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Introduction:

Seventeen-year-old Becky hasn't played with herself all Winter. What's she got in store now?
Spring was on its way, and Becky had been seventeen years old for four months. She hadn't gone out for any of her little 'adventures' recently because the cold had been getting into her too much, getting into her bones and making her want to stay at home, where the fire glowed and kept her warm. Her parents had been in a lot recently, too, most likely for the same reason. But with the spring was coming new warmth, and she found she wasn't anywhere near as cold as she'd been as little as two weeks ago. In fact, being outside made her feel really good now.

Not that she hadn't been going outside at all, but she'd only been going into her own back garden like the first time, and with plenty of clothes on to cover her up. It was a thrill, she supposed, to be in the cold, which wouldn't let her forget that she was outside, but she really wanted to be able to be naked... to be naked, to be vulnerable to whoever cared to look in her direction. But now she'd been kept from going out and having a real adventure for so long that she didn't care who noticed her; in fact she almost wanted to be caught, because that was the only thing that hadn't happened. So, she started thinking of places that were open enough for her needs without being simply the middle of the road, or the side of the pavement.

She thought about where to go for a week or two, generally when she was at college, out of lesson, and alone. When she was walking around the corridors, when she was sat in the library idly flicking through books or through her own work. Then, one Monday as she was walking through the library to find a book that might interest her, she happened to see an art student's work over their shoulder when she was walking past them: a beach at night. A shiver rippled up her spine as she imagined the cool breeze and the cold sand: that was the place.

For the rest of her day Becky couldn't get the beach out of her head. She lived only a few miles inland, so it would only be a case of jumping on her bike in the small hours of the morning, and she'd be there within half an hour. She thought about what day of the week to go, because it would be mad to go on a night when there might be people around, either sitting with someone or walking in a drunken stupor. Sunday night was what she eventually decided on. 'Yeah, Sunday night,' she said to herself, 'everyone'll be in bed getting their sleep so they can be up on Monday.'

This was a problem for her, though, because Sunday had only just gone - a whole week to go before she could have her fun! She sat down with she first book she'd seen on her knee, and opened it at the first page. Chaucer. Just what she wanted. She got up and put the book back, her mind thoroughly absent now, and started to look for a book that might have pictures of beaches in it...

That evening, Becky was lounging around in her bedroom, idly passing time by surfing the Internet, when she remembered her newest fantasy. She returned to her search engine and typed in 'beach at night,' and clicked on 'pictures.' Seeing where she wanted to go made her shiver. She didn't think she could wait for the feeling of cool sand around her, the massive open sea in front of her, the huge moon hanging overhead... the moon. She darted downstairs and through the front door, and looked over the house across the road at the moon. It was nearly full. 'Wow,' she thought, 'that's amazing.' She went back into the house and shut her door, and downloaded as many pictures of beached at night, with large moons in them, onto her computer as she could.

She decided that she'd go to the beach tonight. Not to do her business there, but just to see what her beach looked like at night. So she put on a nice thick coat, and went outside to get her bike. The ride took maybe half an hour, and was really quite pleasant. When she arrived at the beach, she looked out over the sea, and around the beach. It wasn't as late now as it was going to be when she was going to be going there properly, but there wasn't anyone there, not even fishing. She pulled her sleeve up a little and looked at her watch: midnight. 'Nice. I'm going to be alone.'

The journey home was quite tiring and left her in a little bit of a sweat, so when she got back home she quietly had a quick shower. As she dried herself off, she thought yet again of the water rushing in and out, colliding rhythmically with the sand on the beach. She couldn’t hold in her excitement any more: she was going to have to release some of the pressure, right now.

She rubbed herself dry quickly, and put the towel away, and then she grabbed her clothes and ran, naked, upstairs to her bedroom. Once in, she made sure the door was shut, flicking the light on with her elbow as she passed it, and dropped her clothes on the floor. She then sat down on the floor next to them, with her legs straight and a little bit apart. She stroked her thighs, and felt the soft, clean, dry skin under her fingers. Stroking up and down, round and round, she parted her legs a bit more to give herself access to her most sensitive areas. When she couldn't take her own teasing any more, she started stroking her pussy, rubbing hard and fast, until the juices started flowing. She then pushed her fingers inside herself and started to masturbate quickly and rhythmically, breathing hard and savouring the feeling, while looking forward to - no, lamenting that she wasn't already - making a nice big meal of it at the beach.

As she started to come, she bit her lip and grunted animally, her chest rose and fell, her breasts bounced merrily up and down, faster and faster. Then, a moment later, it was over. She sighed her relief and her frustration: now that she'd had the idea of going to the beach, nothing else was going to leave her satisfied. She grabbed some pyjamas and got into bed, once again covered with sweat.

The rest of the week ground on, and Becky's frustration was growing. She found herself idly looking at pictures of beaches, and when Sunday finally came round, she started to feel the familiar 'butterflies' in her belly. She whiled away the whole of the day in her bedroom, without even getting dressed. She just sat in her room, reading and playing games on her computer, only leaving her room to use the toilet and get food. But more than anything else, she watched her clock and the colour of the sky. She heard her parents go to bed around midnight, and waited for the clicks that meant they had put their lights off to go to sleep. She leaned back in her seat and rubbed her feet up and down the carpet, looking forward to feeling sand between her toes - 'yes,' she thought, 'I am going to take all my clothes off!'

She knew what had happened a few months ago when she'd gone out to the river bank, and she didn't want it to happen again, so she made herself go into the bathroom to have a dump. As soon as she'd done it, she was glad: it would have been difficult to deal with if it had happened when she got there. While she was in the bathroom, she stooped down to the cold tap and had a very long drink of cold water. When she was nervous, she became unquenchably thirsty. Yes, she could see a potential problem there, but she was pretty sure that she could deal with it. When she finished her drink, she returned to her bedroom, where she dressed in jeans and a jumper, and some socks and her trainers.

Downstairs, she picked up one of her coats that was hanging up by the front door, and quickly looked through her pockets. Her lights were there. There was something else she thought might help. After briefly running to the bathroom and fetching a small plastic tub she went back to where her coat was. She pulled it on, put the tub she'd just got from the bathroom in her pocket with her lights, and got keys out from one pocket, and a cigarette from another, and then walked out through the door, locked it, and lit the cigarette. Just for a moment, she leaned back on the door with her eyes shut, and smoked the cigarette, and then she went and got her bike. She put the lights on, mounted the bike, and kicked off. The cigarette hung out of one side of her mouth, and as she pedalled along she puffed away. When the cigarette was finished, she spat it out toward the pavement. She turned corners here and there, and before long settled into a slow, steady rhythm.

She cycled along roads, round corners, and through one or two small roundabouts, feeling slightly nervous about what she was on her way to. Well, she goaded herself into believing she was only 'slightly' nervous: in reality she was so nervous that she was heartily glad that she had visited the toilet before setting out, because her guts were writhing around with the ferocity of several hungry cobras. Eventually, she started to recognize that she was getting close to her destination.

Now she was getting close, and it was the right time, because her legs were beginning to ache, and she felt the water she drank before setting off was going to want to be let back out soon. Just a turn left here, another couple of hundred yards up, and a right turn, and she was there. When she arrived, she got of the bike and locked it, and leaned on the bike for a moment before she straightened up and started to walk to the beach. By some chance, the night was clear, and she could see the stars and the now full moon in the sky, and reflected on the water. She looked around herself and quickly walked over to the edge of the sea defence wall. The sand was about three feet down, and the sea was maybe twenty yards out. The closest houses were about fifty yards away from her, and there was another wall behind her: she had cycled past the area that was right next to the houses. The street lights were as far away of the houses, too, meaning that the high wall behind her cast a long stretch of darkness around and ahead of her.

She jumped down into the sand, and as she landed, she felt her bladder constrict slightly. She'd not realized how much she needed to pee, and now she was thinking about it, it was worse: a wave of desperation crashed over her, and she didn't think she could move. She decided she'd risk it anyway, though - standing here all night wasn't going to do her any good. 'Damn it,' she said to herself, 'I knew this would happen. Why did I drink all that water?' So she deftly unfastened the button and fly on her jeans, and pushed her thumbs under the waistband. She hesitated for a moment to give the wave a chance to subside, and then, in one fluid motion, she pulled her jeans and underwear down and squatted. She must have misjudged though, or maybe let go too early, because the next thing she knew she was spurting not only onto the cool, dry sand, but also all over her jeans. 'For fuck's sake.' But she didn't stop, she couldn't. She needed to let it out, and the feeling of letting it go was purely blissful to her.

When the flow finally subsided, she pulled her jeans up for a moment so she could move a few feet away. They felt cold and damp, and she felt pee squelch in her trainers. She closed her eyes and grunted her irritation. At the same time, though, she found it sort of arousing. She moved a few feet, maybe nine, away, and pulled her jeans down again. Then she sat herself in the cool sand, and ground a little. Off came the trainers and socks, and the jeans came off completely. She rolled her socks up and put one into each trainer, and ground her feet and legs into the sand, and found the feeling of the sand flowing through her toes extremely relaxing. Next came the jumper, she took it off and placed it on top of her trainers and jeans. She didn't wear a bra, never had: she found them uncomfortable.

So here she was again, on an adventure of sorts. Lying in the dark under the shade of the wall, in the sand. She looked out to sea, and felt herself wriggle. She was looking out over a long sea, and if she looked up a little bit she saw all the stars, and the large, full moon. Even more open then ever before.

She stroked her breasts a little bit with both hands. Her nipples were erect from what was left of the Winter chill in the air, and she brushed them lightly against her palms. The feeling was extremely nice. She pushed her hands onto her breasts and flattened them against her chest. They were just about big enough to fill her hands, and looked perfect to her whenever she saw them. She rubbed them together a little bit, and stroked them. She loved the feeling of doing this outside, and really hated that she'd not been able to do it recently. The cold had made her freeze completely: she'd tried to go out and take care of herself, but she just hadn't been able to stand it.

After stroking her breasts for a couple of minutes, Becky allowed her hands to wander down a little bit. She caressed her stomach with both hands, and squeezed her thighs together repeatedly. While she continued to contract her thighs, she slowly brought her hands down to just below her navel, and started to massage the area around her bladder. She pressed downward with her fingers slightly, and continued working her way down to the magic spot. When her fingers got where she wanted them to be, she relaxed and parted her legs and rubbed her hands against her pussy.

She brought her left hand back up and started to play with her breasts again, and slowly began to masturbate with her right. She curled the index and middle fingers of her right hand inside herself, and trailed the middle finger of her left up and down in her cleavage. This she carried on for a few minutes.

When she was closer to feeling properly relaxed, she decided to see if she could risk playing with her other hole as well, so she withdrew her fingers from inside her pussy and brushed past her anus with her index finger. She shuddered with unexpected pleasure. The hole felt OK, so she went to her coat and took out the tub she'd put there earlier. She unscrewed the lid and sniffed: vapour rub. Her middle and third fingers went in, and then she carefully deposited the vapour rub between her legs. She then screwed the lid back on the tub and replaced it in her coat pocket. Raising her bottom off the sand, she supported herself with her left hand and started to rub the jelly into herself; pushing it against and into whichever orifice her fingers were closer to.

As soon as she had started to rub, she gasped. The cold feeling of the vapour rub against her hot pussy and anus was delicious. Pretty soon she was working her anus with her left hand and her pussy with her right, each set of fingers going in when the other came out. While she masturbated, she looked around again at the sky and the sea. The area she had chosen to do her duty was bathed in total darkness; she could only see what she was doing by the vague reflected light that was being reflected from the sea, a mingling of light from the lamp posts tens of yards away, moonlight from hundreds of thousands of miles away, and stars from billions of miles away.

She breathed slowly and deeply, inhaling the smells of the sea and the vapour rub. She closed her eyes momentarily and smiled to herself: now, finally, she was fully relaxed. When she opened her eyes again, she strained to see her glistening pussy and the blurred hands that were working on it and her anus. She opened her mouth wide and breathed in deeper than before. She wasn't too far from coming now, and she wanted to flood her body with oxygen for when the moment came. So she lay in she sand naked and masturbating her two holes, with her mouth open and forcing herself to breathe in as deeply as her lungs would allow.

Her breathing started to pick up speed. She looked down at herself again, and saw the frenzied movements of her two hands, her pale, thin, perfect legs and feet, her toes starting to curl in the sand. She ground the base of her back into the sand and looked at her own breasts, which were rippling in their own firm way, and then she looked into the space before her, and tried to imagine the look on her own face.

Then the moment came: the speed at which she breathed finally matched the ferocious speed of her fingering, and the pounding in her head told her that her heart was beating at the same rate too. Her feet curled so much that they ached, and her beasts seemed no longer to be rippling slightly, but swinging round in circles as she ground her hips and her buttocks into the sand. There was sand getting into her anus, but she didn't care, she looked at the moon and growled, deeply and from the back of her throat, with her mouth still open. She breathed so hard that her mouth was beginning to feel dry and her head was spinning, and her vagina and her anus began to contract. They squeezed the fingers in them, as a hungry baby would suck its mother's teat. She carried on masturbating, becoming more and more violent by the second as she came powerfully and loudly under the full moon.

She slowed her pace down: the orgasm was over. She didn't stop, but she went on slowly so she could build the pressure up again. She thought while she continued, how much she must have sounded like a mad dog, baying at the moon. She unclenched her feet and wriggled her toes to relax them, and was as quiet as she could be for a minute or two. She'd put herself as far as she dared from the houses, but there was still a chance someone might have heard her, so she wanted to be alert, in case somebody had heard and come outside to investigate.

The feeling of the orgasm hadn't quite left. She had kept her pace just right, so that she could surf the edge of horniness, and her holes were still contracting every minute or so. After carrying on like this, she began to speed up again. She knew she wasn't having an orgasm, and she still felt terribly horny, so she decided to build up to a full orgasm again.

Slowly, she increased her speed. Little by little, speeding up a little bit every minute or so. After about ten minutes, she was beginning to gasp again, and she found herself flushing hard, and her eyes shutting tightly. Her mouth closed as she breathed hard through her nose, grunting every breath. This felt like a bigger one than before. She rammed all the fingers of her left hand up her anus, and pushed her thumb up into her pussy, and she started to bend all her fingers inside herself: the fingers of her right hand finding her G-spot as though they had put it there themselves. She pushed her right palm against her mound above her clitoris and grabbed hard, stimulating both G-spot and clitoris the way she was made her look as though she was trying to pull her pussy up to her throat.

Her teeth were anchored together, and her tongue thrust against them as though trying to push them out of her jaw. Her hot fingers inside her two holes made her feel like she was floating in some thick, sexually charged fluid. She brought her feet about nine inches closer to her and straightened her legs as hard as she could, lifting her bottom half completely out of the sand. As she started to come again, she felt like somebody had lit the insides of her vagina, and she pushed against her G-spot even harder with her three fingertips, and the fingers in her anus wiggled around like mad, and her head spun fast. She started to squirt hot, sexually charged fluid out of her vagina, and as she did she fought against the powerful constricting muscles to masturbate even harder. She knew nothing any more, only that she was having her orgasm. No, she was the orgasm; the girl who was having them was no longer there. She distantly heard a loud scream that she suspected might be coming from her own mouth.

The loudness of the scream woke her up, and the orgasm cut itself off. She pulled her fingers out of herself fast: she had to get dressed, and quick. She'd just given herself away: she could hear someone unlocking their front door in the distance. Her heart raced so fast and hard that she could hear it loud and clear as she quickly put her t-shirt, jeans and trainers back on. Ignoring the sharp coldness in her jeans, she grabbed her socks and wet underwear and thrust them into her coat pocket as she ran up the steps, off the sand, and to her bike. By the time she'd got to her bike she had put her coat on and zipped it, and she fumbled to unlock her bike, which she then mounted without putting her lights on first. As she looked round she saw the person who had just opened their door and stepped outside. It was a young man wearing just boxers and a t-shirt, and judging by the way he was leaning against the threshold he had come outside a few moments ago. He looked straight into her eyes for a moment, and she couldn't stand him doing so because she just knew he knew exactly what she had just been doing. As she kicked off hard and started pushing as hard as she could against her peddles, she even saw the man stroke the front of his shorts before she sped round the corner and along the road as fast as she could.

This all happened in less than half a minute, and when she stopped for a second at the opposite end of the road to put her lights on, she could barely believe that she had been masturbating harder than she ever had just one minute ago. She stood for a moment to recover. She felt so dizzy that she could barely see. Roughly, she wiped her hands on her jeans and took a cigarette out and lit it, and stood a little longer smoking, leaning on her bike. When she had nearly finished smoking the cigarette, and was feeling a little less faint, she thought she saw the man at the other end of the road, now wearing a jacket and shoes. Her heart thumped again, and she threw the butt into the road and set off again, this time not as worried that he would actually catch her, because she was on a bike and he wasn't.

She came closer to home, and started to really think about what had just happened. She had been caught masturbating, caught right in the middle of a powerful orgasm. Caught by a young man who she distinctly saw stoke his penis through his underwear. After hearing her orgasmic scream. Becky's own orgasm woke a man and as a result he had stroked himself. She wondered for a moment: 'is he masturbating right now? Is he gripping his cock, thinking of me?' Her vaginal muscles spasmed a few times and she gasped and nearly fell off her bike. She realized a second later that she had just had a small orgasm. Just by thinking about what had happened. She instantly became just as horny as she had been before.

By the time she arrived at her own house, she found herself heartily grinding her pussy against the bicycle seat, through her damp jeans. She felt the texture, and immediately forgot the immense fright she had just had. Now, she just felt horny again. She put her bike away and went into the house, running upstairs to her room and grabbing her pillow. She ran back outside and went to her garden, the first place she had ever masturbated outdoors in.

She took her coat and t-shirt off, and then her jeans and trainers joined them. She took the tub of vapour rub out again and started to rub it into herself. Lying on the dewy grass, she turned herself around and kicked her pillow so she could jam her face into it, which she did immediately. Pretty soon, her two hands and their respective fingers were doing exactly what they had been doing before that fatal scream on the beach. She was lying face down, with her breasts rubbing against the grass, and the grass was being ground into her knees and feet. Her nose was taking a lot of weight; it felt like it was going to break. She didn't care, she was here again: the pulsing started again and she moved her head so that her chin was taking the weight, and she opened her mouth wide, thinking of that man, who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than her, stroking his cock while thinking of her. She forced herself to scream as loud as she could into the pillow, which muffled the sound but didn't drown it out completely. She did it again, and then her lungs pushed another scream out of their own accord. Her bottom was high up in the air, and she had raised her knees off the grass so that she was balanced on her toes. The pressure in her head was becoming immense, too intense for her to contain. And finally, just as she thought her head was going to explode, it went away with a massive 'whoosh,' and she felt herself squirt copiously onto the grass. She heard it hitting the ground, and then wave after wave of fiery pleasure swept over her, taking her with them into her own private Orgasm Land.

She collapsed. The waves of pleasure brought her back and deposited her back on her own back lawn. She was completely exhausted, both mentally and physically. After a good several minutes, she started to move, in a bit of a daze. Had that just happened? She felt her pussy carefully. Sand. Just a little bit of sand. She stood up slowly and grabbed her clothes, and went to the back door. Of course it was locked. She hadn't got that key with her. She got her front door key and quickly ran, still naked, to the front door, and ran in. She ran to her room with the bundle still in her arms, and threw it down next to her bed. She didn't even shut the door; she just turned the light on and grabbed her diary and a roll of Sellotape. She bit a few inches off, spread her legs wide, and stuck it over her still-wet pussy to grab some of the sand. When she pulled it off it brought the sand off, and a few hairs. She gasped with pain, but recovered a second later, and glanced at her clock. It was half quarter to four in the morning. She opened her diary to today's date, seized a pen, and wrote:

(Monday, April 21, 2003)
Just to prove to myself that I went and fucked myself at the beach this morning. It felt so good, I'm still tingling!


She threw the pen back in the drawer and looked at the page. She could see the sand, one or two pubic hairs, a bit of skin, a faint shiny trace of the vapour rub, and even a bit of her own juices that had been carried by the tape. She could even faintly see the outline of her own slit near the middle. She licked the tape slowly, shut the book, and put it away, along with the roll of Sellotape, in her drawer. She looked through her door and remembered that she'd not locked the front door when she came in, so she quietly picked up her keys, went downstairs and locked it.

When she got back to her room, she realized she needed to wash herself. She couldn't go to bed covered with sand and vapour rub. So she went into the bathroom and started to wash herself at the sink, inside and out, with warm water. She finished and went back into her room, where she shut the door, turned the light off, and got into bed.

She got very little sleep that night because of having to get up to go to college, but she wasn't too preoccupied with violently fucking herself any more. She was thinking about him.
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