Kate goes fuck hunting - second half

As John stood up the condom still hung ridiculously off the edge of his cock; the bulb of cum at the bottom plainly evidently. It looked even more ridiculous as he started to recover an erection. He slid it off, emptied it and buried it in the sand.

Then we raced each other across the beach and into the water; momentum being important to ensure neither of us piked it when the cool of the water hit our warn bodies. It also gave me the amusement value of seeing John’s erection swaying and beating against his stomach as he ran.

One thing I’ve learnt to do – helped immeasurably by that talk with Greg as we were watching those girls fool around in the water all those years ago – is seductively frolic in the water. I suspect most guys, given the choice of just standing holding you in a static naked embrace or watching and interacting with you as you do a seductive naked frolic, would chose the frolic any day. You know the stuff; sure there’s the touchy stuff like instigating splashing games, jumping the waves together and tackling each other into the water to roll about with them. But just as effective is to turn on the visual games. The bum waving as you’re splashing about we’ve already talked about, I can even do pretty good girlie squeals as I let waves bowl me over – life saver or not. But how about bouncing your boobs as you jump a wave – whether they’re naked or bouncing up and down inside (or out of) a loosely tied bikini top doesn’t really seem to matter. I can even do the full long hair wet head fling like a shampoo add professional.

I’ve always been able to get a good rise out of Greg when I let myself go and practiced really turning that stuff on; and that’s while we’re in swimmers and he knows it’s just play. With guys who are sex partners or think they’re in with a chance, you can just about cause them to rip the front of their swimmers apart with the effect it has on them. I had John hard as a rock and I’d barely even touched him yet.

And that’s what I mean by the advantage of screwing around with the out of town surfers. I really enjoy playing the games; not to tease guys but because I just enjoy completely unleashing my girlie inner self – even more so when I understand the power that gives me. But that’s the very sort of stuff that’s going to make a guy fall in love.

But it was too early for John to be thinking about love. What it did quickly do was make him start thinking about more sex. The pattern is quite predictable in the way that guys are; they like the games to go on for a while, but eventually – or should I say soon enough – they’re handling you in that close, intimate sort of way that says I really want to stick my dick into you now. And that’s OK. While I’ve expressed the effect bluntly – as is my nature - I know that’s the effect it can have; I may even have been looking for it, so I’m not complaining when it happens.

Before the additional inspiration I got from Karen and Greg’s more adventurous approach to sex that would mean we’d have to leave the beach, go back to wherever he was staying and start all over again. After all you can hardly get into it on a busy public beach in the middle of the day, can you?

All I had to work out tonight was how to push John to the water’s edge to have him screw me there. And really it didn’t take much. Once each body is telling the other “I’m ready for sex now” you become reasonably attuned to any directioning towards the place for it to happen.

What was harder was to get the place right. When I’d watched Karen and Greg they were half in and half out of the water and that’s really what I would have liked. But they’d been doing it when there was no surf at all; just a few wavelets lapping at the edge of the water. Tonight there was a fair surge washing up and down the sand. While that might start by sounding like being interesting, you only have to think about all the sand being pushed around in that surge to have second thoughts. It’s bad enough when it gets into your swimmers. Having the inside of your body sandpapered wasn’t a good thought.

So I took us to the top of the surge zone and laid John out on his back on the wet sand there; his feet just being touched by the odd wave. There had always been another problem with sex in the wild; condoms. Ok if you’re wearing clothes with pockets, but when you’re naked or just in swimmers, it’s not exactly easy to carry one.

When I’d swam out to the guy on the board it was in the knowledge he always carried a couple in the zip pocket of his boardies. The fact he always carried them probably says something - not entirely favourable - about my selection of partners at that time, but still that was how it worked.

Karen had inspired me on how to solve that problem when she’d stuck one inside the wide band of her diver’s watch. Since I also had a watch I wore on the beach with a similar sort of band, that had addressed that issue for me too. When I was getting the dessert out of the bag on the top of the dunes I slipped one inside the band. Now I sheathed John in it.

Normally when I’m having sex I try and position myself on top. That’s what works best for me and I really find it’s a rare guy who can bring me to a climax in the missionary position; however long he lasts or whatever strange angle I put my legs at. But tonight I rolled John on top of me; he was a bit clumsy inserting himself while supporting his weight over me, but soon enough got himself there.

I’m really embarrassed to have to admit this, but there was a reason John was on top. If I was in denial about it before, that denial was shattered when I wrapped an elbow around his neck and pulled his head down next to mine and out of my field of vision. Because I couldn’t help it. I was fantasising it was Greg pounding my body; just like I’d seen him do to Karen’s on that day they’d first met.

I’ve never done that before. My sex partner was my sex partner. They often been chosen as fantasy partners – Neanderthals in Karen’s parlance - in the first place so there was no need to imagine them as someone else.

Greg was my friend and while I might have flaunted my sexual self in front of him I’d never fantasised about having sex with him. As you know from previous stories, I did have a powerfully arousing fantasy about cavorting naked with him but that always fell short of actually having sex. It was the escape to the pure unthreatening innocence of that cavorting that was actually so powerful. Even when I was masturbating, he wasn’t the object of my thoughts.

But as I said at the start of this story, Karen’s arrival really had caused a disturbance in the force. I thought I pretty successfully projected the image I had of myself as an independent, confident, self- assured and intelligent woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Yes, I knew I could be hurt by people who tried to bully me and cringed in my own embarrassment when I knew I’d made stupid mistakes in my love life. And once I’d recognised it, I’d never denied the difficulty I had with commitment; indeed I projected my acceptance of that and my dealing with its consequences as part of my self-assurance.

But Karen’s arrival and my pathetic stalking of their love life in the first week and a half of their relationship had shook me to my very core. And at the heart of that disturbance was the thought of sneakily watching Greg pound Karen on the water’s edge on that first day. He wasn’t mine. It shouldn’t have affected me. Even if I was concerned about her cramping my style with him friendship wise, he should have been entitled to root her silly without it affecting me. It shouldn’t have been about sex!

After all, I thrown girls Greg’s way in the past who I knew had the hots for him and were as loose as a pair of old undies with broken elastic. They were his for the taking had he wanted. Maybe they weren’t the prettiest or nicest girls in the town; but surely a lay is a lay. But of course it’s not for Greg and maybe deep down I knew that; plus even if they did manage to actually seduce him, they weren’t a threat to me.

And now as John was banging away at me on the beach I was nearly ready to climax in a position that usually doesn’t work for me, not because he’s hitting the right spot or is a great lover; simply because my brain is telling me it’s Greg doing the banging in the way I saw him do with Karen.

As I built towards an orgasm I emptied my brain of every thought except the one that it’s Greg whose manhood I can feel thrusting in and out of me as I lay with my back on the wet sand on this beach where we’ve spent so much of our time. John is forgotten. He doesn’t exist. I can mentally picture Greg’s face next to me, picture the top view of his body on top of me thrusting away; in reality I’m substituting me for Karen in the scene I watched on the beach.

I’ve spread my knees wide and wrapped my lower legs around Greg’s – I mean John’s - thighs; just about moving my ankles all the way up to the cheeks of his butt. Without any stability being offered by them my whole body is rocking to the thrusting; rolling around my own hips as his powerful inward thrust curls them upwards.

On this occasion I’d long since lost any inhibition about vocalising the pleasure I’m feeling. Like a Buddhist mantra designed to empty your brain of distractions and focus your thoughts, my repetitive sex groans had me focusing on a belief Greg was rooting me; and in response to that voice John was being encouraged to root all the harder.

And then, finally, my whole body was washed out by one of the most beautiful orgasms I’ve ever had; not the most powerful, nor the longest; more like the sweetest, best feeling one. Every limb I had around John tensed; holding him tighter and almost immovably against me as I felt the contractions of my orgasm bear down on his shaft.

Finally, when it was over, I relaxed my body, lay my legs back spread out on the sand and literally zoned out while I let John find his climax in whatever way he needed to; it was like I wasn’t there – too busy remembering what had just happened to me to know or care. The next thing I really know is he’s lying on top of me; head down next to mine, panting out the exertions of his efforts. It was lucky I didn’t just blurt out “oh, are you still here?”

With the passing of my climax, the first blush of guilt was already penetrating my brain and I didn’t like it. Refocusing on John as a distraction, I started to be playful again, rolling us down to the water until we were being pushed around by the surge and then past it into knee deep water being washed over by the broken waves. It wasn’t long before John was aroused again; but I had neither the condom nor the courage for another session on the water’s edge.

I encouraged John out of the water and back up the beach to the top of our dune, where we recovered enough clothing for a modicum of modesty, finished the drinks I’d bought, packed up the hamper and walked off the beach. By now I’d invited myself back to spend the night in John’s motel, more or less across the road from the beach, diverting just far enough to let me get my toiletry bag from my car.

Half an hour later we’d showered and I was lying naked next to John in his bed. He was aroused, but not pushing for more sex and nor was I, so I let him drift off to a slightly tipsy sleep. Me? I was a long way from being able to sleep. Thoughts were racing through my head; guilty, worrying thoughts that I somehow had broken a taboo; two taboos.

One was my commitment taboo. Sex, or rather the lack of it, had always been the reason I’d managed to feel so close to Greg without my commitment phobia cutting in.

But the other – what’s that commandment - “thou shall not covert thy neighbour’s wife” I felt equally worried about, even if in this case it was more “thou shall not covert thy best female friend’s partner (even if he is your best friend)”.

Desperate to put it behind me, I decided to refocus on John again, cuddling up to him and encouraging myself to become aroused by his not unattractive naked body next to me. The cuddling woke him up and since we were both already aroused – me sexually by him, him with a night erection – we were soon having sex again; me definitely on top in my normal position. That did the trick and somehow reset my brain. Soon after I was sound asleep.

Come the morning he was randy again and if I wasn’t exactly randy, I was certainly inclined to get myself fucked, so I found myself riding him again.

While he showered before breakfast, I didn’t; just putting back on the bikini and overclothes I’d worn the previous night. Then we breakfasted again before I released him for a morning of surfing while I kept my previous appointment with Karen and Greg.

And therein lies the reason I wanted to get myself a morning fuck. I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it – I did; it was actually great. But as I said at the outset, I’ll swear there’s something discernible about both Karen and Greg when they’re fresh from fucking; even more so now they’re not using a condom and whatever is causing it is a blend of both their juices; and even more so when it’s Greg. You might not be able to smell it at a conscious level, but I’m sure it’s there at a pheromone level. It affects me; it has from the first day.

And after last night I want them to get the same sense from me; to know that I too am fresh from being fucked. That’s why there was no morning shower and the same bikini. Yes, I know it’s crazy. The first thing Karen asked me was how it went with John and she didn’t stop asking questions until she knew the details of every fuck. I knew she would. So what was the point? Why was I being so petulant; no I think weird is a better way of putting it?

I don’t think I can answer that question. The reason is internal to me. I’m sure Greg doesn’t give a rat’s arse whether I’ve been fucked or not; especially now Karen’s on the scene. He’s watched me getting myself laid for the last 5 or so years and the only time he’s made any real comment is when in the early years he warned me with as much tact as was possible – but quite correctly – that by my then behaviour I was ruining my reputation and making a slut of myself. Plus he and Karen are at risk of dying from an overdose of fucking; if that’s possible.

OK, so I’m a believer in the power of pheromones; I have been for a long time. It was the power of John’s that increased my hots for him. Apart from that I can only write it down to the effect of that disturbance in the force; one I’m struggling to rebalance.

Really from the time I went off to Uni a year ago I’ve known that the special stabilising effect that Greg has had on my life is in the process of being eroded. Our lives are moving on from the small beach town in which we grew up and I’ve known that I need to get used to a lesser presence of him. Karen’s arrival may have accelerated that, but it was happening anyway. I was already in the process of making that adjustment; I just now need to work harder at it.

That’ not to say I intend to reject him; far from it. With my new found friendship with Karen I hope to see as much of them both as possible. But the truth was I did feel a possessiveness about him and I know I have to give that up. He always will be special to me, but I needed to let go of certain aspects of my attitude towards him.

I also knew I was jealous of the sort of relationship Greg and Karen shared. Already I knew the sort of partner I was picking was changing. It had been partly prompted by Karen’s Neanderthal gibe, if only because of how true I knew it was. The fact was that John, and other more recent choices, were considerable less Neanderthal like than was the case a month ago. And in part that was because I was starting to challenge myself about my relationship phobia.

Whether I could overcome it, I didn’t know. I doubted it, but I had decided to give it a try. To that extent John and others like him were just a little less ovulation worthy and a little more relationship worthy.

When something strange and unexpected happens to you – as it did last night when I imagined myself being fucked by Greg – it takes a while to get things back in a proper perspective. In the end I decided there wasn’t really anything wrong about using my imagination like that. It didn’t mean I was trying to take Greg back from Karen, it didn’t even necessarily mean I was coveting him. It’s just what humans do sometimes – pretend they’re making love to someone else.

Indeed, it gave me so much pleasure I decide I might do it again.

As for John? We had a pretty good couple of weeks together. You might hear more about them.