She spread herself out across the fronds as if they were a mattress. She hooked one arm around the trunk of the tree. With her other hand she managed to pluck a coconut. She cracked it against the trunk and then held the gourd over her and poured the milk over her breasts. “Lick it off,” she suggested.
Even if I was plenty shaky, Lucifer had no fear of heights. Watching a rivulet of coconut milk form in the gully of the wide aureole surrounding one of her nipples, I became aware that Lucifer was already recovering from the long climb. Hanging on to the tree trunk, I bent my head to her bosom and licked the sweet milk of the tropical fruit.
I licked it from the deep crevice running between her breasts. I sucked it from those pink aureoles with their hardening, tomato-red tips. I sipped it from the well of her moonlight-winking navel. I bent lower to catch a few drops sparkling around the twisting, purple-lipped entrance to her tunnel of love.
That was a mistake. One of the fronds gave under me. I grabbed out wildly and just managed to get a secure grip on a handful of palm leaves to stop myself from falling out of the tree. My other hand was no longer fastened around the trunk. My mouth, however, was fastened to the target it had been seeking. And my teeth were snagged in the triangle of red curls over it.
Her hands closed over the top of my head, each of them hooking into one ear as if my skull was a bowling ball. Her eyes were closed now and she was moaning. With my mouth where she wanted it, she was oblivious to my precarious position. All she was interested in was guiding my head back and forth so that my lips and tongue maintained maximum pressure on her swollen, aroused clitty.
At this point I wasn’t sure whether I was hanging on by my teeth, her fingertips (in my ears), or the shaky grip I had on the palm leaves. Also, there was one other possibility. Quite independently of me, Lucifer had found a knothole in the trunk of the palm tree and burrowed into it. Perhaps it was his rigidity that was keeping me from falling out of the tree.
As it turned out, that wasn’t it. The redhead, writhing frantically-—and precariously-now removed her middle fingers from one ear and made a grab for Old Lucifer. She plucked him cleanly from the knothole and proceeded to squeeze, caress, and yank him in a way that had the old devil rearing up on the cloven hoofs of his hind legs. When the wind did something to our bower, there was a scrambling of position and Lucifer ended up first -- briefly -- at her hungry lips, and then lodged between her plump, panting, narrowly and deeply divided, breasts. He slid in and out of the cleavage, happy as a lark wintering at Palm Springs all expenses paid.
My hands were holding on to Red’s bottom. My feet were dangling out of the palm tree. My brain was undergoing a schizophrenic split, torn between the thrills of our lovemaking and the fear of making a permanent dent in the soil of Paradise Island far below.
Another gust of wind had me scrambling again. This time the position I attained was somewhat more secure. I was on the very top of the palm tree, the redhead spread out under me, the two of us supported fairly firmly by the mesh of fronds.
This was more like it. Our mouths fastened on each other. My fingertips stroked the quivering tips of her breasts. With my other hand I reached under her and squeezed her burning bottom.
Old Lucifer made his presence known, knocking at the gates to her female Paradise. The portals, soft, dewy, palpitating, drew him in and made him welcome. Their pliability made him arrogant. He charged up the glovefinger-like alley, battering the delicate flesh walls, heedless of his impact. Once he’d reached the mouth of the womb, however, he became more wily.
Now the scrotal sac was bouncing against those purplish portals. Old Lucifer rose up and established a rhythmic motion like a corkscrew. His base maintained contact with the stiff little clitty, rubbing over it with each spiral movement.
Those cobalt eyes were staring up at me unseeing now. The red hair was blowing wildly in the wind. Her breasts were straining, nipples long and quivering, flesh hot and rippling. She was laughing low in her throat, uncontrollably, the laugh half a moan. Her hips were moving like the hips of a wind-up hula-dancer doll. Her thighs were clenched around me feverishly. Her sponge-rubber bottom was bouncing. And her Tunnel of Love was moving with my corkscrew rhythm, sucking Old Lucifer deep, clutching him, lips pluckering around his base, pulling at him deep inside her.
Her laughter mounted and grew louder. It trilled from the top of the palm tree and echoed in the tropical night. The wind carried it out over the surf and away. . . .
Old Lucifer could contain himself no longer. I rose up and plunged deep, deep into her. She thrust up to meet me, her laugh hysterical now. Together we came, rolling over the fronds, the height forgotten now, the peril a matter of no concern.
I pumped it all into her, and she took it all, all I could give her, sucking, demanding the last drop. It lasted a long time for both of us, she drinking it up deep inside her, writhing and laughing, me emptying the pump, shooting every bit of the hot cream, emptying myself and enjoying the raunchy ecstasy of every second of it.
“Wow!” she started to say when it was over. “That was really some -”
She never got to complete the sentence. The sudden mutual relaxation of our bodily tension had once again caused our bower to shift out from under us. This time my stomach did a flip-flop as I felt us suddenly falling. Locked in each other’s arms, we slipped from the embrace of the palm fronds and into the empty night.
It would have made for a really romantic ending, I suppose. If you like Romeo and Juliet, that is. Personally, I’ve always figured a live lover is a lot better off than a star-crossed one.
Luckily, my preference was realizable. As we fell, I grabbed out blindly with one hand and latched onto the bottommost frond of the bower of the palm tree. My other arm was holding the redhead, and she had both her arms and both her legs wrapped around me. Just at that moment-—wouldn’t you know it?-the moon went behind a cloudbank and the night around us turned pitch black.
We dangled. The socket of my arm felt like it was being stretched in opposite directions by two herds of elephants. As for the arm itself—if I lived through this, it figured to come out about a yard longer than its mate. I’d be able to scratch my knees without bending!
The redhead saved the day. Swinging from me like a pendulum, she worked up enough of an arc to manage to lock her legs around the trunk of the palm tree. She let go of me, made a grab, and then her arms were wrapped around it too. Relieved of her weight, I was able to chin myself back up far enough to pull myself along the fronds hand over hand until I also reached the trunk.
With the redhead leading the way, both naked, we climbed down the tree. It was harder than climbing up had been because it was pitch black now. It seemed a long, long time before I felt my feet touch the ground.
Just as I took the first step away from the tree, I heard the redhead scream. There were the sounds of a scuffle. A man cursed. Another man told him to shut up. It seemed as if my girl was being assaulted. I turned toward the sounds to go to her aid.
Something came down over my head. It was as if a large sack had been thrown over me. “As if,” hell! A large sack had been thrown over me! I thrashed about inside it, all tangled up.
“Not too hard, boyo,” a voice said.
Something that felt like a blackjack bounced off my shoulder.
“Begorrah! ’Tis clumsy you are.” The same Irish brogue. “Let me be afther doin’ it right now!”