Summer Ch. 21

"They smell of you," he said feeling stupid, trying to reassure her. "Fragrant, foetid, surprisingly beautiful," he added, waxing uncharacteristically lyrical, drunk on her smell.

Almost reluctantly he turned and placed the damp garment reverently on top of her skirt and tenderly he smoothed it with his hand. "They will need washing I'm afraid," he said feeling the dampness against his palm and turning back he looked eagerly at the now near naked young woman on the bed before him. He was visibly shaking with emotion, like a child at Christmas he was almost feeling physically sick with excitement. She was spread out before him, excited, beautiful, nervous, waiting for him to make his next move, to make her cum again, to make the shame worthwhile. Her eyes searched his face for reassurance that she was doing the right thing, lying with her legs open waiting for him. Smiling, he reached between her legs and his hand closed upon her sex. She gasped and closed her eyes, refusing to think, shaking with desire and simply surrendering to the feeling of his hand between her legs.

He could feel the warmth of her sex almost burning against his fingertips, a raw energy that pulled him deeper into her and her hips rose softly as his finger slid past her lips as he pushed easily into her; and she groaned as his finger slid into her, part in disavowal, a weak reassertion of her middle class morality, knowing she should not be doing this, letting him undress her and use her like this, pushing his fingers inside her; and part pleasure, a discovery of sin and carnal delight that had begun when he had touched her knee in the church and which had eventually led to this, her knickers on the top of a pile of discarded clothes and the vicar with his fingers inside her.

Before she realised what had happened she realised that he had withdrawn his finger and she groaned with disappointment. Kneeling on the floor between the two beds he crawled forward and reaching between her open legs he once again touched his finger to her sex and was pleased to hear her sudden intake of breath at his touch, a sharp quiver of lust. He ran his finger the length of her lips and watched them slowly open to even further to his touch, rolling back like the waters before Moses. He worked his way to the top of her, holding her open until he could see her clitoris, standing hard and erect at the top of her sex, the small protective hood rolled back like some actor in a play, 'Voila!' pushing back his cowl so that you can see his face discarding his hat before going into action.

Scrambling closer he moved down the bed so that he kneel between her legs. Forcing her legs wide he placed his thumbs on both sides of her sex and she groaned as he gently pulled her lips apart, opening her up to his gaze, holding her there so he could look inside her. She groaned quietly as he opened her; the groan and her heavy breathing the only sounds in the tent, she was shaking with excitement as he manipulated her, treating her like meat. The world had fallen silent as he gazed into her. Unconsciously she began to move her hips slightly, turned on by his inspection, looking for his fingers, signalling her need to be touched, to be made to cum. 'Please' she whispered, 'please.'

He touched his thumb to her clitoris and she jumped as If he had electrocuted her. "Ready to cum I take it," he asked and she groaned. He held her open again, his thumbs stretch her wide, her clitoris standing stark and proud.

"Such a strange thing," he said leaning closer to inspect it more thoroughly. "They call it a little man," he said as she gripped the edge of the bed with her fingers, white knuckled, her legs like her sex wide open.

He leaned forward gingerly touched his tongue to the tip f it and she cried out, her hips bucking up off the bed. "Nice," he said, "nice", savouring the taste. He slid one of his thumbs across to rest gently on her clitoris and she again cried out, her back arching and her head thrown back. "Are you ready to cum now" he asked solicitously.

His rock hard shaft throbbed inside his pants, he was so erect it was beginning to hurt. Looking down he could see the dark wet stain on the front of his trousers where his precum was soaking through the material. He grasped his shaft one handed through the tick material and groaned with the almost overwhelming need to cum, he desperately wanted to take his shaft out and burry himself inside her but he heroically fought back the urge, 'Not yet,' he thought, 'not quite yet' and turned his attention back to the woman on the bed before him.

She cried out as his thumb began to stroke across the small nub of her clitoris. A easy touch that brought her hips up off the bed and a strangled cry of pain cum pleasure from her lips. She bucked against him, calling out for him to stop. She came almost immediately, crying out as she arched herself up off the bed, shaking so violently that he had difficulty in keeping his thumb on her sex; but he kept at her, working her clitoris until as she stretched and thrashed on the bed. He held her with a hand on her stomach until the worst of her climax was passed. Keeping her stretched out, her legs wide open with his shoulders and elbows.

Eventually she shuddered and lay still, her breathing ragged in her chest. A sheen of sweat sheathing her lithe young body. The vicar sat back on his heels and stretched his arms out, easing the stress and tension. He rolled his head like an athlete preparing for some event. "Hard work this," he said quietly as he cracked his fingers before leaning forward back between her legs again.

Watching closely he inspected her sex again, not touching, just looking, noting the differences that had occurred, the deeper pink shade of her lips, wet and puffy, slightly swollen and enlarged. The moisture running out of her, soaking down into the already soaked bed beneath her bottom. He leaned forward and pressed a finger between her open lips and she groaned in protest as she felt him between her legs again. She groaned again quietly, pleadingly, as his finger slid slowly into her. She softly rolled her hips as he penetrated her, instantly ready despite her impressive climax of a minute earlier. He could not immediately tell if her moans were complaint or pleasure until she began to push against him, gently pushing her sex back against his finger, driving him deeper inside her. Her legs opened fully as he slowly pushed all the way inside, his finger disappearing into her without resistance. She lay back onto the bed, drawing her knees up, holding them with her hands , spreading her legs wide open for him and he pushed into her until he could go no further, until he could feel her warmth and wetness coating the length of his finger.

He felt her shiver as he began to move inside her, to explore inside her darkness. The tip of his finger brushed the entrance to her cervix and he smiled as she slowly but surely surrendered her warm and wet, secret places to him. Inserting another finger into her she groaned and her hips pressed back against him again, still gently, almost experimentally, as though she were trying to be good and failing.

Exploring further he turned his fingers inside her and she stifled a small cry, her sex skilfully moulding itself around his fingers, gripping him, trying to draw him in. He withdrew them completely and she moaned again, this time a sound full of disappointment and loss. He stared at his fingers and the slick coating of juices that covered them and he laughed, quietly and jubilantly before he pushed himself back into her, burying himself once again inside her and she immediately rose to meet him, her hips rising to his meet his thrust and again he laughed, marvelling at the control he was now able to exercise over this young woman's soft and yielding body.

Partially withdrawing he felt the friction between her sex and his fingers, her sex seemed to be sucking at him, the lubrication she was providing adding to the soft vacuum that her sex created around his fingers and she moaned again as he pulled against it. He worked his fingers back inside her and he marvelled at the complexity of the sexual act, the moving parts that all fit together so beautifully and functioned so smoothly. He sex was moulding itself to him, adapting to the shapes that were working their way between her lips. He pushed back inside her before she was ready and she cried out, part surprise and part pleasure. He turned his fingers inside her and as before her hips rose up to meet him. Her eyes were closed and her hands flat at her side, she had her knees up, presenting her sex to him, for his use, for her pleasure.

He repeated the manoeuvre, partially withdrawing his fingers, drawing back out of her up to his knuckles before pushing back inside her, deeper, stronger; slowly beginning to build up a rhythm that he hoped would carry her up and into yet another climax.

Her hips began to rock as his fingers pressed into her. Her breath grew increasingly ragged and rasping as she strove to control the sensations that were whirling up like flames from between her open legs. His big fingers slipped in and out of her sex, building stroke upon stroke and she gripped the edges of the narrow bed as she fought to keep her hips still and her legs open. He pushed harder, turning his fingers inside her at the end of each stroke until her control finally broke and with a cry she pushed back with her hips, impaling herself on his fingers at every thrust.

He laughed with pure joy as she rode him, mounting his fingers with a growing abandon, lost in the new and growing wave of sensation that was sweeping through her. She stretched her legs wide, her sex sucking at his fingers as he watched with unconcealed delight. He drove her harder. Leaning over her he pushed her hips back down onto the bed, his hand flat on the top of her mound, holding her down, holding her in position, working her sex with his fingers like an amateur gynaecologist conducting an extremely private and thorough examination.

His fingers were driving her into a frenzy. She thrashed under him, rising higher with every thrust. Her head whipped from side to side, her breasts shaking, her bra riding free high on her chest. Her sex gripped him, her juices coating his fingers and his hand. Just like her he was slipping into sensory overload, unable to absorb the sensations, the pleasures, that were bombarding him. No passing spectator in the act she lifted her hips high off the bed with every stroke as she drove his fingers deeper and deeper into her sex. Her fingers were white and she gripped the bed as if her life depended on it, as if she would drift away if she let go. She cried out again as his fingers worked inside her, a cry that broke suddenly into a series of smaller, shorter cries, almost of surprise, as her climax burst upon her.

She thrashed under him, held hard against the canvas bed beneath her by his enormous hand. She clamped her thighs tight shut, hard around his hand as she rode the first overwhelming waves of her crisis. Her hands gripped frantically at the wrist that controlled the hand between her legs, trying vainly to stop him, to stop the climax that was wracking her. She shuddered violently and her body shook, curling up off the bed as if winded, almost frightening him with the intensity of her climax.

He continued to work her as her climax continued, keeping her 'on the boil' as he had heard it expressed; rolling her on into wave after wave of her orgasm, cresting one peak before climbing up and into another, each higher and more intense than the last. He watched in awe each time she rose to his fingers before crying out and collapsing back onto the bed as a new wave crashed through her, washed her out, leaving her just enough strength to rise to the next; his fingers were relentless. Finally she slowed, each climax now just a little lower in intensity than the one before until at last she tugged on his wrist trying to halt the rhythm of his fingers inside her. 'No more, please, no more,' she begged quietly.

He withdrew his fingers and sat back onto his heels and Pat collapsed exhausted onto the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing fast and shallow, her skin slick with a bright sheen of sweat. He ran his hand down her leg and she muttered softly and complainingly under her breath. He smiled and ignored her protest, feeling the sweat cooled warmth of her skin, marvelling in her strength and her raw sexuality. He picked up her knickers and began to wipe her down, wiping between her breasts and her tummy and down along her legs.

He dropped the knickers back onto the bed but on an afterthought he picked them up again and pushed them into his pocket. 'A memento' he thought and he fought the urge to laugh. For the first time in his life he felt liberated, he had seen the sexual revolution first hand, up close and personal and his head was bursting with it.

"Sit up a little," he said pulling her up by her shoulder. She moaned and tried to shrug him off but he was insistent and slowly she struggled upright, floppy and disjointed like a rag doll. He held her against him as he stripped off her heavy blue shirt, working it down her arms as she muttered grumpily, her head rolling against his shoulder.

"We've lost the knickers," he explained excitedly as he pulled the shirt off each arm in turn. "And look at how much fun we've had since. So now my dear, I think it's time to get you completely naked don't you?"

She looked at him uncomprehendingly as, still holding her upright, he reached over and dropped the shirt on the pile with the rest of her clothes. The shirt was followed by her bra which he pulled down her arms and off, tossing it onto the pile of discarded clothing. "You were wearing all those this morning when I arrived," he said proudly, cupping a breast and rolling the nipple, "and now look at you. As naked as the day you were born. My, we have been busy haven't we?" He held her close, cradling her against his chest while his hands rolled down her back, cupping her bottom before moving back up and around to her breasts again. There was no resistance, she was exhausted, too tired to protest.

He laid her back on to the bed, gently, her legs open and her arms loose. She muttered incoherently as he ran his hands over her but nothing could spoil his mood as finally she was completely and utterly naked every bit as beautiful as he had imagined her to be.

"Quite wonderful my dear," he said as he rolled her breasts, inspecting her deep dusky pink nipples standing out proudly from the luscious fullness of her breasts still surprisingly erect. He rolled them in his hands until she moaned and tried to push him away. Smiling to himself he drew his hands down her stomach, feeling the smooth clean lines of her hips before moving further down between her legs. He ignored he quiet protests, her attempt to close her legs and he quite roughly pushed her legs open again. He surveyed her used and puffy sex, her juices still trickling down the crack of her bottom, the stain on the canvas bed now dark and wide. "I hope that that dries before your friends get him," he said quietly laughing to himself. He saw the stain as further proof of his new found virility.

"Ah yes," he said smugly, "quite, quite wonderful. I wonder if you know how perfect you are my dear. You really were meant to be naked, to be fucked. And I am just the man to do it." She didn't stir, whether she heard him or was even listening was debatable. She lay on her back, her arms crossed over her breasts, holding them, protecting them. She tried to curl over onto her side, looking for sleep, for rest but he held her with a hand on her hip, rolling her over onto her back again and she complained grumpily.

"Not so fast," he said ignoring her tiredness, "where do you think you are going?"

She covered her breasts with her arms again as he laid her gently back onto the hard canvas bed, a conditioned modesty reflex and he laughed. Taking hold of her wrists he gently pulled her arms away, pulling them down to her sides.

"That's better," he said releasing her. "There's nothing left to cover up is there," he said slightly mockingly, "There's nothing I haven't seen already, nothing you haven't already showed me."

"I now just want to see some more of it," he said as he ran his hands over her, fondling her breasts, stroking down her stomach. "In fact I want to see a lot more of it," he said almost gaily as he dipped his hands between her thighs.

"Open them again," he instructed and somewhat resignedly she opened her legs for him.

He marvelled once again at her shape and the feel of her, he had never known anything like it, in truth he thought that this may have been the first woman he had ever seen completely naked in his whole sad and sheltered life. His wife still maintained her privacy, even after all their years of marriage. Even on their wedding night the lights had been switched off and the room plunged into darkness before her nightie was demurely raised to her waist, never removed and hastily pulled down as soon as the quick and unsatisfactory act had been performed. He had never, ever, seen her naked and now, after all these sexually sterile years, he sadly had no desire to.

He looked at the young woman before him. This was so totally different he could not believe it; this was quite literally virgin territory for him, perhaps for both of them, but whatever happened now he simply had to make love to her, he had to fuck her whatever the cost. He now had her completely, absolutely, unbelievably, wonderfully, stark naked, stretched out like a vision on the bed in front of him. And she was compliant, willing, opening her legs to him when he asked and she was his for the rest of the day. So far it had taken him a surprisingly short time to get her undressed, and the rest of the day stretched out before him like some sunlit uplands. On top of that he had put his fingers in her sex. So, even if she was a virgin now, he intended to make absolutely certain that she would lose that cherished status before her outward-bound friends returned home for dinner.

He slowed his exploration of her, wanting to make it last, committing it to memory so that he could bring it back later, play it back in his mind like a private blue film. She was unbelievable, she was everything and more that his fertile and considerable imagination had promised she would be and he could not keep his hands off her. Touching her, her face, her sex, her breasts, stroking her, his enthusiasm, his intimate touches turning her slowly on despite her half hearted and coyly muttered protests.

"It's too late for that I'm afraid," he said brushing away her fluttering hands as he explored her red and finger marked breasts, rolling the hard, erect nipples between his fingers until she groaned.

"It's too late to be shy now. Trying to cover yourself up. You should have thought of that before you encouraged me to take your clothes off shouldn't you?" Startled out of her lethargy by his words Pat made to protest but he ignored her, pulling her legs open to examine her swollen and puffy sex again, her juices thick and matted into her pubic hair where his fingers had moved inside her just minutes before. Pushing her legs even further apart he opened her sex with his fingers.

Holding her open he examined inside her, the swollen outer lips and the smaller darker coral inner lips guarding the deep secret entrance to her sex. He could not resist touching her and she moaned in protest as he slid a finger inside her. She groaned as he breached her new found modesty, her tired body struggling to adapt to the new intrusion. She moaned a soft protest but never attempted any serious resistance; if nothing else the morning had taught her not to protest too much, to just lay back and open her legs to him, and so that is what she did