[Editor’s suggested image(s) (RL/PP):
https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/woman-bikini-lays-sunbathing-on-beach-2272117911
https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/woman-laying-on-beach-wearing-straw-2475197993
https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/sexy-young-woman-white-lingerie-on-320480774 (PP: A good one, but I’m recommending a couple that are a bit less revealing, after our recent discussion on toning down images to be more welcoming to the more conservative folks who need our sex-positive influence.)
]
In an earlier post, I opened up about my recent experiences of leaking a lot of fluid as I masturbate. It feels so good, making humping a towel my go-to, especially when my wrists are just too tired and achy for manual stimulation of my clit and pussy. Anyhow, I thought I’d share the rough idea of a fantasy I’ve been enjoying during these sessions. I should give the disclaimer that I’d be too shy to do this in real life, and I’m not sure it would be completely moral, but it’s an arousing scenario.
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I’m on the beach, maybe in the evening before sunset. The warm wind and the sound of crashing waves soothe me and caress my senses. Feeling so comfortable and free, I take my bikini off. The fresh salty air brushing the sensitive places around my inner thighs and groin stirs my need. Subtly, I bunch up my beach towel under me. Now my crotch has this perfect saddle to nestle into and rub against.
The beach is pretty much deserted and I’m in a secluded area among the dunes, so no one could really see me unless they walked right by. However, hotels and resorts overlook the beach, and anyone on their balcony could look down and see me. Maybe that knowledge turns me on even more.
With luxurious movements, I begin grinding against the towel, resting my upper body on my forearms so I can watch the sea. I wonder if anyone on the third or fourth story of the hotel behind me is watching me. I can picture what they’re seeing: a young woman, dark hair fluttering in the breeze, reclining naked on her belly, legs parted, gyrating her pelvis in a blatantly sexual motion. The very feeling of my butt bouncing and jiggling arouses me. I admit I’m glad that consistent exercise has given me a more shapely and rounded bottom, and knowing how good it must look makes me shake it even more.
Sometimes I rest my head on my arms, focusing on breathing deeply and basking in the delicious, wet warmth gathering between my thighs. I absolutely adore the sensation of the wet towel under my pussy, and when it’s bunched up just right and rubs further down towards my crack, it’s intoxicating.
Then there’s that feeling of pressure building in my pussy. I don’t know if it’s a need to piss, or if it’s the elusive squirt. But the more I grind, my hips working in this semi-circular pattern, the hot fullness inside me strengthens.
My thoughts get hotter too. I imagine a couple on their balcony, on a weekend getaway for just the two of them; they do a double-take as they catch sight of a beautiful, naked woman humping her towel on the beach. They can just see my moving form among the sea grasses, and though they’re shocked at first, the sight is ramping up their desire. They joke about my wanton display, appreciating how it’s making them horny, and they start to fondle each other. Maybe the husband will bend his wife over the railing and slip into her from behind, and they’ll create their own show while watching the one I’m providing. I wonder if other people, maybe a random single guy, is right at this moment in his hotel room, naked and masturbating and thinking about his future wife. He could even be my future husband and we have no idea how near we are to each other. Thinking of him dropping his shorts and sprawling out on his bed to rub his cock sparks more arousal in my brain.
I bear down, forcing a little trickle of liquid out. Mmm, it soaks the towel, and I grind deeper into that delicious wet spot. My cunt has been leaking its own slippery nectar, so I’m writhing in a warm patch of sexual wetness. It feels so wonderful, and I thank God for my body’s ability to know such pleasure. The setting, the possibility of being watched, and the sensations flooding my entire frame are hurtling me towards an orgasm.
The imagined couple on the balcony pound into each other harder, spurred on by the bold, innocent woman pleasuring herself in the sunset. I love the idea of inspiring a married couple to share their passion with each other. My imagined future husband in his hotel room jerks his cock faster, his mind’s eye feasting on his unknown future wife as she pleasures herself. His masculine grunts are like gasoline on my fire. Finally he can’t hold it anymore and starts cumming all over his hand.
That mental image and the liquid stream escaping my body now and again send me over the edge. I drop my head, gasping, pressing my pussy deeper into the towel, the breath pulled out of my body as I shake in climax. My body is so tense, and then it goes limp.
I lay there, regulating my breathing, conscious of the wetness beneath me. I’m damp with sweat.
Finally I roll over, needing to face upwards . . .
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I’m back on my bedroom floor, the fantasy stored away in its safe box for next time. Sometimes I laugh to myself, imagining my future husband is lying there beside me, and we talk for a minute about the fun we just shared. Other times, I’m weak and extremely hungry and need to nourish myself after such exertion. But every time, it’s a reminder that masturbation can be— and for me is—a way to wait in purity for marriage, and prepare and enjoy my body in the meantime.
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