The clothing donation box is a big yellow metal bin in an open-air parking lot we know reasonably well. It has some shielding from the main road to the East, although there is an opening for pedestrians, one can only have hoped traffic passing would be going too quickly for anybody to have noticed me there. It’s at the foot of a supermarket, and close by to the marketplace but both were closed coming up to midnight on a Sunday night in England.
This was a forfeit leftover from New Year’s Eve. We didn’t go out this year, instead we went to bed early. My husband had wondered whether this year was the tenth anniversary of a particular NYE party we had. It wasn’t (that’s next year), but now he’d got the idea in his head so there I was, resting my stomach on a couple of pillows, on my knees with my head down on the bed and my ass up in the air for him.
I had my tits tied up. He’s always tying my tits up now, so I was very aware of how tightly bound they were as I lay face down with them pressed into the mattress. Bullet vibes taped to my nipples and my egg on my clit. And he was using the anal beads and 10-inch dildo on me.
The plan was he’d put one bead in at a time until I had all six inside me. Each would represent a month of the year and then in between he would thrust the dildo into my pussy once for each day of that month before easing another bead into me. When they were all in, he’d then pull them out one at a time for the last six months, and all I had to do was not cum until he’d finished. I made it as far as “August” but with him alternatively working my pussy and then pulling the widest two beads out, plus the buzzing of the vibrators on my tender spots, I couldn’t control myself any longer.
The clothing donation box was kind of my own fault because I first had the fantasy about it one lazy day while I was waiting in the car for him at the hardware store at a nearby retail park. The one there was a walk-in centre that pays you for clothing donations, I was alone in the car, it was raining and I had the fantasy of undressing for the bored but kind of cute attendant inside.
When my husband returned to find me aroused and was eager to know what I was thinking about, I told him all about it and he liked the idea too. I guess since then he’s been thinking more about it and when I was sorting out old clothes from my wardrobe on Saturday, he realized the perfect forfeit for me from our New Year game.
We figured Sunday night would be as warm and as quiet as it would get, and more to the point we had some “alone” time this weekend.
His car wasn’t in the parking lot, but it was across the street from it’s entry way, parked by the closed-up marketplace. Not far, but certainly far enough.
He made me roll a die to decide how many “warm up” minutes I would get. I rolled a four. So it was 23.56 by his watch when, standing alongside the yellow box, I began my striptease.
My shoes were some awful gaudy early-2000’s medium heel sandals in a dusty pink with straps that wrapped around my calves. A gaudy green halterneck top leftover from the 90’s that my boobs used to fit more comfortably inside when I was younger and they were firmer. A denim miniskirt that’s been a size too small for me since at least our wedding that was digging uncomfortably into my waist.
And a white crochet one-piece bathing suit, with ridiculously revealing cuts around the cleavage, crotch, open at both hips and thong-backed, really something that I would never wear anywhere other people would see the way my body bulges in it, but which I picked up solely because when we found it at some fleamarket it gave him a hard on.
One by one, the top and the skirt went into a plastic bag, as per the rules emblazoned on the yellow donation box, and then I peeled off the swimsuit, from the top down. He wanted to keep me in it with it rolled down to my stomach while I unwrapped the straps of the shoes from my legs and put them one at a time into the bag, made me twirl around for him when I was barefoot so he could enjoy me in the thong-back while my breasts were bared. Finally he gave me the nod and I peeled the swimsuit down the rest of the way, let it slide off my foot into the bag.
Now I was naked, I bent at the waist to tie the bag up, then picked it up and pulled down on the handle of the box to open the drawer. Facing my husband, I held the draw open with my right hand while he took the bag from me and placed it inside. Then with my left, I started to rub.
The rules of the forfeit were simple. Hold open the drawer and masturbate but do not cum until the bells of the nearby church clock began the twelve chimes of midnight. Then I had to cum before the last chime.
Oh my God, but I felt so exposed and scared. My breath burned in my chest and my heart hammered, it was cold and the drawer was so heavy!
But the striptease had gotten me aroused, as did the feeling of his warm hands on my cold skin as he caressed my hips and my ass before stepping away to watch me. I was definitely moist, but would it be enough?
Standing out there stark naked, playing with myself as the muscles in my right arm started to scream, it felt like forever, but soon I realized my breathing had become ragged, that my nipples were stiff from more than just the cold, in fact a warmth was starting to flow through me. Maybe I could do this!
The first chime made me nearly jump out of my skin, and suddenly I realized time was running out! I started rubbing myself more frantically, almost made the mistake of bringing my right hand down as well before remembering and pulling the drawer back down. Three chimes had gone and fear was starting to take hold.
I concentrated my gaze on my husband’s crotch, saw the bulge that was becoming very prominent. That ignited my desire for him and my fingers were now warm and slippery with my arousal. I’d lost count of the chimes but I guessed I was at about seven. I bent at the knee as much as I dared, still gripping on to the heavy drawer handle which just wanted to pull itself from my hand and slam closed, started to writhe myself against my fingers and felt the orgasm building.
Another chime. Was that nine? My hand worked frantically, probing at myself and then rubbing hard against my clit. I was nearly out of time! The prospect of failure gripped me and at that, so did my orgasm!
Oh, shit… I came hard, so hard that I forgot to keep hold of the drawer! My husband’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the last two chimes rang out and then a wide grin spread over his face as I flushed with humiliation and frustration and the drawer slammed closed with a loud, metallic bang and my clothing was lost inside it. He’d bought no blanket, no coat for me, was only wearing his own leather jacket.
The car was barely a minute’s walk away, but stranded naked and barefoot, it was far enough. I wanted to dash across to it, but he wanted to enjoy watching me walk, kept his pace slow. Kept me waiting while he rummaged in his pocket for the key to unlock the car (I’ll bet he was rummaging something!) before finally he opened the door for me so I could get in.
Once we were driving away and I was relatively sure I’d gotten away without being seen, and the car’s heaters had come on, then I became fixated on his hard on and realized I was aroused again. Riding naked in his car always means more fun is to come and last night was no exception. There’s an old red British telephone box on a country road. How it’s still there and not been vandalized, I have no idea, but my husband has had it in mind for a while. It has a light overhead that still illuminates and it’s nowhere near any houses or businesses. Anybody that had happened to be walking that way would have seen what we were up to from a mile off, but it’s really out of the way and that’s where we went for our fuck before we finally headed home. Fucking in a phonebox is a cramped and cold affair, with the glass, the metal and the hard telephone and random shelf, but damn it, it was so sexy to be in there with him, so intoxicatingly slutty to be naked under that light riding his cock, so exhilarating thinking I’m old enough to know better but doing it anyway.
God, it’s so difficult to go to work, and to pick our child up from school and behave so mature and responsible knowing that we did all that last night. I couldn't wait to get it written here so I don't just go telling all the other parents
This was a forfeit leftover from New Year’s Eve. We didn’t go out this year, instead we went to bed early. My husband had wondered whether this year was the tenth anniversary of a particular NYE party we had. It wasn’t (that’s next year), but now he’d got the idea in his head so there I was, resting my stomach on a couple of pillows, on my knees with my head down on the bed and my ass up in the air for him.
I had my tits tied up. He’s always tying my tits up now, so I was very aware of how tightly bound they were as I lay face down with them pressed into the mattress. Bullet vibes taped to my nipples and my egg on my clit. And he was using the anal beads and 10-inch dildo on me.
The plan was he’d put one bead in at a time until I had all six inside me. Each would represent a month of the year and then in between he would thrust the dildo into my pussy once for each day of that month before easing another bead into me. When they were all in, he’d then pull them out one at a time for the last six months, and all I had to do was not cum until he’d finished. I made it as far as “August” but with him alternatively working my pussy and then pulling the widest two beads out, plus the buzzing of the vibrators on my tender spots, I couldn’t control myself any longer.
The clothing donation box was kind of my own fault because I first had the fantasy about it one lazy day while I was waiting in the car for him at the hardware store at a nearby retail park. The one there was a walk-in centre that pays you for clothing donations, I was alone in the car, it was raining and I had the fantasy of undressing for the bored but kind of cute attendant inside.
When my husband returned to find me aroused and was eager to know what I was thinking about, I told him all about it and he liked the idea too. I guess since then he’s been thinking more about it and when I was sorting out old clothes from my wardrobe on Saturday, he realized the perfect forfeit for me from our New Year game.
We figured Sunday night would be as warm and as quiet as it would get, and more to the point we had some “alone” time this weekend.
His car wasn’t in the parking lot, but it was across the street from it’s entry way, parked by the closed-up marketplace. Not far, but certainly far enough.
He made me roll a die to decide how many “warm up” minutes I would get. I rolled a four. So it was 23.56 by his watch when, standing alongside the yellow box, I began my striptease.
My shoes were some awful gaudy early-2000’s medium heel sandals in a dusty pink with straps that wrapped around my calves. A gaudy green halterneck top leftover from the 90’s that my boobs used to fit more comfortably inside when I was younger and they were firmer. A denim miniskirt that’s been a size too small for me since at least our wedding that was digging uncomfortably into my waist.
And a white crochet one-piece bathing suit, with ridiculously revealing cuts around the cleavage, crotch, open at both hips and thong-backed, really something that I would never wear anywhere other people would see the way my body bulges in it, but which I picked up solely because when we found it at some fleamarket it gave him a hard on.
One by one, the top and the skirt went into a plastic bag, as per the rules emblazoned on the yellow donation box, and then I peeled off the swimsuit, from the top down. He wanted to keep me in it with it rolled down to my stomach while I unwrapped the straps of the shoes from my legs and put them one at a time into the bag, made me twirl around for him when I was barefoot so he could enjoy me in the thong-back while my breasts were bared. Finally he gave me the nod and I peeled the swimsuit down the rest of the way, let it slide off my foot into the bag.
Now I was naked, I bent at the waist to tie the bag up, then picked it up and pulled down on the handle of the box to open the drawer. Facing my husband, I held the draw open with my right hand while he took the bag from me and placed it inside. Then with my left, I started to rub.
The rules of the forfeit were simple. Hold open the drawer and masturbate but do not cum until the bells of the nearby church clock began the twelve chimes of midnight. Then I had to cum before the last chime.
Oh my God, but I felt so exposed and scared. My breath burned in my chest and my heart hammered, it was cold and the drawer was so heavy!
But the striptease had gotten me aroused, as did the feeling of his warm hands on my cold skin as he caressed my hips and my ass before stepping away to watch me. I was definitely moist, but would it be enough?
Standing out there stark naked, playing with myself as the muscles in my right arm started to scream, it felt like forever, but soon I realized my breathing had become ragged, that my nipples were stiff from more than just the cold, in fact a warmth was starting to flow through me. Maybe I could do this!
The first chime made me nearly jump out of my skin, and suddenly I realized time was running out! I started rubbing myself more frantically, almost made the mistake of bringing my right hand down as well before remembering and pulling the drawer back down. Three chimes had gone and fear was starting to take hold.
I concentrated my gaze on my husband’s crotch, saw the bulge that was becoming very prominent. That ignited my desire for him and my fingers were now warm and slippery with my arousal. I’d lost count of the chimes but I guessed I was at about seven. I bent at the knee as much as I dared, still gripping on to the heavy drawer handle which just wanted to pull itself from my hand and slam closed, started to writhe myself against my fingers and felt the orgasm building.
Another chime. Was that nine? My hand worked frantically, probing at myself and then rubbing hard against my clit. I was nearly out of time! The prospect of failure gripped me and at that, so did my orgasm!
Oh, shit… I came hard, so hard that I forgot to keep hold of the drawer! My husband’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the last two chimes rang out and then a wide grin spread over his face as I flushed with humiliation and frustration and the drawer slammed closed with a loud, metallic bang and my clothing was lost inside it. He’d bought no blanket, no coat for me, was only wearing his own leather jacket.
The car was barely a minute’s walk away, but stranded naked and barefoot, it was far enough. I wanted to dash across to it, but he wanted to enjoy watching me walk, kept his pace slow. Kept me waiting while he rummaged in his pocket for the key to unlock the car (I’ll bet he was rummaging something!) before finally he opened the door for me so I could get in.
Once we were driving away and I was relatively sure I’d gotten away without being seen, and the car’s heaters had come on, then I became fixated on his hard on and realized I was aroused again. Riding naked in his car always means more fun is to come and last night was no exception. There’s an old red British telephone box on a country road. How it’s still there and not been vandalized, I have no idea, but my husband has had it in mind for a while. It has a light overhead that still illuminates and it’s nowhere near any houses or businesses. Anybody that had happened to be walking that way would have seen what we were up to from a mile off, but it’s really out of the way and that’s where we went for our fuck before we finally headed home. Fucking in a phonebox is a cramped and cold affair, with the glass, the metal and the hard telephone and random shelf, but damn it, it was so sexy to be in there with him, so intoxicatingly slutty to be naked under that light riding his cock, so exhilarating thinking I’m old enough to know better but doing it anyway.
God, it’s so difficult to go to work, and to pick our child up from school and behave so mature and responsible knowing that we did all that last night. I couldn't wait to get it written here so I don't just go telling all the other parents
