Nude Beach Photoshoot

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A very attractive, slightly bored Mediterranean beauty (envision Caterina Murino from Casino Royale), with long black hair, big natural breasts and hourglass figure comes to a nude beach on the Mediterranean. It is 5pm and the the hot, summer sun is low but still bright over the water. She is dressed in Tennis apparel, although she has not been on the court today. She proceeds to set up her beach blanket, which includes a space for her boy friend, who she knows won’t be coming. The space is just for props to keep men from disturbing her while she suns and titillates the onlookers. After her blanket is set up, she strips, just a little slowly, for erotic effect and luxuriantly spreads tanning lotion over her now-naked body.

She has prominent dark nipples, perked up by her enjoyment of all the men trying unsuccessfully to ignore her. She is not shaved, but has a short, straight-haired, luxuriant black bush, left long enough down below to obscure easy view of her pursed lips. At this nude beach, she feels that displaying “mes filles” (her breasts), of which she is quite proud, is quite public and ordinary. But a peek at “mes pétales” (her lips) is far more intimate and should happen only when and for whom she chooses.

She settles into a beach chair and obliviously begins reading through a fashion magazine from behind her dark glasses. Almost as an afterthought, she wets her fingertips with tanning lotion and touches up the bridge of her nose (but, of course, does not leave the lotion whitely noticeable) and then her chocolate colored areolas and nipples, which stand out like Hersey’s Kisses on perfectly curved breasts. After a quick glance around to see that nobody is looking, she quickly reaches down, parts and wets her labia glisteningly with the lotion, lest they get a nasty burn in this hot sun beyond her feet and then pats back down the dense protective mantle of hair back over them.

Between hers and her absent boyfriend’s beach chair is a stainless steel wine bucket with the neck of a bottle of Dom Perignon protruding out the top. The top had already been released and replaced. She casually reaches for the bottle, removes the cap with the tip of her thumb and, not bothering with the inconvenient formality of a glass, takes several hard swallows of the spicy nectar and then places the bottle back into the bucket. She does not replace the cap. The day is hot, she is quite thirsty and has begun “glowing” quite a lot. Three quarters of a liter of Dom will not be in the bottle long enough to lose its chill and carbonation. For, perhaps, thirty minutes, she reads fashion advertisements, punctuated by three-swallow visits to the bottle of Dom until it is empty. Having eaten nothing since breakfast and a bit dehydrated from a day of shopping, the effect of the Champagne comes on like the restful embrace of a warm bath and gaziantep escort she slides off into a deep, undisturbed sleep, guarded by the missing boyfriend next to her.

Now it is 8:30pm. The sun has dropped below the horizon, but the breeze remains warm and humid, with heat still radiating from the sand. The beach has completely cleared (after all, it IS dinner time). The tide is high now, and the low waves roll up to about 20 meters from her blanket. The soft rumble and breeze gradually awaken her to the lower light, made nearly dark by the same dark, large lensed Beausoleil 425 sunglasses (not suitable for driving) that concealed her glances and caused her to appear so aloof to onlookers. The warm embrace of Dom Perignon still has her very relaxed, and she “surfaces gradually” for several minutes before opening her eyes, to see the frothy tops of the waves breaking in front of her. The soft rumble and hiss of the waves blank most sounds except the the Terns calling as they fly overhead.

“Alors!”, she thinks to herself. “I have had too much wine and I must now pipi!” She considers the time and distance of picking up her things and returning to her beach cottage and thinks: “I could not be so cruel to my bladder as to walk so far! I should instead walk into the sea and raise its level!” It is then that she first hears the soft shushing of bare feet in the dry sand to her left as the only other person on the beach approaches. She shifts her head and eyes only slightly to bring him into view. Perhaps 20 meters away, a solitary man is walking near the water line, dressed in jeans rolled up for wading and a tee shirt advertising his preference for Guinness Extra Stout. He has a large camera with a long lens up to his eye and he is capturing the sunset, the breeze in the palms and the gentle waves as they sensually lick the beach. He apparently has not yet seen her.

Then he turns and draws closer. She can see, through eyes completely camouflaged by her dark sunglasses, that he has stopped and is looking at her, maybe a little surprised. She considers this and decides that she should be still, as if asleep, so that he can satisfy his curiosity, move on and she can have her much needed pipi. But instead, he approaches her to about 10 meters away and says, with some volume, “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle!”. She does not respond, feigning sleep with slow, deep breathing. Approaching a few meters, he says again: “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle!”, again to no response. Then, unexpectedly, he raises his camera, makes some adjustments and silently begins to photograph her. Behind the dark glasses, she sees him circle around her, pressing the shutter many times. Sometimes his lens extends out and others, he draws very close to photograph her. “Mon Dieu!”, she is thinking. “He is photographing mes filles!” and then as he crouches giresun escort low between her narrowly spread legs, “mes pétales!” She is thinking that if he stays much longer, she will have to pipi right in front of him, giving him more to see than he would expect to see even now from this “sleeping” sunbather.

She considers now stirring as if waking, so that he will stop and move off quickly, but she is intrigued by the way this man is studying her body like a work of art. When he draws close, she can see that he is, if not exactly handsome, is cute, owing to his athletic good looks. “Like a bicycler”, she is thinking. “Not aggressive or powerful, but fit and focused.” After making many photographs from all around (and so very near!) her, he turns and walks away at an angle toward the water line, assumably to continue his study of this beach. But then he stops and stands motionless for a moment, as if considering some idea, turns back and walks to her side, where he stands and again says “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle” as though just arriving. She again considers stirring in response but, not actually wanting to introduce herself but very curious as to what he will do, she continues to feign the deep sleep the empty bottle of Dom Perignon must suggest to him. She is not too apprehensive because beneath the towel beside her is her Palco Cellphone Stun Gun, which will bring this man to his senses if he decides to take that which is not offered.

Then he kneels by her side. She watches him invisibly as he sets his camera down and looks at her torso, settling on the Cresson of hair between her legs. Then he reaches down and very gently parts her labia with his fingers, sliding them upward toward her clitoris. As he passes by and feels the slight depression and rim of her urethra, he circles it once on his way to per prepuce. She feels a spasm from his touch but wills herself not to jump. “What is this man doing?”…she wonders. She does not respond, but continues the slow breathing of “deep sleep”. Sliding his fingers back down, he eases one, and then a second deeply into her relaxed vagina, which is open and wet from perspiration, lotion, relaxation and needing to pipi. Her breathing quivers slightly as they enter and then settles back. But she can’t help but to rock her hips slightly from the pleasure of fingers studying and adoring her. He continues this in slow, deeper repetition, with her rocking in rhythm each time his fingers press into her.

Relaxed but aroused, she acts as though she has absorbed this sensation into her dream. As he continues, she feels herself wetting and opening with pleasure. Her breathing becomes deeper and slightly labored. Her rocking speeds up and she begins to buck more strongly against his hand. She finds it a wonder that this man believes this is happening in her sleep but then gümüşhane escort also wonders if he is acting in the drama as she is…a thought that brings a slight smile inside. She is surprised to feel herself start to roll into orgasm as it has come so easily with such a soft touch. “Perhaps it is the novelty of this”, she thinks, somewhat breathlessly….”or maybe because i have to pipi most urgently!” Then, all at once, she shudders, holds her breath and then feels her Vagin repeatedly contract around his fingers as she releases her breath, panting shallowly like a runner. Not wanting to break this moment, she settles back into the relaxed deep breathing of “deep sleep”. She has, apparently, still fooled him into believing she has never awoken and she will be spared the exposure of meeting this man and the embarrassment of his knowing she let him to have his way with her and she has enjoyed it so much.

His fingers still inside her relaxed vagina, he begins to slowly ease them out. She resists the spasm she feels by their movement inside her very sensitive Vagin. It is then she decides to give in to two impulses she has. One is her extreme need to pipi and the other is to see his reaction when she does. When his fingers are nearly withdrawn, she releases her bladder and starts to pee on his hand. The strong flood splashes against his hand and onto her tummy and thighs. When she does this, he quickly removes his fingers, slides down quickly to kneel between her calves, picks up his camera and takes repeated high speed frames of her luscious open vulva in full stream. She watches from behind her dark glasses as he extends his zoom to intimate closeup. Playfully, she pushes out, hoping to make her stream stronger and give him a better look at the insides of her Vagin. She feels herself open like a flower as she sees the repeated flashes of the camera so close she can feel their heat on ther thighs. As her pipi begins to subside, she tightens to squeeze out the last drops and feels the warm flow of thick fluid down below that came from up inside her. Ah yes, she thinks, from my boyfriend’s visit last night

When she stops peeing, he stands up, careful not to cast a shadow that might finally wake her, backs away into the low sunset light, turns and starts walking slowly away, again photographing the low horizon color and is now maybe 25 meters away. The fresh pee that rained warmly on her tummy and thighs begins to cool in the night breeze. She stands, pulls on her shorts and tee shirt as he walks away unaware and soundlessly gathers up her belongings from the evening sand. Maybe it is not so bad that her boyfriend is not here today. She feels so relaxed and fulfilled from this short, exciting adventure that nobody will ever know about.

On an impulse, as she walks toward her beach cottage and in the last rays of light, she turns in the direction of the man, now 40 meters or so away at the water line again and shouts out “Bonsoir Messieur”. Startled, he turns and looks back, silently. Smiling broadly as she walks swiftly toward the wooden walkway at the far edge of the beach, she says: “Et merci!”

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