Two Weeks at Desire Pt. 01

The alarm went at four. Anya was already awake, pink hoodie on, her long hair in the ponytail, both large suitcases by the door, passports and boarding passes printed out on the side table.

I had slept naked and woke excited with my nipples tight from dreams I couldn't hold. Anya kissed me once, slow, tasting of toothpaste, and said the taxi was five minutes out.

I pulled the sundress I had chosen to wear on the flight over my naked breasts. My thong was already damp because I had been thinking about the resort since the confirmation email. I let them drop to the floor and took a clean pair from the drawer. Anya watched.

We had two weeks. Clothing optional. Sea, sun and as much freedom as we could want. No one from the gym, work or the kitchen. Just us and whoever we decided to look at or not.

The taxi was dark and quiet. Her hand rested high on my thigh under the dress, thumb moving once. My pussy warmed.

At the airport the excitement sat in my chest and between my legs. Check-in and security were quiet, and it didn't take us long to find ourselves in Duty Free. I kept looking at Anya in the pink hoodie and thinking about two weeks of her with no shifts, no polo, no one else's key.

I live at hers at least half the time now. Her sheets. Her plant. The fob on my keys. This would be different. No flat. No London. Just sun and skin and the choice, every day, of what we took off and who we let see.

We both tried on a new perfume we hadn't seen before which joined us together with a new scent.

As we boarded, I thought about what the resort might do to me. It was clothing optional from the path. Naked if I wanted. Women, men, couples. The lesbian want that had grown so sharp it sometimes surprised me, and the older pull that had never quite left.

The way a confident man in his fifties could still make my stomach tight even while I only wanted Anya's mouth. I wondered if two weeks of that would make the want for her clearer or wider. If I would come home more hers, or more myself, or both. My thong was getting wet by the time we sat down in our seats. The flight was half empty. We had the whole row to ourselves. Anya took the aisle so she could watch the cabin. I watched out the window as we lifted into the air leaving our worlds behind us.

When the captain switched the seatbelt sign off, Anya pulled the thin airline blanket over both our laps. We both moved towards each other, lifting the arms of the seats out of the way.

Anya smiled at me as her hand found me straight away. Under my dress. Over the thong first, rubbing slow until the lace was soaked and sticking. Then she hooked it aside. Two fingers. Sliding. I was dripping. The engines hummed. I kept my face toward the window and tried to breathe normally. She circled my clit, pressed, slid one finger inside and curled. I bit my lip.

A stewardess walked past with the drinks trolley. Anya didn't stop. The trolley paused two rows ahead. As I froze Anya's fingers kept moving, tiny shifts. The stewardess moved on. I came the first time with my forehead against the cold window, quiet, pulsing hard on her hand, the lace ruined, thighs shaking under the blanket. She licked her fingers after, calm, like she had only been reading.

I looked into Anya's eyes as she took my wrist and guided my hand into her jeans. Unzipped just enough, she lifted her hips and wiggled clear of her jeans. She was wet and hot. Her lips were parted and I fingered her under the blanket, two fingers, my thumb on her clit the way she likes.

She came with her head on my shoulder, that soft fuck, fuck, fuck muffled against my neck, hips rolling once. We stayed like that with the blanket still over us. I licked my fingers, smelling of each other. Not the mile-high club but close enough that my heart was still racing. The afterglow stayed warm between my legs even as we landed.

Anya wiggled her jeans back over her bum and fastened her buttons, leaned over, touched my arm and asked if I was ok. I was more than ok. I nodded, smiling and feeling warm and happy inside.

I needed the bathroom. A little queue of three passengers. The woman in front of me turned. Mid-thirties. Blonde. Linen dress, no bra, deep cleavage and her nipples faintly visible. She looked at my mouth, then lower, then back at my eyes. She had been in the row across the aisle.

'Hi, I hope you don't mind, I saw,' she said. Low and friendly. Close enough that I could smell her perfume. 'Under the blanket. Both of you. Very quiet. Very hot.'

Her hand brushed my hip as the queue shifted. Her fingers lingered light on my sundress over my waist. 'I'm going in next. If you want to join me. Door locks. We can be quick. Or not.'

Her thumb stroked once, so subtle. My tingling pussy clenched. Nipples tight. The touch was warm and sure and not at all accidental.

I felt my face go red and hot. I thought about Anya's fingers still drying on my thigh. About the two weeks. About how easy the yes would be at thirty thousand feet with a stranger who had already watched me cum.

'Thank you,' I said. Quieter than I meant. 'I'm with someone. But that was... kind. Really.'

She smiled. No offence taken. Her hand slowly moved away. 'My offer stands if you change your mind. We still have several hours left.'

She went in. I waited. Used the bathroom alone. Washed my hands and looked at my flushed face and the way my nipples showed through the sundress and wished, for a second, that I had said yes.

I walked back to the seat. Anya looked at my face and knew something had shifted.

'What happened?' she said.

'The blonde woman in the queue, across the aisle. She saw us. She asked me to join her in the bathroom. Touched my hip. Was really flirty. I said no.'

Anya's mouth curved. 'You should have gone and had the fun. We have two weeks of only us after this.'

I stared at her. My pussy tingling. 'I wish I had now,' I said, smiling. 'We still have a few hours left.'

'Then next time,' she said. She took my hand on top of the blanket. 'Or this time, if she walks past again. It's your choice, Esme. Always.'

Anya went to the bathroom, and I stayed in the window seat, blanket still over my lap, body still warm and tingling. A minute later the pretty woman from the queue, mid-thirties, blonde, linen dress, sat down in Anya's empty seat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

'Sophie,' she said. Softly smiling. 'I didn't introduce myself properly.'

'Esme,' I replied.

She turned toward me, moving a little closer. 'Where are you two going?'

'Desire Resort in Cancun for two weeks. It's our first holiday together.'

'Oh, that's lovely, Esme. You will have an amazing time there.'

'Have you been there?'

'No, but I have seen it online and follow them on Insta.'

Sophie's knee brushed against mine under the blanket. 'I've been thinking about what I saw. And about the bathroom. My offer's still there if you want it. Right here. Even her seat's still warm. We could be quiet, or not. Your call.'

I looked at her mouth, then at the shape of her breasts in the linen dress, her nipples pushing and dark against the light fabric. At the empty space where Anya should be. The thoughts came fast. What if I said yes and Anya came back? Would she join? Would she just watch? Would we get caught? Did I want this woman's hands on or in me while Anya's scent was still on my fingers?

I wanted it. I felt that. But I wasn't sure I wanted it more than I wanted Anya to be the one who decided. My nipples were tight. I opened my mouth and still had not chosen when Anya appeared at the end of the row.

Sophie stood up, apologising. 'Sorry. I was just saying hello to Esme.' She smiled at Anya. 'I'm Sophie.'

Anya looked at me, then at her. Calm. 'Sophie, nice to meet you. Where are you heading when we land?'

'Oh, I'm heading to a nice, relaxing resort for a month of work and pleasure. I'd like to hang out with the two of you if the world were smaller.' She stepped back into the aisle. 'Have a good trip and have fun at Desire.'

She returned to her seat and glanced over, a small knowing smile on her lips. Anya sat and her hand found mine over the blanket. She didn't ask. She didn't need to. Then the pilot's voice came over the speakers.

'Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing. Please return to your seats.'

The heat met us the moment the cabin door opened, thick and bright and nothing like London. The afterglow from the blanket was still low and warm between my legs.

The transfer bus smelled of air-conditioning, coconut moisturiser and sunscreen.

As we approached the resort gates the sign was small and clear: 'Adults only, clothing optional beyond this point.'

As we walked the well-kept shaded path to reception, I saw some of the other guests properly for the first time. A woman about our age lying topless on a lounger, flat, small delicious looking sunscreen-covered breasts, tiny soft nipples, sunglasses on, one hand resting low on her stomach above a tiny string thong resting between her pussy lips.

Further along a couple stood in the shallow end, both naked, his cock soft against his thigh, her pussy neatly trimmed, talking as if they were fully dressed. An older man, sixties at least, swam slow steady lengths with nothing on at all. My nipples tightened hard under the sundress. Anya's fingers laced through mine and stayed there, looking across and smiling excitedly.

Reception was cool and quiet and the receptionist young and beautiful. She handed Anya our key cards and a welcome folder, directing us to where we would find our room. I swear she winked at me as I turned away, making my nipples tighten further.

Our room was on the first floor of a low block that faced the ocean, far enough from the main pool that the terrace felt private and close enough that we could hear laughter if we left the doors open.

The large bed had crisp white sheets turned down. The bathroom contained a huge sunken bath and a shower big enough for more with a rain head and a bench.

On the table was a tray: cold champagne, two glasses, a black box that turned out to hold silk ties, a blindfold, a small pink bullet vibrator and a note that simply said, "for whatever you decide." Next to the bed was a bottle of sensual oil. A mixture of condoms in a discreet dish even though we wouldn't need them. The resort had already assumed we might want to play.

I stepped onto the terrace. Right below us the path curved toward the beach and the pool area. I could easily see the main pool from here, more naked and half-naked bodies, the bar with its white umbrellas, and the long line of the beach.

A gorgeous curvy redhead walked nude toward the water, unhurried. Two women in only bikini bottoms held hands as they passed beneath us; one glanced up, waved and smiled. Anya came out and stood behind me, her hands on my hips.

'Tiny bikinis, Esme. Shall we show them what we've got?' she said, smiling against my ear. 'Pool for a while to sunbathe and then we see.'

We changed together in our gorgeous room. I chose and put on the new white string. The triangles were small enough that my breasts spilled out at the sides, nipples already dark and visible through the thin wet-look fabric. The thong bottom sat low and disappeared between my cheeks the moment I moved.

Anya's black bikini was even smaller. Her firm breasts sat high and perky, nipples also tight and clearly outlined, the material barely covering them. We walked down together hand in hand. The area was lovely and the water was warm. We found two single daybeds in full sun, close enough to the edge that we could slide in when we wanted.

I felt the eyes almost at once. A woman in her forties with full, heavy breasts watched Anya retie her top. A man in his early fifties, fit, silver at the temples, let his gaze rest on my chest for a second longer than polite before looking away when I met his eyes.

My pussy warmed, slow and steady. Not from any single person. From the simple fact of being looked at in the open, in the sun, with Anya beside me.

We lay for a while enjoying the warm sun on our skin. The smell of sunscreen and the sound of people enjoying the water. Anya reached over and tugged the string at my hip.

'Off,' she said. Easy and confident. She sat up and untied her own top first. Her breasts became free, pale against the tan line that had not yet formed, the shape of them round and high, nipples a darker pink and already tight in the direct sun.

She stood, pushing her bottoms down her shapely, athletic legs, and stepped out. Completely naked. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Anya completely naked with hundreds of eyes on her. Her pussy was neat and smooth, the lips soft, a slight shine already at the centre from the heat and from being watched. She looked at me, smiling, and waited.

I untied the white triangles and let them fall. My larger breasts felt heavier in the open air, my nipples dark and stiff, the areolae wide and flushed in the Cancun light. I pushed the thong down my thighs and off. Smooth and wet enough that the air felt cool for a second. The sun hit my bare skin properly for the first time and I shivered, then warmed. I stood beside her. Both of us naked by the pool. The eyes around the pool settled on us both and stayed. I felt it on my skin like another layer of sun. Anya's hand brushed my lower back, light and sure, and the touch went straight between my legs.

The want for her was sharp and clear. Her body next to mine, the people who kept glancing, the freedom of it. And underneath, still there, the older recognition that a fit man in his fifties with silver at his temples could still make my stomach tighten even while I only wanted Anya's hands and mouth.

We slowly rubbed sunscreen on our skin which hadn't seen sunlight and lay back on the loungers, naked, not touching yet. Anya spoke low, almost lazy.

'Hey, Esme, there are theme nights,' she said. 'Starting tonight, at the pool bar. A get-to-know-each-other night. Black and white. Lingerie if you want it, or nothing. They put out daybeds, free drinks and low lights. People get to know each other and dance. Some play right there if the mood takes them. Couples, singles, people who only watch. No one must do anything. Tomorrow is leather and lace. Later in the week there is a swap night for anyone who wants to trade for an hour. We can go tonight. We can stay on this lounger until the sun goes. We can meet some people, watch and leave whenever.'

She turned her head. 'What are you thinking, Esme?'

I was thinking about the shape of her breasts in the sun and the way her nipples had tightened. About Sophie on the plane and the hand on my hip. About the older man who had glanced at my chest and the fact that part of me had liked it. About how much stronger the want for women had grown and how it had not cancelled the way mature men still caught my eye and made me wet. About two weeks of this warmth, light, freedom and this choice.

'I'm thinking I want your mouth,' I said. 'Here or in the room. And then dinner. And I want to see what the pool bar looks like for tonight's event when it gets dark and people start deciding.'

She smiled, slow, the one I knew. 'We can do both. No rush. We have the whole afternoon.'

We stayed by the pool until the sun started to drop, enjoying the attention and sights of the other guests. I have never seen so many beautiful ages, shapes and sizes around the pool. Then we walked back to the room, still naked, our towels over our shoulders, the path warm under our feet.

Inside, the air-conditioning felt cool on our sun-warmed skin. Anya opened the terrace doors most of the way. We took a long shower together, slow, soaping each other, her hands on my breasts, mine on her bum, kissing under the rain head until we were both wet in more than one way. We didn't cum. Not yet. She said she wanted us both hungrier for later.

After drying each other off, Anya laid the black-and-white options on the bed. I chose the pale blue set that would look almost white under the lights, sheer enough that my nipples would show. Anya picked a black silk chemise that ended high on her thighs and nothing underneath. We stood in front of the mirror. She looked at me in the glass.

'So beautiful, Esme. We have come a long way since the cable machine and the changing room at the gym.' We kissed passionately. As she pulled slowly away she started.

'Right, Esme. Some ground rules,' she said. 'Before we go down. If either of us wants to stop, or leave, or just needs the other one, the word is "enough." Say it and we go. No questions in the moment. No one else gets a vote. If you see me say it, same thing. We can play. We can watch. We can let someone touch if we both want it. But enough means enough.'

I nodded. My nipples were already tight under the pale blue. 'Enough,' I repeated. 'Got it.'

She kissed the top of my breasts. 'So good, Esme. If you want something and I'm not sure, you look at me. You will know.'

We went down to dinner first, walking hand in hand, saying hi to other guests we passed, clean and dressed for the night or not. The restaurant was open to the warm night air, candles, white tablecloths, the sea somewhere beyond the lights. I felt the sheer fabric of my bra against my breasts every time I moved.

As we made our way to our table I thought I saw her. Blonde, mid-thirties, linen swapped for a tiny black dress. Sophie. My stomach jumped. Then the woman turned and it wasn't her, just someone with the same hair. Part of me was disappointed it wasn't her. I let the breath out. Anya noticed.

'What's up, Esme?' she said.

'I thought I saw the woman from the plane. Sophie. It wasn't.'

Anya's mouth curved. 'Shame. Or not. Come on, let's eat.'

The food was gorgeous. Seared scallops with chilli and lime to start, bright and hot. Then a whole grilled fish for the table, skin crisp, flesh soft, served with mango salsa and rice that tasted of coconut. The chilled white wine cut through the spice. I ate slowly and enjoyed every mouthful.

Anya's foot rested against mine under the table. Every so often her toes slid higher. My pussy stayed warm and ready. Around us other guests were already in theme clothes or less: a woman in only a white thong and heels, a man in tight black shorts and nothing else, a couple in matching skin-hugging lace. The air felt charged. Soft sensual music. Low laughter. The knowledge that after dessert the pool bar would change.

Anya poured more wine. 'Still good,' she said.

'Still good,' I answered. Quieter than I meant. 'I want you and I want to see what happens when we get to the pool bar.'

She smiled. 'No rush, Esme. Finish your wine. We can have more. We have all night.'

The pool bar had transformed by the time we walked from the restaurant with several other guests. The afternoon brightness was gone. In its place were low amber lights strung between the palms, daybeds pulled into a loose circle around the water, and music that stayed under the voices instead of over them.

There were more people than had been by the pool earlier. The black-and-white theme was everywhere and nowhere rigid: black lace against pale skin, white silk that had already slipped off one shoulder, a few bodies in nothing but jewellery or a single cuff or masquerade mask.

The air smelled of night flowers, sunscreen, champagne and warm skin. I felt the pale blue lace shift against me with every step, sheer fabric catching, nipples already tight. Anya's hand rested at the small of my back, thumb moving once, steady. My hand on Anya's left bum cheek, feeling it tight and round on my fingers as it gently swayed as she walked.

I was sure I saw her again. Blonde, mid-thirties, a sheer white beach wrap open down the front, topless underneath, nipples dark in the low light. Sophie. She turned toward the bar and the angle was wrong. Maybe it was her. Maybe not. My stomach still jumped. Anya felt it.

'Still looking,' she said.

'Maybe. Or not.'

Young couples stood close together near the edge of the light. Two of them had the shiny, slightly stunned look of people who had only just got married and were still testing whether the resort was real. One couple looked a few years younger than me. The girl was blonde, hair loose down her back, small high breasts with pale nipples that had tightened in the night air, a tidy waist and the kind of firm, high bum that reminded me so sharply of Tia I had to look twice.

She wore only a white thong, the string disappearing, and kept glancing at her boyfriend as if checking he had not vanished. He was shirtless, white trousers low on his hips, one hand spread on her waist, looking equally nervous and hard. When they caught us watching they both smiled, quick and shy. I smiled back. My pussy warmed at the resemblance, at how new they seemed, and at the way her nipples had peaked under the attention.

Further along the bar the man in his fifties stood with one elbow on the counter, wearing nothing but tight white sheer boxers. The fabric was thin enough to be almost pointless. Something thick and heavy lay against his left thigh, the full length and the broader head clearly outlined, the mesh clinging where he was already half-hard.

He was fit for his age: a solid chest, silver at the temples, stomach still flat. He was talking to another man, laughing quietly, not performing for anyone. I looked a lot longer than I meant to. Thinking about the weight of it in a hand. About how it would feel pushing inside me. About the fact that even here, with Anya's hand on my back and women all around us, I still noticed and my body still answered. Anya's thumb stroked once up my spine. She had seen exactly where my eyes had gone.

A few others smiled at Anya as we passed. A woman in her forties in a black bodysuit unzipped to the waist. A younger guy in white trousers and no shirt who let his eyes travel and then nodded, politely. We reached the bar and Anya ordered two glasses of champagne. Cold and bubbly, just how I like it. We had barely taken a sip when the hostess appeared. She was in her early thirties, dark hair, a simple white thin slip, barefoot, the kind of calm that meant she ran the nights.

'First timers,' she said. Not a question. 'I'm Mara. Welcome. Tonight is easy. Black and white. Lingerie or skin. Daybeds are for whoever wants them. No one starts anything without a clear yes. If you want introductions I can make them. If you want to be left alone, I will make sure you are. Over the next two weeks we have leather and lace, a full moon pool party, a swap night for couples who ask, and a quieter but very sexy women-only evening on a Wednesday. Everything is optional. The only rule is the one you already have between you.'

She looked at both of us. 'Anything you need, find me. Or don't. The night will still be here. You two are going to be very popular through your stay.' Mara kissed Anya on both cheeks, so close to her lips.

Anya paused, thanking her. Mara moved on, glancing behind as her cute round bum swished to a couple standing at the bar. I took a large sip from the glass. The champagne was chilled and going down very nicely. The sheer fabric was warm. Sophie-or-not was still by the bar. The Tia-shaped girl was laughing at something her boyfriend said. The man in the white boxers had turned so the outline was clearer. Anya's hand stayed on my back.

'Still good,' she said.

'Still good,' I answered. My voice was low. 'This is going to be fun. I want to stay a while. I want to see what people do. And I want you close, Anya.'

She kissed the side of my neck, sending tingles from my nipples to my clit. 'Then we stay.'

We stayed near the edge of the circle with our free-flowing champagne, close enough to see and far enough that no one expected us to join. The daybeds filled slowly. At first it was mostly kissing, mouths open, tongues exploring, hands sliding under black lace or white silk, the low sound of people getting to know each other.

Then the young couple moved to the nearest bed. The blonde who looked so much like Tia smiled at me, blew a kiss and lay back against the cushions, her gorgeous hair spread, those small high breasts bare, pale nipples already tight. Her boyfriend knelt between her legs, hooked her white thong aside with two fingers, and put his mouth on her delicious pussy.

She glanced up at Anya and me, nervous, then her hips lifted and she stopped looking at anyone but him. He licked her slowly, flat tongue then pointed, two fingers sliding in and curling. Her stomach tightened. After several minutes of kissing, licking and sucking, she came with one hand over her own mouth, the other gripping his hair, small breasts shaking, a soft broken sound escaping anyway.

He pushed his white trousers down. His cock was smooth, slim, hard and shining at the tip. He rubbed it through her wet lips slowly several times, then pushed in. They fucked in long careful strokes, her legs around his waist, his hands braced either side of her head, both flushed and focused while the circle watched without crowding. I felt my pussy clench hard watching this sensual and sexual moment. Wet seeped into the pale blue thong. Anya's hand had moved to my upper thigh and stayed there, warm.

A few beds from the young couple the man in the white sheer boxers had been joined by a couple in their forties. The woman, curvy, beautiful, dark-haired, fuller breasts, was on her knees on the mattress. She had pushed the mesh down and was sucking him properly, her muted pink lips stretched around the thick shaft, one hand working what she couldn't take, the heavier head visible when she pulled back to breathe.

Her husband stood behind her, his trousers and boxers open, his cock buried in her, fucking her in slow deep rolls of his hips. The man in his fifties had one hand loose in her hair and the other resting on his own thigh, watching her take him, fully hard now, heavy and flushed, the sheer fabric bunched under his balls. She moaned around him when her husband reached under and rubbed her clit. The wet sounds carried. The weight of the older man's cock, the way she was filled at both ends, the open unhurried pleasure of all three of them. I couldn't look away. My nipples ached against the sheer cups. My clit throbbed. Anya's breathing had changed beside me, slower and deeper, her fingers teasing my sticky thong and what was beneath it.

'I want to stay and watch,' Anya said, low. 'I want to see how far they go. I want your hand in my lap while we do. And later I want you on the bed in our room with the doors open so we can still hear them. That is what I want tonight. Not to join. Just this. Then us.'

We both looked at the exact time the man in his fifties tensed and unleashed a stream of warm cum in the woman's mouth and on her heaving breasts. As she swallowed, her husband filled her from behind, her breasts dripping with cum, jiggling hard with the appreciative audience. The man pulled his heavy softening cock from the woman's mouth, kissing her deeply. His cum dripping onto the daybed mattress but no one cared.

We were propositioned several times during the night. A rich-looking woman in black lace asked if we wanted company on a daybed. We kissed her, both of us, soft and curious, then Anya smiled and said not yet.

A fit man in his thirties offered his mouth wherever we wanted it. I kissed him once, tasted champagne, felt his cock on my mound and felt Anya's hand tighten on mine. Before anyone else could ask, Anya turned to me, the slow smile still there, and said, clear enough for the nearest beds to hear, 'Enough.'

We walked back together hand in hand along the path. The sounds from the circle following us. As soon as we got in our room, she pushed me onto the crisp white sheets and didn't rush.

Her mouth on my pussy for a long time, tongue precise, fingers curling, until I came twice, shaking, saying her name. Then the strap-on. She fucked me slow and deep, pale blue set on the floor, my legs over her shoulders, until I came again with the sea air on my skin and the distant music and sounds of fucking in my ears. I could still hear the party while she was inside me, low and constant, and it made every thrust sharper.

I went down on her after, licking and sucking her clit until she came with her hands in my hair, then she rode my fingers while I sucked her nipples. We kept going. Our positions shifting. Her mouth, my mouth, the strap-on again, slower. I lost count of the times I came. She came three more times. We ended with her inside me, forehead to forehead, moving just enough, both of us slick and open, the doors still ajar so the night could reach us. When we finally stopped, we stayed joined, breathing, the party still happening somewhere below, and neither of us said enough again.

Anya slipped the strap-on off, pulled the sheets open and we settled together, tired, satisfied and weary from a day of travel and the start of a two-week adventure together.