This story originated from my Request an Erotic Fantasy post. It was kindly submitted by my friend Besos de Cuero. This is a sexual fantasy about a woman, a lifeguard, and more. I don’t want to give away the rest, so you’ll just need to read it for yourself!
On the Beach, Part 1
The sun was sliding behind the hills in the west when I went for one last swim. I waded into the surf, savoring the cool foam washing around my calves, my thighs, then lapping between my legs. I dove in. The water was warm for this time of year, but still cold enough to be shocking. I liked to go topless on the beach, and cool water stiffened my nipples, making me shiver. I swam out, stroking hard into the gentle swells. I was a strong swimmer. I’d been in the water my entire life.
I swam out, toward a bit of dark surf I knew was a bit treacherous. I’d done this a hundred times this summer, but today wasn’t my day. I felt pain up the back of my leg.
My thigh cramped. I cried out, ducked under, and sucked water into my lungs. I tried to kick but couldn’t move my leg. It was as if I’d been stabbed, my hamstring tight as a violin. I went under, gulping more water, the gentle waves crashing like a threat over my head. I fought to stay above water, but fighting made it worse. I’d swallowed too much water and I panicked. All my water safety skills were gone. Instead of trying to float, I struggled and sank.
My eyes pinched closed, my ears roared alarmingly. I opened my mouth to scream only for it to flood with salty water. My buttock was locked up with pain, frozen with the same cramp that had crippled my leg. I listed underwater. My arms burned with effort to reach the surface. I crested, coughing, gasping for air. Then back under. I sucked in another mouthful of sea. I knew I was going to die.
I fought. I fought, but my body was weak. The sea was my master, and He was calling me home…
I had dim memories of panic and dark water folding over me, strong arms pinning me. Might strokes bearing me through the water. I had a hazy vision of a merman carrying me to the shore.
Strong hands eased me down, cared for me, thumped my back. I lay on my stomach in the sand, coughing.
Those hands massaged my cramped thigh and gradually it loosened. I let out a moan. I lay gasping for air, not questioning anything, just happy to be alive. The warm hands moved up my thigh, massaging firmly. They began kneading my buttock as well. It still hurt from the cramp, but I felt it loosen under those fingers. I sucked deep breaths of air, grateful for the chance to feel anything again.
I lay still, still coughing but warm with the delight of life surging through me. I’d never felt so vibrant. Every nerve tingled. It was as if through near death I’d become more fully alive than ever before.
The hands stopped massaging my ass and started sliding slowly up and down the back of my thigh. Pressing gently. The touch felt good. Fingers slipped gently to the inside of my thigh, slid up the tender flesh. I tingled. The touch was inappropriate. Fingers far too close to my privates to be anything other than an advance. I stiffened but didn’t protest. I gasped as the fingers brushed near my crotch, the skin becoming intensely sensitive under the light touch. The fingers lingered, so close to the fabric of my swimsuit, so tantalizingly close to my warmth. I held my breath, tingling. Then they slid away.
“You’re lucky.” A man’s voice, deep and rich and smooth like butter. He had a gentle accent. French, perhaps? “I might not have seen you. You would’ve been dead.”
I turned over onto my back and stared up at him. The evening sun was behind him. His loose mane of hair hung around his head like a halo, the sunset glowing behind him. He was tan, muscular, beautiful. And he was my savior. I just stared. Beautiful.
“You saved me,” I said, barely believing it. My voice rasped after the water.
“You’re a damn fool, girl,” he scolded me. “It’s not safe to swim that way.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was going to…”
He leaned close, his eyes beautiful and angry.
“This is how people die out here,” he said.
I saw his eyes drop to my bare chest. I flushed with embarrassment. My breasts were covered with fine sand but my nipples were hard. He looked quickly away. It was common for women to go topless on this beach, but there was an unspoken rule for men not to look interested. Yet I was sure most men were interested, very interested indeed. His glance sent a ripple between my legs.
“Are you feeling okay?” he said.
“Yes,” I told him. I sat up. “I think so.”
“Good.” He was very close to me, kneeling over me. I remembered his hands on my buttock, my inner thigh. Heat. He’d taken such liberties…
“What’s your name?” he said.
“Tara.” It didn’t sound like my name when I said it. “I’m Tara.”
“I’m Elie,” he said.
He shook his head. “No, Elie. The emphasis is wrong. Don’t ever call me Ellie.”
“Sorry,” I said.
He smiled. “It’s no problem. Come, we should get you off the beach.”
He scooped me into his strong arms. I let my leg dangle but I wrapped my arms around him. My sandy breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. Gritty. I wanted rinse myself off. He waded across the sand, carrying me toward a concrete lifeguard station at the edge of the beach.
“Elie isn’t a Spanish name?” I said.
“Neither is Tara.”
“No,” I admitted.
I nodded. “Florida State University,” I said, as if that made any sense. I felt stupid, wished I could retract the words. I leaned my head against his shoulder as he carried me. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he may have smelled my damp hair.
“Here for studies?”
“Just for the summer,” I said. “Yes. Art. Art history.”
He carried me into the lifeguard station. It was a two story concrete building, open on one side toward the ocean. Elie set me down carefully and held my elbow.
“You’re steady?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. I stood up straight. My breasts jutted. I felt self-conscious and glanced at him. Again I caught him glancing at my chest. My bikini top was out on the beach, next to my book and towel.
“You keep staring,” I said.
A smile played on his lips. “At your breasts,” he admitted.
“Yes,” I said, blushing. “Well?”
He coughed politely. “They are the finest breasts I’ve ever seen. Which is why I keep peeking…”
I smiled, my face hot. I brushed sand from my chest. It was everywhere, in my suit, on my skin.
“There’s a shower,” he said, pointing.
I glanced. In the corner was a simple shower head with a drain in the concrete floor.
“There’s no curtain,” I said.
He shrugged. “You’re right. It’s for rinsing. Are you so modest?”
I stared at him, feeling heat rise between my legs. I took a deep breath.
“No,” I said. “I’m not modest at all.”
Elie lifted his eyebrows. His eyes were gray flecked with green. Gorgeous. He made my knees feel limp. He smiled knowingly at me. My nipples were so tight, it was obvious that I was aroused. I stepped under the spigot. Instead of a proper handle, the shower had a wrench attached. I twisted it. Big drops of cool water splashed over my skin. I squealed, the chill surprising. Sand and dust washed down my chest in rivulets. My nipples, hard before, tightened to tingling buds and goosebumps speckled my skin. I squirmed and spat as the cold water coursed over me.
Elie watched me. His eyes never left me.
I danced out from beneath the spigot, shivering and refreshed, glistening and new. A thrill leaped in my gut. I felt naughty. Elie handed me a towel and I began drying myself. I was struck again by how nearly naked I was. Just my slight bikini bottoms.
Elie pulled his swim trunks off in a swift bend at the waist. I stared. His cock bobbed, jutting, pointing straight at me. It hardened as I watched. I took a sharp little breath. If there had been any doubt in my mind about what he wanted, it was quite clear now.
He stepped under the spigot. Water poured down his body. He rinsed efficiently while I gaped as the water followed the contours of his tan chest, rippling over his abdomen, and through the dark curls around the base of his erection. Oh, and what a cock it was! Elie was so hard that it curved toward the ceiling, the tip thick and angry. My mouth watered a little at the sight of it.
He stepped out and reached for me. So near, so naked… But he went for the towel and took it from my hands. I felt lightheaded watching him towel off. He smiled at me.
“Are you enjoying the show?”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and realized that I’d barely blinked. Not just looking, but staring. Devoring him with my eyes. I swallowed. I crossed my left leg over my right, then uncrossed them again. I didn’t know what to do with myself. There was a tightness just under my ribcage.
I opened my mouth. I shut it. He raised his eyebrows as he watched me squirm with awkward arousal. He stepped close. I took a step backward, surprised. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me to him. He smelled manly, and like the sea. His cock nudged between my thighs.
“You haven’t thanked me properly for saving you,” he said.
I squirmed. I blushed. “Thank you,” I said.
“No, I said you haven’t thanked me properly.”
I stared into those green eyes. My pussy ached and thrummed.
“You can do things I would appreciate very much,” he said. His eyes traveled up and down my body. I flushed.
“I know,” I replied. I gulped. Could I? I didn’t generally mess around with guys I didn’t know.
“You could do things that would give me pleasure,” he said, as if I didn’t get it. “A good way to thank me for saving your life.”
“I know,” I said, the words catching in my throat.
“Would you like to go somewhere more private? So that you can show me your appreciation?”
He jerked his head toward the concrete steps to the second floor of the lifeguard station.
My eyes dropped to his rigid hard-on. I took a deep breath. “I think, uh, yes?”
I owed him a little thanking, I decided. And he was flipping gorgeous. How much trouble could I get in, just this once?
Elie’s lips twitched. He held out his hand. I took it and he led me up the stairs.
That’s the end of Part 1 of this sexual fantasy. If you want to know when it is updated, I suggest that you follow my blog!
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