24. februára 2008 14:37:47 CET
"Wetsuits" is a short story from a new collection "Strictly Susan - The Eighth Collection" published 21st February 2008
They clustered round him in excitement, wearing their wetsuits still wet and glistening from the surf. Their strong, young, shapely bodies, curves accentuated by the tight, smooth wetsuits had an immediate effect on him.
"Oooh, look," said one of them. "He likes us."
It was obvious, and wearing only his thin shorts there was not much he could do to hide it.
Their hands were on him, touching his chest, his nipples, his buttocks, the bulge at the front of his shorts, and then finding their way inside his shorts and pulling them down.
"Stop it," he said weakly and without any conviction in his voice.
"Silly," said someone. "He doesn't mean it," said another.
The hands fought briefly to gain possession of him, one of them winning and clasping firmly around his hardness. Another closed around his testicles, not squeezing or hurting him but holding him securely. He could not have pulled away now even if he had wanted to.
Their lips were against his skin, kissing, tasting and sucking. How many of them there were he had no idea. He felt as though there was not a square inch of his body that was not receiving attention from strong young fingers or exploring tongues.
"You mustn't do this," he muttered, and as he spoke one of them thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, effectively silencing him.
The fingers around his hardness squeezed, tightening and relaxing rhythmically. Other fingers and tongues caressed, rubbing and stroking wherever there was space for them to reach his bare skin. He had no idea where his shorts had gone. At that moment he did not care.
He did not remember lying down or being pushed down onto the warm, soft sand. Now, with less of his body available to them, he could feel several hands burrowing around and a little underneath him to find a space on him that was not already occupied by one of the others.
His legs were lifted, soft lips running up and down the back and insides of his thighs. A tongue pressed onto the very end of his manhood, circling and licking. He closed his eyes, and tongues licked his eyelids at the same time as others thrust into his ears.
The hand on his manhood started a slow up and down movement, still squeezing at the bottom of each stroke.
"Don't do that!" he pleaded, managing to push the probing tongue from his mouth for a moment.
"Why?" asked a voice.
"Because you'll make me... It will go everywhere."
There was laughter. "It doesn't matter," came the reply. "We're all wearing wetsuits!"
The fingers began to pump more vigorously. He knew it would not be long before he reached an orgasm, and he could not have stopped it however hard he tried.
His muscles tensed. He held his breath. They must have known the signs, and suddenly everything changed.
The caressing, stroking fingers pinched; the soft lips and licking tongues became sharp teeth that nipped and bit at his flesh; the hands on his buttocks forced between them, a finger and then two fingers pressing into his rectum as far as they could go and thrusting painfully in and out; the tongue in his mouth withdrew, and over his face the wetsuit-covered buttocks and closed thighs of one of the girls covered him completely, trapping him in a rubbery, airless prison, smothering him completely.
He did it, and at once they left him as he moaned, wriggled and squirmed in discomfort on the hot sand.
He heard their happy giggles as they rushed back towards the rolling surf.
"See you again tomorrow," called one of them.
There was no sign of his shorts.
Strictly Susan - The Eighth Collection
