'Harder, bitch, harder!'
Joanne's reluctant grip on her husband's nipples tightened as she twisted them even more viciously to bring Aubrey to climax. Anything to keep him hard until he managed to come, anything to stop that soft flabby belly from hammering down and driving the breath from her lungs for any longer then necessary. He grunted at the sudden increase in pain and battered himself into her, his penis twitching as it spewed his seed into her pussy.
His balls emptied, he slumped across her with his cock already softening, lying there like a stranded fish until she half wriggled, half heaved, her way out from under him and left him gasping and sweating. She pulled on her robe and went downstairs to sit in the dining room, her head in her hands, wondering what to do.
She had had a belly full of the man, in both senses of the phrase. At thirty-three she should be in the prime of her sexual life, and even he, some sixteen years older, should not yet be past it. She should be enjoying a fulfilling, adventurous, passionate relationship, not having to beat his backside into a pulp just for him to get anything like an erection, and then wait for him to fall asleep so that he didn't notice as she silently gave herself a small degree of fulfilment. It was as if he blamed her somehow for his inadequacies and for his reliance on perversity to get his pleasure.
When they had met, nine years before, she had been stimulated by what she naively saw as his experimental approach to sex, and what he called his "little peccadilloes" were just an exciting variation on their more normal bedtimes. But as he had got older his kinky tendencies became more and more important to him and seemingly she less so, until now she was nothing more than a masturbation aid as far as he was concerned, and her own enjoyment counted for nothing. What she needed now, she admitted to herself, was someone to give her a damn good straightforward fucking, for it was a certain fact that she would never get one from him anymore.
'I'll be back around ten.'
His voice echoed from the hall followed by the sound of the front door slamming. She stared at the dining room door in surprise because it was so unusual for him to leave her alone for so long. As his virility had waned, so his jealousy had grown; frightened perhaps that someone else would step in where he failed.
She looked at the clock, at first not realising that half an hour had passed while she had sat there moping, then frowning for the time she had wasted without making any decisions. Two fifteen in the afternoon now, nearly eight hours before he returned and by then he would probably be at least moderately drunk. And that, she suddenly realised, was eight hours of freedom in which to do whatever she wanted, eight hours to get away from the house with all its reminders of her life with a self absorbed masochistic bully. Maybe a walk down by the ocean wouldn't be a bad start. Life couldn't go on forever the way it was, and she needed to think.
She pushed herself out of the chair, planning on a much needed shower before she dressed to go out. Maybe, she thought as the water cascaded over her, a light summer dress with nothing under it so that she could pleasure herself on a quiet beach. But maybe not, for with her luck she'd be caught by someone they both knew. Okay then, not commando, but a light summer dress was still the best bet. She aimed the spray at her pussy, trying to wash away the sticky reminder of their earlier coupling, reconciling herself to his so-called lovemaking. What she wouldn't give to have a normal healthy sex life. God, if only she had the nerve to take a lover.
She had often thought about an affair, and again she seriously considered the idea as she drove towards the sea before deciding once again that it just wasn't worth the risk. She'd never be able to keep it quiet, never be able to cover her liaisons, to account for the regular disappearances that an affair would entail. Aubrey might be a brute, but he wasn't stupid, and if he did find out she was pretty sure he wouldn't divorce her, he'd just make her life an even bigger hell than it was already. She drove around looking to find a spot to park that was near enough to the beach but not so close as to get the car covered in sand. He'd only want to know how it had got there.
Having parked up she wandered down a footpath through the dunes until it opened onto the beach, her favourite, quiet, secluded beach, and was happy to find it almost deserted on this weekday afternoon. There was a group of people clustered around a barbecue way off to her left, a couple strolling along by the water line and a gaggle of youngsters with kites, and that seemed to be that. Pleased, she sauntered the short distance down to the water's edge and ambled along beside the sea, strolling away from the others, head down, lost in thought, listening to the whoosh and suck of the tide on the pebbles and considering what she should do about her life.
But then a sudden rush of water from the incoming tide broke her reverie and wet her feet, persuading her to turn back and to look for somewhere quiet to sit among the fringe of sand dunes that lined the beach. She soon found the perfect spot at the base of the seaward slope of a dune, facing the sun and shaded from the wind, and there she settled back, pulling her dress up onto her thighs to feel the sun on her legs and then leaning back against the warm sand. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift, still hazily going over her situation. There was not a lot she could do about it, she decided, for her husband would never change, that was for certain, and she had no real reason to divorce him. She daren't even have an affair for fear of being caught, even though the very thought of one sent an illicit thrill running through her.
She was still pondering over her life when she became aware that she was not alone. There was nothing that told her so, no shadow, or sound, but just an instinct, and it was that same instinct that made her open an eye very slowly in order to see if she was right before committing herself to looking properly. She was right. About ten or so yards in front of her stood a young man, maybe a dozen years younger than herself and dressed just in a pair of blue jeans and a psychedelic tee-shirt. He was looking intently at her, but at an angle so that it would appear as though he were just innocently contemplating the horizon. For a moment she wondered why, but then she realised. He was looking up her dress, and no doubt seeing more than he should under her hiked up skirt.
Her first instinct was to slam her knees together to maintain her modesty, but for some reason she didn't want to. She knew that she should be extremely offended if not absolutely outraged, but for some reason she wasn't that either. In fact his gaze was giving her a buzz; a tiny but definite adrenalin kick that was making her heart beat just that little bit faster. Opening her other eye, but keeping them both almost closed, she gazed back at him from between her eyelashes, taking in his blond hair, youthfully muscular physique and healthy looking tan. He was clearly interested in her, and the fact that she was having any effect on such a handsome young stranger did wonders for her battered self-esteem. It was the sort of reassurance that she could do with more of.
Relaxing on the beach had already left her knees a few inches apart and now she found them drifting wider, spreading inch by inch as if of their own accord and giving the young man a better view of the plain cotton panties she had so carelessly chosen. Maybe she would have worn something sexier if she had known, but maybe, she remembered her previous thoughts, she could have worn nothing at all. Her heart rate increased at the thought of his eyes on her pussy, and her knees separated just a little bit further until she was sure he had a clear view. Any more and it would be clear that she was deliberately opening her legs for him, but so far, she convinced herself, it was just the inadvertent exhibition of a woman dozing on the beach.
His eyes kept flicking from the horizon to her crotch, from there to her face, as he checked to see if she was aware of his presence, and then back to the horizon. Keeping her slitted eyes just that tiny bit open she smiled inwardly at his ineffective attempts at nonchalance, wondering how he could not know how obvious he was, and for that matter how could he not know that she had seen him. She wondered what to do, excited by his attention and aroused by the possibilities she was torn between making a sham of waking, acting as if innocent of her own display, and either pretending not to notice or simulating anger at his impertinence. There was a third alternative, however, and her heart banged as she considered it. Could she? Would she? Should she? Yes!
She let her legs fall wide open in an obviously premeditated way, spreading her feet and deliberately showing him herself to him and excitedly wondering if her increasing dampness would be visible. At the same time she opened her eyes properly, letting him know that she knew of his presence by looking directly at him. She told herself that he would either be embarrassed at being caught peeping at her and move away or he'd have the bottle to stand his ground, and then things were going to get interesting.
He was no coward. He did redden with embarrassment, but he responded to her eye contact by returning her gaze without flinching, and with a wry smile playing around his lips.
'Enjoying the view?' She asked quietly, trying to keep her nerves out of her voice.
'Err. Yes, thank you.'
She shot a quick glance up and down the beach to make sure her behaviour wasn't being witnessed, and was pleased to find that only the barbecuing crowd were still in sight, and they were mere dots in the distance.
'Come closer and get a better look.' She invited him, silently marvelling at her own daring.
'Thank you.' He repeated with mock solemnity, moving to stand between her feet, staring straight at her cotton covered pussy. She gazed back at him, her eyes fastened on a bulge that was visibly growing inside his jeans.
