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Vanessa's Island - Chapter Seven

Can a sexy Scot with a beard trump the nudist teens from the last chapter?
“Come on over here and get comfortable while I think up a story,” I suggested to Vanessa. “I know I’m not allowed to play with your pussy while I tell it, but what about your boobs. Can I play with those. I need something to inspire me.”

“Well,” Vanessa considered, “normally that would be totally against the rules. But if you admit that you have lost totally already and that I am the absolute winner, then all rules can be suspended.”

“Oh, hell,” I conceded, “you romped it in. Against your story-telling brilliance I could never in a million years have a hope of beating you. Now can I feel your tits?”

“All right. I told you the losers had all the fun in my games,” she smiled.

“Here,” I said spreading my legs wide apart on the beach towel, “sit your gorgeous bottom right down here. Then you can lean back on my chest while I tell you the story and play with your nipples.”

Always accommodating Vanessa sat were I had suggested, her soft bottom carressing my semi-erect prick as she did so. I reached down and positioned him more comfortably against my belly, and then pulled her back onto my chest, relishing the intimacy of this form of body/body contact.

“I don’t know,” Vanessa commented. “Now, while he’s still a little bit soft, I like the feel of your prick against my back, but if he gets all hard and lumpy I might not be comfortable. If that happens I hope you don’t mind if I stop your story for a moment to give me a chance to make him soft and comfortable again.”

“And how would you do that?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vanessa replied casually. “Depends on the mood I’m in. I might jerk him off. I might give him a suck. Or if I’m feeling really horny, we might have another one of those long, slow fucks. After all, we have all night. For now I want to hear your story. And feel your hands on my body. They don’t have to stay on my boobs if you don’t want. Now that you’ve conceded defeat anything goes. Oh, but leave my pussy to the expert for the time being.”

“The expert?” I queried, intrigued.

“Number one inter-state, all-college, female masturbation champion of 1979,” Vanessa teased me.

“Now there’s a spectator sport I could have taken an interest in,” I commented.

“What do you mean ‘spectator’?” she asked. “Your a pretty mean hand yourself. I’ve seen you in action. But no more stalling. I want a story. And I want it now.”

“All right,” I began. “First, your clothes. You are wearing loose-fitting denim overalls and a baseball cap.”

“Wow, the number of fantasies I have that begin that way...” said Vanessa, sarcastically.

“Now, now,” I scolded her, “who’s telling the story and who’s playing with their pussy?”

She turned her head and stuck her tongue out at me.

“There is a reason for you being dressed like that,” I explained. “You’re a plumber. You mend the hot-tubs of the rich and famous in Beverly Hills.”

“Mmmmm, a hot-tub fantasy,” Vanessa commented. “I think I’m going to like it after all.” She put her hand purposefully between her legs.

“Have I got you playing with yourself already?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” Vanessa replied. “Can’t you see?”

“Not as well as I’d like to,” I complained.

“Well, that’s all right,” she reassured me, “you just get on with the story. I’ll make sure to interrupt from time to time to give you a running commentary on the champion’s performance. You won’t miss any of the game, and later I’ll give you a slow-motion, close-up action replay, I promise.”

“What are you doing right now?” I wanted to know, forgetting about the story for the moment.

“I’ve slipped two slender fingers into my wet pussy and I am gently fiddling with my swollen clit. Oh, David, now you’ve gone all lumpy on me. How can I relax and give myself a good clitty rub with that thing sticking in my back? I know, I know. I have to make it soft for you, like I said, but lets make it the quickest way so I can go back to playing with myself.”

“Quick is fine by me,” I consented, obligingly.

“I bet I know what will work the quickest,” Vanessa smiled, “and I might not even have to stop playing with my pussy while I do it.”

She rolled over and, while continuing to masturbate herself gently with her right hand fingers, she grasped my stiff prick in her left hand and bent down to take it into her warm mouth. Her lips sucked up and down my length while her tongue played with the sensitive head. It was not long before I arched my back and filled her mouth with spurt after spurt of hot cum.

“Mmmmm,” she said, swallowing it and wiping the dribble from her lips. “I was feeling kind of peckish. Which makes me think. I have some chocolates and other goodies up at the house. Let’s go up there for the rest of the story.”

“What do you mean ‘rest’, you haven’t even let me start,” I complained.

“I know, I know,” she replied. “But the light’s better in my bedroom. So I won’t have to interrupt you to tell you what I’m doing. You’ll get to see close-up how a girl likes to play with herself. And I can sit in bed and eat chockies with the other hand as I listen to your story. Is it a deal?”

“Okay,” I agreed. “You’re so persuasive.”

Vanessa couldn’t bear to interrupt the pleasure she was giving herself. She kept her hand between her legs and walked kind of bow-legged as we made our way up to the house.

“Well, howdy pardner,” I teased her, imitating her walk. She just stuck her tongue out at me again, an expression I found so endearing that it made me just want to take her in my arms and hug her all night long.

Vanessa told me to get the chocolates out of the refrigerator and put them on the left hand bedside table, while she made herself comfortable on the the bed. When I had done this I sat down between her legs and stroked her knees and calves and thighs tenderly, while watching fascinated as her fingers slid loosely in and out of her dripping pussy. She wasn’t just teasing herself, she was fucking herself with her fingers.

“You have such a soft, gentle touch,” she complemented me. “Real healing hands.”

I laid my right hand on top of hers as it moved up and down between her legs.

“I wish my hands could please you the way yours do,” I said.

“Oh, they do,” Vanessa assured me, “they do, but in a different way. Time to change hands so I don’t get R.S.I.” With this she removed her right hand and replaced it with her left.

“Want to taste my pussy juice?” she asked, holding her fingers up to my mouth. “I reckon it’s scrumptious.”

I sucked her slimy fingers greedily.

"I don’t think you need my story to turn you on,” I commented.

“Maybe not,” Vanessa admitted, “but I still want to hear what sort of story you came up with. I never had anyone tell me a bedtime story while I played with myself before. Usually I have to make up my own.”

“All right,” I said, lying down next to her on the bed and stroking the sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead. “I’ll tell it to you.

“One day you get a phone call.

“’Hello, is that the Hollywood Hills Hot-Tub Repair Company?’ asks a familiar sounding voice with a broad Scottish brogue.

“’Yes,’ you reply.

“This is Sean Connery here,” replies the voice on the phone, “I’m in a bit of an embarrassing situation. I seem to have got my toe stuck in the inlet pipe of my hot-tub. Could you send someone out right away?’

By this time Vanessa was laughing so hard that her fingers kept slipping out of her pussy.

“If you make me laugh, I’ll never be able to get myself off,” she cried. “You’re so cruel.”

“When you arrive on Sean Connery’s doorstep, you find that the front door is ajar.

“’The door’s open,’ he calls. ‘Just push it and come in.’

“This immediately arouses your suspicion. Did he know he was going to get his toe stuck? If not, why leave the door open? Nevertheless, disregarding personal danger, you enter.

“’I’m in here,’ he calls, and following his voice you come to the room with the hot-tub in it.

“’Please forgive my lack of attire,’ he apologises.

“You’re in a forgiving mood, and allow your eyes to wander over his hairy chest. Looking down you can see that he is making no attempt to hide a large erection which is visible just below the water line.”

“So we have Sean Connery, in the hot-tub, with a hard-on,” laughed Vanessa, who had stopped masturbating, and was sitting cross-legged on the bed scoffing chocolates with her pussy-juice-slimy fingers. “It’s beginning to sound like a horny version of Cluedo.”

“’Don’t worry, I’m used to these situations,’ you reassure him as you strip out of your overalls. ‘I’m going to have to go down and pull your toe out,’ you explain. ‘But I’ve come dressed for all eventualities.’

“When he sees you in your lime-green micro-bikini he whistles appreciatively. Taking such adulation from the oft-voted ‘sexiest man alive’ in your stride you step gingerly into the hot-tub with him. Holding your breath you drop below the surface and find his big toe jammed in one of the pipes. However, when you move his foot, you find that the toe comes out of the pipe very easily.

“’Your toe wasn’t really stuck, was it?’ you enquire suspiciously.

“’No, lassie, it wasn’t,’ he admits. ‘I saw you in your shop yesterday, and thought that you were so gorgeous that I couldn’t resist luring you out here for a bit of the other.’

“’Well that’s very presumptuous of you,’ you complain. ‘Don’t you know I have a living to earn? I can’t go racing around after every horny guy who tries the old toe in the inlet pipe trick.’

“’I’m sorry,’ he says repentantly, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself.

“’But since your Sean Connery and you have a big dick, I’ll make an exception and let you fuck me,’ you concede.

“’Wehew, lassie, you’ve made the right decision,’ he cries lifting your tiny bikini top and fondling your breasts with gentle, but very manly, hands. Then he squats down and pulls your tight bikini briefs over your bottom and down your long legs. As you try to step out of them you lose your balance and fall against him grasping the only thing you can to steady you. His hot, horny manhood is fully 8-inches long and as big around as your wrist.”

“’Oh, please,’ cried Vanessa, “you don’t think I’m hung up on cock-size do you?”

“Maybe not,” I conceded, “but I wouldn’t want Sean Connery to sue me for under-selling his assets. Anyway he lifts you in his arms and carries you over to a leather-padded massage table. After laying you down, he places his face between your legs. His grizzled, grey beard tickles your inner thighs and your pussy lips while his dextrous tongue explores the hot, wet chamber between them.

“’Mmmm,’ he comments coming up for air. ‘I love the taste of a hot, wet pussy, but yours, my dear, must be the sweetest I’ve ever sampled.’

“’I bet you say that to all the girls,’ you reply modestly.

“’Quite possibly, I do,’ he admits. ‘At my age it’s so hard to be sure, what with my memory going the way it is.’

“Stop!” cried Vanessa choking on a chocolate. Once she had stopped coughing and spluttering she declared, “I think this is a very silly story. And I want to hear the rest of it immediately.”

“For some reason Sean Connery has a better idea than you do where your g-spot is and procedes to give it a severe tongue lashing. This drives you wild but eventually you feel the need to throw your head back and scream, ‘Enough, Sean, I need your cock.’

”Never one to refuse a lady, he sinks his massive throbber deep into your pussy. ‘Please tell me if your pussy gets sore sometime after the three hour mark,’ he implores you, solicitously. ‘I don’t mind if I have to finish myself off by hand.’

“But he finds you so sexy that barely one and a half hours later he is pumping you full of his hot jism.

“’So what’s your favourite James Bond flick?’ he asks, lighting himself a post-coital cigarette, a few minutes later.

“’”The Spy Who Loved Me”’ you reply.

“’But that wasn’t one of mine,’ he complains. ‘That was that Roger Moore chappy.’

“’I know,’ you reply, teasingly, ‘it’s not him I like, it’s his name.’

“’A total misnomer. I’ve always been the one who did the most rogering,’ he explains.

“’I love the way you Scottish guys roll your R’s,” you say.

“’Funny about that,’ he replies. ‘I’m quite partial to the way you American lassies shake your tits.’

“That evening you find yourself playing the role of femme fatale Fanny Tuck in an unofficial entry in the James Bond series that you hope will remain forever in Sean Connery’s personal video collection. The End.’”

“That has got to be the lamest erotic fantasy I’ve ever heard,” Vanessa declared, astounded. “But it was very, very funny, and I never could resist a guy who could make me laugh.”

“So if I’d had you in a hot-tub with Laurel and Hardy I’d have been onto to a winner, hey,” I replied.

“I think you’ll have to pay a forfeit for that story,” she declared.

“What kind of forfeit?” I asked, anxiously.

She got off of the bed and went to the refrigerator from which she removed a bottle of champagne.

“Now to find a pair of panties,” she said, bending down to look under the bed. “Do you realise how many days it has been since I wore any panties? And stop fondling my bottom, this is serious.”

Eventually she found a pair of panties in the bottom of her wardrobe. She sniffed them and wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not a clean pair,” she declared. Then she filled a wine glass with champagne and added the panties. Once they were totally drenched she beckoned me over to her and told me to open my mouth. Then she rang them out over my open mouth so that the champagne trickled onto my tongue.

“Mmmm, I can definitely taste the vintage,” I replied. “It was a very good year...” I sang.

I thought it was a pretty good Frank Sinatra imitation but Vanessa obviously disagreed.

“If you don’t stop that god awful noise I will put all of my clothes back on this minute,” she threatened. “Come on bring the rest of that champagne and lets cuddle up in bed. No, don’t bother with glasses, it’s more fun to suck it from the bottle.”

Wouldn’t you know it? Clumsy us. We ended up spilling that whole bottle of champagne over each other’s bodies and having to suck and lick it off. Then we cuddled up all close and sticky and slept until the following afternoon.

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