Warm In Miyamme

Title: “Heating Up in Miami: A Sleazy Encounter with the Exotic Owners of Better Tans”

*Disclaimer: This article is a work of fiction and intended for mature audiences only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*

It was a scorching hot summer day in Miami, the kind where the humidity is so thick you could practically feel it squeezing the air from your lungs. The perfect type of weather to get some sun, tan your ass, or if you’re lucky – get up close and personal with the owners of a local tanning salon. I mean what better way to while away the hours than soaking up rays and getting your freak on, right?

Well, that’s exactly what went down when I stumbled into “Better Tans”, a ratty little strip mall salon that looked like it had seen better days. The inside was dimly lit, humming with a low buzz of tired fans and the heavy scent of coconut tanning oil. I’d barely stepped through the door, globalization in one hand and a Tiger beer in the other, when I laid eyes on her – a woman so stunning all I could do was gape like an idiot lacking a single functioning brain cell.

She was tall and built like a brick shit house, all tanned and toned flesh wrapped up in a tiny yellow bikini that wouldn’t even cover the ass cheeks of a Werther’s Original. Her only accessories were gold hoop earrings, a massive glittering peace-sign pendant dangling between fuck-me cleavage, and tattoos. Lots and lots of tattoos. Swirling vines wrapped around her arms, sunflower blossoms exploded across her stomach, and words I’d rather not decipher were scrawled across her ample thighs. Basically, she’d probably gotten every sailor on the seven seas drunk enough to get them to ink her skin. And the body art left me wanting to add my own unique marks of passion to her tattoos.

“Hey there sugar, can I help you?” Her voice was a low, raspy purr, like she probably had screaming orgasms on her backburner at all times. “I’m Desiree, I’m the owner and certified sun-worshipping goddess of this premier Miami tanning salon.”

She licked her lips and sauntered my way, hips swaying hypnotically. “Or maybe you’d rather worship me up close and personal, hmm?” Her eyes twinkled wickedly. “Normally we charge $40 for a private lay-out session with me. But for you, handsome, I think I’d be willing to cut a deal… What do you say, just $20 can Hayes?” Her full lips curled into a disturbingly provocative smirk.

Fuck me sideways on a cactus, apparently the lady wanted to “tan” more than just my skin. She wanted to burn the boys in the band to crispy ash. I was tempted to take her up on that offer, you know, for research purposes and to quell this raging boner that was currently thinking for me lest my brain exploded into confetti.

But before I could agree to get my dick sticky with tanning oil, another woman came bustling out from the far corner. The second lady’s killer body was sheathed in a skimpy red bikini and more tattoos than the wall of an LA jail. The pink streaks in her dark hair matched the pink tattoo of a wicked-looking voodoo doll peeking out from behind her bikini top, which was begging to be ripped to shreds so I could feast my eyes on what I’d bet was magnificent titty.

“What the hell, D? That’s our best customer Sam, not some chump off the street!” She planted her hands on her hips and gave me an eyeful of bosom as she leaned in close. “Sorry about my sister babe, she just doesn’t have the best head for business.”

“Yeah, more like her head’s usually too far up some dude’s ass bored of her inane chatter,” Desiree snarked, flipping her sister the bird. The two squared off in a circle, both glaring, tension crackling in the air.

“Ladies, please…” I held up my hands, trying to stave off an impending throw-down. “No need to fight. I’m sure we could split the difference – I give you that 20, and I also throw in an extra 10 for Desiree and 10 for you.”

The women’s expression froze and then slowly melted into grins. They turned to me, identical sharklike smiles on their faces. “You got yourself a deal, handsome,” Sister Number Two said. “I’m December, by the way. Desiree’s my sister.”

“Prolly forgot to mention that part, the skank,” Desiree muttered under her breath. “Don’t worry, playboy, we’ll introduce you to every pleasurable inch of this tanning salon.”

With that Promise dripping from her lips, Desiree and December led me towards the main tanning beds, their hips swishing hypnotically. I felt like I’d won the fucking lottery. Tanning and fapping at the same time? Where the hell had this little gem of a salon been all of my life?

Desiree climbed onto the bed, running a hand sensually over her stomach, over the swell of her tits, her neck. Her skin looked like the surface of the sun wasn’t that bright, and her pussy must’ve been the gateway to hell. Slowly, seductively, she peeled off her yellow string bikini, letting it drop to the cracked linoleum floors. Her eyes smoldered into mine as she laid back, one breast neatly clamped into a pair of shiny headphones, the metal digging into the warm, honey-colored flesh.

“Mmm, fuck,” She purred, biting her full bottom lip, her pussy leaking steadily, making a puddle on the bed. “Doesn’t it feel sexy to tan naked? If you’re good little dicklet, maybe I’ll let you stick your penis in me, Hayward. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the carnality of the scene, of the way every girl has fucked his sweet, sensitive dick to death and how it made him ache, his cock throbbing with want and need.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I finally said, my voice raspy. I was almost surprised she didn’t fuck me right then and there, for a dead man resumed to fucking these kinds of girls no matter what.