Hot Moms Holiday Pt. 02

Lindsey wandered up a winding set of stairs toward the pool outside their guest villa, brooding over her confrontation with her mother. It had been the latest of many such arguments. Most arose from the same provocation, and that was her mother’s devil-may-care encouragement of promiscuity.

Elaine insisted that what Lindsey needed to heal from the pain of being dumped by a cheating husband was a good fuck. That was what she boiled everything in life down to: get a cock in you or a mouth on your pussy and you’ll be fine. Lindsey was infuriated by her mother’s continual efforts to make that happen. The woman was habitually intrusive and inappropriate, and now she’d become downright deceitful.

What most infuriated Lindsey was her nagging suspicion that Elaine was right.

Because the need for a good hard fuck was driving Lindsey clean out of her mind.

She didn’t think that she craved what Aphrodesia offered, which as far as she could tell were casual holiday flings and hook-ups. That was all well and good, for Elaine. Sex for its own sake seemed to have become everything to her.

As far back as Lindsey could remember, her mother had been a touch eccentric. Daft, in a harmless, sometimes charming but more often irritating, way. But when Lindsey’s father was alive, her parents had been a quiet, conventional couple. Lindsey recalled them as having been happy. Lindsey had been an adult and married when her father had passed.

Elaine’s second marriage had changed her.

Ross Harrington was a client of Lindsey’s father’s accounting firm. He was a wealthy sybarite, an entertainment attorney who frequently hosted lavish parties at his several homes and various exotic destinations. He and Elaine seemed so badly mismatched in temperament and values that Lindsey had believed her mother would end the affair once the excitement and novelty wore off.

Until the wedding invitation arrived. Shocked and wounded by the brevity of her mother’s mourning, Lindsey had nevertheless dutifully attended the extravagant ceremony.

She was utterly unprepared for what awaited her at the reception aboard Harrington’s yacht.

It was an orgy–a stem-to-stern fuckfest with enthusiastic bride Elaine as the guest of honor. After less than fifteen minutes Lindsey had bolted, fleeing down the gangplank before the boat left the dock.

She’d returned home and never confided any details of the trip to her husband Bob. She refused to even talk to her mother on the phone for months. And she’d kept her distance afterward, until well after Ross’s sudden death a decade later.

Yet when Bob Carroll had abandoned his wife and grown son, Elaine had been there for them. She might be cock-crazed nymphomaniac, but she was still a loving mother and grandmother.

Until this stunt.

Aphrodesia.

The resort proper was comprised of groups of six or eight guest villas, picaresque dwellings with whitewashed walls and blue tile roofs that were arranged around open plazas. Each plaza featured a large outdoor pool. Most of the buildings featured terraces facing either the Mediterranean or the island’s picaresque central mountains.

The scene at the nearest pool was the same as at the beach. A few vacationers were reading or napping or chatting, but most were openly fucking. A dozen couples humped away on the couches and loungers, naked women on their backs or riding their partners. At least five attractive women knelt on cushions, sucking cocks or licking pussies.

They were all so shameless! Lindsey stood rooted to her spot by the gate, absorbing the sight and sounds of the pleasure-seekers. There was a noticeable age gap between many of them. A few couples looked to be of similar ages, but there were quite a few older men fucking women young enough to be their adult daughters. Most of the women also paired up with younger guys.

What would it be like, Lindsey wondered, to be with a young lover after all of these years? The thought flashed through her mind of how easy it would be to join them, to strip out of her shorts and tee shirt and score some young cock.

But no. She would not become her mother.

Dismayed, she turned away, picked a direction at random, and trudged onward in the midday heat.

What she’d witnessed tormented her. All of those exuberant, wanton women filling their cunts and asses and mouths with what seemed an endless choice of pricks excited her beyond belief. Her lust levels were already in the stratosphere these days after so many months without sexual relief. Most nights she masturbated until she fell into an exhausted sleep, something she hadn’t done since she’d gotten married. Bob Carroll’s one virtue as a husband had been that he had a big dick and he loved sticking it in her. That had never changed, right up until the end.

The bastard had been pounding her doggie fashion when he’d told her he was leaving. Goddamn him to Hell!

She’d unconsciously walked toward the beach. She headed down the boardwalk in the opposite direction from the crowds and soon found herself on an empty stretch fronted by a long gated wall. Outside the wall was a row of massage huts, bamboo structures with thatched roofs and wooden floors, furnished with high padded tables and mats piled with pillows and blankets. Low, soothing flute music drifted from speakers attached to the frames. Only one attendant was on duty, a good-looking young man in a white uniform polo, shorts, and sandals who couldn’t have been much more than twenty years old. He looked up from his magazine and smiled disarmingly at her.

She abruptly recognized him as the guy she’d watched fucking the older brunette a few dozen yards from her room less than an hour earlier.

“May I help you?” he asked, his voice resonant and relaxed. He spoke with a faint English accent.

His eyes were pale gray but his tan was as dark as any of the local resort workers. His slim physique was deeply etched with lean corded muscle.

Just looking at him made her nipples tighten.

“I’m sorry…I may be a little lost.” She looked around. The beach here was nearly deserted. How far had she walked from their villa? “Where exactly am I?”

He shrugged a shoulder at the wall behind him. “Main spa. Very, very private. Guests retreat in there, sometimes, when they’ve wrung themselves out. Our Eden can be a little manic sometimes, wouldn’t you say?” His smile was easy and reassuring. “I’m Scott.”

“Lindsey.” She stuck her hand out awkwardly. “Lindsey Carroll. We only just arrived.”

“Enjoying yourself, so far?”

“So far, it’s a little…overwhelming. Actually, I’m scared to death.” She couldn’t say what about Scott made her want to confide in him. He was a total stranger. A total stranger, she reminded herself, whom she’d already seen buck naked and thrusting his cock into another woman.

“A massage can be very calming,” he suggested.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I–” she hesitated. Scott was such an appealing young fellow. And she’d noticed earlier that he had a remarkably big cock.

She wouldn’t fuck him. Of course she wouldn’t! Still, the notion of his strong hands on her, working up and down her body, over her back and legs, and–well, at least it would give her new fuel for her fantasies when she was lying alone in bed that night playing with her clit. Wouldn’t it?

“Why not?”

Scott turned his back to her while she undressed, busying himself mixing lotion from a warmer into a dispenser with a few drops of other oils. She picked up the towel that was folded neatly across the massage table, lay down on her stomach on the table, and draped it over her back and buttocks.

When he gathered up her long blonde hair and flipped it off of her shoulder to one side, his fingers grazed the nape of her neck. A little electric spark of excitement raced through her.

She pushed second thoughts from her mind. She needed at least this much attention. No man other than Matt had touched her in long ages–and he didn’t count, she reminded herself. She wasn’t trying to pick this young man up. This was his job. So where was the harm?

She wasn’t naïve. Given the nature of the resort, she didn’t doubt that Scott wound up fucking quite a few of his clients. She just wasn’t going to be one.

He drizzled warm lotion across her shoulders and down to the hollow of her back. She inhaled deeply.

“What is that?”

“Olive and almond oil. The scent is cedar wood and jasmine.” Scott ran his open hands lightly over her back, spreading the mixture, then pressed his fingers more firmly into the muscles around her shoulder blades and began kneading.

“It’s heavenly. Tell me, how long have you been doing this?”

“Here? A few years. We came down for a winter holiday and, well, just never left.”

Was it safe to assume that “we” referred to the brunette that Scott had been with on the beach? Maybe not. With Scott’s looks and laid-back charm, he probably had his choice of new partners every day.

Not that Lindsey cared. She willfully banished all questions and worries from her mind, closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the sensuality of his masterful hands roaming over her.

He moved down and poured lotion up and down the backs of her legs. He massaged each of her feet in turn before working his way up her outer calves and thighs. She caught herself reflexively wriggling her hips and arching her pelvis upward. She couldn’t help it. It probably happened all the time with Scott’s clients. And this was a private session. He was like a-a therapist. Yes, that was it, exactly. A therapist.

But there was nothing clinical in Scott’s skillful touch.

He moved his hands to her inner thighs, sliding up and down along her oil-slick flesh. When he stroked upward, his thumbs grazed her mound just a fraction of an inch from her pussy lips. She growled softly, deep in her throat, and jammed a knuckle into her mouth to stifle the sound.

Scott pressed his hands gently against her inner thighs. She opened herself to him without thought or hesitation.

Lotion dribbled into the hollows of her thighs. He smoothed it deftly into her skin. “Go on,” she murmured under her breath.