1. West Coast Games - Part One: The Beach


    Date: 8/11/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: LushStories, Rating: 92.1, Source: sexstories.com

    any potential vulnerabilities to myself either. “So then do it,” Zane would prod me. “For fuck sake, get it over with. How many swells are you going to miss this summer, distracted by a hot piece of ass? Talk to her!” Confidence wasn’t my issue. The problem was that she was never alone. My dream girl came with her very own chaperone, and he always seemed to show up within the hour of her arrival. He wasn’t even a surfer, he was just there to supervise and protect his property. And he always seemed to look vaguely pissed. At the time, I’d attributed his irritation to her growing desire for attention whenever he was around, almost like she enjoyed provoking him. It was in the way she’d push the skimpy bottoms of her bikini down extra low over her hips. The way she’d untie the strings on her wet top and drop it onto the sand, relying on her bleached out tresses to immodestly hide her breasts before slipping a thin t-shirt over her head and pulling it down. She would toss her hair back so that beachgoers caught a glimpse of her braless swayback form, her nipples jutting out in the cool late afternoon breeze as the sun dipped low in the sky. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible. No wonder he was so intent on staking his claim on her. And so it went on for months on end, the familiar tugs of lust awash with perpetual patience. There was the dance between us of barely acknowledged smiles, the scent of her Coppertone skin as she walked by me at the end of the day, always ...
    keeping me hungry. Then one day, on an unseasonably warm weekend in early May, she was there alone. I didn’t get my hopes up right away. After all, even the most dedicated jealous boyfriends have appointments to keep, or the occasional flu bug to fend off. Yet when I hung back from the guys, sitting in the sand to wax my board on that fateful afternoon, I noticed her again. I remember it like it was yesterday. She was a lithe silhouette on the sand, walking toward me as though she was emerging from the fireball of sunshine behind her. She sank to her knees in front of me. “I’m Roxy.” Fuck me, if she wasn’t even more perfect up close. After all the time I’d spent catching stolen moments of her attention, now my eyes could take in all the fine detail at leisure. I looked into pale green eyes, like tumbled sea glass, saw the pink cupid’s bow mouth and smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was multiple shades of blonde, naturally streaked by the sun. It was messy and untamed and I immediately wanted to get my hands tangled in it. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that she awoke a kind of primal sexual need to own her. I’m sure most guys felt the same way in her presence. There were plenty of pretty girls that inspired more protective or loving instincts in me. They often had a kind of pristine perfection that you were afraid of messing up. And then there was Roxy. There was nothing innocent about her smile. She was a self-styled lioness of a kitten. All of ...
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