After a couple of days, we had figured out the beach sun-lounger etiquette at the resort. We knew which guests would have their towels strategically placed on what loungers and at what time. So not to disturb everyone’s routine, as I’ve been more than a bit grumpy at finding my ‘spot’ taken at a resort, we settled at two chairs at the far end of the resort area. Sure, getting any sort of service out there would be next to impossible. Still, we were planning on making our own cocktails and taking care of ourselves anyway.

I always thought I was not the kind of person that would enjoy just sitting on the beach doing nothing, but I had surprised myself a few months ago during our first resort vacation together. So long as I have plenty of shade, I can rock the poolside holiday. And I do need good wifi because even though I’m meant to be relaxing, I do end up working a little bit each day.

By midafternoon, we were both comfortably buzzed. I was deep into a work project on my laptop, and my wife was engrossed in some new erotica she had downloaded for the trip. I could see how intensely focused she was on it, her eBook gripped firmly with both hands, the occasional squirm of her hips, the subtle biting of her bottom lip. I knew she was turned on.

I got up and pulled my sunlounger as close as I could to her’s; my movements did not distract her at all. 

Thankful for her simple string bikini bottom, I carefully pulled one of the strings so that it unknotted and allowed me easy access to her pussy.

Whoever the author was, I would have to start reading their work, as she didn’t even flinch. At least not until I stroked my finger gently up and down her vulva. 

She gasped, and without breaking concentration from her kindle, said,

Don’t stop!

I could see her flip back a few pages and start reading again. I slowly stroked her up and down, just gently teasing her labia apart, barely going any further.

She was soaking wet and so slippery. I felt her tip her hips higher, just to give me a little more room to work with. And her legs opened imperceptibly wider. I carried on, watching her get more and more aroused, reading and re-reading the same piece over and over.

My wife has always had a super sensitive clit, so I know to avoid it until the last moment. Truth be told, she is incredibly easy to get off. If it’s just her vibrator and her, then I’ve watched her pop an orgasm out in seconds. I don’t think she really understands how lucky she is.

There seemed to be an obvious point in her reading when she wanted more, so I started rubbing slow circles around her clit. We were sufficiently far away from anyone that it just looked like I had my hand on my wife’s stomach, and we were chatting quietly together. But in reality, she was slowly and succinctly building up to a fabulous orgasm. 

I guess I wasn’t quite aware of my wife’s excitement level as I should have been because she reached down, grabbed my fingers, and had me push hard on her “Devastator.” Her name for it, not mine.

It was delightful watching her climax. First of all, the setting was exquisite: a beautiful Caribbean resort, golden-white sand, crystal blue-green waves crashing onto the beach. (And those same waves were doing an excellent job of masking her vocalizations as she came.) Then all of her minute physiological responses: The way she closed her eyes, dropped the kindle, and gripped the edges of the sunlounger in anticipation. The ripple of her killer abs as she tensed her whole body, watching her hips rotate as if she was kissing the sun with her pussy. And then, seeing her whole body relax, every inch of sexual tension flow away, dissolving into the sands of the beach. She was completely satisfied. Only the quick rise and fall of her chest was an indication that she was still alive. There is a reason the French call it “la petite mort” or “the little death.”

Finally, she slowly opened her eyes and reached down to re-tie her bikini.

What were you reading, love?” I asked her.

She smiled coyly and said,

I was going over our taxes, sweetie.

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