At 43, Susan still looks good in a string bikini -- and even better in nothing at all.
Sitting on the beach with a trashy bondage novel, Susan wonders what the hunky young lifeguard up there in his chair would think if she stripped for him. The thought of being dominated by the bronze Adonis takes some of the gloss off her book, but fuels her fantasies like gasoline on a fire.
What would he do? There's one way to find out...
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Razor's Edge Press
A Changeling Press LLC Imprint
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Copyright (c) 2011 Jonathan Wright
The lifeguard left his elevated chair like a tiger, leaping ten feet and hitting the sand running, his body board gripped tight under one arm. He raced down to the water and splashed in, then surged out into the waves, muscular arms windmilling as he shot forward like a human torpedo.
Susan dropped her book and sat forward, gazing out from under the brim of her big straw hat. She saw a small arm waving frantically and her heart went into her throat. Oh, please, get there in time...
A wave rolled through. The lifeguard rose with it, and then disappeared in the trough. A second later he reappeared, holding a small form in his arms, and Susan let out her breath. The lifeguard paddled back to the beach, carrying a small boy who might have been eight years old.
As they emerged from the surf, the boy's young mother ran to him and scooped him into her arms, scolding him in that quavering I-almost-lost-you voice Susan understood too well.
The lifeguard nodded politely as the young woman thanked him over and over again. He smiled and said something Susan couldn't catch over the roar of the waves, then strode back to his little tower.
She admired his muscular maleness. Six-three, she'd guess, around two-ten, with dark curly hair on his head and a fair amount on his broad chest. Shoulders to die for. Dark eyes with potential depth, assuming he had more intelligence than most kids his age.
Not likely. Probably just your standard hunky lifeguard. Muscles of steel and wood for a brain. But the way he'd propelled himself out there, as intent as an animal after prey, struck a hungry chord in her. The fact that he'd been on a mission of life rather than death made her feel warmer. Susan smiled to herself and silently voiced a Thank you, young man.
The hot Florida sun had tanned him deep brown, similar to her own bronzed skin tones, although she suspected for different reasons. Sitting all day in a lifeguard chair was certainly not the same as navigating a sailboat across an ocean.
She noted several teenage girls openly admiring him. Those were the days, she thought. She might not be competition for them, but she'd taken good care of herself. She doubted there was another forty-three year old mother of three on this beach who could wear a bikini just this side of a string. Her hips had gained some girth, but that only accentuated what she had frequently been told was the sensual curve of her narrow waist. Her tits didn't stand up like those of a girl of twenty, but then they never had, thank God, being big enough to qualify as genuine cock-bait.
Susan leaned back and prepared to resume her perusal of an extremely graphic erotic novel that would have been half its four hundred pages without the bondage alone, but which in her mind would then be without literary merit. Virginia Woolf, go suck eggs. Or better, several juicy inches of cock. Yum...