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“Harder.”
I pressed hard, the sensitive nerves in my nipple firing up.
“Pull on it. I want that nipple stretched out as far as it can go.”
I pulled, seeing my dark areola stretch. Pain flared, but mixed with it was an intensely pleasurable sensation. A small moan escaped my open lips.
“Good girl. Now do the same with your other breast,” he said, watching me intently, stroking himself through his trunks. I had a strong impulse to pull those shorts down and put him in my mouth, but his strict eyes held me in place.
“Open your legs wide. Now move your bikini to the side and show me your pussy.”
I slid down a bit, placed my feet on either side of the kayak, and pulled the fabric to the right, exposing myself to him.
“Beautiful,” he nodded in approval. “Now take them off.”
“Here?”
The barest hint of a smile crossed his face, and then it was gone, my tormentor back in full command.
“Fine, Miles, I’ll play your ridiculous game.” I glanced around, but there were no other boats in sight. The shore was nothing but a small strip of white in the distance.
We were alone.
I was about to pull my bikini bottom down when Miles held up a hand.
“Wait. Before you remove them, I want you to imagine you’re dancing to some chill music. Imagine a guitar strumming a sensual beat, and drums accompanying the guitar. Find the tune. Listen to the music. Let it sink into you, become a part of you. Can you hear it? Can you feel it?”
I remembered a time once, when I was invited to a beach party held by a friend of a friend. They were all older than me, all were in their third or fourth year of college. They had a campfire going, and someone had brought a pair of portable bookshelf speakers that they hooked up to this beautiful Latina woman’s playlist on her phone.
Everyone was sitting and chatting around the fire, but when this one song came on the Latina chick got up and started dancing by herself, if you could call it a dance. She moved in tune with this sensual, hypnotic Latin instrumental music composed mainly of guitars and drums, but her feet were planted firmly on one spot in the sand. She had long brown legs, a short, tight skirt, and a black bikini top, and she worked that perfect body in slow, micro-gyration movements, almost as if she were just standing still, but we could see her hips move ever so slightly from side to side while her hands kept traveling from her waist to her hair and back to her waist.
It was an absolutely erotic moment, and every single guy around that campfire stared at her with drool dripping out of their open mouths. Even the women, including myself, were mesmerized.
Miles’ instruction reminded me of that moment. I never found out what that particular track was, but it didn’t matter. The music, and the girl’s dance, was already forever burned in my mind. Simulating a dance while seated in a narrow kayak was extremely challenging, but I tried my best.
I started by bobbing my head, letting the internal music permeate through me. My shoulders followed, swaying left, right, right, left in slow movements, my breasts bouncing freely with each movement, the rest of my body following along. Then I engaged my hips, rotating them ever so slowly, gyrating, grinding, moving. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I let my hands roam between my breasts and hips before letting them settle down, my thumbs twirling around the garter of my bikini, but I just kept them there, teasing Miles, watching his eyes grow, noting how his tongue briefly ran across his upper lip while his swim trunks swelled.
“Take it off now.”
I shook my head while still dancing, letting him know who was really in charge here. I imagined the music moving to a new level, and I reacted similarly, my movements getting bolder, the gyrations deeper, the sensual moves turning sexual, explicit.
“Fuck, Tay, pull them down,” Miles said, gripping the sides of the kayak.
I looked away, paying no attention to him, my body coiling and expanding while I pushed and pulled on my bikini, alternating between hiding and revealing more skin as my hips swayed to the silent tune only I could hear.
“Tay, please,” Miles said, practically panting, the game he initiated having reversed itself.
I finally let my gaze fall on him, watching him watch me as I slowly, excruciatingly, peeled off my bikini bottom, letting it slide past my thighs, knees, and calves, until they came to rest around my right foot.
Then, much to Miles’ surprise, I shut my legs closed.
“Now, Miles, listen to me,” I said, holding him with a steely look. “Are you listening, my dear?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
“I’m going to open my legs for you in a second, but when I do, I want you to eat me, and I want you to keep eating me until I come. Got it?”
“Yes, yes.”
