I never was one of those
girls who felt the need to grow up faster. I don't mean I acted like a little
girl, of course. I just mean I was in no hurry to embrace adulthood, with all
of the responsibilities it involved.
So when I graduated from
high school I was not one of those people who eagerly applied at college to
begin more years of education so I could get it done quickly and get out into
the job market. I was more interested in having some fun while I was young.
Instead of getting a job so
I could go to college in the fall I headed off to Europe to backpack, hitch and
bus ride my way around. I spent the summer and early fall that way, meeting new
people, seeing a lot of amazing places, and partying.
It was really great to be
able to do whatever I wanted without people looking over my shoulder. And I
don't just mean my parents either. My friends weren't there, and so they couldn't
judge me if I decided to do something, well, slutty, nor if I decided to dress
kind of risqué. And since I moved around all the time I didn't even have to
worry about the judgment of the new friends I met.
It was while I was in Spain
that I heard about a job available for the winter – not in Italy, but in the
Caribbean, which was fine with me since I was definitely not looking forward to
cold weather. Since I was from California and had a Spanish nanny, I spoke
Spanish, and I was a great swimmer.
The job was for a 'water
events coach' at a beach attached to an exclusive resort in the Dominican
Republic. Can you say 'party all winter'? I'm sure you
can! It involved occasional life-guarding, but mostly teaching wind surfing,
which I did, as well as body-boarding and surfboarding.
Hey, I'm from LA. I've been
doing all that stuff since I was nine!
The ocean around LA is not
fit for swimming in the winter, though, so the idea of playing in the water
over that time while getting paid definitely appealed to me. I sent off an
email application, thinking nothing of it, because you know you never actually
expect to get a job.
And then I got back an
acceptance! That was weird! I was actually a bit suspicious, because who
accepted you based on an application, without even an interview? But then I
figured, well, they weren't going to fly around the world interviewing junior
staff, and they could always just fire you if it turned out you lied.
So I took the cheapest
flight I could find to the Dominican Republic, and then got on a helicopter to
get out to the resort, which was kind of isolated. It was a big helicopter with
seats for about thirty people, most of them occupied by new visitors.
Most of them seemed to be filled with fairly
young people, that is, people in their twenties and thirties, which was good,
and clearly people with money, given their clothes, watches and jewelry.
That hopefully meant tips.
The resort was just like
the pictures in the web site. It was on a narrow peninsula that jutted out from
the south edge of the island. That let it have a long, low hotel building that
looked out on the ocean and beaches on both sides! On one side were a string of
little bungalows in lines which jutted out over the ocean, reachable only by
boardwalks or boats.
The main building had a
massive pool with islands in the middle, waterfalls and water slides along the
edges, and a lot of other neat things to do, like swing across by rope and drop
into the deep water.
I had seen on their web
site that there were also tunnels to swim into the building to emerge in the
pool there – which existed for days when it might be rainy or chilly, I guess.
Most of the water activity
was on the west side of the building, where I could see lots of people on
sailboards in the water, as well as some people closer to the beach on
surfboards. There was also supposed to be snorkeling and diving. I wasn't much
on diving but I was intending to learn.
It looked like it was going
to be a fun place! And I hadn't even had to pay anything!
We landed at the helipad,
and then were all processed through a low building, and given metal wristbands
which had implanted chips. The chips would unlock the door to your room, the
man said, as well as allow you to pay for any extras you wanted.
Mine was different, he
said, since I was to be staff. It would allow me to enter locked employee
areas. All of the bands would track both staff and visitors for security
reasons, the man said, so it was important not to take them off.
I was suitably impressed by
the high tech. But I was cynical enough to recognize it would also allow
management to track me if I was goofing off.
An open sided little bus
drove us to the main building along a tiny 'road' which was mostly occupied by
golf carts driven by staff, some of which were carrying visitors from place to
place. I was dropped off at a side entrance to the main building, and then the
bus drove off.
Luckily, I hadn't brought a
ton of stuff. I had one big duffel-bag which I hefted over my shoulder, and a
suitcase with wheels and an extendable handle I pulled along behind me. I
walked through the door and found myself at a counter occupied by a round
faced, balding Hispanic guy.
“Buenos Dios,” I said in
Spanish. “I'm a new employee. I'm supposed to report to Senor Rodrigues.”
He looked me up and down in
an appreciative way which was frankly rude, but called someone on the phone,
then pointed me down the hall. I didn't have to turn my head to know he was
watching my ass walking away either.
I gave a kind of mental
shrug. I'd learned in Europe that in some countries, the kind of political
correctness observed in most of the US just wasn't on. In particular, that was
true of countries along the Mediterranean, like France, Italy, Greece and
In those countries there
seemed to often be very little social need for men to hide it when they
appreciated a woman's looks, even if she was less than half their age. So I'd
kind of gotten used to it. The DM was Spanish, so I figured it would be sort of
like Spain, only even more so. I mean, it was a third world country, so I
figured unrestrained machismo would be the rule.
Why, I wondered idly, did
they call it Latin American when they were mostly Spanish - Hispanics? Nobody
spoke Latin. Why not call it Spanish America?
I found an office with Mr.
Rodrigues in it. He was tall and slim and looked me up and down approvingly as
he smiled and shook my hand (for too long) and guided me into a chair. Then he
talked about the many water sports at the resort – the Silver Springs – and the
high quality of their accommodation and services.
“Our guests are wealthy
people, Sierra,” he said, smiling ingratiatingly. “They pay a high fee to have
their wishes catered to, to be spoiled and pampered and – tolerated.”
He raised his eyebrows here
as if I should understand his meaning.
“You mean they're spoiled
brats?” I asked.
He looked pained.
“We don't refer to our
guests in unflattering terms... however accurate those terms might be,” he
said, after a brief pause.
“You, in particular must
develop a how you say, thick skin.”
“Why me in particular?” I
He pursed his lips and then
smiled. “You are, I am sure, aware that you are a most beautiful young lady,
Sierra. A young and beautiful girl sometimes... annoys women who are less young
and beautiful, and inspires them to say things which might be seen as …
Did he think I was born
“If that should happen we
expect you to simply smile and ignore the uhm, petty annoyance. The same goes
for men, of course, although their behavior would likely be of a different
“What sort?” I asked
“Overly familiar, perhaps.
Simply maintain your professional demeanor and if necessary inform them it is
against club policy for employees to date the guests.”
“But be friendly,” he said,
tapping his fingers on the desk and staring sternly at me. “Be flattering, of
both men and women. Praise their efforts, encourage them by telling them that
after more lessons they will, of course, improve. Above all, never say anything
insulting or demeaning to a guest.”
He scowled at that. “There
is no excuse in our eyes for doing so, no matter the provocation. If you find a
guest is acting inappropriate you may report them to your supervisor. And he or
she will diplomatically request they amend their behavior.”
“Do you get a lot of uh,
nasty clients?” I asked, frowning.
“No, no! But you are an
exceptionally beautiful girl.”
“Oh please,” I said.
I was willing to agree that
I was pretty attractive. I mean, I'm tall and lithe and well-built, with nice
legs, a nice, athletic body, and all the usual curves. Since I spent so much
time moving around my ass and legs are very toned, and I have somewhat bigger
than usual breasts – which are very round and firm.
But I am hardly unique in
any of that. Well, the breasts are a little uncommon, and I have very nice long
(dyed) blonde hair, and a reasonably pretty face. I have perfect teeth, a
slender nose, high cheekbones, and very blue eyes.
Men are generally happy to
see me. I'll admit that. They are also usually very... helpful whenever I need
assistance with anything. But men are, let's face it, pretty slutty. And
they'll generally be nice to any young, attractive woman.
Okay, and the boobs help.
“Many of our guests are
from South America,” he said. “There are not so many blonde women in South
America, and they have a er, a mythos, you see.”
“A what?” I frowned in
“A reputation, you know,
“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess.”
“And you have fair skin,
which is much admired in South America.”
I looked down at my tanned
skin with a frown. I suppose my skin was a little on the light side. Though
compared to South Americans I would be much lighter. I didn't understand what
he was getting at, though.
“You should expect that
some of our male guests, especially after consuming alcohol and in the heat,
you know, might try very hard to seduce you,” he said.
I couldn't help giggling.
“Well, I expect that of all
men wherever I go, Senior,” I said with a grin.
“Well then you should have
no difficulties,” he said.
He then introduced me to a
tall, solidly built, middle aged woman named Manuela Lopez who would be my
supervisor. She gave me a suspicious look, more of a scowl, really, then led me
to my room.
The staff rooms were in the
basement, and were not exactly luxurious, at least mine wasn't. It was big
enough for a single bed, a small table, a chair, and a closet, and that was it.
“No cooking in the room,”
she said in heavily accented English. “And no men in the room.”
“Uh huh,” I said.
Down the hall was a small
staff kitchen, and also a staff bathroom with stalls for both toilets and
showers and a row of sinks and mirrors. It was clean, but that was about all
you could say about it. She brought me back to her office, and without much
warning, pulled out a measuring tape and slipped it around my hips.
“Uhm, what are you doing?”
“For swimsuit,” she said.
“I have bathing suits.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“For club swimsuit. You do not wear whatever you like here.”
Which I supposed made
“I'm thirty-four C,
Twenty-three, Thirty-four,” I said.
She ignored me and measured
my hips, and then my chest, which involved pulling the tape firmly – a little
too firmly - across the center of my
breasts. Then she opened a metal cabinet and fished inside. I could see piles
of black clothing wrapped in plastic, swimsuits, it turned out.
She gave me three of them.
They were black and one piece, had thin gray stripes going down the sides, and
the club's logo across the upper chest. They were high-necked, with another
small gray line circling the top, around the neckline.
I carried them, folded up,
back to my little room, locked the door, and then stripped to put one on. It
was form fitting, of course. Swimsuits tend to be, especially one-piece
swimsuits. But this suit was form fitting to an uncomfortable degree!
I'd never seen one quite
like these. Instead of the usual bra sewn into the top it had a thicker
elasticized material on the inside which got firmer the more it stretched. So
it would hold my breasts in place while I moved okay, but it was really
squeezing them up and out.
And the material didn't, as
it usually did, flatten my breasts by simply pressing against it. Instead it sort of wrapped itself around my breasts in a way which was
uncomfortably revealing – even if the suit material was black.
I mean it was basically
like cling-wrap, if thicker!
The suit was also very high
cut on the hips and had a Brazil cut bottom. I'd worn bottoms like that in
Europe but was kind of surprised that the resort would have their staff
swimsuits like that. The angle of the suit cut upwards to the waist before it
actually curved around my sides.
I tried a second suit and
discovered that it was the same size, and cut just as high, but instead of
going up to the neck it was low cut in front, showing a lot of cleavage. Again,
it wasn't really out of line and I had bikinis which showed as much, but it
surprised me in a staff swimsuit. The third one was also high cut on the hips,
high on the neck, but basically had no sides, so showed some pretty impressive
Given what Rodrigues had
said about these South American men being perverts I was wondering why they
were dressing their staff in such sexy swimsuits.
“These are pretty
revealing,” I said to Lopez.
She sniffed, looking at my
“They have sexy resort,
yes?” she said in English. “Is supposed to be all sexy for young guests, yes?
So have sexy staff.”
Which made sense, I
We went outside and got
into a golf cart, and she drove me to the pool, introducing me to the
lifeguards there, then to the beach, where she handed me off to a guy named
Santiago Garcia. He was in his late twenties, lithe and well-muscled, with a
bushy mustache, and eyes which deeply admired my chest.
“Sierra,” he said. “Is
“Show her what to do,”
Lopez said in Spanish. “And not about sucking your cock. I'm sure she already
“One can never know enough
about important skills,” Garcia said with a smirk.
I was taken aback at her
crudity, but didn't say anything as she scowled at me then got back in her golf
“What's her problem?” I
asked as she drove off.
“Not enough sex? Who knows.
Come. I will show you to your duties.”
My 'duties' involved
greeting guests who came down looking to take out surfboards, body boards, or
sailboards, ask them how much experience they'd had, and offer instructions if
they needed them. Oh, and if anyone was looking like they were drowning I
should go get them.
In addition, there were
comfortable outdoor chairs placed along the beach, in groups of two or four,
always under a large umbrella which was made of artificially grass so it was
meant to look very tropical. There was a shack right next to the one with the
surfboards, body boards and sailboards, and it gave out towels and suntan
lotion, as well as drinks and snacks.
“You know how to wind
“Of course,” I said.
“You know how to teach
someone how to wind surf?”
I blinked. “Well, they need
to learn balance first.”
“I will teach you how to
wind surf,” he said.
“But – .”
“And then you will know how
to teach someone else.”
I shrugged. It made sense.
He started by bringing out
one of the boards and the sail, and pointing out the parts and naming them.
Then he showed how the sail worked, and was used to catch the window and steer
the board. Then he pulled the board into waist deep water and we both got on.
Now two on a sailboard is
pretty close quarters. It's basically a surfboard with a sail in the middle.
There's no way of having two people on it while maintaining much distance
between them. Santiago, however, maintained zero distance between us, and that
started to get uncomfortable pretty quickly.
Naturally, as the
instructor, he stood behind me, demonstrating how he held the sail, and where
my hands should be by putting his arms around me and guiding my hands to the
bar. And given windsurfing in the ocean meant a lot of moving up and down,
well, let's just say it was a new experience with a guy's crotch pushed in
against my half-bare bottom!
I had chosen the low-cut
swimsuit because I thought it was less revealing than the side boob one, or the
one that was like cling wrap across my breasts. Garcia was pressed against me,
looking down at me over my shoulder with a big grin – constantly looking into
my cleavage in other words.
While he taught me how to
teach how to wind surf he also kept telling me how beautiful I was, and what a
great body I had, and how I was sure to be very popular with the guests and
make big tips. I don't think my potential popularity with the guests was what
was turning him on, though.
And he definitely was
turned on! I could feel his erection pressing in between my buttocks
It felt, actually, like a
very nice, very big and thick erection!
But it left me annoyed for
a number of reasons. I mean, I barely knew this guy, for one thing, and wasn't
overly attracted to him. And while he wasn't the first strange guy to grind
himself into my ass that usually happened in discos where I could move away
Also, I didn't want to get
in trouble for getting into a fight with another staff member an hour after
starting work. And complaining to Lopez didn't sound like a very good idea
either. She obviously was one of those women Rodriguez
had talked about who didn't like pretty blonde girls.
Now going through Europe
had exposed me, so to speak, to a lot of men who behaved in a way Americans
would have called really rude and high pressure, and I'd learned to deal with
them, even to accept them. But this was kind of pushing it, no pun intended!
He certainly knew he had an
erection, after all. And while that might not be entirely his fault he sure
didn't seem to be trying very hard to keep it away from me! It was kind of
embarrassing and kind of gross, although not as gross as I would have found it
before my tour of Europe.
Where I'd had close
acquaintance with a number of cocks!
“Santiago,” I finally said.
“Yes, beautiful Sierra.”
“Is that a banana in your
pants or are you happy to see me?” I demanded over my shoulder.
He grinned broadly.
“I am most happy to see
you, beautiful girl!”
“Well try and keep your
happiness away from my ass, will you?”
“Is a very small
sailboard,” he said, “And a very big banana.”
I snorted, partly in
amusement. Hey, he was smooth, I had to give him that, and not the least bit
“Maybe you can stick a pin
into it and make it smaller.”
“Alas, that is not the way
to deflate bananas,” he said. “Would you like me to show you how?”
“I think Senora Lopez told
you not to try and give me lessons in that.”
She is a dried up old
lesbian,” he said. “She just wants you for herself.”
I blinked, startled. But
now that he said it, well, she was kind of mannish...
“Well I don't need any
lessons,” I said firmly.
“Excellent! Perhaps you
“You wound my heart, dear
Sierra,” he moaned.
“Keep your banana away from
my ass or I'll wound it too.”
“Is small board!”