Blow Job Girl

"Did you hear about the Blow Job Girl?"

Of course, I had. It seems every year on National Nude Day, some gal decided to pull a train at least orally at Waterman's Cove. The authorities really had no control over it, just like they could not effectively police the public nudity at Waterman's, no matter how prudish our society became. All beaches were theoretically public, but the Waterman family owned all the surrounding land, from the South Point to the Bluffs to the north. No Waterman's lived around here any more, and the estate trustees were content to let people cross the land to get to the beach, as long as no one partied -- or fucked - too much in the old mansion. Mostly, they succeeded, though every Halloween they hosted an annual Open Haunted House as the best defence against vandalism, which tended to turn into a monstrous orgy.

The police could traverse the track to the shore as easily as the nudists, but the beach was secluded, and this way, people took their misbehaviour out of town, out of sight, out of mind. The Church Ladies didn't complain, there was no reason for the cops to exert themselves.

National Nude Day had become such a tradition around here that on that day, even the cops showed up naked. Just the off duty ones of course. I also spotted the odd Church Lady who went beyond just attending to disapprove, and removed her clothing.

Just as Waterman's Cove provided a safe harbour for harmless all over tanning, the other side of the Bluff served as the unofficial relief valve for those few who could not resist the natural urges that went with seeing so much tempting flesh on display. Most of the year, the rugged brushy terrain north of the headland was a private retreat for couples, or the occasional threesome, foursome or moresome. Voyeurism was not encouraged, though I knew from experience that it might be tolerated, if done quietly.

On National Nude Day, if the weather was hot and sunny, the number of people in the Cove, and the traffic across the trail to the other side of the Bluff, made privacy was non existent -- the rocky barrier only screened the sex from the uninterested. On the north side, exhibitionism, voyeurism and group sex would be in full swing.

And each year, there seemed to be a Blow Job Queen -- one woman who set out to prove her talents, taking on all comers, excuse the pun. A couple of years prior to this incident, a couple of my mates had made it semi-official, bringing a crown and honouring the lass at the beach bonfire that always closed the festivities of National Nude Day. This had started a new tradition of the queen and her court fucking their way through the only annual orgy right on the main beach -- all the kids and Church Ladies would be long since gone, and we would drink, fuck, suck, and party all night until dawn. No one discussed it, but it seemed to be silently agreed that what happened on National Nude Day stayed on National Nude Day -- people fucked each other's wives, girlfriends blew future fathers in law, straight gals ate pussy, even the odd straight guy sucked a cock. No one talked about it after, no one judged. Any Church Ladies horny enough to have stayed reverted back to sucking lemons rather than cocks the next day.

So when my buddy Paul asked, I answered "of course."

"No," he said, "have you heard who it is this year?"

"Awfully early in the day for a Queen to be crowned." It was barely noon.

"That's why I said Girl, not Queen." Paul replied. "This gal has started things off early, but with gusto. She seems to be taking on all comers. And swallowing every drop."

Without any discussion, we silently seemed to have agreed to start walking towards the slope that led from the Cove up over the bluff, which would take us from the nude area to the anything goes zone. I formed my own fantasy inspired vision of what I might see on the other side - a sun baked blonde beauty with firm natural tits, on her knees on a towel, a line up of guys, aged 18 to 80, all waiting their turns. Despite what Paul had said about her swallowing every drop, in my picture, when she opened her mouth to spit out one deflating dick and reach for the next, suitably swollen shaft, a gush of goo ran down her chin, making it gleam in the sunshine. A few stray strands of semen glistened on her naked chest, droplets just dangling on the tips of her rosy nipples, defying gravity's tug.

I felt my organ swelling as it swung free between my thighs. I was used to the nude beach, so that was not the cause. My reaction to the anticipation of the oral train voyeurism embarrassed me slightly, and I hoped Paul was not noticing my excitement. When I glanced over to see whether he was checking me out, I suddenly realized that I could not help but glance down at his tool. We had seen each other naked hundreds of times, from childhood skinny dipping through football locker rooms and now at least annually at these celebrations. Somehow, though, this was different. Normally, like most guys, we both shielded our own private parts -- for protection if not shyness - and avoided staring at our buddies.

My glance confirmed that Paul, like me, found this National Nude Day more exciting than most. His mast was fully erect, pointing our way like a compass needle.

"So you've been up here already and checked her out?" I asked, trying to sound casual, while silently asking myself why I was so excited anyway. The whole Nude Day thing was so ritualized, it was not exhilarating. The only drama came from the women being competitive, and that came later. Sure, the men acted as energetic as watching a NASCAR finishing sprint, but that was mainly, I always thought, just a mechanism to overcome the effects of alcohol and ensure erection when their turn came to be blown. After all this time, the blow jobs were really all about the contestants showing off, not about the guys getting off.

So why was I so excited?

"Yeah," Paul chuckled, interrupting my thoughts. "But I want you to see for yourself."

As we walked over the crest of the hill, I saw the circle of naked guys -- hairy butts, fat butts, skinny butts, tanned butts - but could barely see the female form they surrounded. A waft of sweet dope smell carried to my nose as the breeze came from off shore, and I saw guys passing around beer as more cans were dug out of an ice chest. There must have been two dozen men, mostly either waiting their turns, or already done and just watching.

"She must be stoned," I said. "This is more intense than ever. She's gone way beyond blowjobs - she has Old Man Crenshaw's cock up her ass."

"I doubt it. That would hardly be sporting to allow a young minx to do something because she's wasted that she might regret the next day."

"It's amazing that none of the Blow Job Queens become public sluts year round after they pull a train on the beach."

"What happens on Nude Day stays on Nude Day."

We still could not get a good view of the actual blow job action, and as we descended the slope, our view was again diminished. My lust however, was spurred onwards and upwards by the partial sights we had seen. I glanced over at Paul and noticed that his meat was also swelling, the tip sloppily bouncing from thigh to thigh as we negotiated the rough terrain.

One of the bystanders saw us approaching and waved up, shouting "Who goes there?"

We must have been silhouetted on the skyline, our faces shaded. Paul shouted out his own name, but not mine. We paused as he spoke. Crenshaw was done assfucking the Queen, pulling out while his ancient weapon was still leaking gism, the last of his seed spilling onto the girl's back, pooling in the depression at the bottom of her spine with the earlier offerings of untold numbers of men.

"I wonder if she'll lick Crenshaw clean after that," Paul mused, more to himself than out loud.

My hand had quietly descended to grasp my cock, I realized. Never before had I stroked my meat in public, or with another guy. A glance across to my buddy confirmed that Paul also had been unable to resist.

"Crenshaw won't need her to interrupt regular scheduled blow jobs just for that," I said, redirecting our attention to the beach. "It looks like this Queen has maids in waiting."

As we walked down towards the crowd, a petite red head pulled Crenshaw out of the huddle and sat him on a rock.

"Is she really going to lick that dirty stick?" I asked. I recognized the gal as one of my own daughter's college room mates. When Daisy had said her chums were going to visit this weekend, I had wondered how that might affect National Nude Day at Waterman's. Now I knew.

"Nothing would shock me right now," I said, both my brains racing to catch up. The little brain between my thighs was wishing the young woman -- Nancy, that was her name, I recalled - had revealed her hot lithe body naked in our home earlier in the week -- I would have found reason to bring towels to her in the shower, or something.

Watching Nancy's mouth engulf Crenshaw's filthy shaft reinforced my own steely state and I stopped stroking my meat as my erection pointed the way down the hill. Nancy was obviously either really drunk, or a total slut. I wondered what kind of parties went on at my little girl's apartment. The revulsion at thinking of sex and Daisy in the same place wrestled with unwanted images of her twisting in orgasmic delight, a cock in his pussy -- I imagined it shaved - while she ate spunk out of Nancy. In my unwanted fantasy, Nancy in turn was sucking a fat cock. Suddenly, I realized that in the day dream, it was my cock in that young mouth.

Paul was scrambling, his footing uncertain, a few feet behind me. What happened next caused him to exclaim, "Well, that shocks me, even today."

This jolted me back to reality. Nancy continued deep throating Crenshaw, and was now snaking a digit into his anus as he humped up off the rock to meet her mouth. That was not what shocked Paul, though, I knew. Instead, his surprise had to relate to the person who had stepped up out of the crowd to approach Nancy from behind. As I watched, delicate fingers cupped pendulous breasts.

"I never have even seen Gwen at Waterman's Cove before," I replied. "She's holier than the strictest Church Lady."

"Being married to the pastor sort of creates higher expectations." Paul suggested.

"And intense bisexual lust," I observed, as Gwen folded her naked form over Nancy's back, riding her. "All she needs is a strap on and she'd be fucking her."

Gwen twisted her head and accepted a kiss from a young woman I recognized as Hilda another class mate of Daisy's who had arrived a few days earlier to spend the weekend, and had then extended the visit to enjoy the festival. I had been wondering about her body, which until today she had kept it under wraps.

Apparently Hilda belonged to some religious group -- not a sect exactly, but old fashioned - and baggy dresses were all she owned. Daisy, Nancy and others had teased poor Hilda about stripping down to join them in my pool.

"But I don't have a bathing suit," Hilda had protested.

I had overheard this as I walked past the patio door and paused to see who would offer up a loaner, knowing that all of Daisy's were micro bikinis and that Nancy's A cup tops would never contain the mammoth tits I imagined Hilda hiding under all that fabric.

Now that I saw Hilda naked, kissing Gwen, I was not disappointed. While not huge, Hilda had full breasts. Any larger and they would have dropped, flopping like udders, as she bounced on the balls of her feet while placing her hands on the older woman's shoulders to prolong the tongue twisting. I much preferred them perkily heaving, firm round melons topped by nipples the size of my thumbs.

"I didn't even know that Hilda knew Gwen," I heard myself mutter.

Paul chuckled. "Just goes to show that these religious types are sluts like the ones that flaunt it every day at the mall. Sapphic spit swapping with strangers...sounds like a bad porn title."

"Are there good porn titles?" I digressed, which was just as well, because otherwise I might have started jerking off right there as we reached the bottom of the slope.

"Maybe there are just no bad porn titles," Paul replied, never taking his eyes off the scene in front of us, where Hilda had begun twisting Gwen's nipples, making the older woman scream loudly.

"Fuck yes, sweetie, make me hurt, I'm such a naughty witch."

This distracted Gwen from dry humping Nancy's ass, but my daughter's young chum was so busy swallowing the load that Crenshaw was pumping into her young lips that she did not complain. Hilda steered Gwen to a blanket off to one side and the two normally shy sorts shifted effortlessly into a 69 position.

"I'm guessing that they both have done this before," Paul leered. "Though I guess not with each other, since your daughter's pal has been at school and Gwen lives here."

The intensity of her passion for my daughter's friend pushed aside any further thoughts about Gwen being a prude. I stopped at the foot of the slope and realized that Paul and I had started unconsciously harmonizing the pace of your stroking our cocks inside our shorts. Though a lot of the guys were gathered around the Blow Job Girl, so we still did not have a good view, others joined us in admiring the side show.

We watched as Gwen's belly slowly brushed against Hilda's nipples while the mature woman eased her younger playmate's thighs open, and then flicked her tongue down from each knee, trailing saliva along that tanned skin, but avoiding contact with the 'fun parts'. Gwen's excitement glistened on her thighs, reflecting sunlight as Hilda was straining to raise her head up and stab at Gwen's slit with a hard tongue which poked out of her mouth like a miniature cock. Gwen rotated her hips from side to side, easing herself lower, sighing. "So pink," Gwen moaned as she paused with her face directly above Hilda's pussy. She wasted no time slipping a finger between Hilda's swollen labia.

"I can almost hear the slurping sound as Hilda's cunt tries to suck that finger deeper," Paul said, never tearing his eyes off of the scene.

We both watched as Gwen finally buried her face deep within Hilda's muff. The younger woman locked her knees behind Gwen's back, trapping her. The sounds of the two tongues working on soaked flesh were stimulating. Paul and I were not the only bystanders openly fondling our swollen members.

With our view obscured, before long we both started walking closer towards the crowd surrounding the Blow Job Girl.

"Do you ever remember National Nude Day being this wild?" I asked Paul.

"No, I don't recall there ever being an orgy, and this is rapidly turning into one. You going to join in?"

"I don't know. A blow job behind the bluffs from a willing Queen is great, but bareback fucking right on the beach, with people we see every day in town? Plus I have lost track of where my daughter is. Bad enough her friends know what I perv I am, without her coming along and seeing me doing it doggy style with one of our neighbours."

"She's not that much of a prude I bet. She likely tones it down with you around. If Hilda is her chum, she can't be a blushing little virgin, even if she might like her Daddy to think so."

I was the one blushing then. "Look there," I indicated, trying to change the subject.

Hilda was grasping Gwen's ass in both hands, holding it down on her face. Gradually, Hilda's splayed fingers were creeping in towards the cleavage between Gwen's buttocks, pulling the flesh wider apart, until the pink of Gwen's backdoor glistened up at the sun. As we watched, Hilda's nails danced around that pink opening, teasing it.

The dance of fingers across played out in seconds, but it seemed like longer. Perhaps because, as Paul muttered, "This is just like a porn movie."

If so, this would definitely have been the slow motion centerpiece. Hilda teased Gwen's asshole, swirling her nail all around. Hilda also continued to flick her tongue along the older woman's gash, subtly advancing to reach into the space that separated the two orifices.

Gwen was writhing, her hips bucking up and down as well as rotating. If Hilda was trying to lick some fudge, this would just frustrate her. If not, the risk of accidental rimming must have been a turn on, because my daughter's friend suddenly screamed, loud enough so that I was sure not only the more sedate nude revellers on the other side of the bluff would hear, but the few children and prudes left in town. "Don't stop. Keep licking," she yelled, "I'm coming."

Gwen obeyed, keeping her face deeply buried in Hilda's groin, steadying herself with palms flat on the sand. As Hilda's butt bumped upwards, Gwen grasped hold of round flesh, holding tight to Hilda's tanned butt, all the better to eat her.

Hilda was having trouble keeping her tongue action going, so she shifted her hands around, still holding Gwen's hips, but inserting a finger deep inside her newfound lover.

"She's finger fucking both Gwen's holes," Paul muttered. I tore me eyes away from the sexual antics in automatic response to his voice. I saw that he had his thick cock out of his shorts, and was hefting it in his palm.

"While they are still tonguing each other," I replied, finishing his thought.

"Good thing Gwen's hubby isn't around to watch."

"No," I observed, looking again at the oral gang bang further ahead, "he's too busy waiting his turn with the Blow Job Girl. She must be pretty special this year."

"I wonder who it is."

"All I know is it is some girl just here for the summer, so I guess she's making the most of it."

Gwen now was buried so deeply in Hilda's pussy that she had to push free and gasp for air. This also allowed her a quick giggle, scream and sigh. The way her matronly hips jerked about, I assumed Hilda's young but obviously practiced skills were bringing her to climax. As if confirming my thoughts, a shudder shook Gwen's tits and shoulders as she resumed returning the favour.

My hand paused, toying with my zipper, wanting to unleash my confined erection. Almost everyone was naked anyway, and on this side of the bluff, most of the guys were hard, or their cocks were semi soft but coated with saliva or even pussy juice. Instead of being eager to join in, though, I found my mind wandering, wondering whether my darling Daisy was one of Hilda's practice partners. No, I reassured myself, Daisy was as fresh as the flower after which she had been named, and undoubtedly straight.

Paul had now kicked off his shorts, so I rushed to catch up, allowing the surge of my girth to shove the zipper loose. We parted at that point, Paul veering off to his left, joining a knot of people starting to cheer on the two bisexual show offs. I noted that Patricia McGillicuddy was one of the voyeurs. I knew from bar talk that Paul had the hots for our little co-worker since she had joined us as an intern four years before, but had been saddened to watch her marry her high school sweetheart. I had never seen her at Waterman's Cove before. Normally, she dressed modestly. In this mostly naked crew, she continued that trend by wearing a flowered sarong, but no top. Her pert young tits were not all over tanned, and the whiteness accentuated the excitement of her hard little cherry red nipples. One glance confirmed that her beefy beery ex jock husband was directly to the rear of the blow job girl his surfer shorts puddled on the sand. Paul wasted no time slipping beside Pat. The last I saw before diverting my own attention back to the main event, Paul was casually slipping his hand along Pat's hip, teasingly close to the knot that held her sarong in place.

I mused whether I could convince Paul to violate the 'what happens at Waterman's stays at Waterman's' code. I bet myself that about three beers on Friday ought to encourage him to tell tales of a conquest - a sarong sliding to the sand, his hand roaming up to cup Pat's breast, neither saying a word as her hand found his cock. Well, of course, all that would be right on the beach. So he would likely share things her husband could hear about anyhow. But if she insisted on fucking in private, would he brag? Gauging from the size of his beer can cock, few women would be satisfied with one fucking. If Pat and Paul became office lovers, it might take six beers plus a couple of tequila shots to get all the story.