Puppy's Pool Side Adventure

The valet takes the car without comment, but his eyes linger on the wet spot on your skirt, and you smile at him anyway. Three days. The lobby, the elevator, the key card all of it takes forever, and then you're in the bathroom with your bag, and I hear you humming through the door.

You come out twenty minutes later, and I stop mid-sentence.

The suit. The one piece. Vaporwave print that neon gradient, pink bleeding into purple bleeding into cyan, a grid of setting suns wrapping around your body like it was airbrushed onto you. High waisted, cut high over the hips, and the back is barely there. A thong. Your ass is completely bare, two round, full cheeks on display, tanned and smooth except for the pale strip of your tan line where your usual bottoms sit, that sharp little line across each cheek like an arrow pointing at what's between them.

The front isn't much more modest. The print stretches tight across your chest, your breasts sitting high and perky in it; your nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric.

You turn. You look back at me over your shoulder.

"Master? Is it cute?

"It's obscene." You beam. "Perfect. To the Pool!" You basically run out of the room. The pool deck is crowded. Couples on loungers. A bachelorette party at the swim up bar screaming every time someone does a shot. We claim two loungers in the back corner, half shaded by a palm, and you immediately claim your face down, ass up, cheeks out for anyone walking past. A few people look. You pretend not to notice. You notice. Then, chin on your folded arms, you turn your head to me.

"Master. Will you get me a drink? A margarita. Sugar on the rim not salt."

"Oh, I know baby." Winking at you and you give me a smile. The one that got you the tentacle in the car. I go the bar is on the far side of the pool. I wait behind two guys, order a beer and your margarita, watch the bartender rub the rim with lime and press it into sugar, white crystals catching the light.

My phone buzzes. A text from you.

(look at me)

I look up.

You've rolled onto your side, facing me, propped on one elbow, one leg stretched long, and the other bent. Your hand is on your hip. Two fingers hooked into the edge of the suit. And you pull it to the side. The fabric peels off your pussy and off your ass cheek at once, and there you are bare, open, on a crowded pool deck. Your lips slightly parted, already shining, your tan line framing everything, your round ass pushed out behind you. You hold the suit aside and look at me across forty feet of concrete, and you don't blink.

A man with a tray of drinks walks past. Glances down. Stops walking. You hold it for three more seconds to let him look, let me watch him look then release the fabric and roll back onto your stomach like nothing happened. I leave cash on the bar and cross the deck fast. I set your margarita on the little table between our chairs, drag my lounger flush against yours, and sit on the edge of it, leaning over you.

"You are going to get us thrown out."

You roll your head toward me, chin on your arms, eyes bright. "Did you like it?"

"You know I love it."

"Mm." You shift your hips, a slow, lazy grind against the towel. "Master, I'm so wet. Do you want to know how wet?"

"Tell me." It was more like me begging to hear more. I am loving this person you became confident cocksure.

You lean in close, voice dropping just above a breath. "Pulling my suit aside like that. In front of everyone. Knowing you were watching from the bar. Knowing that man saw my pussy." Your eyes flutter half closed. "I felt it the second I did it. This hot, dripping rush. I'm soaked through the suit right now. Feel."

You take my hand and guide it under the edge of your towel, between your thighs, and press my fingers against the fabric. Soaked. Not damp soaked, warm, the suit clinging to your lips, and when I press a little harder you exhale and tilt your hips into it.

"See?" you whisper. I pull my hand back before anyone can see, and you smile like the cat that got the cream, and reach for your margarita. You lick the sugar off the rim first slow, deliberate, eyes on me the whole time then take a sip.

"Perfect. Thank you, Master."

"Keep this up," I tell you, "and I'm going to bend you over this lounger."

You take another sip. Lick a crystal of sugar from your lip.

"Promises, promises." You always knew how to call my bluffs

My phone buzzes. You're right there, three inches away, but you text anyway.

(He stared for like ten seconds. I counted.)

Then, before I can type a reply:

(Finish your beer, Master. I want to show you something in the water.)

You finish your beer and set the bottle on the deck. "Watch," you say, and push off toward the ladder. I lean against the pool wall, treading water, eyes already on you.

You take the ladder one slow rung at a time. Water sheets down your back, following the curve of your spine, gathering at the swell of your ass before spilling down your thighs. The vaporwave print has gone translucent where it's soaked the neon grid and sunset hues clinging to your skin like a second coat of paint.

The suit molds to your tits as you rise out of the water. I can see the exact shape of your nipples, hard from the cool water, pressing against the wet fabric. There's a pale band across your chest where the sun hasn't touched the tan line from the bikini you wore all week before this. The contrast frames everything, the lighter skin marking exactly where your areolas sit, so even covered, everyone on the deck knows precisely what they're looking at.

You step onto the concrete. Water runs down your legs. You hook your thumbs into the suit at your hips and "adjust" but your fingers catch the fabric wrong. You pull it up and over, and for two full seconds, your tits are out. Both of them. Tan lines sharp in the sunlight, nipples stiff, water beading on the pale skin and dripping from the tips.

The man on the nearest lounger mid-forties, wife asleep beside him fumbles his sunglasses. They slip off his face and clatter onto the concrete. He doesn't pick them up. He's staring.

You fix the suit like nothing happened, tucking yourself back in with a little tug, smoothing the fabric over your chest. Then you turn, and I get the full view from behind.

The thong back is a single neon string disappearing between your cheeks. Your ass is bare and on display for the whole deck round, full cheeks, wet and shining, with crisp tan lines curving under each one where your bikini bottoms sat all week. The pale crescents catch the light. You walk the length of the pool like that, cheeks shifting with every step, and heads turn. A guy at the swim-up bar cranes his neck. One of the bachelorettes elbows to her friend and points.

You stop at the edge, look down at me, and put your hands on your hips. "Master," you call, loud enough to carry across the pool. Half the deck goes quiet. "Come dry me off." I climb out and cross the concrete to you. You hold out the towel without breaking eye contact.

You raise your arms over your head. Waiting. The position lifts your tits, stretches the suit tight across them, and the fabric pulls snug at your crotch too the outline of your full pussy lips visible through the wet print, bald underneath, nothing hidden from anyone close enough to look.

I start with your shoulders. Work the towel down your arms. Then your back, slow, and you arch slightly when I pass your lower spine. I bring the towel around your front and drag it over your tits, and you close your eyes for a second, leaning into the pressure. Your suit shifts under the towel, and the man with the dropped sunglasses leans forward like he might catch another slip.

I kneel. Dry your legs from the ankles up. Calves. The back of your knees. When I reach your thighs, you part them slightly just enough. The suit has ridden up, the thin strip pulled tight against you, and I can see the edge of your bare lips where the fabric doesn't cover. Bald, smooth, and glistening with more than pool water.

I stand and move behind you. You look back over your shoulder at me, cheeks flushed, and I run the towel over your ass both cheeks, slow circles, taking my time while the deck watches me handle you. The tan line under each cheek. The full round shape of you filling my hands through the terrycloth. You push back against my palms, just slightly.

When I finish, you take the towel back, fold it neatly, and press up on your toes to murmur against my ear.

"He's still staring," you whisper. "I think he saw everything. Twice."

You smile and settle onto your lounger, lying face down, cheeks bare to the sun and the whole resort.

The sun has dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink that almost match your suit. We're both on the loungers now, dry, two margaritas deep three for you. The pool area has thinned out but isn't empty. Maybe a dozen people remain, scattered across the deck.

You roll onto your side to face me, propping your head on your hand. Your eyes are glassy from the alcohol and something darker.

"I can't stop thinking about it," you say, voice just loud enough to carry. "That man who dropped his sunglasses. The way he stared at my tits when they popped out. Did you see his face?"

I did. I also see the older couple two loungers over mid-sixties, maybe I am terrible at telling ages, the man in a linen shirt, the woman in a modest one piece. They've been quiet since they arrived. But they're not reading. They're listening.

"Master, I got so wet." Your voice drops, but not enough. "My pussy was dripping. Still is. Right now. Just from being looked at."

The older woman shifts in her seat. Her husband's hand tightens around his book.

You stretch, catlike, arching your back so your breasts push against the printed fabric. "And guess what I overheard at the bar?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"After nine, this place goes clothing optional." Your grin is wicked. "It's 9:15."

You let that hang in the air. The older couple heard. The woman's cheeks flush pink.

"I want you to show me off," you continue, louder now, deliberate. "I want you to display me. Pull my suit down and let them see these tits. All of them. The tan lines. The pink perfect nipples. Everything." Your smile is sinful and I cant wait to grant your wish.