#15) Beach Bum – mild sexual content

She’d seen him before at Santa Monica; jeez, you couldn’t help noticing those broad tan shoulders and how they tapered down to that six-pack set of abs. But he was a surfer, for gosh sakes, as plentiful in L.A. as actors, and usually just as narcissistic and vacuous.
But this particular Sunday afternoon he came in from the waves, planted his board in the sand, and sat down next to where she lay on her towel. Trish squinted up in his direction, and damned if he didn’t look like her mind’s eye pictured Neptune, golden curls, bristly beard, and dazzling smile. His gaze remained on the sparkling sea as he spoke to her. She was surprised to hear the trace of an accent, something European.
“Do you know that you have the most marvelous bum on the whole beach?”
“I beg your pardon,” she stammered to this guy that out-Jason Momoa-ed his doppelganger in both looks and charm.
His eyes met hers for the first time. They were the most amazing shade of aqua blue-green. Pale, to make his tan seem all the darker, and deep, the kind you could drown in if you weren’t careful.
“I’d prefer it if you were begging my mercy,” he smiled.
It was as if he’d read her mind, and knew all her secret, deepest fantasies. It was as if he’d read her diary, and knew all her naked sexual desires. It was too much. Patricia wanted to scream for help, or for fire, or whatever would get the most attention, almost as much as she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to slap his face, almost more than she longed to ask if he really was dominant and was into… all that kinky stuff… Instead, she willed herself to stop blushing, tucked her fingers into the bottom hem of her bikini bottoms to pull the skimpy fabric out of her ass crack to cover all it was intended to over her cheekiness, then extended her right hand.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Patricia, my friends call me Trish.”
He took her hand in his.
“I’m Marcello, my American friends call me Mark.”
Trish thought for the life of her that his last words were “my girlfriends call me Master.” She shook her head in case ocean water was in her ear canals. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure if he’d said anything provocative at all. She wasn’t even sure that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She had to know if she was dreaming, or if her dreams had come true.
“Did you just… come on to me… by complimenting my butt…?”
“Yes,” he answered matter-of-factly.
Trish sat up, unable to keep the embarrassed smile off her face, her whole consciousness now on her ass in the warm sand.
“I thought so,” was all she could manage to articulate in his direction. To herself, she murmured, “Why are men so fixated by a big bottom?”
“I can’t speak for others,” Mark replied without a trace of sheepishness, “but I find such a round bum extremely erotic.”
It was all too much. Trish turned over to lay on her tummy, unable to face his gorgeous countenance, and said in that same introspective voice, “That was pretty bold of you…” She, too, looked out to sea instead of at the person beside her, resting her chin on her hands.
Mark saw the sand sticking to her backside, both to the fabric of her bikini and to the pinch of posterior that peeked out beneath. To his way of thinking, it detracted from the beauty of her anatomy. He brushed it off with the fingertips of his hand, casually but carefully. It was like if he saw a model with a piece of lint stuck to the seat of one of his father’s designs as she was about to walk the runway of a fashion show back in Milan; he would of course pick it off before she was seen in the spotlights.
Trish knew none of his thought process, just knew that he was caressing her tush. She gasped softly, and turned to look at the wolf that seemed to be stalking her. She was about to move one of her hands back to protect her behind from this advance. But she saw that his face was so innocent, his touch so paternal; Trish stopped and just watched him.
“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand? Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek…,” he quoted Shakespeare to her with that faint yet endearing accent.
Trish was so impressed, she didn’t notice that Mark left his hand resting on her butt cheek when he was through brushing. He laid down on his stomach right next to her.
“That was Romeo to Juliet,” she sighed.
He looked into her eyes. “Yes, it is…”
He kissed her. Trish gave herself over to it, closing her eyes, opening her mouth, letting tongues get involved. That was when she noticed his hand cupping her reassuringly back there. She rolled up on a hip to press her length against his, and was pleased that the hand followed her, continued applying its subtle pressure.
It was during the long, lingering kiss that Trish made up her mind. I’m going to let this guy go all the way, she thought… Mark is going to be the second guy to fuck me… But unlike those other times with Greg, this is going to be phenomenal… because I’m going to get Mark to spank me… I’m gonna get my first adult spanking tonight… Trish could feel herself getting wet down there; if she didn’t break the kiss off soon it was going to be embarrassing. She’d have to jump in the ocean to mask the rising tide in her crotch, and she wanted to lay here against Mark forever. He was warm, and looked so good, and smelled so good, and tasted so good. Trish decided he was more god than man, but not the god of the sea. He seemed to her to be the embodiment of the sun. Against her will, Trish pulled her lips away from his.
“I ought to slap your face for being so forward,” she whispered.
“If you did, I think I’d have to slap your bum for being so hypocritical…” he countered.
She leaned in, though no one was nearby.
“If I did… and you decided that I needed to be spanked… would you wait until we were alone… so that I could enjoy the experience too…?”
He smiled rakishly. “You ought to be spanked in public… so that everyone would know that you’re finally getting what you deserve… but I can wait…”
“Good!” Trish whispered with finality. She distanced herself from the ear she’d been confiding in, giving herself the space she needed. She raised her right hand high and brought it down across the side of his face with all the force she could muster at close range, harder than she wanted to, but hard enough to insure her fate. Then she cradled his face in both her hands and kissed him again passionately.
When their mouths parted, she confessed, “I’m so sorry…”
“You’re going to be…” he replied with a sneer.
“Then I’m not!” Trish smirked. “I’m not at all… I’ve dreamed of getting spanked by a tall, dark, handsome lover for two decades… almost since I ceased getting spanked as a child… promise me that you’re really gonna do it…”
“Oh, I promise…”
“Do I need to slap you again to insure that you do it good and hard?”
“That won’t be necessary,” he smiled, rubbing his cheek.
“Do you wanna take me home?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but not to punish you. I believe that the punishment should fit the crime, and that the punishment should be administered at the scene of the crime. So, I’m going to wait until this beach is deserted, and then I’m going to bare your adorable butt and spank it soundly. Afterward, if you feel like I know I’ll feel, I’ll take you home and make love to you all night long. Now, you ought to know that my having to wait to punish you comes at a price. Like a bank charges interest for a loan, my loaning you time until vengeance is exacted is costing you increased repayment. When I finally spank you, it’s going to be a doozie… Is all that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Trish answered, euphorically floating high above the sand, while submissively looking down at her beach towel to let him know that she now knew her place.
“Very well then… are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Trish replied.
She sprinted to the ocean to splash away the evidence of the snail trail of arousal that darkened the crotch of her bathing-suit, then they strolled hand-in-hand to a hotdog stand. She didn’t tell him that she was a sous chef at one of L.A.’s more exclusive restaurants; she just ate the cheap fast-food ravenously. He didn’t tell her that he represented his father’s haute couture line of fashion here in the states, and was wealthy enough to buy with his pocket change the city block of beach-front property on which they strolled. Neither of them spoke of the impending spanking, but it hung in the air, coloring everything they did like the golden glow of the nearly-setting sun, sweetening the air like night-blooming jasmine.
People were leaving the beach to prepare for the workweek that loomed ahead. The last of them assembled to watch the sun sink into the wavy horizon, as if the water was extinguishing its fiery light. Then, as dusk descended, Trish and Mark were alone on the rapidly cooling sand. He noticed her goose-pimples, and put his too-large wetsuit jacket over her shoulders for warmth. She smiled her appreciation, then pushed her bikini bottoms down to her ankles.
“I’m ready for my spanking, sir,” she intimated, lust making her voice husky.
“I see that,” he responded, looking at her engorged pussy.
She turned around to give him a glimpse of the butt that precipitated this whole affair. He was mesmerized by its beauty, as round and full and pale as the moon that was just becoming visible in the clear sky. The word “lunatic” is derived from the fact that some people are heavily influenced by the lunar sphere. Mark was a lunatic for Trish’s heavenly orb.
“Do you want me standing, or lying across your lap, or…?”
Her words broke the trance; Mark took control, bending her at the waist, encircling her waist with his left arm, caressing her proffered derriere with his large right hand. His touch felt good, parting her cheeks to look unabashedly at her anus, patting and pinching her pulchritude appreciatively.
Then, in an instant, his hand was gone. Patricia felt a chill.
CRACK!
The sound scared her, the sting alarmed her; he didn’t give her time to react. A second spank make her flesh leap, made her heart skip, made her breathing cease.
The smacks came in a steady rhythm now. The two partners moved together in synchronicity as if dancing a ballet; the male supportive and solid, the female arching, stretching, and supplicant. Even when the going got heavy and he knew that it must be hurting her, she did not flinch or resist. Trish stuck her magnificent ass out as if a spanking was what she most desired in all the world. Because, even though it did hurt mightily, it was what she wanted; she found herself overjoyed that the reality matched, even exceeded her fetishistic fantasies. Seeing that his left arm wasn’t needed for restraint, Mark used it to diddle at her clitoris, to tweak her nipples, all three nodules were erect and desirous of attention. Mark built to a crescendo, slapping the firm fanny flesh harder, faster, without mercy. Trish responded with seductive little moans and mews, followed by a guttural groan as she climaxed and bathed his tickling fingers with jism.
“Fuck me…” she pleaded.
“Don’t you want me to drive you ho…?”
“Yes… later… spank me and fuck me there, too, but fuck me now… here… hard…”
Mark reached into his nearby backpack and extracted a foil-wrapped condom, had it on in seconds, was inside her soon thereafter.
Surrendering to the penetration with a heartfelt grunt and whimper, Trish recovered quickly to chide, “You carry rubbers to the beach? Do you seduce somebody every time you surf? I thought I was special, at least, you said my ass was…” This was said with a smile, as if they’d been lovers for years, and he responded in kind.
“You know when I get you back to your place, and you need another spanking before we fuck again…?”
“Yes, sir…”
“Well, you better be prepared for something harsher than the love-taps I just dished out. You better be prepared for my belt, or your hairbrush, or both…”
“Promise me, sir…?”
An hour later they were in her bedroom. Their passions had been reignited with an over the knee session with her hairbrush and an over the edge of the bed lesson with his belt, and Mark was once more hammering into her sopping sex from behind. They were engaged in epitome sex, the kind of coitus the world should see. They were engaged in the kind of incendiary sex that you rarely see, even in porno, because the elements of love, trust, lust, and youthful infatuation are usually lacking among fuckers, even professional fuckers, and those qualities were so overwhelming present here.
“God, you’re the hottest thing on the face of this earth!” he cried out as he massaged the enflamed flesh of her well-upholstered butt.
“Fuck me like you mean it!” she returned.
He pushed her down prone onto her mattress, pushed her legs together, and continued pistoning her pussy like there was no tomorrow. She came, but he didn’t miss a beat, driving her from one lofty plateau on toward the next.
“You better give me the hottest, tightest fuck you’re capable of, or your gaping little asshole is in for more than you bargained for tonight, little lady…”
Trish stopped, and it stopped Mark. She looked over her shoulder sweetly and sincerely, caught her breath, and licked her parched lips, so that she could speak her heart.
“Would you…? I’ve been kicking myself all night that you weren’t the one to… take me where you’re at… first… I’d love it if you’d take my anal cherry… Do you want to? …Please…”
How could our lunatic hero resist the temptations of her tightness within that proffered moon? Improvising for lubricant, they used a combination of his suntan lotion and stuff from her kitchen like olive oil and Crisco in the can. She admitted him, held him in her sublime grip, and gave him the fuck of a lifetime. They marveled at the fact that something so delicious, so divine could transpire in a place most thought of as dirty and debased. Their marveling and wonder evolved into childlike giggles. Their giggles didn’t keep them from cumming intensely, simultaneously.
They both thought that it was far too early to use the L word, but they both secretly harbored its longing in their hearts for one another. So they instead stuck to depreciating banter and cynical remarks. But by morning, her pet name for him was Beach Bum, and his for her ass was just the same.

3 responses to “#15) Beach Bum – mild sexual content”

  1. Jean Marie that’s a lovely story. Is this a story you would like to have lived out, or just something you enjoyed writing about? How similar is the way Trish in this story experiences spankings to the way you experience spankings?

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  2. Dear Karl, thank you for asking! I like having to anticipate getting a spanking, so that much is real. I once fooled around with a boyfriend on a CA beach and we got sand in our privates. We discovered that sand is like sandpaper in such situations, not pleasant! This is why I have this couple in the story stand. Other than that, I just get some random idea (I call them a “bug up my butt”) and I go with it, let the story unfurl itself. Hope that this isn’t TMI, but I will confess that when I’m in a deep sub-space, regular sex isn’t enough; I like my lover to visit my backdoor, too.
    Please readers, be like Karl, come out of the shadows and talk to me!

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