Tamara & Tenille IV
The Monday morning commute is usually a grey blur of taillights and caffeine, but today the air in Tenille's SUV feels charged, containing room for a secret.
We're dressed in our corporate armour—me in a tight pencil skirt and silk blouse, Tenille in a sharp blazer that hugs her curves, the guys in the back in their suits and ties. But underneath, we're all still thinking about the park, the grass, the way the rules broke yesterday.
Tenille's hands grip the leather steering wheel, her manicured nails tapping a rhythm against the leather. We approach the intersection, the massive green sign looming ahead: straight on for the Expressway to the city, or a sharp left veer toward Rainbow Beach. The traffic light flickers yellow, then red. We have a moment to decide.
Tenille doesn't hesitate. She jerks the wheel left, the tires squealing slightly as we swing across the lane, bypassing the on-ramp to the office towers.
"Bugger work," she laughs, a throaty, liberated sound. "Let's hit the surf."
I look at her, grinning, feeling the reckless thrill bubbling up in my chest. "No cosies, sweety!" I tease, referencing the swimsuits we definitely don't have.
"Exactly," she winks, her eyes flashing with that predatory gleam I've come to crave.
From the back seat, the sharp sound of palms slapping together cuts through the air. Trent and Tristan high-five, their laughter joining ours. The decision is made. The emails can wait. The meetings can go to hell. We're chasing the tide.
We pull into the gravel lot overlooking the water. It's early enough that the beach is mostly deserted, just a few joggers in the distance and the rhythmic crashing of waves. The ocean is a deep, inviting blue under the bright morning sun. We pile out of the car, the door slamming shut echoing like a gunshot.
The four of us stand on the edge of the dunes, the wind whipping at our clothes. There's no discussion, no hesitation. We start stripping. Jackets hit the sand, followed by shoes, socks, trousers. The cool coastal air hits my skin, raising gooseflesh, but the heat between my legs is already burning.
I look at Tristan, his athletic body gleaming in the sunlight as he kicks off his boxers. His cock is already thickening, bobbing against his thigh as he watches me unzip my skirt and let it fall. Beside him, Trent is shedding his suit, his average frame eager and ready. Tenille is already naked, her enhanced breasts high and firm, her nipples hard points in the breeze.
"Last one in's misses out on sex!" she shrieks, taking off toward the water.
We run, naked and laughing, across the cold sand. It's a mad dash, bodies colliding, flesh slapping flesh, until we hit the water. The ocean is shocking, a cold slap that instantly wakes up every nerve ending. We dive under, the surf swirling around us.
We surface, gasping and splashing, but the playfulness shifts quickly. The water clings to our skin, highlighting every curve and muscle. I swim over to Tristan, the water buoying me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling his hard cock press against my ass.
"Think you can handle me, big boy?" I murmur against his neck, biting the wet skin there.
"Try me," he growls, his hands gripping my thighs.
Nearby, Tenille is already towing Trent toward the wet, packed sand at the water's edge. She pushes him down, his back hitting the damp ground with a thud. She straddles his face immediately, her knees sinking into the sand, lowering her smooth, waxed cunt onto his waiting mouth.
I follow their lead. I shove Tristan backward, and he falls willingly, sprawling onto the sand. I don't wait. I climb on top of him, positioning my knees on either side of his head, facing his feet. The 69 position is automatic, a hungry geometry we all understand.
I lower my hips, feeling Tristan's hands grab my ass, pulling me down onto his face. His tongue is hot against the cold ocean water on my skin, licking a broad stripe up my slit. I shudder, the contrast of temperatures sending a jolt straight to my clit. I lean forward, gripping the base of his thick cock, admiring the way the water beads on the head.
I open my mouth and take him in, deep and wet. He tastes like salt and precum. I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, sliding my lips down his shaft until he hits the back of my throat. I gag slightly, the sound lost in the roar of the waves, and relax my jaw to take him deeper.
Below me, Tristan is eating me out like a starving man. His tongue is everywhere—circling my clit, dipping into my hole, fucking me with the stiff muscle. He groans into my pussy, the vibration traveling through my body and making my own moan vibrate around his dick.
"Fuck, yes," I gasp, pulling my mouth off him for a second to spit on his cock, using my hand to spread the slickness before diving back down. "Eat that cunt, Tristan. Make me fucking drown."
To my left, the sounds of Tenille and Trent are just as filthy. I can hear the wet slurping of Trent's tongue, the muffled whimpers of Tenille as she grinds her hips down.
"Just like that, you dirty bastard," Tenille is panting, her voice breathy and high. "Fucking tongue-fuck me. Don't you dare stop."
The rhythm takes over. It's a feedback loop of pleasure. The more Tristan licks me, the harder I suck him. The deeper I take his cock, the more aggressive he gets with his mouth. I can feel my orgasm building, a tight coil in my stomach that matches the tightening of his balls in my hand.
I grind my hips down, smothering him, rubbing my pussy all over his face. I can feel his nose bumping my clit, his chin stubble grazing my sensitive skin. It's rough, raw, and absolutely perfect.
I pull off his cock again, stroking him fast and hard, twisting my wrist. "You gonna cum for me, Tristan? You gonna paint my tits while you eat my pussy?"
He responds by doubling his efforts, his tongue flicking my clit with rapid, precise movements. I cry out, my back arching, the pleasure cresting. I look over at Tenille; she's shaking, her head thrown back, her hands gripping Trent's hair as she rides his face.
We're two pairs of animals on the beach, fucking in the sun, swapping spouses like it's the most natural thing in the world. The ocean rushes up around our ankles, cooling us down even as we burn up.
I take Tristan's cock back into my mouth, determined to push him over the edge. I relax my throat, taking him all the way to the hilt, my nose buried in his balls. I swallow around him, massaging the head with my throat muscles.
He bucks his hips up, choking me slightly, and I love it. I grip his thighs, holding on for the ride. His tongue is a blur on my clit now, pushing me closer and closer.
"Fuck!" I scream around his mouthful of cock, the sound muffled and guttural.
We are a tangle of limbs and fluids, sand and sea, completely lost in the filthy, beautiful reality of this Monday morning. The office is a million miles away. Right now, there is only this—his cock in my throat, his tongue in my cunt, and the high-voltage current of absolute ecstatic euphoria.