Speaker 1: Welcome to sexy stories. After dark Ah, the sun was
a flat white coin overhead, searing the horizon line where
the ocean dissolved into a pale, shimmering nothing. My towel
was a rectangle of tropical pink against all that beige.
I adjusted my sunglasses, the oversized kind that made me
feel like a film star in a country where nobody
knew my name, and let the straps of my bikini
top fall away. This was the point, the whole reason
I'd walked the extra two kilometers down the scorching cliff path,
past the family friendly coves, past the sign that said
Plaia naturista. A thrill, sharp and metallic, tightened the skin
at the back of my neck, not the sun, not yet,
stripping off my bikini bottom in one fluid, practiced motion,
a little show for an audience of zero, I dropped
it onto my bag. The air felt strange against my pussy,
a dry, breezy kiss where damp fabric usually clung. I
stretched out on my stomach, propping myself on my elbows,
letting the heat bake the backs of my thighs. Just
the sand, the surf, and the slow, syrupy thud of
my own pulse. I closed my eyes. No, this wasn't
just about the nudity. It was the being seen a
piece of living, breathing landscape. I don't know how long
I lay like that, suspended in a golden haze, where
the heat felt like a weight pressing me into the earth,
long enough for a handful of minutes to lose their edges,
long enough for a shadow to fall across my back,
a sudden, cool eclipse. First time, the voice was a
dry rasp, like stones rubbing together, a man's voice, an
old man's voice. I shouldn't have looked, But that was
the point, wasn't it. I propped myself up higher, peering
over the rim of my sunglasses. He stood a few
feet away, entirely, unapologetically naked. His skin was a relief
map of a long life, leathery sun spotted hanging in
soft folds over a wiry frame. A thick thatch of
gray hair sat on his chest and below his belly.
His cock hung long and uncut, swinging gently as he
shifted his weight. He wasn't leering, he was just observing
a connoisseur. Is it that obvious? I murmured, not bothering
to cover myself. My heart was a kettledrum against my ribs.
He smiled, See you have the look, the glow of
a new convert he gestured vaguely with a gnarled hand.
Mind if I. He indicated a patch of sand nearby,
not asking permission to look, asking permission to stay. I
shrugged a tiny, nonchalant roll of a bare shoulder. It's
a public beach. My fingers trembled as I reached for
my water bottle. The cold plastic was a shock against
my dry throat. I could feel his gaze on the
curve of my ass, a tangible touch, more intimate than
any sunbeam. The explicit vulgarity of the thought made my
breath catch. He's looking right at my holes. A hot,
liquid pulse of shame and something far more potent made
me clench my thighs together, a tiny involuntary spasm. The
shadow didn't go away, it multiplied. Two more silhouettes blotted
out the sun, their outlines rimmed in brilliant light. One
was shorter, stockier, with a thick white beard and a
belly that protruded proudly over a pair of spindly legs.
His penis was a stubby, pink thumb, nestled in a
wiry gray nest. The other was bald, his scalp a
shiny pink dome, his body angular and taut for his age,
a sculpture of sinew. His erection was already half formed,
curving up towards his stomach, A bluish vein prominent along
its length. A small side silent herd of old men
circling the man with the beard spoke, his accent thicker,
more local. You like the sun, Chica, I do, I said,
And my voice was steadier than I felt. It was
a performance now, a stage play, with an audience of
three sets of roomy eyes. We can show you, the
bald one said, taking a step closer. Sand crunched a
granular grinding sound, terribly loud. How to really enjoy it?
The air shifted, the breeze off, the sea died. The
space around my towel became a closed room, a theater
in the round. Their bodies blocked the entire world. The
bald man lowered himself to his knees in the sand
with a grunt that was pure, unvarnished age. His leathery
hand knuckles swollen like tree roots, reached out and landed
on my ankle, not grabbing, testing a question phrased in dry,
hot touch. The answer was a chemical reaction that bypassed
my brain entirely. I didn't pull away my leg. The
one he held went limp. My breath snagged on a
knot at the back of my throat. My silence was
my consent, A door I held open and invited them through.
His hand slid up my calf, over the soft hollow
behind my knee. Beautiful, he whispered, a long, drawn out sigh,
And the word wasn't for me, It was an appreciation
of the moment itself. The other two men shifted their shadows,
dancing across my back. I turned my head, pressing my
hot cheek into the towel, and saw the gray haired
one the first one, his hand now slowly lazily stroking
his own cock. The skin slid up and down, revealing
a dark plum shaped glands. A thick, blunt pressure nudged
my lips from behind the bald man he'd shifted, kneeling
between my legs, his breath a hot gust on the
small of my back. He used his thumbs to part me,
a slow, deliberate spreading that made a slick, sticky sound
in the utter silence of the cove. The cool air
hit the wet inner skin of my pussy, a stark,
embarrassing proof of my need. No preamble, no foreplay, Just this,
an old man, a stranger, sinking his shaft into me
with one slow, inexorable push. A groan rattled in his chest,
a sound a dying engine might make. Oh cheeka, he breathed.
He was hard, but not thick, filling me with a strange,
comfortable pressure. The sensation was one of pure physical submission,
not a dance, but an occupation. Over the bald man's
bent back, I saw the other two stumbling closer, as
if in a trance. The man with the beard knelt
heavily by my head, his face a blur of white
hair and avarice. His cock, that stubby, pink thumb was
right there. He didn't ask, He just guided it to
my mouth, the tips salty and warm and smelling of
the sea. I let my jaw go slack. He entered
me there too, a muffled grunt of satisfaction escaping him,
a sound my full mouth could not make filled at
both ends. The bald man behind me began to pump
a slow, grinding rhythm that shoved my face further onto
the other man's cock, setting a terrible, wonderful, coordinated cadence.
My world narrowed to the grid of sand under my knees,
the salt slick taste of skin, the slap of loose
old balls against my clit, and then a new sound,
the soft pad of footsteps on sand. A shadow that
was not a man, A woman's voice, aged but sharp
like barrel aged liquor. You boys started the party without me.
I couldn't see her, not with the man's cock sliding
across my tongue. But I felt her kneel down close
to my hip, the heat from her body a different
kind of sun. She was old too. Her skin was
a road map of sun worship, her stomach soft and creased,
her breasts long and flat against her rib cage, A
shock of gray pubic hair, untamed and brilliant. Her face,
when I finally tilted my head enough to see it
through a film of tears, was sharp and alive, with
a smirk of pure conspiratorial delight. She leaned down her
lips close to my ear. Let me help you get
that good and wet, sweet girl. Her hand surprisingly strong
gripped my jaw, pulling my mouth off the man's cock
with a wet pop. Her other hand traced down my
spine over the bald man's still thrusting hips, to the
place where his slick cock kept disappearing inside me. Her
fingers were cool and clever, spreading the lips of my
pussy wider, exposing the tight, pearled rim of my ass.
I barely had time to gasp for air before she
pursed her wrinkled lips and let a long, thick trail
of saliva drop. I felt it land a startling warm
dollup right on my asshole. Her thumb followed it, rubbing
it in, pressing softly hypnotically. She did it again a second,
more copious amount of spit, right into the cleft where
the bald man talk with them. If you want to
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