I had to break the silence by asking, ‘Does he fuck like me?’ She cracked half a smile and half a chuckle, and said, ‘Do you really want to know...’ She was right, but in a way, but I did want to know. ‘Think Miles Davis, an expensive Cabernet, and being recited John Dunne and Pablo Neruda by memory, while bathing,’ she said. We both fell silent again. I don’t know what was going through her mind, but I couldn’t filter and sort through what was going on in my head. I had to bring myself to admit. The fabric seemed to pull her lips apart, pink and glistening. My fingers slipped beneath the waistband, and my index finger parted her labia. Her hips moved in semicircles, gently thrusting and her hands lifted her breasts in offering, trying to force them deeper into my mouth. She was wet, slick and her pussy sucked my fingers inside like a vacuum, one then two, and she clamped down upon them as I twisted them inside her. I felt her pussy convulse and she pressed her mouth against my hair to. I couldn’t help but notice a very pretty older woman , well dressed fantastic figure , alone crying , so me being me , wandered over to see if she was ok, needed any help, she looked and sounded upon approaching her , as if she was in distress and either vert drunk or taken something , so I stayed and chatted a while trying to get sense out of her, where she needed to go to get home , and said I would get in the taxi with her to make sure she was safe, as she looked vulnerable, and not fully. But naked or not, no way was I going back there. Red and blue flashes reflected in the windows and showed no sign of departing. "Fuck!"Shoes on again, I made my way slowly along the access road in the direction of town. I felt utterly ridiculous. Naked apart from shoes, drying cum all down my front, stinking of sex, and miles from home. Here, unlike in the lane, there was a very real chance that someone would drive along and see me. Either side of me were high walls and high fences, and beyond.
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