Tradition

I had just divorced my husband after twenty-two years of marriage. It wasn't anyone's fault, there just was no more love, let alone lust, between us. We had decided to dispense with lawyers and all the red tape and to just part amicably; it helped off course that we were very wealthy and I was offered a very reasonable settlement. For that amount, I was able to buy a house at the beach, which had been a dream of mine for many years. My husband loved the busy city life while I was more of a country or sea side girl. I swiftly came across a fixer-upper which had been deserted for years, mainly because of the steep asking price. As money was not an issue and because I didn't mind the prospect of a long-term renovation, I didn't need a lot of time to make up my mind. Although the place was an absolute dump, I insisted on moving in as soon as possible, before any of the repairs or modifications had even started.

One of the most appealing features of the house was a giant porch overlooking the coastline; at the left side of the house the porch ended in a wooden stair case, providing direct access to the beach below. From the very first day, that porch was my favorite part of the whole house. As I was sitting there on my porch that first evening, looking at the setting sun and listening to the ocean sounds, I began to unwind for the first time in many months (maybe even years) and an almost intoxicating tranquility took over my mind and body. I can't remember how long I just sat there, enjoying the serenity, but suddenly my attention was drawn to a man walking up to the house. He had a very confused look on his face – and the closer he came, the more puzzled he seemed to get – until he was right in front the house, looking up at me. I nodded and smiled, greeting him and asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"I didn't know someone lived here." the elder gentleman replied.

"Well, I just moved in this morning." I said, getting up and leaning over the banister of the porch.

"Oh well, I see... it's been so many years, I guess I didn't even consider the possibility..." he murmured, barely audible. He looked completely disoriented for a moment.

"Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?" I asked, taking pity on him.

"No, I wouldn't want to disturb you." he said, turning away and preparing to leave.

"Don't be silly. Come on up." I insisted.

Still reluctantly, he walked up the stairs and introduced himself; his name was Richard and he was 57 years old. After pouring him a cup of tea, I listened to his story.

He lived about half a mile away – and had done so for the better part of his life. Fate had taken his wife – his high school sweet heart – away from him only months after marrying her. He had never loved another woman since then. While life had not been particularly kind to him, he seemed very cheerful and happy, although a bit lonely, I sensed. When he started talking about his interests, it seemed that we both shared a passion for the opera. He struck me as a very intelligent, kind and lively man.

However, the longer we talked, the more restless he seemed to become. At first, I assumed he was just the nervous type and that was the reason why he was constantly fidgeting in his chair or checking the time, but when he started showing physical signs of stress – dry mouth, sweaty hands, foot tapping – I decided to call him on it.

"Is something wrong? You seem terribly nervous."

"Don't worry about." he smiled.

"Richard, something is obviously bothering you. And I would very much like to know what that is." I replied sternly.

"But I don't want to ruin an otherwise lovely evening." he whispered, getting even more nervous now.

"Come on, whatever it is, it can't be that bad," I insisted, "Spit it out."

He took another sip from his tea, took a deep breath and then said, "For the past seventeen years, I've been coming to this stretch of beach, come rain or shine, every evening at dusk..."

"Okay," I said, as he paused for a moment.

"... to masturbate," he concluded.

I looked at him, waiting for a punch line, but none was coming.

"Excuse me?" I said, wanting to make sure I hadn't misunderstood him.

"Masturbate," he repeated, "What do you younger people call it? Jacking off, jerking off, wanking..."

"I see," I said, unsure of what to do or say next.

"I am sorry, I have made you uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I think it's best if I go now," Richard said as he was about to get up and leave.

"Every day for 17 years, in the same spot?" I asked, not wanting him to leave.

"It's not that I don't jack off in other places, but yes... I don't think I've missed three days in all those years," he replied as he sat back down.

"Why here?" I asked.

"There's no deeper meaning or romantic story behind this location, if that's what you mean. I just got on my knees one day, jacked out a load and came back the following day to that same spot... and I have been doing it ever since. I guess I've always known that someday this house would be sold and I'd have to find another spot, but it's been so many years that I started kidding myself that the moment would never come," Richard said as he gaze into the darkness for a moment.

"But don't worry," he immediately added, turning his head towards me, clearly worried about my reaction, "I won't do it again... I'll find another spot."

"You don't have to stop just because I moved here," I said, after giving the matter surprisingly little thought.

"Off course I do," Richard replied, "This part of the beach is yours now."

"Don't be silly, the beach belongs to everyone. There's no reason why you should give up a 17-year old tradition," I said.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Yes I am. You can come and dump a load on my beach anytime you want!" I smiled.

"That's very kind of you. But what about when you've got company?" he asked.

"Don't worry, I never have company. I don't have any kids, I have one brother I haven't spoken to in years and no real friends to speak of – it seems my husband got those in the divorce," I smiled.

"And don't worry about your privacy," I suddenly added, "I plan on having some drapes up very soon."

"Don't be silly," he said almost as soon as I had finished my sentence, "If I can jack off my fat cock and shoot my sperm on your beach, I don't mind you watching every second of it!"

I smiled as I noticed his language had suddenly gotten a lot fouler.

"Besides..." he continued. "I like to be watched, it makes me feel like a wanker!"

"Oh really?" I smiled, not knowing how else to respond.

"Hell yes. There's no point in sugar-coating it, I jack off every day – sometimes more than once – that makes me a wanker, period. And doing it while someone's watching, only makes my cock bigger and makes me squirt an even more disgusting load than usual."

"I... uhm..." I stuttered, at a loss for words.

"Come on, be honest," he said, "Don't you think I am a wanker."

"Uh, maybe a little bit..." I admitted, realizing that that was what he wanted to hear.

"Very good," Richard said, cupping his hard crotch with his right hand, "Then I'll think I'll go and jack off."

"Now?" I asked, catching myself looking at the hard bulge in his pants.

"Do you mind?" he asked, unzipping his pants.

"No, go ahead," I quickly responded, not wanting him to whip out his cock in front of me. He smiled and turned away, walking down the stairs, further unzipping his pants and taking out his cock.

As he walked away from the house, in the direction of the sea, his arm movements left little to the imagination. About thirty meters in front of the house, he suddenly dropped to his knees, his back still towards the house and continued wanking. Although he couldn't see me – with his back towards me – and I couldn't see much more than his outline, I still felt uncomfortable looking at him while he was pleasuring himself and so I went inside. This had been a strange ending to an interesting and pleasant evening.

I tried to detach the last fifteen minutes from the rest of the evening in my mind, but – naturally – my brain kept focusing on that particular part. I fell asleep while visualizing Richard jerking off and spurting his cum on the beach... my beach, in front of my house!

I slept like a baby and for most part of the following day, I hardly thought about Richard. It wasn't until dusk started to set that my mind wandered off and started thinking about what happened last night. As I was sitting in front of the tv, I found myself constantly looking at the clock. Always finding some sort of reason, I got up and walked past the glass porch doors every five minutes or so. Eventually I got what I was after, confirmation of his presence. When I saw him sitting there, on his knees, in the same spot as yesterday – and probably every day before that, for like forever – a sort of calm came over me. I stayed and watched until he got up and seemed to be stuffing his cock away. As he walked away, he glanced over at the house and waved as he saw me through the porch doors.

As I hadn't bothered with turning off any lights behind me, I must have been pretty hard to miss. I felt like a silly school girl for waving back. With nothing more to focus on, I quickly fell asleep in front of the tv. When I awoke several hours later, I went to bed, thinking of Richard once again. Although I wasn't in the habit of changing into my night attire too long before actually going to bed, the following evening, I did so right after dinner – telling myself I'd be more comfortable that way. So, in nothing more than some white panties and a men's shirt – that barely covered the panties – I set up camp behind the porch doors with a cup of tea. With the lights on behind me, it was pretty obvious that I wanted him to see me. And by the way I was dressed for the occasion, I was also sending pretty explicit signals – although I was still in denial about that.

When he showed up, he already noticed me on his way in and waved, smiling widely. I raised my hand, greeting him back and watched him as he sank to his knees in his usual spot. This time however, he didn't face the ocean but the house, looking straight at me as he took out his cock and started jacking off. I watched him and he watched me for several long minutes, until he eventually arched his back and shuddered – probably shooting a load of cum in the sand. Shortly afterwards, he got up and stuffed his cock back in his pants. But instead of leaving, he approached the house and seemed to be waiting for me to open the porch doors, as he clearly had something to say.

When I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, he said, "Nice view, but could you lose the shirt tomorrow? I would very much like to see some tit."

Without waiting for an answer, he waved goodbye and walked away. I quickly closed the porch doors again, taken aback by his bold question... but then again, I had done very little to discourage him so far. Anyway, I would just have to disappoint him tomorrow, I told myself as I turned off the light and went to bed.

But, the following evening, there I was again, dressed in a pair of panties and the same men's shirt I wore the night before; holding my cup of tea and trying to convince myself that I wasn't a complete slut. When he showed up and waved, I didn't wave back, but simply unbuttoned a button from the shirt – I don't why I did it, I guess I was on some sort of automatic pilot. After watching me undo a second button, Richard quickly took off all of his clothes – sandals, t-shirt, shorts and underwear – before taking his cock in his right hand and jacking himself off as he dropped to his knees. While my left hand clenched my warm cup of tea, my right hand kept undoing buttons until there were none left to undo. Then I nonchalantly opened the shirt all the way, so both my tits were exposed.

He arched his back not much later and dumped yet another load in the sand. As soon as I realized he had done his business, I closed my shirt to cover up my tits – without actually buttoning up again.

As he got up and picked up his clothes, I opened the porch doors and shouted, before he had a chance to walk off, "Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?"

"You sure?" he shouted back as he was already walking towards the house.

"Yes, I am sure," I said as I walked into the kitchen and poured him some tea. As I walked back to the porch – where he had in the meantime taken a seat – I was a little surprised that he hadn't put his clothes back on yet and was apparently not planning to, as he had draped them over an adjacent chair. Then again, I was hardly in a position to judge as I was wearing skimpy panties and an unbuttoned men's shirt which, at the moment, scarcely covered my nipples.

As I handed him his cup of tea, I automatically glanced at his cock which was hard as a mother fucker. Trying to act indifferent, I sat down and asked, "Shouldn't it go down after... you know?"

"Oh, most of the time it does," Richard replied with a smile, "But sometimes it stays hard... don't worry, it 'll go down soon; if not I'll give it another wank."

Taking that statement as a joke, I smiled and sipped from my cup of tea.

"When's the last time you've been to the opera?" he asked, changing to a lighter subject. After a few minutes, his cock did indeed go down, but became erect again about forty minutes into our conversation. After I had glanced at it a few times – probably not too subtle – he looked down at it for a moment and wrapped his right hand around the fat shaft, just like that.

As his right hand started flying up and down his throbbing shaft, his left hand reached over to the adjacent chair, slid into his shirt pocket and pulled out a packet of tissues. After putting the packet on the table, he started the conversation up again as he continued jacking off right in front of me! Distracted by his lewd behavior, I had trouble concentrating on the conversation. Luckily, the hornier he got, the less coherent his speaking became, so it didn't really matter. Towards the end, there was no talking, just him wanking and me staring at him (it). When it was time, he pulled a single tissue out of the packet and quickly held it under his big, purple cock head. He moaned and climaxed right in front of me as I caught myself clenching my legs shut trying to ignore the wetness between them.

When he was done, he reached over and handed me the tissue, whispering, "If you'd like a taste later on tonight..."

I accepted the tissue with a smile, but dropped it on the table almost immediately and replied, trying to keep some level of self-respect, "No thank you, I think I'll be just fine."

He finished his cup of tea soon afterwards, put his clothes on and left, wishing me a good night. After watching him disappear into the darkness, I cleared the table, carrying our two cups and the dirty tissue inside. Although I always clean up before going to bed, a part of me just couldn't throw the tissue in the trash.

So, I also left the cups out on the sink and said out loud, "I'll clean up tomorrow," as if I was trying to fool myself. I went to the bedroom and took off the shirt and my panties and went to bed stark naked – something I never do. I turned off the light and as soon as I had gotten on my back, I felt one hand touching my breasts, while the other ventured further down south. After playing with myself for about ten minutes and only adding oil to the fire, I got up and walked towards the kitchen, not bothering with any lights. With nipples so hard they could cut glass and my pussy so wet that my juices were literally running down my thighs, I headed straight for the sink, grabbed the tissue – the center of my lust – and dropped to my knees.

With nothing but some fade moon light illuminating the kitchen through the porch doors, I carefully folded the tissue open with both hands and brought it up to my mouth. As my tongue reached out to lick the tissue all over, trying to locate my prize, I shoved two fingers up my soaking wet twat. It took me several seconds to find it and although some of the cum had already dried up, there was still enough left to cover my tongue and overwhelm my taste buds, sending me in an orgasmic frenzy. I orgasmed spectacularly and screamed as loud as I could, actually stuffing the tissue in my mouth and chewing on it, lecherously. When my fingers were no longer able to keep my orgasm going, I spat out what remained of the tissue and quickly rinsed out my mouth under the kitchen tap, feeling more than just a little ashamed – and slutty – for what I had just done. After cleaning myself up a little bit, I put on my shirt again and went to bed. Truth be told, I had difficulty falling asleep afterwards; a combination of guilt and self-loathing kept me up for another half an hour.

The following morning however, I simply grinned at the memory of what I had done and told myself that I was a grown woman who could do whatever she wanted, who didn't have to answer to anyone anymore. Besides, it had been far too long since I had had a decent orgasm like that one Richard's tissue and cum – and my fingers – had given me. Not burdened with guilt anymore, I was able to get quite some work done around the house and keep myself busy until it was time for dinner. After eating my microwaved frozen dinner in front of the tv, I took off all my clothes except for my panties – not even bothering with the men's shirt anymore.

There was no longer any doubt as to what I should do, it was just part of my routine now. When the time came, I walked up to the porch doors and waited, for about fifteen minutes. Just like the day before, he waved, took off his clothes, kneeled butt naked in the sand and jacked out another load while ogling my body – covered in nothing but some insubstantial panties. Afterwards, he got up, grabbed his clothes and looked up at the house. As I held up two cups of tea, inviting him over, he smiled and came up. As I looked down at his flaccid cock, I felt both relief and disappointment at the same time, apparently not quite knowing where I wanted this to go. After sipping from his tea and sitting down stark naked in the chair, we started talking about our common interests again.

It was incredible how open and spontaneous we were; after all, between the two of us, there was only one item of clothing left: my panties. He shamelessly looked at my tits and my crotch, and I ogled his cock and balls. The whole experience was very liberating, and tantalizing.

Suddenly, as the conversation stalled a little bit, he asked, "So, did you get a chance to taste it?"

"I did," I replied instinctively, effectively admitting to eating his cum out of a tissue.

"Did you like it?" he asked, gently touching his dong.

"Yes I did," I admitted, feeling myself blush.

As his dong started growing under his subtle, but trained touch, he ogled my body up and down, his gaze lingering at my breasts as he gently stroked his cock back to a fully erect state, right in front of me and asked, "I'll have another tissue ready in a couple of minutes. Would you like this one too?"

"I guess I would," I replied, remarkably at ease with the whole situation.

He slid off the chair onto his knees and started wanking, half of the time with his eyes closed, the other half looking at my tits and crotch. After a few minutes, he moaned and ejaculated into his free hand, which he held as a cup under the fat tip of his cock. When he was done, he reached into the chest pocket of his shirt – lying on the floor next to his chair – and took out a tissue, using it to scoop up all of the cum from his hand and cock.

"There you go," he said as he got up and handed me the tissue.

"Thanks," I whispered as I accepted it. Realizing there was no point in waiting for him to leave – he already knew I had eaten his cum and would do so again – I folded the tissue open and pressed the gooey part of it against my tongue. Feeling surprisingly little shame or embarrassment – probably because I was horny as fuck – I slid my free hand into my panties and started playing with myself right in front of him, while tasting his sticky, fresh goo. After consuming every speck of cum – and part of the tissue as well – I threw what was left of it on the table and forced myself to stop as I knew I would have difficulty climaxing in my current position.