Isabella Garcia lies in the warm evening sand by the edge of the Mediterranean sea, coyly hiding her little red bikini bottoms with her hands. Occasionally a cold wave breaks the shoreline and washes over her, making her body tense up. But secretly she’s enjoying it.
Isabella is a 27 year old Spanish informant for British Secret Services. She’s a quiet girl from an upstanding family, smart and sophisticated. She wants to help protect western Europe, and has been passing on valuable information to the Spanish and British authorities for a couple of years. She’s still new to the game, but losing her innocence.
We met secretly in my hotel bar last night, where she handed over a dossier on Russian spies in London, particularly those out to kill me. I was very grateful and returned the favour in cocktails. We stayed up into the early hours chatting, tipsy. Then I ordered her a taxi, like a true gent, and stumbled up to my hotel room.
Before we said goodbye though she kissed me, smiled, then got into her taxi. Now I was meeting her the next day on the beach. But I still had time to work out in the hotel gym before I came. I was looking pretty ripped.
Sitting down next to Isabella on the sand, my muscles sore, she turns to face me, smiling, still covering her bikini bottoms shyly with her hands, her naturally bronze legs almost crossed. From my satchel I produce a bottle of chilled Bollinger Champagne, ordered in advance from my 5* hotel bar, along with two glasses.
Without saying anything I pour, expensive fizz overflowing onto the sand. Oops. Then, sipping from our glasses, we sit up and watch the orange sun go down behind a dark blue ocean, gentle waves rippling towards us, only the sound of water washing ashore. Paradise.
After the third glass of bubbly, the sun is a distant red dot on the horizon and we’re a little tipsy now. I make a move and kiss her on the neck, putting my arm over her shoulder. At first I think she’s resisting, but then slowly she lies back in the sand, smiling, and lets her Champagne glass roll to the side.
Positioning myself alongside her slim bikini body by the ocean’s edge, I put my hand into the cold water. Then I place it on her flat navel, below her belly button. She flinches. The water trickles down to the top of her bikini bottoms, then falls at her sides. She tries to cross her legs, but I hold them apart, letting the cold water have an effect. She shivers.
Then I put my hand back in the water. But this time I open the top of her bikini bottoms when I put my hand on her flat stomach, wedging her legs apart with my elbow. She turns her head quickly and closes her eyes as the cold water creeps down her navel and into her red bikini bottoms, trickling into her private area, which is completely smooth by the looks of it.
Her eyes close tight as the cold salt water makes her uncomfortable. To finish off, I pour the rest of my Champagne down her chest, between her breasts, which she enjoys a bit more.
Then, putting my hand inside her tiny red bikini bottoms, palm down on her smooth private area, I slide her underwear off. It passes down her long bronze legs, over her ankles, and onto the sand. Now her legs quickly cross, trying to hide her secret.
But I put both hands on her thighs and pull her legs apart. A rogue wave splashes ashore, covering her in cold water. She tenses up, but I keep her legs apart, her smooth private area exposed.
Then, kissing her on the lips, I move in on top, rolling each bikini bra cup to the side, revealing two rock solid nipples. The sun disappears behind the ocean, the sky turns dark blue. We make love under Mediterranean skies.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/2rqrwj/the_cold_water_trickles_down_into_her_open_bikini
Original source: http://agentsandstorm.com/sex-beach/