Right There in the Road

You take my hand and with a wolfish grin, drag me across the cobbled road. It's about two in the morning and half the streetlights down here are broken: you glance back the way we came but there's no sign of anyone. Good.

We've all been out tonight, everyone meeting up in that club just behind the market place. The exams finished last week so the remainder of the summer term will be a blur of all-day bar crawls, college balls and well-earned partying: tonight was a good start! After leaving the bar, my boyfriend et al went for some food from a nocturnal van, leaving just you and me to head back to the halls. They have no idea what's been going on for the last few weeks behind their backs.

You're a fresher, two years below me, which is still noteworthy in the student world of age cohorts – but you have a filthy mind that's on my wavelength and you were quick to jump in when my relationship started to get rocky. Ever since then he and I have tried to sort ourselves out, and perhaps outwardly it seems that everything is super, but I still can't keep my hands off you.

So here we are, giggling in the shadows on a shortcut out of town, everyone else so pissed that they wouldn't notice however long we take to get back. There is a low wall to our left – I suppose to stop cars from ending up in the river about eighty feet below – and you sidle up to me, backing me up against it.

All the windows are dark around here, the locals surely in bed at this time on a Tuesday night. You hold my face in both hands, tenderly kiss me, two years younger but a head taller and I feel like our roles have been reversed. Already your erection is pressing against my hip in anticipation.

"You look amazing tonight," you mumble, holding my waist in your big hands, "everyone was watching you dance."

I bite my lip and try to look innocent. "Really. Were you watching and wishing you could fuck me where I stood, in the middle of the room?" I had known people were watching me of course. Sometimes you can feel the eyes. I was wearing a particularly short skirt that night, a little black vest top and big bastard biker boots, heavily blacked-up eyes. The music was loud and angry as ever and I had thrashed and stomped and whirled. I call it 'dancing' but it was more primal than that, on some nights everything just falls into phase and I have to move. With every sway of my hips my loose skirt had flicked out, the beginning of the curve of my bottom becoming visible, and although there were far sluttier-dressed girls there, I felt like the star of the show.

"Yes. I wanted to fuck you in front of everybody."

You place one hand on my thigh and lightly run your fingers along the hem of my skirt, let them slip up a little higher beneath the fabric. I can read your mind: you are imagining how hot it would be to pull it up and expose me to the night air. As your fingertips brush over the soft lace of my knickers, I can't help but tremble. Goosebumps race up my legs.

Glancing again up and down the road, your hands leave me and you undo your belt, open the zip on your combats. In that strange way that only really happens with illicit romances, after so many weeks I still find myself gasping in eagerness to see your cock. Tugged free of your trousers I subconsciously go to grab it.

It is nothing like my partner's, which is maybe why I find it so moreish. Slender and long, your skin is so smooth and tactile, the head shiny with precum already. I cup your balls and coo with surprise when I realise, upon closer examination, that you have shaved everywhere. I want to feel everything at once! And more than anything I want to slide that shaft between my lips and into my throat.

But as I start to duck down to taste you, you stop me.

"Not now. I'm going to fuck you, now we're finally alone." But of course we're only barely 'alone', leaning on a wall with a row of houses on one side and a sheer drop of empty air behind us... the thought has me trembling already.

You gently take hold of my shoulders and turn me around, facing out across the river, and I bend down to lean my forearms on the worn old stones. Standing so close I can feel your member bounce against my bum. For some reason tonight I want you to be in charge, so I leave everything to you. Placing your hands on the backs of my knees, you graze them all the way up to my round buttocks, and let that skirt that teased everyone tonight be pushed up to my waist. "Only for you," I think. People can have a glimpse when I'm showing off but I would only let you see me like this, expose me, uncover me so tenderly. I jump as you press your face into my warm crotch, inhale the scent deeply and give me a little nip through the lace. It makes me want to grind my hips back into you but I resist.

Your fingers hook over the top of my underwear and you tug gently, rolling them over and over until they sit midway down my thighs. It feels strangely erotic, the rolling having made them more constrictive, now I can't pull my legs apart as far as I want to. You pause and I can tell that you are admiring your handiwork.

As I gaze dreamily into the black air, your eyes are like a pressure on my skin. The stars are jostling overhead and the tiny lamps across the river pick out a couple walking home. The castle totters above them, lit in the usual lurid green and yellow. The shadowy side was a good choice.

The slick wetness between my legs is starting to cool, but before I have a chance to say anything, I feel your spongy head press against me. My eyes close. With your first thrust, I exhale in a quiet, ragged moan, and you tell me "You're beautiful." You grip my hips and slowly press into me as deep as you can. Nobody else feels like you. When you screw me slowly like this I go wild, spearing me again and again, pressing against my g-spot at the start of every stroke. It makes me blush all over, do you know that? And I'm struggling to keep quiet.

Being bent over like this feels surprisingly submissive. But not in that contrived sort of role-playing way, not pretending to let you take me when I know I'll get what I want in the end. It's hard to articulate. I desperately want you to cum inside me and every beautiful thrust sets off sparks. There is simply nothing else in my mind. I find myself whimpering and have to bite my lip to keep hushed.

"Do you want this? Do you want me to fill you up?" you whisper fiercely, "You're going to go back to your boyfriend with my spunk inside you." It's melodramatic but incredibly dirty. And it's true.

Our rhythm is getting more urgent but we are still perfectly in sync. Your cock seems to be swelling, pushing against my tight muscles. The thought, just the thought of your semen pulsing into me and overflowing out of my pussy, sets my nerves thrumming, and I am struggling so close to the edge. As you gasp and slam against my buttocks for the last time, I can't take it any longer, the wave of fire roars out from my core and eats away through my body, tingling to the tips of my brain.

I don't want to pull away. In the orange afterglow I dopily roll up my knickers, put my skirt back in place, kiss you thoughtfully. You do up your trousers and try to look presentable, then take my hand gently. For the timebeing we have to get back to the real world.