Sipping at my drink and half listening to the man next to me, who has been regailing me with the wonders of his business strategy for what seems like an age, but must only be 5 minutes, I let my eyes, shielded by my sunglasses, search for you amongst the crowd. When I find you, easily spottable standing taller than most men, I am pleased to see that your eyes are on me as well.
We are suffering the humid summer in London at a private garden party I'm not quite sure how we got invited to. Someone here knows my aunt, has a daughter interested in my line of work, so I got invited along to brief her on the best way to get into it. Having done this, I was hoping to escape, but have been drawn into conversation as have you.
On the plus side, the party is in one of the gardens in the centre of London that's only opened by a key which you get if you live there, and it is gorgeous. Thickly surrounded by bushes and trees which shield it from the view of the public, it's a rare treat to be able to see inside one. It's larger than it looks, with an open lawn, on which we now stand, but off it are random enclaves of growth -- a rose garden, a mini maze for kids, a swing under a tree which has branches to the floor.
I watch your eyes move up and down me, as though you wanted my clothes to slide off me at your very gaze. I am wearing a thin blue dress, which stops just above the knee, quite demurely, but skims over my curves. The sweetheart neckline does a lot for my ample cleavage, and you have observed many men this afternoon staring at it when I'm not looking -- most often because I'm looking at you. But the thing that has been preying most on your mind is that you know I'm not wearing any knickers. You know it because when we arrived, I slipped them into your hand, and they currently sit in your pocket -- your cock keeps stretching slightly as though to get closer to them.
I myself have had to be careful not to sit down -- everytime I catch you looking at me it sends a shiver through my body, and you have a habit of standing next to me with your hand on the small of my back, your little finger playing over the top of my ass. Therefore, I'm scared to sit down in case the wetness I've felt growing over the last hour might transfer and show through the dress. I'm thankful of my bra going some way to conceal my nipples, which keep standing to attention randomly, as though to remind me they want your hands, your mouth.
I've had my eye on various parts of the garden, but have been disappointed that there is very little chance that no-one would wander into whichever part I stole you away to. As much as the chance of getting caught sends a thrill through me, it wouldn't be advisable to actually be caught in this setting. And then I hear a sound which fills me with joy -- thunder. Just what I'd been hoping for. Shortly after my phone vibrates - "if it starts to rain -- hide in the rose garden. I'll find you. xxx."
Sure enough, the thunder has set the caterers packing up, and the hostess is flitting round apologising that she thinks it would be wise to move the party to her house, just in case. Luckily the man I'm talking to is too set on talking (still!) and staring at the way a strand of my hair is curling into my chest to move just yet, so I wait. I have lost sight of you, and hope you haven't been ushered inside.
As the heavens finally open, I smile at the man's back as he runs for cover, one of a handful of guests left outside. The others do the same, and I make as if to follow, but peel off into the rose garden. The rain is surprisingly heavy, and I feel it soak through my dress -- thank god no one can see me, I have a feeling it's going see through, my white lace bra and lack of knickers exposed to all. My nipples stiffen more at the welcome coolness of the drops of water which land on my chest and slide into my bra to greet them.
My breath coming quick at the run and the excitement of what I'm about to do, I wonder where you've got to, and if it's safe to wander around the garden unseen. Then my phone vibrates and I glance at it in my bag, trying to stop it getting wet "I can see you... but you can't see me... touch yourself..." I inhale sharply, the rose scent filling my nostrils, as I glance around for you. You're right though, I can't. I don't turn my body because I hope you have the best viewing angle, and I don't want to ruin it.
My heart thrums as loud as the rain falling on the stone path as I hesitantly put my hand to my neck, and slide my fingers down it to my collarbone, feeling the smooth cold wetness of my skin. My other hand starts at my side, and slowly, rucking the dress up slightly, moves upwards to my breast, cupping it. I run my thumb over my nipple, feeling it respond through the material to a touch it's been wanting for some time. Nervously, I lick my lips -- I wish I knew where you were -- this wasn't quite what I'd had planned, and I want to feel your touch. *buzz* "now sit down on the bench to your left -- and touch yourself properly. I want to watch you come -- if you're good at it I might come out."
