Not naked-naked? But, I mean, not by a lot.

Probably not straight-up naked right away, huh? Yeah, the tension you feel as you consider your clothes is suggesting to build up to that. Still … you want something sexy. Lifting it up, you decide on a lacey, black bra with a purple floral pattern dotted across it. Besides the actual material and design being appealing, it makes your tits look just bananas, which is always fun. Especially if someone might end up seeing them. You’re more than a little thankful there aren’t any schools around here, as you imagine the awkwardness of running into a group of dumbass teenagers. It … wasn’t a small reason you picked this house in the first place, though, you admit, it wasn’t for this exact purpose at the time. Settling on your black thong with a short skirt attachment that’d be incredibly indecent to try to pull of as an actual skirt, you look yourself over in the mirror.

“Damn, not bad, girl!” you say with a grin, rotating just a bit either way to look at all of your angles. “’course, no one’s supposed to see …” you continue, an insistent stirring from your crotch interrupting the sentence, “but someone could get lucky.” You give Elena and Yasmin, your black and tortoiseshell cats respectively, a quick scratch on the head, eliciting quiet purrs, but no movement from their curled-up perches on their cat tree. You make sure you have your keys and your phone in a long-stringed, but quite small purse, purposely packing light, then allow yourself one last glance at your reflection before you make your way towards the back door. “God, I look so slutty!” you gasp, still smiling. Images run through your head of being caught by some sexy jogger and her fingering you up against a tree, or a hot security guard getting off-shift and pounding you into the wall behind his house where he found you. You bite your lip, weighing the possible consequences with rewards, but make yourself slip out the back and lock up before you run the risk of talking yourself out of this.

Just past eleven in early May, it’s very quiet when you step outside. You reach up and tie your long, brown hair into a ponytail just to make sure it doesn’t get snagged and tighten up the strap on your purse for the same reason. You glance around, making sure this isn’t ending early if one of your neighbors just happens to be dead-eyeing your house for some reason. Of course, you don’t see anything like that. This is a good neighborhood. ‘Which makes it more fun to be bad in,’ you think as you slip into the darkness between porch lights.

The space behind houses here really stretches. Other places will have fences, gates, maybe even really tall ones, but there’s at least a quarter mile in your subdivision of just open grass. As you move slowly at first, making a relaxed walk in your lingerie, you appreciate how it feels beneath your feet. A gentle breeze whips up, cool air sliding over your skin and tipping the enjoyable after-sunset temperature to a bit chilly. You can feel your nipples stiffen at that and shudder. While theoretically less comfortable, the exposure is the entire point.

It’s not enough, though. You reach back and fumble with your strap in excitement until you unclasp your bra, then drape it over your arm. ‘Next time, should really just start this way …’ you muse, deep down already knowing you’d be naked before you reached the end of the block. As you continue, your generous bust now breathing free and hard nipples enjoying the open air, you can see all sorts of things while your eyes adjust. There’s an old couple from a few down, both passed out in front of the TV, leaned over each other. It’s kind of sweet, really. You can see a pair of roommates you assumed were a couple on different levels of their house, the woman downstairs looking over some old papers and the man … well, the angle isn’t clear, but you’d bet good money he’s jackin’ it up there. God, do they share a room? Maybe you’re not the only one who likes a little risk.

Mrs. Callahan certainly does, as you pass in the shadows behind her house. You stop a bit there, given the lurid scene playing out. Mr. Callahan being out of town isn’t surprising, but the man who is most decidedly not him bending his pretty, young wife over the table and planting himself in one of her holes (you expect her pussy, but it’d be hotter to walk in on if it were her ass) certainly is. The blinds are even open, they have backyard neighbors! Mr. Callahan is sort of a useless asshole, so you’re not judging, but it surprises you that his wife would just leave the entire glass patio door on display while the salt-and-pepper-haired stranger slams into her. Judging by the barest muffled noises of her moans and dirty talking, she certainly isn’t opposed to it even if it wasn’t her idea.

Not ready to stop yet, you decide to move on as you feel yourself getting wet. It’s just reality you’re going to masturbate somewhere out here tonight, but it feels way too soon to hit your legs with that kind of pressure. All the same, you reach down and slide your panties off before Mrs. Callahan’s climactic screams are entirely inaudible, a little salute to her living on the edge a bit.

As you near the end of the long backyard stretch behind the houses, your pace is steady and confident. It feels good to be outside like this again, untouchable, subtle, sexy. You’re wondering why you didn’t do this sooner when a car rounds the bend that marks the end of the grass, lights flaring as they come into full view. While they quickly glide over you, it’s not impossible they saw you.