The sun is stronger now, beginning to burn off the morning mists. Amanda stands at the edge of the lake watching the pair of swans glide across the still water. She knows the man is watching her. She takes a deep breath and pulls her chemise over her head. The air feels good against her skin. The sun is warm. It feels good. It makes her shiver.

She drops the chemise onto the grass and takes a step into the water. It is cold. The swans are almost out of sight. The soft silt settles about her toes. She feels the eyes of the man on her bare bottom. She squats in the shallow water. At first only a dribble, but then the stream comes, splattering the water, a small silvery sound. A bluejay squawks. Her pee finished, she presses two fingers between the lips of her sex, then brings her hand to her nose, to her lips. For a moment she has almost forgotten about the man.

He crouches behind her. She bends forward, bracing herself against the large stone. The rock warms her hands. The man’s breath tickles her spine. His fingers tease the tips of her breasts. She arches her back. His cock rests upon her ass. It feels warm and vaguely heavy. Now his hands hold her hips. A low moan escapes her lips. “Please,” she says.

“I can’t,” he answers. “I mustn’t.”

“Please,” she repeats. She moves back, seeking the brush of his balls.

One of his hands leaves her hips. The smooth penis skin caresses her ass but for a moment and then it is under her, in the slot of her sex, the crown kissing the moist membranes of her maidenhead. She rocks back. Back and forth. The cock slides between her sex lips. It cruises against her clit, causing her to clench.

“Fuck me,” she says, soft as the summer breeze.

“I can’t.” His voice is raspy. Hoarse. “I mustn’t.”

“Please.”

He holds her hips again. He moves her back and forth, his cock sliding against her cunt. She tries to maneuver so he’ll enter, so his cock will penetrate, but it is impossible, the cock stroke stays outside, rubbing her cunt, rubbing her clit, pushing out enough that she can see the little slit, the gleam of seed.

“Please fuck me.”

The bluejay sounds a harsh, scolding squawk and takes flight, veering up straight into the sun, its shadow swallowing the light, sinking out of sight.

“Come now,” he says, still outside her, still stroking her. “Come on my cock.”

She comes. A series of sharp contractions. He holds her, keeping her from falling. His cock saws against the spasms of her sex, the thrash and buck of her body. His seed spurts. Silent parachutes of soft white wallop the water, ride the small ripples, float for a while, and sink.