Vanderdecken's Cove was a strange place. Beautiful beach, calm blue water, but strange. Legend says it got its name from the infamous captain of Der Fliegende Hollander, said to have anchored here briefly before setting on the final leg of its cursed voyage.
Strange occurrences plagued the cove for centuries: rock formations that appeared one day and disappeared the next; a man who was alleged to have jumped out of a local lighthouse and never landed; a local drunk who claimed to have seen two suns and three moons in the sky, and strange crablike creatures on the shore.
Most people, except for the odd, the brave, or the foolish stayed away from the cove. The man strolling along the shore was strange and brave, but not foolish.
He was a traveler, a collector of stories. Strange places offered the best opportunities for the fantastic. The possibilities interested the man; the fascinating stories that might wash up with the tides. Stories such as the woman half-buried in the sand near the water.
"How serendipitous," the traveler thought. "There's a story in this one."
It wasn't so much her position in the sand but her beauty, nudity, and heavy pregnancy which attracted his attention. The man was bold: he could have stood at a distance, or behind a rock for the sake of her modesty, but the beach was public, in spite of the rare visitor, and not clothing optional. There was a reason for her unclothed state, he knew.
He trotted over to the supine woman. She was at the water's edge, flat on her back, half in, half out of the wet sand. The sand was a mirror, reflecting the glow of her shiny wet body.
Her eyes were closed and she breathed softly, running her hands across her ponderous but round, melon-shaped, and highly placed breasts, and then over her large, curved, fertile belly.
The man noticed the woman was well built with broad shoulders ("Swimmer's shoulders," he thought) and wide hips. She had a broad face with a strong jaw, a bell-shaped nose, a medium mouth, pale pink lips, and eyes placed equidistant from the center; overall, a beautiful symmetric face.
Her hair was waist-length, dark gold; cascading in wet wavelets to rest on the sand, her shoulders, and between her breasts. Her skin was bronzed light gold, hairless; her bald, wet pink pussy stood out like a rose in a golden field. The effect was extraordinarily sensual.
The man, accustomed to strange sights, felt stirrings between his legs, but he was more interested in her story. It felt impolitic to take liberties.
He watched impassively, noting her well-sculpted arms and legs. "An athletic woman."
One hand strayed to her pussy; fingers dipped between the folds and slid in and out. The other tweaked and pinched her right nipple. She bit her lower lip and flicked her tongue across her mouth.
The traveler was sorely tempted to masturbate; discipline honed through years of travel restrained him. He waited while she fingered herself to climax. Her soft whispers turned to low moans. Her ripe belly quaked in orgasm; her pussy squirted cum, coating her hand.
She withdrew her fingers and placed her cum-soaked hand on the wet sand. A small wave washed over it as she settled. After lying quietly for a few moments, the woman opened her eyes and looked at him. She had hazel eyes. "A true golden girl," he thought.
She didn't scream or frantically cover herself, but lay there in all her full ripe sensuality, right eyebrow cocked, regarding him with slight disdain and some curiosity. "You're standing in my sun," she said.
"Oh! I'm sorry," he replied. "I was just curious."
"Curious?" she asked. She lifted herself out of the shallow trough, which filled with water, and sat, curled, her arms around her legs; breasts and belly against the knees. "I sort of think you'd be more than that." Her voice was smooth, sensual, alto with a slight husk.
The man sat beside her, looking at her belly. "Well, it's not every day I see a beautiful woman of your condition in this circumstance. And you seem bold and unembarrassed."
"I have nothing to be ashamed about," she replied, smiling. She sat back and ran her hand over her belly.
"How long?" the man asked.
"I don't know. It could be any minute to a month. I think there's more than one."
"You mean you haven't been to a doctor?"
"It's....complicated. A...doctor would ask questions I'm not ready to answer. It would make trouble for me, for my....children...and the others."
"Well," he said. "I can understand if some of the men in town would want discretion; that is if you....I mean I don't want to imply...er, this is awkward."
"Don't be embarrassed. The men weren't involved."
"Ah! Strangers then."
"I don't know if they were strangers. Strange yes. Like I said, it's complicated."
"Can you tell me about it? I like stories."
"I don't think you'll believe me."
"Well, I don't know about that. I sort of collect stories. I've heard some strange ones in my time."
"My story's stranger than most," she said with a wry smile.
