End of Season


Hand in hand they stroll along the corniche towards their usual place. He is tall, muscular, dark with a hint of five o'clock shadow. She is slender and small, blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. He is early thirties, she perhaps five or ten years younger.

They find their secluded spot towards the end of the beach and spread a blanket on the sand. He sheds his denim shorts, she steps out of her bikini bottom. Naked, they lay facing each other, hands caressing bronzed skin.

The onlookers begin to arrive in ones and twos. Mostly men, ranging from a teenager to several with greying hair. There are also two couples. All are naked. They form a ring, some kneeling or squatting, others standing, always keeping a respectful distance. Seemingly by agreement, they leave a gap so that the afternoon sun can find a path to the couple on the blanket.

The man props himself on one elbow and reaches for his partner's breasts, teasing the nipples into erection, dark against brown skin. Her hand descends to her groin, rests lightly against shaved lips. The male onlookers stroke burgeoning members. The only sound comes from a distance, people playing further along the beach, splashing in the waves.

After a while, the man rolls on to his back. The young woman takes his flaccid penis in her hand, watching intently as she works on it with long, slow movements. Her grip is gentle, with only minimal contact, but it has its intended effect. Satisfied, she bends her head and kisses the tip. He is large; not enormous but now fully extended can be seen to be some twenty centimetres in length and sturdy in girth. She takes it into her mouth, cheeks hollowed, lips formed into a sensual O. Her head rises and falls. The man rests his hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place for a moment, two thirds of his shaft engulfed. When he releases the pressure the penis emerges glistening with her saliva.

One of the couples among the onlookers rearrange themselves. The man moves behind the woman, looks over her shoulder to continue watching the performance, but now is able to press his penis against her buttocks while reaching round to fondle her breasts.

On the blanket there is oral reciprocation. The woman is now on her back, knees raised, spread wide. The man kneels between them, spreads he lips with his fingers and applies his mouth. She manipulates her nipples.

Suddenly, there is a disturbance in the surrounding ring. The teenager has been helping himself too vigorously and pays the premature price. He looks down with embarrassment at the sticky pool on the sand between his feet, bobs his head and turns away. The space he leaves closes quickly, everyone drawn towards the next stage of the exhibition.

She is on her knees, head almost touching the blanket, weight supported on her forearms. Her partner is behind her, one hand moving swiftly along his shaft to confirm its rigidity. He steadies himself with one hand on her upraised bottom. His other hand steers penis into vagina in one smooth movement. No need for fumbling exploration; this is a coupling as experienced as it is expectant. The walls that receive him are already well lubricated.

When he begins to move inside her, there is a palpable response from the onlookers. It appears the man who is pressing against his partners bottom has invited the man beside them to investigate between the woman's legs. Elsewhere, the stroking of penises has become more intense, though in many cases slower as concentration demands control. No one wants to follow the youngster's misfortune.

In their midst, copulation aspires almost to a form of art. The couple have an intuitive anticipation of every move, every subtle change of angle, every tiny variation of tempo or pressure. One is reminded of two grand masters at the opening of a game of chess, each move eliciting a preordained response. Or of ballet dancers finding a pose with limbs intertwined, holding it in all its graceful excitement, then allowing it to dissolve into something even more more extravagantly ambitious.

The woman is making small whimpering noises as the man delves into her, deeper, faster, more forcibly. For a few moments there is a passage almost of rest, but it is only the prelude to a change of position, a widening of acceptance on her part, an increase of pace and power on his.

And then complete withdrawal is followed by a series of driving plunges and shatteringly it ends. Whether there was orgasm for both, whether it might have been simultaneous, is impossible to determine. While they lie panting in each other's arms it becomes apparent that the onlookers have paid full tribute: the sand is splattered with a pattern of wet starbursts. Limp members droop. Last to finish are a couple whose reaction has been to emulate the star turn, not as acrobatically or brilliantly it's true, but they, too, are eventually sated.

Soon the couple recover themselves, step back into shorts and bikini bottom, gather up the blanket and prepare to depart. For the first time, someone speaks. An onlooker enquires, "Demain?"

"Non," the woman smiles and shakes her head. "Pas encore. Rien de plus. C'est finis."

She takes her partner's hand and they stroll back in the direction of their hotel.

Cap d'Agde


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