I perch myself beside him on the sand, careful not to get any in my shorts. I’m sitting stiffly, in the desperate hope that I’m going to emerge from this spontaneous midnight outing sand-free. The ocean is a pitch black nothingness, marked only by the white froth of the waves crashing thunderously on the shore. We’re entertained briefly by a stray cat, who brushes her mottled fur gently against our backs and watches us curiously. And then, we’re alone.
He scrunches up the bag of crisps he’s been eating from, breaking my trance-like reverie, resulting partly from the surreal atmosphere and partly from the moderate level of alcohol coursing through my veins. I watch as he licks his fingers carefully, one by one. Something about this slow and deliberate action and the way his tongue flicks over his own skin makes my heart beat a little faster, and I feel the beginnings of a warmth between my thighs. I think back to hours earlier, when in between his most sincere apologies for running so maddeningly late, I had told him that there was one way he could make it up to me. Sexual favours.
“You look like you’re having fun”, I offer.
His lips curl into a sly grin, “Not as much fun as you’re about to have.”
On cue I feel my heart drop and the gusset of my thin cotton underwear become slightly slick. He reads my expression and wordlessly, he reaches over and slides the first button of my shorts open. Our eyes make contact, and my slow smile invites him to continue. As he works the rest of the buttons free, I watch his long fingers, aching for him to slide them further down, to bury them deep inside my sex. He has a much slower and more torturous modus operandi, though.
The slightest relief washes over me as he traces a line from the top of my briefs, over the coarse triangle of hair and down to where I am throbbing and warm. He strokes a single finger through the juice that covers my slit, and I sigh. I lean back on my elbows, still ever so faintly aware of the sand that I’m trying not to get inside my clothes. He slides his finger back up to my engorged clit and runs the tiniest of circles around it, causing me to moan softly, and then louder, not caring that despite the absence of human presence, we are in public. As I let my head fall back, my gaze rolls from his face – focused yet smug – to the dark, cloud-strewn sky above our heads, the odd star glinting against the charcoal grey. I close my eyes and take in the sound of his even breathing mingling with the suddenly distant booming waves. He increases the pressure, rolling my clit under two fingers, now. He grows rougher and harder, rubbing at my lips with less aim, his fingertips gliding over me with reckless abandon.
I am lost. My elbows collapse gracelessly beneath me and I feel the sand caress my back, exposed by my midriff-baring top. I register the wet heat as I squirt hard over his fingers, drenching the fabric of my shorts. As he works his fingers inside my sodden cunt, I writhe furiously in the sand, feeling the miniscule grains flood the inside of my shirt grind softly against my bare skin, tangling my hair. I gather up handfuls, squeezing them in my fists in a frustrated attempt to keep my entire body from shaking uncontrollably with pleasure. I reach desperately for his cock, which is hardening at a rapid rate inside his jeans. He swipes my hand away: I am interrupting his mission.
Guiltlessly, now, I let my back arch, and a guttural cry escapes my throat. His fingers pump hard and fast, grinding against the uneven walls inside of me and drawing gasp after gasp from my open mouth. As I try to form the words that will make him stop, make him pull my shorts down to my ankles and roll me over on all fours and fuck me hard right there in the sand, he turns his deft fingers back to my clit, and my brain ceases to function. I squirt again and again, and he is relentless, continuing his sweet assault on my swollen clit. I feel wave after wave of hot pleasure roll over me, blurring my vision and causing every muscle in my body to clench and spasm, until my mind turns blank and I lie limp in the space I’ve thrashed out in the sand. He licks his fingers once more, smiling, tasting me, watching my utterly spent form sprawled inelegantly beside him. The waves are still rolling, the lights of the city are still twinkling along the coast in the distance.
My breath finally returns and I whisper, my voice thick and rasping. “Can you run late more often?”