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Sea Story

An extract from a much longer, more complicated piece I have very mixed feelings about.

We sat side by side on our bench, watching the lights kick over the fun fair, finishing our ices. She attacked vanilla ice cream the same way she approached cock sucking. B’s technique – whether for effect or out of habit – was to lick hers daintily, using her tongue rather than her mouth, slurping away at the swirl of cherry syrup. She knew I was staring, looked up and toyed with the chocolate protruding from her dessert.

“Do you want my flake?”

I pretended irritation.

“Why did you ask for a 99 if you don’t want the flake?”
“I wanted to share. How’s yours?”
“Raspberry and Liquorice? I was trying to be adventurous.”
She giggled and poked a free finger into my side.
I pulled up her skirt and slapped the upper portion of her thigh.
“Now unbutton your coat.”
“It’s windy.” She protested.
“Fine, then I’ll have to do it for you.”
I put my hand inside her dress and she pressed her lips together.
“You’re thinking someone will see, aren’t you?” The front was deserted. Too late in the year for tourists, too early for locals. I undid the buttons further, took her cold hand in mine. We walked to the water’s edge. Standing behind her, I pulled up her skirt, twisting the material and pushing it into the back of her knickers.
“Hold your ice cream and don’t lick.”

Her tights hoiked down, only mid thigh this time. Just enough room to stick my middle finger into the warm, damp groove in her underwear
“Are you going to come for me?” Peeled the wet material away, knew that the lips were full and ready to be fucked. Just one finger. No response, only a loud, uncontrollable moan. Dog walkers on the beach turn their heads, but from so far away my body hides her naked shame. We are young lovers watching the sunset, not a pervert and his perfectly formed tart.

And now the ice cream. Fingers dug in, smears over her breasts, sink into her skin, and the finger still working, oiled and ready for action. She filled with lust, desperation and need, swelling under my grasp. Her fingers joined mine in urgency and as I felt her tensing, pulsing over my fingers, she howled and my palm flooded.

“Messy. I’m going to have to clean you up.” Trailed my sodden fingers through the treacle, left her dress undone, pulled her coat around her and walked her back to the hotel.

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