Saturday, and September's first wild winds had slammed into the coast, bringing with them a washout of a weekend. The couple's outside plans had withered and died as the storm loomed on the weather maps. The crash of waves were swapped for rain hammering against window panes, picnic blankets for fleece ones, cuddles on the beach for snuggles on the sofa. They'd even drifted off together that afternoon, the talkshow radio soporific to him, the rise and fall of his chest to her.
That evening the fast dying autumn light became obvious to them both, heavy dark grey skies accentuating that inevitable change of the seasons. They'd closed their curtains at a sensible hour for the first time in months; six o'clock in summer was always suspiciously early, and she'd dither and worry each time that a neighbour would draw salacious - if accurate - conclusions. But that day the subdued outside light meant she had no such wrinkle of concern for him to smooth over, and the mess of blankets and pillows and soft candlelight in the living room gave them the perfect excuse to live up to expectation after dinner, the film rerun quickly forgotten. She'd made pancakes in only her apron as a second dessert. He'd taken his third from her over the kitchen table.
Perhaps that's what gave him the idea.
Sunday, though the wind still threatened to tear the roof clean off, sometime that afternoon the drumming of the rain came to an abrupt, eerie silence.
She twitched the curtain nets back. Fluffy white clouds raced towards them, crisp, blue skies lay beyond and yellow light broke through and spilt across the sea to the horizon. The worst was over, then.
He stood behind her with one strong arm around her waist, and voiced much the same sentiment. He suggested a walk to stretch their legs, to test their newfound freedom from the deluge.
"But I want to show you something first." he said as they left, him in the driver's seat, slinging the car out the drive in one fluid motion. "It's not far." She agreed. And other than him playfully insisting that one coat would suffice rather than layering with fleece and scarf ("it's not that cold out"), nothing was amiss.
Storefronts turned to townhouses turned to detached new builds. As they hit the country road to the nearby village tucked in the valley over she knew exactly where "not far" was. His little smirk when she ask confirmed it. The brow of the pass - High Point.
High Point was a hidden beauty spot, popular with locals and more adventurous tourists alike. Not for the spot itself, mind - it only a nondescript clump of trees all gnarled and bent in submission to the relentless sea winds - but for the breathtaking views the copse offered. To the north lay farmland sprawled to the horizon, to the south the winding river and the picturesque cliffs tourists loved, the east a blanket of forest, and on a clear day to the west the nearest city formed a grey smudge against the sunset. This time of year the low Sun made shadows stretch across the valley to paint a saturated drama, swallows swooping and screaming through the sunbeams, catching their last meal before committing south for the winter. And on the edge of the copse stood a three-seater park bench, their bench, on which they'd watch it all.
He pulled off the country road to the car park, gravel crunching under tyre and for the first visit in memory they were alone. It wasn't hard to feel why - despite clear skies the wind still rocked the car as they came to a full stop.
"I see, you want me to beat you at blackberry picking again?" She scanned the tree-line, assessing how much of the wild fruit was left. But when she was met with stony silence instead of a playful rise to the challenge she turned back to find him glaring, his lips a thin line.
The wind whistled a warning across the car bonnet.
"Get out the car," he said.
It was a command. His switch in attitude dizzied her and she took a moment too long to extrapolate out.
"What?! Here?!"
"Get. Out. The car."
Her heart caught in her throat. "But... I..."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why am I repeating myself? Do you want me to make this worse for you?"
Shit.
She scrambled out the car, wind catching the door and manhandling her upright. It was conspiring with her partner - relentless, whipping her loose auburn hair against her face and stealing her breath, unsteadying her with every forceful gust. He stepped out and lightly bracing himself against the car, cool and composed.
The piercing blue skies were above them both now, September colours vivid in the light, the day's rain leaving the air earthy and tinged salty from the sea spray picked up two miles south. By looks she was as calm as the view, standing to attention as best she could in her windbreaker jacket and jeans. But at ground level, inside and between them, like the wind a heady maelstrom began to swirl.
Outside? She thought. But where, exactly?
As if reading her mind that mischievous smirk flashed again, before fading back to his painted scowl.
She watched on helpless as he locked the car, the mechanism's clunk the clink of chains. He slipped the keys deep into his pocket.
"Come here!" Another bark from him, loud over the storm's dregs. She made sure to move quickly, head up but eyes lowered in deference.
Taking her by the wrist he pulled her towards a muddy path starting one end of the copse of trees. A faded and tone-deaf sign cheerily welcomed them both to the High Point Trail. She heard the distant swallows screaming, echoing the one voice in her head.
The trail itself looped through the copse and down a steep track to join the river walk, the route she'd naively assumed they'd be taking today. Their bench lay at the end of the dense tunnel of trees, just before the hill. She could picture the warm wood in the distance, barely touched by the shallow afternoon sunlight but still under the open sky.
She headed towards that bench in vain hope more than anything. He took a hidden right instead, gravel path turning to mud and grass, near jarring her shoulder as passive punishment for her assumption.
She cursed her misjudgement.
"Not there." he said, thankfully without anger. "You don't deserve that yet. Here first. This is what I wanted to show you."
She followed him through the narrow gap between blackberry bushes, their thorns snagging on her jacket and jeans. The bushes only got taller as they shimmied through. She winced and raised an arm to protect her face and in moments she'd near-stumbled into freedom. He released her wrist and gestured for her to explore.
The overgrown path had given way to a dim clearing walled by sycamore, their leaves just beginning to curl in the autumnal weather and making a dry, clapping racket as the canopy bowed to the wind. At ground level, the protection offered by the trees tempered the winds to a barely a breath for which she was grateful; the respite allowed her time to tidy her hair back into its proper place.
The fresh, earthy smell from a weekend of rain clung here, ground slipping to mud in places underfoot. Clumps of stubborn dandelions shone in the low light and dragonflies flitted about high in the protected air to complete the tiny glade's Fae look. She would have felt transported - if it wasn't for the ominous, dank bench.
A lone picnic bench sat soggy and slimy in the centre of the ring of trees, its dark wood more rugged and split than the sycamore around them, moss growing between the slats. In high summer sunlight would have reached down through the gap in the trees and dried the clearing, but it was obvious the bench hadn't see the Sun in quite some time. In fact, given how deep the hollow of beaten-down earth around the bench was, it was possible it had been in situ since the dawn of time, the trees growing up around the thing.
He joined her as she ran her fingers along the wood.
"Do you like it?"
Her stomach churned, this time not at the bench.
It was an easy enough question for him to ask, but she knew better than to treat it lightly. On the surface it was perfectly innocent. Did she like the glade? But like the tempered breeze here his gentle earnestness had a dangerous force behind it, one only the most observant folk would be able to tease from her sudden stiffness. Higher, above the protection of social niceties and the trees the pressure of that maelstrom built. In truth his words were a command - to express not liking his idea would lead to punishment, she was sure of that. Like the canopy, she'd have no choice but to yield.
But at the very highest level - so distant in the tempered blue skies she could only trust it was there - all was calm again, their unwavering bond painted solid like the blue above all the ephemeral drama of storms and heavy clouds. In truth his command was request for permission; he was asking her to take the first step. The vertigo from holding all these conflicting thoughts in place nudged her towards that giddy excitement, towards her falling into submission, but she was unable to let go just yet.
She tore her eyes from the wooden monstrosity before her to check where they'd come from. A tiny window through the trees on the far side of the main path gave only a peek to the valley below so they were safe in that respect, but anyone walking past who thought to turn their head would find the secluded bench. And them.
This really wasn't safe.
The breeze picked up again and despite her jacket and jeans she shivered.
"What if someone comes?"
He glared down his nose. Another look of displeasure to add to the growing tally. "You saw. No one's here."
"But people walk up—"
SLAM.
She flinched. His fist sailed past her ear and hit the bench behind her. It brought him to eye level, his shoulder hunched, him taking on a new strength and breadth.
"This is part of your training. If I can't have you outside the house, why should I take you outside the house?" She couldn't suppress a whimper as his hand cupped her face, stroking her cheek. His voice softened. "Would be a shame not to show you off..."
She could red-light this. Perhaps he was expecting her to and had a tamer 'punishment' in mind for making him relent; public sex was a rational boundary after all. Yet they'd never have a better chance here as the trees clattered in the wind all around them, driving walkers away, drowning out those noises a good girl would make... She recalled the fantasy they'd idly shared months ago when spent, tangled in sheets, the imagined forest and shadowy voyeurs working their magic and readying them for a second round back then. Now the earthen reality was close enough to taste - but she couldn't quite let herself fall. He'd have to push her.
She stood thin-lipped in defiance. "No."
"No?"
"I won't. And you can't make me."
"Fine." he said. "What are you going to do, then? Run? And exactly how far do you plan to get?" He stepped into her, drawn to his full height again, his grip on her chin tightening and tilting her head upwards, sardonic amusement creeping across his face. "If I can't have you here I'll have you wherever I catch you. On the hillside, or the road. Would you prefer that? Getting fucked in front of traffic?"
"Get away from me!"
She shoved him aside and rolled her face out of his grip. Unperturbed, he found her wrist and yanked her back into place, his lips to her ear, his words teasing out a shiver.
"Ah, ah, ah. Fuck toys don't get to argue..."
She jumped half a step backwards and reeled at a firm prod on her upper thighs. The bench. She was caught, trapped between his advances and that monstrosity she was sure to be bent over.
She swallowed, but found her throat dry.
"At least you got into position. Take off your jacket."
She felt no compulsion to obey and so made no move to do so.
Quick as a flash he threaded his other hand through her hair, sliding his fingers against her head. He balled his hand and the sharp, sweet pain haloed across her scalp. She hissed through clenched teeth, tilting her head back to relieve the tension, baring her neck further as he pulled.
"Take off your jacket." The command reverberated and she could do no more than lift her free hand to her zip, tugging it down. The cold flooded in and around to her back, teasing out goosebumps along every slip of exposed skin. He released her wrist - they both knew she couldn't escape with her hair held so firmly - and she slipped one arm out the garment, then the other, dropping the jacket onto the picnic bench seat. This time she gave a real shiver, arms from the shoulders down bare. She dared not move to rub them warm.
He grunted, appeased. That's the best she could have hoped for; forced obedience never led to praise.
"Undo mine."
She did so, and the two halves of his jacket parted. He did not remove it.
"Now turn around." He preempted her reluctance by leading her with her hair. When he had her restrained around the waist, the pressure of his forearm blunt under her ribcage, he finally released her scalp. She gasped as the pain fled and in a moment of weakness she let herself lull backwards against him. Unable to step away, she couldn't resist his hand trailing up her side and to her breast, squeezing the handful, his touch firm enough to stimulate her nipple through blouse and moulded bra. It tingled as it hardened. He kissed her neck.
"Please don't..." She failed to summon the same firm tone as before. Being held so possessively was helping her let go, but awareness of that very vulnerability kept her tethered. Directly before them was that gap in the bushes - with her jacket off and her eyelids becoming heavy there'd be barely time for them to part without raising questions.
"Please don't..." he mocked. "It's too late for that."
Ignoring her weak protestations his other hand left her waist and snaked its way to her groin. Two fingers brushed the gap between her legs and nudged her clit. With the pressure she felt confirmation of her growing wetness, cool against her labia, and despite herself she wriggled. Her attempts to tug at his arms were half-hearted at best.
"What? You think we're playing? That this is about you?"
He squeezed her breast. Hard. She lurched forward with the pain. Taking the opening she had stupidly afforded him he shoved her between the shoulders and kicked out each ankle to spread her legs, lowering her towards the bench.
"I told you, I'm going to fuck you here."
She struggled against him, pressing her forearms into the bench to keep her head up above water, but he coolly dragged each of her arms out until her temple finally sank onto that soggy wood. The slow decay filled her nose and mouth with every breath, suffocating her on the shore of hazy submission. It would be so easy to float away... She could cry out in pleasure, let them both be found, let the finders watch...
"No!" She resurfaced with new-found vigor, trying to wriggle and jerk out of his grip - but with her back held down, even pushing up against the bench only served to raise her head a little before it thudded back down. Again and again she tried, him smoothly stepping out of reach of kicks in a precise waltz, his toes saved from her desperate stamps by steel-toed boots. Her shoulders ached - really ached - with the strain against him. As she grunted and cursed him he laughed, a cruel edge to it that cut her deep, draining her more than a lifetime of struggling ever could.
It was futile. She really would be taken here.
As he continued to roughly reposition her to his liking, spread though ready to be racked, she breathed in the earthen smells of the bench and glade with a smoker's drag. It was the last empowered choice she would make, knowing full well that the next time she went under her mind would be lost to his whims completely. He pressed her between her shoulder blades as though finally fixing her to the wood. She let her eyelids flutter shut, and on her exhale she fell limp.
She became someone else, someone far away and wrapped in cotton wool clouds watching the scene from that place of trust on high, and the unworried body that was left behind felt sickeningly better for submitting so completely to him. She would be used, and she would enjoy it as he demanded. She was ready.
Without urgency now, his will having worked its magic, he reached around with his free hand and resumed rubbing her clit in slow circles. Her undies were now slick, sliding freely against her, his fingers a tantalising pressure through her jeans, enough to warm her but not enough to take her to the precipice. She needed more.
Leaning into him had the opposite effect. He withdrew and a jolt crossed her, a parting of clarity in the fog, though her disappointment turned into anticipation when he tapped on the button on her jeans. Fingers and thumb teased down her zip, the button popped open. His cold hand dove between the flaps of her jeans, she more than eager to warm them with her arousal, but he recoiled.
"What's this?" He pinged the weak elastic across her hipbones - the band of her simple black and cotton underwear. Fear prickled up her neck again. Not knowing his intentions this morning she'd dressed practically, not for his hungry gaze. "I thought I told you to always be ready for me?"
A quiet voice reminded her he hadn't said anything of the sort, but the newer voice spoke over the first, chastising her for not wearing a g-string, reminding her that pleasing him should be all that mattered. How could she have forgotten that this danger loomed?
"You're supposed to feel like this." He sharply tugged the back, cutting the fabric into the crease of her thighs.
It burned.
She yelled out above the roar off the wind, her clit and labia caught tight in the bundle and throbbing. Despite reacting much too late to stifle it she clapped a hand to her mouth. She shouldn't have moved.
"Shh. You don't want someone to come running, do you?" He jarred her absconded arm back until her fingers hooked into her underwear. "Hold it. Show me you're sorry."
Frantic to please and undo her transgression she did as told, coiling her fingers tighter to make sure the fabric wouldn't loosen, the rest of her body flat to the table, waiting.
He wrestled her underwear to one side, exposing her smooth vulva. The cool air brushed across her, the sensation heightened by her wet arousal. Cool fingers teased their way to her inner thigh and she twitched, but she gritted her teeth knowing any further movement would bring punishment upon her.
He slid his fingers between her inner labia and dragged the wetness onto her clit and started those small circles again, this time teasing back the hood, his touch electric - so gentle in contrast to the press on her back. His touch quickly became too much, her feet warming and toes curling, the heels of her walking boots leaving the ground.
"No squirming."
She gave a whine of frustration. He knew she couldn't take such direct stimulation; it was like he wanted her to fail. She tried to suck through her teeth and clench her toes enough to relieve some pressure but it wasn't enough of an outlet - the heat kept growing and the knot kept tightening.
"Stop..."
He ignored her to spread more of her wet warmth onto her clit, and continued his light strokes, her yearning spreading and fluttering through her pelvis, heart hammering away, breath coming in short, sharp pants. She risked rebuke to bring in her outstretched arm to bury her head in the crook of it, to bite down, to endure. Her fingers curled, pulling her underwear even tighter. Too sensitive. She was too hot, too charged, she'd have to move. She bucked again with a mewl.
And, at his whim, he stopped. Her heartbeat was in her clit, begging him for penetration.
"Ready?" he said.
His fingers tracked back, stroking her inner labia, then one slipped inside her embarrassingly easily, slowly teasing her, pressing on her inner front wall and making her clench. Within a few presses a second finger joined the first. This was tolerable, but the ache of penetration being only partially satisfied keyed her up even more. Despite her initial fear she now craved his cock with every fibre of her being.
But outright asking to be fucked would lead him to tease and then deny her. She could only hope she'd get what she needed.
He stroked her G-spot with force, the pressure rising with every curl of his fingers. Waves of pleasure rippled through her body. She could feel her own slickness, and if it wasn't for the clattering trees around them she knew she'd be able to hear it, too. There wasn't the time between those sweet presses for her to recover. The tension was growing, growing
"Enough playing." He withdrew stimulation again, and she whined. He kicked her legs together just enough to roughly tug her jeans down to the knees. She felt a gentle touch on her behind and she could picture herself; hips-up head-down, presenting her round ass to him, all her decorum long gone and him admiring her submission with that possessive caress. Her warmth starting from between her legs had spread to such a point her only shivers now were in anticipation.
She heard every slow click of his zip being pull down. He was teasing still, but playing with fire - every second he waited was a second they could be discovered. Being caught in the act would be the death of her, but being denied at this very needy moment by some unsuspecting rambler would be even worse.
A fumble, his jeans being pulled down his thighs, then he pressed his erection against her tailbone, one hand tight on her hip. The skin-on-skin contact was a relief. He wouldn't keep it from her, not now, else he'd be teasing himself. With her eyes closed she focussed on his hot cock finding its way down to her pussy, the subtle thrusts from his hips bringing him lower.
His free hand snaked up into her hair again and tugged back, making her arch her neck, her eyes opening onto the bushes, the path, and the rolling hills beyond. In surprise she remembered just how exposed they were.
And with that sharp intake of breath he found home, thrusting halfway inside her teased and engorged pussy.
She near-shot forward in shock, though he held her in place.
"God, you're wet." He sounded pleased with himself. "I should have done this earlier. Clearly you want to be watched."
With every tiny thrust of his cock a satisfied heat flushed through her pelvis. He was right, she was soaked, and the ache that he'd built up inside her was finally being dealt with. Every slow draw out was a disappointment, every rock back in a fulfilment, growing as he found his way in with ease.
"Should have let you run," he said, "maybe you wanted to be taken by the road."
"No... Ah!"
He bottomed out, a tiny ache that blossomed into pleasure at being taken so deeply so soon.
He drew out the length of his cock, an emptiness in his wake. A drip she knew would be from the head quickly cooled on her thigh in the wind, his tip barely touching her lips... then he pushed back in, his entire length, leaning into her and pushing her against the bench, fist still balled in her hair. She squirmed, hands clenching again and pulling her underwear up.
The tug must have touched him as friction against the base of his shaft, as he pulled out quickly, wrenched her hand away and tore her underwear down, kneeing them further away from them both. He pinned her momentarily free hand behind her back.
"Better." His returning thrust was more violent. With no support for her hips now he'd shoved her against the bench, making her whimper. The deep ache returned. She wanted him deeper, more and more, and she tried to push back against him but he overpowered her, forcing her against the bench instead, pinning her, every thrust forcing her hips and waist against the wood's edge, scraping, grazing, the pain mingling with the radiating pleasure from being fucked. She winced and hissed, but he took her without regard, sacrificing speed for pure force. She had no say in the matter, sprawled across the bench. If anyone were to walk past and hear her muffled cries...
"You want it harder, don't you?" He slammed into her, her pussy barely keeping up with the space his cock demanded, her whole body thrown forward again and again. She bit into the pad of her thumb to silence herself but the gap between slats on the table pinched and grazed her hips again. The soft, damp wood was still more than solid enough to leave ugly pressure bruises, the prospect increasing with every thrust.
"Wait, stop..."
He didn't hear her, chose not to hear her, lost in taking her, lost in his own pleasure. Her fingernails dug into the wood. The pain on her hip bones began to sear beyond tolerance—
"Yellow!" she choked out.
His thrusts stopped. He gave no direct recognition of her warning, instead withdrawing a little and loosening his grip on her hair and wrist. He waited.
She wriggled her hand out from his grip and groped for her coat on the bench seat, but it was just out of reach. He grabbed it instead, and following her train of thought helped thread the coat under her hips, giving her space enough to lift and fold it just-so, all without withdrawing his cock completely. She pressed herself into the makeshift padding to test. Finding it soothing her roaming hand went back to its restraint and, after a pause to reassure herself there were no footsteps, no one running toward her yell, she nodded.
His fingers re-tightened in her hair and around her wrist, and she relaxed back to her cloud. After two gentle thrusts to reassert himself he slammed his cock into her again.
The pain was back but this time dulled to a pleasurable ache, and a soft moan escaped her lips. It didn't carry far, what with the wind battering through the leaves, but he heard and twisted it to suit his purpose.
"So you do like it."
"No..." Her voice was weakening, her pussy now aching for him to thrust harder, deeper, to stretch her more. With pain ebbing his thick cock drew her attention only to her helplessness and how good her vulnerability felt. Another wave of pleasure hit at the imagined voyeur's view of them both, her servicing him like this, and her outward pretence began to slip. "I..." She couldn't protest, and her lips parted in a tiny gasp.
A laugh of triumph erupted behind her. "There she is, my little whore." His little whore. He pulled out and she whimpered, her eyesight lazy and blurred. He released her head to stroke her exposed thigh. "You won't fight me, right?" The restraint on her wrist became a gentle caress of the forearm.
"I..." The further relief at her freed head flooded her, and the tender way he touched her in their stillness made the tension she'd rebuilt sag. "No..."
"Because good whores want to be fucked." His warm hand wandered up from her thigh to cup her ass. "Say it."
"Good whores want to be fucked..."
"And what are you?"
Her head was swimming, foggy, floating. "A good whore." Admitting it was further release, and she sighed away her stresses. He stroked her sopping wet slit with the back of a finger to goad her further. It worked. She shivered under him. "Your whore."
"Good girl."
She sank into the praise, and her eyes fluttered closed again in expectation.
But still at her self-humiliation he didn't reenter her, not even with that finger. Her impatience grew. She shifted her weight side-to-side for some vain stimulation on her hot clit.
An abrupt sting on the ass-cheek took her by surprise and she lurched forward at the open hand. The smack carried in the glade.
"Stop that." he said. "Your pleasure comes only when I want it to. And what is it you want?"
That was a trick question. She wasn't supposed to want anything. "To please you." She held still again, trying to demonstrate her willingness and self-reproach.
Another sting, harder this time, and she yelped, biting down on her knuckle.
"That's not true, is it? What do you want?" God she was getting desperate, anything. Images of every scene flashed through her mind as she grasped for something specific and permissible but it only made her arousal keener. His searing frustration would be growing with every passing moment but thinking was too difficult to her. Under the pressure her filter broke. She'd have to live with the consequences.
"I want to be fucked. To be used. I want your cum inside me. Use me, please, Sir."
She winced in expectation at another hand, knowing the tacked on honourific would not cover her misdemeanour but he only leant on top of her to whisper in her ear.
"You slut."
She shuddered at the accusation, pussy aching and being wound ever tighter by his voice, breath coming in gasps as his full weight pressed into her lower back and crushed the base of her ribcage.
"You disgust me," he spat. "We're outside where anyone can see and you really want me to fuck you?"
Her head swam. She was past caring. Anything, do anything. "Yes..."Let them watch. Let them join in and fill me more. "Please, just fuck me!"
That yell carried.
He stood back again and laughed, his free, cold hand snaking up below her top to stroke her back. She shivered under his playful touch.
He slapped her behind again, this time a warm cupped thud of ownership, like one would an animal.
"Good slut..."
She was his. His growl melted into the cacophony of the trees above until it felt that the remnants of the storm repeated it back, reinforcing his praise.
Her heart swelled, her knees almost giving way in pure submission. He lined himself back up behind her, teasing the head of his cock along her slick slit. She was unable to speak, unable to protest. But why would she? She needed to be used. He'd left her hands and head free. She didn't need to be held anymore. Because good sluts don't need to be held.
"Whatever happens, slut, keep your eyes shut."
He didn't wait for an answer. One easy - too easy - press, and he was inside her again.
She gripped the bench and leaned back, his thrusts now bouncing off her, the slaps sounding round the clearing. God the force felt so good. They built a zen-like rhythm, each of his gyrations running against her G-spot and making her clench. She yelled out again, knees shaking and she fell forward onto the bench. She couldn't keep upright, she was too far gone to manage it. Her fingers curled in her jacket.
She heard a brush against against branches, against a bush. The bushes in front of them. She fell out of rhythm straining to listen. A sharp snap? Her breath caught.
He noticed and slowed, movement from only his pelvic floor twitching his cock inside her.
"Looks like your whoreish moaning finally brought us company," he said, "eyes shut!"
She hadn't opened them. She didn't need to be told again. Her heart hammered but she held her breath, as if she couldn't be seen if she froze. Someone had finally come. Shit.
Her master leaned back to address the stranger.
"You can watch me fuck her if you like?"
She strained to hear the reply over the clatter of the branches. Nothing, a low murmur maybe? And then her master was sprawled on her again, stroking her hair back, lips brushing against her ear as he whispered.
"Guy's jaw's on the floor, can't say a word. Looks like he's staying put, though. Lucky for you he looks your type."
She wrestled with the fear, adrenaline trying to shake her from submission, to bring her back to hide in shame. But why? Didn't she want this? Her battle to stay under must have played across her face as a grimace.
"And you're still going to lie there, fuck toy?"
She bit her lips together and nodded.
"Good girl." With those two words she was back under again, mind wiped. There was only the cold bench, her aching pussy, her master's hot cock playing the tease, and the stranger. The stranger watching her pinned to the bench and fucked until her knees caved.
"Maybe I should ask him to help keep you quiet." Her master said.
He didn't, though the threat hovered above her, and she could feel the tension between the two men. Her master grabbed her hips and re-found his stride. The force of it made it apparent he was making hard eye contact with the stranger, asserting his ownership over her, letting the stranger know she was his, and his to share.
In all the excitement her arousal had reached another level, it dripping on her thighs with his messy and uncaring thrusts. She was so wet she could hear herself, a slick sound every time his hips wound back for another pump.
His depth and vigour made a tight spot inside her ache, but it's what she deserved for causing them be discovered. Fuck toys don't complain, they enjoy whatever bone they're tossed and right now despite everything she was loving it.
"Touch yourself."
He pulled her back at the hips onto him to give her room. She eagerly reached down, two fingers pressing and rubbing her clit, fingertips cold from exposure. To her frustration she found it wet from the teasing head of his cock, her grip slipping. But it didn't matter. The force of each thrust was enough bring her close, fogging her head, her focus now inward, needing to come.
She roughly groped one breast through her blouse, the added sensation helping, picturing the shadowy voyeur through the trees, horrified, disgusted, impressed and aroused in equal measure yet silenced by his confusion, wishing he could join in. She wanted her master to carry through with the threat, she wanted him, too.
She slipped her fingers beneath her blouse and bra cup to tug a nipple, moaning in satisfaction as she did so, speeding up her assault on her clit. Her forearm ached.
She wanted to be between her master and this new man, to feel the heat of his cock hovering by her lips, precum stringing between them both, to take him and be forced on him by a dominant hand until she couldn't help but cry but needing it all the same, as her master continued to use her from behind like the fuck toy she was.
Wracked with pleasure, she would have been blind even if she opened her eyes, ears tight and tuned to her own heartbeat, muscles beginning to wind all over, toes curling, pressure building... She couldn't stop, never wanted to stop—
"I'm, I—!"
"Then come."
At his command the tension in her cranked a notch more than she could have hoped, before crashing down with an unheard cry. Her shuddering orgasm squeezed his cock in turn until he fell onto her with his own groan, panting. His thrusts weakening with every pulse of his own orgasm, the pressure of every twitch inside her making her giddy with her sensitivity. So strong were her convulsions his cum was leaking from her already, its cooling touch felt as a keen loss.
They panted together, his cheek against hers and slick with sweat, before he rolled off her, leaving her empty and longing for the intimacy once again.
He lifted one of her limp arms over him to snuggle in closer, and they lay breathing the other in, cocooned in the near silence and isolation. She eventually opened her eyes, vision foggy at first as her pleasure subsided to a glow. Rational concern touched the edge of her mind.
"Is there someone—"
"Only the wind." He said. "How're you feeling? How's your hip?"
"Floaty. And scratched up but it'll be okay."
As her clarity of thought returned and her sight resharpened he widened his smiling eyes and pressed his lips together, desperately fighting back a true grin - the simultaneously guilty and disbelieving look of a cat that's won a bathtub of cream.
"What?" she said.
"We had sex outsiiide..." He waggled his eyebrows to the beat of his song and landed a sloppy kiss on her forehead.
She batted at him. "You arsehole..." she said, but she pulled him closer with a laugh.
-
Redressed and feet steady they left the glade hand in hand, finding their way through the tunnel of trees to the far side of the copse, where their park bench with the view had been patiently waiting for them. No one crossed their path.
He nuzzled into her neck to kiss her collarbone, and she found herself giggling at his cold nose and the vivacity of his sweetness. A dopey, cosy grin was plastered on his face.
"Thank you," he said.
In lieu of words she returned the smile, cupping his cheek and giving him a drawn out and tender kiss. To her great satisfaction, when she pulled away he had to stop himself chasing her.
The wind picked up again and they huddled even closer, watching the long shadows stretch across the valley as they savoured the scene from High Point.
