What?

One hand in her mouth, the other supporting her weight against the tombstone. She's trying to muffle the sound she makes but it isn't enough. Sweet moans escape through her plump lips and burrow right into my ears. My mind can't understand what I'm seeing.

The corners of the tombstone are sharp and pointy. The name engraved on it is Robinson Luth and the epitaph is half visible. It reads "Never stop". The rest of the sentence is faded.

 Layla moves her hips like a woman possessed. Against the corner of the tombstone, she rubs herself. I can hear a wet sound as she does so. Her milky skin glows in the middle of the night. The moon illuminates her whole body and her sweat glistens in the moonlight, trails down her arms, and quenches the dry soil.

Pants shake her frame. The maddening glint in her eyes yells: Not enough. Never stop.

Layla's hand in her mouth moves to the buttons of her shirt. I gulp. A side to her I never knew. I can't stop watching, I'm rooted to my spot.

She unbuttons her shirt one button at a time with her thin and deft fingers. Why is she so slow? I want to help her but she can't know I'm here. My pants are tight and I can no longer sense the cold. 

She takes her shirt off and I can see her ample breasts being constricted by her bra.  Layla increases her pace, humping the tombstone like an animal. Now that she doesn't muffle her moans, they ring clear in the night. It's music to my ears. My hand moves to my thigh like it has a mind on its own. 

Her small hands cup her breasts and it's like they are spilling through her fingers. Even I don't think my hands would span all the length of her skin. As I unbutton my pants, my elbow rustles against the dried leaves scattered on the soil. Fuck!

I can't hear Layla anymore.  She's frozen, scared, and looking in my direction.   

"A ghost?" Her voice trembles, she is about to cry.

I know I should remain hidden, never let her know that I was here or what I have witnessed. But I don't want her to cry because she thinks a ghost is haunting her.

From her perspective, I must be popping out of a tombstone. "It's just me," I say like an idiot.

"Mike?" She whispers and does what I was trying to prevent—she starts crying. 

I want to comfort her but I've never been the best when people are sad. "Don't cry, Layla."

"Get away from me!" She sobs, kneeling to grab her shirt. She's avoiding my gaze.

I don't know what to say, "Are you okay?" 

"Are you going to report me to the Academy?" She looks at me like I've grown a second head. "Aren't you weirded out? Don't you think I'm disgusting?"

What is she talking about? "I think you are beautiful."

"Even when I'm doing this?" Layla says, blushing but unbelieving.

"Even if you were a monster, I would think you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen." It's strange to say how I feel when my gaze is focused on her breasts.

"Really?"

"I swear."

We return to a pregnant silence. I can almost hear the cogs in her mind churning, trying to decide if she believes me or not.

"Prove it," She says, eyes glinting with determination. "If you like me then do as I say."

"Whatever you ask." 

Even her ears are red. She points at my pants and says, "Mutually assured destruction. You've seen me. It's only fair I see you too. If you report me to the Academy, I'll report you too."

Wait. Wait. Wait. Why is the situation taking this direction? 

Maybe is because I can't comprehend what is happening that I say the most ludicrous thing that crosses my mind. "I have a better idea. What if we touch each other? In that case, we would be partners in crime. We will remain silent and if anybody decides to snitch, the Academy will expulse us both."

Layla lowers her head. I think she's going to reject me but she says: "Okay."

I'm elated with joy.

"Can I kiss you?"

Moments ago she was fearful, now, she enthusiastically nods without looking at me. How cute. She's feeling shy.

Our faces are close so close to each other I can feel her hot breath on my lips. I can't contain myself anymore. 

Placing my hand on her back, I push her body against mine. She's like a radiator, I bask in her warmth. 

Her lips are soft and fleshy, I want to take a bite out of them. Instead, I pry open her lips with my tongue and she lets out the most sinful of moans. I don't know what I'm doing but I hope my enthusiasm makes up for my inexperience. My hand travels down her spine and settles in her ass. Layla is shivering, moving her tongue clumsily in reciprocation. 

Her breasts deform as they press against my chest. There isn't any space between us. She must have noticed how hard I am. 

We can't get enough of each other and continue the kiss until the oxygen runs out. A thin string of saliva connects our mouths. Her eyes are teary, her whole face red. An angel descended to this earth. I want to ravage her.

My hand moves to her back, and hovers over the hooks of her bra. 

She nods again. The confirmation I need. 

I try to unhook the bra. It's harder than I think. I struggle for some seconds and start feeling ashamed of myself. However, all my worries are put to rest when she smiles at me. "I'll do it myself. Don't worry."

With a flick of her hand, the bra comes undone. Her breasts are on display for me to worship. They are pale and round, perfect in every way possible. Her pink nipples are erect and I know the cold isn't the only reason. My hands tremble as they reach her skin, but when they land on her and she breaks into goosebumps, my confidence returns.

My hand explores her vastness and caresses her nipples. Her voice is music: she gasps and moans and sucks up air. It's a symphony. I give her a little peck on her lips and bring my mouth to her pink nipple. My tongue moves in circles and my other hand pinches her other nipple.  She covers her mouth, muffling her moans. I stop.

"I want to hear you," I say without stopping the motions of my hand and return to her breast.

Her back is pressed against the tombstone, head tossed back, mouth open moaning. My hips move without my input. Through her brown stockings, I can feel how wet and hot she's down there. 

I stop and look at her debauched face: a string of spit is trailing down her parted lips, her eyes are hazy and half-vacant. Layla is losing herself in pleasure.

"Mike," She moans, "Mike, why did you stop?"

"I'm sorry," I say out of breath. My hand moves up her skirt and meets her stockings. I take them off with little effort as she lifts her legs to help me. I can see her panties now, her legs and thighs are on display. Slick-like liquid trails down her legs.

"Do you have a condom?" Layla asks, panting.

"I don't have one with me."

"Bring one next time." Layla says. I'm surprised by her boldness and feel my dick pulsing due to her words. Next time. There's going to be a next time. "I will still make you feel good."

Layla unzips my pants as she stares right at me. She can't keep her bravado up and lowers her gaze. Her hands are trembling.

"You don't have to do this."

"But I want to."

I didn't think it was possible to fall deeper in love. I'm glad I was proven wrong.

She takes my dick out of my underwear. It looks big in her small hands. Layla starts moving her hand up and down, up and down. Her movements are fast and she brings grunts out of my mouth. Her face is scrunched up, eyebrows frowned  in concentration. She looks like she's doing a task that requires all her attention. I want her to relax.

My hand moves underneath her panties and she stops.

"Keep going," I say.

She does and I graze a bump inside her. Layla shakes as if she were electrocuted and moves her hand faster. My finger ventured deeper inside her. First, it's one digit, then two. Her walls are warm and tight but her panties are in the way. I take them off. She's only wearing a skirt now. I can't help but imagine how my dick would feel smothered between her walls. Her moans are louder and louder. They crescendo like in the climax of an orchestra. My hips stutter and my mind is enveloped in bliss. Layla's feet curl up. We cum as we scream each other's names.

It takes some minutes before we regain our breath. Her chest heaves as she pants. 

I remember why I came here in the first place and run to the grave I have been previously hidden in. Layla's expression, not knowing what I'm thinking, falls. When I return holding a notebook and offering it to her, she gives me a blinding smile that makes me want to melt. 

It's almost dawn and visitors are abundant in the day. We dress up and fix our hair. As we say our goodbyes, Layla kisses me with tongue and bites my lip. As I'm astonished, she smiles mischievously and runs away. I look at her as she disappears through the trees. When she's gone I pump my fist and smile. I don't linger in the cemetery and return to my home.

In Robinson Luth's grave, white and wet panties cover half of his engraved name.