Sex on the Beach

by jfclover

I picked the secluded area for one purpose only.  Sex—raw, frantic, uninhibited sex.  The hidden cove off the western shoreline offered a decent amount of privacy, a paradise for two wanton lovers to engage body and soul without fear of creating a public spectacle. 

Under a clear autumn sky, waves lapped the shore in a rhythmic, mind-numbing pattern while the unspoiled white sand beneath our feet caressed the earth like a meadow of sweet cream.  The tall native grasses surrounding my exclusive pleasure den had lost their summer luster, leaving the lake breeze to whisper through their furry brown tips like a love song.

A night filled with exotic passion was her only wish.  And, as her tender white breasts swelled with expectancy, I ran the back of my hand down the little pearl buttons that would free their barely hidden confinement.  With my cheek next to hers, I whispered my animal-like desires until her smile broadened and a soft, anxious giggle emerged.

“You’re such a tease, Joe Cartwright.”

The woman haunted my dreams since the day I met her on a horse-buying trip down in Monterey.  I was instantly smitten—well, not just smitten, I had to meet her.  I had to know everything about her, but I was hesitant to make the first move.  Would she prefer someone taller, older, someone like Adam who could recite love poems or play the guitar?  I had none of those romantic attributes; I’d never needed tricks or gimmicks to lure a woman before, but this time was different.  She was different.  Was I even in her league?

I realized I was staring, but what healthy, young male could even think of turning away?  Besides having the face of an angel, she had a warm, welcoming look, unlike the flighty girls of Virginia City who thought cowboys were too crusty or too disreputable for cultured young ladies.  Given that they were daughters of bankers and such, I’d often left those gals in the hands of the “city” boys even though, according to Lady Stanhope, men were forgiven mistakes in the social world.  Would my unrefined manners be enough to see me through?  I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat and hoped for the best.

Her hair wasn’t tied back with ribbons or pinned off the nape of her neck.  Light golden tresses cascaded over her shoulders giving afree-spirited look.  Was she looking for adventure?  Was she willing to meet a stranger, a cowboy who didn’t go looking for love but would never turn a blind eye to a beautiful face? 

Just where was the Joe Cartwright of old?  I was unable to speak, unable to introduce myself in a way that might draw her to me rather than the “dude” looking men that had also paused on the boardwalk for a quick glance at the striking young goddess.  My heart beat with anticipation, but before I summoned the courage to step forward, the woman of my dreams caught me staring her way. 

Dust covered my clothes; I hadn’t bathed for a week.  I’d been riding herd over acres of Mr. McLean’s ranch, searching out the best stock to drive home to the Ponderosa.  I wanted to make my father proud, but the distraction was overwhelming.  A quick trip to town had driven all thoughts of breeding stock from my mind.

“Hello,” she said.  Her voice was like caramel candy, sweet and soft, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello,” I returned and tipped my hat.  “Name’s Joe Cartwright.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe Cartwright.”

Not long after introductions were made, I telegraphed Pa and extended my stay in Monterey.  Said I’d explain later, but my family knew me well, and I wondered what they might read between the lines.  Nothing urgent was pressing at home.  No cattle drive, no upcoming contracts, nothing my brothers couldn’t handle without me so I granted myself a lengthy stay.  I hoped they’d understand.

***

Of course, that was then—nearly five years ago—and this was now, but I was alone with her once again.  Hidden away from those who’d ridicule or lay shame, a chance meeting over a barrel of apples had renewed our tenuous relationship and had reminded us both of those hot, steamy nights in Monterey.

Her name was Emily.  Emily Anderson and a long-forgotten desire, something I’d buried long ago, surged through me like fire, searing hot and out of control.  My thoughts were far from pure, but something in her eyes told me I wasn’t traveling that delicate path of familiar pleasure alone.

Recalling every curve, every nuance of her perfect form, only fueled the fire, but I hid every reckless thought I had, or so I hoped.  Could we pick up where we’d left off all those years ago?  Were we different people now?  I didn’t much care.  Like a window to her soul, her eyes glistened, and every part of her said, “What are you waiting for?” 

Subtle torment was part of the game, and as soon as we stepped foot on that sandy beach, I aimed to please.  Before I released the first of those little pearl buttons, I let the heat from my lips trail down her neck and heaving chest until I met with the decorative lace adorning the bodice of her modest calico dress.

“This has to go,” I said.

Relishing the intensity of my voice, she lifted her arms and pulled the pins holding her curled blonde hair off her long silky neck.  She shook her head slowly, seductively, until every twisted lock unfolded evenly across her back and shoulders. 

Her eyes bore into mine.  She wanted it all, a sex-driven night on the beach.  A night of erotic pleasure, and I was just the one to accommodate her desire.  And so it began.  I freed those plump white mounds.  The calico and cotton chemise dropped to her waist, and I let my lips roam over every inch of her moonlit skin. 

Engaging my eyes, she ran her tongue across her bottom lip then slipped the black string tie from my collar.  She snapped the thin material between both hands and ran it between her teeth before tossing it onto one of the brown-tipped grasses.

“You won’t need this,” she replied.

She palmed her hands against my chest before carefully releasing the buttons of my pressed white shirt.  Inch by inch, she eased the squared-off tail from my trousers.  The sensation of her touch caused tiny goosebumps to form, and her infectious smile brought forth a pulsating desire that was impossible to ignore.

I unbuckled my belt and released the top button of my trousers, but her hands halted my movements.  “Let me,” she purred.  As though she held a gun to my chest, I raised my hands up high and surrendered to her demands.

“I’m all yours,” I said.

She dropped to her knees, unfastened the remaining buttons, and reached for my unyielding cock.  “Oh, my,” she muttered softly.  “I’d nearly forgotten how magnificent . . .”

Leaning forward, she wrapped her hands around both legs and fluttered her tongue against the tip of my shaft.  And when the taut, sensitive skin strained and reached its limit, it took everything I had not to plunge myself deeper into that small, warm cave of her mouth.  Slowly, knowingly, she circled my cock with lush, fleshy lips and took me deeper into that heavenly abyss.  My legs began to tremble.  How long could I remain standing?

She’d caught me off guard.  Afraid I might collapse to my knees, I spread my legs a shade wider and pressed the palms of my hands to each side of her face.  I had to maintain balance, but a woman hungry to prove her worth in the sexual arena refrains from hesitation and moves right to the job at hand—or should I say mouth.

Blood not only soared through my shaft, it exploded in my head.  My heart raced with a fevered pitch of anxiety and anticipation of what was to come.  In and out, in and out, a rapid, disciplined motion that nearly brought tears to my eyes.  Not tears of pain or sorrow, but the pleasure only a practiced woman can provide an overly excited man.

I let go the breath I’d been holding.  Pulsating.  Beating.  My mind was spinning.  Not too soon.  Give yourself time.  Steady, Joe.  Hold it.  Hold back.  Enjoy the erogenous sensation before your entire body succumbs to her fervent touch and the fountain erupts.

When her hands gripped tighter to my legs, I arched my back and leaned even closer to her burning lips and that magical tongue.  Oh, the tongue.  How she fluttered that soothing warmth against my organ, never once abandoning her position against my over-heated flesh.

I wanted to kick off my boots, let my bare feet dig deep into the sand, but I was nearing the point of no return, that place of ultimate satisfaction when a blast of fireworks intensifies every nerve in a young man’s body.

Though I was tempted to thrust my swollen cock even farther down her throat, I refrained.  After all, Pa raised a gentleman, and I had to consider just how much she could take.  And there it was.  That tickly-faint feeling that signals the pump was primed and ready to spill forth its seed.

With a pained voice, I called out her name.  The sweet smell of lavender filled my senses.  Her hair?  A hint of perfume?  I wasn’t sure, but the musky carnal-like scent stirred my insides even more.  Are you ready, sweetheart?  Do you want me to pull away?  She had taken me fully, willingly.  No bribery or seduction had been needed; she knew what came next, and the time to release was now!

***

“Wh—what?”  I searched for the unexpected voice.  “Pa?”

“How do you feel, son?”

“Feel?”  My, God, Pa.  Isn’t it obvious? 

My body still pulsed like a rapid-fire six-shooter.  I could barely breathe and Pa asked how I felt?  I lowered my eyes; I tried to hide the fact that … that what? 

“You were shot, son.”

“Shot?”  At the cove?  No … not the sandy beach.  Did Pa know?  Had he witnessed the two of us?  “Wait—”

My bed.  My room.  My bandaged shoulder brought me back to a reality that had drawn me away from what?  A dream?  Had my moonlit night even happened?  Was I going insane?  It’s not as though I could ask Pa if a gunshot had interrupted my blowjob on the beach.

“Who—who shot me?”  It was a loaded question, but I had to ask.

“Marshall Calhoun and his deputy, McPhail, are working the case but so far, they don’t have any leads.”

“Wade McPhail?”

“Yes,” Pa said.  “Wade McPhail.”  I noticed a distinct change in my father’s voice and his eyes darkened into narrow slits.  “The man you encountered on C Street the other night.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.  “I haven’t forgotten.” 

And just what would you say if I told you I was engaged in an illicit sex act with the deputy’s wife?  I hadn’t given anything away, had I?  Thank, God, it was only a dream, a dream that seemed too real to conceal from anyone, especially Pa. 

“How long have you been standing there?”  I asked.  Had I revealed my paramour to my father?  Had I called out her name?

“I just came upstairs, son.  Why?  Are you hurting?”

“Hurting?  Oh, my shoulder.  No—yeah, some, I guess.”  Damn.  Pa never had trouble reading my thoughts, and I was sure making it easy for him to realize my mind was in a far off place.

“Is something else bothering you, Joseph?  You seem—I don’t know . . . preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?”  God, yes I’m preoccupied.  I just had sex on the beach and—dammit, Pa.  My shoulder is the least of my worries.  “No, nothing’s wrong,” I said instead.  “Just trying to remember exactly what happened.”

“Why don’t you get some more sleep.  We’ll sort out the details later.”

“All right.”

Pa patted my shoulder.  “Pleasant dreams, son.”  

I started to smile but when a certain warmth stirred inside me, I rolled to my side, away from my father.  “Anything you say, Pa.”

The End

2016