Smut Alfresco

by Lucy Felthouse

  I remember everyone who comes here, just as I recall the shape and feel of all those who came to me when I had the comfort of a roof over my head.

  Usually my visitors come alone or in couples; but not always…

  I hadn’t seen this man before. He was new, but he’d obviously been told where to find me, for his stride as he approached was purposeful, his long paces aimed straight for me. His heavy mud-covered boots, his worn thin denims, and his thick weave jumper, combined with the essence of hard work that enveloped him, despite the fact it was only about eight o’clock in the morning, made me think that this was another farmer. Possibly, from the possessive way he looked about him, the owner of the land himself.

  He walked around me, examining my king-sized shape as if I was something suspicious, before using his hefty right boot to kick my side. There was something about his expression however, that made me think he was weighing me up for future possibilities rather than simply dismissing me as a piece of unwanted and inconvenient rubbish.

  I had thought he was going to indulge in some solo gratification just as his colleague had done when I’d first been discovered, but instead he thrust his hands into his pockets, nodded as if satisfied, and simply strode away.

  Excitement rose inside me. My springs positively bristled with expectation. I’d seen expressions like his before. This man would be back, and he wouldn’t be coming alone.

  As the day wore on, rather than hope for someone else to find me nestled on the crisp autumn ground, I longed for him to come back and do whatever it was he planned to do. I knew he’d do something. I just hoped it would be soon.

  My patience was wearing nearly as thin as my fabric when the sound of approaching footsteps dragged me from the increasingly lurid musings of my memories. It was his stride; there was no question about that. And he was not alone. Nor was he in the company of only one other. There were four sets of feet heading my way. I braced my springs, and yearned for them to walk faster.

  The group chattered in low whispers, but even at a subdued level their tones were heavy with erotic expectation. The voice of the man I’d assumed to be the farmer was husky, and hinted of a smoker’s habit. I could smell no lingering aroma of nicotine though, so I guessed he’d given up, but not before the years of tobacco had left their mark upon his vocal chords.

  He was plainly in charge of this party, who I could now see was made up of two couples, one of which contained the wanking man who’d first found me dumped in the field some weeks ago. So I had been right, he must have told his colleague about where to find me.

  I realised I’d been wrong about one thing however. It was not the farmer who was calling the shots here.

  With a simultaneous flick of their wrists the two women, standing side-by-side, indicated that their male companions should drop to their knees, their weight supported in the very centre of my back.

  Acting as if they’d rehearsed every move, the females, hands on their hips, instructed the men to remove their jumpers and shirts, so they were naked to the waist.

  If I’d had a tongue I would have licked them. The two hard torsos instantly reacted to the cold, their nipples hardening as the air caressed them and the women’s devilish eyes bored into them.

  Although they moved as one, the women could not have been more different. One tall and slim with jet black hair, the other pale and fair-haired, with a cushion soft curviness that would make anyone’s mouth water.

  Lipsticked mouths came to the men’s chests; smudges of red makeup marking a trail of kisses from their necklines to the waistbands of their jeans. Somehow the farmers didn’t respond, but kept their arms limp at their sides. Their breathing gave them away though. The sound of the blood in their veins screamed out to me, telling me how badly they wanted to touch their partners, but that they understood that not touching their girls yet would be far more rewarding in the end.

  Wrapped up in the orgy about to commence, I didn’t register which of the women spoke, but the order for the men to put their hands on their heads came in a tone that would brook no argument.

  Then, with the men’s gaze barely even blinking, so they didn’t miss a single second of the forthcoming show, the mistresses acted. My mind was subconsciously filled with the music from The Stripper, as in total silence the females removed their tops and skirts, standing provocatively before their subjects in sensibly warm thigh length fur lined boots, stockings, and basques as raven black as the taller dominatrix’s hair.

  I half expected a whip to appear out of each boot, but pain was not the agenda here. Patience and self-control was. Seemingly unaffected by the first fingers of the evening’s frost, heated to some extent by their scanty garments and their physical proximity, the women smiled at their partners, before twisting to face each other, lust darting between them like gamma rays.

  A spark of happiness shot through my padding. It had been a long time since I’d hosted this particular brand of controlled kink.

  As the women’s lips met, their fingers linked briefly, before separating again and lazily cupping breasts, teasing each other’s hips and knicker lines with the lightest of touches.

  The men remained still. Mesmerised by the spectacle before them, their digits gripped together, scrunching through almost identical spiked haircuts into their own scalps, continuing to deny themselves the option of lunging forward to join the coupling women.

  I thought the females would stop soon. That they would dive upon their men, using them to work off the craving they’d engendered against each other, but they kept going. Long fallen leaves crunched beneath their heeled boots as they shuffled apart a little, giving them room to slip delving fingertips inside the other’s panties. Their throaty gasps filled the air as they locked eyes. Each woman had one hand busy in the other’s knickers, and another buffing a nipple, or squeezing a tit through the thin satin of their opposite’s bra.

  The scent of pussy cream was sharp and sweet on the wind as the men observed. How long, I wondered? How long before they’d snap and reach for their women?

  The taller woman was panting louder now, her legs were stretched further apart, and her more shapely companion was muttering to her encouragingly, telling her she was going to make her come any second.

  A whimper of yearning escaped from the smudged crimson lips as, with a sudden smack of the right tit, which coincided with a deliberate tap of her hidden clit, the taller woman began to judder. Her friend repeated the move, the spank of the dark-skinned woman’s breasts becoming harder with each well-aimed strike.

  Every fibre of my being, every spring, and every segment of poorly-stitched fabric felt taut as I watched and waited. Surely the men would move now. Even if they’d seen this scenario a thousand times before, their time must surely have come?

  Sagging for a fraction of a second against the blonde, the taller woman gathered herself as fast as she could, before twirling her partner around, and pointing her towards the men. Buffering her nipples against the shorter girls lightly freckled back, she passed her hands around so she could grab the other woman’s lusciously full breasts and knead the silky bust with her palms. Rubbing the soaked satin of her own knickers against the apple-shaped bottom before her, the taller woman dropped one hand to the shaved mound on display to the men, and began to apply the same sensual magic she’d just enjoyed herself.

  That was when they snapped. That was when the men could wait no longer.

  It was the farmer who broke the masculine silence, gruffly asking, “May we?”

  That was all he said.

  The women inclined their heads at the same time, too intent on continuing their own pleasure to deny their comrades.

  I was only marginally surprised when it was not the women the men reached for, but each other. As large calloused hands gripped denim clad waists, the male mouths kissed furiously, and the appreciation of the view from the women, as the shorter one was thrown into a frame-shaking orgasm, was undeniable.

  The rustling from the
tree above, as the evening breeze began to stir the denuded branches, was almost drowned out by the combined murmurings of relief that were coming from the quartet of lust. As all four bodies fell upon me, my soundless voice shouted a “Yes!” of contentment as the limbs of the men and women abruptly became interchangeable. I had no doubt that the climaxes of the women had already been forgotten, discarded as two moments of fun on the way to the main event.

  The breeze was beginning to be accompanied by a thin drizzle, but the spots of water that landed on the writhing figures on my back went unnoticed.

  I could hear the rip of condom packets as the men, their jeans and boxers dispensed with at great speed, prepared for more ultimately satisfying action.

  No one was in charge now. The rules, if indeed they’d made any, were forgotten in a tangle of mouths and skin, as man kissed woman and man then fondled man and woman alike, in a desperate tangle of deep breathing and hungry desire.

  As the trickles of rain water became more persistent and began to stream across their backs and chests, I could hear tongues lap them up, as if the rain was just another sensation to be enjoyed in the bacchanal tumble.

  Then, as abruptly as the random formation of body parts had fallen on me, there was a gruff grunt from the farmer, and two sets of male hands were manoeuvring the women into a new position.

  A joy like I haven’t known since my days indoors swept through me as, face-to-face, their mouths already passionately glued together, the women were placed on their hands and knees.

  With a nod of mutual approval, the farmers stood behind their women, and in one well-timed motion, plunged into them. Leaning over the pliant females, the men’s mouths met, their hands holding each other’s faces, as their hips frantically pummelled the happily mewling women’s backsides.

  As the foursome moved and groaned together, they looked like some exotically obscene mystical sixteen-limbed creature. Soaked in sweat and rain water, they were oblivious to everything around them, as they vocalised the sounds of their sexy journey from four ravenous mouths in a crescendo of climatic shock.

  They left almost as soon as the last person had stopped shaking from their combined climaxes, uncaring that they had to put rain-soaked clothes on top of rain-soaked flesh.

  The euphoria that I feel whenever I am used for my proper purpose is usually quickly lost. As I see one couple go, I am already eagerly awaiting the next person willing to go alfresco on my spacious back. This time though, it had been like the old days, and I continued to feel the essence of their group sex flow through me for hours after they’d gone.

  I longed for them to come back.

  I knew they’d come back.

  Everyone comes back.

  If humans are this wanton in the autumn, what will they do upon me come the spring?

  Satisfied Customers

  By Cass Peterson

  Josie felt the sun-baked leather of the Land Rover’s upholstery burning through her shorts as she settled into the front seat. The resort rep slammed the door behind her with a reassuring clunk.

  “There you go, Kal - only five passengers for you today, I reckon the others are all down by the pool. It’s way too hot to be out in this old heap of a wagon today.”

  He seemed to notice the alarm on Josie’s face, and tried to backtrack.

  “I mean, of course this safari vehicle is perfectly roadworthy - only kidding, folks! This guy here has driven up and down those mountains more times than he cares to remember, haven’t you, mate?”

  The driver turned to look at Josie for the first time, and she drew in her breath sharply as he smiled at her. She could hear the four people in the back giggling and making ribald comments but her throat was suddenly so dry that she couldn’t speak.

  “Hiya, love,” called one of the men, “I’m Nick, but the girls call me ‘Knickerless Nick.”

  “For obvious reasons. He always goes commando, don’t you love? Likes the feel of the breeze around his…anyway, I’m Lisa, and these two reprobates are Steve and Gina,” said the smallest of the two girls. She was pretty, in a pink and white sort of way, and had a possessive hand on Nick’s knee. As Josie turned to say hello, she saw Lisa slide her hand further up so that her fingers were almost touching her boyfriend’s groin.

  “Oi, hands off - wait till later, babes,” he said, pushing her hand away. “Haven’t you had enough of me this morning?”

  “Well, we’ve had enough of hearing you,” said Gina. “Those hotel walls must be made of paper. I reckon you were at it half the night.”

  Nick smirked, and the driver rolled his eyes at Josie, who had begun to wish she’d gone for a swim instead.

  “Hello - don’t look so scared, my name’s Kal and you’ll be quite safe with me,” he said, raising a hand to the rep as eased the Land Rover out into the light early morning traffic. Josie looked across at his strong brown fingers grasping the gear lever, and gulped. Safe? For a brief moment she let herself imagine those fingers stroking the soft flesh of her inner thigh. His hands would be warm from the heat of the steering wheel, maybe smelling faintly of leather. He would slide a searching finger up into her knickers and… she swallowed again and reached for her bottle of water. This had got to stop. Only that morning she had caught herself gazing at one of the younger hotel waiters and wondering if she could get away with inviting him out for a drink later. It had been so long since she’d had a man in her bed that she’d almost forgotten what to do. She forced herself to smile back at the driver, aiming for a friendly grin, with no hint of desperate female in it.

  “I’m not scared really, I love Land Rover safaris - I’ve never been on one here in Madeira though. These roads are something else, aren’t they?” Josie said, turning to smile at the two couples behind her. They didn’t hear her, being totally occupied in peering at Reids’ hotel, its pink grandeur dominating the waterfront. Josie could see the red roof tops and lush tropical gardens, and could imagine the view from its cliff-top perch, terraces of tables with couples drinking champagne and cool, shady places to sit and gaze at the sea.

  “Have any of you visited Reids’ yet?” asked their driver, waving a hand proudly towards the entrance gates. As he began to tell them about the history of the place, Josie sneaked another look at him. Her first impression had been absolutely right - he was gorgeous. Probably not too tall, she guessed, but with the most beautifully muscled body she had ever seen. His arms were tanned to the colour of conkers, and his high cheek-boned face was equally dark. As he looked across at Josie to check if she was listening to his information, she caught the flash of velvet brown eyes, and saw that his closely cropped hair had a hint of grey in it.

  “We went to Reids’ last time we were here,” chirped Lisa. “Cost an arm and a leg for a cup of tea and a sarnie - we’re not falling for that one again, are we?” The others all laughed and Josie saw the look of irritation on the driver’s face. She knew after only a few days on this holiday that Madeirans were fiercely proud of their island.

  “I’ve not been there yet, but I’m going to treat myself a cocktail later if we’re back in time,” Josie promised, and was rewarded with a smile and a thumbs-up from Kal.

  “You won’t regret it - but you might need to wear something a little more…formal?” he said, letting his eyes wander over Josie’s thin cotton shorts and skimpy vest top. They were waiting at a red light now, and his thoughtful gaze was making Josie feel completely naked. Just for a moment, she let herself imagine that they were alone in the car, and that he was taking her up into the hills to find a place where they wouldn’t be disturbed. They would park the Land Rover and walk into the forest until they were far away from civilisation and then Josie would turn to him and slowly take off her flimsy clothes. Josie would let her eyes fall to the bulge in his shorts as he watched her walk towards him and she would know that she was being appreciated for once, her naked body slim and tanned, long, shining hair let loose from its sensible plait and spread over her shoulders. The warm sunshine
would dapple her skin as she leaned against a handy tree, and then…

  “Right, here we go, everybody, we’re off into the mountains now. Hold onto your stomachs.” The Land Rover shot forward as the lights changed, and Josie blushed. This was getting ridiculous. It was a good job she’d thought to pack her favourite vibrator - if she hadn’t had that session on the bed this morning, letting the frantic buzz of its rounded end bring the incessant throbbing of her clit to a crescendo, she would have thrown herself on top of this hunk of a man by now. She remembered the waves of pleasure that had washed over her as she’d pressed the hard plastic phallus deep into herself, sliding it backwards and forwards over her now slippery pussy, unable to resist letting her fingers join in. She had cried out as she came for the fifth time, and afterwards, in the rosy glow of satisfaction, she had wondered if any man could beat that experience. Her last boyfriend certainly hadn’t made the grade.

  As the Land Rover began to climb, the couples in the back fell silent, leaning sideways to look down the steep hillside into the valley below. The sea sparkled in the distance and for a moment Josie had that wild, elated feeling that you get when something amazing is about to happen. The driver turned his car sharply and they lurched up an even steeper track, between houses that seemed to lean towards each other.

  “Er…what happens if we meet somebody coming down?” said one of the men in the back, laughing nervously.

  “Oh, you can let me worry about that one, you just enjoy the view,” answered the driver, changing into a lower gear and speeding round a hairpin bend. He screeched to a halt next a tiny house surrounded by heavy foliage. “Now, who likes fruit?” he asked, jumping out of the Land Rover and standing on its sill to pick some strange red berries from an overhanging branch.