Lynn's first boyfriend had been a dedicated surfer. She had fallen hopelessly in love with him, although some would say that it was only puppy love, or an immature infatuation based mostly on external masculine attributes. For almost a year she had been a member of that group of girls that follow their men to the beach and wait for them to return from the sea, poised on beach mats wearing the skimpiest of bikinis, never going near the water least it wash away an eyelash. A surf bunny; cute, sexy companion to a carefree seeker of the perfect wave.
Lynn's young man liked to go out alone, so they usually went to out-of-the-way, deserted places. She rather enjoyed being alone, as she often tired of the trite chatter of the other girls, who talked only about boys, clothes, makeup, and parties, and who's every fourth word was bitchin'. She read a lot, books by T.S. Eliot, D.H. Lawrence, and many other great authors, and historical fiction like the works of James Clavell. Something a true surf bunny would never be caught doing.
A few times in her reading she had come across depictions of cruelty that aroused her in a strangely provocative way. An Englishman who sneaked off to meet his mistress who beat him with a riding crop. A French noblewoman who entertained her guests by punishing her chambermaid, tying her naked to a corner of her canopy bed and letting each have a turn spanking her with a slipper. How Chinese warlords would kidnap women from warring clans and beat their bound feet or hang heavy weights from their toes until they fell off. A Russian princess who enjoyed having her feet tickled until she was delirious, and who often did the same to unfortunate court retainers.
There was another time that her fascination with cruelty was titillated. Her boyfriend took her to see the movie Thunderball, and although she was amused with double-oh-seven's ways with the ladies, the scene in which the evil ship captain tortures his girlfriend left her faint and breathless. There was just a second where she was shown tied to the bed, her lover leaning over her with a lit cigar and a bowl of ice, demanding that she spill the beans about Bond. Later she could be heard screaming, which sent chills up Lynn's back, and a moment later she was shown with a big burn on the side of her breast. By then Lynn's palms were clammy and she thought she was going to faint.
Afterwards they had parked up on Tantalus, and when they started petting she could only think of being tied down like that woman. She had grabbed the handle over the passenger's seat of her boyfriend's V.W. bug and pretended to be tied there, demanding that her boyfriend keep fingering her clit for almost an hour while she came screaming over and over again.
It was around that time that she started masturbating regularly, almost every night, and created a number of fantasy scenarios that blended together elements of cruelty and her life as a surf bunny. These were her darkest secretes, shared with no one, especially her boyfriend. In fact, their sexual contact was limited to a lot of finger fucking, some good oral sex, and, on occasion, real intercourse. Lynn was very disappointed with intercourse, as it all happened so fast that she was just getting started when he collapsed in a heap on top of her. She quickly discovered that she got much more excited, and the fireworks were much better, when she thought about one of her secrete stories. For some reason, for which she had no explanation, the boys in her fantasies did not look much like her real boyfriend.
In one such fantasy she was laying on her back, on a small patch of sand surrounded by huge outcroppings of rock. All she had on was a tiny Tahitian print bikini, the kind that tied with bow knots at the hips. She was spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles tied by lengths of rope about two feet long to stakes driven deep into the sand. She did not struggle to get free. The air was filled with the booming sound of surf crashing into the rocks along the coast.
Her lover sat next to her, a copper skinned local boy, strikingly handsome with a well developed body. His surfboard was laying on the sand behind him. It was late afternoon, and although the air was still hot the sun was blocked by the high cliff on their right. Despite his presence, the absence of any sound other than the booming surf made it seem like a lonely, isolated place.
He leaned over and started kissing her, moving his head slowly in a little circular motion, then darting his tongue out and toying with hers. Only their mouths touched. She started to struggle a little, wanting very much to hold him, to pull him down on top of her, to wrap her arms around him and hug him as tightly as she could. She felt terribly frustrated at being unable to move her arms and legs so much as an inch.
His right shoulder dropped as he reached for something in the direction of her feet. A rock, a sand crab? His face blocked most of her field of vision. Suddenly, with a start, she felt something funny between her legs. Just the lightest of feelings, almost nothing more than an itch. She twisted her head to break their kiss and strained to raise her head enough to see what it might be.
His fingers were poised between her legs, and even as she looked he began stroking them again across her cunt. She realized that he was actually rubbing the pubic hair that crowned the top of her cunt in a soft black bush, covered by the thin cotton of her bikini. She let her head drop back to the sand and smiled at him, hoping that he would kiss her again.
He smiled back, his white teeth sparkling brilliantly against the background of a darkly tanned face. Wisps of hair, bleached by the sun to a reddish brown, fell down over his eyes. He didn't kiss her again. He just continued to stroke her, as softly as possible, between the legs.
The sensation started to annoy her, like an itch that can't be scratched. She wanted him to stop, but said nothing. Gradually her feelings changed, and in a minute what she really wanted was for him to press harder. He kept up the maddeningly light strokes that she found so intolerable, as if he were trying to bush an ant off her crotch without squashing it. She could feel her cunt getting warm, the blood rushing to swell her lips and clit. She knew that by now she would be dripping wet, but she was bound so tightly that she couldn't tell.
Occasionally his fingers strayed farther down between her legs, to where her lips were not so heavily protected by bushy hair. She could actually feel his fingers on her skin, the thin cotton doing almost nothing to lessen the intensity of feeling. Each time this happened she shuddered involuntarily, but was glad for it as it might make him do it more. She wanted him to take her, to strip off her bikini bottom and ram his cock home deep inside her. Ten or fifteen minutes had passed, and still he only touched her lightly, as though handling a rare orchid blossom.
Without warning he sprang up, picked up his board, and started walking towards the ocean. She lifted her head up and watched him walk away, furious for leaving her so excited and unfulfilled. She dropped her head back to the sand, wanting nothing more than to be able to reach down and stroke her clit with her fingers. She was powerless to do anything but wait.
Suddenly she was aware of her predicament. A beautiful young girl alone on a desolate stretch of beach somewhere along the south shore, tied helplessly spread-eagled on the sand, her lover hundreds of yards out in the water. What if someone came? Or even saw her? What if someone told her parents? Her friends at school?
The buzz of a small plane rose above the constant whoosh of the surf breaking over the rocks. Far away, high, out of sight behind the rocks. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Someone coming? Would they set her free? Rape her? Torture her with burning cigarettes? What if the dog came along and started to lick her feet, like the Pilgrims used to do to people in stocks?
She craned her neck and caught a glimpse of her lover taking off on a wave, a tiny speck almost lost against the vast Pacific ocean. The sound of the plane grew louder. Suddenly it came into view over the edge of the rock cliffs, the engines growling with a rumbling burble. It was one of those planes with two little tails, the kind that took tourists on sightseeing flights. She prayed that they would not see her, or if they did, that they were too high to see that she was tied down. The plane passed over and in seconds was behind the other cliff. Her lover spun and dropped down on his board, his ride over, the water around him churning in brilliant white foam so bright in the afternoon sun that to stare at it made her eyes water.
Time passed. It could have been an hour. It started to get dark, the clouds to the west turning orange. Her lover appeared, set his board down, and stood staring at her while trying to catch his breath. He knelt beside her and tugged at the bows at her hips and between her breasts, laying her bare to the wind and sky. Then he stood and pulled down his baggy shorts.
His dick was huge, as big as his forearm. It swelled even as she watched until it hung down past his knees. She was curious where he managed to put it inside his pants, and couldn't believe that such a big thing could find room inside her.
He squatted down on the sand between her legs and started to rub his cock lightly over her cunt, spreading her lips with his fingers and coating them both with her wetness. Then he lined it up, slowly worked the tip in, paused for a moment, then lunged and rammed it inside her.
Despite his enormous size she felt no pain, only the most overwhelming pleasure imaginable. She felt completely filled, satiated, and satisfied. At first he just held it there, not moving at all. Then, just as the pleasure faded enough that it was no longer on the brink of being unbearable, he started to pump it slowly in and out. As it went it she felt wonderfully full, and on the way out it tugged on the lips of her cunt, drawing them out along its shaft. More waves of pleasure exploded through her. Not the release of an orgasm, but pleasure just as intense that she knew was going to build even higher.
Every few strokes he leaned forward and arched his back as he drew out his huge cock, rubbing the edge directly over her hard, shiny clit. Every time he did this she screamed, the feeling too intense to be withstood otherwise. Was it pleasure or pain? She couldn't tell. But she wanted it, just like that, as long as possible. She was thankful that she was tied down, or she knew she would give in and twist away, unable to endure the intensity of it. This way she had no choice but to endure it. Sexual torture. No whips. No chains. Just sensations so intensely mind blowing that she had to be tied down to endure it, and it was incredibly good.