When I slipped the soap between my thighs, rubbing it over the soft, curly hair there, I remembered what Mrs. B said about waxing and flushed. I didn’t have much hair to begin with, just a sparse, dark triangular patch. What would it feel like to be completely smooth?

I slipped my fingers past my swollen lips, remembering how soft and slick Mrs. B’s oiled-up thigh was against mine, how dark and hard her nipples. My clit ached at the thought and I touched it, rubbing it slowly under my fingers.

The image which kept coming back to me, though, was Mr. Baumgartner and his cock-his eyes locked on mine as he came. It made me embarrassed and excited to know seeing me and his wife lying together on the beach topless was enough to get him aroused-to get him off. Was he imagining something, or just watching us, or both?

I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about it, but I couldn’t help it. The more I thought about it, the faster my fingers moved over my clit. Leaning back against the tiles, I rubbed and rubbed it. The water made my nipples tingle. The images of the afternoon flashed through my mind-Mrs. B’s fingers pulling my bikini aside to look at my pubic hair, the swell and shift of her heavy breasts, the way the oil and water pooled on her tanned skin, the way her eyes lingered on my chest and belly and thighs.

Moaning softly, I slipped one finger inside my pussy, rocking against my hand and feeling a low hum building in my lower belly. That steady throb between my legs which had begun outside in the sun was like a fast, heavy drumbeat now keeping time with my pounding heart. Was he really watching us that whole time? Could he hear us? How long had he been sitting there, stroking himself?

The sight of his cock, bursting like a spewing geyser over his fist, the pleasure on his face, the way his eyes met mine-oh God, I couldn’t stand it. I shuddered and moaned and arched against the tiles as I came, remembering his dark eyes, his pumping hand, his bucking hips and spurting cock.