Finding someone willing to share her with me, with me watching, was never easy. She had her tricks. When desire struck and I was away in town, she’d call on an older man she regularly met. Since he was married, their encounters often took place in his car—close enough for me to stake out nearby and catch glimpses.
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This time was no different, but the location was better chosen, allowing me to be closer without drawing attention. They slipped away to a quiet woodland spot near us, and when she beckoned, I found a hidden vantage point on higher ground. From there, the scene unfolded: him parked in the passenger seat, her head bobbing steadily, lips wrapped around his cock, her pleasure evident in every motion.
Minutes passed before they shifted to the back seat, his erection pressing boldly against his pants. The angle wasn’t great from my perch, so I moved silently to a better hiding spot. She straddled him, riding with a fluid, determined rhythm. My own arousal was overwhelming; heart racing, I freed myself from my jeans and began stroking, lost in the raw intensity of seeing her so connected to another’s touch.
Her movements were both graceful and fiery as she rode him; then, pushing boundaries, they moved outside the car. Despite the risk, the seclusion of the woods gave them freedom. Clad only in a short T-shirt, a thong provocatively shifted aside, and worn sneakers, she knelt beside the vehicle, sliding his cock back into her mouth. The rush of adrenaline flooded me again—reminding me of the first time I watched them together.
He lifted her effortlessly onto the car’s rear edge, her hand teasing her thong further aside, inviting him in. From my spot, I glimpsed every stolen moment. I resisted finishing myself off; I wanted to savor their pleasure in sync. His thrusts were deliberate, lasting for minutes as waves of ecstasy rippled through her. Then he flipped her, pressing her against the car as he drove deep from behind. Her perfect ass rose and fell under his touch, and I knew how much he reveled in this position.
Each time he pulled back to prolong their encounter, her mouth opened wide, moaning with delight. He plunged fully into her, shaping his pace to her responses, until at last he withdrew just before climax. Quick to obey, she turned, kneeled before him, opened wide, and eagerly took him into her mouth. His hot release coated her tongue, which she swallowed eagerly, then lovingly licked every inch of his cock and balls clean. When they finished, he offered tissues as she gently wiped away the traces from her face and mouth. The tender care she showed him in that intimate moment moved me deeply—my beautiful, giving girl, completely surrendered.
There she stood—half naked in the forest clearing, her thong damp and discarded, cleaning another man’s cock as I stared on, my body spent and marked by my own release. I didn’t bother to clean myself; I wanted her to see the evidence of the night, the aftermath of what she stirred in me, before we headed home.
About twenty minutes later, she returned, the glow of satisfaction radiating from her eyes. “How much did you see?” she asked from the doorway.
“Enough to make this mess,” I confessed, my voice thick with desire.
A knowing, contented smile curved her lips—an unspoken promise of more to come.
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