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This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

The episode of Being A Romantic Stud had gone rather skewiff. Following his wife’s attempt at spicing up their lovemaking (when would he ever manage to call it a sex life?), he had made an attempt of his own. He had actually listened to her throwaway comment whilst watching a period drama, about thinking there was nothing sexier than the sight of a man rising from the water with his clothes clinging to him the way some fop did in an Austen adaptation. And he had sat there, pretending to study his book on World War II military vehicles, all the while furiously planning ways of making her fantasy come to life.

He had visited a country gentlemen’s retailer and bought a pair of jodhpurs, boots and a short riding crop. He was going for as authentic a look as he dared, and he had noted, with more observational talent than usual, that the wet hero's outfit was rather different to the more modern styles. He had therefore sneaked into Marks and Spencer’s at lunchtime, desperately hoping that nobody he knew would discover him, and that none of the assistants would ask why he was purchasing a shirt two sizes too big for his lanky frame. As if they would even care if they did notice. But the fear that they would immediately guess he was attempting to boost the romanticism of his sex life threatened to reduce his determined-yet-tenuous hard-ons to limp little nudges of pathetic tics. The planning of this fantasy-cum-(oh how he hoped there would be cum!)-role play was building itself up to be either the greatest failure of any experimental man, or the most triumphant sex scene ever played in his life, the kind that got whispered about at funerals by female relatives to thrice-removed cousins who didn’t know the juicier tales of their distant family (yet).

Once his outfit was sorted (minus the latest SpongeBob socks), he considered calling her into the garden so that she could see him emerge from the pond, but after a practice run in his waders, he discovered that the fish in the knee-deep water were unhappy sharers, and the murky smell would be sure to have her fussing over her cream carpets in the hallway.

He decided, instead, he could just hose himself down in the bathroom, and meet her by the bed. Unfortunately, stepping fully dressed and booted from the warm shower after hearing his wife arrive home, he had slipped on the bath mat, sending his arms, legs and various perfume bottles flailing into the air. He heard her thundering upstairs in a panic in the aftermath of the crash, and saw the look of horror on her face as she took in the shards of poor Mr Lauren and Ms. Arden scattered like pungent diamonds over the wet, heaving body of her stricken husband.

They had spent the evening cleaning the bathroom and trying to avoid each other’s eyes – he for the shame of so spectacular a failure, she for the shame of wanting to laugh at his startled rabbit face as she swung the door open on him. That night in bed, she held his shamed cheek to her breasts, cooing that she never wanted the hero in question anyway, he had a split personality and his shirts were too big. Secretly, she would have let the said hero take her up the bum if he wanted to, but there was no way she was going to let her poor, perfumed husband know that.

So it was back to the drawing board for him. Perhaps role play was out, so maybe a change of location would be fun, and would ensure his wife didn’t go looking elsewhere for sex. He had once discovered a porn magazine tucked under his mattress in a hotel room, and seeing no signs of previous use other than a well-thumbed centre spread (and what a spread it was!), he had taken it and hidden it in his shed for illicit garden moments. Searching for ideas, he began to read the magazine with new eyes. He looked at the women and the positions they were in, their surroundings, and what they were wearing. He was most drawn to the girl with red hair and a turquoise bikini, lying back on a sandy dune amongst the marram grass. Her eyes looked like she wanted him, and her legs were spread to show he was welcome between them as she smiled a beckon to him.

After a little bit of thinking (and a quick wank), he knew he had the perfect plan. There was an estuary beach near his aunt’s in Devon, where he loved to go fishing. Sometimes, due to the Marine base there, he got to see the amphibious beach unit testing their vehicles, so it would be no hardship to lure his wife there with a book and the suntan lotion (if the weather would permit it), as she had gone before and quite enjoyed it.

Arranging a week’s holiday was easy; his aunt and uncle were delighted to be able to see them (“Two years since your last visit, dear! Do you enjoy London that much?” “We’re in Gerrard’s Cross, not London” “Oh, anywhere past Stonehenge is London, dear.”).

It was with a little fear and trepidation that he suggested she pack a bikini. She only wore those abroad, she said, but when he pointed out that Devon practically was abroad, and he blushingly told her he thought she looked very lovely in her purple polka-dot set, she remembered the guilty feeling she had whenever she giggled over his poor scared face surrounded by broken glass, and made sure he saw her add it to her case.

So the day arrived (let the reader understand that border patrols on the Devon/Somerset line were relaxed on their day of travel, and no passports were required). The day was deliciously bright, warm and sunny (let the reader understand that this kind of day does actually happen now and again in Devon, not just in stories). He got up earlier than usual and collected his bait from the tackle shop (translating in his head that “a few fish coming out” from the place he wasn’t going to, and nothing from where he was, probably meant that there was a very good chance of him catching a big fat bass for tea).

He drove back to collect his wife, who finally appeared at mid-morning in her purple polka-dot bikini and a pink sarong (he felt his blood rush into his cock when he first saw her, and he remained in a semi-erect state for quite a while).

It was the beginning of a new adventure! Parking furthest away from everybody else, near the Marine camp, he helped his wife out of the car, sliding his hand over her pert, round bottom that strained against the sarong she had tied around her waist. She regarded him silently as she watched him get his spinning rod and tackle bag out of the car boot, finally picking up the large cool bag and her beach bag (the latter he hung round his neck so it would cover the slight bulge in his shorts).

“Ready?” he asked brightly.

He was up to something, she knew it. It had been nagging at her since he first suggested the holiday. Whenever he was excited about something, she could read it in his eyes; the way they shone with excitement, the way they narrowed and the corners crinkled into soft little webs of mellowed creases, and one side of his mouth gently curved upwards as he thought happy thoughts in his head.

Hand on arse. In public. Okay, so nobody was around to have seen it, but it was really quite unlike him. He wants sex, she thought. Mr. Predictable-Cartoon-Sock-Man Wants Sex. Outside.

They stood staring at each other. A slow, crimson blush began to spread across her face. So he wouldn’t see it, she smiled, nodded, and turned towards the beach, allowing him to go slightly ahead as she dawdled with her book and the camera.

He Wants Outside Sex. She bit her lip as she wandered into the marram grass and crested the top of the dunes, looking down to the water on the quietest part of the long beach. For all her display of control and self-confidence a few weeks previously, she was still somewhat in awe of anything other than bedroom missionary, and to consider having sex outside was… actually a hell of a turn-on. She was surprised at the sudden punch of excitement between her legs! She crouched down and considered it, feeling the delicious tingle as she imagined them lying side by side, one leg hooked over his hip as he fucked her in the warm sun.

“Are you coming, darling?” he called from down on the sand.

“Not yet,” she muttered to herself.

She stood up and followed him along the soft sands, wading through the drier sinking depths at the base of the dunes, and then pattering along the harder sand made smooth and starred like a golden night sky with pretty creamy shells from the bigger tides. Finally, just short of an old oil jetty, where the sharp shingle rocks met the sand (all good fisherfolk know that’s where you’re most likely to catch fish at such venues), he stopped and stretched, waiting for her to catch up. He surveyed the ground he would be fishing on, working out where he would cast his lead to avoid snagging up but still in with a chance to catch the bigger bass that flirted with the edges of the rocks as the tide came up. But there was plenty of time before the tide turned and the pelagic feeders would put in an appearance. He let his mind drift to the real purpose of the day – after all, whilst a bass would be a bonus, he had bigger fish to fry. Well, fuck. Dear god, he thought, if she knew he’d thought of her and fish in the same sentence she’d never forgive him. Instead, he busied himself making their al fresco lounge ready.

By the time she had reached him, he had already spread out the blanket, purposely hidden in the first tiers of the marram grass, shielded from distant prying eyes, and was standing there waiting with a bottle of sun cream and that little half-smile warming his face, the blazing sunshine in miniature on his countenance.

“Do you want me to rub it in for you?”

Again, she regarded him with a slow blush spreading across her face.

“Yes please.” She turned around to put the book and camera down on the blanket, sticking her round bottom out at him as she did so. She took a little longer than was strictly necessary, knowing he would be staring at her. She could feel the heat of the sun licking its way through the pink chiffon wrapped around her waist, further heating the warm dampness that was soaking through her bikini bottoms from inside her. With a little wiggle, she undid the sarong, letting it drop to the sand, displaying her roundness and arse cleavage. She slowly stood up again, and turned round with her shoulders thrown back and her purple polka-dotted breasts thrown forward. She tilted her head backwards and closed her eyes, feeling the seeping wetness between her legs, and the kiss of the sun on her arms which she held out the sides to let him know she was ready.

Leaning down towards her, he kissed her neck very lightly, once on each side, and then gently on the lips. That had been how he had first kissed her. They had been for a bike ride and had stopped at a pub for lunch. Stretched out in the corner of the beer garden, slightly tipsy and giggling, he had seen how lovely her neck looked in the warm sun, and kissed each side, finally planting a little kiss on her lips. They had both blushed and neither said anything, simply sitting there in the sun together, holding hands.

But today was different. After all, today was just a few weeks since he had spanked the “little bitch whore cow from Hell” during their first-ever role play, and fucked her right across the kitchen floor. Smiling hotly, she grabbed him around the back of his neck and kissed him hard and deep. He lost his balance and fell towards her, landing over her on the blanket as he took her down with him. With a hand on either side of her head, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and kissed her so deeply that she forgot to breathe and was lost in the sudden wave of lust he brought over her.

He slid a thigh between hers and began kissing in a line from her lips, down and over the curve of her chin, following the line of her throat, and into the little hollows of her collar bones. Her eyes stayed closed; she was prepared to abandon herself to this hot and unexpected turn of events. Who was this stranger husband? Oh, who cared anyway… Mmmm… She did!

She raised her arms over her head as she felt him move down her body, kissing the line down her breast bone and then sucking first one nipple and then the other through the purple polka-dotted veneer, soaking it like the damp between her legs, a wet trinity. Her hands clenched fistfuls of the warm sand, grating pleasantly against her skin, and buffing almost painfully at the delicate webs between her sweaty fingers.

She moaned as she felt him shift further down her body, kissing her now baking skin towards her navel, and circling it with his tongue, flicking in and out of the hollow as he teased her. Pulled back from her little lost world of happy floating chaos, she felt him move away and heard the small click as he flipped open the bottle of sun cream.

Bereft, she squeezed her legs together on him as his mouth left her, and received an icy cold wet spurt across her stomach.

“AAAAHHH!” She brought her knees up in instant reaction, grazing his ribs with her sandy feet as he caught them under his arms.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He grinned up her tense torso at her.

“I left the bottle in the cool bag between the ice packs.”

“That’s cold!”

“Yep.”

She suddenly noticed that little curving smile and the soft creases of his up-to-something face. She looked down at the splash of cream across her stomach like wayward spunk from Jack Frost. She realised her nipples were gently baking under the sun-drenched fabric, and that her husband was staring down between her legs at the sopping purple polka-dotted strip that hid her soft velvet core. And she let her legs relax, wriggling closer to him so her knees could bend round his waist and he could see her breasts wobble back and forth as she edged up against him.

“Rub it in, then,” she said, pouting prettily and thrusting her hips higher, legs tightening around him. He let go of her legs and leaned forward, hands sliding from those smooth hips, up across her stomach, and rubbing the cream in with long, firm strokes. When the cream had soaked in across her stomach, he massaged one breast and picked up the bottle of cream again, squirting a large amount right into her cleavage. She gasped and wriggled, feeling his now rock-hard bulge pressing teasingly against her purple polka-dotted entrance.

Putting the bottle down, he leaned forward, his hands sinking into the blanket on either side of her head, and kissed her hard, his tongue sliding in and out of her mouth aggressively. She wriggled against him again and he leaned back, his hands sliding firmly over her shoulders and down over her breasts, pulling down the purple polka-dots to expose her hard, begging nipples. He grinned widely at her and imagined what Mr Miyagi would say about his cream technique. “Cream on, cream in; cream on, cream in…” He knew how he’d like to apply his own cream, never mind the sunscreen… His hips began to move in little thrusts as his wife ground against him, his hands making circular movements as he rubbed in the cream, pausing every now and again to gently pinch a nipple and make her moan. This was it! He had her laid out on the now-baking beach, right where he wanted her, writhing against him, hot and panting for him, and he was going to give her a right good seeing to! Let her go wandering off to someone else after he fucked her senseless…

Suddenly, a huge shape momentarily blocked the sun, showering them with a fine spray of sand.

“Sorry Sir! Sorry Madam!” they heard fading as the large figure was already a small camouflaged strip in the golden sand moving rapidly away from them.

Another shape whooshed past, sand spraying over them again.

“Sorry Sir! Sorry Madam!”

And another!

“Sorry Sir! Sorry Madam!”

Frozen, his hands cupping his wife’s breasts, her legs gripping her husband’s waist, and both of them with eyes screwed up against the mini-sandstorm, fifteen Marines zoomed past them, rushing from the dunes and dashing down to the water like fabled princes of ancient marshlands come to wreak revenge on an apathetic Neptune. A low rumble, which had gradually been developing without the lusty couple quite clocking it, was now a roar of machinery as three amphibious vehicles rolled from the waters of the beach, gorging itself on the squad which had just emerged from who knows where. They slid grumbling into the hidden depths of spiky grass, their bellies full of Marines who now had something to leer over in the mess that night, each of them making their own mess when finally alone and with space to think of the shapely woman obviously begging her man to fuck her out on the beach.

But mythic monsters aside, husband and wife were still frozen in shock, her breasts now in a vice-like fleshy bra, his cock rapidly draining of blood and choosing not to play. They blinked at each other, looking around nervously, and saying nothing, they each sat up and re-arranged themselves, she pulling her bikini top up and tying her sarong under her arms like a little dress, and he adjusting his shorts to make it slightly more comfortable. She stood to one side whilst he dusted off the camera and put it in a bag, and then shook off the blanket.

They stood there for a moment looking at the sand. His shoulders were slumped and he was cursing those Marines to high heaven in his heart. So close… so close… Normally he would drop everything to see them playing with what she called their “bath toys”. He would never be able to look at them again without a wistful sadness.

“Do you want some lunch, darling?” she asked tentatively.

He sighed.

“I made you chocolate spread and banana sandwiches…”

That boyish grin that she loved so much appeared. Life was always better with chocolate and banana sandwiches for lunch, he had once told her.

They sat in the sun, after a pragmatic application of sunscreen, eating lunch and simply Being together as they watched the sun glittering off the turning tide, making the yachts (“boats with sticks”, she called them) dance on the water.

After eating (they had chocolate mousse, his favourite – she had made an effort to keep him sweet for whatever he’d been planning), she stretched out on the blanket, to read her book and bask in the sun. He got out his box of beads, swivels and hooks and made up some rigs to use when the tide was a little higher.

By the time he started fishing, she was already dozing, her lovely form stretched out and being kneaded by the sun’s fingers. He sighed, trying not to think about what he’d like to be doing to her right now. But the moment had trundled away somewhere else in the bellies of the metal amphibians, and now he was stuck for ways to prove to his wife why she should stay with him and not go looking elsewhere.

Trudging down the golden sands, he tried not to think of his failures at spicing up their sex life. He tried not to think about her assertion that if he didn’t sort himself out, she would find her fun with somebody else. He tried not to think about the rush of blindingly hot lust that made him forget himself for moments as he fucked her from behind and wished he’d been over her knee for a spanking instead of her over the table. He tried not to think about buying those new bottles of aftershave and perfume to replace the ones he’d smashed in his crap attempt at being dashingly attractive and sexy. And he tried not to think about the sand now grating uncomfortably between his shaft and balls. Those Marines get everywhere, he thought grumpily.

He took out his frustration on the helpless lugworms he threaded up his line, and then quietly chuckled in triumphant glee at the ragworm who, after having pincered his finger, was mercilessly head-hooked and flung out on the end of a rig with a 3oz lead.

He fished the tide up, enjoying the little tweaks and tactics that all good fisherfolk who just love fishing like to try. He swapped over rigs, tried different ways of baiting up, swapped to a spinner for a while, added some rag and lug for a bit of scent in the water, changed his distance, angle, swapped rigs again, and tried not to think about his balls which were aching due to repeated semi hard-ons as his mind kept drifting back to his wife’s soaking pussy.

At the top of the tide, with only a little nibble (from the fish, sadly not his wife, who had been down to check on him before she wandered up the beach with the camera and returned with a 99 ice cream for him - blimey, she was sexy when she licked round the rim of the cone), he gave up.

Quietly, they packed up, he wishing he’d got the (non-blue) balls to take her from behind again, and she wishing the Marines had maybe stopped by again to give them a hand with their beach fun. They made it back to the car and just before he started the engine, he had subconsciously stopped and sighed deeply.

She reached over and put her hand over his.

“I love you.”

He turned to look at her, smiling sadly until horror seeped in as he realised he was actually tearing up! He looked away quickly and returned the statement softly. Neither of them said anything else on the way, and when they reached home, she went for a shower whilst he sorted out the bait for another session tomorrow. When his aunt asked him if he’d had a nice day, he said yes, whilst wondering why it felt like that of a man who nearly had sex, but didn’t. And then he remembered… He’d nearly had sex, but didn’t.

His uncle suggested they go out to the Boat House restaurant to sample some local seafood, seeing as the fish had been so elusive that day. He agreed that would be lovely, and trudged upstairs to have his own shower and remove that awful sand that had made swinging his way across the beach so irritating. Entering the bedroom, he saw her stood in the golden light of the early evening sun, naked, as she brushed her damp hair. He loved that curve of her hips, the gentle swell of her breasts at the sides as observed her from behind. He loved those two little dimples on either side of her spine just above her lovely bum. He’d like to kiss them, each wonderful little hollow a perfect place for rubbing his cheek against as he squeezed her buttocks…

He sighed again and went into the bathroom, stripping as he went and dropping his clothes into the laundry bin. Even when the low moods struck, he needed the neatness to help him get a handle on things. Stepping into the shower, he had a fleeting thought that Lynx shower gel didn’t really work like in the adverts. He didn’t have women throwing themselves at his feet, he thought as he lathered up, nor did his own wife really throw herself at his feet. Although in retrospect, he had managed to get her writhing and grinding earlier, so maybe there was something in it…

He thought about that a little bit more, and thought of her wonderfully sun-kissed body as she had stood near the window, only a thin layer of net between her and the eyes of Devon…

Opening his own eyes to turn off the shower, he suddenly saw her stood there just outside the glass cubicle. Still naked with beads of glistening water scattered in little fairy kisses all over her. And she was staring at his hard cock.

He blushed crimson, wanting to cover himself for the shame of his inept attempts to be all manly and take her, and yet fighting against it for the desire to make her feel like he was the one in control.

She smiled shyly at him.

He blushed back.

The water beat down on him, sliding in waterfalls of liquid fingers, caressing his shoulders and parting to flow past his huge erection, meeting again just under his tightened balls and licking them with hot wet tongues.

She opened the door and he instinctively stepped back to let her in. She shook her head and drew him forward again. She knelt down in front of him.

He gulped.

She looked up at him, limpid eyes drawing him into the recesses of her soul. And she smiled. A pretty, wonderfully sensual smile fingered its way up his torso as the water cascaded down it. She put out her arms and wrapped them around him so that her hands grabbed his buttocks and began to gently knead them.

He stared down at her, unable to comprehend that this was really happening! She put her face forward towards his length, putting her cheek up against one side of his shaft, unable to keep her eyes open as the water sprayed down (he fleetingly wondered if his aunt’s water was metered, and then decided he didn’t care). She softly rubbed her cheek against him, still kneading his arse cheeks, and then slightly turned her head, letting her mouth gently climb his shaft in a little trail up the side, softly kissing his now dark, throbbing tip, and climbing back down the other side to rub her other cheek against him. She did this a few times, letting him feel this new sensation.

Because during all his planning for this trip, she had been doing a little planning of her own. After her escapade with him in the kitchen, she thought it was only fair she try to do something for him, too. So with a little research under her belt, all she’d had to do was wait for the right time. And after today, there couldn’t have been a better opportunity.

She moved now to change her action slightly. She remembered the ice cream she had bought him earlier, and the look in his eyes when she had licked around the edges of the cone to stop it dripping. So she began at the very base of his shaft, between that and his balls, and gently licked first, just to find out how he reacted. He was looking down at her, a dreamy look not unlike earlier. So she gently sucked tiny patches around there, flicking her tongue now and again around his sac, first in the middle, then on one side, then the other…

She carried on kneading his buttocks, listening for which areas and grips made him sigh more than others. Gently, she flicked her tongue back and forth up the underside of his shaft, feeling the reward of his hiss as she flicked over his frenulum. On her way back down, she tried up and down strokes, long and lingering, which she did a few times, traversing her way languorously. Every so often, she would go back to the sideways flicks, and sometimes made gentle circling movements too.

He was lost in a new world of ecstasy, unable to do or say, simply feeling what she was doing to him. Just as he would get used to something new, she would change her rhythm or pace and surprise him, forcing him to lose total control. He lost the ability to form words and could only feel.

She brought her hands round to the front, gently using her fingertips to massage his balls carefully, and tug soft little pinches of his skin until his sac grew too tight and she could only play with the weight of them and massage the area. As she did this, she pursed her lips and brought her mouth down over the top of his head, wet and hot with the streams of water now running down her hair and her breasts. He would have loved the sight, had he been able to make his eyes work, but he was lost in the abandon of these trillion senses flooding over and through him.

His breathing was suddenly shallow and rapid, and she knew he was about to cum. She was torn between feeling annoyed that she had not done half of what she planned to do yet, and feeling over the moon that he was about to spurt his load. She didn’t have time to think about whether she was going to swallow or not. She put her energies into giving him something to really cum to.

Grasping his base in one hand, and pushing the other between his legs to finger his perineum, she moved her mouth down over his helmet as she slid him in and out of his mouth. Feeling him throbbing, hot and pumping, she could barely take him in as he began thrusting, doing his best not to shove it down her throat and hurt her or hurt himself on her teeth. She felt his balls twitch and she knew the moment was there. She removed her hand from between his legs and from his shaft, and keeping her mouth as far down on him as she could, she thrust her hands around the back of him and gave him a sharp spank on each buttock.

“FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Nnnnnnnnnnnn…”

She held on as best she could, trying not to gag as he spurted scalding juice down the back of her throat, hands gripping the back of her head with fistfuls of her wet hair. Still thrusting into her mouth, he gasped with ragged breaths as he felt every ounce of him wringing the contents of his balls into his wife’s mouth.

For a moment, as it eased and the magic blindness of his orgasm began to settle, he forgot she was even there until he heard her gagging and pushing away from him coughing. He slid down under the still-running shower, legs shaking, doing his best to control his limbs and make sure she was alright.

“I’m… okay…” she gasped, smiling and panting. “Did… I do it… alright?”

Still breathing hard himself, he whispered in her ear, “Almost… as alright… as… the mouth fucking… I’m going… to give you…”

This story only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.