The Mermaid I Discovered in the Forbidden Cove

For three weeks I had been returning to the cove every afternoon, always at the same time, always by the same sandy path that disappears behind the dunes. The cove is technically mine—or my wife’s, really, since she inherited it from her uncles—but for the past month it has belonged to Alba. And I have become the thief who watches her from hiding.

Alba is twenty-eight, has two master’s degrees, and a job in Barcelona she never talks about. She is Ignacio’s daughter, my best friend since university, and this summer she has already been staying for a month at her grandmother’s house, ten minutes from ours along the beach. I recently turned forty-two. Clara and I have been together for fourteen years and have two young children. And what I’m doing—I know it perfectly well—has no good name.

The first time was accidental. I went out for a walk at sunset, rounded the headland, and saw her. She was alone, the beach deserted, the tide low. She pulled off her dress in one swift motion and was left wearing only the bottom half of her bikini. Something inside me broke without a sound. Since then I return every afternoon, at exactly eight-thirty, and hide among the pines on the high dune. From there I can see the entire cove without anyone seeing me.

That late-August afternoon was different. A southerly wind was beginning to blow, and the sea was rough. I was already in my spot when I saw her coming down the path, barefoot, with her pareo tied around her waist and a rolled-up towel under her arm. Her copper-colored hair hung loose, reaching halfway down her back, and she walked with the calm confidence of someone who believes she’s being watched only by the seagulls.

She spread the towel over the sand. Untied the pareo. Took off the black dress in two slow, almost ceremonial movements, and was left wearing only the white bikini bottoms. She had the most beautiful tits I had ever seen: round, high, firm, with dark nipples already erect from the cool evening air. She stood still for a moment, facing the sea, breathing. Then she walked toward the shore.

She went in without hesitation, as always. I watched her sink to her waist, then her chest, until the waves lapped at her nipples. She let her wet hair come completely loose and began to swim on her back, on her side, facedown, as if the water were part of her. She looked like a mermaid, I thought, and the instant I thought it, I hated how corny I had become in her hands.

I was already hard. I can’t deny it. I had been hard for ten minutes, ever since I’d seen the dress fall. I opened my fly with clumsy fingers, pulled out my cock, and gripped it with my right hand, watching her.

Alba suddenly stopped in the middle of the water, submerged up to her neck. She remained still, staring at the horizon. Then she raised her hands beneath the water and began to touch her tits. Slowly. With her open palm, with her fingertips, squeezing her nipples. I watched her tilt her head back and open her mouth. Watched her bite her lip. Watched her lower one hand to her hip and lose it beneath her bikini.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I moved my hand over my cock at the same pace I imagined she was touching her pussy. I could feel it hard as a rock, swollen, the head already shining with pre-cum. I squeezed my balls with my other hand. I watched her masturbate thirty meters away as if the world had stopped. She didn’t know. She thought she was alone. She thought only the seagulls were watching her, and it was me, it was me devouring every gesture from the pines.

I watched her arch her back. Watched her squeeze one tit with her free hand. Watched her move her hips against her own hand beneath the water, a short, rhythmic, uncontrollable rocking motion. Watched her part her lips without a sound. Watched her come in the salt water with her eyes closed and a grimace that was pure pleasure and also something close to pain.

I held out a little longer. Watched her finish. Watched her catch her breath. Watched her submerge completely to wash herself, and when I saw her emerge from the water, her wet tits gleaming in the orange light of the setting sun, I came. I came in streams against a pine, my hand tight around my cock, without taking my eyes off her for a second, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t let out a moan.

When she finished getting dressed, I was still trembling. She pulled the black dress over her head, picked up the towel, and tied on the pareo. She ran her fingers through her wet hair. She looked toward the pines for a second—toward me, without seeing me, or perhaps suspecting something for the first time—and left the way she had come, leaving behind in the sand footprints the tide would erase within an hour.

***

When I got home, Clara had already put the children to bed. She was on the sofa with a glass of wine and a show she wasn’t paying attention to, wearing a short nightgown, her legs folded beneath her ass. She looked at me from the sofa with that half-smile she’s had for fourteen years and asked whether I’d been delayed for some reason.

“I got lost in my head while I was walking,” I told her.

I went to the kitchen, poured myself a drink, and looked at her from across the counter. I looked at my wife, the mother of my children, with that August-brown skin and her tits pressed against the thin cotton of her nightgown. And for a second I saw her, Alba, touching her pussy beneath the water. And my cock went hard again.

I set down my glass. Walked over to the sofa. Sat beside her and ran my hand along her thigh, up toward the inside. Clara glanced at me, a little amused, a little puzzled.

“What’s gotten into you today?”

“I really want you,” I whispered.

I kissed her before she could answer. Kissed her hard, thrusting my tongue deep into her mouth, biting her lower lip. I squeezed one of her tits through the nightgown. Pinched her nipple until I heard her exhale. I slid my hand beneath the fabric, between her legs, and found what I’d already expected: Clara was soaking wet.

“Come on,” I said.

I took her by the wrist and led her to the bedroom without turning off the television. She let me, smiling. I closed the door with my foot. Tore the nightgown over her head and pushed her onto the bed. I looked at her lying there, my fourteen years of family and routine, while in my head Alba was emerging from the water with her wet tits.

I knelt between her legs. Opened her thighs with my hands. Licked her pussy from bottom to top, long and flat-tongued, until she jerked. Sucked her clit between my lips, my tongue hard, moving in circles the way I know drives her crazy. I pushed in two fingers and curled the tips upward, searching for that spot that makes her clamp her thighs together. I felt her close around my hand and let out a low, hoarse moan. Clara isn’t quiet when I eat her pussy. Clara is the kind who grabs my head and squeezes.

“Yes, like that, don’t stop,” she begged, digging her fingers into my hair.

I ate her pussy until I felt her trembling, until I felt that contraction that comes right before she comes. And then I stopped. I stood up, pulled my shirt over my head, and yanked down my pants. She looked at me, panting, her eyes half-closed, and licked her lips when she saw my cock hard again.

“You didn’t take long to get hard again,” she said, her eyes shining.

I didn’t answer. I grabbed her ankles, lifted them onto my shoulders, and penetrated her in one thrust all the way to the hilt. Clara screamed. A muffled scream, mouth open, startled by the impact. I stayed still for a second, feeling her tight around me, watching her face.

And I started fucking her.

Hard. Without mercy. My left hand clamped around her hip and my right encircling her neck without squeezing, merely resting there, marking my territory. She looked up at me with that startled expression on her face, her tits bouncing with every thrust. I squeezed one nipple. Bit it. Licked the other. Lifted her legs again and drove into her all the way, until my pubic bone slammed against hers.

“Fuck, fuck,” Clara whispered. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

I put her on all fours. Grabbed her by the hips and pushed into her from behind again, watching her back dip each time I thrust. I slapped her ass. Once. Twice. I grabbed one of her tits from underneath, letting it hang, and squeezed it while I kept thrusting. And in my head was Alba. Alba in the salt water. Alba biting her lip with her fingers buried in her pussy. Alba coming among the waves at sunset.

I moistened my thumb with her own saliva and pressed it against her ass, without putting it in, just applying pressure. Clara let out a long moan and arched her back, pushing herself backward against my cock. I grabbed her hair, wound it around my fist, and pulled slowly, setting the rhythm with my hips. She gave herself over as rarely as she does: moaning loudly, answering me with her ass, wetting my cock more and more.

“Come, come,” I urged her, and felt her tremble all over.

Clara came before I did. She came with a long shudder, biting down on the pillow so she wouldn’t wake the children, and I felt everything tighten around my cock. I held out for three more thrusts. Then I came inside her with a growl that rose from deep in my chest, emptying myself completely, gripping her hips as if the world were about to split apart.

We stayed like that for a while, me collapsed over her back, my forehead against the nape of her neck, breathing. She gave a soft laugh beneath me.

“Quite a walk you took today.”

“You could say that,” I replied.

I lay on my back beside her. Clara curled up against my shoulder and fell asleep within five minutes, as always. I remained staring at the ceiling with my eyes open, listening to her peaceful breathing and the distant waves breaking beyond the window.

Tomorrow at eight-thirty I’ll return to the cove. I know it. She doesn’t know I’m there. She thinks the seagulls are the only ones watching her. And I can’t stop watching her, even if it costs me my peace forever.

To be continued