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The package was waiting by my door when I got home from work that day. I frowned at the box, puzzled because I hadn’t been expecting anything. What could this be? The box was unmarked and fairly light—when I shook it lightly, it made no noise.

When I opened the box, and removed the plastic wrapping from the inside, it all became clear. The note on top was in your handwriting, and even if there had been no note, the box’s contents made the intentions of the sender abundantly clear.

Thought you could use something new to wear to the concert tonight.

I unfolded the article of clothing and regarded it with some trepidation. It was a skirt: a very short, black skirt made of a thin, swishy material, with flirty eyelet trim. Held up to myself, it looked like it would just barely cover the tops of my thighs, and if I bent over, my ass would definitely be on display. I quickly shed my unflattering work pants, and pulled the skirt up over my hips (I tried pulling it up around my waist, where I tend to wear skirts most often, but it didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination). The elastic waistband hugged me comfortably, and the two layers of fabric gave my behind a decidedly pleasing roundness. It wasn’t normally the kind of skirt I went for…but what the hell.

I do have damn fine legs, I thought as I looked at myself in the hallway mirror.

I glanced back down at the note, and saw that you had included a three-word postscript near the bottom, which I had missed:

No underwear necessary.

I flushed in spite of myself, and smiled. This was going to be a good evening.

You picked me up an hour later, and I twirled flirtatiously when I opened the door. You gave a low, appreciative whistle and tipped your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose as you looked me over.

“Where did you get a skirt like that?”

You winked, and took in my legs, which were on full display. I’m not much of a gym-goer, but I love getting out for walks, and I recently took up running, which had done wonders to tighten and tone my calves and thighs.

Your eyes slid up to my torso, where I was wearing a red-and-black striped camisole. It had a built-in shelf bra, which was all my small breasts needed to keep them supported—but it definitely wasn’t padded, and the fabric was a bit too thin to disguise my nipples, which I was very conscious of as they rubbed against the front of my shirt. I had a feeling you could see them as well. This suspicion was confirmed when you put an arm around my waist, and tweaked one very lightly. I inhaled sharply and grinned.

“You keep doing that, and everyone will be able to see my nipples. How embarrassing would that be?”

“Mmm, what a shame,” you concurred, eyebrows going up slightly. “Fuck, we’re going to be late, but I want you right now. You have no idea how good you look.”

“Oh yes I do,” I disagreed, twirling again. “And you’re the one who made me wear the skirt—this is your fault.”

I stopped in front of you and tugged suggestively at the eyelet hem, bunching it up in my hands, then releasing it, lifting the skirt higher each time.

“I have a surprise for you,” I said, and you looked startled, but immediately pleased when I lifted the skirt the few extra inches it needed to expose my pussy, completely bare save for a narrow landing strip. Your eyes lit up appreciatively.

“I like that,” you murmured, grabbing the hand not holding up my skirt, and pulling me to you.

Without another word, you spun me around and gave me a gentle push, so my back was against the door. Then, you pushed my legs open gently and teased the smooth skin of my pussy, running your fingers over the short hairs in the middle, and finally, parting my labia and sliding one of your fingers inside me. The anticipation of seeing you after I had put on the skirt had done a nice job of arousing me, and I was already slightly wet. I moaned when you inserted a second finger to join the first, and you gave me a wicked grin.

“I can tell you’ve been thinking about this for a little while.”

“Only all afternoon,” I replied, tipping my head up to kiss you.

Our tongues danced against each other, and I sighed with pleasure when you nipped lightly at my lower lip. I was just starting to rethink fucking you before the show, when you pulled away.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t be late.” Maddeningly, you smoothed my skirt back down with fingers which had been knuckle-deep in my pussy only moments before. “Let’s go.”

“You have got to be kidding me. You can’t walk away now, can you? Not when I’ve been thinking about this all day?”

You winked. “I just wanted to give you something to think about a little more. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before long.”

As we made our way toward the bandshell a few hours later, I started getting more excited. I didn’t make it habit to go without underwear very often, and certainly not in a skirt this short: the sensation of having nothing between myself and the beşiktaş escort open air was quite erotic, and I could feel myself becoming even more turned on than I had been before by the mere feeling of the breeze between my legs—the memory of your finger buried in my pussy before we left an hour ago was also having a pleasant effect.

“So, who is this band I agreed to go see underwear-less with you again?” I flounced my skirt suggestively.

You winked at me. “Remember? My friend Aaron’s Earth, Wind and Fire cover band?”

I rolled my eyes. “They’d better be good. I’m not sure I’m in a seventies-funk kind of mood tonight.”

You smiled slyly. “I know just what kind of mood you’re in tonight. But they’re good, I promise. They’ve even had some attention in a few other states. Aaron’s hoping they’ll make it big like that Beatles cover band, remember when we saw them?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I remember when you pushed me against my front door and put your fingers in my pussy and almost made me come. Do you remember that?

We had neglected to bring either a blanket or folding chairs to the concert, opting instead to stand in the grass, which, luckily, was lush and soft from the unusual amount of rain we’d been getting this summer. I kicked off my sandals and curled my toes into the grass, sighing happily. You slid your arms around my waist from behind and rocked against me gently as the band took the stage. The 21st of September was good, you hadn’t been kidding. They did justice to “September,” the song that gave them their namesake, as well as the upbeat “Evil” and I had almost begun to believe that I was in a seventies R&B-funk kind of mood after all.

The band had just finished its rendition of “Keep Your Head to the Sky,” when I felt your hand slide, almost too lazily to be purposeful, down from its place on my hip to my ass. My body responded immediately, arching back against you slightly, and I almost lost my footing on the damp grass. I was getting ready to twist around to look at you, perhaps accuse you playfully of molesting me, when your hand started to move again, this time gliding deliberately down to the hemline of my skirt. You stopped there for just a moment, tugging and rubbing at the fabric, seeming to read the pattern of the stitching with the pads of your fingers, like it was a Braille text, and I held my breath, suddenly excited for what would come next. Luckily, you didn’t make me wait for long.

Your hand found its way under the short, eyelet hem, and soon you were caressing my thigh, just underneath the curve of my ass. My bare toes curled into the grass at this change in sensation, and the damp, organic wetness of the ground against the soles of my feet only amplified the feeling. If someone looked closely at us, they would be able to tell that your right hand was on my thigh underneath my skirt, and they might be able to tell that my movements against you had nothing to do with responding to the rhythm of the music from the stage.

Your voice in my ear coincided perfectly with your hand’s migration around front to my inner thigh, then to my pussy lips.

“I’m sure you’ve probably figured out why I asked you to wear this.”

I was no fool. Of course I knew. I felt fingers teasing the shallow cleft where my legs met my body, and this was somehow even more arousing than mere seconds before, when your fingers had been on top of my bare mound. A surge of electricity flooded my groin, and I felt my pussy swell.

The band switched to the quieter “Devotion”, mellow keyboards and synthesized trumpets (the cover band’s only glaring flaw) floating on the air. Around us, other couples were swaying and rocking against each other, some in time to the music, others seemingly to their own internal beat.

“Do you think the people behind us will be able to tell what we’re doing?” I found myself suddenly self-conscious, which momentarily overshadowed my arousal.

“How would they? From their point of view, it will only look like I’m holding you around the waist…moving in time to the music. If you can’t already tell, I’m not wearing much of anything under these pants either.”

A simple unzip, and a slight adjustment of my skirt, and you would be out, underneath, and inside. We were lucky that our heights made this easy to accomplish—I would only need to arch forward slightly. It would work. And no one would be able to tell. And if they could, so what? The lust-ridden part of me was having its way again. I could feel the wetness spreading between my legs, and I jumped slightly as your erection pressed into the small of my back.

“Fuck getting caught, let’s do this,” I whispered.

Moving me away from me only slightly, you casually worked your hand between us, while encircling me completely with your other arm. I heard the sound of the releasing zipper, and my toes once again curled reflexively against the grass. This was it. We were actually going to fuck in public…and my beşiktaş eve gelen escort excitement was quickly outweighing my fear. Or maybe my fear was making me excited. At this point, it was hard to tell.

Once the zipper was down, I knew the game was on. I moved directly in front of you, being careful to align my ass with your crotch so no one standing near us had a chance of getting an eyeful. Your hands gently tugged again at the hemline of my skirt, only this time, you were pulling the fabric upward. I was suddenly conscious of the fact that this was much shorter than any skirt I’d ever worn. I felt uncomfortably exposed for just a moment as you pulled the fabric up over my ass, and the breeze on my flushed skin felt dangerous, but so good.

Suddenly, your bare cock was pressed against the skin of my bare bottom, and I adjusted without even thinking so you slid down further, to where my pussy was now practically dripping onto my thighs. Your hands clasped me more firmly around the waist, fingers clawing my skirt hungrily, and I rose up onto the balls of my feet, just a little. A fraction of an inch, your hot breath on my neck, your hand “accidentally” brushing one of my nipples, almost making me scream, and you sank into me from behind. I wiggled my ass against you, and your cock leaped inside of me, stretching me pleasantly. I turned my head toward you only a fraction, pretending like I was merely about to lean my head against your shoulder in music-induced bliss, and spoke three words:

“Don’t lose control.”

You only moaned in response, and I could feel you fighting the natural urge to begin thrusting into me, your cock twitching, your hands unconsciously rubbing my thighs over my skirt, up and down, up and down. Again, you pulled back slightly, trying to build up a thrusting rhythm, but I intervened, knowing that once you started, we would both lose ourselves. I squeezed my PC muscles as hard as I could, clamping my slippery walls around your dick, and felt you stifle another moan.

“Fuck, babe, you feel so damned good. But you’re torturing me.”

In response, I leaned forward almost imperceptibly, then pushed back against you, knowing the sensation on your dick of being pulled partially out of my hot, slippery hole, the wet skin being exposed to the cooling breeze, then being forced deliciously back inside, would be more what you had in mind. You growled, having momentarily lost your powers of speech

“I want to make you come inside me, in front of all these people. You’re going to keep still and let me do the work, ok?”

I phrased this as though you didn’t have a choice. I knew you loved it when I took control in our sexual encounters. You exhaled hotly against my ear, and your grip tightened on my waist ever so slightly.

“I guess you’re the boss.”

The music pulsed lazily, and I used the beat as a metronome to keep time as I began squeezing and releasing my pussy muscles around your cock. When the music crescendoed and the rhythm sped up, so did my squeezing. Sometimes I squeezed you with deep, slow strokes, drawing you further in, and then pushing you almost all the way out, milking you. Other times, I squeezed you quickly, without much pressure, so that my pussy pulsed against your dick with tiny vibrations. You gasped the first time I did this, and I could tell I was torturing you because it was just enough stimulation to drive you crazy, but not enough to get you anywhere close to coming.

“Are you trying to kill me?” you whispered hoarsely.

Your hands migrated down to my thighs, sliding once again under the fabric that just barely covered them, and I felt your fingernails digging in as you lightly scratched the sensitive skin. That made my pussy grow even wetter, which I didn’t think was possible, and to make sure you didn’t accidentally slip out, I clamped my muscles around you as tight as I could and ordered you to be completely still.

“Stop moving.”

I began gyrating my hips in a circular motion, pushing back against you slightly so you drove even deeper into me, all the while squeezing my pussy muscles tighter around you. I wanted you to feel me on every inch. When I leaned forward slightly, your dick hit my g-spot, just as I’d hoped, and for a second the stars in the darkening sky seemed to double, then triple, as the sensation made me forget where I was. My bare toes clenched the ground, and I could feel myself pulling up grass and dirt in my growing excitement. You seemed to realize the power game had shifted, and it was now me who was losing control.

“You like that, you dirty girl? You like me fucking you in front of all these people?”

Your voice was low, and almost expressionless, as the words hit my ear. You may as well have been making an offhand comment about the cover band’s style. I could barely speak at this point, only sigh, and push back against you a little more roughly. I almost lost my balance in doing this, beşiktaş grup yapan escort and you had to tighten your grip on my waist once again to steady me. I leaned my head back against you, ever so slightly, tilting it so my nose was buried in the warmth just beneath your chin. Then I squeezed you again, making you jump.

“On the contrary,” I said, arching my back almost imperceptibly, “I believe I’m the one fucking you at the moment.”

I knew neither of us could hold on much longer. We both needed to come, and soon, or else we would hardly be able to keep from ravaging each other. I thought briefly how nice it would be to just be able to drop onto all fours in the grass, flip up the skirt, and have you fuck me from behind like I knew you really wanted, my knees sliding on the slippery grass, your dick in perfect position to hit my delicate g-spot, both of us erupting in cataclysmic, screaming orgasm. Again, I felt my pussy wetten in response to these thoughts, and you moaned as you drew me closer and thrust gently into me, as much as our restrictive stance would allow.

“Touch your clit for me,” you commanded.

You could have just as easily done this yourself, but I knew you loved it when I touched myself. It was much less discreet for me to reach under my skirt with one hand—obvious to anyone watching what my hand was doing under there. I found the tiny knob of swollen flesh, moist with my secretions, and rubbed my index finger in haphazard circles over it, pressing down, and pushing upward until I found its sweet spot, the place where the nerve endings sang. My legs went weak as I played with myself, and I could no longer feel the grass beneath my feet, but I tried my best to stay upright, and keep my face passively blissful, my other hand resting lightly over your arm around my waist. As I worked myself with my finger, my hips began rocking back and forth, slowly, controlled at first, but gradually growing more haphazard. Your breathing deepened behind me, and I knew you could sense that I was getting closer to orgasm.

“Looks like it’s you who’ll be coming for me first, baby,” you whispered.

That was all I needed to push me over the edge. Without thinking, I clawed at my thighs as I came, yanking my skirt indecently high, so my pussy was almost exposed to the evening air. My pussy muscles began contracting around you, almost as strongly as when I had been doing it deliberately before, but with less rhythm. The mask of passivity my face wore broke, and I let out a cry of pleasure as your hands gripped me against your body.

“Come with me,” I gasped.

You pushed into me as far as you could and growled “Right behind you.”

Under different circumstances, I would have smirked at the double entendre. Your breathing became a pant and I could feel your hot breath on the back of my neck cover more surface area, as your mouth fell open in lustful abandon. I knew your eyes were slightly unfocused, and your movements became more primal as you thrust into me. Neither of us cared about being seen anymore.

Suddenly, your thrusting stopped, and you pulled me back against you with a sharp exhalation that was halfway between a moan and a sigh.

“Aaaaahhh, fuck.”

I felt your dick twitch as you began to spurt inside me, and I once again squeezed my muscles around you to help you along.

As my pulse slowed and my sweat began to cool, I finally dared to look around us. You were still inside me, and the postcoital twitches your dick made caused me to jump, ever so slightly. I thought we had pulled off our naughty tryst fairly well though. Your hands were still around me, but they had relaxed their grip, and were now resting lightly on my hips. To an innocent bystander, I was sure we still looked like a couple of people enjoying an early-evening concert in the open air, swaying gently against each other with a familiar intimacy. I was just beginning to think about how I would deal with your semen running down my legs when you eventually withdrew, when you put your lips to my ear, making me jump even more.

“On your left. Look.”

Confused, I obeyed your urgent directive, rotating my entire body, as much as I was able to under the circumstances, a fraction of an inch to the left, I then tipped my head back, a trick I picked up from a TV show to be less obvious when attempting to spy on others, and let my gaze fall to the left as well, canting my head in the same direction. Again, it would look more to an observer like I was simply leaning back against you a bit more. Completely innocent.

What I saw almost made me faint. As I watched though, I felt my pussy swell again, which I knew you felt as well. You laughed softly.

“Like what you see?”

Not ten yards away from us, the other couple was standing in almost the same stance as us, the man with his arms, at first glance, gently encircling his female partner, who I noticed was also wearing a skirt. However, as I stared, I picked up on how his hands were alternately gripping and kneading the girl’s hips and thighs, how his eyes, although I could only see them in profile, seemed to be shut, and how he was breathing more heavily than a simple from-behind embrace would warrant. The way they were swaying gave it away: innocent at first glance, but obviously not in time with the music.

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