She leaned into the car, right in, reaching right across from the driver’s side to the glove compartment. There was a surge in her stomach. Not fear exactly, but nerves, crawling through her intestines.

Having never done anything like this before, she wasn’t sure how much the man could see. She couldn’t even be sure he was there, though she was convinced he was. What was really nerve-racking was to think that there might be others looking. It was a station car park after all.

She stood up, forcing herself not to turn around, then she leaned into the back of the car. She’d chosen a pale yellow outfit, light and summery because of the heat. How much had the skirt ridden up? She’d never worn one so short before. How much of her was visible? It felt like perhaps the lower part of her buttocks. It was exciting, and she was so nervous it made her sick.

Locking the car, she once again resisted the temptation to look around. Anyone could have seen, not just the man. She couldn’t face looking at a man who had watched as her skirt rose, looked up it, seen whatever he’d seen.

Instead of heading for the station building, she made her way to the footbridge across the tracks. It was what she’d agreed with the man, or rather it had come as one of the instructions in the e-mail.

She was halfway across the bridge when her mobile pinged. Having taken it from her bag, she saw a message consisting of just the one word, “Nice.” Her stomach churned. It was terrible and exhilarating all at once. What on earth was she, a forty-one-year-old mother of two doing engaging in this game? What on earth had possessed her?

Maybe she should reply – let the man know she’d changed her mind. Instead, she recalled the list of instructions she’d committed to memory and put the phone back in her bag. There were people heading her way. How many were behind her? She wasn’t about to turn to find out. Instead, she reached back and gripped the hem of her skirt. Then she lifted.

She couldn’t bear to hold it up. It was just a quick flash, no more than a glimpse of buttock, of that she was sure. A man overtook her from behind, giving a little whistle under his breath. She came over hot and faint and appalled with herself for doing this. And at the same time, the churning in her stomach began its downward trajectory.

It felt as if she could just about hold herself upright. If she’d chosen heels perhaps she wouldn’t have, but she’d been sensible and elected to wear ballet flats. Nevertheless, she still imagined she was wobbling, and hoped she didn’t look drunk. As she reached the other end of the footbridge, the relevant instruction was playing in her head. There was something to do before the descent.

This time she did it properly, reaching back and lifting her skirt so that both buttocks became visible, but only for a split second. Any longer than that was unthinkable. There were surely people behind her after all, including the man.

She kept her eyes on the steps as she made her way down them, not just for the sake of her footing, but because of the shame. This was no way for a respectable sexton to behave, and yet here she was, casting aside all propriety in public, and the most shameful thing of all was the way she felt giddy with a sensation she had never even imagined in all her life.

Having negotiated the steps, she entered something called Sometime Gardens. The quirky name had a definite appeal, though she had no idea where it came from. She’d never been here before; not the gardens, not the town. That was an absolute necessity. But she had looked at a map to gain some idea of the layout of the area. Sometime Gardens occupied an expanse of land between the railway and a canal. Her instructions were to turn right and follow the path along the high brick wall that separated the railway from the gardens.

She soon came to a pair of benches set in an alcove in the wall. This had been explained to her. Since one of the benches was occupied, she moved on, to the next pair, about thirty yards further along. These too were occupied. The next pair wasn’t. She couldn’t be sure if it had been a relief to find people sitting on the others, or if she was excited to be doing what she’d been instructed to. She put her bag on the bench and scanned the expanse of grass stretching towards the canal. It looked like people were sticking to the gravel paths, one quite close. She waited for the woman to pass before turning, facing the wall.

Then she bent over, pretending to rummage in her bag for something. She counted, as per instructions; one etcetera, two etcetera…  The twenty seconds felt like an eternity. She could hardly concentrate on the count from feeling how high her skirt had ridden up. She wasn’t sure how much she was revealing, but however much it was, it was too much. What had possessed her to play this terrible game that made her do things no respectable woman ever would. She was trembling when she straightened up.

The next pair of benches was also unoccupied. This time she could see two people on the grass, but not too close. Not close enough to see, not exactly. She stood bent over, weak at the knees, hands in her bag, counting; one etcetera, two etcetera… The shame threatened to consume her, but there was also an undeniable thrill. Even though she couldn’t see him, she was sure the man was there, somewhere, watching her skirt ride up, delighting in the sight of however much was on display.

The next pair of benches was different, since it was set right back in a corner of the gardens and partially obscured by carefully sculpted boxwood. No doubt that was why the instruction for this place was different. She was to remain bent over for a full sixty seconds.

This couldn’t be for the man’s benefit, since he wouldn’t be able to see for the vegetation. But she did as she’d been instructed. Forty-seven seconds felt like forty-seven minutes. Her legs trembled so that she was amazed she remained upright. And then she felt it. The hand.

She was in shock. How could she not have heard anything? But she remained as she was, remembering the instruction. “Whatever happens, you must not turn around.”

But she could speak. “Is that you?”

It was a stupid question, since anyone could truthfully answer, “Yes”. There was no reply. It could be anyone behind her, any pervert who’d chanced to see her. Except who was she calling a pervert, when she was busy exposing herself in public in the sunlit glare of day?

Whatever happened, she was determined to follow instructions. Besides, the hand was surprisingly gentle, stroking her buttocks softly in turn. Things became a blur. What was she doing letting a stranger touch her in public? A stranger who may or may not be the man she’d been in touch with on the internet. But it had to be him, surely?

The hand moved slowly, working its way downwards, finding the inside of one thigh. And then suddenly it was touching her most intimate parts. Fingers toyed with her folds, stroking at first, then rubbing. It was shameful, but the most shameful thing was that the man must be able to feel her excitement. The shame was all in the excitement. The shame was in finding pleasure in exposing herself to a stranger and then having him touch her like this in public. His fingers edged their way between her labia, and she was preparing for them to penetrate her when the hand disappeared.

What now? She picked up where she’d left off, not sure how she could remember exactly where that was. Forty-eight etcetera, forty-nine etcetera. By the time she got to turn around and sit down it felt like she was, in any case, two seconds away from collapsing.

There was one further instruction. “Await further instructions.”

So she sat, trying to imagine what those new instructions might be. Hardly daring to imagine what those new instructions might be. The effect of the stranger’s fingers on her was such that she wished he’d gone further. She didn’t want to feel that way, but she did. Part of her wanted to touch herself, but that was a step too far.

When her mobile pinged, she hardly dared look. But she must. It wasn’t an instruction, it was a picture, followed by more pictures. She looked at them, going hot and red all over. She discovered that right at the start, leaning into the car, she’d actually bared everything. The skirt had ridden up so high that her pudenda had been visible in the station car park. It was horrifying, and yet gratifying. The latter because she had to concede that the sight of her immodesty peeking out from just below the hem of her skirt looked fantastic. So much so that she couldn’t imagine why the man hadn’t taken greater advantage of her than he had.

That caused her further embarrassment. The sudden certainty that she wouldn’t have objected to anything the man might have done as she stood there, bent over, exposing herself. She was far too turned on for her own good. And her, a forty-one-year-old mother of two, a no longer so respectable sexton.

A new alert from her mobile made her jump. She was still staring at the image of herself with her labia bared for anyone to see.

“Walk to the canal and sit down on a bench. On the way, lift your skirt fully, front and back.”

The instruction made her body feel like a furnace, but she knew she would obey. She got up and made her way along the path toward the canal, paying close attention to potential onlookers. To her relief there weren’t many, and since the path was lined with trees on one side, she only had to keep an eye on the one side to determine if anyone was looking her way.

There was one person she wanted to see her, but since she didn’t know who he was, she couldn’t take any chances. She paused at intervals, seeking an opportunity when she could see no eyes looking her way, and finally one presented itself. Her heart began to pound, but she gripped the hem of her dress and lifted, fully.

It must have been all of four seconds that she held her skirt up, but she felt like a stripper. There was elation, a sensation of jubilation below the waist, which felt very odd. It felt like she’d bared herself to the world, even though she’d been careful not to let anyone see. Had the man seen? She hoped he had, but she didn’t see how he could have. She walked on, now feeling an irrepressible urge down below.

Reaching the canal, she discovered that all of the benches were boxed in by low-cut hedges, offering some degree of privacy. It came as something of a relief, but the relative secrecy also carried a risk she was only too well aware of. No sooner had she sat down than her mobile sounded. She had some idea of what the man would demand, and a full-blooded twinge told her she was excited by it.

“Excellent! Do you always keep your bush that neat, or only for the benefit of onlookers?”

A hot flush ran through her. She had, in fact, performed some small act of depilation last night, but how had he seen? As far as she knew, nobody had seen, yet he had. Where was he hiding? Moreover, was he expecting an answer?

She was about to provide one when a new message arrived.

“Expose that delicious bush some more. Lift your skirt and keep it up!”

There was a road on the other side of the canal, but a row of stout trees hid most of the stream of traffic from view. The pavement that separated the trees and the road from the canal was another matter. Anyone looking across from there might see, but the canal seemed fairly wide. She was in a strange town where nobody knew her, and to her shame she now realised it would only increase her excitement if somebody did see.

As she pulled the front of her skirt up, she scanned the pavement for someone who might be looking. She saw nobody, especially nobody who might be the man, but then her mobile pinged.

“Very nice! But you need to spread your legs some more.”

Where on earth was the man? But it didn’t matter. Holding her skirt with her free hand, she separated her legs. Her pussy was now fully on display, for anyone to see, though they would not be able to see exactly how moist it was becoming.

And she was seen. Just from an unexpected quarter. There was a splash on the canal. She turned her head. Four men in a canoe. They looked far too focused to notice anything going on beyond their narrow field of vision, but heads did turn. They passed too fast for her to make out their reaction, but the canoe was followed by another, and another, and another; heads turning in all of them.

There was a new surge of excitement, violent, demanding. She’d never imagined it could be this arousing having her most intimate parts viewed by complete strangers. As if he knew, the man sent a new text.

“Enjoy that, did you?”

Was he expecting an answer? She clutched her phone, trying to think of one when it pinged again.“I think it’s time you touched yourself. Don’t you?”

She could feel herself turn scarlet. There were footsteps on the gravel path behind her. Across the canal she could see someone looking straight at her. Was it him? The man? Before she had time to think any further about it, her hand had moved of its own volition. Here she was, a forty-one-year-old mother of two, a woman with a position of responsibility, out in the open with her fingers between her labia, feeling herself leak with a man, what, thirty yards away watching.

There were more footsteps behind her. She didn’t care. Her legs parted some more and a finger slid inside, instantly embraced by sticky damp. Everything seemed to happen automatically. The man opposite was leaning on the railing, staring in her direction as if transfixed. Some people passing turned their heads to see what he was looking at, but then quickly turned away as if embarrassed.

She should have been embarrassed too, but somehow she’d crossed a threshold. A second finger joined the first. There was so much liquid now. If she looked down she was sure she’d see stains on the wood, but she only had eyes for the man across the water, which may or may not be the man whose instructions she was following. She dug her fingers deeper inside, stifling a moan. Then her mobile pinged.

“I should have told you to bring a dildo.”

Would she have done it, if he had? The answer was undoubtedly yes. All resistance had vanished. She put the mobile down next to her on the bench to rub her clit while she wriggled two fingers inside. The man opposite had kept his hands on the railing all the time, so she knew he wasn’t the man giving her instructions. Somehow that knowledge excited her all the more. She was masturbating in front of a complete stranger, and she wasn’t about to stop.

At least not until she heard a voice behind her. “I’d be careful what you do in public, love.”

Her hands came away and she brought her legs together as she turned her head. A man was staring over the hedge at her; elderly, grey strands where his hair hadn’t disappeared altogether, heavy wrinkles.

“Is it you?” She asked. It wasn’t what she’d expected, but she didn’t care.

But the man just smiled. “I don’t know who you’re asking about,” he said. “But I wish I was he.” He paused, still looking at her.

“Would you like to join me?” She had no idea where the words had come from, they’d just come out of her mouth.

“I’d love to, love, but I don’t think the wife would approve.” She was about to say something about the wife not having to know when the man said. “You take care now,” and was gone.

She turned her head back, seeing that the stranger was still opposite her across the canal. Only now did the full magnitude of what she’d done occur to her. She’d been on the verge of offering herself to a complete stranger who may well be twice her age. Then she realised that given the state she was in, she’d be willing to offer herself to anyone. It was a terrible thought, and yet it caused a renewed trickle.

Hearing new footsteps behind her, she waited, hardly able to stop herself from just going ahead until they’d passed. Then she stared straight across at the stranger on the other side of the canal, spreading her legs wide and rubbing the palm of her hand against her churning sex. Once more a few people looked to see what was interesting the man before hurriedly looking away, but this time a young couple turned to each other and spoke before staring too, big smiles on their faces.

She used the fingers on one hand to splay her labia and hold herself open, and the fingers on the other to do a circular massage of her clit. This couldn’t be her, and yet it was, a forty-one-year-old mother of two, a stanchion of the community, showing off her most intimate parts, performing in public to three strangers, shamelessly accepting her own depravity.

She didn’t stop, not even when she heard a new crunch of gravel. She was too close to do anything but soldier on, rubbing herself, holding herself wide open, exposing her desire to strangers. A steady trickle was leaking onto the wooden seat when her phone pinged. She didn’t want to stop, but she knew she had to check.

A photo. A picture of her with her cunt wide open, fingers on her clit, a depraved look on her face. She looked like a total slut, and she was a total slut. But where was the man, and how had he managed to photograph her like that without her seeing him?

The photo was quickly followed by a message. “It’s time you returned to the car. On your way, I want you to bend over before you cross the footbridge and bare everything.”

It was mean of the man. How could he deny her the climax when she was so close to boiling over? Moreover, how could he make her walk back to the car in a state of deranged arousal? She could of course disobey him and just finish the job, but somehow she couldn’t. Those were his instructions, and she’d agreed to obey his instructions. Her phone pinged again.

“But before you leave, I think the audience deserves a look at your tits.”

Somehow this seemed more dangerous than what she’d just been doing. She didn’t know why. There was a new crunch of gravel behind her and she realised that her legs were still wide open. She didn’t bother closing them, but just waited for the footsteps to recede before pulling the straps of her top down over her shoulders.

She still had her audience, the man who’d been there all the time and the couple, where it looked as if the guy was fondling his girlfriend’s rear end. For some reason that pleased her as she reached back to unhook her bra. She didn’t have enormous breasts, but they were nice and shapely and she fondled them after putting the bra in her bag. Everything was on display, and the only regret she had was having to leave her rapt audience.

No words could ever describe what she felt as she walked back to the car. Every step of the way was a reminder of how close she’d been to climaxing. Her pussy seemed to be screaming at her to propel herself over the top and have it done with. There was damp on the insides of her thighs, and she was convinced everyone could see.

Actually, in her light skirt and top, she felt naked, or at least as if she may as well have been. Men looked, spying her erect nipples which couldn’t have been more conspicuous. Perhaps they all had x-ray vision, able to see straight through her clothes to her breasts and her naked pussy.

When she reached the footbridge, anyone who happened to be behind her could certainly see the latter. She put her bag on a step and bent over, pretending to be looking for something. Remembering the photo, how fantastic she looked with her folds bared, she didn’t just not care who saw, she hoped that she was seen. When a wolf whistle sounded, it felt as if it penetrated her. She barely made it across the footbridge, trembling from an agony of arousal, having to make an effort not to stick her hand up her skirt.

Back at the car, that was all she wanted. First, just one last flash, to get her as worked up as possible without actually touching herself, before she got in the car and finally gave herself what she desperately needed. She opened the back door and leaned in as far as she could, feeling her skirt ride up, knowing that she was fully on display.

Then she felt something else too. A hand, on the inside of a thigh. She tensed as it rose, coming up against her swollen labia.

Then came the voice; deep but cultured. “I knew you’d take to it.”

It was the man. It had to be. “How?” She asked. “How could you know?”

The man didn’t answer. At least he didn’t answer the question.

“My car’s just over there. Do I have your permission to take you for a ride?”

His finger was between her labia. More fluid dribbled out of her as he touched the entrance. The answer was inevitable.

“You have my permission to do whatever you like.”