Garden Masturbation

As the other post I'm putting up today is of a more non sexual variety, yet hopefully a lil entertaining non the less, here's a brief offering which might be a touch more exciting for you.


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


With today being so nice outside, and to avoid the lure of this dastardly machine which I'm now sat at once more, I decided to grab my books and head outside.


I'm not big on tanning, as I burn quite easily, so I set up my stuff underneath the biggest tree, leaning my back to it as I tried my very hardest to focus on the task in hand. It was absolutely delightful to sit there sipping ice cold OJ and listening to some Nick Drake on my walkman. (Yes, I am the only person in the entire world to not go down the iPod route!) The sun was bright, surrounding me with solid silhouettes from the branches and leaves above, there was hardly any breeze and almost perfect silence other than the occasional distant rumble of a car or two.


I'm afraid to report that I wasn't dressed terribly sexily, which I know will leave you disappointed. I do spend 99% of my time in stockings, thigh high boots and a basque though. Honestly... But today I was just in an old knee length skirt and tanktop, my feet bare and my hair back in a simple ponytail.


Inevitably, after about half an hour or so, the books got pushed aside, my back edged further and further down the tree trunk and my eyelids slipped lower and lower until I was half dozing, my mind idling over various things.


There's one thing which I'm not sure is specific to me, or if its a generality, but the summer makes me excessively horny. I think its simply the heat maybe, or the abundance of life that the sun brings with it through the months it shines most brightly. Or maybe its because I get to walk around with hardly any clothing on. Who knows...


But from about this time until about September, my libido goes through the roof and my hand goes down my pants. Today wasn't any different.


Sure enough as I sat there my mind wandered to sex, to various fantasies, even to someone I'd been chatting to more recently. I didn't have the concentration to fixate on anything specific as my hand started to massage a breast through my top. Instead my imagination flitted from one thought to the next, and at times I imagined *you* sat there looking at this, dear reader, and enjoyed imagining what you might be doing as you consume these words.


My fingers wrapped themselves around my breasts, covering them, squeezing and kneeding them slowly, little sighs slipping from between my lips as I felt my nipples harden under my palms. They were crying out for some attention, for my fingers to pull and pinch them until they were fully hard. I obliged them, pulling my top down underneath them, my thumbs rubbing over their rubbery hardness before tweeking and twisting them ever so slightly.


I must have sat there for at least ten minutes toying and teasing my exposed breasts, tormenting my nipples, my eyes closed, reflected sunlight warming me, driving me onwards. At some point the elasticated pressure of my top grew too uncomfortable so I pulled it off all together and lay fully on the grass in just my skirt.


At this point I was utterly overtaken by my sheer horniness and enjoyment of my own body. I opened my eyes, almost hoping to find a strange man stood over me watching me as he touched himself. But, alas, no such luck! So instead I scooped up an icecube from my OJ, sucked on it to remove the sticky juice and gently started to stroke it over a nipple. I'm pretty sure I actually groaned at this point, feeling the ice water cover the hard skin and dribble down the side of my breast. I switched it to the other nipple, feeling it numb a touch as it chilled to the brief brushes.


My lip between my teeth, I held the icecube firmly to my nipple, seeing how long I could  keep it there, how much of its almost painful freeze I could accept. With another groan I felt it shrink and melt on my skin, my breast wet and tender. Soon it was just a sliver and so I took another cube and sucked it clean again. This time though it wasn't for my breasts, instead I hitched up my skirt and rubbed it over the crotch of my undies, letting the water seep through the material to my now aching, hot clit.


So cold, tenderising every slip of skin, the water soaking a path along my lips as this second cube followed the first into nothingness. My underwear, now damp with icewater were superfluous and quickly removed, along with my skirt.


As I got fully naked I moved out into the middle of the lawn, away from the shade of the trees and lay flat on my back. I felt the sun wash over me as I slide my fingers through the folds of my pussy, circling the opening, enjoying how wet I was getting. I couldn't resist inserting a finger a little way into myself, pushing against the tight, tense skin, circling, widening myself.


I do love to taste myself, and I did this with pleasure, sucking on my finger as though it was a cock, imagining a real man in my mouth, filling it with his creamy thick cum. Instead though, and nearly as good, I could only taste my own wetness. I dipped my finger back in, and brought it to my mouth once more as the other hand rubbed over my slit, firmly pressing against it, cupping my pussy and squeezing down on it.


I sucked my fingers slowly, enjoying every lick, every taste of myself. I moved my other hand, so my fingers were at my clit, a little awkwardly as it was my left hand. Rubbing slowly, my clit so large and hot, urging me to speed up, to put more pressure down. The need to orgasm, there on the lawn, was growing by the minute.


Legs fully spread, breasts aching from their centre, clit on fire, naked on the grass with the sunshine bathing me, I slid two fingers of my right hand all the way into my cunt, my hips moving to meet them half way. My left hand switching between my breasts and my clit, pulling with increasing force on my nipples, then pushing hard, fast as possible between my lips. Right hand pumping into me now, my cunt stretching with the motion, allowing me soon to push a third finger inside me, filling me tight once more.


Both hands busy at my crotch I imagined such things, such nasty things. Some times I imagined writing all this down for your enjoyment, imagined you sat reading this with your hand pleasing yourself, then I'd imagine a man, men, men and women, chancing upon me in such a slutty situation and taking full advantage of my dirty mood.


Pushing my fingers in and deep as I could, stroking the inside walls of myself with three fingers, gasping hard, before pulling them free, covered in my wetness. I brought them immediately, hurriedly to my mouth and slid them as deep into my mouth as they had been in my wet gasping cunt. I sucked them hard as my fingers on my clit blurred and I started to cum.


I came so hard, bucking on the grass, my whole body spasming, twitching on the grass as I held my hand firmly against my clit and wet tender lips. Laying there shuddering with aftershocks and catching my breath, eyes opening again as I looked up to the clear blue sky. 


::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Well I hope you enjoyed that tale of my study break earlier today :)


Red.

My First Blow Job

Well you guys said you wanted to hear more about my real life experiences, so I'm going to attempt to do just that. This feels quite weird writing about things which have really happened to me, almost like how when you used to get back to primary school for a new year. One of the first tasks you were given was to write about what you did on your holidays because the teacher, still shell shocked at the termination of 2 months of peace and quiet, was lacking in imagination and any trace of effort...

Actually that's quite apt as my first blow job was given during the summer holidays when I was !£ going on !$. I'd been "going out" with this guy for a few weeks. And by going out I don't mean that he used to cruise by and pick me up for a night spent dancing, or eating in restaurants, or even a comfy night in with a film. It was more of your hang around together with your mutual friends and hold hands if you were feeling daring. If you were feeling *very* daring... well a kiss on the cheek or the gift of a big bar of chocolate or some very cheap earrings sometimes would occur.

Well that summer, I used to hang with my bff at the time, and her "boyfriend", and my "boyfriend". For purposes of anonymity, I will, from here on out, be calling my boyfriend James. Because that was his name and there are quite a few James in the UK. I've heard there's at least well over ten of them. So that should be fine.

So we used to all meet and hang out by this lil wooden bridge over the back of the main round round the village where we all lived at the time. There was a slight drop so that most of the noise from the road went mainly over your head and the motorists had no chance of seeing anyone who was down there. It was quite nice, the bridge crossed a little stream and there was the remnants of a treehouse over the other side to mark the start of the farming land. OK there *was* a sewage outlet pipe about as tall as I was at the time, but it didn't smell and we didn't get covered in shit if we went near it ever. So it was all kinda nice and chilled and a place to just sit and talk, a place to mess about.

James was a couple of years older than me, but very shy and sweet. I can't even remember how or why we got together, the trend at the time was for the best friend to ask people out on behalf of the person, or a note to be passed. It was all just messing around really, I guess.

But together we were, for a whole glorious few weeks of summer until he'd switch schools and I would discover some new entertainment, like bubblegum or shiny paper, or something equally as diverting for a bright and inquiring girl of the 90s. Oh happy days!

I'm diverting massively I do realize. I am simply setting the scene tho.

One day for whatever reason it was just James and I hanging out, and we were kinda awkward and uncomfy in the presence of just each other with neither of our friends to act as a natural buffer to spare us the need to communicate in any way, shape or form. So we ended up just going for a walk along the fields and back up along the road and returning to the bridge.

Along the road we spotted a, how can I say.... gentleman's entertainment publication... OK, a porno magazine. Being of an inquisitive nature I picked it up for a look as James just stood there and blushed, telling me that it was stupid. As he was getting closer to beetroot by the second I threw it back into the hedgerow from whence it had came.

We walked along a while before, half stammering and looking at his feet, he apologized somewhat randomly for us seeing the thing, as though it were his fault. I found it kind of patronizing, as though I would be offended at seeing a magazine full of naked girls. I see a naked girl every day, and I've never been offended yet. Well, alright, sometimes I'm offended if I've not shaved for a bit...

After that, a lot more awkward moments passed in silence until we got back to the bridge and settled into our normal positions watching the water flow beneath us as we dangled our feet. Me barefoot, learning from the time I nearly lost a sandal forever. So we sat there staring at the water, time drifting and things starting to feel more comfortable again, for me at least, until James turns to me and says "I don't do that, y'know".

Upon a small amount of interrogation and a lot more blood rushing to his face, I finally understood that he was referring to masturbation. It was as though he felt that if I knew he masturbated that he would be forever a sex offender in my eyes or something. A monstrous pervert. Clearly he was lying about his habits, so partly to make him feel better and partly cos I generally say anything that pops into my head, I told him that I did. Loads. Perhaps the "loads" was a little too revealing but I was feeling very sorry for him.

He didn't really reply to that but sat there looking thoughtful. I hope, looking back that he was imagining the thought of me touching myself. He was so quiet, and looked so uncomfy that I put my arm around him and kissed his cheek and then I put my hand on his leg and squeezed it. We sat there for a minute, my hand on his leg and I started just kinda like rubbing his leg below the line of his shorts to his knee.

I must break here, just to point out that at this point although I was already starting to fantasize about boys, cocks and cum, it was so far off my radar in real life that it was as though I'd sat my driving theory test and was suddenly at the wheel of a racing car. I had no idea what to do.

He was still quiet, so eventually I said that I didn't care if he wanked and that I kinda liked that he did. He was still staring at the water as I asked if he ever thought about me as he did it. He nodded very slightly, not daring to admit it almost, and I was suddenly wetter than I'd ever been before, which is probably why my hand moved up and over his bulge. Well it wasn't a bulge until I got my hand here, but it quickly became one.

He looked up at me as I squeezed and felt my first cock, making out the shaft and the head. I looked back at him and asked if I could see it, to which he nodded dumbly. In fact for quite some time he didn't really say anything much at all. I honestly don't really remember what it was like specifically. an average size I'd imagine and I remember it was very straight. Not like some you see that curve here, there and everywhere.

So I eased the front of his shorts and boxers up and over his now fully hard cock and there it was, as I traced my shaking fingers over the head, the eye peeking out from the turtle neck of his foreskin, his breathing gaining momentum by the second.

I wrapped my fingers around it, marveling that something as smooth as my own soft bits could also be so hard, so rigid. And so responsive. As my movements slowly tugged down his foreskin a small trickle of liquid flowed out, I watched entranced. My first cum. To my shame I thought that he had actually orgasmed and that this tiny almost clear thin stuff was cum.

I was, in my foolish assumptions, tremendously disappointed by this seemingly poor return, but not one to miss a chance, and feeling myself pulse from my very center as this all happened, unable to stop myself, I dipped my head. I closed my soft lips around the red head before me, sucking softly, letting my tongue slip over this... this.. cock, this dick, this boner, hard on. The very first cock in my mouth, tasting my very first cum. Cum expelled at my touch. And I licked all around the head, tasting the bitter saltiness of him as I let it smear over my tastebuds.

Worried, and still thinking that he'd already cum, I kept sucking in case I never got this chance again and he started to respond and I felt him lay back, hands limply at his sides, feet still over the water dangling, his cock stuck out from his shorts and stuck into my face.

I'd like to say I took it all, but I didn't, I did take a good few inches into my mouth as he squirmed and started to jolt beneath me. His fast breathing deepened as though he was concentrating and he kinda muttered by name, his hand coming up to my forehead.

He was trying to push me off. That meant he was about to cum. He was not going to loosen me and deny me this. Even if it was such a let down, I wanted to taste more of what I tried before, so I shook my head and kept on sucking, my tongue hardly doing anything, just brushing the underside of him as I bobbed a few inches each way on his shaft.

His cock was actually pulsing in my mouth, as though his heartbeat was amplified a hundredfold and sent directly to it. He groaned once, possibly as warning, possibly just out of enjoyment.

Then he came.

Then he came, so much more than that first small amount.

Then he came, hard into my mouth and I adored it. I tasted it, felt it. So thick, so strong, so *much*. I swallowed and kept sucking until he pushed me away more forcefully this time, almost reflexively, I didn't realize how tender a guy would get post orgasm. But I was happy.

He pulled up his shorts almost instantly and thanked me as he kept his eyes as far from mine as he could. I went to kiss him and he pulled away. Well I did still have his cum on my lips and the wonderful taste of it in my mouth.

We didn't really talk about it once it had finished. He didn't kiss me at all that day, tho shyly did the next when I saw (and blew) him again. He got some boob that day too, such as they were.

But after our first blow job we pretty much went home for tea, I ate mine with the slight taste of him in my mouth and the memory of that thick, soft, hard, tender and strong piece of him in my mouth.

We did it again the next day, as I mentioned, and by the end of the next week he was feeling me up in that awkward, too tender way he had as I'd suck him at every spare five minutes we got alone together. And yes, five minutes was usually all it took.

He never tried to touch more than my breasts, and only those at my invitation, as I'd pull his hand down inside my top as I sucked. I doubt he'd have had the first idea what to do under my shorts or skirts and thankfully for both of us he never tried.

I certainly knew what to do under there tho and after every time we played for those few weeks, I'd get home and straight into the shower and bring myself to my first real orgasms with the memory of him filling my senses.