Beach Cabin Fuck: My Raw Hookup with Shy Market Albert

The beach sand burns under my towel. Phone vibrates in my beach bag—his last message: ‘Here. Spot me.’ Heart hammers. Albert from the market, that shy brute with paws like shovels, the one whose jeans bulge when I stroke those fat courgettes in front of him. Days of filthy chats on the app, no bullshit intros. ‘Want to stretch me like a melon?’ I typed. He replied with pics of his thick cock. Now it’s real. Adrenaline spikes. I stand, bikini top straining over my bronzed tits, tiny shorts wedged up my ass crack. Thighs slick with lotion, scent of coconut mixing with sea salt.

He lumbers over, board shorts tented huge. Eyes devour my curves, like at the market when I bent low, seins spilling for him. ‘Gentil Albert,’ I purr, French tease from our chats. He blushes, grabs my waist rough. ‘Not so gentil now.’ Voice gravel. No chit-chat. We dive into waves. Salt stings, bodies collide. I fake a gasp, ‘Help!’ His arms crush me close, cock grinding my belly underwater. Hard as rock. Back on shore, panting. ‘My cabin. Now.’ I grab his hand, lead him up the dune. Door slams. Heat trapped inside, smells of sunscreen and sweat.

The Electric Approach

Prone on the bench, ass arched. ‘Massage me, big boy. Back hurts from all that teasing.’ His hands—battoirs—dig in, thumbs circling spine. Oil slicks down. ‘Lower.’ Fingers graze ass cheeks, squeeze. I moan loud. ‘Yeah, there. Feel how wet?’ Flip over fast. Tits bounce free, nipples diamond-hard from chill and want. ‘These too.’ He freezes, then dives. Mouth hot on one tit, sucking brutal, teeth grazing. Paw mauls the other. ‘Fuck, your tits… better than drawings.’ I laugh dirty, yank his shorts. Cock springs out—monster, veined, precum beading. ‘Suck it? Nah. Fuck me raw.’ Legs spread wide, pussy dripping, clit throbbing. He rams in—no condom, chats promised bare. Stretch burns sweet. ‘Pound me, Albert! Wreck this slut cunt!’ Grunts animal. Hips slam, bench creaks. Sweat drips, mixes with my juices. Balls slap ass wet. I claw his back, nails draw red. ‘Harder, brute! Fill me!’ He roars, thrusts erratic. Orgasm hits—waves crash inside, walls pulse grip. He explodes, hot cum floods deep. We gasp, slick bodies glued.

Cum leaks down thighs as I pull away. Wipe quick with towel. He slumps, dazed grin. ‘That was…’ I silence with finger. Dress fast—bikini snaps, shorts hike. Perfume spritz, mask the sex musk. Phone buzzes—next chat? ‘Bye, market boy. Fun ride.’ Door clicks shut. Stride down beach, legs shaky, pussy sore-thrumming. He texts: ‘Again?’ Ignore. Back to anonyme. Adrenaline fades, just another notch. Scooter hums distant, like that postière’s. Life peps up.