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  #11  
Old 31-Aug-19, 20:11
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

I loved the end of this installment. Hopefully she spends a lot more time in this position. Thanks for continuing this, mate. Please tell me there is more.
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  #12  
Old 31-Aug-19, 20:29
baller2242 baller2242 is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

Great chapter and were only twi days into their two week vacation. Sounds like you're in for a world of hurt when she gets a legitimate when and it certainly seems to be coming.
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Old 31-Aug-19, 21:46
HermanDG HermanDG is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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I loved the end of this installment. Hopefully she spends a lot more time in this position. Thanks for continuing this, mate. Please tell me there is more.
For you, my friend, there is more...
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  #14  
Old 15-Sep-19, 14:10
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

CHAPTER 03 - Charlie Don’t Surf


The next day, I set about getting away from The Grove for a little while.


The city of Orlando, Florida has a vast array of attractions and those are not limited to the various Disney theme parks or the competitive offerings from Universal Studios. One of the areas that I was interested to see was Disney Springs, a large open air mall that houses a variety of restaurants, loads of shopping, theatres and — usually — a Cirque du Soleil that is based in a theatre made to look like a circus tent. While the circus — and all those lovely contortionists and double-jointed lady acrobats and dancers — wasn’t in town this go around due to ongoing renovations, right next to it was an attraction that I was very interested in seeing, the new NBA Experience pavilion. Having been a fairly loyal Toronto Raptors fan since their inception in 1995, I followed every game of their 2018-19 playoff run that culminated in a somewhat unlikely, but highly entertaining run to becoming NBA Champions. While I avoided the parade that drew about half of Canada into the streets of Toronto a few days later, I shared in the euphoria and my love for hoops was at an all-time high. I couldn’t wait to see all the Toronto Raptors championship gear that I was sure was going to be unique to the NBA Experience pavilion.

Then I got there.

Let me say this; that a place like the NBA Experience exists is marvellous, BUT, that a place like the NBA Experience in Orlando, Florida exists and doesn’t carry a single goddamn piece of Toronto Raptor World Champion paraphernalia, is fucking travesty. The goddamn place didn’t stock a single, fucking Toronto Raptors baseball cap, even in the goddamn section where they were supposed to have a goddamn representative hat for every goddamn team in the goddamn league. The ridiculous, James Dolan clown car owned Knicks had multiple offerings of hats, t-shirts, jersey and paraphernalia. Want a Phoenix Mercury of the WNBA hat? They’ve got it. Want a commemorative hat for your World Champion Toronto Raptors? Sorry, bud.

My consternation was limitless and then, as the final insult, the only Raptors jersey in the whole place was a vintage, inaugural, white jersey with the red dinosaur emblazoned with the number and name of traitorous Vince Carter, whom Raptor fans booed — literally — every time he touched the ball for 15 years after he quit on the team to force a trade to New Jersey of all places. To say that I wanted to give Adam Silver, the Commissioner of the NBA a piece of my mind was an understatement — I was outraged. Fuck you, NBA Experience, fuck you right in the goat ass!

To drown my sorrows, I headed over to The House of Blues that was just down the way from the NBA Experience, a nice little restaurant owned by a good, Canadian ex-pat named Dan Aykroyd. When entering the restaurant at The House of Blues, you are immediately struck by the fact that the place looks much larger on the inside than it does from the outside. The feature that most accounts for this is the high, vaulted ceiling. Before you are even seated, expect your mouth to be watering from the sweet, smoky aroma which is characteristic for any respectable barbecue joint, but is a true signature at the House of Blues. I was ready to storm the kitchen on arrival because of how great it all smelled. Around the perimeter of the dining room, were large, windowed doors that are opened to give the restaurant an open air feel and serves the double ended purpose of allowing fresh air in and the intoxicating aromas being cultivated within the kitchen out into the area around the restaurant. This acts as a delightful torment to passers by and as the best invitation possible. Overall, feel inside the restaurant is warm and earthy, with wooden floors and furnishings that are simple and in keeping with the general feel of the place — heavy wooden chairs and tables with white table cloths, almost begging to be defiled with morsels and splatters of delicious sauces. The House of Blues is neither fancy or pretentious, even if it is owned by a Hollywood guy.

I have to admit, by the time I’d polished off my appetizer of Voodoo Shrimp, I was feeling a little better about things. It may have had something to do with the two Hendricks and tonic that accompanied the shrimp, but even on their own, the Voodoo Shrimp at the House of Blues is magic. Stacked on the house corn bread — which is to die for — Voodoo Shrimp is a saucy, savoury, symphony of flavours that really hits the spot. To be honest, it was so good that I briefly considered licking the plate before some sense of judgement kicked in and I just used the cornbread to mop up all the lovely sauce that remained on the platter. For a minute I wondered if I should’ve just ordered a couple of plates of just the shrimp, but that opinion faded into oblivion the minute that the barbecue ribs showed up at the table.

While I pride myself at being a guy who doesn’t generally get all hot and sweaty while laying waste to enormous plates of food, the plate of ribs in front of me was well worth the effort. With a stack of beautifully saucy ribs that looked like they were from some kind of prehistoric, Fred Flintstone wet dream, my feature protein was accompanied by a mound of savoury slaw, baked beans, grilled corn and even more of the amazing cornbread. Grace Jones might have been a slave to the rhythm, but at that moment, I was a slave to the BBQ. I tossed that colossal plate of food back as though I’d never eaten a meal in all my life. I’m sure that I must have resembled a death row inmate mauling his last supper and — with God as my witness — had that raft load of food actually been my last meal, I would have met eternity as a happy, happy man. That meal was the perfect remedy for the disappointment of the NBA Experience, so after reconciling my bill with my waitress, Ruby, I swung by the attached HOB store and picked up a couple of T-Shirts. I briefly considered a House of Blues bowling shirt, but figured that could wait for about another ten years and a time when I might really be ready to start dressing like an old guy.

T-Shirts in hand, I made my way out into the standard, mid-afternoon, Orlando humidity that adequately replicated the experience of walking around inside of someone’s mouth. It was wickedly hot, I estimated into the high 40’s with the Humidex, so i really needed to get back to the resort where I could hang around under a palm tree in one of the pools. I supposed, if nothing else, maybe Ella or her mom were hanging around to act as a heaping dessert of eye candy to bookend my manly lunch.

The drive back to The Grove was uneventful and as I turned down Grove Blossom Way off Avalon Road, I was again struck be the impressive beauty of the meticulous landscaping in the area surrounding the resort. It was an absolute paradise and even after just a few days the drive down the avenue that bordered The Grove and was entirely lined by mature palm trees had begun to take on the welcomed aspect of coming home.

Upon my arrival, I breezed past the front desk in the lobby of the main building that seemed to perpetually entertain a stream of incoming guests. Obviously the resort was becoming less of a hidden gem, just based on the lineup. From there, it was down the long hallway past the gift shop where they sold all the commemorative t-shirts, hats and overpriced vacation memorabilia. If you were hungry, the gift shop also had a small canteen attached to it that sold sandwiches and pizza and the store area also covered off most needs from wine and spirits down 2 litre bottles of Coca-Cola — that were provided to those desperate vacationers who hadn’t planned ahead or stopped by the local Wegman’s — for about $6.50 USD per bottle. I was so glad that I’d taken the time to stock up on groceries at the start of my stay. Not that I minded a good meal out, but for the day to day battles with the munchies, having some healthier options in my room had been a godsend.

Once up to my room via the pool elevator, which I preferred because it seemed to work a little quicker than the one in the lobby, I got myself changed into a pair of light blue swim trunks that I tastefully paired with a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt, some flip flops, my trusted Cuban fedora and my standard issue Columbia shades through which I was able to survey my world is classic poker faced fashion. Back down the elevator and out past the wee exercise room — why do hotels NEVER invest in a decent sized fitness room?? — and the somewhat overpriced spa, I was back in my tropical element, hovering in a shady part of the middle pool, while zoning out to the slight drone of the neighbouring jacuzzi hot tub that I generally avoided as a rule. Ahhhh...paradise, it was pretty alright.

I was obviously more heavily impacted by my massive meal at the House of Blues than I’d considered, as my pool repose devolved into an epic zone out, which dulled my usually jungle keen senses to a slothy inattentiveness. As a result, I was completely caught off guard as my personal space was invaded by a predator on par with Bruce the Shark from Jaws. Post facto, I considered that my newfound company must have been versed in the dark arts of ninjitsu, rather than more accurately considering that vacation life may have unduly softened me up from my usual low standards of observance. Either way, my companion made sure to make an entrance.

“I know what you’re doing”, her voice whispered intensely in my ear, as she leaned in with unexpected familiarity and her hand slithered down into my swim trunks and put a Ronda Rousey level choke hold on my ballsack — an impactful way to start a conversation to be sure, since she immediately had my full attention. Clare was seizing the day and my balls — CARPE SCROTUM!!

“Are you going to ask me to cough?”, I questioned, probably not concealing my discomfort with my standard, Pierce Brisbane as James Bond panache as I would have liked. Her sunglasses concealed much of her internal monologue, but the added torque applied to my scrotum suggested a significant lack of mirth. It was Clare. Momma Bear had come out to play.


Her body was magnificent and couldn’t have been any more delicious if slathered with the rib sauce from the House of Blues. Close in against my body — in part to conceal to any passers by that she actually had a death grip on ol’ Jim and the twins — her skin was smooth and soft. Under any other circumstances, that of itself would’ve been more than welcome. However, Clare’s body also presented with hardened ripples of sleek, steely muscle that lived just under the silky soft surface of her skin. Her level of fitness was uncommon for lot in life and even for almost anyone other than those individuals that represented a very small percentage of the population know only as “the ultra fit”.

Queen Clare wore a scant black bikini with bright green piping and a thong back that accentuated every contour of her form. She carried herself with more than confidence — because she truly was majestic — but also the certainty of a woman who was fully aware of the bias of her superiority. She knew that sat apart from most mere mortals, even those who might equate themselves as peers. Clare was elite in her development, which still forced the question of what she was doing with an Average Joe like her husband Charlie. Clare sought to maintain her distinctive physical advantage as we managed our shadow war just beneath the surface of the pool. She obviously loved the challenge of the game and as her fierce eyes leaped out over her sunglasses, I was able to catch brief glimpses of the intense glare of her eyes as they narrowed with her focus and flashed like lightning with their grey-blue hue. Her intent was clear in those eyes, wordlessly daring me to take up her challenge.

So I did...

With all things being equal in the backwards land of President Donald Trump, I returned the compliment and grabbed my beautiful violator by the pussy, noticing immediately the silky smoothness of her crotch that was only possible via laser treatment. Nice. She had the Ferrari of vaginas, I was sure.

Her body betrayed her surprise at my brash act as her private lady muscles tightened with a shudder around my hand, but the defiant clenching of Clare’s jaw was almost imperceptible. This tigress was bound and determined to maintain exacting control over everything under her influence, but The Queen’s disdain for my Lipton’s Cop o’ Feel radiated from her like stove element left on high. “You’re nothing if not a complete wanker”, she growled in a tone imperceptible by anyone other than myself, but with the implied force of a full on scream, “You might think that you are entitled to your entertainment at the expense of my daughter, but if you think I’ll let you treat my Ella as if you’re her punter or some such, then you’re right mad as a nutter.”

God, I loved the birds with accents, even if I had no idea what they were saying.

“So am I reading it right that you’re upset then, Clare?” I confirmed, not wanting an international incident over an ESL based misunderstanding.

“Yes...you fucking cock up”, Clare seethed, squeezing my nutsack with wince producing aggression, while doing nothing to dissuade me from the opinion that if she really put her mind to it, she could have my cock up in quick hurry, “You must fancy yourself as wickedly funny. We’ll see how entertained you are if I tear off the old bits and bobs right here in the pool and leave you on the pull for a fellow fucking eunuch.”

To quote Rocky, the Rhode Island Red from Chicken Run, “Was that English?! Seriously, I don’t think that was English!!”

Even so, the way Clare said the last bit and her general demeanour suggested to me that she truly intended to do my manly bits some grievous harm, even if the setting of our current Mexican stand off wasn’t completely accommodating to that nefarious end. I countered with a reassuring, “extra gropey with fromage” squeeze of her puddin’ hatch, testing her poker face to limited returns. Clare was a hard woman.

“Clare, you seem upset with me”, I offered in a conciliatory fashion, seeking to build bridges —preferably straight into her vagina — rather than walls and continued, “and to be honest, while I’m obviously fondle you and your daughter, I’m just a regular guy here in paradise trying to relax and reset while on vacation.”

Even Lady Gaga’s muse couldn’t contain her incredulous disbelief at my contention. All that work I’d been putting in with my Executive Trainer back home immediately seemed so very futile in that moment, with the both of us standing there in that pool, passive aggressively mangling each other’s Tender Vittles while trying to seem civil and supportive and never truly finding ourselves “in the pocket”, developing synergies, finding paradigm shifts or breaking down silos. It was just like any other day in a corporate setting, which was fine, just as long as we weren’t actually drinking the Kool-Aid.

If I was being honest with myself, I would’ve had to admit that I loved Clare’s ferocity — a Mama Bear defending one of her cubs, true — but there was more to it than that. Clare wasn’t standing in a pool — 7000 km away from her home in Southampton — trading warm scones and tea for squeezing the life out of my tea bag just to defend her very capable daughter’s honour. If she’d wanted to, there were lots of ways that she could’ve addressed any concerns she might’ve had about my play sessions with Ella — up to and including incurring the wrath of either resort management and/or law enforcement — not that there would’ve been any issue given Ella’s age. No, Clare was participating for another reason altogether, so it was time to find out why.

“So tell me, Clare”, I began, giving her coin purse another squeeze to see if it helped anything fall out, “What’s the endgame here? There are a million ways to spend an afternoon in Florida and you’re down here giving my friend, Mr. Bojangles, a loving massage. Your daughter’s of age, so its not that, unless you make a point of ‘checking out’ all the boys she brings home like this. So what’s up?”

The corners of Clare’s mouth made a virtually imperceptible upturn — Eureka! A mini tell!! — and she tilted down her head enough to re-establish contact with her lush brown eyes over top of her stylish Ray-Bans, trying to help accentuate any point that was to follow. Clare was goddamn flawless beauty of woman, made even more evident by our close proximity that captivated me as the coconut notes of her Coppertone sunblock wafting in our intimate setting registered in my mind.

“If you want your arse kicked”, Clare began, “You only need to ask.”

Clare gave another treacherous squeeze, delivering a tormented groan from me and a grin of satisfaction from her. Obviously Ella’s acorn didn’t fall far from the tree, Clare really seemed to love savaging my privates.

‘’Clare”, I wincingly demurred,”Why don’t you swing by some time so that we can work out our differences like adults or, barring that, maybe we solve it with the two of us going full UFC on each other and wrestling on a tarp slathered in baby oil?”

I secretly hoped that she might lean in on Option 2.

“Twenty Minutes. Your Suite. Be Ready.” She accentuated each syllable of every word. With her accent, it made everything she said so much more captivating. She kinda gave me wood. Okay...she gave me a lot of wood, so much that she couldn’t help but notice.

“Well, well, well...aren’t WE frisky?” She purred, cocking her high arched eyebrow with distinct intrigue while giving me another once over with her eyes. Clare stepped her athletic body into an even more intimate range — that gave no possibility for greater enhancement other than perhaps actually co-inhabiting my swim trunks — while steeling her muscles against me to very cognitively give me a preview of her strength with a mind to intimidate. I love serious competitors and she was one without question, her fully tensed bod left no doubt of her physical merits. “You may be chuffed and full of yourself now, you dodgy bastard, but we’ll see if you fancy your situation once you’ve been fully sorted.”

Clare strangulated my boys one last time and then released my scrotum also that she could almost playfully walked her hand up my belly using her index and middle fingers as wee legs until she arrived at my left nipple. “Be ready to be brought low, my friend”, Clare warned as her fingers lightly traced circles across the top of my nipple, sending a shiver through my body, “because I’m going to enjoy hearing you trying beg me to stop, especially since it will be difficult with your having pants shoved down your throat and all. THAT SOUND will be absolute music to my ears.”

Clare violently tweaked my nipple, extracting a pained yelp as her tax. She beamed with self appreciation of her work and then ripped my hand away from her pussy while following that action by aggressively pushed me back to establish my place in her version of the Circle of Life. “Twenty minutes, chappie”, she said menacingly, as her grin grew into a malicious — very-non-Austin-Powers-from-a-point-of-dentistry like — smile, “and don’t even be a minute late, right? Unless you want me coming back here and taking a round out of you out here in front of all the patrons”. Her teeth gleamed white and were obviously proof that British dental practices had truly evolved.

Clare turned mindfully and began to slowly saunter away. Progressively rising out of the pool, she slowly revealed her supple, defined back that featured a ridiculously sexy groove at the point where her artful musculature precipitously plunged into her spine, carrying to tie in to her emerging, firm ass that looked like two loaves of delightfully tanned muscle that bulged and released in an enticing fashion as her hips swayed. The Queen very methodically made her way through the shallows without any sense of hurry until she reached the nexus of where the water met the pool deck. The woman knew how to squeeze every ounce of drama out of the moment, making a spectacle of herself that was impossible to ignore. There she turned in order to ensure that I had witnessed the full majesty of her splendour as her wet body shimmered in the hot afternoon sun. Clare paused while turning back to smile with absolute confidence — bordering on full arrogance — pointing her right finger at me and then mouthing “Twenty minutes”, as if been so dumbfounded by her sashaying exit that I might have forgotten. Clare stepper out onto the hot deck that had spent the afternoon baking under the hot, Floridian sun. As she did, I failed to contain a smile as The Queen was forced to somewhat comically hot foot it across the deck on her tip toes in a way that encouraged her defined calves to dance to life in spectacular fashion. “Not infallible”, I noted happily. That was a good thing.

Arriving at her lounge chair, Her Highness righted herself and I savoured the sight of her bending down to grab her belongings and then tucking her feet into her flip flops. She had legs for days and her thighs seemed to encompass the perfect balance of sexy shape and awe inspiring power. Without another backwards glance, off Clare wandered to prepare herself for our upcoming occasion, with the gentle clap of her flip flops on the bottoms of her feet creating the accompanying cadence for her travels as she walked away.

Twenty minutes. “Oh well, no time like the present”, I thought as I began to make my own way out of the pool. Thinking on the subject Clare and her lively physique being the latest in a long line of lovelies whose sole purpose was to lay waste to me physically, I recognized that there were fates far worse to consider. It really was turning out to be one whale of a good day.


To be continued...

Last edited by HermanDG; 15-Sep-19 at 14:35.
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  #15  
Old 15-Sep-19, 19:41
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

You almost lost me with all the basketball talk at the start, but you finished so strongly with an exquisite description of Clare the hostile Momma Bear that I wholeheartedly forgive you. I am fully invested in what should be occurring in your room in twenty minutes. Don't forget, Herman. Twenty minutes, mate. Be there.

Thank you very much for this, mate.
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Old 15-Sep-19, 19:44
HermanDG HermanDG is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Originally Posted by mixfightor [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
You almost lost me with all the basketball talk at the start, but you finished so strongly with an exquisite description of Clare the hostile Momma Bear that I wholeheartedly forgive you. I am fully invested in what should be occurring in your room in twenty minutes. Don't forget, Herman. Twenty minutes, mate. Be there.

Thank you very much for this, mate.
What??!! No love for the hoops???!

No worries, my man...
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  #17  
Old 15-Sep-19, 23:05
baller2242 baller2242 is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

Here comes mama bear!!!

Great installment and I may be in Orlando later this year and ribs are now an absolute MUST!
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Old 16-Sep-19, 01:29
Stacyann Stacyann is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

Clare is going to kick your cocky ass! I can hardly wait!!!!
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Old 16-Sep-19, 01:37
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

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Clare is going to kick your cocky ass! I can hardly wait!!!!
There she is...my fan of fans...
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Old 16-Sep-19, 02:16
Stacyann Stacyann is offline
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Default Re: August 2019 - A Summer Retreat

This is going to be good. Don’t leave us hanging. Like you do sometimes.
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