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Brenda couldn't have asked for a better day. While the sun was bright in the summer sky, the temperature was perfect; warm, with a gentle, cooling breeze.
Brenda spread out her blanket, then unfolded her beach chair. It was the low sitting type, the kind that allowed her to stretch her legs out, her feet just past the edge of the blanket, her toes curling in the sun toasted sand.
Brenda applied the coconut suntan lotion generously; she already had a good base tan but wanted to take no chances. She couldn't help but shiver a little at the feel of her own hands rubbing the slippery oil into her supple skin.
Once finished, Brenda eased herself back into the chair, popped a water bottle into the armrest cupholder, then slipped her sunglasses on and settled in to do what she'd come all this way to do: relax, unplug, and unwind.
No ear buds in her ear, just the sounds of the waves crashing and the cries of the gulls circling in the sky above. No emails, no texts, no social media; she'd purposely left her phone back in the hotel room. She wanted no distractions, no interruptions. This was her day. Her time. And she'd been in desperate need of it.
This trip had been planned months ago, and originally it was supposed to be a celebration: ten years of wedded bliss. That was before she'd found him in bed with another woman. A prostitute. Brenda had nothing against sex workers generally. But he'd brought her into their own home. Their own bed. It was as if he'd intentionally tried to insult her, to hurt her in the worst possible way.
The crazy part about it was that if he'd have even considered the idea that she might be interested, Brenda might not merely have approved of hiring a professional, but joined in. It certainly would have been something to spice up what had become an infrequent and dull routine sex life.
Part of her couldn't help but laugh at how ultimately pathetic it had made him look, that he had to PAY to cheat on her.
The divorce had been quick. And profitable, at least for her. She'd kept the house, although it was now on the market, and she'd also kept the reservations for this vacation.
And now she was keeping the promise she'd made to herself to leave the past behind and make this the first day of her new future.
She'd even bought a new bikini to celebrate. Much smaller than what she'd normally wear, and she knew it might draw some unwanted attention. But for the first time in a long time, Brenda found herself not entirely uncomfortable with the idea of being the object of male gaze. Thirty and once again single, she kinda hoped at least some men might still be interested.
She was still in amazing shape for her age. She'd kept up with both regular yoga and jogging.
And although she'd married young, they never had children. Which Brenda had regretted only until discovering what a bastard her potential children's father was. And so her belly was without stretch marks, her breasts still firm, with no signs of sagging.
Still, the bikini felt... snug. At 5' 4", she had curves in all the right places, curves the bikini seemed determined NOT to cover as intended. She'd already had to stop and adjust the top several times to avoid any nip slips during her trudge along the sandy beach.
And now her bottoms seemed determined to ride up far enough against her to provide anyone passing by with a view usually reserved only for her gynecologist.
Glancing around to make sure no one was looking her way, Brenda reached down and surreptitiously adjusted her suit, trying but not quite ignoring the tingle she felt due to the friction and pressure of the shifting fabric.
"Later,"
Brenda thought to herself.
"Later. When I get back to the room. First with that lovely shower head, then with my Hitachi."
With that pleasant thought in mind, Brenda closed her eyes and simply basked in the radiating sun.
She dozed off easily, and the dreams came readily. Flashing images at random; sweaty bodies in varying degrees of undress, some faceless strangers, others people from her past, including the college roommate she'd had a brief dalliance with.
Brenda awoke just as her dream lover had buried her face between her thighs, feeling flushed from far more than the sun. A dawning horror hit her when she realized her hand was between her legs, her fingers touching exposed, slick flesh.
Exposed! At some point as she'd slept, the string holding the right side of her bikini bottom to her hip had managed to come undone. The triangle flap had fallen toward, exposing half her vulva, a tiny pink labia also peeking its way out from beneath what cloth still barely covered the rest of her.
Her fingers flailed at the strings in a desperate attempt to re-tie them. When at last her modesty was recovered, her gaze traversed the surrounding beach, looking for anyone who might have noticed.
The beach was not very crowded for such a beautiful day. While there were people here and there, they were scattered in small clumps, well spaced out. The closest person within possible eye view was perhaps... Brenda was terrible at judging distances... ten, maybe twenty yards away? She could see the man's face, but not enough to make out any features. Even if he had looked her way, Brenda doubted he'd have seen much of anything.
Still, the idea that someone could have walked right by her while she was sleeping, her legs agape with her freshly waxed mound on full display...
... excited her. Oh, of course she was mortified by it, but also could not deny that the possibility of having inadvertently exposed herself to strange eyes was making her already aching pussy pulse with an even greater urgency.
Brenda squeezed her thighs closed, gasping from the pressure this put against her clit.
It was an old standby trick from her years in college; during long, boring lectures she'd distract herself by clenching her thighs tight then flexing her pelvic muscles. She'd achieved orgasm quite a few times that way, and apparently it was like riding a bicycle, because she was already close to one now.
"Brenda, stop,"
she chided herself.
"You're in public. What are you thinking?"
Ignoring her inner voice, she continued, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.
A few last compressions was all it took, and her body jolted upright in her chair with the suddenness of it. Unfortunately, as with her past experiences, the quickie climax left her with a hunger still unsatisfied.
The rational part of her brain told her to simply head back to her room. There, she could indulge herself fully, in private.
But there was another voice in her head, a voice long suppressed. A voice telling her to live a little, to take a risk, to do something NAUGHTY.
A voice she felt tempted to listen to. Still, there was a huge difference between being risky and being stupid, and the last thing Brenda needed was to have what was supposed to be a rejuvenating vacation ruined by being publicly humiliated, or worse, arrested for indecent exposure and lewd behavior.
Looking around again, there was still no one close enough to her that would be able to actually notice her actions, if she were discreet enough. Even the gentleman directly in front of her was now in full recline and not even facing her direction.
Brenda decided to ease into things under the guise of applying more suntan lotion. Pouring the slippery oil generously in her hands, she started at her arms, goosebumps already forming as they traveled slowly along exposed skin, up to her shoulders, down to her cleavage, then her firm, flat belly.
After another application of oil, Brenda moved to her right thigh, down to the calf, then over to her left leg and back up. By the time she reached the crease of her upper left thigh, she was a hot, sticky mess.
Brenda's eyes continued to dart left and right. Finally convinced no one was paying any attention to her, she slipped a finger past the elastic of the suit and into her slick cleft. The tip glided easily up between her petals to find her engorged button. Brenda had to bite her lip to stifle her moans as she slowly traced circles over the sensitive nub.
Closing her eyes, Brenda continued her steady caress, the familiarity of her routine now made new by the excitement of doing so in such a risky environment. The warm sun was also a factor, her skin hot and sensitive to the point that the lightest breeze sent waves of erotic bliss flowing through her.
She was on the verge of climax, waves rolling in like the surf on the sand, when she sensed someone approaching.
Jerking her hand away quickly, Brenda opened her eyes to spot a couple of roughly middle age approaching. The woman looked miserable, the man even more so, his arms burdened with what appeared to be a very heavy cooler.
Brenda's sudden movement had apparently drawn his attention, and although both were wearing sunglasses, Brenda's heart stopped as she felt his eyes on her.
It was less than a millisecond; the man was taking no chances with his wife right there beside him. Still, Brenda thought she could see the tension in his neck muscles as he fought not to turn his head as he passed by.
"What did he see?"
Brenda wondered.
"Surely no more than my hand moving up from my thigh, right? I could have just been scratching an itch."
She couldn't help but let out an embarrassed giggle.
"Which, in a way, I suppose I was."
The interruption had only slightly quelled that itch. She felt the dull ache of an orgasm denied, but the fear of almost being caught stayed her hand for the moment.
Brenda contemplated her next move. The day was still young, and she wasn't keen on the idea of packing up and heading back to her room just yet. Still, she was horny as fuck. And she had to admit she was enjoying her risqué behavior.
Inspiration struck; something naughty, but not enough to get her in any trouble. Steeling herself, Brenda stood. Her suit had already ridden up in the back, but with a quick tug she managed to make it practically disappear up the crack of her firm, well rounded bottom.
Brenda felt exposed, but not dangerously so. This kind of thing happened all the time on the beach, and there were some women who displayed far more flesh in far more revealing thongs.
Still, she felt goosebumps as she strolled as casually as she could manage towards the water. Brenda made sure to take her time, and to pass as close as possible (without being obvious) by the gentleman still lying supine on his blanket.
From the corner of her eye she saw the man stir, and had to resist looking back over her shoulder to see if he was indeed checking her out.
Instead she remained focused ahead as she slowly waded into the gentle surf. She paused knee deep, then bent as if to brush something from her leg. Brenda felt her face flush as her suit rode up still higher.
Fearing she may have exposed too much, she straightened then plunged forward into the water. Coming up for air, Brenda turned back towards the beach to spot the man now sitting up on one elbow. Was he looking at her? It was difficult to tell with his sunglasses on, but it certainly felt like it.
