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Someone Might See

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One reason why sex in a public place is so exciting

The Savill Garden is gorgeous on this warm spring afternoon, the first really hot day of the year. I’m leaning over the footbridge that crosses the upper end of the Obelisk Pond, looking at the water flowing gently past, while Justin stands behind me with his arms clasped around my tummy, his cheek against mine. It feels nice, and I don’t mind when he starts to kiss my neck, nuzzling into the nape in the way he knows I like.

I purr encouragingly, and one of his hands moves further up until it makes contact with my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra, so his hand can rub directly against the soft flesh with only the thin cotton of my t-shirt between. My nipple gets hard instantly, and he tweaks it gently.

He’s getting frisky, and I’m happy to let him continue, but it’s a bit public here. There are people everywhere, families and couples, all enjoying the June sunshine. No-one’s going to mind a bit of kissing, and even a casual breast-stroke, but I can’t see him settling for that.

Sure enough, he nips the soft skin of my neck, and one of his hands slips underneath my t-shirt and starts to caress my bare tummy. Then it moves up further and the fingers stroke the bottom edge of my breasts, tickling my under-boob.

“Mmm, no, stop,” I murmur. A middle-aged couple with a dog on a lead stroll past, and I pull his hand down again to tummy-level. But as soon as they’re past his hand is snaking up, further this time so his fingers can find the firm pink bud of my nipple. I can feel my t-shirt being lifted up by his arm, exposing some pale flesh.

“No!” I admonish, a bit sharper this time.

“Oh Annie, I want you so much,” he mutters, nibbling at my ear now.

“There’re too many people here,” I complain. I know I’m an exhibitionist, but there are limits.

“I don’t care,” he goes on. His hand is on my bare leg now, stroking the skin by the bottom edge of my short denim skirt, moving up just underneath and round onto the sensitive inner thigh. My skin’s tingling, I’m getting aroused myself.

“Okay, a quick cuddle, but let’s go up into the woods there,” I concede.

We break off from the path and go up the slope into the trees. It’s a bit cooler in there, but not much. I lean against a tree-trunk, and put my arms around Justin, pulling him towards me. He kisses me, our lips sliding against each other, his tongue between them into my mouth.

His arms are round me too, his hands stroking my back. I feel them going back under my t-shirt, caressing my skin. One slips round the front and cups my breast inside my shirt, fondling and squeezing gently. A little moan escapes involuntarily as he flicks my perky nipple. It does feel good.

I let my hands slip down his back to cradle his bum. I squeeze his cheeks, then slide a hand between his legs from behind. I can feel the round bulge of his scrotum, then the curve of his prick, already semi-hard. I let my hand slide along the length, feeling the smooth firm shape.

Suddenly I hear voices, soft laughter, shockingly close. A young couple about our age come strolling round a bush, chatting. We’re not doing anything too naughty, but I still jump and feel guilty, letting go of his prick. I catch their eye, try to look away, and hear them giggle as they continue past.

Justin barely pauses in his attentions, though. Then he briefly lets go of me, takes hold of the bottom of my t-shirt and starts to pull it up.

“Stop it!” I whisper. “Someone might see!”

But he carries on, and suddenly the front of my shirt slides up over the little bumps of my 32b breasts. There they are, free in the open air, the firm pink buds of my nipples giving away my arousal. Before I have a chance to protest further, he lowers his head and kisses the pale skin of my right tit, then closes his mouth over my nipple.

I can feel his tongue flicking back and forth over the bud while he sucks on it. I look down below my shirt crumpled around my neck and can see my other breast fully exposed, the areola dimpled with excitement.

Despite myself, I’m very aroused. I put my hand on the front of his jeans and stroke the bulge of his cock. It feels very hard now. I fumble for the button at the top of his fly, and pop it open, then drag his zip down. His trousers start to gape, and I realise, as his erection pops out into my hand, that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

That escalated quickly. I hadn’t planned to have his erect prick rearing up in the open air quite so fast. I put my hand round it and rub it once or twice, holding it against my thigh. He’s still sucking on my bare breast, but I can feel one of his hands going right underneath my denim skirt. It’s being dragged quite far up my thigh as he gropes for my little knickers, sliding a finger under the elastic. I feel his finger on the edge of my slit, over the tight folds of my labia, then slipping between them to find my hole. I breathe in sharply, and get a soft whiff of my own pussy juices.

His fingers slide up and down between my labia, across my hole, teasing me, then finally slip inside. It feels like two fingers, wriggling inside me, curling up to find my soft spongy special spot, and then scissoring inside, pressing against my vaginal walls to stretch me wider. I feel a dribble of my juices running out and down my inner thigh.

In the near distance, I can still hear voices: laughter; someone calling a dog. Anyone could walk round that bush and find us. It’s so exciting, so risky. My heart’s beating. I start to pump harder at his erect prick in my hand, my fingertips only just touching round its thick shaft.

His mouth is still sucking at my nipple. He pulls my skirt further up, making it easier for him to finger me, my knickers pushed to one side. His fingers slip out, only to move upwards towards the hard bud of my clitoris. Oh shit, that’s too much. His fingers strum over it, building up a rhythm. He’s watched me masturbating; he knows how I like it. Just like that.

I look down and watch my hand manipulating his prick. The head‘s purple and swollen, and as I watch a little squirt of pre-cum shoots out. To be honest, I know that all I need to do is pump him for a while and he’ll come. It’s as if we know a fuck is too risky, but this is as good. Mutual masturbation up against a tree; hand-job and finger-job.

I can feel my orgasm starting to build. My breath’s coming quicker, little gasps. Then his fingers flick faster, and it breaks over me unexpectedly quickly, making me cry out in delicious surprise. I just can’t help myself. My legs turn to jelly and I almost collapse, but he’s holding me up. Still gasping, I rest his prick in my hand, and circle my thumb around the sensitive edge of his helmet.

Now it’s his turn to gasp; his prick pulses, and a long rope of semen loops out of the end. I hold it to one side and watch the thick white string splatter onto the ground. As he lets out a series of low moans, several more ropes follow, shooting through the air, until the last few dollops ooze out over my hand, thick goo on my fingers.

We both lean against the tree, panting and perspiring. I feel very warm, I must be pink in the face. I can smell the semen, and raise my hand to my mouth to lick it off.

Then a movement catches my eye. Beside the bushes across the clearing, I can see two shadowy figures. There’s a motion at waist level, and I realise with a thrill that it’s the couple who passed us earlier. And he has his prick out, and she’s masturbating him.

Justin’s just tucking his penis back into his jeans. “Look behind you, quick,” I whisper urgently, and he turns, just in time to watch the other man ejaculate, his semen shooting into the air and distributing itself all over the leaves of the adjacent bush.

“Whoa, fuck, were they watching us?” he whispers.

“They must’ve been.”

“I wish I’d known. We could have put on more of a show.”

Now they’re watching us watching them. As we look, the woman bends down, puts the man’s prick in her mouth and licks it clean, then tucks it back in his trousers. Then she pulls him back behind the bush, and we hear them disappearing quickly.

“Should we follow?” he asks.

I’m tempted, but it’s better this way.

“No, let’s leave it. That was just hot like it was.”

We slowly walk back to the gardens, past the bush coated in the man’s semen. It’s already starting to disperse and drip down off the leaves. I put a drop on my finger and sniff it, salty and strong, then rub it away between my palms. But the memory will be with me for a lot longer, I know.

 

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