I wasn’t sure how long you’d need to recover in the hotel room, but within five minutes you were down in the lobby with a dazed expression. You were certainly looking smarter in the short-sleeved shirt I’d given you, and you even had the good taste to leave it hanging at the waist rather than tuck it into your jeans.
As you come in I walk over and put my arms around you and kiss you on the lips. I move my hands down onto your buttocks and pull you into me. “I want to find out if you being without underwear is as much of a turn-on for you as it is for me,” I explain with a mischievous look. Part of me wants to pull your briefs out of my handbag and taunt you with them, but I don’t think the staff in the hotel would appreciate that much.
You say nothing, but it’s probably for the best that I can’t feel much more than a modest bulge pressing against my stomach. You seem well recovered from your experience upstairs.
We stand together for a second before I break the spell. “Well come on then! You’ve promised me the sights!”
We don’t have a great deal of time together this afternoon, and I have a work dinner to go to this evening. Still, I’m glad to have a few hours with you, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.
We walk and chat. As you had promised, we take a circuitous route through Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, and Whitehall. I’m partly trying to absorb the sights and sounds, but mostly trying to just enjoy being with you. We pause at Horse Guards to wait for the Dismounting Ceremony. I turn to face you.
“There’s so much to see here,” I say, “And so many streets, and cars, and people. I’m glad I’ve got you to look after me.”
You smile. It’s that kind, heart-melting smile again. I put my arms around your waist, and then slide my hands into your shirt. I feel you tense slightly at the public show of affection I enjoy your discomfort and push my palms down your back so that my fingers rest on the tops of your buttocks. It’s nice to have them so easily accessible and, although I like the tight jeans, I do wish there was a bit more room inside them for my hands as well.
“And at least I know you won’t be running off anywhere,” I say with a wink. You smile sheepishly.
I lean forwards as if to start a kiss, and then pause. “Do you remember earlier? You promised to do anything I say for the day as long as I took off my dressing gown?”
You remember, kind of, but you don’t want to admit it. This sounds bad.
I pull my hands out of the back of your jeans and then hook an index finger into the front to pull you closer to me.
“How about we take these jeans off here?” I suggest.
Your eyes go wide with panic as you look around at the tourists standing with their cameras ready. None of them are paying attention to us, but I bet they would do.
With one hand in your waistband, I slide the zip of your jeans down. I can feel your cock right behind it, and I know you can feel the zip moving over it. It grows in response and I feel the tip touch my fingers looped around your belt. It’s delicious to see just how terrified this is making you, but also to feel how much you’re enjoying it and wanting it to happen all the same.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, and then slide the zip carefully back up again, watching the intake of breath it draws from you, both at relief and the caress against your shaft. “Maybe later, huh?” I plant a kiss on your lips and take my hand out of your jeans.
As if nothing has happened, I turn to watch the Dismounting Ceremony. It’s both immensely impressive to feel the history of the event but also almost comically anachronistic amongst all the smartphones and high definition cameras.
With the ceremony over, we walk through Horse Guards and into St James’s Park to amble along the gravel pathways. I enjoy the seclusion amidst the hustle and bustle of the big city.
“All that traffic,” I say, “I don’t know how you cope with so much going on.”
You shrug. “It’s just what you’re used to.”
“Well, I’m used to Welsh hills and Swedish forests, and this park is the best thing you’ve shown me today.” I pause. “Can we sit for a while?”
I take you by the hand and lead you up a slope, away from the path. I sit on the grass with you beside me and look down at the gravel path and the lake.
I unfasten the straps of my sandals and kick them off to feel the grass between my toes. “We’re staying here a while then?” you ask. I smile: it depends on how I feel.
“I just love to feel the grass on bare feet,” I say, “Try it.”
You shrug, not expecting much as you untie your shoes and take them and your socks off. You place them neatly to one side. I know you’re just doing it to humour me but I feel like we’re sharing something and I’m grateful for it.
“A question,” I say.
I pause and swallow. “My husband. What did you think when I told you?”
It’s your turn to pause. “I… I don’t know. I was surprised, but maybe I should have worked it out. But… you’ve explained it.” You look into my eyes. “I know things are complicated, and I trust you.”
You’ve gone and melted my heart a little again. I don’t know how long this whirlwind romance will last, if that’s what it is, but it’s been perfect so far. You turn to look out at the lake. You haven’t finished yet and choose your words carefully.
“I didn’t realise… I thought you were young, free and single,” you say with a smile. This makes me smile too.
“Rather than old, chained and attached, you mean?” I laugh and you do too. I was concerned about how you’d feel about the age gap. “I was worried, about what you’d think. I know I look okay, and not too old, but I thought you might…” I tail off: I thought you might be disappointed that I wasn’t one of the young, tight bodies we’ve been seeing around the city all afternoon.
You turn to me and smile that smile again. “You look amazing,” you tell me, and really seem to mean it, although I don’t care one bit whether you’re lying or not. I roll over to straddle your lap.
“Can you say that to me again? Just once?” I ask. You smile.
“You look amazing,” you say obligingly.
I lean down for another kiss. It always seems to be me that initiates the kisses, but at least you’re going along with them. But how did I end up sharing passion in the park with a young stud whose underwear I’ve stolen?
I break off and put my hands on your shoulders, pushing you back to lie on the grass. We look at each other in silence for a moment before I lean forwards to kiss you again.
Your hands slide around my waist; they feel good. They slide down over my hips, over the cotton skirt across my thighs, and onto my bare calves where they stop. I haven’t let you feel much of my skin so far. I don’t know why, but it just seems like something I should grant only in small measures. More than anything I don’t want you to come to expect anything.
As we kiss your hands move upwards again. It takes me a second to realise that they’re now inside my skirt and on my thighs. I sit upright.
“Hey!” I say, giving your arms a slap, “I thought I’d laid some ground rules down!”
I grab each of your wrists with my hands, lift my knees, and then wedge your palms back under them.
“That’ll stop them from wandering,” I tell you. You try to move your arms, without success.
“That’s not fair,” you say. I may not weigh much, but I’m sure my knees can keep your hands pinned as long as I stay sitting on top of you. I have my calves pressed against your thighs so you can’t even twist very far.
I lean forwards again and we kiss some more. I’m oblivious as to whether there’s anyone else in the park or not; they could all be watching us for all I care, although I suspect a couple kissing is a common sight here.
I sit up again and look down at you. I realise that I’m growing to love turning you from the confident, assured city boy into a helpless dependant, waiting for me to tell you what to do and how to do it.
You stay still on the ground and then notice me bite the side of my lip again.
“What?” you ask.
I giggle. “You know,” I say, and run my hands across your shirt, “There’s another thing that’s better about a shirt than a t-shirt.” My hands stop and I start to unfasten the top button of your shirt, and then a second button, and then a third. I stop and slip my hands inside, moving my fingers across your neck and shoulders. You can feel the erection which you’ve been keeping under control is growing again and, again, you wish the jeans weren’t quite so tight.
I take my hands out and undo another button, and another, and then stop again to run my hands over your stomach and chest, pushing the shirt open to bare more of your shoulders. You feel the air across your skin and my fingers are cool, heightening the sensation as I move them over your nipples.
I decide that, since I’m most of the way there, I may as well complete the task and unfasten the last two buttons. I push the shirt open and rest my fingers on your stomach muscles.
“Isn’t that so much better?” I ask, not expecting an answer.
“Hmm, maybe,” you say, but I can tell from the glazed look in your eyes that you’re enjoying it. For my part, I can’t believe I’m fondling a man’s bare torso in such a public place, and the fulfilment of a fantasy that I thought would never happen sends me giddy.
I only wish I could work out a way to take your shirt off entirely, but I have a feeling that if I gave you your hands back then you’d have a change of heart. I feel like you’re only just letting me get away with this as it is.
I lean forwards for another kiss. “And now you really can’t escape,” I whisper.
“I wasn’t trying to,” you whisper back. To my ears, that almost sounds like permission.
I decide to check how you’re really feeling about the situation and slide my hands down your chest, across your stomach, and then along the line of your zip. You’re rock hard behind it, as I’d hoped you’d be. Your eyes close as I touch you.
“How does denim feel against this?” I ask quietly as I rub my hand back up your zip.
“Erm, tight,” you say, with your eyes still closed.
I hook my fingers into your waistband and pull slightly. I can feel your cock spring upright into the free space I’ve given it. It brushes against my knuckles. I rub the backs of my fingers gently against the tip for a moment.
“How about that?” I ask.
“Hmmm… better,” you reply. I think you might be delirious.
I take my hand away and realise that this genie will not go back into the bottle: the jeans rest against the top of the shaft of your penis, and there’s almost an inch showing out of the waistband. I have to stop myself from laughing, and as I let go of your jeans your belt presses the denim against you and sends your eyes rolling in your head.
“Oh dear,” I said, “We can’t leave you like that.”
I unfastened your belt and then the button of your jeans. Your eyes open and you look at me in alarm. “But everyone in the park…” you start to say.
“Shhh,” I reassure you, “They can’t see anything from down there.” At least, I don’t think they can see anything, not while I’m sitting across your thighs with my skirt draped around us.
Your hands try to struggle underneath my knees, but I can tell you’re not really trying. With my right thumb and forefinger I grab the band of your jeans and with my left I take hold of the zip and pull. I can feel your cock beneath my fingers all the way down, and from the way your eyes close and your breathing stops I can tell that you can feel the zip moving too.
I hold your jeans apart so nothing touches your cock. It bobs in the cool air, trying to find something to press against. Your mind is elsewhere, and mine almost is too as I watch it. I glance down at the path: no-one is paying any more attention to us than if we were sitting having a picnic.
I realise the jeans will just flap closed again if I let go of the corners of the fly, so I give them a little pull and feel them slip down slightly. I rock forwards to lift my bum and pull some more until I get them clear of your buttocks. I sit back down, my knees keeping your hands still and clamping either side of you. I’m pretty sure that no-one else in the park can tell that I’ve slid your trousers down your thighs, or mostly sure at least.
Your breathing has slowed and your eyes open again, but your cock keeps rocking up and down. It’s just so tempting there, and I love to see what it does to you as I give it a gentle stroke. Your breath shudders again.
I stop and look down at the gaping jeans and feel the denim against my calves. It feels like a job half done. While you’re recovering I glance around to check no-one is paying too much attention to us. No-one is giving us a second look so I rock forwards and up and push your jeans down another couple of inches. They bunch around your knees. I’m sure you even lift your buttocks slightly to help; it’s almost as if you want me to do this.
I lean back and look at you, the beautiful nakedness of you, framed by your gaping shirt, my knees either side of you, and your thighs disappearing under my skirt. Maybe if someone looked up at us they’d notice your shirt was open, but that’s not unusual on a warm summer’s day. I don’t think they’d see much else.
I lean back and rest my hands on your shins. And then I wonder if I lean back just far enough… yes, with a combination of pulling at the heels and pushing at the waistband I get your jeans down to your ankles. I never thought yoga would be so useful, but leaning all the way back I can reach your feet and I push your jeans all the way off of them. I roll them up and toss them next to my bag; I don’t want to make it too obvious that it’s your trousers in a pile and hopefully from a distance it’ll just look like a jacket. There are plenty of men in the park in shorts with their shirts either open or off entirely, so what’s one more? Albeit that you’re not wearing any shorts.
Your breath is shallow and broken. The sensuality of your naked buttocks and legs on the cool grass, the air across your legs, and especially your cock bobbing freely while I sit and admire you is almost too much for you to bear. The thought of being almost naked in a public place, and with only me sitting on top of you to shield you from eager eyes, nearly takes you to the brink. I don’t even need to touch you.
With effort, your breath starts to recover. “How do you do this?” you ask, glancing down.
I admire my handiwork: the lovely, naked skin of your neck, your chest, and your stomach. I look around at your bare calves and feet; with me sitting on top of you, only the two of us know that you’re wearing nothing in-between. I run the back of my hand down your front and, holding your gaze until your eyes close, down the length of your shaft and back up again. It presses up against my hand as I do so.
I lean forwards and plant a kiss on your lips. You feel the fabric of my blouse brushing against you and the kiss carries you away. Resting on my right arm, I put my left hand beneath me and wrap my fingers around your penis. You can barely continue the kiss and I’m intoxicated by the power I have over you. I rub my thumb against the most sensitive part of your tip and then sit up again, realising that if I do this for much longer there’ll be an awkward mess to clear up.
You open your eyes and look around again. “And you’re sure no-one…,” you start to ask, as if it isn’t too late to be thinking about that.
“Not a soul,” I say, and give your cock another stroke with the backs of my fingers. It seems an easy way to distract you from asking difficult questions.
I run my hands across your chest and then lean forwards to rest my head on it.
“See? I’m covering you.” I whisper. Your cock pulses against my stomach as I lie flat against you. I could stay there happily for the rest of the day, although, again, I think you’re the one who won’t last.
I lift my head to look at your face. Your eyes are closed and your breathing is more regular again.
“So… what now?” I ask. It’s a genuine question: I really had no plan to do this to you, although I’m glad about how the day has turned out.
You open your eyes and lift your head. “Erm… you could give me my hands back? I think I’ve lost feeling in them.”
I laugh; I guess there’s nothing that you can stop me from doing.
“Do you want me to get off then?” I ask with a smirk. That would surely turn a few heads.
“No!” you say rather too quickly, and I give you another kiss with a giggle.
I lean back and raise my knees half an inch with my arms. Your hands slide free and you flex them as the blood returns. I run my palms across your shoulders and down your chest again. It’s just so tempting to keep playing with that gorgeous erection, though.
You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the park. You’re relieved to see that no-one’s paying any attention to us, tempting as it is for me to stand up and change that. I follow your gaze and notice you looking at a young girl in a bikini reading a book in a patch of sun some forty feet away down by the path. She glances up and looks at us with some curiosity before going back to her book.
“Oi!” I say, “Eyes off, unless you want me to leave you here like this?” I tease. I notice your penis takes another bob, so maybe the idea does have some merit, but I really don’t want to get us arrested. “Do you think she can guess you’re naked beneath me?” I ask, which draws another bob.
You laugh. “But I’m not naked. I’ve got my shirt on,” you say.
I shake my head and tut. “You really do walk into these things, don’t you?” I put my hands on your shoulders and push the shirt down, sliding the short sleeves along your upper arms. I keep pulling on the sleeves and, half-reluctantly, or maybe a little less than half-reluctantly, you sink onto your back as I pull it down your forearms and then out from beneath you. I crumple it up and throw it onto the pile with your jeans.
“Okay, now you’re naked,” I gloat.
You’re feeling dizzy again; you might have reasonably expected that I’d try and get you at least partially naked at some point in the day, but you had no idea you’d end up stripped in the middle of a park with only me sitting on top of you for cover.
I run my hands up your arms, across your shoulders and chest, and then down your stomach. Your eyes close anticipating the touch that never comes. I lean forwards and lie my head on your chest again. Your arms close around my back and I press myself into you, feeling your pulse against me.
“Can you just be naked all the time?” I ask, wondering if there’s some way I could make that happen. Even without touching you intimately, just knowing that you’re naked beneath me, and that I’m responsible, gives me a feeling that I never want to go away.
“Erm, probably not,” you reply, ever practical. I’m too busy enjoying the moment to care.
“But, we both seem to like it,” I tease, circling your nipple with one finger. “How about, maybe when it’s just us?” I’m hoping while your mind is elsewhere I can get you to agree to anything.
“Hmm, maybe,” you reply. I think you really want to say “yes” but are too embarrassed to. I’ll take that as a “yes”, though.
After a minute lying together I sit up again. Your erection is still as big as ever. You glance down at it.
“What happens if someone comes over,” you ask, half joking and half concerned.
“Simple,” I say with a smile and swish the folds of my skirt over you. “There! All nice and covered!” I give your cock a stroke through the fabric to emphasise the point and watch as your shoulders quiver and your lungs fill with air. The soft cotton only enhances the sensation and I wrap the cloth all the way around your shaft and run my hands up and down its length. It’s wonderful to see how lost in pleasure you are.
I stop stroking and slowly pull the skirt back again. The tip of your penis lifts to try to feel every last inch of sensation as the cotton slides across it. Your breath shudders and I can’t help but give you another stroke with the backs of my fingers.
I glance around; it must be getting close to five o’clock by now and many of the sunbathers are starting to leave the park. There are still people down on the path but most of them are walking with a purpose, and certainly have no interest in a couple up on the slope.
Your eyes open again.
“I wish we had the evening together too,” I say wistfully. I can’t get out of that work event, unfortunately.
“Can’t you say you’re ill or something?” you ask hopefully.
“Maybe it’s something I ate?” I tease, looking down at your groin. You smile, embarrassed.
“But I guess I should give you your briefs back,” I say. They’re still in my bag and now seems as good a time as ever for you to try to put them back on.
You lift your head up and look down at your swollen cock. “Well, there’s the problem of fitting back in them,” you say in a matter of fact way that makes me laugh.
“Oh, yes, that,” I say, giving it another stroke. Your head falls back.
“And that’s not helping,” you say, and I laugh again.
I lean forwards for another kiss and, as I do so, I wrap my fingers around your balls. There’s something magical about kissing a man whilst he’s having his testicles played with; he loses all control and you feel like you’re both taking and giving the breath from his lungs.
I pause for a second. “Still not helping,” you murmur. I kiss you again, still fondling. I feel your hands grip my calves and, like a good boy, you’ve learnt not to try to slide them any higher up my legs without an invite. I move my hand up and wrap a fold of my skirt around the tip of your cock and stroke up and down. Your breath shudders and you’re beyond being able to return my kiss now.
I sit up and look down at you, lost in the moment as I run one hand across your body and the other continues to massage you. I look around; the girl in the bikini is engrossed in her book and the only other people nearby are walking purposefully along the path.
I feel your grip tighten on my calves, and I know what that means. I uncurl the fold of my dress from your shaft and it between my thumb and forefinger and lift it. I can feel it harden further and know you’re only seconds away now. I’ve always been flexible, so it’s not difficult for me to arch my back and I push my lips around your tip. My mouth engulfs it. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it becomes even more rigid. It seems as if time has stopped and then, with a spasm, I feel the jet of warm liquid against the roof of my mouth. I move my hand down to your balls again. I keep my head still as your back arches in and out as I swallow once, twice, three times. Your hands grip harder and I press down onto your chest with mine and then, with one final release, I feel the last of your semen in my mouth.
I swallow once more and then sit up again to admire my handiwork. I glance around and notice the girl in the bikini look away quickly, her eyes wide. Oh well.
Next chapter: Home Visit