What Katie did on the Balcony By katie tt
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What Katie Did In The Parking Station, By Katie_tt free porn video
You couldn’t call what happened between me and Mr Burgess an affair”, because we never really made love, not physically, but what did happen had a very profound effect on my sex life. Exactly how it affected him I would never know.
You may have already read about my inclinations towards exhibitionism, and how I would partly satisfy that urge with role-play with my old friend and lover Alex. (Look for “How I started being an exhibitionist”.) Mr Burgess flickered briefly but brightly into my life shortly after that but I can recall every detail, every feeling, as if it is happening as I write. It began with a simple supermarket shopping trip, and here I will tell you what happened on that first day. My mind travels back to an autumn day in Sydney, the bright afternoon sun still high in a sky which is a clean blue, except for dark clouds gathering somewhere over the sea to the north-east…
========================================
The weather bureau has warned that we are in for one of those incredible Sydney rainstorms, half an hour of bucketing rain, lasting long enough to turn suburban streets into torrents, before the storm vanishes and the sky transforms back to its previous serenity.
I have walked the three blocks down to the supermarket, needing just a few things, wearing just a loosely buttoned shirt, short shorts and sandals. I am not wearing a bra because I like the feel of the shirt rustling over my nipples. I know that my breasts still hang nicely, and better still, I know my bra-less state is obvious enough to make most men- and some women - look at me with appreciative eyes.
It is a beach-side suburb, and skimpy apparel is not uncommon in the shopping centre, but it pleases me to know that I attract as much attention, maybe more, than the average bikini bimbo.
I have just one Colesworth shopping bag. I am not expecting to buy much and I want to get home before the storm arrives.
As usual, in the supermarket I buy more than I’d planned, and in my trolley there is more than one bag load of goodies. What’s worse, I can see the rain has started to come down and I am not looking forward to the prospect of struggling through the wet with an armful of plastic bags.
I am waiting in one of the check-0t lines with only one more person between me and the register. There is another line next to this one and I glance across and see that the man next to me, less than a metre away, is staring intently at my top. It does not worry me; instead, I am looking at his face, wondering where I’ve seen him before.
I estimate he is around my age, tall, slim, brown hair, a regular face, not film-star handsome but not unpleasant, except for a sadness which may have been as much from the down-turned eyes as from the turn of his mouth. What are you thinking? I ask, but in my mind, not aloud. Wondering how my tits would feel in your hands? Are you getting hard?> Do you want to go to bed with me, or are you content just to go home and jerk off to the memory of my body?
I glance down but see no tell-tale budge. Probably wearing tight budgie-smugglers, I hope.
Now he looks up and sees me seeing him. He is actually blushing; I can see he wants to look away but my eyes have caught is and he can’t. Now I recognise him.
“Hello”, I say, keeping my voice steady, as if catching someone perving on my tits is something which happens every day. “I think we are neighbours. I live across the road from you.”
“Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes. I know. I’ve seen you. I mean…”He breaks off, flustered, blushing even more deeply. Is he naturally shy, or just embarrassed that I have caught him in a sexy daydream?
I try to put him at ease. “I see you on your balcony”, I say, “so I guess you can see me.”
He is saved by the check-out girl. It is my turn, too, and for a few minutes we are both busy with our transactions. I finish first, and as I am struggling to organise three plastic bags as well as the Colesworth bag I see that the rain is really pouring down.
He is about to walk past me but stops to say goodbye. I have the feeling that he wants to hurry away from me but he must observe the social conventions.
“It’s going to be a wet walk home,” I say.
“Oh,” he says. “Um.” He takes a deep breath, as if he has made a big decision. “My car is downstairs,” he announces. “In the car park.”
I suppose he is offering me a lift.
“Well, I say, “Thank you.”
As we walk down the ramp to the car-park, I have a moment of apprehension. I don’t know this shy, mild-mannered man who is so obviously desirous of doing – what? Something to do with my body. What if he snaps, tries to take advantage of the huge, lonely expanse of the parking station? I’ve heard that so many r****ts and killers are ordinarily quiet and mild-mannered. Jekyll and Hyde.
It is not the first time I have worried that my desire to show my body to strangers might get me into trouble. Or – maybe the danger is part of the lure of exhibitionism.
This time, however, there is no real danger. The parking station is brightly lit and full of people going to or from their cars. Middle aged women, mothers with babies in their pushcarts, men and women of all shapes and sizes.
We reach his car, a grey hatch-back, nondescript, like its owner. We arrange our shopping in the back and I get in, pleased with the way my shorts ride almost to the top of my legs. I wish I wasn’t wearing panties. A wisp of pubic hair peeping out from the hem of my shorts would surely add to my viewer’s excitement, unless he is one of those boringly fastidious men who like shaved pussies.
He does not seem to be in a hurry to start the car. I know he is admiring the view. No, not just admiring, craving to see more, to touch, to lick…kiss…oh yes, nameless neighbour, wouldn’t you love to watch me pull down the shorts, pull down the panties, slowly exposing my dark pussy hair, my lower lips, glistening already with the juice of my desire.
The seat-belt stretches across my shirt 1111111111111111111 and accentuates the fullness of my breasts. I know you are a tit-man, I say to him in my mind. You should see them in their naked glory – no, I want you to see the way they hang, inviting you to cup them in your hands. I want to show you the dark skin around my nipples, those big nipples which are becoming so erect under your gaze.
I snap out of my daydream. I scold myself. One of these days you will do something like that and you will get into trouble.
He manoeuvres the car out of the station and we are on the short drive home. I am not surprised to see that he is driving very cautiously through the heavy rain.
He does not seem to be about to start a conversation, so I say: “Thanks very much for this. Um…I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Mr Burgess,” he says. What an odd way to introduce yourself, I say to myself. As if you are a bank manager meeting a client for the first time.
I am about to say “I am Miss Thompson” when he goes on.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s Colin. Colin Burgess.” I look at him and am pleased to see half a smile on his face. ‘I work in a bank. That’s what I say all day.”
Full marks, Katie, for guessing his business. Also…it’s nice to know he can smile.
“Well”, I say, “I’m Miss Thompson. But I always introduce myself as Katie.”
That is all the conversation we have, because now he is parking under the awning at the entrance to my block. I unbuckle the seat belt and let it retract. Before I can stop it, it has caught on my shirt button and the button pops off. Really, I’m sure it was an accident.
I pretend not to notice, and somehow, as we are getting my things out of the hatch, my shirt slips off my shoulders and my breasts fully revealed. He stares: I stand still for a moment to let him have a good look, before casually I pull the shirt back over my shoulders. The moment is enough to start a warm glow in my belly, and I feel the muscles of my vagina relax in preparation for the sex act. And I can almost smell the secretions which I know are flowing between my legs
I am in need of that sex act. I no longer want to tease Mr Burgess, I want to seduce him.
The shirt button is gone, and my breasts remain half exposed.
“I – I’m sorry”, he blusters.
Poor man, I think. He is really suffering. Now is the time to invite him into my apartment – and into my body. He is nice looking and manly enough. Will you be a good lover for me, Mr Burgess? Will you want to make love to me, or are you purely a voyeur, getting your kicks from looking and not touching?
My thoughts seem to have lasted ages, but only a moment has passed since his unnecessary apology.
“It’s not your fault”, I say with a chuckle. “They don’t use strong enough cotton these days.”
He says nothing and is getting ready to re-enter the car.
“Thanks again”, I say. “Look – would you like to come up for a cup of tea, or –“
Before I can finish he says “No!” abruptly, almost as if I’d said something threatening. Ooops, that’s that, I say to myself. Mr Colin Burgess is not fucking tonight. Or, if he is, it won’t be with me.
“I suppose Mrs Burgess is waiting for you with the shopping”, I say sweetly.”
“No, she isn’t”, he says. He is very impatient to get away now. “I mean, there is no Mrs Burgess.”
Before I can say anything he has backed out and I watch him circle the road before driving into his own driveway and disappearing around the back of the building.
I gather my bags and take them up to my flat.
“What was that all about, Katie?” I ask myself. Maybe he is gay, though his response to me was heterosexual enough. Maybe he is impotent and doesn’t want the humiliation of a failed encounter. Whatever the source, Mr Burgess has problems. Best stay away from him.
I put my shopping away. I feel tired and am thinking about a nap before dinner. It is getting dark so I go to the French windows to draw the curtain before turning on the lights. I look at the building opposite, at the balcony where I recall having seen him. The apartment is dark. Is he with someone there? No Mrs Burgess but some woman…or man? Is he looking at porn, maybe one of those sites where women expose themselves on line? Is he masturbating? Visiting Mrs Palmer and her five daughters, as Alex describes his own solitary pleasure.
I decide that a shower and some relaxation are in order. I go to the bathroom and begin undress, tossing the treacherous shirt into a basket. A liberating moment as the shorts panties come off. The panties are still damp and I have a vision of me handing them to Mr Burgess and he putting them to his face, savouring the lust-induced odour.
Dammit Katie, stop thinking about Mr Burgess!
I spread my legs and flex my knees slightly, enjoying the cool air on my vagina. I touch myself…it feels clammy…I really did get horny when I was with Mr Burgess, teasing myself as much as I was teasing him.
I should relax, I tell myself. Some meditation will clear my head and get rid of this nagging desire.
I lie on the bed, naked. My body feels hot inside, but the cool of the night is starting to make itself known to my skin. I get under the covers, lying on my back, liking the feel of the satin sheets on my breasts.
I start the meditation process. Breathing slowly, aware of how my chest rises and falls with each breath, making my nipples brush on the sheets. Oh that feels good.
Concentrating now on my feet, making myself aware of each toe. I wonder if Mr Burgess would like to nibble my toes. I am sure he would like a foot job.
I try to go back to my relaxation exercise, shaking away the image of a penis ejaculating a creamy load all on to my bare feet. Of course it is Mr Burgess’s cock, as yet unseen but I know it is long and slim and very, very hard.
Why won’t he leave my mind alone? Now my mind moves over each ankle, up along my calves…knees…thighs…THIGHS…You like my thighs, don’t you, Mr Burgess? Would you like to touch them, or just look at them, following them upwards anticipation, getting closer…closer…
I am aware of has reached my lower lips. I am tracing with my mi the strange patters, the folds of my…my CUNT! Say it: CUNT.
I have sometimes sat with a mirror and a torch between my legs, exploring my vagina, each time finding a new fold, sometimes a new spot of sensitivity. I love my vagina, my cunt.
Would you like to explore my cunt, Mr Burgess? With your fingers? Your mouth? No, I don’t see you as an oral guy. You just want to look, worship from a distance. Pay homage to my beautiful cunt.
Suddenly we are back in the parking station. It is dark, empty. I have discarded the buttonless shirt and my shorts. . I am standing proudly, showing off my breasts, hands on hips, my panty-clad pelvis thrust forward as if in a challenge...
Mr Burgess has his back against a pillar, watching me. .
I hold my breasts, cupping one in each hand, raising them. Letting the swelling nipples poke through my fingers. They seem bigger, firmer.
I slide one hand down the front of my panties, the other kneading my breast. I find my clit. It is already swollen. His eyes are now fixed on the movement of my hand under the panties.
His trousers are bulging. He is unzipping himself. His penis is now out: long, hard, pointing upwards slightly. I long to touch it but for now I keep a distance between us.
I take of the panties and for the first time he sees me totally naked. He is stroking himself now, his hand moving slowly but rhythmically up and down the long shaft.
I have both hands on my pussy now, one hand still massaging my clit while the middle finger of the other is probing deeply. Waves of pleasure are beginning to sweep over me, the physical stimulation enhanced by the knowledge that I am standing naked in a public place, masturbating, watching him watching me as he strokes his hard cock. But I want more.
Somehow he has become naked too. His body is slim but looks strong, a lover’s body. I can see his big balls bouncing as he strokes, now going a bit faster, as I too move my fingers faster, rubbing my clit, my other finger going deeper and faster into my vagina – my lovely, hungry cunt.
Suddenly the parking station is very bright, and I realise with a thrill that we are no longer secluded. The place is full of people. Housewives with shopping bags, mothers with babies in strollers, men in business suits. Most of them take no notice of us but a few stop to watch as we masturbate. We are getting an audience; my pleasure is amplified by all those eyes on my naked body.
There goes the check-out girl. She recognises me and smiles and waves cheerily, as if seeing me naked in the car park is an everyday thing.
“That’s a nice cock”, I hear an old lady say. “Good tits,” says a man.
It is too much for me. I leap onto Mr Burgess, wrapping my legs around him. He is strong; he takes my weight as I impale myself on that glorious cock.
Our audience applauds, and more people stop to watch.
“What are those funny people doing, grandma?” I hear a c***d’s voice as I move my hips up and down to absorb more and more energy from his penis.
“It is called fucking”, says the grandmother. “Watch and learn”, she says. “They are very good at it.”
Oh yes, we are! Faster now, impossibly fast. Deeper…his cock is so big…how can my body take such a big cock?
He is grunting with every thrust of my hips, and so am I. My climax is coming. The crowd urges us on, cheering, whistling, whooping. Everybody is watching us. I don’t care who sees us, it is such a glorious fuck!
I am cumming. My body is exploding. Electricity everywhere. Back arching. Arms, legs, flailing.
Oh yes, yes, YES, Mr Burgess, FUCK ME!
I climax. Spasm after glorious, mind-blowing spasm, until I feel I will lose consciousness.
I wake up.
Was it really a dream? More like a hallucination. The orgasm was rea. My fingers are still inside me, my vagina throbbing slowly as it relaxes. My body comes to rest. It is satisfied – for now.
I am so wet…I will have to wash these sheets…
Oh, Mr Burgess, are you really so strong, your cock so big? Maybe you were masturbating too. Maybe, by some sort of telepathy we just shared a fantasy fuck.
Perhaps, one day, we will have a real one.
Dear reader
I hope you enjoyed my tale. I have more to write about my venture on the path of exhibitionism, but you have to be patient.
I did have another encounter with Mr Burgess, and it ended in a most unexpected way. Watch this space…and meanwhile, enjoy yourself.
You may have already read about my inclinations towards exhibitionism, and how I would partly satisfy that urge with role-play with my old friend and lover Alex. (Look for “How I started being an exhibitionist”.) Mr Burgess flickered briefly but brightly into my life shortly after that but I can recall every detail, every feeling, as if it is happening as I write. It began with a simple supermarket shopping trip, and here I will tell you what happened on that first day. My mind travels back to an autumn day in Sydney, the bright afternoon sun still high in a sky which is a clean blue, except for dark clouds gathering somewhere over the sea to the north-east…
========================================
The weather bureau has warned that we are in for one of those incredible Sydney rainstorms, half an hour of bucketing rain, lasting long enough to turn suburban streets into torrents, before the storm vanishes and the sky transforms back to its previous serenity.
I have walked the three blocks down to the supermarket, needing just a few things, wearing just a loosely buttoned shirt, short shorts and sandals. I am not wearing a bra because I like the feel of the shirt rustling over my nipples. I know that my breasts still hang nicely, and better still, I know my bra-less state is obvious enough to make most men- and some women - look at me with appreciative eyes.
It is a beach-side suburb, and skimpy apparel is not uncommon in the shopping centre, but it pleases me to know that I attract as much attention, maybe more, than the average bikini bimbo.
I have just one Colesworth shopping bag. I am not expecting to buy much and I want to get home before the storm arrives.
As usual, in the supermarket I buy more than I’d planned, and in my trolley there is more than one bag load of goodies. What’s worse, I can see the rain has started to come down and I am not looking forward to the prospect of struggling through the wet with an armful of plastic bags.
I am waiting in one of the check-0t lines with only one more person between me and the register. There is another line next to this one and I glance across and see that the man next to me, less than a metre away, is staring intently at my top. It does not worry me; instead, I am looking at his face, wondering where I’ve seen him before.
I estimate he is around my age, tall, slim, brown hair, a regular face, not film-star handsome but not unpleasant, except for a sadness which may have been as much from the down-turned eyes as from the turn of his mouth. What are you thinking? I ask, but in my mind, not aloud. Wondering how my tits would feel in your hands? Are you getting hard?> Do you want to go to bed with me, or are you content just to go home and jerk off to the memory of my body?
I glance down but see no tell-tale budge. Probably wearing tight budgie-smugglers, I hope.
Now he looks up and sees me seeing him. He is actually blushing; I can see he wants to look away but my eyes have caught is and he can’t. Now I recognise him.
“Hello”, I say, keeping my voice steady, as if catching someone perving on my tits is something which happens every day. “I think we are neighbours. I live across the road from you.”
“Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes. I know. I’ve seen you. I mean…”He breaks off, flustered, blushing even more deeply. Is he naturally shy, or just embarrassed that I have caught him in a sexy daydream?
I try to put him at ease. “I see you on your balcony”, I say, “so I guess you can see me.”
He is saved by the check-out girl. It is my turn, too, and for a few minutes we are both busy with our transactions. I finish first, and as I am struggling to organise three plastic bags as well as the Colesworth bag I see that the rain is really pouring down.
He is about to walk past me but stops to say goodbye. I have the feeling that he wants to hurry away from me but he must observe the social conventions.
“It’s going to be a wet walk home,” I say.
“Oh,” he says. “Um.” He takes a deep breath, as if he has made a big decision. “My car is downstairs,” he announces. “In the car park.”
I suppose he is offering me a lift.
“Well, I say, “Thank you.”
As we walk down the ramp to the car-park, I have a moment of apprehension. I don’t know this shy, mild-mannered man who is so obviously desirous of doing – what? Something to do with my body. What if he snaps, tries to take advantage of the huge, lonely expanse of the parking station? I’ve heard that so many r****ts and killers are ordinarily quiet and mild-mannered. Jekyll and Hyde.
It is not the first time I have worried that my desire to show my body to strangers might get me into trouble. Or – maybe the danger is part of the lure of exhibitionism.
This time, however, there is no real danger. The parking station is brightly lit and full of people going to or from their cars. Middle aged women, mothers with babies in their pushcarts, men and women of all shapes and sizes.
We reach his car, a grey hatch-back, nondescript, like its owner. We arrange our shopping in the back and I get in, pleased with the way my shorts ride almost to the top of my legs. I wish I wasn’t wearing panties. A wisp of pubic hair peeping out from the hem of my shorts would surely add to my viewer’s excitement, unless he is one of those boringly fastidious men who like shaved pussies.
He does not seem to be in a hurry to start the car. I know he is admiring the view. No, not just admiring, craving to see more, to touch, to lick…kiss…oh yes, nameless neighbour, wouldn’t you love to watch me pull down the shorts, pull down the panties, slowly exposing my dark pussy hair, my lower lips, glistening already with the juice of my desire.
The seat-belt stretches across my shirt 1111111111111111111 and accentuates the fullness of my breasts. I know you are a tit-man, I say to him in my mind. You should see them in their naked glory – no, I want you to see the way they hang, inviting you to cup them in your hands. I want to show you the dark skin around my nipples, those big nipples which are becoming so erect under your gaze.
I snap out of my daydream. I scold myself. One of these days you will do something like that and you will get into trouble.
He manoeuvres the car out of the station and we are on the short drive home. I am not surprised to see that he is driving very cautiously through the heavy rain.
He does not seem to be about to start a conversation, so I say: “Thanks very much for this. Um…I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Mr Burgess,” he says. What an odd way to introduce yourself, I say to myself. As if you are a bank manager meeting a client for the first time.
I am about to say “I am Miss Thompson” when he goes on.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s Colin. Colin Burgess.” I look at him and am pleased to see half a smile on his face. ‘I work in a bank. That’s what I say all day.”
Full marks, Katie, for guessing his business. Also…it’s nice to know he can smile.
“Well”, I say, “I’m Miss Thompson. But I always introduce myself as Katie.”
That is all the conversation we have, because now he is parking under the awning at the entrance to my block. I unbuckle the seat belt and let it retract. Before I can stop it, it has caught on my shirt button and the button pops off. Really, I’m sure it was an accident.
I pretend not to notice, and somehow, as we are getting my things out of the hatch, my shirt slips off my shoulders and my breasts fully revealed. He stares: I stand still for a moment to let him have a good look, before casually I pull the shirt back over my shoulders. The moment is enough to start a warm glow in my belly, and I feel the muscles of my vagina relax in preparation for the sex act. And I can almost smell the secretions which I know are flowing between my legs
I am in need of that sex act. I no longer want to tease Mr Burgess, I want to seduce him.
The shirt button is gone, and my breasts remain half exposed.
“I – I’m sorry”, he blusters.
Poor man, I think. He is really suffering. Now is the time to invite him into my apartment – and into my body. He is nice looking and manly enough. Will you be a good lover for me, Mr Burgess? Will you want to make love to me, or are you purely a voyeur, getting your kicks from looking and not touching?
My thoughts seem to have lasted ages, but only a moment has passed since his unnecessary apology.
“It’s not your fault”, I say with a chuckle. “They don’t use strong enough cotton these days.”
He says nothing and is getting ready to re-enter the car.
“Thanks again”, I say. “Look – would you like to come up for a cup of tea, or –“
Before I can finish he says “No!” abruptly, almost as if I’d said something threatening. Ooops, that’s that, I say to myself. Mr Colin Burgess is not fucking tonight. Or, if he is, it won’t be with me.
“I suppose Mrs Burgess is waiting for you with the shopping”, I say sweetly.”
“No, she isn’t”, he says. He is very impatient to get away now. “I mean, there is no Mrs Burgess.”
Before I can say anything he has backed out and I watch him circle the road before driving into his own driveway and disappearing around the back of the building.
I gather my bags and take them up to my flat.
“What was that all about, Katie?” I ask myself. Maybe he is gay, though his response to me was heterosexual enough. Maybe he is impotent and doesn’t want the humiliation of a failed encounter. Whatever the source, Mr Burgess has problems. Best stay away from him.
I put my shopping away. I feel tired and am thinking about a nap before dinner. It is getting dark so I go to the French windows to draw the curtain before turning on the lights. I look at the building opposite, at the balcony where I recall having seen him. The apartment is dark. Is he with someone there? No Mrs Burgess but some woman…or man? Is he looking at porn, maybe one of those sites where women expose themselves on line? Is he masturbating? Visiting Mrs Palmer and her five daughters, as Alex describes his own solitary pleasure.
I decide that a shower and some relaxation are in order. I go to the bathroom and begin undress, tossing the treacherous shirt into a basket. A liberating moment as the shorts panties come off. The panties are still damp and I have a vision of me handing them to Mr Burgess and he putting them to his face, savouring the lust-induced odour.
Dammit Katie, stop thinking about Mr Burgess!
I spread my legs and flex my knees slightly, enjoying the cool air on my vagina. I touch myself…it feels clammy…I really did get horny when I was with Mr Burgess, teasing myself as much as I was teasing him.
I should relax, I tell myself. Some meditation will clear my head and get rid of this nagging desire.
I lie on the bed, naked. My body feels hot inside, but the cool of the night is starting to make itself known to my skin. I get under the covers, lying on my back, liking the feel of the satin sheets on my breasts.
I start the meditation process. Breathing slowly, aware of how my chest rises and falls with each breath, making my nipples brush on the sheets. Oh that feels good.
Concentrating now on my feet, making myself aware of each toe. I wonder if Mr Burgess would like to nibble my toes. I am sure he would like a foot job.
I try to go back to my relaxation exercise, shaking away the image of a penis ejaculating a creamy load all on to my bare feet. Of course it is Mr Burgess’s cock, as yet unseen but I know it is long and slim and very, very hard.
Why won’t he leave my mind alone? Now my mind moves over each ankle, up along my calves…knees…thighs…THIGHS…You like my thighs, don’t you, Mr Burgess? Would you like to touch them, or just look at them, following them upwards anticipation, getting closer…closer…
I am aware of has reached my lower lips. I am tracing with my mi the strange patters, the folds of my…my CUNT! Say it: CUNT.
I have sometimes sat with a mirror and a torch between my legs, exploring my vagina, each time finding a new fold, sometimes a new spot of sensitivity. I love my vagina, my cunt.
Would you like to explore my cunt, Mr Burgess? With your fingers? Your mouth? No, I don’t see you as an oral guy. You just want to look, worship from a distance. Pay homage to my beautiful cunt.
Suddenly we are back in the parking station. It is dark, empty. I have discarded the buttonless shirt and my shorts. . I am standing proudly, showing off my breasts, hands on hips, my panty-clad pelvis thrust forward as if in a challenge...
Mr Burgess has his back against a pillar, watching me. .
I hold my breasts, cupping one in each hand, raising them. Letting the swelling nipples poke through my fingers. They seem bigger, firmer.
I slide one hand down the front of my panties, the other kneading my breast. I find my clit. It is already swollen. His eyes are now fixed on the movement of my hand under the panties.
His trousers are bulging. He is unzipping himself. His penis is now out: long, hard, pointing upwards slightly. I long to touch it but for now I keep a distance between us.
I take of the panties and for the first time he sees me totally naked. He is stroking himself now, his hand moving slowly but rhythmically up and down the long shaft.
I have both hands on my pussy now, one hand still massaging my clit while the middle finger of the other is probing deeply. Waves of pleasure are beginning to sweep over me, the physical stimulation enhanced by the knowledge that I am standing naked in a public place, masturbating, watching him watching me as he strokes his hard cock. But I want more.
Somehow he has become naked too. His body is slim but looks strong, a lover’s body. I can see his big balls bouncing as he strokes, now going a bit faster, as I too move my fingers faster, rubbing my clit, my other finger going deeper and faster into my vagina – my lovely, hungry cunt.
Suddenly the parking station is very bright, and I realise with a thrill that we are no longer secluded. The place is full of people. Housewives with shopping bags, mothers with babies in strollers, men in business suits. Most of them take no notice of us but a few stop to watch as we masturbate. We are getting an audience; my pleasure is amplified by all those eyes on my naked body.
There goes the check-out girl. She recognises me and smiles and waves cheerily, as if seeing me naked in the car park is an everyday thing.
“That’s a nice cock”, I hear an old lady say. “Good tits,” says a man.
It is too much for me. I leap onto Mr Burgess, wrapping my legs around him. He is strong; he takes my weight as I impale myself on that glorious cock.
Our audience applauds, and more people stop to watch.
“What are those funny people doing, grandma?” I hear a c***d’s voice as I move my hips up and down to absorb more and more energy from his penis.
“It is called fucking”, says the grandmother. “Watch and learn”, she says. “They are very good at it.”
Oh yes, we are! Faster now, impossibly fast. Deeper…his cock is so big…how can my body take such a big cock?
He is grunting with every thrust of my hips, and so am I. My climax is coming. The crowd urges us on, cheering, whistling, whooping. Everybody is watching us. I don’t care who sees us, it is such a glorious fuck!
I am cumming. My body is exploding. Electricity everywhere. Back arching. Arms, legs, flailing.
Oh yes, yes, YES, Mr Burgess, FUCK ME!
I climax. Spasm after glorious, mind-blowing spasm, until I feel I will lose consciousness.
I wake up.
Was it really a dream? More like a hallucination. The orgasm was rea. My fingers are still inside me, my vagina throbbing slowly as it relaxes. My body comes to rest. It is satisfied – for now.
I am so wet…I will have to wash these sheets…
Oh, Mr Burgess, are you really so strong, your cock so big? Maybe you were masturbating too. Maybe, by some sort of telepathy we just shared a fantasy fuck.
Perhaps, one day, we will have a real one.
Dear reader
I hope you enjoyed my tale. I have more to write about my venture on the path of exhibitionism, but you have to be patient.
I did have another encounter with Mr Burgess, and it ended in a most unexpected way. Watch this space…and meanwhile, enjoy yourself.
Miracle
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