Picnic

It was unseasonably warm for May, but that's the joy of our fickle climate: so many surprises await us. As she strode across the fields in search of the ideal spot I plodded along after her with our mound of picnic gear. Little Miss Packhorse, that's me, but I know my place in the scheme of things.

Eventually we reached a spot that satisfied her exacting standards: close by a small clump of trees with open fields all around us. Very tranquil. I opened up a chair for her so that she could relax while I set everything out.

I was getting rather hot, with my mac still tightly buttoned up, as instructed, and I tentatively suggested that I might remove it.

"Of course you can. And everything else too."

So she ate and drank, with me naked at her feet nibbling the titbits she fed me.

"You look so vulnerable there," she giggled "and it would be a shame to waste that, wouldn't it."

She settled herself on the picnic rug and settled me across her lap.

"Hold my wine glass, would you. And don't you dare spill any."

I did my best, really I did, but under the vigorous application of her hand to my rear some slopping was inevitable.

She tutted theatrically. "That really wasn't good enough....undisciplined. We have to do something about that. "

She got up and walked over towards the trees, calling me to follow her. My stomach lurched when I saw where she'd stopped. She handed me a cloth and pointed to the luxuriant patch of nettles. "Pick me a bunch, darling."

I leaned over towards the clump and gingerly pulled some stems free from the clump, flinching as my tugging brought them waving uncomfortably close to my naked flesh. I presented her with the horrid bouquet.

"Put them down there and lie down on the rug, darling," she murmured. "Face down, please."

She knelt beside me. I felt her hands stroking and caressing me: she leaned forward and kissed me gently down the back. Hot sun, warm breath and her soft massaging. She nuzzled at my neck and fingered me gently. She sat back on her heels and slapped my backside - full strength, arms length, eight or ten times until my flesh burned and I squealed, as much in frustration as pain. She resumed her kissing and fingering.

"Pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure, darling: you know how it is."

The fire began between my shoulder blades. The unbearable, unscratchable itch, a thousand burning little pinpricks working their way down my back. Then she started smacking me again. Smacking, fingering, caressing and kissing: a perverse and contradictory confusion of sensation.

"Turn over and look at me, darling," she whispered.

The rough fabric of the picnic rug set my back on fire again as I rolled over. She looked me in the eye as she massaged me towards a climax. She looked me in the eye as she stroked the nettles across my stomach. I screamed, for some reason, or reasons.

Walking back over the fields, my mac buttoned tight over my nakedness, it began to rain. It was cool and refreshing, but's that's the joy of our fickle climate. So many surprises await us.

RRW

 

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