patford31769
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2003
- Posts
- 1,406
OOC: Closed thread for arkansasromeo and me.
Patty, age 28, 5'8", 38-24-35
shoulder-length dark-brown hair
model/dancer from Hawaii
I had to travel to participate in a photo shoot on the U.S. mainland, to promote the upscale and very exclusive Honolulu gentlemen's club where I work as an exotic dancer. This would be my second photo-shoot for the club.
On a photo-shoot like this, most of the day is spent waiting around, while the photographer makes sure there are no voyeurs hanging around his remote set, and while he sets up backgrounds, cameras, and lights. He figures out ea=xactrly how and where he wants his model to pose. Then there is five minutes out of the whole day when all the equipment is set up perfectly, nobody around but the models and the phtographer, and the sun is perfect, not too high or too low in the sky. Just five minutes of actual photography, after hours on location. Then shooting is over for the day, and I have to wait around until the next day, for the next five perfect minutes of photo-shoot. People think being a model is glamorous, but it is really tedious. And you have to be around the whole time, because you never know just when those five perfect minutes of the day might happen, and the photographer is not about to waste those five perfect minutes searching for his model.
One nice thing about doing a promotional photo-shoot, though, is that they book a suite for each model, in a very upscale resort. I guess they feel that a beautiful and sexy model deserves much better than Motel 6.
The resort put me up on the second floor. At first I grumbled about this, having to lug my suitcase upstairs. But it turned out to be worth it. My second-floor room overlooked the swimming pool.
Did you ever see those cartoons where a startled character's eyes bug out? That's how I felt when I looked down at this incredibly well-built guy, lying face-down on a lounge chair at poolside, soaking up the rays of one of the last dwindling days of summer. Through his swim shorts, I could see every detail of his fine chiseled, muscular ass, and for a while I just looked down and admired him. Watching him was a great reward for my eyes, for putting up with being out in the bright, blazing sun all day.
Then I thought, hey, I work out three times a week, I can get any guy I want, even him. I hadn't had a guy for real in months, just the phony sex of lap-dancing, so I figured I was long overdue. I had packed my sexiest bikini, and I decided to slip into it and join this hunk poolside. My bikini top is just two tiny, shimmery lime-green triangles that barely cover my nipples, and leave acres of breasts exposed. I am a natural 38C, no surgical enhancements, and most of the surface of my breasts was visible in this bikini. I've never ahd a guy complain yet. This top ties on with a floss-thin string across my back just below my shoulder blades, and another floss-thin string around the back my neck. My bikini bottom is also a tiny triangle at the front, with wisps of pubic hair peaking out around the edges, and a floss-thin back up my ass, leaving my ass cheeks fully exposed. This bottom ties on with tiny strings, tied in littole bows on both of my curvy hips. I looked in the mirror, and I felt that this guy wouldn't be able to resist me dressed like this...unless he's gay, and even then he might not be able to resist me! Once I set my eye on a guy, he doesn't really stand a chance, he's going to be mine. Especially when I wear this bikini!
This guy looked even better up close than he had when I was looking down on him from my room. His powerful arms were folded and crossed under him, his bulging biceps supported the side of his head as he napped face-down under the cool afternoon sun. Now it was me who wouldn't be able to resist him!
I am not usually this forward with a guy I don't know, at least not outside of lap-dances at the club. And those are about money, not about love, passion, and sex. But now I climbed up on his lounge chair, my legs straddling either side of his fine ass, my bikini-covered pussy slowly and gently rocking back and forth against his luscious swimtrunk-covered butt. My hands began gently massaging his shoulders. Hey, nobody ever accused me of being subtle! Besides, I was leaving to fly home again in two days, so there was no time for subtlety, coyness, or game-playing. I had to act fast if I was going to land this stud.
As I rocked atop his fine ass and massaged his back, my hunk began to stir, and to softly moan. He rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, and he peered back over his shoulder at me. I leaned down, my curvaceous torso stretched atop his back, my bikini-covered breasts resting against his lower back, and I softly kissed him squarely between his shoulder blades.
"I must be dreaming," he whsipered softly. Not only was this guy amazingly well built, but he had the most charming slow, drawn-out southern accent. "No woman as beautiful as you ever has awakened me like this before."
"I love your soft southern drawl," I cooed. "Listening to your voice is making my heart melt...and my pussy's melting, too." Nope, no subtlety here!
"Mmmm!" he softly moaned. "I'm picturing your pussy melting. It's a great mental image."
"Play your cards right," I giggled, "and you might get to do more than just imagine it! So," I continued, "where are you from? Georgia?"
"No, ma'am," he replied in that gentle, lazy drawl of his. "I'm from Arkansas."
"I've never met a guy from Arkansas before. Well, Arkansas, I'm picturing that your hands and your tongue are as soft and as slow and as gentle as your voice."
He threw my own words back at me now, in that sexy Southern gantleman accent of his: "Play your cards right, ma'am, and you might get to do more than just imagine it! So, where are you from, pretty lady? I mean, besides from my dreams."
"I'm from Honoulu. So tell me, Arkansas, is it true what they say about the bedside gentleness of true Southern gentlemen? You ARE a true Southernn gentleman, aren't you Arkansas?"
"Yes, ma'am, I am," he grinned. "Although you make it, umm, HARD for me to behave like a true Southern gentleman right now."
"Mmm," I cooed, "I like making things, umm, HARD for a guy. The harder the better!" I laughed. "Am I making things HARD for you, Arkansas?"
He shifted and squirmed uncomfortably beneath me, silently telling me that he really WAS getting uncomfortably hard now. I closed my eyes and tried to picture Arkansas's growing hardness. "My name's not Arkansas," he gently corrected me.
"So, what is your name?"
"Romeo."
"Yeah, sure," I laughed, "your name is Romeo. You're good-looking, romantic, and charming, so that makes you a Romeo? Like I really believe THAT!"
"What can I say?" he replied. "My parents were both actors in local Shakespearan theatre. So they really DID name me Romeo. But I still don't know YOUR name, lovely lady."
"I'm Patty."
"Well, Patty from Honolulu. Is it true that native Hawaiian women are raised with absolutely no sexual inhibitions at all?"
"I'm sitting up nearly-naked atop a man I've never met before," I laughed. "So what do YOU think?"
Throughout this conversation, I never even paused from gently rocking my bikini bottom against the backside of his swim trunks. In fact, I was getting so turned-on by this "Arkansas Romeo" that I was gradually increasing the pace of my rocking on top of him. This was causing him to start softly moaning, so he was obviously enjoying this every bit as much as I was.
"Mmmm!" he drawled, "Your pussy feels so great against my ass, Miss Patty."
"It would feel even better if there was no fabric between us," I laughed, grinning.
"I agree, ma'am," he drawled.
I tugged at the tiny bikini string on my left hip, and I let my bikini bottom fall away. I then dared him to remove his swim trunks, to show me his bare ass, and to let me rock my naked pussy along his muscular and very masculine butt, with no fabric between us this time. Would he take my dare?
Patty, age 28, 5'8", 38-24-35
shoulder-length dark-brown hair
model/dancer from Hawaii
I had to travel to participate in a photo shoot on the U.S. mainland, to promote the upscale and very exclusive Honolulu gentlemen's club where I work as an exotic dancer. This would be my second photo-shoot for the club.
On a photo-shoot like this, most of the day is spent waiting around, while the photographer makes sure there are no voyeurs hanging around his remote set, and while he sets up backgrounds, cameras, and lights. He figures out ea=xactrly how and where he wants his model to pose. Then there is five minutes out of the whole day when all the equipment is set up perfectly, nobody around but the models and the phtographer, and the sun is perfect, not too high or too low in the sky. Just five minutes of actual photography, after hours on location. Then shooting is over for the day, and I have to wait around until the next day, for the next five perfect minutes of photo-shoot. People think being a model is glamorous, but it is really tedious. And you have to be around the whole time, because you never know just when those five perfect minutes of the day might happen, and the photographer is not about to waste those five perfect minutes searching for his model.
One nice thing about doing a promotional photo-shoot, though, is that they book a suite for each model, in a very upscale resort. I guess they feel that a beautiful and sexy model deserves much better than Motel 6.
The resort put me up on the second floor. At first I grumbled about this, having to lug my suitcase upstairs. But it turned out to be worth it. My second-floor room overlooked the swimming pool.
Did you ever see those cartoons where a startled character's eyes bug out? That's how I felt when I looked down at this incredibly well-built guy, lying face-down on a lounge chair at poolside, soaking up the rays of one of the last dwindling days of summer. Through his swim shorts, I could see every detail of his fine chiseled, muscular ass, and for a while I just looked down and admired him. Watching him was a great reward for my eyes, for putting up with being out in the bright, blazing sun all day.
Then I thought, hey, I work out three times a week, I can get any guy I want, even him. I hadn't had a guy for real in months, just the phony sex of lap-dancing, so I figured I was long overdue. I had packed my sexiest bikini, and I decided to slip into it and join this hunk poolside. My bikini top is just two tiny, shimmery lime-green triangles that barely cover my nipples, and leave acres of breasts exposed. I am a natural 38C, no surgical enhancements, and most of the surface of my breasts was visible in this bikini. I've never ahd a guy complain yet. This top ties on with a floss-thin string across my back just below my shoulder blades, and another floss-thin string around the back my neck. My bikini bottom is also a tiny triangle at the front, with wisps of pubic hair peaking out around the edges, and a floss-thin back up my ass, leaving my ass cheeks fully exposed. This bottom ties on with tiny strings, tied in littole bows on both of my curvy hips. I looked in the mirror, and I felt that this guy wouldn't be able to resist me dressed like this...unless he's gay, and even then he might not be able to resist me! Once I set my eye on a guy, he doesn't really stand a chance, he's going to be mine. Especially when I wear this bikini!
This guy looked even better up close than he had when I was looking down on him from my room. His powerful arms were folded and crossed under him, his bulging biceps supported the side of his head as he napped face-down under the cool afternoon sun. Now it was me who wouldn't be able to resist him!
I am not usually this forward with a guy I don't know, at least not outside of lap-dances at the club. And those are about money, not about love, passion, and sex. But now I climbed up on his lounge chair, my legs straddling either side of his fine ass, my bikini-covered pussy slowly and gently rocking back and forth against his luscious swimtrunk-covered butt. My hands began gently massaging his shoulders. Hey, nobody ever accused me of being subtle! Besides, I was leaving to fly home again in two days, so there was no time for subtlety, coyness, or game-playing. I had to act fast if I was going to land this stud.
As I rocked atop his fine ass and massaged his back, my hunk began to stir, and to softly moan. He rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, and he peered back over his shoulder at me. I leaned down, my curvaceous torso stretched atop his back, my bikini-covered breasts resting against his lower back, and I softly kissed him squarely between his shoulder blades.
"I must be dreaming," he whsipered softly. Not only was this guy amazingly well built, but he had the most charming slow, drawn-out southern accent. "No woman as beautiful as you ever has awakened me like this before."
"I love your soft southern drawl," I cooed. "Listening to your voice is making my heart melt...and my pussy's melting, too." Nope, no subtlety here!
"Mmmm!" he softly moaned. "I'm picturing your pussy melting. It's a great mental image."
"Play your cards right," I giggled, "and you might get to do more than just imagine it! So," I continued, "where are you from? Georgia?"
"No, ma'am," he replied in that gentle, lazy drawl of his. "I'm from Arkansas."
"I've never met a guy from Arkansas before. Well, Arkansas, I'm picturing that your hands and your tongue are as soft and as slow and as gentle as your voice."
He threw my own words back at me now, in that sexy Southern gantleman accent of his: "Play your cards right, ma'am, and you might get to do more than just imagine it! So, where are you from, pretty lady? I mean, besides from my dreams."
"I'm from Honoulu. So tell me, Arkansas, is it true what they say about the bedside gentleness of true Southern gentlemen? You ARE a true Southernn gentleman, aren't you Arkansas?"
"Yes, ma'am, I am," he grinned. "Although you make it, umm, HARD for me to behave like a true Southern gentleman right now."
"Mmm," I cooed, "I like making things, umm, HARD for a guy. The harder the better!" I laughed. "Am I making things HARD for you, Arkansas?"
He shifted and squirmed uncomfortably beneath me, silently telling me that he really WAS getting uncomfortably hard now. I closed my eyes and tried to picture Arkansas's growing hardness. "My name's not Arkansas," he gently corrected me.
"So, what is your name?"
"Romeo."
"Yeah, sure," I laughed, "your name is Romeo. You're good-looking, romantic, and charming, so that makes you a Romeo? Like I really believe THAT!"
"What can I say?" he replied. "My parents were both actors in local Shakespearan theatre. So they really DID name me Romeo. But I still don't know YOUR name, lovely lady."
"I'm Patty."
"Well, Patty from Honolulu. Is it true that native Hawaiian women are raised with absolutely no sexual inhibitions at all?"
"I'm sitting up nearly-naked atop a man I've never met before," I laughed. "So what do YOU think?"
Throughout this conversation, I never even paused from gently rocking my bikini bottom against the backside of his swim trunks. In fact, I was getting so turned-on by this "Arkansas Romeo" that I was gradually increasing the pace of my rocking on top of him. This was causing him to start softly moaning, so he was obviously enjoying this every bit as much as I was.
"Mmmm!" he drawled, "Your pussy feels so great against my ass, Miss Patty."
"It would feel even better if there was no fabric between us," I laughed, grinning.
"I agree, ma'am," he drawled.
I tugged at the tiny bikini string on my left hip, and I let my bikini bottom fall away. I then dared him to remove his swim trunks, to show me his bare ass, and to let me rock my naked pussy along his muscular and very masculine butt, with no fabric between us this time. Would he take my dare?
