Sand, surf and sex

I hadn’t noticed the discrete amateur photoshoot happening under the shade of a tree until Simone had pointed it out. I’d been transfixed on the waves, the hot sun and Simone’s gentle caresses on my arm. It took me a moment but once I saw her posing for the camera, I couldn’t look away. 

If she moves her hand away, would it reveal a perfectly trimmed pussy with lips slightly open, wet, and waiting for my cock? Shifting her other hand, and letting her arm fall to the side, would it show nipples that are erect and hard? A hand intertwined in her raven hair; pulling her head back exposing her neck to hungry kisses — would her inviting smile surrender to the moans of desire as her green eyes widen with my cock deep inside her?

We both stared until the man with the camera made her laugh one last time and then handed her a brightly coloured sarong. Once covered, she gathered up random articles on the sand and put them in a beach bag — he made her laugh once more and with bag and camera in hand, they made their way down the beach as if they were one. 

I settled back into the waves and the sun, and Simone resumed her gentle caresses — I soon lay back onto the warm sand and closed my eyes. I heard Simone do the same and she shifted into me to get comfortable. We listened to the surf until her whisper broke the trance.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? I don’t hold it against you; part of me wanted to fuck her too”

I knew she wasn’t looking for a response and had more to say so I made a sound to acknowledge I was listening, rather than acknowledge I wanting to fuck the woman with the raven hair.

“You would be very disappointed based on what I saw. Those breasts of hers aren’t real, and even if they are, they aren’t as wonderful as mine which you know all too well are very real. That lovely pussy you saw is not nearly as wet as you image, and if you were to fuck her my love, she wouldn’t squirt over that cock of yours the way I do. And one last thought to consider.”

We both waited.

“When her boyfriend fucks her, she is quiet. Oh, she probably offers a moan or two but she’s by no means is a screamer — and I know how much you like me to scream your name as I take that cock of yours. Yes, you would definitely be disappointed.”

She fell silent, sat up and announced we should go swimming and then slapped me on the stomach. As I was shocked back into the bright sun she smiled and motioned me to follow her into the surf.

As I got to my feet all I could say to myself was,“What an ass. I can’t wait to listen to her scream my name”

 W

harder; softer; slower; faster

Eventually the curiosity got the better of her and she asked what was in the paper bag. She had resisted the temptation for a while but we both know she likes my gifts. I reached down and lifted the bag by its handles and set it on the table; reaching inside, I pulled out a box wrapped with a red paper and accented with a white bow. I moved the bag off the table and placed the gift beside the bottle of wine we had opened earlier.The light from the small candle reflected off the paper as she reached for it; she silently mouthed thank you. I encouraged her to open it as I reached for my wine and sat back to watch.

Disregarding my encouragement she studied the bow, the tight corners of the wrapping and the seams; her eyes tightened ever so slightly with curiosity. I watched her bring her glass to her lips, hesitate for a moment, and then take a sip. Setting the glass back down and leaving another soft lipstick impression, she reached for the package. She methodically removed the bow and with great concentration removed the tape without ripping the paper; there was a grace in her methodical approach. With the paper carefully folded on the table, she opened the box and pulled out an hourglass with black sand. She inspected it carefully with bright eyes and waited for an explanation.

“It’s for a game we can play. It’s called harder, softer, slower, faster. The game starts when you flip the hourglass.”

 Her eyes shifted from the hourglass, and as she started to smile, she whispered, “Go on.”

“Well; you would be in a very comfortable position with only your favourite panties on surrounded and propped up with all those pillows you seem to like; you can even have a glass of wine in hand. You can only say four words until the sands run out; harder; softer; slower; faster”. 

 There was a hint of anxiousness as she raised the glass to her mouth and whispered, “Please continue.”

“For my part, I would start with a simple kiss on your lips and then slowly and methodically make my way over your breasts, your stomach and would part your legs every so gently until my tongue gently caressed your pussy through the fabric of your panties. I would slowly make my way around your panties and eventually remove them until there was nothing between my tongue and your clit. With only those words to guide me and a desire to pleasure you, I would have my way”. 

 When I looked at her, she was staring at me with glass in hand and said, “That’s a fucking great game; we should try out my new hourglass” 

She stood up, picked up the hourglass and moved to the bedroom motioning me to follow. As I stood, I realized there was also a symbolism in the hourglass; I knew it was soon time for her to find her way, and sadly, knew her way would not include me.

Until that day, I would enjoy savouring her taste with hopes she remembers me with fondness.

 W

A white rose

Simone hadn’t been on a date with a guy in a very long time.

She was excited at the thought and dressed provocatively, she picked out a lacy bustier which boosted her large breasts, she chose matching underwear she had not warn since she had swapped them with a female friend.  It had been late, they had been drinking and had gently started touching and exploring each other through their underwear in the corner of a dark room at a party, they were both so aroused and wet, they had the idea of secretly swapping their panties.

As she waited for her date, heart racing with nerves and excitement, playing with her drink, she sat back, opened her legs a little, her skirt and clothes were tight against her curves.  She was also getting admiring glances from a guy at the small Hotel bar, could he tell how aroused she was?  Looking down at her cocktail all she could think about was her girlfriend gently moving the wet gusset of her underwear with her finger to expose her clitoris and her tongue pushing hungrily against it and the absolute pleasure as a male guest had watched.

Her date was now late and the guy at the bar was watching her intently, hesmiled, she looked down again. She imagined him kissing the back of her neck, running his hands up and down her curves, gently rolling her skirt up, bending her across the table, his hands discovering the soaking wet panties she had shared.

Her date arrived, she stood up, guilty in her thoughts, they embraced what seemed for a long time, he smelled amazing, she could feel his hard body pushing against her, she looked over and smiled back at the guy at the bar and hoped he was the guest who had watched them.

 S

Cunt

She sat statuesque amidst the movement of the subway — almost out of place. Everything about her was proper and discipled; everything perfect by design. Short red hair combed with a part to the side; clear alabaster skin and gray eyes were accented with frameless glasses. She looked straight ahead with her hands resting on her lap, oblivious to what was happening around her. She wore a crisp white blouse with a tailored tweed jacket with browns, rusts, greens and blues: a complicated menagerie of colour. Washed designer jeans accented with a black belt and complimented by black leather boots with silver buckles. Beside her on the floor was a matching leather bag. When she did move, it was methodical; exact. 

I could not help but notice her, and with great stealth, watched her. With as little movement as possible, she looked to her bag and reached for what looked to be a small sandwich wrapped in foil. With precision she adjusted the foil to expose the sandwich and lifting it to her mouth and took several small bites. As she chewed, she rested the sandwich in her lap. Once finished, she looked down and covered the remaining sandwich carefully and returned it to her bag. She then returned to her perfect position. As I continued to watch her in glances, there was a moment of recognition for something I hadn’t noticed before — on the right breast of her jacket was a small off-white label with the word CUNT printed in red block letters; easily missed in the colours and pattern of the jacket, but now impossible not to see.

Shifting in place as I stood, I struggled to reconcile what I saw and even define what it meant — was the label CUNT for all to see meant to be provocative, was it a warning, or simply an invitation to something beautiful. I could not help but imagine folds of pink wet flesh, a swollen clitoris, and a patch of perfectly trimmed red curls. It was a fantasy I almost started to fall into when I felt the subway slow for my stop. As I made my way to the door, I glanced at her one last time and I saw her staring at me. She winked and smiled ever so softly as I made my way through the crowd to the door.

Every now and then I wonder about that small off-white label with the word CUNT printed in red block letters and imagine folds of pink wet flesh, a swollen clitoris, and a patch of perfectly trimmed red curls. 

 I doubt she thinks of me at all.

 W

image Aneta Pawlik

Shaving Pussy

We lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling on a late summer day. We were discussing the activities of the afternoon and what the evening would look like. The gaps in the conversation got longer as questions were thoughtfully answered. Simone broke the silence as she shifted slightly on the bed.

“You should shave me before we go to dinner.”

Turning my head, I was met with a slight smile. Looking into her eyes she continued,

“Yes. Definitely. Be right back.”

Sitting up she rolled over me and bound to the bathroom with purpose. As the door shut, I was up on one arm contemplating her request. The muffled sound of the toilet, a quick shower and general sounds of organized activity ended with the door opening. She presented herself in a comfortable robe open for my convenience and moved towards me. Stopping at the bed, she reached over me with deliberation, grabbed a pillow, and turned back to lay on the floor in front of the bed. Moments later I heard her whisper,

“I’m ready.”

I moved from the bed to see her rested comfortably on the floor. My gaze followed the contours of her body, over her breasts and stomach until it came to the neatly trimmed hair that covered her pussy. I was about to say something when she said,

“You better get started.”

As our eyes met, she offered a contented sigh and then closed her eyes. My gaze moved back to her pussy, and as if she sensed it, her legs parted ever so slightly.

Shaving pussy is a delicate matter for obvious reasons, and after I had collected a razor, shaving cream and a small pair of scissors from the bathroom, I found myself kneeling on the floor planning my approach. Taking the scissors in hand and whispering don’t move, I leaned in carefully and started cutting the curly hairs. As they came free, I moved them away with my other hand. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, her beautiful bush became whiskers and simply a shadow of its former self. There would be times I’d have to adjust her legs and she offered no resistance. Other than my guidance, she did not move; her breathing did not change and she made no sound. When my trimming came to an end, I noticed the lips of her cunt had opened slightly and she was wet. 

Reaching for the shaving cream, I realized I needed some water. Returning from the bathroom with a glass of warm water, I kneeled once again, set the water down and gently spread her legs wide for further inspection. Taking the glass of water, I poured some into a cupped hand that I then let it drip onto her pussy. I intently watched the water run down through the crevasses until adsorbed by the robe and then turning slightly I picked up the shaving cream — the sound was shocking in the silence as it spilled into my hand. 

Her body shifted slightly as I applied the cream above her slit and spread it around. Wiping the excess cream on the robe before I reached for the razor; I removed the safety cover and dipped it in the glass of water. Moving in close and using my other hand to ensure the skin was kept taunt, I let the razor meet skin and pulled it towards me with short strokes. The initial scrapping sound fell silent with each stroke of the razor. It was a repetitive process of water, cream, shaving, and wiping — accented by the sound of the razor as I rattled it around in the glass to clean it. Each time shaving cream was wiped away, soft beautiful skin was exposed. 

Next, the delicate folds of her pussy. 

I guided her legs up and even wider with no resistance and I shifted myself closer. I took some shaving cream in hand and applied it on her vulva and spread it to any place the razor would touch skin. I pulled back to ensure I had spread the cream where it needed to be, and before I picked up the razor, I wiped a mixture of water, shaving cream and her juices on the robe. The curves of her vulva and the folds of her lips slipped through my fingers as I flattened the skin in an attempt to work the razor. With the concentration of a surgeon, the delicate sound of scrapping would give way to the silence of smooth skin as I worked my way from front to back. 

Grabbing the glass of milky water I headed to the bathroom and returned with a fresh glass of warm water and a towel — as expected, she had not moved. Kneeing as before, I poured fresh water into a cupped hand and gently cleaned away the remaining shaving cream using the towel to soak up the excess water. Taking the razor once more, I removed any remaining hair. Rinsing her pussy one last time, all that remained was smooth skin. I stared at the beauty of her pussy for a long moment and then shifted over to lay beside her. Looking at her, I kissed her on the cheek and said, 

“I’m done.” 

 She turned her head, opened her eyes, and gave me a big smile,

“Thank you.”

We looked at each other for a long moment and I kissed her deeply. She rolled into me, and we kissed until the floor got hard.

“Ok. Let me see.”

I stood and offered a helping hand to get her to her feet. With a hug I motioned her to the floor mirror and followed close behind. As she stood there looking at herself and the hairless slit between her legs, she contorted her face ever so slightly.

“I don’t like it. It’s meant to have hair.”

Then with a big smile she declared she wasn’t going wear underwear tonight and moved to the bathroom giggling. I watched as she shut the door.

 W