She's about 5 foot 6. Like a little peach. Her hair is pale blonde, thick, glossy, long, it hangs down her back in a sugar-cookie coloured tumble, often in her face, she's always tucking it behind her ears. Her skin is also pale, creamy, it reminds some people of marble when they see her up-close, and her eyes are a dark, deep brown, shaded with long, lush lashes that hit the insides of her sunglasses, when she wears them. There's a slight natural flush on her cheeks, when she's been active people often ask her if she has a fever. The lips are full and pink and supple, she's conscious of the effect that biting these lips, gently, seems to have on men. Her body is, simply, shaped perfectly. She doesn't exercise too much, so you wouldn't see any defined muscle, but she's feline, lithe, firm. Her breasts are full and pert, with pink nipples that sometimes get small and hard. Her waist is tiny, to the point that she's had to prove to friends, more than once, that she isn't wearing a corset or special undergarment of some kind when she wears a fitted shirt, and her hips flow silkily out from that little waist, framing her.
There's a round bottom, full like her breasts, extremely distracting to onlookers when she wears hip hugging jeans. Her pussy is nearly bare, with only a small strip of soft light brown hair above her little clit. When she's aroused her lips swell ripely. Her legs are like the rest of her: smooth, tanned a tawny medium brown, her feet ever-so-slightly pudgy and pink, perfectly clean. She usually wears a fitted pair of white cotton panties, hipster so they don't show above her jeans. Today she is wearing a pair of shorts over these little white panties – a pair of short, baby pink terrycloth shorts that sit so low on the hips when she stretches or reaches up, her pelvic bones show, only serving to emphasize her soft, flat tummy. There's no bra today, just a thick white cotton camisole, also fitted, but not absolutely tight and a pair of leather flip-flops with enough strap to wind haphazardly around each ankle. The only jewelry she's wearing is a pair of tiny silver studs in her ears.
The Man.
He is in his mid 30's. He is 6 foot 3 or 4 inches tall and broad, hard, his shoulders, arms and chest are wide and strong, and his legs are thick and powerful. There is a slight bump on the bridge of his nose, as if it's been broken before, which, given his occupation, it probably has. His face is tanned and a little weathered, he obviously spends a lot of time outdoors, and his jawline is straight and powerful. He has about an 8th of an inch of 5 o'clock shadow on his face and he hasn't bothered to get out of his uniform. His hands are scarred, muscled, his fingers are solid and his forearms are thick and ropey with muscle. The way he walks is presuming. He's not afraid of anyone or anything around him, he has a kind of blatant confidence that manages to be quiet, contained and yet utterly obvious all at the same time.
Men and women notice him, mostly tourists who realize almost immediately what he is and, sometimes, stare fairly openly at him. He keeps walking. His walk is the lope of a person in the best physical condition. He has narrow blue eyes and his hair is shorn close, emphasizing a stocky, muscled neck. He sees her standing on the beach as he walks by on the promenade, and even from this not-insignificant distance, something draws his eye, makes it linger a little longer than usual. Maybe it's her bright hair, whipping around her face in the breeze, or the contrast between her tanned legs and her pink shorts, but he looks. As he looks, she stretches slowly, lazily and balances on her tiptoes for a few seconds before collapsing easily onto the soft sand on her back. He is almost surprised to feel his cock twitch restlessly at this almost-distant figure, and he stops walking, turns deliberately to the beach and rests his forearms against the railings, as if looking out to sea, actually watching her intently, just watching.
She is lying on the sand, and it feels warm and silky, almost liquid it's so fine, against her bare arms and shoulders and legs. She knows she's getting sand in her hair but the joy of lying in that sand is more than worth it to her. She stretches again, languidly, arching her back up and throwing her head and arms back dramatically, unaware anyone is watching her. As she arches her body up, the man, completely involuntarily, takes a step towards the small path leading to the beach, and keeps going, resisting the urge to adjust his cock, which is now starting to strain against his thick fatigues. She draws her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball before flopping out again, letting her arms hit the sand limply.
Suddenly she's aware of someone approaching and arranges herself into a more appropriate position, locking her eyes on the ocean. She hears footsteps on the sand and after they pass, opens her eyes and looks up to see a man, obviously a ----, walking about 10 feet in front of her. The procession from vision to body is instant, it seems to bypass her mind altogether – her eyes see this man, see his hard, thick body and her body reacts instantly, relaxing almost imperceptibly, especially her legs, which she has to actually make the decision to close as her thighs melt and part, just a little. She hasn't even registered that she's looking when he glances up to her, catches her, and she momentarily loses her cool and turns her head, too quickly, back to the ocean. Something in his stance changes as he keeps walking...did she see a little gesture there, a nod of some sort, did he move his shoulders back? She tells herself to stop being ridiculous, but her heart is pounding as she watches him walk down the beach. She decides to wait and see if she actually did feel something or if she was just imagining it, and as she lays her head back on the sand and turns her hips slightly, she feels it, that slick, warm, deliciously messy feeling of her pussy just starting to get wet.
He keeps walking down the beach, completely sure she noticed him, completely sure she was interested. He's seen that look on women's faces before, he almost has a 6th sense for it by now. There remains a little surprise at the reaction she has, in turn, called up in him. His cock is now almost painfully hard, he's actually having to make some effort not to touch it, adjust it, give himself some slight relief from the discomfort. He keeps walking away from her because he knows he's going to turn back and she's going to be there.
She stays on the sand, luxuriating in her own arousal, at how easily it happened, so quick and hot and perfect, and she doesn't need to look when she hears footsteps again because she knows it's him, her body knows it's him. The footsteps stop in front of her and she glances up, shading her eyes with one hand. He's standing about 10 feet from her feet, his stance is relaxed. He speaks first.
"Hi..."
Her response is more of a breath...just the sight of him standing there just caused the instant soaking through of those little white cotton panties that were so pristine only an hour ago,"Hi..."
She doesn't make an effort to sit up, she likes that she is lying down and he is standing.
"You're visiting, aren't you?" he asks, walking closer to her, coming over.
She has to fight to remain calm here as he comes to her, because her arms want to reach out to him and take hold of those impossibly muscled shoulders, her mouth already itches for his.
"Yeah...I'm...visiting..." she says, and blushes a little because her words came out hesitantly, she's flustered. He's on it sooner than she is. He smiles now, a confident, masculine smile, and she notices...she notices. He comes up close to her, closer than would be expected from a stranger, and kneels down beside her.
"Is there any specific reason for your visit?" he asks, talking quietly because he's close enough to do so. She's shocked by her desire, it's all over her face, but it only serves to make her more daring. She considers her words for a second and then speaks, a little breathlessly, but slowly, controlled...
"I think...you might...know what I'm here for...?" and as she finishes she lies back on the sand again, flat, and raises her arms up over her head, tilting her body towards him slightly, slightly.
The physical reaction in him is too strong, the total control has slipped slightly and he moves over her without thinking at all. She audibly sighs as he does this, the moment is less than a few seconds but it's all that's needed, as she reaches up and pulls his mouth down to her, so hungry for it she uses his shoulders to lift herself up to him.
He pulls his head away – jerks it away – before she can kiss him and she bites her lip in frustration as he smiles down at her again, whispering now:
