The Par

Editor: Falcon29

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I've love going on picnics. In the park under the trees, with blanket spread beneath me, I love to kick back in the sun and watch the day fade into that near night haze of colors and dying warmth. You know, it's that part of the day when your skin is still toasted from the sun and the cooling evening breeze brushes against it. That is where you find me today.

Where the wind tickles as it blows my hair against my neck and my skirt against my thighs. I spread my legs a little, trying to tempt the breeze higher, into much warmer places. I let the winds tempt my skirt into brushing against private places that delight in the attention. I love the slight touch of fabric against flesh.

I reach behind me and up my shirt, unclasping my bra, feeling the weight of breasts freed. I glance around casually as I pull on the hooks holding the straps on my shoulders. I ease it out from under my shirt and sneak it under the picnic blanket, not that there is anybody around to notice. I almost wish there was.

I lean back on both hands, legs spread slightly out in front of me. The cool breeze ruffles my shirt as it licks against my nipples, making them tingle and harden. It is almost too much, that light touch. My eyes close and I fight the urge to arch my back, as if I could increase the pressure, force the wind to blow harder against me. I love the teasing wind, even though I need the friction, the pressure of something ...more. Lower, under my skirt, in the crevice between my parted thighs, there is an aching that tempts me, even here, to bury my fingers within it. I need something to ease the throbbing emptiness.

I scoot back to lean against the tree, freeing my hand to slip under my shirt. I draw slow circles around my already hard nipples, flicking my finger against it like it was a tongue. I slide my hand down to my stomach, and then back up to cup my breast and tease my nipples. I want to open my eyes, make sure no one has shown up but I can't. I'm torn; I don't want anyone to know how bad I want this, right here, but the off chance that someone might be watching...makes me wet. I keep them closed.

I lean farther back on the tree, feeling the bark bite into my back, freeing my other hand. I slip it into the waist of my skirt wiggling it down and into my wet heat. I moan at the first touch of my swollen nub. I press my finger against it trying to create the friction I want so bad...right there. Right on that little bud of pleasure that's begging for harsher treatment. I'm no longer content with teasing touches, and light caresses. I press my fingers into my depths, nails scraping lightly against my walls trying to make up for the width and depth I want and know my fingers don't possess. .

My desire and frustration for more makes me wanton and desperate as I work my fingers faster, harder. I flick my finger harder against my nub letting my nails scrap against it a little. I want to recreate the pressure of your cock slamming into me. It's amazing how fast my thoughts turn to you. It's your dark hair and blue eyes, your cock, purple with its own need, which I imagine.

As the longing ache builds in my stomach, uncurling somewhere deep in me, I want your hard and brutal cock pounding in me. I try to simulate it with my fingers, driving them into me, forcing my hips to buck up trying to make it harder. I want your prick stabbing in me, now. I don't care if someone sees me now. I want them to, I want you too. I want you to see me breathless and hopelessly trying to ease my need of you.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, my hips bucking into my fingers, and my back slipping down the tree, the bark scratching me, all in my quest for more, for you.

The tree scrapes even harder against my back as I slide further down, further into oblivion. My breath is short, coming in panting gasps. I flick my finger hard against my clit and I'm finally coming. I feel my legs quivering with the force of my pleasure. I want to open my eyes, but I don't. I don't want to know you aren't really here with me. So I keep my eyes shut tight, and pretend.

FIN

This was written for William. Many thanks to Falcon29 for being a wonderful editor. Any remaining mistakes are my own.