The Picnic

He called her on his drive home from work.

“I want you to pack a picnic supper. Don’t bring dessert. Dress very sexy. Go to the toybox, and pick 3 toys. One that you hate. One that you love.  One that you are ambivalent about. See you in an hour. Be ready and waiting at the door for my next call.”

She never really got used to these impromptu dates of his. They came so unexpectedly, and he always, always had a devious twist. “Dress sexy” meant something to give him easy access…and no undies. She moved to the kitchen, packing their hamper as she pondered the toy box items. He knew what she hated. If she substituted her most hated item for one that was less hated, he would know for certain. The retribution might be interesting. She hadn’t worked to intentionally piss him off in a while. The sex was always enormously satisfying for them both…despite the journey getting there. Still, the Spring weather was getting her dander up. And she was feeling neglected. Work was so busy for him. She tried to be understanding, she really did. But nice gals finished the day with a blowjob and a few ass swats. Bad girls got whooped. The grin that crossed her face was feline, crafty, a promise of naughtiness.

Besides, they would be out in public. How bad could it be when there was always a promise of a vanillabean walking by? She giggled to herself as she made her way to the bedroom. She perused her sexy clothing carefully, finally choosing a black latex-look miniskirt, and a crimson bustier to wear over it. Not exactly picnic wear, but it was stunning. She drew on a pair of thigh high stockings, being certain that the seams up the back were straight. Sliding her feet into mile-high stiletto’s, and wrapping the straps up her thighs, she felt incredibly sexy. Gawd how she enjoyed being his slut.

She flirted with herself in the mirror a moment, lifting her tits to set them enticingly in the demi-cups of the bustier. There. She grinned, looking at the display. ‘A rack of tits, coming up, Sir, ‘ she thought with a grin.

She went to the toybox. Damn how she hated the lexan cane. Hated, hated hated the fucking thing. She lifted, instead, the many stranded flogger she’d gotten him for his birthday last fall. She loved the smell of the leather, the feel of the strands playing through her fingers. She didn’t recall him using it but that one time, and it had been heavenly. Stingy and yet so wonderful. Yes, this would be her “hated” item.  She laughed aloud. For her favorite item, she chose the nipple suckers. They hurt a bit, but they made her nipples swell to wonderous proportions. And they were so sensitive, for hours later. Definitely a favorite item. She hemmed and hawed over the third item. Blindfold? Cuffs? Butt plug? Vibe? Since she was ambivalent about any of the last choice, she put them on the bed, mixed them up with her eyes shut, and grabbed one. Vibe. Okay, she was set!

She refreshed her make up, then went downstairs to add the chilled bottle of wine to the basket. Placing it by the door, she knelt there. Her  hour was nearly up. As she settled in place, her phone chimed.

“Turn your back to the door, slut.” The humm of the disconnect sounded in her ear, but she hurriedly complied. The door opened behind her. She felt his hand slicking down her hair. Then a blindfold going across her eyes. She heard him walk in front of her, retrieve the basket. Heard his footsteps recede as he took it to the car. Her cell beeped again.

“Get up. You’ve passed the first inspection.”

She stood a bit awkwardly, high heels and blindfolds made nervous sluts. The door opened again, and his hand took her by the elbow, steering her out the door, and down the walk. He put her into the car.

The drive was silent but for the strains of Vivaldi playing on the radio. She did love the Four Seasons. She relaxed into the seat, silent as he preferred.

She felt his hand on her upper thigh, a short slap all the order she needed to spread them apart. His finger, gloved, ground down over her slit, over her clit. The slickness of the glove and firmness of the stroke made her gasp aloud. She received another thigh slap, this one much stingier than the first.

The finger raised to her mouth, glided along her lower lip, leaving a small taste of her own juice.

She shuddered, need grinding inside of her. Gawd, she loved when he was like this.

The car glided to a stop, tires crunching on gravel. He came around to her side, helped her out.  He guided her across the gravel strip, not the easiest of things to negotiate in heels, and leaned her against a tree. Before he went back for the basket, she felt his mouth on her nipple. Taking her hands, he pulled them up, over her head, silently commanding her to keep them up there. He mauled her tits. First biting, then sucking so fucking hard she wanted to die and cum simultaneously.

Then his hands. So strong. So vicious. Slapping and pulling, squeezing and flattening, his hands worked over and around her reddening breasts. He paid special homage to her nipples, and she whined and whimpered, until she was sopping wet, and began begging for release. He drew away, leaving her panting, posed, and exposed against the tree like a wood nymph.

She heard the crunch of his shoes on the gravel walkway, the opening of the trunk, the faint scrabble as he took the basket from it, and slammed home the lid.  He walked past her, and again she heard the thunk as the basket was set upon something. Then he returned.

A finger in her bustier began to pull her forward.  He pushed her faceforward over a picnic table, and she felt his hands begin to explore her ass, a finger gliding down the crack, giving her a shivery tickle. That same finger glided up her slit, and danced over her clit, softly. She needed more. Trying to move her hips lower to create more pressure only made him move his finger away. She heard his low chuckle as she moaned in frustration.

His cock was buried to the hilt before she could take another breath. Her moan this time was one of need, of passion, as she felt the incomparable feeling of having her cunt invaded, filled with the throbbing heat of his cock. He paused a moment, and she swore she could feel him pulsing inside of her.

“Pleeeeeeaaassssse…”  she moaned at him, raising her ass up a fraction to snug him deeper inside of her.

He responded by withdrawing, then slamming home. He fucked her hard, thrusting so vigorously that she grunted with the force of each one, her tits mashing against the table, the table groaning underneath her pinned body.

“i’m cumming, ” she called out as she spasmed around him. Her fluids leaked around his cock, and the squelching sounds added to the cacophony of their sex, her squealing cries of orgasm, his grunts, the slap of flesh on flesh.

As she came down from her high, her cell phone rang.

“Answer” he grunted, pushing her hand towards the phone where it lay on the table, all the while continuing his stabbing thrusts into her.

“W-wha? h’lo?” she whispered into the phone, in short, staccato grunts.

“Enjoying dessert?” He said.