That Night on the Beach, I Discovered How Much I Like Watching
I left my last confession unfinished, and ever since then I haven’t been able to get that night out of my head. So I’m going to tell it all, exactly as I experienced it, without sparing any detail—not even the dirtiest ones.
It all started when Ingrid finished showing me her loft. We sat in front of the living room’s large screen and looked through the photos we had uploaded to our social network, the ones where our bare asses could be seen right in the middle of the street. In many of them I was wearing the same yellow dress I had arrived at her place in that afternoon, and seeing myself projected onto that wall with my ass exposed gave me a tingling between my thighs that I couldn’t hide. I felt my panties growing wet as I watched myself.
When we finished commenting on them, she told me that during the week, when we weren’t working, she usually went down for an early swim, either at the beach or the pool depending on the wind. If I felt like it, we could do it together: go out to dinner at a restaurant on the seafront, sleep at her place, and go swimming the next morning. The beach was two hundred meters away, with just one hotel between it and the loft.
“That sounds like a great plan,” I told her, “but I don’t have a dress to go out at night. Or pajamas, or a toothbrush, or a swimsuit. And going back home to get everything would take forever.”
“If you’re okay with it, we can solve that in a minute,” she replied in that calm way of hers that always disarmed me. “There’s the garage remote. Put your car inside, and by the time you come back I’ll have everything you say you need ready for you.”
That’s what I did. When I came back, she explained that she was lending me a dress she adored, but the armholes were cut so low they reached almost to the waist, so it couldn’t be worn with a bra. She was going to wear a coral-colored lace set; the occasion called for it, she said.
“If you dare go without a bra, it’ll look wonderful on you. As you can see, we wear the same size.”
The dress was beautiful. I accepted at once, delighted.
“As for pajamas, I sleep like Marilyn Monroe, with two drops of perfume and nothing else,” she added with a laugh. “But if that makes you uncomfortable, I’ll lend you a pair too. It’s optional. If you’d rather sleep naked, I have no problem with that.”
Neither do I, I thought, though I didn’t say it. My nipples tightened beneath my blouse just imagining the two of us naked in the same bed.
“To go swimming, a thin dress or a towel is enough; I’ll leave it on the loungers. I go in completely naked. Nobody bans nude bathing here. But if you’d rather wear a swimsuit, choose whichever bikini you like best.”
She put on the lace set, two tiny garments that barely covered her nipples and pussy and which, according to her, made a lovely contrast with my eyes. We put on our makeup in front of the same mirror, finished getting dressed, and left for the restaurant.
***
We walked slowly, talking about ourselves. She told me that before settling on the coast, she had shared an apartment with a guy who thought he was a cryptocurrency genius. The bastard lost every last euro and meant to get his hands on her savings too. Ingrid refused, ended the relationship, and took the opportunity to move here. I confessed that I was seeing someone who showed far too many signs of wanting to control me, of making decisions for me. I’ll tell those stories another time.
They knew Ingrid very well at the restaurant; they knew her preferences, and letting myself be guided by her, I had a wonderful dinner. The waiter didn’t fail to notice our clothes. He stared at Ingrid’s legs, since her dress was quite short, and at me, because the open sides revealed more than was decent: every time I leaned over, my entire breast could be seen. I felt the cool air directly against my skin and, far from being uncomfortable, I liked knowing he had seen it, that his cock had gone hard beneath his apron.
Just before dessert, Ingrid let a fork fall to the floor.
“Could you pick it up for me, please? It fell on your side.”
I bent down. And as I leaned over, I saw her slide her palms along the sides of her underwear, lowering it very slowly down her thighs until she had taken it off completely beneath the table. I caught a glimpse of her shaved pussy, her lips glistening with wetness. I didn’t look away. I picked up the fork, straightened up, and over the top of the table she handed me the lace garment, still warm and marked by a dark stain of discharge in the crotch.
“Here. Put it in your purse,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted to give it to you for a long time. Smell it later, when you’re alone.”
I put it in my purse with my heart pounding against my ribs and my pussy soaked. No one in the restaurant seemed to notice anything, and that certainty—that I was doing something forbidden in full view of everyone without anyone knowing—turned me on in a way I had never experienced before.
***
When we left, we only stopped in the bathroom to wash our hands. Then I realized she hadn’t gone to pee, but I didn’t think anything of it. Ingrid suggested walking home along the shoreline, over the wet sand.
“You can see our silhouettes from the promenade,” she said, “but only from far away. Up close, it’s just you and me.”
There was a full moon. We took off our shoes so we could walk more easily on the sand, and with the night breeze and the dampness, I soon felt the urge to pee. She had probably anticipated it.
When I squatted down, I understood that Ingrid had it easier: all she had to do was hitch her dress up to her waist, whereas I had to pull my clothes down and hold them out in front of me so I wouldn’t splash them or stain them with sand, which gets into every last corner. I watched Ingrid’s hot stream gush from between her spread thighs, splashing onto the sand, and felt my own piss come out in spurts as I watched her without the slightest embarrassment.
“Let me look at you for a while,” I asked her softly.
I’m fascinated by the sight of a woman squatting from behind, in that position only we women adopt to pee outdoors, with her pussy and ass completely open. I love watching, and I like being watched even more. Ingrid didn’t move. She let me observe her, knowing she was the center of my gaze, and that seemed to please her as much as it pleased me. When she finished, she wiped herself with her hand and sucked her fingers while staring straight at me.
When we stood facing each other, she challenged me:
“No cheating. Take yours off too. I want to see your pussy, just as you saw mine.”
We did it at the same time, laughing, perfectly visible beneath that silvery light. She knelt on the sand, spread my thighs with her hands, and brought her face close to my crotch.
“It’s shining,” she murmured. “The moon is lighting the whole thing up.”
And without any further preamble, she ran her tongue from bottom to top in one long lick that tore a moan from me, lost in the sound of the waves. She sucked my clitoris with her lips, caught it and drew on it, and I had to brace myself on her shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. Her fingers spread my pussy lips and her tongue slipped between them, going in and out, soaking itself in me. I grabbed her hair and pressed her face against my sex, rubbing myself against her mouth without any shame. She moaned as she ate me, and that humming vibrated inside my pussy until it made me throb.
“I’m going to come,” I whispered. “Ingrid, fuck, don’t stop.”
She slid two fingers into my pussy and worked my clitoris with her tongue at a rhythm that made my knees tremble. I came standing up, right on the shoreline, with the waves breaking nearby and her face drenched in my juices. She had to hold me by the hips so I wouldn’t collapse.
If anyone had watched us closely from the promenade, they would have known exactly what we were doing. And thinking about that someone, that anonymous voyeur spying on us from the darkness, jerking his cock while she ate my pussy, didn’t frighten me—it turned me on even more. We wouldn’t have cared in the slightest.
When Ingrid stood up, one foot slipped and she fell onto the sand on her bottom. More laughter. Luckily, she was still holding her dress up around her waist and didn’t get it wet. I brushed the sand from her back, she leaned against my shoulder for a moment, and we resumed our walk, talking about how much we wanted a nighttime swim. I could still feel the taste of her mouth clinging to my pussy, and my legs trembled with every step.
***
We had about a hundred meters left before reaching the exit that led to the loft when we saw a group of girls, eighteen or twenty of them, gathered on the shore. One stood out among them: she was wearing an old-fashioned white swimsuit, the kind from the beginning of the last century, with bloomers and a sort of bodice on top. She was the bride at a bachelorette party. The others were wearing almost nothing: some had only their panties on, while others were completely naked, their tits bare and shining beneath the moon.
When we reached them, they encouraged us to join in amid laughter and splashing.
“Come on, get in the water! Let’s go!” they shouted, pointing out the towels spread across the nearest loungers.
We looked at each other and didn’t think twice. We left our dresses, purses, and shoes on a lounger and went in with them, as naked as the rest. The water was warm and black, and the moon covered it with sparkles. We all splashed one another, paying special attention to the bride, who shone brighter than anyone else in the night. I felt dozens of naked bodies brushing against me beneath the surface, tits pressed against my back, thighs tangling with mine, hands playfully squeezing my ass and others lingering between my legs longer than they should have. A stranger grabbed one of my breasts from behind and pinched my nipple, and I let her do it without pushing her away.
They all surrounded the bride and tore off her old-fashioned swimsuit amid shouts and applause. She was left naked in the middle of the circle, and her friends took turns kissing her on the mouth, sucking her tits, and fingering her pussy while she laughed uproariously. Beneath the water, Ingrid took my hand and led it straight to her own pussy. I slipped in two fingers without thinking, feeling her hot and slippery even inside the sea, and masturbated her slowly while we both pretended to watch the bride’s show. She did the same to me, and that was how we stayed, discreetly fingering each other surrounded by twenty strangers, until we both bit our lips to keep from screaming.
We all came out at once and dried one another, rubbing ourselves with the towels. They kissed and pinched the bride’s ass; we did it too, and I took the opportunity to run my tongue over one of her nipples before letting her go. We went home with our skin prickling and our pussies burning. We showered together, and beneath the spray Ingrid knelt again and licked me until I trembled for the second time that night. Then I pushed her onto the bed, opened her legs, and returned the favor: I ate her pussy avidly, sucking her swollen clitoris and pushing my tongue as deep inside her as I could while she writhed and grabbed my head. I drove three fingers into her and fucked her pussy with my hand while continuing to suck her bud. She came, squeezing my face between her thighs and screaming my name.
Then we arranged ourselves in scissors, pussy against pussy, and rubbed against each other until we both came again, soaking the sheets. We put on our two drops of perfume as our only pajamas and went to bed wrapped in each other’s arms, sticky with sweat and everything else. There was still a long while of caresses and whispers, fingers traveling over backs and mouths seeking out necks and nipples, until we fell asleep, sweetly, with our legs tangled together and her hand resting between my thighs.
***
In the morning, Ingrid got up before me and went straight to the bathroom. I heard her sit there for a little while, followed by the sound of the bidet. I went outside naked onto the terrace and saw that it was a splendid morning, with a clear sky and calm sea. When she finished, I did the same. As I came out of the bathroom, I found her waiting for me in the hallway; she pushed me against the wall, slipped her hand between my legs, and confirmed that I was already wet again.
“You’re such a slut,” she whispered in my ear, biting my earlobe. “You haven’t had enough.”
She slid two fingers inside me and rubbed my clitoris with her thumb until I came against the wall in less than a minute, biting my own hand to keep from screaming. Then we tied our hair back and put on very thin dresses, with nothing underneath.
We went down to the same loungers where the bachelorette party’s towels had been, and swam for quite a while. There were already people walking along the shore, and far fewer people in the water. I liked knowing I was being watched by those early-morning walkers, guessing at their eyes fixed on the wet fabric clinging to my body, outlining my hard nipples and the dark triangle of my pubic hair.
When we came back, we showered outdoors without modesty, washing the salt and sand from our feet. An older man who was walking alone stopped dead when he saw us, and neither Ingrid nor I made any effort to cover ourselves. On the contrary: she soaped her tits slowly while looking at him, and I spread my legs beneath the spray to wash my pussy in front of him. I saw the bulge in his pants and watched him stand there until we finished. I felt lucky to receive those looks over my naked body, first beneath the shower spray and then on the way back to the loft, with the dress turning transparent over my damp skin. Ingrid confessed that she had felt exactly the same, and that she had nearly gone up to the old man and offered him a blowjob right there, just for the thrill of it.
That night, and that morning, I finally understood something I had sensed for years without daring to name it. I don’t care who watches or where they watch from. I like being watched as much as I like watching, and I like having my pussy eaten and eating pussy myself.
Without a doubt, I love showing off my body.
