Foreigner

It was a wonderful, warm spring evening. Grabbing my camera, I headed to a nearby park to get some fresh air, breathe, and, if possible, take a couple of interesting shots.

After passing through the old cast-iron gates, I immediately noticed a petite, modestly dressed blonde, about twenty years old, standing with her girlfriends near an ice cream stand. The girl was enthusiastically telling a story, actively gesturing with her slender little hands adorned with long, elegant nails of a soft pink color, and, with wide-open eyes, she would flutter her gorgeous lashes in surprise in response to her friends' remarks. Although I'm getting on in years—already over forty—

I wouldn't have minded getting to know such a girl. And maybe not just getting to know her! But, being realistic, I swallowed my drool and proudly strode past, casting an intense, appraising glance at the beauty. In response, she fell silent for a few seconds, quickly looked me up and down, noted the camera in my hands, and continued her fascinating conversation.

I wandered a bit along the paths densely overgrown with bright spring greenery, admired the ducks gathering the swollen bread floating in the pond, which was being fed to them by elderly couples strolling leisurely along the shore. I overtook a caravan of young mothers proudly pushing strollers with infants ahead of them, took a few interesting shots, and was already about to head back when a column of tourists blocked my path. They, apparently, like me, didn't want to spend such a wonderful evening cooped up in the stuffy rooms of a nearby hotel and decided to spend their time usefully, armed with cameras, and headed to the park. And then I had a most amusing idea.

I turned towards the exit and quickly walked to the stand where the girl I liked was standing. The beauty was in the same spot. Her friends weren't with her. But there was ice cream, which she held tightly in her manicured fingers and was licking quite seductively with her pink tongue. I gathered my courage, approached the girl, and, glancing around uncertainly, asked, deliberately distorting my Russian pronunciation: "Excuse me, I think I'm lost. I need to get to the hotel." The girl looked at me for a moment, then a mischievous smile played on her full lips, slightly touched with pearly lipstick, and playful little devils danced in her blue eyes. And then a hail of questions rained down on me: "Where are you from? What are you doing in Russia? What do you do back home?" I improvised my biography on the spot, trying to keep the conversation going. "Let me walk you!" she suggested. "I love foreigners so much! They tell amazing things! And show..." she added with a sly smile. I agreed to play the role of the escorted, and she led me. In the opposite direction from the exit.

We wandered for a while in the gathering dusk along narrow paths and finally came to some completely abandoned part of the park. "Are you sure this is the way?" I asked with doubt in my voice. "Yes, I'm sure," she replied. "Now I'll show you the most beautiful place in this park!" The girl pointed to an old bench at the end of an alley overgrown with blooming lilac. Then she cheerfully ran down the path and plopped down on the seat, spreading her legs wide. I walked up to her and sat down next to her. She turned her whole body towards me and, looking into my eyes with a smirk, began to caress the melting ice cream with her tongue. Caressing it, catching the dripping white, sweet drops. I was taken aback and froze. She took my palm in her small hand and placed it on her warm, smooth thigh. I stroked the delicate, silky skin. The girl, without stopping licking the ice cream, threw her bent legs onto the bench and spread them wide. I saw her semi-transparent panties. Reaching out, I stroked her crotch with my fingers. She was very wet. The blonde nymph, looking into my eyes, continued to lick her ice cream expressively.

I knelt down, pressed the temptress against the back of the bench, moved the interfering panties aside, and buried my lips in the hot, wet flesh. The girl arched her back and began to stroke my head. I tormented her clitoris with my tongue, played with it with my lips. When I lightly bit it, she moaned softly. Then I moved to her vagina. Hot and waiting, it pulsed, opening up to my tongue. I shoved my greedy tongue so deep into her that it felt like it might tear off. Her moans fueled my desire. My risen member wanted more. I rose from my knees. The girl allowed me to turn her back to me and bend her over the bench. When I shoved my cock into her tightening hole, she whispered: "Say something. Your accent turns me on so much!" I fucked this little temptress in her magnificent, tight pussy and called her affectionate words with the most monstrous accent I could muster. She moaned and writhed under my hands, and it aroused me so much that I almost came right inside her, managing to pull my cock out at the very last moment and spraying her legs. This didn't seem to bother her at all. Catching her breath, the girl took out a handkerchief and began wiping my sperm off her slender legs. After that, my sweet girl pointed out the path leading to the park exit and even allowed me to photograph her satisfied face, smeared with lipstick and ice cream. As a memento.