The rain had already soaked through my shirt by the time I noticed her.
I was standing under the narrow awning of a closed café, waiting for the downpour to ease, when she walked past the streetlights like she belonged to the weather. Short wavy blonde hair plastered to her face and neck, water streaming down the sharp lines of her cheekbones. Those striking blue eyes caught the light for a second when she glanced sideways, and something in my chest tightened.
She wasn’t wearing a top. Just the thin, soaked thong that clung to her hips like a second skin. Her bare back glistened under the streetlamps—smooth, athletic, rain running in rivulets down the deep curve of her spine. And her ass… God. Round, firm, sculpted from serious training, the wet fabric of the thong disappearing between those full cheeks and stretching tight across them. Every step made the water slide over that perfect shape, highlighting how heavy and high it sat.
I must have stared too long, because she slowed.
“You just going to stand there?” she called over the rain, voice light, almost amused. “Or are you coming?”
I don’t remember deciding. One second I was under the awning, the next I was following her into the open downpour. Water hit my face and shoulders, cold and relentless. She turned when I reached her, and I finally saw the front of her properly.
Her tits were full and heavy, surgical-round and high on her chest, the kind that moved with a soft, natural weight when she breathed. Raindrops beaded on the pale skin and rolled over the tight pink nipples that had hardened in the cold. She didn’t cover herself. She just stood there, letting me look, water running between her breasts and down the flat, toned plane of her stomach.
“Like what you see?” she asked, stepping closer. The heat of her body cut through the rain.
I nodded, words gone.
She smiled—pretty, almost sweet—and then the world tilted.
Suddenly we weren’t on the street anymore. The rain was still falling, but we were under a darker stretch of road, pressed against the side of a parked car. Her hands were on my chest, pushing me backward until my shoulders hit the wet metal. Before I could speak she was climbing me, strong thighs wrapping around my waist, that soaked thong grinding against the front of my jeans.
“Stay still,” she whispered against my mouth.
She kissed me hard, rainwater mixing with the taste of her. Her tits pressed flush against my soaked shirt, the hard points of her nipples dragging across my chest every time she moved. I could feel the heat of her cunt through the thin wet fabric of the thong, already slick and open. She reached down, yanked my zipper open with one practiced tug, and freed my cock into the cold rain. Her fingers wrapped around it, stroked once, twice, then she hooked the crotch of her thong to the side.
I felt everything.
The first sink of her body was slow and deep. Her pussy was hot, tight, and obscenely wet—rain and arousal mixing as she took me inch by inch. The inner walls fluttered and gripped, silky and greedy, stretching around the thick head and then the shaft until I was buried to the root. Her ass settled against my thighs, those round, heavy cheeks spreading slightly under the pressure. I could feel the cool rainwater running down the crack of her ass and over the place where we were joined.
She started to ride.
Not gentle. Not teasing. She pinned my shoulders back against the car and used her legs to lift and drop, taking every inch on the way down. Her tits bounced heavily with each thrust, the wet flesh slapping softly against her ribs. I watched them move—full, round, the nipples tight and dark from the cold and the friction. When she leaned forward they dragged across my face; I opened my mouth and caught one, sucking hard while she moaned into the rain.
Her ass never stopped working. Those sculpted glutes flexed and released with every rise and fall, the wet skin gleaming under the streetlights. I grabbed handfuls of it, fingers sinking into the firm flesh, spreading her open so I could feel the way her pussy clenched every time she bottomed out. The thin strip of her thong was still pulled aside, the soaked fabric rubbing against my shaft on every stroke. Below that, I could feel the tight furl of her asshole against my fingers when I slid one hand deeper—hot, clenched, twitching every time her cunt gripped me harder.
She rode me like she owned the rain.
Harder. Faster. The wet sounds of her pussy taking my cock mixed with the downpour. Her blue eyes stayed locked on mine, half-lidded and fierce, short blonde hair stuck to her cheeks. When she came the first time her whole body locked up—ass clamping tight under my hands, inner walls pulsing in strong, rhythmic waves around my cock, a broken little sound tearing out of her throat. She didn’t stop. She kept bouncing through it, using the aftershocks to milk me deeper, her tits still bouncing heavily in front of my face.
I lasted maybe another minute before I broke. I slammed up into her one last time and came hard, flooding that tight, greedy hole while she held me pinned against the car. I could feel every spurt, the heat of it trapped between us, some of it leaking out around my cock and running down over her wet ass with the rain.
She stayed on me for a long moment, breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine. Then she smiled again—soft this time—and the pressure of her body started to fade.
I blinked.
I was still standing under the café awning. The rain was lighter now. Across the street, the same blonde woman in the soaked thong was walking away, bare back glistening, that perfect round ass swaying with every step. She never looked back. She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t touched me.
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