Busted - In the Best Possible Way

A clump of trees in a park. It’s still cool, and far from the hot summer we can expect, but its good enough for me … good enough for my purposes. Today, I will strip naked and masturbate. 

I am well set up for my adventure because I am wearing a thin cotton summer dress…and nothing else. Not a stitch! Even the walk from the car has my heart pounding. There are a couple of dog walkers in the park and a couple of people just having a walk and enjoying the spring bulbs that are beginning to bloom now. 

But I know where I’m going….I’ve been here before. 

It can get windy here so the trees are in small clumps of maybe a dozen or so, and their canopies intermesh nicely. They provide something of a screen from the park itself, and are perfect for my intentions. 

I work my way to the spot I’ve used before. I don’t wait…there’s no need. I’m already wet and I could easily bring myself off just by reaching up my dress….but not today. Today I want more. I unzip my dress and it falls round my feet. The cool air bites at my nipples, and chills the wetness between my legs. 

I’m naked in public. I don’t need Miss Brain. This act alone is erotic enough. I run my hands over my body and cup my firm boobs, allowing my long nipples to poke through between my fingers. But I can’t hold off for long. I let my hand slide down my tummy to my secret place between my legs. I shall need to play my clit carefully or I shall cum far too quickly. 

A moment’s pause while I pick my dress up and hang it on a convenient branch. Then I return to my joyous task. My eyes are half closed as I focus on the pleasure of touching myself. Miss Brain merely drifts along with me for the ride. No images other than one of what I must look like, standing here alone, naked, masturbating. 

A voice. A male voice. 

“Don’t stop. I promise I won’t try anything, but please, just don’t stop.” 

Of course, I do, but only for a second. The voice sounds ‘mature’. What a stupid word. What do I mean? Old? No, not old. Young, then? No, not that either. Can one guess an age from a voice? Mid 40s perhaps? I really am not sure…somewhere around there. 

And so…he speaks again. “Please. Allow me just to watch.” I fantasise so often about being watched, and now it is happening in the best possible way. A man who has some restraint. Somehow, I just know he won’t try to approach me. He knows he is lucky beyond words to see this. He has no intention of fucking it up…or fucking me. 

And so I return to my self-appointed task. My body begins to move as the pleasure builds…a slow undulation of my hips and a regular tensing of my bum cheeks. I dip a finger inside me, opening the way for my wetness to run out and down my leg. 

“You’re wet. I can smell you.” Miss Brain flashes that scene from silence of the lambs, when Clarice Starling is walking past the cells of the deranged mad men, and one of them hisses, “I can smell your cunt.” I reply to him. “Yes, I’m very wet.” 

Is he really there, or is this Miss Brain. No, he is really there…I hear some subtle movement behind me, twigs crackle. What is he doing. Maybe he is masturbating? Oh I do hope so. 

“Do you have a finger inside?” Maybe I should turn so he can see me? I reply first, “Yes….should I turn..?” He is quick with his response. “No.” It’s almost a raised voice….then, again, calmer this time “No…please stay as you are. Do you mind if I talk to you?” Definitely not…I’d love it. “Oh…yes….please! But would you mind being…that is…feel free to be…coarse.” (‘Coarse’? Why didn’t I say ‘dirty’ or ‘vulgar’/) 

“Your  back is beautiful….the way it moves….your tight bum…I can imagine kneeling behind you and licking you there would be quite an experience.” 

I return my attention to my clit….but oh, I need to be careful. I could cum right now…oh, so very easily. I want to ask him something. “Tell me…do you have your…” he interrupts. Firmly. “No! Only I talk. But to answer your question, yes, I have my cock out. How could a man see this and not want to cum?” 

A sharp stab of muscle contraction lances through my cunt and bum…no…not yet…too soon…way too soon. I let my fingers reluctantly drop away from my clit, but I keep my body moving, squeezing my thighs together as I do so. 

“Mmm….I can smell you. I’d love to lick you…to suck your cunt. It would be quite something, I think, to bend you forward against that oak tree and fuck you from behind.” There’s nothing I’d like more. I can’t resist the lure of my clit anymore and I go back to is, massaging my labia around my hyper-sensitive little sex bean. If I touch her directly, I shall cum. 

“I’m going to cum in a moment." The calm tenor of his voice has been replaced by ragged breathing and a slight tremor. “I want to be vulgar. Would you mind?” All I can do is shake my head. I’m balanced on the pinnacle of an orgasm. I can’t speak, I daren’t move. Even taking my fingers off my labia will make me cum. Any movement at all will send my world spiralling. 

“My wife would never allow me to speak like this. But I feel I can trust you.” Trust? Yes, there is an immense amount of trust here. 

“You are so fucking sexy…..I can imagine you being fucked….you fucking dirty little cunt.” I feel something splatter against my bum and then the back of my thigh and I know he has shot his load on me. 

Without even touching myself, the touch of his cum as it hits me and runs down my leg triggers an almighty orgasm. Instinctively, I spread my. Legs and squirt onto the floor. I hear him groan behind me. “Have you wet yourself?” he asks. I tell him no…it’s squirt. He says one word, “Oh.” Miss Brain, rightly or wrongly feeds a world of regret into that word. 

I turn around, and standing behind me, partially masked by two tree trunks is a man in, as I guessed, his mid 4os. 

He is a gentleman to his fingertips. I pull my dress on and he offers me coffee in the dismal little park cafe. (What I could do with this place if I owned it!) over a cup of cash-and-carry’s cheapest instant coffee (would make good paint stripper but tastes awful) we talked. 

Him? Married, utterly stagnant sex life. He had seen me worm my way into the trees and followed. By the time he could see me, I was already masturbating and naked. To him, it seemed rude to run away! Did I mind what he did…what he said? I told him I love being caught..being watched, and no, what he did and said was perfect. I told him his cum hitting me was what made me cum too. 

He tells me that I am taking a terrible risk, doing what I’m doing. “One day, someone will see you who has no restraint. You run the risk of being raped.” Well, yes and no. Yes, there is that risk, but my dad is what you might call ‘high profile’. He has ‘protection’ when he travels, and when we were 13, Ali and I had self defence lessons. This wasn’t your basic judo/karate 101. These lessons came from a former Special Services officer, and he taught us well. If we didn’t put 100% into our sessions, he beat the crap out of us. By the time we were 15, Ali and I could more than look after ourselves….something our trainer proved to his satisfaction when, unannounced, he sent a couple of men to see if we really had understood his input! We did! 

There was a depth of sadness in his eyes when he told me that he hasn’t had the opportunity to make his wife cum since their children were born. “She just….went off sex. We married young..23 and 25 respectively, and our sex life was..indescribably rich and varied. Then came the children, and….” He lets the sentence tail off. He stares into his cup for a while, no doubt remembering what used to be. 

I place my hand over his. “I’m so sorry. Sex should be joyous, wild, unconfined. Is there nothing..?” He has suggested therapy, marriage guidance sessions, even a sex therapist, but his wife isn’t interested. ‘I love her. I would never, ever have sex with another woman. What happened today was…” This time, I interrupt him “What happened today was opportunistic, and utterly necessary. I squeeze his hand and my fingers, still wet from me, slip slightly on his skin. 

I get up to use the bathroom. I am still leaking profusely, as Miss Brain won’t let me forget that feeling of this stranger’s semen running down the back of my leg. When I get back to the table, he is gone. A simple, elegantly written note in a fine copperplate hand simply says “thank you.” 

I shall remember this chance encounter. 

Next time, I want to tell you about something really grimy…..thoroughly enjoyable, but grimy!