This is a continuation of my previous stories: Ingenious Toys, and Dirty Talk. Briefly, this is what has happened so far:
I was bikini shopping with Rupali before a trip to Bondi beach when we met Spike, a cute surfer and shop assistant at the surf shop. One unwitting orgasm later and Spike offered to drive us to Coogee instead. Planning a day of fun with him, we agreed readily and before the afternoon was half way gone, Spike had made Rupali come when a session of rubbing in suntan lotion got a bit out of hand, and then I took Spike into the surf for some "hand relief" but then improbably ended up slipping him into my pussy without him noticing.
There is a small, rocky island just off Coogee beach called Wedding Cake Island. Tonight at low tide, Spike said a full moon would rise over the Pacific Ocean, and would Rupali and I like to come out to the secluded and romantic Wedding Cake Island to watch.
What do you reckon?
Wedding Cake Island
Spike went for a walk at about 4:30pm and came back half an hour later with a waterproof dilly-bag over his shoulder and a surfboard under each arm. One of the boards looked pretty normal but the other looked more like a ten foot long banana. It was huge, yellow, three times thicker than the other board and looked like it could float a small family to New Zealand.
"Gnarly board, dude," I teased. "Gonna do some carvin'?"
"Very funny," he said. "This is the thanks I get for thinking of you. I'm not loaning you one of my boards because your tiny little body will get carried off to Tasmania in the current. I borrowed this from a mate at the Surf Life Saving Club; it's a rescue board. You're riding tandem with me."
"Oh, how thoughtful," I chirped apologetically. "What's in the bag?" It looked heavy.
"Wax," he said straight faced. Obviously not all was forgiven. I guess I would find out in good time.
"When do we go?" I asked.
"Now, if you two are ready," he said. "It might take half an hour to get out there, depending on how Rupali paddles."
"Do you have wetsuits for us?" I asked.
"Nope. Overnight low of 27 degrees Celsius," he said. "It'll still be over 30 by the time we come back in."
He'd thought of everything. "Amateur meteorologist?" I asked with a grin.
"Weather bureau," he smiled. "Home page of surfers the world over."
Rupali took her board. "Is this one special?"
"Not so much. I use it on rocks and reefs," Spike said.
"Oh," Rupali looked deflated, realising she'd been handed the surfboard equivalent of a 1973 Datsun 180B.
"Oh, I almost forgot... ," she quickly turned and dashed back to her beach bag, rooted around in the bottom and brought out a black velvet pouch concealing a large, ominous shape that could have been a socket wrench ... or a maybe an Xbox controller ... but probably wasn't either. "Pop this in your bag for me will you Spike?"
"What is it?" we asked in unison, Spike with curiosity, me with incredulity; if I knew Rupali then it had to be some kind of sex toy, but I didn't recognise it – obviously a new purchase and one that she hadn't let me in on.
"Lipstick," she smiled.
"Touché," muttered Spike as he knelt down to pack away Rupali's mystery prize and attach the surfboard's strap to her ankle. Tease that she is, she stepped forward with the other foot, legs apart and vagina a few inches from Spike's nose. He finished with the strap and then reached between her legs and goosed her on the bottom. She squawked and jumped back, a little more contrite. This was not the same gentlemanly, shy boy we met this morning; if we played games with him, he was going to play them right back.
He picked up the board, popped it under Rupali's arm and then stood back to take in the view: long brown limbs, black hair cascading over one shoulder, hot pink bikini clinging to her curves and a surfboard under her arm. "Now that looks hot," he said.
"What did I look like before?" she laughed.
"Well ... hot," he stammered, back on uncertain ground. "But all girls look hotter with a board. It's a proven fact. Ask anyone."
I tried to pick up the rescue board, failing miserably. I managed to get one end of it to waist height with knees wobbling and back bent awkwardly. He watched me with a smile. "And there's the exception that proves the rule," he laughed. "Let me carry it, Belinda. You can just walk in front and look hot without a board." I already knew he fancied me, but I still felt a little tingle every time he reminded me.
We walked all the way to the south end of the beach so that we wouldn't have so far to paddle. Spike watched Rupali get on the board and called after her: "Get a bit further back, otherwise you'll nose dive into the first swell." He watched her wriggle back; "Better," he called out. "Get past the break and then paddle in between the island and the shore. Don't get into the surf and rocks around the front of the island or you'll be tomorrow's crab-shit."
He put the rescue board in the water and placed the bag about in the middle. "You sit forward of the bag and hold on. I'll paddle and steer from the back. It looked pretty stable so I climbed on my knees, sitting back on my heels. Spike also knelt a bit behind the bag and pushed us off, leaning down and paddling with both hands at once. The nose of the board cut through the first wave we came to and bucked in the air, nearly throwing me off. "Don't forget to hold on," Spike said. "It's a lot less stable up there."
He got us through the break and then turned south, catching up to Rupali. I tried paddling like Spike, balancing on my knees and digging both hands through the water at once. After a dozen strokes my back was killing me. How does he do it? I looked over my shoulder and caught Spike staring straight at the narrow strip of white bikini covering my pussy. With my bottom in the air and head down low paddling, I had been putting on a show without knowing it. I was pleased to finally catch him perving. "See anything you like?" I asked, smiling.
"Hey, it's not my fault," he grinned. "All girls look hotter with a board. It's a scientific fact. They did a study."
"Oh, really?" I said, scepticism and maybe a little sarcasm in my voice. Concentrating on not falling off, I flipped over onto my side and propped on one elbow. This brought my breasts into profile, but hid my vagina behind curled legs. "How about now? Still hot?"
"Smoking," he replied.
I giggled, still a little bit flattered by his attention. I stayed in this reclined position; the board was amazingly stable as it rose and fell over the swells and looking backwards I could watch the muscles on Spike's chest and shoulders bulge as he paddled. I was beginning to think there was something to this science – guys look hot on surfboards, too.
We caught up to Rupali and paddled alongside her until we reached Wedding Cake Island. It only took about ten minutes, so Rupali obviously did better than Spike thought she would. It was nearly low tide and the top of the island was high and dry, although we could hear waves crashing into the rocks on the other side.
Spike helped us both onto the rocks and carried the bag and boards up to the top of the island. It was a picturesque spot; waves crashing on the rocks below us and an uninterrupted, panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. He arranged the big yellow rescue board on a couple of rocks to form a makeshift bench, and then opened his bag to reveal a six pack of beer, a selection of sushi rolls, sashimi, a plastic container of soy sauce and three sets of disposable chopsticks.
"Ladies, your table awaits," he said with a bow and a big flourish of his hands.
"Oh, wow!" Rupali cooed. "I like being spoilt."
We sat down on the big surfboard either side of him, watching the waves, drinking beer, eating sushi and making small talk as the sun went down behind us. As the sky darkened we could see a glow on the eastern horizon from the moon, which was soon to rise. Spike was right: this was romantic. But what now? Our Etiquette elective at school taught us the correct protocol in most social situations, but I don't recall anything about initiating a ménage-a-trois; maybe I was sick that day. I didn't know how to ask and I was too shy to just reach out and grab his cock. Help Rupali! All I could do was let both of them know I was ready and then see what happened.
I put down my beer – I was only three quarters through my first one and already felt a little light headed; cheap date, huh – and lay down on the makeshift bench with my head in Spike's lap, facing out and watching the waves, heart hammering in my chest. I felt Spike's hands on my head, stroking my hair, and I felt a twitch of movement beneath my ear. Well, it was something, but it was going to take more.
Suddenly a face appeared in front of me. Rupali lay down of the other side of the board, her face an inch away from mine in Spike's lap.
"Hello sweetie," she said in a stage whisper that Spike could hear.
"Hi gorgeous," I said in the same whisper.
She tilted her head back and kissed me on the tip of the nose. I returned the gesture. We kept going in the same loud whispers. "Watcha thinkin'?" I asked.
"I'm thinkin' you look hot," she said.
"You're sweet," I said, tilting my head back for another kiss. Rupali leaned back as well and our mouths met, tentatively, just nibbling at each other's lips.
"Mmmm, nice," she said. "I want another."
.... There is more of this story ...