I rise slowly from the swing. My legs are soft and weak, but it's not exhaustion.it's this arousal, this burning need. I press my knee against the rough bark of the tree, feeling it scrape against me, catching on my tights. I bend forward, hands on my thighs, staring at that empty path.
Do it, my inner voice tells me. Show them what you want. But it's insane… How would I look? Like some whore, like a cheap hooker standing on a street corner, only here, in the woods. A slut offering herself up. Like some loose bitch ready to be fucked for money.it's crazy, but god how I crave it. That word, whore, that feeling of being one courses through my thoughts and I don't feel shame, only stronger pounding low in my belly, moisture gathering there.That's how I look. Like a cheap whore. And that's exactly what I want to be right now. I feel my nipples hardening under my bra, pressing into the fabric like little stones. I breathe heavily, moaning softly. I'm so turned on, so ready to be used, to be fucked by the first person who takes me, that I can barely stay standing. My right hand drifts down. I grab the hem of my skirt and pull it up, centimeter by centimeter, all the way to my waist. Now I'm bent over, with my whole ass bare in my tights, exposed like some cheap slut prepared for fucking in a park.I'm not wearing panties. Just these torn tights.My other hand doesn't wait. I reach behind me, grab that ripped material and pull hard, obediently. The loud tearing of bursting threads, I rip the rest all the way to my waist. Now nothing protects my pussy or my ass… my slutty cunt. I'm completely exposed, bent over, with my ass presented toward the path like some common whore waiting for a client.That awareness that anyone could walk in, see me in this position,so ready, helpless, spread open,that thought brings me so close. I imagine his footsteps. A male silhouette stopping, seeing me like this… that loose, promiscuous whore, and he doesn't ask, just approaches from behind.

The Forest… I've never met anyone here at this hour, but there's always the possibility. And that's what draws us here, isn't it?

I stand by that big oak, my back to the path. My fingers tremble, but not from cold. I'm wearing that little skirt of mine, ohhh and these tights… and now here… right now…

I sit on the cold wood of the swing. I feel the roughness of it through the fabric. I spread my legs slowly, deliberately. My hands drift downward. I touch that material between my thighs and feel my heart pounding.

I'm the one doing this. Me!!!

I grab hard and pull. I hear that rasping of fabric, that tearing. It's a sound that seems as loud as thunder in this forest silence… the hissing of threads giving way under my pressure. I make myself an opening there. Deliberately. I want this.

Now I feel the air. Fresh, damp from the forest. It touches me there… I'm still dressed, but not really anymore… That contrast excites me, the skirt maintaining appearances…

I imagine how I look from the front. Covered, but ready. Exposed by my own hands…

Someone could walk by. Anyone. They'd see me sitting there with my legs spread, with that hole in my tights that I made myself. And then they'd know. They'd see it wasn't an accident, that I want to be seen.

My fingers wander. I feel through that torn hole…

The forest is quiet. But am I really alone?

I have fun in train.... I have been traveling on the longest pleasure pier in the world.... hahahah, and I realised that im not wearing panties

I did a little show in central london, I wonder how you like it?

Im showing myself in next to Tower Bridge

I love to play with myself and my husband shows those clips to others, this is amazing feeling

playing in hotel with myself....

my wife is fucking a complete stranger....