At the Duck Pond Again!
All characters in the story are 18 years old or older.
That gazebo got a lot of action when my wife was my girlfriend, and before. In the future, I'll write the story of one of the guys that she was elusive about, that she told me much less about than what I suspect went on. I'm not a human lie detector, but she isn't good at being evasive. But that isn't this story. No, this one was written for me, by her, and she got well rewarded when I was done reading it!
The moon shines brightly in a clear night sky, the stars fuzzed out by the orange fog generated by the active city you are in. But here, it is quiet, only the occasional car driving by or dog barking breaking the silence. Once again you've been invited to join her at the open gazebo by the Duck Pond. You wonder what awaits you this time, having been gone for a few weeks and knowing she didn't like to be lonely, or wait too long to have certain needs met.
The air was cool but not too cold, dry, the slightest exertion would cause a sweat to break out. You'd had to wear a light jacket when you left, but you're pretty sure you'll be shedding it soon enough.
Up the sidewalk, until the dark shape of the gazebo comes into view. Your steps slow, and you strain to hear the telltale sounds that the space is occupied.
And sure enough, you hear it.
A soft moan and grunts, rapid breathing, the rustle of clothing and the occasional slap of skin on skin. Creeping up, you peek over the edge of the wall.
You see her, in between two men. To your amusement, you see she made the men wear name tags. "Hunter" seems to be the man on the right, and "Cole" seems to be the man on the left.
All three are sitting up. She's leaning into the one on her right, her hand behind his neck, their mouths fastened hungrily. In the dim light you see the sheen of saliva dripping down their chins, the strobe of tongues visible between their lips. Her button down shirt has been undone to her waist, her front-clasp bra undone, and Hunter's hands roam her breasts, kneading them and teasing the erect nipples with light brushes. The black miniskirt she wears is hiked up around her waist, no panties in evidence, but garters with thigh-high stockings ending in fuck-me-red stiletto pumps. The heel of her left leg is propped on the bench, in between Cole's legs, spreading her wide.
Cole's face is buried in her long, dark hair as he nibbles her ear and neck. Three of the fingers of his left hand are buried in her pussy, his thumb rubbing her clit. Her hips are grinding against his hand, and as you watch, he works in his pinky until all four fingers and increases his pace, until liquid gushes from her to drip onto the ground and you can hear the quick slap of his hand in the moisture.
She throws her head back, mouth stretching wide and Hunter leans his head down to drag his tongue across her tits. You know her expression well, and you are quickly rewarded with the shuddering grunts she makes when she cums hard.
Relaxing against them, she does not resist as the two men stand and maneuver her to her hands and knees on the bench. You quickly duck back down as they look around, then unzip their flies.
Hunter guides his long cock into her mouth, while Cole easily slips his thick member into her pussy. The stifled mewling sound she makes accompanies his grunt as he takes hold of her hips and begins slowly pumping in and out of her, so long you can see her juices glistening on his dick with each egress.
