(L) – This story contains strong language.
Cindy here.
So this one doesn’t get as messy as the last two in the series (“Still Dripping” and “Making a Mess: Honey and Cum“). I was trying to think of all the non-sex-related things Cal and I have drenched our bodies in for sex, and then I remembered a year and a half into our marriage we went to Jamaica and spilt more margaritas than we drank. Enjoy!
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This happened a few years ago in Jamaica at a “private” adults-only resort we’ll just call Sunfire Cove. (At this point in our marriage, we still dabbled a bit in swinging. This story does not go into that at all, but it’s why we chose this resort. By the way, Sunfire is not its real name).
We loved resorts like this, you know the kind—no kids, no rules, no shame. Just bodies. Naked ones. Wet ones. Hard ones. Desperate ones. And mine? My shameless body on display for any eyes and Cal’s hands.
We arrived early. Within an hour, I was in my tiniest bikini—barely a triangle of black over my nipples, the bottoms so small they disappeared when I bent over. Cal? His swim shorts weren’t doing much to hide the growing problem between his legs.
It didn’t help that every woman there seemed allergic to clothing.
Cal was in heaven.
But what really made him throb?
Watching me flirt.
I don’t mean innocent smiling. I mean laying back on a pool lounger, arching my back so my nipples strained against the fabric, spreading my thighs just enough to give whoever passed by a reason to stare. I’d lean in close to men I wasn’t going to fuck just to make Cal twitch.
And oh, did he twitch. He couldn’t stop watching me. Every look. Every time I licked my drink straw and let my tongue linger. Every time I rubbed lotion onto my body.
I could see the tension in his jaw. His sunglasses didn’t hide his eyes. He was aching.
Let’s jump ahead a couple of days now that the scene is set.
We’d just finished lunch. Everyone else had wandered off. I was lounging on a padded daybed kind of off the beaten path but still in the resort, wearing nothing but glistening skin and a wicked little smile. Cal stood over me, his drink still in hand, eyes glued to the inside of my thighs.
“You know how hard it’s been watching you all day?” he asked, voice low, rough.
I spread my legs wider in answer. My skin was hot from the sun. My pussy? Hotter.
“Show me how hard,” I whispered.
He knelt between my thighs… and poured a splash of cold margarita right onto my pussy!
I gasped as he watched it trickle down.
The citrus stung just enough to make me jolt. My hands fisted in the cushions. And then?
He licked.
Flat tongue. Slow drag. Lapping it up like I was his cocktail glass.
“Mmm,” he groaned into me, “you taste like tequila and fun.”
“So I taste like vacation,” I arched my back as his tongue circled my clit, cold drink mixing with spit and slick until my pussy was soaked. I was moaning, grinding against his face, biting my lip to keep from screaming.
Then he stood and pulled his shorts down. His cock slapped up, thick and ready.
“I want to fuck you dirty,” he growled. “Sticky. Messy. I want you dripping.”
“Then don’t hold back.”
He grabbed the margarita, poured the rest over my tits, and shoved his cock inside me in the same motion.
I screamed. And I’m sure it turned a passing head or two. The daybed we chose wasn’t totally hidden.
It was tucked off the main path, under a swaying palm, the kind of spot that gave just enough cover to feel sneaky, but anyone walking by would still catch glimpses—a moan here, a bouncing ass there. It was an adults-only resort. Things happened.
And Cal? He was about to make something happen.
His cock slammed into me, over and over, thick and perfect, stretching my slick, still-throbbing pussy as I arched beneath him. My back stuck to the cushion from sweat and salt and the trace of spilled margarita. His hands gripped my hips tight enough to bruise, and every thrust drove a cry out of my throat.
But I didn’t care who heard.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I moaned. “Right fucking now—”
He growled, “Do it.”
And I did.
Legs shaking. Toes curling. Pussy clenching around his cock as I screamed his name and let go. My cum splashed between us, slick and hot, soaking his thighs as he fucked me through it.
He leaned over me, panting, his chest brushing mine.
Then he grabbed what was left of his drink, tipped the glass over my tits, and let cold margarita spill over them—sticky, salty, citrus sweet.
I gasped, nipples hard as ice hit one and rolled down my side.
And while I was still twitching from the orgasm, he pulled out, his cock glistening—throbbing.
He stroked it once—twice—
“Fucking take it, Cindy.”
And I did.
I stuck my tongue out just as the first thick rope of cum shot across my chest, hot against the chill of the drink. Another splash hit my collarbone. The next—my face. Right under my eye, then across my lips. I moaned, mouth open, tasting him and tequila at once.
“God, look at you,” he groaned. “A fucking mess.”
I rubbed his cum into my tits, sticky with drink and sweat, licking my lips as I looked up at him.
I hope you enjoyed that story! If you want to know how we cleaned up, let me know in the comments.
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