The Watcher

Every day, weather permitting, for a year gone now, we have picnicked in the park together. We meet there at the gate at precisely noon – I, with picnic basket in hand and he, with our blanket folded over his shoulder. He greets me with a seemingly kiss followed by inquiries into my morning’s activities as we link arms to stroll the public walkway which means through the large park’s picturesque grounds.

Not far along, the walkway forks. It is here that we veer to the left, leaving the open spaces dotted by oak, birch and cherry for a little-traveled lane that winds off between the tall hedgerows. The twisted path beckons as the hedge shadows draw close. We smile into each other’s eyes, fancying the secret hidden beyond the over-crossed bids at the lane’s end is ours alone, for the secluded garden within the park is ever deserted on our arrival.

Deserted, that is, until the day we turned at the hedge’s end, to find we were not the sun-drenched lawn’s sole tenants. Thee was a strange sitting cross-legged in our private haven, reading a newspaper while eating his lunch on the stone bench in the honeysuckle’s shade. He was young, well dressed in a dark business suit similar to the one Master wore. When he glanced up, he smiled at us from an open, honest face. We smiled back but exchanged no words, only spread our blanket some yards away in the pool of sunlight slanting warm upon the grass.

I was naked beneath the light cotton sundress Master had chosen for me early that morning, for that is how he prefers me. Accessible. I took care to preserve my modesty before our unexpected company, tucking my flared skirt beneath me as I sat. Sighing at the sun’s kiss against my bare legs, I reached inside our picnic basket and spread our lunch upon the blanket. We ate, keeping our conversation low. From time to time, I caught the strange glancing at us over his newspaper’s top edge. Master leaned over to whisper in my ear, “He’s watching you, precise.”

Suddenly I felt shy, self-conscious and somewhat nervous – it is an emotional state which, I know, Master took pleasure in reducing me to. My heart throbbed as Master made a show of kissing me, ensuring he leaned into me just far far enough to cause me to lose my balance so that I had to flail my legs to keep myself upright. My skirt came untucked, riding up to reveal an expansion of tigh.

Master broke the kiss. We caught the stranger’s eyes flicker towards us again as I reached down to preserve my modesty. “Yes, he’s definitely watching you, precious,” he breathed. Colouring up, I looked the other way, but Master turned my face back to his and kissed me again, much deeper this time. His hand dropped to my leg where he grazed me with long, caressing strokes that slide my dress higher on my thigh with every pass.

I know not if the stranger watched us at that moment, for when Master kisses me in that soul-sucking way I find it difficult to concentrate on much else, but as hebroke from me I peeked up to catch the stranger looking anxiously back down at his paper. I knew then that he had been watching.

Master smiled lazily down on me. Pride of ownership was in his eyes. “He wants you, precise,” he whispered to me. I ducked my head in an effort to hide my flush and busied myself in packing our lunch’s remnants away while Master finished his dessert in smug silence. I feel the stranger singing glances towards us, little glimpses which for some reason made my hands clumsy. Glances that always cut away when Master returned the glances himself.

At last, Master had me lick the last cake crumbs from his fingers before we stood and gathered up our basket and blanket to leave. Master nodded a smiling farewell to the stranger as he settled his hand on my bottom. I passed the stranger walking a little stiffly, possibly because my buttocks were in receipt of a through mass. Master guided me through our secret garden’s exit with the casual whisperedcomment, “I think we shall have company again on the morning, precise.”

Of course, Master is always right.

Master smiled a greeting to the garden’s other occupation when we stepped from the hedgerow’s deep shadows into the dazzling sunlight the next day. The strange blushed desperately, but returned the smile before quickly lowering his head back into his newspaper.

I feel my stomach knot when Master spread our blanket several feet closer to the stranger than he had the day before. The dress he’d chosen for me that morning was shorter than the one I’d defeat the previous day. Much, much shorter. I was conscious that I would have to be very careful not to expose my bottom’s curve when I knelt to unpack our basket.

Master sprayed comfortably beside me with his long legs stretched out and his weight resting on one elbow. “Loosen my tie, precise,” he said softly. I know my effort to keep my bottom tilted in such a way so as not to display my bareness to the stranger amused Master, for he was quick to point out my failure. “Well done, precise. The watcher’s jaw dropped nearly to his feet when you bent forward just now.” Again, I felt heat suffering my face.

Smiling, Master tenderly caresed my pinked chef. “You know how I love your blushes, precise. Now, feed me.”

So, Master had me knee pretty for him with my knees the customary should width apart, ensuring that he placed me at such a distance away that I was required to bend from the wait to present him with every morsel. He told me to wait, bent just so at the wait, while he chewed enjoyably, so I might dab at his lips with the napkin before he allowed me to straighten, choose another tidbit for him from the basket and then start the process all over again. He allowed me to feed myself Between offerings to him and, trying very hard to forget the stranger watching us so covertly over his paper, his own lunch apparently forgotten, I speak quietly with Master of inconsequential thngs while we fed.

After a little while, once our grapes and sandwich bits were gone and I was about to cut up the cake into bite-size bits, Master beckoned me to come closer, to knee up right beside him. Hesitantly, I did his bidding. I found myself embarrassed, though somehow not overly surprised, when he touched me, running his hand from my knee right over my hip to my waist. He made quite Certain my skirt lifted with his hand’s drag. “I have something sweeter than cake in mind for dessert, precise.”

I swallowed. The watcher’s hands had slackened on his paper. His eyes peered over its edge, round with fascination. Master murmured steadily to me, “See? He can’t keep his eyes off you, precise. His newspaper is shaking.”

I didn’t look, of course, though I knew Master wanted me to. I was too nervous. Too mortified. I only kneeled by his side, submissively still but for my shallow breaths, while his hand left my thigh, traveled to my wait then climbed to cup my breakfastt. He raised his other hand, fondling me through the thin material of my dress, lifting the full globes, testing their weight, squeeze and massaging until my flesh flowed with a familiar aching heaviness. My eyes fluttered. Master smiled shrewdly up at me from where he lay, relaxed on his back. I sensed the stranger watched openly now, his newspaper gone limp.

Slowly the buttons down my dress front gave way to Master’s fingers. I couldn’t help swinging when he slide his hands through the opening he’d made to touch my skin. I stiffened, then gasped when he plucked at each nipple in its turn, twitching them into prominence. I could see the watcher from my eye’s corner. He had uncrossed his legs to shift his position on the hard bench and had cast his lunch aside. Master turned to smile openly in his direction – a mocking “Look what I’ve got!” smile.

“Turn around. Face him,” I was told, so I swiveled reluctantly on my knees as Master kneeed up behind me, his arms circulationme. He tugged my dress open to the waist and spread the flimsy material with his capable hands. I kept my eyes lowered but I knew the stranger started intently at my naked breasts – breasts which Master cupped and kneaded until my lips parted on a shaken moan. But my moan did not satisfy him, so he pinched my nipples with a casual brutality that made me shiver with weak gasps. The watcher gaped at my breasts, unable to look away.

“Sit. Lean back against me, legs out straight,” Master instructed me, easing me back against him. My head fell to rest against his chest, and as it did, he tipped my face up to him so he could crush his mouth savagely against my own. Overcome by feminine weakness, I whimpered helped. All the time he ravaged my mouth, he squeezed my breasts hard enough to leave his fingers’ pink Imports against my snow-pale flesh.

“Lift your knees, precise. Spread yourself. Show him how wet he’s helped make you,” Master whispered gently on breaking the brutalkiss. Dazed, I obeyed, drifting my legs slowly apart as they bent. Releasing my breasts to bob pink and white in the sunlight, he drew my skirt to my waist, revealing me completely. My legs trembled. I trembled. The trembled didn’t stop Master from slapping my thighs farther apart. Wide, wide apart. I burned with shade when I feel the blanket dampen beneath me.

“I think his cock must be hurting him from how hard it’s grown in his trousers,” Master whispered in my ear, returning his calculated attention to my aching breasts with a swirl of his fingers around my distended nipples. The light, painfully teasing touch made me feel as if my breath had been cut off. Panic, along with baser feelings, set my pulse to a wild flutter in my throat’s hollow.

“He wants to free his cock, to close his fist around it and pump himself while he watches me play you. I know he does. I can tell by the way his fingers are twitching. They’re twitching – just like your sopping sex is twitching, precious.”

Master told the truth. It was an undeniable, humiliating truth, for I sat in a tiny puddle of my own making and could feel my sex lips swollen in pout; indeed, they seemed almost to sulk and I felt my welling desire trickle in sly time with my heart’s pulsing beat. The heat in my face crept down to stain my breasts with my shame.

“Such a goal he hasn’t the nerve, isn’t it pretty? I’d like to see him, cock in hand, blatantly jerking himself to the rhythm of my hands on you,” Master whispered, tweaking my rosy nipples and scrubbing his cool palms lightly across their delicate peaks. I moaned. It was a quiet, desperate, pleading sound.

“See how his eyes dart from your breasts to your smooth, slicked pussy? He’s imagining the sweet taste of these…” Master pinched my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, elongating my tender flesh to its extreme with a semiconductor traction that made me pant. “…even while he’s fantasizing sinking his cock deep inside your tight heat.”

It didn’t bear thinking of! That a complete stranger watched me, unable to tear his eyes from my body, astounded by my compliance, agog at my blushing submission. And yet – yet – I couldn’t bear not to think of it.

“Look at him, precise. Raise your eyes. Look at him,” Master commanded me.

I tried. I tried so hard to obey. I wanted so badly to please him. But I couldn’t bring myself to. Mutely, miserably, I shook my head, keeping my lashes lowered. My face felt afire.

“You’ll be whipped for your disobedience – later,” he told me, cruelly twisting my nipples, as if to emphasize his point. Of course, I’d known I would be.

Master never touched my sex at all. He didn’t have to. He had only to work my breasts and nipples under the hot sun and then, when he was ready, to whisper, “Come for me, now.” He’d known from the moment the watcher first glanced our way that I was already lost.

Nothing was ever said to the stranger. He never touched me. Heonly sat on the hard stone benchmark, shifting from hip to hip – and watched.