(L) – This story contains strong language.
Our Beach Voyeur
Hey everyone, Cindy here.
Cal and I went to Northern California and got a bit naughty on public beach about an hour or so north of San Francisco. We ended up with a voyeur, and this story is about that experience.
This story will be told from three perspectives, mine, Cal’s and, our voyeurs. Cal wrote his perspective, sort of matching mine, and I wrote my perspective and our admirer’s perspective. Obviously I took a lot of liberties with that last one, because I was not going to try and track down some cute red-headed stranger I’ve only ever seen once, lol. Also I love the idea of other women wanting Cal, so that’s how I write our voyeur.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this!
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Cindy’s POV:
The sun was high. Perfect. I loved the way the light clung to my skin like a lover’s fingers, every inch of me slick with SPF and sweat, gleaming. My bikini was scandalous—barely there, bright white like innocence, stretched tight over tits Cal couldn’t stop staring at this morning. He watched as I brushed my hair, and I pretended not to notice his hard-on pressing through his boxers like it was demanding breakfast.
I gave him a smile—that one with soft and warm church girl manners, but my eyes told him everything. I knew what I looked like in this bikini. I wore it for him, but if anyone else wanted to look, I’m not shy.
The beach was full, but not crowded. As I walked the shoreline and enjoyed the incredibly cold water of the North Pacific, I glanced back to the sand to just look at that perfect specimen of a man—my husband, my Cal—sitting under the umbrella with his sunglasses on. The way his biceps flexed while he opened that cooler, his fingers dripping with condensation as he cracked open a bottle of water—God, I was so stupid for him. And I wanted him to feel it. All of it.
I walked out of the surf like temptation in slow motion, water streaming off me in beads, every step a little performance. My hips swayed like they needed hands to hold them still. I caught a few glances from other men—admiring, hungry—but as much as I enjoyed the eyes on me, none of them mattered. There are times I’ll flirt with other guys, but this was not one of those times. Not even close. Today, I was all his.
And fuck me, did that make me feel powerful—having men stare at me, probably wanting my attention, and not even getting a glance, because my full devotion was for Cal.
“Hey, daddy,” I said, kneeling on the towel beside him, reaching for the sunscreen. I made a show of bending just right, my ass tilting up, breasts shifting under the wet cling of my top. “Can you get my back?”
He didn’t even answer. He just took the bottle and squirted it into his palm, rubbing his hands together. When he touched me, I shivered. His hands were big, warm, possessive. He worked the lotion in slow, heavy circles, up my spine, along my shoulders.
Then lower.
And lower . . .
I leaned back into it, letting my head fall forward, pushing my ass subtly into his lap. I felt him harden behind his shorts. He was rock solid, and I could barely keep from grinding.
“We should go for a walk,” I murmured. “Find somewhere more . . . private.”
He growled low in his throat.
“You know I’ll fuck you anywhere, but this isn’t a place we can just fuck like when we’re in Jamaica,” Cal said as he slipped his hand between my legs and massaged.
I replied by reaching to his manhood and gripping it through his shorts.
Ten minutes later we were in the dunes, shielded by tall grass, with little more than the sea breeze and the sound of waves to cover what was about to happen.
I dropped to my knees on the towel like I was kneeling at the altar, looking up at him with my lips parted, eyes wide, worship in every cell of my body.
He pulled his cock out and I swear my mouth watered. He was thick, flushed, his tip already glistening with precum. I leaned forward, wrapped my fingers around the base, and looked up at him like the good little wife I was—and am.
“Let me serve you,” I whispered.
And then I took him. Deep.
My lips slid down that hot, pulsing length, slowly at first, savoring the weight and heat of him on my tongue. He let out a grunt, his fingers tangling in my hair, gripping tight as I sucked him deeper. My throat tightened around him, tears stinging the corners of my eyes as I took him past my gag reflex again and again.
I loved choking on his cock. I loved being wrecked, face-fucked, and used just the way he wanted. Every time I gagged, he moaned louder. Every time I drooled, it dripped between my breasts, soaking my bikini.
His hips started to buck. I braced myself, hands on his thighs, letting him use me—letting him claim my throat.
“You’re mine,” he growled. “God gave me a slut, didn’t He, Cindy? You look so fuckin’ hot like this, on your knees, choking on my dick.”
I gurgled a moan around him, the words making my pussy clench. I wanted to touch myself, wanted to feel how wet I was, but I didn’t move. I didn’t need to. I was getting off just from serving.
And then he came. Hard.
His cock twitched, his grip on my hair went tight, and he shoved himself deep—so deep—and I felt his cum flood my throat. Hot, thick, pouring in fast. I choked on it, sputtered, drool and seed spilling past my lips as I tried to swallow it all but couldn’t keep up. It splattered my chin, ran down my neck, coated my tongue.
I looked up at him, breathless. Messy. Perfect.
“My good girl,” he said, voice hoarse.
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Cal’s POV
“We should go for a walk,” she whispered grabbing my dick to stop any potential protest I might have.
Damn.
We barely made it to the dunes. She dropped to her knees like it was instinct, her bikini strings hanging loose from where I’d tugged them. Hair windblown, cheeks flushed, lips parted—she looked up at me like I was the only man in the world.
And in that moment? I fucking was.
I pulled my cock out and she moaned. Like, really moaned—this needy, aching little sound that made my balls draw tight. She took me in her hand, then in her mouth, eyes never leaving mine as her lips sealed around the head.
Fucking heaven.
Her mouth was hot, slick, perfect. She started slow, swirling her tongue, then took more, letting me push deeper until she was gagging, tears brimming in those sweet, sinful eyes. I groaned, hips jerking forward. Couldn’t help it. The sounds she made—wet, messy, so damn eager—it was driving me out of my mind.
“You’re mine,” I growled, fisting her hair tighter. “God gave me a slut, didn’t He, Cindy? That mouth was made for my cock.”
She moaned around it, vibrating all the way through my spine.
I started thrusting—controlled at first, then harder, deeper, watching my thick cock disappear between her lips, watching her throat bulge with every push. She gagged, and it only made me fuck her mouth harder. Her face was a mess, covered in spit and sunscreen and lust, but she looked so damn beautiful like that—like a girl who loved being used.
“Take it,” I growled. “Fucking take it, Cindy.”
She didn’t pull away. She never did. That’s what killed me—how much she wanted it. Not just to suck me off, but to please me—to be wrecked for me. Her fingers dug into my thighs, holding on as I fucked her throat.
I felt it build—tight, hot, electric.
“Shit—I’m gonna—”
I slammed deep one last time and exploded.
Hot ropes of cum pumped straight into her throat. She choked and sputtered, but stayed down like a good fucking wife, like she wanted every drop. It poured from her lips, dripped down her chin, made a fucking mess of her.
And she just looked up at me, eyes shining, mouth full, cum on her chest like a mark of my ownership.
“Fuck, Cindy . . .” I said, chest heaving. “You’re perfect.”
She smiled around my cock, her eyes sparkling as if to say, I know.
And I already wanted her again.
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Voyeur’s POV
I was pretending to read—some trashy romance novel I’d brought just for the cover—but my eyes kept drifting to them. The couple. She was too hot not to notice—curves that begged for touch, long wet hair clinging to her shoulders, her bikini white and criminally thin, and even smaller than my own. Every time she shifted, something jiggled or tightened, and my mouth went dry.
And the husband—fuck me! They only seemed to have eyes for each other, but if he was willing, I’d love to have him for myself. Big, broad, serious. The way he looked at her—it was like she was dessert and he hadn’t eaten in days.
I was so not trying to eavesdrop. I mean, okay, maybe I angled my towel to get an easier look. Maybe I adjusted my sunglasses just so. But when she laid down and asked him to “get her back,” her voice carried just enough for me to hear the tone in it, and it made my thighs press together real tight.
Then I watched his hands roam over her like they had history. Not just lust—ownership. Worship. That kind of deep, almost sacred hunger that made my stomach twist in the best way.
And then they were gone.
They just . . . vanished, heading toward the dunes. Like nothing. Like the entire beach wasn’t watching and trying to pretend not to.
Maybe it was the sex scene I was reading. Maybe it was me hoping to be a part of a scene like that myself. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were many reasons that could have made me do it, but I don’t know why I did.
I followed.
I didn’t mean to. My feet just moved. My brain said no, but my pussy? She wanted answers.
I stayed low, ducking behind the tall dune grass and throwing my towel down. The breeze smelled like salt, with the faintest whiff of sex. My heart was hammering. I peeked between the blades and nearly whimpered.
There they were.
She was on her knees.
Oh fuck.
I’d never seen anything so filthy in person, so perfect, so absolutely raw. Her fingers were curled into the towel, her mouth stretched wide around his thick cock, spit gleaming in the sun as it dripped down her chin. And he was holding her head like he owned her—like he had every right in the world to wreck her throat and make her cry doing it.
I shouldn’t have stayed. I should’ve left. But I couldn’t.
She was moaning around him, gagging with every thrust, and he was praising her—his voice deep and possessive. “God gave me a little slut, didn’t He?” he said, and I nearly came from just that. My hand slid down before I could stop it, fingers slipping under my bikini bottoms. I was soaked. Fucking soaked.
I bit my lip hard to stay quiet. My fingers worked fast—fast and desperate. Every time he pushed deeper and she choked, my clit throbbed. I was soaking my bikini bottoms, probably even wetting the towel beneath at this point. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop—not while I was watching a real pro on her knees getting throat-fucked by a man who knew she was his.
Then he groaned loud—so loud—and grabbed her head, burying himself to the root.
She took it.
And when he came? It was obscene. I saw it. Her throat worked, trying to swallow it all, but there was too much. It spilled from her lips, down her chest, a beautiful white mess. And she just looked up at him with this filthy smile like she was proud to wear it.
My orgasm hit so hard I almost cried out.
I had to bite my arm just to stay quiet as my body clenched, thighs shaking, cum slicking my fingers while I watched—his cock twitching, her lips swollen and used, both of them glowing with the heat of it.
And me?
All I could think was . . . I’d do it again.
The image burst into my mind of me begging that woman to let me have her husband for an hour. I shook it out of my head. Goodness, I needed a husband of my own to do this with.
But yes, I’d do it again. I’d follow them again. I’d watch them again.
And I’d say thank you.
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Cindy’s POV
I could still feel him in my throat, his cum coating my throat and sliding down into my stomach.
My knees were warm from the sand. My lips were swollen. My chest was sticky with his cum, thick and warm, cooling in the ocean breeze. The sun was perfect overhead, and I loved the way it made every drop glisten—like a badge—like a brand.
I dipped my fingers into the mess on my chest. Just two. Slowly, deliberately, I swirled it across my skin like body paint. Feeling it coat my fingertips, I smiled.
And that’s when I saw her. (I sorta wished I’d seen her earlier. That would’ve made things even more naughty.)
She thought she was hidden. Poor thing. Her towel was askew, her legs pressed together too tightly, and her hand? Oh, her hand was just slipping away from where it had been buried. Her face flushed nearly as red as her hair, her lips were parted, and her whole body was trembling.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cover up.
I winked.
Slow. Sultry. Filthy.
Her breath hitched—I could see it from here, like a ripple in the grass—and I watched her thighs clamp harder, guilt and arousal tangled up in her eyes. She didn’t even blink.
She wanted to be caught.
I ran my cum-slick fingers across my collarbone, letting them trail down between my breasts, collecting every warm, sticky drop. I brought them to my lips and gave them a taste, just enough to tease. Then I stood.
Cal was already tying his board shorts, tucking himself away, his face still flushed and smug as ever. I slipped my hand into his like it was the most natural thing in the world—like I wasn’t still painted in his orgasm and glistening with spit.
Together, we walked back toward the water—heads high, no shame. Let the beach see. Let the sun bless it. Because it was staying there until the salty surf washed it away.
My thighs were slick. My pussy ached.
I left him at our spot on the beach, but I could still feel the weight of him deep in my throat, and the heat of his stare on my back as I waded into the surf.
And behind us? I knew she was still watching. Her hand might’ve moved again. I hoped it did. Because she’d never forget Cal or me. Not after this.
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