St Martin Ch 01

Traci looked at the suitcase full of bikinis and shook her head.

What was she doing? St. Martin, with a man sort of , maybe, old enough to be her father. How had she ever let herself get into this? Why was she not having second thoughts? Why was she starting to get damp between her legs just thinking of a week alone with Scott; just the two of them, 24 hours a day. How many times could they make love in that time?

Sex brought them together. They had worked together for years, but the age difference meant that they mostly spent time together at after-work happy hours. They met again a year or so after Traci left for a new job, at a gym where they both worked out early, before the rush. They saw each other daily. They talked for hours as they ran on the treadmill.

Soon they were having lunch. Scott was fantasizing about her on a nightly basis. That was predictable: successful older man; young, attractive, intelligent woman. What else would he think about?

The wild card, the unpredictable result of their intimate friendship, was that Traci was fantasizing about Scott, too.

He was separated from his wife of 20 years; Traci had sworn off men after Paul, her last boyfriend, left while she was away for a weekend, leaving her with a rent payment she couldn't afford on her salary alone.

Traci told Scott when Paul bailed. Of course she did, she told him everything. He offered her some money; he said it was a bonus check, that he wouldn't miss it. She took it. And kept her apartment. A year passed and Scott never mentioned the money.

Scott was over at her apartment on a Saturday night. They had gone for a run along the river, and Traci had invited Scott up for some water. When she saw him looking at the Citizen Kane DVD on her coffee table, she asked him to stay and watch it with her. He initially declined, saying he had to take a shower, then let her talk him into taking one there. He had some clean running clothes in his car he could change into.

Traci showered first. She lathered the liquid soap between her hands and ran them slowly over her body. They slipped over her breasts; the sensitive nipples pressed against her palms. She slid her right hand down her smooth belly and between her legs. She cleaned herself very, very thoroughly, allowing her fingers to explore her most intimate spots. Traci brought her hand to her face and smelled the scent of her arousal mixed with the light smell of vanilla from her bath wash.

She put on her robe, and stepped into the hall, drying her shoulder length hair as she walked. Scott was sitting on the floor, drinking some bottled water and watching basketball. His tank top was still soaked with sweat from their long run in the July heat.

"Your turn," Traci said.

Scott heard Traci's voice and stood up. She was standing at the end of the hallway drying her hair. Her white terry cloth robe ended just above her knees. It was open just enough for him to glimpse the smooth sides of her breasts.

Scott grabbed his gym bag and walked toward the bathroom. He pressed by her at the entrance, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla. He wondered if it was coming from her hair, or her skin.

She smelled him first. The aroma of sweat, male sweat, pushed ahead of him. She could have moved to let him pass easily, but didn't. She wrinkled her nose as he passed close beside her.

"You smell," she said, smiling.

"So do you," he said, taking a deep breath, close to her neck. "You just smell a lot better."

Once inside the bathroom, Scott realized that all he had to wear after his shower was a pair of thin nylon running pants, with a flimsy built-in liner instead of underwear. His shirt was a Coolmax tank top.

He found a seldom used bar of Ivory soap on the top of Traci's shower surround and washed the sweat from his body. Then he spread the warm slippery lather over his already engorged cock. He slid his hands over it, paying special attention to the sensitive area just below the tip. He felt his balls start to tighten and almost let himself come. But something told him to stop; that there would be better uses for his warm semen tonight.

Scott pulled on his clothes, such as they were, and walked out into Traci's living room. She was sitting at one end of her love seat, her legs pulled beneath her as she flipped through the channels. She had turned on the TV when she heard Scott turn off the water in the shower. Until then she had been otherwise engaged. Her fingers had been deep inside the wet folds of her cunt. She had spread the warm liquid upward, until she found her clit, and slid her fingers over it. She had no reason not to come, so she did, rapidly rubbing her clit as she thought of Scott standing naked in her bathroom.

She washed her hands in the kitchen and used a paper towel to try to sop up the moisture oozing between her legs. Her hands were clean, but Scott could smell her still-drenched cunt as soon as he sat down next to her. His cock hardened involuntarily in response.

Traci couldn't help but stare, as the bulge suddenly appeared in Scott's thin shorts.

"Did I do that," Traci said.

There was no point in lying.

"Yes," Scott said. "You did. And I think you must feel the same."

"Really?" Traci replied, feigning innocence. "What makes you think that?"

"I can smell you," Scott said, looking directly into her eyes.

Traci's cunt twitched, and so did she. She wanted him to touch her. He did - his hand softly gripping her calf, just below her knees.

Scott slid his hand higher. Traci spread her legs in response, inviting him to touch her.

His fingers brushed against her moist lips, slid gently inside. He explored her. He felt the warm, soft walls of her vagina, knowing that soon his throbbing cock would feel them too. His thumb found her clit, rubbing it gently at first, then more rapidly. Traci arched her hips into him, her robe falling open to expose her small firm breasts and smooth flat belly. She shuddered as her orgasm swept over her, so much better than the one she had given herself in much the same way just a few minutes ago.

Scott stood, and pulled his shirt over his head. He kept in shape, and could run with Traci step for step for as long as she wanted. His shoulders were broad, and his smooth chest was clearly defined. Traci sat up and touched his cock where it strained against his shorts. A small wet spot grew as she squeezed the hard, warm flesh through the thin fabric. She pulled the shorts down, watching with fascination as Scott's cock popped free, bouncing for a moment before it stopped, sticking straight out from his body. It was beautiful, perfectly proportioned, with a firm head dripping pre-come just inches from her face. Traci leaned forward and slid her tongue over the tip, tasting the thick salty fluid that oozed from within. She squeezed him, pleased that she had made him so hard. She looked up.

"I want this in me," she said.

"I think that can be arranged," he said, smiling.

Scott eased her onto the sofa, and slid her robe fully open. He gazed at her young body, ran his hands over it, reveling in its soft, firm response. He moved close to her, and she thought she was going to give him the cock she so desperately wanted. But instead he bent over, and slid his tongue deeply between the drenched lips of her cunt. He lapped at her. He licked her. He slid first two, then three of his fingers into her. She came. Then came again. And again. Then before she even realized that he had stopped ravishing her cunt, she felt the tip of his cock press against her. It slipped easily inside. Suddenly she was filled, and he was on top of her. Scott's mouth found her breasts, sucking on them, licking them, biting them between covered teeth. Again she came; then again as his lips found hers and she tasted herself on him. His cock thrust deeply into her as her tongue did the same to his mouth. Traci felt him tense. His cock pulsed inside her. His come filled her. Warmed her. It would do so many times over the next few months.

When Scott asked Traci to go to St. Martin with him, she immediately said yes, then called her best friend. Her friend was happy for her, but warned that others, especially Traci's parents, might not be so thrilled. The resulting secrecy surrounding the trip excited her.

Traci finished packing and put the carry-on bag by the door. Scott had said to pack light, so she had, taking only swimsuits, shorts and tank tops, and one sundress. She had actually overpacked. Scott had neglected to tell her that their resort, like much of St. Martin, was clothing optional. Even her wildest fantasies would not do justice to the week to come.