Olivia is forced to herself at crowded public beach
The morning after the brutal multi-link test in the bathtub, Olivia woke up feeling like her body had been run over by a truck and then fucked by its entire crew. Every muscle ached—her thighs burned from clenching through endless orgasms, her pussy and ass throbbed with a deep, bruised soreness that made even shifting in bed send sharp reminders of the phantom cocks that had stretched her beyond reason. Her nipples were raw, swollen, hypersensitive from the suction and bites that had assaulted them all night. Worst of all, the tastes lingered: layers of bitter, salty cum from multiple strangers coated her tongue like a film she couldn’t scrape off, no matter how many times she rinsed her mouth. The smells clung too—musk, sweat, lube, cheap cologne—haunting her nostrils even in the clean morning air of her bedroom.
She checked her phone immediately, dreading the inevitable. Sure enough, Rahman’s text waited like a venomous snake:
Rahman: Beach day, slut. Wear that red string bikini —the one that's in the shopping bag. Be at the public stretch by noon. Lie on your towel, legs spread like a cheap whore waiting for dick. I’ll make sure you put on a show the whole city remembers. Fail me, and the restaurant video goes straight to Josh’s phone with your real name attached.
Olivia’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t worn bikini in years—not since college spring breaks when she still thought being ogled was fun instead of terrifying. She rummaged through the shopping bag, fingers shaking as she pulled out the tiniest sheer red triangles connected by strings. It's not a bikini but a microkini. The top barely covered her areolas; the bottom was a narrow strip that only covers her clit and would disappear between her labia the moment she moved.
She tied it on, staring at her reflection: long toned legs, flat stomach dipping into wide hips, pale skin contrasting with the bright red fabric. Her 36C tits strained against the triangles, nipples already poking through from the cool air and residual arousal. The crotch seam dug into her puffy labia, pressing against her clit with every step.
“Fuck,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. Not in public.”
But she had no choice. She slipped on oversized sunglasses, a sheer sarong that did nothing to hide the outfit, and drove to the public beach on the city’s engineered summer coast—golden sand stretching for miles, climate-controlled to perpetual 28°C, families with holographic sandcastles, tourists under UV shields, packs of young men in board shorts already scanning for eye candy.
She parked far from the main entrance, hoping to blend in, but the moment she stepped onto the sand her heels sank, forcing her to mince in tiny steps that made her tits bounce and her ass jiggle. Heads turned immediately. A group of college guys near the volleyball nets whistled low. “Holy shit, look at that blonde in the red bikini—those tits are unreal.” “Ass for days, bro—bet she’s dripping already.”
Olivia found a spot near the water but not too isolated—Rahman had specified “crowded area.” She spread her large blue towel with shaking hands, then lay back on her stomach first, ass cheeks fully exposed except for the thin red string bisecting them. The sun warmed her skin, but dread iced her spine. What if he starts now? Right here, with kids building castles ten feet away?
At exactly noon her phone buzzed: Lie on your back. Legs spread wide. Show starts in 5. Don’t you dare close them.
She rolled over, heart hammering, and parted her thighs just enough for the breeze to tease her barely-covered pussy. The string bottoms had already wedged deep, sawing against her engorged clit with every breath. Then the first restraint snapped into place.
Cold leather cuffs locked around her wrists, yanking them behind her back and pinning them to the sand. Matching cuffs encircled her ankles; a rigid three-foot spreader bar materialized between them, forcing her knees wide, heels digging into the warm grains. The position arched her back, thrusting her tits upward, the tiny red triangles straining to contain them. Nipple clamps bit down—sharp metal teeth that tightened rhythmically, pulling the tender buds outward with cruel tugs. “Ahh—fuck, my nipples!” she gasped, voice low but desperate.
A harness of rough hemp rope cinched around her torso next—bands crisscrossing under and over her breasts, squeezing them into obscene, bulging orbs. The coarse fibers scraped her skin with every shallow breath, digging red lines she could feel burning into her flesh.
Rahman’s voice crackled through her earpiece—private link only she could hear: “Look at you, spread wide like a beach whore waiting to get gangbanged. Everyone can see your hard nipples poking through that top. Now let’s give them a real show.”
The clit assault began: a powerful vibrator pressed flush against the hood, ridges and vibrations so vivid she could feel the exact texture of the toy. It throbbed in perfect sync with her racing heartbeat, each pulse shooting electric fire up her spine. “Oh god—too intense on my clit, it’s gonna make me cum already!” she whimpered, hips twitching.
Then the first cock entered her pussy—thick, veined, scorching hot. It breached her slowly, letting her feel every ridge dragging along her inner walls. The stretch burned deliciously, her cunt clenching greedily around it. “Fuck—big dick in my pussy, filling me up so deep!” she hissed through gritted teeth.
A second cock forced its way into her ass—no lube, raw intrusion that made her eyes water. “No—no, not my ass too! It’s burning, stretching my tight shithole wide open!” The two shafts began alternating thrusts—pussy filled while ass emptied, ass filled while pussy clenched around nothing. The friction created obscene wet squelching sounds inside her skull.
A third sensation invaded her mouth: a thick, salty cock sliding over her tongue, pushing to the back of her throat until she gagged. She tasted everything—bitter pre-cum, faint soap, earthy musk of balls pressed against her chin. Drool spilled from the corners of her mouth; she couldn’t swallow properly with her throat stuffed.
Voices layered in her ears—overlapping, filthy:
“Feel us double-stuffing your holes, you beach slut?” “Gag on my cock—swallow it deep, throat-whore.” “Her cunt’s gripping so tight—make her squirt for the crowd.”
A family ten feet away glanced over—a mom with two kids building a holographic sand fortress. The younger boy pointed. “Mommy, why is that lady shaking?” The mom shot Olivia a disgusted glare, gathered her things, and hurried the children away, muttering about “disgusting exhibitionists.”
The frat boys nearby—five of them in board shorts and sunglasses—had set up umbrellas close enough to smell her arousal. They noticed immediately. “Dude, check the hot blonde—she’s totally getting off. Look at her squirming.” One pulled out his phone, angling it discreetly.
Rahman’s voice purred in her ear: “Smile for the cameras, slut. They’re recording your public meltdown. Now let’s make you cum like the squirting whore you are.”
He cranked the intensity.
The vibrator on her clit switched to maximum—suction and pulse combined, dragging her nub into a hot, vibrating mouth. The cocks sped up—double in pussy, double in ass, triple in throat now. “Three cocks choking my throat—gagging me, filling my mouth with cum taste!” she thought frantically, drool pouring down her chin onto her tits.
Orgasm one detonated without warning. Her pussy spasmed violently around the double shafts, squirting in powerful jets that pushed bikini bottom that is covering her erected clit to the side exposing her bald pussy to the world, arcing onto the hot sand where it immediately turned into dark, glistening patches. “I’m cumming—fuck, my cunt’s exploding, squirting everywhere!” she cried, voice cracking, back arching so hard her shoulders lifted off the towel. Her tits bounced free of the tiny triangles—one nipple slipping out completely, glistening with sweat and phantom saliva.
The crowd noticed. Phones rose. The frat boys cheered openly. “Holy shit, she’s squirting right here on the beach! Zoom in on that wet pussy!”
Rahman didn’t let up. “Again, bitch. Cum harder—show them what a multi-cocked whore looks like.”
The second orgasm followed immediately from the anal pounding—her ass tightening in rhythmic spasms, more squirt mixing with sand to form wet clumps. “My asshole’s clenching around two fat dicks—cumming so hard, can’t stop squirting!” Tears leaked from under her sunglasses as humiliation burned through her.
Then the clit suction turned punishing. A third cock joined the throat—now triple oral, stretching her jaw to its limit. “Three cocks in my mouth—choking me, face-fucking me like a cum-dump!” Drool foamed at the corners of her lips, running in rivers down her neck and between her tits.
Orgasm three: full-body convulsion. Her back arched impossibly, tits bouncing painfully in their rope prison, pussy gaping visibly under the displaced bikini bottom. Squirt shot high as if it's a fountain attracting even more crowd, splashing nearby towels. “Fuck—cumming again, my holes are wrecked, squirting for strangers!” she screamed into the gag of cocks.
The frat boys approached, phones still rolling. “You okay, miss? That looked… intense.” One bold one knelt closer, zooming on the glistening trails running down her inner thighs, the wet sand darkening beneath her.
Rahman’s voice in her ear: “Tell them you’re fine—just cumming like a beach slut. Then beg for more.”
She couldn’t speak—throat full—but her body answered: another orgasm, another squirt spraying the sand in rhythmic jets, her muffled moans carrying over the waves.
By the time the sensations faded—after forty-five minutes of continuous multi-hole gangbang—Olivia lay trembling, chest heaving, bikini displaced, pussy lips swollen and gaping, visibly pulsing. Sand clung to the slick trails running down her thighs. Cum-taste lingered in her mouth, smells of sweat and sex thick in her nostrils.
The frat boys hovered. “You need help getting up?” one asked, but eyes locked on her exposed cunt.
Rahman’s final whisper: “Tell them thank you for watching. Then crawl to your car—let them see that ass sway.”
Olivia forced a shaky smile, voice hoarse. “I’m… I’m fine. Just… really enjoying the sun.” She rolled onto her stomach, ass up, ass hole gaped, string bottoms wedged deep between her cheeks. Crawling to her towel and bag, she felt every eye on her—phones recording the sway of her hips, the drip of squirt down her legs.
She fled to her car, sobbing behind the wheel, videos already uploading to underground forums: #BeachSquirtSlut trending in private circles.
Rahman’s follow-up text arrived as she started the engine:
Rahman: Crowd loved it. Drew more bidders. Tomorrow: the mall. Short skirt, no panties. Get ready for round two, whore.
Olivia gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.