Smutty Seaside Shameless Selfie
Yup! That’s me on the Cobb in the wind channeling my inner Meryl Streep, or perhaps my inner Selkie. Having just gotten back from Lyme Regis totally inspired and had a fabulous Saturday at Smut Manchester celebrating the launch of The Tutor, I thought it the perfect time for a smutty seaside girly story that was inspired by a trip to Lyme Regis for the fabulous anthology, Smut By The Sea. Enjoy!
When the mysterious Celia follows Tess home in a rainstorm, the sexy encounter that follows is totally unexpected, and yet somehow, Celia is strangely familiar.
I had to do a double-take. One lone person stood on the Cobb in the middle of the storm. How could there be anyone out there? I was hurrying back my cottage, not the smartest person on the beach for being out in this weather; well actually I was the only person on the beach, except for the person on the Cobb. The storm had come up suddenly. When I’d headed out a few hours ago, it was sunny and warm. I had been sketching a lone harbor seal off and on for the past two days. She had been sunning herself on the rocks. Seals were something I seldom saw around Lyme Regis, so it had been a special treat to get so close to her. But when the weather took a sudden turn for the worse, we both went our separate ways, she probably more comfortably than I. I would miss her.
‘Hey! Hey! Get off there! Are you crazy?’ I yelled and waved my arms like a nutter, the wind catching me and nearly toppling me over. I knew it was a waste of breath. Whoever it was out there on the Cobb couldn’t have heard me above the roar of the wind and the waves. Stupidly, I thought of The French Lieutenant’s Woman standing there looking out to sea. Then I blinked and whoever it was had vanished. Heart racing in my chest, I fumbled for my phone to call 999. But then I rubbed my eyes and it hit me, there wasn’t really anyone there. It had to have been my imagination. I could barely stand up in the wind on the beach. No one could have been standing out there. Even if someone had been, I certainly couldn’t have seen them in this weather.
I was still thinking about the imagined person on the Cobb when I arrived at my cottage to find I wasn’t alone.
‘May I help you?’ I made no attempt to keep the irritation out of my voice, hoping it would cover my nerves at the sight of the young man standing on the porch of my cottage. Yes it was tipping it down, horizontal rain, and the wind felt like it blew right off the polar ice cap, but an adolescent standing in an oversized anorak with nothing but the tip of a nose and the jut of a chin sticking out from under the hood did nothing to make me feel at ease.
‘I’m sorry. I just needed a place out of the rain for a few minutes.’ The voice was the gravelly voice of an adolescent, not quite a man, yet no longer a child either, and the accent was strange, as though the shapes of the words were somehow new to lip and tongue. As I got closer to the porch, the boy threw back the hood and I realized that the boy was actually a young woman drenched to the skin even through the anorak. Her auburn hair hung in dripping tendrils around her face and onto her shoulders.
‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I heard you call and.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
My insides, which were already knotted, knotted still tighter. ‘You heard me call?’
‘From the Cobb, yes. I heard you call, and I just followed you.’
‘But you’re here before me, how could you have followed me.’
‘I just got here, honest.’ She spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I was hoping for a place to wait out the storm.’ She motioned back into Lyme Regis. ‘But there’s no place there.’
‘Certainly there’s no place on the Cobb. What were you thinking?’ I said, then I nodded up the stairs. ‘Well you can’t stay out here. Come on inside where it’s dry.’ God, was I out of my mind? I didn’t even know this chick and the whole thing felt sort of strange and stalker-ish.
‘You don’t mind?’ She asked.
‘Of course not.’ I wasn’t sure if I was lying of not, but I couldn’t leave her out in this horrid weather.
‘I’m Celia,’ she said, as she followed me up the stairs, muddy walking shoes that looked way pass their sell-by date gripped in one hand.
‘I’m Tess,’ I called over my shoulder as I unlocked the door, and stood aside for her to go in.
Inside she shrugged out of the oversized anorak, which looked, if anything, even older and rattier than the boots, then she stood dripping on the rug in the hallway, looking diminished and fragile in the anemic light of the late afternoon storm.
‘Right. You need dry clothes,’ I said. ‘I can lend you something. It’ll be huge on you, but it’ll do for now. I’ll put your clothes in the drying room to dry, then make us some tea, would you like that? Bathroom’s there,’ I pointed.
When I returned with a track suit and a t-shirt, I nearly dropped them on the floor at the sight of her. The door was wide open and she stood naked and goose-fleshed wringing the water from her clothes into the sink. She turned to face me as though being naked in the bathroom of a total stranger was nothing out of the ordinary, and my mouth went dry.
Honestly, I never look at other women’s breasts. I mean I’m aware of my own, and I fondle them when I masturbate and rather enjoy the feel of them, but it took all I could do to pull my eyes away from Celia’s breasts. Hers were the kind of breasts all women dream of having, high and firm, like heavily iced cupcakes displayed in a bakery window, just enough to fill the cup of a hand and spill over the top to offer a soft swell to be kissed and nuzzled. And strangely enough I could picture myself doing just that. Her nipples pearled dark mauve and heavy atop the raspberry stippling of areolae that were impossibly tight and swollen from the chill, and I found myself wanting to chafe them in my hand and warm them with my breath, with my lips, with my tongue.
Embarrassed, I lowered my eyes, but that wasn’t much better as my gaze followed the flat, hard muscles of her belly down to the tight nest of auburn curls resting protectively above her sex.
‘ … Would that be alright?’
I suddenly realized she was speaking to me. I forced my attention back to what she was saying, forced my gaze back to her lightly freckled face and milk chocolate eyes. ‘It’s just the most amazing bathtub, and I was just wondering if it would be alright. If I had a bath? I haven’t had a hot bath in a long time, at least not a real one. I mean I’ll understand if you don’t want me too, cuz you really don’t know me, do you? And a bath is sort an intimate thing, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can have a bath,’ I said, finding my voice with difficulty. ‘The big bathtub’s part of the reason I rent this particular cottage every year. Go ahead. It’ll warm you up faster than anything.’ I nodded to the rose geranium bath bubbles on the edge of the tub, but she was already ahead of me. With a squeal of delight, she turned on the water full blast and bent to pour in bubbles leaving me with a view of the tightly muscled half domes of her buttocks, which, when she leaned forward to swish the water with her hand and test the temperature, resting one knee on the edge of the tub, spread like two halves of ripe fruit displaying the dark round O of her anus and the flower-petalled folds of her pink pussy. I thought I would hyperventilate. I was suddenly wetter than I could ever remember being. I wanted desperately to touch her. I wanted to caress the valley that displayed her from back hole to marbled clit. I wanted to slip a finger up into the opening shielded almost shyly by the folds of her labia. The air was thick with the rising steam of the bath. The scent of rose geranium, barely masked the base note that was the tide pool scent of a woman.
I somehow managed to settle the clothes onto the chest at the end of the tub. ‘Can I bring you something to drink? Tea, coffee, I have some wine?’
She offered me an enthusiastic smile. ‘Red?’
‘Red it is then,’ I said.
When I returned, she was lying back in the large tub, her eyes closed, a soft smile pressed to her full lips. I could just make out the shapes of her breasts above the rising foam. She took the glass from me with a nod of appreciation and said, ‘please stay.’ She motioned to the closed lid of the toilet. ‘I’ve not had anyone to talk to for a while and I’d like the company — that is if I’m not keeping you from anything important.’
‘Nothing important. I’m here on holiday,’ I said, settling onto the closed toilet, pleased that she’d asked me to stay. ‘I’m an artist.’ I shrugged. ‘Well I’m a very good hobbyist and I come here every year to paint and draw and walk and be inspired. You?’
‘Lyme Regis is pretty far south for me, actually. I’ve never been before, but I’m glad I came. I can see why it inspires you.’ She took the sponge and ran it along her neck and one shoulder, drizzling fragrant water over the pucker of her nipples. ‘I could never be far from the sea. I’d be lost without it. Would you wash my back?’ She handed me the sponge and I completely forgot all the questions I was going to ask her. My mouth was dry again, however my pussy was anything but. I reached for the soap and brushed my arm against hers as she leaned forward exposing the exquisite curve of her back, delicate as an ivory carving and yet the muscles that spread outward from the undulations of the vertebrae in her spine were strong and deep. She was delicate of build, but clearly not weak.
She sighed softly as I ran the soap down the length of her spine, stopping just where her buttocks flared and cushioned her pelvic girdle. Then I moved it upward in tight circles on either side of the vertebrae and out over the fan of her ribs below her arms almost to where the swell of her breasts began.
‘Mmm, that feels delicious,’ she said. ‘I don’t want it ever to end.’
I didn’t either. I had sloshed water down the front of my shirt, and my own nipples pressed out like they were desperate to get closer to her. It was then she cupped my hand where it rested on her shoulder and said, ‘you’re still in wet clothes.’
In all honesty, I hadn’t even noticed until she mentioned it.
‘You must be freezing too. I saw you drawing the harbor seal on the beach when the storm hit.’ She scooted down to one end of the tub. ‘Come on. There’s plenty of room.’
Before I could ask how she’d seen me when I was sure I was alone, she grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt with wet hands and worried it off over my head, pulling me forward enough in the process that while I was temporarily blinded by my own top, she reached behind me and unhooked my bra. My much larger, much heavier tits spilled forward into her hands as she slid the bra off, brushing her thumbs against my nipples in the process. ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? Let’s get all those wet and clammy clothes away from you lovely skin. Now stand up.’
I did as she said, and she went to work on my walking trousers, then she slid her hands inside, hooked fingers into the elastic of my knickers and tugged both down. ‘Now step out of them. That’s right. Mmm you smell delicious. You smell like the sea. Somehow I knew that you would.’
As I lifted my leg to step out of the trousers and knickers now pooled around my ankles, Celia did not look away. I could feel her gaze on what nestled beneath my own tight curls. I normally would have been shy. I normally would have tried to preserve my modesty, but I wanted her to see my pussy. I wanted her to see what I looked like down there. She made room for me, and I stepped into the warm sudsy water. Then we maneuvered for space and she, being much smaller than I, scooted closer, lifting her thighs over mine.
That done she leaned up until she was practically in my lap and brushed a kiss against my lips. ‘Please, let me wash you. You have such beautiful skin.’ She ran a finger along my collar bone and then brushed her palm over my left breast and I sucked in a tight breath. ‘You’re so soft and round and full. You look like a woman is supposed to look. I could never look like you.’ Before I could tell her how beautiful I thought she was and how I admired her body, she took the sponge and drizzled warm water across my breasts. ‘Please tell me it’s alright.’
All I could do was whimper and nod, as the sponge moved down my sternum and under and around each of my heavy breasts in turn. Then she took up the soap. I sat hypnotized and wet in ways that had nothing to do with the bath as she lathered and cupped and kneaded my breasts until they looked like they were covered with a soapy white shirt. Then she pushed me back, until I lay with my head resting on the edge of the big tub, and she straddled me. Her soft curls brushed mine, as she drizzled water over my breasts and down my belly. She sponged me in soft caressing motions, moving ever lower onto my belly until I could no longer resist shifting and rocking my hips, grinding my arse into the unforgiving bottom of the tub. She was practically lying on top of me as she let go of the sponge and cupped my pubis with the palm of her hand.
‘Women smell of the sea as men never can,’ she breathed against my face. ‘I love that about women. With women I’m always close to the sea.’
By Smut By the Sea Vol I Here: