Crisp. The first real sign of autumn.
And, now that the clocks were set back an hour, sunset wasn’t far off.
The fluttery feeling in my stomach got me antsy.
Checking email was enough of a distraction that I didn’t pace. Seeing that it was finally dark out, I shut down the computer and undressed. After slipping into the raggedy robe that hung by the door, I stepped outside.
The small, brick-lined patio was snug against the house, bordered by a low wall backed by evergreens nearly two stories tall. The crepe myrtles at the back of the yard still had a few leaves and blocked the view from the alley—just in case some pervert was using night vision goggles.
Total privacy. I had scoped it from all directions before I bought the house. At night and with the lights out, my little outdoor refuge was safe from prying eyes.
Of course, I’m a bit of a screamer, so I had that to contend with. But no one had ever called the cops, and so far no funny looks from the neighbors.
Tonight, I would extend my season.
I’m the rugged, outdoorsy type, so I took off the robe and took the three steps to the patio and my Adirondack chair that faced the yard. My nipples hardened as the cool—nearly cold—night air washed over me. I wasn’t about to let a change of season cramp my style.
I’m a nudist, dammit. One must persevere.
It was my new $99 fire pit from Home Depot. As I lit the pile of crumpled newspaper and kindling I had artfully arranged earlier that afternoon, my mind’s eye pictured how I looked—my pink nude body, the stark roundness of my protruding ass, my thighs spread, pudenda gaping, nipples at attention—as I squatted in front of the round fire pit.
Settling back in the chair, I watched the fire come alive. Eyes half closed, my hand moved between my legs.
Just as I nudged my outer lips apart, the warmth hit. I spread my knees, catching the firelight and heat on my inner thighs. Cool air, sucked toward the pit by the licking flames, moved against the back of my legs and I shivered.
The tip of my index finger probed my vagina and pulled some juices toward my clit. Without thinking, my left hand found my right breast. I stroked and circled my erect nipple between thumb and forefinger as I slowly, languidly, began to masturbate.
Slouched in the chair, my legs were splayed like the girl in the featured video on Pornhub. Without thinking, I had two fingers deep in my pussy, thrusting.
Whoa. What’s this?
The pool of wetness at the base of my spine started to bubble and froth. I bit my lip and sat up, still thrusting, and surveyed my yard to make sure no pervert had jumped the wall. All clear. I settled back.
This was going to be epic.
I ran my fingers along my slit, eliciting a deep moan. My clit swelled against the clammy nest of my palm. I entered the zone, thrilled by the dance of firelight on my skin, the acrid smell of smoke and burning pine, the swirl of cool and warm air, the decadence in fucking myself in a dark corner of my yard.
My arousal was so intense it bordered on painful. Normally, I would pull back, relax the clit stimulation and work the edge of my looming orgasm. Tonight, though, with a soft breeze raising goosebumps on my arms as my breasts and thighs soaked up the heat of the fire, I couldn’t hold back.
And, really, no need. One orgasm is rarely enough.
So I surrendered to the pain and delight, knowing that soon the delicious tension would be released. Knees raised and feet off the ground, I pushed three fingers into my hole as I rubbed my clit faster and faster.
Pussy muscles clenched against my fingers as I thrust deep inside at an auspicious angle, past the second knuckle, my hand awash in fluids. My clit throbbed as I flicked and circled it.
A firmness welled up inside me as my hands pulled my orgasm out of my body. I couldn’t stop. Half my hand was in my pussy. As I slumped in the chair, my ass hung off the edge, my feet danged in the air, the heat of the fire warm on the soles.
My torso jerked up violently as I came, neurons throughout my body snapping in unison.
Three rooster tails of girl cum squirted out of me, splatting on the bricks. A fourth stream, somewhat weaker, splashed on the fire pit. A cloud of steam rose in the air, the light dimmed, what remained of the fire sputtered, and the heat stopped.
I stared across my ruined body, wet, swollen and red. Looking between my dangling feet and over my tangled mat of pubic hair, I watched, dope-brained, as the fire sputtered out, extinguished by my orgasm.
I staggered to my feet, knees weak, grabbed my robe, and put the lid on the fire pit.
Did I have another one inside me? I’d find out under the covers of my bed.