My boyfriend and I have always been unapologetically sexual. From the moment I wake to find his hand already between my thighs to the whispered filth he breathes against my neck in crowded elevators, we exist in a constant state of arousal. We touch constantly—his fingers tracing the curve of my ass when we stand in line for coffee, my palm pressed against the growing bulge in his jeans under restaurant tables. We flirt shamelessly, letting strangers overhear exactly what we plan to do to each other later. We fuck daily, sometimes more than once, leaving sheets damp with sweat and other fluids, my lipstick smeared across his cock, his teeth marks visible on my inner thighs. Neither of us pretends we’re discreet people. Add a little risk, a little being seen—like when I rode him in his car with the windows barely fogged enough to hide us, or when he fingered me to orgasm in the back row of a theater—and it only sharpens everything between us, turning ordinary desire into something primal and desperate.

Last summer I suggested a picnic. Blanket, basket, a quiet spot, sunlight on skin. He absolutely assumed this was going to end with him on top of me, bare and happy, getting what he always does. He wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t realize I had a different plan tucked into the basket.

When I pulled out the strap-on, his surprise was instant and delicious. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he stared at the silicone shaft. The easy confidence drained from his face, replaced by a flush that spread down his neck to his bare chest. His cock twitched visibly against his thigh. I slicked the toy with lube, maintaining eye contact as I worked my hand up and down its length. “Turn over,” I whispered, and he did, presenting himself to me with a vulnerability that made my breath catch. Out there in the open air, with nothing but grass beneath us and the sounds of the park around us, I took control completely. I worked him open slowly with my fingers first, savoring each gasp and moan as he pushed back against my hand. When I finally pressed the head of the strap-on against him, he whimpered—a sound I’d never heard from him before. We weren’t quiet. We didn’t rush. I eased into him inch by inch until he was taking all of me, his body trembling as I established a rhythm that had him clutching at the blanket. We shifted and moved, finding positions that felt bold and exposed—him on his knees, then riding me while I sat upright, his cock bouncing between us, leaking and neglected. When another couple wandered too close and clearly realized what they were seeing, I didn’t stop. Instead, I wrapped my hand around him and stroked in time with my thrusts, feeling him pulse and harden further in my palm. I held his attention, kept him right where I wanted him, watching his face contort with pleasure as I hit that spot inside him again and again.

By the end, he was shaking, overwhelmed, riding me with desperate abandon while I lay back and watched his thighs strain with effort. His cock bobbed heavily between us, flushed dark and leaking steadily onto my stomach. I gripped his hips, angling him just right so the thick curve of my strap hit that spot that made his eyes roll back. “Come for me,” I commanded, wrapping my fingers around his length, feeling it pulse and throb against my palm. He threw his head back, a strangled cry escaping his throat as his whole body tensed. Hot spurts painted my breasts, my neck, even catching the corner of my mouth as he came harder than I’d ever seen, utterly undone by the surprise and the setting and the way I’d flipped the script on him. The sun warmed my skin as I licked my lips, tasting the salt of him while his face contorted in ecstasy above me. His muscles clenched rhythmically around the silicone still buried inside him, milking phantom pleasure from the toy as he collapsed forward, trembling and gasping against my neck. Behind him, I caught sight of the couple who’d wandered too close, the woman’s hand now obviously down the front of her partner’s shorts as they watched us from what they thought was a discreet distance.

It was gloriously messy. It was thrillingly risky. It was perfectly planned.

Honestly, one of the best days I’ve ever had outdoors, and the way he begged for more on the drive home told me it wouldn’t be the last.

In Love,
Veronica