1 comments/ 80789 views/ 13 favorites Stephanie at the Beach By: gossog Stephanie Ross, lying prone on a beach towel, couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did this stranger just walk up to her and say "Nice ass"? He was just a voice; she would have to crane her neck to see who he was. She could already concede the man had a discerning eye: out of all her features that might draw a man's interest, she was most proud of her rear end. She was turning 23, and reasonably pretty, though disappointed in her breasts, which she wished were naturally bigger, and her hips and tummy, where an excess ten pounds or so wouldn't seem to go away. But she liked the way she looked from behind, her bottom firm and ripe like a golden peach. She had come to the beach alone, stretching out on a big towel, to show off her best side and give it some sun. Her cheeks stretched a bikini bottom one size too small. Her top was the right size, but that mattered little because it was untied. She didn't mind people looking; she enjoyed the anonymous attention. Probably a few dozen people had checked her out already. But for someone to comment out loud: wasn't that a little rude? No one had been that brash, until now. If he was cute, maybe she'd have to re-tie her top and get to know him. She turned her head to get a sideways glance at her admirer. He was tall, dark -- African-American -- and... quite handsome. He wore a pair of Hawaiian board shorts and nothing else, showing a flat stomach and broad chest. Not a bodybuilder, but just fit, from healthy eating and outdoor activity. Warm face, strong chin and a bright, confident smile. About 30 years old. No ring. Damn, he was cute! She twisted further to get a better look at him, almost leaning on her side now. She wasn't concerned that she was exposing her breasts to him; she hoped it might even work to her favor. As she got another look at him, especially how he filled out those shorts -- she worried not at all about this man seeing her topless. She wouldn't mind at all if he saw her naked. He could take her home now, leaving her top here, a mystery for some curious discoverer. On the way to his house, she'd cover her breasts with her hands for modesty's sake. At his front door, she'd drop her hands, and wriggle out of her bikini bottom, leaving it where it fell. He'd strip out of those shorts, and -- Cool it, Steph, she told herself. You're not even sure what he said, and you're running away with him. She shaded her eyes. "Excuse me?" "My apologies if I offended you." His voice was a radio announcer's baritone. He peeked at her breasts, then kept a polite eye contact. "Sometimes if I'm not careful, I vocalize thoughts that may be better kept to myself." "That's all right; I just didn't hear what you said." He chuckled. "I merely observed that the lady sunbathing in front of me had a shapely rear end." He was in no trouble. If she was going to protest, she would have already done so. He enjoyed a longer look, gazing at her bare legs, her shoulders, her breasts. She had a very cute face, with bright eyes, and furled brows, as if she were trying to decide how offended she should pretend to be. "In fact," he said, "she looks good all over." She flushed, and felt a river of warmth flood into her. She felt her nipples start to crinkle, and even a moistening between her legs. That was fast, she thought. His voice, his looks, and his attention were turning her on. She was almost naked here, with a stranger whose name she didn't even know, her only clothing that one-size-too-small bikini bottom: and she wanted that off too. He was making her feel like a shy freshman with an unrequited crush on the high school football star. But it shouldn't have felt like that at all; he was the one who noticed her. He made the first move. This should be easy, she thought. But it won't happen if I sit here and dissolve into a pile of jelly. She sat up, covering her breasts, only because others might object. "So are you all talk, Mr....?" "Winston. Winston Jeffries." He crouched and offered a handshake. She extended a hand, and adjusted the other to cover both breasts, flashing a bare nipple for a moment. "I'm Stephanie." And, um, I want you to take me home. Now. "Well, Stephanie, I have a few things to do today, but I could take care of those now, clear my schedule. Should take about an hour. Then I'll pick you up. Sound good?" "Pick me up?" She grinned, probably looking goofy and shy, feeling silly for worrying about it. "What do you have planned for me?" He chuckled and stood up. "See you in 60 minutes." She watched him walk away, resisting the impulse to punch a triumphant fist in the air, to stand up and dance in joy. She admired his tight ass and broad shoulders until he turned a corner, waved, and walked out of sight. This was perfect; she couldn't wait. That hour would probably seem to take forever. She wore no watch, so there was no way of telling. She exhaled in a swoony smile and lay down again on her tummy. Hurry up, Winston, she thought. For now, she would enjoy the clean, warm air, the steady sun, the sounds of surf and frisbee games and kids having fun. She would look forward to some different sensations later. She replayed the meeting in her mind, enjoying the damp, tropical warmth growing between her legs. Winston had blatantly undressed her with his eyes, not that there was much he would have to do, just pull the rest of that pesky bikini off. And he did appreciate the free show; the more she thought about it, the more peeks she remembered him sneaking at her bare breasts. Well, she could accommodate that; maybe around the house (geez, I'm moving in with him already, she mused), she would wear only a pair of bikini briefs. Or nothing at all, if he liked. She'd wear something when there were visitors, a little crop top or bikini halter; something sexy, and recklessly revealing. No bra, of course; heck, no panties either, unless that was all she had. She'd be turned on all the time. Maybe she would become comfortable enough around his friends that the panties would be all she'd need. After a few visits, they would dare her to take off her top; she'd be hesitant at first, covering up with her hands, and the first few times with her breasts bared would be unnerving and thrilling. After a while, it would seem natural, and she would decide she didn't need a top anyway. They'd make up excuses to come more often, not really for Winston but for his cute girlfriend, all blonde hair, bare breasts and cute ass, wearing only that tiny pair of panties. Stir their imaginations. She'd flirt with his buddies a little bit, maybe let them cop an occasional feel, let her nipples grow stiff. They'd never get tired of seeing her bare boobs, but they'd probably get used to it; and of course they'd be interested in what was still covered up. How far would she tease them? Would she allow an affectionate pat on the butt during a kiss goodbye? Probably. But Winston's friends would always test their limits. Would she allow a reach inside her panties to grope her bare butt cheeks? What if someone playfully yanked her panties down? She could picture that: a few bare-bottom spanks as she hopped away and tried to pull them back up. What they'd really want, though, is to take them all the way off. She'd plead to have them back, and they'd play keep-away. Naked, she'd have to chase for them, hopping up and down, or even wrestle someone for them. The guys would gang up on her, mauling her boobs and stiff, sensitive nipples, reaching for her glistening, swelling pussy... The fantasy was making her giddy. Not only was she living with Winston now, she was hanging around naked with his friends, who each time would grow a little bolder, presuming more and more. Back on the beach, she found herself squirming, grinding her pussy into the towel. Stop, she told herself. Think of how bad that looks. She wished she could figure out a way to reach down and touch herself with no one noticing. Reaching underneath her body, inside her bikini bottom, feeling scratchy pubic hair and her hot, soaked pussy lips... no, there was probably no way. A peek between her legs would reveal what she was doing, even if the motion of her body did not. She was conspicuous enough just sunbathing here. She sighed. She knew if she started touching herself, she'd get so horny she would no longer care who saw what. Winston was taking forever. She had no idea what time it was; the sun seemed to have reached its peak and started to descend. Mid-afternoon, already? That was way too long. Certainly more than an hour. She levered herself up a few inches on her forearms, revealing little more than some interesting cleavage from the right viewpoint, and peered in the direction she'd seen him leave, as if he might be standing there, waiting for her, or descending the concrete steps from the parking lot. She decided to give him five more minutes. When it felt like that had passed, she gave him another five. She finally had to accept that he wasn't coming back. She bit her lip. Did he have second thoughts? A call from his other girlfriend? There seemed to be no polite reason for it. She had been stood up. She felt foolish, and cheated. All that buildup (and her body was still hungry), for nothing. Stephanie was at a loss for what to do now. Whatever plans she'd had earlier in the morning, before Winston came by, had been forgotten. Now he was gone as well. The afternoon was suddenly open, and she had no idea how to spend it. Maybe just stay here and fantasize about what should have happened? Her body favored that idea, still aroused from fantasies of sex with Winston, and naughty fooling around with his handsome friends. It seemed a shame to let that good feeling subside. She wished she could take off the bikini bottom. This wasn't a nude beach, or even a topless beach; laying prone with the top untied was the most any woman ever did. There were a few thongs, and a couple of swimsuits she had seen that were quite revealing when wet; but no bare bottoms or breasts in the open. Maybe it was best to just head home; but she was reluctant to get up and leave, to just give up and write off the entire day. A little dare would be fun. She reasoned that laying on her stomach with her bikini completely off would probably be fine. It was just her butt. Heck, a thong practically bared a woman's butt anyway. She'd never seen another woman strip her bikini bottom here, but that didn't mean anything. And maybe another Winston would come along. Still turned on, hungry for some sort of release but unsure of how to get it, she talked herself into doing it. Getting the bikini off would be a little clumsy; she couldn't turn over or sit up, of course. She would have to do it blind. She reached behind her back, found the waistband, and toyed with it a bit. Are you ready for this, Steph? she thought. She reached inside, and cupped her butt cheeks as she had imagined Winston's friends would do. Yes. She wanted to do this. Laying prone, she pushed the bikini bottom down as far as she could reach, just off her butt onto her thighs. It was loose now, all tension gone, almost a feeling of relief. And her bare bottom welcomed the sun. She couldn't see in back of her, but imagined she was attracting attention already. Maybe this is far enough, she thought, but decided no, that wasn't enough. She wanted it off completely. Not a scrap of fabric anywhere on her body. She couldn't reach far enough, laying flat on her stomach, so the next step would be a little tricky, and put her in an awkward position. She drew her knees toward her, raising her butt in the air. It wouldn't do to spend too much time like this; she could only imagine how suggestive it looked. There was a pretty clear view of her pussy lips; she couldn't clamp her legs tightly together to hide, because she needed to reach between them. She quickly edged the bikini bottom, now a shapeless tangle of fabric, down toward her knees. That wouldn't be far enough; she would have to move it past her knees to be able to kick it off. She propped up her upper body, balanced on a forearm, and dug her tiptoes into the sand, raising her knees off the towel; by shimmying her butt and thighs, and flicking with her outstretched fingers, she was able to slide the bikini bottom to her calves. It took longer than she had hoped. In this position, she realized she concealed hardly everything; her breasts hung free (but didn't hang much, she mused wryly, too small for that), her bare ass wiggled invitingly, her pussy lips were still showing; and even her pubic hair could be seen from underneath at the right angle. She kidded herself, thinking she might as well just turn over on her back, let her boobs bake in the sun, spread her legs and finger herself right there. She'd have to be careful to not dare herself into doing it. She lay back down, happy to be in a more modest position. Not far to go now; using only her legs and feet, she maneuvered the bikini bottom down and kicked it away. Probably a little too far; out of reach; she didn't see where it went. She'd worry about it later. Now she was nude, the sun caressing every bit of her skin, and it felt glorious. Completely worth the embarrassment of stripping off. Her pussy savored the open air and wished her legs could part just a little bit more; it fairly pined for her finger, a caress along the lips, a loving insertion inside. She smiled as she imagined a man passing by, casually taking the sight in and then doing a double-take, realizing that she wasn't just wearing a thong, she had nothing at all, naked head to toe. Something didn't feel quite right, something unfinished, and Stephanie realized what it was: her bikini top, untied of course, but her breasts were still resting on the flattened cups. She propped up, reached underneath, and pulled the top out. She tossed it aside, another hard throw, like a bridal bouquet. That felt better: instead of the soft cups of her bikini top, there was the rougher fabric of the towel against her breasts. Now everything was really off. There would be a small problem when she was ready to leave: both parts of her bikini were beyond her reach. She could see the top, a good distance away; she couldn't see where the bottom had ended up. She would have to crawl to retrieve them, revealing more than she had planned. She decided she would worry about that when the time came. Over time, she thought, she would be able to perfect a system of stripping her bikini off in public while showing as little as possible. As lovely as it felt to be nude, she doubted she'd ever go back to wearing a bikini full time, except when she had to. At Winston's parties, on the other hand... She shook her head. Winston was gone. Stop thinking about him. She smiled at the image of tossing her top away like a bridal bouquet, and spun it into another fantasy. At her wedding (whenever that would be), she would do a few things her way. In her daydream, dinner had been served and cleared, and the reception was in full swing, the crowd warmed up by "Celebrate", "YMCA" and the other standards. The DJ cleared the floor and asked the men to stand by for the garter toss. Stephanie stood alone in the center of the dance floor, still in her wedding dress. Her husband stood alongside the other men; he would not be the one pulling out the garter. Her maid of honor, Gretchen, strode out. She had taken off her dress and shoes; she now wore only dark violet bikini underwear, the satin material complementing her dark eyes and hair. Gretchen wasn't Stephanie's best friend, but she was by far the sexiest, and the best for this role. Her full breasts filled out her delicate bra. Most conversation ceased; the bride and groom had not told anyone what would happen. Stephanie noticed Gretchen had reapplied her lipstick in a darker shade to match her lingerie. She looked beautiful. She stood beside Stephanie and whispered: "Are you ready?" Stephanie nodded. Yes, she was nervous, but had made Gretchen promise not to let her chicken out. Gretchen unzipped Stephanie's dress and carefully helped her take it off. It would be saved, freeze-dried, and boxed, all those things brides did to preserve that moment forever. The guests murmured in surprise at what the bride wore now: snowy white bra and panties, lacy and see-through. Stephanie's frantic diet and fitness program had brought about great results, and her body looked spectacular. Even in her wedding dress, she had enjoyed the appreciative gazes of the men present, and now they were getting a really good look. Her areolae peeked above the sheer demi-bra and her panties showed a shadowy triangle of bush. A garter was perched halfway up her bare thigh, attached to nothing, looking useless and silly; but the wedding garter was only a symbol. Gretchen peeled off the garter and handed it to Stephanie. She tossed it up, and there was an end-zone scuffle for it. A groomsman triumphantly held up his prize; the others slapped his back, and parted to let him forward. She motioned the others to wait, and called the winner over. She pointed to her thigh, where the garter had been, and instructed him to kiss it. He knelt and gave her a genteel kiss, then stood up and bowed. The crowd whooped. The guy's dick tented his trousers. Stephanie steeled herself: there would be more. Gretchen unhooked her bra clasp in back, then reached forward and took the bra off. The crowd gasped as the bride's breasts were bared. She asked the men, Are you Ready? and they cheered. She turned away, teasing the men with a wiggle of the hips, and then tossed the bra over her shoulder. She whirled around to see who had caught it: an old classmate from college, emerging from a pile of men, holding the bra aloft like a flag from Iwo Jima. He strode forward as if accepting an Oscar. She pointed to the nipple, already stiff, on her left breast. He kissed it once, then hugged her bare back and licked her breast feverishly, like a puppy dog attacking an ice cream cone, and the image made her giggle even as she was getting turned on. He took longer than expected, and then moved to her other breast and slobbered all over it as well. He'd had a few beers. His hands moved to her ass, started fumbling with the only article of clothing she had left, and she decided that was plenty for him. She lay a palm gently on his forehead and firmly pushed him away. He straightened up and gave her a clumsy bow, to a roar from the other guys. She glanced down: her breasts were slick with his saliva and glistened in the light of chandelier and camera flash. Gretchen stood behind Stephanie, their bodies touching. She hooked her thumbs in Stephanie's panties at the hip and spoke again in her ear. "Is this going the way you wanted?" "Kind of!" said Stephanie. "Ready?" "Maybe!" she said, laughing. Gretchen knelt beside Stephanie, looking very sexy on her own, but getting almost none of the attention. She teasingly, gradually inched Stephanie's panties over her hips, down her thighs and calves, and off her feet. Nude, Stephanie stood through a moment of stage fright, the noise and attention from the crowd seeming unreal. "You're beautiful!" Gretchen said, close to her ear, but a whisper wouldn't have been heard. Gretchen stroked her friend's bare bottom, a gesture of friendly support, and Stephanie shivered again. She took a deep breath, licked a fingertip and drew it along her pussy lips, which were already hot and moist. Her body wasn't frightened at all; it was all in her head. The guys knew what was coming up next, and elbowed each other aside. Gretchen handed her the panties. She wound up and threw underhand, watching the panties unfurl and drift in the air. They were caught - - by one of her father's business associates, a graying vice president, married and with children Stephanie's age. He walked up confidently, like a president about to be inaugurated. Stephanie planted her feet at shoulder width, and Gretchen held her shoulders for support. The man knelt in his expensive suit, grabbed Stephanie's ass, and kissed each inner thigh, just inches away from her pussy. Then he dove in. Stephanie at the Beach He sucked, and nibbled, and extended his tongue inside her, and it drove Stephanie crazy. Gretchen had insisted on helping keep her upright, and she was glad for the help. Cameras flashed and she thought, should you really be taking pictures of all this? She leaned back against Gretchen, who reached under her arms and caressed her breasts. Oh god, Stephanie thought, unless I want to climax in front of everybody, I'd better put this to a stop. She tapped the man on the shoulder and motioned him to stand up. He cheerfully ignored her. She tapped again, and again, but was now too close to an orgasm, and her hand rested on his shoulder. Gretchen adjusted her own stance to give Stephanie more support. Stephanie shuddered and her breasts quivered as the man drove her closer and closer. Her breath came in short spurts, as if breathing in a paper bag. Then she went rigid as she came, moaning. The man stood up. She laughed, catching her breath; his lips and chin were glazed with her juices. He leaned in a for a kiss, and gave her a little tongue, which she didn't prefer, but it was brief. He tipped an imaginary hat at the crowd and walked away. She turned to Gretchen. "Thank you so much," she shouted as dance music started up again. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone." Gretchen gave her a quick hug, but Stephanie didn't let go. Instead, she unclasped Gretchen's bra. "Hey, I didn't sign up for this!" Gretchen protested, pressing the loose cups to her breasts. Stephanie would not be dissuaded, and it was a deliciously slow striptease as she convinced Gretchen to give up her bra and panties. Now both naked, they slow danced, lips locked together, hands exploring each other, oblivious to the dancers around them. "I didn't know this about you," Gretchen said, but Stephanie kept kissing her as she tried to speak, and she eventually gave up talking. The groom (almost forgot about him) burst out of the crowd and picked Stephanie up. "I. Cannot. Wait. Any. Longer," he said. She wanted to dance more, but she had probably teased him enough - Something touching her bare bottom startled Stephanie awake, back to her towel on the beach. A sand fly? A leaf? Someone's hand? She couldn't tell; it wasn't there now, but she was already turning over and sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It couldn't have been someone touching her; no one was close enough. Many stared, though, and the reason dawned on her: she was still naked, sitting up now, legs apart. She hastily covered up, first with a hand between her legs (and she noticed she was moist there; her own touch gave her a little thrill), and with an arm across her breasts. All of this was too late, of course; the world had already enjoyed its first good look at Stephanie Ross. She grimaced and turned back on her stomach. It must have been a leaf that brushed her bare skin as the wind carried it along. Or just her imagination. She would need to stay more calm if she were to lay out like this; being too paranoid was only going to set her up for embarrassment. Her pleasant memories of the wedding fantasy were fading, to the point that she could remember little of it at all. She was still very turned on, and knew that it must have been pleasant. Sunbathing nude here was a lot of fun -- as long as she could manage not to flip over and show everything. She knew she was wet, and her nipples had tightened; again she wished she could touch herself. Maybe next time she could take a friend. She smiled. It would be fun to take Grant, a friend of hers since junior high school. He had always wanted them to be more than friends, for as long as she could remember, but she had always kept him at arm's length. Fortunately, he had never been daring enough to really force the issue to an ultimatum, so they had remained good friends for years. She knew about his crush on her, and he knew she knew, and they could even tease each other about it. She imagined herself coming to the beach with Grant, just hanging out, not a date. He had only seen her in a swimsuit a few times, and would not pass up another chance. This time, she would reward him and tease him, wearing the same bikini she had brought to the beach today, the most undressed she'd ever been in his presence. In her fantasy, which eventually plunged into a dream, he couldn't stop staring at her, couldn't even pretend not to, and he was nervous, like they were on a first date instead of being friends for years. The bikini distracted him, and impaired his coordination and judgment like the night's fourth mug of beer. When she bent forward, he stared at her cleavage. When she walked ahead of him onto the beach, she heard him stumble down the steps; he had been watching her backside, instead of where he was going. She lay beside him, on her tummy, and untied her top. "Don't look," she said, and waited for him to turn away. She loved the power she had at the moment; he had to be nearly obsessed with what she might be doing that required him to look away. She fished out her top, balled it up, and tossed in it her bag. She made sure his back was still turned, then she leaned over onto her side, tucked her knees in, and quickly pulled off her bikini bottom. She lay back down and said, "You can look now. But don't stare. And don't touch." Grant turned around and froze, giving her an open-mouthed stare. Even though he couldn't help it, she was going to relish teasing him about this later. His gaze swept along her back, from her shoulders to her bare butt and along her thighs. He peeked at her sides, though he could see little more than the slightest curve of breast; her nipples were cushioned underneath. With her legs clamped together, there was little to see between them, not for his lack of trying. But her lovely bare bottom was completely exposed; little she could to about that. She tried not to giggle at how engrossed he was, how surprised and overjoyed he was to see his hot friend naked. If he hadn't jerked off to her before, he would certainly start tonight. She tried to engage him in small talk, as though nude sunbathing was no big thing, but he couldn't keep a conversation going, and his staring was starting to distract her. She turned her head away from him. "I'm going to take a nap. Stay here with me," she said. "I don't want anyone else bothering me." "No problem," he said, happy to be her guardian. He had to be aware she was teasing him, more mercilessly than ever before; but what guy would complain? He enjoyed a great view, and the silent respect he got from other guys admiring her. Content and drowsy, feeling secure with a motivated bodyguard at her side, she closed her eyes and settled into a shallow sleep, never completely losing the sensation of the sun's rays and warm breeze over her skin. She awoke to a hand on her shoulder, tentative, not moving. A man's hand. "Grant? No touching, remember?" "There was a fly on you." She laughed; of course there wasn't. This was the first time he had really lied to her, the first time he had taken a liberty like this. She shrugged, as if to convince a real insect to fly away, but he didn't remove his hand. Her skin had warmed in the sun for a while, and where he touched was a handprint of heat. It was a pleasant feeling, and she was amused at how Grant couldn't resist sneaking a feel, even at her shoulder. He'd had a couple of girlfriends over the years, but as far as she knew, hadn't gotten very far. Had he ever touched a naked woman before, any part of her? He started to caress her back. You sly dog, she thought, stifling a giigle. "Just behave, OK?" she said, and got no response; his hand kept moving. She decided there was little harm in that, and besides, it felt pretty good. Indulging him would only intensify the tease, because he wouldn't get very far: if he reached for anything else, she would tell him to stop. What she would have to keep to herself, however, was that his touch was starting to turn her on; just having a man's hand, even Grant's, stroking her skin while she was naked. She corrected herself: Grant wasn't just any guy; he was a good friend. Good enough that they always hugged when saying goodbye on the occasional non-date to a movie or dinner. Hugging him felt pretty good, even though there was no romantic interest. Not both ways, at least. She liked being with him. Especially after breaking up with a boyfriend, it was comforting to hang out with a nice guy she felt safe with. Where she could be herself. He liked her (loved her?) just the way she was, and that meant a lot, especially after a rough day. If only she could give him a kiss once in a while without him getting the wrong idea. He certainly deserved one. The way he caressed her was feeling better and better; that she sneaked some sexual arousal from it was taking advantage in a way. But there was no way to admit this, even to her best friend. Maybe, as a treat, she'd change out of her regular clothes back into the bikini before they hugged tonight. And a little kiss, on the cheek. She stretched her arms forward, digging her fingers in the sand. She was in no hurry for him to stop caressing her. She would decide when the time came. His expansive strokes led from her shoulders to the small of her back, going a little lower each time. She sighed and stretched. I see where you're going, Grant, she thought; this is all right; this is pretty good, in fact; but just this, and nothing more. He would have to promise that he wouldn't tell all his friends about this; she figured he was good for that promise. She would never tell him that doing this had made her pussy wet. Was there a way she could put everything back on, claim she needed to go to the restroom, but then go to her car and finish herself off? This was feeling way too good. It probably wasn't fair: if this were some guy she had just met, maybe dated once or twice, she'd probably end up in bed with him. But Grant... too bad, he was just a friend. He moved his hand onto the curving slope of her bottom; she shivered once, as if stepping into cold water, then got accustomed to the feeling. His next caress reached the summit of her butt cheek, pausing a bit before returning to her back. Well, maybe that's allowed, she told herself. Not really -- letting your friend touch your bare butt was a bit too far -- but she enjoyed it too much. If he went any further, she'd tell him to stop. Her pussy was really wet now; his fingers were inches away, and he didn't know. He caressed her bottom, his palm and fingers exploring the curves, and she didn't protest. His other hand stroked the side of her rib cage, moving closer and closer to reaching underneath, tickling the sides of her breasts. Not yet, she thought. She'd have to lift her body to cooperate, and she wasn't ready for that. He stroked her back of her thigh closest to him, letting his fingers drape in between her legs, which were still clamped shut. He gave up reaching for her breasts and moved his other hand to her butt. Well, maybe, she thought, wondering if she really wanted to do what was next. He'd know for sure that he had turned her on, but that no longer concerned her. Just for a little bit. She shifted her weight, as if loosening a crick in her back, or to distract him from noticing her spreading her legs ever so slightly. Air tickled and cooled between her thighs and knees. He didn't miss a thing; he reached between her parted legs, his fingers insistent now, not like the timid, eager-to-please Grant she'd always known. The side of his index finger brushed her pussy lips and came away sticky. She shivered at the sensation. He turned his hand and now three fingers were between her legs, the middle one at her lips. She spread her legs more and lifted her ass a little. He slipped his finger inside and she shuddered. At that point she realized two things: one, she wasn't going to make him stop; she would let him make her come here on the beach, and she didn't care who else was watching. Two, their friendship had quite suddenly climbed to a different level. Tonight there would be a goodnight hug, at her place, in her bikini; but after a mindblowing kiss, her body molded against his, she would whisper instructions in his ear. He was to remove her bikini, leave it on the floor, follow her to her bedroom, and fuck her brains out. There would be more casual get-togethers like that. There wouldn't be a romance -- they would stay friends -- but, as the saying goes, friends with benefits. She wouldn't move in, but would spend the night from time to time. Hanging out naked at Grant's wouldn't quite be like the imaginary Winston parties, but it wouldn't be bad at all. Then he slapped her bottom. "Grant?" she said, confused. Another slap, and she woke up, alarmed, realizing this wasn't Grant, that had been the dream. But there really was someone here. "Who's Grant?" a man said, snickering. He was crouching down, and lay a hand on her bottom. She felt the wetness around her pussy and between her legs; this guy had not only slapped her ass, he had - She shrieked, rolled over and covered herself with her arms and hands. Two... Park Rangers? stood above her. Yes, they were in uniform. The one on the left had just stood up and now crouched next to her. He said, "This is not a nude beach, you know." Stephanie was still trying to get her bearings, with the sinking feeling of taking finals for a class she had never attended. "Um... OK, I'll put my swimsuit back on." "I don't see a swimsuit," he said. His name tag read Garcia. "Hey Spencer, do you?" "No, I don't see anything." She whirled around. They were right; her suit was gone. "Well, somebody took it while I was sleeping!" Garcia scoffed. "You must be a sound sleeper, if some guy stripped it off you without you noticing. Does this happen all the time?" "No!" she said. It didn't happen that way. The problem was the way it did happen was pretty embarrassing. She tried to come up with a better sounding story. Garcia chuckled and extended a hand. "Here, get up." No way. "Listen, I'm sorry, I'll just wear the towel and I'll go home." "We can't just let you go," Garcia said. "You broke the law." Her heart sunk. She hadn't even thought about that. "No, please, I won't do it again! Can't you give me a warning?" Spencer shrugged. "By the book, we could arrest you. March you down to the station, take fingerprints, the whole deal. Court's not open till Monday. You want to go to jail looking like that?" Garcia said, "If we do this the easy way, we ask a few questions, let you off with a fine, or even the warning. What do you think?" Stephanie sighed. "All right." Enduring a little embarrassment was better than the alternative. She sat up, covering her bush with one hand and giving Garcia the other to help her stand. Spencer took her hands behind her back and cuffed them. "Hey! What are these for?" "Don't make too big a scene," Garcia said. "You'll just attract more attention." She didn't need any more. With her hands cuffed, everyone was getting a full frontal view. She sucked in her tummy and tried to cross her legs. "Let's go," Garcia said, tugging her hand. "Where?" As she walked, she wasn't able to conceal anything. "Main post," he said. Every group of people they passed stared. I can't come to this beach anymore, Stephanie thought. I've completely screwed it up. She glared at a pimply faced teen taking photo after photo of her. "Stephanie? Ohmygod!" a voice called out. Stephanie wished she could sink into the sand, out of sight. It was Daphne, a coworker from the office last summer, with another girl and a couple guys she thankfully didn't know. "Is that you?" Daphne said. No, it isn't, Stephanie thought. She looked the other way, and let the rangers lead her along. Still, Daphne and the others had a good long look, from the front. "It is her," Daphne said to her friends. "I used to work with her." "She always dress like that?" a guy asked, and the other laughed. "No, she wasn't like that. Or maybe she was. I don't know!" "You got her number?" the guy asked, and the other girl scolded him. Their voices faded as the rangers led Stephanie away. Garcia said, "Looks like you're pretty popular out here." "Can we get this over with?" Stephanie said, wearily. The main post was by the primary entrance to the beach, with showers and snack bar, and more onlookers than ever. She looked forward to being taken inside, out of public view, but they didn't do that. Garcia unlocked her cuffs and for a moment she thought they were going to free her. Then Spencer put her hands together behind a metal signpost and recuffed them. "What are we doing here?" she pleaded. "Can't we go inside?" "Just writing you up. Won't take five minutes." Spencer took a small notebook out of a pocket and flipped it to an empty page. "Your name?" "Faster we go, the faster we're done," Garcia said. "Stephanie. Stephanie Ross." "Okay, Stephanie, how old are you?" "T-twenty-two." "Weight?" "Excuse me?" "How much do you weigh. X pounds. What's X?" She chewed her lip, then said defiantly, "One fifteen." Garcia laughed, and patted her tummy, which she immediately sucked in. "Maybe one thirty," he said. "Cup size?" Spencer said, and Stephanie gasped. Garcia shrugged, and experimentally cupped a breast. "Small B, maybe large A." He traced the bottom curve and flicked a nipple with his thumb. "Nothing spectacular." Stephanie inhaled in a sharp hiss, of shock and indignation. "Waist?" "This is not right!" Stephanie said. "Let me go!" Garcia circled her waist and hips with his hands. "A little thick." "I'll put down 'thick'," Spencer said, chuckling. "Bush?" Garcia brushed her pubic hair, and ran his fingers through it. "Trimmed, light brown, not as light as the hair." Stephanie tried to twist away, but he held her by the shoulder. "Natural blonde, you think?" "You'd think her pussy would get the same amount of sun as everything else," Garcia said. "Maybe lays out too much on one side." Stephanie was speechless. "Is suspect aroused?" Spencer said. "Never thought you'd ask," said Garcia. He moved in back of the signpost where she was cuffed. The small warning sign was above head height. "Nice ass, by the way," he said; then reached around and cupped her breasts. "Nipples are..." he said, stroking her breasts and pinching them, "... starting to get hard. Ah, there they are." She closed her eyes, hoping to put out of her mind all the onlookers who were staring at the scene. Garcia's hands moved down from her breasts, and she reflexively sucked in her stomach again. "Her pussy..." he said, and stroked her lips once before forcing a finger inside. "Still wet." Stephanie shuddered. She was still wet from her earlier fantasy, and her body was ignoring her willing it not to respond. "Nice," Garcia said. "Slippery." His finger slithered inside her and she sighed. Garcia stopped and moved back in front. "So what do we got?" "Indecent exposure and lewd conduct," Spencer said. "Can't let that go." "No." Garcia looked her up and down. "Too bad she's not better looking." Stephanie glared at him. "I disagree, man," said Spencer. "I'd hit that." She glared at him too. She didn't need his approval. Garcia mulled it over for a few moments. "OK." He uncuffed Stephanie and she covered up. "The deal is, you take a little ride with us, someplace private, do a couple things, and you're free to go." Stephanie sighed. "You're kidding me." "But you don't have to," said Spencer. "We're not forcing you to." Garcia said, "Other choice is we cite you and drop you off in jail." "Or we can wait out here while you decide," Spencer said. Resigned, she agreed to go. They took her to a two-seater ranger buggy, an open-air vehicle with fat tires. Spencer took the driver's seat, and Garcia sat Stephanie on his lap. He told her to hold on to the edge of the seat with both hands. They drove south, back toward where they had picked her up. Stephanie at the Beach The buggy's loose suspension constantly bounced, making her breasts jiggle. They passed her blanket without slowing down. Garcia cupped her breasts, to stop them from quivering and to help her keep from slipping off his lap. Spencer was right; she wasn't perfect, but she had a nice ass, nice pussy, and the perfect outfit. And she was in the right place at the right time. He kept one hand at her breasts and dropped the other into her lap, tickling her bush. "Open up," he said, poking between her thighs. Stephanie saw little choice in the matter; and his hands at her breasts along with the bouncing of the buggy had brought her to the point where she might as well get some satisfaction anyway. He poked a finger inside and stroked her. "You like that?" She sucked in a breath. A buggy bounce had caused his finger to do something that felt just perfect, at the same time he had pinched a stiff pink nipple between his middle and index fingers. She didn't need to say anything; her body language and her hot, juicy pussy were telling him all he needed to know. The rumbling buggy was driving her crazy. He let his finger slip out and teased her swollen lips and clit; she spasmed as if shocked. A little more of that, as his palm rested on her mound, and he would insert his finger again, making her moan. Soon her moans were no longer drowned out by the buggy's engine, and she paid no attention at all to the beachgoers watching her. "You like that, huh?" Garcia pinched her nipple again, and kneaded both breasts for a while, teasing. Please, finish me off, she thought. She writhed, and ground her butt into his lap, feeling his hardness against her. She let go of the seat with her right hand and fingered herself, impatient now. "Let me take care of that," he said, brushing her hand away. He inserted one finger inside, then another. He couldn't move them much, but he could flick them against each other. Stephanie grabbed the seat with both hands. She wasn't far from climax, and she'd need to hold on. His fingers continued to flick inside her, stretching her lips, driving her crazy. He inexpertly pawed at her tingling breasts, yet that turned her on as well. Just being in public, completely naked, a stranger having his way with her, driving her to climax... the whole image of that, how she must look, that and the physical sensations drove her over the edge. She slammed back against Garcia as she came. For a moment the sensation was too intense to tell between euphoria and pain, but afterward was the feeling she had been craving, if not in this exact fashion. When she sat up, she realized the buggy had come to a stop. A small private cove and crescent of sand was flanked by rock cliffs. No one else was around. "We're here," Garcia said. "And now it's time for our fun." He laid out a faded beach blanket and had her get on all fours. Oh god, not that, she feared, but as he entered from behind, it turned out he was just interested in regular sex, doggy style. Stephanie was no longer in the mood for Garcia's advances, and willed herself out of the situation, picturing herself somewhere else. The same imagination that had gotten her into trouble could help her endure the consequences. She placed herself at Winston's house (even though he had stood her up; she could fantasize about him as she pleased). Familiar enough that she had her own key, she had let herself in while he was out. She wore skimpy panties and a thin, loose T-shirt; he usually loved seeing her as undressed as possible, and she liked to start with something revealing. The phone chirped at the same time the doorbell rang; as she motioned three of his friends to walk in, Winston on the phone said he would be tied up at work, hopefully for another hour or so at most. Stephanie would have changed clothes if she'd known his friends were coming; into something with real pants and a bra. Her outfit was a little too suggestive for three horny guys. Her nipples poked against her shirt, and her bikini panties rode low and clung to every curve. She excused herself to go change, but the guys convinced her not to. She still felt under-dressed, but after a while that no longer bothered her. Somehow the topic came to tickling, and naturally they wanted to know where she was ticklish. Unfortunately, the answer was "everywhere." They ganged up on her, tickling her bare feet, legs, arms, and tummy. She laughed and screamed and begged for mercy, but she was overpowered. Even in near-agony, she could feel some hands that were not always tickling, but taking the opportunity to feel her up. She ended up on her back on the sofa; the guys knelt and split up, so no part of her was safe. One guy reached underneath her shirt, exploring, and was soon stroking her breasts. Her weak attempts to twist away or fend him off were futile. Her shirt was slid upward, exposing even more midriff to tickle. Then the shirt was pulled over her head, and she could no longer see. A man's lips surrounded her nipple and kissed it; then he licked and flicked it with his tongue. She was losing control. She worried she was about to pee herself, or pass out, or cry, or come. Someone grabbed her panties, and her pleas to stop were ignored. They pulled the panties off her kicking feet, and took her shirt completely off. Nude, she was tickled even more mercilessly and probed and caressed until she finally climaxed, giggling and moaning shrieking. All resistance gone, she let them position her kneeling on the floor, leaning over onto the sofa. He felt one of them enter her, stiff and big. She briefly worried what Winston might think if he walked in on this. She could tell Garcia was getting close, back in real life on the beach, and she played that into her fantasy, as Winston's friend fucked her hard. As Winston walked in, he'd see his woman naked and moaning, getting it from his buddies. What a nymphet. What a... Garcia came, and went limp after a dozen pulses. He pulled out. Stephanie's daydream dissolved. That was that; Spencer's turn was next. He made her wash up in the surf. "Why are you a neat freak, now?" Garcia asked him. She shivered as she walked back out of the cold water. She had another daydream cued up, something about being seduced and stripped in a museum, but Spencer kept breaking her train of thought. He stood her up and kissed her all over, starting at the shoulders, working down to her breasts. And he talked to her. She'd known he was more fond of her than Garcia, but now he seemed infatuated. "God, you're beautiful," he said, between kisses over her breasts. He moved to her back, and kissed the nape of her neck while caressing her bottom. He let go for a few moments; she heard snaps and a zipper, faint among the background noise of the lapping waves. His clothes were off, and he snuggled up close again. His stiffening penis poked at the top cleft of her bottom. Garcia took a call, spoke, and hung up. "Hey Spence, get a move on. We need to bring the buggy back." "Go on ahead." Spencer was going to take his time. Garcia waited for a minute, shook his head, then hopped back on the buggy and drove off. Spencer spun Stephanie around, meeting face to face. She glanced down; he was in decent shape, and pretty well endowed. If she hadn't been forced into this against her will... A quote from a basketball coach came to mind, forwarded by a friend who wrote "can you believe this shit?" Bobby Knight, during some moment of extreme male myopia, pronounced: "If rape is inevitable, you might as well lie back and enjoy it." Bobby Knight, Stephanie decided, was full of shit. The hell with lying back and enjoying it. Time to take matters into her own hands. She put on what she hoped was a sexy smile, and reached down to gently grip his hard shaft. "Do you really want this?" she said. He looked up from her breasts, surprised, but continued fondling them. "Oh, hell yes." She hugged him hard, wrapping her body against his, trapping his hands; and nibbled at his lips. She felt him shudder. "Then what are we waiting for?" She sat down and took his hand, leading him to his knees; then she lay back with legs spread, and caressed her breasts. "Come on, then," she urged him. He leaned over and positioned himself. She reached for him -- he was extremely hard now -- and guided him inside. "Oh god, that's so good," she breathed. She arched her back, then thrust against him, hands at his buttocks to keep him pinned. There wasn't time for him to register any surprise. Stephanie had taken control, and there was no time to lose. She was so warm and wet, and aroused; and he was in lust, and in love. Her pink nipples were puffy and stiff, and her lips were an invitation. He leaned forward to kiss her; she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him hard, her tongue thrusting inside. It was far too much to take. He was thinking that he would have liked to spend a little more time getting to this point when he came. "Aw, g-" he said, between clenched teeth, as his balls emptied themselves. He collapsed on her, momentarily squishing the wind out of her, until he supported himself again. He slipped out, and propped himself up, watching her chest swell and recede as she breathed. He caressed her side, from her breast down to her hip; she squirmed away and stayed his hand. "No, not right now." "Sorry." "We're done." He tried to collect his thoughts. "I know this was not a good start, but-" "No," she said. "This wasn't for you." She sat up. "You'd better get back to work." "Sorry." She waved him off. "I'm going to clean up." The surf was chilly as ever, but she waded in far enough to duck completely under, and wash everything away. She also took her time, so that when she walked back ashore, shivering, Spencer was gone. She was finally alone. She felt some measure of victory in having rushed Spencer to climax. The sooner he was done, the sooner she was free. She had no appetite for any more adventures; it was time to go home. If only she'd kept the blanket; Spencer had taken it. She could have wrapped herself in it. The next best choice was to find as secluded a path as possible back to her spot on the beach; then grab her purse and her own towel and go. Would it be worth trying to climb the rock cliffs, she wondered. They were about twenty feet high, and offered plenty of footholds; but she couldn't see what waited for her on top. Perhaps a deserted footpath; perhaps a summer mansion, with a fraternity keg party. It didn't seem worth the risk. She trudged back in the direction she had been taken. Rounding a neck in the cliff, where the buggy had skirted the rising tide, she saw the first set of beachgoers, mainly reading or sunbathing. She covered her chest and between her legs; it was the best she could do. Her backside, though her best side, would be naked. She kept herself tall and straight as she walked, and pointedly ignored everyone else. About the best that could be said of the walk back to her towel was that she didn't recognize anyone who saw her. Her towel was where she had left it, but her purse was gone. Great. Car keys, ID, money, and everything were in there. Feeling deflated, completely at a loss, she sat down and crossed her arms, wondering what to do next. Wrap herself in the towel and walk six miles home, she guessed. It had taken a lot of bravery to walk back here from the cove; did she have enough to go asking at lost and found? "Excuse me, miss?" A young man, about 18, held out her purse and a T-shirt. "Is this yours?" It was. "Oh, yes, thank you!," she said, taking the purse. She opened it, and verified that nothing was missing. "Where did you find it?" "I saw the guys take you, and didn't want it to get stolen. If you didn't come back, I'd take it to lost and found." He was staring at her breasts as she closed the purse. Who cared. If a hundred guys had seen her already, why worry about number 101? She put the purse down and gave him a quick hug. "You're the first decent guy I've met all day. Thanks." He evidently wasn't used to a nude woman hugging him; his hands tentatively met at the small of her back, moved up a bit, then slid down to her bottom. "I mean it," she said, and impulsively gave him a wet kiss on the lips. "Thank you." The guy's dick quickly tented his swim trunks and poked against her. She broke the hug and reached back to remove his hands from her butt. "I gotta go." "No, here," he said, taking off his T-shirt, one of many around advertising Pizza Paradise. On it, a bedraggled guy in frayed shorts and a long beard leaned against a palm tree on a desert island the size of a pitcher's mound. He steadied a large slice dripping with cheese, ready to bite off a drooping corner. "Take this. Something to wear. You can have it." "Thanks," she said, and pulled it over her head. It was a men's extra large, very baggy but long enough to cover everything. "You need it back, though, right?" He shook his head. "I have tons of them." She hugged him again. "You're so sweet. I wish there were more guys like you." Jeremy watched her pick up her towel and purse and walk away. Never even got her name. He shouldn't have said he didn't need the shirt back. Stephanie mulled over coming forward, risking more embarrassment to bring the park rangers to justice. The evening news revealed she wouldn't have to: Spencer and Garcia were arrested, based on the statements of dozens of witnesses. They would eventually serve a short sentence, lose their jobs, and move away; and their new status as prior sex offenders would follow. Daphne was one of the witnesses, but withheld a crucial bit of information: the identity of the naked blond girl. The rangers remembered her first name, but not the last. An effort to track down her identity was surreptitiously spiked by a detective who decided Jane Doe had already endured enough publicity, and if she didn't want to press charges, she could stay anonymous. Stephanie never returned to that beach, and for a long time decided that exhibitionism took on more risk than it was worth. Jeremy kicked himself for letting Stephanie slip away. There'd been a perfect opportunity to see her again, when she returned his T-shirt; but he fumbled that away. He didn't even know her name. He remembered with perfect clarity the short time she was there, especially that hug and kiss, thankfully short. Too much more and he worried he would have creamed his swim trunks. He had no way of knowing how she fretted over the body parts she didn't like, and wished she could change, especially after so many people had seen every square inch of her. He would have disagreed. There was nothing wrong with the blond girl he had let slip away. Nothing at all. (Author's note: You may recognize Stephanie and the storyline from "Extra Large Combo with Everything." I've grown quite fond of the character (despite what I put her through) and she'll be in more stories.)