The Fun , Risks of an All-Over Tan Pt. 02

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Here is the promised sequel to “The Fun & Risks of an All-over Tan”. The original story was, I accept, somewhat abrupt in its ending – my excuse is the pressure of writing for a competition deadline! Hopefully this rather longer second part will give a more satisfying conclusion.

I hope you find it enjoyable and do, please, take a moment to rate the story. Feedback and comments are always very welcome as I love to hear the thoughts and opinions of readers.

As ever, I must give my very great thanks to Winterreisser for his diligent editing, encouragement and suggestions.

Happy reading,




“‘Do elves live in these woods?’ he asked,” I read in my Frodo voice.

“‘Not that I ever heard,’ said Pippin. Frodo was silent. He too was gazing eastward along the road, as if he had never seen it before. Suddenly he spoke, aloud but as if to himself, saying slowly:”

I feel Dylan snuggle in against me as I sit on the bed next to him. I glance from the book, a big illustrated copy of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ that I borrowed from Dad when Dylan insisted that was the next book he wanted read at bedtimes after we finished reading ‘The Hobbit’. At just under ten I suspect he may be a bit young for ‘The Lord of the Rings’ but he seems to have enjoyed the first two and a bit chapters so maybe I’m wrong.

“‘The road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.’

“‘That sounds like a bit of old Bilbo’s rhyming,’ said Pippin. ‘Or is it one of your own imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging.'” I pitch my voice higher to be Pippin.

“‘I don’t know,’ said Frodo. ‘It came to me then, as if I was making it up; but I may have heard it long ago. Certainly it reminds me very much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. ‘It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ he used to say. ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountains or even further and to worse places?’ He used to say that on the path outside the front door at Bag End, especially after he had been out for a long walk.'”

I glance again at Dylan and see that he is nodding, almost asleep. “Okay, Dylan, let’s stop there,” I say, slipping the bookmark into place and closing the book.

“Aw…Sue Mum,” he complains tiredly but this is just for forms sake; he knows he is too tired and just wants to sleep. If he’d really objected he’d have called me just ‘Sue’ or even ‘Susan’ and he doesn’t complain as I tuck him in and give him a kiss.

“Night-night Dylan,” I say fondly.

“Night-night Mum,” he replies sleepily. I move to stand up and he holds my hand. “Cuddle… please.” How can I refuse? I lie on the duvet beside him and hug him gently. Once he’d finally accepted us as foster parents he’d wanted to be cuddled to sleep almost every night. It is less frequent these days but always so sweet when he asks. Anyway, we’ve begun the process to adopt Dylan so he’ll be our son in a few months, hopefully. Dylan seemed genuinely happy with the idea when we talked to him about it and we know he loves us both.

When we’d decided to foster we assumed it would be a girl we’d care for; after all, I had two daughters. However, there was something about Dylan when we met him. He had been a handful – he still can be at times – but his life up to that point had been a rough one: periods in care alternating with disastrous attempts to settle him back with his mother, a woman in her mid-twenties and who’d given birth to him at just sixteen. She had ongoing issues with drugs and an unerring aptitude for choosing brutes of men as boyfriends.

I close my eyes as I hold this little boy. The words I just read him drift through my mind: ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to…’ Or you step out into your garden naked and get locked out. You meet the young woman you knew when she was a girl younger that Dylan is now, who offers to help and, after a couple of hours and a streak down the road together, you end up in bed with her for a first, incredible experience of lesbian sex. And you might, stupidly, say that you love her, like you’re some dumb, infatuated teenager. Of course it is one thing to say something like that, quite another for it to be true…

– – – – – – – – o o O o o – – – – – – – –

Chapter yalova escort One

I wake and stretch languidly. I can hear the shower running in the bathroom next door as Vince goes through his morning routine. He is such a creature of habit in the mornings that I know he will have already peed and shaved and that after he has showered he will head downstairs in his white terry cotton bathrobe for a glass of orange juice, toast and marmalade (or honey occasionally, just for variety!) and a mug of tea. Then back upstairs to clean his teeth and dress in his suit and off to work. The question is: do I get up?

I am, still, naked on this, the third morning in a row making it, let me think… fifty-five and a bit hours since I last had a stitch of clothing on my body. I am thoroughly enjoying this nude existence; Vince, on the other hand, seems to be getting pissed off by it, though I’m not sure why.

My best guess is that he doesn’t understand why I’m doing it: yesterday evening when I appeared naked in front of him his first thought was that I was too hot and then wondered if I was craving sex with him. Neither, of course was true: I was warm but not too hot and as for sex with him… no! I’d spent the afternoon in bed with Nix experiencing lesbian sex for the first time – incredible, wonderful, mind-blowing lesbian sex – and was desperate to be with Nix again today.

I find that I’ve dozed off again when Vince re-enters the bedroom to collect his phone that he left on the bedside table. I give him a fleeting kiss goodbye and he turns to go. “Will you be back late again tonight?” I ask.

“Possibly; that contract has still to be signed.” He sounds resigned, like he’d much rather be coming home. Perhaps he would, though he never seems to make much effort getting back when there isn’t a major contract to sign.

“Okay. I hope it goes well,” I tell him and I mean it. I stretch and the sheet slips down, uncovering my bare boobs. His look is unreadable.

“Enjoy you day off,” he says and heads off, the door slamming a minute later.

Nix arrives early, though still an hour after Vince left for work, coming to the patio door. Despite the broken latch on the outside, the door still works from within. No sooner has she stepped inside (as naked as me, as I had predicted she’d be!) than we’re in each other’s arms kissing. It doesn’t take long before I’m once more leading her upstairs.

She takes the charge again but, this time, instead of asking me to copy what she does, she lays me back and begins kissing and licking her way down my body, starting at my lips and working down my neck to my shoulder. I reach down, cupping her boob in my hand and caressing it, my fingers brushing the hard nub of her nipple. “No, Suzie, I want you to let me make love to you this time,” she tells me.

“But I want to make it good for you too,” I protest.

“It will be, Suzie, don’t worry; I really will enjoy doing this. Don’t feel guilty but enjoy it, please.” Her lips return to my chest as she begins kissing every millimetre of my boobs. She was right: I do feel guilty just being the recipient because I should be seeking her pleasure too. However, I try to relax and go with it and to be completely aware of what she is doing – such as the kisses and licks that now flutter across my tummy – and I discover that I feel them much more intensely. It is not the orgasm inducing pleasure of the sex we’d enjoyed yesterday, it doesn’t even feel like foreplay, though, of course it is. It’s wonderful: a gentle, sustained sensuality that has me floating.

I feel her tongue lick slowly up a couple of times, passing either side of my tummy button. I tense as I realize she just licked along my stretch marks. “Beautiful Mummy marks,” she whispers and I love her for that lie: they are not beautiful, not really, but she doesn’t care and accepts them because they’re part of me.

It all feels so wonderful that it’s almost a disappointment when her lips find my nether lips. I’m kidding; it isn’t at all disappointing. She continues with the same, gentle pace but, though she kisses and licks all over my mound, she doesn’t enter me. I’m now so wet that even I can smell my arousal. She works her way over the inside of my thighs, her tongue tracing the crease where my leg joins my body.

She has me raise and spread my knees wide so I’m completely open and displayed to her. Her mouth begins again, up between my legs but not to my increasingly moist pussy but – oh my god! – lower, kissing and lapping the sensitive skin of my perineum. And then she does it: the tip of her tongue delicately traces the puckered skin of my anus. “Oh fuck!” I gasp. While I have fingered myself there occasionally, the sensation of someone else doing so, and with their tongue too, is unbelievably kinky and sensual. Nix hesitates at my cry. “I’m not complaining!” I tell her, “That feels incredible.”

The tip of her tongue presses the centre of my pucker and my zonguldak escort insides clench and tingle. Suddenly I am hugely turned on and my hand reaches down instinctively to my pussy. Nix notices and her hand halts mine. “Hmm, looks like your little star is very sensitive and arousing for you,” she observes before returning to lick it again, this time lapping upwards and ploughing her tongue between my pussy lips.

She goes to work on my cunt now, first with her mouth and tongue and then with fingers too. The long build up makes every nerve receptive to her touch and yet I don’t cum immediately as she keeps easing off as she senses the orgasm build within me. It doesn’t take long before I’m begging her to finish me, to let me cum. Her fingers slip from my pussy and she sucks and teases my clitoris with her mouth. Then there is a new feeling: her finger, slick with my nectar, rubbing my anus, insinuating itself, pushing inside me. She has barely entered me but that’s all it takes: my delayed climax is finally and tumultuously released, making me heave and thrash on the bed.

The storm inside me begins to pass and her tongue seeks to drive me to another orgasm but, with my nerve endings screaming, it is too much and I clamp my legs together, rolling away from her. “No more, darling,” I moan, “too much!”

She moves back before scooting up behind and wrapping her arms around me as the trembling aftershocks within gradually subside.

“I wanted to show you just how good it can be,” she whispers, kissing the back of my neck softly.

“Nix, you don’t need to prove to me how good sex with a woman is: I found that out yesterday,” I assure her happily, “though that was, I think, the best orgasm of my life.”

“Good!” she says and I can hear the grin on her face.

When I have recovered enough, I insist it is my turn to make love to her. I try not to simply copy everything she did but to include my own ideas too. However, I cannot resist kissing and licking her anal star as she had mine and it is wonderful, to share every part of ourselves in pleasure.

As I feel Nix’s orgasm take her, I understand that to be the recipient, to allow your lover to make love to you, is not selfish, that there is as much pleasure in being the giver, focussing everything on the woman you love until she is trembling and convulsing with you inside her. For one to be the giver, the other must necessarily receive.

We lie together in each other’s arms for a while afterwards, until hunger drives me downstairs to make brunch for me (who hadn’t had breakfast) and lunch for Nix (who had). While we eat Nix reminds me that I need to get the patio door fixed. “Yesterday’s adventure was fun,” she points out, “but you wouldn’t want a repeat!”

I agree whole heartedly and I fetch the laptop computer to begin searching for someone who could make the repair. Nix wanders around the kitchen, opening cupboards and exploring. I glance up and see her over by the pinboard that is covered with bills that need paying, my blood donor appointment letter for next week, postcards (one from Katie and two from Helena), contact numbers and various photos of Vince and the girls and me over the years. I watch her briefly as she studies this window onto our family life and wonder what she’s thinking.

A few more clicks on the computer and I find a local company that advertises door and window repairs. After a short phone call they are booked to come next Monday. “I’ll have to get dressed that day,” I lament, “and you too.”

“Only if I come over,” she retorts.

“Oh, so you’d leave me here at the mercy of some strange man, all alone!”

“Of course not; you know I’ll be here.” She leans over and kisses my cheek.

After eating we head out into the garden, though I make sure that that the broken sliding patio door cannot close by putting a chair in the way. We try sunbathing, laying two towels side by side on the grass and applying suntan lotion to each other, which is great fun. However, sunbathing isn’t terribly enjoyable in what is the hottest part of the day. Instead, we take the towels and drape them over the patio chairs and sit in the shade of the garden parasol to simply talk.

It is strange. We have shared the most intimate explorations of each other’s bodies and yet we know very little about each other: our lives over the past ten or so years, our likes and dislikes, our ambitions and hopes and fears. It is only now that we begin the process of getting to know one another properly. We find similarities and differences, as you’d expect, with some things that we guess rightly about each other and others that are surprises.

We vaguely notice the afternoon becoming increasingly hazy and overcast but the air remains very warm. The first rumble of thunder makes us both jump and we look at each other and laugh. “I love thunderstorms,” I tell her, “they’re so… primal and lightning is so spectacular.”

“Hmm, if you say zonguldak escort so,” she replies. She doesn’t look scared but is definitely uncomfortable. As the first heavy drops of rain start to fall I stand and step out from the shelter of the parasol, arms outstretched as if embracing the rain, feeling the heavy, cold drops splash on my skin.

“Come on, Nix, this feels wonderful!” I laugh. Hesitantly she stands and joins me.

“Oh, the rain’s colder than I expected!” she complains but I grab her hands, swinging them back and forth as I twist my hips and move my feet; I want her to dance with me, both of us naked in the storm. She gets the idea and, smiling, starts to move to an unheard beat. I raise her arm and she twirls and we are both laughing now, a joy bubbling up inside us that even the flash of lightning and delayed peal of thunder cannot diminish.

We turn and twist, pull apart and come close, our rain-slick skins gliding sensuously together. The movement excites and warms us against the chill of the falling water. I know that whatever the future holds, this is one of those moments and experiences that will never leave me.

I feel a sudden stinging on my shoulder and hear Nix cry “Ow!” I barely have time to register what is happening before I feel more little jabs of pain and the air is full of fast-falling white dots. “It’s hailstones!” Nix exclaims loudly, “and they bloody hurt!”

She’s right and some of the hailstones are a quarter of an inch or more across. “Let’s get inside quick,” I tell her and we hurry indoors, stepping gingerly over the icy balls scattered over the patio; they are extremely cold, hard and uncomfortable to tread on in bare feet as I quickly discover. I follow her through the door and, pulling the chair aside, slide it closed behind me as I notice a few hailstones have bounced onto the wooden dining room floor and are melting rapidly. Our arms slip around each other as we stand close beside each other looking out.

“It almost looks like snow!” she observes and she’s right: the paving of the patio and the grass beyond are dusted white as the hail falls heavily. I hug her tight to me, desperate to make her an indelible part of this experience. She gives a little shiver.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Are you cold?”

“Maybe a little but it’s more that it looks cold outside. Does that make sense?” It’s cooler now than it was a short while ago but definitely not cold.

“Not really. Still, I can make you a hot drink if it helps.”

“That would be nice and… could we cuddle up in front of the telly and watch a film maybe?”

“That would be lovely, Nix; just time spent together.” I really mean it. We could go to bed again and make love but somehow just being together doing ordinary stuff seems perfect right now. She nods and that’s our afternoon sorted.

– – – – – – – – o o O o o – – – – – – – –

Chapter Two

“See you tomorrow Suzie,” Nix says as we finally end our kiss. “Will you come over to me for a change?”

“Sure,” I reply but there’s a mischievous look in her eyes that makes me ask what she has planned. She looks a little awkward before speaking.

“I’d really like to do some drawings of you. You know, some life drawing…”

“You mean proper life drawing rather than Peeping Tom life drawing?” I tease and she grins, acknowledging the way she’d spied on me to draw me sunbathing nude and then masturbating in my garden before I even knew she’d moved in next door. “I’d love to, I tell her.

“Come over about half eight and I’ll have breakfast ready,” she promises before giving me a last lingering kiss. She skips down the garden to the loose boards in the fence and swings them aside, her cute, naked form disappearing through the gap with a final wave.

I stand looking out, my lips and body still warm and tingling from my contact with hers. She makes me feel so alive and so loved.

The sound of the front door closing startles me. “Hello?” I call nervously.

“Hello, Susan,” comes the reply and the fact that it is Vince is even more of a shock that the sound of the door had been. I glance across at the carriage clock on the sideboard: seven fifty-five pm and this is the earliest Vince has been home for weeks. It also leaves me with explaining why I’m naked in what Vince probably considers the middle of the day. I guess I need to bare-face it out and the phrase makes me chuckle; if only it was just my face that was bare!

I meet him in the hall, going over to kiss him lightly on the lips. He looks at me questioningly, “Um…” is all he manages verbally.

“Oh, yes, er, me naked,” I hesitate and opt for at least partial truth. “Well, I’ve been sunbathing… in the garden… like this…” His eyes widen in surprise.

“But… you could be seen… by the neighbours!” he protests.

“Um, no, not actually. Vince, I’m not stupid. I checked and close to the house the garden’s not overlooked.”

“Susan, of course it is. There’s next door for a start…” Damn! So: do I admit Nix is there or…

“Old Mrs Featherstone died, remember?” I point out, “So next door is empty.”

“Is it? I thought I saw a light on in there the other night,” he tells me, frowning.

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