The splashing oars didn’t faze her. Buster turned in place to see his buxom beauty ignoring his watery pleas, remaining her usual stoic self. He hit the water harder, doing his best to splash and make all manner of noise as he rowed to her. But no, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did. Maybe she noticed, but was just too cool to care. Maybe she knew a man was approaching her by boat but wasn’t willing to interrupt her moonbathing long enough to see if she knew him. A woman who was so comfortable in her own skin that she didn’t mind showing off her body to a total stranger? It was possible. Especially a woman as beautiful as her.
This last thought hit him with the realization of a thousand little ugly truths. She was beautiful. Much too beautiful for the likes of him, an underpaid textile worker with the IQ of a loaf of bread and all the charm of a rabid weasel. What was he thinking? She would never, ever go for a man like him. No way. No how. Buster wasn’t an ugly man, but he was by no means a handsome one. At best he was average. Well, he used to be average before the split jaw left him with a scar across his face as long as his prick.
Buster centered himself and reminded his bruised ego that this was the right thing to do. He also convinced himself that this was what she wanted. Surely she wouldn’t just lay about in her altogether if she didn’t want someone to look. She had to be a… what was it Carla called ‘em? An exhibitionist. That was it. She was an exhibitionist, and he was a voyeur. It was a match made in heaven.
He drew upon this idea, steeling his nerve as he called out, “Ahoy there! I was fishing and I saw you and I wondered if you needed me?” Buster winced at his words. What was the use of practicing them for days on end if you were just gonna flub them when that special moment came at last?
The blonde didn’t respond. In fact, when he turned to look, she hadn’t moved at all. She still lay there in silence, eyes closed, as if he hadn’t said a thing. Maybe he wasn’t loud enough? Or close enough? Nonsense! He was practically on top of her. Well, he wished he were on top of her. And inside of her. God, he wanted to be inside of her so bad!
Buster took her non-response as a good sign. Not saying ‘go away’ was just as good as saying ‘come closer, you hunk of a stud.’ Wasn’t it? Sure! In Buster’s hormone-fueled mind, anything was possible.
He rowed his boat right up to her island and called out, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you might need a ride back to shore.”
No answer. A normal man might have taken this as an insult, but not Buster. He smiled wide at her lack of refusal as he rowed the last few feet to land his boat right on her shore. Shaking with excitement, Buster stepped out of the boat, over the small row of jagged rocks that lined the shore. His sneaker sank with ease into the wet sand, lending him little footing as he clambered out of the craft.
Giving her one more chance to say no, Buster asked, “Ma’am? Can I help you? I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t have a boat. I have a boat. Can I give you a lift?”
Two things occurred to him at her lack of refusal.
One, she was even more beautiful up close. Her hair was waist length, and spread in a fan around her head. Her face was a delicate ensemble of features, and her skin was pale to the point of being translucent. But he didn’t care about her hair or face or skin. His gaze flicked back and forth between those big boobies and that thatch of curl down below. Her breasts were stunning, but her pussy was even better. It pouted at him, begging to be stroked, petted and, most of all, fucked.
The second thing that came to him was the fact that she was out like a light. Buster thought carefully about this. What kept her from responding? Was she on drugs? Could be. Or maybe she was just so exhausted from the long swim, she was in the deepest sleep he had ever seen. Whatever it was, Buster had a choice to make.
Would he rouse her, then try to arouse her?
Or would he try to grope her as she slept?
He grinned with the wild idea. Could he? Could he really sneak up and fiddle with a girl in her sleep? He had seen such things all over the Internet, but could he do it for real? One more longing look at that pouting puss, and he knew the answer was yeah. Yeah, he could do it for real.
Buster crept to her side, wobbling on the unsteady footing of the sandy ground. As he drew closer to her, his confidence waned. She was going to wake up and find him with his hand in her cookie jar, and it was going be another Carla incident all over again. He was lucky to escape with just a broken jaw last time. Carla had to drop the sexual assault charges after Dale found those pictures of her with a mouthful of Little Buster and a smile on her face. Should he tempt fate again just for a lick of that tasty lolly spread so prettily at his feet?
Oh, hell, yes he would!
But just to be sure, just to excuse himself the burden of what he was going to do to this unconscious woman, he asked, “Hey, you awake?” She stayed silent, filling him with even more bravery. “I was thinking I might go down on you a bit.” She didn’t object, so he pressed on. “I’m gonna eat your pretty little pussy. Would you like that? Just lay there nice and still and don’t say nothing if you think you’d like that.”
Of course, his dream girl didn’t move a muscle.
Which gave him all the permission he needed.
Buster loosened his slacks, giving Little Buster a bit of well-deserved air. His cock was hard just from the prospect of touching the woman. He stroked himself, ever so lightly, as he fell to his knees between her wide-spread legs. What a sight that lay before him! Such a woman, all primed and raring to go. Seemed a waste to spend time on oral foreplay when she wouldn’t be awake to enjoy it anyway. As Buster pulled on his aching cock, he decided that he would skip the appetizer and go straight to the main course.
He leaned into her, placing a hand on either side of her waist, flat on the ground. It occurred to him, somewhere in the back of his small mind, that the island wasn’t made of sand, but of something else. The ground was soft and wet and rough to the touch. Rough but not sand? Sure, why not? Buster pushed this thought out of his mind, replacing it with the prospect of his first fuck in five years. He lined up his cock and thrust himself home.
And nearly came on the spot.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
Her puss was as tight as a fist, gripping him with such power, he almost checked to make sure he wasn’t in her back door. Buster gritted his teeth as he held himself inside of her for a moment. Sure, she might not have been awake, but it wouldn’t do his delicate ego a lick of good if he came before the first thrust. At length, he was ready to fuck her and fuck her good. He shifted his hips, trying to unsheathe himself from her heat so he could plunge her depths again, but found instead that he couldn’t move. He was stuck to her, inside of her, and she wasn’t letting him go.
For a second, he thought it was the result of his overactive hormones. That maybe he was so swollen with need and she was so tight with inexperience that there was nothing better to do than just come and be done with it. He took the pretty thing by the hips, intent on getting a better grip as he tried his best to hump her. Yet the moment he touched her skin, he was affixed to her. He couldn’t lift his hands from her hips, couldn’t pull his cock from her cunt, couldn’t wiggle his groin free from her groin. It was as though she were made of some kind of glue instead of luscious lady bits.
As he was held there, helpless and horny, the island about him began to shake.
The girl beneath him trembled, quivering from head to toe in time to the shivering ground. Buster, who was doing his best to keep his wits together, finally lost it. He screamed for help as he struggled against her. But the more he wriggled, the more he writhed, the more he got stuck into her. Like some seductive tar-baby, the sleeping beauty pulled him to her, skin for skin, until Buster was trapped in full atop her, screaming for his life.