by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 28
I had been regularly meeting that South American busboy in the little alley by his restaurant around 4pm. I admit I didn’t always show up, but when I did he would be there and fuck me up against the wall or over a garbage can — raunchy, I admit.
Meanwhile, one of the boys came down with something so Marge stayed home. She sulked, but I promised to meet up with her sometime during the weekend and try out her new toy with her – – something that would be a first for the both of us. More on that some other time.
Meanwhile, feeling nice and horny, and in the mood to be thoroughly fucked, I slipped on a short thin white cotton halter, very light and flimsy, great for tits that flop. To make myself look even hotter I picked out a white little string satin panty that was so stingy it crept up my tight firm tush.
I pony tailed my hair high up, slipped on a funky pair of two dollar rubber thong sandals I had bought at the local drug store and headed out the house. I waved to my neighbor who blew me a kiss. I sent one back to him and told him he was being naughty. His wife agreed.
Hurriedly, I went on my way tingling with that warm desire that only a woman knows. I slipped down the narrow sandy path behind the restaurant and proudly showed myself. But he wasn’t there.
I must have waited a good fifteen minutes and then had depressingly concluded that maybe he was busy or tied up, or maybe even got tired of fucking me, which I couldn’t believe. I decided to go around the front and check out the place, see if maybe he was there. I’d give him a piece of my mind for treating me this way.
I walked in and even though dinner wasn’t to be served until a couple of hours the staff was already preparing. I made a reservation with the head waiter, but I had no plans to eat there. The waiter was paying just enough attention to my assets, enough for me to take the time to scope the place out, but I still couldn’t find the busboy. I excused myself and headed to the restroom, which passed the double kitchen doors. I poked in for a second, but he wasn’t there. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere.
The head waiter asked me if I were looking for anyone and I said: I had a great busboy the other night. I wanted to tip him. The waiter told that he was off today.
I had never bothered to think of that. No wonder. He was probably lonely and horny wanting to fuck me. But even so, he still could have met me out back. So I thanked the head waiter and left the place. I checked out back again, but no luck. I ran into the waiter, who was throwing out the garbage, and I said: Guess I’m lost…I turned around and escaped.
I wandered through the cozy little Fire Island town with nothing to do except collect all the stares, fun, but not my main interest at the moment. I kept on wandering, but I was horny and it showed. My nipples were ripe hard. My pussy was tingly warm. My hips swayed with that longing rhythm. I was getting so hot I almost slipped off my panty. And then I stopped. There he was.
He was down by the dock, but not alone. The little romancer was standing next to Cynthia Groton, Mrs. Groton’s gorgeous fifteen year old daughter, who was already five seven, lithely blond with long good legs, with a hot tight bottom and an ultra flat stomach. She wore that sullen teenage look of someone who is misunderstood.
She and that busboy were leaning over the dock rail looking more like comrades than lovers, which I jealously thought they just might be. There was an intimacy in the way they spoke, as if they understood each other deeper than anybody else could. He never talked to me like that. He treated me like some customer, very mannered; yet, very thrilled to stick his hot dick into my pussy and fuck it.
I regained my composure and forced myself to look at them, as irritating as that was. They both had their legs up on the rail and leaned their arms out the same way. They seemed to mirror each other in thought and feeling.
Cynthia was wearing a plain nice yellow string bikini. Nothing stylish, but that was her point: I’m beautiful and don’t have to bother with all the bullshit…I felt I was being undercut with my sassy hot look.
I heard her laugh. It was for him. They turned to each other and locked eyes. He was shorter, I don’t think more than five two or three, and though they looked odd together it didn’t bother her at all when he put his short arm around her waist and gently grabbed her bottom.
They kissed long and deep. She vigorously used her tongue, but like a novice she held her arms limp, not sure what to do with them. I was infuriated. I could have called the police. I mean she’s only fifteen, and I’m sure he’s an illegal immigrant, and at least twenty-five years old. It was absolutely disgusting the way they were behaving. She’s lucky I’m not wicked like her mother.
I wondered how they met. What brought them together? I mean, I had flirted with him at the restaurant and secretly handed him a note with my number, something that I didn’t think she was either ready to do or had any interest. She’s a young girl and like most young girls is looking for her first love. I’m way past that, which made this so intriguing.
Then I remembered that Cynthia was out here with friends of her mother’s (Mrs. Groton is the East Hampton type, not the Fire Island beach bum), and she might have met the little guy on the beach. It was his day-off.
They finished kissing and too cutely rested foreheads together. Then he brought his sultry white prize toward him. Her long beautiful blonde hair covered her dreamy face like a curtain. He separated it and they kissed again. She clumsily swung her arms around him and they really got into it. He leaned his leg between hers and she all but fell on him as they hotly kissed like kids, long and awkward full of half measured gropes and feels.
He, of course, was much better at it. He knew how to move his hands and slip them into her bottom and squeeze. Cynthia was oblivious. Her eyes were shut and her mind was miles off. He slid his hands down her lovely limbs for the first time. You could tell by how careful he went as he savored his white prize.
Dumbly, she opened her eyes and blankly stared at him, as if he were God. He said something. She nodded her head, approving what ever he had suggested. They walked off arm in arm, and I followed. I watched the sneak drop his hand several times and take her hold of her bottom. They soon turned off and took the path toward the beach. I couldn’t help it. I just had to follow that little jail-bait.
They took a nice walk along the surf and played with each other, but he never let go. He either tugged her by her hands or embraced her at the waist to coo. I was getting tired of all the puppy love, maybe a little jealous too – – why not? I was the one supposed to be getting fucked. I was all ready to turn back when they changed direction and headed toward the dunes – -I knew the dunes.
There was no doubt in my mind that the busboy was going to fuck her there. I wondered if the dunes kept a tally of all the little sluts that gave themselves up, including the virgins like Cynthia who should have been home studying for her SATS.
Instead, treachery was more inviting. The closer they got to the dunes the hotter they were. She allowed him to slip his hand into her hot yellow bikini bottom and keep it there. He whispered in her ear and she giggled. She nodded her head and allowed him to take off her top.
I don’t know about you, but it was a bit too hot to see this particular fifteen year old topless. I feared that if Mrs. Groton knew Cynthia would get her bottom thoroughly spanked. I almost felt it my duty to let her know how low her daughter had gotten.
Having a good time is one thing, but acting like a slut is another. She needed to be thoroughly punished, and with no delay.
Like a good white girl, Cynthia slipped off her top, dropped it and quickly forgot about it. Her tits were splendidly proud. They weren’t large and full like mine, but they were very young and firm with lovely nipples that were ripe and hard.
She looked a little shy and giddy as she took his hand and strolled closer to the dunes. People noticed. They knew, like I knew, that certain girls allow themselves to be slutted in the dunes, even good girls, and the eyes on her weren’t taking any bets.
Others on the beach seemed to like it because of their own debauchery. Some, you could tell, thought the busboy should be deported right on the spot. Nevertheless, Cynthia Groton was absolutely clueless that the guy was only after her virginal pinkness. She thought it was love. The hell did she know about love? She should have paid more attention in school when they discussed evolutionary biology. Shame on her!
I don’t want to sound like a prude. It would be totally hypocritical, but I want you to know that I don’t approve of any of this. I still consider myself a virgin, just a victim of a wanton society that preys on beautiful girls. Oh, the bliss to be fat and ugly. I have been cursed with good looks, and I doubt the spell will ever wear off. The forces of evil are too strong in this world, but I soldier on nonetheless, wounded but not stripped of my dignity.
They craftily escaped my view and disappeared into the dunes. But I knew the dunes well and entered it with prevarication and stealth, listening for the slightest rustle. I kept low and out of sight. I stopped and listened. There they were. Up ahead. I could see their heads in the reeds. I crept closer until I found a splendid opening. I stopped and held my breath. He was slipping off her bikini bottom while she lay motionlessly stupefied in the dunes. And then I saw his cock, flush with blood and harder than wood prey inches away from her trusting virginal cove. I had had enough….
