Virgin Beach Candy

by ChrisCross

Copyright© 2017 by ChrisCross

Erotica Sex Story: Going on to twenty-five years of age, Max keeps his summer Ocean City beach lifeguard job because it gives him access to cute, impressionable, and seducible fourteen-year-old boys in skimpy Speedos.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/mt   Mind Control   Reluctant   Gay   Fiction   DomSub   MaleDom   Rough   Anal Sex   First   Masturbation   Petting   Public Sex   Size   Slow   .

The summer job riding a lifeguard chair on the Ocean City beach in Delaware didn’t pay as much as Max could make almost anywhere else, but he did it for the boy tail--for boys happy to ride a lifeguard’s cock. He liked breaking in boys that were on the cusp of developing into men--so fourteen-year-olds, mostly--and they came to him on the beach in droves. He didn’t even have to strip them much; most of them pranced around in skimpy Speedos. And enough of them were so taken with hunky lifeguards and the interest in summer adventure that they would lay down and open their legs on a sand dune at night to one who asked them nicely to do so that the effort of seduction was worthwhile.

It was thus with Amir, so was Max’s last conquest of several for the summer season, and who proved not to be quite as innocent as Max thought--but every bit as enjoyable as the hunky lifeguard could want. Yeah, he was too young to pursue, but the risk was a lot of why pursuing, catching, and spiking him was so satisfying.

“Shit,” Max exclaimed, as he shucked his athletic T, slithered down the ladder of the lifeguard stand, raced to the water, and dove into the breakers. When had the little fuck gone into the water? ran through his mind as he knifed through the ocean toward the flailing arms.

He couldn’t watch the guy all day. Or, he certainly could have, but he wouldn’t be doing his job if he did--and he’d pretty obviously be showing his interest.

The young guy had come with a family in the early afternoon. Max didn’t know if they were Jewish or Arab, but what he did know was that they all were strikingly good looking. Well, except for the ones who appeared to be granddad and grandma. But granddad wasn’t too bad looking. A little chunky, but more solid than fat, and with a prodigious bush of salt and pepper hair on his chest. Grandma was short and rotund, but ever smiling, and even with her, Max could tell there had been beauty passed on from there. The father was imposing and the mother looked like a model. So did the rest of the brood--three young men and a young woman, who was so obviously the pride of the family that there always was one senior member of the family or other nearby, ever watchful.

They didn’t know enough about beaches, though, not to trust the lifeguard.

Even though she was a raven-haired beauty with a great figure, the daughter wasn’t the one who had held Max’s attention. It was the middle son, who looked to be about fourteen--so, just right. The older one, though handsome, was swarthy and looked world wise. Too old for Max, for certain--and wary and no evidence that he was approachable. If he was approachable, he’d probably already been approached and laid. He probably was eighteen or nineteen, but that definitely made him too old for Max. Max liked them fresh and young, and in his role as a lifeguard on the Ocean City ten-mile stretch of beach, he pretty much had his pick of the fresh ones.

Max didn’t absolutely have to be the first, but he wanted to be near enough and got a high out of initiating. He did want them willing, though--certainly at first and reluctant only when they realized what they faced. Eventually yielding and then going with the rhythm.

And he definitely wanted them satisfied with him enough not to make trouble for him afterward. That was trickier than it might seem.

The younger son was much too young. preteen, certainly, but he was beautiful, with a berry-brown, lithe body; a mop of dark curls; a generous, smiling mouth; and stark-blue eyes. In a couple of years, if the family came back to the beach. ... and Max certainly hoped they would, he maybe pluck that one off the cherry tree. Something to look forward to and anticipate. He’d had one or two of those. Three summers of ripening for him as he teased and joked with them on the beach, the jests becoming increasingly intimate, and then just falling off the tree and into his lap--and onto his cock.

The middle son had all of the attributes of the younger one, with the exception that he had a more mature body and was forming a well-defined musculature. And he was ripe for it, obviously becoming aware that he was a sexual being--looking around, his eyes so often lingering on Max. In Max’s experienced eyes, it seemed likely that the boy wanted it. Just about to fall out of the cherry tree and into someone’s lap. Max didn’t know why it shouldn’t be him.

Whenever Max could manage to turn an eye on the family grouping, which had taken over a section of the beach not more than forty feet from his stand and just a bit closer to the water, Max caught the middle son eying the men walking parallel to the surf. He watched the well-built ones more closely than any of the others. Shapely women in bikinis didn’t seem to have any effect on his interest. Men in bikinis who wore them well--which was almost impossible to do--held his attention the longest.

This was twenty-four-year-old Max’s sixth year on the beach as a lifeguard. He’d learned to gauge the signs. The question was whether the young man realized what he was interested in getting. That and how experienced he was. Max liked them fresh.

There didn’t seem much question that the middle son was interested in Max too, and Max did what he could to milk that. When he caught, out of the corner of his eye, the young man looking up at his stand, he suddenly had the urge to stretch and stood on the stand, flexing his muscles and working out the kinks.

Most of the family packed up and left before 4:00 p.m., and Max was disappointed to see them go. But when the hustle and bustle cleared of picking up all of the gear and struggling through the loose sand on the path across the dunes to a tall condo opposite the ocean, the middle son was still there, sitting on his towel, and looking out to sea. Max could have been convinced that the boy was posing. He was wearing an electric-blue Speedo. He could have worn a bikini and brought it off well--even a micro pouch. Max could wear a micro pouch and bring it off well, to his pride--and sometimes did in the privacy of his home when he entertained a boy he’d snared. But other than that the boy was all young, sleek, bronzed body and a black, curly mop of head hair.

Max wanted to believe that the boy had remained to make a connection with him, but there was no move to do so--unless having swum out beyond the surf and quickly exhausted himself so that all he could do was flail his arms in a call for help was his way of making a connection.

And maybe it was, Max later thought, when he was trying to justify having taken advantage of him and possibly wrecking him for any other choices in life.

He reached the boy man easily, and held him close, dog paddling, until the lad calmed down a bit. They both were breathing hard, possibly neither wholly from the exertion of the swim, and Max made no effort to hide in that close hold that he was hard. If the boy realized that, he certainly didn’t seem to shrink from it, which Max saw as a favorable sign.

When they got back to the beach, though, with the boy draped on Max’s back and hanging on tight--and was that an erection he was sporting too, Max wondered--the boy thanked him for the assist, with great embarrassment, but he didn’t linger. He grabbed up his towel, raced up the beach on slender legs, and disappeared over the top of the dune and into an entrance into the nearest condo building.

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Max muttered, trying to assure himself that the boy’s embarrassment was a sign of inexperience rather than rejection.

Max didn’t have to wait as long as for the next day on the beach.

He went out cruising on the Ocean City boardwalk that evening. There wasn’t much action in Ocean City--the powers that be discouraged it, wanting this to be a family beach--but what cruising action there was would congregate on the boardwalk down near the inlet and would only subtly signal interest and availability.

Max was horny following the ocean rescue of that young Middle Eastern guy and was on the prowl. He hit pay dirt when he glanced into one of the penny arcades fronting on the boardwalk and saw the very same luscious boy man playing a pinball machine. Not one to miss his chances, he sauntered up to the lad. “Having any luck?”

“I think these machines are rigged,” the boy guy said.

It was all Max could do to keep from rolling his eyes. Could a guy get more naïve, he wondered. But he couldn’t deny that the boy’s naiveté turned him on, and he felt himself go hard. He was determined to make a try on this sweet piece of tail. It could be that the boy was putting him on, but if he was flirting with him, that must mean he was interested.

“You might not remember me,” he said. “My name is Max. I was on the lifeguard stand out on the beach today.”

“Of course I remember you,” the boy said quickly. “How could I forget you? You saved my life. Uh, my name is Amir.”

“Amir? Where does that name come from? You from Israel? When was that name popular to give a guy?”

“Hardly from Israel,” Amir said, with a little laugh. “I’m from the Bronx. But my family’s originally from Lebanon. Second-generation American, though. I was born in the Bronx.”

“Born in the Bronx? Before the Bronx zoo was renovated?” Max was asking a different question, and Amir seemed to be aware he was.

“Yeah, fourteen years ago.”


Satisfied with that answer, and even more satisfied that the boy man seemed savvy enough to be going willingly with the pitch, Max doubled back. “Lebanon? But from the Bronx?”

“Yes. My grandfather--you may have seen him on the beach today--came here from Beirut during the heavy fighting there in the early eighties. Brought the whole family with him. He doesn’t speak much English yet, after all this time. We have Lebanese bakeries.”

“In the Bronx?”

“Yes. ... and elsewhere in the city and state and up in Boston and down in Philadelphia.”

“Oh,” Max said. A rich kid. That went with the upscale of the condo he’d seen the family disappear into at the beach. That sometimes made it easier, he’d found. They thought they could have whatever they wanted and they didn’t care much what society thought about it.

Amir had lowered his face and when he lifted it up again to look into Max’s eyes, his long eyelashes fluttered and he looked embarrassed--but to Max’s eyes, he also was signaling what he wanted--and who he wanted it from. “I wish there was something I could do to thank you for pulling me out of the ocean this afternoon.”

Bingo again.

Of course there’s something you can do, Max thought. You can lie on your back, open your legs, wrap them around my waist, and take my cock. But what he said was, “You could buy me a beer, I guess, although I just was doing my job.”

“Uh, sure,” Amir said, but he hesitated in saying it.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re not old enough to buy a beer, are you?” Max asked, checking again--constantly checking.

Amir didn’t answer; he just lowered his head again.

“But you’d drink a beer if I bought them, wouldn’t you?” Max asked. The path to getting a boy o have sex with you went through corrupting him in other ways. Max knew that to be a well-trod path.

Amir didn’t hesitate. He said, “I could give you money for a beer.”

“Do you drink beer?”

“Sure, when I can get it,” Amir answered.

“Well, then, let’s say you cover a six pack that I buy, and then we’ll go someplace where we can drink it in private, no one to see or challenge.”

“OK with me,” Amir said, again hesitating a bit. “But do you know of someplace?”

“I know just the place,” Max answered. Max always knew just the perfect place. He came in close to the boy and put a hand on the small of his back and let it drift down to his butt. The kid didn’t flinch or pull away.

Piece of cake, Max thought.

Amir struggled in the wake of Max over the tall dune at the end of 130th Street and between two darkened beach houses. They were ten blocks above where the North Ocean City big high-rise condos ended and were in an area of shorter condo blocks and single beach houses.

When he’d gone to buy the beer, he’d made a quick stop at home to change to a micro pouch bikini. He had a T-shirt over it the hung low, but he’d found that if a boy were two-thirds of the way to opening his legs for Max, he was a pushover after seeing Max in a micro pouch.

Max had carefully chosen this place--and had used it often. There was the big, man-made dune between the buildings and the beach and then, at this location, there was a smaller, but still over six feet high, dune, with a shelf of sand below that. There was an area just above the tide line that was out of the line of sight of any of the buildings here, as well as secluded from anyone walking the upper beach. At night it even was deep in the shadows from the perspective of anyone walking the surf line. That’s where Max opened up a huge beach towel and plopped the cold six pack down on it. He was already flipping two cans open and holding one out to Amir when the boy struggled down to where he was on the beach.

It was dark out, after 9:00 p.m. A storm had gone through the previous day and another one was running up the coast about 100 miles offshore and was causing the surf to pound on the beach in big waves accompanied by a roar that cut anything the young man and the boy said off from the ears of the world. Lights twinkled on the horizon of the water, where tankers bound for the New Jersey oil refineries were standing well off the shore in the angry sea. Only a smattering of lights appeared in the buildings behind them, and most of these were behind curtains closed to try to deaden the sound of the stormy surf.

“Are you sure this is OK?” Amir asked in a nervous little voice. “I didn’t think there was supposed to be any alcohol on the beach.”

“There isn’t,” Max said. “But I work here. I’m special. You’re special too, you know. And doesn’t it feel, I don’t know, sexy to be flaunting the rules and what society thinks we should be doing? Isn’t it great to be living free to do what we want?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Amir said. He had taken the proffered beer can and lifted it to his mouth. Max could see that the boy was trembling. He had to hold the beer can with both hands. Max went harder. He couldn’t wait to get his dick inside this sweet little piece. He sat down on the towel, facing the sea, legs drawn up into his chest. It wasn’t time for Amir to see how hard he was. There always had to be preliminaries with the fresh ones. Part of the fun was in finding out what worked best--and what worked fastest. Max didn’t want to waste a lot of time in seduction. If he could maneuver them back to his place for the night, he wanted to devote most of the night to fucking them.

“Ah, feel that warm sea breeze?” he said, as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Come on, shuck off the T and feel the breeze too.”

Amir started to say something, but then he shrugged and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He still was wearing the electric-blue Speedo underneath.

Max patted the towel next to him. “Have a seat.” Amir squatted down next to Max, close to him, and sat cross legged.

Was that a bulge of an erection in the crotch of the Speedo, Max wondered. Was this a forward little piece or was he just naïve? Max took several gulps of his beer, if only to entice Amir to do the same. The ploy worked. Amir was trembling, and swigging the beer gave him something to do.

“Just about finished with that one?” Max asked. “Here’s another. Maybe we should have gotten two six packs.”

“I can’t really handle too many,” Amir whispered.

I certainly hope not, Max thought. “You said you were fourteen?” he said, making his voice casual. Check continually, he thought. This was important to Max. He wanted them right on the edge, ripe but still innocent.

“Almost fifteen,” Amir responded.

Max wasn’t really interested in knowing how close to fifteen the kid was. His fetish was fourteen.

“In high school?”

“I’ll be a sophomore. Taking the science and technology track.”

“Ah, science.”

“Yes, I want to be an engineer. I want to build things. Going into the bakery business is what Samir--my older brother--is happy doing, but I want to build things. Things I can see and say I helped put that up. Like these condo buildings here.” Amir’s tongue was loosening and his body was relaxing. He was well into his second beer. Max was nursing his second one.

Max had pulled up a couple of stalks of sea oats and had been running those along his own bare knees. Amir didn’t seem to notice when the tips of the stalks moved over to his legs. Max could tell from the sigh Amir gave that he felt the effects of the slight tickling, though. That was either unconsciously, being in entirely new territory, or was a sign of willingness. Although Max wanted willingness, he was more aroused by blindsided naïveté. If Amir was familiar with the dance, he wasn’t showing it. He was aiding Max’s arousal and expectation.

Max picked now to stretch out his leg--and to stretch his whole body as if getting the kinks out. The boy’s eyes bugged out at seeing Max nearly naked, the pouch barely holding in a cock that now was sticking almost straight out.

The boy came out of his cross-legged stance and was sitting with bent and spread legs. He was trying to relieve the pressure in his groin of his own cock going hard. He may not have known that’s why he spread his legs, but Max knew it.

Max stretched out on an elbow beside him. He was running the tips of the sea oat stalks just on Amir’s legs now. He experimented with touching the inside of the boy’s thighs and was rewarded with Amir unconsciously spreading his legs further. Max had a flash of rolling over on top of the boy right there and then, insinuating himself between those thighs, penetrating him, and fucking the shit out of him. The thought aroused him--but then so did taking it slower.

If Amir realized Max had successfully maneuvered him to open his legs and become more vulnerable, he didn’t show it.

That’s one of the primary things Max liked about fucking boy virgins. They only slowly became aware of the sensations of external stimuli. They had to be old enough to be aroused and go hard, though, which was why Max fixated on fourteen-year-olds. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d gotten his dick inside a fourteen-year-old boy who didn’t realize how aroused and wanting he was--all from the preparation Max had done--until the moment of penetration. The expression on their faces as he first entered them flipped Max’s arousal up into the stratosphere. At his best, they were already open enough to take him without realizing they had been prepared.

The fun thing is that having gotten no more than his bulb in them, he told them they already were fucked and might as well take the rest of the cock and enjoy themselves, and they invariably believed him.

“A lot of foxy girls at your high school?” he asked.

“Yeah. ... yeah, I guess,” Amir answered, not particularly enthusiastically.

“And guys. The guys at your high school as good looking and sexy as you are? Here, you need another beer. You’ve got a good body yourself--like a man, not a boy. You must work out a lot.”

“Uh, thanks,” Amir said, taking the fresh can of beer and imbibing a big gulp from it, embarrassed by the barrage of leading questions.

Max gave the boy a moment to contemplate the question, before zeroing in again. “A lot of guys at your high school as cut and sexy as you?”

“Uh. ...”

“Because you are sexy, you know. You fuck a lot of girls at your high school? A guy who has matured as fast as you have has sex early. You’ve probably fucked half a dozen by now.” It was purposeful that he didn’t designate that it was girls.

“Uh, yes. ... sure.”

Which meant “no,” Max assumed.

“How about guys. You get it on with guys too?”

“Uh, no, of course not.”

“Because you don’t want to or because you’ve never taken the opportunity? Again, maturing early means you’d normally have sex with anyone who wanted it--and when a boy is as good looking as you a lot will want it from you. There’s nothing wrong at your age if it’s a boy or a girl. Or even a man. I bet there are guys at your high school who would like to have it on with you--and teachers too, both the women and men ones. You hear a lot about that. When you have sex with a male teacher you can learn some really good technique that puts you ahead of others in spiking girls. In those cases where a male teacher takes a boy under his wing and teaches him about sex, the boy is always a stud, like you. Here, you take the last of the beer. I started before I met up with you.” Which, of course, was a lie.

“I’ve never thought if it, of course. I’m not--”

“Oh, I think you’ve thought of it, Amir. I watched you on the beach today. I think you thought of it every time a hunk walked by. You like muscular men, don’t you? You liked the guys who could wear a bikini well.”

“Uh. ... yeah, I guess. A bit. I’d like to be like that too, I guess. I’m sure that’s why I like to look--”

“How about me, Amir? Do you like my body? Do you like how I wear this bikini?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Here, feel my biceps. Pretty hard, right? And my six pack. I bet with a little more work you could have this too.” He held Amir’s hand in his and moved it around his body from the bicep that Amir had willingly touched, down the line of his hard chest, to his abdomen. Amir, three sheets to the wind now, didn’t fight him, although he was trembling almost uncontrollably. So Max moved the hand down farther, to lay on his basket--and his tented erection.

Amir only let his palm rest there for a few seconds before pulling the hand away. He reclined then full length on his back on the towel and looked up at the stars. his legs were still spread and bent. The perfect missionary position if Max could get something under his butt to raise his pelvis. He was lightly panting. Stretching out beside him, hovering slighting over him, and looking down at him, Max wanted him now more than ever before.

“Woowie, I think I’ve had enough of that beer,” Amir whispered. As it was, he’d quickly downed three and a half cans.

Stretched out full length beside him, Max moved an arm under the boy’s neck. They’d brought pads to sit on and hadn’t used them, Max maneuvered on under the small of Amir’s back, raising his pelvis. Amir didn’t seem to notice. His eyes seemed intent on picking out the constellations in the clear sky. He began to sigh softly, as Max ran the tips of the sea oat stalks up and down Amir’s chest, from his pecs, where the nipples puffed up nicely, down to his belly, which shimmered at the touch. The tenting of the boy’s Speedo pouch was becoming more and more pronounced.

Max hovered his face over Amir’s. “I asked you if you found my body attractive.”

“Yes, of course,” Amir squeaked.

“Sexy even? I know you’re aroused. We both know we both are aroused.”

“Yes,” Amir squeaked again.

“Has a man ever kissed you? You can learn so much from a man.”

“No,” the admission was given in a low, throaty voice.

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