Publicly Display Yourself for Me

by Aphrodite Hunt

I decide to let it lie.

  We roll down to a signboard that says ‘Cahill Beach’. Because it’s a beautiful day, it’s pretty crowded. We fortuitously find a parking space on the side of the road. The smell of sea salt is strong in the air, as well as the aroma of cooking hot dogs on griddles at the stalls on the sidewalks.

  The twins are already here, waiting for us. They are dressed in Hawaiian shirts, open at the chest to show off their midriffs. They carry backpacks.

  One of them holds the passenger door open for me. He grins.

  “Time to take off your robe, Gina.”

  “Not here, Brad,” Max cautions.

  “Why not? She’s going to be shedding it anyway.”

  “Wait till we get on the beach.”

  The other twin comes loping up. “Are we going to wait for Alice?”

  “Nah,” Brad replies. “Let her find us.”

  How will she find us in this throng? I wonder. Not that the twins are going to care at the speed they are walking. I have to practically run in my heels just to keep up with them.

  The beach is super-crowded. The fine white sand is pockmarked with beach umbrellas of all patterns and sizes. People in swimwear sun themselves on deck chairs, doing whatever it is people do on beaches. They read their Kindles, or scan their iPads, or smear SPF-15 upon each other’s backs. A few heads bob in the glistening waters. No children around, thank goodness. Max did say the kids are at school, mostly in Switzerland or Boston.

  More than a few females do a double take as the twins and Max come into view. I don’t blame them. I would too. In fact, I’m positively glowing with the fact that I have three absolutely drop dead gorgeous men flanking me, as if I’m a supermodel or someone far worthier than what I deem myself. Envious eyes are riveted on me – wondering if a) I’m someone famous, or b) if I’m not, how the hell did I manage to snare this entourage?

  Well, everyone will find out soon enough.

  The twins and Max choose a spot somewhere in the middle of the beach. There are three empty deck chairs which have just been vacated, evidenced by the empty glasses on the adjoining side table. Sand scours the seats. The twins lay down their backpacks as Max begins to strip off his T-shirt and shorts.

  I observe Max. I will never get tired of watching him take his clothes off. Every female around us is watching Max too, as well as the twins as they begin to peel off those Hawaiian shirts from their toned bodies.

  As the siblings drop their baggy shorts, gasps burst from red lips all around us. Max is wearing a scarlet G-string. The twins are clad in corresponding blue ones. The G-strings feature a common pearl-shaped front to unsuccessfully cover their bulging genitals, allowing pubic hair to peek above and around the material in suggestive patches. Save for a thin band around their hips, their firm and luscious buttocks are completely exposed because the strings that form the connecting points are nicely and snugly buried within their cracks.

  The outlines of their penises and balls contained within their fronts are very, very obvious. A trickle of fluid runs out of my pussy just to look at them.

  Max grins at me. “Take it off, doll. Show them what you’ve got.”

  I’m only glad for the fact that Alice isn’t around to see me. Aware that all eyes are now riveted upon me, I self-consciously shrug away the terrycloth robe.

  More gasps of shock puncture the brittle atmosphere, already choked with the rising heat from the hot sands.

  I am in a bikini. That much I can say. But it is what the naughty retailers call a one-string micro-bikini. In essence, its broadest part is the diameter of a single yellow string. Spaghetti straps run down my shoulders to connect to strings that crisscross in front of my chest. My nipples are fully exposed and be-ringed by a rectangular network around my areolas.

  The lower part of my swimsuit is made out of two strings. The string that runs from its moorings to ‘cover’ my crotch has a zipper worked into it. It successfully covers my clit, but not much else. My pussy lips are almost completely revealed. As are my butt cheeks.

  I’m flushing a nice shade of crimson as beachgoers clamber from their deck chairs and other perches to get a better look at me. These include the hungry gazes of men and teenage boys.

  “You’re beautiful,” Max says admiringly. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  The twins murmur their agreement.

  The crowd forms a circle around us – men and women alike. Catcalls and whistles are tossed in my direction.

  “Hey, babe, why don’t you come over here and let me feel those titties?”

  “You need a real man to show you a good fucking, baby, not those pretty pansy boys of yours.”

  More and more people join the ranks of onlookers, forming three and four deep. Some pull chairs and side tables so that they can stand and peer above the heads of the first few rows. Others whip out their cellphones and start taking photos.

  My cheeks are still burning and I’m unsure of how to stand. Do I pose, like a model, to display my assets, or do I stand around awkwardly – trying to pretend I am not making a public spectacle of myself.

  A waiter comes rushing up, gently elbowing and ‘excusing’ his way through the gathered lines. I reckon he must come from the cluster of beach restaurants fringing the sands.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” he says anxiously, eyeing me up and down, “but I don’t think you can wear that here.”

  “Sez who?” one of the twins demands.

  “It’s, uh, according to the guidelines.”

  “Which guidelines?”

  “Our beach guidelines, sir. Written on the signboard at the entrance.”

  Max places his hand firmly on the waiter’s shoulder. “And which eatery do you work for?”

  The waiter looks apprehensive. Max is a huge man.

  “Finnegan’s, sir.”

  Max eyes the waiter’s nametag. “Well, you see, Cliff, Finnegan’s is owned by the Melium group, which happens to be owned by my mother’s family. So I daresay you can collect these glasses over there and take our orders.”

  One of the twins delves into the side pocket of his backpack and takes out two hundred dollar bills. “A little tip for your troubles.”

  Goggle-eyed, the waiter takes the bills. That was quick.

  “I, uh, will be right back with the menus, sir.”

  “No need. Two pina coladas. Max, what will you have?”

  “A Bloody Mary. Virgin Mary for the lady.” Max gestures to the empty glasses on our side table. “Don’t forget these, Cliff.”

  “She’s no lady!” calls someone from the crowd.

  Laughter ripples across the ranks. Still unhinged, Cliff hastily gathers the glasses and dashes away as quickly as he can.

  “OK, stand back, everyone,” announces one of the twins. He retrieves a Nikon camera from his backpack. “This here is a serious professional photography session.”

  It is?

  Whoops and whistles greet this. Well, I can safely say it’s as much news to me as it is to them.

  “So it is.” Max is grinning.

  My would-be photographer says, “We’re going to be taking a few photos here against the sea. Gina, follow me.”

  The crowd parts to let him through, the eyes of the women locked upon his rolling ass cheeks as he walks. I’m surprised none of them have tried to pinch him yet.

  “Go on, Gina.” Max gently prods my shoulder.

  I brave myself as I delve into the tittering crowd. As I suspected, some of the men in the audience reach out to grab me. Hands grope for my breasts and ass. A scurrilous finger even darts out to touch my left pussy lip before I can hurry away.

  “Hey, no touching the lady,” Max says behind me.

  He is greeted with guffaws and bawdy jests. I catch sight of Alex (I think it’s Alex, though I can’t be sure, and I wish they would lose the color coordination next time). I increase my pace. I’ve slipped off my footwear, and the sunbaked sand is hot beneath my soles.

  The crowd of beachg

oers avidly follows us as though we are Pied Pipers.

  We come out to an open space where a scenic rock formation sprawls across a wide expanse of sand.

  “Get on that, Gina,” my photographer says with a grin. “It’s Showtime.”

  4

  I have never had my photograph taken in the nude before. I have never made a suggestive pose on film.

  Now here I am in front of a captive audience, virtually naked. My natural shyness wages a struggling battle against my willingness to obey the terms of my contract.

  Max understands this. He nods appreciatively from the side.

  “You’re beautiful, doll,” he assures me.

  Alex crouches before the rock formation. He raises his Nikon to his face.

  “Thrust your tits out, Gina,” he says in a loud voice.

  I puff out my chest. Part of me is cringing, and yet the other part is reveling in the fact that so many men are finding me physically attractive. I’ve always been considered pretty, but in the shadow of my stunning sister, Karyn, I’m a pale cloud. I can feel the lustful gazes of the guys on my breasts, which are jutting out to display my pointed nipples in all their erect glory.

  And the women . . . oh, what must they think of me? I can already discern the whispers running through the female ranks – “Slut”, “Whore”, “Bitch”. Do they pity me . . . or envy me?

  “Hold up your tits with your hands. Caress them. That’s right.” Alex keeps on clicking. He’s constantly moving, professional-like.

  “Pinch your nipples, Gina,” calls Brad. He’s beside Max.

  I wonder where Alice is. Surely she can’t be this late. Maybe she can’t find parking or something. Anyway, it’s a good thing she isn’t here.

  “Spread your legs, Gina.”

  The rock surface is not entirely flat, and so I position my buttocks as comfortably as I can on a low ledge. My bare feet dangle. I spread my thighs so that my pussy is bared to the camera. The string bites into my clit, compressing it further. My outer labia flare open. It’s a very slutty, wanton position, and every eye out there is scrutinizing my genitals, hoping for more naughty bits to be revealed.

  “Just a sec.”

  Max comes loping up to me. His fingers reach for the zipper between my pussy lips. He pulls it down. His eyes lock with mine; they are dilated with desire.

  I love you, I want to say, but he has already moved away.

  The red hood of my clit is now revealed to more whistles and catcalls. I steal a look at my crotch as Alex comes closer to snap it. My pussy mouth is a dark slit, and my inner lips splay open invitingly.

  “Run your fingers up and down your cunt, baby.” Alex’s breathing is slightly labored as he zones his lens in on my pussy.

  I comply. I stroke my bared clit and pussy lips with my fingers. I’m practically masturbating in front of my whooping audience, and they cheer this on with glee. I must admit to being rather turned on. The sensation of my fingers against my own flesh is delightful and tantalizing. Tendrils of blissful desire flower from my groin to my entire pelvic region.

  Many of the covered crotches on the male spectators are now tented. More than a few of them have reached beneath their swimwear to massage their penises.

  “Now peel open your pussy.”

  Using both my hands, I pinch my outer pussy lips and hold them apart. The two strands of my divided crotch-string slip into the furrows between my inner labia and my clit, sending a spasm of pleasure up my backbone. Alex clicks away. His lens is very close to my genitals, and I can only hazard a guess at what close-ups they must present.

  “Keep your pussy apart. Finger your clit.”

  With two fingers, I keep my pussy lips open wide. I rub my throbbing clit with a finger from the other hand. My own breathing is getting harsher. I’m extremely stimulated, and a flush has traversed the area above my breasts.

  “Stroke it harder, baby!” calls my audience.

  “Pinch it.”

  “I want to lick your cunt and core out your love juices!”

  Their urging only seems to excite me further. I’m almost on an adrenaline high, as though I have been running an endorphin-streaked marathon. I massage my clit with up-down movements, and then proceed to flick the poor red thing with left-right movements as though it’s a tiny punching bag. My own ministrations induce a groundswell of wondrous sensations in my groin.

  Alex says, “Now get on all fours, baby. Show me your cunt from behind.”

  The surface of the rock is craggy. As I get down on my palms and knees, the hard stone digs into my soft skin. I position my ass to face Alex’s camera, aware that the slit of my pussy and the flowering hole of my anus are now open to everyone’s viewing in between the narrow slivers of the now split bikini string.

  My vulva is pouring with creams. Surely this must be obvious to everyone.

  “God, she’s so wet,” comments someone.

  “I want to fuck that asshole so hard that I’m going to cum.”

  There’s a commotion in the ranks. I avert my head to see two able-bodied young men pushing their way through the onlookers.

  “Hey, watch it, will you?” says someone.

  “Sorry, sorry. Sorry, sir, sorry, ma’am.”

  The men are clad in identical swimming shorts. They stop when they see me and Alex, clearly taken aback.

  “Miss, sir,” one of them says, “you can’t do that here. This is not a nudist beach.”

  “You mean it’s not?” Max says with mock horror on his face. “Whatever happened to freedom of expression? Or is that an American right which has been taken away?”

  The lifeguards are nonplussed.

  “Sir, there are rules regarding this.”

  “Oh really?” Max crosses his arms. “State me those rules.”

  “It’s . . . uh,” the lifeguard exchanges a glance with his partner.

  Alex interrupts, “Gina, finger your pussy from underneath.”

  Balancing my top half on one hand, I reach out with the other beneath my torso to stroke my clit. The picture that this must present is tantalizing – my two pearly fingernails suggestively sneaking from the bottom mound of my bared pussy to tease my quivering clit.

  The eyes of both lifeguards bulge with a mixture of horrified shock and desire.

  “Can you reach for your hole, baby?” Alex asks.

  My questing fingers dip into my wet, wet vulva, virtually pouring with sticky fluids. An appreciative cheer goes through the crowd.

  “If you can’t quote me the law, that means there is no law,” Max says as a matter of fact. “And if there is no law, you can’t stop us from doing what we want. This is a public beach.”

  The lifeguards seem at a loss.

  “Exactly,” says one, though he sounds less than sure. “It’s a public beach, so you can’t do what you want.”

  “On the contrary, because this is a public beach, we can do exactly what we want. Like I said, show me the law. Or else – buzz off.”

  Claps erupt at this.

  “Uh, sir, we’ll get right back to you,” says one of the lifeguards. He’s frankly quite muscular and attractive, and if I wasn’t so encumbered with my own masturbation, I wouldn’t mind doing him. He thumps his ogling partner on the shoulder. “Come on, Dylan, we can handle this.”

  They disappear into the crowd to much cheering and whistling.

  “You’re showing them, man!” calls a male onlooker. He raises his beer bottle to toast Max.

  Max accepts the salutations by bowing to the rabid applause.

  He remarks, “I must say, good sir, I can think of a better use for that bottle.”

  “Eh?” the man says, wary.

  “I’ll pay you a hundred for its use.” Max fishes out a note from the crotch of his G-string. Frankly, I’m surprised he can pack anything in there – it’s that tight.

  The man grins. “You got it, bro.”

  I’m apprehensive as he downs the rest of the beer and hands Max the empty bottle. I’m still crouched on all fours.

  “Stay still, Gina, and take a deep breath,” Max says.

  Oh no. Is he going to do what I believe he’s going to do? My sticky hand quickly goes down to help balance myself on the rock. I can see my cud on my fingers.

  Max positions the mouth of the bottle at my vulva.

  “Here goes, Gina baby.”

  The smooth glass penetrates me and I gasp at the sudden intrusion. My vagina is already wet with my juices, and so the glass’s passage is well-paved. Still, it’s very hard. As I release my vaginal muscles around it, I can feel a mild suction at the bottle’s mouth.

  Max slides the bottle’s neck in, He pauses to allow me to gather my breath.

  “All right, Gina baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nicely does it, then. You’re a good girl.”

  He gives me an approving pat on the rump. Then he pushes the bottle all the way in up to the convex start of its body, much to the wild applause of the audience. I notice several of the men coming nearer to film this with their cellphones.

  Great. I’m going to be on the Internet. I wonder if Karyn will see this.

  Alex clicks away gamely as Max twists the bottle in a cock-screwing motion inside my pussy.

  “Deeper!” some of the guys yell.

  Max obliges, and more of the bottle’s contours dive into me, moistened by my creams. My vagina expands as my walls are pushed back. I have to splay my thighs wider still to take more of the bottle in.

  The guys in the crowd start up a chant.

  “In. In. In. In.”

  Max grins at me. “Looks like you’ve got fans.”

  Brad saunters up to me. “Ready to take more in, Gina?”

  I nod. I’m still apprehensive, but I know that I have taken more than this in before. Brad rearranges my legs so that they are opened wider still. My belly is almost touching the rock and he places his hand under it to hold me up.

  “Don’t worry, Gina, it’s all good,” he says, smiling that mischievous smile of his.

  “Steady does it,” Max says.

  I brace myself as the body of the bottle – the widest part of it – wriggles in to invade my pussy centimeter by centimeter. I’m very wet and the glass is very smooth, and I feel a slow loosening and stretch of all my vaginal muscles as the bottle burrows its way through. Max holds my right hip with his free hand to steady me.

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