by Trinity Leeb
Private Beach
by Trinity Lee
Stuck in a low-paid job and bored with her non-existent sex life, twenty-two-year-old Megan has never been to Europe, so she seizes the chance to spend a week in a hot stranger's apartment in the South of France. But there's one catch: she'll be staying in a nude beach resort where anything goes
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © by Trinity Lee 2012
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. Contains graphic sexual content. Not recommended for those under 18.
She stood in front of the apartment building, weighing up whether to use the key. The bright sunlight bouncing off the clinical white walls and reflecting back in the glare of the Mediterranean sea was giving her a headache, despite her oversized sunglasses.
It had been a long flight from Chicago to the South of France, and she still did not know what she was doing here. But it was too late for her to walk away now.
She clutched her cellphone in one hand, ready to speed-dial her friend Amy in case there was a problem.
She had told no one other than Amy exactly why she was here: she figured they would have talked her out of it long before she accepted the airline ticket and the directions to the apartment. She would have done the same if one of them had come to her with some crazy story about a free holiday offered by someone she had never met.
Or maybe she wasn't crazy. The warm breeze fluttered her sheer chiffon skirt against her bare brown legs and blew teasingly down the back of her neck, where she had tied her long, tawny mane back for the long trip. Chicago had been suffering from an unseasonable cold snap, but here in France, the weather was perfect.
She took a deep breath and punched in the entry code for the apartment's main door.
Once inside, the air conditioning and the marble floor cast a slight chill which caused her arms to come up in goosebumps. She shivered, despite the sunshine outside.
The atrium was luxurious, with wooden panelling and Persian carpets. The elevator doors slid open noiselessly and Megan stepped inside.
The apartment was on the third floor, and her footsteps were noiseless in the thick carpet of the corridor.
Her heart pounding, she turned the key in the lock, her thumb still firmly on speed-dial.
She opened the door and stepped inside. The key worked: that was a good start. It had crossed her mind that the whole thing might be an elaborate hoax and she would turn up in France without knowing a soul and a word of French, with nowhere to stay and a maxed-out credit card. She had no Plan B: other girls might have Googled the location of the nearest Youth Hostel, but Megan did not do plans and she definitely did not do Youth Hostels.
The door opened directly into the living room. The apartment was compact, but luxurious, and she could see from where she stood that she was alone - unless the mysterious Marc was hiding in a closet, of course.
She let out a sigh of relief and kicked off her sandals, her feet enjoying the cool of the tiled floor. The window was open and the sea breeze whispered against her skin.
As promised in the photographs she had been sent, the bathroom and bedroom matched the discreet opulence of all she had seen so far. A huge tub and a pile of fluffy white towels reminded her of what she needed after the long flight and she stepped towards the bathroom, shedding her skirt and T-shirt as she went.
She checked herself out in the full-length mirror as she turned on the hot water, cupping her full breasts in her hands and shaking her loose curls free over her shoulders. She had the taut, tanned curves and narrow hips of a teenager, yet now, at twenty-two, there was something knowing in her hazel eyes that offset the girlish sprinkling of freckles over her cute nose and advertised that she was very definitely a woman.
While the tub was filling, she wandered over to the window and looked out at the beach. It looked pretty much like any other golden sand beach she had ever seen, except for one thing: everyone was naked.
Ignoring the older men and women with their wrinkled skin and decidedly unsexy paunches, she fixed her gaze on a couple of young guys playing beach volleyball. Northern Europeans, she decided, probably Swedes. Their tanned six-foot frames were slick with sweat, and their cocks were massive, even in their unexcited state.
Unconsciously, her hand slid down and she began to finger herself, picturing what it would be like to have one of these Nordic twins inside her, filling her with their hugeness.
She stopped, suddenly embarrassed that she was standing in the apartment window, where anyone could see her. Then she relaxed. After all, Marc had made it clear that this was a private beach, and the normal rules did not apply here.
The bathroom was full of steam now, and she reluctantly turned away from the eye candy and stepped into the deep, steaming bath.
She flicked a switch at the side of the tub and the water began foaming. She stepped into the jacuzzi with a squeal of delight, relaxing as the firm, warm jets began to pummel away the stresses of the long flight and her fear that she was about to be abducted by a gang of slave traders the moment she stepped into the apartment.
She opened her legs wider, sliding beneath the water as one particular pulse of warm liquid found its way towards her vulva and began caressing her labia. She moaned in pleasure, her lips slightly parted. This time she did not need her fingers on her sensitive little nub, but instead allowed the streams of water to do their trick, pounding and pulsing until they drove her to a shuddering climax.
As she waited for the waves of pleasure to wash over her and subside, she reconsidered the situation that had led her from her grotty apartment-share in Chicago to this luxurious apartment in Europe, with all its temptations.
It had all started so innocently.
A friend request on Facebook from an unfamiliar name. It happened all the time if you were young and female - especially if your profile photo was as hot as Megan's and you were prepared to pose in a tiny green string bikini that barely covered your full breasts and emphasised your tiny waist.
She normally deleted these stranger requests immediately, but something about this one made her hesitate, her finger hovering over the delete button.
It was not just the picture on his profile: after all, anyone could use a photograph of an insanely-hot olive-skinned guy with black hair and dark green eyes. She was scammed like that all the time, by automated computer programs that used stock pictures of models that you could find for yourself online if you looked hard enough, or by seedy old guys who used images of their sons as bait to trap the unwary.
No, it wasn't just the photo: it was the fact that they seemed to have so many friends in common, and also that he seemed to know so much about her. She liked the fact that he was up-front about his age - many thirty-two-year-olds would have pretended to be younger when making contact with someone who had barely been out of college a year - and also that his friend request was delightfully honest about exactly what he intended to do to her. She appreciated the honesty, and also the imagination which he had used to spell out his desires.
She had hesitated - then clicked to accept his friend request. What harm coul
d it possibly do? Since she had graduated, she had been going mad with boredom. She had managed to secure a low-paid job with a firm of city accountants that barely paid for the room she rented in Amy's flat, and she knew she was lucky to have even that. Her student loans hung around her neck like a millstone. She could not afford a holiday in Florida, let alone Europe, so when Marc had made his offer, she had immediately seized it with both hands.
Megan was not so naive to think that Marc would actually look like his picture, but the increasingly flirtatious messages they had been trading had piqued her curiosity. He had presented his suggestion that she borrow his apartment for the week as a no-strings-attached offer, but when he had casually mentioned that he was going to be in the area the same week and they should meet, she realised immediately what was involved.
"Only if you pay for my flight," she had teased.
And she had then been stunned when he emailed her a code to call American Airlines and book her ticket.
"You're crazy. There's no way you're going," said Amy. "To a stranger's apartment, on a... nudist beach."
"Sounds perfect," said Megan, breezily. And booked her ticket.
Climbing out of the bath and wrapping herself in a fluffy white robe, she returned to the window, wondering when Marc would contact her, or if he would simply show up at the door - with his key. The thought made her feel uneasy, and she slipped the chain on to avoid surprises.
She checked her Facebook on her phone. No word from him yet. She decided not to post a status update saying she was there. Keep him guessing for a while.
Perhaps she would take a walk on the beach. Most of all, she wanted to sleep, but this was Europe and she wanted to experience it without wasting a moment.
She dried herself, enjoying the sensation of the warm breeze on her skin.
She reached for her clothes, then hesitated. She had never stayed in a naturist resort before, and was not sure of the etiquette. If she took off her clothes on the beach, then where did she put them? In the end, she decided it was just too weird to get into the elevator and walk through the foyer nude, so she slipped on a light dress that she could carry easily.
No point in wearing underwear if it was only going to come off again. Although she was uninhibited by nature, it felt strange to have everything on show, and she was glad she had gone for that last-minute waxing session which had left her feminine mound beautifully exposed and soft to the touch.
Within minutes she was on the beach, feeling distinctly overdressed.
The vibe was less overtly sexual than she had expected, at least on this part of the beach, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to pull her dress off over her head and stroll along in the surf, her skin soaking up the sun.
It felt as though all eyes were on her, young and old, male and female. She stole a glance from under her eyelashes. Although a few of the nude family groups were going about their own business as if this was the most natural thing in the world, she had been right to suspect that there were plenty of people checking her out.
She smiled to herself. She had worried that she would feel self-conscious for the first few times, but she need not have been concerned. She realised with wonder that she was getting off on the looks cast in her direction. She felt her nipples harden and a warmth spreading through her groin, making her wet.
She had read online that the dunes were where all the exciting stuff took place. Maybe Marc would be there? Even if he was not, she owed it to herself to check out what was happening. The website made it sound, well, if not harmless, then safe. Although the dunes were a well-known cruising area for singles and couples alike, they were so popular at this time of year, that wandering a little off-piste did not feel like a risk.
She was ready to try something new. The boredom of her life in Chicago and her stultifying job was killing her. Worse, she was hardly getting any action. At least while she was at college in Florida, away from her family and schoolfriends, she had the chance to experiment. Back where people knew her, she was limited to the odd one-night stand with the dull lawyer types that her friends lined up for her, all with such disappointingly vanilla tastes that even an ass-fuck felt like a novelty. Shame she had to be the one who suggested it. The guy seemed to enjoy it, but didn't follow through with a second date. Guess she just wasn't marriage material.
More than anything, she appreciated this sophisticated European take on nudity. There were people on the beach who were definitely there for some action, but mostly people were sunbathing, swimming, reading, playing beach games. It felt wrong, yet somehow so right.
Careful not to catch anyone's eye yet, she walked purposefully along, her toes in the surf, until she felt one particular pair of eyes boring into her.
She looked to the right, towards the dunes. Her heart leapt. It was Marc. Perhaps a little older than his photograph suggested, but even hotter than she had imagined. So he did exist!
He looked straight at her, and then straight through her. She was annoyed. She knew he recognised her from her photograph, so why was he playing games?
He had his back turned to her now, as he scanned the horizon some ten yards away. She came to a halt, taking in his body. He was taller than she expected, maybe five ten or five eleven. There was not a spare ounce of fat on his ripped muscles, which were taut but not bulky. His thick black hair rested on his shoulders and, maddeningly, he refused to look in her direction.
What was she supposed to do? Piqued, she thought of returning to the apartment, but then she saw him disappear into the dunes and she realised she was supposed to follow him.
She stepped lightly up the sandy path and disappeared into a clearing. But before she had a chance to take in her surroundings, she felt hot breath on her ear and a silky blindfold was slipped over her eyes.
Megan almost yelled, but something in Marc's voice, the way he said her name, calmed her. She felt vulnerable, standing there naked, without being able to see what was going on around her, but she could feel him and smell him close to her.
She felt a hand run down her front, grazing her nipples, which were hardening again. It was a warm, dry hand, and when it cupped her breast and gently squeezed, she could feel herself becoming wet again.
The hand took hers and gently guided her into a sitting position. The sand was soft and warm.
Lips touched hers briefly and retreated, teasing.
Her full lips were open now, searching for the soft mouth that had just kissed hers.
A man's voice whispered her name. An American voice, with a hint of a French accent.
"So glad you like the apartment, Megan. You made the right choice. And now you are here, let the games begin."
"What games?"
"Ssshhh."
The man's face was close to hers now, and she could feel the warm breath on her face. She was longing to tear off the blindfold and gaze into his eyes, but not being able to see what he was doing made it somehow more exciting.
And then his mouth was on hers, his hot tongue inside her mouth, plunging so deep that she felt she could swallow him whole.
He had his head in her hands and he held her tenderly, leaning her back against the dunes as his tongue continued to probe hers.
She felt her body arch with desire and in response, he ran his hand down her front again, skimming her mound and resting his hand on her thigh.
She pushed herself against his hand, desperate for the pressure of his touch on her engorged bud.
But he took his hand away, teasing her.
"Patience," he murmured.
He ran his tongue down her chin and the line of her throat to her swollen breasts.
He flicked her nipple with his tongue, drawing a gasp from her, before sucking it so hard and rhythmically that waves of desire rocked her whole body.
Again, his hand brushed against her pelvis and drew away again, testing the urgency of her desire.
