The Lawyer Who Was Waiting for Me on the Coastal Beach

Before I tell what happened that morning, I need to explain who they were, because without that nothing that follows would make any sense. They were a couple with many years of marriage behind them, one of those pairs that seem to have tried everything and still manage to surprise each other. He told me bluntly: for a long time he had wanted to see her with another man, although he never dared say it.

It had all started as a game between them. One night, while he was stroking her with a dildo, he whispered in her ear to imagine it was someone else taking her. She came like she hadn’t in years. That reaction gave him the clue he was looking for, and over time he slowly led her toward that fantasy.

He encouraged her to feel more desired, both in and out of bed. She changed the way she dressed, without losing the elegance her work required, but letting something new show through. The looks she got in the street started coming on their own, and the compliments too. That turned her on, and little by little she told him she masturbated thinking about other men.

What was curious was how the roles were reversed. He, who had always been the dominant macho, became the submissive one. She, who had let herself be led, took charge. It didn’t happen overnight: it was months of intimate talks, toys, outings with girlfriends, and whispered confessions. When that change finally settled in, they both discovered they were happier that way.

I’m telling you all this out of respect for them and for the lifestyle they chose. My involvement was part of a fantasy shared by the three of us, each in their place.

We met through this same page. We started writing to each other, first with him, then with her, and soon with both of them at once. We talked about desires, boundaries, what each of us was looking for. Over time we built trust, until one day they told me they would be traveling to Santa Lucía del Litoral: she had a conference and he would accompany her. We agreed to meet, nothing more than that.

It was the beginning of summer and the first heat was already being felt in the north. Everything invited you to be outdoors, so the three of us met on the riverfront for a drink. They were pleasant, easy to talk to, and from the very first minute it was clear she was the one holding the reins. She was over forty-five and took care of herself: tall, blonde, long legs, and an attitude that dripped sensuality without trying. Beside her, he seemed dimmed, shoulders slumped and eyes lowered, as if his only role were to accompany her.

The sunset was falling over the river while we chatted in a bar by the water. She called him a cuckold with total naturalness, and he accepted it without discomfort; I was the only one surprised. We spoke in double meanings, laughed, let the tension do its work. At one point she leaned toward me and said, looking straight at me:

—When the conference ends, we’ll stay a few days. I want to enjoy myself.

I didn’t break eye contact. I took her by the wrist, squeezed lightly, and answered:

—Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy yourself a lot.

The speed of my response threw her off. For a moment we looked at each other in silence, her not withdrawing her hand. Then she laughed, nervously, and turned to her husband.

—Come on, we need to go back to the hotel and change.

Before saying goodbye, we agreed to spend the next morning on the beach, sunbathing. We exchanged two kisses and I watched them walk away.

***

Mornings on those beaches are ideal: even sun, very few people, clear water, and fish swimming around your legs. I picked them up at the hotel in my car. I had brought only the essentials: a folding chair, an umbrella, and the mate set. I waited a while until she came out, and it was striking. Without her lawyer outfit, she was dazzling.

Sandals and a net dress woven with loose threads that let the Brazilian bikini underneath show through. Dark glasses, hair loose, a wide-brimmed hat, and her phone in hand. She walked with absolute confidence, haughty, as if she owned the place. I looked at her and thought: if I ever get involved with her, I’m going to have to tame this mare, or she’ll walk all over me.

Behind her came him, completing the picture: carrying the bag and the mat, wearing bermuda-style swim trunks and a cap, in the attitude of the perfect submissive. She got in front; he, in back. Two kisses on the cheek for her, a fist bump for him, and we headed off.

We went to one of the beaches beside the General Lavalle bridge. The day was perfect, with a heat that made you want to throw yourself on the sand. We found a spot at one end, far from the small crowd there at that hour. He set everything up carefully—chair, umbrella, mat—so she could lie down and sunbathe. Meanwhile, she and I went into the river, and he stayed watching.

The moment she took off her dress was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. She stood with her legs just slightly apart, brought her hands to her shoulders, slid the straps down, and let the garment fall slowly. The fabric caught on her breasts for an instant and ended up on the sand. She was left exposed to everyone in a fuchsia swimsuit with white trim that stood out against her tanned skin. At once she drew the eyes of the men and the envy of the women.

We walked toward the water, stepping on the hot sand, quickening our pace until we reached the shore.

—It’s cold —she said.

—Let your body get used to it. Keep going, at least until it covers your waist.

She did as I said. She went under up to her neck and came back out; the wet body showed two peaks pushing through the fabric. Her nipples were rock hard. We talked for a good while, cooling off, looking each other over carefully, as if scanning one another. I looked at her eyes, her firm breasts, her long legs. She took in my shoulders, my back, and, without hiding it, dropped her gaze to my wet swimwear.

When we came out of the water I let her go ahead. I couldn’t stop looking at her ass, and she sensed it, because she moved her hips more than necessary. She wrung out her hair, put on her glasses, and lay face down on the mat.

—Will you put sunscreen on me? —she asked.

I thought she was saying it to her husband, but she insisted, looking at me.

—You. Not him.

Her husband handed me the lotion and sat down beside her, under the umbrella.

I started slowly, from her ankles, moving up behind the knees with slight pressure, almost a massage. When I got to her ass I deliberately skipped it and went to the sides of her hips. She wriggled from the tickling and let out a short laugh. Beside her, her husband stared wide-eyed; he enjoyed seeing me grope his wife in front of him.

—I love it —she said, in the voice of a horny cat.

Things were getting hot. I poured oil on her back and, without asking permission, undid the strap of her swimsuit. She held her breasts to the sides, rested on her elbows, and lifted herself slightly. I spread the liquid over her back in circles, brushing the base of her breasts and going down her spine to the edge of the fabric. From there I changed my attitude: I stopped being gentle. I scratched her back lightly, went down to her ass, and gave her a small slap. She jumped and looked at me, surprised. I held her gaze, as if to tell her who was in charge. She lowered her eyes and smiled.

Her husband moved around to block the scene from the rest of the beach, so nobody would notice how excited his wife was getting. And she, meanwhile, was thinking about who was watching her, about who might recognize her. They’ll think I’m some slut, and I’m a lawyer. That idea turned her on even more.

There we were, the three of us: her face down, with the top part loosened and her body shining with oil. Me beside her, brushing her skin at every touch. And him, silent under the umbrella, fanning himself with his cap and drinking water, nervous, trying to shield the view from the rest of the beach.

I leaned over her, brushed against her with my chest, and asked in her ear:

—Do you want me to keep going?

She moved her hair away from her face and answered, certain:

—Yes. Keep going. I want him to see us.

—I love how bold you are —I told her.

I changed position. I knelt beside her and slipped one leg between hers, forcing them open. I went up with both hands from her glutes along the sides, tickling her and reaching her nipples. I twisted them with my fingertips and pinched them. She moaned, complained, but opened her legs wider and lifted her ass just enough, giving me a perfect view. I swear a scent came from her cunt that drew me in like a magnet.

I took the oil and poured it over her buttocks, pulling her swimsuit aside a little so the liquid would run down the crease. I massaged slowly until my fingers brushed her lips. I could feel her getting desperate. She lifted her head, checked to make sure no one was watching, looked at her husband, and gave him a smile.

—You like how they’re turning me on —she told him—. It makes me feel naughty.

There was a game between them that pleased both of them. He was on the edge, blocking people’s view with the chair, looking everywhere, with the outline of his erection pressing against his swimwear.

Her sex was soaked. I knew it from the stain on the fuchsia fabric and because my fingers slid in without effort. She was very hot; my hands could feel it all over her body. She had the thrill of being the one in charge of her relationship and, at the same time, being dominated by a stranger in a public place. She wanted to resist and couldn’t. She gave in.

And that turned me on even more. I didn’t care about the place or the people; on the contrary. My fingers in a V shape traveled up and down her cunt, reached near the clit and pressed it lightly, sending shivers through her. Then I slipped one under the fabric and played with that spot until I had her trembling. Her nipples dug into the sand, her legs tightened, her breathing quickened.

Without warning, I slid a finger in. She shuddered and buried her face in the mat. She felt it going all the way in and out slowly. I went back in, this time with two. One, two, three times. I twisted my hand and searched for her exact spot, that rough place that made her choke back her moans against the sand. She was coming in silence, holding it in, while the sensation of being surrounded by people drove her insane.

Just then a couple came walking by. He was distracted; she looked at us with wide eyes and understood everything at a glance. Embarrassed, but with a touch of envy, she gave us a conspiratorial smile and kept walking. My companion looked again at her husband —more exposed than ever, drinking water and sweating— and thought about who she was away from that beach: the respected professional, the woman who stole looks in the courts, now surrendered to the fingers of a stranger who had seduced her from afar and brought her to give herself over on the coast.

I felt she was about to explode. I rested one hand beside her face, leaned over her back, and made her feel my breathing on the nape of her neck and my erection against her. I didn’t stop moving. I whispered in her ear:

—I love that you enjoy it like this. Take advantage of it, nobody knows you here.

I paused and went on:

—Now you’re mine. Do you understand?

She didn’t answer. I insisted firmly:

—Do you understand?

—Yes… I am —she said, caught between the answer and the pleasure.

I sped up. She grabbed my arm, trembled, tightened her legs, stretched out her toes, contracted her whole body. She took my wrist on the hand I had buried in her, trying to pull it away. I didn’t let her.

—Enjoy it —I told her, just as a hot wave soaked my hand.

I felt her relax slowly. I brushed her body with mine and slowly withdrew my hand, moving up along the crease until I brushed her other spot. I leaned to her ear and said, in the most perverse voice I could manage:

—This isn’t over. There’s still the back to do.

To be continued…