An Afternoon's Punting

It was late summer, and the weather was warm and sticky. You couldn't see the sun. The sky was white-grey. It felt like there could be a storm later.

That might have been why the boathouse in Oxford was so empty – the weather was rather too…well, too "English" for the tourists, and the students were away for the summer. But Chris and I had driven this far, we had prepared a picnic, and we were determined to spend the afternoon on the river, storm or no storm. We paid our deposit, picked up the pole and the paddle and some cushions for the punt, and found our punt tied to the riverbank. I'd never seen a punt "in the flesh" before, and I was surprised at how long, low and narrow it was.

I settled into the bottom of the punt while Chris untied us and pushed us off. I very quickly realised why it was that the women in punts in the films I'd seen were always reclining so far beneath the man. It was impossible to sit up straight. I had to stay in a semi-reclined pose with my legs straight out in front of me, on the bottom of the punt. It felt comfortable.

It was Chris's first time in a punt, too, and as he gamely tried to get the punt away from the bank and turned to head off down the river, I couldn't help smiling at his efforts. Luckily, the boy from the boathouse started shouting instructions. He told Chris to push off slowly and then use the pole as a rudder. Soon we were out on the river, zigzagging slowly away from the boathouse. We weren't getting very far very quickly. Chris was sweating, swearing and grunting. When we crashed into a tree overhanging the bank, I couldn't help laughing. Chris didn't seem to think it was all quite so funny. I tried to stop myself from smiling and I concentrated on the surroundings. It was so good to be out of the city. It was quiet here, and warm, and the river was moving slowly beneath us as we moved past the willows and the fields along the banks.

Soon, Chris had got into a rhythm. He was looking more relaxed – contented, even – pleased with himself, even - and we were moving slowly and silently through the dark water that was just inches from me. I trailed my hand in the cool water and watched the occasional swan or pair of ducks floating quietly past us. I looked up at Chris. It felt like he was towering above me, standing in front of me on the raised end of the punt, letting the dripping pole slip though his hands easily into the water, twisting it slightly to dislodge it from the mud on the bottom of the river, and pushing us off, then raising the wet pole again.

There was something engaging about the way the pole slipped wetly through his hands, leaving filmy little rivulets to slip over his fingers as they gripped its smooth surface. His shirt was splashed with water and his wet forearms were bare. He was moving with real assurance now, and something about the way he was using his body, smoothly but powerfully, made me feel a rush of something halfway between love and lust for him. We smiled at each other. We were both happy. We were both relaxing, shaking off the week and the city.

We didn't talk much. We moved slowly along the river for an hour or so, just taking in the scenery and the feeling of being on the water. I found myself watching his wet forearms as he twisted the pole and pushed off. Watching the muscles moving smoothly against each other under his tanned, wet skin. I had that feeling that was somewhere between love and lust again.

We stopped between the soft, green bank and the branches of an overhanging willow. Not without Chris getting his shirt and his hair and his pole tangled in the branches. By now, though, he was laughing with me. After a few expletives, we got free of the outer branches and into a position between them and the bank, hidden from the opposite bank of the river with its footpath. Just beyond the bank on our side was a field with a few sheep. They ignored us. When the punt was up tight against the bank, Chris took the pole and screwed it into the mud against the water side of the punt, keeping us secured against the bank.

Chris moved down into the middle of the punt and opened the hamper. We drank some cold orange juice and ate some of the cold chicken and olives and bread. Some ducks came along and we gave them some bread. We nibbled some more at the food. The sky hadn't cleared, and the air was still warm and heavy.

I started feeling drowsy. Chris cleared away the remains of the picnic and beckoned me over to him. I moved along the bottom of the punt until I was reclining against him, my head on his shoulder and my arm across him. He was still damp from the water on the pole, but he felt warm and solid and he smelled wonderful – a familiar mix of sweat and Chanel and the smell of his skin and hair. I closed my eyes.

I can't have dozed for long. The light seemed the same when I opened my eyes, feeling something moving on me. It was Chris's hand, his fingers moving gently in a slow circle around my shoulder. I sighed out an "Mmmmmmmm…" and snuggled in closer to him, breathing him in. His fingers started moving slowly across my shoulder, up into my hair, and down my throat to my collarbone, then back to my shoulder to start over again. I moved my arm on his torso and lifted my head to look at him. He bent his head down and kissed my mouth, gently, slowly, and with something more than love. His hand moved down my throat and didn't stop at my collarbone. His fingers traced a line down to the top of the swell of my breast. He kissed me more deeply and pulled away and moved his body until he was alongside me, lying next to me.

He slowly dragged his fingers over the curve of my breast, avoiding the nipple, and down across my ribs to the curve of my hip. Then slowly back up again. He kissed me again and this time I kissed him back, moving my tongue gently over his lips and tasting the inside of his mouth. I felt his hand, moving on me again, and this time grazing my nipple. He could feel it was already standing out, wanting to be touched. But his hand kept moving, down my torso, across my hip. His hand kept moving down until it found the hem of my long, thin skirt and pulled it slowly upwards until it was half-way between my knee and my hip.

I pulled my head away from his, laughing. "You can't do that – someone'll see!".

Chris didn't laugh. "Nobody'll see. We've been on the river over an hour and we haven't seen a soul since we left the boathouse. There's no-one around to see us. Relax".

He kissed me again and his hand grazed the skin on my leg as it slowly moved, barely touching me, under the skirt and towards the top of my thigh.

"Sit up", he said. "Take off your bra".

Vaguely embarrassed, vaguely nervous that someone would see, but already warm between my thighs and feeling my nipples hardening more, I did as he told me. I undid my bra under my t-shirt and pulled my arms inside, one by one, to take the bra off. I dropped the bra on the floor of the punt and pulled my t-shirt down to smooth it out. My nipples stood out clearly underneath the thin fabric, showing him how he was making me feel.

He reached out his hand and gently circled my nipple with his finger. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, seeing his finger on me in my mind's eye and feeling the soft, warm, slow swelling in my clitoris as his touch sent little shocks of pleasure from my nipple down to my belly. He pinched my other nipple between his finger and thumb, pressing the fabric into the sensitive tip and pinching me hard, while his other hand gently teased my other aching nipple. I let out a low groan. Chris's hand moved quickly and clamped down on my mouth. "We're gonna have to be very quiet. Try and stay quiet. Okay?". I nodded and he moved his hand away from my mouth. His other hand moved under the hem of my t-shirt and up over my ribs to cup my breasts gently before he teased my nipples with his circling finger. I sighed and shifted my pelvis, feeling myself getting wet. There was a dull ache in my clitoris.

I whispered it. "Please."

Chris kissed my mouth, slowly, while he moved his hand from my breast and down my leg until he found the hem of my skirt again. His warm hand moved slowly upwards over the inside of my thigh, then stopped just before he touched me. "I can feel how hot you are," he breathed into my mouth. I felt one finger gently tracing a line across the thin cotton of my thong, along my lips and over my protruding clitoris, teasing me. I put my hand over his, pressing it against me so that he was cupping me and feeling my warmth. The cotton was damp. Gently, he moved the thong to one side and pushed a finger deep inside my cunt. I bit my lip and tilted my pelvis to get more of him in me. He breathed in quickly when he felt how very wet I was and pushed a second finger into me. I felt his thumb resting lightly on the swollen tip of my clitoris. I was aching for him to stroke my clitoris.

His thumb didn't move, but he very gradually increased the pressure until I felt my hips buck upwards when a pleasure-shock shot through me. Then he pulled away. He brought his slick, wet hand up to my face and dragged his fingers across my lips. I opened my mouth and took his two fingers inside. I tasted myself on him as I swirled my tongue over his fingers, sucking my juices off him. I knew he loved to watch me do that, and that knowledge made me even hotter.

"Open your legs", he said softly. I moved my legs until they were as far apart as the narrow punt would allow. Chris shifted his body over mine until his chest was between my knees. He dipped his head and moved his mouth towards my open cunt. I looked around, suddenly afraid again that someone would see us. Then I had to shut my eyes as I felt his tongue moving slowly and deliberately over my clitoris. I was trying to concentrate on staying quiet, but this felt so good. I bit my lip again and cradled his head with my hand, drawing him closer to me as his tongue moved slowly over my aching clitoris.

"You're so wet", he whispered, and put his mouth around my clitoris, gently pulling on it with his lips. I moaned softly.

"Ssshhhhhhh…just feel it".

He was sucking gently on my clitoris, making me want to cry out, making me want to be fucked. I was trying not to move against him, but I could hear the water lapping against the side of the punt. His mouth still sucking on me, he brought his hand back to me and moved his fingers over my swollen, wet lips and slowly, deeply, inside me, and tentatively out and backwards towards my asshole, lubricating me while he stroked me, while he sucked me and while I realised I was close to coming for him.

Suddenly I felt Chris's wet fingertip circling my asshole and at the same time I felt his teeth grazing the tip of my screaming clitoris. He sucked me again – harder, faster - and he pushed his finger quickly into my ass an inch or two. I came hard. Really hard. My sphincter clamped down on his finger hard while he sucked my clitoris over and over until I was so sensitive it hurt. I cried out, letting the whole orgasm out of my mouth in one shriek. Chris pulled way from me.

By the time I'd caught my breath, he was standing again on the raised end of the punt, his erection visible under his trousers. I started to move towards him.

"No – let's go back to the boathouse and go home. I have some plans for you tonight and I'm enjoying thinking about it".

"What plans?"

"You'll see when we get home. Just look at the scenery and relax while we go back to the boathouse."

I lay back, not looking at the scenery, but wondering what it was he had in mind for me later. I looked up and noticed he was still hard. Whatever he had planned, he was certainly going to enjoy it…I tucked my bra into my bag and allowed my mind to wander…

(To be continued)