Emerald Isle 1

A Beach (Audio) Voyeur

I heard them, that first night, before I saw them. Just ten feet away in the beach cottage next door. I had gone out onto the little back deck, beer in hand, to watch the heat lightening play it's magic on the water, the breaking waves.

First there were just moans. "Uh-hhh ... Oh-hhhh"

I had to listen closely to be sure it was a woman, not some animal come down to the water's edge looking for leftovers.

"Ah-hhh ... "

Then, with urgency: "Oh, yes! ... Lick it again! Right there."

It definitely was not some animal come down looking for leftovers. Unless you considered the possibility that the male doing the licking might be a bit of an animal! (Although, at this point I wasn't sure that it was a male doing the licking. Only that it was a female being licked!)

"Oh, yes! ... right there, right there! Ah-hhh ... uuuu."

Then there was just the sound of a great sucking in of air. Followed by: " ... give me a minute. Oh, god! You make me cum so good. I knew you were gonna make me cum so good! Oh, god."

I could just imagine this woman clamping her inner thighs tight around some lucky guy's head, trapping his face between her legs, his mouth covering her pussy.

I had gone to my brother's Outer Banks beach place for a nine-day-week: some peace and quiet to do a read through and a final edit of a just completed work of fiction.

The first two days there I had had the street pretty much to myself, nobody in the houses on either side of me. Then a shiny new silver Saab 9-3 convertible showed up late afternoon on the third day, Maryland plates. At just dark I went out to raise my truck windows and lock the doors. A BMW 1300GT cruiser with DC tags and a State Department sticker on its windshield was parked next to the Saab. I hadn't seen either of the people belonging to those vehicles coming or going.

At around 9:30 I turned off the lights, got a beer, went out to watch the distant storm out over Onslow Bay. I heard the two people belonging to those vehicles.

"I'm gonna fuck you now," the voice said, an upper mid-west accent - Wisconsin maybe. "Enough of this fooling around." It was definitely a guy. " ... gonna fuck your sweet pussy.

"No!" the woman said. "Not yet. I want 'a see him. I want to hold him. ... I want 'a see how big he is."

Then: "Oh, my god! ... I can't get my hand around him! I knew he was gonna be big! ... not this big!"

There was silence, deep breathing. I knew she was licking him, holding the cock in both hands, licking him. Working her mouth around the head of this cock.

"Oh, baby," the guy said. "He wants some 'a you. Needs to feel that warm wet thing just sucking him in. Needs to be balls deep in that sweet pussy." I heard her mumble around the head of his cock, working her mouth on the smooth swollen hardness. "I want to sit on him. Let me sit on him," she mumbled.

Again there was silence. I reached a hand inside my running shorts, felt, stroked my own swollen cock. Felt the clear drops of cum on the tip.

Then, from her: "Oh! ... Easy.

From him: " ... hurry. Oh, sweet Jesus!"

Her: "An inch. A little at a time, baby. ... Oh, oh!"

Him: "Just look at 'im! ... God, just look at 'im. Sliding up in that pussy. Disappearing in that pussy. Oh, god you feel so good! ... Just look at 'im go in that pussy.

They fucked and stopped, caught their breath. He spread her legs, got between them, mounted her, fucked her again.

"Oh, yes!" she shouted, " ... stick 'im in me. Oh, I love it. I love it!"

The guy, the fucker, just made sounds deep in his throat; slammed his cock into the wet pussy, slapped his balls against her bare ass.

The sounds on the adjoining seaside veranda degenerated into moans and groans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh: a pair of balls slapping against a well formed and firm young ass. I timed the stoking of my own cock to cum just as the girl screamed into the night. I considered the possibility that I might be, might become, an audio-voyeur.

Daylight came at 6:00; the sun was starting to come up out of the sea by seven. I had done the first leg of my morning run to the west, the better to watch the sun rise and get a bit of a breeze on the return leg.

They were astride a pair of bikes in the drive-way, between the Saab and the BMW cruiser and the street, strapping on riding helmets. She was a fine looking woman, maybe 32. She was blond and tan with long hair and long legs ... legs made for riding a bike, among other things ... and nice tits; cleavage showing between the lapels of her riding tights.

The guy was black with tall, angular; narrow hips and wide shoulders ... hands and fingers. I knew he was an athlete: the kind you see on TV on Sunday. Or on the cover of GQ. I was betting that she had him by a couple of years, maybe three.

They both waved, them leaving their driveway, me walking into mine: sweat dripping.

"Morning," she said from the street. "It's gonna be a great day."

I bet it already has been, I thought. South Georgia, I bet, she's from south Georgia.

"Have a good ride," I called after them, waved.

I didn't get much editing done that day. I watched out the window for them to return. Watched, when they did return, him run a long finger along her jaw line, wipe away the sweat (I always did love southern girls and sweat!) She took two tiny steps, then a third, toward him; bringing her body, her chest closer to, and then into contact with him. He laughed, ran his hand down her side, cupped her ass. She slapped it away, moved her tits against him - laughed.

They disappeared again early in the afternoon, the deep throaty rumble of his motorcycle headed out toward Morehead City and Beaufort. She was leaned back in the seat, blond hair flowing in the wind; her hands on his hips, thumbs stuck through the belt loops of his jeans.

I checked out the Saab in the driveway next door. It had that same State Department sticker on the windshield as his motorcycle.

They work together, I surmised. Been building toward this rendezvous for a while ... I bet you could 'a cut the sexual tension with a knife. Them in the same room together ... attending some high level meeting. I wondered what Hillary would have thought if she knew.

I went to a hunting-fishing outfitter in Jacksonville, bought a pair of night-vision binoculars. Picked up four boxes of really high-speed film; the kind you use when there isn't much light. It took a bit of searching to find a fifty foot cord that worked with my mic and mini-recorder.

Getting it all set up was a piece of cake. Drop the cord out of the upstairs window, staple it against the side of the house like a TV or computer cable. Bury it in the sand across the four feet separating the two cottages. Up the adjacent wall, hid the mic in the proverbial potted palm on the deck.

'I hope to hell she likes to fuck outdoors ... like last night,' I thought. I checked to be sure I could see the upstairs window in my seaside cottage, my vantage point.

I took an afternoon nap, getting ready for, looking forward to, a long night. I was unsuccessful in my efforts to not play with my own cock, save the pleasure for later. What the hell, I decided, I'll just enjoy it now and again then.

The rumble of the motorcycle sounded in the street just before sundown. Forty minutes later they left again in the Saab; dressed for dinner and dancing.

"Shit," I said. They would be a while getting back home.

From the upstairs window I checked the focus on the binoculars, zoomed in on the double-wide chaise. I watched the Braves on TV, watched Denzel Washington kick the Mexican mafia's ass.

Sometime before 1:00 AM I heard the crunch of tires on the oyster shell and crushed gravel driveway next door. I killed the TV. The house lights were already off.

The girl must have walked directly through the cottage and out onto the ocean facing veranda. She appeared there almost immediately. The tall, black athletic guy only a minute later; a wine bottle and two glasses in hand.

She watched him pour, ran a hand from his belt buckle down to the swell in his crotch; squeezed him.

"Damn, these are a good set of binoculars!" I said to myself. "That Marine kid gave me the right scoop." I could almost reach out and touch them, it seemed.

He laughed. "Show me your panties," I heard him say. "I want 'a see your panties."

"Just my panties?" she asked. "Not my tits ... or my pussy?"

"Later. Right now I want 'a see your panties. ... I been thinking about them panties all night."

She lifted the hem of her dress. Caught the front of it in her hand, lifted it up to her waist. He set the wine down; the glass falling over, rolling off the table.

I watched him reach around her, grab her ass, lift her off the floor, sit her on the edge of the table. She still held the folds of her dress up above her waist. They both looked down at the juncture of her legs, the creamy silk of her panties against the tan of her lower belly and legs.

I was keeping a pretty close eye on it myself! That space at the top of her legs.

She leaned back, supported her weight with one outstretched hand. He bent into her, covered her panty clad pussy with his mouth, blew warm breath onto her. She let go of the dress hem, caught her hand behind his head, drew his month in tight against her.

"Oh, baby, you so good!" I heard her say. "You black son-of-a-bitch, you so good!" south Georgia all the way. "You like my white pussy? ... You so good! ... Ah-hhh!"

She collapsed, fell back onto the table. He caught up the silk of her dress, pushed it up to her tits. All the while his mouth on the place where her inner thighs met her body. That warm wet spot. I imagined him drawing in a deep breath, smelling the smell of her.

Suddenly he reached a hand through the crotch of her panties, with a rip tore them from her. Leaving her pussy exposed to the night air. Exposed to him, exposed to me and the night vision glasses.

But not for long. With his thumbs he spread her pussy, covered it with his mouth.

"Oh, yes! ... Eat me, lick me! Who taught you to eat pussy like that?! ... You so good."

He did not answer: his lips and tongue were busy.

She pulled the dress up above her tits, rolled both nipples between thumb and fore-finger. Her sounds degenerated into moans and sobs.

" ... Oh, you black bastard!" she finally said. "I'm cumming ... I'm cumming!"

My own cock was on the verge of cumming. Hold on, big boy, I told him. There's more coming.

Of that I was sure.

Having caught her breath, she lifted the dress over her head, pushed the ripped panties from her hips and legs.

"My turn," she said.

She reached, unbuckled his belt, pushed his trousers down. I could hear her intake of breath at the sight of his cock below the tail of his shirt, even with her already knowing the size of the instrument she would find there. She started making 0's with her mouth in preparation of taking the him between her lips: attempting to take it all in!

"My god," she said. "My mama told me to stay away from black cock! ... Now I know why!"

She opened wide, moved her head forward. He reached behind her, caught a handful of her blond hair, pulled her against his crotch ... impaled her.

They fucked until way past my bed time: took turns.

He got behind her, her ass lifted into the air ... knees spread apart, her shoulders and tits down on the cushions; him pounding into her with his cock, a finger inserted inside her ass.

She moaned woman sounds, called him a black bastard; a big-dick black bastard.

He accused her of being a whore. A nigger loving white bitch whore.

She rode him like a cowgirl. Her knees pulled up under her, her tits bouncing each time she raised herself almost off the end of his cock, then slammed back down.

"You like my cock, you honky bitch?" he asked, rolled both her tits in his hands. She was on her back, him on his knees. Her legs were pulled up high, her calves and ankles around his neck.

"My pussy likes your cock," she managed to say.

"You just a pussy ... that's all you are," he said. "Just a pussy."

"Your pussy ... I'm just your pussy. Your white pussy ... fuck your white pussy." Her eyes were wide, her breathing rapid.

He slammed into her, his balls slammed against her ass.

She looked straight at me. Her eyes went even wider, she licked her top lip.

"Oh, god! ... Fuck me don't stop fuck me!" she screamed, looking at me the whole time. "That big black cock! Stick it in me fuck me black cock fuck me!"

She squeezed her eyes tight, made animal sounds deep in her throat. "Ah-hhh ... "

She collapsed against the cushions like a spent athlete.

She opened her eyes, looked at me again.

My cock was out, I worked him in my hand. Felt the release, the relief. Caught the cum in my hand, rubbed it up and down, along the length of my shaft.

She looked up at the man between her legs. "I'm gonna fuck your brains out," she told him. "Before we leave here you are gonna be a blithering idiot ... won't have a brain left."

"I'm getting there already," he said. "You and your hungry, wet, white pussy."

"God! ... I love your cock! Long, thick black cock."

Sweat dripping, the sunrise behind me, a breeze in my face, I walked the last fifty yards ... finishing up a 45 minute run. They were on the edge of the pavement, buckling on biking helmets. They both looked fit: relaxed.

She looked straight at me.

"A good run?" she asked

"A good run," I answered.

"You here all the time," she asked. "Live here?"

"No. Just for another week," I said. "My brother's place."

"We'll have some wine open about sundown," she said. "Come and join us. May even have some shrimp."

"I'll bring the shrimp," I told her. "... some Mexican beer."

"Sure." She held my eyes, ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. They pushed down on the petals, started up Ocean Drive toward the morning sun.

The End ... Or, Is It!