Beach Service — Roxanne Stewart

As soon as the words leave my mouth, anticipation swells deep inside me. What possessed me to pry now, on a rare starry night at the beach, near “our” pier? Am I finally accepting my hunger, my desire to please? Once again, I’ve crossed the line and reopened buried emotional wounds. I know what to expect for my trespass and each time, I welcome it more.

We walk in the soft sand, the lapping waves on our bare feet a soothing background to his emerging pain. He grabs my hand and starts to sprint, urging me along as if we’re kids eager to reach playground swings. His palm is moist but his grip solid, reassuring. When he slows down under the pier and looks at me, I expect his fierce eyes and I know to look down. Every time, my apprehension lessens and my desire increases as I learn, understand, and accept a little more. This is not about me. This is not about us. This is about control. His. I’ve submitted myself before and I can do it again tonight, right here, right now. For him. I do it to heal the wounded boy inside him. It doesn’t heal him completely – it never will – it’s just a bandage, temporary, but I want to be his bandage. I can be, I will be, no, I am that bandage. Body and soul, I beg him: Use me. He cups my chin to raise my head, granting me the honor and pleasure of seeing his bright hazel eyes. I shiver under their flash of anger – the message is clear: Let’s change the subject now, my pet. And just like that, wetness spills from my engorged pussy. Oh, yes, yes. Please.

He presses me against the post and kisses me. Hard. His stubble blankets my face and I thrill, picturing my raw skin tomorrow. He whips up my top and attacks my aching breasts, kneading them like fresh dough, licking and sucking everywhere but my nipples to delight in my whimpers. Finally, his fingers pinch my erect nipples sending electric shocks directly to my cunt. He pulls and stretches them, slowly, firmly, all the way to my bliss, my pussy contracting with desire, my every pore wanting yet fearing his touch. He reaches for my skirt and I freeze as he expects. When I try to slow his hand, he slaps mine away, grinding against me, my pubic bone wincing under his hard cock. Wait, baby, wait. Slow down. I’m here. I’m here for you. My words do not register. I stroke his back, repeating his name softly, calling him back to me but I’ve lost him. My body is now his. Familiar warmth washes over me as I accept my submission. I let go. My muscles relax, my breathing slows, and pride and pleasure flood me as I realize how much I want this. Use my body for your pleasure. That’s what I’m here for. I am honored to serve you.

Skin gleaming, his breathing ragged, he pins me against the damp weathered wood, tugging at my clothes, kissing and biting, calling me his favorite slut, the rasp in his voice leaving me breathless. The crashing waves drown our feet, cold water stinging. He unbuttons his jeans and I can’t help but reach for his erect member. I don’t think so, pet. Grabbing my wrist, he turns me around. My back to him, I quickly position myself the way I know he needs me. Bent over, holding the post, I brace myself. I know I should relax but I hardly ever manage; I did once but he’s so big, it barely lessened the pain. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he turns my head to look at him. Our eyes meet and as he’s always promised me but I might forever doubt, he pauses, just a moment, that one moment confirming our union, and then, as always, his name forever escapes my lips. He holds me tight by the hips and I gasp as he rams his huge cock in my asshole. I am very tight and he forces the last inch, my cries of pain urging him on. Once he’s deep inside me, he moans in satisfaction, petting my back, reassuring me that I am what he needs. I focus on his pleasure to distract myself from my pain, reminding myself that I am his to use, letting myself become a ragdoll in his care. His member throbs, stretching me to my limits and I shiver, feeling his urgent need to thrust. He reaches for a fistful of hair, lifting my head back and asks me if I am a dirty slut. Yes, yes, I am. “Louder,” he says. Yes, yes, I am. “What are you?” he growls. I am a dirty slut. I am practically sobbing at this point. “Louder, bitch.” My cunt is aching for release and my ass is ready to be pummeled. Knowing how much he would love an audience spurs me on. I am a dirty slut! The beach is deserted, but if my screams are loud enough, they should attract someone. I practically come at the thought. His self-control amazes me. He knows I am on the brink of coming, he knows this position is uncomfortable for me and I know how tight I’m gripping his cock, but he won’t fuck me yet. Then, in his low husky voice, he calls me a string of sweet pet names: Fucktoy, Cunt, Bitch, Slut, Whore, Twat…With every vile word, a new gush of cunt juice runs down my thighs. I am reduced to need and desire. I am begging him now.

There’s a good girl, he says, slapping my ass cheeks to his desired shade. His hands are strong; they quickly warm my skin until it burns. I hope they’ll leave a mark this time. He slides out his cock slowly, about halfway, and then, grunting, as I’ve never heard him grunt before, thrusts it back into me. I’m shaking, moaning and crying; I have lost all control. He starts fucking me now. Deep, hard, fast. I am oblivious to everything but his cock satisfying itself fully in my tightest passage. There is no pain now, just orgasmic shudders and the sound of his panting as he takes me the way he needs. After a bit, a while, I don’t know how long really, he cries out and I know that I have served him well. He grips me tight one last time and shoots his cream inside me, filling me like a pastry, making me spasm and cry in pleasure, and when he slides his cock out, that last inch hurting, he leans over to tongue my ear and sighing with contentment, informs me that I really am his favorite slut. Most definitely. I blush with pride as I crawl back to his cock, mouth open, at his service. I can’t help my tears of gratitude – he wanted this release, no, he needed this release, and he used me to get it. He strokes my hair absentmindedly. Shivers run over me as I realize that’s what I need to be: always at his service.

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Roxanne Stewart finds indecent pleasure in writing and would be thrilled if her writing gave others a fraction of that pleasure. She lives in deep suburbia where she can fully exploit her good girl persona.