Ultimate Sins

by Jean Roberta

  “Anyone there?” she called mischievously.

  The sounds of frantic scrabbling and a zip being fastened reached Mandy’s ears. The compartment’s own zip fastener whizzed down and a tanned, twenty-something hunk dressed only in denim shorts stepped through and quickly zipped it up again.

  “Sorry,” breathed the young Adonis, running a hand through his dishevelled dark locks. “I’m Teddy, the British site representative. And you are…?” His eyes firmly fixed on Mandy’s breasts, he fumbled ineffectually for a folder on the table.

  “Mandy. Mandy Turner.”

  Teddy forced his gaze upwards, to Mandy’s smiling face. “You made good time. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour.”

  Mandy’s eyes travelled down to the erection straining against Teddy’s tight shorts. “So I see,” she murmured.

  Muffled giggles sounded from the sleeping compartment. Teddy blushed to the roots of his hair and sat down, having finally located the registration form. Mandy sat down opposite him and completed the form, acutely aware that Teddy was far more interested in her breasts than her details. Despite the heat, her nipples began to harden. Teddy was far from unattractive.

  “Okay then.” Teddy stood up. “I’ll show you to your tent if you’d like to follow me.”

  Despite the embarrassment her early arrival had caused, Mandy noted that Teddy was still hard, his clearly-defined cock angled against his groin. Still, with a French girl in his bed, and Mandy’s braless breasts to keep him entertained in the meantime, maybe that wasn’t surprising.

  She followed him through the trees to the shower and laundry block, and then on to her assigned pitch. He showed her the tent’s equipment, and how the oven and hob worked, casting lustful glances at her breasts. Mandy couldn’t resist teasing him. She pretended to test the bed, aware of the effect every tantalising bounce of her breasts was having on him.

  Teddy licked his lips and moved towards her. He stood in front of her, his stiff cock straining towards the waistband of his shorts. Mandy felt a rush of sticky warmth soak her knickers. She couldn’t help herself. She reached up and pulled down his zip a couple of inches, then reached out a tentative finger and touched the purple head of his erection. Teddy gasped and pre-cum welled up from the eye and trickled over Mandy’s finger.

  She snatched back her hand. What the hell did she think she was doing? If she was going to shag anyone on this holiday, it would be a mature Frenchman, not some fumbling British student.

  She stood up abruptly and flashed him a shaky smile. “Thanks for showing me around, Teddy. You’d better get back to your girlfriend.”

  Teddy swallowed his disappointment. “Sorry. My fault.” His gaze dropped to her breasts again. “It’s just that…”

  “I know,” said Mandy. “You’re into big tits.”

  They both laughed.

  “If you need anything, you know where I am,” said Teddy, and blushed again, realising how that sounded. “Campsite-related stuff, I mean.”

  “I know what you mean,” laughed Mandy.

  “Oh.” He paused in the doorway. “I almost forgot – you do know the beach is a nudist beach? For those that want it, I mean. I don’t mean you have to strip off if you don’t want to.” He blushed again.

  Mandy nodded. “Yes, I know. It said in the brochure.”

  “Okay. See you around then.”

  Mandy watched him stride back through the trees, his bum tight and muscled in his shorts. Time to fetch the car and have a shower.

  The car safely parked, Mandy took a change of clothes down to the deserted shower block. As she undressed, she thought of Teddy’s cock. Her pussy began to throb again. Hot water cascading off her breasts, Mandy slid her hand down between her legs and began to massage herself with the soapy sponge.

  Female voices, speaking rapidly in French, interrupted her journey to orgasm. Two cubicle doors banged closed nearby.

  People were beginning to return to the campsite. She decided to go down to the beach. Atlantic beaches were vast, so she was bound to find a private spot.

  Back at the tent, she found her beach mat and towel, then headed through the trees, dressed in shorts and bikini top. As she neared the beach, the trees thinned to scrub and she found herself standing on a grassy sand dune in the evening sun, a salt-laden breeze warm on her skin.

  The glistening sea heaved and rolled, crashed and foamed. Surfers rode the waves beneath a deep blue sky flecked with wheeling, screeching gulls. Below her, several people, most naked, sun-bathed or sat watching the surfers. But most were collecting their belongings, preparing to return to the campsite for supper. The vast expanse of sand to her left and right was practically deserted.

  Mandy set off along the top of the dune to her left, slipping and sliding in the soft, warm sand, until she reached a hollow that was slightly exposed to the seaward side. She unrolled her mat, laid it on the sand, and covered it with her towel. Seconds later, her shorts and bikini were off and laid in a neat pile at one end of the towel; a makeshift pillow for later. Totally naked, she stood and faced the sea, her heart and pussy pumping with excitement. Two figures strolled along the shoreline in the distance.

  A trickle of sweat rolled from beneath Mandy’s left breast. She’d never swum naked before, and the sea looked cool and inviting and as wild as she felt. With a whoop of joy, she ran, turned on further by the feel of her swinging, bouncing breasts. She waded into the receding sea until it reached the tops of her thighs. Slowly, she lowered her buttocks and pussy into the cold water and gasped with pleasure as it swirled around her labia. Another wave began to form. Laughing, she turned and waded back to the shore, watching over her shoulder as the wall of water came towards her. She threw herself down in the ankle-deep water at the shoreline and waited. The wave crashed several feet in front of her. Mandy opened her legs and the boiling, foaming water rushed towards her, then over and inside her. She lay back, feeling the tug of the receding wave as the sea reclaimed it, shivering deliciously in the lowering sun. Her hands moved to her nipples and rolled them between her fingers. Her pussy ached. She slid two fingers into its sticky, swollen folds. It was time to get to work. But not here.

  She rolled over and rose to her feet, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted her.

  Watching her from not more than twenty feet away were two tanned and muscled men; probably the two figures Mandy had seen earlier and since forgotten all about in her carnal liaison with Neptune. She felt a blush rush up her neck, not only at the thought of what they must have seen, but because they were naked. Their big cocks curved over their balls in distinct arousal. Grinning, they turned away to continue their shoreline walk.

  Mandy hurried back up the beach to her hideaway, hornier than ever. She towelled herself down, then quickly checked the beach in both directions. The men had almost disappeared from view, and there was no-one else in sight. She stretched out on the damp towel and basked in the sun’s weakening rays. It had to be getting on for eight o’clock now, so sunset wasn’t far away, a couple of hours, maybe. She suddenly realised how tired she was. It had been a long day.

  She spread her legs and trailed her hands down over her belly to the place that demanded attention. Her breasts squeezed pleasingly between her upper arms, she slid the four fingers of her left hand into her hot, slippery cunt. With the index finger of her right hand, she went to work on the pink, shiny nub at the base of the sliver of pubic hair. Images of cocks filled her mind: the cocks of the men on the beach; Teddy’s lovely cock, pre-cum trickling down the shiny purple glans; the tractor driver’s gleaming torso and bulging jeans…

  The tractor crawled by, the driver’s stiff cock rearing up from his flies like a giant snake. “Oooh, mademoiselle! Très belle! Très, très belle!”

  Mandy glanced down at her breasts, wondering what she was doing back in her car on that narrow road, sitting there completely naked…

  “Très belle…”

  The sound of the tractor engine fade
d into the sound of crashing surf. Mandy opened her eyes.

  “Très, très belle.”

  It was the two naked men from the beach, standing one either side of her. She’d fallen asleep.

  Before she could gather her wits, one of the men spoke. “Je suis Philippe.” He pointed at his friend. “C’est Jean.” He smiled a perfect white smile. “Vous êtes très belle.”

  Mandy stifled a laugh. Here she was, naked, and with fingers stuffed inside her sticky cunt, and a couple of Frenchmen were introducing themselves as if they came across this sort of thing every day!

  “Je suis Mandee,” she said, wondering briefly if she was either still dreaming, or losing her mind.

  The pair looked down at her, their hungry eyes questioning. Mandy stared up at their big stiffening cocks, her nipples growing hard. Heart thumping, she spread her legs wider, a universal signal for ‘I want cock and I want it now’.

  Philippe and Jean knelt beside her. Philippe stroked her face and kissed her mouth with a sensuality that blew her away. If only British men could kiss like that! As his tongue twisted and probed, Jean used his to lick her heaving breasts. Mandy groaned as teeth gently nipped a nipple. Philippe covered her cheeks, her nose, her eyes in kisses then drew back, showing Mandy his huge, fully-erect cock. She grasped it with her left hand and began to pump.

  Jean stopped sucking her nipples and shuffled up until his hard, veiny monster hung over Mandy’s face. Still pumping Philippe’s iron erection, Mandy reached for Jean’s with her hungry mouth. Jean gasped and pushed himself in and out, in and out. Mandy’s pulsing hole bubbled with fuck juice.

  Breathing heavily, Philippe stayed Mandy’s pumping hand. “Non, non…”

  He crawled down between her legs and circled his tongue along the inside of her thigh. Mandy tensed, desperate for Philippe to touch her, lick her, suck her. Then his mouth was clamped around her labia, his tongue flicking rapidly over her swollen clit and in and out of her gaping hole.

  Then it was Jean’s turn to stop her with a reluctant “Non!” and he pulled his cock from her mouth.

  Mandy writhed and groaned beneath Philippe’s expert manipulation of her oozing cunt. Oh, how she needed cock! If only she knew enough French to ask!

  But they knew what they were doing.

  Philippe looked up from between her legs, his mouth wet and shiny with her juices, and indicated that she should stand. Sign language. He must have realised from her awful accent that she wasn’t French. Thank goodness. It would save a lot of hassle.

  Trembling, Mandy stood, deliciously conscious of the juices trickling down her thighs and buttocks. Philippe lay down in her place, motioning her to sit on him. When she straddled him, facing him, he shook his head and pointed at his feet. Mandy turned around and lowered herself onto him, filling herself with hot, hard cock. She almost screamed with the sheer pleasure of it, and began to slide up and down on him, her fingers massaging her slippery swollen clitoris. But Philippe had other ideas. He pulled her down on top of him from behind, his hands caressing her tits. Jean knelt between her legs and indicated that she should lie flat, with her legs on top of Philippe’s.

  When she was in position, Philippe began to move his hips beneath her. Mandy quickly found the rhythm, and began to match him, stroke for stroke. Jean ducked his head between her thighs and thrust his tongue against her dripping clitoris. This time, she did cry out. It was exquisite: Philippe’s rasping breath hot on the back of her neck… his hands massaging her tits… his huge cock thrusting in and out of her, faster and faster… Jean’s warm mouth sucking… tongue lapping…

  Philippe bucked beneath her and emptied his balls with a long groan. Mandy began to orgasm. Jean struggled to his knees and began to wank over the writhing pair, his other hand massaging Mandy’s swollen clit. His eyes closed, his mouth opened, and creamy spunk shot from the end of his thick cock, over Mandy’s tits, belly and cropped pubic hair. Gasping for breath, he collapsed onto the towel beside her and Philippe.

  They lay there for several minutes, basking in a warm sexual afterglow and listening to the surf crashing on the beach.

  Philippe kissed the back of Mandy’s neck. “Très belle,” he whispered.

  Mandy eased herself off Philippe’s cock with a happy sigh. British men would never dream of telling a girl she was beautiful after the event. Before, yes. But never after.

  Her towel inaccessible beneath their spent bodies, Mandy decided to clean up in the sea. As she left the hollow, murmured conversation drifted to her ears.

  “Jesus, Phil, these French girls really go.”

  “They sure do, John. I just wish I spoke the lingo properly, mate.”

  Mandy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Then she gave a rueful grin. Perhaps she wouldn’t generalise quite so much about her countrymen in future!

  Suddenly aware of the changing light, she stood on the shoreline and watched a fiery orange sun sink into a sea reflecting hues of gold and crimson back to the sky. The brochure was right: the sunsets really were spectacular.

  Bamboobzled

  by Landon Dixon

  She stopped me in the hall, just as I was shoving the key into the lock.

  “Jim Brubaker – PI?” she queried, in a phone sex kind of voice. Her body backed up the voice, and then some.

  She was Brinn Stones, breast-blessed star of the silver screen, and every guy’s wet dream from here to Eternity, Iowa. Her long, blonde tresses were neatly weaved into a ponytail, her voluptuous body poured into a red, latex dress that highlighted her queen-sized tits in blazing neon, her slim, black-stockinged legs cascading out of the thigh-high bottom of the devil-dress.

  “I’m Brubaker,” I admitted, stocking up on enough eye candy to permanently rot my rods and cones.

  “I need your help,” Brinn breathed, her green eyes flashing ‘go’. She took a deep breath, and her deep breasts stirred the cream in my cockles.

  I wiped drool off my dimple, pushed the door open.

  We settled down in my inner-office, me behind my battered, metal desk, Brinn perched on the edge of a battered, wooden client chair, her slender, noir-shaded legs crossed like my fingers.

  “What’s the trouble?” I asked, and she told me, in explicit detail – after first swearing me to client confidentiality.

  Apparently, little Miss Stones had gotten drunk at a recent house party and been badly taken advantage of. Someone had tossed her a hunk of fresh female and she’d leapt at the fishy bait, the someone lensing the resulting Lesbo-Sapphic wrestling match, unbeknownst to Brinn, for posterity and profit. Rumours of the taped tryst had not-so-subtly surfaced in the Tabs soon after, followed by a blackmailer-to-Brinn phone call demanding one million dollars for the safe return of the sex footage.

  Brinn wanted me to track down the compromising tape, before it went public. Seems her career wasn’t flying anywhere near as high as her lifestyle, and she couldn’t cobble together a million bucks with a handgun and a Richard Nixon mask. And, oh yeah, the same two con artists – the muff diver and the shutterbugger – had also made off with Brinn’s rather extensive sex toy collection.

  “You’ll find the tape and my toys, Mr Brubaker?” Brinn asked at the end of her spiel, her cherry-red lips parted breathlessly.

  “Jim,” I said. “You bet I will. Four hundred dollars a day plus expenses.”

  She batted her lashes like a silent film heroine tied to a railway track. “I’m, uh, afraid I can’t afford that … Jim,” she snuffled. “Perhaps we can arrange another, um, form of payment?”

  I wasn’t one to turn my snoot up at post-dated cheques, and was about to say so, when the impetuous babezilla stood up and unzipped her crimson second-skin, let it slide down and off her porn star body like she was unveiling a bust. And what a bust! Her tits were big and bronze and boldly upright, pressure-capped by jutting, mocha nipples that cried out for suction.

  She cupped her huge, nude, sun-kissed boobs, rolled rigid nipples between slender, scarlet-tipped fingers li
ke they were .44 calibre cartridges. My mouth cracked dry as the Hollywood Hills, my throat clicking like a camera when I swallowed.

  Brinn sensuously slid a pair of lacy, black panties down her long, luxurious, silk-clad legs, revealing a baby-faced pussy already glistening with anticipation. I admired everything about her as she strolled around my desk, up to me. She grabbed one of my sweaty paws and pulled me to my feet, then abruptly planted her glossy lips square-on my agape pucker.

  “I like the way you pay your bills, baby,” I mumbled, wrapping her burning body in my arms.

  Her thunderous tits pressed hard and soft and hot into my manly chest, and we kissed like the war had just ended – and we’d won! Then Brinn darted her silver-tinted tongue in between my mouth flaps, and we frenched as they do on the Continent.

  I broke her tongue-lock, brought my kisser down for an intimate talk with her titanic tits, grabbing hold of her breasts and happily squeezing and kneading them – almost passing out from disbelief when I found the fleshy pair as natural as organically-grown melons. They were firm and fun to play with, and after fondly manhandling them for a while, I stuck out my tongue and flicked it at one of the sex kitten’s engorged nipples.

  “Suck my tits!” Brinn hissed, excitedly rubbing my buzzcut, brewing up a static-electric storm.

  I vacuumed her jutting right nipple into my mouth, sucked on it like a parched dairy farmer desperate to draw milk. Then I shifted over to her other nipple, repeated the succulent process, bobbed my bean back and forth between her bountiful boobs, sucking and tonguing sweet, swollen nipple like I’d never been taught how to use a glass.

  “Fuck my tits!” Brinn shrieked.

  I unhanded and unmouthed the gorgeous girl’s saliva-soaked jugs and jutters and fumbled my pants open, and she quickly pulled my cock out of my shorts, started stroking.

  “Yeah, baby!” I gritted, her hot little brown hand sliding easily and expertly up and down my throbbing, pink dong.

  She dipped to her knees, added some tongue to her handiwork, teasing the bloated tip of my dick with the playful tip of her tongue. She tickled my slit, the sensitive underside of my prong where shaft meets hood, before inhaling my mushroomed cap and tugging on it.