Here I am, the stress and strain completely finished with, keeping another promise I made on StumbleUpon a few days ago. Having posted that V and I took part in No Panties Saturday during the local festival, and had fun doing so, it seems that the idea of such a hide-and-seek game has sparked curiosity in some people and I’ve been asked to give you all a few more details of our exploits during that Saturday afternoon, evening and, of course, night. Only a few details, though, because we did so much during the festival it could almost full a complete book.
First off I must say that I did have a few misgivings. It’s one thing to go out wearing a light dress or a short skirt but quite another to practically taunt people with tantalizing glimpses of something they are never going to get any closer to and run the risk of being pulled up by someone who doesn’t see the adventurous side of our exploits. In the end V convinced me that it would be just the same as if we were both wearing panties; people could, if fate and the wind allowed them, get an eyeful of our panties just as much as bare skin and most people wouldn’t realise what was happening anyway. plus the fact that we would constantly be on the move and, as I have discovered when out and about with my camera, many people just do not see us. They are caught up in their own thoughts; their own lives; their own adventures. I have come to realise that I can take photographs of people almost at will without them even knowing that I am there; so many other people have cameras or cellphone devices that it has become a part of their daily lives. And who’s to say they are being photographed and not something away in the background?
The main concern, then, was what to wear. Obviously it couldn’t be something too revealing, that would give the game away far too quickly, and it couldn’t be anything too light – or see-through – because of the threat of rain. I chose a short, light dress in white and V decided to wear her black dress; a wonderful piece of clothing longer than that in the photograph above but very evocative of much, much more.
The market was quiet when we first got there at midday. It had begun at eleven, after many of the players had attended a special church service and then paraded through the town, but the weather looked as if it would hold; not too warm, windy but not cold or wet either. We wandered around the stands and I took my first pictures, wondering whether my hemline was riding up whenever I raised the viewfinder to my eye. V thought my concerns funny, after all, this was part and parcel of the game and, now and then, she’d stroke my bum or just pat it gently. As the market filled and more interesting subjects appeared before my camera I forgot all about what I was wearing – or not wearing – and began to join in with the spirit of the whole festival. We marvelled at the sword fighters; shot arrows at targets; tasted wine and a honey drink whose name I cannot remember; explored the basket-weavers stand, the travelling trolley selling bells and trinkets, the herbs and spices stall. We ate freshly cooked corn and flammkuchen (very fine bread-like base with cheese and onions baked in an open, real-fire oven), sampled the dates and figs. Our one mistake was to drink a cup of freshly brewed coffee and eat a fig each; the price was ten Euros for coffee and fig – each – which dented our resources considerably more than either one of us would have wished. Everything else was well-priced and more than enjoyable.
Eventually we decided to sit down and rest for a while, and chose the Turkish tea pavilion which I neglected to take a photograph of, but is similar to this:
except that it was inside a wooden pavilion and well protected from the wind. Yes, the seats really are so low and there was a Turkish bong on the table which might have given a few people mother thoughts, but which we didn’t touch! We drank black tea out of glasses and watched the people going by as a new sword fight show began close by.
It didn’t take me long to realize that, being so relaxed and sitting so low down, the view for some people would have been more than a pacemaker could stand. V loved it. She turned here and there as we chatted; crossed and uncrossed her legs; ran her hand up and down the inside of her thigh now and then or sat with her legs open enough for a fresh breeze to whistle through. I could tell from the way she was talking and the movement of her eyes across the passersby that she was enjoying herself. Whenever a particularly beautiful woman walked by, and there were many, she would change her position or let the hemline of her dress ride up a little bit more. When a few younger women came by, ones she might have known as they were in our age group, she stood, walked around the table and bent over slightly to whisper something in my ear. I know what they must have been able to see: the long line of her thighs and the tightness of her bum cheeks; the wonderful line of her pussy and, perhaps, even that small pink delight which I love running my fingers and tongue over. I can’t remember what it was she whispered, it makes little real difference, but I suddenly had the urge to slip my hand under her skirt. She was sopping wet and my touch caused her to moan and close her eyes. I slipped my finger deep inside her, drawing back slowly and then tasting her juices. She told me later that, had we been alone, she would have lifted her dress and pushed herself onto my face and tongue, she was so hot.
We found a secluded yard away from the market, just off the main street but close enough to hear all the people and sense them walking past, and I did just that. I stuck my face between her legs and lapped up the flowing juices as she pushed my head down and, further in between her thighs. Normally she is very restrained, but this time the orgasm was too strong, coupled with the excitement of what we had been doing and where we were, she voiced her pleasure long and loud. Then it was my turn. V grabbed me under the arms and lifted me up, clasped me with one arm and stuck her tongue in my mouth, licking up all the juice which had flowed across my face and chin and stuck her fingers deep inside me. Her kisses smothered the sounds of my pleasure, which I increased by fingering her pussy with one hand and her tush with the other. Anyone could have come across the car park at that time and we wouldn’t have even noticed them; perhaps they did, who knows.
We didn’t go back to the festival straight away, I dragged V back to the apartment with me where my bed waited. We were both so turned on, so excited by the whole experience we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the festival quite as much and might even have done something very silly – but enjoyable – in the middle of the market square. It took half an hour to progress from the front door of my apartment to the bedroom, and this progression began in the hallway before either of us had managed to push the front door to. I don’t know whether anyone has tried it, but I’ve now discovered that it is very hard to walk anywhere when you’ve got someone in your arms and when both you and that one special person have their fingers inside each other’s pussy and are playing as if there is no tomorrow. By the time we got to the bed we were both exhausted from orgasm after orgasm and flopped down in one another’s arms to rest for a while.
Our passion wasn’t completely spent, but the immediacy was all used up. We made love across the bed slowly and pleasurably; undressing one another and casting our clothes onto the floor as we caressed one another, as we kissed and licked, sucked and fingered. V fell asleep with her fingers still deep inside me, her head across my breasts, totally wiped out and it wasn’t long before my eyes closed too.
Love & Kisses, Viki.