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En Vacances 2: The Bar

In which our masturbatory wallflower flees further public scrutiny but finds herself pursued.
En Vacances 2: The Bar

Embarrassment consumes me; my entire being flushing crimson as her hungry eyes watch my little girl body quivering with pleasure, fixed on the twin digits that have slid so effortlessly into the soaking wetness of my pussy. My whole body is burning up with shame; heat radiating through every atom of my being, capillaries engorged and swollen, visibly causing my lightly tanned skin to glow violently. Adrenaline coarses through my bloodstream, my heartbeat quickening as with heavy breath I suck in more oxygen and prepare to flee.

I sit up, swinging my body away from my unbidden admirer, my head falling forward so that my long, straight hair hides my face as I slide my delicate feet into my Greco-Roman strappy 4” wedges. With shaking hands and thick fingers I adjust the straps about my toes and ankles before attempting to thread them through the bronze metal buckle. My lowered nostrils fill with the scent of me … sun cream, sweat and the unmistakeable sweet smell of my pussy juices as they seep from my throbbing vulva to soak my bikini briefs.

An image of my damp, parted, soft, pink pussy, nectar sheening its myriad surfaces, appears unbidden in my mind and another wave of pleasure washes through me. Tendrils of heat and sensation resonate out from my unsated, demanding sex to quiver through my tensed stomach muscles. A trickle of moisture meanders its way down the back of my thighs and I pray, without much hope, that it is sweat rather than yet more juices escaping the bubbling wetness between my legs.

I must flee.

I need a drink.

I stand uncertainly on shaking legs; my body turned away from the pool, away from my audience, away from the prying eyes that II can feel burning into the thin skin that contains my trembling flesh. Using my hair as a shield and my sunglasses as an invisibility cloak I step away from my sun lounger. I keep my eyes fixed on some distant point way beyond the immediacy of my surroundings and force one sodden thigh to cross its compatriot as I make my tottering escape.

Did I mention my bikini? I believe I may have done in passing but …

I am petite and diminutive; small of stature and frame with a narrow, defined waist, slender hips and breasts that would win me no prizes in a wet t-shirt competition. Adult bikinis do not fit me; I cannot fill the triangles of cloth that hang loosely about my chest and the briefs sag unattractively about my buttocks, pubic mound and the puffy, swollen flesh of my vulva.

So, I have taken to buying girls’ swimwear; age 14 fits me best but I love to squeeze myself into something smaller. I want to feel my nipples stiff against the tightly stretched fabric, to have the flesh of my breasts barely contained within a pre-pubescent cup, to be constantly aware of the elastic in my bikini briefs as it bites into my hips and leaves tram lines across my arse cheeks. But most of all I want them to squeeze my engorged vulva and display every curvature of my beauteous pussy for the public’s delight.

This is how you find me now; mounted on 4” wedges, my legs shaking with every step as I seek the best route of escape between the now fully occupied sun loungers, my breasts pushed together to form the nearest I will ever get to a cleavage as my stalk-like nipples frantically rub themselves back and forth across the smooth fabric. With every step, I feel the bite of elastic across the soft flesh of my rounded buttocks as they wiggle their way, rising and falling in perfect time with the movement of my hips. My cum slick thighs slide across the damp fabric of my briefs, pressing against my blood swollen vulva as insistent, demanding pulses of desire flee my stiff clitoris and juices escape my soaked, squelching panties to trickle between my arse cheeks and down my thighs.

I am a wallflower uprooted; cast amongst starring eyes and wagging tongues, the sanctuary of my sun lounger left far behind, a dark stain between my legs advertising my recent behaviour for all to behold. I step on; the dark anonymity of the bar beckoning, sidestepping discarded possessions and playful children, a pariah expelled from decent company as strangers’ eyes play up and down the length of my flushed body.

I reach the bar; delight in its emptiness, the long shadows that will hide my sins and the coolness of the air that will calm my overheated body. I choose the bar stool furthest from the door, slide up onto it, revel at the refreshing touch of its smooth PVC against the soaking furnace between my legs, place my hands on the bar, lower my head and await the arrival of the barman.

And that is how she finds me.

The moment I hear the light squelch of a sweat dampened foot on the tiled floor I know it is her. Know that she has tracked me here, that not content with exposing me before the gathered throng of holidaymakers she has pursued me determined to make my shame and embarrassment complete.

I keep my head down; studying my ten manicured nails, admiring their perfect curvature, hoping that in the half light I have become invisible. I try to calm myself but as the footsteps draw inexorably closer panic grabs at my chest causing my breathing to labour.

The footsteps stop inches from where I’m sat. I can smell her; a mixture of flower scents, coconut and pepper. She looms over me, blotting out the light, hiding me in the shadows. Maybe I’ll be safe here.


I don’t move; stay fixed and rigid before her.

“I’m Anita.”

My head bowed, eyes cast down.

“Are you on your own? I’m here with Grant; that’s my husband, on the sun lounger, by the pool. We …”

She’s prattling, filling the void, not allowing my silence to terminate our relationship. The words flow on, washing over me but now her hand is on my shoulder its pressure turning me away from the bar to face her.

“… come here every year. Well we have for the last three years. I mean …”

I feel fingers beneath my chin, cajoling it upwards, bringing my face to hers, my eyes skipping across her full lips as the torrent of words continues.

“… and we met the Cassidys here last year; she’s Bethany and he’s Carl and they’re here again this time which …”

She’s standing too close, invading my personal space, the soft glow of her flesh mere inches from my own sensitised skin. I could reach out a hand and touch her, feel her heat beneath my fingers, place them on her full breasts and marvel as they jiggle beneath my touch. But it is her fingers that control, that ease my chin, my wordless mouth and my dilated, starring pupils ever upwards until our eyes meet. The noise from her mouth stops as we face each other, electrically charged particles filling the air between us. Her hand slides up, caresses my cheek, pushes stray strands of hair off my face and I shiver beneath her touch. Her mouth moves …

“I watched you. I watched you watching us. Watched you slide your fingers between your legs. I watched as your eyes flicked between Grant and me whilst your fingers teased your clit. I watched as you fucked yourself, your eyes wandering over my body … Do you like my body?”

My teeth bite into my lips preventing them from answering but somehow, slowly, beyond my control, my head nods.

“Did you know I was watching?”

I reply with a quick, short shake of my head.

“I don’t believe you.”

I don’t have an answer; it requires words but all I am is a nodding, shaking bitch in heat.

“Did you want me to watch?”

I want to lie, to shake my head, but gradually my chin rises, falls and rises once more.

The words stop as she studies me; her eyes inspecting my face, her hands sliding down my cheek, fingers running down the length of my swan-like neck as I hold my head as high as if I was constrained within a posture collar. Done with my neck, her fingers explore their way along my shoulder, brushing lightly at my cooling skin as it shivers beneath her caress.

I remain motionless; presenting myself for her approval, my stomach cart wheeling as her fingers squeeze into my lightly muscled bicep before traversing the lengthy of my arm. I feel her fingers encircle my wrist, holding it tightly as a murmur of satisfaction escapes her lips.

“I believe …”

She raises my hand by the wrist, guiding it up until finally lowering it down on to the full swell of her breasts. Her flesh ripples beneath my touch as she guides my hand down between her cleavage. She’s damp; sweat trickling down the folds of her skin and my fingers slide across the sheened surface.

“… that I may …”

She leads my fingers downward, across the soft, womanly undulations of her stomach so different to my own. Heat burns at my fingers as I feel her need quivering just beneath my fingertips.

“… have a …”

I race after her quivering need; my digits tripping across her skin, leaving ripples of pleasure in their wake. Downward, ever downward, past her belly button, sliding beneath the stretched, elastic of her bikini briefs, entangling themselves in coarse, thick curls that match those that adorn her head.

“… use for you.”

The smell of her sex assaults my nostrils; pungent, aromatic, needy; as she guides me down through her thicket of bejewelled hairs atop her pubic mons until, at last, the smooth, welcoming wetness of her pussy spreads itself before my excitable fingers.

I feel her hand on my neck, pulling me up as, lips parted, her mouth descends on mine. I’m crushed beneath her, my panting lips parting obediently to allow her tongue to slide between them. Her lips caress mine as her tongue flicks along my teeth and her saliva trickles into my passive, expectant, waiting mouth.

Her labia surround my fingers, sucking them in, caressing them as they glide between slick flesh. I want to stop at her clitoris, to run my fingers across it, to tease it until she shakes uncontrollably at my every touch, but she is having none of it. Her hand, tight about my wrist pushes me past, leads me to the puffy, swollen petals that line the entrance to her pussy.

Her tongue dances with mine, invading and exploring every inch of my gaping mouth, her hand hard against my neck, pulling me into her. I want to struggle, to wrench myself free, to explain what a terrible mistake she’s made but my tongue filled mouth would never find the words and my persistently throbbing pussy would never forgive me.

Anyway, how could I possibly escape? My hand is trapped inside her bikini; my fingers extended, my palm being abraded by her untended pubic hair, my wrist burning as her fingers tighten around it. Her pelvis thrusts forward burying my twin fingers deep inside her, her muscles squeezing in on them, soft flesh gripping me and pulling me deeper, holding me prisoner inside her. I am fixed, an object, inanimate, a thing for her to pleasure herself with, nothing more.

She entangles her hand in my hair; drags my head away from her, leaves me panting and breathless before her as she drives her pussy firmly down onto my trapped fingers. Her face a sweat-sheened vision before me, her breasts bouncing fantastically in their inadequate bonds and her stomach rippling as she skewers herself repeatedly on my fingers.


It’s a guttural murmur in her throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She throws her head back, the long line of her neck exposed, her hair cascading down her back.


Her shoulders tense, her spine curving, her magnificent breasts thrust forward.

“Fuck me.”

“Fuck me.”

I’m meeting her pelvic thrusts; driving hard from my elbow, pistoning my fingers through her spasming pussy, juices soaking my hand and wrist as I fulfill her instructions; fulfill my purpose as her masturbatory little fuck toy.

She stops; held in midair, her mouth opening and closing, her eyes staring blankly straight ahead. I can feel her legs shaking about my wrist, her breasts heaving as she pants, her stomach rippling beneath the pressure building between her legs. My fingers are poised at the opening to her sopping pussy, my eyes bewitched by her face, my own pussy spasming uncontrollably between my legs, excitement leaking down the inside of my thighs to form a small pool on the PVC stool, as my erect nipples vibrate against my bikini.

Her eyes focus on my face, capturing me in their intense gaze. I watch enthralled as her tongue slides around her mouth, moistening her lips; study the steady expansion and contraction of her nostrils and the twitching of her flushed and reddened cheeks. I watch. I wait. When the words come they’re more of a pant than a whisper.

“Fuck me … now!”

I thrust my fingers hard and fast as deep as they’ll go into her eager, waiting, needy, expectant pussy and watch as she explodes.

To be continued …

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