, the day went by. A bit of sun & surf, some munch, a few hours of siesta as the sun was giving us yet another presentation of the temperatures more appropriate for the lobby of Hell than our little paradise, and suddenly it was almost time for dinner at Martin's. At the time, there was no chance in hell I'd admit it to myself, but I was excited like never before. Actually, I was even a bit nervous, and I haven't been nervous about anything related to boys, girls or sex since I was... Well, since I learned what sex was. But this was different. These were bona fide butterflies in my stomach. And I haven't felt those for ages. I checked and double-checked every nook and crevice of my body; I shaved clean all the hair growing underneath my neck, I combed and re-combed my hair until it looked perfectly imperfect. I even put on some light make-up - almost a heresy on the Island. Finally, I chose the best, sexiest casual summer dress I had to put on me. It was probably a record time I've spent in the bathroom getting myself ready for anything, including first dates.

"Anita, ya ready? We gotta go!" Dads yelled from outside of the house, obviously waiting for me for a while.

"Yas Dads, comin' right out," I replied, quickly giving myself one last check in the mirror. Oh, boy, I did look sexy as hell. If I met me somewhere, I'd fall for me. But enough of my modesty, it was time for some good food, some good wine and, preferably, some first-class action.

As soon as we cleared the house and began our stroll down the path towards Martin's cottage, Dads sighed: "Luv, I gotta talk to ya on sumthn'."

"Sure Dads, wha's up?" I asked. Whenever he started a conversation like that, I knew something serious was coming up.

"I heard ya las' nigh'," he said, looking at me with expectancy.

Damn. I knew I was simply too loud. But I had no shame in what I did, nor was Dads judgmental about it, so I had no idea what he was aiming at. "OK, so?"

"Listen, honey. I kno' ya. Ya're a strong girl and ya ain't one to be scared of tryin', but..." he stopped in his tracks and grabbed my hand.

"I'm sorry, Dads, I'm not gettin' ya. I wasn' doin' nuthin' weird or anythin'. It was jus' the run of tha mill..."

"I ain't going on 'bout your... Technique. It's 'bout wha' ya yelled out," he said, continuing his stroll.

"Which part?" I asked, since I yelled out quite a bit, and some of it was pretty hazy due to the intensity of my orgasm.

"Ehm...'I love you, Martin' part," he said. Oh, shit.

"It was jus'..." I tried to explain, but I knew there was no chance of explaining anything to him other than the truth.

"Luv, please don'," Dads shook his head. "It ain't healthy. He's a grown man now -- hell, ya ain't no kid anymore either. But ya shoudn' go down tha' road again, ya know. I luv ya more than anythin' in this World, and I couldn' take it again to see ya getting' hurt."

"Jesus, Dads, where's tha' comin' from now?" I asked.

"From me knowin' wha' happened back then. I can remind ya if ya forgot," he said, a bit condescendingly. Yeah, as if I could ever forget something like that.

"Dads, i's differen' now. And I ain't sayin' tha' just as sum crap I'm tryin' to sell ya," I said. It was a mistake. Dads hated clichés.

"Yeah, differen'. Girl, I've seen enough differen' to kno' i's always the same. People smack their heads on tha walls all the time sayin' i's gonna be differen' this time," he said.

"Oh, where'd ya read that? In one of your books?" I asked. Another mistake.

"In my marriage with ya'r mum," he replied coldly. Now I knew I took the wrong turn. When he got angry -- and it was a rarity -- his tone of voice would just turn freezing cold. But I was too hot in my head, too goal-oriented to buckle and retreat.

"Well, I ain't mum," I said, sounding just like her probably. "And also, why'd ya think ya know wha' I really wan'? Fantasy's one thing, real world's sumth'n completely differen'."

"Luv, no one luvs someone jus' in fantasy, so don' try sellin' me tha' story," Dads replied. He was right, and he knew it. I mean, I understood him. He was there when I broke down like a porcelain doll hitting the concrete floor; he was there to comfort me each night as I cried a Mississippi over the phone. And, as a parent, he was surely not wanting to see it happen again. But, like all dads of the World, he was not really coping with the fact that his baby girl was now grown up and was able to make her own decisions, be it good or disastrous.

"Dads, please don' take this the wrong way -- ya kno' I respec' ya infinitely -- but this time I'll 'ave to ask ya to mind your own business," I said, amazing even myself by those words. He said nothing for a minute, but I saw anger bubbling inside him. Not some 'you disrespected me' type of anger, but more of a kind where he knew he was unable to prevent the boulder from crashing down the mountain. I bowed my head down instinctively, feeling silently reprieved because of being me -- a feeling I never experienced with him until now.

In our short exchange, we almost didn't notice that we were just yards away from Martin's house. And he was there, looking at us, smiling like a man without a care in the World. Oh, for fuck's sake, this was either going to be a perfect night or a complete disaster.

Suddenly, Dads -- my dad, the epitome of mild temper and poise -- hissed at me: "I've told ya it ain't good! Leave the man alone, please."

I was completely taken aback by his reaction. I mean, on the one hand, he was one of the most open-minded people I ever met. Shit, if I'd had to guess, I'd bet a hefty sum of money that he and mum were not just nudists in a beach-going sense, if you get my drift. Also, I knew he really loved Martin -- who was probably the closest thing he ever had to a son. But, Martin was there, so I pulled off a smile of sorts, even though Dads actually made me feel unhappy.

"Where are you, my favorite Islanders?" Martin yelled out, standing like some redneck cook by the grill, wearing some god-awful apron on him and holding a fire rake in one hand and a half-smoked cigarette in another. Even like that, I found him attractive. What would it take him to do to make me find him less interesting? Get married, probably -- but I wasn't even certain about that anymore.

"Look at ya, standin' there like sum backwater redneck!" Dads yelled out as he approached Martin. He gave Martin a hearty hug and a pat on the back. "Here's the munch, just put some of yours voodoo spices on it and toss it on tha grill."

Martin took the bags filled with seafood delight and laid them down next to the grill. Then he turned to me: "Where are you girl, you feeling good?"

I mustered all my strength and gave him a hug. "Yeah. Hi," I said. That was the thing about me. I was awful at hiding my real emotions, except those deepest ones. I mean, when I was sad or angry, I might have as well put up a billboard sign with 'Here be pissed off Anita' written on it. And I surely didn't want Martin to think I was so reserved towards him. "I 'ad a fight with Dads, I'll tell ya later 'bout it..." I whispered into his ear.

"C'mon people, take your seats," Martin said, obviously not wanting to have the tension between Dads and me continue. He turned to me and just before I sat down, he said: "Darling, could you please go to the kitchen and bring out three wine glasses, as well as some water? There's cold water in the fridge." That weasel, he knew exactly why he said that to me. I immediately smiled at him, and the memory came back, still fresh and detailed.

I went into the kitchen, while the men began to talk (no, I wasn't about to make them sandwiches). As I scanned around, the vivid images of yesterday were sliding through the projector of my imagination. Martin, standing there buck naked, his lovely dick exposed, and me giving him something to think about. I wondered if he jerked it off right there and then, standing at the same spot where I left him. Oh, my, wouldn't that be hot as hell. I just adored watching men playing with themselves. There was something so primeval about the way they rubbed their cocks. It wasn't sensual; it was -- well, it was like watching a power drill warming up, all the way until it started to drill, and almost seamlessly bore directly through the surface that seemed impenetrable.

Well, it was not the smartest thing to stand there and fantasize, because it made me wet as hell. And since I had no panties, it just might leave a stain. It was kind of not the place nor the time for Dads to see a wet stain anywhere near my crotch. So, I shook my head, opened the fridge, pulled the jug of cold water out of it, picked up three wine glasses and a bottle opener, and headed outside.

"...doin' nasty job full of stress, and still ya get here full of optimism," I heard Dads telling Martin. Sure, Dads, if you only knew...

I popped the bottle of wine expertly. I loved the wine Dads got from his friend. It was red wine, which usually never goes with fish, but this one was so light and tasty that it went perfectly with almost anything.

"There ya go, see what bartending in the summer does? Now my own daughter can open the bottle quicker and better than I can," Dads said, kind of bragging. It was funny how he slightly changed his native accent when he was in the presence of inlanders. Not that he was ashamed of how he usually spoke, it was much more about the fact that an average inlander couldn't understand half of what we were saying when we were in full Islander mode.

"Of course, it was the time that someone starts opening wine for you," Martin said, as I poured the wine into glasses and distributed them around the table.

Martin wiped his fishy (bad pun, I know, who cares anymore) hands and raised his glass: "A toast! For this meeting after many years, and for every summer to be at least as good as this one, if not even better."

I almost gulped down everything I had in my glass. I needed that, just to level down my nervousness. And then I smiled from inside, realizing Martin gave me a lovely fastball right down the middle: "Deary, the summer jus' started, how come it's already so good?"

"Well, I'm here where I want to be, with people I like, and everything that's happening is even better than I was imagining," he replied without any hesitation. Damn him, guess he was thinking much faster when he had clothes on.

Of course, I wouldn't be me if I just left it at that. So, I kept on pushing a bit: "Umm... Ya've been her for just two days, what's it gonna be like by the end? Ya may decide to stay sum more, eh?"

"Who knows," he said calmly, as if asking a rhetorical question, but he couldn't keep his face straight. A barely noticeable smile escaped his lips, for just a second. Then he quickly ended the exchange: "I'll go and toss the fish and the veggies on the grill, potatoes are already roasting."

The dinner was perfect. Martin knew how to handle the food just as good as he did women in secluded rocky coves. Dads and I talked about us -- well, mostly about me. I had two more weeks before starting my summer job in the City, which was a major tourist hub, and a good waitress could make enough money to take a long trip afterward. Unfortunately, I had only a month to spare after the full season ended, so a few of my friends and I were going to Argentina and Uruguay. After that, it was the final year of med school for me. And then -- life. So I was going to use up all the free time I had to the max.

On the other hand, Martin was way further up the ladder of life already. Back in the Capital, he was working his ass off for several years now, which was starting to show on his bank account, but - thank God -- not on his personality. Consequently, his goal-orientation also affected his love and sex life. He was single and, from what I could read between the lines, not really getting regular service. Still, I admired his dedication. He was like that even when I met him -- when he got on with something, he saw it through no matter how hard it was or how many people told him he was wrong. What he deserved now, in those short ten days he was going to be spending on the Island, was lots and lots of amazing sex. And a tad of love to go with that, because why not?