Many moons ago, I took a walk to the naturist beach at Studland, Dorset. It was mid-week, quiet, on a warm sunny day outside of the tourist season. I looked around and it was nearly deserted, so it felt as though I had the whole place to myself. I stripped, lay on my back in a dune, closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun.

After not too long, the warmth, wind, and just being outdoors really started to arouse me, so I gently toyed with myself, getting harder and harder, the pleasure from my cock seemed to extend throughout my entire body, from the tip of my toes to the top of my head. I held this state for ages, my whole body tensing in sync with my hand, my back softly writhing against the sand.

Somewhere at the edge of my senses, I registered soft footsteps, just a shuffle in the dunes very nearby. However, I was far too aroused to stop at this point. I kept my eyes closed and just carried on enjoying myself - not caring who might see at this point.

Another movement nearby left no doubt that someone was definitely watching. The sound was very close - within a few feet. The thought of having an audience brought me closer to the point of no return.

Suddenly, I heard the click-whir of a camera (this was before digital cameras), and again, and again. This was too much to bear. My orgasm came so strong it almost hurt. Every nerve in my entire being burst with pleasure as I arched my back and unloaded jet after jet of cum over myself. Somehow, I managed to keep my eyes closed; not wanting to give away that I knew about my audience. The camera clicked several more times as I flopped back onto the sand, exhausted.

I heard him or her walk away then dozed for a few minutes in the afterglow. I never did see the photographer or the photographs. I wonder what happened to them?

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