Cemetery Gates. [F][mast]

What am I doing here? The picnic blanket is scratchy, but it’s all I have for warmth. The graveyard where I find myself is cold at night, but I was told to come here with no clothes on, and I did.

It’s the old kind of graveyard, with concrete slabs over each grave. At first I had the picnic blanket in between me and the cold concrete, but since the blanket is now around my shoulders, my ass is on the concrete. There’s a pebble nudging my vulva.

The grave I am sitting on belongs to a man who died in 1919. I picture him, stern and Victorian – a frown in a bowler hat, scandalised my my current state. His disapproval only heightens my excitement – the excitement that allows me to endure this discomfort.

And I keep hearing voices from the nearby road…

Goths are weird. He asked me to meet him like this, and I was too intrigued to turn him down, but of course it hit me how utterly bizarre and dangerous this is. But I flirted with him. I broke the ice and made the first move. Who am I to say no to him. He is older than me. Jet black hair and a goatie, and a beautifully sculpted face. He reminded me of the devil, or Jonny Depp.

He’s late.

I bought with me a duffel bag. It contains some clothes for afterwards (college hoodie, and leggings), a towel, and a battery pack for my phone. Don’t want it dying while we’re filming this adventure. I begin to set it up when I see that there’s a message.

*”Hey fire crotch. You’re pussy’s too small, I picked up something else, have a nice life”*

That bastard. I began to shake and cry as a gust of wind deposited a dead leaf inside the blanket. It landed on my right tit, and with a scratch. I opened the blanket to brush it away. As I did this, I realised that I was open to the world. My hand brushed my nipple and it felt good. The cold made me so sensitive. I tweaked it, as I sobbed, and the sob turned into a groan. With one hand I pulled my own hair as I rubbed my nipple with the other.

It felt so good that I tentatively tried my clit, surprised to discover that I was wet.

A ow stone wall surrounded the cemetery, separating it from the road. I stood up. The blanket that had been around my shoulders lay in a crescent around where I had been sitting, and I made my way to the wall. In bare feet, I climbed its two-foot height (a small cut on the ball of my foot, made by a sharp rock on the wall, felt like it was bleeding). And I sat on the wall, legs open to the roadside, and rubbed my clit

I fought the urge to keep going until I come, and I stop. My phone is still with me. There’s a flashlight on it. I jump down onto the sidewalk, and set up the flashlight and camera. The phone is on the sidewalk, illuminating me from below as I retake my place. An electric eye looking up into my pussy, lighting my face and body like a movie monster, as I open my legs to the world and moan.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/63b1bt/cemetery_gates_fmast

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