All characters in this story were 18 years of age or older at the time of the events described.

Please check the story tags if there are erotic genres you discover distasteful and prefer to avoid. I like to cover a lot of ground, sometimes.

This is my first published work of fiction, and I’m happy to be sharing it with the Lit community. I would love you to rate me, and opinion.

*

I dropped my panties to my ankles and sat on the toilet. I didn’t have much time; Demarcus was waiting just outside the door of the Suva airport ladies room.

I ran my middle finger along my slit, gathering drops of dew that had collected since the beautiful, incredibly tall, black man had met me when I stepped off the flight from Boston.

I leaned back and spread my knees as much as I could, using my index and ring fingers to spread my lips away from my button. Touching my moistened middle finger to it, I closed my eyes and remembered the moment I saw him there, towering above everyone in his very expensive navy suit, holding the sign with my name on it, Summer.

I brushed my clit harder, and my breath came faster as I recalled walking over to him and looking up — so far up I had to crane my neck — at his gently smiling face. “Summer?” he’d said, his voice a smooth, baritone rumble.

“Yes,” I’d said. I rubbed my nub harder, feeling my nipples harden inside my bra.

“I’m here to take you to your sister, Autumn,” he’d said, his voice like dark chocolate. I rubbed faster, my breath coming hard.

“Okay,” I had said, but I’d wondered, “Yes, sir.”

I felt the flush rising up my neck, and I bit my bottom lip. My finger thrashed at my clit as I wondered of his big, tall body, his massive hands, and I wondered again, “Yes, sir.”

I gasped and climaxed, feeling the flush rise and my pussy clench spasmodically. I breathed through the orgasm and let it carry my tensions away.

After a moment, my breathing evened. I pulled up my panties and exited the stall. I paused in front of the mirror to make sure I wasn’t mussed.

I’m 5’8″, with wavy, honey-blonde hair to the middle of my back. I took dance at school, so I’m fit, but I’ve filled out over the last two years. If I’d ever had any thoughts of dancing professionally, my teachers would have put them to rest. My C-cup+ boobs are too big, and I’ve actually got a little bit of a butt. That’s not the kind of figure they’re looking for in a ballerina.

Before I left the ladies room, I texted my report to Jody, my bff and Guild Accountability Partner.

Summer: “1. Airport restroom. Hunk who met me here.” I attached a pic of Demarcus I’d snapped when he wasn’t looking.

It was the standard format for a Guild of Jills report: jill-off count since midnight, location of jill-off, jill-off fantasy. Jody and I had been reporting this way to one another at least three times a day since we were 14.

When I exited the restroom, Demarcus was waiting, politely facing away from the door. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. Did his gaze flicker down to take in my body, just for an instant? I suddenly wished I’d worn something more interesting for the 22 hour flight to Fiji than khaki shorts, a dark blue t-shirt, and sneakers.

He led me outside, and we stepped out into the sunshine and tropical heat, just as a black stretch Escalade pulled up to the curb. He held the door for me, and steadied my elbow as I climbed in. My heart rate picked up at his touch.

Demarcus folded his long body into the seat opposite me, and the caddy pulled smoothly away from the curb. He smiled over at me. Was he looking at my legs? I rubbed my knees together before I caught myself, suddenly very glad I’d put on a fresh panty liner before leaving the restroom. Otherwise, he might very well notice a wet spot on the back of my shorts when I stood up.

“Summer,” he said, and the sound of my name in his deep, rumbly voice made my belly tremble. “We should get comfortable. We’re driving to Vuda Point Marina on the other side of the island. Would you care for a drink?”

I would, I thought, but I said, “I’m only 18.”

He smiled again. “That’s okay,” he said. “Legal drinking age in Fiji is 18.”

“Oh!” I said. “I didn’t know that. Yes, please … but I don’t know what kind.”

“Well,” he smiled again, and I noticed the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes that hinted at lots of smiles. “Here you are in a tropical paradise. Why not try a piña colada?”

I nodded and watched him scoot over to the mini bar and mix the drink, his huge hands nimble and certain. He handed it to me, and I sipped. It was delicious, rich and thick over ice, tangy with pineapple and sweet with coconut.

“Mmmm,” I said, and he gave me another of those smiles that made my knees quiver. “How long is the drive?” I asked, hoping it would take hours. As it turned out, I was in luck.

“It’s about three and a half hours to the marina,” he said.

“Really!?” I exclaimed. “The island didn’t lookthat big from the air.”

He chuckled. “It’s not,” he said. I took another sip of the cocktail, glad of the excuse to watch his face as he talked. “The trip is only about 130 miles, but the speed limit is 50 mph, and the locals don’t even go that fast, mostly. They call it ‘Fiji time’ here. Very laid back.”

“Sounds nice,” I said.

There was a silent moment. I sipped my drink again, but resolved to slow down. I’d never had alcohol, other than a few sips of wine once or twice at Guild gatherings; I didn’t need to be getting drunk within my first half hour in Fiji.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and glanced at the text.

Jody: “1. My bedroom. Your hunk.”

I grinned and put the phone away. When I looked back up, Demarcus’ eyes flicked up to my face. Had he been looking at my tits? He smiled, and I really hoped he had.

I sipped the piña colada as we watched one another, and the silence stretched. At last, he said, “Here, Autumn wanted you to have this.” He brought out a small box wrapped in tissue paper and handed it to me.

I took it and tore off the paper to find a transparent plastic container holding a corsage of unusual red and white flowers. “Oooh,” I breathed. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re called tagimoucia,” he said. “It’s the national flower of Fiji. May I?” he asked. After an instant, I realized what he wanted and gave him a nod. He plucked the corsage from the box and reached toward my left shoulder.

My breath quickened as he slid his left hand inside my shirt, and I felt the backs of his warm fingers press against the skin just above my breast. He pinned the flowers to my top, keeping his other hand between me and the pin so I wouldn’t get pricked.

“They’re very rare,” he continued, removing his hand, perhaps a little more slowly than strictly necessary. “They can only be found in the highland rainforest on Taveuni Island, in the caldera of an extinct volcano, near a gorgeous lake.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” I said.

“You’re here all week, right? Until after the wedding?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, I’ll take you sometime, then.”

“Okay,” I said, “yes, please take me,” and I felt my face flush at the unintentional innuendo. He must have noticed, but he didn’t mention it.

“They’ve tried to transplant the tagimoucia,” he went on, blandly, with just a hint of twinkle in his warm, brown eyes, “but they won’t grow anywhere else, even in Fiji. They’re highly prized among the islanders, as a symbol of true love.”

“There’s an island legend,” he continued, “about a young woman, the daughter of a tribal leader. She was heartbroken when her father refused to allow her to marry the man she loved because of an arranged marriage to seal an alliance between tribes.”

I nodded, and he said, “She wept so bitterly on the shore of the lake, the legend says, that the gods were moved, and her tears became the flowers. A doomed romance, if you like that kind of thing.”

“What,” I asked, “you don’t like romance?”

“Not the doomed kind,” he said, with a grin. “The other kind, though ….”

Oh, no, I thought. My panties were going to be a sopping mess, and I’d only brought two other pairs.

We chatted for the rest of the trip.

He told me some of what it was like to be something called a “power forward” on a professional basketball team — the constant travel; the weird hours, playing at night and sleeping during the day; the endless physical training; the frequent injuries, surgeries and physical therapy; dealing with the news media and sports critics. But also the parties, socializing with fans, the camaraderie among teammates.

I told him some of what it had been like at Rockmorton School, the all-girls boarding school where I’d lived since my mother died when I was eight. “I can dance, paint, ride a horse and speak three languages, but I’ve never so much as touched a boy,” I said, then stopped abruptly, thinking of the backs of his fingers against the skin above my left breast.

He raised his eyebrows and murmured, “Wow. Gorgeous bird, golden cage.”

I felt myself flush again, and caught myself biting my bottom lip. He’d called me beautiful.

I stared at my knees, absently stroking the corsage with my fingertips, until he went on, telling me about his childhood in a rough neighborhood, obsessively practicing his sport, working to achieve virtually the only kind of success available to him. By the time the car pulled up in the gravel parking lot of the marina, it felt like we were old friends.

Demarcus helped me out of the caddy, lifting me down as if I weighed no more than a toddler, and led me across the gravel to the dock. “I need to pass you off now,” he said, “to another of Autumn’s friends.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. We approached one of the boats — not exactly a yacht, but certainly no rowboat. A shirtless, sandy-haired man climbed down a gangplank to meet us on the dock.

“Summer, this is Rusty,” said Demarcus. “He’s another friend of your sister’s.”

Rusty and I looked one another over. He was, to be honest, a dangerous looking character. Only a couple of inches taller than me, his shoulders were very broad, his waist and hips narrow. His sturdy frame was packed with muscle, and several old, but nasty-looking scars marred the skin that was visible. He finished his inspection of me and grinned.

“Nice to meet you, Summer,” he said, extending a hand. I put my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he bowed over it and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back. I couldn’t help it; I giggled. Both men laughed.

“I’ll be running you over to the island hopper airport on Labasa,” he said, taking my meager luggage from the limo driver. To Demarcus, he said, “I’ll be back to pick you up this afternoon, buddy,” he said. “About four?”

Demarcus nodded and turned to me. “Summer,” he rumbled. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our time together today. I’ll be staying at the resort with the rest of the wedding party all week, so I hope we’ll see a lot more of each other.”

“I’d like that,” I said. Impulsively, I reached up and pulled at his shoulders, and he bent to me. Standing on tiptoe, I gave him a peck on the cheek. He grinned and kissed me on the forehead, then turned and followed the driver back to the car.

In the meantime, Rusty had carried my bags up the gangplank and deposited them on deck. He returned and took my hand, leading me carefully up the plank. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, “while I get ready to cast off.”

He bustled around, drawing up the gangplank and doing other maritime chores. I tried to stay out of his way while I watched the muscles twist and roll beneath his freckled skin. It was riveting. I bit my lip as I felt my nipples harden.

“Uh,” I called, “is there a restroom I could use?” He told me where to find it, and I opened my carry-on bag briefly to retrieve a clean pair of panties.

In the tiny restroom, I took down my shorts and enjoyed a much-needed pee. My panty liner was nothing but a wet mess of mush inside my very moist panties, but the crotch of my shorts was not too wet. I peeled the soaked paper off into a wastebasket and tossed the panties into the lavatory. I heard the boat’s engine start, and felt the motion as we pulled away from the dock.

Before putting on the fresh panties, I spread my knees and stroked myself lightly. My overstimulated pussy quivered. I leaned back and closed my eyes, biting my lip and thinking of Rusty’s muscles, his scars, his dangerous eyes. “Ohhhh,” I whispered as I flicked my bean. After only a couple of minutes, I came. “… oooh … oh, Rusty …” I moaned quietly, cupping my sex as it clenched and trembled.

When I was done, I donned the fresh panties, inserted a new panty liner, and pulled up my shorts. After washing out the panties and wringing them mostly dry, I texted Jody.

Summer: “2. Restroom on boat. Second hunk!”

When I came back out on deck, I heard Rusty call, “Up here, Doll.” A shiver passed through me when he called me that.

I climbed a ladder and found him steering the boat. He gestured to a leather swivel chair bolted to the floor. I sat, crossed my legs at the ankles, and looked out at the ocean. It was the most beautiful blue I’d ever seen, shading to green near the shore. The sunlight sparkling off the waves seemed so bright and hot, it might have been electricity.

I looked back over to Rusty and asked, “So, how do you know Autumn?”

He glanced at me, his pale, blue eyes assessing. “I’m her bodyguard,” he said.

“Bodyguard!” I exclaimed “Why does she need a bodyguard?”

He looked over at me again, frowning slightly. After a moment, he said, “You don’t know your sister that well, huh?” I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “We met once, though.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Once. Huh. Tell me more about that.”

I shrugged. “Autumn’s my half-sister. Same father. He divorced her mom, then married mine. Divorced her, too, when I was three. Mom died when I was eight. He had custody of both of us, but only kept her. She was 13. He set up a trust fund for me, sent me to Rockmorton, then forgot all about me. When she was 18, she discovered I existed and started calling. She visited me there once.” I kept my voice matter-of-fact through this recital, and as emotionless as I could manage. He watched me as I spoke, then looked back toward the horizon.

“Huh,” he said again. “Well, I’m a buddy of Richard’s. We met in Afghanistan. He’s helped me out; I’ve helped him out. A couple of years ago, Autumn started having trouble with some … stalker types. I was between assignments, and he asked me to take on the job of leading her security team.”

“… stalker types,” I said.

He frowned again. “You do know your sister is pretty popular, right?” he said. I shook my head.

“I knew she was a model, or an actress, or something like that.”

“Heh, she’s one of the world’s fastest rising supermodels, or so they say,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Is that how she met Demarcus?”

“Yeah,” he said. “They worked together for a long time on a sports endorsement contract. Photo shoots, publicity events, fund raisers. He’s a great guy — a truly great basketball player — and he’s been a good friend to Autumn.”

We were both quiet for a while. I looked out at one incredible scene after another — crystal blue water, lush jungle, luxurious beaches and flowers blooming everywhere.

“You and Demarcus are both groomsmen for the wedding?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“How many are there?”

“Three,” he said. “You’re about to meet the third one right now, Doll.”

After we docked, and a short ride by shuttle to a much smaller airport, Rusty led me toward a helipad where a helicopter was warming up. We stopped a short distance away, and the pilot came out to meet us.

He was tall, if not as tall as Demarcus, and rugged, with dark hair, dark eyes, and skin tanned dark by lots of time outdoors.

“Summer, this is Austin,” Rusty said.

“Hello, Darlin,'” Austin drawled. “Good to meet you.”

“Hello,” I said.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand.

Rusty still held my elbow. He leaned down and spoke into my ear over the noise of the helicopter. “Austin will fly you on out to the resort. I’ll see you there this evening with Demarcus. Okay?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Rusty,” I said. He smiled and kissed me on the forehead, just as Demarcus had done. I suppressed a frown. I wasn’t a child, and I was getting pretty tired of kiddie kisses.

Austin took over custody of my elbow and escorted me to the helicopter. “Bend down,” he ordered, hunching under the spinning blades, and I followed suit. He lifted me into the passenger seat and held up a finger, then walked around the front of the machine to the pilot’s seat. Climbing up, he took a headset off a hook and fitted it over my ears. The deafening racket from the engine muted.

Holding a second headset up to his ear, he pressed a button and spoke into the microphone. I heard him through my headset. “Stay here. Don’t touch anything,” he said. “Don’t try to fasten the restraints until you’ve been taught to do it correctly. Do you find out?”

I nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” my eyes widening when I realized I had said it out loud this time. He shot a glance at me, his intense dark eyes boring into mine, as if he thought I was sassing him. I stared back for a long moment, then he gave a short nod and said, “Good.”

He climbed back down and walked over to where Rusty still waited. Heads together, they spoke for a minute or two over the noise. I looked around the cockpit, curious about all the gadgets and controls, but kept my hands by my sides. Austin clapped his hand to Rusty’s shoulder and came back to the helicopter.

He put on his headset and fastened my seatbelts, cinching them tight. As he did, the back of his hand brushed my right breast. Did he feel how hard my nipple was? He must have felt it, even through my bra, but he said nothing, and soon we were airborne.

The islands from above were magnificent. I loved the way the vibrant blue ocean contrasted with the intense green of the forests, sometimes separated by tan strips of beach. I’d seen very little of this flying in on the passenger jet. Austin meandered the helicopter back and forth, taking his time, showing me the little estuaries with bridges across them, green fields, beaches and forests.

After a while, I said, “Can you hear me?”

He pressed a button and said, “Go ahead, I can hear you now.”

“Is this what you do, fly helicopters? It seems like fun!”

He laughed and said, “No, I’m just playing taxi driver for your sister’s wedding.”

“Why not just take me directly there from the airport in Suva?” I asked.

He gave me another of those sharp looks, but said. “Rusty likes to do things a certain way, for security. He has good reasons to be careful.”

“Oh,” I replied, not sure what to say. Autumn’s life was starting to seem a lot more complicated than I’d realized.

Austin glanced over at me again, and apparently decided to elaborate. “Paparazzi are a issue for a woman in Autumn’s position,” he said, “and, ah, overenthusiastic fans. We all want her wedding to be special, and free from intrusion.”

I nodded, and he turned his attention back to flying us around. Eventually, we approached a tiny, emerald jewel of an island, and he set the chopper down on a concrete helipad at the end of a dirt road. From the air, I could see there was a car waiting, with a slender, shirtless man leaning against the fender.

My pilot flipped some switches and pressed some buttons, and the machine began to wind down. He extricated me from my seatbelts, and my nipples went rigid again, anticipating, but he managed to unbuckle me without giving either of them another touch. I felt irrationally disappointed.

He held up a finger at me again, then climbed down and rounded the chopper, lifting me down easily. He led me toward the waiting man, pressing down on my head to remind me to hunch under the still-spinning blades. I suppressed annoyance again; I liked his touch, but I was really tired of being treated like a child.