It's Only Natural

With what little social awareness remains I scan the surroundings again: trees, a squirrel, leaves, eyes, grass... wait... eyes? I hurriedly track back to their source and squint, as basic bodily functions like eyesight are working at a reduced capacity while my remaining senses gear up for orgasm. I freeze momentarily.

Oh shit.

Sure enough, behind the closest tree of a cluster a handful of feet inside the wood, a girl's eyes stare at us making love. How long has she been there? Mostly hidden by the trunk, I can just make out her long, brown hair as she peeps, trying not to be caught amid her act of voyeurism. Maybe mid-to-late teens -- perhaps older -- she darts her head out of sight then gradually peeks out once more, one hand clutching the tree above her face, the other out of sight. I wonder if she has it buried in her panties, circling her proud little clit with a wet digit as the excitement inside grows and she starts to drench her underwear.

The thought of being watched at close range and enjoyed as we fuck rips through me. A new plane of simultaneous tension and exhilaration opens up. It's such a turn-on. Not wholly unexpected, given my past, but it's a delightfully real reaction that instantly seizes me and reminds me of exactly what it means to be in my skin. A prickling sensation swiftly encases my dermis like a surfer's rip curl and my chest swells inside the tight confines of my bra.

My imagination runs amok, thinking about her re-living the experience in the privacy of her own bedroom at nights, fingers urgently exploring her quivering cunt as she thunders towards orgasm with our image playing over and over in her mind; her own private porn film. I start moving again, scratching at Adam's back through his T-shirt, performing for the opportunistic audience of one, raising my own internal temperature to boiling point and beyond.

I can hardly believe it when Adam's actions in turn step up a further gear, finding a pace I never knew he had, fingers digging into my butt to support his relentless thrusts, breath coming in short, hot bursts in my ear as he whispers how dirty I am.

Although I have accepted it, I never tire of hearing how much of a slut I am in the heat of the act. I take everything he gives. The words and breath tickling my ear combined with his powerful, fat rod repeatedly splitting my wet chute and the eyes of the girl sharing our most private moments while she uses us to reach her own sexual plateau are a potent mix of stimuli. The wood takes on an ethereal quality as my perception of the frantic world I inhabit slows.

Inside I'm a twisted wreck of raw obsession; I can barely imagine how the owner of the eyes feels. She's probably at the time of life where experimentation is a key component of her nocturnal, solo ritual, delicately scaling the peaks and valleys of her psyche as she learns what turns her on. Maybe our lovemaking will inspire her to broaden her horizons, think new things and ultimately act out her fantasies because, after all, if our species can't let go and experience such thrills in the short time we have on this planet, what else is there?

Fleetingly our eyes connect and she darts behind the tree. In the absence of any other focal point and rapidly losing the ability to concentrate, I attempt to train my eyes on the swimming empty space she left. Gradually, her head reappears: curiosity, it seems, trumps the embarrassment of being caught spying. Then I'm thrown totally off-guard: instead of the awkwardness I half expect, she boldly and deliberately stares straight into my eyes. I see raw lust register and it pierces me like a javelin through my heart as I realise its potency: she wants to be me; to feel what I'm feeling; envies us and our unrestrained brazenness. Quite simply, the minx wants to be fucked out here.

A tide of emotion rises from the pit of my stomach, knots around the back of my clitoris and tightens. I gasp and hold on as everything sucks in to that singular point and I experience a fraction of a second of total weightlessness before my dam bursts.

I come hard, mouth opening involuntarily; only the surrounding forest, Adam and possibly the girl know what words or sounds, if any, come tumbling out. There's a rushing in my ears and I'm aware of my body being gripped in spasm after spasm of orgasmic bliss. Invisible sparks fly between my distended nipples that are crushed against Adam's chest, electric impulses shooting from them down into my pussy and looping up my spine to trigger the endorphin rush that releases the euphoric floodgates.

I'm consumed by a wave of utter excitement as thoughts of the girl witnessing my orgasm permeate my senses. Such a high. I'm so open and wet that I can barely feel Adam now, although his pistoning has become erratic and somewhere in the background I'm aware of him confessing his love for me amid his own grunts of satisfaction.

Thick, hot ribbons of his come lash against my cervix and mix with the juices sloshing out of me. Nothing can beat simultaneous climax; the connectedness and shared energy a powerful aphrodisiac that heightens an already electric experience. My rabid cunt drinks everything he dispatches; and when I'm full, our creamy love potion drizzles from my engorged labia under the influence of gravity, to collect in my already saturated trousers.

The slightly cooler air around us strives to regulate my body heat, succeeding only in making me acutely aware of the setting. I'm glad I shaved the day before and tidied my dark bush to a baby smooth finish, save for my usual runway that leads down to the top of my clitoral hood. Naked lips clamping rhythmically around his hard, spasming tool always feel so debauched, and the way our secretions stick, click and glide between us as he empties makes me bungee inside.

Our actions slow and we just cling to one another; outward appearances implying the end of the orgasm, while the internal journey is only in its infancy. Swirling currents of white hot magma course my veins, joining the outlying parts of my body. My skin ruffles just below the surface, which turns to a full blown shudder. As much as I want to watch the girl enjoy us, it's too much of a struggle to keep my eyes open. They drift shut and I let myself float away, swaying to the beat of my internal drum.

Each bite of my pussy around Adam's girth is magnified, every ripple trying to swallow him deeper, selfishly drawing him where my body needs him most. The contractions seem to start with a pinch behind my aching clitoris that quickly separates into two distinct messages. The first takes a short hop downward, hula-hooping its way around Adam's wonderful shaft out to my swollen labia. The second radiates in the opposite direction, back deep inside me, hooking into the network that winds its way up my backbone, darting straight into the centre of my neural core. As each spasm takes hold, the emotional response at those most precious instants always floors me; luckily Adam and the tree are holding me up as my legs turn to rubber beneath me.

I'm sure I cry out gently as I'm paralysed in ecstasy at each convulsion, mind galloping freely across patchwork English fields just like the one close to our hideout. Every nuance of nature seems to be amplified and I can sense them all distinctly for the few fractions of a second that time disappears and I become grounded. It's truly amazing how much extra information the mind can process when focused on the single task of providing pleasure at the exclusion of all else.

I want the sensation to last the entire afternoon, but all too soon the contractions begin to abate and reality pricks at the edges of my consciousness. The danger of our daring act trickles through the dull cushion that envelops me, the tweeting birds and far off shouts and laughter of people having fun around us filter in.

Slowly opening my eyes I see the girl in the middle distance. Although I'm no expert in body language I'd put money on her about to boil over. With eyes half closed, her free arm is definitely moving between her legs: I can see the short, blue pleated skirt deforming where her hand snakes beneath the lower hem. The thought of sticky fingers shoved inside her panties, caressing her tight little folds and exposed pearl in response to our actions gives me an unexpected sense of pride and satisfaction. We did that!

I can't tear my eyes away as I watch her excitement rise. It'll be very soon, I'm sure of it; mere seconds away from her climax, the telltale signs building.

Right on cue, during a final flurry of activity, her movements stop abruptly and she stiffens, biting her lower lip to stifle a cry. I know what that means: her tunnel is contracting rhythmically as she enters the throes of orgasm, wet lips gripping and releasing her fingers as the juice drains from her yearning body to stain her already soaked underwear.

She stays that way for a good thirty seconds as I watch, still hugging Adam and feeling his cock gradually softening inside me. I long to know what's going through her mind: what does she think of me? Of us? Horny lovers acting on impulse and experiencing the total rapture of thumping orgasms in the countryside, or a cheap thrill from a sad pair of desperados who couldn't wait until they were home? Have we encouraged her to lose herself in the moment; to lead her boyfriend to a secluded wooded spot and fuck him when passion overtakes reason, or is she just content to observe; to use chance situations like ours to fuel her own internal needs? I secretly hope she's a free spirit. Who knows, maybe next time there's an unexpected hot day, the tables will be turned and we'll surreptitiously watch her bouncing up and down in her boyfriend's lap as she cups her tiny tits and stares up at nature with a rapt expression.

Her eyes fly open fully as if she suddenly realises where she is and what she's doing, our gaze meeting again briefly before she yanks her hand from between her legs, lifts her fingers to give them a fleeting sniff, turns and flees to rejoin her family. Within moments she is once again play fighting with her brother near the picnic blanket. He probably doesn't suspect that one of the hands she's using to drag him round by the scruff of his neck was wedged between her thighs less than a minute beforehand and is now coated with the fragrance of her lust.

I watch them for a while, feeling invigorated and sated -- at least for now -- as Adam slides his deflating cock from my sticky confines. We linger a little, just hugging in the shady warmth of the early afternoon, before separating and quickly making ourselves presentable.

As we step hand-in-hand from the grove into the unyielding brightness of the day, remnants of his come slither from me, now firmly caught by the material of the tight trousers and I shiver at the thought of dominating him later. Perhaps I'll tell him at an opportune juncture when he's pinned beneath me, face buried between my legs and tongue performing those sensational acrobatics I adore, that our secret act was observed by the girl. I expect he'll dive into me further at the revelation, thrusting, licking, savouring our bittersweet taste through the deforming fabric. Maybe I'll crush my pussy against him for as long as I can hold off and, before it all becomes too much, hop off him, hurriedly strip, free his cock and let him take me once more, hotly ramming inside my slippery walls as I describe how the teen fingered herself to orgasm while her eyes bore witness to every detail of our clandestine fuck beneath the trees.

Skipping from the edge of the field we make our way through the people oblivious to our recent actions. I'm mindful that my grin and flushed exterior might give away what we'd just done or what I intend to do to my man when we return home after lazing around here for a while longer. But I'm confident that if anybody finds out how close they were to a pair of entwined, bucking lovers, those who dare mimic our actions will open up an intense world of gratification for themselves, and maybe those around them.

After all, what else are Sundays for?