Bastard on the Beach

Odd things beaches. You'll go one day and it's packed. You go another day, just as nice a day as the first, and you could shoot off a cannon without having to worry that someone might get hurt.

And have you ever noticed how people cluster on them. There'll be a track down from the parking area or something similar and people will come down the track, hit the beach and promptly pick a place to settle. I mean, really. It's not as though you're going to have to go somewhere in a hurry. Spread out a little.

You can stroll along the beach and find a little cluster of people, then a nice long space of empty beach and then another little cluster. Quite odd, really. Me, I tend to move into the middle of one of those empty stretches and settle down.

It's safer really. You can see if any light fingered lout comes sniffing around, looking for a quick pick-up and go. A cop told me that they picked up one bloke who specialised in grabbing any shoes left lying around. People cleverly hide things like wallets and car-keys and smart phones in their shoes, because who would think of looking there? This clown did. People were neatly packaging the goodies and he'd just walk by, bend over and then keep going, shoes in hand.

The only down side to parking yourself away from the tracks is that you tend to have a bit of a hike if you want to go get something from a canteen or local shop, but what the hell? You're at the beach for both fun and exercise, after all.

Running along behind the beach proper at my local beach is a series of sand dunes. They're held pretty firmly in place by some sort of low lying grass that seems to be pretty salt resistant. When I have to duck back to the car park or the shop I tend to cut into the dunes and walk back among them. That grass allows for much easier going, compared to trudging through the sand.

This particular day I wanted a drink, reached for my stuff and found I'd forgotten to bring one. I was mildly irritated, but these things happen. It was a case of get up off my blot and go and get one. So up I get, wander into the dunes and then start hiking in the direction of the nearest track which was probably a five minute walk.

You can be very quiet walking through sandy dunes that have a low grassy ground cover. I came cutting around one dune and oh, joy. There was this blonde dish with very nice mammaries getting a tan free of those annoying tan lines. Top half anyway. She was wearing a bikini bottom.

She gave a horrified squeak when she suddenly saw me there and snatched up her top and clasped it to her breasts, blushing. I just grinned at her and waved as I went on past. I could feel her eyes drilling into my back as I went on my way but I didn't even turn around. Harmless, that's me.

Not wanting to carry an empty bottle around with me I lingered outside the shop until I'd scoffed it and then dumped the bottle in a nearby bin. Then it was back into the dunes and on to where my things were. (In case you're wondering, I had left nothing there worth pinching. Even a tramp would probably have scorned them.)

Again I came around that dune and there was my topless bathing beauty, soaking up the sun. I must have made some noise because her head spun around and she was reaching for her top before she had even spotted me.

This time she expressed her indignation.

"Do you mind?" she snapped. "What are you, a pervert? Fancy creeping around like that."

I chose to be amused, rather than annoyed. If she was wanting privacy, she probably had a right to feel a little put upon.

"My things are over that-away," I said, pointing. "The shop is that-away," I added, pointing back behind me. "To get from hither to yon I must needs walk, and it's easier walking on the grassy dunes compared to trudging through the soft sand.

Now why a young woman of your age, twenty is it?, chooses to be so modest about her lovely mammaries is your business, but if you don't want strangers wandering past and admiring your feminine attributes you shouldn't be lingering in hidden places like this where they can come upon you unexpectedly."

"Really," she snapped. "I suppose you think I should be down on the beach where every lout around can ogle me?"

"You're partly right," I said, letting her see that I was laughing at her. "If you'd bothered to take a look at the beach you'd have seen that there are some places where you can relax away from other people and still have a good view in both directions. Then if you have an overwhelming desire to protect your modesty you can see people coming from quite a distance and you'll have time to cover up if they seem to be approaching too closely. Common sense, really."

"I suppose some place that-away," indicating the direction that I said my things were, "would be perfect. Someplace convenient for you to ogle me."

Now she was getting personal, and I was just trying to be helpful.

"I've seen breasts before," I told her. "Not many sets as good as yours, I'll admit, but I have seen them. And if I wanted to see yours I can do that here as well as anywhere else. See?"

With that last comment I'd bent down and whipped her top out from under her fingers. She snatched at it too late and then realised that she was exposing herself and snatched her hand back to cover herself, blushing.

"Give that back," she hissed at me. I wasn't sure if her rising colour was anger or embarrassment, but the blush certainly suited her.

"You," I told her firmly, "are taking silly and unnecessary chances hiding in the dunes like this with no-one else around. Anything could happen to you."

I tossed her top down, just a little out of her reach. She glanced at it, but wasn't uncovering her breasts to reach for it.

"Go away," she snapped at me. "I know what I'm doing and I don't need your advice."

"Really?" I said. "And what would you do if someone came along and did something like this?"

It was like potting a sitting duck. The way she was lying with her hands up covering her breasts she didn't have a chance to react before it was far too late.

I just leaned down, hitched a couple of fingers either side of her bikini bottom and pulled it down while lifting her legs high. Feeling herself being tilted, her arms automatically went out to either side to help her to try to get some sort of balance.

Suddenly she found herself bent over, legs spread wide, bikini right off and on full display.

I looked at her with interest. She really was quite lovely, and right now, so open.

"Um. You haven't answered," I pointed out. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to wait until you let me go and then I'm going to slap you silly," she almost snarled at me. "Now let me go."

"Now why would I let you go if you're going to assault me," I asked her. "And may I point out that yelling probably won't help. From the quietness around here I suspect that there isn't anyone on earshot or we'd be hearing them."

Thoughtfully I rubbed her mons.

"I see you shave," I murmured. "It feels very smooth. How does it feel from your side?"

My hand drifted over her pussy, softly rubbing it. She squeaked and squirmed a bit at that, but there wasn't much else she could do.

"What were we discussing?" I asked, continuing to gently massage her. "Oh, yes. Your lovely breasts. As you can see I have an excellent view of them right now. Hopefully I'll taste them shortly."

"Bastard," she said. "You should live so long."

"I probably will. I think you were going to tell me how you can look after yourself?"

By now my fingers were easing apart her lips and dipping into her sweetness. Surprisingly she was hot and wet. I was quite startled. On top of that, I noticed her nipples were standing erect. Goodness me. She was getting quite excited.

Being slightly repetitive she called me a bastard again.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing," she demanded.

To answer that I had to stop playing with her pussy for a few moments. She looked quite relieved until she saw that I was dropping my bathers and had a present for her.

"What do you think you're going to do with that, you rotten pig," she wailed.

"What do you think I'm going to do? You do know what it's for, don't you?"

"Of course I know, you idiot. That's why I asked."

"You logic doesn't make much sense," I pointed out. "If you know, why ask."

"Because I don't want to know, that's why. What are you doing?"

As my cock was pressing fairly firmly against her slit I thought that was rather self-evident. Pressing a little further I sank a few inches into her.

"What does it feel like I'm doing?" I asked her gently, seemingly interested in her answer.

"Bastard," she groaned. "You're having sex with me and don't deny it."

I pressed in harder, continuing to sink my cock into its new home. When I'd driven home I was finally free to release my hold on her legs. She was groaning and not looking at me, but I was pleased to feel her legs closing around me.

Now I started setting up a nice rhythm, pressing in deeply and pulling back for another deep plunge. My modest sunbather was quickly moving in unison with me, and seeing it was a really nice day I didn't hurry. Taking my time, I set about pleasuring her. (And myself.)

We were coming together quite nicely, as though we'd been practising. She was gasping, giving a little squeak occasionally whenever I pulled a slightly harder thrust. Her eyes were closed as she seemed to be concentrating on what was happening to her. Every so often the term "bastard" would go floating past.

Finally I asked her, "Why do you keep calling me a bastard?"

"Because you're raping me, you bastard," she hissed at me.

"No I'm not," I told her.

Her eyes popped open at that.

She glared at me and then glanced at where my cock was currently driving home.

"What do you call this?" she demanded.

"I'm making love to you," I told her, "and very enjoyable it is. You feel marvellous."

"That's what I mean," she hissed, indignant. "You're raping me."

"No such thing. At no time did you tell me not to do this."

"What?" she practically shrieked at me. (Still matching my driving into her, matching every thrust wholeheartedly.)

"You called me some names and asked what I was going to do but at no stage did you say that I couldn't do it. Obviously I would have accepted your wishes if you'd actually said no."

She stared at me in shock for a good thirty seconds while her mind was racing through the things she'd said.

Finally she managed a feeble, "But."

"However, don't think I won't stop doing this instantly if you tell me I have to," I told her, giving a slightly harder thrust with the words 'doing this'. "Do you want me to stop?"

She looked furious and I suspect that she dearly wanted to say stop, but her blood was up and her pussy was enjoying some dynamic action and she was far too far along to stop.

"Bastard," she grumbled and her eyes closed again, giving herself over to the feelings and emotions surging through her.

I strove to prove my bastardry, hammering harder and harder, while my mouth finally closed upon her breast, suckling fiercely. Eventually she shrieked and lunged hard up against me while I groaned and let loose my own package.

We clung hard together as our bodies shuddered in their respective climaxes, finally relaxing and settling down onto the sandy grass.

"You really would be better off down on the main beach," I observed. "If you want to come and set up near me I'll be able to keep one eye out for you."

She rose grumbling to her feet, and followed me to where my stuff lay. She hadn't I noticed, bothered to put her bikini back on, trusting me when I said that the beach was deserted where I was.

"Well damn," I said when we finally arrived back at the main beach where I'd let my junk. So much for my assumption that no-one would think it worth pinching. It was all gone. I'd be driving home in my bathers it seemed.