She sits, enjoying the early morning misty air, on a slatted bench. The park around her seems deserted. There is the solitude she craves, away from the sharp fragments of life.

Beside her is a single bottle of milk. The girl strokes the bottle with her hand, enjoying the coolness against her skin. She strokes her fingers up and down the length of it. The condensation on the clear glass wets her palm.

The woman on the bench raises her hand and sucks the moist droplets from her palm. Her tongue explores her raised palm and she stretches out her legs, stiffening her thighs and lower back. She relishes the tautness in her muscles.

She thinks of wetness, and pictures the forms of wet she knows. The thought of rain makes her shiver, while thinking of the sea makes her smile. She wills herself away from these thoughts knowing within herself where they will lead her.

The young woman looks at the milk bottle. She whispers at it, “Oh, what a surprise I could make of you.”

There is no one there to know that she thinks of caressing the shiny glass and imagines its coolness pressed against her naked body. She thinks of the glass rolling across her breasts. The rounded mounds are hard against her chest.

The girl on the bench allows her thoughts to gather pace. She smiles, enjoying the pleasure. Her breathing quickens when she imagines inserting the bottle into her body, and gripping it in her vagina. She feels excited at the prospect of trying the phallic object in her cunt.

“My cum juice all over your neck,” she whispers to the glass container in her hand “ha that would be sweet revenge when someone drinks your milk.”

The girl presses her thighs together, delighting in the thought of penetrating herself with something long and hard. Her eyes are closed, against the brightening sun. The warmth of the sunshine makes her feel good. Her muscles and limbs feel alive. The coat she wears begins to fall open, jerking her back to the present. She hastily wraps it back around herself.

The girl looks about her noticing the park remains deserted. She checks the time, on her watch, wondering if she has time to lose herself in the thick bushes. There is an ache in her pussy she needs to satisfy.

Too many erotic thoughts have aroused a sexual need. A need a bottle may not satisfy.

As if to reassure herself, she brushes her hands down her coat smoothing out the grey fabric. The seated woman looks up when she has finished. In the distance, she sees the figure of a man. He is walking across the park leisurely. He catches her attention, and she watches his progress in an abstract partly interested way. In her thoughts, she wonders if he will pass near before she has to leave. The solitary woman looks at her wristwatch again calculating the likelihood of him wanting to sit on the seat from where she now observes him.

The young lady gets up from the bench and sighs. Time is a cruel master. Now she has to leave the tranquil gardens. She lets her coat fall open. The underwear beneath is revealed. Her hand is quickly inside her panties. Smiling with anticipation, she forces a finger into her crack before wiping the wetness onto the bench.

‘If anyone passes they might notice my scent,’ she thinks to herself.

Turning to leave, she spies the walking man approaching as he makes his way to wherever he is going. She heads towards him, and as they pass. he smiles at her. A smile that excites and interests her.

The next day the solitary lady is once more sitting on the bench in the park. She is hoping and wishing for the man who walked to pass by.

She imagines what might be beyond the smile.

Would he like to know her thoughts from the previous evening, she wonders.

Alone in her room, she pictures him tying her to a seat. Her stockings cut into her wrists and ankles after he removes them and straps her to a hard-backed chair.

In her imagination, they converse.

“I have not come prepared,” he rasps “you must help me to improvise.”

“I will,” she sounds through barely moving lips.

“I need to magic up some equipment,” he rasps once more, “what’s in that box over there?”

The young woman says hoarsely, “Carpet remnants, I was going to throw them out tomorrow.”

The man makes his way over to the box on the floor. He opens it and rummages roughly through the contents.

“Ah, this is promising,” he says, turning to the young woman bound to the chair “this bit of carpet feels nice.”

She breathes in audibly unsure what intent he has for a scrap of carpet. He holds it up and walks over to her.

She can see it is about ten inches long and four inches wide. The guy rolls it into a tube and draws it under her chin. She can feel the coarseness in the fibres when he presses hard.

“What does this remind you of sweetie?” he asks the silent young lady.

She replies spontaneously, “A tube, a phallic tube.”

“Yes, that’s a pleasing thought,” he says, and asks, “shall we play a game?”

“Any game at all, I will play for you,” the girl replies.

“I think a little word association might be both stimulating and challenging, I will give you a word and you have to tell me the correct association,” he tells her.

“Yes, I agree, and will try not to let my mind wander,” the captive replies.

“You must give me the correct answer to receive one item of my clothing,” he adds.

“You do want me naked?” he asks her.

“I mostly do,” she tells him. “I want your body naked so I can fully worship the bones and sinews,” she continues.

“Rabbit,” he says to her staring hard.

“Breeding,” she responds.

“No, that’s the wrong answer,” he hisses.

He raises his arm and hits her with the now flattened carpet. There is a slapping noise as it makes contact. He says the letter B. He repeats his actions for each letter in the word breeding.

The woman, unable to move takes the blows. After he has finished a stinging persists.

The game continues with her unable to supply a correct answer. The disciplinarian changes the site of his blows, and the stinging in her flesh accumulates. She feels pain and arousal. The girl knows her cunt is wet, like her eyes.

“This is unfair, how can I guess right when you deliberately treat my answers with denial?” she says, regardless of any consequences.

“You have to try harder, sweetie. You have to outsmart me, not give up and be a defeatist.”

Several more random words are thrown into the game by the master. The captive gets them right. Her reward is a growing pile of clothes discarded by the man.

He stands over her naked, tantalizingly close. She desires him, wants his sex. The girl needs to bathe in his satisfaction, to fulfil herself.

Looking up from her recollections, as she sits on the bench, in the park, she sees the object of her thoughts.

As he passes by he turns his head and smiles warmly. He moves off into the distance.

On the next day, the lone female figure sits upon the bench in the park. She appears deep in thought although her eyes are alert to the arrival of the smiling gentleman. Her restlessness is hidden. Her face and body are still. As she wonders if he who smiles will visit this place upon this day, she espies him. He is in the distance, leisurely navigating his journey.

He knows nothing of how she made herself naked last night, and danced, or of how she imagined them together. The man did not see her responding to the felt touches as they moved to the music in her head. Nor did he see her blue dress slide to the floor when his imagined fingers loosened the zipper. The flowing fabric eased itself from her swaying torso, allowing the dress to fall to earth.

She stepped from the gathered mass.

In the fantasy she holds, he looks deep into her eyes, and says: “Let us play a game, you and I.”

“What game?” she asks without missing a step in the dance.

“I have to guess the dance you have chosen,” he replies.

She says, to her partner, “So challenging, there are many dances.”

“Polka,” he replies.

“Why no,” she exclaims “I was in the thrall of rhumba.”

He lifts his arm backward, away from her. It is brought back down with a heavy slap to her backside. She winces. The strike takes her by surprise making it seem more painful.

“P,” he says without breaking the rhythm of the dance.

“I rather like this game,” she tells him.

“Me too,” he confides.

By the time he guesses a dance correctly the girl is red and sore. She can feel her buttocks stinging and swelling. She decides she has had punishment enough.

For several days the two lone people exchange smiles in the park. She sits upon a bench, and he leisurely walking. Her fantasies grow ever more vivid and exciting to her.

She imagines a hard thick cock in her hands. She feels its stiffness and length, sliding her hands up and down the shaft.

She wants to please.

Opening her mouth she presses her lips to the tip of the penis. She holds it and uses her tongue to explore the contours. She rubs and sucks and kisses, taking it deeper into her mouth. She works her mouth on it until she feels a gush of liquid fill her covering her inner cheeks and teeth before rushing onward to her throat.

The young woman opens her eyes. The smiling man is stood in front of her. She pulls the bottle away from her lips.

He looks at her and says, “Good morning.” He smiles before walking off in his leisurely way.

Then he does not appear.

Many days go by where the young woman pines unsatisfied. The man does not walk by. She does not exchange smiles.  She no longer expects him, and sitting on the bench, she loses herself in her thoughts.