“We would have put it back in the deck and picked a winter friendly card,” he told me.
“You’re lucky it isn’t raining.” Grumbling at him, I looked out the dark window. Cool air blew from a vent in the wall across my tightly crossed legs, not helping the overactive nerves in my stomach. Wisps of air teased my thighs and vulnerable pussy.
Flashbacks from the elevator, his hot breath climbing my neck, lingering at my ear, set my core pulsing as he leaned over. It took every ounce of control not to lock my knees together, wrapping my skirt tightly under my thighs, like a demure school girl.
He leaned in close, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I dare you to open your legs and man sit.”
“It’s manspread, idiot.” My lips tight, my words were quick and sharp. “You’re going to put me in enough stressful situations tonight. I’m fine just like I am.”
He sat back and assessed me, the situation, and backpedaled. “I’m not forcing you to do anything tonight. I’ll give you full points for being on the metro with no panties. Anything else is a bonus.” His voice softened, his hands placating. “We can just walk around the monuments and be tourists. Anything or nothing will be a blast. I promise.”
My body tense, chin lifted in quiet defiance of my own reservations, I committed. “I’m fucking scared. I’m so sure someone is gonna see us. But I want to do this.”
The world tilted slightly as the familiar mischief in his eyes was joined by another expression, my own anxious energy reflected back. He momentarily looked so much younger than he was and I asked myself what I was doing, following him on this exhibitionist escapade. We have careers and futures and how in the age of smartphones would I ever explain to a future husband or the police why there are naked pictures of me at a national monument.
“Breathe.”
I wasn’t sure that his words weren’t meant as much for him as for me. But he was here with me, and as his hand settled on my arm, I finally began to breathe again.
***
We got off the train at the Smithsonian metro station and walked fifteen minutes to the Jefferson Memorial. There was absolutely no one there. Why did the first stop have to be completely abandoned? All we had to do was kiss.
The president loomed before us, a captive audience as my neighbor swept me into his arms, tipping me back like the heartthrob in some black and white love story. Noses touching, lips barely meeting, locked in a chaste embrace. He sank into me, lips opening in tandem. Synchronized to the vintage romance in my mind, my hands brushed his cheeks, dove into his hair. Focus snapped to chocolate on his breath, the glide of his tongue, warm lips against mine.
It wasn’t clear how long the kiss lasted, and I’m not sure if we would have separated had we not noticed a very old woman peering at us very closely. Her nose was almost touching my chin as she peered up, the wrinkles in her skin nearly as visible as the huge grin on her face. The kiss broke apart amid giggles as we ran from the scene.
***
Labyrinthine walls at the Roosevelt memorial afforded plenty of secluded spots for us to play. Taking the lead, I lead him around the president, past some late night tourists, to an empty alcove. Looking around one last time for witnesses, I deemed us alone and pushed him up against the stone wall. I guided his hands above his head and pressed mine under his shirt against the taut muscles of his stomach. My hands ascended, unguided by my sense of sight, my imagination working overtime to picture his naked torso. My thumbs barely grazed his nipples before he was doubled over with laughter.
“Are we doing this again?” I faced him, hands on my hips, my best annoyed expression plastered across my face.
“It just really tickles. No more nipple play.”
I nodded as he regained control and I reached around him. Scratching lightly, following the contour of his shoulder blades and down his spine had him purring.
Wrestling control from me, he turned me toward the wall, setting my hands against the rough stone. I closed my eyes, embracing the heightened sensations slow circles rubbed over my back elicited. Heat pressed into me from behind, my entire body covered in his. He hardened against me, growing stiff as his hands caressed my stomach. Anticipation grew as his circles widened and teased at the bottoms of my breasts. His motions continued higher and higher, brushing my nipples. The last stroke broke through my collar, his hands smooth against my neck. They trailed slowly between my breasts, parting as they reached my skirt.
I thought we were done, but the insistent cock at my back told me otherwise. Calloused fingers pinched my nipples, pain that sent pulses through my cunt. Twisting, pulling, uncharacteristic roughness that narrowed my world to the tips of my breasts. Loss of control loomed, comprehension failed amidst the awe at the sensations he wrested from my breasts. Heat built in my core, a craved, yet unwelcome eruption imminent.
“Wait, I need to stop.”
Pushing his hands off my breasts and extricating myself from the cage his body formed against the wall took all of my will. Admitting how close I was to exploding was not an option. He waited silently as I leaned against the wall and weathered the vibrations wracking my pussy. I hadn’t cum, but it felt as if I’d gotten too close. Confusion and disappointment permeated me.
Skin glistening, catching my breath, I allowed my body to cool. “I’m ok.”
“I’m sorry if I took that too far,” he apologized.
A moment of silence stretched between us as I weighed his actions against his words, then I took his hand and led him from the monument.
***
As we walked my breathing steadied. Looking out over the city took my mind off the fabric moving against my sensitive nipples, the wetness dripping down my thighs.
“Where are we going next?” I asked him.
“Martin Luther King memorial.”
I loved Dr. King and what he’d fought for, and guilt reared up at the idea of being indecent near his monument. Further guilt poured into me at the thought of using guilt to bow out of the inappropriate behavior we would be committing in mere minutes. But my body hadn’t recovered enough to face his hands.
Shifting my weight, weighing my words I asked “Doesn’t this seem a little inappropriate, maybe disrespectful?”
“It’s not like we’re going to fuck on his statue. And we just fooled around in front of FDR,” he reasoned.
“I know. But it’s not the same. It’s Martin Luther King. Let’s visit the monument and maybe skip the next challenge? I feel wrong about this,” I insisted.
“We’ll be respectful of Dr. King,” he agreed.
We walked to the memorial and took a few minutes to take in Dr. King emerging from the hewn stone and read the surrounding engraving. The monument was well lit despite the late hour, and filled with people. I told myself it wasn’t just guilt that caused us to move on.
As we left the monument he stuck his hand on my ass, slipping it through the waist of my skirt and squeezing. I returned the favor, plunging my hand down the back of his sweats.
***
We hit the steel statues spread throughout the Korean War Veterans memorial, the moonlight glinting off the stationary men. The memorial was dark and blessedly devoid of people. This did not stop me from thoroughly peeking into every dim corner to make sure we really were alone. I read the inscriptions and said a silent thank you to the soldiers before picking a spot to get up to no good.
Standing behind me next to a roped off statue of a soldier in rain gear, he slipped a hand under my skirt, caressing my slick inner thigh. His hands kneaded flesh and brushed against my lower lips, a torturous exploration. I was only too aware that we were standing in the middle of a sidewalk at a national monument and anyone who walked by would likely guess what he was doing under my skirt.
A finger and thumb slipped between my lips pinching my clit, the rough treatment reminiscent of his earlier attention to my nipples. Arousal poured from my cunt as he let go, roughness giving way to gentle fingers gliding through the slick.
Still air and the white noise of the sleeping city stood with me as the feel of his fingers faded. Turning in toward him, my body hiding my actions from the world, my palm traced the outline of his cock through his sweats. The tease of him was solid under my fingers, straining to break free of cotton confines.
The satisfying bounce of freedom as I pulled the band of his sweatpants down made me wonder if I’d been a cat in a previous life, the urge to bat at his cock was so strong. Stifling a giggle, I luxuriated in the groan he gifted me as I wrapped my hands around his shaft. Savoring each heated pulse, my stroke advanced up the length of him, my pace torturous.
A statue among statues, he stood exposed, utterly still. A smirk to my voice, I put my hand on his arm. “Breathe.”
We stood for a minute recovering, breathing, before he pulled me in for one more kiss, and we were again on our way.
***
President Lincoln presided over the grand staircase before us. Well past midnight now, the monument was dark and deserted. The gaze of marble eyes paled in intensity to the searing gaze of my neighbor. The roughness with which he forced me back against the stone column ripped a growl from my throat. My mind struggled with the juxtaposition of the gentle man I knew and the wild command of his body against mine. His teeth at my neck, just shy of piercing skin, his weight crushing me against stone. Need and caution colored my view of the animal before me.
My shirt was on the ground and he was on me before I had the chance to panic that someone might be in the shadows. My mind reeled at the thought of unseen eyes in the dark while my body melted against his lips. The stone was shockingly cold next to the insistent kisses he peppered down my neck. Hands pinned behind me, immobilized, his tongue blazed across my nipples.
report The analytical part of my brain warned that I would lose the game if I came as he sucked me farther into his mouth. The emotional core of me screamed of ecstasy awaiting if he allowed me to finish.
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