The Caress of a Glance: My First Betrayal on the Beach
On La Baule beach, sun baking my skin, my kids played far off. That’s when his eyes locked on my breasts. Young, maybe twenty, he stared without shame. My nipples hardened under my bikini top. Heart pounding, I felt heat unrelated to the sun. Forty years old, married, mother of two—yet proud. I held his gaze. Seconds stretched. My fingers lingered on my tits as I oiled them, watching him watch me. Bold, reckless. I lay back, pillow propping my head. My pale breasts, rouged from my touch, nipples erect like traitors. Our eyes met again. I flushed, body igniting. Visions hit: him sucking my nipple, hand in my bottoms, his cock—glimpsed hard under his swimsuit—thrusting into me. Panic surged. Alone here, I’d have let him fuck me raw. I bolted up, called the kids, fled his stare. But it burned in my mind. That night, alone in bed, I fingered myself furiously, imagining him. Orgasm ripped through me, violent. Doubt hit: my IUD? Displaced by my deep thrusts? What if he’d creamed inside me? Next day, doctor’s waiting room. Nervous sweat. Fear of pregnancy mixed with guilty thrill. The doc resembled my aging husband—paunchy, bearded, sixties. But his eyes devoured me: tight T-shirt, braless tits, nipples outlined, short skirt flashing tanned thighs. ‘IUD might’ve moved,’ I stammered. He grinned, eyeing my ring. ‘Husband know?’ ‘He’s away.’ His gaze lit up. Talk turned to vacation flings, cheating wives. ‘Intentions count,’ he said. I blushed, trapped. ‘Undress below,’ he ordered. Skirt off, panties down, legs spread on the table. Trimmed bush exposed. His fat fingers probed my belly, then lower. ‘What sparked this?’ The beach boy. ‘Wanted to cheat.’ His hand massaged my mound. ‘Imagine it’s him.’ Fingers teased my pubes, clit, then plunged into my wet pussy. I gasped, thighs parting. His other hand mauled my tits under my shirt. Waves built. He hit that spot—G-spot?—I blacked out in bliss, picturing the boy. Woke to his wrinkled cock out, musky. ‘Suck it for him.’ I did, stroking, mouth full, tasting age but dreaming youth. He came, spurting on my lips. Shame flooded, but hunger for the real boy grew. Days passed. Beach hunts failed. Husband arrived. Dinner at fancy spot. Server’s voice sparked it—his eyes! The beach boy, serving us. Stolen glances drowned me. Dessert: note on my thigh. ‘Toilets in 5.’ Heart hammered. Excused myself, steady. He led me to men’s room, locked door. Hand in mine, electric. Dress up, panties yanked down. His pants dropped—gorgeous hard cock. I knelt, sucked hungrily, his flavor mine. Then on sink, legs wide, he slammed in. Raw, urgent. Fucked like animals, my hips grinding, his hands on ankles. G-spot ignited again. Eyes locked as I came, shattering. He flooded me, tongues twisting. Dressed quick, back to table. Husband noticed my earring on the boy’s vest—gift from him. Blush burned under both gazes. Innocence gone.
