Ethan and Chanel 26 - Sex Stories

Ethan and Chanel 26

... couldn’t help but compare every woman’s looks to her. Even my ex-wife. From her adorable feet up to her beautifully structured face, her arched eyebrows above her deep blue eyes, soft pouty lips that reveal the neatest of white teeth. Fuck, I hope I don’t get blue balls. There’s no way I could jack it right now. It would take way too fucking long. I turn the knob towards the blue and let the cold water have it’s way. Eventually we make it out of the room, and I feel like the luckiest mother fucker on this island. Chanel’s smooth, naked back is visible in her little white backless dress held up by thin straps. Her tan, shapely legs are on display from the thigh down as her dainty feet balance on little wedge sandals. She’s so natural, I love it, her dark hair swirling around her face. Every greedy bastard we’ve passed has been generously taking eyefuls of her. This is one of those times I’d love to wrap my hands around her little fucking waist and smile at every one of ‘em. But I don’t, keeping a few inches distance from her as we walk. I know what happened last night, and I know she’ll come back to me for more. We get breakfast and start wandering through the best part of the island to shop for clothes. Chanel finds --and models for me, much to her amusement-- two new bikinis. I make her try on a white long sleeved rashguard as well. It’s skin tight, and with her long wavy hair draped around her shoulders, she’s every surfer’s dream. I grab her items, a new pair of board ...

... shorts and a rashguard for myself, and talk her into letting me purchase them. This was only after I agreed to let her repay me later. More like make it up to me; as I don’t want her money. We get back to the hotel, change into our new shit and pack anything we might need for the beach. Chanel asks me to help rub sunscreen on her back before we go and I take the opportunity to massage her a little. She loves that shit. I’m thinking her sweet spot is both thumbs under each shoulder blade, close to the spine. Always a reaction when I touch her there. The beach is only a couple blocks away, and while we walk, we prattle on about what we’ve seen of San Juan, what we like and how different it is than America. We both agree the locals are usually nice with what little english they know. We find a semi-crowded beach and I pull off my shirt as she lays out a towel. “The extent of my spanish is what’s left over after middle school classes,” Chanel laughs while tugging down her white dress. Her dark waves fall around her already sun-kissed shoulders, every inch of her exposed skin smooth and perfect. Chanel’s supple tits and ass are contained by a simple black bikini, the fabric frilling around the edges. She belongs on a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover as she sits next to me on the sand. “And that was a while ago,” she says, looking over at me. I snap my open mouth shut, trying not to gawk like a total fucking pervert. “So I don’t really remember much,” she finishes, smiling at me. ...