Amanda

In sudden, lazy swells laughter and cheap sunscreen drift through air laden with sand. A wide footpath meanders down the coast, delineating beach from city. On the one side, red and cyan and yellow blankets and parasols and volleyball nets and lifeguards and people, people, people, so many people. Across the path, endless, nameless, near-identical shops selling sandals and swimsuits and souvenirs to tourists eating hot dogs and shave ice. Amanda and I duck into a store we pick seemingly at random, mutually wanting to escape the heat. She pokes through a rack of colorful ‘Venice Beach’ t-shirts while I examine a nearby collection of magnets and bottle openers and novelty license plates with people’s names on them. Idly, she says, “The waiter was hot, wasn’t he?”

I frown, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”

“The waiter,” she grins over her shoulder, her short dark hair curling against her neck, “Back where we got lunch? He was, like, really fucking hot. Don’t you think?”

I put back on the glass shelf a pewter rendition of the coastline and set the full force of my attention on her. “What? Is this, like, a joke?”

She shrugs, turns back to a display of shot glasses. “If he’d asked me, I totally would’ve blown him.” She bends over to look closer at a low cabinet, and I get a face full of her ass. It’s thick, plump, round, perfect, and the reason I chatted her up in the first place a few months back. She knows it, sticks it out for my benefit, wiggles it in my face, makes her pleated skirt sway side to side. I want that butt all for myself.

A passing man — some tourist dad with his family — glances at Amanda’s pressed-out ass before guiltily looking away, scurrying back to his wife and kids.

I grit my teeth, stomp up to her and hiss, “What the fuck are you doing?”

She returns upright, gently backs into me, butt against my thigh. “What?” she says innocently, “You don’t think he’d be into me? Big ripped dude like him? Cute little girl like me?” She twists side to side playfully, making her tanktop swish, her skirt flare.

I look around. We’re huddled under the wide front awning of the shop, not quite on the footpath, but neither quite inside the store. Two babes wearing string bikinis rollerblade past, the dad from earlier gawking at them as his family struggle to eat melting ice cream from cones. A group in too much sunscreen and oversized hats pass by, speaking furiously in Chinese. An old couple rest on a bench, matching cameras around their necks. A pack of college girls giggle in the corner near the cash register, the middle-aged shopkeeper aiming a wary eye their direction. These people are near, but Amanda and I are ignored.

I grab her ass.

Amanda gasps, her face lights up.

I growl into her ear, “You’d leave me, just like that?” This relationship, me and Amanda, we’re new, still finding each other out. Today, spending the day at the beach, is the longest date we’ve yet had.

She presses her butt into my grip. “Well, I wouldn’t leave you… I’d just cheat, probably.” Then she adds, like it’s an afterthought, “Unless his dick was bigger. Then I’d dump you.” I only catch the corner of her eye, but I glimpse the mischievous gleam.

I get my hand under her skirt and dig my fingers into her cheek, pushing the fabric of her panties right up against her asshole, against her pussy. “You think I’m gonna fucking put up with this game?”

Her face reddens, the blush surfacing there nothing to do with embarrassment. “Guy ripped as him,” she whispers, “He probably fucks so hard. He probably would push me down until I choked on his dick.”

Amanda’s breath quickens and she shifts against me, working my hand deeper into where it should not be, not here, not in public. Only barely, my thumb breaches her ass. Her eyes widen, her lips part, a little gasp escapes. But she bites her lip and continues, “He’d get me so wet, I’d be cumming on his cock in seconds.”

I again scan our surroundings. Those near us have shifted, new groups of tourists browse through the store, but still Amanda and I are politely ignored. We’re standing close, very close, and all I can do is hope that that continues to warrant no interest. When my finger penetrates her sex, I’m prepared for her reaction, quickly closing my other hand around my mouth.

“I think you need a reminder,” I hiss, my lips brushing her ear, “Of who you’re with, of who owns this ass now.”

She shakes me off her mouth. “You think it’s yours? Hah!” But she grinds against my hand in her crotch.

I work my fingers in and out, curling them just so. “I know it’s mine.”

Amanda’s growing wet, and her heat drips down my knuckles. She moans through gritted teeth, her chest heaving.

I grab her waist, turn us around, push us into a rack of sweaters. It’s the summer, nobody will be interested in these. I bring my hand back to her crotch, setting my fingers firmly against her clit, into her sex, and massage another wave of pleasure into her.

“He would–” she starts, but I cut her off with a flick of my index finger. She groans. Her eyelids flutter. “Fuck!” she gasps, “You’re too good at that.”

I look around again, nervous as hell, but I keep my hand in place, keep getting her off. How far are we going to take this?

All at once, Amanda grabs me by the sides of my head and pulls against me like we’re back at the club, pressing her mouth against mine. We kiss as she grinds her crotch against my hand, her breath ragged and deep. She’s climaxing, right here in public, where anyone could see.

I wrap my free arm around her waist, pull her against me — and my kiss — and push into her sex, hoping and praying and begging the gods that we somehow avoid attention.

Her eyes lock on mine, watery and needy, begging me in. “This is so hot,” she mouths, voice barely there at all.

Trembling and clenching muscles betray her orgasm, and were it not for my hold on her she’d fall to the ground. Her eyes run, her look intense and passionate. Her hand finds my cock, squeezes it through my shorts.

But I can’t do that, can’t cum in public like she just did, and I push her away before I’m tempted. She stumbles, catches herself, and strolls in a daze over to a rack of khaki cargo shorts. She blinks to focus herself, wiping her cheeks dry, fighting to catch her breath as she pretends to look at the clothes. It’s a sham, the nonchalant act, a performance that’s paper thin.

What am I going to do with my boner? I am crazily turned on, fiercely erect. Amanda and I speak silently, communicating through glances alone, and she can see how badly I need her. I pinch my eyes closed and hide behind a bookshelf, as if suddenly interested in halfway out-of-date calendars.

“Do you have a fitting room?”

I look over, see Amanda holding up a hanger with a swimsuit dangling from it, giving the shopkeeper a quizzical glance.

My eyes widen.

Amanda heads the direction the woman points, weaving through the racks deep into the recesses of the store. Far away from the street, the light grows artificial and the wares grow tackier. She finds the two doors indicated, picks one, and closes it behind her. The latch makes a metallic click.

I half suspect that it’s all in my head, yet I know every eye is on me. I ostentatiously play it casual. I casually pick another woman’s swimsuit from a different rack, casually walk back to the fitting room, casually hold the hanger at my waist to cover my erection. Everyone here knows exactly what I’m about to do, who I’m about to do it to.

“Hey, Amanda?” I call at the closed door, playing the charade, “I found another I think you might like.”

The shopkeeper and I make eye contact, her gaze narrow, suspicious, mistrustful. I grin what I hope is a friendly grin and shoot her a thumb’s up. She doesn’t seem convinced.

The fitting room door clicks, swings open a few inches.

I give another furtive glance around the shop, wait until the shopkeep’s distracted, hoping nobody else is looking either. I slink through the door, quickly pulling it closed behind me. It’s not a big space. I have to brush past Amanda to fit. And she’s totally, completely naked. She pushes me to the bench, stands over me as she takes the hanger from my hand. She puts it on the hook near the other and her discarded clothes. I stare at her tits with a slack jaw, salivating at their perky perfectness. Our relationship is still new like this.

“Hurry,” she whispers, “Get your shorts off.”

I get them down to my ankles while Amanda drops to her knees, opening her mouth. She grabs my bulging shaft, bounces my glans against the silken sweetness of her tongue. Her eyes lock on mine, and I swim in her lust, reaching out to tuck her dark hair behind her ear.

Dimples form on her cheeks as she grins at me, licking up my length from nuts to tip. I bite down to quiet my groan. And then she does it — she slides my dick between her lips. It will never get old, watching my cock enter her mouth, feeling her devote herself to my ecstasy.

She doesn’t waste time with foreplay, not here, not now. She immediately pumps her lips down and back up my full length. Nervous as I am — that shopkeeper woman doubtless has a key to her fitting rooms and will come investigating any moment now — Amanda’s just too good at this, and my cock goes crazy for her pleasure. I know I’m getting something special. This pretty, perky, sexy new girlfriend of mine blowing me isn’t something I take for granted.

But my thoughts keep drifting back to her ass, to the way she’d bent over in front of me back when all this started. “Stand up,” I whisper, “Turn around.”

She smiles as she understands. With her back to me — her glorious round ass in my face — she uses the door and walls to brace herself and hover her hips over mine. Putting one hand on her ass and the other on my shaft, I guide her down, down, down, until my erection rubs against her pussy, my fat head just splitting her lips. Her arousal trickles down my cock. I grab her hips and tug her onto me. My girth stretches her wide, her tight heat a perfect fit around my erection. This is another thing I don’t take for granted.

My skewering her makes her gasp. But this is no time to take things slow. So I shove us apart, then pull her down again. And then again, and again, until we’ve worked up a tempo. It’s too much, too harrowing, too hot, and it doesn’t take me long before I’m climbing into the stratosphere of ecstasy.

Through gritted teeth I say, “I’m gonna pop.”

“Do it!” she hisses, “Cum in me!” She reaches down and tickles my balls.

They’re sensitive. She knows this. I twitch and groan, my sac clenching up. I grab her tits, slam my hips into her. I can feel the spunk coursing through my cock and draining inside her, spurt after spurt.

She feels it, too. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, massaging my nuts, “This is so fucking hot.”

When I leave the fitting room, the shopkeeper is glaring at me. Her frown only intensifies when Amanda comes out a minute later. “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I whisper to Amanda, “She knows.”

“So what?” she shrugs, “What’s she gonna do?”

“I don’t know. How bout, call the cops?”

“Relax,” Amanda says, “How bout you buy something for me. Then she can’t be mad.” She holds up the swimsuit I’d pretended to suggest. I had been too distracted earlier, hadn’t seen what it was. It’s a tiny little bikini, fuchsia and neon green. It’s also eighty-five dollars.

“You can’t be serious,” I say, “You sure you don’t want a calendar instead? At least six of the months are still useful.”

She grins, “You said this’d look good on me.”

“Of course it’ll look good on you. That’s what I’m afraid of. Every guy in a square mile getting a boner.”

She smiles at me that special way that makes my brain melt. “I think I like you when you’re jealous,” she says, giggling. She takes my hand, pulls me towards the register. “C’mon. If you buy me nice gifts I’m less likely to cheat on you.”

You’d think this shit she says would be red flags. But then why does it make my heart thump and my cock hard?