His toes are dusted in the Carmel and flour colored sand, hanging off the edge of the day bed perched on the gentle slope of the Atlantic beach where the droning incessant waves march against the earth. It pulls at him, quiets his mind against the whoosh, sush, whoosh, of the beating tide. His body curves in a half moon, shaded beneath the canopy of the fabric dome that she convinced the island boy to give at a discount because she spoke creole to him. His head lays atop the soft skin of her thigh, nestled as far up as he can get it so his ear flattens against her bare hip and his cheek glues to the skin. He exhales audibly and her fingers trace little repeating patterns in his scalp. He cannot hide his contentment nor does he try. The gentle southerly winds wash over his arms, bear hugging her thigh like a body pillow against his body. There is a humming in his ears, a song he swears she is playing with on her tongue and lips and he can hear it rolling into him like a sleepy syrup slowly matriculating through his ear canal and down his own throat, through his mind, coating his brain. Her hex and spell complete.
He squeezes her thigh and feels the grunt escape his lips. She chuckles softly. Little drums in her hymn.
She had bewitched him. Her body was different. Exotic and mesmerizing, she was coy, seductive and then submissive and obedient to even his look. The more he commander her the more he aches to please her.
"Don't move" he would bark, pressing the small of her back down accentuating the insanely perfect arch in her back just before an ass that would turn a head so fast a knee replacement or ankle surgery was almost expected. He would swear that even though she couldn't move it was like she was arching harder and making herself even more open for him. He would slam into her, feeling his balls, heavy and full, crash against her making him dizzy with every moan and yelp she gave. He would say to himself, "gonna give it to her now, make her beg me to stop cause it's so fuckin rough and hard." He could feel himself bruising her cervix with every thrust and he was sure of himself, confident she would react exactly like he predicted.
Then she would smile, her mouth transforming from an oval of moaning pleasure, to the perfect curling crack of her lips to an open and greedy smile. Her eyes would smile right along with her lips and then it was almost like she was mocking him. She would giggle. Her little body would shudder and she would exclaim, "Ooooh!" and follow it with the most intoxicating laugh he had ever heard.
Was she laughing AT him? Was she laughing in pleasure? Excitement? His mind reeled. He stared at her arched back and ass high in the air above her perfectly toned thighs, his cock buried as deeply as it could possibly be inside her.
He would grit his teeth and smack her ass, hard.
She purred. Smiled and moaned. She was taunting him. Asking for more and wanting every bit of him he could give.
Her spell. Her hex. She flicked her long island fingers and, batted her eyes, formed the words with her thickly perfect lips and whispered the incantation in her laugh and sewed him to her with her sinewy body.
Later she would say she "turned" him. Whatever it was and whatever she did, he laid across her thigh, bear hugging it with desperation while she traced patterns in his hairline to the gentle swaying beat of her humming droning waves of syrupy spell of a song.
The island boy approaches and confirms the hotels' hourglass has long since seen all its sand transfer to the bottom and they must put the day bed away for the evening. He's groggy from his afternoon dozing, drugged from the sea and sand and her tricky fingers.
He rises, stretches backward and sideways and gathers his things. Sandals, sunglasses, wallet, room key, her hand. he laces her fingers in his and makes sure anyone around can see it. Especially the island boy.
