1: On Court: Stefan’s Story

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A couple of weeks after I had that incredible session with Kirsten, the teenage slut, I was at the local tennis courts, playing men's doubles with a group of friends. During one of the games, I saw her arrive with the same girlfriend she had been with when she approached me and Stan to play mixed doubles.

I was standing out to let one of my mates play, watching both games, when Kirsten and her friend came off the court for a break. She trotted across towards me, then planted a very wet kiss on my cheek.

“Hi, auld yin.”

“Hello Kirsten, lovely to meet you again.”

“I hoped you would be here. My parents are away on holiday, so I thought you might like them.”

She handed me a small envelope. I peered inside and took out two tickets for the New Forest Show.

“That’s really kind of you; thanks so much. Angelica will love this, but I’m not sure how I will explain your generosity.”

“Och, that’s eith. You helped me when I fell; one good turn deserves another. You must be in your seats by the ring at two o'clock; that’s when I will be jumping.”

She kissed my cheek again, then sashayed back to her friend. I watched her delicious cheeks bouncing under her short skirt, which took my mind back to the time I spent in her bedroom, and inside my shorts, my cock grew just a bit.

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Later on, in the kitchen at home, I showed them to Angie with the explanation I had practised driving back. She did not demur at all; in fact, her eyes lit up in anticipation.

“Oh, wow! Stefan, what a treat! The members’ enclosure, sponsor’s tent, and ringside seats for us. All of my friends will be very, very jealous.”

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2: The New Forest Show: Stefan’s Story

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The big day arrived: priority parking, a special entrance, and then we waltzed into the members’ enclosure. Angelica was rapturous as we paraded around, checking out the facilities, and for a while we sat on a chair next to the show ring, watching a parade of shire horses decked out in shiny leather and brass tack, pulling old waggons and carts. Old maybe, but painted and varnished to such an extent that they reflected light like a mirror.

We had a couple of hours to kill before the show jumping started, so we walked out into the showground and wandered along the avenues between the hundreds of tents and shacks, where you could buy almost anything like designer clothes, spa baths, luxury cars, or even a combine harvester. A huge marquee with champion fruits and vegetables and several more showing every kind of farm animal known to mankind.

There were dozens of fast food outlets, but we passed them by, smug in the knowledge we had a free sit-down lunch in a sponsor’s tent.

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Later, sitting replete with free wine on our table, I looked across at Angelica, her face a vision of happiness.

“The jumping starts in ten minutes; we better go and take our seats.”

She stood up, perhaps a little shakily. I picked up the wine, and then we went outside to find our seats. On each chair was a list of competitors. I glanced down to see that “Kirsten Macgregor, on Happy Chappy” was the tenth to ride.

Sitting there, we marvelled at the skills of the riders. Men and women were competing on equal terms, with horses champing at the bit being reined in to take sharp turns, then accelerating over the jumps. The target is to get a clear round, no fences knocked down, and no refusals. By the time Kirsten came to jump, only three riders had managed a fault-free round.

I turned to my wife.

“She’s next.”

I watched, spellbound, as my beautiful slut jumped a clear round and applauded with gusto as she trotted off into the pound where the riders waited. She looked magnificent, her body encased in a tight, black riding kit; everything looked perfect, from the top of her helmet to the soles of her leather boots. When she trotted past my position, her sexuality was, to me, embodied in the sight of her perfect buttocks bouncing with the movement of the horse.

Another four riders followed Kirsten, but only one managed a clear.

The second round was timed over a shortened course, with the places decided on the fastest time with the lowest fault points. The first two both faulted, so I knew Kirsten was likely to be one of the winners. The third rider went hell for leather—fast and accurate.

Kirsten came into the ring, her horse keyed, stamping the ground, and then she was away. A perfect round followed, but two seconds behind the leader. The last rider came through; he took the whole course cautiously, knowing a clear round meant he had third place.

The three winners came back into the ring to be presented with their prizes and a rosette for each horse. As they did a round of honour, some of the people near us got up and walked through a gate in the picket fence, heading for the riders’ enclosure.

We stood clapping, and when Kirsten rode over to hold her horse just outside the fence, I was punching the air in excitement.

“Great ride, Kirsten; thank you so much; it’s been great watching you.”

“My pleasure, auld yin. Come through the gate and follow me back.”

So we picked up our things, passed onto the ring turf, and walked along the boundary until we reached the adjoining enclosure.

Kirsten did not stop there but rode down the connecting track to the mounting area. We followed a safe distance behind, crossing the main avenue with the crowd crushed behind the barrier gates, watching every move.

The area was outside the showground, surrounded by horse boxes. Some were empty, many with an animal inside happily chewing on hay behind a restraining fence.

Kirsten dismounted, stoked her horse’s nose, gave him a few pats, and then handed the reins to a waiting stable hand before coming to us.

“I’ve got a case of champagne in my caravan, chilled to perfection. Care to join me?”

Two heads nodded in sync.

We followed her, walking between the boxes until we came to a more open space. Here, several caravans were parked. As we approached one of the vans, she turned to us.

“Jumping needs a lot of kit; I’m very lucky Daddy pays for all this.”

Then she unlocked the door, stood inside, and beckoned us in.

Inside, it was comfortable but cramped. We sat in the lounge area in the front. Kirsten went to her fridge, pulled out a champagne bottle, unwrapped the foil and wire, and then popped the cork with ease.

Three flutes came out of a cupboard, followed by packets of crisps and nuts.

She left us with our bubbling glasses and sat down in the open doorway, engrossed in unbuckling and discarding her riding boots.

Once she was done, Kirsten stood facing us. She looked incredibly sexy; her tight riding top and tight breeches showed off her young body to perfection. My mind went back to the time in her bedroom when I had seen the wall poster of her in similar clothing sitting on her horse and the effect that vision had on my body. Then my reverie was interrupted by Angelica’s voice.

“I propose a toast to our winning host.”

The chatter and the champagne both flowed easily, perhaps too easily. We had been there about an hour when Angelica stood up, and I watched her swaying side to side, back and forth.

“I don’t feel well; I need somewhere to lie down.”

Kirsten went up beside her, and then gently led her to the back of the caravan, where they went into another room that I assumed was her bedroom.

I still had my glass and a bottle of Bollinger for company, so I settled down to wait, but the alcohol was having an effect on me too, and I drifted off to sleep.

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3: Kirsten’s Caravan: Angelica’s Story

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We were having a fantastic day out, but the bubbly had gone to my head. I felt woozy and asked Kirsten if I could lie down somewhere. She led me to the bedroom, and I sat on the bed. Kirsten kneeled and started to unlace my dirty trainers, occasionally looking up at me with a soft smile.

“Lie down, Angelica,”

I dropped onto my back, feeling the soft duvet envelope me in its embrace. Kirsten sat on the edge beside me, then reached across to my midriff and started to unbuckle my trousers.

“You’ll relax better without these.”

She carefully slipped them down over my hips, then I lifted my legs to help her take them off completely. The van had been warmed by the sun all day, so I did not feel cold; in fact, one of the alcohol’s effects had been to make me perspire, and I was glad to be free of them.

One of Kirsten’s hands was stroking my brow. She sat there, looking so concerned about me. I was totally relaxed in her company. Nineteen years old, perfect skin, perfect looks—how I envied her those things.

The stroking fingers moved a bit to include my hair. Her fingers slipped over my scalp, then over my brow again, before sliding down my cheek to rest on my chin. Then she repeated the same sequence over and over. I was mesmerised by her attention.

After a while, her other hand started to stroke my arm, fingers running up and down the full length, from shoulder to palm. I lay there, supine and content, looking up into her kind eyes that were, in turn, locked onto mine.

Her touching was very pleasant. As her fingers worked their way around me, I felt my flesh becoming more sensitive to her touch; my body seemed to be tingling. I gradually had the feeling I should respond in some way, so I lifted my free arm and started to run my hand through the hanging tresses of her hair.

We stayed like this for quite a while, her stroking me and me stroking her until I accidentally brushed my fingers across her ear lobe. Kirsten’s whole body shuddered, and she screwed her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, Kirsten; I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She opened her eyes, once again locked to mine.

“No, Angelica, it didn’t hurt—precisely the opposite; it was a braw and intense feeling. Please, do it again.”

So I played with her ear again; each time I touched the lobe, she shuddered and screwed her eyes closed once more. As I played, her breathing changed, gradually becoming a series of shorter and sharper intakes. She slowly leaned closer to me, her hair brushing against my face, and I felt the weight of her body pressing down on my chest.

Inside, I was churning; I felt as if something was waking within me. It was when her lips caressed my brow that I understood my feeling was one of desire. The first contact was followed by kiss after kiss on my cheeks. She seemed to cover every part of me—eyes, nose, chin, brow, and cheeks—before her lips landed on mine.

I could feel her breath on my skin; now I was aroused beyond belief. I wanted her. I wanted to make love to this teenage girl, and I knew she wanted me. I took my hand away from her ear, lifted it to the back of her head, and pulled her down hard.

Our lips mashed together, and then Kirsten’s tongue snaked its way through our lips into my mouth. Our kissing became frantic, and the gentle stroking became harsh rubbing. I did not want the kissing to stop, ever.

Nothing lasts forever; however beautiful, our first kiss had to end, and I watched as Kirsten sat up and then pulled her tight competition top over her head. Underneath this, she had a plain white sports bra. Her hands went behind her back and released the clips before she let the shoulder straps slip down her arms. Her breasts were fully exposed. Tiny little nipples, yet-to-express milk, pale aurelia, and two perfect mounds that jutted out from her chest.

I reached up and stroked each breast with one hand, then gently ran my fingers around her nipples. They hardened immediately and grew erect from her flesh.

Then she stood up, her upper body naked and her lower body and legs encased in skin-tight riding breeches. I could not miss the bulge of her mound and the cameltoe fold running between her thighs. She unbuckled the belt, lowered the zip, and then bent over to wriggle the garment down to her ankles. I watched intently, enjoying the sight of her boobs hanging vertically now, but unlike mine, they did not swing; their firmness held her flesh still.

She stood by the bed, naked except for her panties and socks; she looked incredibly desirable, and she was mine. Kirsten moved her legs apart, and I looked between them to see a big wet patch on her panties. She pushed a hand inside the waistband, then moved her fingers down until the bulge of her knuckles was over her mound.

“Och, I’m wet, Angelica, very wet, and I want to make love to you.”

Then she took her hand out, pulled her panties down, stepped out of them, and sat down next to me again.

“Sit up, Angelica.”

She held her hands out in front of me for me to grasp, and I pulled myself into a sitting position. Her hands went to my blouse and pressed gently against the material over my boobs. She leaned towards me, and our lips joined together. This time, it was my tongue that entered her mouth.

As we kissed, I felt her undo my blouse buttons, one by one. Then she pulled the two sides apart and pressed her palms against my bra cups before gently rotating them over my nipples. I felt immensely aroused and very happy.

“You are way overdressed, ma hunnie.”

Funny words, I thought, but the tenderness and meaning were clear. She had broken our kiss, but our faces were just millimetres apart when Kirsten moved her hands up to my shoulders and pushed my blouse away; it fell down my back, and I lifted my arms clear of the sleeves. Her hands went behind my back, and in a trice, she unclipped my bra, and my breasts dropped down, free of its elastic embrace.

“Lie down, Angelica.”

As I dropped back, she grasped my blouse and bra, pulling both clear of my body before throwing them aside.

“Knickers, ma luve.”

I lifted my hips as she twisted around and pulled them down and off my feet. I was naked before this girl, the effects of age on my flesh laid out for her to see, but I felt no embarrassment; she wanted me, warts and all.

Kirsten lay down next to me, on her side, her head propped up on one bent arm, the other hand brushing across my tummy, wandering around. She explored my nipples, rolling them between finger and thumb, and squeezed each breast in turn before lowering her head and sucking the nipple. Her free hand ran down my sternum, found my tummy button, pushed in, and twirled around before trickling further along until she was pressing on my mound.

She shifted down the bed again, kneeling between my splayed legs, her hands stroking my thighs and my tummy. Then she leaned forward, supported on her elbows, squeezing my boobs again, one in each hand, her tongue flicking from one side to the other.

My nipples were engorged, full, and sensitive as she shuffled down my body. I knew where she was going; I wanted her to touch me where no woman had been for decades; I wanted her on my clit, inside my vagina; and when the moment came, it felt as if something inside me had changed.

Her hands explored my thighs and stomach again before a finger slipped between my engorged lips. Slipped was exactly right. I was so wet and so aroused that the first touch of her on the hard knot of my clit almost made me cum instantly. Kirsten read the signs and withdrew to find the slippery entrance to my hole. Inside, she crooked two fingers, hooking them under my pubic bone, searching for sensitivity.

She found the spot, and I felt my hips flexing in anticipation. As she probed my innards, her thumb pressed hard against my clitoral area, and suddenly I was being masturbated in two places at once. I felt my body losing control, my hips gyrating and flexing. Her face appeared above me, my nipples forgotten, as she kissed me, mouths wide open, tongues dancing together. My hands were grasping the bed sheets, and my fingers were claw-like. I felt every muscle in my body being tensed to its maximum.

Then the dam broke. I saw nothing other than fireworks in my brain, but I heard my grunts and my screams. I saw nothing but felt great thrusts, and my body was rolling around in ecstasy. An orgasm like no other.

I was lying there, still panting, in post-orgasmic bliss, when I felt Kirsten move. I opened my eyes to see her body above me, legs splayed to my sides, and the gaping maw of her dripping, wet pussy lowering towards me.

Her flesh landed on my face, and as she pushed back, her wetness enveloped my mouth and nose. Automatically, I pushed my tongue out and flicked it around, exploring until I found the hardness of her clit. I knew exactly what to do. The smell and taste of a sexually aroused woman assailed my senses. It had been a long time, but I was ready to love a woman once more.

Her tongue pushed and slid over my hard clit at the same time as I was doing the same to her. There was little noise other than our quiet moans of pleasure whenever a tongue hit a particularly sensitive spot.

My clitty was already very sensitive from Kirsten’s previous efforts, and my next orgasm came fast. I felt my body jerk, trying to lift her off the bed as each spasm hit. As I relaxed, my tongue increased its pressure on her hard knot until her body started to thrash around, the uncontrollable movement forcing her onto my face. Mouth and nose immersed in fluids, her flesh like a gag, my head no more than a block to be ground down by her rotating thighs.

I lost count of the number of cums we had; the period between each one seemed to shorten each time until they merged into a stream of thrusting, heaving bodies. Until the moment when there was a resounding crash in my ears and a squeal of pain from Kirsten.

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3: Kirsten’s Caravan: Stefan’s Story

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When I awoke, I was alone, but in my befuddled mind, there were strange, unidentifiable noises. I sat up and took a long draught of the flat wine, lubricating my parched throat. As my brain fog cleared, I realised something was going on in the bedroom—a continuous stream of female moans and groans.

I staggered to my feet, yawned, and stretched out my arms before walking towards the bedroom door, which I realised was slightly ajar. Gently, I pushed it open a bit more and peered through the gap.

The sight that met my eyes was quite unbelievable. My wife was on her back, underneath Kirsten, both as naked as the day they were born. Head to tail, in a classic sixty-nine, they were licking themselves to almost continuous orgasms. I had fucked Kirsten at her house, plus I have conjugal rights over Angelica, so there was no way I was going to miss the chance of a threesome with these two aroused women.

I moved away and stripped off all my clothes, then headed back to the bedroom. I sneaked quietly through the door and stood stock still, transfixed by the frequent orgasmic convulsions on the bed. My cock was hard as nails, one hand gently working my foreskin back and forth across the head.

I suppose I could have stayed there forever, waiting for the women to exhaust themselves, but I had urgent needs, so I raised my right arm above my head, then brought it down hard onto Kirsten’s sweet buttock.

The crash of flesh on flesh dominated the room. Kirsten screamed in pain, then rolled off Angelica, who lay still, staring up at my groin.

Not a word was spoken; the only sound was the rasping breath of two aroused women. The only movement was my gentle fonding of my cock.

Kirsten broke the spell. Kneeling up beside Angelica, she turned to her and kissed my wife full on the lips.

Four hands briefly fondled four breasts, then they both came off the bed, and Angelica knelt in front of me, playfully smacking my bottom, before taking my hard shaft in her mouth and swallowing it down to the root. Kirsten joined her on the floor, sucking my sack and licking along the length of my cock as Angelica pulled back to concentrate on the helmet.

Then they did a swap. Kirsten took my length in her mouth, and Angelica sucked both balls deep into her mouth. Their next variation was them licking my glans at the same time, when, whether by chance or design, they were able to flick their two tongues together in a kind of external kiss.

My cock was straining at the leash.

“OK, ladies, it's fucking time for you to be fucked.”

Inwardly, I groaned at the weak joke, but they took the hint. I was faced with two pairs of cheeks pointing at me. Which one should I take first? In reality, there was no choice. It had to be the wife. If I chose Kirsten, I would never hear the end of it.

Standing behind Angelica, I positioned my cock at the edge of her cunt, then pushed forward, sliding in smoothly through her accumulated juices. With my hands supporting me on her buttocks, I started to fuck her soft and familiar place. Kirsten’s arm slipped across her back, gently stroking around her shoulders and neck, and from the body below me, a gentle moaning started.

As I increased the speed and depth of my strokes, Angelica’s moaning increased in tandem, louder and longer, until there were no gaps other than when she drew breath. I knew the signs—a body so familiar—but the intensity of her orgasm was far greater than normal; her fingers fisted, pummeling at the sheets as her body writhed beneath me.

One down, one to go. I pulled out of my wife, glanced down at Kirsten’s taught buns, and then turned to push my slippery shaft between her pussy lips.

“Are you ready, slut?”

“Fuck me, auld gadgie, fuck me hard.”

Just as I was about to push home, Angelica sat upright on the edge of the bed, leaned across Kirsten, and took my cock slathered in her juices into her mouth, sucking my head with gusto. She then used her hands, one on each cheek, to pull those delicious orbs apart. I looked down to see Kirsten’s puckered hole staring back at me as I repositioned, and then I slipped my cock head inside her cunt.

Angelica lay down beside Kirsten, rubbing her hand over her back and shoulders before she turned to her and kissed her on the lips. As I watched their tongues flickering around, I pushed all the way home, then started a slow, gentle fucking motion.

Lifting herself once more, Angelica resumed the gentle rubbing motion on Kirsten’s back, and then, with a wolfish glance at me, she shifted her hands to Kirsten’s buttocks, pulling them apart for me to see into the depths of her anal hole, just as she had done a minute earlier. But this time she leaned over, her tresses softly brushing the white flesh, and started licking the exposed crack.

The two sensations created the perfect combination of pleasure, and Kirsten’s body reacted quickly. Gasping and heaving, she had a series of violent spasms on my shaft.

Two down, just me to go. I pulled back from Kirsten’s sopping wet cunt, my shaft erect in front of me. Angelica wasted no time in getting on the floor and taking me in her mouth again to enjoy the slimy flavours that had previously been inside her new lover.

Kirsten knelt beside her, and then the two of them started deep kissing while stroking each other's breasts tenderly.

Standing above them, I stroked my slippery cock, running my fingers across the sensitive glans, pressing harder around my frenulum, gradually increasing the pressure and speed, and taking myself closer to the edge.

The slurping and groping below never let up; the two women were engrossed in their post-coital nirvana.

I knew I was getting close to cumming.

“I’m ready; come and drink.”

They broke their kiss and turned to face my body. Two mouths were held wide open, waiting for a few drops of the cream of my life. Angelica kept her eyes screwed shut, knowing how powerful my jets can be. Kirsten’s face was turned up, her eyes fixed on the hand furiously wanking my cock.

And then there was the feeling every man knows—the beautiful sensation of his semen racing up the length of his shaft. I heard myself gasping with pleasure just before the first rope flew out to land across Kirsten’s cheek. Her eyes shut instantly, a microsecond before the juice filled the space between her nose and eyelid.

The rest of my orgasm was invisible to me; I felt it, but with my head thrust back and eyes closed, I saw nothing. When I finally looked down at the women, I saw cum everywhere, and one rope was even lying far across Angelica’s hair.

The pair of them giggled as they wiped puddles of cum from around their eyes, then licked each other’s faces clean of all the residues.

It was a grand day out, with Kirsten with her jumping prize and the three of us sexually sated. Lying on the bed in post-coital bliss, with Kirsten spooned against my back and Angelica snuggled in my chest, I felt like a very lucky man.