You can't get into much trouble when you're at home minding your own business, can you? It turns out you can.
It was a Saturday afternoon and the parents were out. Our house backs onto the park and they were playing football there that afternoon. With our back fence running along the side of the park and just a few metres from the actual ground it was an excellent place to view the match.
I knew a couple of the men playing and I had nothing else planned so I thought I'd just climb on the fence and stand there cheering. Assuming they ever did anything worth cheering.
It was a coolish day. Not so cold that you had to bundle up but definitely cool enough that I wanted more than just a dress. I considered a tracksuit but they're so baggy. They don't suit me at all. I finished up with a nice warm sweater, a flirty skirt (purely for the look of it) and some yoga-pants under the skirt for the required warmth.
So there I was, standing on the middle rail of the back fence, bouncing up and down, cheering my team on and saying disparaging things about the opposition.
Then my pants fell down.
It is not possible for a pair of yoga-pants to just fall down, no matter how energetic you're being. And mine didn't. They had some assistance from Bobby. He's the guy who lives next door. I later found out that he'd come over to borrow some hedge clippers. No-one answered the door but he could hear me yelling in the back-yard so he came around and there I was, bouncing around on the fence.
He just strolled up behind me and, timing it very nicely, he reached up my skirt (The trouble with flirty skirts are that they're very loose. He had ample room to just reach up and grab.), hooked his hands over my yoga-pants and pulled them down below my knees. Oh, and as a bonus he made sure my panties went down as well.
So all of a sudden I'm standing there bare-assed with a man looking up my dress. I gave a squeak and tried to turn around on the fence, but hands on my bottom wouldn't let me.
"Relax, Chrissy, and watch the game," came the casual command, while those hands on my bottom drifted around and slid between my legs.
Relax? How do you relax when someone has their hands on your pussy, stroking it? I'm sort of standing there, frozen with shock. I'm sure my eyes must have been popping, and I couldn't think of a word to say. I was no longer cheering on the game that was for sure. I could see it was in progress but it had suddenly become irrelevant as something else had taken priority.
Bobby's hands were all over me. At least, they were all over a certain part of me. I could feel them running over my bottom and my mons and, ah, let's just say the area in between those two points.
I finally started to get myself together and I kicked out at him. Not that it worked too well. That rotten swine caught my ankle and just held it away from him, so I now only had one foot on the fence railing and the other held out in the air. Leaving me well and truly exposed down below.
Bobby promptly took advantage of that inadvertent exposure by casually poking me in a very sensitive place. And not just on the outside, either. As soon as his finger poked me it started wriggling a little, slipping between my lips and inside me.
I'd finally got my voice back and I was hissing at him to get the fuck away from me. I wanted to scream at him, but there were all those people there, just over the fence. I'd die if they knew what was happening.
Bobby just laughed at me. Don't worry, he told me. It's just a little fun. He had a strange idea of fun, I'll tell you that.
Then things took a turn for the worse.
Consider the facts. I was standing on the middle rail. That meant I was about three feet above the ground. My legs are half my height so that meant my bottom was somewhere between five and six feet above the ground. Bobby was a little under six foot tall. That placed his head level with my bottom.
Exactly what this meant didn't occur to me until he took his finger back out of where it shouldn't have been in the first place. Unfortunately, he replaced his finger with his tongue.
Tell me, how many of you have been in a position where you've got a guy eating you out in front of dozens of people? In public. None, I'll bet. I didn't fucking believe it, not that my belief or disbelief mattered a damn, as that tongue just curled about inside me, tasting and teasing.
I was wet, which was irrelevant as his tongue was also wet, and his administrations were making me wetter. It was arousing me. I could feel the heat pooling inside me and I was getting excited, against my most fervid wishes.
The people around me (safe on their side of the fence) yelled at something on the ground. Quite loudly. Which meant no-one noticed my squeal when Bobby deliberately tongued my clitoris. After that I managed to keep my mouth closed. It was just that sudden shock of that first forbidden lash of tongue on clit that had set me off.
I kept thinking that he'd stop shortly. I mean, he had to, didn't he? How long could he tease me for, after all?
Too long. He just kept it up. It wasn't just his tongue with its occasional assault on my clit. His fingers were also busy, rubbing the outsides of my mound, keeping up the pressure.
I was squirming against the fence, my excitement high, totally defenceless against his marauding ways. To my horror his tongue started lashing against my clit in a series of flickering touches. My arousal was sending me sky high and I jammed one hand against my mouth, desperate not to scream.
I climaxed, didn't I? Standing on the fence, minding my own business, and now I was climaxing in front of all those people in the park. Obviously they couldn't tell that. All they could see was a woman standing on the fence apparently cheering the match. But still. . . It shouldn't have been happening.
I turned my head and glared down at Bobby.
"Leave me alone and let me get down, damn you," I snarled at him.
