In the Park: Anal on First Date

It was that special time of September when summer still warms your shoulders, but the air is already filled with a piquant autumn chill. I sat on a bench in the old park, my legs crossed, scrolling through my phone feed. My skirt had ridden up a bit, revealing my tanned knees, but I didn't care—there wasn't a soul around. Or almost a soul. He appeared somehow unnoticed. Tall, wearing a light shirt with rolled-up sleeves, holding a book. He sat down on the bench next to me. I didn't pay attention at first, until I caught his gaze—not insolent, not undressing, but rather... scrutinizing. With the interest of an artist who has seen something curious. I chuckled to myself: "Well, well, come on." And he came over. He asked something about the park, about whether he would be in the way. One word led to another, and now we were strolling along a shady alley, his hand constantly touching my elbow. The leaves rustled around us, and the air smelled of rotten grass and, for some reason, honey. We found a secluded bench deep in the park, hidden behind old lilac bushes, and sat down almost touching each other. "Are you cold?" he asked, noticing the goosebumps on my arms. “A little,” I lied. The goosebumps weren’t from the cold at all. He took off his light jacket and threw it over my shoulders. The fabric smelled of him—tart, masculine. And then I made up my mind. “Go ahead and act as your heart tells you,” I whispered, leaning slightly towards his face. He didn't make me ask twice. His hand settled on the back of my neck, under my hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled me closer. The first kiss was cautious, tentative, but within a moment it deepened, grew hotter. Our tongues met, and that electric shock that makes your knees buckle ran through your body. “You are so responsive,” he whispered, breaking away for a second. “This is just the beginning,” I replied, taking his hand myself and placing it on my thigh, just above the hem of my skirt. “Don’t be afraid.” His fingers moved up, under the thin fabric. I parted my legs slightly, and he understood this silent signal. Through the lace of my panties, he felt a heat that could no longer be hidden. I was wet—so much so that the moisture soaked the thin strip of underwear. “Oh,” he breathed out as his fingers slid under the elastic and sank into the hot, juice-flowing flesh. “Do you like it?” I whispered, looking him straight in the eyes. “You’re just fire,” his voice broke into a croak. His fingers moved confidently: he found the nub almost immediately and began tracing circles around it—slowly, pressing, then faster, lighter. I bit my lip, holding back a moan. The park was empty, but still—we weren't alone in the world. This thought only made the excitement more intense, almost unbearable. “Harder,” I breathed, digging my nails into his shoulder. “Don’t stop.” He lowered two fingers and sank them into my slick depths. His thrusts were slow and drawn-out, and his thumb continued to torment my aching clit. I began to shake. A wave was rising from within—hot, dense, inexorable. "Now..." I barely had time to exhale before my body arched. Spasms hit me one after another, the muscles inside me squeezed his fingers in a pulsating rhythm, and a muffled moan, almost a sob, escaped my throat. The orgasm was intense, sharp, almost painful—the kind that makes you forget your own name. When the shaking subsided, I leaned back against the bench. My temples were pounding, and between my legs the echo of recent pleasure still throbbed. "You're a sorcerer," I said, catching my breath. "Honestly. What you did with your hands... not every man can do that." He looked at me with quiet triumph and tenderness at the same time. - I'm glad I pleased you. "Pleased isn't the word," I laughed and slowly stood up. I straightened my skirt and adjusted my blouse. "But I'm not used to being indebted. I have a rule: three wishes for one pleasure. Make one." "I don't even know," he scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Your pleasure is already a reward. Seriously." "Then let's do it this way: I still want to continue. Just somewhere else," I looked around: the twilight was deepening, the streetlights hadn't come on yet. We were shrouded in semi-darkness, almost like in a bedroom. "Here and now." I slowly pulled my blouse up, revealing my stomach, then my breasts. The cups of my bra followed. My breasts whitened in the gathering darkness—full, with large, dark areolas and nipples hardened to a rock-hard firmness. I took his hand and pressed my palm to his left hemisphere. "Can you feel it beating?" I asked. "It's all for you now." He kneaded my breast gently, almost reverently, rolling my nipple between his fingers. I tilted my head back, offering my neck for his kisses. His lips traced my collarbones, moved lower, and closed on my nipple. His tongue worked softly, insistently, drawing patterns across the hardened apex. “God, yes…” I whispered, stroking his hair. Then I moved lower and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock burst free—large, hot, its head wet with precum. I ran my tongue from the base to the very tip. The skin was soft, velvety, and I could feel the anticipation pulsing beneath it. I took him into my mouth as deeply as my breath would allow. Blowjobs had always been my passion: I loved feeling that masculine vulnerability, hearing his ragged breathing, and feeling the gentle thrusts in my throat. I worked my lips and tongue, alternating a fast pace with agonizingly slow caresses of the head. “I’m going to… if you don’t stop…” he groaned. I released it from my mouth with a wet sound. - No, no, you won't come inside me that quickly. I still want you inside me. He nodded, breathing heavily. — A condom… "I have a better idea," I smiled and turned my back to him. My skirt rode up, revealing my buttocks. "Where I'm suggesting, you don't need elastic." I leaned my hands on the back of the bench and arched my back. With my finger, I spread my buttocks, showing him the second, tight ring. “Are you sure?” he asked with poorly concealed delight. - Absolutely. There was plenty of lube. He scooped up my wetness, flowing copiously down my inner thighs, and transferred it to my firm bud. The first finger entered carefully, with resistance. A little more saliva. I hissed, but immediately relaxed, letting him in deeper. "Come on," I commanded. "Come in." The head of him pressed against the stretched ring. The pressure was intense, almost painful, but I endured it—and the next moment he slid inside. I cried out, clutching the wooden backrest with my fingers. He began to move—slowly at first, getting used to the tightness, then faster and faster, more confidently. Each thrust reverberated throughout my body like a dull, sweet wave. “Come on, fuck,” I croaked, forgetting that we were in a park. “Harder!” He thrust into me sharply, hard, holding me by the hips. Our bodies sloshed with sweat and lubrication. The trees around me swayed in time, or maybe it was just my vision blurring from the mounting orgasm. And when he erupted inside my ass with a muffled groan—hot, pulsating thrusts—I was overwhelmed for the second time. I screamed, no longer able to contain myself, and went limp. For a minute we simply breathed, coming to our senses. Somewhere in the distance, a car drove by. “This is quite a walk,” he said finally. "That's quite an introduction," I corrected, adjusting my clothes. "I hope we meet again. The park is big, but today it became a special place for me." We left the alley separately, but we both knew: this bench would still remember us. If anyone liked my frankness, let me know - maybe I'll tell you how things continued a week later.