One Sunny Afternoon

Rye had almost reached his car when he realized that he didn't have his bag. Nor did he have his keys. 'Shit,' he thought 'I must have left it by that f'in tree.' Turning on his heel he hurried back down the path he had just climbed. As the path curved down he could see the place where he had been sitting barely five minutes ago. A woman was crouching on the grass, holding what he assumed was his bag.

'Hey', he called out, starting to run down the sloping ground. She looked up at his call, and stood up, her hand waving a goodbye as she pointed to his bag and moved down the slope to the path below. From her red hair and clothes Rye recognised her as the woman who had been sitting on the park bench about 25 or so feet from him earlier that afternoon and felt reassured, 'How nice is that?' he thought. 'She knew it was mine and was just taking care of it.' He breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed OK, and there were his car keys. He didn't even bother to check all the pockets in the bag. Slowly his breathing returned to normal. Not far off he could hear the sound of happy children playing on the swings, slides and carousels in the nearby playground at the end of the park, their shrieks of delight echoing in the air. Of the woman, the young couple or the dog that had brought to an abrupt end a delightful, if risky, matinee performance, there was no sign.

'Christ' he murmured, smiling at the memory, 'this could have been a fucking disaster!' On his way back to the car he made a call to let his wife know he would be late, saying his last interview had been difficult and how sorry he was. And he was sorry, because now he would hit all the traffic. But it wasn't because of a difficult interview.

As he drove home the events of the afternoon since leaving his office dominated his thoughts. His office lay below a municipal park, which, again, was below the public car park where on most days he parked his car. In the mornings when he arrived the park gates were still closed and he had no alternative but to take the longer walk down by road. In the afternoons he would climb the steps up to the park and walk across the steeply sloping grass. It cut a lot of time off the journey. He could, of course, have followed the tarmac path that wound around the central area of grass, trees and shrubs, but it was faster to cut across the middle.

So it was that at three thirty on a blazing hot August afternoon, Rye found himself climbing the steps that led from the pavement to the start of the park path. As he hurried along he could see a woman sitting on one of the park benches, her back towards him, and a little further on a couple lying on the grass in what seemed to him a passionate embrace. Just before reaching the bench he set off up the slope towards the car park, cutting diagonally across the grass. He glanced again at the couple and realized that they were doing a lot more than kissing. They were no more than thirty feet or so from him, out in the open, although there was a planting of shrubbery behind them. He stood for a moment watching the guys ass pumping up and down, the girls parted legs around his thighs, his arms supporting his weight as they fucked. Rye was stunned, he himself loved to have sex in the open air, loved it when his wife had agreed to go without her panties and play risky games. But this, in a public park, with children playing nearby, this was something else and he was entranced. He glanced around for a place where he could sit and be the voyeur and saw a tree just behind and slightly to his right. It was perfect.

He settled his back to the trunk, placing his bag over his rapidly rising erection. The girls' legs had risen and her summer skirt had fallen back exposing her thighs as her heels dug into her lovers bum, urging him deeper. Rye opened his trouser zip, his fingers slipping his cock out from its nesting place into the air, massaging the shaft. It was then he remembered the girl on the bench.

He looked over his left shoulder to find a pair of eyes looking straight at him. 'She's nice,' thought Rye as she waved at him across the gap that separated them. She was, he would have said, in her late thirties, petite, the swell of her breasts pushing out the white muslin shirt she was wearing over her Indian print skirt. Her face was so pretty, Elvin like, her hair a sun bleached red. 'Very nice! What is going on?'

He was quite taken aback, he was expecting to find someone totally immersed in a paper or a book or how else could they not see the couple having sex just across from them? Not a girl who was actively enjoying the same chance moment. She was sitting with her back supported by the handrail, her left leg raised against the back of the seat, her right slightly splayed. He could see her left arm disappearing under the waistband of her skirt. She blew him a kiss with her other hand, motioning that he should lift the bag. He hesitated, his gaze following hers as she returned to watching the couple. The girl was now astride the guy, and they were kissing passionately as she rode, her hips swiveling, rising and falling. 'Christ, he's got stamina!' thought Rye, 'She'd have me cumin by now!' He was coating the head of his bloated cock with drops of precum, his thumb and forefinger circling the rim of the helmet. Squeezing and releasing up and down. He could feel that point of no return approaching, and, boy, was he horny!

He looked back to the girl on the bench. She was almost as he first saw her but she had now brought the heel of her right foot to rest against the instep of her other foot, making her leg splay out even more. Her skirt was pulled back exposing a slender thigh and the edge of her white knickers, under which Rye could see her fingers working. It was uncanny how she seemed to know he was looking at her rather than the couple, but she did. She turned her head towards him, took her right hand from her panties, motioning him once more to lift the bag, before licking her fingers and easing them back, pushing the fabric away as her hand vanished within He could picture her fingers parting moist lips, finding her clit.

He groaned. He so wanted to come. And he loved to watch girls masturbate. This was too much. He did as she asked, laying the bag down beside him and moving so that he was kneeling instead of sitting, his cock jutting out. She would appreciate that, he thought, and he wouldn't get cum on his clothes. How sensible! Watching the girls busy motions, seeing her gaze focusing on him, excited him even more. He began to pump the shaft of his cock, working the lose folds of skin over the head, feeling his climax beginning to build. He looked again at the couple. It was just the right moment, the guys' back was arched up and Rye could almost hear his grunts. He was obviously filling his girls cunt with cum. It was the last straw, like an electric shock his orgasm arrived; his cock erupting into three pulsating spasms, shooting spurts of hot sperm, thickly coating the grass in front of him. He shuddered with delicious after shocks and looked at the girl on the bench. She was lying with her head back, eyes closed, her legs now both raised and together, although her hand was still under her skirt. 'She's cum, too' thought Rye, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself.

Out of the blue he saw a ball bounce down the grass and land up by the leg of the bench below. A sandy coloured Labrador running full tilt after it followed a moment later. It was a sudden jolt into the real world. Where there was a dog there would be an owner. Rye stood up, turning to face the tree, quickly tucking his tackle away and setting off up the slope. He glanced back at the girl and saw that she was sitting up, the dog licking at her fingers, its tail wagging furiously. He waved, but she didn't respond and, sure enough, there was the woman who must be the dogs owner striding down the slope. The couple, which moments ago had been fucking like no tomorrow, were lying side by side. He leaning on one arm, she likewise. Just chatting. Everything returned to normal, the sounds of the playground, another walker coming through the top gate, the distant buzz of afternoon traffic. The moment had passed.

It was late when he finally got round to repacking his bag with the papers he would need in the morning. His wife was already in bed. His mobile bleeped, telling him he had a text. He frowned wondering who would be sending him a text at such a late hour. Flipping the phone open he read:-

'thanq 4 2day x hope u like presi x c u tomoz x same time same place x Josie x'

Who the hell?..and then it hit him. It must be that girl, she must have got his number from his phone when she had his bag. But how? He quickly checked the call log on his phone, and found a number he didn't recognize. 'She must have called her phone from mine' he thought. 'Clever. But what present?' In one of the pockets of his bag he found it. There, neatly folded, was a pair of white panties. He couldn't resist. He unfolded them, cupping them in his hands, inhaling her fragrance. He was hooked. As she knew he would be.