Gabe's Princess

You and Flip have been going out for a few months, and you have yet to sleep together. He wants you, of course. Who wouldn’t? You’re kind, funny, talented, and unbelievably beautiful. 

He doesn’t want to pressure you, though. He would never do that. His parents raised him to be a gentleman, and he knows that things will happen when they’re meant to happen, so he’s fine with waiting a little bit. 

When things begin to heat up one night, Flip is very quick to ask you if this is something you truly want. You tell him Yes. Of course. 

He undresses you, and you undress him, and both of you are so fucking aroused. His hands – his big, wonderful, rough hands – are all over you. He touches your hips, your thighs, your ass, your sides, your breasts . . . Pretty much anywhere he can get his hands on. 

His dick is huge and red and leaking, and you’re half tempted to sink to your knees and try to take him in your mouth, but you’ve never even had a cock in your pussy before, so you know your lack of experience would likely not make for a pleasurable experience for Flip. 

He knows what to do, though. What to say. Where to touch you. How to position the two of you. He’s so smart, your Flip. Such a caring, gentle soul. 

When he pushes into you, you feel him throbbing through the condom, and this seems to make everything so much hotter. He wants you so badly, and he isn’t shy about saying it. 

He isn’t shy about making sounds, either. He grunts and sighs and moans in your ear as he rolls his hips, and it only adds to the whole experience. You’re basking in the sheer pleasure and intimacy of this . . . And then Flip starts to rub your clit.

You sigh and moan for him, and he’s getting close from hearing your babbling and begging. 

When Flip cums, he’s loud, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, and he’s all yours. You tug at his hair gently as you cum, too, pussy spasming and clenching around his cock. 

And God, the way he looks at you when everything is over . . . There is love in his eyes. Love. Pure, unadulterated love. 

Damn, no dice, you think as Flip doesn’t so much as look your way. No matter, you’re determined. 

When you lie out on the chaise, clad in the smallest bikini you could possible find (it didn’t matter that it didn’t fit, in fact that was for the better), you are sure to crank the radio up. It’s right at the tail end of the 70s, and the top 40 station is playing all the upbeat summer time jams that you were hoping it would. 

Those headphones do their damn job though, and Flip is still completely oblivious. He can’t mow the lawn forever, can he? You tug on the strings of your bikini, your top half completely exposed to the elements. The sun is hot on your skin, and you have a bottle of SPF to your side, but even after sitting up and posing yourself so that your tits are basically staring this man down, he still hasn’t noticed. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.” You chuckle to yourself, sighing as you resort to your last ditch effort. 

The bikini bottom falls away from your body and you get comfortable on your stomach, your back and bare ass offering him up his final opportunity. If he doesn’t get his hot sweaty self over to you in the next thirty seconds...

The thought leaves your mind the second a solar eclipse leaves you in shadow, and you grin, knowing you’ve won. 

“Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?” Flip asks, physically turning you back over on the chaise, his big head blocking the sunlight so you don’t have to squint directly up into it. You have a cheesy smile as you get comfortable, your arms draped over the back of the lounge chair, him completely clothed and you completely nude. 

“You can get those smelly clothes away from me, or else my husband might know what we get up to.” You raise an eyebrow at him, a challenge. His eyes twinkle and his mouth ticks up in a sly grin. 

“The husband, where is he off to this time? Business trip? Golfing with the guys?” Shucking the shirt off of his body, Flip picks up the game easily. He’s so good at improv, has to be because of his job. You like to think you’re helping him hone his skills.

“I don’t know,” You shrug playfully, running your hands over his strong stomach. He’s not an invincible moronic twenty-something anymore, like he was when you first met him. He’s covered in scars and he’s gained some weight in all the right places, gained some muscle too. It’s delicious, the way his gold chain swings in your face. “But you’re here. Are you going to show me a good time?” 

“I’ll never disappoint you,” He lowers himself onto you, kissing his hot wet mouth all across your face and throat, making his way down to your chest. He kisses your breasts and grasps at your sides, and you can feel him filling out in his short short shorts. 

“You’ve got an hour until he’s back,” You moan, knowing that Flip always takes on the challenge of seeing how many times he can make you come when you play these games, “Let’s see just how satisfied you’ll make me.” 

You don’t even think he realized how badly he wanted this vacation until the plane had landed and the creases in his forehead lessened just the littlest bit. The resort was all inclusive, a new idea you had heard about at the salon from the other wives who returned far more tan than they left. And the moment a resort bartender put a tropical drink in your man’s hand, you could physically see the difference.

Flip was, in this very moment, the most relaxed you had ever seen him. His shoulders getting gloriously freckled and pink in the gorgeous Hawaiian sun, his hair dark from the water of the crystalline shore. He’s not necessarily one with the waves, no your Flip is far too much of a mountain man for that, but he is enjoying himself, and that’s the best sight you could ever see -- until he splashes you, drenching you from top to bottom with the salty spray of the ocean. 

“You are so lucky I have a swim cap on, Philip Zimmerman.” You do your best to admonish him, “If my hair gets wet I’m going to fucking kill --”

You barely get the words out before you’re being scooped up in his arms, thrown up in the air, landing into the water with a resounding smack, suddenly being transported back to childhood in the community pool, your scream cut off by the water. When you bob back up to the surface, Flip’s laughing, and you can’t be too mad at him, not when the droplets sparkle on his strong broad chest, his cheeks and nose crinkling from the width of his grin. Goddamn he looks good, he looks delicious, you want to eat him right up, you want him to eat you. 

“I’ll wash your hair baby,” He says, his baritone deep and hot in your ear as he holds you close, your arms and legs twining around him on auto pilot. “Have some fun with me.” 

His mouth is on your throat, licking the salt from your skin, making you warmer than the sun ever could. He has lust in his eyes, in his hands, the way he looks at you and grips your legs, holding you close close close, bodies pressed up against one another as the ocean kisses your face. 

Even here, even in paradise, Flip is your anchor, keeping you steady. You melt into his embrace, sigh into his mouth, taste the sweetness of pineapple and coconut on his tongue, and as he pulls the swim cap off of your head and clutches at the nape of your neck, walks you to shore and pushes himself on top of you, presses you ever closer to his hot hard body, your toes curling into the exquisite black sand -- as you gasp and moan in a secret cove in Maui, you can’t help but think how badly you both needed this vacation.