The Beach

The beach is somewhere between Newcastle and Berwick. It's not a secret; just a place whose name you wouldn't recognise, where the sand occasionally has a blackish hue from tiny grains of coal washed ashore, and where the skyline to the south is broken only by a small wind farm, a mile out to sea.

It's a long beach; you get lots of day visitors at the southern end during summer weekends, but less during the week. I'm not lying at the southern end; I'm further north, in a hollow curve of the dunes, with a small sun tent erected to shield me from the view of anyone coming straight over the top of the dunes.

It's not that I don't want to be seen. Not at all. John has taken thirty pictures of me already, and is changing the memory card in his camera while I read my book. It's just that if you want to see me you have to play by our rules. John will publish a few of these pictures on bulletin boards, inviting people to email him for more pictures. He encourages them to tell me, in the emails, what it feels like to look at me, naked. The more explicit their emails, the more pics he sends them by return.

So it is with real life voyeurs on the beach. He wants me to see them, to know that they're there. He knows they arouse me. I can't help this streak of exhibitionism. It's just one of the isms I've discovered about myself since John came into my life. I don't want to write my biography. Not yet, anyway. That's not what this story is for, but I do want to tell you about my life. Exhibitionism in words maybe.

I'd never sunbathed naked before John. I still wouldn't, without his presence or knowledge. I'd have continued to buy old fashioned bikinis at shops my mother would approve of. I still do buy bikinis, but Wicked Weasel isn't a brand my mother's acquainted with.

I wear them to the beach, or in the car, or walking through the dunes as I did today, teamed with a sarong to keep the peace. I wear them at homes sometimes, if the girls are at their father's and John is visiting. Once, at a barbeque John hosted at his house near Edinburgh, I wore the smallest bikini and a denim skirt with high heeled mules, or come fuck me shoes as John calls them. I may tell you what happened there later.

Anyway, back to the story.

I'm lying on the beach, one leg bent, the other straight out in front of me. I'm looking over my book at a man who's trying to be surreptitious, about thirty feet away. He doesn't want to be caught looking, but he can't keep his eyes away from me. I'm delighted. I don't need any more suntan oil, but I start to make a pretence of rubbing some more in. I love the way I look since John took me on. Still slim, suntanned, cared for; nails polished, feet pedicured regularly – I'm a different woman to the one who got divorced years ago.

Different in another physical way; I wear more jewellery on the beach, naked, than I ever wore during my marriage. One gold ring, in each nipple. One gold and diamond stud, in each ear. A gold and emerald belly bar, piercing the top edge of my navel. A gold barbell piercing each labia, quite low down so that I feel them if I squat or walk vigorously. A gold ring through the hood of my clit, hanging down. John loves to suck my clit through the ring - the result is an exquisite sensitivity that brings on the most painful and blissful orgasms.

And that's just the jewellery I wear all the time. This is one of my naked days so I'm wearing silver torque bracelets around my ankles; they bend into shape and have tiny hooks to keep them closed. On the second toe of each foot is a silver ring. I miss my collar or the solid necklaces I wear when it's not a beach day; the ankle bracelets have a way of reminding me that I'm different.

So that's the woman the man on the dunes is looking at. Different. Different in the way I look, and different in the way I behave. I turn to look at men on the beach, try to see if I can make them hard. I part my legs in clear gestures; women who like to be fucked do this, my body says. Sunbathers don't do this. Today's watcher is a typical voyeur; he doesn't want to come forward, has no desire to fuck me, just wants to watch and wank. I don't want to settle for that just yet. So I turn my back on him, and pick up my book.

It only takes about ten minutes for him to move round to a position further down the beach where he can see a little of me again, but until he comes closer or shows he's interested I'm not playing. I'm more interested in the couple making their way down the beach. They look vaguely uncomfortable, like they've not been to a nudist beach before. So I wave at them. Unsure, insecure, whatever the emotion, they make their way towards me. The wife is in her mid thirties, blonde, shoulder length hair, wearing plain bikini bottoms and a scarf tied round her tits. Her husband is naked, a cut cock bobbing against his thigh, suntanned and more confident.

He looks happy to share the spot, spreading towels out, half burying a cool bag of drinks, offering his wife the suntan lotion. She looks confused by the pace things are happening at, as if she wishes she had more time. She's not comfortable with the watcher either. The husband looks comfortable though, and is chatting to me as if we're new neighbours who've just met over the garden fence.

It's maybe ten minutes before the wife is happy to take the scarf off her boobs. And they're gorgeous. Full pink nippled boobs, slightly pendulous, but perfect if you like firm mature boobs. I do. I don't mind smaller boobs like mine, but there's something about having a handful of breast that makes bisexuality real fun.

She knows I'm looking at her boobs. She knows her husband is making small talk at me as if he has to impress me. And she knows I'm glistening with oil while her body looks a little dry already. So it's almost natural to shut her husband out and talk to her about the need to protect her sensitive skin. We're away and talking, and her husband is shut out. He wanders away to where John is sitting, and strikes up a conversation with him.

It's not a chance encounter of course. She talks in a quieter voice about her husband wanting to see her with another woman, about the emails between her hubby and John. She's not confident about the situation. I try and explain to her that I'm never confident about what will happen. I'm never sure that I'll make people come. It's why I love the repetition, the experience of being able to do it again and again. And the variety, the range of men and women I can turn on and please.

As she relaxes I can see Marie is getting into the idea of being seduced by me. Or of having sex with me, on a beach. She's turned on by me talking dirty. I don't mind that. I talk about how her husband was probably fantasizing about me offering to rub suntan oil into her boobs. About her getting aroused, and being caressed and fingered by me, so that when he comes back she doesn't mind if he fucks me while John fucks her.

I'm telling her that while I lie on my side, one hand at my groin. She's rubbing some oil into her breasts, and as I talk about what her husband might want to see I'm also encouraging her to pull at her nipples, to make them erect. She knows that I'm playing a game, turning her husband's fantasies around and trying to give her confidence by putting her in charge. Instead of it being a game of slutty little me seducing the sober housewife I'm daring her to play a role, the sexy woman who surprises her husband by seducing the slut.

I'm still lying on my side at this stage, facing away from the three men. Marie can see that I'm rubbing my finger down from my clit to my pussy, slipping it inside as far as the second joint. I'm wet already, and turned on. I'm thinking, too, about what will make the best show for John. He'll want to get the best shots, and he did agree the photo rules with Marie's husband.

So now I'm telling her what's turning me on. I want her to kneel above my face looking towards my feet, so that the pictures will have all of her and all of me in them. It's not what she's been expecting. Even the idea of making the first move is making her shaky. I'm not going to give way though. I'm rubbing some of my own pussy juices into my nipples, telling her that all I want is for her to kneel above me, and I'll do the rest.

As soon as she shows the slightest sign of weakening I roll onto my back, knees raised, thighs apart. She slips her bikini bottoms down, and I watch her husband out of the corner of my eye as she shuffles across, and kneels by my shoulders. His mouth is hanging open. John is smiling. I think he knows that I'm playing a game. I'll find out if he approves later.

While I'm swapping knowing glances with John Marie is less comfortable. She doesn't know what to do next, and hovers above me, her pussy looking bare and closed. An oyster to be priced open maybe. I raise myself on my elbows to plant a kiss on her pussy, and then, as if it's a natural act of submission, wrap my arms around her thighs and pull her down to my mouth.

I can hear the camera clicking. I'm sure I can – it's not just imagination. I delve into her pussy with my tongue, parting the lips, seeking moisture. I know I'll look open, and wet, in the pictures. Marie is surprised by how assertive my tongue is being, burrowing inside her, wrapping itself into a tube of flesh to probe deeper.

Marie isn't the first woman I've introduced to bi pleasures. Would I have sought out women to have sex with if John hadn't required? Probably not, but does it matter? I'd fantasized about it, not sure if I was brave enough, but John made it happen. Did it matter that I do it when he's watching, when other guys are watching, when I can see the erections I'm causing? Not to me it doesn't.

What matters is the next stage, the next step for her and for me. She's slumped forward now and I can get my tongue on her clit as she opens up to me. I'm lapping at it, gentle licks that alternate with the more forceful probes inside her. Can she see how wet I'm getting? She's slumping forward, resting her head on my stomach – she should be able to smell me even if she doesn't open her eyes to the evidence. I've been here before, waiting for a novice to summon the courage to cross the bridge and actively tongue me. Never mind how I got here. Never mind how I learned to be this woman. Never mind how much I want to show her, to explain that there was a time when I'd never licked a woman's lower lips, or slid a probing finger into a woman's pussy as I sucked on her clit. I want the watchers to see nothing except spontaneity so I let her find her own way around me. And she gets the message. It's a bit like being licked by a kitten, but she's getting to my clit. And boy do I want her to get there....

She licks me to orgasm with more enthusiasm than skill, but it works. It works for me, and moments later, it works for her. She comes, gasping and crying, with my tongue inside her pussy and my thumb in her arse. She rolls off me, and I can see there are more watchers now, four in total. That makes six men in total. John is standing amongst them, with a bag of condoms dangling from one wrist. How will she react if I give her time to think? I don't. She's kneeling next to me, catching her breath, when I part her pussy lips with one hand while beckoning the first of the watchers over to me. He's fumbling with a condom as he approaches, but he manages to roll it down his stubby hard on. She's wet enough to take him, and moans as he pushes into her. I'm not sure she realises he's a total stranger until his arms go aaround her from behind, pulling her onto him. It's as if she sees the tattoo of a snake on his forearm and understands that she's never seen it, or him, before. But he holds her down, presses into her, and she gives in. And once she's given in, I can get on with the others.

I love being gang fucked. Love it. Three men having to work out between themselves which off them gets first choice of hole, or who goes where? I love it. Men standing to one side, keeping their cocks hard while they wait for the first guys to reach orgasm inside their condoms, or to pull out and come on me? Perfect. The click of the camera and John's smile as he takes the photos? Ecstasy.

Of course it's tiring. By the time four men have finished with me my thigh muscles are aching. My jaw feels as if I've been too long at the dentists. Other muscles ache; my lower stomach for instance. And there's that aching, gorgeous feeling that my pusssy and arse have been used up, that all their defences have been eroded and that anyone who wants to can do with me whatever they want. And the anticipation of a shower of come on my face...

John has other ideas though. He whispers in my ear. Marie's husband wanted her broken in properly. I understand. John was the same with me when we first became partners. He wanted me to understand that there are no halfway houses in sluttishness, that no limits except for the safe word means exactly that. So I take on the role of provider again. She's blushing, Marie. Whether it's the pool of come in her navel or the juices smeared down her thighs I don't know, but the three fuckings she's had have left her flushed and breathless. I coax her with promises that this man is the last one, the final movement of the game. She doesn't see John hand the camera to her husband, doesn't complain as I scratch my nail across her clit again. She goes back to the doggy position again with a sham of reluctance. I straddle her, facing her head, and lift her head by the hair. She thinks this is the game, multiple facial come shot, and I don't disillusion her. The guys who've got hardons left cluster around her, rubbing their cocks in her face.

All except John. Even if she could move her head, if I didn't have hold of her hair, she wouldn't be able to see him directly behind her. She wouldn't be able to see him smearing the condom he's wearing with my juices as lubricant. She can't even see the gleeful look on her husband's face. All she knows is the sudden sick feeling as he breaches the muscular ring of her arse, penetrating her until his groin comes to rest against the cheeks of her arse. Her body language suggests she's about to protest, but right on cue the original watcher sprays her face with come, and her husband moves round to capture the moment. There's a fleeting eye contact, and she gives in, allows John to continue the deep, slow strokes with which he's opening her up. When the ejaculations have finished, and her face looks as if it's been coated with a fine glaze of white John pulls out of her, and I step round to kneel facing her, both of us holding our backs straight. If she thinks John and her husband are going to come on both of us, she's mistaken. They come in my mouth, successively. If she wants their come she has to kiss me.

So she does. We kiss deeply, sharing the moment. As if they know their place them men move away, and I pull her down to the towels on the beach and stroke her hair. She whispers in my ear "He'll never look at me the same again, will he?" I

whisper back "Good", and she smiles at me as if she understands.