Rising Tide: Beach Confession of Savage Exhibition

October beach in Finistère. Rising tide laps gray sands. Fine rain drips off rocks. Desolate. Just her and me. She swims fierce between boulders, blonde ponytail slick. Dog shakes, massive German shepherd, eyes loyal. She emerges, wetsuit clinging. Heart pounds. I hide behind my rock, surfboard forgotten. She spreads towel six meters off. Twists hair. Laughs low to beast. Unzips. Seams peel slow. Skin glows mate. Breasts swing free, nipples peak in chill. No playmate fake. Real. Heavy. Balls tighten. She fights neoprene down thighs. Legs part. Smooth mound. No hair. Pink slit flashes. Open. Innocent cave. Cock throbs hard. Painful. Sweat beads despite damp air. She sits, knees up, sandwich bites. Arms shield tits casual. Cunt lips peek. Knows I’m here? Eyes flick my way. I strip too. Wetsuit sheds easy. Torso bare. Then all. Erection springs. Proud. Balls shaved smooth. She glances. No shock. Reads judo mag. Legs ease wider. Heat rushes skull. Skin burns. Pulse races neck. Urge claws gut. Hand grips shaft. Slow stroke. Test. She peeks. Continues. Thighs spread more. Slit glistens. Wet. Mine.