On The Fence 2

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.

"You want down?" he asked. "Let me help you."

He shifted his hands to my hips and turned me around so that I was facing him. It took me some fast footwork to get both my feet under me and firmly on the rail.

"No need to jump," he said. "I can lift you."

With that his hands tightened on my hips and he just picked me up off the fence. The man was a lot stronger than I'd have given him credit for. Then he slowly lowered me to the ground, having me drag against him as he let me down.

The reason for the slow lowering and the holding me against him became evident when I felt something hard rubbing between my legs as I sank lower. Before I fully twigged as to what it was his erection was pressing against my slit and he was continuing to lower me.

I gave a small wail of protest, but I guess that was just for forms sake. It had no effect on the fact that I was being very neatly lowered onto an erection that seemed delighted to meet me.

I was held in place, one hand on my bottom giving some support, one hand on my back to hold me firmly against him, and one cock stuck firmly up my passage to give me additional support.

"Wrap your legs around me," Bobby said, which helpful suggestion I ignored, demanding he release me.

"Wrap your legs around me or I'll have to paddle your bottom until you do," he replied, giving me a light slap on the bottom to show he meant it.

Glaring at him I adjusted my legs so that they wrapped around his waist, actually feeling him sink in just a little more. It was also vastly irritating to find that the new position was rather more comfortable.

"OK," he said. "Now lean back against my arms."

He linked his hands together and I found that I could lean away from him.

Then it was on. He bounced me against his cock, or that's what it felt like. While holding me there he managed to pull back a little and then push forward into him. When he did it again I found my legs were tensing, helping to pull him in. Or pull me on, whichever you prefer.

Whichever way you look at it, he was taking me. His cock was hard and hot and my passage was wet and slippery and cock and passage rubbed against each other with great enthusiasm. (I should point out that it was my passage that was enthusiastic about what was going on. Not me. I was there against my will.)

Whatever, Bobby just went for it. He drove steadily in and out, setting up a nice easy rhythm that I had no trouble keeping up with. I was already excited because of what had been happening. All Bobby did was capitalise on that.

It wasn't very long before I was making squeaky sounds and shaking my head from side to side. I was trying to say, "No, no, no," as my climax approached but somehow I don't think that was what was escaping from my mouth.

Then I was reduced to jamming my hand against my mouth again as Bobby happily pushed me over the edge for my second climax in a very short time frame.

While I was catching my breath from that I was aware that Bobby was unwrapping my legs from around his waist. I just naturally assumed that he was disengaging, letting me go. Which was why I was a trifle confused when he seemed to be turning me around.

Seemed to be nothing. He rotated me on his cock so he was effectively standing behind me. My feet were finally on the ground but I was leaning forward and I had to put my hands against the fence to catch my balance. Bobby's hands were on my hips again, holding me steady.

"My turn," he told me.

It took me a moment to catch on to what he meant, but then I realized I hadn't felt him ejaculate. Apparently he hadn't climaxed and he wanted to.

Before I could protest he was taking me again. It was a case of "oh my god, what is happening?" On the fence it had been all tongue and fingers. Getting down from the fence it had been an eager erection, which I now found out had been going easy on me, attending to my needs. Now it was his turn and his erection was having a fine time. As far as Bobby was concerned I'd had my fun and he was now free to pursue his, and he was pursuing with a great deal of ardour.

His cock pummelled my pussy. There's no other way to describe it. It was driving into me just as hard as it could and just as fast as it could. My poor bottom was frantically bouncing up and down, trying to keep up with him. I couldn't help but think that if our little encounter had started like this I'd have died of shock.

As it was I found I was handling him. No problems. He was driving home and my pussy was lifting and driving back to take him, hearing him smack home with the hearty slap of out groins coming together.

He was in a hurry now, wanting his release, and I matched him. My own excitement was rising again, much to my surprise. Well, not really to my surprise. I had just got all excited and climaxed and it takes time for that to die down and it didn't get a chance to.

Then he was gasping and going for broke. I felt him jerking inside me, finally blowing his load, and I just relaxed and let another climax wash over me. It was amazing. The first two climaxes had been good. (I've never heard of a bad one.) This one was simply astounding. I couldn't help but wonder what a fourth climax would be like. I also wondered if my boyfriend would help me find out.

Finally released, I straightened my clothes, while directing killer looks at Bobby. He just smiled innocently.

"The reason I came over," he said affably, "was to borrow the hedge trimmer. I've changed my mind. If you're not busy right now I'd like to borrow you. I'm sure I can do better than my current performance. Three is reasonable but I'd like a chance to see just how far I can take you."

What the hell did I say to that? I'll admit I was a little curious about what a fourth climax would be like but was I that curious? What was also irritating was the way he was counting on his fingers. He nodded at the fence for one, indicated me getting down for two, pointed at the fence for three, pointed towards his house and indicated three more fingers. He was having me on, I was sure of it. Or was he?