My Sex-Packed Holiday Part 7 – A Cider and a Quick Fuck
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Add: 5 August 2015 / 15:35
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I must have had a restless night, because when I woke up the next morning the top sheet was on the floor and I was sprawled naked on top of the bed with my legs apart, showing off everything I’d got. I smiled as I thought of Matt waking up and seeing me like that, and examined myself briefly for evidence of fresh semen, in case he hadn’t been able to resist jerking off over my naked body. But as far as I could tell he hadn’t indulged himself in that particular perversion. Maybe he was starting to run out of spunk at last.
I had a shower, and got dressed. For some reason, I was feeling especially horny already, so I decided to have a “no underwear” day. I slipped on an oversized t-shirt over my bare top half (I didn’t want it to be too obvious that I had no bra on) and a summery skirt that was long enough to protect my modesty when I was sitting down (as long as I kept my knees together).
By the time I’d wandered downstairs, my parents and Matt had almost finished breakfast. Mum and Dad announced that they were going to drive to the local cider farm to stock up with a few litre bottles before we went home. I perked up at this. Although I’d planned to go on the beach again, I’d recently developed a bit of a taste for proper cider, as opposed to the watered-down muck that’s served in most English pubs outside the West Country. And I wouldn’t be driving so there would be nothing to stop me sampling a few of the different brews that would hopefully be available to taste.
“I’ll come too, if that’s okay,” I said.
My dad laughed. “Okay, just as long as you don’t drink too much. How about you, Matt?”
Matt smiled.“I’ll stay here, if that's okay,” he said. “I’ll go on the beach instead. The surf doesn’t look too bad this morning.”
I suspected he was looking forward to getting Sally by herself, although it would be just his luck if she went off with her mum instead. But that was his problem.
“Well, don’t stay in too long,” said my mum, who just couldn't stop being motherly, even with other peoples' children.
“And don’t drown,” I added, and Matt stuck his tongue out at me.
“Do you need to get anything?” said my mum. She’d probably noticed I hadn’t got a bra on, but I didn’t think it was that obvious in my loose t-shirt, and besides, we weren’t going anywhere posh. Anyway, she didn’t always wear one herself: I’d definitely taken after her in the boob department. Small but perfectly formed, and well able to pass the pencil test.
“No, I think I’m fine,” I said, and she didn’t say anything else, so that was ok.
So off we went, my dad driving, probably hoping that my mum would drive back if he had a drink.
It was only about twenty minutes drive to the cider farm. I say cider farm, but it was really just an ordinary farm that made a bit of cider on the side. There wasn’t a proper shop, but one corner of a big hay-barn by the farmhouse had been fitted out with a basic serving area, behind which a row of barrels of cider were racked up. There were a few tables, benches and bales of hay lined up for those people who wanted to sit and have a few drinks right there, but most of their business came from take-outs sold to passing trade. They sold the cider in plain plastic containers (like milk), in one, two and four litre sizes, which were filled straight from the barrel. It was very low-tech, but the cider was lovely, even if some of it was rather strong.
When we rolled up, the farmer himself was busy tasting the latest batch with a lad who looked about twenty, and who I guessed must be his son. As soon as it was obvious that we were actually going to buy something, he was very happy to let us taste the different brews on offer. I sampled a couple that were a bit dry for me, but there was a sweetish one that was absolutely delicious, and my dad bought me a pint of it.
There obviously wasn’t much proper farming that needed doing that morning, because the farmer soon got chatting with my parents about the cider business, and how his family had been making it for years and years, using apples from their own orchard. It was obviously his pride and joy.
“Do you fancy a quick look at the orchard?” he said. “It’s only a few minutes walk away, just round the back of the barn. Bring your drinks. John here can mind the shop for half an hour or so.”
My parents made the right sort of enthusiastic noises (well, my dad did).
“It’s a bit muddy, mind,” the farmer went on, looking at my flimsy footwear, which wasn’t really designed for tramping around fields.
“Oh, I’ll wait here,” I said. “I’ve got my drink and a book in my bag, so I’ll be fine.”
I sat myself down on one of the benches, got out my book, and had another swig of cider. But I’m afraid my mind kept getting distracted, mainly watching John, the farmer’s son, as he idled about behind the serving counter, sorting out the take-out containers.
Not beating about the bush, he was a real hunk. He was wearing a tight t-shirt that showed off his abs, and when he turned his back I couldn’t help admiring his trim bum in his jeans. Not only that, but I noticed that he kept glancing up at me as I sat at the table sipping my cider.
Maybe it was the effect of the cider, or maybe I was just feeling horny, but I wondered just how closely he was looking at me. It might give him a little treat if I let him see that I was going commando. I casually pulled my skirt a little further up my legs, then parted my thighs just enough, so I knew that my plump mound and the line of my labia would be visible. Next time he looked my way, he’d get an eyeful.
I pretended to be looking at my book, but I saw him almost do a comedy double-take when he noticed my knicker-less state. He very quickly began finding “work” to do that meant he could keep looking over at me. Then I noticed his hand seemed to be getting a bit active at crotch level, out of sight behind the counter. It looked very much as if he was having a wank down there.
Well, two could play at that game. I casually slipped my hand down between my legs and pulled my skirt right up so that my hand could get at my pussy. Gently, I began to rub at my labia, then slipped a finger between them, up into the sticky wet depths of my tight vagina. I looked at him as I was doing it, deliberately challenging him to catch my eye. As soon as he saw me looking, I smiled, to let him know that I was enjoying the fun. Judging by his arm movements, he was enjoying himself too.
I slipped a second finger up inside me, then withdrew them both, glistening with my juices. I raised them to my nose and sniffed the sweet, fresh scent of my arousal. Licking my lips sensuously, I put my fingers in my mouth and sucked off the juices. I felt like such a slut, but I do love having a dirty flirt. I put a hand on the bulge of my left breast and squeezed it through my loose t-shirt, feeling my nipple get hard.
I’d had enough teasing; it was time for some action, so I beckoned to him to join me. He looked guiltily over at the door to the barn, and then came over, carrying a container of cider. He’d tucked his cock back inside his jeans, but I could see the massive bulge down his leg.
“Did you fancy a top-up?” he asked, with a dirty grin on his face.
“A top-up would be nice,” I said, giving an equally dirty smile back, “Unless you have something else you can give me.”
“Fucking hell, you don’t mess about, do you?” he said.
“There’s no time for messing about,” I answered. “My parents and your dad aren’t going to take all day, so if you fancy doing something about that lump in your trousers, we’d better get a move on.”
As I said this, I reached out and ran my hand over the bulge, and felt it twitch excitedly.
“Fuck me, I wish all the girls down here were like you,” he said.
“I bet you anything they are when they’re on holiday,” I said. “Come on; is there anywhere we can go that’s a bit less public?”
“I can’t go too far in case anyone comes. Let’s just go round the corner here,” he suggested.
So we quickly went round the corner of the drinking area, to where the bales of hay reached up high to the roof of the barn. As soon as we were out of sight of the door, John got to work: he was a fast mover, I’ll give him that. He put his arm round me and pulled me against him. His lips were against mine, and I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue straight into his mouth. I can be pretty fast too, when I put my mind to it.
His hand went straight down to my bum and squeezed my cheeks though my skirt. As we kissed, he began to pull up the hem so his hand could find my bare flesh. I gave no resistance, and this seemed to encourage him even more. While one hand continued to caress my bare bottom, the other pushed up under the front of my t-shirt and began to play with my braless tits. His hands stroked at my nipples, and I felt my little buds rise up, hard and aroused. He tweaked them between his fingers, pulling gently, then squeezing hard, almost painfully. I love having my tits handled, and I could feel myself getting even wetter between my legs.
John’s hand edged between my bum cheeks and slid down towards the bulge of my pudenda. I felt one of his fingers slide between my outer labia and tickle at the entrance to my vaginal passage.
Pushing him away briefly, I began to undo his belt. I could feel the solid bulge of his cock inside his jeans, straining to get loose. I knew my mum would soon get bored with poking round orchards, and could be back at any moment, so we didn’t have all day.
“Hang on a minute,” he said, “I’d better get a blob.”
Good point! Maybe he thought he couldn’t be too careful with a dirty girl from London like me, but it saved me having to use one of my own. I assumed they’d heard of STDs in rural Devon, but you can’t be too careful. He ran quickly to his jacket, got a little packet out of his wallet, and came back to me. I unfastened his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, along with his pants. His cock sprang out, almost fully hard. I took hold of the shaft and rolled it between my hands, pulling down the foreskin to free his bulging purple knob-head. I could feel it expand even further as I caressed it, and a little squirt of pre-cum shot out over my wrist.
“Oh, you messy boy,” I giggled.
With my other hand, I gently cradled his balls, massaging them carefully, nipping at the loose skin while being careful not to crush the sensitive testicles themselves. Meanwhile, he took the condom out of its packet, positioned it on his knob, and carefully rolled it down the hard shaft. His hands were shaking slightly as he did so – he was obviously as eager as I was.
I leant back against the bales of hay, and pulled my skirt right up, parting my legs. I could feel the sharp points of the cut hay pricking the backs of my legs. John positioned himself between my legs, and I took his cock in my hand. He was quite a lot taller than me, so he had to bend his knees slightly to get the tip in position, but it was quickly nudging at the entrance to my hole, finding its way between the folds of my labia. I went up on tiptoe, then held his cock in place as I lowered myself onto it as he pushed upwards into me. Then he was in, my vaginal walls expanding smoothly to accommodate his thickness.
I sighed as I felt him filling me. It felt so good to have a proper thick, hot dick inside me at last. Without any hesitation, he began to thrust into me, pushing me back against the pile of hay. I was so wet that there was a real squelch each time he thrust home, and I felt a few dribbles of my juices starting to run down my bare leg.
He pushed the front of my t-shirt up again and bared my left breast, before beginning to fondle my perky little nipple. I let myself go, gasping and squeaking at each deep, hard thrust. I clenched my vaginal muscles around him, trying to suck him in deeper, my little tits bouncing up and down like a couple of jellies.
His jeans and pants had slipped right down round his ankles, and I put my hand behind his back and squeezed his bare arse cheeks. I do like a nice firm bum on a guy, and his was just the job. With each of his thrusts, I pulled him into me, his balls slapping against my thighs. He was banging me so hard I thought the pile of hay bales might collapse. I had a feeling he might not last long – but that was good really, since we didn’t have much time anyway.
I felt him start to shudder. “Ah, fuck, love, I’m gunna come,” he groaned.
“Oh fuck yes, that’s good, come in me,” I murmured, encouragingly.
Then he let out an enormous groan as he came, filling the condom with his sticky spunk as his cock twitched and pulsated inside me. As he pushed into me one final time, his heavy breathing in my ear, I heard voices and footsteps walking past just outside. Oh shit – they were on their way back already!
Quicker than I’d believed possible, John pulled his still hard cock out of me, and bent down to pull up his pants and jeans. His cock was still twitching, and I could see how full the condom was with his semen. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t even have time to take the condom off, but just stuffed it back into his pants. It was easier for me – all I had to do was pull my t-shirt back down to cover my tits, and smooth my skirt as tidily as I could. By the time his dad and my parents had strolled back into the barn, he was back behind the counter and I was sitting at the table, taking a deep swig of cider.
“Thanks for the tour,” said my dad to the farmer, “But I think we’d better be going now, before Annie drinks you dry.”
“Yes, dear, you do look a bit flushed,” said my mum to me. “You’ve probably had enough for now.”
I smiled. “You’re probably right, though it is really good stuff. I think you should buy an extra litre of this one.”
Driving back to the hotel in the car, I felt pleasantly relaxed, and not just because of the cider. I hadn’t come myself, but it seemed like ages since I’d snatched a quickie like that, and my pussy still felt nice and tingly. I hoped John had managed to sort out the condom before his cock went totally soft and it slid off, filling his pants with a load of cold, sticky semen. At least we hadn’t had to worry about what to do with it; I remember once tying one up and carrying it round in my bag all evening, wrapped in a piece of tissue. A few trails of my own pussy juices were drying on my legs, but at least I couldn’t detect any smell of sexual secretions in the car. Even so, I kept my legs well together, to be on the safe side. 

Coming up in Chapter Eight: find out what happens when Abi’s husband, Chris, arrives at the hotel, and catches us in the shower together
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