Merlin
by Maximilian Cummings
2. Beach
“It’s a bit like a bell going,” thought Rozz, “five o’clock and they start packing up. Six o’clock and they’re all gone.”
Rozz walked along the wet margin between sea and dry sand, sandals in her hand. The beach was indeed deserted; the day-trippers had gone home and the holidaymakers staying local had gone in for a glass and supper. It was a lovely time of the day. Still very hot but without the harsh midday light—rather a warmer, softer light that bathed the sea, sand and land in rich colour. Rozz’s strong brown legs strode across the sand. Her sister hated the feeling of sand between her toes but Rozz loved the scrunchy texture of the wet sand. She could feel with her toes where the tide had graded the grains so that in one place it was all coarse grains, almost little stones, yet a little further towards the sea the sand was fine, so your feet sank in and left water filled footprints as you walked.
She glanced inland towards the rocks and then at the wood rising up towards the hill that only the other day, in the early morning, she had climbed completely naked. What a strange experience that had been. She arched her feet in the sand. She would rather like to be naked now, not that she had much on in any case. Just a bikini and a white linen blouse open at the front keeping the sun off her neck and shoulders. She looked back along the beach but there was no one there. Rozz reached behind her and undid the bow of her bikini and pulled the strip of material from her. She glanced down at her small breasts only partly obscured by her open blouse. That felt better but...
She walked on a few paces then shrugged her shoulders. “Why not?” she said out loud and tugged her bikini bottoms down and off. Now she was as she wanted to be, naked apart from her loose blouse. It hardly covered her buttocks and at the front her breasts and her vivid patch of red hair were easily visible, or would have been had anybody been there to see. Rozz felt much better and walked easily along the shoreline swinging the scraps of bikini and her sandals in her hand conscious of the freedom between her legs and the lack of restraint at her chest.
Her stroll reached the other end of the beach where the sand gave way to rocks and rock pools. She sat down on the sand which was still quite hot despite it now being evening. It felt good on her naked buttocks. Rozz smiled, her sister would really hate doing this, far worse than getting sand between your toes: getting sand up between your buttocks so your bottom hole got all sandy! She wriggled a bit pushing the warm sand right up into the crack of her bottom. It felt all right to her. She opened her thighs and rested her arms on her knees and gazed out to sea feeling the rays of the warm evening sun on her sex, watching the light on the water. Rozz could feel a moistening between her legs, the result of both the sun, walking nearly naked and yes her own thoughts which were turning to the erotic.
It was a fair way back across the bay to the other side and she could see nobody on the beach. She slipped the white linen from her shoulders and, rising, she walked the few steps to the edge of the sea. She glanced around conscious that with her blouse on or just sitting her nakedness was not very visible but being completely naked it would be a lot clearer now. She was still alone. The water felt cool on her feet and ankles after the heat of the day. A little further and she was splashing up to her knees. She paused for another look around before wading deeper. At mid thigh she paused not to look around but for the courage to dip her hips, her sex in the water. This was not the Mediterranean Sea or the Caribbean: it was the English Riviera—Cornwall—and it had been a hot summer but even so the water was cool to a body heated by the July sunshine. Rather than edge slowly forward, letting the water slowly rise up her thighs until she received the small shock of it touching her sex or quickly dipping down and up again to get it over with, Rozz launched herself into the water and swam about ten yards breast stroke before standing and breathing quickly and thinking it wasn’t nearly as cold as she had first thought. Now she could enjoy the feeling of swimming naked—skinny-dipping indeed! There was still no one in sight and swimming parallel to the shore she could keep a weather eye on the beach for anyone coming. It felt exhilarating, free and naughty all in one to be swimming without a costume and Rozz loved it. Pausing to stand again she let her fingertips roam about her body, feeling the nakedness of her little breasts, the cold buds of her nipples, her smooth stomach leading down to her patch of red hair, her soft buttocks and her sex where her hands lingered playing with herself in the cool water.
Slowly Rozz swam in towards the shore, feeling herself pushed by the little waves until there was but inches of water under her so her breasts grounded on the pebbles. She stood, the water running from her and walked back to her clothes and sandals. Goose pimples had risen a little on her legs though she had not really got cold in the water. The beach was still deserted so she decided to try a run to warm herself up and to dry. She broke into a sprint and crossed half the beach before she skidded around in the sand and ran back again. She was warmer now but not quite dry. If she sat on the sand it would stick to her like it had to her wet feet and calves and whilst she had not minded the feel of the dry sand on her dry body she was less happy about having her still damp bottom coated in sand. Instead she sat on a band of smooth pebbles, warm from the sun, and gazed out to sea energised by the exercise, excited by her nakedness and by the feel of the sun’s rays drying her skin.
Rozz opened her legs and looked down at her sex. It was wet from the sea but lubricated and wet from her own thoughts. She looked at the pink folds framed by the red curls and touched herself with a finger. She could almost see herself getting wetter as she touched herself again. Amongst the pebbles scattered down between her thighs were one or two large stones, smooth and rounded by continuous rolling in the ebb and flow of the sea. One longer and slimmer than the others caught Rozz’s eye. She picked it up and smiled to herself. It really was quite penile in shape. Bulbous one end, with a bit of a shaft before widening the other end to a slightly irregular shape, hinting if you thought that way—and Rozz was—to a scrotum. She turned it around in her hand, her fingers stroking its smoothness, then encircling the head and simulating the hand movements her friends had told her was the way to “do it.” She laughed at herself for what she was doing and put the stone down. Her eyes looked to the horizon and she wondered what it would be like to be sitting here, not alone, but with a naked boy, having just been swimming and running with him. She imagined his cock standing hard between his thighs, the skin peeled back and the shiny head exposed. What would it be like to be sitting here wanking him, her fingers around his cock as they had been around the stone? Would she dare bend towards him and take it in her mouth as her friends had told her about? What would that feel like?
Rozz glanced around the beach satisfying herself she was still alone. There was no one there. She bent and picked up the stone again and pointed the bulbous end towards her sex and lightly touched herself rubbing it gently up and down her lips. She wriggled a little, the smoothness of the stone felt good. Looking down she watched the action of the head on her sex, noting the way the stone slightly changed colour where it was made wet by her. She stopped her movement with the head of the stone at the entrance to her sex. Well, why not? She pushed the stone slowly up into herself, eyes closed, concentrating on the feeling of being opened, penetrated, and filled. It was good—but how much better would it have been with the boy? Rozz let go of the stone and clamped her legs closed on it, feeling it there inside her, and sat staring out to sea thinking about what it would be like to have sex on the beach with a boy.
The awareness that she was not alone did not come as a creeping uncertainty or as a sudden panic: rather as a comforting certainty because she knew who it was. A rough hand touched her and rested on her naked shoulder. Rozz did not need to turn and look to see who it was. Both she and the visitor standing beside her stared out to sea.
“You will miss it when you go away. Ever changing, mysterious and beautiful. It calls doesn’t it? So calm and smooth tonight.” The hand stroked her shoulder, “like you little squirrel.”
“I like it here, I love it around here. So beautiful, so peaceful, so empty. I thought perhaps you were a dream.”
There was a chuckle. “Now there’s a thought. All I am is the dream of a young girl, thought of but a few days ago and maybe gone in less. A puff of smoke, a breeze across this landscape. Here one moment: gone the next.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude.”
Rozz was very aware of her nakedness but it was not something he had not seen before. She was also aware of the stone within her feeling very big.
The old man sat down beside her and she looked sideways at him, he seemed even more ancient now she saw him very close to. Above his thick grey beard his skin was fissured with wrinkles and his hair was turning white. But when his eyes turned towards her they were anything but rheumy with age: quite the contrary they were clear, green and had the quickness of youth.
“What have you hidden away this evening, little squirrel. Squirrels are always hiding things.”
Rozz knew immediately what he meant by the question, knew he was aware of the stone, knew she must show him. Rozz slowly opened her thighs revealing the thicker, testicular shaped end of the pebble emerging from her vagina. She sucked in her breath as the old man’s fingertips took hold of the stone and gently pulled it from her and held it in front of him. It shone in the evening sun, her wetness reflecting back the orange glow.
“Does it feel good in you, little one? You have, I think, a need to be filled.”
Slowly he brought the stone back down between her thighs and pushed it in again, it slipped easily up the canal until Rozz could again feel the wider end pushing at her lips. He began to move it in and out of her simulating the motion of intercourse. “Is it big enough for you?”
To Rozz it seemed as if the stone was getting bigger, as if it was lengthening, the helmet shaped head going deeper and the scrotal end becoming wider so it now touched her clit with every inward thrust. She clasped her arms around the old man holding herself to him, her naked breasts pressed tightly against his shirt, her hard nipples rubbing against the material and her head pushed into his shoulder. The stone was sliding very easily now with little wet sounds as the old man rhythmically pushed and pulled it at just the right pace. He seemed to know when she wanted to go faster: when she wanted to go slower. To Rozz the sea and sand seemed to dim and all her concentration, her focus moved to her sex, to the pleasure she was feeling and then it happened. An explosion of light in her head as the ecstasy of a strong orgasm hit her and just kept going as the stone kept moving. Rozz shuddered again and again totally caught up in the electric waves coursing through her body. Then, still as the spasms came she felt herself falling, falling down into blackness and unconsciousness.
Rozz awoke. Where was she? It felt like sand not sheets under her and wasn’t that the sound of the sea close by? Rozz opened her eyes; above her the sky was the dark dusky blue of late evening. She sat up and remembered. She was on the beach and had been... the old man had been... where was he? She looked around but there was no one to be seen. Beside her she saw her clothes. Yes, she had better put them on. Oh, the stone. Was there a stone, had she recently and violently come? She put her hand between her thighs. It was still there in the squashy wetness of her recently aroused sex. She pulled it from her and looked at it amazement—the stone was much longer than she remembered, the helmet shape more obvious and the balls more realistic. She was sure it had not been like that. It had been smooth and usable before but only a penis shape by a degree of imagination and fancy—but now! But now it was embarrassingly realistic. Not something at all to leave lying about. She stared at it on the sand as she dressed, what should she do with it? Should she just leave it; should she throw it into the sea; should she take it with her as a... as a souvenir? She picked it up and brushed the sand from it and put it in her blouse pocket—it stuck out, the helmet end poking obscenely out of her pocket. That would not do at all. She walked to the edge of the sea and readied herself to throw it in, but she did not want to do that. Instead she bent and washed the sand off before walking back to pick up her sandals. Slowly she set off back up the beach towards the holiday cottage, sandals in one hand, dildo/stone in the other.
The sound of a dog barking across the bay and the sight of dim figures, presumably walking the dog, made the need to do something about the stone more urgent. She stuffed it down her bikini bottoms, scrotum end front most, penis running backwards between her thighs. It was not awfully comfortable walking like that and the balls end stuck out at the front making her bikini front swell out as if she was a boy. Rozz stopped, it just didn’t look right! Where could she put it? The obvious answer came to her and she restored it to its earlier position up inside her.
She walked, slightly ungainly and slightly uncomfortably past the dog walkers with a cheery, “Wonderful evening!”
“Yes, isn’t it.”
And made her way along round the coast, through the village and up and back to the holiday cottage, only pausing to remove or replace the stone as she came to habitation.