Motion of the Ocean
by JA Reynolds

Suzanne stood at the water’s edge, the icy Atlantic grabbing her around the ankles at regular intervals and then releasing her with a sudden rush and whoosh. The sand was as hard as paving stones beneath her feet and the cool evening breeze whipped the loose tendrils of her ponytail around her face and, stinging, into her eyes.

High up on the beach, a bonfire raged and both close friends and relative strangers grouped around it. The firelight made their sunburned faces even ruddier and the laughter and loud music rang out over the sand and disappeared suddenly into the air, no match for the rush and crash of the high tide. Still further up the beach was the cottage whose deck was peopled with more summer revellers in various stages of dress and undress. Bathing suits, sundresses, halter tops, filmy cover-ups that covered little up; the dress code was simple – skin was in.

‘So, are you ready to go in?’ Mark asked, removing his sandy T-shirt. He was 22, fresh out of college and a cadet at the police academy. Suzanne was 35, recently re-singled, and glad as hell she’d agreed to join friends at their weekend retreat, smack on the Maine coast. Mark was friendly and attentive and the kind of guy she classified as a “good boy”. She was older, divorced and hornier than a 40-peckered roadrunner.

She’d been dropping “Let’s Fuck” hints all afternoon. She asked him to rub sunscreen on her. He did. Nothing. She offered to rub some on him. She did. Nothing. She untied her top while sunbathing. Nothing. She touched his arm as they talked. Nothing. Either his defences were up or he was playing hard to get. Or he was stupid. She had one last resort: skinny-dipping. Thank God for friends with beachfront property or she might never get laid.

Suzanne lifted one foot, then the other, gauging the relative coldness of the seawater. The ocean off the coast of Ogunquit is not known for its balmy temperatures, even in the dead of August, and despite being brought up in the constitution-building chill of the New England surf, Suzanne was none too sure she wanted to surrender her naked body to the dark, cold water. She was tempted to cut to the chase and give Mark the truth – no, I’d rather not go swimming, but if you want to fuck right here on the sand, I’m all for it. She checked her impulse. Not out of any sense of propriety, mind you, but it’d be a shame to scare him off at this stage of the game.

She was just about to wonder if she’d made a tactical error in suggesting the ever-popular moonlight swim, when he suddenly whipped off that shirt and she saw his nicely developed chest, strong arms, and flat abs. ‘Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead,’ she thought and hummed to herself as she stepped out of the water and up on to the soft sand, still warm from the day’s sun. She peeled off her own T-shirt and sandy shorts and with a grin in Mark’s direction, reached for the ties of her bikini top.

He watched as Suzanne pulled on the strings and then, with a jiggle and a shake, released her breasts from their Lycra suspension. He swallowed hard as they bounced free, unable to keep from staring as she shimmied out of her scanty bottoms and piled her discarded clothes in a messy heap in the sand.

Suzanne moved slowly and with purpose. She could feel his eyes on her and avoided them, letting him take in the sight of her as he pleased. If she had one thing she could thank her ex-husband for it was the hours she spent in the gym, taking out her frustrations on the free weights and soothing her soul in yoga class. The combination of the two left her lean and flexible, while genetics supplied the round, full hips, tiny waist and substantial breasts. She looked better than she had in at least 15 years and now, free of 200 pounds of dead weight, she felt better too.

She pulled the elastic out of her hair and shook it free, combing her fingers through the tangled, sun-streaked curls. She ran her hands along her body and brushed off imaginary sand, then did a few unnecessary gentle stretches. He made no move to take off his own swimsuit and she had a quick pang of panic, wondering if he had missed her signal and mistaken her invitation for a midnight swim after all. Good God, perhaps he thought she meant they’d keep their bathing suits on.

For his part, Mark hesitated uncertainly. Should he unabashedly strip off his trunks and leave them behind? The effect of her sudden, shameless and spectacular nudity left him in a potentially embarrassing situation. If he could just get into the cold water, the problem would take care of itself but as it was, he saw no way to gracefully disrobe without exposing the erection that was growing more pronounced by the second. He wished she’d just say “To hell with the swim, why don’t you fuck me right here on the sand?” but it didn’t seem to be forthcoming. She actually seemed to be warming up for the swim. Perhaps he’d misunderstood and she was merely a nudist or something and prone to swimming naked?

They looked at each other for a moment or two, then Mark took a deep breath and as Suzanne turned to look toward the dark water, he quickly dropped his shorts and with a yell ran crashing headlong into the waves.

Suzanne laughed, catching a shadowed glimpse of his hard-on bobbing up and down as he pelted for the relative security of the open ocean. He dove under the first breaker and she waved when she saw his head pop up on the other side.

Regretting what she was sure would be the demise of a promising erection, she walked purposefully ahead to meet the rushing water and gasped as the foam hit her square in the thighs, wetting her to the waist. She kept walking, bracing herself for the second wave which she estimated would break neatly over her shoulders.

A slight miscalculation. The wave engulfed her up to her neck and lifted her slightly off the bottom, carrying her several feet back in towards shore before releasing her and breaking behind her back as her feet touched sand again. She looked for Mark and seeing him surface after diving through another wave, lifted her feet and swam strongly out to meet him.

They stood in the cold water, shivering slightly, when Suzanne broke the figurative ice. ‘It really doesn’t take long to get used to it,’ she remarked, though her dark nipples betrayed her very words by being in hardened points that would have cut granite. Mark ached to touch them, but wasn’t sure if he’d be breaking some sort of skinny-dipping etiquette, so he merely stood and watched as they disappeared under another wave and emerged dripping, a few feet away from him.

Irritated with being pulled away every time a wave came in, she strode through the water and slid her hands on to his forearms. ‘I’m getting sick of having to keep walking back,’ she explained and turned him so that his back was to the shore. Ten seconds later, another wave lifted her, but she flexed her elbows and allowed the swell of water to push her squarely against his chest.

Unfortunately for Mark, he had neglected to brace himself for the impact and they both tumbled over into the salt water, their limbs tangling in the foam. Suzanne came up sputtering and laughing and shaking her wet hair out of her face. ‘You were supposed to keep me from getting dunked,’ she said, teasing, and again stood face to face with him, her hands on his chest and her thighs touching his lightly. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘This will be easier.’

She guided him into the deeper water until she was up to her neck. ‘Now,’ she instructed, ‘when a wave comes, jump and let it carry you.’ And when the next swell came, he followed her cue and they both lifted their feet and let themselves drift with it until it deposited them gently back on the sea bottom. She slid her arms around his strong shoulders and asked, ‘Isn’t that better?’

Mark looked down at her nodded in agreement. He put his arms around her waist and waited for the next swell. This time, he was ready and pushed off slightly with his toes, lifting her with him and letting the water press them together as it swirled in great gentle currents around them. Over and over they bobbed in the waves, dancing with the rhythm of the tide.

His hands wandered, sometimes involuntarily, as the waves buffeted them. He felt the smooth curve of her ass, the hard points of her nipples against his chest, the pressure of her leg as it wrapped about his for balance. Gradually, he found that if he leaned back as the wave lifted them, she would be forced further atop of him, straddling and riding him and the wave. He felt himself half-hard despite the cold water, a feat not easily accomplished and a condition not easily missed by someone pressing against that area.

Another wave lifted them off their feet and Mark pulled her close, floating with her. She pressed her lips to his neck and tasted the salty water there. His skin was surface-cool, but burning beneath it, and she nibbled a path to his earlobe before their feet touched the sand again.

He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around him as he turned his head and sought her mouth with his. Her kiss was eager, nearly ravenous, and so excited him that he nearly forgot to jump with the next wave, remembering only at the last minute and then doing it so abruptly that their mouths knocked together painfully.

They separated, and Suzanne laughed as they both held their hands to their mouths. ‘Are you OK?’ he stammered, feeling his tender lower lip. ‘I’m sorry …’ he began.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him and turned her attention from her own swelling lip to his, rinsing it with the healing salt water and kissing it gently. ‘Maybe we’d better go back to shore,’ she suggested, then added with a slight giggle, ‘before someone loses an eye.’

She took his hand in hers and they walked up the beach. Their bodies felt heavy on dry land and they sat in a somewhat ungainly manner on the sand. Mark touched his lip again and winced. ‘Let me see,’ Suzanne said and pulled him closer to her. She ran her fingertip lightly over the swollen flesh, examining his bruise. ‘Poor thing,’ she sympathized.

Mark looked into her eyes. ‘I’m OK, really,’ he said. ‘See, I’ll show you,’ and tenderly, he kissed her full lips. She returned his kiss, gently, trying hard not to irritate the sensitive skin. She slid her arms around his neck and ran her hands along his strong shoulders. He groaned as she pressed her body to his.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked with concern. ‘I didn’t hurt you more, did I? I was trying to go easy.’

Had it been daylight, she would have seen the redness creep into his cheeks. As it was, the night masked his blushes as he replied, ‘No, no … I was … it just felt really good is all.’

‘Oh, well in that case,’ she continued and leaned into him again, forcing him back in the sand. Her hands wandered over his hard, young body. She murmured her approval as she appraised the length and girth of his fully erect cock and gave it a mental grade of “substantial”.

He winced again with both pleasure and pain as her hand stroked him gently, though not gently enough to avoid grinding the none-too-fine Ogunquit sand into the velvety flesh. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to stop or not. Never before in his experience had the two sensations come together so delightfully. He found himself wondering if he’d come before or after he started to bleed.

He didn’t wonder long. He closed his eyes and groaned again as Suzanne slid down the length of his body, anticipating the touch of her lips on his throbbing hard-on. He heard the click as they parted, felt the warmth of her breath on the smooth tip, and then only the soft soothing wetness as she took the full length of him in.

For one stroke.

She drew off of him spitting, and wiping at her tongue. ‘You’re covered with sand!’ she exclaimed.

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but when you were … touching me … before … well, it was like you were using sandpaper!’

Suzanne laughed and spit again. ‘Well then, this is just stupid, don’t you think?’ Mark didn’t dare disagree. ‘C’mon,’ she said, getting to her feet, pulling his shirt on over her naked body and tossing his shorts to him. ‘Let’s go find some place less abrasive.’

Relieved, Mark pulled his trunks on, plucking at the tented fabric in the front. ‘No one will even notice,’ Suzanne replied to his unspoken concern.

They walked back up the beach, skirting the perimeter of the bonfire and remaining in the dark shadows. Mark’s hand slid under his own shirt and felt Suzanne’s round ass as she walked. She caressed him through the thin fabric of his swim trunks and squeezed the bursting head of his cock, practically using it as a leash to guide him to the outdoor shower.

They stepped inside the open-air stall and closed the rough, weather-worn door behind them. The shower was lit only with the indirect light spilling out of the cottage windows, but it was more than they’d had at the water’s edge and they took full advantage, feasting on the sight each other’s naked flesh as they stripped off what little was covering them.

Suzanne turned on the shower and stood under it, letting the warm water wash over her cold skin. She spun around and around as Mark watched her. She used a sea sponge to wash away all the sand, checking carefully for any grains that may have escaped the water. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them, teasing the rock-hard nipples and rolling them between her fingers. She rubbed them with her fingertips, moaning at her own touch. She slid her hands over her flat belly to the neat tangle of dark hair and ran her fingers through it, teasing her aching slit ever so slightly. She parted her legs to give Mark a better view, watching his response all the while.

Slowly she stroked her clit with one finger, motioning with her free hand for Mark to take off his shorts. In a flash, he was naked and standing in front of her, his lips around her nipple as he sucked it so hard she gasped.

Suzanne backed slowly away and pushed Mark under the spray. ‘Your turn,’ she said and nodded in the direction of his engorged purple cock.

Mark flushed again and hesitated. He had never touched himself in front of anyone else in his life, and as aroused as he was at the sight of Suzanne’s own masturbation, he felt himself begin to fail.

Suzanne stepped into the stream of water with him. ‘Close your eyes,’ she commanded and reached for his wet cock. She stroked it firmly once, twice. His eyes fluttered shut. Then she took his hand and guided it to his own straining member, and, wrapping her fist around his, led him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He gave himself over to the familiar and pleasant sensation, the pressure inside his balls building as he stroked harder and faster.

Suzanne knelt before him and as he stroked, took the swollen head between her lips. He groaned as she sucked him expertly, his own hand stroking, hers squeezing and scratching his scrotum while the other caressed and explored his firm ass. She tasted his salty pre-come, wiping the slippery stuff across her lips before standing and giving Mark a taste of his own semen. He kissed her eagerly, the musky taste of his cock mingled with the tastes and scents of the ocean.

‘I think you’d better fuck me, Mark,’ Suzanne said, turning her back to him and rubbing her ass against his prick. She leaned forward and braced her hands on the rough planks of the shower door, and could see the party on the beach through the cracks in the door. She spread her legs wide and Mark sought her opening with his hand. She moaned as he slid two, then three fingers inside her and stroked her deeply, drawing out the moisture that mingled with the water all around them.

‘Fuck me,’ she said again, both commanding and pleading with him. He guided his cock to the hole and slid in easily, nearly shooting immediately at the gratifying tightness. He stayed inside her for a moment, catching his breath and regaining his composure. He reached around for her breasts and fondled them, rolling the nipples as she had done and wrenching a loud moan from her.

He pulled out, all the way out, his dick bobbing in the air, warm water from the shower running all over it. ‘Put it back in,’ she begged, and he did, slowly, one inch at a time until he possessed her entirely, his balls pressed to her ass and pussy.

He stroked her as slowly as he could go, holding back, saying the alphabet backwards, trying to draw out her pleasure. He fucked her with purpose, with control, until she was whimpering and leaning back to meet him with each thrust. He grasped her hips and pulled her to him over and over, pounding deeply into her. She grabbed the top of the shower stall and held on, the planks shaking and squeaking in her grasp.

Moaning loudly, heedless of who might be listening or watching and more than a little turned on because of it, Suzanne braced herself for the orgasm that was building up and preparing to break loose inside of her. Just a little more, just a bit more…something and she’d be there.

‘Come now,’ she ordered Mark. ‘Come in me. Oh, God – I need it!’

There’s something about a woman’s voice when she orders a man to come that makes him shoot despite himself. It’s as if it’s the one command she’ll give that he’s utterly powerless to obey, even if his own climax isn’t really imminent.

Mark’s was, however. As if on command, his body stiffened and he felt the come boiling up out of him. He was glued to her, his arms pulling her in as wave after wave gushed out of him.

For Suzanne, that was the little something she needed. She felt him harden and swell just before he came and that tiny bit of difference pushed her over the edge. She was scarcely aware of his orgasm as hers grabbed hold and penetrated right through to her very core. She cried out with pleasure and release, her body shaking and her knees weak.

Spent, Mark leaned over her, his cock still hard inside. They were still for a moment, both of them enjoying the pulsing of her cunt spasming more and more weakly around him.

Reluctantly, he withdrew and she turned to face him, sagging against his chest and again seeking his mouth with hers. He returned her kisses eagerly but gently, his lip still a little red and swollen from their swim. She reached for his cock, surprised that it was still hard. She looked up at him with a smirk.

‘Not done?’ she asked knowingly.

‘Are you kidding?’ he replied. ‘That was just a warm-up. The second and third ones are where I can usually last the longest.’

‘Third?’ Suzanne laughed, pulling towels off of a shrub where they had been drying. ‘My room is right upstairs.’

‘Lead the way,’ he said.