Olympus

Continuing Nymph Cove of the The Mermaid Olympics series

Ron started by teaching us a little more about the island and his piece of it. There was only one real town, and it had one tourist resort that seemed prosperous and another one that didn't. There was a small airport and a decent assortment of stores. It was the kind of place that had appealed to hippies for years, and there were some artsy shops and a few better-known resident artists who mostly kept to themselves. There was also a good hardware and building supplies store, heavy on marine products for the local fishermen and town docks. None of it was very accessible from Olympus. Ron had a 4-wheel drive utility vehicle, which could get to town in a half hour in almost any weather, but roads were bad, and a regular car might be in trouble if it rained very much. Getting to town by water took about the same time if you had a boat.

We soon had the kitchen and dining room functional, and Ron started accepting paying guests under the new name of "Olympus." Though income just barely covered the cost of employees to care for the guests, when the employees weren't cooking or cleaning, they too helped with renovations, and it was a start. Looking back, it's amazing how much work we got done in those last three weeks of summer. We all pitched in anywhere needed, but each of us developed a specialty. Ron had overall control, of course, and did most of the carpentry, while Allen did a lot of the electrical and plumbing. Karen and I did the lighter work, with Karen managing the books and employees. I was sort of artistic director, working on landscaping, promotional materials, and the cafe. I also did a lot of the trips to town when the boys needed something, or Karen and I might go together in her boat, which could carry more cargo.

The main lodge had 20 guest rooms in the same building as a kitchen and dining room. There was a dock and sandy beach there, a couple neglected tennis courts, and a large outdoor common area. Nymph Cove had a separate little enclave with the bungalow we were staying in and four others spread around the cove, none of the others yet habitable when we started work. You could get to and from the cove either by a shorter path inland or a longer path along the water around the point.

There was so much to do, both the building and the getting to know people and places, that the time passed in a blur. One of my favorite jobs was getting local artwork and photographs for decorating and publicity. On one trip to town, I stopped in at a little photographer's shop. It seemed his main business was weddings and the like, but he also had some nice pictures on display of local scenery and buildings. They were good technically and artistic too. We chatted for a while, and when I was about to leave, he pulled out one more album and put it in front of me. It was his portfolio of nudes. There was only one model, and she was stunningly beautiful. I liked them a lot. I was considering ones we might use for room decorations, then I figured out he was more interested in asking me to model for him. We made a deal. He would come over to Olympus and take some publicity shots, and I'd model for some nudes to see how that went. We agreed to look at the pictures together afterwards and either come to some agreement on who owned the copyright on each image or destroy them, so we were both only risking our time. His name was Christoph. I said, "Let's do it now." There was a pretty little garden out behind the shop. It wasn't completely private, but no one else was in view. "Maybe in your garden?" I asked.

Chris turned out to be rather shy, maybe bashful, but he understood the value of a bird in the hand. "I'll get my camera," he said. He did that, we went into the garden, and it became clear that he wasn't very comfortable directing me. All the photos in his album that I saw were semi-nude, mostly not beyond topless, and never a trace of pussy or pubic hair showing. He probably was unsure how much I was willing to take off, so I started things by unbuttoning my shirt and spreading the sides some, with no bra underneath. That stirred him to action, and quickly he was absorbed in getting angles and backgrounds. For example, he got a cute low-angle side shot of me smiling in front of a tree loaded with large ripe oranges, inviting comparison between our respective fruits.

That gave me an idea. I pulled my shirt the rest of the way off, plucked an orange, ripped it in half, and sucked the sweet sticky juice, letting the excess run down my chin and over my breasts as the camera clicked. I laid down on my back on the sloping ground, piled a pyramid of oranges on my belly, and began to suck their juice one by one, hoping that the mental images I was forming of hot male organs of an unusual color and shape would show in my nipples and how I was attacking the oranges. I licked them. I sucked them. I ripped them apart with my teeth and rolled them against my breasts and thighs. I was wearing a pair of tight white shorts, and soon they were wet with juice too. I unsnapped them and spread the top, showing the top of the bikini-style panties I was wearing.

That was already past the erotic limits of his previous photos, at least the ones he showed me, but I wasn't ready to quit. I was on my back with bits of orange piled all over my belly and him standing over me with the camera clicking away. "Would you pull my shorts off for me?" I asked.

He froze. Then, wordlessly and wide-eyed, he put down his camera and carefully and slowly worked my shorts off my butt and down my legs, being careful not to touch my bare skin more than necessary or disturb my panties. The panties were cut low, thin, and mostly transparent by then with the various fluids that wetted them. He lunged for his camera and returned enthusiastically to his task. I continued my demolition of the oranges.

There was a large watering can nearby. When the clicking of his camera finally slowed, I asked, "Would you get me a can of water for cleanup, cool but not too cold? He did that, and when he returned I had him shower me with water from it to rinse off the sticky juice, making my panties completely transparent in the process. I took them off too. He ogled for a second, then rushed off, returning quickly with a towel. I dried myself, then spread the towel on a pleasant grassy area, lay down on my back, spread my legs a little, and said, "OK."

That really froze him in place. Then his hands went to his belt, and he stepped forward, not quite believing the way things seemed to be developing. "No, no, no," I laughed. "Photos."

He jerked back, stammering apologies over and over, and I made light of it, saying, "If I want to seduce you, I will say 'Simon Says OK,' OK? Otherwise you're just my photographer." Then I added, "But I'm pleased you were willing."

He went for his camera and took a few pretty explicit pics, but he was mortified for going after the bait I had intentionally spread in front of him and appearing unprofessional. It was time to end the shoot. I asked if I had completed my modeling assignment to his satisfaction, and he agreed I had gone beyond his expectations and he couldn't thank me enough, etc. etc. I told him I wasn't quite done yet, but no more photos allowed, and I could find my own way out of the garden. Also, I didn't mind if he wanted to watch. Then I closed my eyes and fingered myself to a seething orgasm. I was in my own little world and kept my eyes closed, but an occasional sound suggested that Chris was close by and similarly engaged. Then I had a little nap, and when I opened my eyes again, I was alone with my shirt neatly folded beside me and my shorts and undies rinsed and damp-dry. There was also a nice little basket of oranges for me. I dressed and headed back to Olympus with the oranges.

By the time Chris came to Olympus for the publicity shoot, he was relaxed again and my buddy. I introduced him around the gang, and he took a pile of pictures. Allen, Karen, and I modeled as guests in some, sometimes in swimsuits, sometimes topless. When that was all done, Karen and I enlisted Christoph in a little secret project - we wanted to put together a small photo album for Ron as a thank you and memento for his hospitality. We went out to the reef, and though Chris had not brought an underwater camera, we tried to recreate the spearfishing magic. The little album Chris made would have wowed the judges at any photo competition.

The first picture was taken on the boat showing Karen and me standing in bikinis and holding spearguns. We're copying the stance that soldiers are trained to take with their guns diagonally in front of their bodies pointing at the ground, hand on the trigger guard. Yes, we're glamorous chicks wearing bikinis, but we look hot, sweaty, and bored, like soldiers standing guard duty.

Turn the page, and the next picture has us framed in exactly the same way, standing exactly the same, only the bikinis are gone. The spear guns don't hide anything significant. We no longer look bored but pretty damn hot in the sexy way.

The next three pages are an action series with short exposure times of the two of us diving into the water from the boat. The first is from behind, with us standing on the tail of the boat just at the point of launching ourselves into the air. The second has us in midair, bent at the waist, and headed down into the blue water. The third has us entering the water slightly out of synch with each other. My belly button is just about to go under, and all you see of Karen is two shapely legs, perfectly parallel with each other and toes extended, sliding into the water with barely a splash.

The final photo is the clincher. It's exactly the same framing and pose as the first two photos, but this time we are dripping wet with laughing smiles on our faces. There are bright droplets of water on our skin and a healthy glow. The nipples on our breasts erect from the cool water, and every detail is in sharp, clear focus. Our pubic hair, which is a raised triangle of soft fur almost hiding the lips of our pussies in the dry photo, is slicked down by the water, letting the pale lips between our legs stand out clearly as pure and simple focal points of our bodies. It's incredibly erotic, and we knew Ron would like it.

The summer was coming to an end, and the three of us, Karen, Allen, and I, didn't want it to end, but we had made commitments and felt we should abide by them. We'd get back to Olympus any chance we could get, and in the meantime Ron would have to carry on without us. Karen was starting college, and while both of us wanted to continue competitive swimming, her experience of the summer had her thinking more about learning business and hotel management. Neither Karen nor I was quite good enough to feel confident of making the Real Olympics team, but we were serious about our Mermaid Olympics idea. My job at Water World might turn out to be a dead end, but I could always drop it and return to Olympus if it didn't work out. It was close enough to Karen's college that we could still see a lot of each other. As for Allen, he had never been very open with us about his life before he met us or his long-term plans. We gradually pieced together that he periodically went off on jobs that paid well but that he could not talk about. One of those would be starting the week after Karen started college, and he wasn't sure how long it would last. Even Ron seemed not to have a clue what his nephew actually did on those assignments, or if Ron knew, he was just as tight-lipped about it.

We started to plan an end-of-summer farewell party, and I asked to be responsible for the dessert. I had an idea. One of the guests at Olympus was a woman who was the pastry chef at a restaurant in the same town where Karen and I would be living in the fall. Clarissa was as disdainful of bathing suits as I am, and we bonded over the joys of skinny dipping. She told me about some of her dessert specialties, and we brainstormed together. She agreed to help with the party, and we invited her as our guest, and Christoph too.

For the party, I wore the same sexy little black dress I had worn at our spearfishing dinner party at Nymph Cove. When it was time for dessert, I excused myself and headed for the kitchen. There was a large dessert cart waiting and empty with only a large sheet of white parchment paper covering its surface. There was also a pillow and a box of bright scarlet hibiscus flowers. The first thing I did was remove my dress. It was the kind of form-fitting garment that any underclothes at all would have made bumps, and I wasn't wearing any. Clarissa sponged my front with a cloth dipped in cool water. It was important to have my skin temperature right.

I lay down on the paper with my head on the pillow and centered myself naked with my arms at my sides. Clarissa first brought out a trapezoid of some white cardboard-like material that she said was edible but tasteless. She placed it over my crotch area, where the front of a short tight dress or skirt would be pulled tight and flat. Then she brought out a paper-thin sheet of dark chocolate, cut to the shape of my dress and carefully tempered to a leather-like consistency where it would still lift off the paper underneath it but not brittle enough to break. She carefully unrolled the chocolate dress over me and it began to soften with my body heat and conform to my skin, except for where it was supported by the trapezoid. She had a heat lamp and a bag of crushed ice to fine-tune the molding, but mostly my body heat did the work. The result was that my dress had been replaced by an edible copy of chocolate almost as black as the dress, and fitting my body as tightly. Then she brought out a big basket of freshly baked choux pastry shells, still warm from the oven, and arranged them around my edges along with bowls of a light creamy custard. She decorated my hair with hibiscus flowers and also between my toes, and we were ready.

Our guests had arranged themselves in chairs in a U, leaving a space for the expected dessert cart, and there were two vacant chairs, one for Clarissa and one they had expected me to take on returning from the kitchen. My participation as part of the dessert itself had been a little secret between Clarissa and me.

Clarissa wheeled me on my cart into the vacant space and then did a little demo. She started by unbuttoning her shirt, just because she felt like it, I guess. Then she bent over and gave me a rather sexy kiss on the lips. She put a pastry shell on a plate and half-filled it with cream. Then, using a long-handled spoon, she scraped the soft chocolate of one strap of my dress and what was covering the top of my left breast onto the pastry. She bit into it and sighed.

Then, with laughing and witty comments, the consumption of my dress began in earnest. They fed me pieces too, and it was delicious. Liberty was the word, and they felt free to clean up a bit of missed chocolate on my skin with a tongue or kiss each area of my body as it was exposed. Karen's shirt came off, and she dragged her breasts against mine, getting some chocolate on them, which of course had to be cleaned off by the guys with pieces of pastry shell.

By the time they got to the point where only the trapezoid remained to be consumed, Karen was naked, Clarissa in sexy bra and panties, and the guys were shirtless. Of course I had told Karen about the photo shoot in Christoph's garden. She stood up, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said, "Simon says, 'Come with me, Chris.'" I watched her voluptuous backside recede from the room, closely followed by Christoph walking the slightly stiff way guys do when their cock is pressing hard against the front of their pants.

I had been holding myself almost motionless under intense erotic stimulation for some time, and finally I broke under the tension. With an involuntary spasm, I tensed my pelvis, breaking the trapezoid free, and lay quivering under it, on the edge of an orgasm. Clarissa lifted the trapezoid off me, and my legs spread wide without my even being conscious of doing it, and my knees came up. She took a dollop of cream, dropped it precisely between the gaping lips of my pussy, and I exploded. Waves of pleasure rolled through my body, and when they started to subside, Ron's face dove in between my legs, lapping up the cream and carrying me into another and another wave of ecstasy. When I regained my composure, Allen and Clarissa were walking out of the room hand-in-hand, and Ron had wrapped his arms around me and buried his face between my breasts. I wrapped my legs tight around his torso, pressing myself up against him as the aftershocks continued to shake my body.

That was bliss, but I needed more. Eventually I reopened my legs, and Ron slid back off me to stand at the foot of the cart with me watching him and still trying to catch my breath. Slowly and deliberately he undid his belt and let his pants fall, revealing the magnificent cock I had only seen and brushed against during our spearfishing afternoon. It had been strictly Karen's turf until then. He stood there silently teasing me while my pussy twitched in anticipation. His cock was twitching too, and all else melted out of my consciousness as I watched it slowly and inexorably advance between my legs and plunge deep again and again to skewer me like a fish flopping around on the end of his throbbing spear. It was a fitting end for the momentous summer that I had started as a virgin.