Free The Chalet by Kojo Black

Chapter 1
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Buoyancy
    I stood naked in the pool. My body feigned indifference. But I watched her, naked too, out of the corner of my eye. In the night’s light her taut, wet flesh glistened in spite of itself. She teased me. She didn’t know it. She wasn’t trying to. But she teased. She could have easily stood up to her full height in the shallow water. She could have brought both of her full and firm breasts out fully, proudly from beneath the water’s refractive obscurity. In the night air, those beautiful breasts would sway determinedly with every jounce and judder she would make as she played. But she wouldn’t bring them up. She wouldn’t let them jut out, big and free and proud on her delicate chest. She kept them submerged in the crystal water where tiny wavelets lapped hungrily at her cleavage. Sometimes it seemed as though she would at any moment lose all inhibition and stride out of the water altogether, clothed only in residual silver droplets, like Aphrodite from the sea. But she wouldn’t rise from the water. At the last moment her pride would turn to humility, and she would waver at the water line for just a few seconds before submerging again. Those seconds were the most difficult to bear. In those few seconds her bosoms heaved above the swell, floating up to just under her chin as the water caressed them, pulled them apart before gently impacting them together again with soft slaps. Her nipples evenly capped the two round globes, but never entirely broke the meniscus of the water. They were prominent nipples, nearly the complexion of ripe peaches, in contrast to the buttery hue of her skin. Nipples so round and pert they seemed as if they ached to leave their warm cushion of water, to feel the night air and to stiffen with distinction as water droplets collected there and then slid gratefully over the naked, frictionless body of the woman before returning to their source. The whole of my body ached to see the whole of the woman naked. Silently I begged her to let me see her breasts sway, to sway naturally, appropriately and without shame, as they can always for a woman. Perhaps to let me see her breasts quiver as she climbed out of the pool, finding her balance on hands and knees, and thereby showing me indiscreetly but without intent, the sweet, smooth cleft of her bottom between the rise of her buttocks and the almost-hidden bowl of her pudenda beneath.

    Suddenly, finally, she emerged. She thought about it, prepared to rise, chickened out, and then, all at once, rose from the pool. She did not hurry inside and seek cover. Instead, she laid out her towel and sat, still naked, by the pool’s edge. It was as if she suddenly realised the foolishness of playing naked for hours in a pool, only to get out and scuttle immediately for cover. If it were a question of being seen, she had already been seen. What would a frantic dash for cover do except highlight any shame she felt for her own naked body? She had no reason to feel shame. The night was warm and her nakedness was honest and right.
    She bent over and straightened her towel, her breasts moving pendulously as she did so. She did not change the design of her actions because she was naked. She did not support her breasts with her forearms to prevent their motion. She did not bend at the knees and squat. Instead, she kept her legs straight, andbent with her strong, supple back, allowing her honeyed labia to peek out from beneath her buttocks and kiss the warm night air. She sat down heavily on the towel, her breasts bouncing vigorously and without symmetry as she did so. The ample, firm, feminine flesh of her ass rippled once before settling into an ellipse aligning sleekly with her outer thigh. She did not cross her legs or press them together demurely, as if closely guarding contraband goods. She sat naturally, as she would if she’d been wearing a bikini or even jeans—one leg rested on the