Part 1 – The Meeting
Imagine a still summer's day, when nothing was moving, least of all you! We lay on our backs in the hay, the warm wind was soothing, it made me feel good, the day I met you.
I lay, my head propped up on one arm, watching you as you lay there, arms folded behind your head. A strand of straw jutting from your mouth, twitching in rhythm to the gentle gnashing of your teeth. Your eyes are closed, a gentle smile plays across your face, your long hair aglow, naturally highlighted by the sun, I knew you could sense I was studying you!
As my eyes move away from your face they follow the curve of your neck, you have on a short, lightweight summery dress, almost the colour of the straw you lay on. The dress is low-cut and well tailored, revealing enough of your breasts to get me aroused. I watched, mesmerised by the gentle rise and fall, the material pulled tightly, outlining your nipples, nipples that are harder than they should have ordinarily been.
I feel my prick begin to stir in my shorts, my free hand moves to drape over my crotch, partly to hide what is going on, and partly to allow me to secretly fondle myself – God! what marvellous breasts you have.
My eyes continue to scan downwards, over your cloth clad stomach, following every rise and fall, slowing as the material started to rise, following the curve of your mound. My prick twitched, I knew what treasure was hidden under that veil of thin, straw coloured cotton. I wondered if you shaved? I hoped that your cunt was shaven smooth and clean, well maybe not that clean, I wanted you to be a dirty little slut after all – mmmmm!
Onwards and downwards, I study every inch of you, the hem of your dress finishing six inches above the knee. The legs below bare of tights or stockings, tanned and shapely, feet bare, the shoes having been removed during our walk over the fields now lay discarded on the straw. I couldn't believe my luck, lying watching a sexy, woman like you; a woman whom it seemed shared my tastes – God! I wanted you so badly I was oozing, the small, dark, damp patch on the front of my shorts would have betrayed me had my hand not concealed it, and had you not had your eyes closed.
I look around where we lay amongst the collapsed hay bales. The remnants of our picnic scattered untidily around us, unfinished pate, a half eaten French stick, an empty red wine bottle. My mind wandered, fantasizing, oh! how I would love to slowly insert the dark-green bottle into your wet cunt, whilst you toyed with my prick, watching as your lips parted, engulfing the bottle's neck. Then when suitably wetted with your cream, imagining sliding it gently into your bum hole, watching as your puckered hole slowly opened, spreading ever wider apart as the tapered neck penetrated you deeper, your juice glistening in the sunlight. Watching closely as, eager to please your Master, you spread your legs wider to accommodate the widening glass neck, your cunt oozing, your bum hole stretching as you allowed me to force the bottle even deeper, deeper...
The spell of my fantasy is broken by your voice! I am surprised, caught off guard, embarrassed and flustered, I squirm as I try to adjust myself, regain my Master's persona and make myself more comfortable without you realising what I was doing...
"Errrrrr! Sorry! What did you say slut?" I stammered.
"Do you like what you see? And what were you thinking about?" was your repeated question.
My response was sharp and instant, "How dare you be so impertinent as to ask me a question without referring to me as Master?"
You bow your head, but look at me with your deep, piercing eyes. The piece of straw you had been chewing on no longer hung between your lips, having been dropped, it lay lost amongst the tens of millions of other pieces of straw. Your mouth slightly open, your tongue just visible, held between the whiteness of your teeth as you consider your response.
"Well? I'm waiting for your apology slut" is my next comment. No! not a comment, a command, stated firmly, not angry, yet, but demanding a response!
Still a nervous silence from you, "Are you going to answer me or not?" asked more firmly, less kindly, irritated by your seeming indifference, seeming ignorance.
"I am so sorry Master G! I wasn't ignoring you; I just wasn't sure how to answer. I am sorry if I have offended you!?"
My sternness softens a little, I ignore the last bit of your response but make a mental note to punish you for your lack of respect at some later point. "Ask your question again, but this time show the correct respect slut!"
"Yes Sir, sorry Sir! Do you like what you see? And what were you thinking about my Master?" "Yes, I love what I see, I want to see more, let me see more?"
"I'm glad you find me pleasing Master G! What did you think about whilst looking at me Sir?"
Looking over my shoulder I point and say, "Do you see that bottle?"
"Yes Master!" is your reply as your eyes follow to where I was pointing?
"Well I was imagining myself slowly stuffing that bottle into your wet, dripping cunt and then into your tight little bum hole!"
You move, pushing yourself up at the waist, twisting your upper body to look at me. One arm supporting you, the other brushing absentmindedly at your hair, teasing out the loose bits of straw that cling to it. Your face is impassive, your eyes neutral, your mouth set in a thin straight line. My mind is reeling, have I offended you? Have I overstepped the boundaries of our relationship? Have I ruined the perfect sexual friendship? We had openly discussed sex when talking online, both openly stating that our tastes were pervier than most, but that was online, what now in the real world?...
To be continued...I hope?