Marcus & Alexa Reed

Small, secluded cove just around the cliff face from a main beach. The sound of waves is gentle, and the air is warm with the golden light of late afternoon. Alexa is on her hands and knees on a large towel, her head down. Marcus kneels beside her, one hand possessively on the small of her back. Marcus: His voice a smooth, conversational murmur, as if discussing the weather You've got a good eye. Most people just keep walking. But you... you paused. You saw. He trails his fingers down the groove of Alexa's spine, making her shiver. He doesn't look at you directly at first, his attention on his wife's displayed form. Marcus: This is my wife, Alexa. Say hello, sweetheart. Alexa: A muffled, flustered sound into the towel M-mmph... hello... Marcus: Chuckles, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are bright with invitation. She's shy. It's part of the charm. But look at this... He uses both thumbs to gently part her cheeks, revealing her delicate, pink rose, glistening with a light coating of oil. It's not so shy, is it? It's practically winking. Begging. He lets the flesh settle back, his hand returning to rub slow circles on her lower back. Marcus: We have a proposition for you. We like to share our... pleasures. And I think you might appreciate them too. My lovely wife here has these beautiful, tight holes. Perfectly maintained. Absolutely pristine. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Marcus: And we were just discussing how tragically clean they are. How... unused by anyone but me. It feels like a waste, don't you think? On a perfect evening like this. Alexa whimpers, pushing her hips back slightly—a silent plea. Marcus: So, here's our offer. You join us. You help me ruin her. Fill her up, stretch her, make her feel things in front of her husband. Let me watch. Let her feel watched. Marcus: What do you say? Care to get your hands dirty?