From high above, the sea looked fairly calm. Soft sweet swells lifted and fell as they strove toward shore. But up here the breeze was fresh and cool. Down below, the sun would have warmed the stones. Yes, the woman sitting on the deck chair touched her bare toes to the surface then pulled them back. She was wearing a long flannel jacket and nothing else. Her partner, crouched some eight feet away, was taking pictures of her. The jacket was open, but the slats of the chair concealed her breasts from the camera’s eye. Still, there was little doubt that her nipples were plump as berries.

Her leg, lifted, would have concealed her cunt slit from the camera.

Sure enough, not more than a minute later the man put down the camera and lay back on the warm stone, and the woman took off her fleece or flannel jacket, set it on the chair, and mounted the man. Their fuck was by turns furious and sedate, gentle and ferocious. She cried out when she came, and they kept fucking and she kept coming. The ecstasy they enjoyed obliterated all else. They lay back, sated, perhaps asleep. The gulls glided down, and with precision teamwork plucked the object of their desire and carried it off.