It’s Risky Business For Oral Lovers At An Outdoor Festival

Sherry wore the skirt that always drove me crazy. We were planning to go to an outdoor music festival and down the stairs she came, decked out in a sleeveless tee and that bubble-gum-pink skirt with the tiny white flowers. It’s not even that short. It’s just where it hits her — a few inches above the knee. How it fits her — flirty and swishy but not ridiculous. And what I always think about when she wears it — going down on her.

I sighed. “Don’t you have another skirt?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I have a thousand other skirts, but I want to wear this one. Why?”

“It makes me think bad things,” I confessed.

“Ah, but I like when you think bad things. So this skirt it is, then.”

She took my hand, and we went. I kept glancing down at that skirt the entire drive to the park. I wondered what was beneath it. I admired how the hem caressed the place where her thigh muscles were the most defined. When she climbed out of the car, when she walked up the hill in front of me. When she nudged through a small crowd to find a spot to put down our blanket, all I could think of was flipping up that skirt, putting my head beneath it and sucking her hard little clit until she came.

We found a place to spread out our blanket. She’d brought a bottle of wine, some plastic glasses and snacks.

“You keep staring at me,” she said in my ear.

She’d leaned against me to speak as the first band took the stage and the crowd was focused on them.

“You’re distracting me,” I said.

“Prove it,” she said.

I glanced around, spotted a building that was dark with the evening’s burgeoning shadows. I took her hand, pulled her up and tugged her along. She was laughing. That skirt was swishing around her thighs. I pulled her back into a darkened niche and glanced around to see if anyone but us was about. No one was.

I dropped to my knees, not caring about dirt and leaves and sticks. I flipped the skirt up, and her hands settled softly on my shoulders. Her panties were flimsy and light colored. That was all I could tell in the dimness. But I could smell her, sweet and warm and musky. I pushed my mouth to the front of her underwear and exhaled, nudging her through the fabric with my tongue.

Sherry made a soft, pleased sound and bumped her hips forward to get better contact with my mouth. I stroked my hands up her soft calves, slid them behind her knees, then up her thighs. I pulled her legs a bit more apart and continued to suck and lick her through her panties. Her fingers clutched at my shoulders, telling me without words that she wanted more. Needed more. I kissed her upper thighs, licked them, scraped my teeth along her skin. All in an effort to torture her the way she’d tortured me with that skirt.

“You’re killing me,” she said.

“Sorry.”

But I wasn’t. Finally, my own need overtook me. I tugged the panties down, put my face between her thighs and let the skirt drape over my head the way I’d imagined. I was cloaked in darkness, we could be spotted at any time, and it couldn’t get any better. I used my hands to part her pussy lips. I breathed over her tender skin, letting the heat invade her, and when her hips rocked forward again, I finally delivered a slow, deliberate lick to her clitoris. She groaned. I pushed a finger inside her, feeling her tight, wet heat enclose my digit. I sucked her clit, then painted her outer lips with my tongue. I went back to sucking, adding a second finger, fucking her slow and deep. She began to thrust her hips forward, moving to meet my lips and tongue. When her cunt gripped tight around my fingers, I added a third. She would climax soon, I could tell. But I wouldn’t be done with her after that. I had other plans.

I slipped my fingers deep, hooking them slightly to stimulate her G-spot. Then I began to drag my tongue in circles and whorls, imprinting invisible patterns on her pussy. She shivered, and I pictured her — somewhere in the world beyond the skirt over my head — pushing her fist to her mouth. I shoved my fingers deeper, sucked her clit harder, and she came, rippling around my digits, her juices coating my lips.

I let the spasms pass, let her calm down, and then withdrew my head.

“We should get back,” she said.

“Not yet,” I responded. I took her hips and turned her. “Hands against the wall, ass back.”

“But — ”

“I’m not done,” I said.

Then I tucked the hem of her skirt in the waistband to hold the garment up and expose her butt.

“Someone could find us,” she pleaded, even as she complied.

“I know.”

When she was positioned the way I wanted, I studied her. Her hands were splayed against the concrete outbuilding. Her ass was exposed, her panties were around her knees and that damn skirt was bunched at her waist. Perfect. I pushed my face to her ass, working my tongue so that it hit her clit from behind. I loved to go down on her this way. I loved having to press my face to her pert butt. I loved having to work to reach her. And I loved how she lost it when I did.

She responded exactly how I expected: She thrust her ass back, trying to help me get better access. My tongue barely reached her clit, teasing it and making her crazy. My nose pressed near her back hole, my entire head full of the scent of her. Sherry ground herself back against me, sighing softly, trying not to care that someone might find us, no doubt. But she did care. And that made the whole thing more exciting.

I spread her ass cheeks with my hands. I squeezed them hard, knowing from her past confessions that she often wished I’d leave fingerprints on her skin when we did stuff like this. As a reminder of how we’d been when all we could think about was fucking.

I pushed my tongue to her slick cunt, dipped it inside her repeatedly until she said my name almost like an expletive. Then I went back to her clit. The break had done its job. I only had to tease her nub with the rigid tip of my tongue a few times, and she reached orgasm again.

I quickly stood, not knowing or caring what I might look like. Sherry hurriedly tugged up her panties and smoothed her skirt. I could barely see her, but I could hear her heavy breathing. She stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to speak into my ear.

“Let’s get back — if I can still walk.”

I laughed, trailing my fingers over the soft cotton of her skirt.

“And when we get back to the car later,” she added, “I’m going to show you how much you distract me.”

“I look forward to your demonstration.”

Before we headed back to our blanket, I kissed her on the lips.

“You smell like me,” she said. “Just the way I like it.”

— Mr. Paul D., Topeka, Kansas