Threesome on the Beach with Tourists and Uniforms

That night on the coast felt like the first real one in a long time. There were no open bars, no club music, but there was a beach full of people eager to drink, shout, and touch each other, even if only with their eyes. I had gone out with two work friends, determined to stretch the night as far as our legs and the alcohol would let us.

The sand was full of little groups, small speakers, plastic cups, and bags of ice melting away. The air smelled of salt, cheap rum, and stale sunscreen. I already had enough in me to feel braver, looser, but not so much that I didn’t know what I was doing.

My friends stayed behind talking to some guys near the promenade. I stepped away for a moment to pee in a darker spot and, when I came back, I was disoriented. I couldn’t see them. Instead I saw a group of dark-skinned, tall men, talking loudly among themselves and laughing as if the whole world belonged to them.

One of them waved me over when he saw me looking at the cooler they had open. They had managed what no one else had at that hour: ice still solid, bottles not yet finished, and clean cups. I went over because I was thirsty, because I was alone, and because I liked how they looked at me the second I stepped into their circle.

—Come here, gorgeous, we’ve got everything —one of them said in broken Spanish, dragging out the words.

They had to be around thirty, all clearly adults. You could tell they were on vacation: tan, uninhibited, with that confidence of people who won’t have to explain themselves the next day. They handed me a glass loaded with gin and lemon and made room for me among them as if they had been waiting for me.

—Your friends? —another one asked.

—Somewhere around here. They’ll show up.

They smiled when they heard me. They didn’t ask anything else. One introduced himself as Dario, another as Enzo, and the rest said their names so quickly I didn’t catch them. It didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was the way they closed in around me without crowding me, how they passed the bottle around, how one brushed my wrist and another held my gaze a second longer than necessary.

We started with something silly. An ice cube passed from mouth to mouth. Whoever dropped it had to drink. It seemed childish, but it worked. The first kiss was cold and wet. The second had no ice anymore. The third ended with a tongue brushing my lips before pulling away amid laughter.

—That doesn’t count —I protested, though I kept leaning in.

—It counts if you like it —one of them answered.

I liked it. And it showed. Every time one of them took my chin to pass me the ice, another brushed my waist, my hip, or my thigh. Little by little we drifted away from the bigger crowd and ended up in a darker area, with less noise, though not far enough away to be truly alone.

From the outside we must have looked like just another bunch of people drinking. From the inside, the tension was something else. I could feel the heat of six bodies around me, their eyes fixed on my mouth, the damp alcohol sliding down my throat, and excitement beginning to soak through my shorts.

—Let’s play something better —Dario said.

—Better how?

—You kneel, close your eyes, and guess what’s touching your lips.

I should have laughed and left. I should have gone off to look for my friends. But my cunt was throbbing with embarrassing insistence, and the idea of kneeling in front of all of them made me squeeze my legs together even before I did it.

—Just for a moment —I murmured.

I knelt on the sand. The sand was cold against my knees, but my body was burning. I closed my eyes and first felt fingers on my face, then something thicker brushing my mouth, tapping softly against my lower lip. I snapped my eyes open.

The six of them had their pants down or open. Their cocks hung in front of me, some already hard, others quickly thickening, all pointing at me as if this had been inevitable from the moment I accepted the first drink. I stared at them for a long second. None of them hid it. None of them were ashamed.

—Guess —one of them teased.

A nervous laugh slipped out of me. I should have stood up. Instead, I reached out and grabbed the nearest one. It was heavy, hot, and the skin was already tight under my palm. The man gave a gasp and the others edged a little closer.

—That’s more like it —another one said.

I went at it without any theatrics. I opened my mouth and took that cock as far as I could, pressing my lips tight and going down slowly, tasting the salt, the sour smell of sweat and alcohol. The man grabbed my hair with one hand and still didn’t force me yet; he let me set the pace. I pulled it out shiny with saliva and moved on to the next one.

I took them one after another, without order. One thick, one shorter, one curved, one with a head so sensitive the guy trembled all over when I licked it. They laughed, said things to each other in their own language, touched my face, my shoulders, my tits over the drink-soaked T-shirt. I wasn’t playing anymore. I was sucking with real hunger.

One of them spilled a little mixed drink down my neck and the cold liquid ran between my breasts. I yanked my shirt off, sick of the sticky fabric, and dropped it in the sand. I was left in shorts and bra, breathing hard, six cocks in front of me and my nipples already hard against the fabric.

—Fuck —one of them said, staring at my tits—. Keep going.

I kept going. One after another, sucking them down as far as my throat and my need would take them. My hands didn’t stop: I stroked balls, squeezed asses, jerked one off while I filled my mouth with another. The group closed in around me and the sound of the sea faded into the distance, as if I were inside a bubble made of male breaths, filthy laughter, and the wet sound of my mouth doing its work.

—Deeper —one of them ordered.

I obeyed. He grabbed me by the nape and fucked my mouth with short thrusts at first, then longer ones. I felt him banging against the back of my throat and had to breathe through my nose, my eyes watering and saliva spilling down my chin. When he let go, another was already pushing the head of his cock against my lips.

They weren’t gentle. I wasn’t looking for gentle, either. There was something animal about letting all of them use me while the alcohol loosened my head and the shame stayed behind in the sand. One of them unclasped my bra from behind and ripped it off me. The night air hit my wet nipples and made me even hornier.

—Look at her —I heard someone say—. She loves it.

And yes, I did. I loved being the center of that circle. I loved feeling watched, groped, covered in saliva and hands. I loved the dirtiness of having beer running down my chest while I sucked cocks as if I owed it to myself.

One of them took my face in both hands and spat on my tongue before sliding his cock into my mouth. Another ran the head of his cock over my tits and rubbed it between them while I sucked his friend. Their breathing grew tighter, their moans more serious. They weren’t joking as much anymore.

The first one to come warned me too late. I felt the tug in my hair, his cock throbbing harder and, a second later, warm semen filling my mouth. I swallowed almost by reflex, with difficulty, and he made me keep it in until he pulled out in jerks, leaving me drooling. The others clapped and laughed like beasts.

—Another —one said, putting himself in front of me.

I went to the second, then the third. Not all of them came the same way. One emptied himself onto my tongue and made me show it before I swallowed. Another held my head between his thighs and came down my throat. Another preferred to pull out at the end and finish over my breasts, mixing cum with sticky remnants of alcohol and fine sand.

I was still on my knees, naked from the waist up, covered in spit, with my cunt throbbing between my legs. They hadn’t even fucked me yet and I was already desperate for more, for someone to put fingers, tongue, a cock, anything inside me. But they seemed satisfied with my mouth, with my docility, with seeing me swallow without protest.

When I finished with the last one, I stayed there breathing deeply, my jaw tired and my throat burning. They spoke among themselves for a few seconds, again in their own language, and before I understood anything they grabbed my arms and legs. I let out a scream that was half laughter, half surprise.

—Don’t even think about it!

Of course they thought about it. They swung me twice and threw me into the black water at the shore. I landed on my ass, soaking myself through, while they laughed and shouted something I didn’t fully understand. I came up cursing them, with my shorts plastered to my body and my hair dripping. I was still drunk. Still turned on. Still not really wanting to leave.

The beach, however, had changed. Where there had once been groups and noise, now there was only debris: bottles, cups, bags, abandoned towels. I saw my things thrown near where we’d been and went over shivering a little, looking for my bra, my shirt, my bag.

I was gathering whatever I could when firm hands grabbed my arms.

—Miss, you know this can’t go on at this hour.

I turned. There were four officers. More than old enough, in dark uniforms, boots full of sand, and that dry expression of people who have just found something they didn’t plan on admitting out loud. Two were closer; the other two were cutting off my escape. They looked me over for a second: wet hair, bare breasts, shorts stuck to my skin.

—Your ID —said the tallest one.

I searched my bag and couldn’t find it. I looked around, dazed. I didn’t know if the Italians had moved it or if I had dropped it somewhere.

—I… I don’t have it on me right now.

—Then you’ll come with us to identify yourself and answer for all this.

They circled me without touching me more than necessary, but the threat was clear. They were older than the tourists, harder, less playful. Authority came off them in the way they stood, in the way they looked at me, in the way they expected me to obey. And I, wet, still tasting semen in my mouth and my cunt pulsing, thought something outrageous before I could stop myself.

—We can settle this another way.

The nearest one lifted an eyebrow.

—Oh, yeah?

I swallowed. I tossed my shirt and bra back into the sand, as if pretending to be modest no longer made any sense.

—I can suck you off.

For a second I thought I had crossed a line I couldn’t come back from. They looked at one another. One gave a low laugh. Another stepped closer slowly, never taking his eyes off my tits.

—Get on your knees —he said.

He said it without shouting. He didn’t need to. I knelt. The damp sand stuck to my spread legs and I felt a shiver of fear mixed with desire. The four of them stood in front of me. The sound of zippers coming down left my mouth dry.

The first cock in front of me was thick, very straight, already almost fully hard. The officer grabbed me by the hair and set it against my lips.

—Hands behind your back.

I took them behind me at once. He looked at me with cold satisfaction and shoved his cock into my mouth without any preamble. It wasn’t a gentle blow job. It was him fucking my face, setting the pace, using my throat as if the uniform gave him rights over it. I moaned as best I could with my mouth full, breathing fast through my nose, feeling saliva pool and run down my chin and chest.

—That’s it, whore —he muttered.

He pushed deeper. I coughed. He didn’t let me pull away. His balls slapped my chin, the head went in so far it made me tear up, and every time I tried to catch my breath he drove in again. The other three watched from very close, jerking off, making low comments, waiting their turn.

When he came, he didn’t warn me. He simply tightened his grip in my hair and unloaded in my mouth in several thick pulses. I swallowed as best I could. Some of it slipped out of the corner of my lips and ran down my neck. He let out a short laugh and pulled his cock out, leaving me gasping.

—Drink —another one said, handing me an abandoned cup of liquor.

I took a big gulp, nearly coughing, and immediately they grabbed my hair again. The second cock was wider, with a big head that forced my lips open and made me relax my jaw. This one barely spoke. He just held my neck and pushed into my mouth again and again, slowly at first, then with a rough urgency that made me let out an obscene moan.

My hands were behind me and that turned me on more than I wanted to admit. I couldn’t control anything. I could only open my mouth, stick out my tongue when they asked with a slap to my face, and let them use me while one squeezed a nipple and another touched my cheek as if rewarding me for being obedient.

—Look at her swallowing —one said.

—She likes being told what to do.

The second one came inside too. This time he held me still, his cock buried in my throat, while I tried not to choke as I swallowed. When he finally let me go, the third was already lifting my chin with two fingers.

—Take it out.

I stuck out my tongue. He spat on it and then shoved his cock in halfway, rubbing it side to side against my open mouth before starting to thrust. He had a different rhythm, crueller, as if he wanted to see me lose the last shred of composure. He held my head with both hands and fucked my mouth until the wet sounds mixed with my gagging.

I felt the fourth officer’s fingers slide down my belly and slip under my wet shorts. He found my cunt right away, swollen and slick, and burst out laughing at how soaked I was.

—Fuck, she’s dripping.

He shoved two fingers into me without warning, sinking them all the way in while I kept sucking the third one. The contrast bent me inward. I moaned around the cock, shuddered, and rocked my hips looking for more. He stroked my clit with insulting slowness, just to prove he could make me beg even with my mouth full.

—You want to get fucked too, huh?

I couldn’t answer. I only nodded like a hungry idiot, with spit, cum, and alcohol mixing on my tongue. The third one came after pulling out at the end, spilling his load over my face and tits. I felt the warm semen on my nipple, on my collarbone, sliding down toward my stomach.

The fourth turned me around without a hint of gentleness. He left me on my hands and knees in the sand, ass raised and shorts shoved aside. The air hit my open cunt and then I felt his palm, first a hard slap that drew a gasp from me, then two fingers opening me and checking how wet I was.

—Look at her leaking —he said.

He ran the head of his cock between my lips, rubbing it up and down, soaking it with my wetness. I was trembling, desperate. He slapped my ass again.

—Ask for it.

—Fuck me —I rasped—. Please, fuck me.

He shoved it in hard. Not all the way, but enough to make me scream and dig my nails into the sand. It was thick and went in hard, opening me in one single thrust that left my whole body tense. He didn’t wait long. He started fucking me with sharp blows, grabbing my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, forcing my back to arch.

Each thrust pushed me forward. The sand stuck to my knees, my belly, my hands. Behind me, the sound of his hips hitting my ass mixed with the orders from the others: lift my ass higher, don’t close my legs, open my mouth. One of them came in front of me again and put his cock between my lips while the other penetrated me from behind.

That was when I lost the last bit of pride I had left. I took him in gulps while they fucked me, drooling, moaning, my cunt getting ever more open and slippery. The officer behind me set a brutal, steady rhythm, and the one in front used my mouth to match it. I couldn’t keep up and, at the same time, I didn’t want them to stop.

—You take it so well —the one in front told me.

The one behind pulled out and shoved three fingers inside me all at once, stirring them deep while I moaned. Then he came back in, deeper, taking advantage of how open I was. I felt the orgasm rise fast, almost painful, driven by humiliation, by being on display, by having four men around me treating me like a whore found on the sand.

—I’m about to come —I managed to say when they let me off the cock for a second.

—Come —he ordered, driving into me all the way.

I came trembling, my legs giving out, my clit throbbing in the open air and a long moan getting lost between the sea and their ragged breathing. The officer behind me kept going a little longer, taking advantage of my spasms, and finished inside with a rough growl, squeezing my hip so hard it hurt.

He let me drop to my knees. I was still panting when I felt something warm on my back. At first I thought it was water. It took me a second to understand from their laughter. I lifted my head. Two of them were pissing on me, shamelessly, letting go over my shoulders, my hair, the sand around me.

—Pick everything up —one said—. Don’t leave a single cup behind.

I did it. I don’t know if it was out of fear, drunkenness, or because at that moment obeying was the only thing that fit what I had already accepted about myself that night. I picked up cups, bottles, bags, wet shirts, my body stained, my shorts stuck to me, my legs still shaking.

When I was done, I went back over to them. One had my bag. Another had found my ID inside. He read my name out loud with a crooked smile and passed it to his partner, who filled out a form resting it against his thigh.

He handed it to me folded.

—Next time, less noise.

It was a fine. Just a fine. They left with short laughs, not looking back. I was left alone on the nearly empty beach, the black sea ahead of me, sand stuck to my body, dried semen on my chest, and my cunt still throbbing beneath the wet fabric.

I got dressed as best I could. I found my friends much later, near a taxi, too wrapped up in their own stories to notice how broken my voice sounded. I didn’t tell them anything that night. Or the next day.

But even now, when I smell alcohol mixed with salt or see a uniform in the distance, my stomach tightens and I feel the same heat under my navel. Not out of pride. Not out of regret. But because of that sick mix of humiliation, fear, and desire that left me on my knees in the sand and that, as ashamed as I am to admit it, still makes me wet when I remember it.