His fingertips are so cold they make me gasp. Working their way in between my thighs, lifting my skirt until it’s indecent. The chilly evening air stings my bare skin.
He stands directly in front of me, effectively blocking those on the path seeing what we’re doing but I still suspect they know. Park Lane is a busy main road, cars and people streaming by, Christmas shoppers in droves. It’s dark already but this doesn’t hide us; the lights and noises make it impossible to forget that we are very much in public.
The thrill of being exposed coupled with the possibility of being caught makes my heart pound.
He starts to make gentle circles on my clit, the coldness of his hands making me extra sensitive. I can’t believe his boldness, right here, pushed up against a doorway by the side of a packed London street.
His eyes had lit up when he’d seen the doorway, a nook tucked just to the side of the path, close enough to still hear snippets of conversations as people march by. With a strong arm around my waist he’d steered me off the path and pinned me against the door.
Peeking over his shoulder I can clearly see passengers on the double decker bus in the slow moving traffic. Can people see? Do they know? Can they see my face contort as he bites my neck?
I turn my focus back to him; his eyes have a mischievous twinkle. He’s enjoying watching the struggle in my face, wanting to surrender to pleasure and enjoy his hands on me, yet conscious of the proximity of the unknowing passers-by; knowing I have to be discrete and quiet.
He forces his knee against mine to widen my stride; pushing my skirt even higher above the tops of my stockings; giving easier access to slide in his fingers.
I moan into his kisses. His mouth on mine stifling my pleasure noises. I fight to control my breathing, to maintain the appearance of just an innocent embrace. Can they tell? Do they know where his hands are, the effect he’s having?
Pushing against me I feel how hard he is. I slide my hand between us and rub against him through the rough fabric. Our kisses become increasingly passionate, moving to a rhythm that I hope isn’t obviously more than just kissing. We’re just here, making out in a doorway, nothing to see, keep on walking.
He barely bothers to whisper, knowing the noise of the traffic and crowds will swallow up his words, carefully crafted to push my buttons. Drawing my attention to the likelihood that everyone can indeed see what’s happening. Maybe they’re watching, he suggests. Maybe we’ll get arrested. Telling me I’m a bad girl for being so brazen. Making me pout, I’m sure this wasn’t my idea, despite how aroused it’s making me.
The heat of his hands is heavenly against my exposed skin. His touch, his words, his bites and his kisses with the thrill of our secret act, they trigger a reaction from me that builds quickly.
Several times he soothes me “Shhhhh….babygirl”, a gentle command with a hint of triumph at how he’s making me come undone. He forces me to control myself each time my shaking eruption becomes apparent, so when I finally do cum it’s discretely, as quietly as I possibly can so as not to alert onlookers.
Giggles turn to growls as we slip back into the flow of pedestrians on the path. Deviant public acts appeal to a sense of exhibitionism but some privacy would be appreciated. I want him, he wants me; both of us scanning the area for options. Already having been busted attempting to break into a church we know our time together is limited and look for another opportunity.
We both spot the quiet side road at the same time, veering off course and heading for the convenient building site half way down. Biding our time for an exiting builder to leave, we must look suspicious loitering in the road. The sounds of remaining workers within the site don’t put us off, tucking ourselves behind the hoarding, out of sight of the busy main road.
He comments on the rabble of noises of builders ending their day “We could just ask them if we can go inside? They might just watch? Watch and wank over you” knowing that the idea would appeal to my treacherous cunt.
I am wet and I can literally feel myself getting wetter with his words. The cold air dancing against my naked damp skin. Our kisses are primal, low growls accompany bites. My fingers dig into his side.
I become aware that the street is actually rather well lit and our spot tucked behind the building works is still overlooked by the town houses opposite. Lights flick on and off, all it would take it for someone to come to the window and our cover would be blown. I tell him but he just smiles, embracing the dare I’ve presented.
I take few words of encouragement to slip my hand inside his jeans, to clasp his hardness, gently squeezing up and down as far as the restrictions of the material will allow. I crave the feeling of him inside me and he knows it.
“You’re so wet right now I could just slip myself in…” I buck against his hand. I can feel how easily his fingers slip inside.
“I could fuck you right here…I could fuck you against that window” gesturing to the building next to us, the one with curtains still open and the TV on. “Maybe they’d watch too, you could see them wanking through the window” The idea spurs me on. I believe he would…but would I? Could I? I’m afraid to call his bluff.
With dark eyes he gives me a stern warning “Don’t make a mess now…” Sinking his teeth deep into my neck I can do nothing but make a mess, a terrible fucking mess. . I gush on his hand and feel his cock respond, pulsing under my hand. I bite him back and he pulses hard in my hand, pushing himself against me.
I’m a panting cumming hot mess as I release again. Any hope of being discrete lost as I soak the tops of my stockings, splashing on the pavement. I’m sure I don’t stay quiet, panting “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck”, fighting not to release but being unable to help myself.
I grip onto the side of his t-shirt, nails gently digging in, my leg shaking obviously. There’s no disguising our deviant act, any casual observer who happened to walk by would be able to see.
We curse our inability to find a private spot as my reciprocation is interrupted. Pulling me quickly up from my knees and trying to look innocent as we bound away from the not-so-hidden spot.
I attempt to adjust myself and look respectable as we walk back to the main road. Hiding the evidence from the outside yet still feeling myself drenched under my pencil skirt.
He chuckles as he shows me his soaked hand, offering it for cleaning. I take one finger in my mouth and suck it dry “Now the other one…” he requests “actually, all of them…” laughing as I lap up my juices.
Joining the throngs of people back on Park Lane, we fall victim to our time restriction and must part ways. Big beaming smiles and kisses exchanged. We’ll have to find another day to continue the game.