Lucy

So that’s why he regarded you so coldly, after you stepped out of the bathroom to get changed, back in the hotel. But if he thought you were dressed inappropriately for your age and size, why didn’t he say anything before? Why did he have to wait until you’re all situated on the beach, when you’ve already walked five minutes, when you’ve been laying here for almost an hour, and when people can hear him?

Self-conscious, you wrap your beach cover-up tighter around your body. You felt good before he opened his mouth. You were energised by the wonderful weather, the excitement of your children, and the thrill of wearing something revealing in a place where people won’t bat an eye. Now, you just feel like a beached whale.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look, I’m making a sand castle!” your youngest calls out.

You give him a shaky smile. “Very good, sweetheart.”

Around you, the beach hums with life.

The air is thick with salt and sunscreen, warm and golden under a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at. Palm trees lean lazily in the distance, leaves whispering whenever the breeze rolls in from the water. The ocean itself glitters, waves folding over one another in soft, rhythmic sighs as people wade in and out.

There are bodies everywhere.

Girls in tiny bikinis stretched out on towels, skin oiled and glowing, sunglasses perched perfectly on their noses as they giggle at something on a phone screen. Groups of boys toss a volleyball back and forth, all tanned shoulders and easy confidence, shouting over each other when someone misses. Couples lie tangled together, limbs draped carelessly, as if the heat has melted them into one another.

You feel…out of place.

Not because anyone’s looking. Not really. Most people are too absorbed in themselves. But it’s in the contrast. The flat stomachs, unwrinkled skin, the couples on honeymoons or anniversary holidays flaunting their undying love. 

In comparison, you’ve aged. Your body’s turned curvier from the children you’ve birthed, you’ve got pudge everywhere, and it’s why your husband hasn’t touched you in months. 

No. 

Years.

He’s probably cheating, you think. All the signs are there — keeping his phone on him at all times, working overtime very frequently, a feminine scent lingering on his clothes that doesn’t belong to you, never pestering you for sex that lasts three seconds, if you’re lucky. 

Oddly enough, you don’t really mind. Sex with him has never really felt very good for you and you’ve long stopped finding him very interesting. The love that was there, that resulted in your three beautiful children, has faded. You’ve become that couple that only stays together for the children. 

A tale as old as time.

What bothers you most is how he can’t at least pretend to stomach your presence; he always has to make some snide comments to you, as if he’s a spring chicken, as if he has abs and a head full of hair. 

The nerve.

When you glance over at him, you see he’s typing on his phone. Again. No doubt talking shit about your audacity to wear a two-piece swimsuit at your age to his mistress, whoever she is. He even has a tent growing in his swim shorts. Whatever she sent him must be good. 

Clearing his throat, he sits up from his loungechair. “I have to go back to the hotel room. Um, a work thing popped up. I’ll see you later, honey.”

He doesn’t even wait for your reply before he skedaddles. 

You sigh. 

“Mommy,” one of your children says just metres away from you, “Granddad and Grammy are gonna take us for a walk. Is that okay?”

Your parents, despite their age, are much more active than someone your age. They came with you on this holiday. Perhaps because they know how your relationship with your husband is. You’re grateful for their company and for their help. 

They smile at you, holding your children’s hands. Thank god for them because three children by yourself in this heat and in this crowd would be overwhelming as hell. 

With a nod, you reply, “Yes, of course, sweeties. You go easy on them, okay? Do as they say and don’t go running off on your own.”

The three of them cheer.

Taking one of the bags with their goggles, armbands, water bottles, and children-friendly sunscreens, they go off on a little adventure. At least your kids are happy. That’s everything. 

You’re left on your own on the lounge chair, partially shaded by the parasol. 

Maybe you’ll read for a bit, nap, listen to some beach music — anything’s possible now it’s just you. A little peace and quiet will be nice. Yeah, it’ll be nice. That’s all a housewife like you can do anyway. You certainly can’t go parasailing or rent a speedboat, can you?

The thought has you chuckling to yourself.

“What’s funny, gorgeous?”

You jolt.

On the lounge chair beside you, the one your husband was occupying, is no longer vacant.

One man, with long hair tied up in a bun, is sitting facing you. There’s another behind him, one with white hair and pure black sunglasses, lying under the umbrella. When had they gotten here? Where did they come from? And how long have they been there?

The white haired man tilts his head to look at you over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m in the mood to laugh, so please, share with the class.”

Confused, you sit up. “Excuse me?”

Man-bun gives you a small smile. “Where are our manners?” He gestures to himself. “I’m Suguru.” He gestures behind him. “This is Satoru.”

You introduce yourself, though you know you shouldn’t.

They’re much younger than you are, you can tell. They have abs, which anyone can see through the sliver of the opening of their hoodie and tropical shirt; mischievous smiles that say they’re no strangers to trouble; and hungry eyes that are scanning your body up and down. 

What do they want? 

Satoru yawns, long limbs stretching. “We overheard your shitty husband running his mouth. He always like that? Y’know, spewing lies?”

God, you knew people could hear him berating you. It’s one thing behind closed doors, but it’s another to be perceived by outsiders. These two young men must have felt so bad for you they came over to make you feel better. How humiliating.

Cheeks heating up, you try to shoo them away. “I’m not sure what you want from me, but there’s nothing I can give you.”

Suguru tries to hide his smile between his hand. He muses, “Oh, I’m not sure about that — you look like you’re more than an expert in wrangling two unruly boys.”

There’s an undertone in his words that has you on edge. 

Are they flirting with you?

You struggle for words, unsure of what to say. On one hand, it’s inappropriate for someone your age to be entertaining men younger than you, especially when you’re married and a mother. On the other hand, the attention is nice. You haven’t had men expressing their interest in you in a while. And they’re very good looking boys. 

Drop dead gorgeous, actually.

Maybe you’ll let them stay, converse for a bit until they get bored and leave. It’s not like your husband will be coming back any time soon. And he’s doing much worse right now. A little harmless fun won’t be so bad, right?

“So you’re here with family?” Suguru, the more polite of the two, asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, sipping some water from your bottle, “just a little family holiday before the start of school. And you two?”

Satoru waves the question off with a lazy hand. “No, no, we live here. You can say this is our domain and you’re all trespassing, but we’re more than happy to have a beauty like you wandering around.”

The compliment has you flushing. “Oh, hush you.”

“No, we’re serious,” Suguru says, gesturing over your body. “Every part of you looks too good to eat.”

“We’ll certainly still do though,” his friend adds, laughing. 

Despite how awkward you feel talking to two people out of your age range, you find yourself laughing along too. Yeah, this is completely harmless, you think. They’re just boys finding it funny to mess around with the tourists. Boys their age want a romp, anything exciting to brag to their friends about. 

And you’re surrounded by strangers you’ll likely never see again. 

Let’s see how far this can go.

Playing along, you sultrily ask, “Oh, and you think you can handle a woman like me? I’d eat you for dinner.”

“Promise?” they respond in unison. 

They’re eager, that’s for sure. 

Practically drooling at the sight of you. They even lick their lips when you sit up straighter, tits bouncing with the movement. 

Maybe this isn’t a good idea…

Maybe they think you’re being serious, that you’ll actually let them have a taste. 

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you give them understanding smiles. “Look, boys, I appreciate your interest. Really. But I’m too old for you. There’s plenty of young girls around thou—”

“Blergh.” 

Satoru picks up the sunscreen from the little table between your two seats. He throws his sunglasses off and eyes the ingredients on the label. “When was the last time you reapplied?” he asks suddenly.

“I can’t remember,” you respond honestly, blinking at how they ignored your rejection.

Suguru shakes his head, tutting. “That’s not good enough. Very bad, actually. Very, very bad.”

Your skin’s just fine, you want to say, but any reassurance dies out on your tongue when they stand and circle you like wolves. From down here, they look so much taller. You can see their flawless skin more clearly now, can see the hard ridges of their tight body, and the softness. 

Whereas your husband is flabby, hairy, and rough everywhere. 

From your youth, you remember how wonderful it was to feel softness weighing you down, the energy only young men have, and their eagerness to please. It’s a life in the past come back to the present. Your thighs press together. 

They notice. 

The two exchange knowing looks, punctuated by victorious smiles. 

You just gave them the go-ahead they’ve been looking for. 

They both come to kneel beside you. You’re blocked from either side. Trapped. Landlocked. Prey to their hunt. 

“Wait a minute,” you say, panicked, when your covering is yanked off your body. You try to cover yourself with the towel from under you but they’re not giving you any room to move. “What’re you two doing!”

Suguru pinches the strings of your bikini bottoms, not pulling, just twirling the flimsy thing as though aware of how easily he could bare you to him. He casually says, “Oh, we’re just doing our duty and preventing skin cancer; the sun’s a killer, haven’t you heard, pretty?”

Meanwhile, Satoru squirts a fat dollop of sunscreen into his palm. He grins down at you. “Maybe that’s what he’s doing — I’m gonna feel you up.”

“I’d turn over very quickly if you don’t want him groping your tits…yet,” Suguru warns, amused. 

Right as those pale hands are about to make contact on your skin, you flop onto your belly like a fish. They land on your back with an, “Awww.”

You wince.

His hands are cold. They rove over your back with no hesitation. Satoru whistles. “You’re so soft! I wanna just gobble you up.”

This isn’t so bad, right? After all, you’ve always had trouble getting sunscreen on your back. Gulping nervously, you mutter, “Let’s keep this cute, you two. You’re only reapplying sunscreen. That’s it, alright? No, coping a feel.”

Behind you, someone snorts. 

“Sure,” they say in unison with no real conviction behind the syllable. 

Another pair of hands joins you. They’re cold too. It massages the oily thing on your back, taking over for the other pair which has ventured to your legs. They’re good at this — they’re pushing knots away, untightening the tension in your body, and applying just the right amount of texture to have you releasing low, satisfied moans. 

People must be looking at you weirdly; you were just with your family five minutes ago. Now you’re being touched up by men probably half your age. 

But, for all their teasing, they are respecting your boundary.

Until they aren’t.

It starts off slow at first, very light and almost not there. For a minute, you can actually convince yourself they’re just being helpful. Although, you’re vaguely conscious of hands coming under the bow of your bikini top with the excuse of needing to get even the areas that won’t see the sun. The other pair climb up to your thighs, delving into the inner parts, forcing your legs apart. 

You’re on edge, unable to let the tempting sleep take you. 

At every second, you’re aware of exactly where they’re touching, of who is. You can tell the difference: Satoru is more rushed, more excited. He wants to feel all of you all at once. Whereas, Suguru is more languid, more leisurely. He takes his time. He wants you to feel him. 

“Feel good?” one of them asks.

“Mmm.”

“Yeah, of course you’re feeling good. Who doesn’t like to be massaged?” the other says, arrogant. “You know, we’re good at internal massages too.”

Biting your lip, cheek smushed on the towel, you say, “Behave, Satoru.”

He groans, hands gripping your thighs tight. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“Careful,” Suguru drawls. “Your mommy kink is showing.”

“Mind your own business, Suguru.” 

That’s when they start growing bolder — the hands at your thighs creep up higher, gripping you in pulses, whilst the hands on your back slide down the sides, fingertips grazing the plumpness of your breasts which have spilt out. You tense, anticipating their next moves.

A thumb brushes the gusset of your bottoms. You jolt. 

In a flash, you push yourself up. 

They stare up at you, pupils blown out and eyes tracking your every move. Both of them look annoyed that you’d pulled away just when it was getting good. But you had to. They were about to do something very, very wrong in a very, very public setting. 

“I’m going to get in the water,” you tell them, inching away. Your feet sink in the sand. Out of the shade, the sun’s heat engulfs you. Now that you’re free from their broad chests, you notice how the beach isn’t all that crowded. There’s definitely people out and about — families, kids, old people and vendors — just not so many that you can’t breathe. 

You could have sworn there were more people minutes ago. Are you relieved that there are less witnesses to your inappropriate indulgement or frightened by the fact there are less witnesses to their hunger?

Suguru nods, rolling a shoulder back. “Yes, good idea. We’ll join you.”

“What?” you nearly shriek. Then, trying to compose yourself, you argue, “No, no. No need. Go and enjoy your day. Do whatever it is kids do these days.”

Satoru’s the first to stand. First to stroll over to you. He throws his jacket behind him. It lands right where you had been lying down. With a shit-eating grin, he spins you around and slings an arm over your shoulders. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re right where we wanna be.”

His friend slinks to your side, also shirtless.

You dig your heels in the sand, tugging yourself away. “On second thoughts, maybe I should go back to my hotel and see how my husband’s doing.”

They share a look.

Then they’re both dragging you to the water.

Maybe they’re strong and you can do nothing against their insistence. Maybe you don’t fight that hard. Whatever the case may be, you end up stepping inside the water regardless. 

The small waves lap at your ankles, and soon, with their guiding hands, at your shin, knees, then thighs, hips, waist, and in a blink, you’re mostly submerged. The sea really is all-consuming. 

Their chiselled shoulders and chests are all you can see as they circle you in the water like sharks. There are a few people in the water too, but they’re spread out. No one close enough to hear you thankfully.

“We’ve been eyeing you since you got here,” Suguru confesses, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he presses close behind you. He grips your waist, inching up a little.

You’re even closer to them than before — they’re tall, strong, carved by the heavens, truly blessed. So why are they here, with you? Why you when there are so many younger, prettier girls? 

Satoru’s hands find your hips under the water, he yanks himself to you. “Couldn’t stop looking at you in this sexy bikini. We’ve been hard since. Like, really, really hard.”

They sandwich you between them, between two men who are young enough to be your friends’ children. Or your own. With a shake of your head, you attempt to scold them: “Now, boys, this is very bad of you. I’ll overlook this just once so you can go on your way and your parents won’t have to know.”

One of them snickers. He looks over your head to talk to his friend. “Parents? She thinks we’re kids.”

Suguru leaves a scalding kiss on your bare shoulder. You gasp. He says, “We’re grown men, pretty. We’re all adults here. What are you so worried about?”

The three of you are swaying in the water. The salty scent of the sea is hitting your nose, dizzying. In the distance, you hear people’s laughter and their light conversation. The world is turning, though it feels like it’s paused for you. 

“Maybe I’m worried about the boners you’re grinding against me,” you retort, flustered. You’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to pretend you can’t feel two hot and heavy things poking your back and your stomach. But they make it impossible to when they’re grinding it against your body so shamelessly.

To make a point, Satoru moves your hips on his body. He’s rubbing you up on his boner, face buried in his chest with the water tickling your collarbone. He makes a pornographic moan, partly to tease you and partly because it’s helping his boner. 

In a panic, you scan the area for anyone who might have heard. 

No one’s looking. 

He says, “I wanna feel good. Don’t you wanna feel good? Wanna do something about the boners you’ve given us? Y’know, take responsibility and all that?”

At first, you wanted to dispute his second question; you did not give anyone anything, let that be clear. But his main question echoes in your head. 

You do want to feel good.

By god, do you.

You haven’t felt good in years. You’ve forgotten what it even means to feel good. Still, this is wrong. It’s all shades of wrong, and you can’t let yourself get swept up. So you weakly reply, “I’m a mother.”

“Mmm, that makes no difference to us,” Suguru says. His hands are right under your heavy breasts now, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the fat that can’t be contained by the flimsy material. He weighs them in his palms, bouncing them up and down. Above the water, the tops emerge, all wet and shiny. Satoru can’t tear his eyes away. His friend continues, "Though, between you and me, he might actually really like that fact.”

Satoru doesn’t deny that. He only ruts his cock harder against your stomach through the thin layer of his shorts. 

“I’m much older than you,” you say, reaching for anything that might dissuade them. 

The man in front of you snorts. “Duh. We can tell that much.”

You don’t know why that offends you. But it does. 

Before you can process what you’re doing, your palm makes contact with his cheek. Redness blossoms on the pale surface. Satoru’s face has whipped to the side. He blinks, processing what just happens, as you do. A tongue pokes through the injured cheek. He tests the sting, the corner of his lip twitching. 

Someone laughs behind you. “You’ve done it now, pretty girl.”

When bright blue eyes pierce you — an almost deranged smirk warping his face into something older, something more authoritative than you — you realise the truth behind Suguru’s remark. 

You really have done it now. 

“You’ve given me a booboo,” he says, putting on a baby voice to mock how you hide between the age difference. “You should make me feel better, right, mom-my?”

“Oh goodness…”

His hands leave your hips, fumbling for something in the water. Though the water’s clear, you can’t bring yourself to look down. So it comes as a surprise to you when a long, hot thing slots itself right between your thighs, with the help of Suguru who lifts you up with ease in the water. 

Satoru smushes his face right in between your tits which are drying under the sun now. He thrusts his cock back and forth, rubbing your clothed pussy. A fat cockhead nudges your clit on every return.

You’re panting, holding onto any part of them for purchase. “Wait,” you breathe out. “I’m married! I’m married!”

Too busy mouthing at the salt on your skin, Suguru instead has to reply, “We don’t care. We really. Fucking. Don’t.”

“Yeah,” his friend says, resurfacing from your tits to throw his head back with a groan. The water’s lapping more aggressively, disrupted by his thrusting and your squirming. “Your husband’s an ass who can’t appreciate when he has a great one right in front of him. If he won’t make you feel good, we will.”

“That’s right,” Suguru adds. He grips your chin and brings you to look at him. His lips touch your lips. He whispers against them, “You just have to let us.”

One of his arms is wrapped under your breasts, pushing them up for Satoru to rest his face on as he keeps rubbing his cock between your thighs. The other releases your chin to grope one tit. His blunt nail scratches a hard bud through the material. 

You moan. 

It’s too late to pretend you’re not soaked, that you’re not manically pleased with their attraction, with the feel of their hard bodies pinning you between them, that you don’t want this so bad. 

No one will know. 

No one has to.

It’ll be your dirty, little secret that you’ll pull whenever you’re at your very lowest. 

With that decision made, you surge to kiss Suguru, who wastes no time in deepening the kiss. His tongue pushes in, licking and tasting. He’s readily groping your tit under the top, pinching and flicking your nipples. Satoru squeezes the other, lifting it out of the water to suck at it, uncaring of the taste of sea water.

Too much is happening at once. 

It’s crazy.

Insane. 

And so fucking good. 

Suguru shoves Satoru back so he can slide his hand inside your bottom. He finds your clit with ease, spreading your puffy lips with two fingers and rubbing the bundle of nerves with the middle. All while, his lips haven’t left yours. He’s sucking all your oxygen out, threatening to drown you in his taste.

Somewhat aggrieved, Satoru complains, “Hey! Don’t monopolise her. You have to share, Suguru!”

You pull away a little to say, “Yes, Suguru. You have to share. Be my good boys, won’t you?”

Both of them groan. 

He lets Satoru’s fingers join him in playing with your pussy. Satoru hooks the bikini to the side. His fingers bump into his friend’s before it finds your entrance. 

“Ngh! Please! Harder. Deeper,” you mewl.

Satoru’s fingers are so long. They’re stretching your pussy out, inch by inch, till they’re buried at the hilt and curling up against that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing starfishes in your hazy vision. 

In tandem, they finger you — one massaging your g-spot and making good on his promise at being skilled at internal massages, and the other rubbing your clit so expertly you can’t do anything but throw your head back and wail wantonly. 

One of them, at this point you don’t care who, sucks and licks at the length of your neck.

Where did you get the courage to be so whorish, to boss them around like you’re their mother?

It hardly makes sense to you. 

Neither does the searching your hands do under the water. 

You find their cocks. One is already out, bobbing. The other you have to maneuver out of its confines in his swim trunks. They both whine your name out when they feel you wrap your hands around their length. 

Now, you’re no stranger to dicks. 

These two may be bolder and more shameless, but you know how to please a man. You know that you gotta squeeze their cocks just right, gotta rub your palm over their tips, thumb the slit and spread their pre-cum under their cockhead. You know how to toe the fine line between pain and pleasure, and which of them prefers to lean towards the other.

“Oh s-shit,” Satoru stutters.

The other sucks in a sharp breath.

Satoru’s nose pushes your bikini cover off one of your tits. He wastes no time sucking your nipple, but it’s not like how your husband used to suck on your breast. It’s more eager, more feral, as though he’s sure if he sucks hard enough milk will actually come out. 

“That’s it, baby,” you mutter, arching your chest out to feed him your breast. “Suck mommy’s titty. Such a good boy.”

In your grip, his cock throbs. So does the other. 

Seems like it’s not just Satoru who has a mommy kink.

Despite your relentless attacks on their cocks, their fingers don’t quit. They keep teasing your pussy just right. You ride their wrists. Your moans melt with theirs under the sun’s watchful gaze, and who knows how many other people’s. 

If only your husband can see how desired you are, can see your face scrunch up in pleasure he’s never given you, how easily men half his age can find your clit.

“Cum, pretty,” Suguru groans out. 

“Yeah,” Satoru says. “Wanna feel you -hah- tighten around my fingers. Wanna know how you’ll feel on my cock.”

Almost as though their voices carry a special power, your body listens.

The orgasm takes you by surprise, not from its suddenness — it’s been building for a while now — but from the sensation itself. It’s been years since your back’s arched, since your toes have curled, your lower belly has cramped, bolts of electricity ran through your veins, and your clit’s throbbed. You hardly recognise the maddening gloriousness. And yet, when it washes over you, it’s a very welcome return. 

“T-that’s it,” someone says. “Such a good girl.”

“Mm, bet your husband’s never touched you as good, has he? Bet he’s scared of pussies, which is ironic because he is one,” the other boy snickers.

If they expect you to come to your husband’s defence, then you only disappoint them. 

Meanwhile, your hands haven’t stopped. They only jerk them off faster and harder, till their snarky words die out and turn into whimpery moans. 

Soon, they cum at the same time.

Ropes of pearlescent cum jet out into the water, dissipating.

The three of you stumble onto a massive rock in the water you hadn’t even realised you’d been hiding behind. How long ago did you get pushed over here, far from the rest of the beach where it’s most crowded? Does it matter?

Here, seemingly a mile away from where you started, the water’s at thigh level. 

You’re so heated everywhere you can’t even tell the difference between the warm water and the warm air. It’s all the same to you now, especially when you’re distracted by the unceasing roving of their hands which touch you everywhere they can reach. 

“Where are your manners, boys? Didn’t anyone tell you to buy a girl dinner first?”

Satoru bites his smiling lip. 

Suguru chuckles. 

“You are our dinner.” The former smashes his face into yours, robbing you of breath. “You’re absolutely stunning. The literal woman of my dreams,” he says in between kisses, when you need to gulp for air. “Knew as soon as I saw you from afar that I wanted you to spank me, to ruin my life.”

That’s a real nice thought…

With an innate rhythm, they swap places — Suguru’s now in front of you, pressing gentle kisses on your cheeks and on your jawline, whilst Satoru’s groping your tits from behind. He rubs his already-growing-hard cock on your ass. 

Oh, the wonder of youth. 

Suguru rests his big hand on the back of your head. “Down, pretty. Put your ass out for me.” You allow him to push you down. You hold onto Satoru’s thigh, addicted to how you’re being bossed around by men younger than you, bent into place for their use. When satisfied, he says, “Such a well-behaved mother you are. I’m sure your kids take after you, huh?”

He palms the globes of your ass, thumbs tucking under your bikini bottom as he appreciates the roundness of your behind. 

In front of you, Satoru’s jerking himself off. A bead of pre pools out from his bubblegum pink tip. He taps the cockhead on your lips. You kitten lick his slit, making sure to really get in here. He lets out a, “Jeez, your husband’s an idiot. He’s missing out on a special grade woman here.” He peers down at you, grinning. “Is your mouth as talented as the rest of you, mama? Gonna suck my dick, hmm?”

What choice do you have other than to take that impressive cock down your throat?

Opening your mouth nice and wide, you try to swallow as much of his length as you can. Satoru holds your face in place so he can push himself in little by little. He tastes salty, but you can’t tell if it’s because of his skin, his pre-cum, or because of the sea. Maybe all three. 

Behind you, Suguru’s breath blows on your sensitive skin. “Gonna let me taste you, pretty girl?”

“Tell me how hot MILF pussy is, Suguru,” his friend demands, pale abs contracting with the fight not to cum too soon. His muscular thighs help keep your balance, and when you accidentally dig your nails too hard after he hits the back of your throat by accident, you’re surprised to hear him whimper, “Ngh, mommy!” Then he groans. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing.”

Suguru laughs. “Embrace the kink, Satoru. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Shut up.”

It’s weird, now that you think about it, that someone other than your children is calling you mommy. Even weirder than it’s not a child at all. Though oddly, you don’t mind it. Perhaps you’d even go as far as to say that it’s turning you on.

What can only be Suguru’s nose traces your slit through the swimsuit. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing the ample flesh there like it’s a stress toy. A drop of trepidation clutches your chest; what if you smell bad? What if they find the pussy that’s birthed three children unattractive? 

When he gets his fill of your scent, and lets out an, “Oh god,” your worries evaporate in the scorching heat of his undeniable desire for you. 

You expect him to pull the gusset to the side, just as Satoru had done earlier, but he surprises you instead by untying, with far too much ease, your bottoms entirely. Cool air wafts through your heated folds. Your whole body shakes. 

What if someone wanders over to where you three are? 

There’ll be no hiding, no explaining why you’re bare down there. 

Suguru parts your lips for his eyes and you forget all about the law. He says, “Her pussy’s as pretty as the rest of her, Satoru. So wet and needy. And look at her adorable clit, pulsing my name.”

“You mean, my name,” Satoru counters, hips rutting inside your hot mouth. He pets your hair and coos down at you, “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Loves Young Dick? Mrs. Hates Her Husband’s Tiny, Wrinkled Dick?”

He’s having too much fun lording his power over you. He needs to be punished — you massage his balls with one hand, rolling the heavy sack in your palm, and allowing your fingers to brush over the puckering hole hidden away. 

“S-shit!”

Satoru’s knees quiver, threatening to buckle from under him. An attack on his tip with your swirling tongue, on his balls, and his asshole is too much for anyone, no matter how virile. But you don’t want him to cum yet. It’d be too early so you let his balls go and focus on staying balanced behind the big rock that covers all three of you from view of the whole beach. 

A tongue licks a stripe from your clit to your entrance, scooping a mouthful of your overflowing wetness. 

Suguru groans. 

His whole face is buried between your cheeks, lapping up your juices as though he’s dehydrated. That skillful tongue of his rubs your clit in tight circles just how you like it, giving enough pressure for you to feel already close to cumming. 

It flicks up and down, pushing the nerves there to their limits. 

Your legs quiver. You shuffle on your feet, undecided between pushing back so he’d get even deeper or pulling away from the unbearable bliss. Your moans come out muffled. The vibrations have Satoru’s hips jolting deeper inside you, bruising your throat. 

Suguru worms the wet appendage in your cunt, licking your pillowy walls. He moans straight inside you. You feel the vibrations there shoot through your body, up your spine, and go straight to your head. 

Someone, or both of them, plays with your swinging tits. You don’t have it in you to feel any embarrassment at how they’re saggier than the breasts women their age have. Not when they make no mention of it. Only the sounds of their pleased groans at the feel of every part of you reaches your ears. 

They pull both of your tits out of the confines of the bikini top, allowing them easy access to your nipples, which they rub and pull and flick as they please.

Distantly, you can still hear the thrum of life on the beach, of people playing in the water, of waves crashing on the rocks. Under you, the mid-thigh level water gently laps at your body, grazing your nipples delectably.

“She tastes like the finest wine, Satoru,” Suguru says. His hand has rounded your belly, pressing up at your pelvis. You gasp around his friend’s cock. The urge to pee has arisen, and it’s making you delirious. 

Above you, he makes a disgusted sound. “Ugh, don’t describe her pussy juice with alcohol. Describe it in terms of candy. How sweet is she, Sugu?”

“The sweetest,” he answers, unbothered by Satoru’s peculiar demands. “Here, taste her.” Suguru stands, rubbing his bare cock over your drenched pussy lips. His cockhead catches on your clit and you find your hips grinding back, seeking out that incredible hardness. 

You don’t know what happens above you. But you can imagine, from the sudden wet smacking sounds and the dirty groans they both make, that Suguru’s giving Satoru a taste of your pussy which he had collected on his tongue. Somehow, that has you clenching on air. 

“Sweet,” Satoru gasps. “So sweet. Fuck, Suguru, I can’t take any more of this. I wanna feel her. Wanna be inside her.” 

“Me too,” Suguru says, grabbing his cock and tapping it up against your clit. You feel wet strings form and break, splashing a little onto your skin. Or maybe it’s just the sea. 

Satoru pulls himself from your throat, jerking his cock at the sight of your swollen, glossy lips which the tip is bumping. Finally, you get a reprieve for your sore throat. You greedily gulp air down, overwhelmed by the devastating emptiness you find inside you now. 

The other man gathers your wet hair and tugs you up, back flushed against hard chest. Satoru squeezes your heaving tits, bending down to blow raspberries between. He’s motorboating you. Like an idiot. 

Just as Suguru had done to you, you yank him by his hair and drag his face to yours. You kiss him. He quickly reacts, moaning into your mouth. It’s a sloppy kiss. All tongue, saliva dripping down chins, and at one point, he even sucks your outstretched tongue like it’s a cock. 

It’s obvious these boys must have been playing with themselves when they don’t have a woman to torture. 

Lucky.

“Up,” Suguru says.

You jump into Satoru’s arms, legs wrapping around his narrow hips. Wet tits get squashed against his chest. Hard nipples scrape slippery skin. 

Someone cock prods your pulsing entrance. You pant for it, desperate to feel full, to feel cock that isn’t your husband’s, cock that you know will reach the deepest parts of you and will have you feeling it for days. 

But then…

Another cock prods your entrance too.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out. “You can’t both fit inside me!”

“Shhh, pretty girl. Don’t worry about anything. We’ve got you. We’ll make it fit,” Suguru says, leaving a kiss on the crook of your neck. 

“You’re a champ,” Satoru adds, with a shit-eating grin. He licks a stripe up your cheek, as though it’s revenge for what you had done to his no-longer-pink-from-the-slap-only-from-arousal-cheek. “You can take us, can’t you?” he asks. He’s put on that baby voice again. “Mommy won’t disappoint us, will she?”

Swallowing a moan down, you say, “I-I can try.”

“Atta girl,” they say in unison. 

Together, they push in. 

Your nails dig into Satoru's back, no doubt leaving pink crescents. You grit your teeth. The pressure is intense. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s far too much too fast. You cry out, “I can’t do it!”

Suguru mumbles into your ear, though he’s struggling too, “It’s a-alright. Just breathe.”

You’ve already gone this far, already done things you would have never thought to do before you left the hotel room an hour or two ago. This can’t be where you give up. You want everything they have to offer, and if your boys want to feel you at the same time, then that’s what you’ll give them.

It seems like another hour passes under the blaring sun before they stop pushing in. When you peer down between your body and Satoru’s, you’re bewildered at the sight of his cock not even being half way in. 

Yet, they’re satisfied. 

For now. 

Slowly, they both start rocking in. Gently. Carefully. Testing the waters. 

It’s not an easy fit.

Still, nothing could hurt as much as labour, so this isn’t too bad for you. Somewhere beyond the sting, there’s a blooming pleasure. Perhaps born from the depravity of having cocks that aren’t your husband inside you, cocks belonging to men much younger than you, and from being fucked by two men somewhere you could be caught. 

Satoru kisses you to distract you from the slight pain at having two cocks impossibly lodged inside you. And as quick as his lips arrived, Suguru’s stealing yours. Then Satoru’s again. Suguru’s. Satoru’s. Back and forth, you alternate between them, becoming lightheaded at the constant twisting and turning and from the sensation of great pressure pushing deeper inside your belly. 

Your eyes, which you hadn’t realised had closed, open to find the two boys liplocked. This is what you didn’t get to see though you so badly wanted to earlier — their pink lips wrapping around each other, the glimpses of tongues tangling together, of passionate moans mingling. 

They kiss like they’ve been doing this for years. 

Their cocks pulse inside you. 

You lean close, joining in their makeout. Resembling puzzle pieces, you three slot together perfectly. Tongue meeting each other and you don’t know who’s where and what, only that everything everywhere feels good. 

With final groans, they bury themselves to the hilt. 

“Oh fuck,” the three of you moan in unison.

Quickly, a rhythm’s built up. They thrusts in turns, as though sawing your gummy walls. With how far they’ve stretched you, you feel your anal walls stimulated by their ploughing, and it’s incredible. 

Maybe you should care that they’re not wearing condoms. But you don’t. Because feeling them bare is wonderful — their veins, the ridges, the flared out cockheads that scrape your walls. It’s all so fucking good. 

Your clit grinds at Satoru’s pelvis whenever he rams his cock into the very base. 

Lips suck your neck, your nape, your tongue, your lips, everywhere they can reach. And you’re pulling hair, scratching backs, bouncing down on cocks in their arms. 

“Take a picture of me on this rock.”

The three of you still.

There’s people on the other side. 

You can hear them splashing around as they adjust themselves. There’s also laughter. Voices from people their age. They don’t know you’re behind the rock, do they? They haven’t seen a glimpse of you three? Didn’t hear your lewd moaning and the squelching and fwop! fwop! fwopping! of wet skin against wet skin?

In your chest, your heart pounds so loudly you think it might give you away. 

“Don’t make a sound,” Satoru mouths. Though as he says that, his hips are still rocking inside you, barely perceptible but definitely there. 

Behind you, Suguru’s no better. His hands are playing with your tits, pulling the buds till they stretch out obscenely, till you’re writhing on their dicks and having to bite down on your lip to stop the whines escaping and blowing your cover. 

They’re more badly behaved than your kids. 

But you’re no rational adult either; you keep bouncing in their arms, riding their cocks as you chase your high. “Don’t -hngh!- stop,” you plead. “It’s so good. So, so, so good!”

Conversations continue on on the other side, as do the clicking of the camera. If they decide to step around the rock, they’re going to get a photo-ful of bare skin, more than what any beach-goers are currently showing. 

None of you care. 

All the three of you want is to cum. 

“D-don’t -fuck- clench down so hard,” Suguru quietly grits out, teeth skimming your shoulder in his effort not to be too loud.

Satoru agrees, long, white lashes fluttering, “Y-yeah, you’re too –hic!– tight already.”

You can’t help it, you wanna say, but what you can only manage is a garbled apology.

In a matter of a couple seconds, your grinding and their thrusting and the moaning and the bouncing speed up to an irregular, erratic rhythm. You’re just doing whatever feels good now, fuck the other people near you. 

Their cockheads keep bumping your g-spot, pushing in so deep inside you you swear you can feel them in your lungs. Their lips suck, their tongues lick, teeth bite, fingers pinch and pull, and rub, hands squeezing and groping and yanking, with pleasure building and building and building until it bursts! 

Your orgasm hits you like a tempest. 

Spasms wrack your body, as do theirs. 

The three of you tremble against each other, moaning and groaning under your breaths.

Your toes curl so hard you almost get a cramp. Your back arches till you’re shoving your tits in Satoru’s face, not that he complains — he can smother his high-pitched whimper in the mounds of your breasts. Your pussy pulses in time with their throbbing. 

“So tight!” one gasps.

“Can’t -hah- breathe. Can’t -hngh- think!”

Hot cum spurts inside you, in double the serving. They paint your walls white, flooding your cunt, tickling your inside. It drives a mini orgasm out of you. Something just as hot splashes all over your skin and theirs. Is it you, Satoru, the sea? 

You lose yourself in them, in their bodies, their taste lingering on your tongue, in the cursed bliss they gifted you.  

The very best orgasm of your entire life has pulled you under water, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the sea. 

No more sound is made from the other side. Maybe they were scared off by the sounds you three made, maybe they left long ago, maybe they’re still there. At least, no one’s come to bust you face-to-face. No lifeguard yelling and telling you the police is coming, no unfortunate family scarred for life. 

It all worked out for itself.

There’s a smile on your face when you’re gently placed back on your feet. It widens after every kiss they leave on your lips in gratitude. 

Suguru rakes a hand through his hair, pushing unruly strands back. He mirrors your expression as he touches between your legs. He feels the searing cum dripping out of you, and fucks it back inside with his thick fingers. “Told you we’d make it fit.”

“Yes, you did,” you say, laughing and moaning simultaneously with the last thrums of pleasure left inside you. 

Satoru yanks that hand out and shoves it into his own mouth, heartily sucking on the mixed juices. “Mmm. Salty.”

You’re flushed, entranced by the sight. 

They’re filthier than any other man you’ve met. 

And more gentlemanly too — they find your bottoms for you, putting back it in place, the same with your bikini top, before they tuck themselves back in their shorts. Within minutes, any evidence of your wrongdoings is swept away by the current, with only the sun as your witness.

“Thank you,” you tell them. Sincerity coats the words. 

They brought to life something you thought had been dead a long time ago, something that maybe was never alive inside you, something that a loveless marriage had buried. They reminded you you are a woman, not just a wife or a mother. 

You have worth. 

You have value. 

You can start over again.

When wetness clings to your lashes, their gazes soften. 

Suguru tucks your hair behind your ear. “You’re going to be alright, pretty girl.”

“The whole world’s your oyster,” Satoru adds, nodding proudly. “Always was.”

At the same time, they brush away the tears about to fall. They suck the wetness coating their skin, releasing satisfied sounds at your saltiest taste. 

Everything that happens after that is a blur. 

Maybe you continued playing in the water with them for another couple hours. Maybe you fucked them in turns. And at the same time again. Maybe you went back to your lounge chair straight away and napped the rest of the time.

It’s hard to tell. 

The only thing you remember after is being woken up by your three children shaking you. 

You stand, stretching your weary limbs, cover-up forgone. Your parents look tired, the kind of tired a long day taking care of children creates, which you know all too well. You give them an apologetic smile. They reject it with a shake of their heads, as though saying, ‘you never need to thank us.’

“Mommy, mommy, we collected sea shells and got ice cream and buried granddad in the sand!” one of them tells you, pulling at your arm. “We had the greatest day ever!”

You smile down at him. “Oh, very good, sweetheart.”

“It was awesome!” the middle child chimes. “A seagull tried to take my sandwich but I shooed it away, mommy!”

“How brave,” you say, pinching his chubby cheek. 

The oldest gives you a disappointed look. “Were you just sleeping, mommy? That’s not good. You wasted a whole day at the beach!”

Ruffling her hair, you say, “You got me. But I don’t think it was a waste.” 

Though you feel thoroughly spent, you’re pleased to discover a renewed energy inside you. You pack up faster than you thought you would, you chat with your kids and catch up with your parents, and look forward to dinner, musing what it’d be.

To all three of them, and to your parents, you ask, “Okay, ready to go back to the hotel?”

Their simultaneous yawns are your answer.

Your family makes its way to the road back, trudging, exhausted, through the heavy sand with the sun about to set and people staying back to watch the sky explode in orange and pink. 

Bags in your arms, you look back, unable to resist the allure.

The two of them are already looking at you. They’re dressed in the same clothes they had been when they first introduced themselves — hoodie adorned, hair tied up, and sunglasses on. They lift the coconut cups they were sipping high up in the air in what you know to be both a salute and a goodbye. 

One of your kids grabs your attention. 

Something calls you to look back one more, only seconds later. When you do, you’re not very shocked to find them gone from their place at the hut. Disappeared. As though they were never there in the first place. 

In the distance, on the water which reflects the sun’s warm glow back, you see two sparkles, like stars that guide lost souls in the dark. 

You face forward, smiling.

You can’t explain what happened today to anyone. Not when you can’t even explain it to yourself. It can just remain as a precious memory, one that might fade into a thing that you’ll convince yourself was real when it starts to feel like a dream. After all, there’s a beauty in forgetting the details, of the hows and the whos and the where and whens, but not the why.

Because the why will forever be engrained in your very soul. 

Safe to say, then, you won’t be forgetting about your day at the beach any time soon.

You can mark it as the day you decided to file for divorce.