Fencing

Fencing

I’ll never look at that fence the same way. And in a playground, no less. I just hope it rains before someone leans against it or tries to climb it. Sticky chain link. Cum, saliva, pussy juice, maybe a little blood.

We’re driving past a park. Children are on the playground, having their day’s last fun before the sun goes down. I see you eyeing the area. You seem to be looking beyond the kids and playground equipment, but what’s out there? I wonder what’s going through your mind.

You’ve been really freaky lately, and we’ve done some incredibly risky stuff. Sexual thrill-seeking. Last week we went into that XXX store by the interstate. You picked out an interesting insertable toy and paid for it. Then, still in the store, you pulled me over to a spot in front of a security camera, bent me over, pulled up my skirt, shoved the toy in my pussy, and fucked me with it while the shop clerk and several customers watched. Some gathered closer. One guy moved around us, filming it with his cell phone, I imagine getting different angles. I also heard the fake shutter sound from people’s cell phone cameras. I thought for sure the clerk would throw us out, but he seemed as pleased with the show as everyone else. When we were done (meaning when I fell to the ground and finished bucking from the intense orgasm), the filmer guy offered you ten bucks for the toy, which you took. Then we left the store as if nothing had happened.

Tonight, after we pass the park, you suggest we go get some drinks. I know you want my inhibitions turned into exhibitions, and I’m certainly not against the plan. The fucking lately has been incredible, and I’m hoping for more of it tonight. I am concerned about that playground, though.

We stay at the bar for awhile, drinking shots and watching a couple of lame guys take turns approaching women way out of their league. We both laugh when this one woman has an offended look on her face, as if the guy cut a fart instead of offering to buy her a drink.

I notice you’re not drinking nearly as much as I am. Several shots into it, I count five shot glasses on the table–and I know I had four of them. The buzz doesn’t hit me till I stand to go to the restroom. I’m not wasted, but I feel really, really good. As I wash up, I decide I’m ready for whatever you throw at me tonight, and I hope you come up with something fucking crazy. I come back to the table and you tug me to signal for us to go. I leave my inhibitions folded neatly under the cocktail napkin on the table.

You drive us back to the park, which is completely empty. I try to ask what you have in mind, but you shush me. Uh oh. I’m in trouble. Big trouble. You’re not laughing or even smiling. I know you’re horny and looking for a dangerous thrill. Wildness flashes in your eyes.

You reach into your glove box and pull out a thick, metal choke-chain dog collar, drop it over my head, and pull it snug. It’s pretty long, like it’s for a really large dog. You drop the end of the chain into my cleavage. The cold against my hot skin, along with the excitement I’m feeling from your crazed look, makes my nipples hard. They push at the thin fabric of my t-shirt. I never wear a bra when we go out, even when we’re with friends. You say you like to know when I’m aroused. What you don’t realize is that I’m almost always aroused when we’re together, whether my tits show it or not. Us fucking is always on my mind. Maybe what you really like is for everyone to know when I’m aroused. You certainly have that exhibitionism thing going.