Stepnout WhenIcan's Stories
A Day at the Beach by Stepnout WhenIcan
A Day at the Beach
This is the story of simple pleasures enjoyed at the beach. Please send any comments to stepnout69@hotmail.com.
The sun was high and the air had been heated by the time they arrived at the beach. The sand burned the soles of their feet as they looked for a good spot. Few people recognize a good spot on the beach, but they knew what they wanted. A view of the horizon out to sea and the beach from the water line to the spot. Little else mattered. A windbreak is good, but not absolutely necessary. Isolation is important, but they could ignore the bozos if they had to. Another important aspect is relative quiet. Kids down the beach are OK, but not immediately next to their spot. Their spot must provide they with the illusion of isolation, if not the real thing.
They wanted to enjoy their spot and each other. Anything that detracted from that was taboo. They didn't intend to do anything on the beach although they might if things worked out that way, but the beach was for atmosphere and for hours of foreplay (that's atmosphere too). They didn't want to attract attention or to disturb anyone else; they just wanted to be alone to enjoy the beach and each other.
Once they found their spot, they settled down for the day. They spread a mat, big enough for two to lie comfortably, but not so big that they could be far apart. They cherished the closeness of the mat, even in the heat. They went through the normal preliminaries, the towels, the sunscreen, and the walk to the edge. But the mat was their spot. They would not willingly venture far from it. They might move, and take it with them, but they would not walk far away from it with intentions to return. They would stay. As they settled in, she lay on her front, with her head pointed toward the water. He knew that was his clue to oil her with the sunscreen. They took particular pleasure in the procedure and he tried to vary it in small ways so that it would never become normal. Today he started with her back. He spread a good puddle of the white cream in the dip between the shoulder blades and smoothed it across her back and shoulders, and on her arms. The action was quick and practiced so she knew that it was only to protect her from the sun. She knew that his real attention would start elsewhere.
After applying a protective cover to her skin, he began in earnest (no pun). He repositioned himself from her back to her legs. He liked to oil her legs because he had found a few sensitive places there. He knew there were many more and he wanted to find them and use them to drive her up the wall. He knew that if he did this right, he could spend hours building her tension (passion??) and be rewarded with its release later. But that was for later. Now was now and he had a specific purpose in mind. He positioned himself at her feet. He raised her left leg. It bent at the knee. He rested her shin on his leg and spread a glob of oil on her calf. He began to rub the oil into the skin, but his fingers went deeper than the skin. They massaged the muscles and she felt as if he were touching the bones inside. She felt electric shocks, small and moving, but distinct and surprisingly delightful. He massaged the calf until she though the skin had been rubbed off. She didn't protest, she loved the touch. Just when the sensation reached the point where it would become uncomfortable, he moved to the other leg and repeated the process. She marveled at his ability to know when to stop his actions and move on to the next. But she didn't say anything. She remained silent as if dozing. She couldn't sleep at this point if her life depended on it, but she pretended to doze. She knew that if she responded to his touch two difficulties would arise. If she responded, he would have taken control and it was too soon for that. Also if she responded, the spell would be broken and he might stop. She didn't want that either, because it was too soon for that. So she pretended to doze. By this time, he had finished the calves and it was time to move up to the thighs. One at a time. Slowly, he oiled and caressed the back of her thighs, the outside of her thighs, even the front of her thighs to where they touched the mat. The sensations were ecstasy, but she couldn't respond. She knew that the real pleasure was yet to come. When he moves to the inside of the thighs, her emotions will skyrocket. He knew this also, so he hesitated and delayed until he would wait no more. He loved to drive her up that wall, but it has to be a very slow powerful drive.
The time had come. He needed no oil. Her skin was saturated. The ocean couldn't wash all of the oil from her legs by this time. He began at the knee. He worked the skin and muscle an inch at a time. He massaged and caresses, and rubbed and kneaded. He searched for her spots. Much more carefully than they had searched for the spot on the beach. He was methodical and tender, but strong and exploring. He moved up her legs, inch by inch. Searching for the sensitive spots, finding them and working them to build her pleasure. He spent an hour moving up the half yard from her knee to her suit. Reaching her suit was a goal, long in its coming. She had endured the massage as if it were torture; a torture of pleasure, but it was not over. The legs were only part of the journey.
He slid his hands under the suit and caressed her cheeks. She had been so involved in the flood of feeling and pretending to doze that she hadn't realized that he had moved up onto his knees and was hovering over her legs. Only his hands were touching her. She realized that all of the feelings he had caused were by his hands. But now, as he hovered over her, his tongue touched the small of her back. The suit was low cut and a crevice showed above the suit. His tongue found this spot as his hands gently kneaded her orbs. The sensation drove her crazy. Her build up had been so intense that the combination of touches to her butt were more than she thought she could take. She was wrong. She could take more and would take more, but later when they were alone, off the beach. But now she craved release. He hadn't touched her breasts or her mound, but the sensation had driven her to crave release. She moaned. They both knew the signal. He had to give her relief.
Without changing position, his hands spread her cheeks. His right hand moved to the top and followed the crevice down. His left hand moved downward too, but from the bottom edge of her suit. The thumb of his left hand slid to the aperture of her womb while the index finger of his right hand followed the crevice to her anus. The oil on her skin made the movements smooth. Her passion added to the moisture and lubricated his movements. Both hands reached their goal simultaneously. Some slight teasing of the opening provided sufficient lubricant for entrance. He though about teasing her some more, but didn't have the heart. She craved relief and he complied. Both fingers entered their target. The abrupt entrance of both orifices resulted in a rush of feeling that made her see stars. Lovely stars, red stars, white stars, violet stars, beautiful stars. Her relief was complete. He waited until he sated and removed his hands from her suit. He dropped to the mat at her side and she rolled on her side to face him. It was going to be a wonderful day because they had found a perfect spot.
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