I had been home from work for two weeks with the flu. It was nagging. I felt like I was on the verge of recovery for most of the time, but the virus refused to break. Finally, on day 15, I was just starting to feel better as we headed into the weekend, but the exhaustion, fever, aches, and lack of appetite remained strong.
That Friday night, lounging on the sofa, trying to keep my eyes open to watch a show with my husband Arjun, I took more medication. The combination of tiredness – despite multiple day-time naps – combined with the nighttime drowsy version medication, had be falling asleep in no time. I have a foggy memory of Arjun, my arm slung over his shoulders, basically dragging me into bed.
I slept like a log, having all sorts of dreams flashing through my mind, the ones you only have when you’re sick and lost in the strange space in your medicated, sick brain. One of those dreams stuck with me.
I was on a beach, hot sun, refreshing ocean breeze lifting my short gingery hair and fluttering the hair on my body. Clad in only an orange sunga style speedo, my large package supported by the ample pouch area. I walked along the wet sand, my feet sinking a few centimeters with each step, feeling the waves lap at my ankles.
Leaning down from time to time, I picked up shells and tossed them into the waves. I felt the refreshing saltwater spray on the breeze and listened to the birds calling overhead.
The beach was massive. And empty. I was alone with my thoughts and the world around me.
Or so I thought.
Approaching the giant pillars of the tall pier jutting out from the boardwalk 100 yards inland, I saw a man leaning against one of the interior pillars. I could only see one side of him, sticking out around another pillar that blocked the rest of my view.
Sun light filtering through the wooden slats danced with the shadows on his white skin. His arm and leg were muscular, and he too wore a speedo, but in a lime green color. The waistband was skimpier than mine, more of a low-cut brief style.
Continuing to approach the pier on my walk, he disappeared fully behind the forward pillar before his opposite side appeared.
Taking more steps, my heartbeat increasing, all of him appeared.
I stopped, stuck in place, drinking in the view before me.
He was built of defined muscle with a dusting of light brown chest hair that trailed down to a closely trimmed bush framing a 6inch uncut dick, curving slightly upward, held firmly in his hand, stroking it. His testicles hung a short distance down in a wrinkled but hairless sac. His speedo was tucked underneath them, holding them up.
His eyes were closed, brown hair lifting in the breeze, chest rising and falling rhythmically with his hand.
Blood pumped into my dick, filling up my speedo pouch, tenting it. My heart raced. Blinking, thinking I was imagining things. He was still there. Still stroking. A soft moan lilting over the sounds of the waves and birds.
I continued my walk, getting closer, planning to pass under the pier and walk to the other end of the beach anyway, this view just gave me more to look at.
Approaching the underside of the pier and the man enjoying himself, I began to hear his soft moans more clearly over the seaside sounds.
I stopped again, in the shade of the pier, about 15 feet from my man jacking himself, watching him.
My dick strained my speedo, throbbing, leaking precum.
The man took long, slow strokes, encasing his glans in his foreskin then pulling it downward until the glans were exposed and the skin was stretched taut. Then back up over the glans.
After a few slow strokes, he would jack quickly, focusing on using his foreskin to rub his glans.
His moans grew louder.
His juices oozed out of his dick slit. The bright pink glans shining in the dancing rays of sunlight.
And back to the slow, deliberate strokes.
Without realizing it, I’d crept closer, now just 5 feet from him.
He had thick veins popping out around his shaft and more of his fluids leaked from the tap.
His head lulled around with a deep moan, and his eyes shot open, looking directly at me. No. Not at me exactly, into me. Through me.
My dick lurched from his look delving into me. Precum spurted from my dick, soaking into my speedo, and my hand unconsciously squeezed my raging meat.
He raised his free hand, not for a second stopping the self-pleasure, and crooked a finger beckoning me to him, “Come.”
His eyes blazed with desire. Now undoubtedly fixated on me.
Again, not realizing it, I’d moved, crossed the short distance between us. His hand cupped my speedo, mashing into my erection.
“Fuck,” I moaned, pushing my hips back into his hand, my steely cock humping his palm.
I grabbed the hem and shoved it down, tucking my speedo under my testicles. My 8inch, wet dick bounced out, waving in the air.
“MMMMMMMM,” the guy moaned, stroking his dick quickly and wrapping his other hand around my shlong.
“Love big dicks,” he moaned, spreading my precum over my glans and shaft.
And then his hand was mimicking the rhythm he used on himself, jacking both our cocks.
“Fuck yeah,” he moaned, precum oozing from both our dicks.
“You must be feeling good,” he moaned, squeezing my cock. His voice sounded too real.
Odd dirty talk phrasing, I though, but I was feeling good with his hand jerking my dick.
He leaned over, spat on my dick, and quickened the pace.
We were both throbbing, breathing deep.
Our line of sight switched from watching him jack our cocks to staring intently into each other’s eyes. Our eyes blazed, eager to release our loads.
I took another step, pressing my lips to his, maintaining eye contact, sinking into a passionate make-out session.
Our dicks swelled with the intensity of the kiss and oozed more manly fluids.
The guy’s rhythm moved back to the slow, sensual strokes and we moaned into each other.
Our tongues circled and lashed.
My hands explored his body, slicked in sunblock, sweat, and sea spray. His muscles were defined and tight under his supple skin. Pushing the back of his speedo down and grabbing his firm bubble butt made him moan. I pulled his glutes apart, the ocean breeze flowing over his exposed crack and anus.
“UUUUUUmmmmmmmm,” he moaned into my moan, my dick leaking a stream of natural lube.
His moans grew more needy, and his strokes became more forceful, milking our dicks.
I kissed across his cheek and down his neck, licking, nibbling, and sucking on the flesh around his ear down to the nape with his shoulder.
“AAAAhhhhhhhhh,” he moaned, body trembling. I moaned into his neck.
“AAAAAHHHH Fuck,” he moaned again, louder. I moaned again, as though we were in a duet.
His dick swelled and he whimpered.
Mine swelled and I growled into his neck, biting down gently but firmly.
“FUCK,” he yelled, head tossing back, moans echoing into the underside of the pier and sky above, cum flying from his cock.
I growled louder and humped my dick in his hand, hips swinging, cock pumping my first jet of cum to fly from my dick seconds after his.
Our loads hit each other, his forming thick lines on my pecs, biceps, and abdomen. Mine forming lines on his body also, not as thick but more copious, dripping down to soak into his speedo and the sand below.
“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” he moaned together, his head dropping next to mine, our hot breath mixing.
We turned our heads, continuing to moan, kissing as our waning orgasms shot a few more rounds of cum.
Breathing heavy, kissing, our hearts raced.
He held our dicks until our lips parted a few moments later.
We resumed eye contact, smiling – that dazed smile of having just touched heaven together and together floating back to reality.
He wiped his hand up my dick and licked it clean of my cum and precum.
Then he leaned in, holding himself up on my shoulder, and licked his load off my body, twirling his tongue around in my chest hair to get it all.
And we kissed one last time, my brain was fuzzy, feeling as though I were being pulled away. The sounds of the waves and gulls broke and dissipated.
My eyes shot open, open for real, to see Arjun’s face pressed to mine, lips and tongues entwined.
I moaned, melting into my husband, waking to reality.
His mouth tasted like cum. I moaned again.
Pulling back, he grinned at me. “Good morning, Bro. You were moaning half the night and started humping me this morning, so I took care of you, of us.”
Looking down, I saw smears of saliva on my chest where Arjun had licked up our loads, his hand still absentmindedly stroking our shrinking dicks.
All I could do was moan and nuzzle into the crook of his arm. He wrapped it around me and we lazed in bed for a while, cuddling.
I could breathe easily, my aches were mostly gone, and I felt refreshed for the first time in weeks.
“Good morning,” I said, kissing his pec. “Wait ‘till I tell you about this dream…”
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