The next morning, Tina roused early, stretching before rolling out of her bed. She paused and shook her head at Lindsay, splayed across the adjacent bed, one nipple peeking out from under the rumpled Egyptian cotton sheet like a pink half-moon. She ordered room service breakfast: fresh fruit platters, eggs Benedict, and mimosas, then made a cup of coffee with the in-room Keurig, inhaling the rich aroma as steam curled upward. Throwing on a whisper-thin silk robe, the material cool against her naked body, she took her steaming coffee out onto the balcony to wait for breakfast to arrive. The morning air caressed her bare skin as she settled into a wicker chair that creaked beneath her weight. She sipped her coffee, savoring the bitter warmth on her tongue while watching the golden sunlight fracture into a thousand diamond sparkles across the azure waters of the resort’s private beach, where early-rising staff were already arranging pristine white loungers in perfect rows beneath swaying palms.
She heard Lindsay mumbling something about the ungodly hour before clomping onto the balcony in a shapeless hotel robe, her hair a wild tangle, carrying her own cup of java. She blinked at the brightness and then plopped down in the chair next to Tina and cradled her mug between both hands, sighing as she sipped.
They sat in silence for a beat, the easy silence of friends who’d long ago grown familiar with the edges and bulges of conversation. Down below, the sounds of the resort began a gradual crescendo: shouts of children, the punctuated calls of beach vendors selling parasailing and jet skis, the unctuous drone of the hotel’s steel drum band already tuning up by the poolside bar. Lindsay shaded her eyes with one hand, tracking a squadron of pelicans strafing the surf. “Any regrets about yesterday?” she asked quietly.
Tina considered, tracing a fingertip along the rim of her coffee mug. There were a few. She regretted not sucking Eric’s cock, she regretted leaving the tiki hut with a splinter in her palm, but nothing that truly mattered. “Nope,” she said with a casual shrug. “You?”
Lindsay snorted, a caramel-colored froth of coffee bubbling at the corner of her mouth before she caught it with the tip of her tongue. “I regret not getting fucked by all three of those guys at once,” she said, eyes glinting with mischief. “I mean, two was great, but if that third kid hadn’t blown his load so early, he could have been in my ass.”
“Ewww,” Tina retorted, wrinkling her nose.
Before Lindsay could respond, a sharp triple knock rattled the door to their room, followed by a man’s lilting Caribbean accent calling out, “Room service.”
Tina cinched her robe tighter and padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to answer the door. She opened it to find a tall steward in a starched white jacket with gold epaulets that was a sharp contrast with his deep ebony skin. He balanced the breakfast tray with the solemnity of a ritual and stepped inside. “Good morning,” Tina greeted him cheerfully. “Would you mind setting up out there?” she asked, gesturing toward the sliding glass doors.
“As you wish,” he replied with a brilliant white smile. He moved with practiced efficiency, unfurling a crisp white tablecloth that snapped in the breeze before settling onto the glass-topped table. With balletic precision, he arranged the silver-domed plates, crystal flutes, and a small vase containing a single crimson hibiscus bloom. Tina signed the bill with a flourish, adding a generous tip, and rejoined Lindsay on the balcony.
They attacked breakfast with the gleeful abandon of people who had decided calories did not exist within the boundaries of the Caribbean. Lindsay dipped a slice of mango into her mimosa, the pulpy orange flesh absorbing the champagne’s effervescence before she brought it to her lips and ate it, sucking the tangy-sweet juices from her fingertips one by one. Across the table, Tina stabbed her fork into a quivering mound of hollandaise-drenched eggs, lifting the bite to her mouth and letting out a happy little moan with each deliberately savory swallow. They laughed and chit-chatted, and at one point Lindsay squirted mimosa through her nose at Tina’s impression of her ex’s orgasm face.
With their plates empty and streaked with remnants of their feast, Lindsay tilted her head back, capturing the final swallow of her third mimosa, the bubbles tickling her upper lip. She placed the crystal flute on the table with a musical tap. “So,” she said, “what’s the plan for today?”
Tina sat back in her chair and took a small sip of her morning cocktail, “Well,” she said, her lips curving into a conspiratorial smile that dimpled her right cheek, “I did a little research on my phone last night while you were snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” Lindsay protested.
“Yes, you do,” Tina countered with a slight smirk, “little puppy snores. It’s kinda cute.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and took another sip of mimosa. “As I was saying, I did some research last night and discovered there’s a nude beach about twenty minutes up the coast. Supposedly, it’s tucked between these two massive rock formations, totally secluded, and I thought we could grab one of those convertibles they rent in the lobby and go check it out.”
Lindsay mulled this for a second, her bottom lip captured between her teeth, brows pinched together, all the while glancing at Tina through the slits of her eyelashes. “You? The same Tina who used to wear those high-necked Speedo monstrosities at the Hendersons’ pool parties?” The same woman who hides behind her locker door at the gym to change? That Tina wants to parade around a nude beach with her tits and ass on full display for everyone?” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched so high in disbelief; they disappeared beneath her tangled bangs.
Tina’s fingers played nervously with the silk belt of her robe. “I dunno?” Her shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug beneath the whisper-thin fabric. “I just want to see what it’s like to be seen, to be looked at. To not give a shit about how my nipples aren’t symmetrical, or the stretch marks on my hips, or what some random pervert thinks when he sees my bare butt.” The words tumbled from her lips, but behind her casual tone, she was thinking about yesterday behind the shack. About how wet her pussy got when she realized anyone could have wandered around the corner and caught her naked with her legs spread and a cock buried inside her.
Lindsay dabbed the corner of her mouth with a crisp white napkin, her eyes narrowing, gauging her friend’s commitment. “Okay, what the fuck?” she said, tossing the napkin onto her empty plate with a dramatic flick of her wrist. “Let’s go get naked for the world.”
After showering and getting ready, they decided what to wear. Since they weren’t going to need them, they passed on the swimsuits and opted for sundresses. Tina selected a tangerine-colored number with thin spaghetti straps that clung to her curves before flaring at the hips; Lindsay opted for a cerulean blue floral print with a plunging neckline that made her eyes pop. Neither one of them bothered with underwear, the bare sensation both illicit and liberating against the featherlight fabrics. They completed their outfits with enormous tortoiseshell sunglasses and floppy straw hats, tacky souvenirs from one of the beachfront shops. Into a weathered canvas tote went the essentials: Tina’s phone, a bottle of SPF 50 sunscreen, beach towels splashed with gaudy tropical patterns, and Evian that was already beading with condensation.
The car rental agency was housed in a hut at the edge of the resort, painted in a migraine-inducing palette of hot pink and slime green. Inside, a bored teenage girl with an intricate tattoo peeking out from under her pale yellow uniform shirt and a nose ring barely batted an eye as they signed for a candy-apple red convertible shaped like a jellybean. Lindsay hopped behind the wheel, and Tina set the bag on the floor and climbed in, feet propped on the dash, her sundress riding high up her thighs. The engine let out a fitful cough before catching, the car’s speakers immediately blaring out reggae at an improbable volume as they zipped away from the resort.
They took the highway north, following the GPS on the phone, a thin blue line snaking upward along the coast. When the GPS chirped “Destination on left,” they followed a single-lane dirt road down to a small gravel parking lot where Lindsay parked between a battered Land Cruiser and an old, faded mint green Volkswagen van.
Tina flung the fraying canvas tote bag over her shoulder, and the pair hiked down a sandy path that snaked between spindly palms and flowering hibiscus. The beach revealed itself gradually, a perfect crescent carved between two jagged, rocky outcrops, white, powder sand stretching perhaps a half-mile. The shallows beyond rippled in bands of impossible blue; first aquamarine, then turquoise, then a deep cobalt that merged with the horizon. Over the leftmost outcrop, a thirty-foot waterfall cascaded in ribbons of silver, tumbling over moss-slicked black rock before dissolving into the silken tide with a constant hiss, throwing up a gossamer cloud of mist that caught the morning light in fleeting rainbows. Anchored just beyond the shallows, a brilliant white catamaran bobbed gently, its twin hulls casting elongated shadows on the seabed below.
Lindsay and Tina stopped at the bottom of the path, their bare feet sinking into the warm, sugar-fine sand. Tina fidgeted with the hem of her sundress, twisting the delicate fabric until it wrinkled between her knuckles. Lindsay’s eyes, shielded behind her sunglasses, methodically scanned the beach, lingering on a couple whose bronzed bodies stretched out on matching towels, their nakedness as casual as their conversation. “Are we really doing this?” Tina whispered.
Lindsay turned on her, lips pursed in exasperation beneath the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat. “This was your idea,” she said, adjusting the strap of her dress where it had slipped slightly off one sun-freckled shoulder.
“I know, I know, but now that we’re here…” Tina’s voice trailed off as her eyes darted frantically from a cluster of swaying palm trees to a rocky outcropping, scanning for hidden observers. She caught her plump bottom lip between her teeth, leaving tiny indentations in the soft flesh before releasing it with a shaky sigh that was part anticipation, part dread.
“Relax,” Lindsay replied, already slipping the straps off her shoulders and letting her own sundress flutter to the sand. She faced the sea, feet buried in the powdery white, and lifted her arms over her head in an exuberant stretch, arching her back and throwing her chest proudly toward the horizon. Her heavy breasts jiggled as she bounced up and down on her heels, laughing at her sudden, total nakedness. “Come on, T, it feels wonderful.”
Tina breathed out and let her own dress tumble from her body, leaving her nude except for the enormous sunglasses and her sunhat. She felt the breeze flick at the tufts of her pubic hair, felt the softness of the sand between her toes, felt her nipples springing into tight nubs in the ocean air. At first, it made her incredibly self-conscious, being completely exposed, but then she looked around and noticed that no one here seemed to care about nudity at all.
They tossed their dresses into the bag and set off along the beach, looking for a spot with the ideal balance of seclusion and voyeuristic opportunity. Both women were tingling with adrenaline, mingling embarrassment and excitement. Every step Tina took seemed to erode another thin layer of inhibition, until she found herself giggling at her own self-consciousness, twirling in the sand, arms spread wide, exposing herself and loving it.
Eventually, they set their towels near the back edge of the beach, where the powdery white sand gave way to coarser grains peppered with tiny pink shells. A small section of volcanic rock jutted out from the cliff face, creating a natural alcove that offered partial privacy while still allowing them to enjoy the picturesque scenery.
The two removed their hats and sunglasses and spent several minutes meticulously applying sunscreen, fingers gliding over curves and hollows, leaving their sun-warmed skin shimmering. Tina stretched out on her towel, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight that filtered through the waving palm fronds dance across her naked body in shifting patterns of gold and shadow. Lindsay, restless as always, lasted barely five minutes before springing up and stalking off toward the crystalline shallows and the waterfall, her rounded hips swaying, blonde hair bouncing between her shoulder blades.
It wasn’t long before Tina sensed a shadow fall across her face, blocking the dappled sunlight that had been warming her eyelids. She blinked open to find a couple, who appeared to be in their late twenties, looming above her, their nude bodies silhouetted against the brilliant Caribbean sky. The man was tall and broad-shouldered with sun-bleached hair that fell in waves to his collarbone, skin burnished to the color of aged teak from years in the sun, and between his muscular thighs dangled what Tina couldn’t help but notice was an enormous penis and heavy ballsack that swayed slightly with his slightest movement. The woman beside him was unmistakably Irish, her petite frame dusted with cinnamon freckles that clustered across her nose and spilled down to cover her small, upturned breasts with their rosy-brown nipples. Her auburn hair was gathered in a messy bun atop her head, tendrils escaping to frame a heart-shaped face. Tina noted that the woman’s pussy was completely bare, her smooth outer lips forming a neat, closed seam that revealed just a hint of deeper pink between them when she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Mind if we join you?” the man asked, his voice carrying the lazy, melodic drawl of coastal Australia as he gestured with a broad hand to the empty space beside her towel.
“Uh, sure,” Tina stammered, suddenly overwhelmed with the embarrassing awareness that this couple was seeing her naked.
As they unfurled their beach blanket, Tina sat up and scanned the crescent of pristine shoreline. At least thirty yards of untouched sand stretched in either direction, the beach nearly deserted, and she wondered why this couple decided to set up right next to her. “I’m Ben,” the man said, lowering himself onto the blanket with casual grace, his tanned thighs spreading as he settled. His uncircumcised cock, even in its flaccid state, was long and thick and resting against his inner thigh like a sun-warmed snake, the foreskin partially retracted to reveal a dusky pink tip. “And this is my wife Imogen,” he finished as she perched cross-legged beside him, her delicate labia parting slightly as she arranged herself, revealing a glimpse of her inner folds.
Tina introduced herself, slightly rocking from one hip to the other, her hands fluttering indecisively; first moving to cover her breasts, then dropping to her sides, then settling awkwardly in her lap, where she couldn’t quite decide whether to conceal her exposed triangle of dark pubic hair or simply rest them on her thighs. Her smile felt plastered on, lips stretched too tightly across her teeth, and despite her determined effort to maintain eye contact, her gaze kept being magnetically drawn to Ben’s penis, imagining what it would look like when it was fully erect. Imogen watched Tina with knowing eyes, a sly half-smile curling one edge of her mouth as she uncapped a tube of zinc sunscreen and dabbed it expertly across the freckled bridge of her nose.
As the three of them engaged in polite conversation about the weather, the island’s best restaurants, and other mundane things, Imogen let her head loll onto Ben’s broad shoulder, her small hand resting in his lap. Her fingers idly traced the muscle of his inner thigh, occasionally grazing the velvety skin of his shaft or the wrinkled texture of his testicles. Each time her fingertips made contact, his cock twitched almost imperceptibly, the foreskin sliding back another millimeter. Tina struggled to focus on their conversation, the words reduced to a shimmering background buzz, as her pulse spiked sharply with each feathery flicker of Imogen’s fingers against Ben’s gradually swelling cock. A blush rose across Tina’s chest and neck, her nipples starting to pucker, despite the warmth of the day.
Imogen finally broke from the polite conversation; her emerald eyes focused on Tina as she traced a deliberate circle around the now half-swollen head of Ben’s penis. “Would you like to suck my husband’s dick?” she asked, her Irish accent lilting. Tina was so mesmerized by the hypnotic rhythm of Imogen’s fingers and the way Ben’s member had begun to thicken and rise slightly with each touch that she didn’t actually hear the question.
The sudden weight of silence finally broke through Tina’s hypnotic fixation, making her aware that the conversation had stopped. She looked up to find Ben’s blue-gray eyes fixed on her while Imogen’s delicate fingers continued their lazy circles around the now fully engorged head of his cock, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. Heat flooded Tina’s cheeks as she registered their expectant expressions. “I’m sorry, what?” she stammered, embarrassed at her lack of attention.
Imogen’s lips curled into a playful smirk, unashamed and unhurried. “I asked,” she repeated, unflinching, “if you’d like to suck my husband’s dick. You’ve been staring at it since we sat down.” Beside her, Ben’s cock swelled to almost fully erect and lay heavy and imposing across his thigh. With each beat of his heart, it twitched upward slightly; once, twice, a living punctuation mark to his wife’s question that demanded an answer.
Tina blinked rapidly, her mind struggling to process what she’d just heard. Was this how strangers normally interacted on nude beaches, asking women they just met if they would like to give their husband a blowjob? The audacity of the question left her dizzy, her thoughts tumbling over each other. Yet the idea of sucking Ben’s cock right here, right now, out in the open where anyone could watch, made her cunt spasm with overwhelming desire.
The word “Yes” tumbled from Tina’s lips in a breathless rush, escaping before the practical soccer mom part of her brain, the part that organized PTA bake sales and drove carpools in her silver Honda Odyssey with the “My Child is an Honor Student” bumper sticker, could enumerate all the reasons this was reckless, irresponsible, and utterly unlike her. She moved over to join them on their blanket, the material bristly against her knees as she knelt just inches from Ben’s cock. The shaft was even more impressive up close, with a thick vein curving along the side that reminded her of the line on the GPS they used to get here. His foreskin was now stretched taut over the swollen head, a single clear drop trembling at the tip.
She hesitated only long enough to reach back and sweep her hair over one bare shoulder, then gripped his cock at the base. It was hot, firmer than she expected, the skin oddly silken despite its heft. She pressed her tongue against the slit, collecting the bead of pre-cum with one delicate flick before pursing her lips around the head. His essence tasted tangy with notes of salt and something uniquely male that made her pulse quicken. With her ex-husband, blowjobs had been another box to check on her endless list of household chores, performed dutifully on her knees, the synthetic fibers of the bedroom’s beige carpet reddening her skin. She’d approach it with the same detached efficiency she brought to doing the dishes or folding laundry, mechanical and joyless. She always hoped, in vain, that it would make him more tolerable to live with, or at least keep him from rutting on her, while she pretended to sleep, for a few days. But this, this was different. This belonged to her alone, a selfish pleasure she was allowing herself to enjoy.
She bobbed her head slowly at first, her tongue swirling around his swollen cockhead, lapping at his slit to taste more of his salty pre-cum. Her hand wrapped around his saliva-slick shaft, sliding up and down in conjunction with her mouth. She glanced up through her lashes at Imogen, who was watching her intently, eyes wide and lips parted. Imogen’s right hand drifted to her own breast, fingers circling her nipple with dreamy distraction while her left hand slid between her thighs, fingertips disappearing into the smooth cleft of her bald mound. Realizing the effect she was having on the couple, Tina began sucking Ben with mounting confidence, increasing the pressure, twisting her wrist just beneath the head, and savoring his barely muted grunts. She cradled Ben’s sac in her palm, rolling the heavy orbs gently, feeling him tense each time her tongue swirled around the flared ridge. The eroticism of the act, the twitch of his hips, the way his wife was watching her and touching herself just inches away, made Tina dizzy with need. Her own cunt ached, slick and throbbing.
Imogen sensed Tina’s desire and leaned down, her pebbled nipples brushing against Tina’s arm. Her lips, soft as rose petals, grazed Tina’s earlobe, sending goosebumps cascading down her neck as Imogen’s fingertips drifted across the small of Tina’s back, then wandered deliberately over the curve of her ass. “Do you want to fuck my husband?” she whispered, her Irish lilt transforming the filthy proposition into something almost musical.
Tina tried to reply, “Yes,” but with her mouth full, her response was just a throaty hum that sent vibrations along Ben’s shaft, causing his balls to twitch against her fingertips. Unable to speak, she nodded furiously to make sure they understood. Imogen giggled, her slender fingers slipping between Tina’s tan-lined cheeks to rhythmically stroke the slick, swollen lips of her pussy. Tina was so wound up, so desperate with need, that her mouth worked with newfound urgency on Ben’s dick, sucking him faster, taking him deeper, her hand a blur as she pumped up and down his spit-covered shaft. Ben’s fingers threaded through her hair, and with gentle pressure, he guided her away, the release of suction creating an audible sound. Tina gazed up at him, panting, saliva spilling out of her parted lips and rolling down her chin, her pupils dilated to black pools of raw lust.
Ben reclined on the blanket, the sun-warmed fabric bunching beneath his muscular shoulders as he grasped his cock at the base, pointing the veined shaft skyward like an obelisk. Lost in a haze of desire that clouded all rational thought, Tina scrambled up on trembling legs and straddled his hips, facing away from him toward the sparkling expanse of ocean. She reached down between her thighs and gripped Ben’s cock, wet with her own spit, guiding the swollen head past her slick outer lips and slowly impaling herself with a helpless, greedy moan. The sensation of him stretching her was exquisite, each ridge and vein of his cock dragging against her inner walls as he filled her inch by inch, her pussy clenching and unclenching around his girth. For a moment, she had to pause, hovering on the brink, the pressure verging on pain, but then Ben’s hands found her hips and steadied her. With a groaning exhale, Tina relaxed and sank all the way down, her ass coming to rest on his abdomen.
Imogen moved and sat in front of Tina, close enough that their knees almost touched, and watched in undisguised pleasure as Tina began to ride her husband with the careful, measured cadence of someone savoring every second.
Tina’s eyes fluttered closed as she lost herself to the pleasure of being completely filled. She leaned back, hands braced against Ben’s smooth chest, and arched her back, thrusting her breasts to the sky. Imogen bent forward, capturing one taut nipple in her mouth, the unexpectedness of it causing Tina to spasm around Ben’s cock, drawing a heavy groan from deep in his chest. Imogen lavished attention on both of Tina’s breasts, her teeth grazing lightly on the tender skin before drawing a puckered nipple between her lips. Her tongue swirled circles around the sensitive peak while her fingers kneaded Tina’s other boob, thumb flicking across its twin bud. When she switched sides, the ocean breeze caressed Tina’s abandoned nipple. The sudden shift from Imogen’s hot, velvety mouth to the cool air made Tina whimper; the dueling sensations of one breast enveloped in slick warmth, and the other tingling in the open air sent electric pulses straight to her core, where Ben’s cock throbbed inside her.
Imogen glanced over at the abandoned beach towels next to them, where Tina’s belongings lay scattered, her lips curving into a devilish smile. She pulled away from Tina’s breast, a thread of saliva breaking as she crawled across the blanket to retrieve Tina’s rose-gold iPhone, her pale fingers unlocking it with a practiced swipe.
Tina’s spine straightened as she ground herself onto Ben’s erection, her inner walls contracting around him with each downward thrust. Sweat beaded along her collarbone, trickling between her breasts as she fucked him harder, riding him with wild abandon, her thighs trembling with exertion. Each collision of their bodies produced a wet, obscene sound that mingled with their grunts and moans. “Yes, yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking into a hoarse plea, “fuck my pussy. Oh, god, yes, fuck my pussy,” each word punctuated by the hypnotic bounce of her breasts.
The rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh and Tina’s unrestrained moans carried across the sand like a siren’s call, drawing attention from a young couple sunbathing down the beach. The woman, her cinnamon-toned skin glistening with coconut oil, nudged her boyfriend’s ribs, whispering something that made his lips curl into a wolfish smirk. They gathered their belongings and relocated within a dozen feet, spreading their towel where they had an unobstructed view of Tina’s jiggling tits and Ben’s monster cock disappearing into her with each downward thrust. An old man with skin like tanned leather, his wispy white hair thinning at the crown and fluttering in the sea breeze, paused his shoreline stroll. His arthritic fingers adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses that had slipped down his sun-spotted nose. He veered toward the spectacle, positioning himself on a nearby driftwood log at what he considered a respectful distance, his trembling fingers fondling his half-erect member as he watched. A middle-aged couple, who were wading in the surf, exchanged a quick, silent glance, and then trudged up the sand toward the spectacle; the husband reaching over to cup his wife’s sagging breast, while she tugged on his penis, coaxing it to fullness with practiced familiarity.
Imogen’s fingers danced across the phone screen, activating the camera. She framed the shot of Tina bouncing up and down on her husband’s cock, the wet, pink stretch of her pussy lips around his thick shaft, then panning to show the audience, their hungry eyes fixed on the blatant hedonism. The old man was beating off watching Tina’s bouncing tits, the young man was fondling his girlfriend’s breasts while whispering filthy things in her ear, and the middle-aged woman was licking her lips as she jerked her husband’s cock, his balls slapping against her wrist with each desperate stroke. Some distant part of Tina’s pleasure-fogged mind registered that being fucked like a whore on a public beach while being watched should mortify her, overcome her with shame. Instead, the weight of those lustful stares only intensified the pleasurable feelings racing through her sweat-slicked body, turning her exhibitionism into the most intoxicating aphrodisiac she had ever known. She went wild, the rhythm of her hips a violent staccato as she chased her climax.
Ben flexed his hips and pistoned up into her, his cock burrowing even deeper. Tina’s vision swam in a dazzle of sunlight and endorphins. Every slap of his body against hers, skin meeting skin with wet, meaty thuds, reverberated through her core, sending ripples across her ass cheeks; every flex of her pelvic muscles milked a tighter, needier grip around the rigid length filling her. Imogen cheered her with profane encouragement: “Yeah, take his cock deeper. Show everyone how much of a cock-slut you are. Let them watch you cream on my man’s cock.” The Irishwoman’s accent rendered every word charming, her hand creeping between her thighs to rub urgent, frantic circles on her protruding clit as she watched her husband’s cock relentlessly pound into the other woman’s cunt.
Tina’s own hand slid across her sweat-soaked abdomen and found her nub, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. She masturbated herself with ruthless determination, the movement of her fingers synced to the rhythm of Ben’s thrusts. Wet heat mounted between her thighs, spreading up her spine in electric ribbons. Her orgasm hit like a rogue wave; she bucked and spasmed atop him, her head thrown back, eyes rolling blindly to the cloudless azure sky. She howled like a bitch in heat as pulse after pulse tore through her cunt, her dripping pussy walls convulsing and squelching around Ben’s rock-hard shaft. She felt him tense beneath her, his fingers digging into her hips as he held on tight, slamming up into her sopping wet hole. Roaring like an animal, face contorted in rapturous release, his swelling and throbbing cock pumped load after creamy load of hot semen deep inside her womb.
Tina collapsed forward, sweat dripping from her face, breasts heaving, palms catching her on the blanket as her cunt greedily squeezed Ben’s cock, wringing out every last drop of sperm from his heavy balls. She was vaguely aware, in her post-orgasmic haze, of Imogen pointing an iPhone at her, capturing the final exhausted tremble of her thighs and Ben’s cock as it gradually softened but remained lodged in her soaked, stretched pussy. Imogen’s grin was feral, her cheeks flushed as she knelt close and slid her fingers between Tina’s thighs, scooping up a thick dollop of cum that had escaped from Tina’s pussy and presenting the offering to Tina’s panting lips.
Without hesitation, Tina parted her swollen lips and sucked Imogen’s cum-coated fingers deep into her mouth, her tongue swirling around each digit to capture every last pearly droplet. The flavor exploded across her palate, salty, musky, bitter, making her moan around Imogen’s knuckles. Imogen yanked her fingers free with a wet pop and crushed her mouth against Tina’s, her tongue invading with primal urgency. Tina yielded with a whine as their tongues battled wetly, Imogen greedy to taste her husband’s release. A quivering strand of cum and saliva stretched between their lips as they parted, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, before finally breaking. Through it all, Imogen’s unwavering hand kept the iPhone steady, the camera’s digital eye capturing every depraved detail in high definition.
Ben lifted Tina’s sweat-drenched, trembling form off of him and deposited her onto her own beach towel, his slippery cock sliding free with a wet, disgusting slurp. Tina rolled onto her back, arms splayed, breasts heaving, pearly rivulets of cum oozing from her swollen, still-gaping pussy, trickling down her taint, and pooling on the cotton beneath her. Ben sat up, his thick cock flopping half-hard against his thigh, the veined shaft shiny with their mingled fluids, a final pearl of milky ejaculate seeping out of the tip. “You seemed to enjoy that, darl,” he drawled to Tina, Australian accent thick with satisfaction as he grabbed a bottle of water from their mesh beach bag and chugged it down.
Tina mumbled an incoherent affirmation, utterly boneless, her thoroughly fucked cunt still spasming. Sunlight flickered in and out of focus as she drifted, half-conscious, through pools of sensation: the warmth and wetness between her thighs, the breeze prickling her damp skin, her sensitive nipples still tingling from Imogen’s sucking. She half opened her eyes and looked around, really seeing her audience for the first time; the old man on the log, his wrinkled cock in hand, jizz coating his gnarled fingers, the young couple on their towel, the woman’s huge tits swinging wildly as her boyfriend hammered into her doggy-style, his balls bouncing off her clit with each brutal thrust, and the middle-aged woman licking her husband’s ejaculate off her fingers. But mostly, she was aware of Ben and Imogen, sitting on their blanket right beside her and sharing a satisfied, conspiratorial look. Imogen tapped a few times on the screen of the iPhone before tossing it onto the blanket next to Tina. The couple rose and strolled hand in hand towards the ocean to rinse the sweat and sex from their bodies, Ben’s deeply tanned ass flexing with each stride, while Imogen’s paler, freckled-covered cheeks jiggled slightly as she navigated the soft sand.
Tina lay sprawled and blinking as the fog of lust slowly faded and the wash of clarity set in, realizing in disbelief at what she had just done. Two days ago, being seen naked by strangers would have mortified her. Now, she was lying on a public beach, her boobs on full display, and a stranger’s semen flowing out of her exposed pussy. She sat up and stared at the sea as she drank a bottle of water, trying to reconcile this new version of herself with the woman who’d boarded the plane in her sensible white cotton underwear and buttoned to the collar blouse. Was this temporary madness, some tropical fever that would break once she returned to her split-level suburban home, her two children, and her ergonomic chair at the insurance office? Or was this newfound hunger for exhibitionism, this thrill of having her cunt and mouth filled with anonymous cocks while strangers watch her tits bounce and her face contort in slutty ecstasy, now permanently encoded in her DNA?
When she could manage, Tina stood on wobbly legs and stumbled towards the water to clean off the evidence of her corruption. She passed by Ben and Imogen, who were making their way up the beach back to their belongings, their wet skin glistening in the sunshine. Her eyes were drawn to Ben’s penis, which had just been deep inside her moments ago, swinging between his legs, and Imogen’s petite, perky breasts. She nodded a shy, embarrassed smile to Imogen, who returned it with a little wink. She waded into the crystalline surf until the warm Caribbean Sea lapped at her inner thighs, caressing her tender, cum-slicked labia with each gentle wave. The water’s rhythmic buffeting massaged her exhausted body while fine, sugar-white sand slipped between her toes. When she finally ducked her head beneath a breaking crest, the salt water rushed through her tangled hair and sluiced away the dried sweat, sticky semen, and lingering shame in one cleansing sweep. She gave herself over to the water’s embrace, drifting weightlessly on her back, breasts, nipples, and bush just visible above the turquoise surface. After a few minutes of the gentle Caribbean swells lifting her body in rhythmic suspension, she turned and waded back to shore.
Ben and Imogen had packed up their belongings and departed by the time Tina returned to her space, as if the encounter had all been an erotic dream. She found her phone, tucked into a fold of her towel, and slid her finger across the smeared screen to wake it up. She tapped the “Photos” icon and located the video that Imogen had recorded. Her finger hesitated above the thumbnail for a moment, but curiosity quickly overwhelmed her, and she pressed play.
The phone’s tiny speaker hissed to life, and Tina watched herself bounce like a wanton slut atop Ben’s cock, her breasts rippling with each slap of their bodies. Every detail was there, unflinching and high-definition: the perfect arch of her back, her tangled brown hair falling across her face, the lewdly stretched lips of her cunt sucking hungrily at Ben’s rigid shaft. The audio was even more explicit, Imogen’s lilting Irish accent providing filthy narration layered over the squelch and slap of flesh. As the climax built, so did the intensity, the richness of her moaning, her insistent whimpers, until the grand finale; her body convulsing in violent orgasm, tits bouncing wildly until she slumped forward, sweaty and spent. The camera zoomed in, capturing the river of cum drooling from her swollen, pink pussy down onto Ben’s balls, and Imogen scooping it up and feeding it to her. When the video ended, Tina’s finger hovered over the trash can icon, trembling slightly. She bit her lower lip as she stared at the frozen final frame; her own flushed face, parted cum-smeared lips, eyes rolled back and unfocused beneath half-closed lids, her expression one of pure ecstasy. She took a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and pressed delete, watching the evidence disappear with a mixture of relief and unexpected regret before placing her phone back into the beach bag.
Tina shielded her eyes with one hand, scanning the pristine crescent of beach and the glittering turquoise water for any sign of Lindsay. Not spotting her friend among the scattered sunbathers or the bodies in the gentle surf, she figured Lindsay must have wandered off to explore. With a contented sigh, she stretched out on her towel and closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the tropical sun’s caress.
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