Inside the building it was cool, even chilly, compared with the tropical night outside. I didn't really notice, certainly didn't care; I doubted she did either. Her skin had a heat which had nothing to do with the climate and everything to do with passion.
I draped her dress over a chair that stood close to the door and followed her over to the bed, which was large and luxurious in keeping with the five-star holiday resort that occupied this island. In her urgency, she had already undone all of the buttons. I threw off my shirt while she tussled briefly and expertly with the fastenings on my trousers, then helping me to slide out of them. Now it was her turn to step back and look.
I was, I was sure, rather older than my new-found friend. Not that it mattered. In any case, I am naturally rather tall and slender, as well as very fit and athletic from running many miles several times a week interspersed by hard workouts in the gym. My skin is very pale, my hair is naturally blonde - although I augment the colouring artificially, as everyone does - and clipped short, which does, I feel, emphasise the slenderness of my neck and my body.
My own breasts are small and high, even now, so that I often do not wear a bra, especially in these warm climates. And I too had eschewed any underwear, entirely in anticipation of this kind of encounter this evening. If I had, my panties would already have been damp; the surge of my own moisture as she came to orgasm under my ministrations a few moments ago meant that I was already incredibly wet.
So, I stood on the cool polished boards, as naked as she was, my eyes locked on her face as hers took in my feminine form.
"You are gorgeous," she murmured approvingly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, "Come over here and kiss me again."
I sat next to her, my lips already eagerly seeking hers. Perhaps it was the taste of her own moisture on my lips, but she knew what she wanted now. She gently pushed me down on the pillows and ran her mouth over my nipples, which are very sensitive normally and were now tingling with anticipation.
The touch made me arch my back and quiver with excitement. Her tongue and fingers explored my belly and gravitated to my own pussy. I spread my legs, or perhaps they just separated themselves, responding with a will of their own. Who knows? I just had to let her lick me and very soon she brought me close, so close, to orgasm.
But not quite. I like - no, I need - to feel a cock inside me, or at least something firmer and deeper than her fingers alone could manage. I reached over to the nightstand and tugged open a drawer. Inside was one of several toys which have stood me in good stead over the years, a companion which has travelled all over the world in my bag.
"Use this," I gasped, slipping the dildo into her palm.
He looked at the phallus, her eyes wide.
"You like this?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
"Oh, God, yes," I moaned urgently, "Help me with this, please."
She needed no more urging. She licked me again while carefully guiding the black plastic dildo inside me. The contours of my favourite toy might have been familiar to me, but the sensation of her mouth on my clit was electric; I found myself writhing and moaning for a period which could have been seconds or hours or centuries. I just couldn't tell.
After half a lifetime of exquisite anticipation, I came with what was assuredly the most powerful orgasm of my life. And after that, I simply collapsed back on the pillows with what turned out to be very temporary satiation.
"You're fun," she said earnestly, taking up the black plastic toy which had slid from my vagina, forced out by the strength of my orgasm, and licking it provocatively, "And you taste so good."
I grinned back, unable to find voice just at the moment.
"I so rarely meet nice women like you," she went on, looking up at me with the dildo an inch from her lips, "It's almost impossible in the city and at the University."
"University?" I echoed, sounding surprised even to my own ears.
"Oh, yes," she giggled, "I work there. Post-doctoral studies in psychology. My family have money and are prepared to indulge me."
"That's excellent. Really excellent."
"Well, yes and no," she replied, "I live very simply, in the city. My family and my colleagues think me diligent, rather shy and retiring, perhaps even a little boring. My mother has almost entirely stopped trying to introduce me to rich young men."
She tossed her black hair dismissively.
"Men don't interest me at all," she added, "What about you?"
"I was married, for a while," I answered, suddenly feeling very slightly guilty, "It didn't work out. I guess I was never really that interested."
I already knew almost for certain that she had never felt the most intimate touch of a man. She had more strength in her own convictions than I, rejecting the pressures of family and society more firmly and much earlier in her life than I had managed. I was impressed, deeply impressed. And now more than very slightly guilty.
"I like women. Only ever women," she said firmly, "But I have to hide my feelings, normally. It's not easy. But every now and again, I come to the places for tourists, to have an opportunity to enjoy what I like, to - well - meet people like you."
I smiled wryly.
"I guess that's why I'm here too," I admitted.
She nodded understandingly, then kneeled and kissed me again.
"This can't last. You understand that," she said with a tingle of sadness. Then her face broke into an utterly wonderful smile, her eyes lit up with two parts lust to one part joy.
"But let's enjoy a little paradise while we can."
If you have enjoyed this story, why not explore the other stories in the Chatting with PAULA collection?