Chapter 10: Sharing their habits
The air shimmered, thick with coconut oil and the dense scent of salt water baking on hot concrete. Simone’s low groan vibrated in the humid stillness beside the bar, a counterpoint to the rhythmic slide of her fingers beneath the taut black fabric of her suit. Her cigarette, forgotten, sent a thin, unwavering line of smoke straight up into the still afternoon air. Her head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, fixed on the blinding expanse of blue sky, utterly absorbed in the sensation coiling deep within her.
Anya watched her from the lounger nearby. The redhead had moved closer, drawn by the raw, unguarded display. She lay on her stomach, propped on her elbows, the curve of her spine a perfect arch, her own fingers tracing idle, restless circles just inside the waistband of her tiny green bikini bottom. The sun painted her pale skin gold, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat and oil. Linda’s plug shifted within her as she settled, a persistent echo of the shared tension.
"Every damn morning," Anya murmured, her voice husky, breaking the quiet intensity. Simone’s rhythm didn’t falter, but her gaze slid sideways, locking onto Anya with sharp, dark intensity. "Before coffee. Before anything. Fingers inside before my eyes are properly open."
A slow, predatory smile touched Simone’s lips. She took a slow, deliberate drag from her cigarette, the ember flaring. "Shower," she stated, her words thick with the effort of focus. "Hot water pounding down... hand braced against the tile... that first deep press..." She hissed softly, her hips jerking minutely against her hand. "Sets the tone for the fucking day. Non-negotiable."
"Same," Anya breathed, shifting slightly, pressing her thighs together. The friction sent a jolt through her. "Like... resetting. Grounding. Reminding yourself what matters." Her own fingers dipped lower, disappearing beneath the green fabric, her knuckles whitening as she applied pressure. A small sigh escaped her. "But then... it’s like the resort knows. Puts it everywhere."
Simone chuckled, a low, guttural sound. "The sun." Her free hand gestured vaguely at the sky. "Baking you... melting you... makes the ache so... present." Her fingers moved faster, a slick, rhythmic sound barely audible under the gentle lap of pool water. "See someone across the deck... the way they move... the sweat on their neck... fuck." She bit her lip, her breath catching. "Just... sparks it off again. Right there. Can’t ignore it. Wouldn’t want to."
"Exactly!" Anya pushed herself up slightly, her eyes wide with shared recognition. Her hand was a blur beneath her bikini bottom now. "After breakfast? Watching Kai sketch? That intense look? Had to find a quiet corner by the bougainvillea. Couldn’t wait." Her cheeks flushed, not with shame, but with the vivid, humiliating thrill of the memory. "Just leaned against the wall... skirt hitched... two minutes. Needed it."
"Bougainvillea," Simone grunted, her own movements becoming more urgent, her knuckles pressing hard. "Classy. Mine was behind the service door near the ice machine. Quick and dirty. Cold air on my ass while I came."
Anya laughed, a bright, slightly breathless sound. "The staff must see everything."
"Don’t care," Simone gasped, her voice tightening. Her cigarette dropped, forgotten, onto the wet concrete, hissing softly before going out. Both hands gripped the edge of the bar stool now, her body arching, her core tightening visibly. "Just... need the... release... now... wherever... whenever..." Her words dissolved into a series of sharp, ragged breaths, her back rigid, a tremor running through her as she drove herself towards the edge. The elegant composure was shattered, replaced by pure, straining need.
Anya watched, mesmerized, her own hand stilled for a moment. She saw the raw vulnerability, the absolute surrender to sensation in Simone’s tense frame. It wasn't beautiful in the classical sense; it was primal, desperate, riveting. It mirrored her own constant, simmering hunger. Her fingers started moving again, slower now, deeper, seeking that same precipice within herself.
"Sometimes," Anya whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she matched the intensity of Simone’s silent struggle, "it’s not even for the... the big finish. Not always." She pressed the heel of her hand hard against her clit, grinding down. "Just... the feeling. The stretch. The fullness. Needing that... pressure... inside. Constantly." She thought of Linda’s plug, the persistent intrusion she now carried, a constant reminder. "Leaning against a counter waiting for coffee... rubbing one out through my shorts. Sitting through a boring briefing in the conference room... fingers tracing circles... pretending to take notes."
Simone’s climax hit her like a wave. It wasn’t loud; a choked gasp tore from her throat, her body locking into a rigid arc for one endless second. Her head snapped back, tendons standing out in her neck. Then came the shuddering release, a series of deep, involuntary contractions that rolled through her, forcing a low, guttural moan from her chest. Her grip on the stool was white-knuckled. She held the peak, suspended, before slumping forward slightly, breathing hard, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. Her hand was still buried between her legs, pressing hard, riding out the aftershocks.
Anya watched the aftermath, the slow return to awareness in Simone’s dark eyes, the slight flush that wasn't just from the sun. The sight, the raw intimacy of witnessing that uncontrolled surrender, sent a fresh spike of heat through Anya’s own core. She mirrored Simone’s earlier posture, arching her back, grinding her hand down hard.
"God, yes," Simone breathed, her voice shredded, watching Anya now with heavy-lidded intensity. She slowly withdrew her hand, slick and glistening. She didn't wipe it; just rested it on her thigh, fingers still faintly trembling. "The... the constant hum. Like a low-grade fever. Always there. This place... feeds it." She took a slow, deliberate lick of her wet fingers, her eyes never leaving Anya’s frantic movements. "Makes the build-up... exquisite. The edge... sharper."
Anya couldn’t form words. Her own climax was cresting, a tight coil springing loose deep in her belly. The sun was blinding. The scent of Simone’s release, sharp and musky, mingled with the chlorine and coconut. The plug inside her shifted with each desperate roll of her hips. She saw Kai then, not sketching by the pool but standing near the path leading back to the apartments. Leaning against a palm tree, sketchbook open, charcoal moving with swift, sure strokes. Watching them. Watching her. That intense, unreadable gaze, the purple hair vibrant against the green. The knowledge that Kai was witnessing her abandon, capturing it, studying it, was the final spark.
A sharp cry escaped Anya’s lips, high and ragged. Her body locked, trembling violently as the orgasm ripped through her, far more intense than she’d anticipated. Her vision whited out for a second, the world narrowing to the blinding sun, the pressure of her own hand, the deep, relentless stretch inside, and Kai’s unwavering, violet stare fixed upon her. She rode it out, gasping, shuddering, the green bikini bottom soaked through.
Silence descended, heavy and charged, broken only by their ragged breathing and the distant sigh of the sea. The aftermath hummed in the air. Simone watched Anya come down, a slow, satisfied smile playing on her lips. Anya, spent and trembling, finally stilled her hand, leaving it resting possessively between her legs. Her eyes found Kai’s.
The artist didn’t look away. Kai snapped the sketchbook shut with a soft, decisive click. The sound echoed strangely loud in the thick air. One eyebrow arched, almost imperceptibly. A silent question. A dark promise. Then Kai turned and walked away, towards the apartments, the path swallowing the vibrant purple hair. The sun, lower now, painted the sand and water in hues of molten gold, casting long, distorted shadows. Sunset wasn't far. The anticipation, already a physical presence, tightened like a drawn bowstring. Simone exhaled a long, shaky breath. Anya shuddered, the plug a final, insistent reminder of what was to come. The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things and the electric hum of waiting.
The silence stretched, thick with unsaid things and the electric hum of waiting. Anya finally peeled her hand from her soaked bikini bottom, the fabric clinging uncomfortably. Simone reached for her discarded cigarette, though it was long dead. "Well," Simone rasped, her voice still raw, "that certainly passed the time before sundown."
Anya pushed herself up, shaky on her feet. The plug felt heavier now, a constant, demanding presence. "Need water. Or something stronger." She avoided looking directly at Simone, the memory of their shared vulnerability still prickling her skin. They gathered their towels, the awkwardness palpable despite the intimacy they'd just shared, and headed towards the resort’s main building, leaving the sun-drenched pool deck behind.
The transition from bright poolside to the cool, shaded lobby was jarring. The air inside was thick, perfumed by tropical floral arrangements overlaid with the unmistakable musky scent of sweat and arousal. It hit Anya like a wall. Dozens of people filled the plush seating areas, the bar, the spaces near the large windows overlooking the gardens. They lounged on sofas, perched on stools, leaned against pillars. And nearly every one of them was touching themselves.
A group near the grand piano laughed loudly, glasses of something pink sweating on the table beside them. One woman absently stroked herself through thin linen shorts while debating the merits of the sunset cruise. A man by the window, phone pressed to his ear, murmured agreements into the receiver while his other hand moved rhythmically beneath the hem of his swim trunks. His eyes were fixed on the swaying palm fronds outside. "Yeah, Mike, the numbers look solid... uh-huh... absolutely..." His breath hitched slightly on the next word. "Confirm... tomorrow."
Anya and Simone exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. The sheer normalcy of it was both comforting and intensely stimulating after their own poolside release. Anya felt the low hum Simone had described flare back to life deep inside her core. It was infectious, this open, unashamed indulgence. Simone drifted towards the bar, her hips swinging with renewed purpose. "Gin and tonic," she announced, her voice regaining its usual smoky confidence as she settled onto a stool, fingers already tracing the damp edge of her bikini top. The bartender nodded, unfazed, as he polished a glass.
Anya lingered near a potted fern, watching the scene. The easy laughter mingled with soft sighs and quiet moans. A woman nearby gasped, then giggled, adjusting her sundress. "Whoops, got a bit carried away," she whispered to her companion, who just chuckled and squeezed her thigh. The casualness of it all was breathtaking. It wasn't frantic or hidden; it was woven into the fabric of the resort like the scent of plumeria.
Then Anya saw Kai. She emerged from the corridor leading to the private apartments, her sketchbook tucked under one arm, her expression its usual mask of detached observation. She paused at the edge of the vibrant chaos, her violet eyes scanning the room with that intense, analytical gaze. She took in the couples murmuring, the solo travelers leaning back in bliss, the groups chatting animatedly, all while engaged in the shared, silent rhythm of self-pleasure. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of her head.
Kai moved with quiet purpose towards the long, polished mahogany reception desk. The lone attendant was busy on the phone, her own free hand resting casually between her legs beneath the counter, a faint flush on her cheeks. Kai leaned her hip against the cool wood, her gaze sweeping the room again. She shifted her sketchbook to her other arm. Then, with a fluid, unhurried motion entirely devoid of self-consciousness, she unzipped her loose linen trousers. She reached in, freed her cock – thick and flushed – and began to slowly stroke it, her eyes fixed on the tableau before her: the mingling bodies, the lazy masturbation, the sheer, uncomplicated pleasure suffusing the air.
Her touch was steady, almost contemplative. She watched a middle-aged man sink back into a deep armchair, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as his hand worked beneath a towel on his lap. She observed two young women sharing a chaise lounge, fingers entwined above their clothes as they kissed deeply, their other hands busy beneath their skirts. Kai’s own rhythm remained measured, deliberate, her artist’s eye cataloging every detail: the arch of a back, the flutter of eyelids, the parting of lips in silent ecstasy. Her thumb circled the head of her cock, a pearl of pre-cum glistening in the low lobby light. She didn't hurry. She simply leaned on the desk, a calm pillar amidst the gently undulating sea of open desire, masturbating with the same focused intensity she brought to her sketches, utterly absorbed in the visceral scene unfolding around her.
The metallic snick of a lighter cut through the humid lobby murmur. Kai flicked it shut one-handed, the cigarette at her lips catching instantly. She took a slow drag, the tip glowing a fierce orange in the dimmer light near the reception desk. Smoke wreathed her face as she exhaled, a thin stream aimed upwards, her gaze never leaving the undulating room while her other hand maintained its steady, unhurried rhythm on her cock. The scent of tobacco, sharp and acrid, momentarily cut through the heavy perfume of bodies and blossoms.
"Honestly, Gary, the snorkeling here is subpar," declared a woman perched on a velvet ottoman nearby, swirling a cocktail. She was completely naked, her skin gleaming with oil, one hand idly cupping a breast while the other swirled lazy circles between her legs. "The reef is bleached to hell. You should try the cove past the eastern jetty tomorrow." Gary, sprawled shirtless beside her on the floor, grunted agreement, his own hand working beneath a strategically draped towel.
Kai’s charcoal eyes tracked the lift of the woman’s arm, the stretch of skin over her ribs, the way her fingers moved with practiced ease. She took another drag, the ember flaring. Her own stroking tightened fractionally, thumb pressing against the slick head. The sheer banality of it thrilled her: vacation complaints punctuated by sighs of pleasure. Near the grand piano, a man stood completely nude, chatting animatedly with two others still in damp swim shorts. He gestured broadly with one hand while the other casually tugged at his erection, utterly unselfconscious. "...so I told them, the merger is off unless they match the equity split. Simple as that." A ripple of laughter followed, mingled with a low groan from someone unseen nearby.
Anya watched Kai from beside the giant fern, her own skin still humming. She saw the artist’s intense focus, the cigarette held loosely, the deliberate movement of her hand beneath unzipped linen. The sight sent a fresh, unwelcome throb through her, the plug inside a persistent echo. It felt like Kai was sketching her again, but now with her whole body, absorbing the room’s raw energy. Simone reappeared at her elbow, pressing a cold glass of gin and tonic into Anya’s hand, condensation instantly forming. "See our resident voyeur?" Simone murmured, her own gaze fixed on Kai. "Thoroughly enjoying the show. Doesn't miss a trick."
Kai turned her head slightly, the movement languid. Her violet eyes locked onto Anya and Simone near the ferns. She took another slow drag, the smoke curling from her nostrils like twin serpents. Her stroking didn't falter; if anything, it seemed to deepen, her knuckles whitening slightly. That unnerving, analytical stare swept over Anya, lingering for a heartbeat on her stomach, then flicking down to Simone’s damp bikini bottom. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Kai’s lips before she deliberately shifted her gaze back to the naked man by the piano.
"Enjoying the pre-dinner entertainment, Kai?" Simone called out, her voice carrying a challenging lightness. She took a deliberate sip from her own drink.
Kai exhaled a plume of smoke. "Observational research," she replied, her voice low and rough, carrying easily in the charged air. Her thumb rubbed slow, tight circles. "The human form in its... most honest state. Particularly fascinating how arousal coexists with mundane conversation." Her eyes slid back to them. "Your little plug, Anya... does it chafe? Or is the constant reminder... helpful?"
Anya flushed, the cold glass almost slipping in her hand. The directness, the cool assessment, felt more invasive than any touch. "It's... fine," she managed, shifting her weight. The plug shifted too, a sharp internal pressure.
"Good." Kai’s response was clipped. Her gaze dropped meaningfully to Anya’s bikini bottom, then back up. "Simone. Still buzzing from the bar?" She took another drag, the cigarette now half-gone, ash trembling precariously.
Simone’s laugh was a low purr. "Always. This place is a fucking battery charger." She shifted, deliberately letting her towel gape open to reveal the glistening black fabric beneath. "Ready to see what it powers later?"
Kai’s only answer was a deeper, slower stroke. The ash on her cigarette finally dropped, disappearing onto the polished floor. She watched it fall, then looked back up, her eyes dark pools reflecting the room's low lights and the countless bodies lost in sensation. "Sunset’s coming," she stated, her voice thick with something beyond smoke. "Things usually get... focused then." She took a final, deep pull from the cigarette, crushing the stub in a nearby sand-filled urn without looking. The smell of extinguished tobacco mingled with salt and sex. She zipped her trousers, the sketchbook still firmly tucked under her arm, her expression unreadable once more. "See you both at the cabana." She didn't wait for a reply, turning and melting back into the corridor towards the apartments, leaving behind the scent of her and the electric anticipation of what the fading light would bring. The plug in Anya felt suddenly heavier, hotter, a promise and a demand. Simone drained her glass, her eyes gleaming. "Showtime soon." The lobby hummed on, oblivious and relentless.