The closest she’d come to this was falling over in netball when she was sixteen, her legs

The closest she’d come to this was falling over in netball when she was sixteen, her legs splaying side to side in the most unladylike fashion, cotton whites bared to audience and fellow players alike. Her cheeks could’ve powered a small village, or at the very least melted an icecap or two.  There wasn’t anyone watching, now. Except him. He was always watching. But the banks of the river were shadowy, overgrown places that could hide the odd leerer or two. Someone could be standing there, hand down their grotty jeans, and just watching her. She’d shivered as she stepped from mud and dirt into the water, but it wasn’t because she was cold. It was just the thought of it.  He’d told her she had to get used to her own body, used to losing the clothes and just being. He’d told her that he wanted her confident, and unafraid. He’d told her he wanted her to be just as confident outside the bedroom as in. She was eager, once she was safe. He wanted her eager always. She wanted to be eager always. Her wants mirrored his, as she wanted them to. But to be so exposed was unnerving. The wind ran over her skin like a warning, telling her of all the people who could be watching, all the eyes that could be drinking in the sight of her right this very second. Shivers ran down her spine like gazelle, a whole herd, one after the other after the other, a flighty, terrified little group.  “Bend over.” He didn’t call out, but there was no sound for miles, and his voice carried over the water. He was sitting down by a tree, legs stretched, arms folded. He looked comfortable. Lucky bastard.  She started to bend, each moment fraught with hesitation. The water was cold, but it was the soothing kind, the heat of the summer keeping the rest of her flushed. She could feel her back arching, almost instinctually, before she looked over her shoulder at him. He motioned with a finger. “Spread.” That fucking smile. It made her grin. She looked around, conspiracy written on her face, before she slipped that lip between her teeth, his favourite, and reached behind herself and grabbed those cheeks, slowly spreading them wide, showing him everything. Showing everything, everything. The phantom voyeurs, the woodland creatures, the wind. It all got a good look. “Good girl.” It was enough to let her know she could stand up again. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, before she started to enjoy herself. -- source link

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