Hand in hand we stroll down to the harbor and to Main Street, filled with its boutique shops and quaint restaurants. There is a street festival of some sort going on, and the look on Logan’s face tells me he’s not surprised by this.
“So, was this the other idea you had in mind?”
He confirms with a smile. “Yes. This is their Farmers’ Market. Too early for good produce, but still, lots of good food, music, and shopping. Then, if you’re not too tired, I thought we could drive out to the lighthouse at the beach and take a walk on the pier.”
Embarrassingly, this is my first real date, and I have a feeling every date in my life will pale in comparison. We continue strolling through the crowds of people. We look like any other real couple on the street, and it’s easy to pretend we are exactly that—a couple; just a normal happy couple spending time together—were that only true. He never lets go of my hand as we meander from shop to shop, one vendor table to another, and one street band to the next. When we stop to listen to music, he pulls my back into his chest and holds me possessively, resting a hidden hand inside my cardigan that strokes my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress. He nuzzles my bare neck as waves of desire shoot through my body straight to my center, and soon I feel the all too familiar wetness begin to build. We eat our way from one end of the street to the other, savoring every dessert and delicious treat we can get our hands on, and by the time we return to the Jeep, a couple of hours have passed and the sun is starting to set.
As I reach for the car door, Logan suddenly stops me, pushing me up against the car instead. The side street is blessedly empty except for us. My chest is against the door of the car and Logan presses in behind me. I can feel his hard length against my back, and I know instantly how much he’s been waiting to get me alone. He leans down to my bare neck and starts nibbling the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. His mouth makes its way around to the other side, made easy by my upswept hair. His hands work their way down to the hem of my dress as he slides it up my backside.
The cool air on the back of my thighs entices me, but not enough to stow my nervousness at being so exposed in a public place. When my hem is secure at my waist, his hands travel to the top of my underwear and slowly, oh-so-slowly, start working them down my hips. I’m incredibly turned on but also terrified someone will walk around the corner at any moment. As it is, there are people passing by the entrance of this quiet little street on their way down Main Street. They pay us no attention, and Logan continues. As he works my underwear down over the cheeks of my rear, he sinks to the curb behind me. He eases my underwear down my thighs and then helps me to step out of them entirely. His hands grasp my cheeks as his mouth finds the soft skin of my bottom. He kisses and massages the skin of my buttocks, first one cheek and then the other as I stand exposed in front of him. I’m soaking wet at this point, and I’m so addicted to his fingers that I would do anything to feel them on me. But he’s intent on focusing on my backside at the moment.
To my sudden horror, a middle-aged couple rounds the corner toward us, but as swiftly as they appear, Logan stands behind me, pulling my hem back down and pocketing my underwear. Before the couple even has time to look up and notice us, he’s reaching for my car door as though he’s doing nothing more than being a chivalrous gentlemen—if they only knew. As the couple approaches us, they nod a pleasant evening greeting to us, and Logan smiles and returns the gesture. He returns to his side of the Jeep and climbs in, winking at me. Once seated, he looks at me with a mischievous grin on his face before starting the car and pulling out into the street. After we’re on our way, he reaches over and takes my hand, pulling it up to his mouth and brushing his lips across my knuckles. I watch him, completely enamored. We drive for only a few minutes before reaching the lighthouse. He turns to me with the same mischievous smile. “Are you up for a bit more play?”
And here I thought we were just sightseeing. Who am I to turn down more fun? I meet his challenge. “You betcha”.
We amble toward the pier, again hand in hand. Logan has the blankets in his arm, and I wonder exactly how those are going to come in to play. Hmm. There’s that word again, “play”. And what an exciting word it is. The pier is deserted this time of year, and twilight is just settling in. The sound of the water lapping the concrete walkway is the only sound aside from our footsteps. We near the lighthouse tower that sits halfway out on a concrete pier between the land and an old historic house. Walking around the lighthouse, Logan finds a place on the far side, away from the view of land but well illuminated from the lamps that line the pier. Here he stops. Turning to me with eyes smoldering with need, he sits on the concrete ledge that runs around the circumference of the tower. It creates a short bench, which is about a foot high from the ground, and as Logan sits he pulls me toward him with his hands on the backs of my knees.
As usual, he takes the lead. “Lift your dress to your waist.” I oblige, never taking my gaze from his as he regards my naked sex. “Touch yourself.” As I do, he asks, “Are you wet?”
“Yes.” It’s all I can manage in my weak and shaky voice.
Only one final request is needed. “Spread your lips and feed me your pussy.”
At that, my heart lurches in anticipation, and he guides me up between his knees, where he lifts one of my legs, planting it on the ledge next to him. His face is now in the perfect position for me to do just what he wants. I part the lips of my vagina with two fingers and push my pelvis to his waiting mouth as he takes one long, deliciously slow taste of my wetness. The first touch of his tongue drives my hips closer to his face, and before long I’m thrusting my sex to his mouth, moving my hips. My unoccupied hand finds the side of the lighthouse wall to support myself, and as I lean my cheek against the cool surface of the building, I continue thrusting into his wanton mouth. I’m in control of this act, and it is a heady feeling.
I fuck him and thrust against him in the way he usually does to me, and his mouth tells me it is everything he wants in this moment. As I near my release, my legs start to shake. He reaches around my hips, clutching my bottom, and fiercely pulls my pussy to his mouth, sealing himself to me. He sucks deep and hard on my clit as my orgasm overcomes me. Incredible. I sink down to his lap, and he strokes my hair as my breathing returns to normal.
Beautiful. Everything about her. Her willingness to try everything I want her to, her bountiful insecurities, and also her less bountiful confidences. I love her intelligence, though she doesn’t see it in herself. She has a quiet sarcasm that pops out when you least expect it and constantly leaves me laughing. She’s compassionate in a way no person who’s suffered the abuse she has should still feel. And beyond all that, the damn way she keeps me coming back for more and more and more without ever tiring of her. I wonder if this night has been as amazing for her as it has been for me. The dichotomy of experiencing her in such an innocuous way as strolling down the sidewalk hand in hand compared to the utter heat of having my face fucked by her on the pier. Every man in the world should be so lucky to have this amazing dynamic in a partner. She is my partner—completely and totally mine, and I am as much hers.