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I emerged from the water at Waikiki Beach around 7am on a Sunday morning and ran up the almost empty sands towards my towel by the hose down station. The place was nearly deserted because, although it was already nicely warm, the tourists and most locals were probably still in bed.
As I came out of the water, I had to readjust my black bikini bra, as my 38-inch boobs were in danger of falling out of the cups, not that there was anyone much to notice. My boobs, by the way, may be enhanced by minor surgery, but they’re very, very impressive.
Picking up my towel I walked over to the shower area and found it occupied by a stunningly-built young woman in a lurid red bikini, the water coursing down her magnificent, athletic frame. She was dark-haired, like me – I’m part-Hawaiian, part French and I’ve inherited my mom’s jet black hair and coffee-coloured skin.
I spotted a little gold ring on the young woman’s left ankle. “Hi,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could, “is that a slave anklet you’re wearing, or simply a fashion accessory?”
The younger woman, who I took to be in her early 20s – I’m 32 – flashed me a stunning smile. “I’m afraid it’s a fashion accessory,” she laughed. Then, with a throw-away line which almost took my breath away, she added: “That’s until I find the right mistress!”
I dropped my towel on a nearby table and tried very hard to put a light humoured reply in my voice as I replied: “Who knows? This might be your lucky day.”
The beautifully built youngster picked up a towel and began to dry off, as I allowed the cool stream to play over my big breasts, my firm hips, ample buttocks and toned thighs. I work out a lot, and it shows on my 38-26-36 figure.
As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the younger woman eyeing me with interest. I switched off the tap and plunged into my plan of attack. “You live around here?”
She nodded, tying a sort of sarong around her lovely midriff, but leaving her lush breasts in the bright red bra on display. “Yup,” she said, “I’ve got an apartment over on Kuhio.”
I started to towel dry. “I’ve got a large house up on the hills looking down over Waikiki, it’s above an art gallery I run,” I informed her. “Care for a spin up there in my Porsche and we can have a cup of coffee?”
The woman smiled like an angel. “Love to,” she said, and held out her hand to me. “Hi, my name’s Sharon, I’m a bikini model.”
I regarded her coolly. “Sharon, with a body like that, of course you are!” Then I introduced myself: “I’m Darla, I wish I had a figure like yours, but at 32 you can’t always be so lucky!”
Sharon grinned. “You’ve got a smashing body – I only hope I’ve got a body like that when I’m 32, but I’ve got 12 years to go!”
The 20-year-old bikini model picked up her beach bag and we walked to my convertible for the drive up into the green hills overlooking the tourist mecca that is Waikiki.
“What sort of art does the gallery specialise in?” Sharon asked, as I flicked the Porsche up the twisty roads leading to my place.
“Erotic art,” I explained, “mostly female nudes. Nudes with a sort of, how shall I put this?” I paused, then added: “Ladies with attitude.”
“Sounds highly charged,” said Sharon, as the wind streamed her lovely black hair out, giving it a natural dry.
“We’ll have a stroll through the gallery while coffee’s percolating,” I suggested, then we wheeled into my basement garage where I parked the Porsche and we went into the house.
As I put the coffee on to brew, Sharon said: “This sarong’s a bit damp from my bikini bottom, OK if I take it off?”
Stupid question, I thought. “Go ahead,” I answered, “I’m taking off my shorts, they’re getting wet, too.”
When we were both attired only in our bikinis – hers was much briefer than mine, I might add – I led the way downstairs, across my veranda porch, down a little walkway and into my gallery, which faces out onto the street.
I flicked on the lights and said: “Take a look around. Any questions, fire away.”
The pert buttocked, firm-breasted model then began to stroll around the gallery. I busied casino siteleri myself with some book work at my desk, and after about five minutes she called out: “Tell me about this one.”
It was the picture I’d hoped she would like. It was a colour painting of a tallish, nude Hawaiian woman, well, nude save for high-heeled black leather boots. The painting, set off by a stark white background, was long and narrow and very nearly life size.
The model in the gallery stared intently at the model on the canvas. “She’s very pretty,” Sharon murmured.
“What do you think of her breasts?” I inquired.
“They’re lovely, but they look as if they might not be natural – not that that matters, look at those great nipples,” said Sharon.
“What about the whip?” I asked. The model in the picture held a thick-gripped black leather whip in her right hand. The flogger had four or five “tails” which she had drawn together in her left hand.
“It looks menacing,” Sharon commented. “And she looks as if she knows how to use it.”
“And what about her pussy?” I asked, delighted with her responses.
Sharon looked closely at the model’s pussy. She had prominently lush pink piss flaps, which were surrounded by black, crisp pubic hair which had obviously been shaved back, The thatch on her mons gleamed a dull black. You could make out her clitoris below it.
“That looks rather menacing as well,” said Sharon, “though I think I could learn to love it!”
The response was like a sweet symphony to my ears, and I placed a hand gently on the lovely model’s shoulder. “You’ve seen the art work, now why don’t we go upstairs and you can meet the real thing!”
Sharon turned on me and for a moment I thought she was going to slap me, but then her face melted into a huge grin. “It’s you!” she cried. “You’re the model!”
I bent slightly forward and kissed her full on the mouth. “Hi, Sharon,” I whispered in her ear. “Let’s get that coffee, shall we?”
Upstairs, I could see that my young guest was extremely excited, so I pressed on with my seduction. Shutting off the ring where the coffee pot bubbled away, I turned and looked at Sharon’s expectant face: “I think the coffee can wait a while, don’t you, Sharon?”
No words from her, but a quick nod of the head so I held out my hand and walked her into the large bedroom, dominated by a large, old-fashioned bedstead, with a metal, cage-like bedhead.
Sharon stood facing the bed and I stepped behind her, and unclipped her bikini bra, pulling it away and tossing it on the polished wooden floor. My hands then reached up and cupped her heavy young breasts, fondling them, my fingers flicking over her hardening nipples.
“Lovely breasts,” I whispered, kissing her gently on her ear, nibbling at the lobe.
An almost inaudible whisper carried back to me: “36ers, Mistress Darla!”
My hands now went lower, to the lovely little red thong-style bikini bottom. I hooked my thumbs into the straps across her firm, slender hips and pushed it down from her pussy and buttocks. It fell to the floor and Sharon kicked it away.
This time the fingers of my right hand explored her pussy, shaved save for a small, slender strip of hair above her clit, while the fingers of my left probed her backside, pressing against her anus.
“Lovely pussy, lovely arse,” I whispered, licking my tongue into her salty-tasting ear.
“They belong to you, Mistress Darla,” came the slightly louder response.
My hands now left her achingly gorgeous young body and in a flash I was out of my bra and bikini bottom and nude behind her. I spun her around and stepped a pace back, giving her an opportunity to drink in my naked presence.
Sharon’s gaze was first transfixed on my heavy breasts, lovely handfuls, big brown nipples, erect and inviting. She stepped towards me and lowered her face to my boobs. I could feel her breath, hot and panting on my cool flesh. The only sound in the bedroom was the low hum of the air conditioning.
Then she opened her mouth and her lovely little tongue traced around the areola of my right nipple, canlı casino teasing and exploring. Then she sucked on my nipple itself, finally bestowing a tiny little nibble with her lovely white teeth on the nubbin. Next she switched her attentions to my opposite breast, kissing and sucking there as she stroked my right breast with her left hand.
Taking her by the shoulders, I took charge and moved her towards the bed, half lifting her, half pushing her onto the black satin sheets. Sharon lay on her back and raised her hands up to the metal posts at the head of the bed, grasping them in a position of submission.
I climbed onto the bed, knelt so my knees were brushing her hairless armpits and felt her hands cup my buttocks as I settled into position above her.
I heard a husky, thrill-throbbing voice which I realised was mine, croak: “Do I still look menacing, darling?”
Her response was no reply, but a long, lingering kiss on my piss flaps, then her tiny tongue was lapping at my dripping wet cunt, then at my labia lips, then my clit. It was a wild thing, its attentions switching from cunt to labia to clit, as if it wanted to devour them all, but couldn’t decide which treat to gorge on first.
I groaned as she laved at my pussy, sending little shocks of delight through me.
Suddenly, she pulled back and for an awful moment I was afraid she was going to stop! But then came some wonderful words. “You’re so fucking tasty, mistress.” And she went back to work.
I grabbed the top metal pole running across the bed head for some purchase and rocked my crotch against her sweet little mouth, thrilling in her kissing, sucking and licking until, much to my delight but also my disappointment, because I didn’t want the pleasure to end, I bucked and tossed to an exciting climax on her mouth.
She still gently kissed and licked me as I descended from the plateau of pleasure and then, when I was calm again, I lowered myself, first to kiss her juice-stained mouth – such a sweet-tasting mouth – then her lovely boobs, with their cherry red nipples, then her taut, toned abdomen. And finally, her pussy!
My nostrils inhaled a heady aroma of female sex fluid, then I could hold back no longer and my mouth was eagerly at work, laving over her large labia lips, my tongue flickering at her tight little cunt, then pressing itself flat and hard against her quivering clitoris.
Sharon writhed and groaned and her hands came down to grab my head and thrust it against her pussy in urgency. My tongue and mouth kept up a frantic pace on her thrusting crotch and soon she was sobbing: “Yeeees, mistress, yeeees! Oh, yeeees, I’m coming, make me come, make me come, make me come!”
As Sharon had done for me, so I maintained for her a light licking and kissing on her pulsing pussy until she had calmed and recovered from her orgasm. Then I rose and we kissed, tongues entwining, our faces both seeped in that sensational female perfume that only two pussy lovers can exchange.
“Turn over onto your belly and grab the side bed posts, darling,” I whispered, “I’ve got something else for you to enjoy now!”
Swiftly, eagerly, the lushly-bodied bikini model was over onto her belly, her hands gripping the widespread main bed posts, her lovely brown athletic back revealing rippling muscles, her buttocks taut and tense, almost as if she had divined what her next pleasure would be.
I got off the bed and opened the bedside drawer on Sharon’s right. She looked at me intently, her pretty face a picture of anticipatory pleasure.
From the drawer I withdrew the leather flogger, I had held when I posed for the portrait Sharon had admired so much in the gallery downstairs.
I stood beside the bed and adopted the pose from the picture, grabbing the five thongs of the flogger in my left hand and questioned my lovely young model: “Do you remember this, darling?”
“How could I forget it, mistress,” she said, softly. “I said it looked menacing, I said it looked as if you knew how to use it.”
“Do you trust me to use it on you, my dear?” I asked, half expecting her to step kaçak casino back from the ultimate submission to my advances. But her response was another sweet sound to my ears. “Of course I do, Mistress Darla, of course I do.”
I stepped up on the bed and standing beside her naked form, ran the tips of the lashes down her back, from just below where her lovely dark hair ended, down her spine, across her buttocks and then left them dangling between her widespread thighs.
“Are you ready, my pet?” I asked, in what I hoped was a reassuring tone.
“Yes, mistress, please whip me,” came a little voice.
“We’re in Hawaii, so you know the show Hawaii Five-O on television, don’t you Sharon?” I asked, dragging out her waiting.
“Yes, mistress,” she replied, sounding puzzled.
“Well, I’ll give you my version of Hawaii Five-O – that’s as in 5, 0 – 50!” I told her.
Her body stiffened, then I traced the flogger gently down her flesh. “Don’t worry, they’ll be more like caresses, my darling,” I reassured her, then I flicked the flogger down over her shoulder blades.
A small cry escaped from her lips. “Ooooh, that wasn’t too bad, mistress.”
I repeated the dose, then again, and again, and again. “Thank me for the first five, darling,” I hissed, noting that only very faint marks were appearing on her lovely flesh.
“Thank you for the first 5 of my 50 strokes, mistress,” said my obedient, fast-learning little lover.
Then I switched my target to her stunning buttocks, swishing the flogger in a steady cadence over the brown mounds. After five strokes she thanked me for the first 10 of her 50 strokes.
“Now over on your back, darling,” I commanded and she switched her position so her arms grabbed the outer, upper posts, thrusting her gloriously suckable breasts into stunning uplift.
I attacked them slowly, but steadily, until they had bounced and jiggled beneath the flogger’s five-stroke fusillade. Again she thanked me.
Then I prepared to work on her most vulnerable spot – her pussy! “Legs really wide, dear Sharon,” I told her, and she realised where I was going to apply the five-thonged flogger next.
Her eyes looked up at mine. Then she smiled and spread herself, displaying that oh-so-eatable pussy to my gaze.
I flicked the flogger back and forth, its caresses occasionally drawing little sobs from my slave as the tips flicked against her wetness down there. After the fifth blow, Sharon let out a small moan, then smiled at me: “Thank-you for the first 20 strokes of my Hawaii 50, mistress.”
“On your belly again, darling,” I ordered, and so the pleasurable punishment of her splendid young body continued. Five more on her upper back, five more on her beautiful buns, five more on her jouncing breasts, five more on her pussy.
“Now darling,” I told her, “you’ve had 40 strokes, as you’ve just counted out. The final 10 strokes will all be delivered to the same target. You’re the recipient, you choose!”
Sharon’s mind was racing. Her breasts, upper back and buttocks were now reddened from the flogger’s attentions, but I knew from long experience those marks would soon fade. Her pussy, I also knew from experience, would be tingling and alive.
It was absolutely no surprise to me, when she whispered almost as if in prayer: “My pussy, please, Mistress Darla!”
I smiled down at her and said, encouragingly: “Good response, you lovely little girl, good response!”
The flogger made its final visit to her pussy, and at the conclusion Sharon spoke: “50 strokes, thank-you mistress for my first Hawaii 5-0.”
My response was to throw the implement to the floor and lower my mouth to her punished pussy. My initial foray was met by a soft whimpering, then a moaning, and then as I licked her damp pussy across its lash-stroked lips, she began to groan in pleasure.
Finally, her excitement climbed to a crescendo and she was roaring out loud: “Lick me, mistress, lick me, mistress, don’t stop, never fucking stop!”
But of course, I had to eventually. Then I sat up alongside her and we kissed.
“I’m such a lucky person, mistress,” Sharon smiled at me.
“In what way?” I asked, stroking her lovely firm breasts.
“Well,” she grinned, “I almost didn’t wear that slave anklet this morning!”
To be continued…
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