Mrs. Valentine Hits the Nude Beach

This is something of a follow-up to my earlier story, 'Fun Times and Threesomes'. At the end of that tale I had promised a sequel, to be ready for the following Valentine's Day Competition; but life got in the way, as it so often does for us all, and I've found myself struggling to make any proper headway into the sequel, tentatively (and very imaginatively) titled 'Fun Times and Foursomes'.

I decided to skip ahead in the story, and write out one of the later chapters I had planned; and given the paucity of writing-time I've had in my life lately, and the number of readers expressing their dismay at the lack of the promised sequel (for which I apologise!), I've decided to publish this completed scene from the tale.

I hope you enjoy it, and my sincerest apologies again for the delay on the full sequel - here's hoping I can polish off the adventures of Jamie, Brett, Mick and Callie in time for the next V-Day contest!

***

Brett had been pestering me since practically the beginning, to go with him to the nude beach.

Well, pestering may be too strong a word. It started out with a few gentle suggestions, the occasional random "I reckon we should go to the nude beach someday" from him, maybe once in a month or so. Enough to earn a roll of the eyes and a "yeah sure, dream on" from me in reply, to which he'd reply with a "yeah, we'll see..." delivered with that grin of his - the shit-eating grin, which I simultaneously hated and loved.

Then maybe of a fortnight, he might lay eyes upon me as I reclined buck naked upon the bed before him, in preparation for a thorough ravishing, and he'd cast a faux-critical eye across me and say "y'know what'd be great for those tan lines? A quick sesh at the nude beach!" He'd cop a bit of grief for that level of cheek, but my light slaps or punches would only make him grin evermore, the shithead.

Then as we got back into summer proper, with the days warming up and the weather becoming more and more beach-friendly, the nude-beach-mentionings came quicker and closer together. Never mind if we went to a regular beach - which we both very much enjoyed, toasting ourselves on the sand, bobbing over the waves, enjoying fleeting touches out of the water and passionate grope-sessions in the deep - there would obviously be no satisfying him until we went to the bloody nude beach.

It all came to a head one afternoon, when I slipped out of my bikini top at a quiet part of the beach. I didn't think about it too hard - we were virtually alone, our nearest fellow sunbathers were a couple hundred yards away and people were only walking by once every five minutes. And it was not like I had put my boobs on full display, I was tummy-down on my towel and I quickly pressed my chest down too, intending only to get a bit of sun across my back for a few minutes.

But it was enough to totally set him off. "Ooh, look out! Jamie's got the birds out!" Brett crowed.

"Oh, shush you," I chastised. "Haven't you seen them a thousand times already? I'd have thought you'd be over them by now."

"There's no getting over perfection," he half-grinned, half-leered.

"You sleaze," I laughed.

"So here you are," he went on. "Tits out in public, finally surrendering to the exhibitionistic urge I've always known you've had. And then you go and press them into the sand!"

"Into my towel," I corrected. "I only want a bit of sun on my back for five minutes, I don't need to go flashing my nips at the whole world."

"At who? Me and a pair of seagulls?" he quizzed. "We're on our own, Jamie. Go nuts! Get 'em out, love!"

"Someone could walk past any minute," I returned, somewhat feebly. "I do know people around here, you know."

"Give them a thrill!" he urged, wickedly. "Go on, roll on over and give the girls some air! You know you wanna."

His incredibly cheesy style of egging me on was having its usual, weirdly successful effect. He knew me too well. He was fully aware that the idea of someone I knew seeing me, laying eyes on my bare breasts, would be a secret thrill. How had this man got so deeply into my head, in such a short period of time?

"Fine," I grumbled - and with a wonderful growing heat in my crotch, I rolled over on my towel and bared my tits to the world, my heart and mind singing as I did it. "But I expect you to tell me if someone's coming, so I can roll over and maintain my modesty."

"Do you trust me?" he enquired, his words dripping with mock-evil and malice.

"No I don't," I told him, fighting back a grin. "Tell me if someone's coming. I don't want anyone to see me."

"Uh huh," Brett returned - voicing not only a temptation to not give any such warning, but also broadcasting his doubts over my wanting no-one to see me.

"Tell me if someone's coming, fuckhead! Or no sex for a week," I promised.

"Fine, fine," he sighed - he'd tested my no-sex-for-a-week threat once before, and he'd definitely come away second best. "How close do you want someone to come before I give you warning?"

"A hundred yards."

"A hundred? What about fifty?"

"I said a hundred," I told him, punching him in the thigh for emphasis. "Fifty is too close."

"Come on. Who can see boobs from fifty yards?"

"Are you saying my boobs are small?" I growled, leaping up onto my elbows to fix him with a challenging eye.

"What's wrong with small?" he cried. "Come on James, you've got the best B-cups in the business! You know I love your Itty Bitties."

"I hate when you call them that," I groused again, fighting back another grin - I secretly loved when he called them that. I loved that he loved my smallish boobs, though I did hate that he knew he could get away with calling them 'the Itty Bitties'.

"Yeah, sure you do. By the way, I reckon that guy's about twenty yards away."

He was looking behind me - my heart froze, as I had my head turned to chastise Brett but my body was still aligned towards the sky, making my bikini-bottoms-only state of affairs all too evident to anyone so close.

I looked. And of course there was no one for miles.

"YOU FUCKER!" I roared, but he was already up and away, whooping and cheering as he sprinted for the water. I gave chase automatically, a half-dozen steps into the pursuit before I realised I was on my feet and sprinting across a wide expanse of flat sand with my tits bared to the world...

But I didn't care. I had to catch Brett and fuck him up for his cheek.

He was fairly quick for his size, our Brett. Five foot ten but nearing 200 pounds, he was built solid and strong. He's proven himself fairly adept at flinging my somewhat-slight frame around a bedroom, but you wouldn't think him capable of covering ground at any significant pace; as it turns out, when he's got a raving topless woman on his heels with her mind bent on retribution, he can move pretty fast.

Not fast enough, though. I am a serving surf life saver, of course; I knew how to maximise my inputs in running across the beach, and once he was in the knee-deep white water, his fate was sealed.

I pounced upon his him, my breasts pressing into his tanned bare back and my arms about his neck even as he kept struggling on. I locked him in a fairly mean choke-hold as I wrapped my legs around his strong, heaving core, my sex suddenly grinding against the small of his back in the most delightful way.

He's plenty wily though, our Brett. He used the impact of a waist-high breaker to fling himself into the water, the jolt loosening my headlock and knocking me free somewhat. He was able to bundle me up and spin me about his torso as he rose back above the surface, even as he kept striding forwards to get us beyond the breakers; and as we stood in deeper and calmer water, the waves surged and fell above and below my chest, caressing my breasts and teasing my nipples relentlessly.

The action of the water on my seldom-bared breasts had been forced to the back of my mind, however. He was hard; he had been aroused from the moment I slipped demurely out of my bikini top, I had seen the bulge in his board shorts ­- noting it casually at the time, as though it was nothing unusual. It was a bit trickier to be so casual about it now though, that his hard-on was pressed rough and needing into my cleft, only his board shorts and my thin bikini-bottom between us.

And he was kissing me. Kissing me as hard as his cock was pressing into me, conveying his want, transmitting his need. Seeing me, being with me as I bared my breasts to the world, had riled him up so quickly and so immensely...

And I was right there, brought right up to speed with his arousal in the space of seconds.

We kissed each other long and lustily, as though we were in a bedroom instead of the plain light of day. My nipples ached as I pushed them into his strong chest, and my clit burned as I ground it against the heft of his shaft. His hands grasped me strongly, traced through my wet hair, down the curve of my back to claim my butt roughly, possessively. My fingertips traced the strength of his jaw, the power in his shoulders, through the tufted thickness of his chest hair and across his stomach to land upon the lump in his shorts, which set him afire anew, his breath hissing inwards at the delicacy of my touch as I cradled his hardness in my hands.

We needed each other. And we needed all barriers gone.

He was hitching my bikini bottoms away even as I started reaching for them - they fell away at his urging, the water lapping and kissing my pussy gently, almost lovingly as he slipped the garment down my legs. I reached down to claim them from him even as he got me naked - naked in public, naked out in the broad daylight and the fresh air, for the first time in my life. I revelled in the feeling, the freedom, the wickedness and wantonness of it, even as I had the sense to claim my bikini bottoms from him and feed my arm through a leg-hole to keep them close, half-suspecting he would "accidentally" lose them and leave me to cross the thirty yards of beach to our towels in my utter nakedness once we were done in the water.

Potential crisis averted, it was time to strip him naked too. His shorts were gone in a flash, pushed rudely down his legs to bare his cock to me - and in another flash that cock was back in my cleft, grinding bare and intimately against my clit and sending a new thrill of shivers throughout my body.

"Mmm..." he growled into my ear, even as he held me as close as can be, grinding into me slowly and teasingly. "I've finally got you naked at a beach," he observed, with satisfaction.

"Congratulations," I allowed, in a low and sexy tone of my own.

"Thank you," he beamed. "Fun, isn't it? Completely starkers, bare to the sun and the world, free to be seen by anyone any minute..."

"I think we're fairly safe out here," I hazarded. "We're a good sixty yards out, my butt's below the water and my boobs are crushed into you - what's there to see?"

I saw the twinkle in his eye, and I instantly knew I'd said too much.

He about-faced me, and suddenly his heft was pressing alarmingly, thrillingly between my butt cheeks, even as his arm wrapped around my pelvis to land his hand on my clit - still safely below water - but now my boobs were again hovering about the waterline, the surge and ebb of the surf causing my breasts to rise into and out of plain sight as he aimed me back towards the beach.

"Still feeling safe?" he teased.

"Fucker," I growled, with a grudging grin.

"You love it, don't you James?" he whispered, even as my eyes fluttered as he delved his fingers along the length of my cleft, alternately delighting my clit and teasing out my own slick moisture from within. "Just the thought of it... of someone seeing you... laying eyes upon these beautiful Itty Bitties, seeing the look on your face as I touch you from behind..."

"You talk too much," I grumbled, through a grin. "Won't you hurry up and fuck me already?"

"Mmm, could do," he allowed, even as he hitched me up - lifting my boobs even higher out of the water, my naked hips and thighs and pussy falling clear into the open air as the surf surged backwards, and he tipped me forwards a little to probe between my legs with the tip of his cock...

"Could do?" I challenged, fighting through my mounting anticipation as Brett's big blunt bell-end pushed harder, finding its way deeper; I was struggling against the new surge of adrenaline and adventure brought as he held my whole body above the waves. "Got any better plans?"

"Funny you should ask," I heard him grin - and all of a sudden, his cock was gone, he spun me about and treated me to a shit-eating grin, even as he declared:

"Come with me to the nude beach. Or no sex for a week."

I was lost for words, for all of three seconds. "FUCKING WHAT?" I nearly shouted in reply. "Are you fucking serious?"

He was laughing at me - but I could see it in his eyes. He was absolutely serious, and fully prepared to use my own stand-over tactic against me.

"Oh come on!" I berated him. "That, right there, would have been one of the greatest fucks ever! Right here and now, in the surf and the sun, at a perfectly good beach where you've got me horny as fuck - and you're pulling this 'nude beach' shit on me now?"

"You know you wanna," he returned, his grin cranking up another shit-eating notch.

"Like fuck I'm gonna!" I fired back, grabbing my bikini bottom from around my arm and fighting my legs into it - surprisingly difficult in a two-foot swell, with a handsome lout naked as day and hard as a diamond standing in front of me and grinning like a loon.

"Aww, come on Jamie," Brett cajoled, even as hoisted his shorts and gave chase as I stormed back to the beach, my arms crossed over my bared boobs. "If you really are 'horny as fuck', as if you would knock back a chance to put yourself on show and get some sun on your fanny? You know you'll enjoy it," he added.

"Maybe I would have," I grumbled, "if I wasn't being blackmailed into it."

"'Blackmail' is such a very harsh term," he nearly laughed at me. "Look: we don't often get these sunny afternoons to each other, we usually can only meet up of an evening. You're in the mood, and you've had a taste of the life with 'tits-and-twat' out and proud - if ever there's a time to get us to the nude beach, now is that time. And I'll make it worth your while..." he added, trailing off meaningfully.

I looked at him. "Are you saying..." I began. "You mean: you'll do 'the thing'?"

"I will," he replied, solemnly and seriously. "And you know I'll never promise to do 'the thing' unless I really mean it."

I looked at him hard. I really didn't want to reward this kind of arse-hat behaviour.

But then again, saying no to 'the thing' is hard. Really, really hard.

And he still had his damn hard-on. It's also really hard telling him 'no' when he's pointing that thing at me.

"Okay, fine!" I yelled, at him and the world. "I'll go to your damned nude beach, fuck ya."

He laughed, both with delight at having got what he wanted, and at the way I was carrying on. "Thank you, Jamie," he grinned, eyes all a-twinkle, and he moved in for another, incredibly steamy and passionate kiss.

"Yes yes," I returned, eventually breaking out of his trademarked Brett-the-excellent-kisser embrace - there was actually someone coming. It was another couple walking our way and I had only just spotted them; they were well within my hundred-yard barrier and getting closer. "Where's my bloody bikini top?"

He was suddenly a picture of faux-innocence. "Bikini... top?" he repeated, as though hearing the words for the first time in his life.

"Don't fuck me around Brett," I warned him. "I don't want to go tits-out here and now, at this beach, damn you!"

He appeared to have relented, and he was rooting around in our bag - only to come out with the shirt I had worn over my bikini top on the way to the beach, a very thin and sheer white linen number. "Will this do?"

"No it will fucking not do!" I hissed. "Where's my bikini top, dammit!"

"They're getting pretty close..." Brett observed - he'd seen the couple coming too, damn his hide, and he knew he had the upper hand.

"I will get you back for this," I promised him, as I struggled urgently into the shirt. And I had only just started on the first button when I heard...

"Jamie? Jamie!"

My blood ran cold. But of course it was someone I knew.

And not just anyone - it was Teresa, the head of the Parents and Citizens group at my boys' new school. And her husband, what's-his-name, being towed along by the hand with his standard vacuous stare plastered across his face.

"Brett McGinty, I am going to fucking murder you," I promised, even as Brett choked down a guffaw.

"Teresa," I called out warmly in reply, my fingers a-flurry as I worked through more of my buttons. "How are you guys? It's so good to see you."

"Oh it's good to see you too!" Teresa replied warmly, and even though I was two buttons away from where I wanted to be on my shirt, she and what-was-his-name were upon us and it was time for the air-kisses and warm smiles. I had no bikini top or bra on under a too-thin shirt and not quite enough buttons done up to hide as much, and only a rather small and hastily-stepped-into bikini bottom on down below, and here were two very lovely people who I'd gotten to know only recently...

And there was nothing to do but own it.

"What brings you guys out here?" I quizzed, managing to sound as though everything was fine. "Bit of a haul from down our way."

"Teresa's mother lives two blocks back from this beach," what's-his-face answered for his wife, from behind his sunglasses; it was very hard to know what he was looking at while he spoke to me, leaving me happy to assume he was actually looking me in the eye.

"Oh that's a nice part of the world," Brett spoke up. "I'm very jealous - I've always wanted to find a place around these parts."

"As have we!" Teresa returned, smiling even as she sized up my Brett, who very clearly was not my husband. "I'm sorry - you're not Mick, are you?" she added, as though it wasn't patently obvious.

"Haha, no," Brett grinned. "I'm Brett, Jamie's illicit lover."

I knew it was coming because he'd done it before, so I didn't freeze up with guilt - I instead pulled a face and rolled my eyes. Despite the absolute truth of it, Brett liked to introduce himself that way along with a huge joking grin and a massive twinkle in his eye, which along with the utter outrageousness of the claim everyone always took to mean he was cracking a huge joke, and he'd always earn a huge laugh.

Which he did again here, Teresa and fucking-what's-the-guy's-name splitting up at the seams. "Oh you!" Teresa cried. "Oh you wicked thing you!"

"Hah hah, yes that's always hilarious," I deadpanned. "This is Brett, my homosexual brother-in-law."

And Brett laughed long and loud at that too - I hadn't returned with that before, and it must have caught him off guard. "BI-sexual, my dear," he returned at me, before favouring both Teresa and anonymous-hubby with a saucy look.

"Oh dear," Teresa returned. "You are a live wire, aren't you? Well we've obviously caught you both packing up to get going," she went on, "but I couldn't walk on by without saying hello. Jamie, you're still good for the Cake Stall at next weekend's School Fete?"

"Very much so," I assured her - and yes, I am the type of mum who loves a good Cake Stall, go ahead and sue me.

"Fantastic!" Teresa crowed. "Isn't that fantastic, Darling?"

"That is fantastic," her Darling returned on-cue.

"Well then we'll leave you to it," Teresa concluded. "Great to see you Jamie, and lovely to meet you Brett! Give our regards to Mick and the boys," she added, and they were on their way.

I counted to ten, taking a few breaths to slow my racing heart. And then I looked down at myself - at the gap between my undone buttons, being very much the bare and empty patch of skin immediately between my breasts, clearly and obviously displaying not only that I wore nothing underneath, but also a few scant moments before I had been wearing pretty much nothing at all.