Games SOME People Play! Ch. 10-11

They dashed into the water side by side, laughing and leaping in high splashing steps, like nymphs pursued by some hairy, salacious satyr, and they dived almost simultaneously. I preferred to stroll behind and watch. The poor guy coming along the beach would see only my dick. Hell, maybe that's why he was coming.

Holy shit! Susan had wrapped her arms around her mother's knees from behind and lifted her out of the water, arms flailing, shrieking and laughing, her big breasts shining wet in the sun, and her pussy flashing just above Susan's arms. I turned. The guy was no longer staring down at shells. I mean, these girls were ready to be seen!

He strolled up to me and unworthily I thought: Look at that ridiculous body! Surfer God, shoulders and chest packed, abdomen bricked over, legs slim and tight with muscle. All well-tanned with bleached golden hair on legs and arms, and, for that matter, his head. I am especially jealous of those smooth, prominent veins that bulge on the biceps. I was guessing he was seventeen, but, when he arrived, grinning, and said: "I'm a lifeguard on this beach, summers," I revised to at least eighteen.

He said: "You wouldn't get away with this during the summer."

I glanced at Sandra and Susan pushing toward shore, thighs churning up splashes. "Oh, I know," I said.

"Hey, I've got no problems, with it, now!" He turned as Sandra and Susan came up to us, shiny wet, lots of beautifully rounded bare womanhood when seen together, nipples crinkled with cold, and with pleased smiles to see the young god ogling them.

"Hi!" said Sandra, her smile fading a bit. "I see you at the Walbaum's check-out counter, don't I?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah!" Now he was staring, no other word for it. "Oh, of course, I know you!"

"Yes," said Sandra, "you're always very attentive."

"No more check-out, I'm afraid. College begins in two weeks." And then, he said, "Is this someone else, now?"

We were facing him, but turned. Stephanie was coming at a very impressive pace, long legs splashing through the edge of foam, her body shiny with sweat, chest rising and falling but compact tits high and firm.

"That's my other daughter," said Sandra, and then patted Susan's shoulder, and said, "Susan," and waved at Stephanie, "Stephanie." She added, "I'm Sandra, and this is Susan's husband, Tom."

"Oh, my God," our young man more or less whispered, with a touch of awe. Then, he said, "I'm George." He selected me for a representative hand shake.

He was staring at Stephanie as she jogged up. Athletic. His type. "Hi!" Stephanie panted, arriving. She grinned at George.

"This is George," said Sandra. "Life guard, man about town, heading for college in two weeks." She looked at George. "Freshman?"

"Yup."

"Let's flop and dry," said Susan.

"Well," said George, "I love it that you're sun worshiping. It was nice..."

"Come lie with us," piped Stephanie. He hesitated, but she took his arm. Men had to be directed.

"Oh, sure..."

It was tight on the blanket, now. I lay at one end, next to Susan. Then came Sandra, then came George—where Stephanie had put him, of course. That left about a six-inch border of towel for Stephanie next to George. He looked up at her. "I've got your place, don't I?"

"Sand is fine for me, I've got to duck in later, anyway, to wash off the sweat." George and I, looking up at Stephanie standing there, saw about the same thing, I imagine: long, perfectly rounded thighs; the sandy tuft at their apex with some glittering crystal drops of water; the slender contour of the torso with the cute navel; the jutting outcrops of conical breasts, each centered on a dark red nipple; and the pixie face and demanding green eyes looking down with a grin.

"Thanks," breathed George, although I was not sure it was for a place on the blanket or gratitude to God for having led him to this time, this place. He flopped back, eyes closed. He had not taken off his bathing suit. Questionable etiquette, in one sense, but, after all, he was a mere boy among Amazons women.

Stephanie stretched out next to him, lying on her side facing him, I suppose to take maximal advantage of the strip of blanket she had said she didn't care about. I made one final inspection before flopping back. The demure nipple of Stephanie's sideways breast was touching or only half an inch from George's arm.

Was I surprised? If not, why not? If so, why?

I closed my eyes. I was raising a tent pole beneath my bathing suit. Bad etiquette. What was first on my agenda back at work, Monday? Time to concentrate hard on that.

"Oh..." One slightly startled word from George, not spoken loudly. I opened my eyes. Stephanie's slim fingers were delicately brushing his long, deeply tanned leg, tickling with her fingernails. George's eyes were closed. Stephanie's were open, at least the one eye I could see, gazing at George's godly profile. She caught my eye, but made no acknowledgment.

I watched as her fingers traced a map on his thigh. The surveying tips of her fingers reached his bathing suit, sliding under a bit, then headed back down the leg. "This is nice," said George, in a whisper. The emboldened fingers traveled back to the edge of the bathing suit, the pale hand pushed it up a few inches, the fingertips covering new territory. I could see the verge of a patch of light-brown, crisp hair. One of Stephanie's fingers poked farther under the bathing suit and seemed to curl and uncurl several times.

George took a very deep breath, but still did not open his eyes. Now, the strain beneath his bathing suit was obvious, as if someone were trying to stand up under a collapsed tent. Stephanie's whole hand entered the tent, now.

George half sat up, glanced over at me. I only smiled and shut my eyes. Though not for long.

I heard him say, "Oh! Oh, maybe we'd better not, Stephanie!"

Stephanie's soft voice: "Take it off, George. You're the only one still dressed. Not fair, George."

"Well, I can't do that, now..."

Stephanie's shifted to sitting and reached over. She hooked both sides of his bathing suit and started to pull them down. I saw a peep of white skin.

"No..."

"Get your ass up, so I can do this," commanded Stephanie. "No one minds if you have a hard on. Only two people left on the beach. They're way away."

"Yeah, but..." he glanced over at us.

Stephanie tugged harder. He gave a sigh of surrender and heaved up his hips. The bathing suit slid down, there was a to-do about getting it over the hump, and then it was at his knees. He kicked his legs to toss it off. There is nothing like the erection of a well-built eighteen-year-old jock. It was a thick one, swollen to bursting and straining back in a fierce arch so that the big head lay right against his belly button. He was very light, his hair brush golden, the prick pale but now fiery red around the head. It was a true 'quivering hard-on'. George flopped back heavily, closing his eyes.

I watched Stephanie's fingers, now just the tips, sometimes lightly raking with fingernails, sometimes a single finger pad rolling the very nerve center of the small bright-red tab of flesh. Or a finger slid down the whole length and back. For what seemed, at least to me, an eternity, she did only that.

This poor kid's hard-on could not have looked more tormented. I ached just seeing it. Stephanie watched it with a satisfied smile, never speeding up her teasing tickling. Now, I saw George's hips stirring uneasily, with a painful restlessness. Clear fluid overflowed the slit in the bright red head, whelming up again and again like uncontrollable tears, until the whole yearning length of the prick was shiny wet.

"Oh, Christ! You've got to do something!" It no longer was a whisper. George flung up his hips, pushing the aching thing against Stephanie's hand.

I turned to see if Susan and Sandra had heard. But they already were hiked on elbows, four ample boobs in a line, watching the action with a frown.

Stephanie said, in the same soft voice, "You can't fuck on the beach, George."

"Well, what is this?" asked George. Then, he caught himself, his anger, and whispered: "What is this?"

"I'm pleasuring you," said Stephanie dreamily. Her fingers had never stopped moving. The slightest touch made the super-rigid prick jerk a little.

"Yeah, but..." Again, he caught himself. "This has got me crazed!" It was low moan, a plea; he had turned his head to Stephanie.

"Why can't men just enjoy it?" asked Stephanie pedantically. "How often do you get this on the beach, George?"

George's hand swept down and knocked her fingers away. "Then, stop!" he said in a hissing whisper. "Get away from it!"

"Thanks!" Stephanie pouted. She lifted her voice. "You guys ready to go?"

Not one of us, given to compulsive oral communication under all circumstances, could think of a single thing to say.

"I'm ready," said Stephanie, again. She added, "Look what I made for George! Isn't he sweet?"

George struggled up onto his elbows, now, the outrageous boner jouncing a little, and looked over to Susan and Sandra. He went bright red, eyes blinking rapidly. It looked to me like outright humiliation. The woman had the power; the man had been tricked and left with blue balls. As a matter of fact, his crotch was so tight with the hard-on that his balls were held separately, outlined in tight skin, clinging right against either side of his dick. I thought of balls on ropes hanging against a slam-ball pole.

Sandra and Susan caught themselves staring, open lipped, at this huge martyred manhood, then both looked away. That must have done it for George: pity poor George, he's been cock-teased half to death. Looks like a freak with that thing...

Stephanie spoke at just the wrong moment. "Well, if no one's moving, I guess I'll go wash off."

George flipped over where he lay, pushed himself up onto his knees, back and shoulders huge, and threw one knee over Stephanie's mid-section. He spat out a savage, "This is bullshit!"

"Stop!" squealed Stephanie, but he was astride her. With one shove he pushed her flat. His body knee-walked over her until one knee was on either side of her face, his ass sitting on her tits. For an instant, with cries of protest, she had tried to hit him, but now one of his hands had seized both of her wrists and pinned them to the sand over her head, his big body leaning over her.

"No! No!" she gasped, struggling, her hips twisting. The way George sat, his massive prick and balls hung right above her face. She wrenched her face sideways, away from it. "No!"

Now, George's right hand had locked around his frustrated cock and begun jerking up and down, the skin rippling up over the glistening swollen head, then stretching far, far back, then jerking up again.

What were we doing? Watching. I had jolted myself up when George went at Stephanie, but I felt Sandra's hand on my shoulder, powerfully pulling me down. I lapsed back, turning to her. She looked at me and shook her head.

Below the mass and weight of George's body, where he sat, Stephanie's long legs kicked and her belly twisted. Several times she brought up her knee into George's back with a resounding thump. The third time, George took his hand from his dick, swung it back and gave her a hard slap across the face. The sound was shocking in his violence. Then, his hand returned his dick.

Suddenly, Stephanie lay still. She opened her eyes very wide, gazing up, and I heard her say, softly, "Yes!" It was like a sigh and a hiss. Behind George's back, so to speak, her hips were thrusting, slim thighs squeezing together, her belly straining. She whispered vehemently, "You can't stick it in me, George. Nowhere! Shoot it onto my face! Jerk off over my face!"

"That's..." George started to say, but then gasped, "Oh..." Then, he cried out: "Oh fuck! I'm going to shoot it onto your face!" His hand brutally jerked his prick faster and faster; then, he gave a despairing cry, "Oh..."

The first cloudy gobs splashed Stephanie's lips, cheeks, and eyelids. Again and again, he shot off, leaning far over so every drop spattered Stephanie's pretty face, her hair, ran down the side of her cheeks. She moved her tongue, smearing what had fallen on her lips.

Below, her hips heaved wildly, and she gasped, "I'm coming too! Look at me, George! You made me come!"

George let himself fall forward over her, covering her face, his dick pressed to her lips, but she did not try to move.

"Wow!" said Susan, shaking her head.

"Are you smothering under there, Stephanie?" called mother Sandra.

"No." Her voice muffled, but calm. And then, "If I have to, I'll bite off a piece of George's dick. I can feel I it with my teeth."

With a moan, George rolled off Stephanie and flopped onto the sand beside her. We duly scrutinized his big cock, foreskin still rolled back, but already it was fading from bright red. After a few moments, Stephanie labored to her feet and stood, head hanging, gazing down at George; his eyes were closed, legs lazily splayed, the picture of satisfied lust.

"My fucking face and hair are a mess," muttered Stephanie. Still she gazed down at George.

She said, "I'm going to wash away your seed in the salt sea, George."

He didn't stir. Abruptly, Stephanie's bare foot cocked back, then swept forward, making a sharp 'slap' when it solidly struck George's big peaceful bag. It wasn't brutal, but it was brisk—and, to say the least, unexpected. George gave a hoarse yell and jackknifed to a sitting position, his hands flying down to protect his balls. His face was red, enraged.

"George, come wash my hair!" called Stephanie, already running toward the water. Then, she added: "0r drown me, or fuck me, or slap off my tits!"