Page 55 of Their Cruel Love

I pop back up and rest my arms on the edge, bobbing a little due to the minor waves kicked up by Marcus swimming lengths. A fringe of decorative palms cuts the sky with their serrated leaves, draping shadows across the rippled surface of the water.

The pool is mostly empty—I guess it’s way too early in the morning for most of the deviants in this place to be exercising or even lazing about in the sunlight.

Treading water, I survey the paved area, the many alcoves and hiding places, and the lawn-covered strips. Simon the pervert has somehow dragged himself from his bed. Pervert covers everyone here, I remind myself.

He’s lounging in a pair of crotch-hugging, budgie smugglers. I’ve always found that term for swimmers weird. We stole it from the Australians, so I guess that explains it. The outlines leave little to the imagination. Not that my vibrantly purple bikini conceals much. Due to the water’s coolness, my nipples poke at the fabric.

Apart from Razor, Marcus, Simon, and I, there are only two women. A redhead with an irregular bob cut, a menagerie of bright tattoos on her arms, and what seems to be her Domme. She lies on her stomach. Her hands are beneath her chin. She’s naked and is getting something painful done to her and, every so often, her mouth twists. Her companion appears to be sewing red ribbon into her back.

It is pretty. I decide not to inquire. It might give my men ideas.

I stroke my way to the opposite edge, where Razor rests among our three sun lounges.

I lever myself onto my forearms and peer up at him. “If we stay too long in this sun, we’ll be pieces of burnt toast.” I mumbled it, my chin bumping on my wet forearms as I spoke. “Is it nine yet?”

“Almost.”

Marcus swims to my side then hauls himself out, dripping, the water polishing the lines of his muscles in the sunlight. I admire his heavy legs and the swagger of those hips as he pads over to grab his towel, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the pavers.

My lounge is the middle one. The remains of our continental breakfast sits on a table behind the lounges.

Once I’m out of the pool and have dried myself off, I eye the last pastry. “Dibs the last croissant.”

The men sit on the edges of their lounges, facing mine. They shrug but, as I pass, Marcus snags the side string of my bikini bottoms. I halt, frowning amiably.

“We’ve decided the no panties rules means no swimmers either.”

“Off with them.” Razor agrees.

“Oh. You…” I glance about and it is clear no one here will give a fuck, except maybe Simon. Is it worth arguing? No. I eyeroll just to register my attitude. “But we are discussing strategy?”

They nod, like a pair of bobbing dolls.

Quickly, I strip off both top and bottoms, letting my breasts free, giving the men a pair to ogle. “You’d think I’d never let you see these before.”

“I get amnesia over tits,” Marcus says.

“Is that what does it?” Razor smiles.

Though shaking my head, I pull my lounge back a few feet, so we have a rough circle. Then I seat myself. Now their eyes lower, looking at my slim arrow of pubic hair.

“If I spread my legs, are you two going to be able to think?”

On the other side of the pool, the redhead with the laced back is grinning at our antics while her Domme, or whatever she is, looks over too.

“More spanking or the belt?” Razor suggests to Marcus.

“Discussion, please?” I clasp my hands together, truly begging.

“I can probably resist using your ass for something for half an hour?” The derisive comment comes from Marcus.

“You have an hour,” Razor says, and I’m unsure if they’re joking but, we have a window.

“Good. Now. The agenda.” We’re far enough away from everyone else, I think. They shouldn’t be able to hear us.

They’d better not be able to since what we’re going to say might put us in danger. Anyone here might be involved. Could Simon be a murderer or those women?

I hunch over, resting my forearms on my thighs, then casually point a finger and indicate our fellow guests. Quietly I ask, “Is this the best place to discuss this?”

---