The Island

There is a beach here in Fiji that seldom gets tourists. It's on my island. Technically, I own the island, although I don't really care who comes or goes as long as they leave it clean. I bought it a few years ago after a visit here from the States; I completely fell in love with the place, and the cost of living here is significantly cheaper than good ol' California.

I don't get many visitors.

That's OK. I don't mind. I enjoy my private time; time to read, to write, to ride my beautiful horses, and swim with the rays.

I don't get to entertain very often. I'm an excellent hostess, and I like entertaining. Entertaining men. Those few tourists who come here looking for me. I provide a good show.

A friend of mine rents speedboats from the dock at Nadi. She doesn't rent them to just anyone, though; you have to be able to find your way through the water, to read a map and use the boat navigational tools. Because my island is hard to find. It's small. Finding it is rewarding. And I make sure they're rewarded.

Rena's boss owns the rental port at the dock, and he's a nice guy. He rents to families, or sends couples out for a sunset dinner cruise in a gondola, things like that. Rena caters to a different crowd. She targets the single males, or the small group of guys that are traveling through the Pacific Rim together, making their way around the world, or some equally silly feat like that. She's an expert; she can spot them so easily. They are always confident, always joking around, and they typically start by flirting with her. Occasionally they will ask here where they can find a good time, and then she knows she will have them hooked. Here, rent a boat, she says. Take this map. I know a place where you can find a good time.

Sometimes they are businessmen just stopping through for a day or two. Sometimes they are jocks, sometimes they're nerds. They are usually younger than 40, although I've entertained a few that were beyond. Rena knows what I like. She has excellent taste in men. They are almost always american or Canadian, and a few Australian. A few Brits. A few Germans. Not many other people have the money or the will to travel very far from home.

So Rena sends them here. She tells them exactly where to park their boat, exactly which trail to follow, which cliff to sit at and wait. She tells them to enjoy the view, and to not expect too much, but don't be afraid to explore. She always says that last bit with a smirk. She doesn't tell them that she'll call me to let me know how many are coming and what to expect.

And she leaves the rest up to me.

Yesterday she sent over three young Canadian men, all in their mid-twenties. Two were blond, one is dark-haired, and all have dark eyes. French-Canadian, she thought, but their French accents were well-eroded, fazed out by years of Americanization. She said they looked like they belonged on the beach playing volleyball or tossing a Frisbee, and they all had nice butts. That's very important.

It usually takes between one-and-a-half to two-and-a-half hours to get here, to find the tiny dock and then for them to get up to the cliff. If I step out the back door and walk a few paces south, I can see the dock. They can't see my house. In fact, they'll have to walk nearly a quarter mile around the eastern side of the island to find the cliff that Rena has pointed out to them.

It's well worth the walk, believe me.

I grabbed my binoculars and went out the back door, making sure it didn't slam in the unlikely event that someone had already arrived and explored too far. In the distance I could see a small boat making waves, following Rena's hand-drawn map to the letter. All three men were standing, and they were all shirtless. This was going to be a good time, I knew it. They would be here in about twenty minutes, and it would take another twenty to get tied up and walk to the cliff. That was fine. I wasn't in any hurry.

Three men. Usually I like two; it's a nice even number, and not too many to handle. One is extremely intimate, sometimes more intimate than I like – but I never dislike one. Five is the most Rena's ever sent at once, and she only ever sends out one boat at a time.

So, three men. Yummy. What would I wear? I decided on a white sheer two-piece, a string bikini with a tiny top to barely cover my bust, and a thong bottom. They would like that. I went to the kitchen and made myself a quick sandwich, scarfing that down along with an apple and a glass of juice. Can't exercise on an empty stomach.

An hour after I spotted the boat, I grabbed my special beach bag and a large towel and headed down to the beach.

Ten minutes later, I sauntered out from behind the opposite cliff from where they were perched. I couldn't see them, but I didn't need to. I knew they were there. They are always right where they're supposed to be.

I put on my sunglasses and made my way close to the cliff, and spread my beach towel out about fifty yards from the cliff's base. Always the same spot. It's close enough for them to get a good view, and far enough away that they think I don't know about them.

I laid down on the towel, reaching into my bag and pulling out a bottle of sunscreen. I slowly poured a tiny stream along my arm and carefully rubbed it in. Then I did the same with my other arm. I dotted it on my face, my neck, my bosom.

I was getting hot, and it wasn't because of the sun.

I began running my oily hands over my body, making my legs and tummy shiny with sunscreen. Then I began to massage my breasts. I made like I was trying to cover them with sunscreen, but I just couldn't resist sliding my hand into the bikini and pinching my nipple.
I moaned.

They were getting hard, I knew it, they had to be. They always are. Hard as rocks and aching to drive into me.

I reached behind my neck and pulled on the tie, and my breasts fell out of the bikini. I untied the other string and flung the bikini top to the side. Now my breasts could enjoy their freedom, the sunlight, and the sunscreen, and I could enjoy playing with them.

I took my time, fondling them, pinching the nipples, occasionally leaning my head down and pulling my breast up and licking my own nipple. I moved my hands downward, over the flat planes of my sculpted stomach, trailing a finger over each of my ribs. Finally I pulled on the strings of my thong bottom, and I pulled it forward and off. The long string ran across my clit as I pulled it off, making me moan again.

Those three guys certainly must be stroking themselves by now.

Using both hands, I pulled my legs open provocatively, exposing to the sea and the sun and the sand my naked pink flesh wet with desire, and I massaged my inner thighs. I wanted desperately to touch my clit, to plunge my fingers deep into myself, but even more than that, I wanted something bigger. Something thicker.

I reached into my beach bag with one hand and pulled out a bright blue vibrator, so thick I could barely close my hand around it. It was my favorite, and those boys should have felt privileged, because I let very few people see it.

I began stroking myself with it, making it wet, lubing it with my juices. It's shaped perfectly like a penis, with the angular head and the tiny slit. That's my favorite part. I like rubbing that little slit over my clitoris, I like my guy to masturbate me with his penis while he's plunging his fingers in and out of me.

I was moaning loudly now, with my legs wide open and one hand massaging my clit with the vibrator. My other hand was running over my body, caressing my breasts, gently raking fingernails over my stomach and sides, fingers mingling with my tongue. With a flick of my thumb I turned the vibrator on the lowest setting, and it was enough to make my hips buck with orgasm; finally I couldn't resist anymore, and I continued working my clit with my finger while thrusting the vibrator deep inside me.

As my orgasm died down, I did what I always do to cue the boys upstairs to join me: I slowly pulled the dildo out of me, brought it up to my lips and began to suck it as I wanted to suck them. Then I looked up.

They couldn't see that I saw, because of my sunglasses. I thought I saw a ball cap sticking out of the tall grass, as well as a pair of silver binoculars, but my eyes were blurry with sweat so I couldn't be sure. That's OK. I didn't need to see. I knew they were there. They were probably scrambling down the opposite side of the cliff in order to get down to me to stuff one of their fat cocks in my mouth instead of the dildo.