The Pleasure of Being Watched at the Nude Beach

We had been talking about that trip for nearly a year. Not just any trip: one for the two of us alone, with no phones switched on at eleven at night, no weekend commitments, no excuses. Valeria brought it up every time she felt trapped between work and the usual routines, and I promised with the certainty of someone who knows he’s going to follow through. It took us longer than it should have, but when we finally did it, we did it right.

She’s twenty-nine and has spent all that time knowing exactly how to move so I can’t stop looking at her. Long, well-shaped legs, hips that sway naturally when she walks, a pronounced ass that every fabric ends up following. Her tits are small, with dark, hard nipples that stand out under any light clothing. A shaved pussy I learned to recognize with the tips of my fingers in the dark. A woman who doesn’t need to try to be the most striking person anywhere she goes.

The nude beach was my idea. For months I’d been keeping the address of a place on the north coast: somewhere only reached by a dirt road, far from five-story hotels and beach bars blasting music at full volume. A nudist-use area, no moralizing security, people who went there to fuck in plain sight if they felt like it and nobody cared. I brought the plan up one night while we were having dinner, straight and direct. Valeria listened, bit her lower lip for a second, and said yes.

We left on a Friday before dawn. We did half the drive that day and stopped in Punta Dorada, a port city with cobblestone streets and a seawall that smelled of salt. I booked the hotel online: a room with a sea view, a double bed, air conditioning that worked. Basic, but enough for what we had in mind.

That afternoon, while Valeria unpacked her suitcase, I told her something I’d been wanting to tell her for a long time, in plain words.

—This trip is yours —I said—. Completely yours. Do whatever you want, however you want, whenever you want. No limits, and I won’t object to anything.

She looked at me with that expression of hers, the one that says she’s figuring out whether there’s a catch. There wasn’t.

—Nothing? —she asked, arching one eyebrow—. If I want to spread my legs in front of a stranger, you won’t object either?

—Nothing —I repeated—. I want to watch you do whatever turns you on.

She ran her tongue over her teeth and went back to the suitcase, but a smile had settled on her face and it stayed there the whole time.

At nine that night we went down to dinner. Valeria came out of the bathroom wearing a tight dark green dress that ended halfway down her thigh. Clinging everywhere, the fabric stretching over her ass with every step she took. When she turned around to reach for her bag, I noticed the line of her underwear didn’t show under the fabric. There was no line at all.

—Are you wearing underwear? —I asked.

—No —she said without even looking in the mirror, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—. Seemed unnecessary.

—Nothing on top either? —I pressed.

She pulled the neckline down a little and showed me a dark nipple, erect for a second, before settling the fabric back in place.

—Nothing on top either.

We went out into the street and found a restaurant on the second floor of a colonial building, with a narrow stone staircase rising from the entrance. I told her to go first. As she climbed, the dress tightened on each step and the hem began to creep slowly up the backs of her thighs, revealing more and more of that ass I knew by heart but that, from that angle, looked like someone else’s. On one step the dress rose enough for a glimpse of her pussy slit, pink and hairless, shining under the yellowish light of the hall. Behind us there were three men waiting for a table. All three stopped talking at the same time. One swallowed so hard I heard it from above.

I sat across from her with that silent knowledge between us: she knew I had seen what happened on the stairs, and neither of us mentioned it while we ordered. We ordered wine. The restaurant slowly filled up. Two men at the next table kept looking over toward us more often than necessary, pretending to have conversations that clearly did not require so much turning of the head in our direction. At some point Valeria leaned back in her chair, spread her knees under the table, and crossed her legs very slowly. The dress settled in her lap with the deliberate care of someone who knows exactly what she has just shown, and to whom.

—Did you see them when we came up? —she asked between the first and second course.

—I saw everything —I said—. It rode up all the way. Your whole pussy was visible for a second.

—And? —she tilted her head slightly.

—And I liked it more than I should have —I admitted—. I’ve been hard ever since.

She smiled. Took a long sip of wine and set the glass back down half-finished on the table. Under the tablecloth, her bare foot climbed up the inside of my pants until it found the bulge and pressed with the sole, gauging what was down there. Her expression didn’t change. She kept eating with the other hand as if nothing was happening. We didn’t speak of it again for the rest of dinner, but what went unsaid occupied every minute that remained.

Back at the hotel I didn’t turn on the main light. The bedside lamp cast a warm shadow over the white bed. I pushed her against the open window without taking off her dress first, her hands braced on the glass and the dull noise of the harbor rising from below. I yanked her skirt up to her waist and there it was: her bare ass, the pussy slit already glistening with wetness between her thighs, her legs parting on instinct. I ran two fingers through her vulva from bottom to top, slowly, and they came out soaked. I held them up for a second against the light before putting them in her mouth. She sucked them clean with her eyes closed, pressing her tongue against my fingertips.

—Is that how the three men on the stairs got you wet? —I asked in her ear.

—Like that —she said, and shifted back toward me.

I pulled my pants down to my knees, grabbed my cock, and rubbed the tip up and down between the lips of her pussy, not putting it in yet. She pushed her hips back, impatient, and when I finally drove all the way in with one thrust, she let out a short, deep moan against the glass. I stayed still inside her for a second, feeling her adjust around my cock, then started fucking her with long, deep strokes, gripping her hips so she couldn’t slip out of my angle. Her small tits flattened against the glass and her nipples left a trail of fog whenever she pulled away between thrusts.

—Harder —she said, arching her back to take me better.

I grabbed a handful of hair at the nape of her neck and pulled. I drove my cock to the hilt with all my weight, once, twice, three times, until her ass bounced against my pelvis with a wet sound that carried over the sea. I brought one hand forward, slid it down her belly, and found her clit with my middle finger, drawing tight circles while I kept pounding her against the glass.

—There, there, there —she repeated—, don’t stop.

I felt her pussy clamping down on my cock in waves, squeezing and releasing, and she stopped holding back. She came with her eyes shut and her forehead pressed to the window, trembling in short bursts that squeezed me so hard they dragged me with her. I emptied my load inside her with three more thrusts, holding her by the hips, watching my cum run down her thigh as I pulled out. We finished both of us standing in front of that window, with the city lit up beyond. If someone was watching from the building across the way, let them watch. She turned around, bent down, and cleaned with her tongue what remained on the tip of my cock, and only then did she let herself fall onto the bed.

***

The next day we arrived in Las Rocas Blancas, the small coastal town where the hostel I had booked was located. Four rooms, a terrace with hammocks, and a sixty-year-old owner who handed us the key without asking anything. Perfect.

The nude beach was a thirty-minute walk away along a sandy path that followed the cliffs. Before we left, Valeria changed in the room with the door half open. She chose the string bikini I had bought her weeks earlier and she still hadn’t worn: the top with the bare minimum of fabric to cover her nipples, the bottom nothing more than a triangle the size of a palm held up by two strings tied at the hips. She looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror, adjusted one strap, cupped the triangle with two fingers so it barely covered her pussy slit, and nodded without saying a word.

We walked along the public beach first, near the shore, where there were families under umbrellas and people playing in the water. Valeria walked without hurry, with that way of moving she has that has always seemed to me completely unconscious and at the same time perfectly calculated: hips swaying side to side, feet sinking slightly into the wet sand, back straight. After a few minutes I noticed the bikini had shifted to one side, exposing the outer edge of her perfectly shaved pussy, the pink lips pressed together. She didn’t stop. She didn’t make any move to adjust it.

We kept walking like that, the bikini askew and her fully aware of what she was showing. Two men lying in the sand lifted their heads when we passed. One propped himself up on his elbows, a hand over the bulge in his swim trunks. Another, standing near the water, slowly turned to follow us with his eyes until we were far enough away.

—The bikini —I said in a low voice.

—I know —she replied, not looking down or slowing her pace—. Let them look.

I stayed half a step behind. I wanted to see the same thing they were seeing.

We reached the rocky area marking the start of the nudist zone. There were a dozen people scattered around: some alone with a book, a couple lying in silence, two women speaking softly. No one paid any special attention to our arrival. We headed farther toward the sheltered end of that stretch, where some low shrubs growing from the cliff formed a natural bend that gave the feeling of being alone without quite being alone. That uncertainty was part of it all.

Valeria spread the towel on the sand and took off the top of her bikini without any drama. Then she pulled at the hip strings and the bottom triangle fell away with the other piece. She was completely naked in two seconds, her dark nipples already hard from the air and her shaved cunt open to the sun. She lay on her back, spread her knees just enough to make it clear she didn’t care what could be seen from the side, closed her eyes, and let the sun fall straight on her tits. I watched her from my towel, thinking how much I loved that contrast: the apparent calm of her body stretched out on the sand against everything I knew was going on inside her.

After a few minutes she ran a hand slowly over her belly, smeared her fingers with a little sunscreen, and slid them down to her pubis. She touched herself without hurrying, parting the lips of her pussy with two fingers as if it were just part of the tanning routine, spreading the cream over her vulva in full view of anyone who wanted to look. The man with the book, thirty meters away, was no longer pretending to read.

She stayed like that for maybe twenty minutes. The heat kept rising. At some point she opened her eyes, looked straight at me, and said, without any preamble:

—I want to suck your cock out here. Right now.

I didn’t ask anything. I sat on the towel with my legs open and waited.

She knelt in front of me in the sand, between my legs, and slowly pulled down my swim trunks. When she took me in her mouth, the sea kept sounding just as far away, seagulls kept circling overhead, and somewhere behind us someone turned a page in their book. The world didn’t stop. Only we stopped moving for a moment, then started moving differently.

She began with a flat, long tongue, from the base to the tip, licking me as if she were melting an ice cream. Then she took the whole head into her mouth and played with her tongue against the frenulum, that spot she knows makes me clench my teeth. She went down slowly, very slowly, swallowing me little by little until the tip touched the back of her throat, and there she stayed for a second, breathing through her nose, eyes wet and lifted to mine. Then she started moving her head up and down at a steady pace, sucking with her mouth closed, her right hand pumping the base with saliva and her left hand weighing my balls. Every now and then she pulled back for a moment, spat a thread of saliva over the tip so everything would stay slick, and took me all the way back in.

Her tongue moved up and down with a calm that was almost unbearable to me. No hurry. As if we had all afternoon. And it was true: we did have all afternoon. The salty breeze, the warm sand under her knees, the sun on my face, her mouth around me, the wet, shameless sound she made as she took me all the way in: it was a sum that needed nothing else. I focused on the sensation, on the sound of the water, on the weight of the sun on my shoulders, and on the fact that anyone passing by could see exactly what we were doing.

With my free hand I reached back and found her pussy. She was soaked. I slid two fingers inside and felt her clamp around them while she kept sucking me. She began moving against my hand in the same rhythm she moved on my cock, moaning with a mouthful of dick, sending vibrations all through me. I put my other hand on the back of her neck and guided her a little deeper. She didn’t protest. Quite the opposite: she sped up.

—I’m going to come —I warned her.

She looked up without taking me out of her mouth and didn’t move. I drove the final thrust into her throat and emptied inside, in four long spurts I felt her swallow one after another. When it was over, she kept the tip between her lips for a while, sucking the rest out without wasting a drop, and only then let me go with a wet kiss on the glans.

When she was done, she lifted her head, looked at me for a second with an expression that wasn’t exactly a smile but was very close to one, and stood up to get water from the backpack, my cum still shining at the corner of her lips.

—Was anyone watching? —she asked in the same tone she might have used to ask the time.

I turned slowly. About thirty meters away, the man who had been alone with his book had it closed on his knees and his eyes fixed in our direction. And another thing: his hand was inside his swim trunks and he wasn’t bothering to hide it.

—Yes —I said—. And he’s jerking off watching us.

She took a long drink of water, ran her thumb over the corner of her mouth to wipe what was left there, and sucked it clean. She lay back down, this time with her legs even wider than before, one arm folded behind her neck and the other resting on her stomach. She didn’t say anything else. But there was a slight curve at the corner of her lips that hadn’t been there before, and her fingers dropped back toward her pussy while the other man finished himself at a distance.

***

Later we went into the sea. The water was cold at first and then perfect. We swam a little and stood in the shallows where the bottom reached our waists, far enough from shore that no one could clearly see what was below the surface.

Valeria swam over, hung from my neck, and wrapped her legs around my waist under the water. I held her by the ass, one cheek in each hand, feeling her weigh less because of the buoyancy. She found me with her hand underwater, grabbed my cock, already half-hard, and guided it to the entrance of her cunt on her own. She pushed her hips and took it all in one go, with a sigh that came out right against my ear.

—Nobody’s going to see anything —she murmured—. Fuck me like this, slowly.

We moved with the slow rhythm of the waves, rocking against each other more than thrusting. She rose and fell a few centimeters each time a wave pushed us, and it was the water fucking us both. Her tits, hard from the cold, brushed my chest with every movement. I bit her neck softly and she let out a short laugh.

The sun was already dipping a little and the light on the water’s surface had that orange color that only lasts a few minutes. After a while I pulled out before coming and she laughed under her breath.

—Tonight —she said—. Not here. Save it for later.

We stayed in the water a little longer, her hanging from me and my hard cock brushing her thigh, until the cold began to make itself felt. On shore, some of the people who had been lying down were already gathering their things. We came out, dried off in silence, and Valeria put on the T-shirt she’d brought in her backpack, with nothing underneath, her nipples showing through the wet fabric. I love that silence that exists between two people who don’t need to explain what just happened because both know exactly what it was and what it was worth.

On the way back to the hostel, while the path followed the cliff with the sea below on the right and the sun touching the horizon, she took my hand and squeezed it once. She didn’t say anything. It was her way of saying it had been exactly what she wanted.

That night I kept the promise I’d made her in Punta Dorada: the night was completely hers. We did whatever she wanted, however she wanted, for as long as she wanted. She made me lie on my back on the bed and sat on my face without asking, placing her knees on either side of my head and lowering her cunt to my mouth. I ate her cunt until she came, squeezing my head between her thighs, moaning toward the ceiling. Then she turned around, bent down, and spent a long while licking my balls and my cock until she had me ready again. She got on top and rode me facing me, with her hands on my chest, and fucked herself at her own pace, going up and down with her eyes closed, biting her lip, clamping her cunt around me when she found the angle she liked. I grabbed her hips, guided her a little faster, and she let herself go until she came on me for the second time, trembling all over. Without coming out of me, she turned me over on top of her, hooked her ankles low on my back, and asked me to empty myself there, and that’s what I did: I drove my cock to the hilt until I unloaded inside her for the second time that day, my forehead pressed to hers.

When we were done and the room fell quiet and the breeze came in through the open window, I lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking there are very few experiences in life worth as much as peeling someone layer by layer until you find what they truly want, and giving it to them without asking twice.

The next day there was more beach, more sun, and more of the same. But that’s another story.