Chapter 7 - Seven

Rays of noonday sunlight gilded Lara’s glossy brunette hair as she stood on the deck of her luxury yacht.  She was anchored just off the coast of the southernmost island of the Mamanuca archipelago, the scenery all white coral beaches and brilliant turquoise seas.  Perfect blue skies overhung dome-like, tinting down from dark sapphire blue directly overhead to a hazy, faded-out cobalt blue at the far-distant horizon – barely flecked by stretched-thin stratospheric clouds.  The heat was intense.  Droplets of sweat beading on Lara’s smooth olive skin trickled down warmly between her sleek thighs; perspiration dripped from the undersides of her full breasts.  It sheened her glossy abs.  Sparkling on her ass-cheeks and lower back, it made her whole body glisten brightly.

She was bent over at her slim waist, with her elbows resting on the handrail to balance herself against the steady wash and roll of placid Mediterranean waves, peering out through a pair of black binoculars at the shoreline of a lush tropical island a couple of hundred yards away.

“Hmmm...”, she rolled her hips one side to the other, shifting her weight.  Thumbing her glossy lower lip, she ticked off a mental checklist: “looks like shore access should be easy enough... no discernible fauna in the forest environs... and the flora looks non-hostile for the most part ... almost ideal conditions for a scuba dive...”

Zip, who was stood directly behind her, less than two feet away from his hot new boss’s fine wetsuit-clad ass, listened – and gawked.  The techie his right hand jammed down deep inside the pocket of his knee-length bermuda shorts, surreptitiously jerking off his big, hard, black cock.

There was no getting away from it, he nodded to himself, Lara’s new outfit was borderline obscene.  It was cut like a swim suit fantasy from the pages of a glossy men’s magazine photoshoot.  Its bottom half looked more like a pair of thong-cut bikini briefs than a combat-ready wet suit.  They tapered down deep into the crevice of Lara’s tight, bubbly ass-crack to form a V-shaped wedge that goosed her butt-cleavage – leaving more than four fifths of her firm, round, honey-hued glutes completely bare – her luscious assflesh plumped healthily, smooth and cellulite-free, below the too-tight lower hemline.

Lara had made the mistake of putting Zip in charge of designing her new wetsuit, and while subcontracting a local sportswear company to manufacturer the design, he had intentionally downsized her hips, bust and waist measurements by a good three inches each – making for some pretty spectacular results.

The garment was a one piece body glove made from skin-tight black neoprene.  It had long, wrist-length sleeves, a front-fastening zipper and a single yellow stripe that ran down either side of Lara’s slender arms.  It was high cut at the crotch and ass, had a plunging neckline; and ‘formfitting’ didn’t even begin to describe its tightness.  The fabric was paper-thin.  It pulled cling-film taut over Lara’s generous, DD-cup breasts, showing off her pert nipples and round, goose-pimply aureoles shamelessly.

She looked like she had been sprayed with a layer of thinned-out body paint, Zip mused, or maybe vacuum packed inside a sheath of matte polyethylene.  Or dipped into a bathtub full of hot black rubber, then left out to dry in the sun until the liquid had adhered itself like a second skin to the surface of her beautifully proportioned, athletic young body.

The twenty-five year old black man could think of only one word to describe his boss’s new outfit accurately.

“Tight”.

Around her sleekly muscled thighs she also had her usual thigh holsters wrapped and pulled snug, complete with a couple of oversized Heckler and Kosch .45 calibre ACP pistols.  A large spring-loaded spear gun was strapped securely across her back.  And a small compressed-gas air tank was mounted between her shoulder blades, its tube curling down around Lara’s shoulder and ending in an oxygen rebreather that dangled just below her slender neck.

“Yes...”, Lara continued, “we should be able to make landfall somewhere near that beach”.  She pointed in the direction of a small white coral beach buttressed on three sides by high, craggy cliffs overflowing with vegetation.  “And from there we’ll proceed into the island’s interior through a series of underground tunnels, which according to the directions I translated from Tanaka-san’s scroll last month, should be located... ah-ha, make that hidden, behind that large waterfall over there”.

“Uh-huh”, Zip replied, “Uh, I mean, yeah, I see what you mean, Lara”.  He wasn’t really following a word of his boss’s plan – just getting off on the sound of her voice, still jerking himself inside his shorts.  “Yeah boss, keep goin’”.

“Well...”, Lara continued, slipping her forefinger absentmindedly underneath the lower hemline of her bikini bottoms, “I’d say that once we’ve made it inside the cave system, we should be able to locate the tomb with no trouble at all”.

Zip watched, transfixed, as Lara slid her finger slowly downwards, tugging at the thin black fabric that had bunched up in her peachy asscrack, trying to pull it free and cover herself up a bit – with little success.

“Really, the scroll does make it sound wonderfully straightforward.  So how about this... I’ll take point, Zip, and you can bring up the rear.  I’ll need you to stay alert though.  I want you to watch my back while I’m crawling around inside all those claustrophobic tunnels with low ceilings – down on my hands and knees, you understand... when I’m at my most vulnerable”.

 Zip grinned.  “Sure thing, boss”.

He liked the sound of that.

“Well then”, Lara concluded, “I’d say that’s about it for the breifing, and it’s all looking rather good, wouldn’t you say... Zip?”.  She added when no reply was forthcoming:  “Zip...?  How about you, anything to add?

“Oh... naw, naw”, jolted from his reverie, the techie shook his head, “Nothin’ to add.  I’d just say, yeah, I agree, it’s lookin’ good, Lara... lookin’ daaamnnn goood...”

Lara smiled, rolling her eyes.  She could guess where her employee’s attention was focused.  Deciding to play a little game with him, she leaned forward over the waist-high hand rail.  Subtly arching her lower back and standing up on her tiptoes, she pushed her hips up, teasing Zip with a close-up of her perfect, olive-tan bubble-ass.

“Yes”, she continued, slowly swaying her hips from side to side, tempting the techie with her barely covered sex.

“We should be able to... penetrate through to the island’s interior in no time at all, I’d say.  It may get a little... hot and sweaty... trekking through all those tight, slimy, wet tunnels.  And we may both end up more than a little... dirty.  In fact, I’ll probably be... utterly filthy by the time we reach the tomb... ”.

Zip’s bermuda shorts looked like they were concealing a steel tent pole now.  His jaw muscled flexed tightly, his whole body shaking, his feet inching forward, seemingly possessed of a will of their own, slowly approaching his boss’s subtly swaying, flaring, womanly hips.  The ouline of Lara’s pouty pussy mound was full, fruit-like, beautifully feminine; beneath the skin-tight black neoprene of her wet suit she bulged plumply.

“Mmmmm...”, she continued, “I may even need you to... hose me down when we get back to the yacht afterwards, Zip”.  Purring smoothly she spread her legs shoulder width apart and flexed her ass-cheeks, tautening them up heart-shaped.  “What do you say, Zip, do you think you’d be... up for that?”.

“NNNNNNnnnnnggghhhh!!”, Zip doubled over, clutching at his crotch.  His hips bucked reflexively as his knees buckled and he folded to the floor.

“Zip?!”, quickly spinning around, Lara darted over to his side, alarmed to see her employee down on his knees, hunched over with sweat dripping from his forehead.  “Zip, are you okay?  What’s wrong?”  She knelt down beside him, stroking her palm tenderly back and forth over the tense muscles between his shoulder blades.  “Was it... something I said?”

“N-no”, the techie choked out.  “J-just a little... uh, indigestion, boss.  Yeah, gimme a couple minutes.  I-I just gotta go change into some new shorts... these ones are, uh, too tight... and then I’ll be... good to go, really”.

Lara smirked, rising to her feet.  “Men...”, she whispered under her breath, “soooo predictable”.

She strode over to the ladder at the back of her yacht, which led down to the softly rolling South Pacific waves.  Glancing back just once over her shoulder she saw Zip limping awkwardly into the starboard cabin, a large wet patch forming over the crotch of his shorts.

“I’m taking a little dip now, Zip”, she called after him, “stretching my legs out a bit before we head over towards the island.  Feel free to join me”, she added, raising her arms above her head and arching her back with nimble grace, “after you’ve taken care of your... er, little problem there”.

Barely keeping herself from giggling, Lara bounced once on her tiptoes, bent her knees into a diver’s starting position, stretching her arms down below her hips; then she sprung forward over the edge of the deck, spryly arching her hips for half a second in mid-air, before kicking out lengthways and entering the warm, fresh, clear blue Mediterranean water practically soundlessly and with hardly a splash visible.


To be continued...