Have you walked down the ocean road , a twisting lane, almost a rough track leading into the sunset. You'll need a pair of trainers to protect your pretty feet there if you go down to swim in the fading orange light. A black one piece swim suit to emphasise your womanly curves as you sway gently down the track, your hair trailing down your back and a beige towel to match, thrown casually over one shoulder. Your hair blows in the slight evening breeze, whispering into your lovely pink shells - a name, an idea, a concept - an intangible entity that you can't quite catch hold of - like the spirit watching over you from afar.
Reaching the beach, a warm untouched expanse, to cross to the waters of your desire. Warm and, like you, so far untouched tonight - or is it? A footprint here, a footprint there leading towards the water,s edge, leading you on to the edge of desire too. And you, like the beach, feel a tremor. It is a gentle touch, pressing against you, driving you on to passionate thoughts.
A hand slides down the low cut back of your costume, touching and massaging each pore of your delightful body, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand to erotic attention. And you turn to see whose hand, and the touch melts into the shadows, leaving you trembling in the dying orange light, your heartbeat racing - pitter pattering like a little beachcombing bird. Your hands would cup the little wader fledgling, its feathery plumage enclosed in the hands of that encompass your delight. You would garner such auspicious protection that gathers round you as you turn to seek the source of the previous touch.
And then, a feel of soft down from a man's chest tickles your back, making you quiver gently. Puissant hands clasp your well endowed chest from behind. They slide between the rising and falling twin delights of your bosom, squeezing and pressing, pinching your sweet pink nipples between finger and thumb through your costume. Another of a thousand hands, unlaces you at the back and gently lowers the costume, revealing you to the final rays of the day. Mysterious arms encircle you and hands grasp each of your beloved breasts, cupping them as a human two piece swim suit - the lightly tanned, but half shadowed hands almost matching the black suit that protects your modesty lower down.
At the same time a hardness presses against your voluptuous buttocks. It forces the thin fabric into that cleft between them, spreading your pliable flesh under that protective suit, gently probing and rubbing up and down the exciting and excited crack of your behind. And a hand, amongst a myriad of sensations, lowers itself to steady you in your excited daze, slipping across your front, divining the moisture within your pleasure centre and softly touching the damp fabric between your legs, dampened although you have still to plunge to the waters edge. A hand strips your costume from you and leads you on to further dreams down the ocean road.
Your costume now cast aside, an empty lycra rag, tarnishes the order of the ocean shore, You kneel on your towel, naked at the water's edge, protected from the chafing of the sand, your head inches from the water and your hands, relaxing in the gentle lapping current of the tide at the edge of the calm smooth waters, stretching endlessly before you and reaching across to Europe.
And I kneel behind you admiring your horizon and your pleasant vistas, raised in offering, even as your head and hands are lowered in submission. I trace my finger, where my hardness vainly sought lodging before and follow down to the streaming warm centre of your being, touching caressing and exciting you, massaging your secret parts and making you moan softly, the only sound on the darkened ocean shore.
You start as I push into you gently with first one finger and then a second, softly, slowly at first and then harder and faster, my hand delving into you , your deliciously warm reception, investigating the nooks and crannies of desire therein. Your body liquefies, bejuiced my hand. Your moisture spreads onto the bridge of my finger and thumb. I wipe in your most secret parts, prior to inserting that self same thumb, seeking to double penetrate you with my hand - two fingers in your soft pink ocean shell and a persistent thumb teasing your little rose, sliding into your little back door cave of hidden delights. The firm slap that accompanies my gentle intrusion makes you moan more loudly still, a siren over the ocean breeze.
You sense me rising hard behind you, preparing you for the insertion of my seaside sweetmeat. Sweet for your meat - but which turgid tunnel of delights to choose - your soft pinkness into which your fingers now race with mine or your puckered private clam cave, where my cunning thumb has now embedded itself , rotating so very, very slowly - such a sweet ocean going dilemma - where to torpedo the good ship . and all who sail in her? Will she capsize for me and sink into my arms?
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