I knew he was watching me.
The moment I sank to my knees in the tall grass, I could feel his eyes locked on me — hungry, waiting, already throbbing with want. The petals brushed against my bare legs, tickling my skin as I looked up at him, licking my lips like I’d been dreaming about this all day.
Because I had.
I wanted to taste him here — out in the open, surrounded by wildflowers and birdsong, where everything was alive and I could fall apart freely.
He stood still as I opened my mouth for him, warm and wet, letting him slide across my tongue. I moaned softly at the weight of him, the way his fingers tightened in my hair as I slowly took more, deeper, letting my throat stretch. My eyes watered, and I loved it.
I wanted to be ruined by him.
I moved slow at first, sucking and swirling, letting my spit drip onto my chest, not caring how messy I looked. In fact — I wanted it that way. I wanted to look filthy in this beautiful place.
When I looked up at him again, my mascara had smudged, my jaw ached, and my cheeks were flushed from the effort. But I didn’t stop. I loved this.
I could feel his restraint — the way he pulled back just in time, panting, gripping my shoulders. “Turn around,” he whispered.
I didn’t hesitate.
I bent over the blanket, still damp from where my knees had pressed into it, my ass up, thighs open, heart pounding. He slid inside — not where most would go — but exactly where I wanted him.
My breath hitched. My fingers clawed at the fabric. My mouth dropped open and all I could do was moan. It was so deep, so full. I felt stretched, stuffed, completely his.
And then the pleasure hit.
My eyes rolled back. My jaw slackened. My tongue slipped out without meaning to, and I let out a sound I didn’t recognize — part gasp, part cry, part desperate plea to not stop.
I wasn’t thinking anymore.
I was just feeling — heat, pressure, fullness, rhythm. The flowers swayed around us. The sky spun above me. And all I could do was take it, beg for more, and lose myself in the way he used my body so perfectly.
I was gone.
Cross-eyed. Moaning. Drooling.
Beautifully undone.
When I came, it ripped through me like a bloom bursting wide open — raw, sweet, unstoppable. I could barely speak. I could barely breathe. And I didn’t want it to end.
After, he pulled me close, holding my trembling body against his. I was sticky, sweaty, glowing — and smiling.
“Don’t wipe my face,” I whispered. “I want you to see what you do to me.”
And I meant it.
Because out here, in this field of flowers… I bloomed for him.
SimonF
2025-05-10 22:39:44 +0000 UTC