The walk through the gardens, in the heat of the summer sun, was glorious. The scent of the fragrant lilies filled the air as they walked, her slightly ahead, him trailing behind, only because he could watch her swaying ass as she walked.

The dappled sun on the water seemed to follow her every move as she walked along the narrow banks towards Monet's famous bridge. Laid out before them were fields of lilies of all different colours.

Catching up with her, his hand reached under her yellow sundress and lifted it so that he could caress her ample bottom. The wiggle of her flesh lasted only a few seconds until he found her blue jewel lodged in her ass. Gripping it firmly, he pulled and pushed it until she started smiling, then squirming. She stopped walking just before it plopped out completely.

He caught her arm and guided her away from the water's edge where the mating dragonflies were flitting over the water’s surface. Her eyes closed. He pushed the jewel back into her ass and she concentrated on the intense feelings. The way he used her body was giving her immense pleasure. Her nipples were on fire under the skimpy sundress, aching to be touched, pinched and pulled.

As they approached Monet’s Bridge, he paused, holding her in place with his finger and thumb on her jewel. He pushed her forward just a little until her feet rested on the gentle wooden incline of the bridge.

Approaching closer, he looked as if he was coming in for a loving kiss, but his other hand found the hem of her sundress. She bit her lip and hissed in anticipation, his fingers probed the folds of her pussy, prising her lips apart. One finger started at her clit and followed the only route down, separating her folds until they coursed into her moist cunt, a second finger followed it. The seesaw motion, coupled with the gentle tug on her jewel, saw her enter a dream-like state. Her eyes closed, her mouth opened, and a loud moan escaped her lips to join the gentle quacking of the ducks on the pond.

She shivered, swayed to and fro, leaving him in total control of her building orgasm. She felt the hunger in her pussy which savoured and devoured his fingers in equal proportions, and yet she waited for the intense pleasure to bring her off rather than rush towards the boiling chasm. Her mind concentrated on every touch, every scrape on the inside of her cunt, every flick of his thumb on her clit and every pull of the jewel causing her to clench her buttocks to prevent its removal.

A movement out of the corner of his eye saw him release her jewel and pull his fingers out of her sopping wet hole. His arm quickly swept around her waist in an unfamiliar, loving gesture for him, as if they had been long-time lovers. His fragrant fingers came quickly to her mouth to stop her from complaining too loudly.

He brushed her cries of “You bastard!” to one side with a wicked grin on his face, as they waited for the elderly couple to walk past them and onto and over the bridge. He smiled at them passing and nodded as if giving a polite acknowledgement of their presence as she looked across the lily pond, desperate to keep her heightened state of arousal intact. She clenched and unclenched her thighs and squeezed her buttocks on the hard jewel. Her breathing was erratic while the pleasure in her cunt slowly and needlessly receded.

Her time would come, eventually.

They waited a mere two minutes and with no one in sight, his fingers were once more dipping into her juicy honey pot. Pushing in and out as they took a few steps further onto the bridge.

She leaned over it to take in the sight of the beautiful lilies of red, white and cream, but all she could feel were his fingers pressing deeper into her sex, tearing her cunt apart, making her shiver with expectation and converting her into a wanton slut. The jewel started to wriggle once more and both her holes were caught in a blaze of sexual fire. Her fingertips bit hard into his arm as he probed her willing cunt.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide onto her reflection in the water below. The stillness of the water was in total contrast to the chaos building from within. What would her husband think of her if he could see her now? Acting in this way, letting this, more or less, stranger take her on Monet's Bridge. She loved the thought of what she was doing more than the act of doing it and he was bringing the worst out in her. She wanted to be his slut; she wanted him to use her body for whatever he wanted to do with it.

It was bad enough for her to agree to meet him in this wonderful place that she and her husband had visited on many occasions, but at forty years old, dressing so provocatively in just a bright yellow sundress with no knickers or bra was beyond brave for her. The jewel was a last-minute adjustment that she slipped into her ass while in the car. Her heightened state of excitement reached every part of her body and despite her height, she found herself on tiptoes leaning over the edge of the bridge, on the brink, waiting to fall into the cool water.

A single “fuck!” left her mouth, which only made him thrust his fingers harder into her, before pulling them out and rubbing them furiously over her clit. Every stroke, every penetration of her sex only made her climb higher and higher. Her head shook from side to side and she found herself waiting on the edge of a precipice, waiting for him to push her off.

Her legs gave way, buckling underneath her with the sheer force of another orgasm; it was just as well that she was gripping the bridge with both hands like her life depended on it. On this hot and humid day, there shouldn't have been a wet patch on the bridge, but she left one there in the hope that someone would recognise it for what it was.

He left her to compose herself and walked off the bridge, sniffing, then sucking his fingers clean. When she caught up with him, they slowly walked away, his hand back on her ass and a wicked smile engraved on both of their faces. Her wet juices slid down the inside of her legs and dried on her hot skin with every step she took.

“Every ten minutes, don't forget,” he whispered. Ten minutes to her seemed far too long; it seemed more like torture than pleasure.

She smiled; he was true to his word. Every ten minutes they would pause; he would check the surrounding area for people that were too close for comfort, then when all was clear, his fingers would find her cunt and work her into a sexual frenzy, bringing her off.

Monet’s Bridge was her fourth orgasm of the day, and they were getting easier and easier, taking less and less time and effort on his part and more effort on hers to prevent her legs from buckling from underneath. There were stains on the front of her dress but that was the only visible sign of their clandestine encounter. At first, their walk was vigorous until she had her first orgasm. It was a conscious decision by her to take smaller steps, take in the passing beauty of the lilies and wildlife, and revel in her post-orgasmic glow; after all, he promised every ten minutes, not every hundred metres.

When he told her of his plans, she remembered thinking how naughty it was, but when she turned up and met him, she found herself looking forward to the fifty-minute walk around these idyllic gardens, willing the first ten minutes to pass quickly so that she could feel him inside her. There was nothing like being surrounded by beauty and being finger-fucked at the same time. Nothing quite like it.

After her fifth and final orgasm, Marianne found herself heading back to her car. He followed, keeping a close watch on her beautiful ass, but catching up with her just as she opened the driver's door. She sat in the seat, her legs facing outward. Desperation was written all over her face. 

On approaching her, he found her outstretched arms peeling the belt of his jeans apart, the button falling open, the zipper peeling downwards and her hand diving in from above with the precision of a hungry egret. She pulled his erect cock completely free. Her mouth engulfed it, swallowed and sucked on it. His balls were gathered together and jerked downwards until he spurted his load into her hungry mouth and down her throat.

It didn't take long.

Her head was completely still for fifteen seconds while his cock pulsed into her waiting mouth. The feel and taste of his salty seed filling her mouth was manna from heaven, and it wasn't until she pulled on his cock a few times did she swallow and thank him for a wonderful day.

With his hands resting on the top of his car, he turned the bright blue jewel over and over in his hand, he watched her pull away. Five filthy-finger-fucking-orgasms, the thought made him smile.

What a woman!

Marianne's alter ego stopped the car at a layby, fifteen minutes from her home. Her sundress was discarded and relegated to a plastic bag in the boot of her car. A bra was quickly hooked in place, covering her aching nipples, knickers slid up her legs, and wet wipes were used to clean the filthy remnants of dried cum-stains from her skin before her jeans covered them and a t-shirt dropped over her arms and head. She smiled at the thought of giving him her jewel as a memory of the day.

Finally, she was dressed as the dutiful wife. The most ordinary woman living an ordinary life, but with the memories of a blowjob and five filthy-finger-fucking-orgasms, one of which was on Monet's Bridge.