Wicked Bargains on the Coast
Links: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Jump to Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Morning Anticipation
Lena stared at her reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, the scent of lavender body wash clinging to her skin like a lover’s whisper. At 48, she still turned heads—curves that had softened into lush invitation, brunette waves tumbling past her shoulders, hazel eyes sharp with secrets. Last night’s dinner with Mia, Kyle, and Grant had buzzed with excitement. Sell the two houses, pool the money for one sprawling beachfront estate. Sunsets over the ocean, a private dock for midnight swims, endless parties with the kids.
But Lena’s mind wandered wicked paths. Mia, her 26-year-old daughter-in-law, that lithe blonde firecracker with legs for days and a laugh like champagne bubbles, had gushed about the realtor, Vance. “He’s got this commanding vibe, Lena. Mid-forties, built like he rows against the tide, dark stubble framing a smirk that promises trouble.” Grant, her husband, had chuckled, slapping Kyle on the back. They were all in—especially after their marriage had reignited through Mia’s wild energy weaving into family nights.
Lena smoothed lotion over her thighs, fingers lingering where skin met heat. She’d shaved smooth as silk, every inch pristine, just in case the day sparked something. Her phone buzzed. Email from work: emergency client. Shit. She texted Mia: Can’t make the viewing. Boss yanked me in. Cover for me? Vance starts at your place 10am, then ours, then the estate.
Mia’s reply popped instant: OMG yes! Free day here. I’ll snap pics. 🔥
Lena exhaled, picturing Mia in her tiny shorts, flirting shamelessly. But a twinge hit her gut—jealousy? No, curiosity. Vance sounded like the type who sniffed out weakness and pounced.
She dressed quick: black leggings hugging her full hips, a white tank top straining against D-cups, no bra because why not feel the air tease her peaks. Drive to work blurred by fantasies of ocean waves crashing like urgent thrusts.
Meanwhile, Mia prepped her beachside cottage, ironing a flimsy blue sarong dress—no undies, per Vance’s emailed “suggestion.” Giggling to herself, she hung it on the door.
Doorbell chimed at 9:58. Mia bounced over, swung it open.
Not Mia. Lena stepped back, but it was too late. Vance filled the frame—6’2″, salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, biceps bulging under a fitted navy polo, khaki shorts tenting subtly. Ocean salt and cologne hit her nose, masculine and sharp.
“You must be family,” he rumbled, voice gravel wrapped in silk. Green eyes raked her. “Vance. Expected Mia.”
“I’m Lena, Kyle’s mom. Mia’s swamped at the boutique. She begged me to step in.” She extended a hand, firm grip.
He clasped it, pulled her into a hug that crushed her breasts to his chest, palm grazing her ass cheek. “Hugger by nature. Damn, woman, that’s a grip back there. Firmer than I imagined.”
She stiffened, heat flooding cheeks. “Bold start. Mia warned me you’re… direct.”
His laugh boomed, low and wicked. “Direct? Darling, I’m the storm before the calm. Show me around. Make it worth my drive from the cliffs.”
As they toured the open living room—sea glass lamps glowing soft, salt air drifting through screens—Vance “accidentally” brushed his bulge against her hip. Thrice. Her nipples perked, traitors poking fabric. By the guest room, with its crisp linens and conch shell nightstand, she smelled her own arousal, musky and faint.
Master suite next. King bed with gauzy canopy. Vance leaned close, breath hot on her neck. “Bet Kyle rails Mia here nightly. Feel the ghosts?”
Lena smirked, pulse racing. “Ghosts? More like echoes. Grant and I were stale till Mia shook us up. Now? Freedom tastes salty-sweet.”
Bathroom mirror reflected them: her flushed, him predatory. That sarong dress dangled. “Sexy number. Told Mia: short dress, bare beneath. For the vibe.”
She swallowed. “She spilled. No dice, Vance. These leggings suit me fine.”
His fingers trailed her arm, dipped to palm her ass through spandex. She sighed, involuntary, thighs clenching.
“Try it on. No underthings. I’ll wait outside.” He stepped into the bedroom, casual as ordering coffee.
“Fuck that,” she snapped. “I’m no pushover.”
“Two minutes, Lena, or I bail. Mia can reschedule.”
Heart hammering, she stripped. Tank off, breasts bouncing free—heavy globes, dusky nipples thickening in cool air. Leggings peeled down, exposing smooth mound, lips already glistening. Sarong slipped on: whisper-thin, hem skimming upper thighs, side slits flashing hip bones.
She emerged, chin high. Vance lounged on the bed, eyes devouring. “Good girl. Knew you’d bend. Sexier than Mia—those hips scream sin.”
Confidence bloomed, erasing years of doubt. Post-Mia, she’d wondered her pull. Now? Electric.
“Show me the goods,” he commanded.
Straps down, breasts spilled out. She cupped them, thumbs circling peaks.
“Perfect fucking handfuls.” He lunged, kneading rough, twisting nipples till she gasped, pain-pleasure spiking straight to her core.
Her hand darted to his crotch—rock-hard ridge, thicker than Grant’s. He swatted it away. “Patience. Dress up. Next stop: your place.”
Pouting, she obeyed, fabric whispering against sensitized skin.
Chapter 2: The Ride and the Reveal
Vance’s black Range Rover purred like a beast. Lena slid in passenger, sarong riding high, bare pussy kissing hot leather. She didn’t tug it down. Why start now?
They merged onto the coastal highway, palms whipping by, sea glittering azure. His hand landed on her knee, inching north. Rough palm, calluses from boat work maybe. She parted thighs, bold, air cooling her wetness.
Fingers danced higher, skirting lips, tracing inner seam. Her breath hitched, clit throbbing untouched. “Please,” she murmured.
“Self-serve, wicked one.” Grin flashed white teeth.
Two fingers plunged her slick heat—schlick, schlick—juices coating them. She pumped, hips bucking, scent of arousal thick as fog.
“Show me,” he growled.
Fingers emerged, strings of nectar. She sucked them deep, tangy-salt bursting tongue. “Mmm, ocean fresh.”
He chuckled. “Taste of surrender.”
At her driveway—modern colonial, hibiscus blooming wild—she spilled out, seat gleaming wet. Vance eyed it. “Messy girl. Clean with that tongue.”
“Here? Neighbors!” But ass stung phantom already.
Spank cracked—bare cheek under hiked sarong, fire blooming. She yelped, welting instant.
“Lick.”
Tears pricking, she bent, lapped leather—salty leather, her essence. Tongue broad strokes, ass up. He stroked the red mark, soothing sting.
“Good slut. Inside now.”
Tour blurred: kitchen granite cool under palms as he pressed behind, bulge grinding cleft. Living room couch where Grant fucked Mia once—memory twisted hot. “Value this at 850K,” he muttered. Bedrooms passed quick.
Master bath: “Naked. Pose on bed. Pics for the file.”
“No leaks online.”
“Private. Lake—no, coast crew only.” Wink.
Dress pooled. She sprawled, knees to chest, folds parting—pink inner slick shining. Tweaked nipples, licked one into mouth, biting soft.
“Ass up now. Spread.”
On knees, cheeks wide—tight pucker winking. “Gonna claim that later.”
Dressed hasty, they rolled to the estate, sun dipping toward horizon.
Chapter 3: Paradise Unveiled
The beachfront mansion loomed—white stucco, terra cotta roof, walls of glass framing endless Pacific. Endless deck spiraled to infinity pool, bubbling hot tub, dock with two slips. Salt spray kissed skin, gulls crying overhead.
“Perfection,” Lena breathed, toes sinking in warm tile. “Chef kitchen, dual primaries—entertaining gold.”
Vance grinned, devilish. “Basement’s the crown. Follow.”
Outside stairs descended to shadow. Door creaked open—dim red glow, leather and musk heavy. Eyes adjusted: paradise dungeon. Whips coiled serpents on walls, cuffs dangling chains, St. Andrew’s cross scarred leather. Massive bed, restraints at corners. Contraption loomed—a fuck swing suspended in steel frame.
“What’s that?” Fingers trailed padded bars.
“Swing for screams. Deep access, total control.” Grabbed wrists. “Strip, pet.”
Sarong flew. Naked, she shivered—not cold, anticipation. He shed shirt: chiseled torso, faint scars like battle trophies. Shorts dropped—boxers strained by veined monster, 9 inches, girthy as wrist.
Kneeling, she yanked fabric. Cock sprang, slapping cheek—velvet steel, veins pulsing, pre-cum bead glistening. “Huge,” she whispered.
“Suck.”
Tongue swirled crown, lapping pearl salt. Lips stretched, plop-plop bobbing. Saliva drooled, chin slick. Gagged deep—nose to pubes shaved smooth, snot bubbling. He gripped hair. “Deeper than Mia, yeah?”
Rivalry flared. She deepthroated brutal, throat convulsing, milking. He face-fucked, balls smacking chin, gurgles wet.
Pulled out gasping. “Perfect throat-pussy.”
New scene: He dragged her to cross first, wrists ankles locked spread-eagle. Paddle whistled—thwack across globes. “Count!”
“One!” Fire spread. “Two!” Juices trailed thighs by five. “Hurts so good, sir.”
Crop next—snick on mound. Scream echoed, walls swallowing sound. Pussy swelled crimson, throbbing agony-ecstasy.
“No more!” Tears streamed.
“Yes more.” Another lash. “Beg.”
“Please, crop my clit harder!”
He did. Swollen lips wept.
“Ass today. That virgin ring’s mine.”
Terror-lust. “Too big… but lube me?”
Phone propped recording. Cock lubed glossy, nudged pucker. No mercy—thrust split ring, burning tear. “God, ripping me!”
“Take it.” Hips slammed, balls-deep. Inches vanished in vice-tight.
Pain shattered to bliss. She rocked back, circling clit. “Fuck my shithole, destroy it!”
Pounded 15 minutes—sweat slicking, grunts animal. Orgasm ripped her—ass clenching, squirting floor. He roared, cum flooding bowels, hot ropes painting walls.
Collapsed, panting. “Best ever, Lena. Wicked tight.”
But wait—afterglow deepened. He unchained, cradled her trembling. Fingers traced welts tenderly. “House deal: 1.7 mil, yours if you return.”
She nodded, bonded. New scene: Hot tub soak under stars. Bubbles churning, his cock stirring again. Slow fuck this time, face-to-face, waves lapping dock nearby. Whispers of future orgies with family.
Chapter 4: Echoes of Submission
Back at her house that night, Lena soaked bruises in Epsom bath, mirror fogged. Ass purpled, pussy raw-swollen, but glow hummed deep. Grant home late, smelled whiskey—poker night.
“Viewing?” He kissed cheek.
“Wild. Vance is alpha incarnate. Snapped pics—house is dream.” Omitted the rest, but thighs rubbed remembering.
Texts flew: Mia, Details, slut! Vance ghosted me updates.
Lena smirked, typing one-handed, other circling sore nub. He broke me good. Pics tomorrow. Coast estate has dungeon. 💋
Grant stirred bed. She slipped beside, hand finding his semi. “Fuck me slow?”
He did, vanilla to her storm, but seeds planted.
Flashback reordered: Dinner night replayed in mind. Kyle grinning wicked as Vance’s grin. “Mom, join the viewings next time.” Prophetic.
Morning: Vance called. “Dream last night? Swing awaits round two.”
Heat pooled. Work ignored.
New conflict: Guilt gnawed. Grant’s tenderness clashed Vance’s brutality. Yet craving won.
🔥
Chapter 5: Family Entwined
Group dinner midweek, beach house models projected. Mia pouted. “Lena stole my thunder!”
Vance crashed uninvited—invited by Lena’s glance. “Progress report.”
Wine flowed, laughter loose. Under table, his foot nudged her crotch, toes probing through denim.
Post-dinner, Kyle and Mia slipped to guest room—moans drifted. Grant watched, hard.
Vance cornered Lena kitchen. “Basement replay?”
Bathroom instead. Door locked. Jeans down, bent sink. Fingers first—three stretching ass, scissoring.
“Cock now.” No lube but spit—raw ream. Mirror showed faces: hers twisted bliss-pain, his triumphant.
Grant knocked. Ignored, Vance nutted deep.
After: All four on deck later, confessed. Group nod—Mia eager for Vance.
New scene: Private beach walk Vance-Lena pre-close. Sand gritty, waves foaming. He buried face in folds first time—tongue lashing clit, teeth grazing. She pissed a little, golden arc mixing salt. He drank, wicked grin. “Marking territory.”
Closing: Papers signed. Keys handed. That night, inaugural fuck—whole family, swing creaking under Mia, Lena on cross, Grant and Kyle stroking, Vance conducting.
But Lena’s core: Wicked how one day flipped world.
Chapter 6: Eternal Depths
Months blurred. Estate pulsed life—pool orgies, hot tub daisy-chains, dungeon marathons. Lena evolved: paddle cracks now symphony, not shock.
One storm night, thunder rumbling ocean roar. Vance alone with her—Grant away, kids touring slips.
Swing suspended her, legs wide, pussy and ass exposed. He alternated: cock plunging cunt, fingers rosebud, then swap—fisting pussy while ass reamed.
“More,” she begged, voice hoarse.
Whip lashes between thrusts—skin singing. Climax chain: five shattering, squirting arcs hitting glass windows.
He came throat-deep post-swing, her swallowing every drop, burping seed.
Cuddled amid toys, his whisper: “You’re my wicked queen now.”
She smiled, heart full. Coast winds howled approval, future vast as sea.
But internal: Was it the house, or the breaking? Both, eternally tangled.
Ocean crashed eternal. Lena drifted sleep, body map of passions, soul alight.
💋
