Swede Hollow

It's 1 in the afternoon and the snowflakes are really starting to fly. Weathermen had promised 8-10 inches. Looking out the coffeeshop window, you feign said you really needed at least a good six inches as long as it was a thick six inches. I smile, knowing that you've never complained about my length -- or girth. I wink facetiously only to irritate you. I bet you don't even need that. "Just an inch if it's done right would make you smile."

"An inch? Only if that's an inch of tongue," You tease, and we both know a tongue alone never satisfied you. You always wanted more.

"Be good, girl. Or I'll make the inch of tongue yours and I'll be putting it to good use -- right here in the coffeeshop, too."

I watch your mouth sip your mocha. With extra whip cream, of course. Your sweet tooth has always gotten you in trouble -- once it led your tongue between my ass cheeks! -- but you have yet to complain. You seem to have no limits, but occasionally bust out laughing when I try to take a firmer hand. I intend on pushing those limits today. I reach inside my coat pocket and pull out a note in a paper bag. Your eyes match mine, inquisitively.

"There is an envelope inside. Read it."

"Yes sir." You pull the envelope from the paper bag and the exterior says, "Take this bag and this note into the bathroom before reading further."

You pause, looking for my eyes but I'm ignoring you, watching some women walk in. I see your head tilt and the corner of your eyes turn up before you spin on your heel and head for the ladies room, grabbing your fur coat. History has taught you well.

Three minutes later you exit the ladies room in your fur coat and boots. To the outside observer you look warm and ready for the winter wonder land outside. When you hand me the bag containing your jeans, shirt, sweater, panties and bra, I know for sure that appearances are deceptive!

"Come on, Babe!" I lead you outside, quickly throwing the paper bag in the back seat of the car and locking the door.

You follow me to the trail and I reach out, grabbing your hand and lead you into Swede Hollow. Legend has it that the Swedes weren't allowed into St. Paul by the Norwegians so they took over this low place on the East side of the city. A strong stream flowed through Swede Hollow and trees provided a canopy that blocked out the sound. I'd discovered this quiet trail on a warm Friday after work. This is neither warm, nor a Friday. But as we walk the trail, snowflakes fall on your hair and shoulders. We both smile and remember that you're naked underneath the warm coat. I feel your fingers curl around mine and I lean over and kiss your cheek.

"Come, Darling. You'll enjoy this."

Your hand tightens in mine and we walk underneath the dark trees, pines standing tall and keeping out the wind. The walk is long and as we pass under I-94 I pull you too me, your back against my chest. I slide my hand down your smooth chest, feeling your hard nipple -- hard from the cold or hard because the chill has no effect on your libido? I hold you close and nibble on your ear. I pull a hat out of my pocket and put it on your head, hoping to keep you a little warmer. Your butt presses hard against the bulge in my pants and I grind against your ass.

Up ahead, we see a black couple, someone else braving the elements and the romance of falling snow. I tell you to greet them and you say, "Hello! Enjoying the beautiful weather?"

They awkwardly stop. The snow on the man's jacket suggests they've been having some fun so I whisper, "Why don't you show them your sweater, Stephanie?" You titter, looking at me out the side of your eyes. Then you pause.

"Would you like to see my winter sweater?" Fingers fumble on your buttons while they look at you, confused, before the guy nods in confused affirmation. You open your coat and show them your amazing naked body, nipples poking upward, and the only sweater you could have lies in the small dusting of hair between your thighs. "Do you like my sweater? He got it for me for Christmas."

The couple smiles broadly before the guy says, "The bridge up ahead is pretty protected if you are looking for someplace out of the wind." You button your warm coat up and look to me.

"Thanks! That's good to know!" I wave and they continue along the path. We hear the woman say, "I can't believe she's naked! Wow! I want to do that!"

A half mile up we find the bridge over us. The advice from the couple proves true. The bridge is wide and the trees prevent the snow and wind from coming through the abutment. It isn't warm, but it is protected from the elements. Still, the white snow falling on the dark green trees looks beautiful in the weather. I pull your coated body to myself and begin kissing you passionately. Your sexy skin yields to my lips and I slide my tongue inside your ear. Your arms encircle me and I feel your body press against me.

My fingers find the buttons on the front of your jacket while my tongue rapes your mouth. The coat comes off and I drape it over a bush without letting you leave my arms. Now you stand in the cold, just you and your boots.

"Turn around, Stephanie." I stand back and watch your delicious body quiver, the rotate in the chill. I have always loved your perfect butt and never more than this moment, its pale white curves in the winter cold. "Press your hands against the wall."

You look at me and then turn, placing your hands against the bridge base. Your ass is elevated slightly, bare in the December air. I reach out and cup a cheek, tracing my fingers over your naked back. I whisper something naughty about your cold beauty as my finger slides down your ass crack, across your tight little hole and slides along your pussy lips. Your lips betray you as I find the skin between your legs warm and moist, despite the wind and cold.

I drop to my knees and replace my finger with my tongue on your extended butt. My tongue finds your lips and clit, licking and tasting your beauty from your aroused body. I slide a thumb inside you, curving it along your pink cave. My tongue dances and licks and your body begins to squirm.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch some movement. I had not intended this to be a show, but anytime you take your fun outside, that's a possibility. Someone, in the heavy snow and cold was watching us. He couldn't have been much older than 20. His right hand was in his pocket and was clearly fondling himself. How many fantasies could today include?

I stand, "Hey. You enjoying the show?" You jump a little but I feel you push your hands against the wall.

"Huh? Uh . . . " The youth jerks his head and looks like he's ready to bolt, but then his head snaps back and his eyes rake over your naked body, white on white in the snow, you in just your fur lined Sorel boots.

"Come here. If you want to watch you can. But she has to know how much you appreciate the show. What's your name?" I keep my thumb fucking your pussy, slowly, reading your comfort level. We had discussed being watched but talked about getting a hotel and inviting people. Would you improvise with me?

"Antoine."

My little movements inside you are starting to make some noise as my thumb meets very liquid resistance. "Alright, Antoine. Step over here so she can see you. You think she's hot?"

Antoine steps closer so you can see him. "Dude, I'm bout to cream my pants. She's fuckin' hot. What are you doing?" You turn your head and look the young man over and begin to moan.

This might work. "Antoine, you enjoy this show. But you gotta put on a show for her to show her how much you are enjoying it. Why don't you drop your pants and take care of yourself while I take care of her. And no touching her. Am I clear?"

"Yeah. Clear. You're cool with this?" I see him start to unbutton his pants and I'm not that gay, so I get back to work. I hear you inhale and I lean down to suck your clit but your fingers are already there. "Did I tell you to masturbate, Young Lady?"

"No Sir." Your eyes are riveted and I see that the young man is very well hung.

I cup both your ass cheeks in my hands as I lean my head closer to your ear when I whisper. "You want him, don't you? You're rubbing your clit, thinking about fucking him - some masturbating stranger watching you under a bridge. Hmph. What is he? Who is he?"

"Antione, Sir. But he has such a nice penis. And he is showing it to me."

"But I didn't tell you to masturbate." I lift my right hand off your left butt cheek and whisper, "Count." A quick slap in the cold air and you feel the sting of my spank.

"One, sir."

Antione spits on his hand and begins jerking himself. I step back and apply a bit more force. Your fingers have not left your clit. "Two, sir." I watch Antoine move a bit closer - just three feet away. You are looking into his eyes, your hands against the wall. "Three, sir." I see some hesitation with your fingers, you must be getting close. All this stimulation driving you on. "Four, sir."

"Stop masturbating, Woman." I don't want to give your name away, but in calling you "Woman" I have raised the imagery of a primal man and primal woman. Who are you? A naked woman under a bridge. Who is Antione? A naked man under a bridge. In a bygone era, he would have dragged you back to his cave. Knowing you, that might have been perfectly fine as long as he had some talent about it. But here? Now?

"Five, sir." You put both hands back on the wall. I spend a little time, rubbing your ass, bringing some warmth back to your cold skin. Antoine begins to grunt. I have quick thoughts about orgasmal discipline, but then remember when I was 20 and what running into a naked woman in the woods might have done to my libido back then!

I unbutton my pants and drop them enough so that my cock can be free. I slide it into your sopping pussy, filling you with the biggest tool I have on me. I don't thrust, I don't fuck, I don't move. I just stand there with my hard penis inside you. Antoine's on his final lap and I reach around and slide your clit between two of my fingers and begin sliding it up and down, treating your clit like a little penis, and suddenly your pussy clenches around my cock and I feel you begin to buck.

After your orgasm subsides, I slowly slide out and pull my pants back up. Reaching for the coat, I see Antoine wondering if he needs to stick around. I shrug and jerk my head, suggesting he can go. Putting the coat back on you, I wrap my arms around you, hoping to get you warm.

"Can we go home, Sir? I could use a hot bath."

"Indeed. When you are warm and ready, I, too, have needs that require your oral talents."

"With pleasure, Sir."