Carried by Him

This may be part one if I ever get around to finishing part two. Please let me know if you're interested in reading more about Andrew and Beth.

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A group of pelicans flies back and forth along the ocean shore in a contentedly undulating line. Their large silhouettes stand out boldly against the sinking sun as they search for food.

Beth sits on a driftwood log on the sandy beach watching the birds fly by, lifting her head high to drink in the last long rays of warm, golden sunlight. As the ocean swallows the sun, a spectacular display of colors paints the western sky in swaths of pink, orange, and yellow.

She shyly glances around to see if anyone can see her. Not seeing anyone nearby, she discreetly puts one hand on her vulva and strokes it through her skirt. She rubs her right nipple with the other hand. The sensualness of her surroundings -- the powerful waves striking the shore, the explosion of colors at sunset, the caressing ocean breeze -- swirl together with that of her touch, and she feels exquisitely aroused. Her desire climbs, and her body arches. She whimpers quietly with pleasure. But her inhibitions stop her before she reaches climax, and she grasps her hands together tightly in her lap and forces herself to breath, letting out a big sigh, and focuses her attention on the sunset.

After the gloriously bright ball of fire disappears into the ocean and the tapestry of colors across the sky begins to fade, Beth stands up and, feeling pleasantly aroused, continues her walk along the beach. She quietly hums to herself, enjoying the lingering glow of twilight, a brisk breeze blowing her long, dark hair every which way.

She's wearing a long, flowing white skirt and a white off-the-shoulder shirt that hugs her small curves. Sandals hang from her right hand as she walks barefoot, delighting in the feel of cool sand between her toes.

She hasn't been feeling quite herself lately, so she's taking a short vacation alone to try and clear her head. She's never gone away like this without her family until now, and as much as she loves them, she's reveling in having time alone.

A married mom of older kids, she's lived a fairly normal, conservative and wholesome life. It's been a very good life, but she has grown to live with an almost constant dull ache of loneliness and longing in her heart. Yet her family is caring and loving, so she's filled with guilt for not being satisfied, for wanting more.

She feels distant from her husband, as they haven't been intimate for many years. She blames herself, but feels lost. She's touch starved, and her desire has only increased with the passage of time, so she masturbates and orgasms nearly every day as a way to get by.

As she wanders down the beach, the peaceful, unending flow of ocean waves pulsing against the sandy shore lulls her frenetic heart. The eerie, low sound of a foghorn signals its warning loudly in the distance.

She knows she should head back because daylight has almost vanished, and it's not "safe" for a woman to be out here alone. But right now she doesn't care.

She's felt stifled, hidden, and, in a sense, dead for so long, she thrills at the feelings flowing through her now. The loud crashing ocean makes her feel alive. The impending darkness makes her feel alive. The thought of being alone in the darkness arouses her.

So she keeps going down the shore. Fog begins to roll in from the water. The air feels damp and cold. The breeze brushes across her skin like fingers. Goosebumps pop up on her bare arms, and she shivers.

Beth had forgotten how cold the beach can get after sunset. Maybe she should go back to her campsite now after all. Her steps slow down with hesitancy, but she notices a bend ahead and is curious to know what's around the corner, so she keeps trudging forward.

As she rounds the corner, her heart jumps with relief when she sees a fire on the beach in the distance. She decides to continue ahead, and picks up her pace, excited to reach the warmth and light of the fire.

Beth suddenly winces as she steps on something sharp. She squats down to look at her foot and cringes when sees blood dripping down the side. She feels stupid for going barefoot in the dark, but she's not ready to give up tonight's adventure. Carefully putting on her sandals to protect her feet, she limps towards the fire.

When she gets there she sees a cozy fire built neatly within a circle of rocks. A man is sitting on a driftwood log holding his hands out in front of himself, warming them by the fire.

He stands as she comes near and asks pleasantly, "Would you like to join me?"

"Oh, yes, sir, thank you very much," Beth replies eagerly, walking to a log and sitting down across from the man, trying hard not to limp or wince.

She studies his face in the firelight. She would guess he's at least 15 years older than she is, but younger than her father. He looks distinguished and handsome. He has short hair with just the shadow of a beard. He has a gentle smile and kind eyes.

He looks up and sees her watching him. She lowers her head quickly and blushes.

"My name is Andrew," he says, walking to her and holding out his hand. "What's yours?"

Beth looks up at him. He's sure tall! She takes his outstretched hand, and, mustering her courage, she looks up at him and says, "I'm Beth. It's very nice to meet you, Andrew."

Her hand feels small in his large hand. It makes her feel safe somehow.

He puts his other hand over hers, too, cupping it between his warm hands. She trembles. He says, "You're cold. Your hand is freezing. I have a jacket you can wear."

He walks over and grabs a flannel jacket lying on the log and drapes it gently over her shoulders. She sighs and pulls it close around herself, saying, "Thank you, Andrew. This feels nice." She breathes in deeply. It smells musky, manly, tinged with the clean smell of soap and aftershave.

"Would you like some coffee? It's nice and hot."

"Yes, please."

She notices tendrils of fog snaking near the fire. She's starting to feel chilled even with the warm fire and Andrew's coat around her. She hears the soulful cry of a fox in the distance.

He hands her a cup of dark coffee, and the warmth brings relief to her cold fingers. The coffee warms her inside as she carefully takes a sip.

Andrew says conversationally, "So what brings you out here tonight?"

Looking into the fire she says candidly, "Being out here makes me feel more alive than I've felt in a very long time."

"I know the feeling."

"Life can be draining," she says wearily. "But the ocean air, the wind, the sounds of the waves, the seagulls, the sunset all feel so invigorating and life-giving. What brings you out here tonight?"

"I come to the beach often. I live over the hill. Having a fire burning here is relaxing and warms me like almost nothing else can."

"Oh, you live near here? How nice for you! I agree fires are wonderful. What do you mean they 'warm you like almost nothing else can'?"

"Making love warms me more," he responds fervently.

Beth is taken aback by his bluntness and casts her eyes aside, feeling her stomach lurch. She's shy and normally never talks to anyone about sex, let alone a stranger. "Oh, yes, I see, uh, um," she stammers quietly, anxiously pulling the jacket more closely around her, as if it could protect her.

As much as his words startled her, her body begins aching with longing as she thinks about what he said. She's not had sex in over seven years, but who's counting.

"Sorry if that was too straightforward, Beth. I don't want to make you feel nervous. Don't worry. You're safe with me."

Somehow she knew that much was true, that she'd be safe with him. She felt her carefully-built guard slipping down. "You're right, though," she replies. "Making love warms you up like nothing else in the world." This time she looks him straight in the eyes.

And he looks back, deep into her eyes. Warm tingles of pleasure flow through her body. Wow, why is my body responding this way? she wonders. She lowers her head to hide her strong emotions, pretending she's fixing the buckle on her shoe.

"Are you hungry, Beth?"

Yes... ravenously hungry, she thinks longingly, wondering what it would be like to be touched by him. But she's sure that's not what he means, so out loud she simply says, "Yes, I am, actually."

"It looks like the fog is going to engulf us. Would you like to come to my cabin and have something to eat?"

He extends his hand to her.

I shouldn't, I really shouldn't. Beth tells herself, you don't know this man. But she hears herself saying, "Yes, please, Andrew."

He helps her up, and she puts her hand in the crook of his arm. They walk in companionable silence over the hill and down a long, dark pathway with trees on either side. She hears small animals rustling in the undergrowth.

It's almost pitch black, and she can hardly see, so she grips his arm tightly. Her foot is really starting to hurt. He asks her in a concerned voice, "It looks like you're having trouble walking. Did you hurt yourself?"

"I cut my foot walking on the beach shortly before I reached your fire," she admits.

"We'd better take care of that right away! Here, let me carry you the rest of the way."

Without waiting for a reply he bends over and easily scoops her up in his arms, cradling her. Though startled at first, she sinks into him and, with a deep, contented sigh, puts her arms around his neck.

He carries her briskly along the pathway until they come to a clearing full of light, a strong contrast to the darkness from which they emerged. They've reached his cabin, and the lights are on inside, as if his home had been waiting for them. Beth gasps, "Oh, your cabin is beautiful! It's huge! It looks so warm and welcoming."

He says, "Welcome to my humble abode," and walks up the stairs and carries her inside. He sits her gently on a large couch. She feels sad when he's no longer holding her. Oh, but she knows she's being silly to feel that way.

He leaves briefly, and she hears him pouring a drink. He hands her a glass with clear, pale liquid inside when he returns. She smells it and wrinkles her nose. "Oh, thank you. Is this wine? I... usually don't drink. Do you think it will help?"

"Yes, a bit of wine will help warm you and relax you," he says reassuringly. "Just make yourself at home. I'm going to get a foot bath and wash your feet. I'll be right back."

She takes a sip of wine. It feels warm going down. She's not used to the taste, but it's not unpleasant. She takes another sip and then glances around the room. It's a big room with lots of windows, a high ceiling, a fireplace, a couple comfy couches and chairs with many rugs carefully arranged on the floor.

When he returns he has a tub full of hot, sudsy water. He sits it down in front of her on the rug and lays a folded, fluffy white towel beside it. He gently takes her shoes off and lowers her feet into the water. He picks up a washcloth and tenderly washes her feet.

As he touches and washes her feet with his large, rough hands, she becomes aroused. She can't help but think how handsome, sweet, and desirable he looks, literally kneeling at her feet as he washes them with gentle caresses. Surely it's just utilitarian for him. She knows she's not desirable. She has so many flaws. A man such as he is must be able to choose to be with beautiful, lovely women, far exceeding anything she could offer. But she hasn't been touched in so long, she can't help feeling alive at his touch. She drinks more of her wine.

When he's done, he takes her feet out and sets them on the fluffy towel and rubs and dries them off. Then he puts antibiotic cream and a bandaid on her cut.

"There you go. Almost as good as new," he says with a smile.

"Oh, probably better than new! That felt amazing, Andrew! Thank you!"

"It was my pleasure."

She felt tingles flowing through her body from the way he said it, his voice sounding low and serious, and, dare she think it?... sensual as fuck.

She'd only discovered the joy encapsulated in the word "fuck" recently. Mmmm... fuck. She used to make fun of people who said that word -- how primitive, how crude, so beneath her. But now? Ahhhh, fuuuuuck, sooo delicious. Oh, but she should be careful thinking that way right now. She didn't want to give her desires away. It wouldn't be appropriate. She gives him a big, hopefully innocent-looking, smile.

"Are you warm enough? Should I turn the heat up? You look like you might still be cold."

Wait, what did he mean by that? She glanced down and saw her nipples standing up beneath her thin shirt, hard and erect. Did he mean that? No, surely not.

"Ah, I'm okay. I'm pretty warm," she says. She notices her cheeks are flushed.

"Do you have family waiting for you? Is there anywhere you'd like me to drive you?"

"No one's waiting for me. I'm taking a short vacation alone. I'm staying at one of the yurts in the state park. I'd be grateful if you could drive me there."

"Won't you be cold? You're welcome to stay here tonight. I have a spare bedroom."

"I... I shouldn't," she mumbles reluctantly.

"It's up to you, Beth."

He sits down in a chair across from her. He again asks her the question he asked her while they were still on the beach: "Beth, are you hungry?"

"Yes, very hungry."

"What are you hungry for?"

She stands up uneasily, feeling uncomfortable under his stare. She feels both like laughing and crying and starts walking a bit unsteadily, saying, "I really should go now."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure that's what you want? I'd hate for a guest of mine to leave while they are hungry. I'd love you to join me for dinner."

"Okay, that sounds nice really. Thank you, Andrew."

He stands in front of her grabbing both hands in his. "Now, tell me what you're hungry for."

"What do you have?"

"Here, come with me into the kitchen, and we'll take a look together."

She walks beside him, his hand holding her left hand while she carries her glass of wine in the other. She's feeling more and more relaxed and her cheeks feel pleasantly warm. She wonders if it's the wine.

She actually feels glorious. Being alone with a man who doesn't seem to mind touching her, even though he's just being kind, a man she's becoming more and more attracted to the longer she's near him, oh, fuuuck, she feels turned on. Mmm, he's so incredibly attractive, she thinks to herself.

"Beth, are you okay?"

She realizes he must have asked her something while she was daydreaming. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry. What did you want to know?"

"Do you feel like a big meal or just something light?"

"Something light sounds nice."

"How about grilled cheese sandwiches, soup, and salad?"

"That would be wonderful! Would you like me to help?"

"No, thank you. You just rest that foot of yours up."

She sits at the large kitchen table while he prepares the meal. She quietly watches him. He glances over at her every so often and gives her a smile. Her silly heart leaps each time, and she returns his smiles shyly.

She loves his eyes. And his strong arms. She loves how tall he is. And he has a nice... ass. She doesn't usually think that way about men, but, yes, he has a very nice ass. I would love to lay my hand on his gorgeous ass, she thinks.

"Dinner is ready! Here you go, my dear," he says, sitting her meal down in front of her. Her heart beats faster at being called "my dear," even though it must just be a politeness. "Thank you, Andrew! It looks delicious."

He grabs his plate of food and sits down across from her, saying, "I hope you enjoy it. I think we'll enjoy dessert even more. Would you like a little more wine?"

"Yes, please. What are we having for dessert?"

"It's a surprise," Andrew says, pouring more wine and giving himself some as well. "I think it's probably something you will enjoy very much."

"Oh! I'm so curious now! But I like surprises, so I'll be a good girl and be patient."

"I'm glad you're going to be a good girl," he says in a quiet, low voice that sounds almost like a growl.

Tingles run down her spine, and she wonders if he means something else by those words than she does. If he does, she doesn't mind if he'll only talk to her in that tone of voice again.

"The food tastes wonderful. The soup really hits the spot," she says.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Beth. It's my pleasure to feed you."

"Oh, thank you! This is so much better than the meal of a bowl of granola and milk I had planned on having tonight!" she giggles nervously.

They make general small talk while they eat their meal. Every once in a while their feet rub against each other softly under the table. It must be because he has such long legs, but each time their feet touch, she feels a thrill go through her.

He takes the dishes and puts them away. The table is now clear.

"Are you ready for dessert, Beth?"

He walks up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and massaging them.

"I.... ahh that feels good... Yes, sir, I mean Andrew, I'm ready for dessert."

"You may call me 'Sir,' if you wish," he says, continuing to rub her shoulders. He moves her hair aside and bends over and kisses her neck.

She moans involuntarily.

She clears her throat, feeling embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says blushing.

"Moaning is good, my dear. No need to apologize. Now tell me, Beth, what are you hungry for?"

Her heart beats wildly. What does he mean? How could he know? Should she tell him the truth?

"What are you hungry for?" he asks again, in a deep voice. "Beth, turn around and look at me."

She stands up and turns around, too ashamed to look him in the eyes. She bites her lip and looks down, shocked when she sees a bulge in his pants. Is that his... cock, she wonders?

He leans over and kisses her neck again and starts kissing down her chest.

She squirms. "Ahhh, please, Sir," she moans. "You! It's you... I'm hungry for you!"

Andrew buries his face in her tits and growls, "It's time for our dessert, little one."

He pulls her to himself, holding her tight. "Let's get these clothes off you."

As much as she wants it, her body tenses up.

He pauses and takes her face in his hands, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead. "What's wrong, little one?"

"I'm so sorry, but I'm scared you won't like me. I'm scared I can't please you."

"There's no way you can't please me. Your desire and pleasure are all I need to feed my passion and bring me satisfaction. Will you trust me, little one?"

"Yes, Sir, I trust you. You're so desirable to me. Do as you will with me."

He takes the bottom of her shirt and carefully pulls it off over her head. He gently runs the palms of his hands on her hard, erect nipples. "Oh, fuck, little one, you look beautiful."

She whimpers.

He then unties her skirt and pulls it down gently over her hips and ass. She's not wearing any underwear. She blushes at the exposure and instinctively puts her hands in front of her vulva.

Andrew lays his hands over hers. "Little one, it's okay. Let Sir look at you."

She lets him lift her hands to his mouth, and he gives them a sweet kiss then lays them at her side. She jumps and gives a little scream, startled, when he reaches down to briefly stroke her labia. "Hush, little bird, Sir will take care of you. You are sopping wet."

He lifts her up and sets her on the end of the kitchen table. "Lie back on your hands, little one, put your feet on the table, and spread your legs for me."

"Yes, Sir."

He tenderly kisses her mouth, her ear, down her throat, along her collarbone. Each kiss feels like the touch of a firebrand, shooting heat and fire through her starved body. He begins touching her with his tongue as well as his lips, his large wet mouth squeezing her flesh, caressing it, licking it.