On the Beach

That was some orgasm, you think, as you feel your body slacken. The tension drains out of your shoulders, your back, your thighs. Those oily haunches of yours are still thrust up towards the sky, and it occurs to you that you could now happily lie down, happily turn over and very happily set eyes – at last - on the mysterious woman behind you.

How much do you actually know about her? You tot up the facts. Two chains: one on an ankle – you can't remember which; another on the right wrist. A pair of sandals. Some dark toenail polish. Long fingernails. Two firms hands. One, two, three, four fingers. She has scarcely touched you at all, apart from your insides. You idly wonder what the rest of her is like, what she's wearing - if she's wearing anything at all. You can't remember ever thinking quite so clearly, and so consciously, about a woman's pussy before. What it looks like. What it feels like. What it might taste like. This is new territory for your imagination, where it is trespassing very close to the frontiers of reality.

This concrete thought causes you to stir. The time has come. Let's draw back the curtains, you think, and reveal the seducer. Let's take off the blindfold. You raise yourself up onto your elbows and are just pushing up onto your hands when you feel a hand on the back of your head. It seems to be staying you, stilling you. Something inside you objects, or doesn't believe her, and you push yourself up onto your hands and start to turn your head. Promptly the hand grabs a hunk of your hair and restrains you. It doesn't hurt. It would if you moved, but you don't. You are stock still as the hand pulls tightly enough on the hair for the pecking order to be firmly re-established. You are not in charge. She is. Whoever she is. She must be standing directly behind you. You feel a tingle in your stomach work its way downwards. You have never surrendered to anyone before. Not like this.

She holds your hair for perhaps half a minute, just long enough to underline the hierarchy. The slightest hint of resistance, of mobility, and she'll tug your hair tight, like a rider sitting astride a horse and pulling on the leather reins. So you submit.

No sooner has the parallel with a horse and a rider occurred to you than you can feel it happening for real. Two quick steps and her legs are straddled either side of you. Not that she's touching you, but you know because on the edge of your vision you see those two feet again. There's one planted next to each of your knees. You notice that the sandals have gone. So she's definitely taken something off.

Gradually she eases her grip on your hair and starts to stroke it instead, pat it, pull it back behind your ears. This is the gentlest she's been with you so far, and in its own way it's just as intoxicating as the savage fucking that, in the grip of this new sensation, your body is only now starting to forget. If it's possible to lust after someone you can't see, why can't it be just as possible to fall a little in love with them too? That's what you're thinking as she stands over you, caressing your hair and kneading your scalp with her fingertips.

For the first time you think that she must be your friend. To show this much tenderness, she can't just be your lover. In that instant you are overwhelmed by an longing to kiss her.

Kiss me.

You say it out loud.

I want to kiss you. Please. I want to feel your lips. Are you going to let...

Big mistake. There is a sudden motion behind you. The hands abandon your hair. You can feel a sudden movement behind you, a flick of thin material grazing your hind quarters and then before you know it darkness has descended. A piece of cloth of some description has been placed roughly over your eyes. You can feel your head tugged back as she ties a knot and secures the cloth tightly. You have been blindfolded for real. She has punished you for your curiosity and now you really can't see a thing. In an instant, the mystery has deepened.

Slap. The next thing you feel is a palm on your ass. Not too hard. But not too soft either. She must be rebuking you. A tingle ripples from your butt around your body. You emit the slightest moan. To your surprise you rather enjoyed a firm smack on your ass

Slap. Harder this time, on the other cheek. It stings deliciously, but moaning is obviously not allowed for now. could you pussy be any wetter?

What the hell do you do now? You can't move, you can't see, you can't speak or make any sound. Your options are severely limited. All you can do is hear. And smell. And most importantly, feel.

You feel a touch of a hand on your shoulder. She is pushing you down. You obey. There is clearly no further point in disappointing this forceful woman. The next thing you feel a hand gripping each ankle. In turn she pulls on one leg, then the other. The instruction seems to be to lie down, flat. Again, you do as you're told. You are back in the position she found you in. perhaps, it occurs to you, she's going to leave, that the blindfold is only there to protect her identity while she retreats across the sand to wherever it is she sprang from. Your heart misses a beat. You were rather hoping she hadn't finished. Below decks you feel a squirming sensation at the thought of abandonment.

A hand now touches you on your right side, then another hand. You can feel yourself being pushed. Evidently you are being urged to roll over onto your back. Slowly, rather hesitantly, you comply.

Your whole body now undergoes a radical shift. It's one thing to be lying naked on your front. Quite another to be exposed in this position. Suddenly you are available to be seen. An instinctive attack of shyness assails you and you raise your hands to cover your breasts, tilt one thigh inwards to cover your pussy.

As expected, she won't hear of it. A hand, reasonably gentle, pushes your leg back into place, then methodically pulls your arms out wide. You look as if you're being crucified, it occurs to you, lying there in the sun with arms outstretched and legs pinned together. But no sooner has the thought danced into your head that you feel a hand grabbling hold of one knee and lifting it away from the other. You don't even wait for her to grab the other knee but push it into the same position. It's a small victory that you've managed to do something for yourself. You are not quite the slave she thinks you are, you tell yourself. However, your self-congratulation is cut short as she puts a hand on each knee and pushes your legs far wider apart than you think they've ever been before.

She lets go. Your legs can't help closing slightly. She pushes them back again. this performance is repeated two or three times until you realise that you are going to have to make the effort to obey. Which you do, on the assumption that you will get what you've been waiting for.

Now, you think, lick my fucking pussy, seeing as you've opened it so fucking wide. Just lick it. You gorgeous dominatrix bitch.

No woman has ever run her tongue along the slippery slopes of your pussy before. You always assumed it would feel different. Now you want to find out. You can't wait. But you do wait. You wait, wet, for your wish to be granted. She doesn't seem to be listening to the speech inside your head.

Nothing happens. There is silence.

Just at the moment where you think of closing your legs in protest, you feel hair falling over your face, followed at once by a tongue licking your lips. But not your pussy lips. The lips of your mouth. It's wet, the tongue. As it moistens your lips you open your mouth and send your tongue out to meet hers. In an instant, predictably, she withdraws her tongue, her whole mouth, her hair You feel a hand gripping your jaw, pushing it shut, while the other hand pushes down on your forehand. She doesn't want you to open your mouth. Message received and understood, you tell yourself, as the hair comes back to caress you. It smells beautiful, you notice, as she plants a kiss on your lips. Your first kiss from a woman. You decide to take courage into your hands and respond. Nobody, after all, wants to kiss and not be kissed back. So that is what you do. You respond to her wet warmth as if this is the first time you've ever kissed anybody, which is what it feels like anyway. Your first time kissing a woman. It feels utterly different, and utterly wonderful. Does she taste of sugar and spice? Surely not. But she definitely tastes different.

Her lips have a fullness to them that makes you want to meld with them. Soon her tongue has flicked out again and this time, as her grip on your jaw slackens, she lets you join her. Searchingly, softly, your two tongues begin to dance and pirouette around each other, licking each other, hardening, softening until suddenly you can feel her tongue jammed deep into your mouth. You respond in kind and start to kiss with a frenetic energy.

You lose track of time but as you feel your heart slowly melting you do what any normal person would do in the heat of an embrace and start to raise your arms. You want to wrap this faceless woman into you. You want to drag her on top of you and pull her body into yours.

You know it won't be allowed. But you try anyway. You raise a right arm and place it tentatively on her left shoulder. To your astonishment, you are not rebuffed. You raise your other arm, on the side she's crouching, and pull it up over her back. You feel the thin slip of some sort of skimpy T shirt. You push your hand under the material to stroke along her vertebrae, then push on to her neck. Her hair, you calculate, must be quite long, certainly over the shoulders. It's ringletty and, you guess, dark, probably black.

As you carry on kissing, a miracle happens. She pushes an arm under your back, another under your neck. And slowly pulls you up towards her. The kiss has melted into an embrace. As you hold on tight, it only now occurs to you that under her top there is soft flesh pressing into you. She feels quite big, though you can't be sure, and you are suddenly desperate to find out. you've got an animal urge to feel a woman's breast in your clasp. You pull your right hand from her back and slowly drag it round under her T shirt towards her front.

You are about to push your hand into place when – bang – everything changes. The arms withdraw, the tongue, the lips, the mouth. The gorgeous hair. Your arms are pushed firmly back into place.

Apparently the kiss is over. You think you can hear her stand up.

You are back to square one. Not knowing what will happen next. The only advantage you have now is the knowledge that she's probably not gone far. She's probably got some other filthy titillation swilling around in that bitch goddess mind of hers.