Elizabeth sits outside the tea shop, her legs crossed. Her eyes follow each word she types into her phone. It’s hot for March, so she’s wearing a fit that’s breathable: ponytail, t-shirt, mom shorts, and low-top Converses, faded and without socks.
“Hey girl.” I say.
She glances up and beams me a smile. “Hey dude.”
She watches me sit down. There’s a potted plant behind my side of the table, so I’m careful not to draw out the chair too much. When I lean in, we’re face-to-face.
“This peacock blocked the road I took. It just stood there. I had to get out of the car,” I say.
“It wasn’t scared?” She says.
I shake my head. “Actually I think it was trying to flex on me. I had to flex back.” I shoot out my arms to the sides and flap my hands. “Ca-CAW.”
She giggles, bundling along a smile. I haven’t seen her wear make-up in years, but I think of lipstick commercials anyway.
“How’s Providence?” I say.
“It’s good. I’m leaving the dual-program. Brown’s more than enough for what I want right now,” she says.
“Ah, so is it just applied math now, or dance, or—”
“Art history.” She says, and nods. She tells me that she’s still searching for internships this summer where she can work with a curator. I recall last break when we visited our local art museum together. The breadth of her analysis on this Frank Stella piece had intimidated me.
“You’re a prodigy at this stuff.” I say. “If you’re not exhibiting your art at a gallery in ten years, you’ll be running the show.”
She thanks me. “How about you?” She says.
I make the face of a poker player who can’t decide whether to call or fold. “Well, part of me wants to make my parents proud: become a doctor. Thing is, I know I’d be a middling one. And law is definitely out of the question too, since I realized everyone ends up as a corporate squeeze.” I toss my hands up into the air. “No idea where I’m headed but fuck it, I’d excel at writing erotica.”
She throws her head back when she laughs this time. “I get that,” she says. “I think, people like us, in our demographic, we struggle with this idea that we gotta follow a path. It’s expected of us. Now that I’m among different people and exposed to a diversity of thought, my worldview’s been totally deconstructed. I have new pieces to the puzzle.”
“That makes sense” I say. “I left high school hearing how great I was, how far I’d go. Now after all this college, I think I’m ass.”
“You’re not though,” she says before I can even finish my pronouncement.
I shrug and focus on a spot behind her. “There’s this struggle,” I say, “between pursuing what’s secure, and what’s scary. Accepting that I don’t actually know what I want. Or can even know what I want. You feel?”
“Completely.”
A man comes to take our order. Bubble tea for me and an iced earl grey latte for her. We chitchat. She promises to send me her thesis on the female painters of the Hudson River School. We make plans to kayak before the break ends. I tell her about my ex-girlfriend but leave out the trauma that follows the break-up.
The transition feels natural. “And what’s the latest with your love life?” I say.
“Jayson and I are done. Actually done, this time,” she says. “We couldn’t get over the distance and truthfully, I felt so limited because of the relationship. I have a few casual people I see but nothing serious.”
“Oh, so orgies,” I say.
She fires a glare at me. “Yeah, I’m just sucking dick and eating clit left and right.” She pantomimes a pornstar in the center of a group shoot and I stave off my guffaws as the old folks behind her glimpse the theatrics. “Nah, I’m going with the flow, meeting people at parties, on dating apps,” she says.
“If I find you on Tinder, I’ll super-like you,” I say and wink at her. “Hopefully before the sugar daddies find you. Or mommies.”
She takes a sip from her cup and then smacks her lips. She eyes me down, and exhales.
“Do you wanna go to the beach?”
We split the check and stand up to leave. I’m average height for a guy and she’s as tall as me, if not taller. Years of ballet and interpretative dance have sculpted her form into something that resembles an organic marble. A sense of softness remains nevertheless, to the sight, but also, I imagine, to the touch. She walks with an inherent poise—as if drawn upon a string attached to her neck, pulling her upright. Only a hip sway betrays the fact that this is her effortless.
We take my SUV, even though the AC doesn’t work. She details her experience coming home to discover that her mom’s boyfriend has moved in. I peer over and see that she’s taken off her shoes. Her right foot rests on top of the seat, her leg pressed against the side of the door. I don’t mind. She directs me to a spot on the coast she used to frequent with friends after school. It’s a short drive, and we arrive at a lot that’s clearing out as dusk approaches. Tangerine streaks color the sky, while an ocean breeze keeps the inland climate at bay. I park and we saunter over to where earth meets sea, allowing the sand to warm our toes. I lay down a blanket.
“Let’s go in the water,” she says.
“In our underwear?” I say and look around. There’s people, and families farther into the distance. Not many, though.
“It shouldn’t be too cold,” she says.
She strips down, and jogs towards the tide. I’m quick to follow, thankful that my briefs can pass as swimwear. Her bra and panties don’t match, but they pair to her figure like velvet on loom. I trot after her and each bounce she offers, I take. She frees her hair, locks of gold that glister even as the sun sets. Behind the drapes, I catch sight of muscles engaged down the kinetic chain, through her back, and into her legs. Each time she strides, an asscheek perks. Pièce de résistance.
She turns around and scrunches her nose at me before she wades in. I follow her and we allow ourselves to sink into the sea. The deeper we tread, the more I focus on the salt water singeing my nostrils. We reach the edge of where we can go, cordoned off by danger signs and rope. Here, while pedaling to stay afloat, we reminisce about growing up in this town, as well as our dreams and hopes. We laugh about the time she sent me that text—intended for her then boyfriend—that linked a website on how to give blowjobs. The amber on the horizon sets into an indigo.
“Do you remember,” I say, “years ago, you said that you liked me at certain times. And in others, you didn’t. Do you remember what you asked me?”
“Remind me.” She says.
“You asked if I had ever liked you,” I say. “I had. But I lied and said no.”
“And now?”
I stare at her. I feel the same wonderment that lingers after each time we’re together. “Yeah, I think you’re beautiful.”
The moon is bright when we return to the shore. We lie down and face one another. I ask her if she wants to cuddle.
“I’m feeling it.” She says.
I pull her into me. Her body radiates heat and I wonder if skin so smooth tans more quickly. I intertwine myself with her and run the callouses on my hands down and up her back. We wax romance and she asks me when I’m going to kiss her. She has a firm kiss, so I tell her that, and that I liked it. She finds it amusing. She tells me that she likes the nickname ‘beaut’ for a significant other. She admits she’s a bit shocked this is happening, and laughs. I ask her what she enjoys in bed.
“I like rough.” She says.
I squeeze her ass. “Rough, like spanking?” I say, and bring my mouth to her ear. “Or rough, like degrading?”
“Both.” She says. Her hips gyrate, as if in agreement.
I stare into her, and the flutter in her eyes professes to me. I press my groin against hers, and I ask her if she wants to call me daddy. She nods and bites her lip. In specifics, we discuss our likes and dislikes.
“Elizabeth, I can get depraved,” I say.
“I need that.” She says.
When I’m confident I know what must be done, I lean in for a kiss, but then I bite down on her bottom lip. I pull with my teeth until I hear her moan. She grasps at the mass burgeoning in my underwear, and I return the favor with one hand between her thighs, while I caress the rest of her with my other. I caress her neck with my tongue. We explore one another for some time—like cartographers charting reflexive constellations.
The lot’s empty now. We head to my car, and I keep a finger in her at all times. I pop open the trunk and retract the backseats. She removes her bra and unveils her breasts. They complement the story the rest of her already tells: supple, and proportioned, yet athletic, and taut. I decide we don’t get in yet and I tell her to get down on her knees. I take a step forward so that my bulge nudges the ridge of her nose as she faces up at me. With my hands on my hips, I ask her what she wants.
“Put me in my place.” She says.
“Eye-to-eye.” I say. “But tonight, you’re my little bitch.” I wind up and slap her across her face. The impact throws her off, and she palms the ground to steady herself. Under the pale of moonlight, I see a welt form. “If you work hard, you can be a good girl though.” I say.
“I wanna be a good girl for you.” She says.
“Show me.” I say. “Make it messy.”
She pulls my briefs down and goes to work. I close my eyes so I can focus on her mouth enswathe my penis. She places her hands on my hips, and begins to oscillate her neck back and forth. The motion isn’t dramatic, as her lips seal just the head in at most, yet I buckle at this sensation of being vacuumed. Her tongue glides along the underside of my tip, which scintillates the glans’ mechanoreceptors. From those nerve endings, a surge of pleasure reverberates throughout my body and engulfs my mind. I groan, and she continues to gulp and slurp. I lose track of the sound of waves crashing against the coastline.
I grab a fistful of her hair and pull until she releases her jaw. “Open.” I say. I lean down and spit at her mouth, unconcerned where the saliva actually lands. I smack the same cheek where the welt’s formed and wag my finger at her face. “When you’re sucking, you keep your eyes on me. Understand?”
“Yes daddy,” she says. “My throat was made to worship your fat cock.”
I oblige her, but I don’t make it easy. I grunt as I plunge into her, and my pole disappears into her outstretched lips. “Sluts like you don’t have gag reflexes,” I say. I keep my cock pressed on her palate and ask if she agrees. She gurgles as the slobber gathering in her mouth redistributes into drool down her chin. I push deeper to feel out the texture of her tonsils and her eyes begin to water. I pull out and she gasps for air. I let her catch her breath before introducing her mouth to my nut-sack. I feel a suction, as if being tugged. She looks upon me as her tongue kneads the spot where ball meets stick. I stroke myself and appreciate how a mouthful of testicle brings out the blue in her eyes.
“You must feel like a real feminist when I rest my dick on your face.” I say. Her nose swipes against my shaft as she shakes her head.
“I wish your friends could see you right now.” I say and re-insert my cock back to where it belongs. “Then they’d knew how much of a slut you really are. That would make you wet, wouldn’t it?” She bobs her head as she leeches on me. I feel her tongue lap up my pre-cum.
“Classy. Educated. They might think you’re all that.” I say. “But we both know you’re a stupid, cock-hungry whore, don’t we?” She attempts to speak, but I catch her before she does.
“Uh-uh-uh, who gave you permission to stop sucking?” I say and push myself back in. “You don’t get to decide when I’m done using your mouth.” She apologizes with her eyes and with her lips, she tightens the grip around my cock.
“Good girl.” I say and reward her with a series of smacks across her face.
Once my manhood is more than spit-laden enough to dip into a jar of sprinkles, I order her to get into the car. There’s enough space to sprawl out, so I tell her to get on her fours. She faces toward the dashboard and arches her back. I position myself behind, and pause to admire the contours of her figure. Her thighs, slanted down to each side, gesture up to a rear that is plump and full-bodied. Between her cheeks, her asshole threatens to draw attention away from an engorged labia, glistening with her lady juice. I track her curves as they round her peach and shape her hips. Dimples greet me on the small of her back. There’s a Hellenistic character in her submission. Though her body is still, it invites action. On this beach, in this car—it exists in a naturalistic state, emphasizing her femininity through an expression that is raw and vulnerable.
This is no time for academics, however. This is the time to sow wheat in a fertile land. I thwack her asscheek with the palm of my hand. “You’ve got quite a donkey.” I say.
“It’s yours, daddy, it’s all yours.”
I pat my dick on her asshole. “You need this?” I say, and then grind it against her.
“Please, please, I need it so bad.”
Her voice cracks when she speaks, so from open air, I melt into a pool of molasses, as we sigh in unison. I inch my cock into its new home, taking the time to understand each ridge and fold inside her. First my head, then some shaft, a bit more, then all of it. When I’m enveloped, I place my hands onto her cheeks and caress them. As I glide in and out, I dig my nails deep into her skin. I build up my rhythm and her moans nearly drown out the sound of butter churning. I observe her body writhe against mine, her back muscles flexing and contorting to my will.
“You like it when daddy’s ballsacks slap against your tight little snatch?” I say.
“So fucking much,” she says, in between her panting.
I thrust with momentum now. I’m fixated on the way her booty-fat claps back against me. Instead of in a ripple effect, the entirety of her cellulite moves as a collective—in the form of two mounds bouncing. Each time I slam into her, she retaliates and I must brace. The motions then repeat, a see-saw of give and take.
“Who does this pussy belong to?” I say.
“It’s yours,” she says, but I prefer if she screams it. I pull her hair back with one hand until she faces the roof. I wrap my other around her neck.
“Who owns this fucking pussy?” I say, reaching deep into my vocal cords to produce a growl.
“You do, daddy!” She says, and I’m satisfied with the strain in her voice.
“Good girl.” I say. “You’re damn right it’s my pussy.” I shove her head to the ground. “I’m gonna pound you till you squeal like a slam-hog.”
I raise myself to a half-squat and place a hand onto her mid-back for support. From this vantage, I mount her. I keep my word, and her moans evolve into shrieks. I maintain this stroke velocity for several minutes. My angle of entry proves insurmountable, and her breaths quicken and grow curt. I then pull out without warning. She collapses and howls.
“You don’t decide when you cum. I do.” I say. “Now, come over here and spread your legs for me.”
She crawls to me and I flip her onto her back. I kneel over her and place her legs on top of my shoulders. I watch her squirm as I slip my penis inside her. She gapes back at me. I add two fingers into her pussy and then into her mouth. She sucks on them like pacifiers.
“You’re gonna let daddy beat your pussy blue?” I say.
“Mhmm.” She says and drains her own juices from me.
I drop my weight onto her, and she has no choice but to accept what I offer. With her measurements, she could walk runways, but I crush her now into a box. Her feet flail in the air while I pulverize her insides. I test her flexibility and pin her legs inches from her face, then subjugate her to a flurry of face-slaps, neck-grips, and tit-squeezes. Her hands reach to cling onto her legs but I notice. I rip them away with mine and force them to the ground.
“Who do you belong to?” I say.
“I’m your bitch,” she says. “I’m your cock-slut, I’m your cum-dumpster, I love it when you beat it up with your daddy dick.”
“Earn it then,” I say, and press my lips to hers. Our tongues entangle, and I accelerate the pace at which I ram through her cunt.
“Tell me when you’re about to cum,” I say, and tighten my clamp around her throat, careful to press not on the front of the neck, but the sides instead. The additional pressure proves catalytic and the tempo of her breaths upswings. Beads of sweat flow down the side of my face while I focus on tattooing an imprint of my cock in her vaginal canal.
“I’m gonna cum,” she says, with a countenance that places her at either nirvana or brain death—perhaps both.
“You’re gonna cum for me?” I say.
“Yes-yes-yes—please, let me cum for you, daddy,” she says while she grapples with fits of ecstasy. I watch her eyes roll back into her skull.
“Cum for me, princess,” I say. Her whines soften into whimpers as orgasm surges through her. Her legs shudder against my neck, then go limp. “Good girl.” I say, and peck her cheek. “Now let me get my nut.”
“I don’t think I can feel my hands,” she says.
“Your mouth will do,” I say.
She’s still trembling, but since she’s a good girl, she doesn’t take breaks and gets to munching on my ballsack. I masturbate in conjunction, and it’s not long till I need to burst.
“Cum for me, baby,” she says and wraps her mouth around my cock. I reach for her hand as the need for release intoxicates me. I grit my teeth as I lose control, and I allow the torrent of over-firing neurons to guide me.
“Fuck you, you dumb blonde bitch,” I say.
At this precipice of the infinite, I surrender to a tidal wave of euphoria. Streams of cum flood down her gullet, and I cry out—for clemency, or in defiance in the face of such stimulation, I’m unsure. When the smoke clears, I open my eyes to find my cock still twitching in her mouth, not a drop of semen in sight. I reach to her to share a kiss, and we manifest passion.
“Jesus Christ, I came so hard,” I say.
She burps, and we seize up in laughter.
I park the car by the side of the road and I turn off the ignition. She gives me a hug and exits.
“Same time Friday?” I say.
She chuckles. “We’ll see. I don’t know if I’m walking right.”
“Do you really need legs to kayak though?”
“I’ll need ’em for what comes after,” she says, and winks at me. She turns away, and I watch her walk into her house. My head is still spinning, and I start the car, content to have the afterglow accompany my drive home.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/q6vyyu/i_m_hold_hands_with_my_friend_f_on_the_beach
ok wow 🥵 this was amazing