"Saving Planet Earth": A (benevolent?) alien arrival story

[MarieDavisRPs]

L.F. Wade International Airport
St. David's Island, in St. George's Parish
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda

5:15 pm, local time (an hour ahead of NYC and DC):

"About frickin' time," Carrie murmured as she deboarded from the plane that both was and wasn't Air Force One. "I was about to take another nap."

The airport stair truck -- a term Carrie had never heard before because she'd always boarded and deboarded directly from airport terminal waiting area in the past -- hadn't been used for a plane as big as AF1 in years, and the maintenance crew had had to do some work on it before they drove it out to where the plane had been parked away from the terminal.

Finally walking across the tarmac behind her charge, the UK's Ambassador to the UN, she glanced back to his counterpart from the US, Ambassador Richard Connors. Actually, Carrie was looking to Connors; she was looking to Bob Ross, to whom she'd made an offer to get naked on a Bermuda beach if time permitted. She smiled to him and -- even though she was wearing dark shades -- winked, hoping that maybe he could see the muscle flinches in her face and know what was on her mind.

They passed through the terminal without any delay; this portion of the airport had been closed to other passengers and even most of the staff, and there was no need for the presentation of passports or anything like that. Soon, they were all loading up in a long line of vehicles of all sorts for the ride to the harbor, where they would then load up on ferries for the trek from St. David's Island to the unimaginably named Main Island.

To everyone's surprise, the entirety of the upscale hotel The Loren at Pink Beach had been booked for this day and two more following it by an unknown source. Carrie was by now coming to realize that the alien, Anya, was more omnipresent and perhaps omnipotent than she'd thought before. The hotel staff helped the Ambassadors and their people to their rooms; each nation's people were put up in a different area of the establishment, to give them their privacy. Again, Carrie thought What privacy? Privacy from the other Ambassadorial teams maybe, but not from Anya. That bitch is everywhere.

The Manager of the hotel came around to each of the Ambassador's rooms to give them a very extensive packet of entertainment, recreation, and relaxation opportunities, some provided here at The Loren, others across the islands. "Cars will be available in front of the Hotel 24 hours a day for your convenience ... and everything is covered ... financially, I mean. The tab for the Conference has been picked up."

"By whom?" Carrie asked the Manager when he was at the US Ambassador's door again explaining things.

"I am not at liberty to give out that information, Miss," the man said with a sincere and professional tone, finishing, "Sorry."

Carrie's first thought was to speak to her more senior Special Branch Officer, Alec Brosnan, about putting someone on tracking the payments. Might be interesting to know how the money flows, she thought to herself.

She told the Ambassador that she'd be nearby for his protection, as was expected, but he told her, "No, that's not necessary. I'm staying in the room to deal with things." He looked between her and Alec, saying, "Why don't the two of you go have some fun. Bermuda is quite a place."

After they left their charge, Alec told Carrie, "You heard the man. Personally, I'm going to find a place that rents small catamarans. I haven't been on the water for a while." He looked to Carrie, asking, "How are you thinking about spending your evening?"

She only smiled wide, saying, "I have an idea." As soon as they were apart, she sent a message to Bob Ross: I'm free for the evening. I'm heading to Church Cove. She had no idea whether or not Bob was being cut free or not, but she certainly hoped so.

 

[desperado1089]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
5:30 PM local time

British Ambassador to the United Nations Sir Henry Fleming (a surname he legally adopted when he found out he was a distant relative to the famous spy novel author and Naval Intelligence officer) had already tasked his senior Special Branch officer to investigate where the money was coming from, but using analogue methods. The story about the catamaran was because an old SIS station (which was still being manned, incidentally) was only reachable by boat. So while his number two was off relaxing, he was already knee-deep in old code books that had not been digitized and the only communications he had sent to London via means from this century were instructions (themselves coded) on which decryption key to use. He was tasked with manning the radio in shifts with the two MI6 operatives, a man and a woman in their mid-30s (whom he suspected were not just pretending to be a couple, as their cover story dictated) while London prepared the requested information using as little modern infrastructure as possible, and then transmitted it with equipment from when Sean Connery played Sir Henry's ancestor's famous secret agent.

Meanwhile, at Dick Connors' suite and those of his staff, as soon as he arrived he promptly slammed the door and growled through it that he had work to do and anyone who was listening can go catch the clap from one of the local broads for all he cared. So when Ross received Carrie's text, he responded immediately: It just so happens I have been cut loose by The Dick. Maybe our journalist friend didn't fork over the carpet, no, excuse me, the tile floors? Ice rink? Is there even a name for that? LOL, maybe I'll find out if YOUR carpet matches YOUR drapes tonight

After making two stops, one in the suite that the lion's share of the DSS team had turned into a barracks/armory to swap his rather bulky Sig-Sauer P220 .45-caliber with a much smaller Glock 27 and a fanny pack that could discreetly conceal it, the other in his suite where he put on a pair of swim trunks, a button-up short sleeve, sandals and baseball cap, he grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen and a few condoms (he had no idea if she was on the pill) and headed down to hire a car. Don't you need to wait for me at the gate or something? I don't have a card, remember? He sent off the text and was debating whether or not to bother one of the drivers while he waited for her to answer.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
5:30 PM local time

Florence MacDonald stood in the middle of the hotel's lobby looking somewhat baffled about all that was happening around her. This wasn't where she thought she would be when she got up this morning.

First, she wasn't even supposed to have been covering the UN this morning. She'd only been there because the normal Associated Press reporter had been down with the flu. Then she'd started getting text messages from, of all people, someone who wasn't really a people but was an alien. Are aliens people? she'd wondered.

The last message Florence had received from Anya had come while she'd been standing in the Air Force One office of POTUS's Chief of Staff, face-to-face with US Ambassador to the UN, Richard Dick Connors. Florence had had no idea why Connors would want to see her in particular; she was Press, sure, but she didn't command throngs of viewers -- aka voters -- like someone like Tom Llamas or Anderson Cooper or Norah O'Donnell.

It had never occurred to Florence that her invitation to speak to him alone had been a prelude to him hitting on her. She'd had no idea that months earlier -- when POTUS's Chief of Staff, Parker Brown, had said he wanted to know whether or not Florence's carpet matched her drapes -- Connors had been part of the conversation. She hadn't seen him.

Connors began the conversation professionally and politely, but in less than two minutes he was asking Florence personal questions that made her uncomfortable. She wanted to get the hell out of there, but Dick had casually circled around the desk to stand between her and the door. Getting by him was going to require Florence to be forceful, and that just wasn't her way.

Then her phone chimed with a message, and while she thought it would be rude to interrupt their interaction -- uncomfortable as it was -- she did take the moment to read it. And she was glad she did; it was another weird text that was obviously from Anya. It read, Ask him 'How's Denise?'

Florence did just that, and Connors' face went white. He politely stepped aside and said he had a call he needed to make, and Florence took the opportunity to get. And now, standing in the hotel lobby, she caught sight of Connor being led to the suites set aside for him and his team. He glanced her way with an expression that was anything but polite and friendly. Florence wanted to ask Anya who this Denise was, but -- while the alien seemed totally able to contact her at will -- Florence had no idea how to text back; she'd tried once to send Who is this? as a return text, only to get an Undelivered message back.

"Miss MacDonald?" a hotel hostess asked, smiling. When Florence nodded, the woman asked, "Will you come with me, please? Your room is ready."

"My room?" Florence inquired. "I didn't reserve a room. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be in New Jersey getting a statement from that guy who released a thousand hens in the foyer of the Pentagon."

The hostess only laughed and continued leading her, ultimately entering a beautiful room that looked out onto a private balcony and, beyond that, the ocean. The worker said, "I'm sorry that we didn't have a suite for you. Will this do?"

"Are you serious?" Florence laughed. "You're gonna have to drag me out of here when this is all over."

"We were told that your inclusion in the Conference was last minute," the hostess said as she went to the closet and pulled open the doors. Inside was a wardrobe including professional dresses and pant suits, elegant dinner and dancing dresses, swim wear and bikinis, and undergarments. "Everything is in your size, but if we've forgotten anything, please let us know at the Concierge desk. They'll get you anything you need."

Florence didn't know what to say and instead only pulled some bills out of her pants' pocket to tip the hostess. But the woman waved her off, saying, "No, Miss MacDonald. Everything's taken care of. You just have fun."

After the hostess left, Florence simply wandered about for several minutes, checking out the balcony last. The view of the ocean was incredible, but what really caught her attention, though, was the man standing on the balcony of his own room about six suites down.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Somewhere in the South Pacific

Kimmie Lang watched wordlessly as the Lockheed C-130 Hercules touched down on the packed dirt runway, kicking up a long cloud of dust that ever so slowly enveloped the adjacent village. The island breeze would eventually extricate the cloud, but not before every horizontal surface in the community was once again coated in dust.

It would be another three long minutes before the beast of a plane would taxi to the end of the runway near the boat dock, lower its ramp, and allow the village's laborers to begin unloading it's valuable possessions, some of which were Kimmie's.

Unfortunately, the island on which the plane had landed wasn't the one on which Kimmie was standing; she was on the much smaller island 3 miles to the south, a speck of volcanic rock and black sand that was too small to handle the big plane.

It would be another hour before the supplies were unloaded from the plane, inventoried, inspected, transferred to the boat, and finally brought over here, to the research station.

Kimmie had been on the tiny, South Pacific Island for almost 14 months now, researching unique strains of microscopic life; they existed only here in an underwater, multi-entrance cave that honeycombed throughout what her colleagues called the island's basement.

Kimmie spent a quarter of her working time in the water, sometimes snorkeling but more often than not diving with tanks; another quarter of that time studying the samples that she and others had brought up; and at least half of the time cataloging and recording their findings.

Kimmie was working on her PhD in Biology, specifically researching how microscopic, single-celled organisms lived in the vicinity of the fumeroles spitting up never-ending clouds of mostly poisonous gas on the ocean floor.

The research was a next step toward what Kimmie wanted to do: join NASA as an Astrobiologist. With Human Beings about to venture out to the other planets of their solar system -- places that might support life or may have once -- Kimmie wanted to be the first name NASA thought of when they needed someone to go out to Europa or Titan or any of the other dozen or so planetary bodies in our solar system that might support life.

"Hey! Kimmie!" a colleague called out. She acknowledged him with a wave as he jogged her way. Arriving, with a concerned look on his face, he said, "You need to pack up your shit. You're going home."

With obvious shock, she asked, "What...? We're not done here!"

He pointed toward the cargo plane on the nearby island, saying, "They're saving you a seat. But hurry. I was told you're to be on that boat for the return trip, then on that plane, without fail."

"I don't understand," she responded. Then, with her mind suddenly jumping at chances, she asked, "Is it NASA...? Did they call?"

"We'll ... it's even better than that," he said cryptically. He explained about the alien at the UN named Anya, then said, "I don't know specifically why they're asking for you, but they did."

Although still confused, Kimmie packed her things in time to get the boat. As the boat was pulling away from the dock, her colleague hollered, "Say hello to your boyfriend for me if you see him. It's been more than a year for you. He's in for a true experience."

Kimmie flipped him off, mouthing Fuck you! which was actually rather ironic as he was in fact taking about her finally getting fucked. During her 14 months her, Kimmie had been celibate, not wanting to distract herself from her work with a work place relationship. Every male on the island -- and about a fifth of the females! -- had tried to get naked with Kimmie at some point, only to fail.

She could have explained to her suggestive colleague that she and her last lover were longer together but didn't? Besides, they weren't going to see each other again anyway.

We're they?

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
Close to 6 pm local time

Carrie looked at the text on her phone from Bob Ross: It just so happens I have been cut loose by The Dick.

She laughed at the use of the "The" in front of the nickname. It reminded her of how people referred to the former US President: The Donald.

Now THERE had been a Dick, Carrie thought. Then she laughed again at Bob's reference to the young reporter: Maybe our journalist friend didn't fork over the carpet, no, excuse me, the tile floors? Ice rink? Is there even a name for that?

"Hollywood," Carrie murmured to herself, a reference to how even the men in that city's porn industry were shaved. "Or the Bald Eagle."

She laughed yet a third time, typed both of those into a return text, then asked: Don't those both seem so American, as if shaving one's pubes clean away is originally a USA invention.

To his question about how he was getting down to the private, members-only beach, Carrie responded: I left my key card and your name with a cute barista at the coffee shop across the street from the gate. Snag us a couple of teas and biscuits and my card, too. And don't forget a nice tip. It'll be with it, trust me. BTW, if you don't get here before sunset, I've invited the barista to join me, so ... hurry

Carrie knew that part about Bob liking what he saw when he got here was a bit presumptuous, but then no man had ever not appreciated the sight of her naked before. Carrie has a banging body -- Another American word? she wondered -- with firm B-cup breasts, ever-pert nipples, a smooth belly with just a hint of a six-pack, a nicely shaped hourglass figure, and long, sleek legs that hinted at her athletic nature.

Of course, when Bob got down there, Carrie would only be topless; the bottom half of her red thong with its kite-shaped piece of cloth hiding her pussy and the also-kite-shaped, closely trimmed patch of hair above it was still in place; she never went totally nude on a nude beach unless she was totally alone, and there were around 12 others scattered about Church Bay Beach at the moment.

 

[desperado1089]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
Close to 6 pm local time

Heh, what if I want the barista to join both of us? Bob had typed out that message, but didn't hit send before he got ahold of a car and headed over to Church Bay Beach, where he parked at the coffee shop and walked inside. Thankfully, he'd remembered his wallet, which was in a pocket of the fanny pack along with the sunscreen, the condoms, his DSS credentials and his gun. Paying for the teas, biscuits and getting Carrie's card, he tried to discern whether or not the barista would be open to joining them, but regardless, he did leave a big tip as Carrie asked him to.

When he entered the club with Carrie's card, he made his way to the beach, not really paying much attention to the others (but not failing to appreciate beautiful women when and where they were present) and when he saw Carrie, his smile and his cock grew larger in about equal measure. "Hey, wow, you...wow," he said, chuckling as he handed her one of the teas and her card.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, closer to 5:30 PM local time

The man that Florence spotted standing on his balcony stood out for several reasons. One, he was exceptionally handsome, with sandy blonde hair and a body that didn't quit. Two, he was sipping a water bottle with a sensuality that he either didn't realize he was giving off, or did so effortlessly enough that he didn't even realize he was doing it. Three, he was completely nude, his flaccid cock and rather large sack surrounded by hair that matched that on his head.

When he noticed his fellow reporter looking his way, for he was a French blogger who scored a spot with his country's UN delegation's press corps named Arno LaRoche, he waved apologetically and quickly grabbed a towel to cover himself with. "Sorry!", he shouted, in richly accented English, as he retreated into his room.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

{OOC: I made a mistake and set the time of day as to late. It's January, so the sun sets before 6 pm. I'm going to change the time to 4 pm. I can do that ... 'cause I'm a Goddess! )

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Carrie's phone chimed, and checking it, she found an automated alert from the Club that her key card has been used to access the beach gate. Her stomach rolled anxiously as she's thought What the fuck are you doing? You don't even know this guy.

She looked to her bikini top laying near her on the beach blanket and considered donning it again. Carrie was no angel when it came to her sex life; she didn't consider herself a slut, but at the same time, she rarely went more than a fortnight without sex -- usually with men but occasionally with a woman, too -- and most of those encounters were one night stands, often with men she barely knew ... like Bob Ross.

She looked toward the long, wooden staircase descending from the small club to its private beach and -- though he couldn't yet see her -- caught sight of Bob on his way. Last chance, she told herself.

Looking about the beach, she clocked four couples, a throuple, and three singles: all of them were, in some way, taking advantage of the Club's exemption from Bermuda's strict public nudity restrictions. Carrie thought it would be hypocritical for her to suddenly cover up for modesty's sake, even if she didn't know Bob.

I'm the end, Carrie simply made herself comfortable in her wood and canvas beach chair; her lower half stretched out upon the blanket, one knee up, while her upper half reclined back at a 45 degree angle, allowing her a view of the ocean and of Bob as he approached.

Behind her usual dark sunglasses, she studied the man, finding herself suddenly even more hungry for him than she already had been.

"Hey, wow, you...wow," Bob said as he neared her, chuckling.

She gestured to the second beach chair; she'd intentionally set it up to face her from her leg at a 90 degree angle in a way that -- if he chose -- allowed him to keep his sunglasses on and ogle her surreptitiously.

"Thank God you're here," Carrie said with a bit more excitement than he might have expected. Then, smiling, she waggled the fingers of one hand at the to-go cup of tea, saying, "I was going stir crazy without that."

She giggled as he handed over the tea, cookies, and her card. Glancing around at the others enjoying the beach, Carrie smirked knowingly before saying, "Clothing is optional, Bob ... which means that nudity is, too."

She lifted her cup to her mouth, studying Bob, wondering what he would do

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

(OOC: Same comment about the time correction.)

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Florence has no idea that she'd been starting at the man for almost three full minutes before he spotted her and reacted.

"Sorry!" he said apologetically as he quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself; he spoke in very good English, but Florence knew a Parisian accent when she heard it.

He retreated into his room, after which Florence suddenly laughed -- at herself -- and blushed a deep red. She'd never before seen a man naked in the wild like that, and she found herself embarrassed for having been so shocked at him exposing his body like that ... his beautiful body ... his perfect, beautiful body.

Florence was probably the least sexually experienced, attractive woman of her age range -- she'd recently turned 28 -- excepting for nuns and women who'd spent their lives in comas. She'd only ever been with two men, and she'd only ever been with each of them once.

Florence counted the balconies between hers and his, thinking she might try to find out who he was by interviewing a member of the staff. Then, she went inside, stripped, and entered the shower. There, she gently, then more energetically, fingered herself to an orgasm as she imagined the Frenchie having her bent over the railing of her balcony.

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Bob gave Carrie a smirk as he first unclipped the fanny pack and set it down gently on the chair that Carrie had set up for him, perhaps in such a way that suggested it had something in it that required careful handling...like a firearm. Sure, Glock guns were known for their reliability and how infrequently they went off without the trigger being pulled, but Bob wasn't about to tempt fate.

Regardless, he unbuttoned what few buttons of the shirt he had bothered to fasten before draping it over the chair, exposing a muscular, hairy chest, but one that was scarred in a place or two from his time in the Army. Keeping his eyes on her, he untied the string on his trunks and lowered them to his knees, exposing his nearly seven-inch, thick cock to the ocean breeze--and due to his proximity to a gorgeous woman with whom he intended to become more than just a fling, he was already approaching his full hardness.

Bob didn't know if she would appreciate his care for the trunks, but he still didn't want to try to pull them off over his sandy sandals. So he sat down in the chair before unstrapping one, pulling his foot free of the leg of his trunks, then repeating the action with the other sandal and the other leg of his trunks.

After reaching behind him, which did wonderful things to his muscles, to set his trunks next to his shirt, he returned his gaze to Carrie to say, in an act of boldness that he hoped not to regret, "You're overdressed," gesturing to her bikini bottoms. "By the way, why did you say that it would be worth giving the barista a big tip? She's not gonna be joining us either way, is she?" From his expression and tone, he seemed equal parts curiously hopeful, and cautiously doubtful, that that was the case.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Arno had definitely noticed the woman, the striking goddess, who had been checking him out for, unbeknownst to him, three minutes. Others had said he had had much too few women for such a handsome man of 29, but just because a bunch of people might jump off the Eiffel Tower, doesn't mean he should follow them. So while he had not had much experience with women, he did appreciate their charms, and just from what he saw, she had plenty. So while she touched herself to thoughts of him bending her over her balcony railing in the shower, he did so in the middle of the room, using a series of paper towels laid out on the coffee table before him to catch the resulting ejaculation. He would only put on clothes later, when he left the room.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Carrie studied Bob as he slowly stripped down to even less than she was wearing, her dark glasses permitting her to give his wondrous cock a long ogle. Despite the chill of the soft breeze, Bob was semi-hardened enough that his cock lifted out away from his body, giving her a look at his balls as well. Carrie had always had a thing about testicles, one of her favorite oral sex habits being rolling them gently around in her mouth or in her fingers as she performed.

Even after he sat back in the chair, his shaft hovered over his belly just a tad, gently wobbling about as he moved to place his possessions where he wanted them.

"You're overdressed," Bob said, gesturing to her bikini bottoms.

"Have to leave something to the imagination," Carrie said smiling wider. "At least, for now."

"By the way, why did you say that it would be worth giving the barista a big tip?" he asked. "She's not gonna be joining us either way, is she?"

His expression and tone screamed his desire to become the filling of a sandwich in which she and the barista were the bread. With a gently chastising tone, she asked, "What, I'm not good enough for you?"

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

"Oh, trust me, Carrie, you are plenty. I am merely curious as to your meaning behind the words, while at the same time acknowledging that, yes, she is cute." Noticing that she didn't elect to strip the rest of the way, he casually draped the swim trunks over his crotch with a smirk. "Fair is fair, after all," he quipped as he teased her with a biiiig stretch before taking a sip of the tea he'd bought for himself.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda

About 5 pm, an hour later:

Florence was amazed by the wardrobe the hotel had provided her, and -- like the hostess had told her -- everything was in her size. She didn't understand that in the least; despite being a reporter for Associated Press, she wasn't the investigative type, so she hadn't put a lot of thought into how the alien or aliens were able to know so much about Humanity or about specific Humans in particularly, namely her.

Planning on dinner in the restaurant, Florence dressed accordingly: a relatively sexy, strapless bra and a thong that wasn't specifically matching but was of a complimentary color; a white and pink, flower print sundress that showed off the cleavage of her freckled, C-cups; and modest, three-inch heels with open toes. She rarely wore much makeup, happy with what Mother Nature and her parents' DNA had afforded her; tonight, she glossed her lips and used just the lightest amount of mascara on her lashes. She did dab on a bit of perfume she'd found in the bathroom, also supplied by the hotel.

She headed down a flight of stairs and into the lobby, then across it to the restaurant. The hostess there told her it would be a couple of minutes before a table opened up; despite the hotel being reserved solely for the Security Council's Meet and Greet with the alien leader, the restaurant had been inundated by the guests after they'd learned that -- like the rooms and everything else -- the tab for the meals and drinks had been covered.

"Bar?" Florence asked the hostess. "And a table as soon as one opens?"

"Of course, Miss," the woman said, gesturing Florence the correct way.

The bar was crowded, too, but she found two empty, side-by-side seats at the far end of it. She took the one that was a tad bit more private than the other, sat, and gestured the bartender for a drink.

 

[desperado1089]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Arno would probably go stir-crazy if he stayed in his room the whole time. And plus, he was here to work, despite how good it felt to be naked, even indoors. There was a club that he'd purchased a membership for, what was it? Church Bay Beach? Perhaps he would spend some time there tomorrow.

Either way, for now he was hungry and the hotel restaurant was calling his name. Unlike some who arrived here unprepared, Arno had made certain to stop by the hotel he was staying at to gather his belongings, so he had a few dressy things he could wear. He chose a pale blue, almost white-looking button-up dress shirt, a pair of navy blue slacks, and black, impeccably-polished shoes.

Satisfied with his appearance (and the way his chest peeked out with the top two buttons undone), Arno made his way down to the restaurant, where he discovered that seats were at a premium and that his best bet was to sit at the bar. Upon reaching it, he spotted a familiar mane of red hair, and his smile widened considerably.

At the shocked expression on her face when he entered her line of sight, he could only note how every expression lit her features up in a different way. Oh, how he wished he was a true artist, he would never be lacking for muse if she was his! "Excuse me, mademoiselle, is this seat taken?" She seemed to be temporarily incapable of speech as she gestured him to the empty seat, which he slid into like water flowing down a stream.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

(OOC: My writing partner let me choose Arno's image, yoohoo. Here is the way Florence would have seen him on the balcony -- though she saw him naked down to his tippy toes, too -- and here is his face, which I'll probably use more often than not. If we have any readers, you will have noticed that I love reposting the images. I'm a visual kinda girl.)


The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
Bermuda

Florence was studying the crowd as she sipped at a vodka and tonic; she was looking for someone who might be willing to speak with her about what was happening, something that she hadn't been able to do as of yet. It wasn't that these people -- Ambassadors, their Aides, Security, etc. -- didn't usually have a problem with speaking to the Press, though, often they did so only under the condition of being anonymous. But this situation was like nothing any of them had ever faced before, and few of them were willing to say anything that Florence didn't already know.

And then, of course, there were the messages that Florence was still getting from Anya. She'd gotten another one just before the left her room, telling her to expect the delivery of a package to her room the following morning. As she had before, Florence had attempted to send a reply: May I ask what is in the package? Again, the response was a popup: Undeliverable.

She tried to imagine what might be coming her way when a man stepped up to stand close to her. He was dressed nicely in a button-up dress shirt that showed off his muscular chest, and looking into his face, she found him male model handsome. Then, her heart leapt in her chest as she suddenly realized that it was the man from the balcony ... the naked man!

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said in that sexy accent of his. "Is this seat taken?"

Florence didn't immediately respond; she was in shock, recalling how magnificent he'd looked, both in reality as he'd aired out on the balcony and in her fantasy as he'd fucked her from behind on hers. Finally, her brain caught up, and she gestured to the seat. "Yes ... yes, of course. It's ... I mean ... no one's ... it's free."

He sat just as the bartender arrived to take their orders. Florence had never been much of a drinker; her glass was still full, and the ice had already melted. She said meekly, "Can I just have a fresh one, please?"

After Arno had given his order, the reporter offered out her hand. "Florence ... MacDonald. Associated Press. What, um ... what do you do that brought you to Bermuda ... or ... are you a local?" She'd been told that the hotel had been closed to the UN delegations only, but could she really know for sure?

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

"Oh, trust me, Carrie, you are plenty," Bob reassured her. "I am merely curious as to your meaning behind the words, while at the same time acknowledging that, yes, she is cute."

"She is cute," Carrie agreed, smirking knowingly as she added, "And she's ever cuter with her top off."

In truth, Carrie hadn't seen Ellie Crane topless before, but she had had her hands up the beauty's top during a free night when she'd been here visiting her grandfather. They hadn't had the opportunity to go any farther than that, and unfortunately Carrie had been called back to London early the next day. But still, it didn't take a superhero with Xray vision to know that those tits looked good when they were let loose.

Bob glanced toward Carrie's crotch, and seeing that it was still hidden, he decided to hide his own, pulling his swim trunks into his crotch. "Fair is fair, after all," he quipped.

Carrie ogled the man's incredible body as he moved about, then looked around the beach again. Slipping out of her chair to her knees close to Bob, she took hold of the beach umbrella's stand and gave it a little jerk; the umbrella fell down to the sand, blocking the view of them from all but one single woman and a couple who -- for the last hour -- had been cuddling, making out, and likely manually pleasing one another behind the cover of their picnic basket and a spare beach chair.

"I don't like an audience," she told Bob. Looking over her shoulder at the three beach users in view, she corrected, "Not a large audience, at least."

She unsnapped the clips of her thong, letting it fall away from her crotch. The diamond-shaped cloth revealed a diamond shaped muff that had been trimmed short; even though he couldn't see if from this angle, Bob just might notice at some time that all the hair lower than the diamond had been removed in whole.

If Bob did nothing to stop her, she would remove his trunks, crawl into his lap, and give him that for which they'd both been yearning since they'd met.

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Bob was surprised but pleasantly so at Carrie's boldness, and the way she just sunk onto his cock pushed all the right buttons for him. "Mmm, fuck, you're already so wet," he gasped lustily as he gripped her hips. "I have condoms in my bag if we need them," he added, but he made no move to get her off of him; she felt too damn good!

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
Bermuda

Arno smirked at the way she tripped over herself like a blushing schoolgirl. "Arno LaRoche, blogger for the French press corps." He basically ran his own website, a fairly significant achievement, but he had earned it and then some. "I am afraid I do not know much more than you do, but why do tonight that which can wait until tomorrow? I would much rather spend the evening getting to know you better, non?"

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Carrie hadn't expected Bob to object to her mounting him and was surprised when he didn't. She reached down between them, grasping his cock and directing it into her. She was tight, but not virgin tight; she let her weight lower her slowly down his length until their bodies came firmly together.

"Mmm, fuck," he gasped as he took hold of her hips., "You're already so wet."

She began lifting and dropping herself upon him, taking more and more of him in and out. He told her, "I have condoms in my bag if we need them."

"Not necessary," she whispered. Carrie was on birth control -- the best implant the National Health Service would pay for -- so that wasn't a concern for her. She was also clean down yonder and in her bloodstream, and she had faith that Bob wouldn't have let her put him inside her without a condom if he was dirty.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
Bermuda

"Arno LaRoche," the Frenchie responded to Florence's introduction, "blogger for the French press corps."

She didn't react to his identifying himself as a blogger, even though many journalists didn't consider bloggers to be journalists, like them. Florence thought that was bullshit, of course; she knew plenty of legitimate journalists that were absolute hacks and didn't deserve the title.

"Do you have any idea what's going on around here?" Florence asked after leaning in to speak more softly. "I mean, I know about Anya being an alien and all, and I've seen the footage from her ... do we call it a visit to the UN...?"

"I am afraid I do not know much more than you do," Arno told her, "But why do tonight that which can wait until tomorrow?"

Florence couldn't help but laugh. She apologized, "Sorry, sorry ... I'm not laughing at you. It's just that my professor at University used to tell me just the opposite. He always pushed me to the first one on a story, in his words, before there even was a story.

Then Arno explained why he didn't want to work tonight. "I would much rather spend the evening getting to know you better, non?"

Florence's lips spread in a delighted smile as her face exploded in another deep blush. She lifted her drink to her mouth in an effort to hide her embarrassment; Florence got plenty of compliments from men -- women, too, though that didn't interest her -- and she'd learned how to just say thank you and move on. But even though she'd only known Arno for a few moments -- not counting her three minutes of admiring his body and, in particular, his dong -- Florence felt something for the beautiful French man.

"Yes ... sure ... I'd ... I'd like that," she said with a wide smile. "So ... tell me about yourself, Arno."

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach

Ross was absolutely enthralled with the woman atop him, and was eager to give her what he had to offer. He was likewise free of disease, so when he gripped her hips, he began to thrust upward, fucking her back with reckless abandon. He knew perfectly well that they both weren't gonna be satisfied with making love; he could tell that she needed to get fucked as much as he wanted to fuck her.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Arno gleefully told Florence his whole life story, leaving nothing out, from his birth in Paris to now. Not even his nudism escaped discussion; after all, she had seen him in the buff, so to speak, and she deserved to know why.

Along the way, he had asked her to return the favor. He only touched lightly on his career, and it was clear he wanted to focus on her personal life: he asked her what her favorite memory was growing up, her favorite place she had ever been, and if she believed in love. He also asked gently probing questions about her love life, such as if she's ever felt truly in love with someone who felt the same, if she was monogamous or polyamorous (and if she would consider the latter lifestyle even if she'd only given thought to the former thus far), and if she would become a nudist if the right partner introduced her to it. This last one was meant as a gentle hint that he wanted her, but as always, consent was paramount to him.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda

Carrie grasped the wooden dowel back of the sand chair in which Bob reclined and -- with his own grasping hands on her hips -- shifted back and forth in his lap to drive him in and out of her deep, hard, and quick; she was gasping for air on one thrust and crying out at the pleasure on the second, heading rapidly for what she could tell was going to be a quick but very satisfying climax.

She loved this position above all others as it stimulated her clit so incredibly well. As she felt the pleasure rising rapidly toward orgasm, Carrie pulled her body tighter to Bob's, drew a deep breath, held it as she exploded with a loud cry that was surely heard by the nearest of their fellow beach enthusiasts, even over the crashing waves.

Carrie lost the ability to control her body, collapsing onto Bob's chest as the waves of euphoria swept through her. If he hadn't, her body was his to control until he, too, had had his fun in the sun.


The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Florence listened intently to Arno's story, delighted in both the experiences he shared and the voice with which he'd told them. She'd always had a think for France as a country and the French as a people. Florence's great-grandfather, Sam, had been born on America's birthday in 1925, had used his disabled, older brother's name and identification enlist in the Army the day after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

He'd parachuted into Normandy on 6 June 1944, still a month shy of his 19th birthday. Unfortunately, he'd been separated from his unit and injured in the jump; fortunately, he'd been discovered hanging high in a tree by a French family who cut him down and hid him from the Germans for 34 days before they were finally able to get him safely back to his own troops.

Florence's grandparents, then her parents, and finally she herself grew up with the tales of not just those 34 days but the additional 3 years starting in 1945 and 1948 when Sam returned to his adopted country. Florence actually had French blood in her; Sam had married the daughter of his original saviors -- her husband had died in 1944 working with the French Resistance -- and brought her back to the States with him when he returned in 1948.

When Arno began speaking about his nudism, Florence giggled and blushed again. She leaned in close, whispering, "Nude...? Like ... in a camp or on a beach? Really?"

It explained why he'd been so comfortable standing out on that balcony in the buff. When Arno asked her if she was interested in partaking, Florence laughed aloud, crying out, "No...!" And then leaning in again and speaking much softer, explained, "No! I could never do that ... naked ... in public?"

Arno must have thought it a topic best left alone, because he switched topics to his career as a blogger for the French Diplomatic Corps. He talked on it for less than two minutes, though, which disappointed Florence; she wanted to know more about him, of course, but she also simply enjoyed listening to him talk.

"My favorite memory...?" Florence responded when Arno asked her about it. "Old Sam, no doubt about it."

She spent probably more time than she should have talking about her great-grandfather and his time in Arno's homeland. "I was very young then, but my mother had had a new camcorder back then -- it was, what, the early 2000's -- and she recorded hours and hours of me sitting in Old Sam's lap while he talked about France, both during and after the war."

She became more solemn suddenly, looking first down into her now-empty glass, then up into Arno's eyes as she said, "I was sitting in his lap ... I'd fallen asleep in his arms while we were watching reruns of Bob Ross painting on PBS ... when he closed his eyes ... and just..."
Florence felt the tears welling up in her eyes and turned away quickly; she didn't want Arno to see her cry. She snatched up a cocktail napkin, dried off her eyes, then -- feigning joy and happiness -- turned back and asked bluntly, "Next question."

He asked what her favorite place was, to which Florence quickly said without having to think, "Right here ... right now."

Yet again, her face exploded in a fiery blush, leading her to unfold the cocktail napkin and hold it up in front of her face as she begged, "Ignore me, Arno. I might be drunk." She giggled again, clarifying, "I don't usually have more than one drink, and even then, I rarely finish it."

Then, she looked into his eyes and confessed, "But ... I am having a wonderful time. And I think you're great. And I think that this place and time have to rank somewhere high on my favorite places list."

When he asked if she believed in love, Florence smiled wide, then whispered softly, "Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

"Have you ever felt truly in love with someone who felt the same?" he asked.

Florence's happy expression faded slowly as memories of the men who'd wronged her came flooding back. She considered not just an answer but whether or not she wanted to give one. She was greatly enjoying her time with Arno, and she really didn't want to think about -- let alone talk about -- he men who she'd loved who, it would turn out, only wanted to part her thighs and fill her with their seed.

She shrugged the question off, smiling as she said, "Next question."

Then Arno asked her a question she would never have expected from a man she'd just met: was she monogamous or polyamorous? Without hesitation, she answered, "Monogamous, of course."

As she looked into his eyes and gauged his expression, Florence thought that she'd given the wrong answer. Is there a wrong answer? she wondered to herself, her slightly intoxicated mind searching about for clarification. She told Arno, "I mean ... if I'm dating a man ... I'm dating him ... and only him. I know that that might be old fashion sort of thinking, but..."

Florence stopped there; part of her brain was telling her to stand her ground, believing that Arno had been hoping that she would have answered polyamorous. But then the other side of her brain screamed He didn't say one way or the other, you goof! Don't put words in his mouth! Ask him what HE is!

But before Florence could ask him -- or even contemplate how to ask him -- Arno asked, "Would you consider the latter lifestyle even if you'd only given thought to the former thus far."

Once again, Florence's brain was battling itself. One side was screaming No! One woman, one man! That's the way its done! At the same time, the other side of her brain was asking How the fuck would you know? You've only had two boyfriends, two lovers, and you only DID it with each of them ONCE, and then you had NO boyfriend.

"Maybe," Florence finally said, her response uncommitting to either answer. "I guess it would matter on who the guy was or guys were, I guess. I said I guess twice, didn't I?" She giggled again, pushing the fresh drink that the bartender had just delivered away from her.

Then, suddenly, they were back to a topic that had so piqued Florence interest: public nudity. He asked, "Would you become a nudist if the right partner introduced you to it."

Florence's lips spread so wide that her head nearly cut in half. She giggled yet again, pulled the drink back to suck down a big swallow, considered the question a long moment, looked around for eavesdroppers, then leaned in almost close enough to kiss Arno as she whispered almost too low to be heard: "If you were that partner ... yes."

She pulled back again, giggled, thought to herself You need to stop giggling, and slipped out of her chair to stand very close to the man. Reaching out to caress a fingertip along his jawline, Florence said, "I need to go to my room ... to take a nap. I think ... yeah ... I need to take a nap. Will you...?"

Florence had enough working brain power to know that she'd drank way too much -- she'd finished three vodka and tonics -- and she needed to get back into the privacy of her own suite before she did something she wouldn't normally do.

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda
The quickness by which Carrie achieved climax meant that Bob wasn't there yet when she came all over his cock, the sensation doing wonderful things to him, but not wonderful enough. When she slumped against him, he kissed her neck and stroked her hair, but he was absolutely determined to have his turn.

Clutching her to him, he levered himself off the chair and, in a controlled pitch forward towards the blanket she had lain on the sand, set her down upon her back. "That was wonderful, but I think you have another round in you, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he started to fuck her with the same energy with which she had ridden him.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Arno smiled softly at Florence's behavior, but he was a gentleman first and foremost, so when she asked him, 'Will you...?', he answered, "Oui, ma cherie, but not in the way you might be thinking. I will help you up to your room and watch over you during the night without taking advantage, as a proper gentleman should. Come on, now." He offered her his hand; if she seemed to have trouble walking, he would apply the minimum amount of assistance necessary to ensure she didn't hurt herself without being too handsy.

With the thought of ordering room service, he carefully escorted Florence to the elevator and up to her room, and when they got inside he immediately picked up the phone and ordered some light fare for them both as well as the same hangover cure that, unbeknownst to him, had been used with great effect by another lovely woman who was getting more 'action' tonight than Arno's poor companion.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda

Carrie's body was trembling to the core from the explosive orgasm as she relaxed into Bob Ross's body, when suddenly he took a tight hold of her and almost launched them out of the chair and onto the blanket. Her first reaction was to squeal a bit at the unexpected movement of his still rock-hard cock inside her quivering pussy, but then she laughed at the acrobatic move that resulted in her on her back, her knees parted and high with Bob between them and somehow still deep inside her.

"That was wonderful," he told her as he returned to thrusting in and out of her, "but I think you have another round in you, don't you?"

She grasped his face in her hands and -- for the first time she only just now realized -- pressed her mouth to his in a long, wet, erotic kiss. Carrie would chastise herself later for having been in such a hurry to fuck Bob that she hadn't even kissed him until after he'd sent her into the delicious throes of ecstasy; it simply seemed like such animalistic lust to have gone at him the way she had, but -- obviously -- things had worked out just fine.

And it would turn out that Bob had been right: she had had another orgasm inside her waiting to get out. This one had been slower to arrive, and after he himself had had his first, she would beg him not to quit, pleading, "I'm close! I'm close! Oh, God, I'm close!"

He would know when that second explosion arrived from the feel of her fingernails digging into his back and her legs clutching around his body, each to ensure that he didn't pull out until she wanted was ready for it.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

"Oui, ma cherie," Arno said when Florence asked him to help her out of the bar toward her room, "but not in the way you might be thinking."

Florence wasn't thinking Will you help me to my room, strip off my dress, and fuck me hard and long all night. At least, she wasn't until Arno added with a chivalrous tone, "I will help you up to your room and watch over you during the night without taking advantage, as a proper gentleman should."

Ironically, as Arno helped her maintain her balance and not look like an absolute fool -- she hadn't been this intoxicated since her last night with her last lover -- Florence found herself thinking I want you to help me to my room, strip off my dress, and fuck me hard and long all night.

Then, of course, she immediately chastised herself for such thinking. She'd always promised herself -- and, ironically, had promised her parents -- that she would never drink enough to cause herself to lose control, possibly resulting in a situation by which she allowed herself to be taken advantage of or possibly even raped.

And while her vodka-soaked brain was telling her Oh, Arno wouldn't do that, he's a gentleman, he's a good guy, he's fucking French, for Christ's sake, later -- when she was once again sober -- Florence would realize that this had been just the situation in which she'd promised both herself and her parents she would never find herself.

Florence wouldn't recall much of the time between the bar and her room, except for how good it felt to have Arno's strong, supporting arms around her ... and his hands upon her. Oh, sure, he'd done a wonderful job of keeping the latter off her tits and ass, like the gentleman he'd promised to be, but in her swimming mind, she couldn't help but smile wide at how wonderful his touch had been.

"I need to pee," she said almost immediately after he'd gotten the door closed behind them. Whether it was the vodka or her honest feelings of happiness with him, Florence took Arno's face in her hands and pressed a quick, short, soft kiss upon his lips, something she couldn't have done so easily if her heels hadn't put their faces at roughly the same height. Patting his cheek softly, she whispered to him, having already forgotten that she'd told informed him, "I need to pee."

She stepped out of the heels for her safety and comfort, turned, and made her way awkwardly to the adjacent bedroom and into its ensuite bathroom. Somewhere along the line, she didn't know where, she began singing iThe Beatles' "Michelle" with the most horrible attempt at a touch of French accent in the world. She only got about halfway through the French second verse when she forgot the words, giggled loudly, and called out, "Sing for me, Arno."

Florence would continue to hum the song as best she could, sometimes singing the most easily remembered words as she did her business ... among other things. Ten minutes later, when she finally emerged from the bathroom again, she was wearing nothing but one of the sleeping gowns that the hotel had furnished her; it wasn't a teddy per se, but it did reach only to midthigh, was lacy, and was thin enough that when walking unsteadily Arno's direction, the bright illumination of a lamp on a table that just happened to be directly behind her as shown through it, silhouetting her deliciously curvy 36-26-36 figure.

"Michelle ... ma belle..." she was again singing softly as she tried to sway seductively Arno's way. She giggled again as she got close to him, pointing out with a scrutinizing expression, "You're wearing so many clothes."

She would come to him and, if he did nothing to stop her, make a clumsy attempt to begin undressing him.

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda
Bob would, by sheer luck, have his climax at the same time as Carrie's second, his moans and grunts cluing her in as well as when she said 'I'm close!', he exclaimed, "Me too baby, me too!" When she finally clamped down around his cock, he erupted inside her, his seed painting her walls as he throbbed needily with his orgasm.

When they both finally floated back down to Earth, he would softly caress her cheek and say, "Wanna rinse off in the water before we take this back to the hotel?"

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Despite the extremely tempting nature of Florence's behavior after emerging from the bathroom, he gently took hold of her shoulders before she could begin to undress him. "Non, Florence. Not now. You will thank me in the morning." He gently turned her around--quite possibly adding to the excruciating boner in his pants--and steered her towards the bed, pulling back the covers and getting her tucked in. "If I wake up to you in my lap, I shall not be happy. Sleep, s'il vous plait."

After making sure she wouldn't try to lunge for him again, he made sure the door was locked before settling in to one of the chairs that faced the bed, kicking off his shoes and sighing with a soft, "Merde!" before falling asleep.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda

Carrie's body continued to tremble even after Bob -- noticeably reacting to his own climax -- slid off to lay beside her. She begged him to pull her closer -- she was too spent to do it herself -- and lying beside him with one leg thrown atop his, she purred, "My God, that was great. Thank you, Bob."

"Wanna rinse off in the water before we take this back to the hotel?" he asked.

"Yes, but ... not yet," Carrie answered. She was still coming down from her orgasm and didn't want to move. Then, after a little giggle, she said, "Bob." Then, doing her best impression of Rowan Atkinson's character from Black Adder -- she was British after all -- she mocked the character, saying, "Bob", the way he would when he addressed Gabrielle Glaister's character.

Then, lifting her face again to this Bob, she asked, "Did you ever go by Robert? I mean, you introduced me to yourself as Bob. Most men named as you are would have said Robert, then added But you can call me Bob."

She moved her face closer to his to kiss him once again, then smiled and whispered, "Bobby ... I think I'll call you Bobby..."

Carrie lowered her head to her lover's chest, musing, "...particularly in front of that asinine ambassador of yours. What a dick Dick is, am I right?" Then, quickly ashamed, Carrie looked into his eyes again, apologizing, "I'm so sorry. That was so inappropriate. Let me make it up to you."

She caressed her hand down Bob's belly toward his groin, and if he did nothing to stop her, Carrie would stroke him to stiffness again -- presuming he could achieve it once more? -- and, once hard, rise to mount him for one ... more ... try at this.


The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

"Non, Florence," Arno said as Florence tried but failed to unbutton his shirt. He told her softly, "Not now. You will thank me in the morning."

She let him guide her gently toward and into the bed, pulling the covers around her. She giggled again, pointing out, "You're on the wrong side of the covers ... and still wearing too many clothes. I thought you were a nudist?"

"If I wake up to you in my lap, I shall not be happy," he told her as he tucked her in. "Sleep, s'il vous plait."

"s'il vous plait," Florence whispered back, reaching up to caress a hand upon his face. "That means please. I know that ... because I took French ... in school..." She was beginning to fade out quickly, her last words being in French -- sort of, as she got the verb tense all wrong -- followed by her own English translation, "I wish I was not drunk. I wish to be your lover..."

And, probably for the best, Florence slipped into a peaceful sleep that -- seeing how it was only about 7pm now -- would extend until almost sunrise, when she would awake to a dark room, illuminated only by the indirect light coming from the ensuite. What -- or who -- would Florence find then?

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda
Bob would absolutely pull her closer, kissing her forehead on top of the intimate gesture. He could definitely see the two of them becoming an item, even if their jobs took place on opposite sides of an ocean. When he spoke to him about his name, he smiled. "Yeah, I was born a Robert, but I've just gotten used to being 'Bob'. And don't worry, he is a dick. I voted for President Dean. But if you wanna make it up to me anyway, by all means."

He did, to his delight, rise to the occasion once more, and made no effort to resist her when she moved to mount him. "I could get used to this sight," he said sincerely as he beheld the vision before him, running his hands along her curves and over her breasts, as if committing them to memory by touch.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

The morning light would reveal that Arno had remained in his chair all night, albeit sometime during the intervening time he had shed his shirt and pants and now slept in another, larger-sized hotel sleeping gown, his white briefs the only other thing he wore. Currently, these were tented rather noticeably by an erotic dream he was having, but his underwear was half-hidden by the robe at the moment. Near the door, there was a room-service cart with the food Arno had ordered for them as well as the vial of hangover cure sitting prominently next to the platters. Arno himself snored softly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the sound of the ocean floating in through the cracked balcony doors.

A note was also placed among the fare, written on hotel stationery:

Dear Florence,

Please help yourself, and do not wait for me to awaken. As for what you said to me before sleep claimed you, I feel the exact same. Please know, however, that I wish for you to make such a decision with a clear mind, and I promise never to take advantage, even if we remain simply friends.

With wishes as bright and warm as the morning sun,

Arno

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
Bermuda

Sometime between 5-6 pm, who knows, who cares?

"I could get used to this sight," Bob told Carrie as she mounted him once more

She settled down upon his full length and girth with a deep moan. He ran his hands over her as she went to work atop him, anxious to feel the ecstasy of orgasm sweep through her once more. It would take longer this time than it had the second climax and certainly more than the first, which had even surprise Carrie with its early arrival. But arrive it did as she arched her back, head to the sky, reached her hands behind her to sink her claws into Bob's thighs for support, and cried out as the explosion tore through her.

If he hadn't cum a second time, Carrie would surrender her body to him to ensure he got what he needed. After that would be another delicious period of simply enjoying the afterglow. She could have easily stayed there for the night, sleeping on the blanket under the stars. But by now, the sun had fallen behind the cliff to the west, and the drop in temperature suddenly caused her to tremble in a way that was even more obvious than that of either of her three orgasms.

"C'mon," she said, suddenly leaping up with Bob's hand in hers as she urged him up. She pointed her other hand toward the ocean, which was still in the sunlight for now. "C'mon slowpoke. You wanted to go into the ocean. Let's do it, before the sun sets."

Still naked as a jaybird, Carrie released her hold on Bob and ran off toward the surf, giggling. As she passed by the couple that she'd earlier believed were having sex behind the cover of their beach gear, she found the female half of the couple licking and caressing the man's generously sized but unfortunately for them both flaccid cock. Carrie gave them a thumbs up and encouraged playfully, "Keep at it! Get'em there, darling!"

The man laughed, but the woman hid her head in shame; still, as she continued past them, Carrie was pretty sure she heard embarrassed laughter coming from the woman. She reached the surf, ran several steps into it, then dove skillfully into the three- or four-foot wave before her, coming up to cry out, "God! It's cold!"

She'd expected the water of the Gulfstream to be a bit warmer after a day of sun beating down on it, even though it was January. Even so, she looked back for Bob, then turned to the ocean and -- as a second wave came her way -- dove into it, too. She soon found herself beyond where the waves broke into white tops but still able to stand on her feet; the swells coming past her hid and exposed and hid again her bosom.

She reached down between her thighs, using the sea water to wash away the combined fluids that had been and still were leaking out of her, without actually pushing any of the water inside her. The salt water itself wasn't in anyway a health danger to Carrie, but it was all the things floating in it -- from microplastics to tiny creatures -- that might be an issue is she didn't quickly get back to the hotel to douche.


The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel

Sometime between 3-6 am, who knows, who cares?
Florence awoke in the dark in a nightie in her bed ... none of which made any immediate sense to her. Then, three things came to her in rapid succession: the naked Frenchie, drinking in the bar, and trying to undress said Frenchie. She lifted her head and found Arno LaRoche sleeping in a cushy armchair near the darkened gas-powered faux fireplace, and Florence pressed her hands to her face, hiding it in embarrassment.

You fool, you absolute fool, she wordlessly chastised herself for what she could and even couldn't remember from the previous hours. She spent a minute just trying to remember all that had been said and done, and while she remembered having had the most wonderful night of her life -- literally the most -- she also remembered finishing off the most of three vodka and tonics and having had to be brought to her bed by a man who was, by definition, still a stranger to her.

She looked to Arno quickly with wide, worried eyes, and finding him soundly asleep, slipped a hand down under the bedding and in between her thighs to feel for signs that the Frenchie had fucked her while she was unconscious or semi-so. She found what she always found when her fingers found her pussy: wanting. Then Carrie felt even more ashamed for having thought for a moment that Arno would have date raped her, which -- of course -- was no different than rape of any kind.

Florence rolled to sit up on one elbow, looking to and studying Arno for a long, happy moment. He was so beautiful curled up in the chair, with his hair mussed and his muscular chest exposed, and his--

Oh, God! her brain screamed out at the sight of the tent in Arno's crotch beneath the hotel robe. The first time she'd seen his cock, he'd been standing on the hotel balcony in the nude, enjoying the fresh air with his flaccid and yet still impressive cock dangling there for Florence's viewing pleasure. Now it was seemingly stiff as a pole, almost but not quite lifting one side of the robe but not the other in a way that would permit her to see it once again.

She bit her lip, chastising herself yet again for her behavior; Arno wasn't a piece of meat, like Florence had been treated by the two and only two men with whom she'd had intercourse over her lifetime. And yet she so badly wanted to see his cock in all its stiff glory.

Then, she smiled wide as she remembered: He's a nudist! He won't mind! Ever so quietly slipping out of the bedding, Florence crept over to where Arno lounged back, ever so gently snoring peacefully; she wondered if he was hard because he was having an erotic dream, which was the same reason for Florence sometimes waking up with her fingers and labia wet.

Kneeling down on the carpeted floor, her eyes dancing between his cock and his face in the hopes that he didn't wake up, she ever so gently pulled the robe's tie just a bit looser. Without any additional effort at all, the portion of the robe over top of his cock fell away ... revealing, rather disappointedly, that he was wearing white briefs underneath.

What kind of a nudist are you? one side of her brain cried out in despair. The other side of her brain was pointing out, My God, it's big! Even through the cotton cloth, Florence could make out the general shape of Arno's cock: the bulbous head, the girth of his shaft, the bulge of his scrotum. Covered or not, it was still magnificent.

Finding Arno still softly snoring, Florence rose to her feet and headed for the bathroom to pee yet again. She donned a more substantial robe afterward, returning to the living room -- if that was what it was called -- to find a room-service cart still mostly filled with food from the night before. She snatched up a treat that she couldn't identify but enjoyed enough to eat a second one.

She also found a vial with a note from Arlo that said it was for hangovers. Florence's head was feeling the aftereffects of the excessive drinking, so she downed the cocktail without questioning it.

That was when she found the note:

Dear Florence,​

​

Please help yourself, and do not wait for me to awaken. As for what you said to me before sleep claimed you, I feel the exact same. Please know, however, that I wish for you to make such a decision with a clear mind, and I promise never to take advantage, even if we remain simply friends.​

​

With wishes as bright and warm as the morning sun,​

​

Arno​

Florence's immediate thought upon reading the note's second line was Oh God, what the hell did I say? She searched her memory but couldn't remember what she'd said. Had it been something totally inappropriate? It had! I know it had! I ... I told him I wanted to fuck him! Oh, God, I did, didn't I?

She didn't honestly remember saying that, but Florence was certain she had. She felt horrified. Oh, it wasn't because she didn't want to fuck Arno; if she was going to let any man inside her again, it would be someone like Arno, if not Arno himself. But she wasn't the type to do something like that with someone she barely knew.

Florence only had one choice, obviously: get to know Arno better. She snatched up the pen, wrote a note of her own on the back of Arno's note, and set it in his lap -- right next to his still hard cock -- before heading to the bathroom to shower ... and masturbate again.

When he awoke, he would find that she'd written:

Arno,​

​

I've never enjoyed an evening like the one I spent with you last night. I hope that we will repeat it again very soon.​

​

For now, I must clean up and dress for the day, as should you.​

​

I will meet you for lunch? ​

Florence​

P.S. What kind of a nudist wears tightie whities. ​