The Sunset in the Cove Awakened My Wildest Fantasy

Let me tell you a fantasy that crosses my mind every time I think of those hidden coves in the south, the ones you can only reach by going down a stony path and where the last sun of the day lingers longer than anywhere else.

Imagine that it’s you. You’re alone, lying on the warm sand, your back resting against a rock that’s still hot from the whole day of sun. The beach has emptied little by little and the sky is turning orange over the water. There’s hardly anyone left. And you, as so many other times, let yourself go.

The air smells of salt and sunscreen. You feel the breeze beginning to cool your damp skin, the fine grains of sand stuck to your thighs, the slow murmur of the waves coming and going a few meters away. You’ve spent the whole day with that tight tension in your body, the one born of sunbathing half naked surrounded by strangers, and now that the cove has emptied out you feel like you can finally let it go.

You’ve pulled your bikini down a little without really realizing it. One hand slowly travels over your belly, then down, finding the heat between your legs. You start touching yourself while watching the sunset, without hurrying, enjoying that feeling of doing something you shouldn’t in a place where anyone could see you.

Your fingers move in slow circles as the sun turns red and huge on the horizon. You spread your knees a little farther apart. Each caress warms you a degree more, and the idea that someone might suddenly appear along the path, that they might find you like this, open and surrendered, makes your breath catch.

Let them see me. Let them catch me like this.

That thought turns you on more than any caress. The sun sinks into the horizon and you quicken your fingers, biting your lip, when suddenly a gigantic shadow blocks the last of the light.

You open your eyes. In front of you stands a huge man, almost two meters of pure back and shoulders, blond as wheat, with skin reddened by the northern sun. He says nothing. He watches you touch yourself and smiles.

—Keep going —he murmurs, with a thick accent you can barely make out.

Before you can answer, he bends down and lifts you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You feel the strength of those enormous arms closing around your body, the warm skin of his chest against your cheek, the dull beat of his heart. You don’t struggle. You let yourself be carried like dead weight, dizzy from how easily he has picked you up.

He takes you behind a closed beach bar, where the sand lies in shadow and no one on the path could see you. There he sets you down on the ground and, without another word, finishes taking off the bottom of your bikini. He does it slowly, looking into your eyes, sliding the fabric down your legs until he leaves you completely naked on the cool sand.

You don’t say no. Quite the opposite.

***

He lies on his back on the towel he has spread out and pulls you toward him, guiding you by the hips until you’re astride him. What he has between his legs doesn’t seem made of flesh. It’s hard, wide, hot, a forged bar that opens you slowly as you lower yourself onto it centimeter by centimeter.

—Slowly —you ask him in Spanish, though you know he doesn’t understand you—. Gently, please.

He understands you in his own way. He grips you with both hands and starts moving you up and down, setting a rhythm that isn’t yours but his, the rhythm of someone who knows exactly what he wants. You dig your nails into his shoulders so you don’t lose your balance. Each thrust rises like a wave of heat from the deepest part of your body to the exact point where you’re joined.

And then you notice it. You’re not alone.

At the edge of the shadow, where the sand turns gray with the approaching night, four men are watching. Street vendors who were gathering their blankets by the shore and have stopped, silent, observing the spectacle. They don’t come closer, they don’t say anything. They just watch, with their arms hanging at their sides and their eyes fixed on you.

You should feel ashamed. You should cover yourself, turn away, pretend it isn’t happening. But knowing yourself to be watched, caught in the most intimate moment, is exactly what you’d spent the whole afternoon fantasizing about without daring to admit it.

You do none of that. Knowing they’re looking at you makes you even wetter, and your hips move on their own, faster, harder, seeking what you know is about to come.

It hits like a lash. Pleasure runs through you and your body goes rigid all at once; you feel that hot jet exploding from deep inside, that cum you rarely let yourself release and that you can’t hold back this afternoon. The northern giant grunts beneath you, grips your hips and empties himself with a final thrust that rips a second orgasm from you, chained to the first.

Afterward he stays still for a moment, breathing deeply. Then, just as he arrived, he stands up, picks up his towel and heads toward the path without looking back.

***

And you stay there, trembling on the sand, your breath broken and the four men approaching slowly.

It’s almost night. The remaining light barely outlines their silhouettes, but you can tell that two of them are already hard, the outline of their swim trunks straining, big and firm like you like them. They come closer slowly, circling you, and you make not the slightest move to close yourself off. Quite the opposite: you spread your legs in the sand, offering yourself, still hot from what has just happened.

There’s no discussion about who goes first. The one closest to you kneels between your legs, holds you by the thighs and enters without asking permission, in one go.

He’s so big it takes your breath away. When he pushes all the way in, it feels as if he’s going to reach your throat, and a weak laugh slips out of you, that strange expression that appears on your face when pleasure brushes the limit of what you can take. It doesn’t last long. The heat you give off, the way you squeeze him from inside, finishes him sooner than either of you wanted.

Because you’re not alone with him. While he’s fucking you, another man has positioned himself by your head and is offering you his cock. You open your mouth and take him in, feeling him go deep while the one below keeps moving. You’re pierced through from one side to the other, completely full, and the mix of the two sensations clouds any thought.

The one pounding you from the front finishes with a groan and pulls away at once, leaving the spot free. The third quickly takes it. His is a little smaller, but he makes up for it with fury: he fucks you with hunger, savage, fitting into the heat that still remains inside you. In just a few thrusts he too gives up and spills himself.

The fourth is left. He takes his time. He wets you with saliva, gets ready, and before entering he comes up to your face.

—Are you okay? —he asks, and it’s the first time all afternoon that anyone has asked.

You nod. You’re more than okay. You’re in a place you didn’t even know you wanted to reach, and you don’t want it to end yet.

***

The one in your mouth chooses that moment to finish. You feel him shudder and he fills you at once; you cough, nearly choking, your eyes watering from the effort. And right then the fourth man starts to enter.

If the previous ones were long, this one is wide. Wildly wide. He opens you in a different way, a pressure that leaves you pinned in the sand, unable to move. There’s no possible rocking motion: he’s simply inside, enormous, throbbing, wedged in you like a hot stone filling every corner.

And he throbs, and throbs, until he explodes. You feel the final burst adding itself to everything already dripping between your legs, and your body answers once more, with a long shudder that runs from the nape of your neck to your feet.

Then everything stops.

You let yourself collapse completely onto the ground, exhausted, still writhing from the last aftershocks of pleasure. Around you, the four men breathe just as spent as you do, lying on the dark sand, none of them saying a word. The sea sounds nearby, the waves break softly, and the sky is already completely black.

And as you lie there, looking up at the first stars, you think about how good they’ve left you, how far your imagination has gone this time, and how hard it will be the next afternoon you go down to the cove alone to settle for just your fingers and a sunset.

Maybe. Just maybe. Someday it will stop being a fantasy.