The unctuous sales pitch droned on and on; the view’s fantastic, the location amazing, nothing like it on our books, yadda yadda yadda.Seething, a sarcastic ‘shaddap your face’ nearly escaped, for cloying words don’t suck me in. Those pristine silica sands, that shimmering turquoise sea; they won’t seal the deal. After all who turns their back on the shabby reality of this fixer-upper of an apartment?“Annie and I need to talk,” Mitch said. Uriah Heep’s doppelgänger took the hint and went next-door for a coffee.“I said this would be crap, Mitch.”“Worth a look, babe. Bigger than that apartment near your parents.”I shivered; the air-con wasn’t a weakness. “Yeah. But that one’s neat and tidy. Close to good schools.”“More potential here. A lick of paint, new bathroom and kitchen. Imagine the capital gain.”“I know a first home’s a compromise. Let me think for once.”Nabbing the only chair on the balcony, I left Mitch inside Googling. Not doubting he’d conjure up a sensible sounding plan. The renovation costs, bigger capital gain, his insistent logic sure to tap away, woodpecker-like, at my brain.Convinced, I just knew he would say, ‘Value for money. That’s what we agreed, Annie.’Sinking into the hot vinyl seat, the Aviator’s perched on my nose shade the sea’s wicked glare. Late spring, yet the heat’s relentless; first baking me toasty warm, then drawing beads of sweat that zeroed, perv like, into the valley between my boobs.It’s always bloody logic. Perhaps he’d understand if I told him the staff room gossip. ‘You know what they whisper about northern beaches schools, Mitch?’‘Yeah. That’s right, babe. The kids too distracted. Rather be surfing. Or doing drugs.’But he’d be like, ‘we don’t have children yet.’Unease isn’t practical; not a word that Mitch could wrap his mind around.Then, always the English teacher, onomatopoeia called to me, drawing my eyes over the balcony and down to the flip-flops that echoed out of the apartment below.My breath caught; for four long, sun-kissed legs stretched from those flip flops. The two women’s languid strides took them towards the beach. Beneath the pinch of their waists, derrieres curved outwards, then turned inwards in a tight peachy circle.Though, on closer examination, one posterior was more like a firm upside-down heart, attractively fuller at the lower part of the hips.Between firm glutes, no doubt hardened by surfing on the boards they carried under their tattooed arms, bahis siteleri ran wafer-thin slivers of material. Given I’m so insistent about clichés with students, the irony of thinking candy floss thongs wasn’t lost on me.Their long hair, one dirty-blond like mine, the other coal-black, spilt over their shoulders. And a fair way down their backs, enough for me to chastise myself, slapping my palm against my knee, when I illicitly wondered if they were topless.“What are you thinking?” Mitch asked as he stepped onto the balcony.Oh God, I could hardly say ‘nothing, babe.’ Nor shock Mitch by mentioning what I wished I could do, a longing that had glued my knickers against my sex.I just had to say something, anything. “Um. Do you really think this has potential, babe?” ******** Waking in the fuggy early morning, I watch the slow rise and fall of Mitch’s chest; totally appreciating him for helping dot the i’s and cross the t’s on our summer project. We’re determined to modernize this fixer-upper of an apartment, though getting it done and maximising the capital gain falls to me, as I’m the one on vacation.He’s not totally somnolent, morning wood having risen with the sun. My hand slides slowly up and down, savouring the familiar feel of soft velvet skin covering delicious hardness. Squeezing, just enough pressure to rouse him; knowing that, although half asleep, he will recognize the drill.And Mitch does; rolling onto me, holding his body on his elbows and unerringly impaling me on his shaft. One hand then cups my breast.Grunting as he stretches my gripping pussy walls, we are quickly into our morning routine; he rolls and pinches my nipple as he thrusts in and out of my bucking sex. Tongues swirling in his mouth, my hands grip his arse as he pounds me.Timing it perfectly, I squeeze out a cum just as his seed explodes in me.It’s so rare he’s away with work but he is tonight.“My boss’s bad-arse secret Santa surprise,” Mitch says as he leaves.“I’ll be okay, only twenty-four hours sweetheart.”I spread old sheets over the newly installed benchtop and Miele appliances. When today’s painting is done, our kitchen will be complete just in time for Christmas.It’s always three hours toil before I allow myself a coffee break. With the first coat drying, I saunter into the café next door expecting the barista’s dark eyes to flitter over me from under her long eyelashes.Jude’s eyes light up when she sees me. She always does mornings canlı bahis siteleri and is none other than the dark-haired woman with the cute upside-down heart-shaped butt, who I had noticed when Mitch and I first saw the apartment.She’s such a multitasker, always observing and keeping up a stream of banter while frothing milk for my cappuccino.“Painting, Annie?”“You psychic?”“That, or the paint in your hair.” Another dimpled smile; she’s pretty, though she likes to mask just how pretty she is.“It’ll wash off; acrylic. Second coat after coffee and the kitchen’s done.”“Come swimming then; let’s celebrate by getting wet together.”That’s so her; she’s been wooing me from the get-go. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she had said when I first called her out for flirting with a married woman. She wasn’t embarrassed, just held my gaze knowingly.I had rolled my eyes; she had smirked and said, “Surprised I knew my Chaucer, Annie?”And in truth, I had been surprised. Not expecting someone whose take on beach culture seemed more like a potty-mouthed strumpet, to enjoy the dead white men canon as I did. That was the first time the thought moth and flame crossed my mind.“You can have fun while Mitch is away,” Jude says, interrupting my thoughts.“Want to see the kitchen?”“Sure. I’ll come upstairs at two.”The painting is finished when she knocks on the door. My breath catches as I let her in. A micro bikini-thong and crop t-shirt aren’t about concealment.Helping me remove the paint-splattered sheets, Jude and I unveil the new kitchen.“Fuck, Annie.”“Is that a request? Or comment on my interior decorating?”She giggles. “Fucking good job, Annie.”“Thanks. Thrilled I got it done for Christmas.”“Feels good completing your Christmas wish list, doesn’t it?”“I’m hoping it will.”“Let’s get wet then.”“You mean you’re not already.”Leaving her speechless, the first time I’d done that, I head to the bedroom.“You a Tigerlily or Wicked Weasel kind of girl?” Jude calls out, as I open my bikini drawer. Immediately aware that my only Wicked Weasel bikini is secreted, like a dirty magazine, beneath my Tigerlily bikinis.“Like both.”“Tigerlily’s too teenager for me. Got to go with the Weasel; we’re past running from our sensuality, don’t you think?”“I guess.”Mitch would so agree. My Weasel was his Valentine’s Day gift last summer. Much more risqué than the bikinis he usually saw me in, he’s now constantly daring me to parade around canlı bahis in just the micro thong. And, just for him, I do; flaunting my body, knowing it brings his carnal desires to the boil.It dawns on me that the seditious minx is setting me up, implying I’m hiding from my sensuality if I don’t wear the Weasel. Two can play those games.Wiggling into the form-fitting micro-thong I call out, “Hey, are you comfortable topless. Or still a bit of a textile?”Credit to Jude, she tries hard but can’t suppress a giggle. Then replies, “Guess that makes it two-one, Annie.”We both know its game on. As I emerge from the bedroom, her eyes travel languidly up my body, taking in my black bikini-thong and black t-shirt on which ‘Trouble’ is emblazoned in red.She smirks as she watches me place my rings on the new benchtop, surely seeing the diamond Mitch gave me sparkling in the sun.I feign disinterest, and we soon are flip-flopping across the beach and dumping our towels next to two women; their topless bodies disporting numerous piercings and tattoos.Jude introduces Pricilla, the dirty-blond I had seen her with when Mitch and I first looked at the apartment. And Monique, the redhead I had occasionally seen emerging from Jude’s apartment. Well, more accurately, the most strawberry coloured of her stable of redheads.Their eyes survey my body as I slip off my t-shirt, no doubt comparing my tan lines to their totally bronzed tits. Fresh meat is the vibe they give off, more so when Jude and I emerge from the sea, water dripping off our firm nipples and wet thongs moulded to slits.Monique flirts like a toddling young filly, not quite yet coordinated nor elegant. Quickly into my personal space, she amuses Pricilla with the gaucheness of her raw desire. Not Jude though, and following one stern look, Monique backs off.Pricilla is quick to soothe Monique’s injured pride, whispering in her ear and before long they busy themselves by sucking each other’s face.Which leaves me free to observe the queen bee’s technique.Jude’s always been cat-like, stalking me one step at a time; sly looks, increasingly flirtatious comments. Today her arc is spiralling tighter, adding little touches, whose frisson goes all the way to my pussy. She doesn’t know that of course; I imagine she thinks I am just another doe caught in the headlights of her lust.Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.So, when her tongue snakes out and licks my ear lobe, I let myself appear startled, allowing her to imagine she’s got away with an intimacy. But she’s wise to my game. I lean back and she trickles a handful of warm sand onto my stomach, whispering, “You’re just toying with me, aren’t you?”