Meetup

The park was nearly deserted.

Late November wind hissed through the bare branches, kicking dry leaves across the empty trail. The yellow lamplight buzzed and flickered, casting broken shadows across the grass. Out past the trail, behind a crumbling picnic shelter, Emily waited.

She wore a fitted sweater dress, the hem grazing mid-thigh, her coat unzipped over it. Nothing underneath. Her thighs were bare beneath the hem, and the chill in the air had her nipples tight against the soft knit.

But she wasn’t cold.

Not with what was coming.

Then she heard him—footsteps fast, breath ragged, crunching over gravel. Mickey rounded the side of the shelter, eyes wide, jaw clenched. He didn’t say a word.

He just grabbed her.

His hands locked around her waist, spun her into the deeper shadows behind the shed. Her back hit the rough brick and his mouth was on hers—hot, demanding, open-mouthed kisses that left them both gasping. She moaned into him, her coat sliding off her shoulders as he pressed hard against her, hips grinding into her thigh. She could feel the thick shape of his cock, already stiff through his jeans.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled, panting. “You don’t know what you did to me.”

His hands shoved up under her dress, warm palms dragging across her bare hips.

“You’re not wearing anything,” he choked, stunned.

“Didn’t want anything between us,” she whispered.

He dropped to his knees.

Right there on the cold concrete, he grabbed her thigh, pulled her leg up onto his shoulder, and buried his face between her legs.

His tongue hit her clit on the first stroke.

She gasped—loud, sharp—her hands slamming against the brick behind her. He groaned into her, the sound vibrating through her core as he licked her deep and slow, then fast, tongue circling and flicking with sloppy, eager need. His grip tightened around her thighs as she rocked her hips into his mouth.

Her cunt was soaked—wet from anticipation, heat, him—and he licked like he was starving for it. His nose pressed to her mound, his tongue fucking into her, messy and obscene and perfect.

When he finally stood, his face was glistening with her slick. His hands fumbled with his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, rock hard and leaking.

He didn’t ask.

He lifted her like nothing, braced her against the wall, and pushed into her in one brutal, perfect thrust.

She cried out, the stretch electric, her back arching as he bottomed out inside her.

His cock filled her—deep, wide, dragging along every nerve as he pulled back and slammed in again. The rhythm was frantic from the start, wet slaps echoing through the dark as he fucked her against the bricks. Her legs locked around him, ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Her coat flared open, the wind cutting cold across her bare thighs, but she didn’t care.

Not with his cock pounding her like that.

Not with his breath hot against her throat, his hands bruising her hips, her slick dripping down his shaft.

They didn’t stop.

He took her again in the grass, from behind this time—her knees sinking into cold earth, her dress bunched at her waist as he thrust into her with low, guttural sounds, grabbing her ass with both hands, fucking her hard enough her moans broke into whimpers.

Hours passed in pieces.

Between rounds, they lay sprawled in the dark, flushed and panting, the smell of sex thick in the air.

That’s when he spoke.

“Thanksgiving…” he murmured. “I don’t think my aunt was wearing underwear.”

Emily’s breath caught.

“Oh?”

“She asked me to help her in the pantry. I remembered our call. I had to leave the table. Locked myself in my room and jerked off thinking about her.”

Emily’s hand found his cock again—half-hard, sticky with their last round, already starting to swell.

“Tell me,” she whispered, stroking him.

He hesitated.

“Tell me what you wish you’d done to her.”

“I wish…” He groaned. “I wish I’d followed her in. Pushed the door shut. Got on my knees. Licked her until she was dripping down my chin.”

Emily’s fingers tightened.

“She’d pretend nothing was happening. Then I’d bend her over the shelf. Push her face down into the flour bag and fuck her so slow, so deep, she’d shake.”

Emily was back on top of him before he finished the sentence, sinking onto his cock in one smooth, hungry motion. He was rock hard again—still slick, sliding in to the hilt—and her moan hit the trees.

“That’s what you wanted to do to your aunt?” she whispered, bouncing on him now, faster, harder, her cunt clenching down with every thrust.

“Y-yes,” he panted. “Emily—fuck—Emily—”

She tightened again.

“Say it.”

“Emily!”

His hips jerked up.

He came hard—hot, thick pulses flooding her cunt as she milked him, thighs trembling, her body rolling against him like waves. He buried his face in her shoulder, gasping her name again and again.

He still didn’t know.