Breakfast on the Beach #2
(continued) We walk again. Aiming at the four young men but pretending not to.
A minute later, we stop where the waves kiss the sands, short of dipping our toes into the sea. We both breathe and stretch our arms, as in calisthenics. Still simulating no interest in whomever might have happened to be on the beach at the same time with us.
After hearing this, I start counting: Mississippi one, Mississippi two, Mississippi three. Then I turn and smile. Discretely nodding. "Good morning to you."
"English?" Asks the Italian.
"American." Say I.
"Doris. Glad to meet you."
As they come closer, I can better observe their athletic bodies and, naturally, their dicks. My eyes instinctively slip to glimpse at their manhood. I've gotta make efforts to compose myself, to look detached, absorbed by nature, by the sea.
A litany of presentations ensues. With names and howdoyoudo's.
Then comes the weather talk, followed by smalltalk. My tendons feel like snapping. My throbbing pussy sends a pulse, a tension escalating to my belly, through my chest, all over my spine, drumming between my ears. My nipples erect and ready to bayonet, I quiver and I don't know how to hide under the mask of indifference.
On a whim, someone says 'breakfast' and on another whim I say "Yes, I need breakfast right away. I am hungry and I'll feed on you!" Kneeling in front of him, I can visualize his uncut penis. Before my hand would reach for the foreskin, my nose envisages the bitter-sweet, garlic-lemon, ananas-avocado signals of my first dish.
Closing my eyes, I plunge with my mouth wide open. Tasting the pink flesh, shortly revealed when my fingers begin giving a frugal handjob move to the naked jogger. The flaccid flesh turns to stone against my palate. Pushing my head further, grabbing his sweaty buttocks with my other hand, I feel him flinching. Ouch, guess that one of my teeth is scratching his shaft a bit too deep. I retreat myself, allowing my tongue to swirl gently.
I take a breath. And open my eyes, looking up. To see the shadows, and the torsos of the men standing around me. The one receiving the fellatio stares, confused, at hubby. I swap a peek with him and blink. No reaction. Hubby keeps looking back at the stranger whose dick is in my mouth, according to my own decision.
"Come on, Don, tell them."
"May I?" Says Don, staring in the eyes of the young guy whom I fellate.
Hubby kneels near me. Smiling. I hand him the dick, which he hurries to suck while his left arm grabs my shoulders and his right reaches for the ass cleavage of the stranger standing in front of us.
Don knows how to suck cock. I taught him well. Too well perhaps, because in less than a minute my caressing fingers register convulsion after convulsion. The semen boils in his balls, tells me the tongue, as my pointer presses deep against his anus. Unstoppable, I snatch the glasslike shaft out of Don's mouth. Just in time for me to swallow the spoils, all of them.
A slight taste of onions, tired echoes of milk maybe, balance with delightful scents of ginger and parsley. I knew that a man looking like this must eat a healthy diet. I lick my fingers, not wishing to waste a single drop. Then I keep sucking until the man cannot stand anymore and retreats with an awkward smile on his face - which I cannot see from my current position, so I imagine one.
More sunshine. I use the palm to protect my eyes.
"Don, where are you?" No answer. I turn around to see hubby sucking on another man. "You're stealing my breakfast!" I holler at him. "Hey you! Yes, you, the blonde guy. Come closer. Here. Here."
I feed on my 2nd victim this morning. His semen tastes more like smoked salmon - I may take it as a metaphor but it isn't half as good as the first one. My third brings back a memory of thick and salty. Swallowed it fast, without any afterthoughts.
Hubby is still sucking on this other guy. "Hey Don, why didn't you make him cum?"
"I enjoy playing. Besides, you accused me of stealing your breakfast. So I decided to keep it warm and wait. Now pay attention, I'll make him cum in..." he is pushing the pointer up his ass, "a second or two. Are you still hungry, Doris?"
"You bet," and I make my way to wash my palate in my fourth dish for breakfast. Tasteless, watery, bitter light, like a stale bottle of Schweppes.
"Okay, Don dear, let us thank these fine Gentlemen before we get back to our car. Shall we?"
Standing up, hubby shakes hands and expresses pleasantries. I do the same. We say goodbye and thank you to each other. I even dare an arrivederci.
Finding the car as we've left it, we jump in, close the doors after us, Don turns the key, and the car around. And we're gone. Up to the **** road. In no time.
"Was there a quarter or half an hour?"
"What?" Say I.
"Your breakfast, Doris."
"Dunno, I've lost the notion of time."
"They'll never know."