Park Transgressions

It was out of her own will that she sat in the park bench across his, wearing no undergarments to their first date. It had been a bold decision, even coming out to meet him, an internet stranger. Would he take advantage of her presence? Would he cross her lines? Was this all a bad idea?

She sat in front of him, her legs bare below the hem of her short skirt, part of her fantasy she had confessed, not his. Her white shirt, a bit tighter than she remembered it, pressed against her otherwise bare breasts. She looked at him with curiosity; he was more handsome in the flesh than in the pictures he had sent her.

Her dress code might have indicated complete openness, but he knew better than that. Anyone else would find her reticence uncharacteristic for a young woman who had eagerly shared the contents of her depraved mind with an internet stranger. Like life itself, she was full of contradictions. She did not want to commit sin, but she basked in his infinite attention. She believed in staying pure for marriage, but she had never stopped her fingers from going inside her during their chats. She had long fantasized of creampies and gangbangs, but in practice never gone beyond a kiss.

When they first started chatting online, the contradictions manifested themselves, piquing his interest immediately. He did not like projects that were too easy, nor was he out to guide lost souls either. He recognized in her the ultimate kink challenge: a beautifully depraved mind in a Catholic schoolgirl's body. A diamond in the raw that would shine only in the hands of those willing to do the careful and patient polishing.

He no longer believed, but the Bible had indeed taught him that endings are better than beginnings, and that patience is better than pride. He took her figure in. The reward for his patience was sitting in front of him. He just had to stay calm and ride the waves of contradiction.

They chatted in the park under the evening sun, giggling and bonding like lifelong friends. She blushed with his compliments and laughed with his jokes. She did not notice when the last people left them to an empty park at sunset. It's a great thing that he did.

"Why don't you come sit with me?"

She looked at him, suddenly nervous.

"You don't have to sit next to me. You could try just sitting on my lap. The view is beautiful from here."

In her mind, it seemed like a good compromise, rational even: they would be close and she would not be caught making out. When she sat down, his honorable hands remained off her, with his elbows leaning back into the bench. They looked at the sunset and basked in the silence at the park.

"Do you remember that one of the first fantasies you ever told me was your park fantasy? That's when I knew I had found someone special. A girl who fantasized about pleasuring men at a park."

She giggled, nervous, his hands still off her. She responded.

"I guess it feels like a bigger deal, hearing you describe it like that."

"I wouldn't say it's a big deal. I would say it's just one of the things I like about you."

His hands moved to her briefly, pulling her shoulders to bring her back to his torso. He hugged her from behind, taking in her scent, lingering in the same position to prevent her protests.

"Do you even remember what I told you when you made the park confession?"

She thought about it for a few seconds, at first oblivious to the bulge growing against her.

"You told me you'd leave my holes dripping... But you know we can't do that."

He held her in his arms for a few minutes, letting his cock grow against her. They said nothing in the perfect silence of the park. It was when she shifted into him, rather than away from him, that he knew it was time. His hands slowly traveled across her stomach to her arms, his fingertips grazing the side of her breasts.

Her sigh broke the silence, opening the door to his gentle but audible kisses on her neck. He could feel her body vibrate against his, aroused. With more kisses and more strokes around her breasts, her legs spread naturally, as if begging for more. He moved his lips to her ear.

"Unbutton the first two buttons of your shirt for me, baby."

"I... can't. What if someone sees us?"

"It's empty out here, baby. We only have a few minutes to feel each other."

She did not unbutton her shirt for him, but her back arched when he gently pinched her hard nipples through the fabric. With his tongue on her neck, he left a groping hand on her tits, massaging and fondling, while his right hand slowly slipped between her legs. She gasped when he rested his fingertips near her clit.

"It's only a few minutes. I wanna hear you cum like you did on the phone."

His fingertips began circling her clit, teasing, immediately drenched in her juices. He smiled at her, whispering again in her ear.

"What a good little girl. You're all wet for me already. Now you just need to cum for me when I tell you, alright?"

He kept his circles around her consistent, firm, powerful against the occasional but strong reactions of her hips. Within a minute, she started to moan, oblivious to the public setting. His other hand continued groping her body, occasionally moving up to her neck, gripping it when she moaned particularly loud.

"That's it. Good slut. Let go and cum against my fingers."

When he felt her pleasure build, he slipped a teasing finger inside her, briefly enough to just signal possibility. Her curled his finger on the way out, stroking her G-spot before returning to her clit. She grunted, moving her hips to his hand whenever he was in -- a silent way to ask him to linger more, to give her more.

Her breathing became loud and her body tensed up against his, focused on building an explosion inside her. With perfect timing, he withdrew his hands seconds away from climax, edging her. She opened her eyes and looked at him, a mix of frustration and pleas.

"Please don't stop, I was so close to cumming..."

"I know you were, but you said you didn't want to."

"Come on. That's not what I said. Please don't leave me like this."

His free hand held her chin, pulling her face to his. She was his and it was time to harvest the fruits of his hard work.

"Ask for it, slut."

"Please make me cum. I really need to cum."

"You need to cum? Do you think this is going to do it?"

He slipped a teasing finger in her, repeating the pleasurable motion against her spot before slipping back out, ending the stimulation. She whimpered.

"Please. Only you know how to make me cum. Please help me."

His finger resumed the circles for a few seconds, basking in the feel of her delicious body, in the knowledge that he had edged the prude Catholic into heat.

"Do you really want me to make you cum?"

"Please..."

"Alright. I will make you cum, but I want to note I tried to respect your wishes," he said, resuming the circles around her clit. His free hand moved from her breasts to his pants, releasing his cock and pressing the tip against her entrance.

She gasped, opening her eyes to look into his, a mix of surprised and scared. This was not what she had in mind, but she really needed to cum. He held her gaze as he slipped inside her entrance, soft and perfectly lubricated, while his fingers resumed the circular motion. She freaked out, bending to look down between her legs, suddenly realizing what she had brought onto, or rather into, herself.

This was no time for second guessing. He began to fuck her pussy, his hips audibly banging the wooden bench. She screamed, and he moved his hand to her mouth. His other hand remained between her legs, fingers circling her clit a bit faster as he pumped her pussy, no longer withdrawing from the pleasure they created. Her apprehension was soon replaced with moans, which he made no effort to cover when he realized they no longer were alone in the park.

He stopped pushing his hips into hers and remained still instead. She responded by spreading her legs further, far enough to put her feet on the bench and take over the riding motion herself. A few minutes after fearing her lines would be crossed, she herself moved him inside her. She bobbed up and down his cock, taking it fast and hard as she had fantasized, moaning and threatening her own orgasm. His free hand moved to her skirt, pulling it up to give the young men a free show.

"Ride that cock, little whore. I want to feel you cum around me."

She rode him like the little whore she was, with no room for purity and morality in a body that longed to reach the peak of pleasure. Grunting, she maintained her motion, her body on display as she rode. She looked at him, begging for release, no longer patient. His free hand tugged hard on her shirt, popping a single button, proud to reveal his young whore's body to the group of men gathering to smoke weed within their vicinity.

With a single movement, he ended her quest and his own. He slapped her clit, pushing her over the edge; she collapsed on top of him, legs spread, as her insides convulsed against his flesh in a milking motion. The milking motion succeeded in coating her insides with his sperm. His hands held her shaking body against his, cursing as he came, strategically holding the skirt to her belly.

Once the transgression was over, she came back to her senses: he had just fucked her, he had just filled her pussy with cum, and she was covered in sweat and in the smell of sex. Her shirt was broken. A group of young men had watched her bounce on top of cock, and take a load inside her. How had she gone from a good girl of faith to park slut?

She freaked out and her shame ignited a new instinct: the need to flee. She hopped off him, feeling his cum immediately ooze out of her and onto her thigh, but she had no time to clean up. She pecked his lips, promising she'd message him when she got home, and fixed her clothes as best as she could. She hurried for the exit before he was even ready to leave, hearing hisses from the group when she inevitably went past them, rewarding with a closer look of her tits bouncing in a torn shirt and cum running down her leg.

He stayed behind on the bench, sitting as if nothing had happened, basking after his meal. He was in no rush. It was her feeling shame; he just felt the deep satisfaction. After all, he had stopped believing. He no longer feared transgression.