The hot guy

“Oh shit—” He immediately averts his gaze, turning slightly while still facing you. “Are you okay? What happened? Did someone…?” His voice is genuinely concerned, deep and steady, no sleazy smirk. He keeps his eyes mostly on your face, clearly trying to be respectful, but you can’t help noticing the very obvious hard bulge straining against the front of his swim trunks. It looks thick and large, the outline pressing prominently against the fabric.

“I… my clothes, my phone, my keys… they’re gone,” you stammer, your soft feminine voice trembling. You try to cover your breasts with one arm and your mound with the other, but it’s useless. The movement makes your breasts jiggle.

He listens carefully, brow furrowed in worry. “This is a private beach after hours. The staff probably saw the stuff and took it to Lost & Found as a precaution. But they close at sunset. You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning when they open.”

Tomorrow? The words hit you like ice water. “I can’t… I have no way to get home. No phone, no keys, nothing.” Your voice cracks. The thought of walking the streets like this makes your stomach twist even as another shameful throb pulses through your core at the sight of his bulge.

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly conflicted but kind. “Look, I don’t want to leave you out here like this. My place is just up the path—a small studio apartment. I can bring you something to wear and you can crash at my place tonight. It’s not much, but it’s warm and safe.”

You hesitate, cheeks burning. He seems earnest—truly concerned, no predatory vibe. And despite everything, you can’t deny the carnal pull. That large bulge, his sculpted abs, the way his eyes keep flicking back to your face out of respect… it makes your plugged ass and dripping pussy ache. The game’s permanent sensitivity isn’t helping.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

He nods, relieved. “Stay right here. I’ll be quick.” He jogs off toward the small cluster of beachside apartments, leaving you alone again with the lapping waves and your racing thoughts.

A few minutes later he returns, breathing a little harder, holding out an oversized plain white T-shirt. “It’s the only thing I could find that might work. Sorry, I don’t exactly keep women’s clothes around.”

You pull it on gratefully. The shirt is big enough to fall mid-thigh, covering more than your scandalous sundress ever did. It drapes loosely over your breasts, the thin fabric doing little to hide your still-hard nipples, but at least you’re not fully exposed. The hem brushes your upper thighs, and every movement reminds you of the plug and the soaked pussy. Arousal: 82%.

“Better?” he asks softly, keeping his eyes polite.

You nod, tugging the hem down. “Yes. Thank you… really.”

He leads the way up the path to his studio apartment, a modest one-room place with a kitchenette, a queen size bed and not much else. It’s clean and simple, with the faint scent of ocean air and his cologne lingering. As you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you.

The sultry voice purrs in your mind: “Mmm, accepting help from a handsome stranger? How adventurous. Your body seems to approve…”

He offers to sleep on the floor and leave you the bed, but you cannot accept, you insist that you share the bed.

Soon after you both fall asleep. You are using his oversize T-Shirt as pajama and haven't taken out the buttplug to avoid having to explain that too to him. He is sleeping wearing just his trunks.