The Hyzer Date
It was a good throw. The best of the day. Of course, on this day any half decent toss would qualify as a good throw. I managed to miss the trees, the disc took its predictable fade - then shot off like it was on boosters. A gap in the trees had let a gust of wind through and my disc went into warp drive, flying high and heading way left, across the road, slicing into the bushes. I cursed and threw my backup driver. At least the first disc hadn't gone into the lake. Well, at least I didn't think it did. My day couldn't be that bad, could it?
I spent about fifteen minutes looking in the bushes. Nothing. I resigned myself to crawling in. Not a pleasant thought being this close to the lake. I found myself in a small open space, a dark canopy covered me. Kind of cozy actually. When I looked up there was the disc. And, as luck would have it, it was too far to reach and I couldn't stand, so I grabbed a branch to try to shake it free - and stopped.
It was a girl. Heading my way. Braless. Sorry. I'm a guy and that's how my mind works. Beaver alert! Tits!
This corner of the lake is a bit odd. It's mostly wild, but there's a narrow swath of mown grass along the shore. I was under a bush at the terminus of that swath and she was on a collision course in 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3. She stopped, shaded her eyes and looked around.
She was an attractive woman, not one of the cute coeds you see everywhere here at the university. She was pretty in an average way - and I like average.
She had long, wavy chestnut hair that hung well down her back. Her eyebrows were a bit thick, but nicely trimmed. Her nose a bit prominent. Her chin a bit strong. Or it could just be the light and shadows. She had two little creases at the corners of her mouth that gave her a little smirk, made her look amused.
And, yes, she had tits. And, yes, she was sans bra. At least I didn't see one, but I could see her nipples clearly. Her thin, clingy white top didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. Her long, full, ankle-length skirt billowed around her as she walked. It made her look a little bottom heavy. But that's probably because she was a mature woman as opposed to the coltish girls, a herd of which was engaged in a soccer game across the street. I'm lousy with ages. I say 20-something, ish, maybe.
And I'm not a foot person, but she had seriously cute feet. She was wearing flip flops, her feet were small and perfectly shaped, nicely tan, the toes painted a bright red.
She had a blanket and a shoulder bag, a small one. She took one more look around and spread the blanket, knelt, then sat on it. Again the scan. Down here by the lake, protected by the shrubs and grasses, she'd be invisible, or at least pretty well obscured. She pulled a book from her bag and popped it open.
It was then that I realized I was trapped. If I emerged now, it would be obvious I had been watching her. And I didn't want to leave the disc. And, besides, she had tits.
Time passed, passed some more, more still. Then she pushed herself to her knees, hand to her brow. I couldn't see past the brush, but I could hear the girls on the soccer field. Further down the lake where it was mown from road to shore there were a dozen or so people in twos and threes. Too far away to tell if they were male or female. Too far away for them to clearly see her. She settled back down and dipped into the sack.
It took a second for my mind to register that the thing in her hand was a vibrator, one of those eggs with a battery box controller. Another glance over her shoulder and she half turned toward me. I willed myself to become invisible. If her attention hadn't been on the people behind her and on her toy, well, it could have gotten very awkward very fast. But she never saw me, just fussed with the egg.
She hiked up her skirt, spread her legs. She wore no panties and her bush was thick and lush like the rest of her hair. Neatly trimmed, but a nice handful. I could see her inner lips poking out, pink and moist. She spit on her fingers and they became moister still. Then she licked the egg and pressed it into her pussy. It disappeared slowly. Very slowly. Whether she was that tight or she just enjoyed the sensation I don't know. I, for one, enjoyed the visual. Especially when her finger followed the egg, settling the thing deep inside.
She reached into the bag again and came out with a coil of rope. A quick look over her shoulder, a discreet shake of her hand to shake the thing out, and she wrapped it around her knees - several times - very slowly. She knotted it.
She took the control, messed with the dial, closed her eyes for a few seconds, again glanced over her shoulder, and settled the control between her thighs. She pulled her skirt down to her ankles.
Another dip into the bag produced a gag, your standard red ball gag with chin strap. She wedged the ball into her mouth, behind her teeth, tossed her head to one side to throw the hair off her neck, and buckled the strap. She raised her head slightly, bit down, and fastened the chin strap.
It was a perfect fit. Mouth filling, but not mouth stretching. And it looked like her lips were glued to the rubber. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.
Sunglasses and handcuffs came next. She ran her hands through her hair, causing it to cascade around her face. She slipped the glasses on and I noticed the ring. Or rings. A wedding ring and a diamond. Was this a gift for hubby? Was he around. Now it was my turn to scope out the area. But, near as I could tell, we were still alone. Still, it was a clear view across the lake. He could be over there with binoculars enjoying the show. But, as I looked at it, there was a scraggy wall of trees by the water blocking even that view. Rationalizing didn't stop my heart from racing.
She reached for the cuffs, feeling around on the blanket, and I realized the glasses had been treated. Now she was not only mute, but blind. She snicked a cuff to her wrist, pulled her hands behind her back and snicked the second cuff closed. She settled back on her hands and I noticed that the sleeves of her top draped over them, hiding the cuffs.
Taking it all in, it was lovely. Unless you stepped directly in front of her and saw the gag, you'd never guess she wasn't just a woman, out by the lake, enjoying the day.
It was one of the few times I regretted not having a smart phone. I would have liked to record the whole scene. But, I live across the street, literally, and I have a nice camera and tripod and a big, honkin' lens. Wouldn't take but ten minutes to jog home and drive back.
And yet ... and yet I was loathe to leave. But I couldn't spend the rest of the day under a bush, either. I crept out. There was plenty of wind noise up in the trees and the soccer team was yacking it up and the sound drifted down on us. Still, I moved very slowly.
I took her purse.
In it I found another coil of rope, a small roll of wide tape, her keys, and her wallet. I clutched the keys tightly so as not to make any noise. I opened my hand carefully and, yep, there on the ring was a handcuff key. I eased them back into her bag.
According to her license, her name was Cheryl Moore, she was 26 years old, 5'7", weighed 135#. The street looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. It was nearby in any event. I pulled out my score card and made notes, checked the rest of her wallet, didn't find much of interest. I set the bag down and slowly backed away.
There were things I would have liked to do. I thought of messing with her by taking the handcuff key. Or touching her, or talking to her. What I really wanted to do was to sit behind her, hold her against me, and slide my hands up under her sweater, play with her tits while she was cuffed and gagged. But the thought of her husband being around bothered me. I'd already spent too much time, there, with her, going through her things.
When I came to the end of the brush I trotted up hill, crossed the street, and headed for home. Back at the lake I found my lens was a bit short. I was able to get a few shots where I could see the gag, but, all in all, it was disappointing. I moved closer and got some decent shots, but they didn't show much and she never moved. Then she turned, reached for her bag. Startled, I nearly stumbled into the lake. But I managed to switch to burst mode and got several shots as she turned and groped in the bag for her keys. I started moving up hill and just managed to catch one last shot before she pulled off the glasses and craned her neck. I ducked low and crossed the street. Her car key said FORD and there was a green FORD parked just off the road. I'd parked behind it. I set my camera up, aimed it at the soccer squad. A few minutes later she came up the hill, crossed the road. I folded my tripod and intercepted her, casual like.
"Nice day, huh?"
"Yes. yes it is."
I noticed her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink.
No guts, no glory, go for it. "Listen, uh, I don't mean to come on to you, but you're very attractive. May I take a couple of pictures?"
She was a bit taken aback and the moment stretched to eternity.
"No. Sorry. I really don't like having my picture taken."
"Oh, sure. I understand. Well, have a nice day."
What she didn't realize was that I had a compact camera secreted in my other hand and had been photographing her the whole walk to the car. I'm pretty good at that. Look one way, shoot the other.
Besides, there would be another time. I had to believe this wasn't the first time she did this. I'd swing by mornings and afternoons for the next few weeks. It was Tuesday. Maybe Tuesday was her day. Maybe she's into kink but hubby isn't. Maybe she's collared and he ordered to do the public bondage thing. Dunno. As I watched her drive away I made a note to visit her. Not stalk her, but check her out, for sure. And, who knows, maybe we'd get to know each other and she'd overcome her shyness.
And I made a note to retrieve the disc. As annoyed as I was losing at it, it may very well have become my new lucky disc!
Copyright© 2012 by Jo. All rights reserved.