Chapter 5
A few more beers stolen from the abandoned Coleman cooler helped revive Chefs solemn mood and brightened his depressive state animating him greatly. Sitting beside him on the spread-open sleeping bag, Carla praised the skies for the sudden burst of sunny disposition that pulled Chefs thoughts from the wells of despair to something approaching happiness.
"Why don't we go for a walk and pull ourselves out of this rotten mood?" he nudged her with his elbow. "They're off romping in the waves and here we sit like a couple of miserable jackasses."
Chet hardly appeared to be the hiking type, in Carla's estimation, but his reasoning was straightaway. If the cheaters could forget about fidelity and honesty, then why should the cheated sit on a stump? she reasoned.
She lifted her eyes to Chefs face. Hurt and childish innocence made strange companions. He needed attention and self-assurance as badly as she did. Something about the blind leading the blind flashed through her mind as she made sandwiches for the hike, leaving Chet to search around his van for a bottle of wine though he couldn't remember whether or not he'd drunk it.
Now he charged jubilantly from the van brandishing the bottle of wine, and met Carla at the mouth of a pine-needled trail that wound under the low-hanging grove, bent and prematurely aged from the ocean's fury, up the slope to the cliffs.
Dressed in a pair of cut-offs and loose-hanging shirt, she felt a quiver of excitement course through her leggy body. Hurt and spite are strange bedfellows, but Carla didn't care. A fresh smile creased her lips. Just let them come back and try to find us ... just let them! They deserve to feel as rotten as Chet and I do!
Being alone with Chet and his bottle of wine was hardly the makings of a romantic afternoon for Carla, but it was better than sitting miserable and blue, tortured by jealous thoughts. Chet, too, seemed in a fresher mood as they headed off through the trees. She had tied her auburn hair back in a ponytail that swished with each ginger step. The air became warmer the farther they climbed from the ocean.
They didn't talk much as they walked, following the trail of manzanita and scrub pine, carefully avoiding the dangerous red poison oak now at its threatening potent peak in August.
"Let's stop at the top of this knoll and have lunch. Maybe we can find a place to catch some sun." To the right and left of them stubborn manzanita branches scraped her bare legs, cross-hatched with tiny twig scratches. The reward lay ahead ... the vast Pacific ocean was spread out for them like a corny calendar, the beaches and coves making jigsaw patterns of the shore. It was enough to make one want to cry.
At the top of the cliff the winds had swept clear a sandy knoll, warm and soft and inviting. Succulent ground cover had won the battle of manzanita versus sand and here they collapsed on the ground.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chet said with a grin, and for the first time, Carla noticed the dimple in his chin. His eyes were clear, his smile bright.
She grinned back, feeling clumsy in his presence. For the sake of distraction, her dark eyes swept over the beach below, trying to catch sight of movement ... that movement being Paul and Mae!
"Forget about them," he said, reading her thoughts and taking off his shirt for her to sit upon. Then he lay the plastic bag with two ham and cheese sandwiches on the sand and, propping the wine bottle between his legs, used the cork screw of his Swiss Army knife to open the bottle. They washed down their sandwiches with warm red wine. Conversation was sketchy, the sun warm, the wine relaxing.
"That was a nice lunch, Chet. Thanks for the wine ... it really helps take the edge off." She smiled up at him, sensing a soulful sensitivity about this man that made her wonder how often, if ever, Mae did anything to heighten his manly ego. Despite his neglect of appearance, he was a sweet man, mindful of the needs of others. Perhaps too much so.
Since Paul was giving Mae what she deserved, why not turn the tables? she decided. With every sip of wine, his conversation became more chipper, taking her mind away from jealousy. "Nothin' like sitting on a mountain top to make you forget your problems," he said philosophically. "I heard you and Mae were friends at one time. Then he dumped her for you ..."
Carla took a long swill of the wine. She wrinkled her nose against the freckling sun. "To be honest, I've always been rather jealous of Mae. I mean, my God ... look at her body for starters!" Her open admission took Carla by surprise. The wine was working on her senses, a fact clear as the sun shining overhead. "Why Paul dumped her for me is something I'll never understand."
"Hey, don't be modest. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it. Paul needs a woman like you ... sex-pots come a dime a dozen," he looked straight ahead over the Pacific. "I guess I'm just cheap ... I'm easy. A lady gives me a little bit of attention and I go crazy for more." His voice assumed a strange, beware tone. "Like you ... like now ..."
Swiftly, he pulled her into his arms in an unsuspecting movement. His lips bruised hard down on hers in a tight, grinding kiss, forcing his tongue between her tightly clenched teeth. The movement was unceremonious, ungentle.
Caught off guard, Carla froze under the hot sun. His mouth was pressing hard against her teeth. Insulted by his burlishness, she pulled her mouth free of him and pushed him away from her, bracing her hands against his chest.
"Hey, come on ... a little kiss is nothing ... compared to what Paul and Mae are probably doing!"
"That shouldn't matter," she averred defensively. "We don't have to act cheap just because they are."
Chet snickered. "Carla, let me tell you something about Paul. I've known the guy longer than you. Paul likes a woman who can make her own decisions ... the best thing you could do is to give him some of his own medicine. Sure, he'd be pissed off at first, but it would make him look at his own silliness."
Carla sniffled. The word silly seemed hardly applicable to the act Paul was committing!
"Come on, let's have a little kiss."
"No ... please, Chet, I didn't mean to mislead you I-" He plastered his lips to hers, forcing her backwards onto the warm sand. His hands were tender on her breasts, kneading them, stroking the swan-like length of her neck.
"Mmmmmfff ..." She wriggled beneath him, trying to squirm out from under his weight. But he had her pinned with his body and his superior strength. "Mmmfff ... nnnnoooo ... Chet!" Fighting was useless, futile, she realized, relaxing back into the warm sand, feeling the wine's affects on her dulled senses. And, after a moment of struggle, she realized it felt good having strong arms around her. Dimly, she dwelt on Chefs wisdom. One good deed deserves another, she thought bitterly, and that was to be the last of rational thought for Carla. After all, one man's body wasn't much different from the other, save for their emotions and Paul certainly was giving her no emotional input!
The once bruising kiss transformed to a warm, exciting mingling of lips and tongues. The confused young woman felt her resistance melting like June snow. A little surge of longing swept through her and she pressed her love-starved body against his strong one. It could have been Paul, for her response was the same.
Chet's hand dropped and began to lightly caress the smooth, bare expanse of her firm, scratched thigh, sending little shivers of arousal tingling through her pinned down body. Her head began to swim and rational senses were blown to the wind.
His softly caressing mouth sent wave after wave of unsuspected pleasure, and his hand pulled at the flap of her blouse, working at the clasp of her lacy brassiere. Still, she did not resist, even as the soft blowing wind rose goosebumps on her naked flesh. She felt the protective garment fall away and knew that her swollen breasts were free to his touch. Instantly, her nipples hardened into little joy-buds, crinkling in the air; Chet's hand closed in on first one, then the other, caressing and tweaking the hard knobs with practiced caresses.
"Paul and Mae are together right now ... doing the same thing we're doing," he whispered coercively into her ear. It didn't register in Carla's misaimed mind that maybe Chet enjoyed the idea of Mae cheating on him, giving him free reign to play with whatever woman caught his eye. His hand dropped to the fastening on her shorts. His other hand held her firmly at the small of the back, and he pressed his masculinity close to her.
Carla was beginning to realize that just maybe she'd misunderstood Chet; he could be soft and gentle, persuasive and subtle at the same time. That, she thought bitterly, was far more than she could say about Paul!
"They left us alone ... they don't care what we do."
Carla's head started to spin from the hot sun, the wine and the tempting hands teasing over her body. Paul and Mae were together, it was true. Just what they were doing together was another matter. In the wine-sodden depths of her mind, she realized that Chet was working at the zipper of her shorts, sliding them down over her suntanned thighs and long tapered legs ... then she was naked except for her flimsy panties!
"No, please, Chet ... this has gone far enough," she whimpered up into his handsome face. She was lying and they both knew it. The look in his flinty eyes told her that.
His hands, his words were mesmerizing. It was so easy to lie there and let him have his way with her. And he did ...
Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he peeled down the white lace of her bikini panties, baring the soft bowl of her tanned belly jeweled with a deep navel. He drew in his breath sharply as the auburn triangle of her pubic fleece peeked around the tight elastic leg bands; her pouting pussy mound was snug and warm inside the crotchband soaked with her juices. Carefully, he eased them down over her curving hips. Lower still until he peeled them down over her slender ankles. She lay naked beneath him.
"God, you've got a great body!" he hissed, staring down at the luscious flesh, so innocent, stretched out hesitantly for his taking. Her body was in perfect proportion, perfect harmony, from the rich swell of her nippled breasts, milky arid firm, to the curve of her hips.
"Jesus, I wish Mae had a little bit of your innocence," he mumbled somewhat sadly.
Could this be the same clumsy, drunken Chet? His sensuality was consuming, very consuming. Carla swallowed dryly, suddenly frightened by his closeness. She knew she was stark naked, out in the open, with almost a complete stranger. What if Paul should come panting up the trail ... with Mae hot on his heels? What if other hikers happened by and found them lying there. She knew she should put a stop to this, but somehow, she couldn't make the first move.
The vulnerability of her position, she decided, wasn't so unpleasant after all. With that rationalization, she put Chet in the responsible position. Whatever happened would be his doing. She was as innocent in this situation as she'd been in the torrid triangle of Carla, Mae and Paul ... the same pawn.
She shivered, feeling Chefs hands on her dully throbbing breasts, cupping them firmly, fondling the passion-stiffened nipples. Now his warm hands dropped to caress the warm satiny flesh of her rounded hips, stopping at the sleek firmness of her trembling upper thighs. She drew in her breath sharply when she felt him wedge one hand between her tightly clamped legs, and then she moaned as his fingers moved upward to make searing contact with the sensitive inner flesh of her thighs. The first wisps of her softly curling pubic hair grazed invitingly against the back of his hand, and a groan of desire bubbled from her rosebud lips as he began to caress her quivering buttocks.
With, a languid moan, her naked thighs spread in silent invitation, and Chet immediately moved his roaming hand closer toward the glistening pink lips of her wetly pulsating cunt. He stared down at the moistened pussy split, and saw the cuntal lips nestled protectively around the fragile pink flesh. Abruptly, his mouth watered as gently he parted the fleshy outer folds to unveil the fluted, ragged lips of her cuntal orifice. The red tip of her pulsating clitoris pounded with expectation.
Carla's brain swam with feverish indecision. She knew this was wrong, knew she would regret it later ... knew she was acting out of spite-yet none of that seemed to matter now.
Chet was leaning over her now. "Don't be so uptight, Carla ... relax." He smacked his lips and wiped a pearl of burgundy wine from his lip. "Lay back and let me pleasure you."
"NO! NOT THAT!"
She struggled up on her elbows, struggling to sit up. Her consciousness screamed objections to what he was saying, while her brain went wild with protest. "Let me up ... stop that, Chet!" she sobbed desperately. Her panicked lunges to get to her feet were futile against his brutish strength and he eased her back down onto the sand. His voice was soft and persuasive, as persuasive as his tender hands coursing over her nakedly squirming body.
"Lay back and relax. I want to kiss your pussy ... I'll make you cum that way."
She lay back, her brain rioting, hardly aware that Chet was once more bending over her, between her nakedly outstretched legs. Then he drew aside her wetly throbbing cuntal lips, baring the delicate heart of her sensitive little womb. He lowered his head decisively until he could inhale the musky scent of her intoxicating female perfume. Then, without warning, his wetly eager tongue flicked out and licked the ragged lips of her quivering, moist pussy lips!
"AAAGGGHHH!" Carla's back arched. It was more pleasure than she could stand. She ground her nakedly rounded buttocks into the sand in a last attempt to elude the searing contact with his tongue between her pulsating pussy lips, dipping the tip into her cunt's honeyed recesses, tasting the succulent sweetness of her cunt.
"Noooo ... don't!" She sobbed again, flailing her hips wildly as Chet slavered at her wetly throbbing cuntal slit. She groaned, her pussy on fire from the first contact of tongue on vagina. Electrical pleasure shot up the channel of her womb, making her cuntal walls weep for joy. Groaning and grinding her hips, eyelids fluttering over glazed passion-filled eyes staring blindly up into the afternoon sky, she grabbed his head in both hands and ground his face into the heart of her womb. The tormenting wet licking was more than she could stand. She could hear him slurp at her juices, felt his tongue scrape against her clitoris.
The pleasure was too great. It plummeted in a wave of repulsion. What's the matter with me? I can't let him kiss me down there! I won't even let Paul do that!
How could she debase and humiliate herself by lying naked under God's nose and let a near stranger lick and suck her vagina! Spite reared its head, then, smoothing the ragged edges of guilt. It was Paul's fault ... his fault for acting like an utter bastard toward her.
They began to work on her then ... those little wisps of forbidden pleasure swirling around inside the depths of her hotly throbbing pussy. She drew a deep breath, exhaling it slowly, allowing herself the freedom of mind to enjoy the lascivious licking by this man crouched between her nakedly spread thighs. She tried to fight the pleasure, but she couldn't stop herself from groaning out in passion when he took the rigid little bud of her clitoris between his front teeth and taunted it with his tongue.
"Oh GAWWWWD ... !" she gasped, arching her back up off the sand and forcing her aroused, dripping pussy up against his face, mashing her genitals juicily, slicking his cheeks with evidence of her heated pleasure! Oh, God, and what his five o'clock shadow was doing to her clitoris! It was on fire!
Her writhing body was a raging forest fire by now. Who cared about Paul? Who cared about Mae? Why should he get all the pleasure? He'd starved her for love, for appreciation, and why shouldn't she take it when it was being offered to her?
"Mmmm ... Ohhhh ..." she mewled, her swollen breasts sheened with the heat of her desire, her body rippling with shudders of electrical arousal spasming through it. On either side of his head, her thighs trembled.
And Chet was loving it! He mashed his face deeper into the steamy morass of her juicy pussy, inhaling and licking the warmly perfumed flesh rimming his nose. He began to jab his tongue at the wetly contracting hole of her cunt, feeling the sucking, greedy movements working to pull it into the dark, mysterious hole of her cunt. Her cuntal muscles milked his tongue.
Abruptly, he stiffened his wet, lashing tongue and rammed it as deep as it would go up between her legs.
That was too much for Carla. "OH GAWWWDDD ..." She was on fire now. She couldn't take much more of this bittersweet pleasure. Her quivering cuntal walls clung voraciously to his daring tongue, and her thighs trembled, her back arched, her breasts, swollen and needful, pressing upwards as if expecting a hungry mouth to suckle them as her vagina was being sucked. Every nerve ending in her body was poised and tensed for the bittersweet agony of orgasm.
And then she was there, soaring through the Pacific skies as if she'd been lifted up bodily and was floating on soft fleecy clouds, gently undulating, drifting towards heaven. Her body stiffened, suspended in space as passion exploded, starting at the tip of her clitoris pounding between her thighs, reverberated like silent thunder up the juicy channel of her pussy to the spongy tip of her cervix. A flash of ecstasy sprinkled before her eyes.
Almost there, climbing higher ... higher ... and then-
Despite the rockets firing in her body, despite the passion rumbling within her, she distinctly felt eyes on her. Someone was watching her shame, witnessing her sins. But orgasm was too strong and her suspicion fled as she came, screaming out her passion.
"I'm ... I'm cummmming!" she chanted as her grinding hips battered mindlessly against Chefs cum-slickened face. Her inner cuntal walls milked greedily on the thrusting tongue, and her hands dropped to his head, forcing his face deeper into the steamy morass of her cunt. Never, even with Paul, had she experienced such wildly exciting joy, and as he voraciously tongue-fucked her hotly convulsing pussy, she was frantic with lust. God, she could go insane from the electrical sensations shooting through her young body.
It was wild and exquisite, and her excited body agreed. Oh, to be kissed and licked between her thighs was heaven's gift to women! And it mattered not that Paul was not the man giving her that joy-Paul the man who would soon be her husband.
The tremors rattled through her satiated body and Carla lay back, too exhausted to care.
At least for the moment-