If anyone else had been in the park that night, and if they’d been paying close attention, they might have noticed our silhouettes: we sat on a bench tucked away from the path that wound past the tennis courts, just beyond the reach of the park lights. Nothing particularly unusual, maybe: two people sitting on a slightly secluded park bench after dark, minding their own business. Of course, if they’d been listening carefully, they might have had a better reason to wonder what we were up to—between the slow, distinctive grind of me unzipping the fly of my jeans and the jingle of the ring on the collar around Helena’s neck as her mouth bobbed up and down the shaft of my cock, they could probably have figured out just what had brought us out to the park so late at night.
I took a handful of her long brown hair in my fist and used it to make sure that she was taking me deep enough in her throat. Her bra was in her purse; both of her tits hung out of her tank top. From our vantage point in the shadows, I watched a brightly lit streetcar glide past on the road overlooking the park. I made a mental note to remind Helena later just how many people could have seen her sucking me off, and to congratulate her for being such a cooperative little slut—like she was reading my mind, she let out a little muffled moan.