Anna Maria Island (9 page)

We swam in, and I'm sure we were
watched by several people down the beach and the two on the dune. My top had
become almost transparent and clung to my chest. Every curve was revealed. I
noticed whitish streaks on my breasts. His come had not entirely rinsed off.

We toweled off a bit and gathered
our stuff for the short walk back to the house. I held a towel to me as we
crossed the street and passing cars slowed to let us by. We went to the outdoor
shower, and I showered leaving the top and skirt on. Coming out, I saw he was
on the deck waiting his turn. His wet shorts we on the deck rail, and his
exhausted cock hung limp and happy. "My princess," the king
announced, "you will win the kingdom's wet tee-shirt contest for
sure!" I laughed and lifted the top to show the king his victory trophies.
He smiled, shook his head and went in to shower the sand from his royal
carriage.

We had a light dinner, and, not
long after, his royal majesty got into his Honda and drove back to the imperial
palace.

I poured a hot bath for myself. In
the bright light of the bathroom, I looked at maybe the nastiest concubine on
the shore. I didn't need a photo to preserve that image. My hair was messed and
tangled. Some dried globs of come were still matted in my auburn locks. My eyes
looked sultry like smoke. My lips were chapped and swollen. Speckles of dried
come flecked on my chest and neck. I held my tanned breasts. My nipples had
retracted now. I cupped them. The thought of my king tit fucking me flashed
through my mind. A golden dark sheen of tan covered every inch of me. Between
my legs was a swollen mound. My well exercised labia hung below my shaven
pussy. "My cunt," I said out loud. My legs were toned and smooth. My
knees were a bit scratched. My ankles and feet were sexy. I thought that
cycling would burn off some of the erotic energy that was growing each day.
Maybe it would increase it. I slipped into the warm bath and washed the scent
of royalty from my pores. His taste still lingered in my mouth. I savored the
memory.

That night I went to bed after he
called to let me know he was back at home. I slept soundly and woke very early
as the sun was rising. Lying in bed, I savored the scent of my husband on his
pillow. Curling in the soft sheets, I thought back over how we had played
during the weekend. Although it was early, I couldn't sleep and rose from bed.
Wandering through the house, I was struck by the silence of the early dawn. I
went upstairs and looked out the bedroom window on the front of the house. The
sea looked calm. The sun was rising over the horizon. From what I could see,
the beach looked empty.

Returning to my bedroom, I got a
short robe and sandals. Leaving the house, I walked down the drive, crossed the
empty shore road and followed the path through the dunes. The light was softly
bathing the beach in a pink/orange glow. I seldom woke this early and was
pleased to enjoy the solitude of the deserted shore. All but those needing to
get to work early seemed to still be asleep.

The sea was calm, and the swells
pushed lazily up onto the shore, then retreated. I walked along, wetting my
feet in the swirls of water edging the beach. The rolling pebbles made a soft
sound. I let the cotton robe fall open and walked along with my hands in the
pockets. Stopping at the edge, I looked out to sea at the rising sun. The
swirls of water eroded the sand beneath my feet and caused them to sink deeper
into the wet sand. With my hands in the robe pockets, I held open the robe,
spreading it like wings. The sunlight streamed over me, and I felt it warm my
nude body. My nipples hardened. I wish I had brought the camera to take a photo
or two to send to my husband. A thought of him admiring my photo, recalling our
past weekend flashed in my head, and I stiffened with desire. Was I being a
slut for him? I warmed to the idea.

The water felt warm since the early
morning air was cool. It promised to be a hot and sunny day. I would run
errands and cycle with the bike club that evening. Looking down the beach, I
could see a person with a dog in the distance. The person was way off, and I
could not tell if it was a man or a woman. The other direction of the beach was
deserted. I removed the robe and placed it with my sandals higher on the beach
out of reach of the ebbing water.

Nude, I walked back to the water
and entered to about my knees. The swells pushed the water higher. It felt
good. Cool, but not unpleasant, so I slowly moved deeper. The water splashed higher
and wet my belly. I stayed at that depth and surveyed the shore. No one was
visible except for the distant figure with the dog. I splashed water on my
shoulders and wet my breasts. I dove in. The chill was brief, and I swam out
from the shore. Soon the water felt great. Swimming nude was a special
pleasure. The feel of nothing hindering my movement beckoned me to swim faster
and farther from shore. I stopped to tread water and scan the beauty of the
scene. At the boundary of land and sea, I floated and understood that I was
drawn powerfully to this place. Looking back, it was a turning point towards a
decision about life back in the city.

I floated and let the current carry
me along. I rolled to my back and back-stroked in the rolling swells. After some
time, I swam with a breaking wave back to shore. Coming out of the water into
the air brought on a chill. I walked down the beach and retrieved my robe. I
used it to dry my face. Putting it back on, I shivered slightly and watched the
sun glow along the horizon. My nipples were tingling and hard. If only I had
brought a camera, I thought, as I gently tweaked one. My king would enjoy a
picture of his wet concubine. The sun was higher now, and I walked back through
the dunes to the shore road and crossed it to my driveway.

At the house I passed through the
gate to the garden and washed the sand off in the outdoor shower. Inside, I
made coffee and listed the errands I'd need to run. To my surprise it was just
after 6 o’clock.

I tidied up the house getting the
laundry done and the kitchen cleaned. Doing this in the nude felt satisfying
somehow, and the job was soon done. I watered the garden. I was industrious and
wondered if the afterglow of the weekend's sexuality was energizing me this
way. I decided it was. It felt good to be nude in my house, and the freedom
lifted my spirits.

I dressed for a hot day and ran
errands. First stop was the hardware store to get paint chips to select colors
for the last bedroom. The guy in the store was helpful as usual, and we chatted
about my aunt and uncle. I informed him they were enjoying their travels and
staying in touch. He asked if I was okay in the house. It was a kind inquiry
without a hint of ulterior motive. I assured him my summer was going well.
Living in a small community has it charms. The friendliness of neighbors, I
observed, was something I'd not experienced much back in the city.

I swung by the bike shop to pick up
cycling shorts and a jersey. A young girl was at the register, and a tech was
tuning a bike in the work area. She showed me a rack of women's clothes and
offered to help if I needed anything. The shorts were lycra and included a
chamois pad in the crotch area. They did not look especially comfortable. I
selected a black pair my size then searched for a jersey. I found two that I
liked. One was a simple white sleeveless top; the other was green and
short-sleeved. Both had three large pockets sewn in the back. I brought them to
the counter and paid. We chatted and I explained this was all new to me and
that the women in the cycling club recommended I buy the clothes. The girl in
the shop advised that I would find them much more comfortable than regular
shorts. I laughed and confided that I had learned, the painful way, that
regular shorts were a bad choice.

I asked if the owner was in and
explained that he had fit me to my new bike. It turned out she was his niece
and attended the local college. She told me he often cycled before work and was
likely coming in later. She advised he would join the riding group that
evening. She thought he was a fanatical cyclist and commented that he cycled
several hundred miles per week. That seemed excessive to me, and I looked
perplexed. She saw my reaction and seemed amused. "You should ask him
about his training. He's obsessive about it. So are some of the guys he rides
with." I nodded knowingly. "Yeah, those men look good to me," I
confided. Her eyes caught mine and we shared a flash of appreciation. I
regained my decorum and collected my purchases.

Later that afternoon I wore the new
apparel and rode to the meeting place. Once again two groups formed and cycled
off. I rode with the leisurely group and kept up. We chatted some as we rode,
but mostly pedaled. After maybe ten miles, we stopped atop a small crest at the
shore. We rested and watched as the elite group approached along the shore
road. They passed before us, and we all marveled at their speed and cadence.
"These guys are good," somebody exclaimed as they sped by. I recalled
my comment to the girl in the shop about their fitness. "These men look
good to me," I silently thought. Just might take one home to see." I
suspect similar thoughts flashed through the heads of the admiring women.

We assembled and rode swiftly back
to town. At the pub we gathered for our usual end-of-ride celebration. The talk
was friendly, and I met more of the group. It felt good to be among a happy and
accepting crowd.

As we were breaking up to go home,
a group of the elite cyclists made plans for a party on the beach after
Wednesday's ride. The forecast was for hot days and warm nights for the next
week. Apparently, a custom of the group was to pack into SUV's and drive out
onto the dunes past the state beach. The enthusiasm for the event was
contagious, and I indicated that I might go. It really depended on who was
planning to go, and if I would be comfortable with the crowd.

After Wednesday's ride about
fifteen people gathered to go out to the dunes. The remaining went to the pub
as usual. I decided to go out to the dunes and rode with Eric and Tim, two of
the racer types. Tim was accompanied by his girlfriend, Heather, who worked for
a local restaurant. Eric, I learned, had a girlfriend who was away on an
internship for school. I cycled back to my house and changed into shorts and a
top. They soon stopped by to pick me up. We four were in Tim's Toyota 4-Runner
and drove to the state park. At the park, we stopped to release air from the
tires so we could drive onto the sand. We passed through a gate where a ranger
confirmed that we had a pass to drive on the beach. It was an adventure, and we
talked excitedly about finding a place to gather as a caravan on the beach.

 We drove along a rutted path, but
the truck never bogged down. After maybe a few miles or so, we swung through a
pass in the dunes and drove onto the beach proper. The wet sand near the
waterline made for easier travel, and we sped more quickly. Soon we arrived at
an encampment formed by the others. We parked our SUV with the others and
formed a semi-circle to create an alcove for the party. The group was gathering
coolers, and some built a fire-pit with driftwood for when night fell.

The party was festive. Reggae music
played loudly from an SUV. A group was tossing a frisbee, and Eric joined in. I
followed. It was warm, and most guys were wearing shorts and tee-shirts, or
just shorts. Most women were in shorts and tops, although some wore just
bikinis. I wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless green plaid top. As usual, there
was nothing beneath. We played, and the game got more challenging. Players
tossed the frisbee to make catching it a feat. Some dove into the waves to
attempt to grab a toss skimming over the water. I stayed on dry sand and was
glad no one tried to tempt me into the water. After a bit we stopped for beers
and watched the sky turn orange/pink/purple with the glow of the setting sun.

As the light faded, the game
resumed. It was more vigorous now as tosses tested catchers' skills. More were
drawn into the water. I heard a low whistle and looked in the direction that
captured the gaze of a few guys near me. Two women were laughing and splashing
in the waves. Both were topless. Their bikini tops were wet and crumpled in
their hands as they exited the sea. They tossed them on the sand and ran again
into the foaming sea as someone tossed the frisbee beyond their reach. Each
dove, trying, without luck, to catch the disc. One retrieved it and tossed it
to a guy on the shore. I, and everyone else, noticed her dark, hard nipples,
like bing cherries atop her firm breasts. Her tan lines revealed that she wore
a quite skimpy string bikini. I secretly compared my total tan to her lined
torso.

Our game continued, and I
unbuttoned my top to the button just below my breasts. The temptation to remove
it entirely tugged at me. I resisted and remained clothed as we played the
game. I knew with my tosses that my breasts swung freely. A watchful eye could
surely detect an absence of tan lines as my top stretched open with my throws.
The game became more energetic as the light faded. Most men had stripped to
just shorts now, and only a minority of women, including me, was no longer
topless.

Someone lit the fire, and people
gathered around with beers in hand. Night descended and the sky turned darker
as the remaining rays of light lit the horizon. A deep purple sky began to
reveal its brightest stars. The topless women saw no need to cover themselves.
The talk was about sports, fitness, and the gorgeous setting. A growing sense
of eroticism seemed to envelop us. It was not just me. I could see excitement
in the eyes of many. The air was warm, yet all exposed nipples presented tight
points indicating these women knew exactly what was on the minds of the
attentive men. My plaid top clung to me, and I did not try to cover my
excitement.