erotica, female masturbation, Food for Thought Friday, Lemurians, Mt. Shasta, nude man, nude woman, nudism, nudity, oral sex, orgasms, outdoor nudity, outdoor sex, penis, public nudity, public sex, pussy, sex, sex positions
This week’s Food for Thought Friday question: Where is the riskiest/most adventurous place that you have had sex? Did you get caught?
We stepped out of the woods and walked toward the beach. As we emerged from the canopy into the full moonlight illuminating the shoreline of the lake, I gasped. Mt. Shasta floated above distant forests and hills beyond the lake, its peak and craggy summit shimmering in white. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight—a gorgeous, iconic mountain glorious in the light of a full moon.
After arriving at the campground that afternoon, we had made camp, gone for a brief swim, fixed dinner and began an exploration. The lake and beach were closed after dark, which was perfect. We ignored the signs, walked around the gate, and had it to ourselves. At least, it looked that way.
Now, on the beach, thunderstruck with the beauty of the scene, we did what any young and healthy couple would do. I pulled Tim into me, kissed him hard, and ground my hips as I gripped his ass with both hands.
“Look, a picnic table,” I said. We raced toward it, hand in hand.
I was out of my cutoffs and pulling my T-shirt off as Tim pushed down his jeans. Looking up and down the half-mile of lakefront, illuminated as if by streetlights by the powerful moon, I couldn’t quite believe we were the only people taking advantage of this magnificent scene. It was just so beautiful. Barely ten at night, the moon was already high in the sky. We could see our shadows as we struggled out of our clothes.
I stretched out on my back, nude, lengthwise on the wood table. “Kneel on the bench here,” I said. We had a femdom thing going on our two-week tour of Northern California. I gave the orders, Tim obeyed. His cock was rock hard, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I wanted him in me fast, ready to fire his load. I took the head of his cock in my mouth and suckled. My fingers kneaded his balls, tight against the base of his cock. My other hand went between my legs, spreading the juices as I masturbated. My horniness, and no doubt Tim’s, was in direct proportion to my fear of getting caught fucking on a public beach. On a picnic table. In the nude. In the shadow of Mt. fucking Shasta.
In less than a minute, my mouth filled with the saltiness of his precum. He popped out, and I opened my knees, presenting. Tim, now standing at the end of the picnic table, positioned between my legs.
“See anyone?” I asked. His head swiveled and he scanned around us as he ran his cockhead up and down my wet and swollen pussy lips, probing for my entrance. “Not a soul,” Tim said. “Nor a Lemurian.” An aside: The descendants of Lemuria are reputed to live deep inside the mountain. They’re seven feet tall, can disappear at will, and speak with slight British accents. We never saw any.
I guided him inside me—and gasped for the second time as Tim’s thick cock penetrated me. I was exquisitely primed—outdoors in the nude, bathed in moonlight, my lover between my legs, my pussy filled, an almost mystical view of Mt. Shasta. I wrapped my legs around Tim and raised up on my elbows to better take it all in. My tiny breasts shimmied in rhythm with Tim’s frantic thrusting.
Just as that glow at the base of my spine began to smolder—that would be orgasm number one—my paranoia spun out of control. What if someone comes up the beach? A family with kids? A fucking ranger? “Faster! Goddam it! Fill me up!” I snarled. The position wouldn’t let me reach Tim’s balls, so I pushed and kneaded my boobs, providing visual stimulation that invariably got him off faster.
I held Tim in a death grip between my legs. He plunged deeper, his cock got harder, and I knew he was close. Why so long? I looked around, still didn’t see anyone, and dropped my head back on the table. It was all animal sex now. And I’m noisy when I fuck. I whimper and groan and squeal. Tim, who had no doubt picked up on my paranoia, put his hand over my mouth. “Not so loud,” he hissed.
I don’t follow orders well. I bit him. He yelped and slapped me. Hard. The shock and the heat on my face pushed me over the edge. My orgasm broke—just as Tim came. My hips came off the table as he pounded me, emptying his balls deep inside my womb.
Tim’s lips found my lips, maybe slightly swelled from his slap, hard to tell. I was over my paranoia. This was our first fuck in days, and I knew this guy could go again. I had him scissored between my legs. He wasn’t going anywhere. I started to grind, my ass elevated off the table, my tongue buried in his mouth. I was fucking him whether he liked it or not.
It took a minute or two, but he responded and got harder. Now, he was thrusting. Now, I was his little fuck doll. My arms wrapped around his massive shoulders,he pulled me off the table—I’m barely a hundred pounds of certifiable sex maniac—then set my ass on the edge as he fucked me furiously. My ass was wet and slippery from cum and pussy juice, while his back was drenched in sweat. From the effort of fucking. Of fucking me. I ran my hands up and down his back, pushing his sweat around, shoulder to ass, as he pounded me into the table.
“C’mon, baby, you can do it,” I cooed in his ear. “Fill me the fuck up. Harder. You can do it! Shoot your load! Fuck me!”
Tim pulled me off the table, enveloping me in his arms, as he exploded, his roar muffled by my shoulder. He came faster the second time than the first. So did I. Our fuck frenzy had wiped away my paranoia. But not for long. Remembering where I was and the risks we were taking, I pushed Tim out of the way and looked around. No one. Just the two of us, a little the worse for wear, the glass-smooth lake, that insanely bright moon, and Mt. Shasta.
Tim stood in front of me, panting, sweat trickling off his nose, his dick wilting. I took his meaty cock in my hand and milked the last of his semen, smearing it on his glans and shaft.
“Got any tissues?” I asked. Tim raised his head and looked at me. He was glassy-eyed, barely sentient. He shook his head.
Fuck. I’m not a woman who can hold a load of jism inside and release on demand. You know, quick scurry to the bathroom and plop in the toilet. In a few seconds Tim’s loads would be running down my legs. Not to mention my hands were wet with his sweat and jism and my juices.
I leaned back and spread my legs. “Clean me. Clean up your mess.”
To his credit, Tim obeyed without thinking. His lips and tongue lapped my engorged labia as he sucked up his splooge. Okay, sure, I had an ulterior motive. Three minutes later I came again, the soles of my feet on his shoulders, my sticky wet fingers running through his long blond hair, my hips bucking into his face.
Hand in hand, we walked back up the beach. Every few yards, we would turn and take in the grandeur of Mt. Shasta. We reached the gate, pulled on our clothes and returned to our campsite.
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