Madame B - Ecstasy

"Another celebrity caught at it," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "And if I'm not mistaken, you rather fancy this one." It was a paparazzo picture of a gorgeous celebrated football player who'd been caught dogging with his pop-star girlfriend, having sex in front of strangers in a parking lot. Barely a weekend seemed to go by without some A-lister risking his or her reputation for the thrill of an exhibitionist fuck. Not long ago I'd casually mentioned to my husband, Steve, that I could understand the appeal of dogging, and his cock had leaped to immediate attention beneath his robe. I dragged him straight to bed, where we urgently fucked like a pair of new lovers rather than a married couple approaching their third wedding anniversary. He'd held me down on the bed, telling me how horny he'd get seeing me on the hood of a car with my legs spread, and imagined how it would look to a crowd, as he pounded away at my cunt.

"What of it?" I said, glancing at the newspaper and feigning indifference although my pulse had started to quicken at the mere thought of it. Lately Steve had been pushing the issue, e-mailing me at work with links to dogging chat rooms and taking the scenic route in the car at every opportunity, pointing out places for a possible al fresco fuck. Only last week he'd researched a dogging site at a local lovers' lane, a beautiful spot where, on a Saturday night, couples go to park and do whatever feels good in front of complete strangers. I know the area well; I drive past it every day on the way to work. It's an innocent-looking little place, but since Steve told me what happens there late at night, I'd started to have a little shiver of anticipation when I passed it. The question was, was I ready to go there? Could I handle making our fantasies real? Talking about sex in public had reignited our sex life, but we'd never done anything like that before, and you know what it's like when you've got a really sexy fantasy going. You almost don't want to make it happen in case it doesn't measure up to the hot, urgent buzz of your vivid imagination.

"What of it? You know what," said Steve, and although he didn't say anything more about it, he left the newspaper open at the relevant page. I read about this good-looking football player and his girlfriend masturbating each other to orgasm while being watched by another couple who happened to be journalists. The female journalist described the scene in such graphic detail that I knew she'd been turned on by it. I wondered if, being in a strange place in the middle of the night, a group of virtual strangers performing and watching, building up to a huge group orgasm, she, a hardheaded, objective reporter, felt as wet as I did now. Once I'd read that story, the idea was implanted firmly in my mind.

I started thinking about it constantly. And when I went shopping for new clothes and underwear, endured a Brazilian wax, and even had the car fully washed and detailed, I kind of knew that I was going to go for it. The following Saturday was our wedding anniversary, and I booked a table at the Hillbank, an expensive and very romantic nearby restaurant with breathtaking views across the countryside outside Manchester, where we live. It just happened to be half a mile from the nature reserve where strangers go to watch and be watched.

I didn't tell Steve, but he knew all the same. And I could tell, as neither of us could eat much, that we were both very excited. I don't know how we managed to stay at the Hillbank until eleven-thirty p.m., but playing footsie under the table certainly helped get us both stoked up for the evening ahead. When he slid his foot under the table and forced my legs apart, pushing gently on my swelling pussy, my expectations were revved up a notch. I slipped out of my stilettos and lifted both my feet to his lap, where I felt his hard-on like a red-hot poker through the trousers of his Armani suit.

We skipped coffee and dessert and took care of the bill as soon as we could. In the parking lot, we shared a long, lingering kiss. Steve's hands wandered toward my breasts, but I wanted to prolong the tension so, although my nipples were aching to be caressed, I wouldn't let him touch me. I'd purposely stayed below the limit and allowed Steve a drink; as the designated driver, I'd be in control of the route our journey would take. Inside the car my hands were trembling so much that I could barely keep them on the wheel. Instead of driving straight home, I swung the car round to the left, heading for the notorious dogging spot.

"You horny little bitch!" Steve murmured. "Couldn't help yourself, could you, my darling?" We turned the lights down low as we pulled into the tiny moorland parking lot, which was sheltered by a horseshoe of trees. For a moment I thought that our red sports car was the only one there, and my disappointment was bitter. But as our eyes became accustomed to the dark, we could make out the shadow of a large, black 4? 4. The tinted windows were open an inch or two, but it was impossible to know who was inside. Suddenly a little hesitant, Steve and I tried to strengthen our nerve by imagining what they were like.

"The couple in the black car are young and horny," growled Steve. "They watch us fucking on the hood of our car. His dick is rock-hard, and he wants to fuck you so badly, but he can't because you're mine."

"Her cunt is wet as she watches your dick sliding in and out of my pussy," I said, warming to my theme. "She sees you pinching my tits and thinks about what it would be like to put one in her mouth. I won't let her, though." As we'd been indulging in our smutty talk, we'd been touching ourselves-a reflex action. We'd have to be careful not to come before Steve had even been inside me.

"Fuck it," I said to my husband. "Someone's got to make the first move."

So he turned off the ignition and flipped on the interior lights and headlights so the shiny, red hood of our car was illuminated. Steve got out, walked in front of the car slowly and deliberately so that I could see his erection in profile, and opened my door. I followed him to the front of the car, where we locked eyes for a few seconds. But we couldn't defer our gratification any longer. I lay back on the warm, clammy metal, hitched up the skirt of my flimsy dress, and spread my legs, hooking my fingers underneath my sheer thong and flashing my pussy so that he could see how wet I was.

"Christ, you're dripping," he said, unzipping his fly and releasing a huge erection.

"Jesus, Steve!" I said, genuinely shocked. Steve was a big boy, but I'd never seen him this big before, and the sight of his super-sized cock made me even wetter. He leaned in, kissed me, and started to massage my tits, which were already standing at attention. I wasn't wearing a bra, and he pulled down the stretchy silk of my dress, exposing my breasts, their light brown nipples quivering for his touch. He kneaded the flesh, rolling my nipples between thumb and forefinger gently, the way he knew I loved. For a moment I was so lost in our connection that I forgot we were not alone.

But we were jolted back to our senses when a noise came from the black car: faint at first but then growing louder, the unmistakable sound of an extremely aroused woman, accompanied by occasional low grunts from the man who was with her.

"Let's give them something to watch," I said. Too impatient to take my panties off, I pulled them to one side, and Steve speared his cock into me, filling me up, overwhelming me. The lace of my panties rubbed against my clit and the base of Steve's cock, delicious friction intensifying all sensation. Sounds from the black car grew louder and more urgent. Not being able to see the other couple's faces made it even more exciting. It felt more like we were giving a real performance: spotlighted while they watched from the dark, like an exclusive private cinema showing a one-night-only live sex show. I arched my back, pushing out my tits so they caught the light. Steve's trousers were around his hips, exposing the small of his back, but he was otherwise fully clothed. I paused to unbutton and lift his crisp white shirt over his head. I wanted to feel the soft fuzz of his chest rub against my own skin, and I also wanted the woman in the car to have an eyeful of my beautiful, sexy husband. With my stilettos, I eased his trousers down around his ankles, his tanned ass like two pale-gold globes in the half-light. My silk dress lay in a puddle around my waist, and the harder Steve moved inside me, the more my panties rubbed at my clit. I needn't have worried that I wouldn't be wet enough to take Steve's huge dick; as he fucked me I felt a trickle of excess juice ooze out from my cunt and run down the middle of the car hood. Steve pulled out of me with a speed that made me gasp and bent down to the hood, licking it clean with his long, firm, pink tongue.