Walking the Coastal Path

There's something ethereal about tonight. A quiet stillness around us like the world is waiting for something to happen.

The coast has been battered by a storm over the last few days, so we're making the most of a dry, calm spell to take a walk, even though it's almost 11 at night.

The promenade is wet with puddles reflecting the dark, cloudy sky as we try to step around them to keep dry. The wind has calmed today but still has a cold bite to it, but instead of letting go of my hand, you squeeze them both into your coat pocket. I smile at you in the dark, though you probably don't see it as we carry on walking.

We've left the village behind us now, following the promenade along the beach to a more rural spot on the cliffs that looks down onto the sand and choppy sea below. It's a beautiful spot for summer picnics, but this late at night in the cold and damp, there's no one here but us.

At the end of the promenade is a small row of Victorian, cast-iron shelters, built to protect tourists from the elements. You sit down on the bench in the last shelter of the row, which I've come to think of as our spot, as we often walk up to this end of the beach. I sit next to you, our coats rustling as I press against you to keep warm, your arm across my shoulders to tuck me in tight.

It's a beautiful view any day, but there's something wild about the beach and the sea following a storm. We sit watching the fierce waves, thinking of the treasures and dangers that lurk beneath, my head on your shoulder, breathing in the homely scent of you.

The silence between us is thick, but it's the comfortable, heavy kind that comes from days of running on separate tracks. The sound of the sea is almost hypnotic as it drags the sand and shells across the beach, if it wasn't so cold it would be easy to fall asleep to that sound.

I rest my hand on your thigh, feeling your warmth through your jeans. I hear you sigh at my touch. It isn't a sigh of weariness, but of letting go of the trials of the past week. The arm you wrapped round my shoulders moves down so your hand rests on my hip under the edge of my coat. I feel the slight rush inside me at the more intimate touch. The wind whistles through the old iron framework, but pressed together in here the cold can't quite reach us.

I glance at you just as you turn to look at me, the ambient light from the distant village just catching the line of your jaw. We both smile leaning in close until our lips touch. I'm surprised when you don't pull back and instead cup my face with your hand to keep me there as you deepen our kiss. I feel that rush inside again and moan quietly as your tongue finds mine.

"I've missed this," I say quietly, my voice sounding small but clear over the rhythmic, heavy drag of the waves on the shingle below. "I've missed you."

It's not the easiest angle for making out so I stand in front of you, letting you pull me in close with your hands on my bum. I wrap my arms around your neck as we go back to kissing and I feel the sudden cold chill as you slip your hands under my coat and jumper to my back.

I press tighter into you as your hands slide down into the back of my jeans and underneath my knickers.

I moan against your lips as you squeeze my bum.

The rolling of the waves below seems to fade into the background, replaced by the sound of our breathing in the quiet shelter. The contrast of the freezing coastal air against the intense heat where our bodies meet makes every single touch feel magnified.

You turn me around so we're both facing the beach and run your hands up under my clothes to touch my breasts, pulling me down so that I'm sitting on your lap on the painted wooden bench. I lean my head back against your shoulder as you gently cup and squeeze, your warm breath caressing my neck and ear. I squirm against you as my arousal grows and I feel you hardening behind me.

The thought of taking you inside me makes my clit throb; I know my knickers must be damp already. As if you were reading my mind, your hands drift back down my body, one holding my waist and the other unbuttoning my jeans. You moan as your fingers find the damp spot on my knickers and place a kiss lightly on my neck.

I spread my legs a little, urging you silently to keep going as your fingers stroke my aching pussy, making the damp patch spread across the crotch of my knickers.

Your fingers are warm and deliberate as they move against me, tracing the line of my knickers before sliding underneath the damp lace. I gasp aloud against your neck as you find my clit, your thumb making slow, firm circles that send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through me. I lean back into your chest, my fingers gripping your thighs through your jeans as I try to press closer to you.

You moan again in approval, whispering that I'm your good girl.

I almost cum hearing those words from your lips, as I sit on your lap in the dark, letting you finger me as the winking lights of distant ships on the horizon watch.

I push back against you, rubbing your hard length with my bum.

You kiss my neck again and whisper that you want me to cum for you. I groan with lust, knowing that I want you to make me cum but I also want to cum with your cock inside me.

I turn my face and kiss you, savouring the taste of you as I tell you that I need your cock. You growl as I stand, your fingers leaving a wet trail over my hip as you slip them out of my jeans. I hear you quickly slip your jeans down before tugging mine down and pulling me back down on your lap.

You guide the head of your cock to my waiting pussy, and I take your whole length inside in one go. We both pause a second to enjoy the feeling of being joined as one before your hips start to move beneath me.

The rhythmic sound of the waves below matches the steady, intense rhythm between us, the wood of the bench creaking slightly beneath us in the quiet night. The biting cold of the coastal air is completely forgotten, replaced entirely by the friction and heat of our bodies joined together in the dark of the shelter.

I whimper at your sharp intake of breath, knowing that means you're close to letting go. I feel the heat of your hands and the pressure of your fingertips at my waist as your thrusts become deeper and harder. I whisper your name into the night as I feel you twitch inside me as you cum, letting my own release follow yours.

You bury your face into my neck as we both catch our breath, the cold seeping back into our exposed skin.