Hot Summer Night

My name is Rebecca, more commonly known as Becky. When I turned sixteen I went through an 'I'm an adult. Call me Rebecca' phase but did it work? Not so you'd notice. Becky I was and Becky I would remain. Now that I'm twenty that sort of thing doesn't worry me. I am who I am and what people call me doesn't matter. (Unless it's my brother doing the calling and the names he uses are likely to get him a kick in the shins.)

It was summer and the parents had rented a house at the beach for a fortnight. Seeing they were paying I was quite happy to go on holiday with them. I had no objection to spending a lazy two weeks with the sun, surf, and sand.

The first week was a lot of fun. I met up with some old friends and made some new ones. I swam, and sun bathed, and surfed, idly flirting with the boys who were quite willing to flirt back.

The second week started with a change of weather. The first week and been fine and sunny. Monday of the second week started with the temperature rising rapidly, continuing to climb all day, an absolute scorcher of a day. That night we had the air conditioner running full on, trying to combat the heat. The next couple of days were the same, the heat totally enervating with the air conditioners struggling each night to cool the house enough to let us catch a bit of sleep.

Thursday we had relief from the heat when a predicted cool change swept in late in the afternoon. It seemed to me that the temperature went from one hundred plus degrees Fahrenheit to about eighty in no time flat. Still plenty hot but such a relief after the earlier heat.

That night I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling hot and restless. Opening the window I caught a mild breeze blowing in off the water, a lovely cool breeze. Now the house that we were renting was on the beach side of the road. All I had to do to go to the beach was step out the gate in the back fence and voila, there was the sea and the sand. I decided that I'd just go ahead and do that little thing.

I slipped on some sandals and slipped out the back door and down to the beach. Perhaps I should have got dressed first, but what the hell. I was wearing baby-doll pyjamas and they covered me quite adequately. Probably more so than the bikinis I wear.

Once on the beach I dropped down onto a grass covered dune facing the water, relishing that gentle breeze. A breeze strong enough to be damp from the water and cool me down but gentle enough not to gather any sand. In my opinion that was a well-trained breeze.

The moon was full and high, shining brightly upon the beach. I could see and hear splashes out in the water, fish jumping out of the water and splashing back in, probably on the run from a predator. I let my mind drift, just gazing blankly across the water, no worries or cares. I was just peacefully lying there.

With me relaxed like that, my mind just drifting away, I'd hazard a guess and say a herd of elephants might have strolled down the beach without me really seeing them. Oh, I'd have seen them all right. It would be a bit hard to miss a herd of elephants wandering past, but I doubt they'd have really registered until after they were gone. (At which time I'd probably sit up yelling, "What the fuck?")

That's the only reason I can come up with as to why I didn't notice Jay until he was actually lying down on the dune next to me. In fact it wasn't until his hand slipped up my pyjama top and cupped my breast that I snapped out of my daze.

My eyes opened wide and my mouth followed suit, ready to yell at him for taking liberties. Before I could get a word out his hand was lightly touching my mouth and he was shaking his head, silently telling me not to speak.

His sheer unmitigated gall kept me silent while he stroked my breasts. He'd pushed my pyjama top up (easy to do) and my breasts were exposed, his hand running back and forth between them, enjoying them. I have to admit that I was also enjoying the feel of his hands on me. I could feel my nipples puckering under his touch and delicious little thrills ran through me.

His hand drifted away from my breasts with his mouth taking possession instead. That was somewhat different and I grabbed a handful of hair to pull his head away. Something went wrong between the grabbing and the pulling resulting in me clutching his hair while his mouth moved around my breasts, tasting them, kissing them, and, damn him, sucking lightly on my nipples, and that last was doing peculiar things to me.

I'd just about reached the point where I was going to ignore his exhortation to silence and speak when I lost my breath completely from shock. While he was sucking on my nipples his hand slipped under the bottom half of my baby-dolls. I mean, there're pyjamas, and very loose ones at that. I see no reason to wear panties while I sleep so when his hand slipped into my pyjamas it immediately closed over my mound, giving it a quick squeeze and then rubbing it.

I grabbed his wrist, and damned quickly, trying to pull his hand away. It just stayed right where it was, only his fingers continuing to move, and that was more than enough movement for anyone.

"Jay," I finally managed to say, meaning to vigorously protest and suggest he cease and desist. Unfortunately that one word was all I got to say. He started kissing me and I found myself kissing him back, partly in relief as he pulled his hand away from where he was touching me.

He stroked my hips while he kissed me and that I didn't mind nearly so much. It still felt nice and it also meant that he wasn't touching me quite so intimately.

It wasn't until later that I was able to figure out exactly what had happened. While Jay distracted me by kissing me that stroking of my hips was really him pushing my baby-dolls down, leaving me somewhat exposed. I assume that is also when he found time to push his own shorts down. The following is what I knew was happening.

Jay suddenly caught my lower lip between his teeth, holding it firmly, meaning I couldn't move my head. After that he was moving over on top of me, pushing my legs further apart. To complete his little coup I found his cock was now seeking entrance, an entrance I wasn't in a position to resist.

As soon as his cock started making headway he released my lip and resumed the kissing. Even as I was trying to pull my lips away from his I could feel him surging triumphantly into me, his cock full and ready, eager to get to work.

By the time he lifted his lips I was in a hopeless position. His hands were caressing my breasts and his clock was sliding gently back and forth, with me moving in time to its gentle urgings, feeling all those lovely sensations that come with that sort of thing.

I suppose, all things considered, that I should have told him to cease and desist, immediately or sooner, but what would be the use of that? He was already firmly inside me and had set up a rhythm to which I was responding quite naturally. I somehow doubted that he'd listen if I told him to stop and I suspect I'd have been disappointed if he did.

With no effective choice in the matter I went along with him, quite content to let things play out.

Jay was in no rush. Not for him a fast thrust and a faster workout. He was taking his time, obviously enjoying the feel of his cock moving inside me, the heated friction of it rubbing against me bringing both of us pleasure.

What I did find slightly odd about the whole deal was that it was conducted in silence, apart from the sound of our heavy breathing and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, and even that was muted thanks to his easy approach. Apart from that one exclamation of Jay's name I hadn't said anything, and that was one word more than what Jay had said. This was especially odd for me as I normally chatter during sex - possibly a nervous reaction with me thinking I shouldn't be doing it. Having no say in the matter this time apparently meant no guilty feelings.

I have no idea how long he went on for but at the end I was just floating in a pleasurable daze. When Jay picked up the pace it was automatic on my part to do the same, and suddenly my gentle seduction was a passionate coming together as Jay drove fiercely home with me bucking under him, rushing to meet my destiny.

I was solidly slapped with the big 'O', getting the distinct impression that he also climaxed.

I lay back, catching my breath, feeling slightly bemused. I was finding it a little hard to credit what had just happened. Jay leaned over me and kissed me hard, then rose to his feet and wandered off down the beach, out of sight quite quickly. The entire time he was with me he hadn't spoken.

I got up and went home. I suspected that I'd be able to sleep with no problems now. (After I'd cleaned myself up a bit.)

Friday was another hot day without being too hot. An ideal sort of day for just relaxing on the beach which is what I did. I idly wondered what I'd say to Jay if I ran into him but he was nowhere to be seen, not that I let it bother me.

I went to bed reasonably early Friday night, figuring on catching up on the sleep I'd missed over the past few nights. It turned out to be a mistake as I snapped awake in the wee small hours, finding myself too restless to go back to sleep. I idly contemplated going down to the beach again, wondering if I did so would I run into Jay again.

It was sheer chance that Jay had come upon me while I was down at the beach, I decided. I couldn't really see him hanging around on the beach for hours on the off-chance that I might turn up again. There was no real risk and if he did turn up I'd get in first with a firm refusal. There wouldn't be a problem, I decided, slipping on my sandals and heading out the back door.

Lying back on my dune I relaxed, letting the peace of the night flow over me. Maybe not quite as relaxed as the night before but the added security of knowing what was happening around me made up for that. I lay there, breathing deeply, enjoying the silence. Half an hour of this and I'd be ready to go back to bed and go to sleep.

For all my awareness of my surroundings this man still managed to surprise me. One moment I was alone, the next he was standing there, looking down at me. The bright moonshine allowed me to see him quite well and he was a complete stranger to me.

He was an older man, mid-thirties to low-forties was my guess. He was also a very large man. That could have been an illusion caused by me looking up at him but I didn't really think so. I think he was just plain big. Not in an overly muscular way, and not fat - there was just a lot of him. The thing that struck me most about him was his colouring. Under the moonlight he was gold and silver, quite extraordinary, really. I suppose the gold of his skin was just his tan and the silver of his hair was normal blonde hair, but the moonlight changed it almost magically.

He was very casually dressed, wearing a pair of shorts and that was it. He hadn't even bothered with shoes of any kind. This became especially noticeable when he reached out with one foot and used his toes to pluck at my top, lifting the hem as easily as he would with his hand.

"Take these off," he told me, smiling.

My mind went blank for a moment. He couldn't mean that, surely.

"I most certainly will not," I retorted. "Please go away and leave me alone."

"No. You might as well take them off. If you don't, I will, and I might tear them which is something I'm sure you'd like to avoid."

"You wouldn't dare," I said somewhat huffily. "If you even try to lay a finger on me I'll scream."

The rotten man laughed, looking around rather ostensibly.

"Who," he asked, "is going to hear your little scream? We're not exactly standing in the middle of a thriving metropolis right now."

I didn't know which was worse, his amusement or the fact that he was right. I was all alone on the beach in the middle of the night. Suddenly I felt like a complete idiot.

I turned out that as well as being both right and amused he wanted to add man-of-action to his undesirable traits. When I showed no sign of taking off my baby-dolls he simply bent down and had the bottoms halfway down my legs before I even had a chance to react. By then it was way too late to do anything but swear and try to make a very short top stretch far enough to cover my more intimate areas.

A fat lot of good that did me. As soon as he finished pulling the bottoms down and off he switched to the top, pulling it up. I hung on frantically, until I heard the seams starting to give. He had no objections to taking my pyjamas off in piece it appeared and I reluctantly let go.

With me now naked (apart from a pair of sandals) he settled down next to me, grabbed my wrists, and held my hands above my head while he checked out my figure. Tactilely, as well as visually, damn him. He was also quite free of his observations re. my body. Flattering observations, I had to admit, but I just felt he had no right to be making them. All I could do was lie there and seethe.

"If you've quite finished," I said, loading my voice with as much snark as possible.

"Don't be silly," he laughed. "We're just getting started. Now roll over. I want you on your hands and knees."

"You know this'll be rape, don't you?" I pointed out and he looked quite surprised.

"Are you just working that out now? Odd. You look smarter than that."

I glared at him and made no effort to roll over, not that that deterred him. He simply folded one of my legs over the other and pushed and I rolled over, neat as you please.

"It's an old paramedic trick," he said. "It saves us straining ourselves trying to turn a fat patient over."

Well, how wonderful for him. He's a trained rapist. Aren't I lucky?

"Now you're probably telling yourself simple disobedience is your best bet. I'm afraid it won't work. You see, while you're lying there like that your bottom is a tempting target."

With that he dropped a sharp spank on my bottom, with me giving an astounded yelp. How dare he?

"Unless you get up on your hands and knees I guess I'll just have to go on smacking your pretty little bottom. Which of us will be first to get tired of your bottom getting spanked?"

To underline his point he dropped another spank on my bottom.

"Alright, already," I gasped out, hurriedly taking the required position.

One hand went around me to massage my breasts while the other moved between my legs, massaging my mound. His touch was what you might call rough and ready, just feeling me out to his heart's content, not particularly concerned about what I thought of what he was doing.

I muttered to myself, waiting nervously for him to really jump me and get down to business. The only saving point in the whole situation was that he was paying at least some attention to foreplay, giving me a chance to get a little worked up.

Five minutes later I was still waiting and he was still touching me up. Quite frankly I was getting restless. I knew he was going to fuck me and it seemed to me that he could at least get the show on the road. It was nerve wracking having him just touching, and touching, and doing some more touching.

I was almost groaning while I waited. He wasn't just getting me a little worked up. He seemed to be dedicated to getting me fully aroused and then some. I was starting to wonder if he really intended to rape me or not. Maybe he was just going to drive me mad by touch.

When he finally decided to get on with it I was taken completely by surprise. One moment he was stroking me and the next his cock was driving home. I'm ashamed to admit that my initial reaction was along the lines of, yes, yes, yes! Do it! My next reaction was more, oh god, how big is that thing, because he was stretching me somewhat more than I'd ever been stretched before.

The do it bit of my reaction was what he went with. He came driving in hard, his hands crushing my breasts, and he was thrusting away as though this was the last fuck he'd ever have and he was going to make it last.

I was gasping and squealing, bouncing my bottom up and down as I tried my best to stay with him. I was way over-excited and what we were doing was exhausting. I'd never before worked so hard for a bit of sex. This, I told myself, was going to be a short session as I doubted that he'd last much longer.

I was so wrong. He just kept going and going, showing no signs of stopping or of even being ready to stop. Eventually I knew he'd have to finish off. There was no way we could keep on like that. I certainly didn't. I climaxed, silently, as I had no breath left to scream. And I don't think he even slowed down. He did slap my bottom and tell me to keep up and I had to make a hurried adjustment to my idea of how a sex session went.

Obviously that climax had an effect on my libido. I'd calmed down somewhat from that and, after making a hasty adjustment to my intentions, I started moving with him again. (I had intended to slump into an oozing heap on the ground but switched to giddy-up, the ride's not over.)

It was becoming patently obvious to me that the man was an escapee from either prison or a monastery, some place where he hadn't been able to have sex for a number of years, and he was making up for all that he missed. He kept going, hot and heavy and eager, and all I could do was go with him.

He built my arousal back up, pushing me ever closer to another climax. I was wondering if he'd go this time or whether he'd just continue riding. I found out when he decided to demonstrate that his energetic actions hadn't been caused by him going hot and heavy.

He upped the stakes and he gave a new definition to the term hot and heavy. I couldn't keep up with him and I was squealing with excitement (Not that I wanted to and it is embarrassing to think about it) and then he exploded into me, finally pushing me into the biggest climax I'd ever had.

Now it was definitely sink down in a boneless puddle, just lying there, breathing hard. He pulled on his shorts and headed off. For some reason before he left he patted me on the bottom and assured me that any man who didn't value me wasn't worth keeping. What the hell was that supposed to mean.

I found out the next day. I was down at the beach chatting to Susan, one of the local residents. I suggested to her that if it was another hot night it might be smart to sleep on the beach and she started giggling.

"Not on this beach, it isn't," she said. "Trust me on this."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Well," she said, speaking softly, "it's an open secret that if any women slip down to the beach at night they're looking to get fucked. Unsatisfied or angry wives and girlfriends who want some fun that won't come back at them the way having a lover would. There're some men who regularly wander along the beach looking for anyone who might be there."

"You're kidding. What if someone just goes down there because it's hot and they want to sit in a cool breeze and watch the ocean?"

"Then they'll probably find themselves facing that cool breeze while sitting on some man's cock. The men tend to assume that anyone who's there knows what they're getting into and don't accept they might change their mind. If you want to visit the beach at night then go down to the one where all the lights are. That one's safe."

"I'll remember that," I said. I most certainly would remember that.