A Game of Hide and Seek

A Game of Hide and Seek

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All participants are significantly over the age of 18 and are consenting adults.

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A hide, for those of you who aren't into these things is used by bird and nature watchers to hide your presence from the thing you are watching, a tent, a hut, even your own home or car can be a hide. In my case, just up the road from me, there is a seasonal wetland owned by a bird preservation charity that has a big visitors centre and has established hides all around their land for paying customers to watch the birds and other critters that come and go.

This is a little story about a game of "hide" and seek. It's a little shorter than my usual, so hold on (no, not like that!)

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I saw you as I walked into the main visitors centre hide, a flash of bright yellow against the dun khaki and country tweeds of the "serious twitchers", your bright yellow summer dress highlighting your olive skin and raven hair as you threw a glance over your shoulder provoking my chase.

I let you go.

No chase should be too easy, after all, what's the fun in that?

I stayed, and took a few photos of the little egrets in the shallows, catching one in the act of spearing it's prey and devouring it. Job done, I left.

It was sweltering outside, I was glad of my loose hiking shorts, and well ventilated outdoors shirt, but mostly for my shades and the wide-brimmed hat keeping the sun off my head.

I didn't "know" where you were, but I had a guess, you wanted to make a game of it, but not too hard a test, so I headed not for the first hide, but the second.

And there you were, binoculars in hand, elbows on the windowsill, looking intently out, hidden from the view of those chaffinches flitting around in front of you.

I crept up behind you, trying to avoid the creaks in the floor, I know you knew I was there, but that's the point isn't it?

I wrapped my arms around your waist, as I lent forward to inhale you floral, citrus scent as I left a few light tantalising kisses on your exposed neck. My hand slid upwards to the straps of your dress, pushing them down to your cocked elbows, your olive globes and dark brown nipples springing free.

"No bra, you little hussy!" I whispered in your ear as I tweaked you nipples and caressed you perfect breasts. I felt your breathing quicken as I carried on.

"Tag, you're it!" I whispered, stopping abruptly as I turned on my heel and left the hide.

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I hurry along to the next hide, and quickly set up my tripod. I'm in front of a large pond with plenty of activity going on, including my favourite spectacles of nature, dragonflies. I start following a crimson darter, looking for it to land, or catch some prey. Focussed, I don't notice you coming in, until I feel your cool hands sliding in the back of my shirt, around to the front of my belly, lingering over my corrugated abs, then sliding inexorably upwards.

Suddenly you pinch and twist my nipples as hard as you can.

"Tag, you're it!"

The first thought running through my mind is "You bitch, that hurt" followed rapidly by "you just wait".

I pick up my gear and follow you, seeing a flash or yellow ahead of me down the path as you dart into a secluded walkway to the next hide.

You've adopted the same position, elbows on the ledge, glasses to your eyes. This time though, the ledge is lower, with some stools and benches, which you have eschewed in favour of standing. As a result you're bent at the waist, rear sticking out, hem of your skirt lifted to mid thigh. Either you are enticing me or you are concentrating on what you can see, either way, my mind is made up.

My left hand gently lifts the hem of your loose summer dress, as my right slides up the back of your thigh to cup your buttock, and then slide inwards, a finger probing between your juicy, slick pussy lips.

"No knickers either, you utter harlot" I whisper in your ear, as I slide two fingers into you with no resistance "and so wet, you must be excited?"

You nod breathlessly as my left hand reaches around you to find your clit and start making slow circular motions across that erect little nub. A sharp intake of breath tells me I'm in the right place.

I hear footsteps on the boardwalk, pull my fingers out of your sopping cunt, offer them to your mouth. You lick them clean.

"Tag, you're it!"

I turn on my heel. Straight out of the door. I skip the next hide, why make it easy for you? The hide I pick is off the main path, in a sheltered glade, but open on one side.

I set up, no dragonflies here, this is tit-territory, dense tree coverage with seedpods and insects aplenty. You arrive, and unceremoniously drop to your knees as you unzip my flies.

"No boxer shorts! And you call me a harlot, you gigolo!"

You take my semi-hard prick in you mouth, your tongue sensuously tracing up and down. I can't believe you are not part python, the way you use that tongue, swirling around my length as you move up and down. And then you do what you know drives me wild, as you peel back my foreskin with your hand, your tongue flicking over my frenulum and then delving deep into my slit as you lick up my salty ooze causing a sharp intake of breath.

A creaking on the boardwalk betrays us again. I've never seen you move so quickly as you tuck me in, zip me up into an obvious bulge, and stand, all in one motion.

"Tag, you're it!"

I don't immediately follow you as I know where you'll be. There are only two options left, and only one of them is deep into the reeds and secluded, but that is its very challenge. Its very seclusion and position in the reeds makes it popular with those seeking the elusive bittern, and it is bittern season. You are either going to be frustrated, or fulfilled, the choice is out of my hands.

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I give you five minutes before following.

Half a kilometer of boardwalk across the reeds, and I turn down the dead end. I don't hear any bitterns booming, what will be waiting for me, it's all part of the game. Will you be frustrated?

I walk on, amidst head-high reeds and grasses, dragonflies and birds crossing my path, mosquitoes seeming to think the better of it. Ahead I see the hide and start to plan my approach.

I enter.

You are sitting on a stool, elbows habitually on the windowshelf, eyes pinned to those binoculars, feet on the rail in front, knees akimbo. It seems to be my lucky day, or is it your lucky day? The heat seems to have kept away the serious twitchers, the hide is otherwise empty.

You might have head my approach, quite honestly I don't care, and you wouldn't admit it even if you had.

Your skirt is draped behind you over the stool, and tented over your spread knees. I make no introductions, just duck straight under your left leg and kneel in supplication at the foot of your stool.

Absentmindedly, your left hand moves down to the top of my head, entirely unnecessarily, whilst you carry on observing out of the window. I gently kiss my way up from your knee, higher, higher. I can smell your arousal, and feel the heat from your deep, soaking core.

You have prepared. As I extend my tongue and take my first long, leisurely lick from perineum to clitoris, there is no hint of hair to rasp against my tongue.

Your sharp intake of breath tells me I'm in the ballpark, stealing first base, heading for a home run. Whilst my tongue is gently caressing your lips, my right hand is working on its own, as I insert one, then two fingers, slowly searching for, and finding that elusive centre of your pleasure.

Deliberately I tease around it, as you start to buck your hips, trying to grind against my tongue and my hand simultaneously.

"please!" you almost whisper, "stop teasing you bastard!"

That's my cue, as I swipe my fingers across that A-spot, whilst sealing your painfully erect clit in the "O" of my lips. I suck your clit in, as my tongue flits across it. You erupt on my fingers and cry out in pleasure-pain as you come for me.

"Tag, you're it!"