Sunday, mid-summer, 2017, the year I turned sixteen. Our first day back from The Netherlands. I had spent the last two weeks working at the BDSM club in Amsterdam and it seemed strange to think I couldn't head back out to work again tonight. I woke at 4:30AM and lay in bed for a while. I heard my father head downstairs and got up to make him breakfast. He was going surf casting and I happily accepted his invitation to go along. Just us two. We hopped in his car and drove to Dunkin' Donuts for some bagels and headed to the beach. I felt great. I was happy and relaxed. I love being with my dad. We hopped on 128 and in no time were at West Beach. It was raining slightly so there was no one about but a few kayakers and fishermen. We walked out to the jetty and Dad set up his rods. I stayed with him a while and then set off down the beach to run.
Heading south, I got a good view of the properties along the water. There was a time when only old New England families lived along the water, old money, Cabots and Lodges. Now the land was being taken over by the people who built the high-tech corridor around Boston. The old homes were being replaced by steel and glass structures and the driveways were sprinkled with Teslas. Still apparent were the telescopes that dotted the upper porches. I took off my shirt and my bra, wet with the rain, in case the residents had tired of looking at the horizon and might enjoy a view of my bare bosom.
A mile and a half out I stopped at the remains of an old pier. I scrunched down, half-hidden among some of the remains, my breasts still bare. This far out on sunny days, some girls sunbathe topless right on the beach, but I don't. I pulled off my shorts and slipped my hand in my undies. Sitting there looking out at the ocean, almost alone, I thought about performing at the Amsterdam club. I missed the attention of the men and the pleasures of being whipped. The whistle as it cut through the air, the shock of the blow against my naked body, the writhing with the pain that spread from the fine red welt across my bare ass, the cry of pain that escaped my lips, the silent plea for mercy. My breathing quieted some and I tried to prepare for the next blow. Then the whistle again and it all repeated. Thirty-nine times.
Meanwhile, back on the beach, the rain had made my underpants transparent, so much so I could see my girlhood right through them. I felt really sexy. I closed my eyes and gave myself a nice long feel. Spread my legs and poked my middle finger inside. After just two minutes I was ready. I shut my eyes and leaned back and all of a sudden I got there. I pushed my hips forward and my breath came quicker and presto, wham, bam, over the falls in a barrel and I just came and came and came and it was so fucking glorious and my body just floated off into never-never land and I'm not sure how long it lasted and finally, little by little I started coming back down and my body stopped shaking and I could think again and I was again at West Beach. And all of a sudden I was no longer alone. Two fishermen came up behind me and started walking out among the ruins. They passed like six feet from me. I sat up quick and squeezed my boobs tight against my knees to try to maintain some shred of dignity, but they just kept on walking.
For a little bit, I stayed there just enjoying the feel of the rain. I had to pee so I got up and started running back down the beach toward my dad. After a bit, I dropped my undies and took care of the excess coffee. I ran on again. At one point an old man came walking along the hard sand below me and I felt so sexy I didn't even bother to cover my tits as I went by. But I don't think he even noticed me. Again I was alone with myself and it was great. I felt the wind and the rain on my nearly nude body. I love being naked outdoors. It feels so good. I saw no one else but I amused myself thinking that guys with those long spyglasses were peering at me from just inside the windows of the oceanfront homes. On a whim, I stopped and took off my panties and walked slowly along the water's edge the rest of the way bare-ass. A hundred yards from where Dad was fishing, I stopped and put on my undies. As I walked up to him, nearly nude in my transparent little underthings, he never turned a hair.
"How was the run?"
"Good. How's the fishing?"
"Sucks." Must have been because he never uses bad language in front of me.
We stayed there for hours. Then he took me for pizza. We were both starving. I love my dad.
