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Beach Bound
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Beach Bound There is something about a wild, west coast beach that can inspire . Inspire one to do things, things that may be a bit daring, a bit risky, a bit wild themselves. And while this spring feels like it has been long, dreary, and cold, occasionally a day has come along that blazes out of the monotony of grey with fingers of bright warm sunshine that soothe the spirit and caress the skin. It was one of those rare, sunny days when I ventured out to a local beach that was a bit off the beaten path and so was wonderfully insulated from the noisy, inquisitive intrusion of others, or so I thought. I found my way down the path through about 1/2 km of forest, still scented with the wet, wintery mulch of undergrowth and dotted here and there with the bright greens and siennas which indicate the barest shoots of new foliage, signifiers that the cycle of birth, death, and regrowth was unfolding as it had for time immemorial. Perhaps it was those signs of renewal that prompted me to act with more abandon than was my usual self. Or, perhaps it was the brilliance of the sunshine, glinting off the ocean in contrast to that blanket of endless grey days I mentioned earlier, that urged me to begin by shedding my jacket and then my sweater and then my shoes, squelching my toes into the cold, wet sand. I think, as well, that it was probably the rumble of the waves through the stones on the beach that reached into my core and and shook off the societal curtains that kept me clothed so that I indolently gave into the urge to feel the crisp breeze caress my nipples and to let the warm fingers of sun urge me to part my legs. "What?" you are probably thinking, "surely it was too cold." And I will tell you, that, yes, there still was a bitter coolness to the wind nipping white caps off the waves further out from shore, but in a sheltered spot, such as the I found, slightly hidden behind a dune of sand and in an alcove of storm piled driftwood, the sun was gloriously warm. I neatly folded my jacket and shirt, placing them underneath me and then wriggled a little to slide off my jeans as well. They became my pillow. My delicate pink panties and bra I placed on a driftwood "shelf" beside me to keep the sand at a minimum. And then I lay back, closed my eyes, and listened to the erotically mesmerizing cycle of waves pounding the beach: the slightly muffled sound as the ocean retreated to gather the force behind the swell, the groan as a wave thrust onto the shoreline, and, at full climax, the atter of sts and pebbles, slowly being battered by the power of the surf, then the final soft tickle of a watery retreat, only to begin again in an exquisitely vibrating choreograph of violation, penetration and release. It is no wonder, then, that, with the sun warming me, caressing my erect winter pale nipples, my legs spread in that relaxed way that parts the lips of my pussy ever so slightly - darkened and swollen by the arousal of my outdoor nakedness - and the repetition of the sounds of the surf, that my thoughts, drifting off to sleep, were of pleasuring myself and I lazily began to rub my clitoris and then to slide my long finger up and down my vagina, a slight smile on my face as I matched the rhythm of my juicy, slurping stroke to that of the ocean. Yes, I must have drifted off to sleep, for I swear I did not hear a sound until it was too late. The wet nose and tongue eagerly and unhesitatingly thrust into my slick cunt woke me, I will admit, with a not unpleasant start. A shudder ran through my body as a long, dexterous tongue probed my labia open and then a nose rubbed eagerly on the hard nub of my thoroughly aroused clitoris. Had it not been for the obvious snuffling and smells that told me immediately my "hands on" admirer was a dog, I might have continued to lay there acquiesing to the lapping of a friendly tongue and pleasant nudging of a wet nose. But I sat up with a jump, and the dog, startled, but with the pleased, silly "grin" on his face that dogs get when they know they've been caught out doing something deliciously naughty, backed up and then, with a quick and longing backward glance at me, lept away to the distant sound of his Master's voice beckoning him further down the beach. Had I my druthers, said Master would have come up to see what had so intrigued his dog. For, in my more salacious moments, I imagine a less obedient that might have lingered, licking and snuffling away at this glistening, juicy beach find that was my cunt, and after chuckling and shoving his out of the way, the Master would have finished what the beast - or perhaps what I - had started. But that was not the case, and, the moment had vanished. Nevertheless, in the coming months, the weather will warm, the days grow consistently sunnier, and there will be plenty more opportunities to return to that beach and, listening for the sound of the Master's voice, perhaps rewrite the ending of this story. |
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Which u also posted to, 'stories' and which is how I found u... If this story is even marginally truthful (and a writer's prerogative might never reveal the full truth ), then allowing me to believe it might be true - 'is the only recourse. I would have been that dog - but for a few moments longer, just to taste you and watch you shudder. And I would have been patient to do so with glee. Or as much glee as a dog might have. Yep... ... is there another way to look at it Going Too Fucking Far NEW Blog Features RevealeD O O A Foolproof Method Posted Over on that NEW site O O
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I have a feeling that this dog has enjoyed this before. 
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i always like doggie style... western18racer at ya hoo dotish ca send me a note
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Lucky dog
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