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She Likes That

We’re an ordinary family. Two parents, two kids. Both parents are busy professional people, both kids well-behaved and good in school. Apart from being naturally beautiful, my wife L is very “normal” in appearance – normal height, normal weight, normal measurements, etc. Similar things might be said about me (not the beautiful part, of course), but I am fairly normal looking except for being taller than average. The point is that to the random observer we don’t stand out as exceptional in any of those outward appearances that might inspire curiosity of the sexual sort. That’s what vacation is for.

By the way … true story.

We’ve been to Hawaii once, as a family. The Big Island, about a week, looping the whole island, with hotel stays on both sides and in the Volcanoes National Park area. Our kids were young enough to carry on enjoying self-absorbed non-stop play and exploration, but old enough that they could be trusted with a little responsibility, especially with our older daughter able to be tasked to “babysit” her younger brother when Mom (L) and Dad (me) had parent things to do. Hawaii being Hawaii, the ambiance of the exotic vacation was, shall we say, stimulating, so “parent things” included squeezing in bits of misbehavior when cracks in the vacation plan allowed it.

Something common now but almost never seen back then were thong bikinis. I had acquired one for L to possibly wear on the trip for the first time, if she felt comfortable enough. Normally, her conservative nature would keep her from doing so, but as inhibitions tend to decrease with increasing distance from home, it turned out that in Hawaii she felt fine with it. Click … some very nice vacation photos.

Even so, she was a bit shy about it at first and did not immediately change into it on arrival at the beach. But after she warmed to the place a bit, she went to one of those changing cabanas, stripped down to the thong and tiny top, walked back, just dropped her clothes with me, and then headed directly toward the water. (The water hides everything, ya know.) I had set us up at the high end of the sand, so as she walked on toward the water, I had a nice long view of her bare backside pitching pleasantly from side to side. I had to laugh … because as she walked, I saw head after head snap in her direction and not move until she was in the water. A white-haired gentleman nearby just within earshot turned to his blue-haired wife, saying, “I guess she’s a thong babe.” Yeah, it didn’t make a lot of sense to me either, but I found it amusing.

Fortunately, that was as disruptive as it got. Though people definitely eyed her, it was mostly when her back was to them, for obvious reasons. That had the unexpectedly nice effect that she was generally not face to face with those actively staring at her ass, so she was less self-conscious than could have been the case.

Though in Hawaii it seems every hotel has a beach, there are many beaches with no hotels, so as we ventured around the Big Island, we stopped at several of them just to enjoy the variety and wonderful scenery. Some of them had nice, shallow (ankle deep) inlets great for the kids’ exploring – shells, crabs, etc. When the kids were safely engrossed in exploring such an inlet, we’d sometimes sneak around a corner to steal a little adult time with L in and out of her bikini. Click … nice memories. One of those times was at a beach with civilized restroom facilities at a small parking area and overlook. L stripped out of her bikini, posing nude for me in the sunshine overlooking the beach. We were “caught” that time, but our spectators were far enough away down the beach that L didn’t mind. She gets that way when she feels comfortable, especially in nature.

One of our stays of a couple of days was at one of those sprawling resorts with thatched roofs and nothing taller than one floor. The beach activity was somnolent, and as before L’s bikini was still the only thong in sight, so she continued to draw eyes. One of those nights, once the kids were asleep, we decided to sneak out. I was in my resort uniform of swim trunks and Hawaiian shirt, L was in … a towel. It was interesting how L in her towel drew more direct stares than when nearly naked in her thong. Of course, everyone was imagining that she was naked under that towel … and they were right. We wandered down to the deserted moonlit beach, and just like in those bodice-ripper romance novels, we made love on the beach. On the towel. With L completely naked. No click this time … we didn’t want the flash to attract attention.

The next day we were appointed to depart with the helpful assistance of one of those oversized golf carts to drive us and our luggage to our car. We were running a little late, having just returned from our last visit to the beach; the whole family changing into traveling clothes while simultaneously packing our bags. It just so happened that as L had just peeled off her bikini and was for a few moments totally naked, the cart driver appeared in our open doorway … swallowed heavily … then turned and left. The driver said nothing, I said nothing … L never knew.

Our explorations next led us around to the other side of the island where our hotel was one of those with many floors, where every room had a balcony with an ocean and beach view. We had two rooms a few floors up, “Jack and Jill” style, meaning that the two rooms connected through a shared bathroom. The doors could be left open so the rooms were fully connected or could be closed, even locked for privacy – nice for families with kids. The kids had one room and we had the other. This was the one time we “officially” tasked our daughter with babysitting one evening so that Mom and Dad could go out to dinner. L spent some time with the kids in their room, getting them oriented to the evening’s plan, talking through things they can do, games to play, books to read, and so on. And of course, reminding our son of his need to obey his sister while we were out – you know, parent-child stuff. While that was going on in the next room, I ordered a couple of adult beverages from room service.

The drinks arrived and L returned to our room, closing and locking the door to the Jack and Jill. Couples all have their own habits, and one of ours plays out in moments like this, getting ready to go out. She generally strips down to nothing, and goes through her womanly preparations in the nude, largely because she knows that I like watching her as she does … tending to her hair, her makeup, sometimes even tidying her pubic hair if there is any (not this trip). Often when she gets to the point that she feels ready, she’ll come to me and say, “What am I wearing?” And so she did this this time, but rather than see her dress right away, I handed her a mai tai, took her hand, and said, “Let’s enjoy the sunset first.”

It’s wonderful how she sometimes slides into a kind of comfortability when being au natural seems obviously the natural and right way to be. So, as I took her hand and led her out onto our balcony, one of a hundred or more dotting the gentle curve of the building, she brought her mai tai and stepped out with me, leaning against the railing. We took in the beauty of the island, the rolling waves, and the sun dipping down behind them … my hand indulging in grazing her skin and idly dipping down to caress her bare behind. We made playful toasts to Hawaii, to the ocean, to the sunset, to the palm trees, and to each other. Then with empty glasses we turned to each other for a deep kiss before going back in … and I waved subtle acknowledgment to the guy she had not noticed, a floor down and two balconies over quietly having a smoke, probably enjoying a more pleasant view than the sunset he had expected.

Though not planned out in detail, we had included some possible date wear items in our suitcase. This night L ended up wearing a micro-length stretchy tube dress, barely concealing anything, and heels. The fabric was a simple stretchy semi-sheer flat knit that would have revealed all her secrets if not for a complex tropical print; the print camouflaged the tell-tale womanly traces that would otherwise be trying to show through. Hold it up to the light and it was obviously sheer, but on her body, the print pattern confused the eye just enough for passable decency. On the other hand, it was devastatingly brief, by which I mean that her cleavage showed nicely up top, and if not careful, her bottom could peek out the bottom. The stretchiness of the fabric made it quite mobile on her body and gave it seemingly a mind of its own; the hem could be pulled down, for example, but wouldn’t stay put – with body movement it would creep inexorably upward. It could be tugged down pretty far if she were so inclined, but then the stretch would cause fabric to become more diaphanous, being less effective in screening her womanly charms from view. There was no room for error, which I liked, because … errors can be fun! For coming and going through more conservative spaces, like the hotel lobby, she dr*ped a long lace shawl over her shoulders, to cut a little more conservative look and diffuse some of the possible stares.

We weren’t going far, but we did take our rental car. We were anticipating a sleepy restaurant, but it turned out that at the location, besides the restaurant, there was another hotel and some kind of dance/music venue. With all that going on, there was very little available parking close to the restaurant. There was an arrow pointing toward overflow parking, leading us down an unlit single-lane road lined with parked cars along both sides. Ironically, owing to the number of cars, it seemed like we ended up parking almost as far away from the restaurant as it would have been to walk from our hotel, but we eventually found a spot. We exited the car and L put herself together, but before leaving the car, I lifted the shawl from her shoulders and tossed it in the passenger seat. She gave me a perplexed look, and I just said, “Not tonight,” and locked the car.

Thus, we started the hike back toward the restaurant with L in only her tube dress and heels, tugging at something every few steps – either pulling the tube up to cover her breasts or pulling the hem down to cover her ass – attempting to maintain a degree of decency and apparently always feeling just a little … off. Very quickly, the unevenness of the lane wrought havoc on her feet, as her heels kept pitching this way and that. We paused a moment, and she doffed her heels in order to walk onward barefoot. I carried her heels in one hand while holding one of her hands in the other. Her free hand continued tugging at something every few steps. Once we reached the restaurant, we paused and she re-shod herself, involving bends and stretches that had nice effects on her dress … I’m sure you can imagine.

So finally, we entered the restaurant, and I requested a booth. She glanced subtly in my direction with a knowing look. We were led to our table, where she attempted, demurely, to slide into the booth without flashing her bare pussy at the Matre’d, or alternatively, to avoid offering too deep a look down her cleavage. I don’t think she succeeded, but since I was entering the booth from the other side, I wasn’t really able to tell. We were given menus and were left to ourselves. As we looked over the menus, without looking up or at her, I said, “Well?”. She said, “Well, what?” I just turned slightly in her direction and glanced down.

“Oh ….”

We have an intimate custom that whenever we dine in a suitable booth, she is to lift the hem of her dress to her waistline, so that she sits next to me naked from the waist down. Somehow it always seems to slip her mind and I always need to remind her … it’s like an intimate little ritual. Thus, throughout dinner I have free access to any part of her it might please me to stroke or fondle, usually with others being none the wiser.

Dinner passed very pleasantly, as you might imagine. But eventually we finished, made our exit, and headed back toward the car. There was no delay in L kicking off her heels as soon as we left the restaurant, so again she walked beside me barefoot in her barely-there tube. The night seemed even darker on leaving than when we arrived, so for a while my eyes were adjusting, and I was giving more attention to avoiding missteps than I was to my lovely wife. But as we turned down that overflow lane lined with parked cars, I glanced over to L … who was nonchalantly walking beside me with her dress pulled down to her waist, completely topless, her breasts complete bare, swinging in the open night air. WTF? Not her style! I stopped in my tracks in sheer surprise.

I don’t think I even said anything, but on noticing my notice she volunteered that the taut elastic at the top of the tube had been constricting her breasts all evening and she was just getting some relief from the pinch. In fact, something like this HAD happened before, and I had to smile, realizing that yes, this actually WAS very much her style, after all. Circumstances permitting, she’d rather be naked and/or barefoot than be uncomfortable. With a little chuckle I told her, “Ok, let’s make this official.” I stepped in front of her and kissed her. While holding our kiss, I gathered the dress in my hands, lifted it up her body, past her breasts, and over her head … back down over my head, to rest around my neck. When we broke the kiss, she was stripped completely nude, right down to her bare feet. Her dress lay in a loose loop around my neck, her shoes hung from my hand, and thus we strolled down the dark lane the rest of the way, leaning into each other, my arm encircling her waist, stroking her naked body as we walked. Totally romantic. She likes that.

Another time, another place, there probably would have been some public sex against cold metal before I let her into the car, either leaning against it or bent over the hood. It’s a fun, teasing kind of predicament … a naked woman, a locked car, and a favor to perform in order to gain entry. She’s been in that predicament many times. But this time I figured we had tempted fate enough and simply drove back toward the hotel with her naked in the passenger seat – another part of our date night customs.

Back at our hotel, she redressed as she had upon originally leaving, this time including her shawl, and we made our way back to our room. We checked on the kids through the Jack and Jill – both very asleep – then locked the doors again. Adult time was not over yet.

Of course, in a trice she was naked again.

We ordered more mai tais from room service again (no, she didn’t flash the server) and I pulled out my camera, along with a couple of clothing accessories from the suitcase … a pair of over-the-elbow black evening gloves and a pair of spiked “posing heels” or “fuck me” shoes … the kind she would never be able to walk in and served only one purpose .... I took snaps here and there as we enjoyed our drinks, which did not take long to have their effects. She’s always ready to pose for me any way I ask, but a little liquid inspiration doesn’t hurt.

I was getting some bad reflections off the balcony sliding door glass, like a mirror, so I opened it wide and positioned myself opposite the open space so that the flash would not reflect back on me, nor have my own raggedy-ass reflection photobomb snaps I was trying to take of HER. She posed on the bed in slinky ways, using her mai tai as a prop, in the open balcony doorway leaning seductively this way and that, even giving me a faux strip tease peeling off her gloves, kicking off her shoes, then finally lying back over the edge of the bed with her legs spread wide, giving me that “quit fucking with the camera and come fuck me” look. So I did.

Do you really need the sweaty details? I knelt on the floor between those lovely legs and settled in for dessert. I love her taste, so job one was licking up the traces of her sweet and tangy feminine juice blended with traces of saltiness from that musky perspiration that collects among her folds. Job two was pleasing her clit, sometimes sucking it into my mouth, using suction to help plump it up, nibbling it with my lips, sometimes chewing it lightly for contrasting sensation, swirling it with my tongue. Job three was dropping down to envelope her vagina with my whole mouth, stirring her pot with my tongue, sucking its juices, tongue-fucking her, and of course, occasionally dropping lower to lick her ass. All the while, her legs hung loose around my shoulders, making those crawling-type motions as if climbing her way up some invisible hill. Her hands held my head, usually with one fist full of hair, sometimes two, sometimes fingering my hair gently and sometimes pushing my face into her pussy. Tremors. She likes that.

I rose to my feet standing next to the bed, her ankles over my shoulders, her toes in my hair. I’m not really foot lover, but when they are “right there”, it is sometimes nice to turn to one side or the other and nibble. I have a lot of flexibility in that position and plenty of room for those long strokes to build, leading to those happy slappy sounds …. Being well prepped and lubricated from a whole evening of slow foreplay and indulgent cunnilingus, she was partly over edge already.

I entered her, watching her face … I love watching her face … gliding in easily on the first stroke but needing a little time to pump up to full size and effect. Then slowly stroking to elevate the whole sensory experience, getting the heart rate up, getting the nerves warmed up, getting that exquisite inner smolder fanned up to just the right level. Then … that stoking can tip over into something more raw, more animalistic, when stroking turns into pounding generating sounds all its own, when her eyes roll back, when her head tips back, when her mouth opens wide in a silent scream (and sometimes not so silent) giving new meaning to the term “O face” … when she feels … taken. She really likes that.

Over and done, we usually like to remain physically locked up for a time, but from that position I had to I settle back on my haunches on the floor as she remained splayed on the bed, both of us still breathing heavily, both of us glowing with sweat. Her legs were still in that lovely “V”, still trembling. Her face slack with exhaustion looked at me through the valley of her thighs, her beautiful pussy right in my face, amazingly puffy and wet and fragrant. My camera was still nearby, so on impulse I grabbed it. Click … a favorite vacation memory.

We composed ourselves just a bit. We each did a little personal tidying, but not too much – it’s nice to fall asleep with the scent of sex still in the bed. And then there’s that nice way that orgasms have of opening a doorway between the worlds of wakefulness and slumber, welcoming you through. We turned out the lights and settled into the afterglow.

We were both nearly asleep when the bedside phone rang jarringly. Of all things to happen! The phone was on her side of the bed, so she answered, “Hello?” I never learned exactly what was said, but judging by its duration it must have been at least a couple of sentences. She, on the other hand, replied with just one very annoyed word, “Goodnight!” and hung up roughly. I asked what the hell the call was about, and she just said,

“Apparently, we had a spectator … he said, ‘Thanks for the show.’ ”

She didn’t like THAT.