A Girl On A Bench

A girl on a bench.

A girl on a bench in a park

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun.

Wearing a yellow sundress, just a fraction too small. Her belly presses against the unforgiving cotton fabric in large, beautiful ripples. Her breasts are unseemly but the weather so hot and the park so vast, she takes the risk to bare her flesh.

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun wearing a yellow sundress which strains with the fullness of her breasts.

Not a beautiful girl. A girl with hair that is long and dark but not sleek. Thin hair that whips around her face in the occasional summer breeze.

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun wearing a yellow sundress which strains with the fullness of her breasts, and underneath it, only a pair of white knickers, and these are form-fitting too, clinging to the shape of her cunt – so close that the imprints of the tight whorls of hair are clearly visible.

Visible from between her thighs of course. A lover knelt before her; kissing the warm white flesh that parts to reveal her plain cotton underthings. Breathing her in; trapping her essence within their body to carry with them when they part.

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun wearing a yellow sundress which falls neatly, primly to her knees.

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun, on a deserted pathway.

A girl on a bench in a park, in the sun, on a deserted pathway reaches idly down to the hem of her skirt. She feels along the edge, the stitches are rough against her fingertips as she slowly raises the hem higher. Behind her cat eye sunglasses, brown eyes glance back and forth along the road. In the distance she sees a man and a woman walking slowly down the path, but they are far enough away they will not disturb her. Still, she feels little goose pimples of excitement rising on her skin.

Concertinaing her skirt upwards, she bunches the cotton around her waist. She looks down at her thighs; her pudgy thighs with their hair which catches the sunlight. Contorting her body she glimpses her pubic mound and smiles.

Her thoughts are wicked. She watches for the approaching couple but they are still too distant to pay attention to this plain little exhibitionist.
This plain little exhibitionist stands, allowing her skirts to fall chastely to her knees.

This plain little exhibitionist reaches her nimble fingers up under the skirts to the waistband of her knickers, and eases them down. Over her curvy backside. Over her chubby knees. Down to her ankles and steps out of them.

Her heart is beating like a steam locomotive’s persistent clatter. With the white flag of capitulation in her hand she looks about her again and the couple have gone, preferring another, shadier route. The paths are clear.

The knickers in her hand are warm – she passes them through her fingers until she feels dampness and brings the fabric to her face. She inhales deeply and her essence brushes her lips. She pokes her tongue out from between them and licks the nectar gratefully, sucking it like a baby’s dummy, conscious there is more working its way down between her thighs.

She wads the underwear into a tight knot and raises her skirts once more, placing the wad high, between the outer lips of her labia – the rough, cheap cotton rubs her delightfully – see-sawing between pleasure and discomfort as she sits down on the bench once more, knees together, her gaze soft and unseeing on the foliage of the gardens before her as she rocks herself to a sweet and trembling climax.

Just a girl on a bench.

Just a girl on a bench in a park

Just a girl on a bench in a park, in the sun.

Just a girl on a bench in a park, in the sun, with a secret.

 

 

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11 thoughts on “A Girl On A Bench

  1. I really enjoyed this, the layering, the rhythm the teasing little extra snippets of information as it builds. I like that your heroine isn’t painted as airbrushed perfection, but real, and determined to seek her pleasure no matter what. She enjoys her perceived ‘badness’ and so do I!

    Like

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