We reach the beach around dusk. The horizon line is infused with reds and purples. I breathe in the fresh air as I open our car door. The sound of gulls and waves soothe the shoreline. Most of the usual beach goers are having their dinner, but a few still lay in the warmth of the sand. Our daughter is with a baby sitter and we still have an hour left. My husband starts toward the shore and I follow. I know we’re here for fun whatever that might entail and I’m tingling down to my toes with excitement. I’ve always had a fantasy for beach sex.
“This looks like a good spot,” my husband says. He drops our beach towels and items on the sand about ten feet from the oncoming waves. The muscles on his back accentuate as he stretches to remove his shirt.
I swallow. Why do I always—no matter how much I see of him—love when he does that? My hands fall to between my breasts and I begin to untie my cover-up. I’m wearing the string bikini he bought for me a year ago. The cover-up falls from my shoulders and my husband gives me a roguish grin.
“Ready to get wet?” He asks.
Double meaning, I muse.
“I’ll race you,” I challenge, and take off into the waves. Once up to my waist in water he catches me. His arms circle around my waist and bring me against him. I feel his impressive erection through his swimsuit rubbing against my butt. I wiggle it against him. He gives an appreciative moan and grinds at me in return, occasionally pressing the most sensitive area.
The feeling is driving me crazy. His closeness is intoxicating. I turn my head to kiss his throat and growl at him. Praising him for more.
He swivels me around so we face each other. I straddle his hips, pressing my center at the top of his erection. His hands cup around my butt to keep me in place at this delicious spot. My breasts are pressed against his bare muscled chest. My nipples are poking through the thin fabric of my bikini against him. The buoyancy of the water and the waves are a dream. It sways us into each other in a sensual dance not of our own making.
I run my fingers through his dark hair and I notice my wedding ring is slipping off due to my skin being wet.
“Will you take my wedding ring for me?” I ask him, taking it off my finger and giving it to him. While he is putting my ring on his finger I whisper in his ear. “Do you want to get naked?”
He releases me from our embrace and we both look at the remaining beach goers. None of them even notice us. “Let’s get in deeper,” my husband says and takes my hand. We wade in until the water is almost up to my shoulders. I pull his swim shorts down his hips while he unties the back of my bikini. His erection springs free and floats in the water swaying and brushing against me. I purr with want and I grip him in my hands. He’s so hard, so hot. His heat pulses against my fingers and I pump his shaft.
My breasts are freed from the bikini. They bob in the flow and freedom of the water. My husband’s thumbs play against the buds. It’s so sensual and exquisite. Electric sparks flow from my breasts to the apex of my thigh. Beach sex is on my mind. I close my eyes and hold his erection toward my belly.
“Should I take off my bikini bottom?” I ask hoarsely.
“Yes,” he commands, his voice equally hoarse.
Beach sex may be public, but it can be discreet. I wrap the ties of my bikini around my arm to keep from losing it and straddle his hips again. This time there are no clothes keeping him from entering inside me. His hands cup my ass and he squeezes the cheeks, one of his fingers goes low and brushes everything with a feather-light touch. I am so close to coming. I can’t contain myself as he thrusts up at me again and I bite his neck to keep from interrupting the tranquility of the beach as I orgasm. My body thrums and squeezes around him. He groans and I feel his heat spill into me as he comes. He grasps my butt cheeks and pulls himself deep.
We still cling to each other letting waves press us too each other. Beach sex is a fantasy I can check off my list.
“You still have my wedding ring?” I breathlessly ask.
He raises a hand out of the water and we both realize my simple white gold band is nowhere to be seen. I could’ve cried or gotten angry. Instead I laugh. I just lost my wedding ring for beach sex. There are worse ways of losing your wedding ring.
“I’ll get you a new one as soon as possible,” my husband assures immediately.
“I know you will,” I say, giving him a kiss. “It’s a good thing we didn’t go for the expensive one, right?”
“Yeah,” he gives me a guilty look, but I kiss him on the lips.
After all, I don’t need a ring to remind me to never leave this guy.
“This looks like a good spot,” my husband says. He drops our beach towels and items on the sand about ten feet from the oncoming waves. The muscles on his back accentuate as he stretches to remove his shirt.
I swallow. Why do I always—no matter how much I see of him—love when he does that? My hands fall to between my breasts and I begin to untie my cover-up. I’m wearing the string bikini he bought for me a year ago. The cover-up falls from my shoulders and my husband gives me a roguish grin.
“Ready to get wet?” He asks.
Double meaning, I muse.
“I’ll race you,” I challenge, and take off into the waves. Once up to my waist in water he catches me. His arms circle around my waist and bring me against him. I feel his impressive erection through his swimsuit rubbing against my butt. I wiggle it against him. He gives an appreciative moan and grinds at me in return, occasionally pressing the most sensitive area.
The feeling is driving me crazy. His closeness is intoxicating. I turn my head to kiss his throat and growl at him. Praising him for more.
He swivels me around so we face each other. I straddle his hips, pressing my center at the top of his erection. His hands cup around my butt to keep me in place at this delicious spot. My breasts are pressed against his bare muscled chest. My nipples are poking through the thin fabric of my bikini against him. The buoyancy of the water and the waves are a dream. It sways us into each other in a sensual dance not of our own making.
I run my fingers through his dark hair and I notice my wedding ring is slipping off due to my skin being wet.
“Will you take my wedding ring for me?” I ask him, taking it off my finger and giving it to him. While he is putting my ring on his finger I whisper in his ear. “Do you want to get naked?”
He releases me from our embrace and we both look at the remaining beach goers. None of them even notice us. “Let’s get in deeper,” my husband says and takes my hand. We wade in until the water is almost up to my shoulders. I pull his swim shorts down his hips while he unties the back of my bikini. His erection springs free and floats in the water swaying and brushing against me. I purr with want and I grip him in my hands. He’s so hard, so hot. His heat pulses against my fingers and I pump his shaft.
My breasts are freed from the bikini. They bob in the flow and freedom of the water. My husband’s thumbs play against the buds. It’s so sensual and exquisite. Electric sparks flow from my breasts to the apex of my thigh. Beach sex is on my mind. I close my eyes and hold his erection toward my belly.
“Should I take off my bikini bottom?” I ask hoarsely.
“Yes,” he commands, his voice equally hoarse.
Beach sex may be public, but it can be discreet. I wrap the ties of my bikini around my arm to keep from losing it and straddle his hips again. This time there are no clothes keeping him from entering inside me. His hands cup my ass and he squeezes the cheeks, one of his fingers goes low and brushes everything with a feather-light touch. I am so close to coming. I can’t contain myself as he thrusts up at me again and I bite his neck to keep from interrupting the tranquility of the beach as I orgasm. My body thrums and squeezes around him. He groans and I feel his heat spill into me as he comes. He grasps my butt cheeks and pulls himself deep.
We still cling to each other letting waves press us too each other. Beach sex is a fantasy I can check off my list.
“You still have my wedding ring?” I breathlessly ask.
He raises a hand out of the water and we both realize my simple white gold band is nowhere to be seen. I could’ve cried or gotten angry. Instead I laugh. I just lost my wedding ring for beach sex. There are worse ways of losing your wedding ring.
“I’ll get you a new one as soon as possible,” my husband assures immediately.
“I know you will,” I say, giving him a kiss. “It’s a good thing we didn’t go for the expensive one, right?”
“Yeah,” he gives me a guilty look, but I kiss him on the lips.
After all, I don’t need a ring to remind me to never leave this guy.
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