[FM] A rainstorm, some photos, and oral sex on the London Eye.

For those of you who don’t know, the London eye is a 120m tall Ferris wheel on the banks of the Thames in London.

It rotates slowly without stopping, taking around 35 minutes for a full rotation. The glass walled pods take around 20-30 people each, with a rail around the outside where you can stand and watch the view, and bench seats in the middle. It doesn’t stop to let people on and off, it just moves slowly enough that people walk out one side of the pod at the bottom, and people from the queue step on for their 35 minute ride above London.

It is extremely popular and almost always busy, with long queues to get on during the popular tourist months.

This story takes place during the summer after my first year at university. For once, I have a steady boyfriend. His name is Ben, and I wrote about how we got together [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/67nceg/mf_a_story_about_the_nicest_guy_i_know_and_how_i/). This story takes place around 2 months later.

I’m living with my parents for the summer while Ben stays in London, working on his PhD. (Post doc students don’t get a summer break.) Newly together and all loved up, we’ve been visiting each other almost every weekend.

This particular Saturday we are in London. It’s a grey, cold afternoon – the kind of crap whether which only us brits still call summer. I catch the train down to London and Ben meets me at Euston station around mid-afternoon.

We’ve been planning to visit the Tate Britain, and we walk there from Euston, hand in hand, across the city and down past St. Paul’s, over the millennium bridge. We spend a few hours in the Tate, then afterwards decide to walk up the river to Chelsea, where Ben has a flat. The whether is blustery and cool, the sky dark and heavy with rain.

Usually on a summer evening this stretch of the river would be bustling with drinkers and tourists and outdoor diners, enjoying the early evening sunshine. Today it is almost deserted, the wind howling along the pavement and under the bridges, the dark clouds making it seem more like 10pm than 7.

We stop for a couple of drinks in one of the South Bank centre bars, then walk on, keen to get home before the rain starts.

It is around 9pm as we walk past Waterloo, and the first few drops of rain start falling from the gathering gloom. Neither of us are wearing coats; I have a tshirt on and jeans, and Ben has something similar. Hand in hand, we huddle close together under the Hungerford footbridge, watching the rain get harder.

‘I don’t think it’s going to stop,’ says Ben. ‘I reckon we’re just going to have to get wet.’

I nod. ‘Ah well,’ I say. ‘I’ve got clothes to change into in my bag.’ I’m carrying a small rucksack with my clothes for the weekend. ‘It’ll just be an excuse for you to get me naked as soon as we get to yours.’

He squeezes my hand and smiles, and I lean forward and kiss him. I love his shyness, his gentle kindness, his slight embarrassment which, despite all the sex we’ve had, still persists when I say things like that.

‘Ok, lets go,’ I say.

We walk on through the rain, but within moments it changes from steady rain to utter, torrential downpour. Great stair-rods of water pour out of the sky, making a deafening sound as they bounce high off the pavement, completely soaking us from below as well as above.

With a shriek of surprise, I grab Ben’s hand and we run. Laughing in delight at the sudden, elemental energy being unleashed all around us, we run through the storm, our shoes splashing through deep puddles, the wind driving the raindrops effortlessly through our summer clothes.

‘Under here,’ I shout to make myself heard above the storm. We run up the steps and under the shelter which protects the London Eye queue from less apocalyptic rainstorms.

The shelter isn’t wide enough to keep this one off, the wind blows the rain straight underneath it. We run along where the queue would form on sunnier days, and into the enclosed section where they sell tickets. There is no queue today, nobody waiting at all. In the ticket booth is a woman in a red shirt with London Eye printed on it.

Laughing and out of breath, we close the door behind us. Outside the storm rages on, the wind driving sheets of rain against the glass walls of the ticket office. Standing there, we are utterly soaked, we honestly could not have been wetter if we’d just climbed out of the sea. Water runs freely from the end of my hair, joining the drips from my clothes and Ben’s to make a small lake on the floor.

‘Nice weather we’re having,’ says the woman in the ticket booth, completely straight faced.

‘Glorious,’ says Ben, wiping water from his eyes and shaking it off his hands. I bunch my hair into a sodden rope and squeeze a pint or so of water out of it. To our left a pod of the London Eye slides alongside the landing stage. Four or five people get off and stand there, looking wearily at the storm.

‘Do you want to go on?’ asks the woman in the ticket booth. Ben and I glance at each other. Outside the rain is as heavy as ever.

‘We could do,’ I say. ‘I’ve always wanted to go, and there’s no queue for once…’

‘We won’t be able to see much though,’ says Ben. He looks out at the storm. ‘Still, it probably beats standing here making a puddle in your ticket office.’ He smiles at the woman. ‘Ok yeah why not. Two tickets please.’

She prints them out and I pay with some slightly soggy banknotes.

We walk over to the boarding platform, handing our tickets back over to the guy on the gate, and wait while the next pod slides alongside. This time a dozen people get out, but we are the only people waiting to get in. We step on board and the door closes behind us as we start the slow climb up over London.

I walk to the front and hold the rail, looking out over the Thames. Ben sits down on the bench seat in the middle of the pod and rummages in his bag for his camera. ‘Ugh,’ he says, ‘everything in here is soaked. Hope my camera is ok.’

I shiver in the cool air of the pod. I’m soaked to the skin and starting to feel cold. ‘I’m going to put some dry clothes on,’ I say, putting my bag down on the bench. I open it and pull out a dress and some dry underwear.

‘Got anything that would fit me?’ Ben asks. I offer him a fishnet body suit I have brought along for our mutual entertainment. He smiles. ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘Doesn’t go with my eyes. I’ll just have to wring the water out.’ He pulls off his sodden tshirt and squeezes some if the water out of it.

I pull my own tshirt over my head and drop it in a wet puddle on the floor. Ben watches with interest. ‘If I’d known this thing had strippers I’d have come years ago,’ he says, smiling. I play along, kicking off my shoes and wiggling my bum at him like a stripper as I peel off my soaking wet jeans.

My underwear is sodden too. I unhook my bra and add it to the pile on the floor. Ben watches, his camera in his lap. ‘Are you going to take some photos of me flashing London then?’ I ask. I’m facing him, topless, the lights of the riverbank slowly getting less distinct through the rain as the wheel moves us higher.

He nods, grinning. I strike a pose and he takes a couple of photos. Then I walk over to the window and stand looking out over the river, naked except for my pants. We’re not that high yet; I can see boats with tourists on, huddled inside, and people walking on the opposite bank. I’m not too worried about being seen, they’d need binoculars to get a decent view.

My pants are soaked, and not in a good way. I start to push them down, but Ben stops me. ‘Leave them on a moment.’ I turn and look at him, eyebrows raised.

‘Err, isn’t it your job to get me *out* of my knickers. Not keep me in them?’

‘Yeah but, it’s actually a really nice photo, you looking out with the lights of London and the stormy sky.’

‘Surely it will be even nicer with my bum in it?’ I say.

‘Yeah but with pants on it’s actually quite decent, you could totally show people. With your pants off it won’t be.’

‘Ahh,’ I say, and face the window again, hands on the rail. The sound of the camera behind me, and the rush of being naked in such a public place, are starting to send a steady pulse of sexual excitement through my body. Suddenly I’m aware of the hardness of my nipples, and the presence of my clit.

I turn to Ben and pose against the rail as he takes more photos, pushing my knickers off then squatting slightly, my hands behind me on the rail, my knees apart – a top shelf porno pose. He takes the photos. ‘I’m not sure those ones are quite so decent,’ I say, straightening up. He stands too, naked to the waist himself, and I can see he has an erection, his jeans bulging out at the crotch. ‘Come here.’ I hold out my hand to him as he puts the camera down and walks over to join me at the window.

I slide my arms around him, pulling his bare torso close to mine, my back leaning on the rail. He still has shoes on, whereas I’m barefoot, making us almost the same height. Normally I’m an inch or so taller.

His bare chest is damp and feels cool against me, but his lips and tongue are warm as they meet mine. He slides his hands down the sides of my naked body as we kiss, moving round and cupping my bum.

We kiss like that for a minute or two, a rush of heat spreading outwards from my groin. He bends and kisses one of my nipples, sending another rush of pleasure darting down towards my clit. I gasp in pleasure, then moan, desperate for the touch, as he moves his hand around my body and slides it downwards through my pubic hair.

I let go of the rail and undo the button on his jeans. They are stiff and wet, and he helps me push them down to his ankles, then bends to pull off his shoes. Back upright, he steps out of his jeans. His cock is erect and pointing up and out, the purple head glistening with rain or precum or maybe both.

I reach for it as he steps back towards me, bringing his lips to mine as his own hand slides between my legs.

We stand there kissing, a deep sexual kiss as we touch each other, our bodies pressed together. He slides the hand which isn’t between my legs up over my breasts, and I lean away to give him room, my hand still holding his cock. My chest is flushed red with arousal, and he slides his fingers over the redness then down over my breasts. My heart is racing.

‘I want to give you a blowjob,’ I say, stroking his cock. He looks out of the window. We are almost at the top of the circle now, high above London. It is still raining, but not so heavily, and the lights of the river seem a long way below.

‘Can anyone see,’ he asks, looking at the tall office buildings on the other side of the river.

‘Nah,’ I say, ‘not unless they’ve got like paparazzi long lenses. Come on…’ I lead him, literally by his cock, back towards the bench, and sit down. He stands facing me, his erection level with my mouth. I look up at him and smile, moving my hands over his bum as I run my tongue up the underside of his cock, then I take it in one hand and slide it into my mouth.

When we first got together I found blowjobs tricky, his size – the biggest I have ever had – making it difficult to follow my usual technique. But after a few weeks together (and plenty of practice!) I’ve got it nailed, taking less of it into my mouth and using my hand at the same time, my tongue sliding over the underside of the tip.

Ben is quiet during sex; he breaths hard but makes no other sound as I suck him, one of his hands resting gently on my head but never trying to push me down. I taste his salty precum as I maintain a steady rhythm, my hand and mouth together, my other hand letting go of his bum and moving almost of it’s own accord up between my own legs.

I touch myself, my wetness hot against my cool fingers, a burst of pleasure firing through my body as my finger brushes my clit. I moan, and Ben’s breathing quickens. I quicken my pace on his cock, and look up at him. His eyes meet mine, his mouth open, his face a mask of pleasure as his cock pulses and spurts in my mouth.

I take the first couple of spurts in my mouth then sit back and point the last few at my tits, enjoying the feeling of his hot cum hitting me. There’s lots. I swallow what I have in my mouth and rub the head of his cock over my now slippery nipples, as the last drops of his cum seep out. He puts his hands on my shoulders and squats down, bringing his face to mine. ‘Thank you,’ he says, always polite! We kiss, his hands roaming my tits, covering them in his cum, and I moan in pleasure.

‘My turn,’ I murmur, as I lie back flat on the bench seat. He’s on his knees between my legs, and he puts his hands on my thighs, pushing them further apart as he bends and brings his lips onto my cunt.

His tongue moves softly between the lips of my vagina and up onto my clit, and I lie back as he starts to flick rhythmically against it, curling his tongue around it with each stroke.

The roof of the capsule is partly glass and I look up at the dark, angry clouds and the splashing rain. An aircraft passes overhead, heading in to land at Heathrow. I wonder if any if the passengers look down at just the right moment, and realise they are just a few hundred feet above a girl on the London Eye getting oral sex.

Ben slides his tongue against me, his rhythm and pressure perfect, and unlike him I’m not quiet during sex. I moan with each breath, savouring the lack of parents or housemates who might hear me. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I repeat breathlessly as he brings me close to orgasm.

I tense up, the pleasure building to an incredible intense peak, and just a second before I cross the line into orgasm he stops, lifting his head clear away from my legs. ‘Ohhhh god nooo,’ I moan. This is something I’ve been teaching him, how to edge me at the brink of orgasm. The bastard has learned fast, and now he can time the approach of my orgasm to perfection. He slides his hands over my body and over my nipples. I am throbbing, the overwhelming pressure of pleasure in my clit desperate to be released but with nowhere to go, it spreads hotly through my body, joining the jolts of pleasure from my nipples as he brushes against them.

‘Please Ben,’ I say, ‘please.’ He kisses down my stomach, blows on my vagina but moves past it, kissing achingly slowly up the inside of my thighs. I push myself towards his mouth but he moves with me, kissing higher and higher, his lips finally reaching my desperate clit once again.

I give a deep, animal moan of pleasure as he starts licking me, begging ‘don’t stop, don’t stop, please, yes’ as he brings me to the edge again and, of course, stops. I scream in frustrated rage, anger and desperation and immense pleasure all mixed together. He stands up and smiles. ‘Careful,’ he says ‘you’ll wake the neighbours.’ Cool as a cucumber, albeit one with a massive erection, he reaches over me for the camera and calmly takes a picture of my writhing, sweaty, desperate body. I try to touch my own clit but he pushes my hand away. ‘Just be patient,’ he says ‘I’m trying to get a photo here.’

He takes a couple more then kneels back down and slides his hands up my inner thighs. ‘This time, please, please, do it now…’ I’m past begging now, this is desperation, the urge to orgasm is so absolutely overwhelming, I can’t think of anything except the raging need between my legs.

This time he uses his fingers, sliding two inside me and his tongue onto my clit, pressing it hard in short, quick strokes. He curls his fingers inside me, and if he was planning to stop again he doesn’t get the chance, because I’m instantly over the edge into an unbelievable orgasm. The scream must have been heard across half of London as I am consumed in pleasure, my back arched off the seat, pushing myself into Ben’s face as I grasp the back of his head.

He moves with me, keeping his tongue flicking my clit as waves of contractions grip the fingers he has inside me and radiate out through my body.

Finally I lie still, sweat pouring off me, involuntary tears of pleasure and happiness and relief running down my cheeks. Ben kneels up and moves his face close to mine, momentarily concerned. ‘Are you ok?’ He asks.

‘You bastard,’ I say, kissing him. ‘That was incredible.’ I wrap my arms around his neck and we kiss, endorphins and love and happiness flooding through my body.

Finally we stand. The wheel is more than half way down, heading back towards the ground. I pick up the dry bra and panties and put them on, then drop the dress over my head. ‘You look incredible,’ says Ben, still naked, still hard.

‘Save it, big boy,’ I say as he picks up the camera and takes a photo. My hair is a utter fright, rain and sex combining to make extreme bed-head. I try to comb it with my fingers as he picks up his clothes and starts to put them back on.

‘Ugh,’ he says, putting on his wet tshirt, ‘this is horrid!’ He struggles into his soaking jeans as I stand there, cool and dry.

‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I really don’t have anything that would fit you.’

We put our shoes back on just as the capsule reaches the ground and pulls along side the landing stage. The door slides open and we step off, walking past the ticket lady and out onto the pavement. The rain has stopped, but there are puddles everywhere.

‘Do you think she has CCTV?’ I ask, as we join hands and walk, laughing, down the steps and back towards the street.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/6g798f/fm_a_rainstorm_some_photos_and_oral_sex_on_the