Add Salt to Taste

We walked along the track and then to the beach near the designated coastal camping site. We both needed to get away from our parents and our younger bratty babyish male siblings. We needed girl time and to talk seriously about the guys in our lives. Would we keep them or move on to fresh hot bods at University?
It was a new coastal camping site. Dad had picked it out. He said something about it having heritage ruins nearby, but I was only interested in Denny being there. We were senior college girls just enjoying the start of the summer break after too many intense exams, our future on hold till results were published in a month. It was either going to be an early Christmas present or parental disapproval of wasted opportunities being flung in our faces. We believed we had done enough to pass.
As we walked side by side on the soft, warm sand, we were doing the girly things that girls do together, away from their guys and adults. We were engaged in soft flirty, touchy-feely, wholesomely affectionate contact, which leads boyfriends to get the wrong idea about what girls end up doing together. We held hands sometimes. We were nudging into hips, leaning into each other and flicking back free-flowing hair. Sorry guys, nothing sapphic here; it’s what girls do together. They share space, real personal space and talk the intimate talk, close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s sweet breath.
We were girls at eighteen, earnestly trying to work out, guys. Were they worth it? Did they actually like us, or were they still immature pricks focused only on the pussy they could get quickly and regularly enough now? Only hanging around known coochie to hopefully sniff and stuff the butts they desperately wanted access to.
The shoreline got rougher as we headed along it. There were knobby boulders in the sand as the tide was receding. Our footing, though, was sure like our friendship.
“Paul wants to starfish me,” Denny said suddenly, typically not hiding anything from me.
Her mind was as open as my legs were when I was in the mood for immediate quick sex with my current boyfriend.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Andrew thought that once he got a finger working up there, his dick followed straight away, and there was no condom on either the prick. His excuse was that I couldn’t get pregnant up my arse, so why was I so tight about it. “
I could see Denny’s eyes full of interest.
“Well, he didn’t even get my pussy that night,” I continued, “because I told him it was tight and private up my arse, and he better get used to the idea of his dick not getting in there.”
“Wow, good on you, Jaz,” she said, giving me a Hi-Five, “Paul needs to know he’s not getting my butt either. Well, not just yet. I think it’s because of what Simone told me. Do you remember? She said it hurt, and it left her sore. I’m really not sure. You know, I do, and I don’t, but, yeah, butt.”
We flicked each other’s hair and laughed together. We nudged into each other’s hips. We were ambling along the beach and over smoother rocky outcrops with our thongs mainly off now and occasionally stopping to dip out our feet in the ebbing tide’s gentle shallow waves. I had on a short denim skirt and Denny a pair of faded tight denim shorts. I had on my red bikini top and Denny her cute white bikini top.
I watched the tide go out and the mud crabs emerge for their scuttle when Denny got excited about something.
“Jaz,” said my bestie, “Look up there.”
The remains of some old buildings were clear enough, and there was a track up to them. It was a bit rough, so we carefully picked our way, the tussocky dune grass pricking our bare ankles, and god only knows why; Denny returned to our earlier conversation.
“Jaz, what’s a finger up your butt like?”
“Steady girl, I don’t do that.”
“No, silly, Andrew’s finger up your arse, honey.”
“Oh yeah, well, he only got to do it once. It was nice, actually; no kidding. It surprised me, but it was only one finger, and he didn’t get deep, and he was gentle. However, he angled his pecker almost immediately to nudge over my crack, and I pulled away, and he could tell I wasn’t happy.”
“So, it feels good, but you’re not sure about a thick prick in your tight crack,” said Denny.
“Yeah, that’s it. I think you need heaps of trust; it seems a really intimate act to me, and I want it to be memorable, not just butt fucking to know what arse fucking is.”
Denny seemed happy with that, and we were at the top of the slope, anyway.
“Jaz, these ruins are more substantial than we realised. See, there are some interpretation boards over there. Let’s take a look.”
We both became aware we were on a heritage site that was the remains of a salt works. Constructed in the early nineteenth century from locally sourced stone, parts of the exterior and interior walls were still over two metres high. The evidence of former, practical and sturdy no-nonsense buildings now decayed but partially stabilised by National Parks Services. I would have known most of this if I had listened to my dad more carefully before our trip. It was, however, the usual senior college girl thing; we want to see and do it, not hear about it.
We both read: Salt was a necessary preservative in a different era. On the site, though, all that was left of serious capital and human endeavour were several walls, a couple of chunky sandstone doorways with well-worn entry stones and a few apparent former window spaces. The interpretation boards indicated by plans and historical drawings the lost outbuildings, now only visible as grass-edged sandstone mounds and seemingly randomly placed rusted machinery.
“Geez,” said Denny, “Hard to believe there was once a small community here. A windmill, a salt house, workers’ quarters and salt reservoirs and pumps out to sea.”
“Yeah, “I said, “The former overseer’s house is apparently behind that hedge over there, but now it’s a private residence.”
There was no one else around as we wandered into the remnants. The afternoon sunlight made the stone space warm. I saw how Denny’s well-applied sunscreen was glistening on her nape. I was looking at the small of her back and her delicate sun-bleached hair follicles. I was glancing at the tight curve of her arse in her denim shorts. Geez, girl, get a grip; it’s Denny, I told myself.
I followed Denny closely through an internal doorway when she stopped abruptly, and my tits squashed into her back. The back I had wanted to touch sexily a moment ago. She turned quickly; the adjacent room was uncleared rubble and not designed for entry. We were squeezed into each other accidentally in the stone door frame, where supporting wooden posts stabilised the structure. Denny’s body was pressed to mine. Our breasts moulded together in a happy accident. Seemingly scrunched but a sensual, smouldering smothering of each other’s barely separated softness. Our nipples were butting softer tissue in turn. Our skimpy bathing tops were not designed to stifle the most sensitive chest flesh. The contact was stunning for me. I wanted to knead and kiss my friend’s boobs instantly.
Denny gasped, surprised and then released a deeper tight pant as I seized the moment and spread her white bikini top outwards, then down, revealing her comely eye-catching boobs. Both of which, without delay, I started to fondle and lick. My brunette friend was paused in a trance of delighted acceptance. No qualms. No concerns. She was entirely in the intense gratification that her breasts were so generously dispensing to her senses immediately.
She wanted to kiss me, and we did raunchily and repeatedly. But then she urged my head back to her supple nipples, which I nibbled and suckled in turn. She was softly moaning, but her hands removed my red bikini top. Denny now had intent too. We kissed again, but our nipples rubbed across each other’s breasts. Our sensitive teat hardness was found and was repeatedly prodding into softness and occasionally the unique tingly sensation of nipple sweeping across nipple. Her hand was also pushing my free-flowing blonde locks back from my face. Denny was unstoppable, yet I had started this, hadn’t I? I was now lost in skin-on-skin contact like my cute girlfriend.
The ravenous slut had my panties peeled down from under my denim skirt. She urged me down onto an area of smooth flagstones. I was on my hands and knees, and Denny was behind me. She partly rolled up my skirt, and my pussy and arse were exposed to my girlfriend’s gaze, fingers and tongue, just like that. No private bodily secrets left to reveal, my shaved lips and butthole defenceless.
Denny’s fingers teased over my labia. I moaned, “Oohh, Mmm, Mmm, Ahh.”
She was so sensual to start with, but I could tell she had put spit on her fingers, and her thumb soon dug into my clithood, which excited me. She was edging around my arsehole with one finger, then two. She was opening my pucker hole between her spreading, pushing fingers. My friend was gaping at my arse. She dribbled a wad of spit directly into my arsehole. It was sodden wet and made me so randy. Denny’s spit was excitingly warm, and she smeared generous dollops around and around my rim. Then, more spit dirtily and deeply into my sensitive constrictive crack.
Fuck, she could have rimmed and prodded my arse with her fingers forever, but too quickly, my fingers were greedily undoing her denim button and fumbling with her zip. My hands were trying to get her tight shorts off too quickly. Denny sensed my urgency and need and her equal need, too and bent over, away from me. Her slightly loosened shorts were mine to pull off. My brunette friend posed as I had a minute ago. Denny was allowing me her rear view too. All of private Denny was for me.
My, she had a peachy butt, and I kissed both of her rounded hemispheres, where her skimpy knickers didn’t cover her fleshy cheeks. Nothing stopped my focus on her girly bits and the prospect of seeing her arsehole. Her shorts and black panties were fully quickly off in one easy action. But Denny’s pose was equally easy as she turned over and spread her legs.
“Oh My God,” I let it out in sheer wondrous fascination.
Nothing prepares you for startling genitals. Denny had these cute fulsome lips, fuller than mine; her pussy, when open, was shaped like a wishbone, her clit exposed clearly at the top of her stunning personal treasure trove. My tongue went straight to her clit. It looked so good. It tasted sweet, with just a hint of salt. More importantly, I was in Denny. My brunette friend was rapt. She was effusive and expressively so in her clit’s dominating role under my tongue. Denny was lost in a series of moaning, “Orr, fuck, Orr’s.”
My tongue was darting with forceful pressure, and my lips were pursed in a gentle, upward, sucking motion on her aroused pink bead. Her clit and my tongue were completely intimate, instant best friends. I went on a clit sucking frenzy. I was burying my face between her soon writhing legs. The intensity was escalating Denny to heights of pleasure. But I wanted her arsehole too and had her on her hands and knees. She was my willing accomplice in bodily fun. No limits. Nothing denied. The bitch had everything it seemed; a cute indenting delightful butthole which I started licking. Denny went straight to joyous moaning but managed to say,
“Spit in me, Jaz, spit in my arse.”
Of course, I spat generously and dirtily into my girlfriend’s impressive, imposing and privy crevice. And then I licked and centred my tongue right into her sweet, gaped her spit filled hole. I ran my tongue from her pussy, over her sensitive stretched perineum and across her areshole repeatedly. However, we had to have each other simultaneously. There was no other way from this point. We needed all of each other together. We kissed, groped and fondled into a side on sixty-nine. Nothing spared. Everything given. Taste and touch were escalating toward orgasms.
Denny was munching on my pussy and now fingering my arsehole. My sacred off-limits arsehole. Denny had one finger in, then two fingers. It was heavenly. I was sexually spellbound. I loved my arse. I loved Denny. She burrowed into my arse in filthy smutty delight. And I took it all equally with a growing acceptance of its delicious rudeness. My arse was so happy—pleasure extracted from my butt as naturally as salt is from the sea.
I gave equally back to my brunette friend. She quivered slightly as I put a finger inside her butthole. Her tight cute arsehole. But in her growing excitement and pleasure pulsing, she was soon relaxed enough to take two of my desperate fingers. We were butthole lovers. I spread her butt crack, gaping at her pinkness and spitting again into her private bull’s eye. However, in the end, her clit was too pretty. A nub of waiting flesh, waiting to intoxicate Denny with pleasure. I swept my tongue in darting, fixated, sharing across her exposed mass of nerves, and my girlfriend came with repeatedly rapid ‘mmm’s’ of satisfaction.
Where Denny found the energy to return the compliment to my pussy, she was a great friend and made sure I had fun in the ruins too. A girl and her tongue; well, it‘s a girl and her tongue, way different than a guy and his tongue. She made sure I surged to a climax too. Her tongue work was so intimately sure.
All I can remember saying was, “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
Then I descended into pleasure waves that clouded out words and obliterated any thoughts in my head except for my body being centred on my clit. We snuggled and cuddled under the afternoon sun for a few minutes. We were relaxed and girly glowing. We were preserving memory. We leisurely redressed with a couple of tender kisses. Then we started to make our way back down to the beach and head back to the camping site. As a pair, we only gave a casual glance back at the ruins.
“Jaz, that was so easy,” said Denny, “I mean the sweet arse play. It was so easy. Is it because we know there’s nothing bigger like a cock to follow our fingers, or is it girly sensitiveness? We trust a girl.” She took off her thongs like me as we walked on the hard sand where the tide was out. Then added, “I just wonder because I don’t think Paul’s getting my butt just yet, as good as it felt with you.”
“Maybe,” I said, flickering back her hair, “Maybe, it is that small hole, and our guys have such thick cocks, but if they just got to know us really inside, really intimate, as intimate as we are together, we would just let them. I’m sure of that.”
The tide was receding to reveal a sandbar. The sand was firm under our feet. My own thoughts, though, were very fluid. The wind picked up a bit. The air filled suddenly with a salty spray. Our hair was blown about our faces.
“You know, Denny said to me, “Your pussy has a slight salty taste.”
“You too, sweetie,” I replied, pushing her gorgeous dark hair back vainly in the wind.
I knew we both would savour and re-savour our time in the salt works. Ruins long abandoned and once a place full of life and memories. Now all gone, yet the space was renewed by holding for the two of us; a special personal connection. We both pushed into each other’s hips repeatedly as we headed back along the beach. Playful girly touch or maybe something more. Who knew just yet?