River's Edge Rendezvous

The August air hung thick and heavy, buzzing with the scent of pine and damp earth as we pulled up to the golf course. It was our fifth anniversary, and my wife, Sarah, had insisted on a secluded picnic by the river. The course was beautiful, all manicured greens and towering pines, but she'd found a spot further out, a hidden clearing nestled along the bank, a place she claimed held a certain wildness. The drive was long, about thirty minutes, but the anticipation made it fly by. We arrived as dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the green. The clubhouse, a massive log structure with vaulted ceilings, stood like a dark sentinel overlooking the final hole. The restaurant was busy, but the balcony offered a breathtaking view of the valley.

After a delicious meal, we ventured out, Sarah clutching a small, well-worn blanket. The road paralleled the river, a straight shot that led to a pull-out on a raised embankment. It was perfect, just as she’d described. The embankment wasn’t much more than fifty yards wide, covered in a dense thicket of trees and bushes, offering a surprising amount of privacy. We parked just off the road, blocking the entrance, a silent signal to anyone else who might be looking for a spot.

As we approached, I realized it was deserted, which was precisely what we’d hoped for. The sportfishing season was in full swing, and most people preferred the easier access of the parking area. We spread the blanket on a grassy patch beside the trail, a small clearing offering a little more seclusion. Still, the thought of someone stumbling upon us, a casual passerby, made me uneasy. The nearest house was a good half-mile away, and the river offered no immediate protection.

“It’s a little exposed, don’t you think?” I said, gesturing to the open space.

Sarah just smiled, pulling her blanket tighter around her. “That’s the beauty of it, darling. It’s ours.”

She had a way of turning even the most mundane situations into something exciting, something illicit. I knew she was thinking about the dessert she’d promised, a naughty little treat for the journey home. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, she began to relax, her body slowly surrendering to the warmth of the evening.

I started by gently running my fingers through her hair, the soft strands tickling my palm. Then, my lips followed, lingering on her neck, her earlobe, her clavicle. Her skin was warm and supple, her breath sweet and intoxicating. I leaned in closer, deepening the kiss, my tongue tracing the curve of her jawline. Her muscles tensed beneath my touch, a silent invitation.

“Don’t eat too much dessert,” she murmured, her voice husky with pleasure.

“Too full for what?” I asked, my voice low and deliberate.

“For a real dessert treat on the way home,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I knew exactly what she meant. The thought of her, uninhibited, lost in the heat of the moment, was already enough of a treat. I lifted her shirt slightly, pulling down the hem of her tight-fitting top to reveal her cleavage. It was a beautiful sight, her breasts perfectly formed, a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath. Her skin gleamed in the fading light, beckoning me closer.

“You know this area better than I do,” I said, my voice dripping with anticipation. “Maybe you can find us a secluded spot along the river.”

“I think I know just the place,” she replied, a playful smirk on her face.

She had already anticipated my desire, planning everything down to the last detail. We continued down the trail, the air growing cooler as we approached the river’s edge. The ground was soft beneath our feet, covered in fallen leaves and pine needles. We found the perfect spot, a small, secluded clearing hidden amongst the trees, shielded from view by the dense foliage.

We laid out the blanket, a welcome comfort against the damp earth, and settled in, our bodies pressed close together. The river flowed silently beside us, its dark waters reflecting the last vestiges of sunlight. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a primal aroma that heightened our senses.

As darkness fell, I began to explore her body, my hands tracing the curves of her hips, her stomach, her thighs. Her skin was smooth and sensitive, responding eagerly to my touch. She moaned softly, her breath quickening as my fingers danced over her body. I pulled her closer, burying my face in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

“You’re a cruel one,” she whispered, her voice laced with pleasure.

“Only when it’s deserved,” I replied, pulling her down to my level, my lips brushing against hers.

Then, I took charge, my hand sliding down her leg, unfastening her jeans and panties. The moment her undergarments fell away, I descended upon her, my cock eagerly awaiting her entrance. She arched her back, her body trembling with anticipation, and as I plunged deep inside her, a primal scream ripped from her throat. Her pussy swelled with pleasure, pulsing rhythmically against my shaft.

I continued to thrust, building the heat, pushing her to the brink of ecstasy. Her muscles clenched, her breathing became ragged, her moans intensifying. I could feel her body shaking with each thrust, her pleasure palpable. It was a symphony of sensation, a dance of desire, a perfect expression of our mutual lust.

As her orgasm approached, she began to writhe, her body arching and contorting in a desperate attempt to reach new heights of pleasure. The sweat glistened on her skin, reflecting the moonlight that filtered through the trees. Her moans escalated into shrieks, a testament to the intensity of her experience. I held her tight, savoring every moment of her pleasure, feeling a surge of power as I brought her to her knees.

Finally, she let out a final, desperate gasp, collapsing back against the blanket, her body limp and exhausted. I held her close, gently stroking her hair, allowing her to catch her breath. We lay there for a long time, lost in the aftermath of our passion, the silence broken only by the sound of the river flowing nearby.

As we finally rose to our feet, I noticed a vehicle approaching in the distance. It was a dark sedan, sleek and modern, its headlights cutting through the darkness. My wife tensed, her eyes wide with fear. The car slowed, then stopped just beyond the embankment, its occupants observing us with a detached curiosity.

“They’re rubbernecking,” I whispered, my voice tight with frustration. “Let’s get out of here.”

We quickly gathered our belongings, our movements swift and silent. As we hurried back to the car, I caught a glimpse of the driver, a man in his late thirties, looking directly at us. He smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes, before disappearing back into the darkness.

Back in the vehicle, we drove away, leaving the secluded clearing behind us. The memory of our encounter, the heat of our passion, the thrill of the chase, lingered in the air. It was a night we would never forget, a perfect blend of romance, desire, and forbidden pleasure. The dessert she promised had certainly been worth the wait.

Later that evening, as we sat by the fireplace, sipping champagne, I couldn't help but smile. It was a perfect anniversary, a celebration of our love, our lust, and our shared desire for pleasure. And as I looked into my wife’s eyes, I knew that this was just the beginning of our wild and passionate journey together.

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