She was standing at the breakfast bar of this tiny house I was about to start renting on a small Caribbean island. She was tall, dark-skinned and I couldn’t take my eyes off her arse, which sat proudly beneath a thin khaki skirt. I liked the way she dressed.
Volanette was her name and she was to be my landlady. She was a local woman, and the local women in general were a very good-looking lot. Few of them had her classy look, though. Most of the younger ones went for elastic, figure-hugging dresses, if they deigned to wear anything other than jeans, that is. Young women don’t very much, certainly not in the UK, where I had just come from, but Volanette dressed like an elegant, feminine woman from a few decades ago.
Her hair was short and tightly curled, with grey patches at the temples which added to her striking appearance. In that respect, at least, she wasn’t afraid of growing old, and she made no attempt to dress younger; she was timeless, and that’s a very attractive quality.
So, she stood at the breakfast bar, going through paperwork. This was a holiday cottage but she was giving it to me at a lower rate for three months. I wasn’t sure what exactly she was doing at that moment, but she seemed to be concentrating. Or was she just allowing me to look at her? Women do that and seem to expect their admirers to know what is happening and to act accordingly.
If only it were that simple. The problem is, with nothing agreed or even spoken about, that can lead to a variety of pairs of opposites. Success and failure, excitement and embarrassment, bliss and trouble, heaven and hell. I was 80% sure Volanette wanted me to look at her and make a move, but 80% is not enough in today’s world. I decided I would try to make her understand she needed to make things clearer in some way.
I went and stood next to her, closer than I would have stood to most people, and touched her lower back at a carefully judged level: high enough for the sake of propriety but low enough for her to understand I would like to go lower, if she chose to think about it that way.
“Lovely view,” I said. She looked out of the kitchen window at the scruffy, barren landscape with its chalky, sandy surface littered with rough stones and a random scattering of bushes and small trees. In the distance was a dull blue-grey strip that was the sea.
“Hmmm, yeah,” Volanette replied, but I could tell she was wondering if the view I had in mind was of her body.
“Sorry, but I’ve got a few things to do,” I said.
“Sure,” she said. “I can come back tomorrow to finish up. Morning or afternoon better for you?”
“Any time,” I said, my words dripping with desire. I moved away and sat on the couch and when I looked up again, I could have sworn her back was looking at me. Her buttocks seemed to clench slightly as if in a smile. I was entranced by the soft skin behind her knees, paler than the rest of her dark, shiny covering. I wanted to kiss that skin and lick it sensuously.
I awoke the following day at six as usual. The sun in those parts comes bounding in through the thin curtains and my daily routine had slid around the dial so I was awake at six and sleepy by nine in the evening.
Volanette was in my mind immediately, kneeling on my bed, naked and inviting me to lick her arse, which I did extensively and gratefully. I tried to push the image out of my mind, because I didn’t want to masturbate when she would be there in person in a matter of hours. After a shower using only the cold water tap, but which came out warm anyway, I ate a bowl of cereal and made a mental note to check the expiry date and nutritional content in future, because this stuff was both sweet and stale.
I remembered there was cricket on back in England, so I set the VPN for USA and called up Willow TV, which takes cricket to expats in America from around the world. Test cricket can take over your life, because it lasts all day from 11 am to 6:30 for five days and even though not every minute will be exciting, there will be great little periods and whole sessions where something crucial is happening. A newly adventurous England were taking on the smirking Australians and I was immediately absorbed, glad to have nothing to do and to be able to watch without guilt. The Caribbean is five hours behind the UK, so breakfast time for me saw the players back on the field after the lunch break
Volanette kept popping into my mind and as ten o’clock approached I was feeling both excited and apprehensive. How would I know what she was thinking?
She arrived on the dot, her little Nissan crunching down the drive in a cloud of dust. She knocked briefly on the screen door before breezing in. Today she was wearing a voluminous knee-length floral dress, unbuttoned down to her cleavage. She smelled of shower gel and perfume and she gave me a smile that was brighter and more meaningful than she really wanted, before wrenching her eyes away from me and resuming her position at the fake marble counter. She began to mutter to herself and shuffle papers, settling in for a short session of being admired.
This time I was 95% certain, so I walked up behind her and got on my knees. Holding her legs for balance, I kissed behind both her knees and she wriggled briefly before recovering her composure. When she didn’t move away even a little, I knew I was home and dry. I licked those lovely creases, and she made appreciative noises. Encouraged, I moved upwards, kissing the backs of her thighs until my head was under her skirt. She leaned forwards onto her elbows as I kissed her buttocks, which were clad in just a thong, the hidden piece in her crack. I parted her buttocks and she gasped.
“My,” she said, “You are interested.”
“I am fascinated,” I replied. “Shall we go through there?”
In the little bedroom with the big bed, she kicked off her shoes and lay down, demure and wonderful beneath her floral packaging. I pulled my t-shirt off and lay next to her. We kissed and her tongue told me this was more than all right with her. This was as welcome as anything could be.
I fumbled for the zip at the back of the dress, but she interrupted me.
“Carry on like before,” she said. “I like having your head up my skirt. But take your clothes off.”
As she turned onto her front, I slid down the bed and slipped out of my shorts and underwear, then began another fabulous voyage up her silky legs, kissing her calves and behind her knees, which caused her to shiver. Then on up her wonderful thighs to her bottom. I pulled that lucky thong out of its hiding place and replaced it with my tongue. She smelled sweet and mysterious, savoury and naughty.
“That is so lovely,” she whispered. “How come you’re so good at it?”
“Naturally talented,” I replied, assuming she didn’t want a record of my training and experience in that area.
“What do you call it?” she asked. “Rimming? Butt worship?”
“I am worshiping your butt,” I said, “but I like to call it licking your arse. That’s the rudest, kinkiest expression.”
“Okay,” Volanette said happily. “I love you licking my ass. Are you going to make me cum like that?”
“Another day I will,” I said. “I promise. But today I want to shag you too.”
She sat up and wriggled out of her dress. Skilfully dispensing with her bra, she turned onto her back and scolded me.
“You haven’t kissed my breasts.”
“Sorry, Miss. I’ve been busy,” I replied.
“Do you like my breasts?” she asked, delirious with lust and happiness.
“They are really beautiful,” I said as I licked and sucked her nipples. “But every part of you is beautiful.”
“You haven’t touched my pussy,” she rebuked.
“Patience, woman,” I replied. “That comes next.”
I dived into her left armpit, which was precious, beautiful contraband like her arsehole, then kissed my way down her torso, poking my tongue into her deep, smooth navel. She moved back and forth, driven by her internal nerve wiring.
Volanette’s vagina was full and curly, a luscious sea creature with a salty, umami flavour. I sucked at the big lips and probed her tunnel with my tongue. Then I went to town on her clitoris and she wriggled and very quickly came with a long, low, loud exhalation.
I clambered up on top of her and thrust my cock into that incredible body part, Volanette’s cunt. Our eyes were locked together in recognition of our amazing natural affinity and the desire to stay like this forever. We kissed and I sucked her lower lip. She carefully slid a hand between our pressed bodies and took hold of my balls.
“I want your semen,” she hissed. “Fuck me, cum inside me, fill me with your stuff.”
I powered on, my right hand instinctively moving into her crack and the middle finger slipping into her anus, conveniently lubricated by her natural cunt oil. I could tell by the way she accepted this and the glint in her eye that one day she would want me to give her anal. Suddenly it occurred to me that Volanette was the woman I had been looking for without knowing I was looking for anyone. Because she was nice, too. Pleasant, respectable and intelligent. I had to stop myself saying something stupid. Instead I pushed my finger all the way up and rotated it to show her I wanted to have all of her, every inch.
She began to writhe and I knew she was cumming again. That sent me over the edge and I found myself pumping her harder and then stopping, hard up inside her as my spunk flooded out of me and into her.
It’s at this point in many cases that love flies out the window and reality steps in, but with Volanette and me that didn’t happen. We held each other tight and whispered beautiful things.
“Promise me you will lick my ass again,” she said, as if it were the most romantic thing in the world.”
“Of course I will,” I said seriously. “If you promise me we can spend days like this again. All day in bed together.”
“My place,” she said. “It’s cooler than here. You’re sweating.” And I realised I was indeed, but was that the air temperature or the passion?
