Diaphanous Siren

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Soft blue eddies around the slow scissor motion of her thighs as she wades toward the sand. The slow rock of her stride reduces the sea to ripples of turquoise honey. Fingers trail ribbons along the surface, nails lightly scoring a lover?s skin. She falters, as if stepping on a shell takes her by surprise. A passing flaw in her selfless poise. She pauses, closes her epicanthic eyes and fingers back wet hair like a waterfall of midnight. Strands catch. She fights the tangle to brush it off her face. The burnt cinnamon shade of her skin has a lacquered look as the water slides off. Her eyes open again, dark as onyx and full of bashful strength. There?s a proud impudence to the luxurious jut of her breasts. Soft elegance quivering under their own weight with every step. Glittering droplets roll over them, diamonds cascading over deadly contours of pure woman. A column of volcanic rock stands up behind her like an ancient guardian. If it could blink, they would never have been here. Hot sand grows shy when she steps on it. The geckoes ignore him, watching from the shade of the palms, while a sleek animal paces its cage inside him. He knows she senses him, but she refuses to look his way. He?s an exile, and she is his native country. How it was the day before. How it is again today. Tomorrow is always a fearful storm of hopeless questions. She pads across the sand in a scant, blue thong that seems pasted on. She?s favoring the left foot after her misstep in the water. The curve of her wet hip teases the sun as she retrieves her sarong off a rock. She leans and reaches like a constellation shifting in its seat. The thumbnail curve of each sculpted cheek flexes in soft defiance. The animal inside suddenly leaps at the bars of its cage. She presses the muted turquoise fabric to her face, then wraps herself inside it. She binds herself snugly, streamlining extravagant curves, as if she could turn herself into a secret. Then she reaches for the straw, wide brimmed cowboy hat. Shaking her dark mane back, she places the hat down low, hiding under its shade, then turns to walk away. Bright sandals dangle from her hand. It?s a simple clockwork of easy motion. His sinews tighten like harp strings, but he remains in the shadows as she saunters away. She glances briefly off to the side, but not all the way over her shoulder. Her walking away is a profusion of impossible heartbreaks. He goes out from the shade and feels the soft weight of the noon heat. By the rock where she?d left her things, he peels away his shirt, slips from his sandals and loosens his drawstring. Naked, he places his things in the spot where hers had just been. He looks down to see how he?s thickened bursa escort (https://hatchresources.com/) more than he knew. He leans against the rock. Humid air and voracious sunshine are palpable as fingers. His cock shudders with the driving pulse of his heart. In the distance, there?s the sputter of a motorbike coming to life. A whining rev. He imagines her astride the bike, shooting off onto the dusty road to wherever she has to go. He replays her concert of unconscious motion in his mind. His cock continues to thicken, harden, rise. Air. Sun. Desire and longing. Back in someone else?s life he knew her name is Siren. Vague memories prickle under his skin. Everything collides, and nothing crashes. He walks to the water. The animal curls up for a fitful sleep. He wades in, sinks yet continues to rise. *** Today, Siren pauses at the water?s edge to slide off the neon yellow thong as she leans down in a sweeping play of flesh and sinew. The spheres of her ass part barely enough to form a thumbnail shadow. She rises and tosses the crumple of bright string onto the sand near the faded yellow caftan. She takes a half glance over her shoulder where she knows he stands watching. There?s a shimmer of playful deadliness in her eyes. A visible streak of uncertainty, as if she isn?t quite the same inside as out. His throat tightens. Air goes in and out of his lungs in a stream too small for his body. Blood hammers through his veins like traffic from a foreign country as he watches but never sees the constellation of imperfections that plague her. Her hands make sweeping gestures over the front of her body he can?t see, brief caresses of her breasts and mound. His cock thickens with heat while her body stiffens slightly. He feels her twinge of self-consciousness. A sense of irritation comes over him there in his spot under the palms. She shouldn?t have come. She doesn?t belong. Neither in that place nor in the pulsing river of waking dreams from which he was finally breaking free. She steps in the water. Blue foam curls around her ankles. He follows the supple curve of calf and thigh to the smooth spheres of her ass. Thumb-size dimples above her cheeks. She pauses and turns her head. As she looks at him he wonders if she can discern more than his silhouette in the shadows. She smiles, looks down at the water and goes on. The cosmos freezes and points at where she?s standing. His cock prickles with heat while his muscles fill with steaming blood. He steps out of the shade, aching for the lick of the sun. He moves, stumbles and strips at the same time. A cotton shirt. Dark muslin drawstrings that fall without a whisper. He stands at the water?s edge where the shy siren bursa escort bayan (https://hatchresources.com/) wades to the middle of her strapping thighs. She suddenly turns to face him. Her breasts look improbably heavy. The blushing tips gather into knots. She looks down, looks back up and then down again. He mutters something unintelligible. She looks back up, raises her arms and falls backward. Shimmering fingers of water scuttle across her skin and she backstrokes away. He walks in after, cock rising against his will, until the water licks his balls. The sense of entitlement at the core of his being falters. She puts her feet down where the water trips around distended nipples that tease the sea. Her skin seems as deep as it is smooth. There?s quiet rebellion in her eyes. Light of a quick revelation flickers through his mind. The fear behind her eyes isn?t fear. He teeters between laughter and sobbing, but the ache seeping through the cracks in his soul takes him down to where he?s standing in the subtle lapping of a lethargic sea. Her hands drift somewhere down beneath the surface, bringing her arms in close and bunching her breasts in between. When they make eye contact, something snaps inside him ? like he could be walking through any city park on any sweet day of the year and turn to see the eyes of quietly smoldering beauty walk in and out of his life in a matter of seconds. She holds his gaze for the first time. Weeks of dancing at a distance, and the grip of her swimming eyes is pulling him down. She begins to wade back toward the sand. Glittering rivulets running over a pneumatic terrain of skin and contour. He watches her move and strains to ignore the strutting spine of gristle jutting up from the apex of his thighs. As she passes she glances briefly into his eye, then a longer glance at his cock. She brushes against him lightly as she wades on toward the sand. She sits on dry sand, while her heels dig in where it?s damp from the soft lap of quiet waves. He kneels where the water pools and ebbs around his knees. His hand rakes his sac lightly, flirting with the idea of gripping his sap-dripping shaft. She leans back on her elbows, thighs closed while the pout of her bald mound is a bold hint of the woman broiling inside. Patient. Giving him a chance to speak. It?s as if she?s expecting to hear something. She looks away down the beach where a naked couple are walking their way. ?You not remember,? she says, calmly. Her voice has a slightly nasal twang, but a kind of smokiness that makes him feel something more than naked. He watches her breasts rise and fall while her neck turns back and she faces him. He reaches for her straw cowboy hat escort bursa (https://hatchresources.com/) on top of her caftan and leans forward to place it on her head. ?Sun was in your eyes,? he says. Siren smiles. He hunkers back to his kneeling position, hands on knees and his swollen cock standing up between his thighs like a petulant narcissist. He tries to ignore it. She doesn?t, but she gives his face as much attention. ?You not remember,? she repeats, almost frowning, but not quite. The brim of her hat obscures her eyes. It?s as if there?s another sky behind her skin and that?s where his breath is coming from. ?Not remember me.? Her knees drift slightly apart. He remembers, but he?s not about to tell her how well. Silence and heat swim between them like schools of fish. One of her thighs relaxes, cocks slightly aside and opens the curtain no wider than an anxious whisper. ?What makes you think I don?t remember?? She almost pouts, but not quite. Fingers curl around his cockshaft, squeeze until a bubble of precum oozes. He thumbs the fluid around his dome. Slow seconds pass and her knees drift wider. Her nipples are the darkest, most arrogant thing about her while that intoxicating slit between her thighs is demure. Her knees drift again, sumptuous curves opening like night blooming cereus. ?Not talk to me. Stay far.? The strolling couple are close enough to skirt the edges of their privacy. He?s dark haired while his mate is petite and blonde. They sink down on wet sand. He kisses the blonde and caresses her breasts. ?I?m not so far away now.? And he takes hold of her ankle. Her other heel pushes forward, digging a groove in the sand. Her hands come to rest on her upper thighs, the spread of her fingers fanning close to the pout of her freshly waxed mound. The dark haired man grips a handful of the blonde woman?s hair and pushes her head toward his growing cock. She yelps and giggles. Then he sighs as she fills her mouth. Both heads turn to watch the playful couple. They?re drunk on each other and want everyone to know. Then he realizes he?s stroking his cock and Siren is watching intently. The pulse in his shaft jars his flesh. He begins to imagine the slow but unstoppable crawl into place between her thighs and the slick, wet plunge of his cock through her yielding sheath. ?Touch,? he says. He tightens his grip on her ankle, nods at her mound. Tentative at first, Siren?s fingers move to her slit. She takes an experimental rake along her flushing lips. Nectar oozes where she touches. A quiet rumble vibrates in his throat and his grip tightens around his cock. The dark haired man groans aloud while his lover?s blonde head bobs and turns between his open thighs. They become and inspiring afterthought. The beached Siren looks at up and pushes her finger inside herself. A whimper comes out of her throat and she closes her eyes, leaving only his hand on her ankle to tether them. Her sexlips move to the pull and suck of her finger.