Chapter 20: Sunscreen
At the camp, we propped the bikes up against a tree, locked them to it, hid the key nearby, and stripped off our sweaty riding outfits, hanging them over some nearby tree branches to dry off. It was so good to see Kaitlyn utterly nude again and to be so myself!
I unpacked my self-inflating sleeping pad, unrolled it, and opened the valve so it could slowly expand over the hours we’d be away from the camp. Kaitlyn did the same. Over mine, I draped a thin camping towel, then proposed, “Let’s get our sunscreen on, but this time, let’s do each other.”
She pursed her lips and smiled coquettishly. “All right; I get to do you first.”
“Happily so,” I agreed. “But first, a shared shand shower.” I laughed at my stumble over the tongue twister. “Sand. Shower,” I repeated, more slowly. Kaitlyn gave a little smirk.
I slid easily into a trance, then called up a pair of sand whirlwinds, scrubbing off the ride’s sweat, leaving us clean, dry, tingling all over, and smiling broadly.
I then got my SPF 10 sunblock out of a side pannier and tossed it to her, then lay down prone on the towel.
As I’d hoped, what she proceeded to do to me fell more in the category of erotic massage than “applying sunblock.” She took her time doing my back, loosening me up from our ride. As she worked lower, pressing on my buttocks and hips, my genitals ground into the padding I lay on, and I started to become tumescent. I clamped down on it by sliding into a meditation state, not being sure whether she wanted to see a big ol’ boner when she turned me over.
She finished my backside, then flipped me over and looked a bit disappointed, like she’d gotten a lower grade on an exam than she’d expected. Then a look of resolve hardened the corners of her eyes and lips, and she raised the intensity. She didn’t do anything so crude as to jack me off. Instead, through a skillfully staged series of caresses, rubs, and tickles, she began working for my visible arousal without touching my genitals. She heaped on the erotic tension by gently swaying her body as she worked. She didn’t just sway her upper body to make her perfect handful sized breasts swing, she also rolled her shoulders and hips in a continuous smooth flow. It was nearly a lap dance sans frotté.
At this point I switched from worrying that she’d be offended by seeing my erection to worrying that she’d be hurt by being unable to achieve one in me, so without letting the trance state go, I released control over the blood flow to my groin, going the other way now and encouraging the flow as well as I could here on this synthetic bed, unable to push Earth power into it. It was as close to a “Shwing!” as I could manage without Gaia’s help. “You win,” I conceded with a smile.
Kaitlyn smiled back then took my erection’s belated appearance as an invitation, because as soon as it reached its full seven and a half inch length, she let out an appreciative “Ahhhh,” then squirted a dollop of the sunscreen onto her palms, rubbed it between them to warm it up, then grabbed my shaft and began to coat it, slowly and completely, then cupped over my glans, rolling it like a gearshift knob before going back down the shaft again, up again over the frenulum, around the glans, and back down again. Up, around, down, and repeat. A single stroke or two would have done for our practical purposes this morning, but she kept at it, long and slow. Soooo. Very. Slow.
I now directed my concentration into holding back my seed, forcing her to re-lube my cock several times to keep it slick.
She lifted me up, up, up, chiseling away at my years of mindfulness training. I’d held off masturbating this past week since meeting Kaitlyn, wanting a full load ready should it be needed, so I was pent up. Add to that this morning’s stripping and dressing games back at the bike shop. Then the caressing, spanking, and goosing on the ride. And finally, this deeply erotic massage.
Eventually, I lost the ability to hold back my sharp breaths and vocalizations. “Hah…ah…ah…nnnnnggggh…yah…eeeeeeeeeyah!” My belly was tightening and releasing like I was doing crunches, and my legs and buttocks were beginning to clench and release without conscious control.
I could have held it longer if it were a matter of importance, but Kaitlyn clearly wanted my emission, so I gave in and let loose six heavy ropes of cream with a primal yell, the first two shooting up and over my own shoulders, one over each, the first making it past the towel edge, out onto the sand. The others crisscrossed my chest and belly.
“Aha!” she cried in triumph. “I thought you’d never let go!” She let me calm down a bit, then said, “I guess that was okay for you?” with a smirk.
I grabbed her in an embrace and pulled her down on top of me, smearing my semen between our bodies, giving her my thanks orally, both in words and with a deep, long kiss. She returned her answer aurally…which is not to say that she thanked me aloud: she gave me a wet willie! I jerked with a reaction halfway between disgust and pleasure, letting out a sharp “Ai!” Then I grabbed her shoulders and smeared my load around our chests some more.
“Is this stuff any good as sunblock? What’s the SPF rating on Davie spooge?” she wondered aloud. Before I could answer, she needled me saying, “Four, maybe?” with a wicked grin spreading over her glorious face.
“Oh, you cruel minx!” I mock-scolded. “You saw it. It has to be at least SPF 75, thick and creamy as it is. But let’s not argue over it or take risks with the sun. We’ll switch to what you brought,” I offered magnanimously.
She took my place on the towel while I sought out her strong SPF 50 sunscreen. I vowed to pay her back for her time and attentions, with interest.
I began by warming the sunscreen in my palms, rather than squirt it cold onto her back. My first touch, therefore, was warm, creamy, and soft, right above her sacrum. I moved up her rib cage along the sides, firmly enough to avoid tickling, then over her shoulders, down the furrow of her spine, then reversed course and retread the ground.
Then I shifted down to her hips and buttocks. I spent a lot of time on those big, firm half-Latina light brown mounds. A few times, I stroked her little winky one-eye, receiving a low moan as a reward.
Staying away from her lady lips, I preceded down her thighs, then her calves, then her ankles.
I arrived at her feet, where I wanted to spend a lot of time. I’m not exactly a foot fetishist. I don’t get off on feet, but let us just say that I appreciate feet. I especially appreciated Kaitlyn’s soft soles, which I vowed to enjoy as long as I could before she toughened them up. I caressed her toes, her insteps, then flexed the whole foot, working out all the tension.
I returned to her upper body, working her arms and neck as I slid back and forth on her back, my warmth and weight giving a soft but firm massage over her lower back.
Now I had her turn over, and again I started in the middle with a hand-warmed dollop on her tight belly, spreading out over her rib cage, under her breasts, and along her iliac crest.
I proceeded up around her breasts to her shoulders, then her supple long neck, spending time out of proportion there. I leant down over her, kissed her lips solidly and repeatedly, getting some tongue in reply, then worked the cream into her forehead, temples, ears, jawline, and soft cheeks. I planted a chaste little peck on her lips, then slid down, straddling her hips.
I’d allowed my penis to become erect again by this point, but I was choosing to make this mainly about her pleasure, mine only insofar as it raised her pleasure more than mine. Thus, I finally turned my attention to her breasts, which must have been aching for a touch by this point. She told me I was right with an “Aaaaauuuggggghhhhhmmmmm.” It was half grunt, half groan, and all pleasure. I spiraled in from the soft C-cup outer parts inward, finally hitting the tender nipples, which were quite erect by this point. She squealed when I hit them. I swirled the cream into them for a while, then pinched them gently, yielding a louder squeak this time.
Now I slid down slowly to squat over her calves, making sure to drag my scrotum over her vulva, wrenching an “Ahhh!” from her along the way. But only that little taste for now.
I sun-screened her hips, continued smoothly below her iliac crests, going out along the smooth broad curves, around to the sides of her buttocks, around her upper thighs, and then around her pubic triangle back to where I’d started. Two more circuits, and she was getting nicely teased in her most secret area. But only a tease for now.
It was time to worship the thighs again, moving up to the soft border of her vulva, back down over her thighs to her knees, around and around, teasing and caressing.
Down now over the hard shins. Not much to do here but stroke along the bone, curling her toes.
I’d finished with her feet earlier, but I lifted each foot up, compressing her knee into her chest, giving her a nice leg stretch, kissing the sole of her foot at the deepest part of the stretch, then repeating that for the other side.
There was only one place left.
I closed the cap on the sunscreen, rose to an upright kneel, curled my toes under, and swayed smoothly into a stand, graceful as a gymnast. She stared up at me in annoyance, then as I turned to walk away, she squawked, “Come on, don’t leave me like this!”
I turned back and asked, “Oh, did I miss a spot?” my tone dripping innocence.
She growled at me, but the threat display lost a lot of effectiveness coming as it did from a cute naked woman lying on her back with her legs spread.
“Right you are, ma’am,” I said, then I bent down and picked her up in my arms and carried her out onto the warm sand, lay her down there, and sunk smoothly down into a butt-in-the-air kneeling pose before her as she lifted her knees and spread her legs wider. That presentation made me realize why she shaved her outer labia: it was an invitation to lick. Spreading her legs opened her prominent inner labia like a flower, a second invitation.
I accepted the paired invitations with a single lick, careful, light and smooth, right up the center.
“Haaaaahhh!” she exhaled, shocked and pleased at once. I think she was expecting to be rubbed off and maybe fingered, but this was how I was going to pay her back with interest, as I’d vowed. This was going to be fun for me, but I was going to set my mind, fingers, and tongue seriously to the task. I extended my vow, resolving to deliver at least three orgasms before I let her up.
I began work on my quota.
Down from the outer labia to tickle her just-cleaned anus, back up the center to tap the clitoris, then around and up and down several times to tease it good. Then I got down to serious sucking and oscillation, not the sort of open action you see in a porn movie that has to look good on camera, but the sort of cunnilingus where you can’t see what the giver is doing, only that the receiver is squirming out of control. That was my goal, and I’d practice on Kaitlyn until I got it right.
As she wound up, I lay one forearm on the ground to prop myself up, the index finger for that hand touching her anus, so it would rub as she squirmed. I slid one finger of the other hand under my busy chin and into her vagina and went…to…town.
Then I started to cheat. I slipped into a Gaia trance, and I began to feel her through the Earth. I knew exactly what she was feeling now, so I got immediate feedback on what was working and what wasn’t.
As I moved my finger around inside her, exploring for the area of deepest sensitivity, I found that the front wall of her vagina up behind her bladder was the most sensitive. Tracing the nerves nearby, I found that they extended down and around to join the tight nerve bundle inside her clit, clearly part of the same overall anatomical structure. This was the fabled g-spot! I decided that my advantage here over the biologists searching for this in the past was in having unprecedented feedback to locate my particular woman’s g-spot and to stimulate it perfectly.
Still, I found that direct stimulation of the clit was far more effective, so I decided to do both, making “come hither” gestures inside her vaginal canal over the g-spot while I rubbed her clit with my thumb, both with just the right amount of pressure and back-and-forth friction, regulated by her body’s own feedback. My work was perfect because I made her body tell me what it wanted rather than guess from less accurate feedback, audible and facial cues.
I knew exactly when to stick the second finger in. I knew when to back off the clit and focus on the labia again, to give her time to recover, and then when to hit that clit again. Her hips rose and rotated repeatedly, her buttocks touching down only for a bit of a rest then taking flight again.
I was up to three fingers and realized I’d lost count of her orgasms when she got her first coherent words out since…I don’t know when.
“Enough! Enough! I can’t take any more!” she cried with passion, bordering on desperation.
I slid my fingers out but didn’t completely stop my work. Instead, I shifted to a slower series of licks out away from her clitoris, finishing around the crease where her thighs met her crotch, all accompanied by caresses of her belly and thighs with my newly unoccupied hand, bringing her back down to a gentle landing. She was panting so hard her 34C breasts jiggled on each breath, and I could see the rhythmic clenching of the latest orgasm still running through her taut stomach and gaping vagina.
After giving her a minute to recover her breath and for myself to enjoy watching the aftershocks subside, I grabbed up the sunblock tube, squirted one more dollop onto my palms, warmed it up, and worked the cream into her pubic hair, making sure to get the paler skin under there well-covered. I then carefully worked my way over her outer labia only, past her swollen inner labia without touching them, also being careful to avoid squeezing her labia together or to touch her clitoral hood, knowing her clit within would still be afire. I then slid down beside her on the sand and pulled her up onto her side and into a tight spoon position.
I spoke quietly into her hair, “All done ma’am,” then took a deep breath of her aromas: her hair, her sudor, her vaginal juices wafting off my fingers up between her warm and now stilled breasts. “How was that, then?” I asked in a tone that said I had no idea how well I’d done, despite having my ears flattened between her clenching thighs multiple times over the preceding half hour.
“I think I died; which angel are you?” She then gave a hoarse, coughing laugh, her vocal cords recently having been overstressed.
I lifted my chin and repositioned the back of her head against my neck, then intoned one octave lower than normal, “Metatron the Thighquaker; welcome to your reward.”
She laughed at the special effect this caused in her ears, transduced through her skull. Recovering, she added, “Thank you,” with a wiggle of her shoulders, nestling deeper into my embrace. I gave her a squeeze in answer.
She lay there in my embrace, reveling in the post-orgasmic glow for a minute, then she said reflectively in a recovering voice, “It was like masturbating with the best sex toy in the universe, completely autonomous yet instantly responsive to my wishes, as if I were guiding it with my own hands. And then because I didn’t need to use my hands to guide you, my wonderful sex toy, I was free to use my hands for other things.”
“I noticed,” I said happily. “You were grabbing up fistfuls of sand like you were worried you were going to fly off the planet if you didn’t hang on tight.”
“I almost did!” she belted out, joking. I could feel the flutter of a sub-audible chuckle go through her belly. “Never have I felt so free during sex or masturbation, Davie. With my legs spread, butt up, arms free, it was like I was floating in outer space, pleasure pouring into my pussy from nowhere in particular.” She paused a bit, settling things in her mind. “I love a good missionary bang, but I think not having a bulky guy looming over me was part of it. I damn near did fly away, Davie. You’re two kinds of magician!”
I’m not one to get gushy, but that extracted an “Awww!” from me. I punctuated it with a squeeze, pulling her back into me tight, my arm going around her side, up between her breasts, my hand gently cupping her lower shoulder.
She waited for a comment, an answer, an explanation, but I stayed silent. She broke down and demanded, “Dammit, Davie, how did you do that?” I still held my silence, smiling gently into her hair, so she went on, a bit of exasperation sliding into her tone, “My guess is that you grew up in a brothel with a lot of very talented ‘aunties’ who were especially keen on providing extra after-school education.”
“Well, I did find your g-spot. That helped,” I replied in an attempt to deflect this line of questioning.
“I thought that was bogus, an invention of pop sexologists and self-help authors,” she objected.
“It is in the sense that the g-spot is not a single structure in the body,” I agreed, “but it’s also the case that the vagina is not a uniform structure. Some of the the clitoral nerves go up along its front wall behind the bladder, forming a secondary erogenous zone. The scientists are right that the clitoris is a woman’s big-top circus tent, but you’re cheating yourself if you don’t spend a fair bit of time at the side shows, too.” I illustrated this metaphor with a caress over her ribs, up along the cleft between upper arm and armpit, and along the side of her neck.
She lay in thought and considered this for a time. “You’re just proving my point, Davie! How do you even know that stuff? Now I find that you’re not only practically trained to an uncommonly high level, you have specialized medical knowledge as well! New theory: you’re a spy from the Indian Ministry of Dirty Tricks and Sexual Subterfuge out to bend the West to New Delhi’s will by turning America’s women into your sex slaves.”
Knowing she was going to get even more fanciful if I left her to gnaw at the mystery, yet unwilling to outright reveal the secret at this early stage, I reluctantly proposed, “Let’s just call it my secret for now, okay?” I softened my refusal with a promise: “I’ll share soon.” It wouldn’t do to just tell her, I’d have to show her, and I hoped it would be very soon that I could do that.
I wasn’t looking at her face, and she didn’t tense up or pull away, but she also didn’t answer immediately. I knew she wasn’t happy with my answer. Then after a while, she acceded conditionally, “Yes, you will share.” She was most firm about it.
I sealed the pact with a kiss on her hair and a promise: “I will.”
Kaitlyn’s breathing continued to slow, and at some point, she relaxed completely, clearly having slid into a postcoital nap. I just continued to hold her, staying awake to enjoy the sensation of her warm body, her slow breathing, her scents.