Cottage by the Sea

Eva Monroe
20 mins read
Published 10 months ago
Chapter 1

Cottage by the Sea

This series is proudly sponsored by - the award-winning female-led and female-focused indie adult cinema company, bringing you feminist porn for women, men, and couples since 1999.

You’re sleeping next to me when I slide out of bed, beckoned by the sea breezes drifting in through the open window. I should be cold in my flimsy, silk chemise (and equally insubstantial sleep shorts), but I’m still warm from our escapades of the night before, not to mention lying next to you and the heat that seems to permanently radiate from your bare skin.

Stretching in front of the billowing curtains, I arch my back and feel my nipples harden, relishing the sensation of sensitive flesh straining against gossamer fabric. There’s a floor mirror to the left of the window, capturing the reflection of my barely covered body. The image - my image - instantly turns me on. All that exposed skin… my perky nipples aching to escape their delicate enclosure… and if I turn just a little, there’s my substantial bottom peeking out, refusing to be constrained by the paltry efforts of satin and lace.

What really gets me riled up is the realization that I’m flaunting all of this right in front of the wide-open window, where any passersby out for an early morning stroll would be treated to the sight of my wanton, nearly naked figure. I linger a moment longer, tempting fate… 

The welcome incursion made on my body comes not from the front but behind. First, your hands land gently on my hips, sliding up and around my torso to graze over my breasts, ever so lightly caressing my nipples. I lean back into you, pulling your arms around me.

Nuzzling your face against the warm, bare surface of my neck, you murmur into my skin.

“Awfully risky, don’t you think… standing here with so few clothes on. Someone might see you.”

With a little shrug, I smile and meet your gaze in the mirror. You lick the smattering of freckles on top of my left shoulder, then bite into me with a soft nibble.

“The air smells so good and feels so good, I couldn’t resist,” I say, all faux innocence.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, with just a hint of upbraiding in your voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing this morning?” you ask.

 I acquiesce with a sigh.

“Yes, yes… I will. But first I need coffee. And a snack,” I turn to face you with a saucy grin and you chuckle.

“Only food snacks for you until you finish your story,” is your firm reply.

With a light pat on the ass, you send me off to the restroom to freshen up while you start the coffee. For not the first time, I feel a surge of joy at how easily you manage to make me feel both powerfully desired while simultaneously supporting the work I need to finish. Encouraging my writing career does not come at the expense of our enjoyment of each other. On the contrary, our play often fuels the stories I tell. It’s a dream come true in every way.

The fragrant aroma of coffee lures me back to the kitchen. You give me the drink I want, and a small, sweet bowl of berries. But when I lean in to kiss you, your grip, gentle and firm on my chin, halts my eager little mouth. 

With a little tsk, you glance toward my writing desk.

“You have work to do,” you remind me.

“I know, I just thought… maybe a little…” Pressing my tits against you, I look up to meet your gaze. You grin, but hold me at bay. 

“What are we going to do with you?” Resisting my coy “innocence,” you shake your head and sigh. “You know pouting is against the rules,” you admonish.

Pushing my luck, I squirm a little so my breasts rub against your body, making my nipples hard. You look down, clearly enjoying what you see. 

“Not even for a minute?” I nibble my lower lip, wondering if you’ll give in to my temptations.

A familiar, devilish gleam flashes in your eyes, and I know you won’t be giving in. On the contrary, I’m about to be punished for my brazen behavior.

“Since you’re so anxious for me to enjoy you, you can write your smut this morning with your tits out. I want them on display, for me.”

Sliding down the straps of my camisole, you lower them until the silk fabric slips past my tits, exposing them to the crisp morning air. My nipples instantly stand at attention, and you murmur your approval.

“I’ll fix us brunch,” you offer, “and afterwards you can get on your knees for your favorite treat. How does that sound?”

“That, um. Good. It sounds very good,” I stammer.

“Great,” you smile, savoring my fluster.

You tuck my hair behind my ear, a shiver running down my neck, along my collarbone, to my naked skin, stripped of the flimsy fabric that purported to conceal me. I marvel at how the transition from barely covered to fully exposed can feel so significant and salacious. 

Of course, taking my clothes off for you is one thing… while exposing myself for you as punishment is something else entirely.

“Go on,” you command, with a nod toward my desk. “And stay where I can see you.”

With my top now gathered around my waist, I obediently sit in front of my laptop and start to write. Mindful of your instructions, I make sure to sit up straight, giving you the best possible view. 

I set to work, knowing you’re right to help me prioritize it - I have a deadline to meet, after all.

Earlier in my career, I wondered if writing erotica for a living would make me start feeling bored with sex, or desensitized to it. The way someone who fixes cars all day might dread even lifting a hood in their off hours. But instead, writing smut makes me the most earnest, curious, and adventurous I’ve ever been about sex. It amplifies my cravings, makes me ache with the longing to bring my fantasies to life… 

And you are more than happy to indulge me. 

Falling into the rhythm of my story, I get drawn into the escapades of my characters. Now and then, I glance over to watch you cook… Topless and barefoot, your jeans casually hug your hip bones in one of my favorite spots to nibble. You catch me staring, and meeting my gaze, you let your eyes wander, shamelessly ogling my mostly naked body. I love the candid delight you take in watching me… it makes me squirm a little in my chair, and you smirk, enjoying my agitation. 

Pausing in your food prep, you saunter over to stand behind me, reading as I type.

Your hands find my shoulders, your mouth finds my neck.

Murmuring in my ear, your words send quivers down the length of my body.

“Write what I do to you.”

…then you bite, hard, into the tender flesh where shoulder and neck meet, making me gasp with pleasure and surprise.

Your fingers gently caress the contours of my naked breasts, before landing on my pert, eager nipples, ravenous for your touch. Instinctively, I arch my back and push my tits toward you, but you lift your fingers so they barely graze my skin, making me work for it, making me show you how badly I want your hands on me.

I hear a small chuckle escape your lips, bemused by the sight of my tits chasing the treats offered by your hands. I want to be groped, fondled, pinched, and slapped by you, and you know it. You grant me one small, taste, taking each nipple between your fingers to slowly - so, so slowly - squeeze, tighter and tighter, pulling me forward until my tits rub against my hands while I type. 

Gasping for breath, I whimper when you take your fingers away.  You take hold of my face and tilt my gaze up to meet yours.

“No pouting,” you scold, and I bite back my objections.

Moving back to the kitchen, you resume cooking while I try to refocus on the story in front of me. It helps when you give me such delicious fodder to work with, but it also makes me wish I could stop writing and give my body over to you, for you to play with and enjoy as you please. But I know I have to keep working until you tell me breakfast is ready. 

Luckily I don’t have too long to wait. Calling me into the kitchen, you sweetly pull the straps of my camisole back onto my shoulders, “covering” my breasts. They’re still quite visible through the fabric - there’s no mystery as to their shape and size, and of course my nipples are all kinds of conspicuous, still on their determined mission to be free and subjected to your torments. 

 With a small smirk, you suggest we enjoy our repast on the patio.

“Your little display in front of the window this morning…” you step behind me, running your hands down the side of my waist, “…makes me think you’re in the mood to show yourself off,” you tease.

A shiver courses through me at the thought of sitting outside in my tiny, rather useless pajamas. I find myself nodding, agreeing with your assessment.

“Yes, I… think I would like that. Very much,” I admit.

“Mmhm…” you nuzzle my neck for a moment, then take me by the hand and lead me outside. All politeness, you pull out my chair and get me settled at the table, before heading back inside to get our meal. There’s nothing quite like it - the feeling that washes over me in these moments when I am so distinctly both yours to play with and yours to serve. It fills me with abandon, a freedom like no other. 

Never one to serve rudimentary food, you set a plate in front of me featuring lavender waffles with salted honey whipped cream.

Diving into the decadent meal, mere moments pass before an older couple pass by in matching activewear. The man does a double-take, blatantly staring at my tits.

“Good morning!” he says, all smiles.

You raise a friendly hand in reply.

“Good morning!”

The woman next to the man scowls and grabs his arm, pulling him down the street. 

The grin on your face is accentuated by the wagging of your eyebrows.

“I think we could make some friends in this neighborhood,” you say.

“And some enemies,” I answer, pulling a face at the woman, who tosses one last glare over her shoulder.

We share a laugh and tuck back into our meal… 

When we’ve finished, we clear the table together. Since you cooked, I start tackling the dirty dishes.

The touch of your hands on my hips makes me pause in my work.

“Table or chair?” You ask.

“Um… table?” is my guess, as I’m not sure if there’s a right answer here, or even what question I’m answering. 

“Mmm. Good choice,” you murmur, and then, “turn around.” 

I oblige you, abandoning the dishes.

Pulling my body against yours, you kiss me, your hand sliding up my torso, along the side of my breast, my neck, to my jaw… taking hold of my face, you run your thumb along my bottom lip, then slide it into my mouth.

Pressing down on my tongue, your gaze bores into me as you study the effect you’re having… my hands grip the side of the countertop, my back arches toward you… a small thread of saliva starts to trail from my mouth down the side of my chin… 

Biting your lip, you use your fingers to wipe the spit off my face, then slide them into my mouth.

“Open wide,” you command, and I do as I’m told.

Your index finger probes me first, exploring, until it’s joined by your middle finger… together, you use them to plumb the depths of my mouth, down into my throat, seeking the elusive spot that will make me choke and gag for you, sputtering over your fingers. 

When you find it, you treat me to a satisfied smile. Sliding your fingers out of my mouth, you look me over as I pant to catch my breath. As soon as I’m steady, you lean in and kiss me again, soft and gentle.

Adjusting the straps of my camisole, you lower them as before, until my tits are exposed and the silk fabric settles around my waist. Then you take hold of my tiny shorts, rolling the elastic waistband down, down, down… until they turn into a strip of satin perched just underneath my now naked ass.

Assessing your handiwork, you wink and instruct me further.

“Don’t move. Is that understood?” 

I nod, steadying myself for whatever you have in store for me. 

Half-stripped and fully exposed, I watch as you slowly start to clear the kitchen table of dishes and clutter. 

Table or chair.

The question suddenly makes sense.

Coolly, casually, you whistle as you go about your chore. First, the dishes you used to cook are cleared to the sink. Standing next to me, your eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Grab your elbows, behind your back,” you direct me, and I follow your orders. 

“Mmhm,” you hum approvingly. When you lean in to kiss my face, then my neck, then my collarbone… it takes all the willpower I can muster to stay put as instructed.

Back to the table, you start to arrange the piles of clutter. Entirely unfettered, you pick up a stack of envelopes.

“I really want to bend you over this table,” you inform me, “and I will. But you know how it is - if we don’t sort the mail now, we never will.” 

A small whimper slips from my lips as I wait, watching you tidy up at a snail’s pace, like you have all the time in the world. Meanwhile, I’m growing so desperate for you to fuck me, I’d probably let you bend me over the table out on the patio. 

Finally the table is cleared, and it’s all I can do to keep from rushing across the room to bend myself over it. 

Instead, I continue to wait, oh so patiently, while you study me in my compromised position… first with your eyes, then with your hands.

Slipping one hand into my hair, you grip the back of it, just on the other side of too tight, and guide me over to the spotless table.

You tell me to release my elbows, then easing my camisole up and over, I lift my arms so you can take it off me.

“Hands on the table,” is my next directive, and when I lean forward and obey,  I hear your sharp intake of breath… the sound that lets me know you really like what you see. 

You like it so much, in fact, I hear the click of your camera from somewhere vaguely behind me. 

“One for the scrapbook,” you tease, and place your phone on the table in front of me so I can see the image.

You’ve captured a pretty hot angle, I have to admit. My bare ass is fully on display, with my rather pointless pajama shorts propping up my buttocks. With my slight lean forward, you can also see the curve of my naked left breast, my eager nipple thrusting its way into the shot.

“I look like I’m about to be spanked,” I observe, and you chuckle in response.

“What makes you think you’re not?”

Tugging my shorts down to my knees, you tell me to spread my legs just wide enough to pull the fabric taut. 

“You can take them off after your spankings,” you inform me. “But for now they’re staying put, to help remind you of how naughty you’ve been.” 

“I understand,” is my soft reply.

“Do you? Tell me why you’re being spanked. What naughty things have you done today?” 

“I um… stood in front of the window in my tiny pajamas… where anyone could see me…” 

“Mmhm. What else?” You prompt.

“I… let you sit me outside on the patio for breakfast, where our neighbors walked by and saw… my barely covered body…”

Your hand rests on my ass with a ‘tsk tsk’ from you.

“That’s all very naughty,” you agree. “How many spankings do you think you’ve earned?”

“...Ten?” I guess, knowing perfectly well that it probably isn’t enough.

 Your light chuckle confirms my suspicions before you speak.

“For multiple infractions?” you ask, though it’s not really a question.

“Twenty?” I offer.

“Mmm… that sounds right,” you agree, and without further discussion, your hand takes to its work, flogging my ass cheeks with alternating strokes. I cry out with each blow and do my best to hold still, taking my punishment.

Several spankings in, you pause and rub my bottom.

“How many was that?” You prompt me.

“I um… I wasn’t counting,” I confess.

With your sigh of disappointment, I can practically hear you shaking your head.

“Then I guess we’ll have to start again,” you announce, “do you think you can keep track this time? We can start over as many times as we need to…” 

“Yes, I-I can keep track,” I assure you.


Your blows resume, and I dutifully count out each one, moaning and trying not to squirm.

“One… two…” smack! “...three… four…”

Once you reach twenty, the stinging, throbbing sensations tell me my ass is good and red. Before I have even a moment to relish the feeling, you take hold of my hair at the base of my neck and grip, fixedly, guiding me away from the table and onto my knees.

Standing over me, you caress my cheek with a masterful benevolence.

“That was very good counting, pet. Do you think you’ve earned a sweet treat?”

Wide-eyed, I look up at you and nod, eager for the reward you’re offering - to take you into my earnest mouth.

“Yes, I think so,” I suggest, and you grin down at me.

“Go on. You know what to do.”

 With an irrepressible smile of my own, I reach up and unfasten your pants. As always, your smirk widens as I move from the button to the zipper, unhurried, deliberate.

Revealing the navy cotton of your briefs, a charge of anticipation jolts through me. Sliding the denim down your hips, I help you step out of each leg before setting your pants aside. Your hands play with my hair while I undress you, alternating between sharp pulls and tender caresses.

With your underwear likewise discarded, I kiss my way up from your ankle, along your calf and the inside of your thigh. Opening my mouth, I unleash my tongue and graze the most sensitive places I can reach, savoring the sighs and growls my work elicits from you.

Licking along the length of you, I feel the familiar shudder of pleasure move through your body, and bask in the sense of tranquility that washes over me whenever I’m allowed to serve you.

As your arousal escalates, you grip my hair harder, grinding yourself against my face. I open my mouth wider, taking in every possible inch of you, luxuriating in the feeling of your nectar mixing with my saliva, moistening my face.

When you start riding me, bucking your hips in rhythm with my tongue, I know you’re about to come. I hold my face steady, letting you control the pace, all but using me and my willing mouth to bring yourself to climax.

As the wave subsides, you grip my hair and sigh toward the heavens. Grinning down at me, you lower your body until we’re both kneeling, worshipping at the shrine we’ve created, savoring our reverence for one another.

My mouth eagerly takes in your lips, tongue, fingers… my cheeks flush as you kiss along my jawbone and down the slope of my neck.

“I want to taste you,” you murmur into my skin.

“Um… oh-okay…” I stammer, breathless, making myself smile. You smile, too, I can feel it against my clavicle.

“Get on the table,” you charge, and I readily comply.

Sliding my tiny satin shorts off and tossing them aside, you direct me to spread my legs for you. Without further preamble, your fingers take up occupancy between my thighs. It’s well-chartered territory for you, still you approach it like conquering a new dominion every time.

“Mmm… I love how swollen and full your pussy gets,” you grumble, pressing your body toward mine. Even with our physical positions reversed, and you on your knees before me, you maintain your hold over me, and my surrender to you.

Leaning back on my forearms, I watch as you study me, taking your time. You hands roam all over the wet, juicy province that is my cunt, prying apart my opening with your fingers, watching the delicious, wanton results of your unhurried expedition.

“Do you want my fingers inside of you, or my mouth on your clit?” you ask, all easy and casual.

Not anywhere close to your measure of calm, I pant and wriggle under your touch.

“I… um… both?” I inquire, and we share a small laugh.

“Such a greedy, naughty girl,” you tease.

Unable to deny it, all I can do is whimper and meet your gaze with obsequious, pleading eyes. You wait, patiently, stroking my pussy, until I give you the words you command without asking.

“Please, sir… may I have both? Please?”

With a sigh, you click your tongue and make a show of mulling over my request.

“Hmm… one and then the other, or at the same time?” You inquire, throwing me for a moment.

“Um, I… at the same time. Please. Sir.”

“Mmm… mmhm. That sounds like exactly what a greedy girl would want.”

Your mouth finds the inside of my right thigh, licking, kissing, and nibbling as your query persists.

“And if I give you what you want, my greedy, naughty little slut, what do I get in return?”

Gasping and moaning as your teeth sink into my tender flesh, I struggle to find an answer. My instinct is to blurt out, “Anything, you can have anything you want,” but I already know you would prefer a more specific proposal.

“You can… um… put me, in a collar?” I suggest. “Keep me as your naked pet… for the rest of the day?”

The idea makes you smirk.

“A generous offer. What if I would prefer you in a collar and some scandalous, tawdry lingerie?”

Your tongue grazes along the edge of my labia, taunting me.

“Y-yes, of course… you can d-dress me in whatever you w-want…”

Hoisting my feet onto the table, you take stock of how I’m positioned.

“Lie down onto your back,” you instruct. “Now grab your ankles. Spread your feet apart. Wider. That’s a good little pet.”

Pulling my opening apart again, you start to tease it with your tongue.

“So, we are in agreement,” you say with a smile in your voice, clearly savoring the deepening of my moans. “I will give you my fingers inside your eager pussy, and my mouth on your naughty little clit, and you will be my pet for the rest of the day, wearing a collar and the slutty lingerie of my choosing.”

I nod, feeling my juices threatening my thighs, my clit starting to ache and throb with longing.

“Y-yes… we are in a-agreement.”


Three of your fingers slide into me, opening me wide, wide, wider… your mouth is less aggressive, but a gentle touch on my swollen, pulsating clit is all it takes. You take your mouth away, knowing I’m in such a state I would come in a heartbeat if you let me. Instead, you focus on your fingers, thrusting in and out, prodding me, coaxing me… first twisting your fingers, then pounding, hard, reaching deep, deep inside… Your lips and tongue come back to me, making me cry out, enraptured.

“Oh, god… please, don’t stop! Please! Oh, fuck… that… feels… so… good!”

The rumble of your moans against my skin puts me over the edge. My body shakes and trembles with the rolling climax of my orgasm. I grab your hair, clutching, trying to pry you away, but you persist until a second wave of frenzy takes hold and I come for you again.

Utterly spent and satisfied, you release me and rest your face against my leg, where I feel you grin again. Soon your body is draped over mine, and I briefly wonder how sturdy the table is… your kisses on my neck pull me back to you, your irresistible visage twinkling over me. With a kiss, you squeeze my left ass cheek and give it a smack.

“Let’s go find you something to wear.”

I laugh and blush, letting you pull me off the table and into the bedroom, for all the adventures that await…