Miami Heat

The coconut palms stood in a line on the other side of the pool, fencing the pool deck from the beach and surf beyond. I sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, staring across, bathed in sunshine, and glanced at the unusually clear blue sky above. My eyes returned to earth, and I watched her laying in the sun on the deck, flat on her back, her chest hardly moving as she breathed easily, completely relaxed, lost in the moment.

I adjusted my swimsuit, attempting to mask an erection throbbing between my legs, that would not be tamed. Her one-piece swimsuit tauntingly revealed her cleavage and more, designed with string-like cords and a silken stretch nylon material that snugly caressed her sides and breasts, leaving plenty of skin open to the sun—and this man’s gaze. A tanned and toned young woman tartly dressed in a near-thong bikini bottom and nearly-nothing top walked into the shallow end of the pool in front of me, paused and pulled her dark hair up above her head with a glance my way. I smiled and had to admit she was beautiful. But, my eyes quickly returned to their original magnet: the blond who lay so deliciously on the far side.

I remained in this position, almost a voyeur, for thirty minutes. Occasionally interrupted by the poolside staff asking if I would like to order from the bar or the display of other hotel guests soaking up the rays or in the water, my mind was consumed with what I wanted to do with that blond’s body.

At last, I pulled out of the pool, slipped on my sandals, and walked over to her. Seated next to her on another bench, I placed my hand on the small of her back, just above an ass so perfectly formed as to be art; she had, by this time, turned over and lay on her stomach. She opened her eyes, startled; I think she may have been in that half-conscious, almost sleep-but-not-quite stage that the sun and pool chaise can so luxuriously induce.

“Let’s move to the beach,” I whispered. She smiled and nodded, both at once, sitting up. The diamonds in the ring on her hand flashed in the sunlight, sparkling, dazzling. It was our wedding anniversary, and we had returned to the site of our honeymoon. The hotel in Miami Beach’s SoFi was new since the wedding, but the beach was unchanged, world-class as ever.

Walking beneath the palms and across the sand beyond, we secured our cushioned benches and an umbrella. She once again found herself relaxed, warm, and at ease. The pressure of work and world evaporated in the heat, figuratively and literally, of the afternoon. I walked down to the surf and allowed the waves to crash over me. The water was five shades of turquoise, warm, and clear. Sunlight danced on the Atlantic; the crowds were thin, I found myself alone and thanking God: for life, for my wife, for the anniversary break.

I returned to my wife’s side and laid on my chaise, shirtless and free. The sun clothed me and mercifully dried quickly my swimsuit. The suit, wet from my ocean dip, betrayed the contours of my very active manhood conspicuously. As my suit dried out, I could more safely lie on my back without creating a clinging wet tent below my pleasure trail.

Another thirty minutes passed, and my wife sat up and explained she wanted to return to our room, shower, and start getting ready for dinner. She encouraged me to stay at the beach a while longer, diving in if I wanted; she loves the beach but is not a fan of the water.

I acquiesced and let her go, still obsessed with desire. The sun, the surf, the very attractive people scantily clad all around us, but, most of all, the vision of my wife, hot as the day I met her, made me crazy.

In time, I grabbed my t-shirt and towel and walked back by the pool, into the hotel, and into the elevator for the ride to the ninth floor. As I walked into our corner room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls, overlooking both the city and beach, I found my wife in a bathrobe, seated on the deck.

“What time do we need to leave for dinner?” she asked, pulling her hair up above her head with a similar gesture as the bikini bombshell at the pool.

“After we taste what we both know we crave,” I replied, with a half-grin and certain sense of command.

“What time will that be?” she asked again. “Don’t worry about it,” I answered matter-of-factly, “just trust me, and I’ll make sure you’re where you need to be when you need to be there.” With that, I moved in quickly and slipped my hand into her robe and grabbed a breast. Just as I had hoped, she was completely naked underneath.

I bent over for a deep kiss, then pulled her up and into an intense embrace. We maneuvered back into the room, off the deck, and fell onto the bed. Her robe flew open, and she lay exquisitely before me. Her nipples stood firm, her neatly trimmed, almost clean-shaven, bush begged for closer attention.

I dove in, kneeling at the end of the bed, kissing, caressing, and teasing her clit and pussy. My swimsuit strained to contain my raging hard on. She was immediately drenched with her own wet lube, even as I lifted my head and copiously spit between her legs, mixing and massaging our juices with my tongue, across her vaginal folds, her clit, and ass hole. My hands slipped underneath her rear, kneading her cheeks like bread, before moving to press into her lower back. I then reached up for her tits, made moist with more of my spit, and spun them, twisted them, circled them, until she writhed and thrashed, side to side.

Her moans began to crescendo. Her pussy was flooded with the thickening, silky juice that always signals her orgasm is coming and coming hard. Her legs jerked, and she cried out, “Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Oh, Yes!” Her hips bucked violently, as I held her to the bed, my tongue unrelenting. Wave after wave of release, peak, and incredibly peak again, heaved her body up and down. At last, I paused, and her trembling began to subside, not suddenly, but gradually, until she was still.

“Dear God,” I said out loud, “You know how I love that.” “I’m glad,” she whispered back, staring up at me, now standing at the end of the bed.

I pulled my trunks down, left them on the floor, and went down on her again, with my mouth. My cock throbbed with anticipation; she begged me to stop. “I need you inside me. Please,” she pleaded. I pulled up and straddled on top of her. She grabbed my dick with her hands, as I hovered above, parallel to her body. Still laying on her back, she pumped my rod aggressively and pulled on my nuts. She ran her fingers through my ass and made me gasp as she pushed the button of my prostate. Now it was my turn to cry out, “Yes! Oh fuck, yes! That feels so good!” I moaned these words over and over as she drove me to the edge.

I pushed her hands away and aimed the head of my cock at her entrance. “I love you you know that?” I breathed the words huskily into one ear, my chest still propped above her with my arms. “I know. And I’m very glad,” she smiled.

I moved the head of my dick inside and held still. My whole shaft was quivering. Next, I moved slowly in and out, but just a few inches in each time, not fully burying myself in her. Yet. Her pussy clenched and stretched, clenched and stretched. Absolutely heaven. And hot.

Overwhelmed now with passion, I suddenly plunged all the way in, balls deep. She squirmed with surprise and threw her arms around my neck and shoulders. I began to pump furiously, forcefully, hungrily.

We continued in this way for some time until I could last no longer. I found myself breathing very deeply, pulling in my abdomen with each withdrawal and then return to her core. Conscious that I was in a hotel and not at home (where I am prone to yell with abandon), I pushed up on my arms, turned my head, and growled unintelligibly. My wife’s nails dug into my back, and I came with the same intensity I did when we were first married. This anniversary sex captured all of the power and passion of our first wedding night, but was, of course, even better, as the freedom and confidence we have found in each other’s arms over time have expanded our capacity for pleasure.

Even after I had streamed my cum into her gorgeous pussy, my erection remained, and I stroked her with my steel cock more. “What are you doing?” she asked, “It feels so different, and I love the difference,” she gasped. “I’m giving you a good time and getting one, too,” I laughed back. Her body trembled again in ecstasy, mine, also. I kissed her aggressively, driving my tongue into her mouth, her juices and mine glistening on the rough stubble of my face rubbing against her soft chin and cheeks.

Exhausted after multiple highs, I collapsed on top of her, before moving to the side. We lay in each other’s arms, the bed soaked with our cum, our bodies slippery with sweat.

The roar of the Atlantic surf could be faintly heard, beyond our windows, drifting upward to our deck. The coconut palms curved gracefully below us, fencing the hotel from the beach. My phone alarm marked the time with a reminder: the outdoor table for two seasides was set and ready for our next meal. But, for me, I was already satisfied. So was the amazing blond I had drooled over poolside. All we could think about was dessert.

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3 replies
  1. RockyGapMan says:

    Great story.

    I love VISITING South FL. I lived there 5 years and met my DW there. She’s one of the few born & raised there (Miami). Don’t think I’d want to live there again or raise a family there.

    Would love to go back there and experience some hot intimacy with my wife. Something about the warm sub-tropical breezes, the exotic flora and the relaxed atmosphere and hot-bodied people lying around that get your juices flowing.

    We never got to experience that while living there. Both of us were single & attended Bible College together there. Moved away and got married far away from that magical place. Need to go back and revisit that place and make some new memories!

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