The Park

If I went to the dog park with you, would you let me hold your hand as we walked together? Would you object if I cupped your ass with my hand, as you walked next to me? Would it embarrass you if I took you to the perimeter, where it is wooded, and pinned you against the rough bark of a tree and kissed you deeply? Would you deny me the pleasure of seeing your nipples rise in the cool air, if I asked you to lift your shirt for me? And would you brush me away when I reached out to touch them, to take them between my fingers and gently pull them to perfect hardness? Would you glance around nervously if I bent my head to lick their rigid peaks? Would you turn away if I took first one, then the other between my teeth, gently biting and pulling them, while my tongue flicked at them?

Would you keep your hands behind you, pinning them between the small of your back and the textured bark if I asked you to, while I stepped back to look at you that way, shirt raised, nipples erect? Would you obey if I asked that you unzip your pants and lower them a few inches for me, so that your lovely triangle was just exposed, and then place your hands back behind you again? Would you spread your legs for me and look me in the eye, if that is what I wanted? Would you complain of the chilly air touching your body? Or of the people that might wander by and see you this way? Or would you be unconcerned and aroused, knowing that I was terribly turned on by your doing these things for me?