Crashing Waves

Crashing Waves
by David Cain

“Honey, did we bring a can opener?” Meg asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said, putting down the yellow real estate flyer I was browsing and walking into the tiny kitchen area. I pulled open a drawer. “There should be one somewhere.”

“I looked in there,” said Meg, slightly exasperated. I opened a drawer filled with dish towels and fished an old chrome can opener from beneath the mound of terry cloth.

“Voila,” I said, offering my wife the coveted prize. She smiled and kissed me gently, closing her eyes as our lips met. I put my arms around her waist and drew her close.

“Careful,” she said, smiling. “I got a little sun.”

“Sorry,” I said, tickling her soft breast through her pale blue t-shirt. Meg turned and attacked the can of peaches.

We usually rented a house at the beach once or twice each summer. It’s a four hour drive to the ocean, but if the weather cooperates, there is no more relaxing way to spend a few days than lounging in the sun, riding the waves or walking the beaches. It’s a perfect, lazy vacation.

“Are you and Jack going to bring back some crabs for dinner?” Meg asked, spearing a slice of peach with a fork.

“I think that’s the plan,” I replied. Meg swallowed the peach and licked a drop of syrup from her lips.

Jack is an old friend of mine. We’d asked him and Terri, his wife, along with us this trip. The house we were renting had plenty of space, and I hadn’t spent much time with Jack since we both got married.

“Good,” said Meg, “I’m starved. The sun always makes me hungry.”

“Today was great,” I said, reaching in the fridge for a beer. “I can’t believe this weather.”

“Where’s Jack?” asked Meg, stabbing another peach.

“He’s upstairs changing out of his swimsuit.”

“Aren’t you going to change?”

“No,” I said. I took a long drink of the cold brew. “Mine’s still dry. Jack and Terri were playing the waves just before we came in, so their suits were wet.”

“Oh,” said Meg, chewing her peach.

I took a moment to admire my wife as she leaned on the counter, eating her sweet fruit. Her blonde hair had lightened considerably after four days of radiant sunshine, and lay ungroomed and straight down to her shoulders. The slope of Meg’s nose had burned a pale crimson, and she sported the white sunglass tan of a raccoon. Her baby blue t-shirt draped provocatively over her unfettered breasts, with a crease hanging between the slight bulges of her hidden nipples. I could see the last inch of her fluorescent green bikini bottoms as her lean, dark legs emerged and crossed to prop her back against the counter.

I counted myself lucky, spending my time staring boldly at the charms of a beautiful woman.

“What was that?” Meg asked, her mouth full.

“What?” I cocked my head and listened. A moan floated through the air. I shrugged and another one came, louder. It sounded like Terri.

“Oh my God,” Meg said, drooling the juice of her peach down her chin. She picked up a napkin and wiped her mouth, almost laughing. The moans grew into a rhythmic exclamation of breath. “Steve,” she said, grabbing my arm, “I think they’re fucking.”

We took a few steps out of the kitchen. Terri’s voice grew stronger, enthusiastic in her high-pitched squeals. I looked at Meg, whose blue eyes were opened wide with wonder. Jack’s deep voice shook the beach house.

“Fucking hot bitch,” he said. Meg melted slightly at the sound and bit her lip with a soft groan. Her hand blindly found and caressed my stiff cock through the slick cloth of my swimming trunks.

Terri’s a petite woman with small tits and a shapely ass. I imagined her bent over the bed as Jack stroked his prick beneath the globes of her butt. Laying in the sand, baking in the sunshine, I had dreamed something like that a few times before, but adding the live soundtrack of Terri’s excitement, the “ohhs” and “ahhs” of her submission to Jack’s dick, sufficed to make my mouth water.

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me,” Terri squealed.

“Their door must be wide open,” I murmured. “We could try to sneak upstairs and peek.”

“That wouldn’t be nice,” Meg said, short of breath. She kissed me, rubbing my dick furiously. I pulled her hard against me, fiery with passion as the sounds of the nearby fucking boiled my blood. Meg’s tongue slipped hungrily between my lips. I slipped my hands down under the waist of her bikini bottom and squeezed Meg’s ass.

“Yes!” screamed Terri upstairs, moaning harder. I pushed Meg’s bottoms down her thighs as I bit at her neck. She pulled my cock out of my trunks. I pressed a finger along Meg’s slit. The juice of her pussy drenched my hand.

“Fuck me,” she said softly. Meg slid her bikini bottoms down her legs and with her arms around my neck, she lifted herself up and onto my rock. “Oooh,” she wailed, loudly. I leaned over the sturdy dinner table and lay Meg back, thrusting myself into her damp cunt. The lines of her bikini shone in silhouette. Meg pulled her t-shirt up over her head, tousling her pale golden mane. Her breasts gleamed brilliantly white against the dark burgundy knots of her nipples and the warm brown of her tanned tummy. I stroked my prick into her, crashing her liquid breasts like the waves against the shore.

“Fuck me,” Meg moaned and with each dive of my dick her groans grew louder. I had never heard her like this, but I loved these noisy expressions of her lust. “Gimme that cock,” she yelled.

I picked up Meg’s leg, driving myself deeper into her sea, and then twisted her over so her stark white ass shone over my thrusting stick. “Oh yeah,” she screamed, “Oh yeah, fuck me, my pussy’s so wet, oh yeah. Meg chanted as I pounded. She worked a finger down to touch her clit while I squeezed her bottom with both hands, pulling her hard against my throbbing dick.

“I’m gonna come,” Meg yelled, “Oh God, I’m gonna fucking come.” I drove faster, smacking her ass to hurry the pace. Meg squealed madly, wildly, insanely, shivering over my furiously excited fuck.

With a final sigh and shudder, Meg turned her head and smiled broadly. I looked over at the stairs where Jack and Terri crouched watching. Jack wore his trunks, but Terri just held a crumpled t-shirt in front of her chest. They smiled, seeming a little awkward but intensely aroused.

“Hey guys,” said Meg, standing up boldly, putting her hands immodestly on her waist. “Mmm, you were so inspiring.” Meg sat back onto one of the straight-backed chair and tickled her damp pussy. “Well, who’s up for something to eat?”

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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