Our friends, Julia and Amy, owned a place in South Beach, a Miami Beach neighborhood renowned for its early-20th-century architecture. The condo was located in the Art déco Historic District, within one of the old, pastel-colored buildings off Ocean Drive. My friends were snowbirds, living up north during the summer and spending the winter in South Beach. They were teachers at home, but worked as interior designers in South Florida during the winter. They loved the eclectic Art déco style architecture and worked in the historical district, preserving it.
Gregory and I took them up on their offer to use the place and planned a visit early in the week to avoid weekend crowds. The night before we left, Gregory was called away to work a shutdown at the last minute. He insisted that I go anyway, saying that I deserved a vacation.
He kissed me, and I melted in his arms. Taking his hand, I led him to our bedroom and thanked him, making him a happy man.
The next morning, I woke him up with a bj, made him breakfast, and sent him off to work. I took a cab to the airport and boarded my flight. I got bored on the flight and decided to tease him, taking upskirt shots of my freshly shaven pussy and sending them to him. The short flight was uneventful, and two hours later, I claimed my bag and walked out into the Miami heat. A taxi pulled up, and I was in South Beach within the hour.
Narrow steps rose along the exterior of the building to the apartment’s kitchen door. The floors were terrazzo throughout, which seemed to make the place cooler. The 1960s vintage kitchen overlooked a tropical garden below. Window shakers provided AC, and ceiling fans circulated the cool air.
The old second-floor apartment, now a condo, was a two-bedroom, one-bath unit with a small living room overlooking the street through porthole windows. The walls were covered in a tile pattern depicting a colorful undersea coral reef with tropical fish, lobsters, and anemones; the other rooms were finished in stucco and painted in pastel colors.
I laid my bag on the bed to unpack and put my toiletries in the bathroom and my clothes in the tiny closet, and changed into a short sundress and sandals.
I brushed my hair and checked myself in the mirror, and took a walk across Ocean Drive to the park to scout a location to watch the sunrise. The park was situated on the beautiful South Pointe beach, with the blue-green waters of the Atlantic Ocean beyond. A beachside rental company had everything available from lounge chairs to cabanas.
I stepped out of my sandals and wiggled my toes in the sand. I walked along the beach, the calm water rippling the waterline and lapping at my feet. I stopped to look at some pretty seashells and found an undamaged conch shell that was a keeper.
I made my way back to Ocean Drive to CJ’s Crab Shack for a lobster and shrimp dinner before walking back to the condo.
Between my romp with Greg the night before, the trip, and the walk on the beach, I was ready to relax. I walked up the stairs to my condo and found it cool and comfortable. I took a relaxing bath and turned in for the night, determined to get up early and watch the sunrise on the beach.
My day at the beach began before dawn. I walked the few blocks to the ocean’s edge in the twilight. I was alone, it seemed, so I spread my towel on the sand and set down my bag. I stood to wet my feet in the sea and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic. It was a spectacular, clear morning, so I took selfies with the sunrise in the background.
I peeled off my cover-up, leaving me in a G-string, exposing my alabaster skin to the caress of the tropical ocean breeze. I cupped my ample breasts, my nipples stiffening in response. The tiny G-string hugged my bare mound, leaving the rest of me exposed for an all-over tan. I put my long, blonde hair in a ponytail and put on my sunglasses.
I pulled my Caribbean Tanning Oil out of my bag. The combination of coconut oil and cocoa butter moisturized my skin and helped it tan, while the SPF 30 protected me from sunburn. My lily-white skin transitions directly from white to sunburned, skipping the tanning process altogether, if I don’t use tanning oil. The label read ‘Deep Tan,’ and I hoped to achieve just that.
I poured a liberal dose of the cocoa butter into my hand, slathering the fragrant lotion all over my skin. I reached behind me to pour a big dollop down my back and rubbed it in with my lotion wand.
I had not seen anyone on the beautiful tropical beach, not even a jogger, but I didn’t think much of it as it was still very early.
The sun warmed my skin as the sea breeze caressed it, raising goosebumps and standing my short hairs on end. I closed my eyes and hugged myself, my nostrils filled with the scent of cocoa butter and the sea, the sound of laughing gulls in the distance, and the calm, cool water lapping at my feet, all conspired to fill my senses.
My hands roamed over my slippery body to caress my full breasts, my index fingers tracing circles around my slippery nipples, pinching them between my fingers and thumbs. My hand glided over my taut belly, my fingers slipping under my tiny G-string to tease my throbbing clit. My breath hitched, and a whimper escaped my lips as I curled my middle finger inside and found my sweet spot. Oh, how I wished Greg were there with me.
I watched a yacht sail by in the distance, and I wondered if they could see me making love to myself.
I jumped and yelped in surprise as a deep voice with a thick Jamaican accent said, “Mek mi ‘elp yuh, Missis, hahaha,” as a large pair of strong hands massaged the oil into my skin, working the muscles of my neck, back, and shoulders.
I was startled at first and kept my arms crossed to conceal my breasts.
“But I’m not Missy,” I protested
“Everyweh, Missis, my precious, hahaha,” said the happy, friendly voice.
I realized that he had probably been watching me and had already seen me topless, so I relaxed, uncrossed my arms, and placed my hands on top of my head.
“Ooooo, you have strong hands, mister,” I said as he massaged my lower back and butt. Crouching down, he rubbed lotion up and down my legs and feet, carefully avoiding my barely concealed mound.
“Yes, Missis, we nuh want yuh fi bun up, do we, ha ha ha.”
He finished and stood up, and I turned around to see the man with the big hands.
“Mi name Donny, glad fi meet yuh, Missis. Ha ha ha.”
I looked up to see that he was almost seven feet tall, easily the tallest man I had ever met. An older man, he was big, bald, and black as night. He had large brown eyes, a broad nose, and full, plump lips. His face was rugged and weather-beaten, with lines that gave him a perpetual smile.
His hands were on his hips, smiling down at the short blonde before him.
I started to explain that he had me confused with someone else as my eyes drifted down his tall, lean body.
“But mister, I’m not….” I began until my eyes stopped on the massive bulge in his Bermuda shorts that ran nearly to his knee, “…Missy.”
I realized I was staring when I heard him say, “Hahaha.”
I blushed at being busted checking out his package and looked back up at him.
“Pleased to meet you, Donny. I’m Catherine. You’re so…tall,” I said, offering him my hand.
“A suh it go, Missis, you right bad! Hahaha,” he said, taking my small hand in his. I felt like a little girl standing next to the tall Jamaican.
“A wah mek yuh reach ‘pon mi beach so soon time?”
“Shit,” I thought to myself, “I thought it was a public beach.”
“I came early to watch the sunrise,” I said, “Your beach, Donny?”
“Yes, Missis, anyting yuh want, just hail Donny, hahaha.”
“Well, that’s nice of you, Donny, but I was just going to lay my beach towel here and…”
“Oh, nuh, nuh, Missis. Come wid mi,” he said.
He picked up my beach bag, took my hand, and led me a short distance to Nikki Beach. The place was still closed this early in the morning, but as it turned out, Donny was the concessionaire who operated the cabana rentals.
“We reach now, Missis,” he said with a big smile, spreading his arms wide in welcome, “Anyting Missis require, Donny got it, hahaha.”
“Wow, Donny. Nikki Beach. I’m impressed,” I never in a million years thought I would be at world-famous Nikki Beach, but here I was, nearly a guest of the house.
“Yuh waan go lay dung inna di sun, Missis? Come wid mi, hahaha,” he said.
They had twin lounge chairs separated by a small table with an umbrella that could be opened to provide shade in the heat of the day.
“Can I use one of the lounge chairs?
“A sure ting you can, Missis. Come, lay dung ‘pon dis one, an’ mek mi gi’ yuh a proper rub dung,” he said, setting my bag on the table next to the lounger. He adjusted the lounger to lie flat and invited me to lie down.
I lay face down on the longer, my arms hugging the small pillow. Donny drizzled lotion down my back and legs and kneeled in the sand beside me. His big hands felt good as he began the rub down from my shoulders all the way to my feet.
“Mmmmm, Donny, your hands are magic,” I said.
“Yuh beautiful body a blessin’, Missis. Mi glad fi please yuh like dat.”
His powerful, warm fingers sank into the tight landscape of my muscles, a kneading, deep-tissue devotion that was both intensely relaxing and exquisitely arousing. This time, his rub-down was an act of worship, a slow, deliberate exploration of every curve.
He began at the tender juncture of my neck and shoulders, a melting pressure that chased away all thought, then moved down the smooth plane of my back. His hands, slick with oil, lingered on the full, soft mounds of my buttocks before trailing a fiery path down the backs of my legs.
As he reached my inner thighs, I felt my breath catch; I responded by parting my legs, ever so slightly, silently begging for his touch. His potent fingers hovered, a burning promise inches from my aching, hungry pussy, yet, with agonizing precision, he denied the contact.
He completed his tantalizing journey at my feet—the slow, focused caress of his hands on my arches and toes was so electrifying that the foot rub alone sent a wave of pleasure that nearly tipped me into a shuddering orgasm. Then, with the same unhurried pace, he returned, working his way back up to my shoulders, leaving my skin alight with sensation.
“Time fi swivel, Missis, yuh nuh waan bun up, my precious.”
Time to turn. Fuck. I could barely move, feeling like I had melted into the fabric of the lounger under the touch of Donny’s magnificent hands.
I forced myself up to sit up, swinging my legs off the lounger and putting my feet in the sand. Sitting on the edge of the lounger, I looked into Donny’s smiling eyes, my breasts swollen, my nipples stiff, and my G-string soaked, all thanks to his magic hands. A shiver ran down my spine as his eyes roamed over my body.
“Oh my God, Donny, that was amazing. I’ve never had such an invigorating massage.”
“Yuh sexy body a inspire mi, Missis.”
Donny’s magic hands and that long bulge in his shorts inspired me.
“Will you do my front now, Donny?”
“Anyting fi yuh, Missis. Yuh jus’ lay dung, Donny wi’ tek care a everyting, hahaha.”
I rolled onto my back, the heat from the sand and the lingering oil on my skin a potent mix. I put my hands behind my head, adjusting my dark shades, and watched Donny through the lenses, my body a willing canvas. I parted my thighs imperceptibly, inviting him to continue the slow burn.
He smiled, a massive, genuine flash of white against his dark skin, and drizzled more fragrant cocoa butter down the length of my body. Starting at my throat, his hands glided down to my swollen, sun-warmed breasts. His palms cupped their full weight, the slick oil making his touch feel impossibly sensual as he massaged the fragrant lotion into my cleavage, his large thumbs circling and brushing the taut peaks of my nipples with breathtaking, near-miss precision. A deep, involuntary moan caught in my throat.
He worked his way over my stomach, his strong hands moving in slow, hypnotic circles across my taut belly, dragging a chain of fire down towards my hips. The small, barely-there G-string was the only thing separating his hands from the wet, desperate hunger that pulsed between my legs. His fingers drew closer, trailing hot oil right along the edge of the tiny strip of fabric, the pressure of his touch causing the moisture to bloom and spread beneath the cloth.
I arched my back, trembling, silently pleading for him to cross that last, final boundary. I could feel the electricity of his skin, the warmth of his intent, yet he maintained his agonizing control. He moved down my legs, smoothing oil over my shins and the delicate skin of my inner thighs. Each stroke was a deliberate, drawn-out delay, building the tension until I was gasping, suspended right at the crumbling edge of release.
Gasping, I let my head fall back onto the lounger, the world narrowed down to the thrilling, torturous movement of his hands and the urgent pounding in my blood. I couldn’t take the delicious, drawn-out delay any longer.
“Donny,” I whispered, the name a shaky plea. I reached down, my trembling hand grasping his wrist as his oil-slick fingers hovered once more at the edge of the soaked fabric, “Donny, please. Stop teasing me! I need you to… to finish this.”
His deep voice rumbled, a slow, husky chuckle vibrating up my arm. He looked down at me, his brown eyes warm and knowing.
“A suh it go, Missis?” he murmured, leaning closer until the scent of his skin and the sea was intoxicating. He did not move his hand, maintaining the breathtaking tension.
“Yuh sure yuh ready fi Donny fi ‘finish’ it? Yuh sweet body still got plenty fi gi’ before we done. Donny nuh rush di perfect ting, Missis. We a tek wi’ time now.”
And with a final, devastating, slow stroke along the inside of my thigh—a stroke that brought a sharp, nearly painful wave of climax without contact—he pulled his hand away entirely, leaving a trail of hot, sticky air in its wake. He wiped his hands deliberately on a towel, the simple action drawing out my anticipation, before looking at me with a triumphant, wicked smile.
“Hahaha.”
I reached out with one finger to trace the outline of the bulge straining to escape Donny’s shorts. I felt it twitch in response to my touch.
“Too bad we don’t have a little more privacy where you can take your time showing me what’s causing all this swelling,” I said, biting my lip and flashing him my baby blues.
“Hahaha, but a sure ting, a yuh mek mi deh inna dis state, yuh one bad gyal.”
“I want to be your bad girl, Donny. I want to please you the way you’ve pleased me,” I said, squeezing his growing bulge for emphasis.
“Aah, Missis, yuh mek dis ole yaad man mad, yuh know. Wah mi a go do wid yuh?”
I sat up on the edge of the lounger and smiled at him, sitting on his knees in the sand. I slid my hands up my body to cup my boobs in my hands and rubbed his bulge with my foot.
“I think you know what to do with me, Donny. Now are you going to fuck me or do I have to beg?”
“Yuh mouth bad, Missis, fi a likkle gyal like yuh.”
“You wouldn’t be complaining about my mouth if it was full of your big Jamaican cock.”
“Hahaha. Come wid mi, yuh likkle Jezebel, mi a go gi’ yuh somet’ing fi beg for.”
He took my hand and grabbed my bag and led me to a cabana. Sheer white curtains provided privacy, and large ceiling fans provided a cooling breeze on my skin, slick with suntan lotion and sweat.
The sheer curtains swooshed shut, cutting off the world and leaving us in a dim, breezy cocoon. The moment we were hidden, the playful banter evaporated, replaced by a raw, heavy hunger that made the air feel thick.
Donny turned to lock the entrance, but I was already moving, my knees sinking into the plush cushions of the daybed until I was kneeling before him.
I didn’t wait for permission. My hands went to the waistband of his shorts, my fingers trembling as I struggled with the button.
“Please, Donny,” I panted, looking up at him through my lashes. “I need to taste you. Let me worship it. Please.”
He looked down at me, his eyes dark and hooded, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my desperate fumble.
“Yuh beg suh nice, Missis. Gwan den. Show Donny what dat mouth can do.”
He shoved his shorts down, his huge cock springing free—hard, heavy, and magnificent. I let out a soft whimper of appreciation before leaning forward, taking it with both hands, and stroking it. I kissed the velvet tip gently, teasing myself, before opening wide and taking him in.
I worked my mouth over him with devoted enthusiasm, my tongue swirling, humming against his skin, slobbering over his head for a sloppy wet blow job. I wanted to show him exactly how much I wanted this, worshipping the length of him by kissing and licking his shaft. I sucked his big, black, sweaty balls one at a time, until he was gripping my hair, his hips bucking involuntarily against my rhythm.
“Lawd God,” he hissed, his voice rough. “Yuh mouth really a trouble, gyal. Best yuh stop before mi spill everything right here.”
With a groan, he pulled away, dragging me up by my arms until he threw me back against the pillows. He didn’t waste a second. He moved between my legs, spreading them wide and settling his weight over me.
“Look at mi,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.
I met his gaze, my breath hitching as he lined himself up. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, stretching me, filling me completely until he was buried deep in my core.
“Oh my God, Donny!” I cried out, my head thrashing on the cushion.
“Tight like a vice,” he gritted out, holding himself still for an agonizingly perfect second, “Fit fi a king.”
He began to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, finding that deep, sweet spot with every stroke. The friction was electric, the scent of the coconut oil and our mingling sweat heady and intoxicating. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his ferocity.
The pressure built rapidly, a coiling spring of tension in my belly. I was close, so close.
“Donny, please, I’m gonna—!”
“Cum fi mi, Missis,” he urged, driving harder, faster. “Tek it all!”
The climax hit me like a physical blow—a spectacular, shuddering release that made my vision blur. I screamed his name, my inner muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic spasms. The sensation pushed him over the edge; he threw his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he poured himself into me again and again, pulsing through the shared aftershocks of our mutual release.
We collapsed together, limbs tangled, chests heaving in the quiet of the cabana, the only sound the soft whir of the fans and the distant rhythm of the sea.
END
