Secret part 1

With my hands lifting her by her slightly flared hips, I drove my own forward. A satisfying slap filled the air as we met, her compact bottom meeting my crotch. Her golden round globes didn't quite meet the middle of my thighs, but she dipped her lower back in response to my driving member and arched her graceful neck. Her damp hair cascaded down her upper back in a golden wave as she cried out,"YES!"
She clenched her minute butt as I withdrew from her slick, smooth tunnel and pulled her back against me again, again, again. Soon a pinkish hue overtook her tanned buttocks from our passionate contacts.
I could hardly believe that I'd met this diminutive minx earlier in the day walking down the crowded beach. I had had my camera in hand, as hoping to catch shots of the setting sun as it dipped below the horizon, a recent favorite pastime of mine.
The weather had been balmy, a few clouds dotted the sky as the waves lazily approached the shore. The water near the shoreline had been amazingly clear. At five feet, I could still see pebbles on the bottom almost as clearly as those on the shore.
As I'd waited for sunset, I passed the time by taking a few photos of people enjoying the beautiful summer afternoon. Several families had brought picnic lunches and finished eating. Mothers had admonished children not to go out into deeper water so soon after eating, meeting with whines and complaints.
A group of young men had been playing volleyball, jumping and diving, kicking up sand in their competitive efforts. There'd a great deal of jeering, laughing, and good natured ribbing as they served, set, and spiked the ball repeatedly.
That's when I'd first seen her.
She'd stood off to the side of the game, watching. Her light eyes had followed the ball's arc as it crested then dropped to the ground with a thud. Her head had been tilted back, displaying her becoming neck. She'd shaded her azure eyes with her graceful left hand, light colored nail polish catching the sun's rays. At the time, her blonde hair fluttered in the slight breeze, brushing the tops of her tawny finely boned shoulders.
A high forehead had set the stage for her alluring features. Her strong nose had spoken of Polish, German or Russian ancestry. Her cheekbones, jawline and chin could've belonged on any magazine cover.
She'd worn a two piece bathing suit, the top white, the bottoms almost matched the color of her muscular sun kissed hips and thighs. Her legs had been long, almost coltish. Her lower back had been dipped in, her derriere arched out.
Her self assurance had said that the men should be paying attention to her rather than the sport in which they had been engaged. One of the young men had cried that the ball had landed out of bounds. Another of his friends then said that his mother was out of bounds. Her laughter had rang out in the late summer air. The joke hadn't been that funny, but her light pink lips had parted to reveal even teeth.
I couldn't understand why they seemed to be almost purposefully ignoring this lovely young woman who had been obviously clamoring for their attention. Admittedly, she was small, the top of her head had not quite reached the bottoms of their chests.
Then it had struck me: the bathing suit top pressed tightly against her bosom and almost imperceptible flair of her hips had spoken of a girl, not a woman. These red-blooded men were trying to get the attention of the well curved women wandering up and down the shore, cellphones in hand, not the waif that had perched on the side of their game.
I had been just about to leave and make my way to where I'd wanted to take my sunset pictures when she then turned her back to me. I had been nearly floored by what I saw. Her bathing suit bottom had been a quarter of an inch from being a thong! Her well rounded bottom had been on display for us all, and from how nicely tanned it was, she'd worn this suit a few times before. I'd nearly dropped my camera!
The look of frustration on her face had been clear. She hadn't been able to get any of these men to look at her sideways no matter how she'd arched or laughed at their antics. She then spun on her heel and stalked in my direction, the wind had blown her burnished gold tresses back from her almost angelic face.
She had nearly ran into me headlong, stopping just short of a crash. Her well formed hips and thighs had rippled with the effort and I then found myself wondering how well her bottom had quivered.
She'd looked up at me, our eyes locked. Instantly, the frustrated look had melted from her face. Somehow, she could tell that I'd seen her and not as a silly little girl, but as a woman.
"Hello," she'd said with a trace of an accent.
"Hi," I'd managed.
"You take pictures?" She had pointed at my camera.
"Yeah. I like to take pictures of the sunset," I'd explained.
A look of confusion then crossed her features. At that time, I pointed towards the setting sun, then mimicked taking a picture with my camera. Understanding had dawned on her face with a smile, my heart fluttered in my chest.
"You take pictures of girls too?" she then ventured.
"Sometimes," I had replied.
"Take picture of me?"
At that time, I paused. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I had known that taking her picture could be bad news. The year before, some overprotective parents of some teen girls on the beach had accused me of taking pictures of their daughters and the police had been called. At that time, the cops took my camera and inspected it. Not finding a single picture of any of the girls on it, they had handed it back to me and wished me a good day. Still, the whole situation had rattled me and I was extra careful not to take pictures of young girls. I'd always deleted any that did.
But here was a beautiful young girl begging me to take her picture. She'd seen the look of concern on my face and misread why it was there.
"Not pretty?" she then said, crestfallen.
She had lowered her head, turned to her left and taken a step. My eye traveled down to the side of her exposed buttock, noting how well it shimmied as she'd stepped.
"Hey!" I had said, resisting the urge to reach out and stop her.
She then stopped and turned her head to look over her shoulder at me. At that time I did my best to try and maintain eye contact. I then felt like a louse because I saw a tear rolling down her face and all I could do was try and not think about looking at her exposed rear.
"You're very pretty," I then said. "Are your parents here? Your mom or dad?"
She'd wiped the tear from her face, brushing her finger across her almost goddess like features. She then furrowed her forehead. She hadn't understood me.
"Mom or dad? Mama or Papa?"
Then she smiled again as she understood and nodded. At that time, she reached out for my hand and without thinking, I had grasped hers. Her hand felt warm and soft in mine as we had trudged through the soft sand. I had been quite proud of myself, managing to not sneek a peek at her rear, which I'm sure quivered nicely with each step.
We'd walked for about five minutes, stopping near a red towel with a yellow rope design along its length. Laying nearby had been an older woman in a yellow bikini with black stripes. She'd been laying on her back, the crook of her elbow shaded her eyes from the sun. A rumpled yellow and brown towel laid under her, the rolls of her abdomen had been exposed to the sun.
As the golden haired girl had stopped, she began to rattle off in a language that I had no clue of. I'd caught the word "Mama," as she began her tirade. The older woman hadn't stirred, but after a minute said a single syllable
From the girl's reaction, it must have been consent. She then squealed, pulled my by the hand over to the red towel lay and lay down on it.
"You take picture of me," she'd said, the unmistakable smile of joy on her face a delight for me to behold.
So, I'd raised my camera and began doing just that. I had been surprised as how well she posed. She'd required little instruction and the language barrier wasn't a problem. I'd simply pointed to which part of her body I wanted her to reposition and motioned in which direction for her to move in.
I learned her name wan Nadia as we worked together. After each shot, she would demand to see the results, excitement fueling her hand gestures. She'd lean in close to examine herself on the small screen of my digital camera. Each time she did, the scent of her hair would fill my nose. It was the smell of the salt air combined with whatever fragrance that her shampoo had left behind along with the warmth that would seem to emanate from her in waves.
The best pose, in my opinion was the one where she'd lain on her belly. Her head had been upright, hands under her chin, fingers splayed outward to show off her nail polish a red friendship bracelet had shown on her left wrist. Slightly parted lips had revealed her top teeth as her flaxen hair, parted in the middle in a slightly zigzag fashion, laid on her browned shoulders. She had dipped her lower back in and raised her hips slightly, pushing her mostly exposed haunches into the air. Her lower legs had bent upwards into the air, the toes of her feet pointed. The light and shadows along her legs had told the story of their strength.
Her expression had been difficult to fathom. Her light eyes had been wide open, looking into the lens as I took the picture. But what it had not captured was her breathing. She drew in air as if she'd just finished running, excited to be in front of the camera, I thought.
I'd brought it over for her to examine as she'd requested before. She then leaned in to look at herself once more. As before, her smell had filled my nose. I'd inhaled her scent deeply and she then turned her face up to gaze into my eyes.

11 days ago

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