“Hi,” he said, his proximity treating me to a whiff of his intoxicating scent.
Instead of replying, I merely gave him what I hoped was a coy smile, turned around and walked in the direction of the beach. I was confident he’d follow. After all, he’d gone to the trouble of finding someone else to man his fairground ride so he could slope off with me - either we were on the same page or he really needed a break. Something told me it was the former.
Continuing towards the promenade, I passed through the gap in the wall and out onto the wide tarmac area between the fair and the beach. Taking a left, I walked briskly, eager to get away from the scores of tourists. There were probably more places for us to be alone if I’d turned right, but they were much further away, right down towards the Old Town. This way would be much quicker, albeit slightly riskier. I didn’t mind, really. If I was honest with myself, the risk turned me on as much as the idea of me seducing a practical stranger.
A quick glance over my shoulder assured me that Finlay was still following. His height and long legs meant he was keeping up with my pace with no trouble at all. I grinned. It was a good job he was so fit, because I’d be placing some serious demands on that gorgeous body of his in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t wait.
Looking down onto the sand, I realised I didn’t have to wait any more, anyway. We’d come far enough down the beach that the crowds had gradually thinned out and eventually stopped. Finlay and I were completely alone. I saw that it wasn’t much further before the promenade ended, so I followed its gentle slope onto the sand, and continued towards an area I’d just spotted where the cliffs jutted out into the beach. It looked as though they’d provide some shelter from the sun - not to mention giving us some privacy if anyone came along. Boats would still be able to see us, of course, but what the hell!
I didn’t stop until I was leaning against the bottom of the multi-coloured cliff in a convenient recess. Before I could even gather my thoughts, Finlay had joined me in the shadows.
“Wow,” he said, standing so close to me that we were almost touching, “you found a great place for us to be alone. Anyone would think you planned it!”
I was grateful that the shade from the cliffs hid my blush. I shrugged. “I come here a lot, is all. I’ve been exploring this beach since I could walk!”
“Well,” he replied, moving so I was trapped between his considerable frame and the chalky wall behind me, “I’m very glad you did.”
Then, he leaned down and kissed me. Part of me wanted to protest - hey, I’m meant to be seducing you, not the other way around! - but as his large, strong hands cupped my face and his warm slippery tongue demanded access to my mouth, I realised I didn’t care. The end result was going to be the same.
I closed my eyes and my head swam with dizzying lust as Finlay’s skilled mouth licked, sucked and nibbled at mine. His hands moved from my face and down my body, gripping my hips and pulling me closer to him. I felt the insistent press of his erection through his combats and a fresh burst of arousal zipped to my groin. At this rate I was going to melt into a puddle of sexy hormones on the sand and get washed away when the tide came in.
Since Finlay had made the first move, throwing me off my stride, my hands were still hanging uselessly by my sides. Realising I could be doing something far more interesting with them, I shucked my bag off my shoulder onto the sand, then reached up to grab the impressive biceps that had so captivated me when I’d first spotted him. I squeezed, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath warm skin, and wondering how best to take advantage of the great strength Finlay clearly had.
He pressed me harder into the cliff face, and I rolled my hips in response, desperate to get some friction on my neglected clit. A rumble of laughter came from deep inside his chest, and he slipped a hand between our bodies and cupped my pubic mound. I couldn’t help it, I ground against him like a horny teenager, wanting more, wanting his cock thrusting inside me and fucking us both into blissful oblivion. I pulled away from our kiss and said as much - though not nearly as eloquently. He laughed again.
“Far be it for me to deprive a lady. But first - ” he backed away and undid my jeans, then pulled them and my thong down in one go, “ - I want to eat your pussy.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that sexy sentiment, so I kicked off one of my shoes and helped Finlay as he slid the denim down and off my leg. Then he grabbed my ankle and hoisted it so my foot rested on his shoulder. I placed the flats of my hands against the rock behind me, bracing myself for what I hoped would be a true oral delight. I wasn’t disappointed.
Finlay was obviously experienced and confident when it came to licking pussy, as his deft tongue had me scaling towards the dizzy, breath-stealing heights of orgasm in no time at all. He slipped two fingers inside my sopping cunt as he flicked, sucked and teased my clit, then bent them to press against my g-spot. I yelled, belatedly hoping nobody was close enough to hear my cries; that the crashing waves of the sea would drown them out. Finlay wasn’t concerned - he continued to caress my g-spot and tug my clit into his mouth until I thought I would pass out with the pleasure. I was so close to climax that I wanted to cry and scream with frustration.
“Please…”
I didn’t need to say any more. He knew exactly what I wanted, and thankfully he gave it to me. With a few more licks and strokes, he rendered me incapable of rational thought or speech, and I gave the roar of the elements a run for their money as I screamed my passion into the wind. My pussy clenched and released wildly around Finlay’s fingers, and as I slowly came back down from my orgasmic high, I became aware of him using the other hand to undo his trousers and release his cock.
And what a delicious cock it was too. It sprung eagerly out of its material prison, thick, long, and eminently fuckable. I returned Finlay’s grin as he looked at my face, then gave a languid wave in the direction of my bag.
“Condoms… there… hurry.”
He needed no more prompting. He lowered my leg to the sand, and within seconds, he’d retrieved a condom and shoved the box back into my bag. Carefully, he tore the foil wrapper and sheathed his cock, which by now had a bead of pre-come at its tip. Then he was back in front of me, parting my legs and hoisting them up over his forearms. Quickly, I reached down and positioned his meaty glans at my entrance, then wrapped my arms around his neck before sliding down onto his swollen shaft. I dropped my head onto his shoulder and bit into the material of his tank top to try and stop myself making too much noise. Surely our luck at not being caught would only hold out for so long. But as Finlay began to pound into me relentlessly, I realised that very soon it would all be over. He was fucking me like a man possessed, and I loved every second of it.
I was grateful that the cliff face was chalky and crumbly, otherwise I’d have been in serious discomfort. As it was, I hardly noticed the light scrape on my ass and lower back - I was much more aware of the luscious cock frantically thrusting into me, fucking my g-spot into submission and causing a gush of fluids to squirt out around the most welcome intrusion and soak both our groins.
“F - fuck,” Finlay gasped into my ear, “that felt fucking awesome. Will you come again? With me?”
Barely able to speak, I merely nodded and repositioned my hand from around his neck to between my legs. Finlay’s fingers dug harder into my thighs as I pinched my clit and made my cunt flutter and grip tightly around his prick.
“Unh… do that again and I’m gonna come.”
Knowing damn well that if I did it again I’d be on the very edge myself, I acquiesced - repeatedly. My pussy spasmed around his cock as my orgasm hit, and I bit harder into the tank top as the waves of ecstatic pleasure crashed through me again and again. I was vaguely aware of the short, violent jerks of Finlay’s hips as his spurted his own climax into the condom. He grunted and swore, and his cock pulsed. My pussy and his prick were almost like the ebb and flow of the sea - I squeezed, and he twitched back. Again and again until we were both spent. He slumped against me, an
d I lolled my head back against the cliff face, sucking in great lungfuls of air as I attempted to return my body to its normal state.
We disentangled silently, and I giggled as Finlay tried awkwardly to dress with one hand - the other was still holding onto the used condom. Once I’d pulled my underwear, jeans and shoe back on, I took pity on him and grabbed a tissue from my bag. He deposited the rubber gratefully into it, and I balled it up in my hand with the foil wrapper which he’d discarded by our feet.
“Can you check my back?” I asked, turning away from him. “I’m sure my top must be covered in crap from the cliffs.”
Finlay obediently brushed at the back of my top for a few seconds, then declared me suitable for public consumption. We then wandered back up the beach together and up onto the promenade, where I hastily deposited my handful into a nearby bin. All the way back up to the gap in the wall which led back to the fair, we enjoyed a companionable silence. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I was basking in post-orgasmic bliss and had nothing to say that was interesting or relevant, anyway.
Once we reached the gap, Finlay pressed a kiss to my cheek - incredibly chaste, considering the amazing fuck we’d just shared - and asked for my number. I tapped it into the phone he passed me and stored it with my name before handing it back. A grin spread across his handsome face and he promised to text me, adding that he had to get back to work before his buddy came and kicked his ass. I nodded understandingly, aware that we’d been gone quite some time and Sophia and Chloe were probably calling my phone as we spoke - I’d flipped it onto silent as Finlay and I had walked to our sexy rendezvous point.
We parted with a smile, and I waved as Finlay walked backwards for a few paces before turning and heading back to the dodgems. I watched the flex of his ass for a few seconds before starting off towards the mini-golf course, digging my phone out of my bag on the way. I had no missed calls, so I’d obviously squeezed my kinky encounter into the perfect amount of time. Excellent. I’d be able to make up some bullshit about what I’d been up to, and they wouldn’t have a clue.
Just as I reached the gap in the wall which opened onto the course, Sophia and Chloe came out, giggling and jostling one another. They saw me, and immediately they launched into a verbal rehash of their game. It turned out they’d both got exactly the same score. To keep the peace, I promised to buy them both fish and chips. Happily, we linked arms and walked to the nearest place that sold them. On the way, they finally exhausted their mini-golf adventure story and asked what I’d been up to. They swallowed my bogus explanation, and any further questioning was interrupted by our arrival at the fish and chip van. My absence wasn’t mentioned again, and we spent the rest of the day exploring the town - with the merciful exception of the funfair. Later, we piled into the car exhausted and happy, and headed home.
As we drove, out of habit I pulled out my phone, which I’d forgotten to turn off silent mode. I had no messages or calls. Not that I’d been expecting any, really. I had no idea if Finlay had just asked for my number because he thought he ought to, or whether he actually intended to use it. It didn’t really matter to me either way. If we managed to meet up again then it would be a bonus. But if we didn’t, then I’d still have what I went to Hunstanton for - a seriously good fuck with the hottest guy at the fair.
It was - and still is - the most erotic day trip to the seaside that I’ve ever had in my life. And the girls are none the wiser.
Love in the Low Season
By Justine Elyot
There was a saying in the business that you played Goldsands Winter Gardens twice in your career - once on the way up, once on the way down. This was Mark’s second appearance there.
It was less well-attended than his first, some fifteen years previously, though a few dozen die-hard fans had managed to get babysitters for the night so they could hear him croon a selection of West End favourites. Nobody threw knickers on this occasion, but a pair of control-top tights somehow found its way into the orchestra pit.
Mark belted out the final bars of My Way, accepted the polite applause - someone even whistled - and got the hell off the stage.
Regrets. He had a few. One of which was the horrible outfit his agent had persuaded him to wear. You could get away with that kind of thing in 1997 when loungecore was in and Britannia was cool, but burgundy velvet jackets and bow ties were no longer ironically hip, just tragic. At least he’d managed to talk Bryan down over the ruffle-fronted pale pink shirt.
In the dressing room, he ripped off the bow tie, poured himself a snifter of whiskey, downed it, swapped the velvet for leather and headed for the stage door, anxious to avoid his agent’s suggestion to “hit the clubs.”
Nobody was waiting for him to sign his name on their breasts tonight.
He crossed the road, walking away from the mouldering theatre and the ferry terminal behind it, towards the esplanade, looped from Victorian lamp-post to lamp-post with coloured lights.
He leant on a rail and looked over the sands, remembering the last time. A girl, a moonlit walk on the beach.
“That was a good night, wasn’t it?”
He turned his head with a start to see…that girl. What was her name?
“Christ,” he said. “You made me jump.”
“Sorry. Good gig. Loved the Phantom numbers.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry more people weren’t there. The Winter Gardens are so crap, though. They don’t publicise things properly.”
He nodded, non-committally. He hadn’t reckoned on company tonight.
“Are you okay, Mark?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her properly for the first time. Had she been this pretty fifteen years ago? “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Chrissie.”
“Ah yes. Of course. Shit, I feel like a proper twat now. Actually, I think I was a proper twat back then. They were crazy times.”
“You weren’t a twat. You took too much coke though.”
He grimaced. “Fair point. I’ve stopped doing it now. Twelve-step programme and all that. Actually, I should probably have looked you up when I was doing the whole apologising for my past misdemeanours thing. If I could’ve remembered your name, I would’ve done.”
“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to apologise for anything. It was a good night.” She turned her head slightly away from him. “The best,” she whispered.
“I was just thinking about it, actually. We walked along the beach.”
“You sang to me.”
“Did I? What did I sing?”
“That silly sexist one about doing your hair and putting on your make-up before hubby gets home.”
“Wives to Lovers. Oh God. I really used to sing that, didn’t I?”
He laughed self-consciously. She joined in, singing the last line, the admonition to “get ready for love.”
“Then we went back to your hotel room,” she said, more shyly this time.
“It’s all coming back to me,” he said, and it was.
Her, a sweet, wide-eyed thing in a Union Jack mini and a spangly top, sprawled on the bed. He had watched her in the bathroom mirror while he snorted another line, watched how she seemed to quiver with anticipation.
Anticipation of what he was going to do to her. He let out a triumphant breath, his eyes suddenly brighter, his brain whirring with well-oiled brilliance. He was a matador of sex, heading for the ring, ready to show this pretty little animal what was what.
He danced into the room, clicking his heels and snapping his fingers, having conflated bullfighting with flamenco somehow, and then launched himself on top of his scantily-clad prey, subduing her instantly with his kissing.
“Prepare to do battle, señorita,” he said, raising his head.
“Why are you speaking in that Spanish accent?” Her lips were full and smudged where he had kissed off her lipstick. She smelled of hairspray and ck one.
It had seemed obvious to him, but she simply smiled up at him, a
little bemused, but fond. More than fond. Adoring.
The things he had done to her, once the clothes had been wrestled off. He hadn’t let up on her all night.
His memory fed him a series of gorgeously lewd snapshots.
Chrissie, underneath him that first time, biting her lip, her eyes flying wide as if her orgasm took her by surprise, accusing him of making it happen. That had driven him half-wild and he had thrust into her so hard he thought he might split her in two. Her head had tossed from side to side on the pillow and he had held her down by the wrists.
Chrissie, crouching over him, her breasts pendulous and full and close enough to capture in his mouth. So, of course, he did, sucking on a nipple while she ground and groaned overhead, milking his cock for all she was worth.
“You’re a dirty boy,” she had said when he took her from behind and pressed his thumb against her anus at the moment of climax. “Really dirty. But I like it.” Her voice, speaking those words, had been hoarse and breathy. God. He still thought of that sometimes when he masturbated. His thighs had turned to jelly at the time.
He’d sat her on the high window seat and had her there too, whispering in her ear than anyone out in the bay, looking over through their telescope, would be able to see her getting it, hard. The sun had been rising. They’d been at it for at least six hours, on and off. Six hours. Those were the days. Days of coke and bruises.
He wondered how she remembered it. Had she softened the focus, cast him in a more romantic light?
“We didn’t get much sleep that night,” she recalled.
He smiled and looked at his feet.
“No.”
Looking back at her, he tried to work out what was different in her face now. Her hair was shorter and she wasn’t showing so much leg, but there was more to it than that. Was experience a visible thing?
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