taking my cue

Sometimes it’s just primal, not thinking, letting whatever happens happen, allowing those darkest, deepest needs what they desire, deserve.

I had a thing with a guy the week before in a park where he made me have a most incredible orgasm in a public place sat on a bench half-hidden behind some half-forgotten bushes.

To start with we’d kissed a lot during which he kept attempting to fondle my breast which at first I mostly deflected though he kept trying undaunted. All over his hands played, along my legs, knees even trying to slide in between my thighs over the jeans I wore as I kept preventing him straying too close to more intimate places.

He was very hands-on beyond a doubt and did manage to break through my defences more than once until he got under my shirt to pull it up high enough to grab my bra-covered boob catching me out and squeezing before again replacing his hand lower on my waist.  It was becoming a game that he was clearly enjoying and well, maybe I should admit I was too. His persistence was thrilling especially where we were, in this public park which I felt somehow raised the risk stakes, especially so of being seen.

After more kissing his erratic hand-swerves were increasingly encouraging me to concede at times to his determinations until in between my thighs he slipped a hand to grab and squeeze enthusiastically while our lips and tongues danced freely.  I felt myself giving in more, even parting slightly my legs as he was getting more adept at enjoying me through my tight blue jeans.  I was beginning to forget where I was as he pinned me with his kiss leaning across with one hand buried now in my thighs increasing the heat I felt there and a  moistening inside my knickers. Luckily this was a reasonably secluded corner that not many people came through, and even if someone did, would I mind?

I felt a point of no return was growing more imminent as my body responded overriding common-sense and worry about being spotted as his hand pleasured my inner thighs pressing my jeans into me until I realised he had without my knowing unbuttoned and was even unzipping them only becoming aware when his hand made contact with my skin beneath.  His fingers played impatiently over my knickers along my labia though still covered, my curves suddenly at his whim, the shape of my vulva, he began circling my clit through my underwear right there in the park in broad daylight, in public.

I didn’t think before my own hand was exploring the bulge in his jeans, and substantial it was.  I rubbed as best I could while feeling closer to cumming myself at his ministrations.  I kept thinking, I shouldn’t, not here, not here, but my hips were no longer listening to me and before I knew it and too late to change the course of events my thighs imploded, convulsed, tightening on his hand as my legs came together he still continued faster until he was convinced I’d had enough.

We kissed for another minute and I collapsed back against the bench after a minute or so aware of my still open jeans with green knickers on display. I fastened them hastily making myself decent again while inside me an intense sense of satisfaction lingered. We had enormous grins across our faces and he didn’t seem to mind that he hadn’t cum at all, just happy that I had, a real surprise as usually men I’d been with always insist on it whatever else happens.

He wanted to meet up again and in a heartbeat I said yes.  Who wouldn’t?

The next time, a week later, was at his house. It was big, detached, re-bricked, red-tiled, two floors and probably an attic a village a few miles from my home and in the garden out back was a building they, his parents as he lived with them, called a “shed”. It too was big and to my eyes more of an annex that shed.  I discovered what was its sole function; home for a full-sized snooker table and oddly a tiny bar in one corner and even a small fireplace which didn’t look like it got lit often.

His parents were often out, working or away so he actually rarely ever saw them, as though they lived entirely separate lives, which he said suited him.  Some families are like that I suppose.

It was mid-afternoon and we’d had a coffee in the main house before adjourning to the so-called ‘shed’ and no sooner were we inside with me agog at its size inside as big as out, and the size of the snooker table he had backed me up against the table kissing and taking me by surprise. Our tongues were in full swing and without hardly any foreplay his hands slipped up and over me fondling once again through my baggy blue jumper. I recall them slither down to my hips grabbing my buttocks to fix me even more against the table’s edge, our hips almost clamped together as we virtually ate each other alive.  I felt dragged along by his enthusiasm with his immediacy was infectious and addictive.

From that position he easily to my surprise lifted me up onto the blue baize leaving me perched with my legs dangling and then parted as he stood between effectively pressing his groin into mine. It was then I realised even more so that it wasn’t just the house, the shed, the snooker table which were sizeable here as his bulge proudly announced itself.

I thought we should slow down but that wasn’t going to happen in what was becoming an unstoppable almost pyroclastic momentum.

We kissed, he lay me back onto the baize pressing his, I was sure growing, bulge into my thighs still fully dressed. If I’d had any thoughts of remaining so they were soon dispelled.

So much energy poured from him crashing over me, I was flattered, impressed and overwhelmed; and now effectively trapped. An intense magic flared from something definitely much more primal. He held my arms above my head and buried his face and lips into my neck nibbling, licking, teasing.  Leaving my arms where he wanted and with a remarkable fluidity his fingers trickled down my jumper to edge it up and over my waist, tummy and soon breasts until stripped from me, gone before I knew it leaving me in just my black and blue flowered bra.

Still on my back staring up at the ceiling taking deep breaths I felt excitedly out of my control, at the mercy of events, of him.  Momentarily such thoughts distracted me from my jeans being loosened by him unfastening the top button and proceeding to pull down the zip without even asking me.  He took his time relishing his dominance over proceedings, in contrast to the initial fevered onslaught, all the while my legs still parted and him in between.  He exposed deep blue knickers through a seductive slow-reveal kissing my belly-button, lower then lower then lower, reaching the lace waist of the knickers and even teasing their elastic.

I was by now indescribably excited, moist, quivering inside, tense, heady with an effusive sexual scent.  Like in the park he grabbed my sex and squeezed, tightly as though claiming, reflexively my back arched, straining my backbone and making me more yelp than scream at his grip.  It was rough but oddly arousing, intensely so; pleasure and pain intermingled with his erotic encouragement to which I was freely surrendering, as if I even now had a choice.

My body clearly betrayed my excitement, mind racing embracing a deeper lust bubbling in darker recesses; blood pulsed ferociously making me fear my heart would stop.  Again he squeezed, his grip all-consuming, demanding, forcing my knickers into me.

He took one step back, grabbed the waist of my unfastened jeans and tugged them hard without hesitating and off they came tightly but easily from my hips and bare pale legs which were still dangling over the table’s edge.  He was between my legs again leaning over and we kissed again and again as he incited my sex to further moistening inside my already damp knickers.

His fingering pushed them deeper soaking more them and his fingers.  I breathed into the kiss while my hips moved involuntarily with his hand and fingers.  My defences dissolved and I finally came leaving me for a moment drained and checking I was still alive by the muted screaming of every fibre inside me. In seconds he’d quickly removed his own jeans and his boxers by which time I’d raised my head to look and for the first time realise full-on what his bulge was made of, again, everything about this place was sizeable.  It seemed to stare at me menacingly erect, hard, throbbing, red, a glistening tip smeared in precum.  He wasn’t circumcised but the sheer erectness of it had peeled away his foreskin making it looked like a weapon and I was about to be its victim.

He pushed his tip against my knickers forcing them further inside me making me wince but not object until he decided time to pull them aside and for the first time I knew he had a full-on view of my vagina, my sex, flushed, swollen clit, each pink fold glistening just like the tip of his erection, and my mound shaved and naked. His cock pushed inside me urging me to open, let him in. I braced myself and raised my knees to let him as he advanced unquestioningly inside my spreading hips and willing mostly-naked body.

He was larger than most men I’d been with before, very much so. This was so obvious. I almost panicked thinking he wouldn’t fit, it might hurt, but he was going to try whatever I thought. How much of could I really possibly take?

He kept easing back then pushing further into me each time almost winding me while slowly and with certainty he was going all the way, naked and bareback.  I raised my knees higher to ease progress keeping the occasional twinges under control while being stretched beyond my normal thinking perhaps I’d needed more foreplay. Too late now, I was all in, and so nearly was he.

I kept breathing deeply, almost yogically, through it as we found a rhythm each time going deeper, each time faster, each time smoother.  His girth grew, or so it felt with each thrust and I was increasingly feeling thoroughly impaled.  All second thoughts were now moot.  Each stroke got easier and more intensely arousing; I felt such lust overrule all other thoughts as by now I knew I had almost all of him, it, inside me, fucking me with an increasing sense of urgency.

He had remarkable staying power allowing me to fully relax into it, into his unusual size and actually enjoy every single moment and inch and motion.

The stirring in my thighs encompassed me as he became ever-more physical, unrelenting, almost lifting my body clean off the table, his hips crashing into my thighs and buttocks sending waves through me dragging me ever closer to yet another orgasm. I was at his mercy. He took me, used me, had me, but, surely it was the same for me; I was having him just as much, or nearly, just with less control.

My legs shook, breasts were trembling with each rough thrust, my breath emerging in audible gasps punctuated with the occasional expletive.

He pulled one bra strap down far enough to expose my nipple and take it between his teeth while we still fucked.  I expelled an audible scream which seemed to excite him all the more to which I gripped his thighs holding on as my body betrayed my deeper needs.  He seemed possessed and I was his sacrifice to whatever tantric god he was feeding.

I grew dizzy and broke into a sweat as another orgasm overwhelmed my whole insides longingly. As it subsided I felt him also closer to his moment, his climax, breath, sweat, flushed face, biting lip, mad eyes as his thrusts reached for their finale, once, twice, three times, and finally hurling himself into his own inevitable releasing a tsunami of lust,  greed, semen spilling warmly, freely and sticky into my sex continuing to pump all of it as deep as he thought possible with each pulsing twitch.

His final thrust made me orgasm yet again, gripping and milking his last drops as he nearly howled a final gasp and almost crumbling to dust there between my legs where I lay still in knickers and bra although they were by now very dishevelled.  The ceiling stopped shuddering before my eyes and the world stopped moving every which way as it had been throughout this madness, and the table seemed to also breathe a sigh of much-needed relief.

To my surprise me eased my face to his, looked me straight in the eye and kissed a most gentle of kisses as though to offset the rawness of the last hour or however long it was.  As I hadn’t been clock-watching I’d had no real idea how long it had been since we walked in here but the amount of energy expended was now screaming for a well-deserved snack which he I would at the very least he owed me as soon as I could get off this snooker table, back into my clothes and some semblance of innocent decency, although innocence is probably so far from being an appropriate word in light of how my afternoons adventure.

Ps… I never did get to learn how to play snooker.

© Emmaleela