I've been watching her from the moment she entered the swimming hall.

She probably hopes her black-and-dark-blue one-piece suit makes her look inconspicuous between all the girls with the triangle tops and micro-bikinis that barely cover anything, but instead it makes her stand out more.

I don't think she realizes that she has my attention.

The entire way from the showers to the poolside where she deposits her tote bag and the towel she's been holding in front of her like a shield, she doesn't look up from her feet once. Unlike the triangle-top-and-floss- girls who strut like Victoria's Secret Models and take their sweet time, making sure that they are observed, she walks fast. She's in a hurry to get into the water. Maybe because she doesn't like being on a silver platter, exposed. Maybe because she's cold. I can practically see the goosebumps from here, and the way her nipples poke through the wet bathing suit, even though she has her hands clasped in front of her to block the view as she, shivering, makes her way to the edge of the pool and finally jumps in.

Not like the girly girls, feet-first and with their noses pinched and eyes screwed shut, afraid for their artfully tousled locks. She dives head-first and without making a big splash. She comes back up several paces farther, wipes her short hair back from her face, pulls the swim goggles that had been around her neck up to cover her eyes, and off she goes.

She is fast. Her arms pull her forward powerfully. I follow her with my eyes for a while, see her turn at the end of the pool and come back.

Since she is in the neighboring lane, chances are that she might see me staring from the corner of her eye, and I don't want her to be weirded out by her audience and move away, so I sink into the water and swim my own lap or three, at a much more leisurely pace. Involuntarily, inconspicuously, I keep a close watch on her. She swims like she was made for water. Her strokes are absolutely regular, unfailingly smooth even though her deltoid muscles and triceps must be getting at least a little tired by now.

When she turns and starts doing the backstroke, I am done. The sight of her chest rising out of the water with every downward movement of her arms and glimpses of her knees, thighs and hips make me think more intensely of her doing other things while on her back, and it's getting too much. There are too many people around, able to see clearly with their goggles underwater. I need to get to a shower stall, stat.

I pull myself out of the water, adjust my swim trunks a little and go fetch my towel. Just as I walk around the corner toward the showers I notice that one of the hot tubs is entirely empty. In the other ones, half-hidden by tastefully placed fern plants, several people are soaking, but the one closest to the wall is unoccupied. I look around to check who can see that tub as I'm having a thought. Before I can convince myself that this is a bad idea, I'm already up the two steps and then slipping down into the water. It feels hot and heavenly against my skin, and then the bubbles start up, turning the whole thing into a bubbling cauldron. I can't help a groan of pleasure.

I sit, lean my head back and enjoy. At first, both my elbows rest on the rim of the tub, but then – after another quick scan of the surroundings – my left hand slips into the water and to my crotch.

I recall the sight of her hard nipples in that wet bathing suit clinging to her curves. I imagine how it would feel to touch her through wet spandex. I imagine how she would shiver when I do, and how her powerful, muscled body would flex to mold into me. Just as I imagine sliding my hands underneath the clingy fabric, to touch and pet and pinch all her sensitive places, I slide my hand into my trunks and touch myself. I'm more than half-hard. I blame her and her one-piece suit. It leaves too much to the imagination, and my imagination has accepted the challenge. It's going into overdrive.

I imagine wrestling her control away from her. With her upper-body strength, she would almost be a match for me. Almost. I imagine shoving her against the pool edge, right to where that nozzle returns the water into the pool with gentle pressure, and fighting to keep her pinned there. – I lift my hips to slide my swimming trunks down and free myself – I maneuver her so that the jet of water hits her right at her center. It makes her whimper. Her back is to me and as she squirms, her ass presses right against my--

A throat clears, my eyes snap open.

“Uh. Sorry.” Her eyes are very wide and very blue. “Is... is this still free? Do you mind?”

My left hand is still wrapped around my cock which really, really wants to come right now, but can't now that she's actually here, in person, not just in my imagination. For a brief moment, I hate her. When the moment has passed, I put on a smile and gesture at the unoccupied tub with my free hand. “Yeah, it's free. Come on in.” It's difficult to not put unintentional emphasis on the word 'come'.

She hesitates for a second, then returns the smile, pressing her lips together. She turns away to take off the large towel she's wrapped herself into – on top of that swimsuit, just for the short walk from the main pool to the tubs, Jesus Christ, woman, why are you hiding? - and then hurriedly dips into the hot, foaming water. I have the barest split second to admire her thighs. They are toned and thick and would probably feel really good clamped around my ears...

Even though she positions herself at the opposite side of the slightly oval tub, as far away from me as possible, I can hear her exhale long and appreciatively as she immerses herself into the warmth. Immediately I wonder what it would take to make her moan properly, and how that would sound, and my cock gives a twitch in my hand.

We sit in silence for several moments. She is in the water up to her chin, shoulders up, eyes closed. I observe her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her hair, plastered to her head. There are two fading red circles around her eyes from the swimming goggles. Her skin looks soft. It probably tastes faintly of chlorine right now, but on other days it's probably sweet like honey and warm milk.

I notice that her eyes are the color of the swimming pool before I register that she's looking at me, and for a long moment I can only look back.

Then, a deep blush rises to her cheeks and she looks away as if she's the one who got caught. “Sorry,” she says, then laughs softly, embarrassed about... something.

“About what?” I ask. I should be the one apologizing. Staring is rude, after all. So is using someone as fap material without permission while that someone is still in the room. Or so I'd assume.

“Uhm... About interrupting...” she says, then bites her lip before she can say another word. Her eyes flick to mine, then down into the water in front of me, and dart away again quickly.

Oh. So she did notice.... Alright. Well. Figures.

I try to feel embarrassed about it, I really do. But hey – she's the one who got into a hot tub in which a guy was obviously masturbating. If anything, I feel flattered, and intrigued. She could have scurried away, but she didn't. She wouldn't have needed to mention it, but she did.

Is this how awkward, shy girls flirt? Startlingly, there's nothing shy about it. More like 'Straight to the point with blunt force and very little word-mincing'. I could get used to that, actually.

I can't help a smirk tugging up one corner of my mouth. “Don't be sorry,” I say. “Sometimes, being interrupted makes it better in the end.”

“Oh?” Her blush deepens further. I don't think the heat of the water has much to do with it.

“Yeah,” I confirm, then shrug slightly. “Of course, it's only fun if you do get to finish eventually. Otherwise, it's torture.”

She bites her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth, and pointedly looks away.

I focus on her mouth and give my cock a tug or two.

Her gaze flicks toward the movement of my shoulder, then away again like a skittish bird. She swallows.

“Are you a torturer, darling?” I ask, voice low even though there's no one else in earshot. “Do you enjoy torturing me and being cruel, forcing me to sit here, rock-hard with nowhere to go?”

Her expression flickers, and suddenly she shoots up to her feet, clearly ready to leave the tub. Water streams down her form, following her curves, soaking the spandex so that it kisses her skin in all the right places.

Before she can turn to the stairs, I lean forward, grab her wrist and look up at her with a look of earnest entreaty. “Stay,” I say. “Sit by me.”

I let go of her wrist again at once, but I can see that she feels my touch linger. Reflexively, she grabs the wrist with her other hand and rubs the skin there, hugging both arms to her chest again. “Are... Are you some sort of a.... pervert?” she asks, her voice dropping to a mere whisper at the last word, and she looks around ostentatiously. From her position, I know she can see the people around us, those soaking in the neighboring tubs, possibly people going to and from the showers. Their presence has been on the back of my mind, of course, but it hasn't bothered me. I am submerged in frothy water, after all.

And the more important thing is – she's still here. Standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the hot tub, surrounded by fizzing water up to her belly button, skittish as a colt, but she hasn't run for the hills yet.

I smirk and decide to throw her a challenge. “Always a pleasure meeting like-minded people, isn't it?”

The blush is creeping up out of the high neckline of her damn swimsuit. She opens her mouth but no sound comes out. My smirk widens. Denial is for cowards anyway, and there's no fun to be had with cowards. I had hoped she wasn't one.

“Now, sit. I don't bite,” I say, then add with a shrug, “Unless you ask nicely.”

The wheels spin almost visibly in her head for a second. There's a roaring laugh from somewhere behind the ferns – someone in one of the other tubs seems to be having a good time. All at once, she apparently registers that she's standing up in an already elevated hot tub, like an artist on stage, and she sinks back into the water and onto her seat. Or at least she tries. I don't want her six feet away, I want her right next to me. I catch her by the elbow. The slippery floor and the bubbly water has her off-balance enough that I can actually pull her down onto the bench next to me.

Her naked thigh is warm against mine. Her whole body is tense. Her breathing is shallow. She is looking around to see if we are being watched and pointedly not looking at me. But she's not leaving.

“Relax,” I say close to her ear, and of course she does the exact opposite. This close, I can see goosebumps racing up her neck and disappearing in her hair. I stretch my arm behind her, putting my elbow on the rim of the tub again, and gently touch a single fingertip to the back of her neck. She rocks forward once, then eases into my touch, giving me permission to caress her. Her skin is moist and warm and smooth. From the back and side of her neck where her pulse is perceptibly racing under her skin, to her shoulder, down her upper arm and back up again... along the strap of her bathing suit, following its course down to the swell of her breast.

The touch of her hand on my knee is a welcome surprise. It is frustratingly tender, given that I am in dire need of much more than feathery teasing. I slip two fingers under her suit and slide the tips over her nipple, both to give her a hint and to just touch her there, because I've been wanting to do that for almost an hour.

She sucks in a breath and digs her fingers into my thigh. Finally. Now just a little higher... “Touch me, darling. Give me more.” To make my point, I sneak my thumb under her suit as well and pinch that pebbled little nipple, earning me an actual moan this time. Underwater, she shifts her legs around. Probably pressing her thighs together. The thought makes me harder.

She slides her hand to the inside of my thigh, then slowly, agonizingly slowly upwards and then down again before she's there halfway like she's changed her mind. I groan. “You're killing me,” I hiss. I'm at the end of my patience. I grab her hand with my left and wrap her fingers around the base of my cock, and let my right hand glide all the way into her suit to cup her breast and squeeze. The double sensation makes me groan in appreciation, and there is something obscene about the sight of the shape of my fingers and knuckles moving under the wet spandex.

Her palm slides up and down my cock, lubricated by the water we are immersed in, and her grip is mercifully firm and unwavering now that she's finally there. I mumble encouragements in her ear and slide my tongue along the outer shell.

Suddenly, she goes stiff and lets me go. Reflexively, I wrap my hand around the back of hers, pressing her back against my hot flesh. “Don't-” you dare.

“He's seen,” she whispers urgently.

I open my eyes, only now realizing that I had closed them, and there's a guy, apparently just out of the showers, bag and towel still in hand, walking with exaggerated slowness and watching us with a pointed stare. He is not that far away, so he has probably noticed my hand kneading her breast, and the way her left shoulder his working up and down as her hand has been working me.

“He's just jealous,” I growl, lift my left hand to her jaw to tilt her face away from our unimportant spectator toward me and kiss her. When she gasps in surprise, I use the parting of her lips to thrust my tongue into her mouth, to find her own tongue to rub against. She tastes like mint. My tongue circling hers makes her moan again. I suck that sound in and swallow it down – it seems to go straight to my cock – and pull her closer with the arm that's wrapped around her neck, giving her chest another squeeze while I'm at it.

I almost bite her when her right hand joins her left. She milks me, one hand minding the base and my balls with unrefined but steady touches, the other tugging and pushing the upper half and the tip and God fucking dammit, either it's been too long or hand jobs are criminally underrated. Involuntarily, I pump my hip upwards into her palms and suck her tongue deep into my mouth.

When she leans forward a little for better access, I use the opportunity to pull my hand out of her top and slide it down her back instead, all the way down, and then sling my long arm around her, so that my hand can now slip under the seam of her suit just where her thigh meets her torso. Not far, but far enough to touch a patch of hair I just knew would be there. I knew she wouldn't be bare like the microkini girls visibly are. That hair is rough and wonderful against my fingers. I wonder how she smells there.

Again she freezes mid-movement which allows me to lean over, grab her under her knees and haul her sideways onto my lap in one quick move. She gives a little shriek, lets go of my cock and latches on to my neck to keep from toppling backwards into the water. I decide to ignore her protests and her attempts to get up and away from me and instead hold her tight with one arm and slide my left hand between her thighs, then up.

Her eyes widen and her back goes straight when I touch her pussy through the suit. I let my fingers slide up and down, tracing her slit. She feels spongy-soft and swollen and I swear I can feel her twitch when I push a little into the hollow of her entrance. Fuck, I'm going to have so much fun with this. So sensitive and receptive. Her thighs clench around my hand, then open a little as her pelvis tilts forward to push against my fingers, then close again, repeat. I can't help the grin. Grinding herself against me and trying to sell it as indecisiveness. She's not fooling anyone. Neither me, nor our audience.

Over her shoulder, I can see two women standing together, throwing us glances and speaking behind their hands. They look like they wanted to enjoy a dip in the hot tub themselves and are now debating whether to inform the pool attendant or just stand there a bit longer and watch the proceedings. I smirk at them and turn my attention back to the woman on my lap. They're not coming in here before I'm done with her.

I pull her around so that her back is to me, then pull her to me so that her back is pressed up against my chest and my cock is pressed up against her shapely ass. In this position, I can reach around with both hands, pull her legs wide apart and drag my palms along the insides of her thighs and up to her middle. It is deliciously spread wide now and I can easily slip my fingers under the swimsuit.

She jerks against me when I make contact. She is wetter than wet, supple and slippery with her own fluids, and hot to the touch. I imagine the pretty pink color of her swollen lips, and the thick, salty taste of those fluids and groan against her neck. With the fingers of one hand, I play with her clit and hold her lips apart, with the middle finger of the other, I circle the entrance and then slide into her. “So tight,” I growl as I work my finger around. Tight. Warm. Soaking wet.

She stops breathing for a bit. When she finally exhales again, she curses softly and, gloriously, rocks herself against me, thereby driving her ass back and forth over my cock. Her hands have my thighs in a death grip.

“I'm going to make you come like this,” I tell her and pump my finger into her to the knuckle and massage and flick her clit with the others. Her only response is a full-body shiver. “And after that, I'm going to put you on my cock and have you ride me.” I add my index finger and stretch her pulsing muscles, imagining how they will feel wrapped around my throbbing cock. None too gently, I bite the side of her neck and shove harder into her so that she also grinds back harder in turn. Holy fuck, this should not feel as good as it does.

Before long, her thighs start trembling and the twitching of her insides gets more pronounced. “Your pussy is trying to suck my fingers all the way in,” I let her know. “Such a greedy little cunt. I can't wait to give that cunt a lot more than just my fingers.”

The words, my stimulation, my biting kisses along her shoulder and neck, the constant tickle of the whirling bubbles against every bit of exposed skin, the mere fact that this is happening in public – it sends her flying. She inhales deeply, then holds her breath, and I feel her come all over my fingers. Her muscles clench tightly around me, then relax, then clench again in several long waves. She tilts her hip up, then down, her legs try to close to get away from my fingers, but I'm not letting her. I'm pressing her swollen bud hard, let my fingertips glide over it back and forth, unrelenting, and scissor my fingers inside of her. “Look at you, naughty girl. Getting off on this so hard. More. Come on, let me have it all.” I could get off on her squirming and twitching alone, but I hold it. I want inside her. To the hilt. I tell her, and she sobs out a strangled “Fuck” and drives her fingernails into my thighs as her climax stretches, stretches under my ministrations.

Finally, she sags against me as if replete and exhausted. I'm at the absolute end of what I can endure, I don't have time to let her recover, so I lose no time to pull the crotch of her swimsuit to the side, lift and tilt her hips like I need them, and then just impale her. With one hand, I guide my cock to position the tip against her opening. With the other, I pull her down.

Good God, it's like heaven. She is like an oiled glove around me, tight as a fist, still pulsating and rippling all along my shaft. By the time I'm all the way in, I know I won't last very long at all. “Move,” I growl. “Ride me.”

I grasp her hips and guide her at a fast pace. Up and down, forwards and back in a circular motion that is quick but smooth at first, but then rapidly becomes erratic and falls apart more and more until we are making wild waves in the already turbulent water of the hot tub. I reach up one hand, squeeze her breast again and give her nipple another tug, then slide up to her jaw to lift her face so she has to look at her envious audience. “Look at them, watching you getting fucked by me.” And damn if their scandalized expressions aren't making this even better. This is primal. I'm the alpha male right now, taking what's mine, taking what I've chosen to take, and they just stand there, gaping, in awe. I'm fucking this naughty girl right in front of them, driving myself into her hard, and there's nothing they can do about it, except watch. Or, in her case, take it.

Gripping her hips again, I slam her down on me as hard as I can, push up and in as far as I can to feel as much as possible of her around and on me from tip to base, and then my muscles ripple and clench, and the explosion races down my spine, ripping through my abdomen and bursting out of me with a force that takes my breath away. I shout and groan against the skin of her neck and let the sensations wash over me, feel all my nerves tingle and sing, feel my heart jackhammer in my chest, feel my lungs pump like a bellows. All my strength leaves me in a single, wonderful, mighty flood.

Then it slowly, slowly trickles back in, together with conscious thought. I draw my fingers away from where they have almost fused with the skin of her hips and wrap my arms around her stomach. That way, there's no more friction on my hypersensitive, post-orgasmic cock, and also I pull her into the embrace just because. She nestles against my chest and lets her head fall back against my shoulder, turning her face toward my neck to hide it there, still breathing hard. I do believe I've worn her out some. Wouldn't have thought it possible.

Finally, a demanding water sport that draws a crowd. When I tell her, she giggles somewhat tiredly. I've exhausted her. “Pervert,” she mumbles.

I am inclined to agree.