tagNonConsent/ReluctanceStephanie at the Beach

Stephanie at the Beach


Stephanie Ross, lying prone on a beach towel, couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did this stranger just walk up to her and say "Nice ass"?

He was just a voice; she would have to crane her neck to see who he was. She could already concede the man had a discerning eye: out of all her features that might draw a man's interest, she was most proud of her rear end. She was turning 23, and reasonably pretty, though disappointed in her breasts, which she wished were naturally bigger, and her hips and tummy, where an excess ten pounds or so wouldn't seem to go away. But she liked the way she looked from behind, her bottom firm and ripe like a golden peach. She had come to the beach alone, stretching out on a big towel, to show off her best side and give it some sun. Her cheeks stretched a bikini bottom one size too small. Her top was the right size, but that mattered little because it was untied.

She didn't mind people looking; she enjoyed the anonymous attention. Probably a few dozen people had checked her out already. But for someone to comment out loud: wasn't that a little rude? No one had been that brash, until now. If he was cute, maybe she'd have to re-tie her top and get to know him. She turned her head to get a sideways glance at her admirer.

He was tall, dark -- African-American -- and... quite handsome. He wore a pair of Hawaiian board shorts and nothing else, showing a flat stomach and broad chest. Not a bodybuilder, but just fit, from healthy eating and outdoor activity. Warm face, strong chin and a bright, confident smile. About 30 years old. No ring. Damn, he was cute! She twisted further to get a better look at him, almost leaning on her side now. She wasn't concerned that she was exposing her breasts to him; she hoped it might even work to her favor. As she got another look at him, especially how he filled out those shorts -- she worried not at all about this man seeing her topless. She wouldn't mind at all if he saw her naked. He could take her home now, leaving her top here, a mystery for some curious discoverer. On the way to his house, she'd cover her breasts with her hands for modesty's sake. At his front door, she'd drop her hands, and wriggle out of her bikini bottom, leaving it where it fell. He'd strip out of those shorts, and --

Cool it, Steph, she told herself. You're not even sure what he said, and you're running away with him. She shaded her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"My apologies if I offended you." His voice was a radio announcer's baritone. He peeked at her breasts, then kept a polite eye contact. "Sometimes if I'm not careful, I vocalize thoughts that may be better kept to myself."

"That's all right; I just didn't hear what you said."

He chuckled. "I merely observed that the lady sunbathing in front of me had a shapely rear end." He was in no trouble. If she was going to protest, she would have already done so. He enjoyed a longer look, gazing at her bare legs, her shoulders, her breasts. She had a very cute face, with bright eyes, and furled brows, as if she were trying to decide how offended she should pretend to be. "In fact," he said, "she looks good all over."

She flushed, and felt a river of warmth flood into her. She felt her nipples start to crinkle, and even a moistening between her legs. That was fast, she thought. His voice, his looks, and his attention were turning her on. She was almost naked here, with a stranger whose name she didn't even know, her only clothing that one-size-too-small bikini bottom: and she wanted that off too. He was making her feel like a shy freshman with an unrequited crush on the high school football star. But it shouldn't have felt like that at all; he was the one who noticed her. He made the first move. This should be easy, she thought. But it won't happen if I sit here and dissolve into a pile of jelly.

She sat up, covering her breasts, only because others might object. "So are you all talk, Mr....?"

"Winston. Winston Jeffries." He crouched and offered a handshake. She extended a hand, and adjusted the other to cover both breasts, flashing a bare nipple for a moment.

"I'm Stephanie." And, um, I want you to take me home. Now.

"Well, Stephanie, I have a few things to do today, but I could take care of those now, clear my schedule. Should take about an hour. Then I'll pick you up. Sound good?"

"Pick me up?" She grinned, probably looking goofy and shy, feeling silly for worrying about it. "What do you have planned for me?"

He chuckled and stood up. "See you in 60 minutes."

She watched him walk away, resisting the impulse to punch a triumphant fist in the air, to stand up and dance in joy. She admired his tight ass and broad shoulders until he turned a corner, waved, and walked out of sight. This was perfect; she couldn't wait. That hour would probably seem to take forever. She wore no watch, so there was no way of telling. She exhaled in a swoony smile and lay down again on her tummy. Hurry up, Winston, she thought. For now, she would enjoy the clean, warm air, the steady sun, the sounds of surf and frisbee games and kids having fun. She would look forward to some different sensations later.

She replayed the meeting in her mind, enjoying the damp, tropical warmth growing between her legs. Winston had blatantly undressed her with his eyes, not that there was much he would have to do, just pull the rest of that pesky bikini off. And he did appreciate the free show; the more she thought about it, the more peeks she remembered him sneaking at her bare breasts. Well, she could accommodate that; maybe around the house (geez, I'm moving in with him already, she mused), she would wear only a pair of bikini briefs. Or nothing at all, if he liked. She'd wear something when there were visitors, a little crop top or bikini halter; something sexy, and recklessly revealing. No bra, of course; heck, no panties either, unless that was all she had. She'd be turned on all the time.

Maybe she would become comfortable enough around his friends that the panties would be all she'd need. After a few visits, they would dare her to take off her top; she'd be hesitant at first, covering up with her hands, and the first few times with her breasts bared would be unnerving and thrilling. After a while, it would seem natural, and she would decide she didn't need a top anyway. They'd make up excuses to come more often, not really for Winston but for his cute girlfriend, all blonde hair, bare breasts and cute ass, wearing only that tiny pair of panties. Stir their imaginations. She'd flirt with his buddies a little bit, maybe let them cop an occasional feel, let her nipples grow stiff.

They'd never get tired of seeing her bare boobs, but they'd probably get used to it; and of course they'd be interested in what was still covered up. How far would she tease them? Would she allow an affectionate pat on the butt during a kiss goodbye? Probably. But Winston's friends would always test their limits. Would she allow a reach inside her panties to grope her bare butt cheeks? What if someone playfully yanked her panties down? She could picture that: a few bare-bottom spanks as she hopped away and tried to pull them back up. What they'd really want, though, is to take them all the way off. She'd plead to have them back, and they'd play keep-away. Naked, she'd have to chase for them, hopping up and down, or even wrestle someone for them. The guys would gang up on her, mauling her boobs and stiff, sensitive nipples, reaching for her glistening, swelling pussy...

The fantasy was making her giddy. Not only was she living with Winston now, she was hanging around naked with his friends, who each time would grow a little bolder, presuming more and more. Back on the beach, she found herself squirming, grinding her pussy into the towel. Stop, she told herself. Think of how bad that looks. She wished she could figure out a way to reach down and touch herself with no one noticing. Reaching underneath her body, inside her bikini bottom, feeling scratchy pubic hair and her hot, soaked pussy lips... no, there was probably no way. A peek between her legs would reveal what she was doing, even if the motion of her body did not. She was conspicuous enough just sunbathing here. She sighed. She knew if she started touching herself, she'd get so horny she would no longer care who saw what.

Winston was taking forever. She had no idea what time it was; the sun seemed to have reached its peak and started to descend. Mid-afternoon, already? That was way too long. Certainly more than an hour. She levered herself up a few inches on her forearms, revealing little more than some interesting cleavage from the right viewpoint, and peered in the direction she'd seen him leave, as if he might be standing there, waiting for her, or descending the concrete steps from the parking lot. She decided to give him five more minutes. When it felt like that had passed, she gave him another five. She finally had to accept that he wasn't coming back. She bit her lip. Did he have second thoughts? A call from his other girlfriend? There seemed to be no polite reason for it. She had been stood up. She felt foolish, and cheated. All that buildup (and her body was still hungry), for nothing.

Stephanie was at a loss for what to do now. Whatever plans she'd had earlier in the morning, before Winston came by, had been forgotten. Now he was gone as well. The afternoon was suddenly open, and she had no idea how to spend it. Maybe just stay here and fantasize about what should have happened? Her body favored that idea, still aroused from fantasies of sex with Winston, and naughty fooling around with his handsome friends. It seemed a shame to let that good feeling subside.

She wished she could take off the bikini bottom. This wasn't a nude beach, or even a topless beach; laying prone with the top untied was the most any woman ever did. There were a few thongs, and a couple of swimsuits she had seen that were quite revealing when wet; but no bare bottoms or breasts in the open. Maybe it was best to just head home; but she was reluctant to get up and leave, to just give up and write off the entire day. A little dare would be fun.

She reasoned that laying on her stomach with her bikini completely off would probably be fine. It was just her butt. Heck, a thong practically bared a woman's butt anyway. She'd never seen another woman strip her bikini bottom here, but that didn't mean anything. And maybe another Winston would come along. Still turned on, hungry for some sort of release but unsure of how to get it, she talked herself into doing it.

Getting the bikini off would be a little clumsy; she couldn't turn over or sit up, of course. She would have to do it blind. She reached behind her back, found the waistband, and toyed with it a bit. Are you ready for this, Steph? she thought. She reached inside, and cupped her butt cheeks as she had imagined Winston's friends would do. Yes. She wanted to do this. Laying prone, she pushed the bikini bottom down as far as she could reach, just off her butt onto her thighs. It was loose now, all tension gone, almost a feeling of relief. And her bare bottom welcomed the sun. She couldn't see in back of her, but imagined she was attracting attention already.

Maybe this is far enough, she thought, but decided no, that wasn't enough. She wanted it off completely. Not a scrap of fabric anywhere on her body. She couldn't reach far enough, laying flat on her stomach, so the next step would be a little tricky, and put her in an awkward position. She drew her knees toward her, raising her butt in the air. It wouldn't do to spend too much time like this; she could only imagine how suggestive it looked. There was a pretty clear view of her pussy lips; she couldn't clamp her legs tightly together to hide, because she needed to reach between them. She quickly edged the bikini bottom, now a shapeless tangle of fabric, down toward her knees. That wouldn't be far enough; she would have to move it past her knees to be able to kick it off. She propped up her upper body, balanced on a forearm, and dug her tiptoes into the sand, raising her knees off the towel; by shimmying her butt and thighs, and flicking with her outstretched fingers, she was able to slide the bikini bottom to her calves. It took longer than she had hoped. In this position, she realized she concealed hardly everything; her breasts hung free (but didn't hang much, she mused wryly, too small for that), her bare ass wiggled invitingly, her pussy lips were still showing; and even her pubic hair could be seen from underneath at the right angle. She kidded herself, thinking she might as well just turn over on her back, let her boobs bake in the sun, spread her legs and finger herself right there. She'd have to be careful to not dare herself into doing it.

She lay back down, happy to be in a more modest position. Not far to go now; using only her legs and feet, she maneuvered the bikini bottom down and kicked it away. Probably a little too far; out of reach; she didn't see where it went. She'd worry about it later. Now she was nude, the sun caressing every bit of her skin, and it felt glorious. Completely worth the embarrassment of stripping off. Her pussy savored the open air and wished her legs could part just a little bit more; it fairly pined for her finger, a caress along the lips, a loving insertion inside. She smiled as she imagined a man passing by, casually taking the sight in and then doing a double-take, realizing that she wasn't just wearing a thong, she had nothing at all, naked head to toe.

Something didn't feel quite right, something unfinished, and Stephanie realized what it was: her bikini top, untied of course, but her breasts were still resting on the flattened cups. She propped up, reached underneath, and pulled the top out. She tossed it aside, another hard throw, like a bridal bouquet. That felt better: instead of the soft cups of her bikini top, there was the rougher fabric of the towel against her breasts. Now everything was really off.

There would be a small problem when she was ready to leave: both parts of her bikini were beyond her reach. She could see the top, a good distance away; she couldn't see where the bottom had ended up. She would have to crawl to retrieve them, revealing more than she had planned. She decided she would worry about that when the time came.

Over time, she thought, she would be able to perfect a system of stripping her bikini off in public while showing as little as possible. As lovely as it felt to be nude, she doubted she'd ever go back to wearing a bikini full time, except when she had to. At Winston's parties, on the other hand...

She shook her head. Winston was gone. Stop thinking about him.

She smiled at the image of tossing her top away like a bridal bouquet, and spun it into another fantasy. At her wedding (whenever that would be), she would do a few things her way.

In her daydream, dinner had been served and cleared, and the reception was in full swing, the crowd warmed up by "Celebrate", "YMCA" and the other standards. The DJ cleared the floor and asked the men to stand by for the garter toss. Stephanie stood alone in the center of the dance floor, still in her wedding dress. Her husband stood alongside the other men; he would not be the one pulling out the garter.

Her maid of honor, Gretchen, strode out. She had taken off her dress and shoes; she now wore only dark violet bikini underwear, the satin material complementing her dark eyes and hair. Gretchen wasn't Stephanie's best friend, but she was by far the sexiest, and the best for this role. Her full breasts filled out her delicate bra.

Most conversation ceased; the bride and groom had not told anyone what would happen. Stephanie noticed Gretchen had reapplied her lipstick in a darker shade to match her lingerie. She looked beautiful. She stood beside Stephanie and whispered: "Are you ready?"

Stephanie nodded. Yes, she was nervous, but had made Gretchen promise not to let her chicken out.

Gretchen unzipped Stephanie's dress and carefully helped her take it off. It would be saved, freeze-dried, and boxed, all those things brides did to preserve that moment forever. The guests murmured in surprise at what the bride wore now: snowy white bra and panties, lacy and see-through. Stephanie's frantic diet and fitness program had brought about great results, and her body looked spectacular. Even in her wedding dress, she had enjoyed the appreciative gazes of the men present, and now they were getting a really good look. Her areolae peeked above the sheer demi-bra and her panties showed a shadowy triangle of bush. A garter was perched halfway up her bare thigh, attached to nothing, looking useless and silly; but the wedding garter was only a symbol.

Gretchen peeled off the garter and handed it to Stephanie. She tossed it up, and there was an end-zone scuffle for it. A groomsman triumphantly held up his prize; the others slapped his back, and parted to let him forward. She motioned the others to wait, and called the winner over. She pointed to her thigh, where the garter had been, and instructed him to kiss it. He knelt and gave her a genteel kiss, then stood up and bowed. The crowd whooped. The guy's dick tented his trousers.

Stephanie steeled herself: there would be more. Gretchen unhooked her bra clasp in back, then reached forward and took the bra off. The crowd gasped as the bride's breasts were bared. She asked the men, Are you Ready? and they cheered. She turned away, teasing the men with a wiggle of the hips, and then tossed the bra over her shoulder. She whirled around to see who had caught it: an old classmate from college, emerging from a pile of men, holding the bra aloft like a flag from Iwo Jima. He strode forward as if accepting an Oscar. She pointed to the nipple, already stiff, on her left breast. He kissed it once, then hugged her bare back and licked her breast feverishly, like a puppy dog attacking an ice cream cone, and the image made her giggle even as she was getting turned on. He took longer than expected, and then moved to her other breast and slobbered all over it as well. He'd had a few beers. His hands moved to her ass, started fumbling with the only article of clothing she had left, and she decided that was plenty for him. She lay a palm gently on his forehead and firmly pushed him away. He straightened up and gave her a clumsy bow, to a roar from the other guys. She glanced down: her breasts were slick with his saliva and glistened in the light of chandelier and camera flash.

Gretchen stood behind Stephanie, their bodies touching. She hooked her thumbs in Stephanie's panties at the hip and spoke again in her ear. "Is this going the way you wanted?"

"Kind of!" said Stephanie.


"Maybe!" she said, laughing.

Gretchen knelt beside Stephanie, looking very sexy on her own, but getting almost none of the attention. She teasingly, gradually inched Stephanie's panties over her hips, down her thighs and calves, and off her feet. Nude, Stephanie stood through a moment of stage fright, the noise and attention from the crowd seeming unreal. "You're beautiful!" Gretchen said, close to her ear, but a whisper wouldn't have been heard. Gretchen stroked her friend's bare bottom, a gesture of friendly support, and Stephanie shivered again.

She took a deep breath, licked a fingertip and drew it along her pussy lips, which were already hot and moist. Her body wasn't frightened at all; it was all in her head. The guys knew what was coming up next, and elbowed each other aside. Gretchen handed her the panties. She wound up and threw underhand, watching the panties unfurl and drift in the air. They were caught -

- by one of her father's business associates, a graying vice president, married and with children Stephanie's age. He walked up confidently, like a president about to be inaugurated. Stephanie planted her feet at shoulder width, and Gretchen held her shoulders for support. The man knelt in his expensive suit, grabbed Stephanie's ass, and kissed each inner thigh, just inches away from her pussy. Then he dove in.

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