The Campers

It was the cottage I'd always wanted. Set at the head of a valley that sloped down towards the sea and surrounded by wooded slopes, it came with a decent-sized garden, a couple of fields (for which I had yet to find a use), and a swimming pool which I could use if I felt too idle to walk the mile down to the beach. I call it a cottage but in fact it's quite a substantial house with some outbuildings, but all built in the traditional local style. It was peaceful, quiet and private.

I'd been lucky. I'd written three or four books that had done well - none had reached the very top of the best seller lists but they came high enough up to earn me a very nice sum which I'd been able to invest in my little haven.

Uninvited visitors were few and far between. The surrounding trees kept the cottage hidden from the passing lane and the entrance to my drive was discreetly tucked away, masked by a bend in the road that distracted the attention of passing motorists.

I wouldn't want you to think that I'd adopted the life of a hermit, though. I was of that time in life that saw many of my friends divorcing. After years of focussing on careers, homes and children, they had suddenly come to the realisation that the person on the far side of the breakfast table was a stranger. Fifty Shades of Grey played its part too. Dreadfully-written book but it gave them an idea that maybe they'd been missing out.

I was unattached, reasonably successful and owned a house near the coast, so I'd found myself invited upon by more than a few ex- and soon-to-be-ex-wives. I got the impression, too, that word was spreading around that I was a more than acceptable fuck - better than ex-husbands, at least.

So, while it wasn't exactly an endless stream, I had an ample supply of sexual companions and the sex was remarkably good. Women who had spent the previous 20 years or more with one man - or with only the occasional transgression - tended to be ripe for variety and experimentation and it would have been churlish of me to deny them.

The week before, I'd had a couple of friends come to visit and it had quickly become clear that my role was to be marriage guidance counsellor and sex therapist combined. (Another problem with being a writer - people tend to assume that your works of fiction must have at least some basis in personal experience.) I did have to make it clear that any potential bi-tendencies on his part would be beyond the bounds of our explorations but, apart from that, they had a vigorous and enjoyable week with me. I can say without doubt that she was fucked more times and in more positions (both locationally and anatomically) during that week than in the previous year and both went home with broader smiles than they'd arrived with and, hopefully, a revived marriage.

After such a hectic and distracting week, I really did feel that I ought to be getting on with some work. The problem with being a fairly successful writer is that readers and therefore publishers want more and more of the same. When I was trying to concentrate, as I was that day, I particularly valued my privacy. I was trying to develop plot themes for my next book and it wasn't coming together at all well. Truth to tell, I was running out of ideas.

It didn't help that it was a hot, breathless summer's afternoon. The heat and the humidity were still rising and haze was starting to blur the distant views. It was one of those days when sound carried from far off and even the bees and butterflies seemed languid. I was tempted to move inside where it might be cooler and maybe have a doze when the voice came as a sudden intrusion.

'Hello', followed by a brief pause and then more insistently, "Hello, anyone around?'

I dragged myself up and walked round to the front of the house. A young couple stood there, dressed in hiking gear and carrying rucksacks. They were in their late 20s, possibly early 30s. He was dark, tall and some might have said athletically-slim though skinny was perhaps a better description; she was shorter with what I've been known, unkindly, to describe as mousy-blond hair reaching down below her shoulders. She had a good rounded figure - a tendency to chubbiness, perhaps, but not fat. If she'd been on her own I wouldn't have resented the invasion.

'We were wondering if there was anywhere here we could camp tonight?'

Her eyes traced the path leading down through my garden to the gate into the field beyond.

'They don't seem very keen on camping down by the beach', she continued, 'and it's getting too hot to keep on going.'

The girl was clearly taking the lead. The man seemed awkward, his body language making it plain that this wasn't his idea. I found myself warming to him. She looked at me appealingly, though.

I was in a quandary. I could have done without people around but it seemed rude to refuse them when they were clearly hot and tired. I looked them up and down, as if searching for something that would help to make my mind up, before my thoughts went back to the welcoming kindnesses I'd received in the days when I used to hike and camp.

'I don't suppose it can do any harm if you're really stuck and it's just for the one night. You should be able to find a good spot to tuck yourselves away down in that field. Just be careful not to set fire to the grass if you're cooking - it's very dry.'

I immediately felt bad that my words must have come across as reluctant. I decided to be a little friendlier.

'There's a tap over there by that door if you need water', I indicated, pointing to one of the outbuildings around the pool. 'There's a shower and a toilet in there, too. Feel free to use them. You'll find some towels in one of the cupboards. Have fun - if there's anything you need, let me know.'

They both looked suitably grateful and I watched as they set off down towards the field. It didn't take them long to unpack their tent and soon they were busily putting it up and making themselves comfortable. A babble of animated conversation floated back towards me but I noticed that it was mostly one-sided.

A while later I happened to be looking out of my kitchen window as I prepared my evening meal. It looked out over the garden and the pool area and I watched the girl make her jaunty way up from the field, wash bag swinging idly from one hand. She waved to me as she passed. She disappeared inside the building and closed the door behind her, but in the next instant the curtains at the window were thrown back. She took hold of the hem of her t-shirt and, in one swift movement, pulled it over her head. She then reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, revealing a gorgeous pair of breasts.

They weren't large but they were full, plump and well-separated, tipped by light brown nipples. They hung slightly and swayed as she moved. When she leaned forward, presumably to take off her trousers and panties, they fell away from her chest and dangled deliciously. I could imagine taking them in my hands, enjoying their weight, lifting the nipples to my lips. Then she looked in my direction and blew me a kiss before turning towards the shower cubicle.

Fortunately she'd moved out of my sight before I had time to react. I felt like a peeping tom but I reassured myself that it was hardly my fault. She'd known that I was at my window and she'd pulled back the curtains to reveal herself but, even so, I made sure I was occupied on the far side of the kitchen by the time she emerged from the shower.

*****

Later that evening I stood at the darkened window of my bedroom and looked down towards the field. There was a light on inside the tent and it cast silhouettes of the occupants on the thin fabric. I could see a female head bobbing up and down and then, when it stopped, the figure sat upright and shifted over. It took no imagination at all to know that she had mounted astride him and had taken his cock in her cunt. The air was still enough for sounds to carry and the sounds I heard were of male and female moans and groans in unison. I slipped a hand down to below my waist and touched myself until I heard the scream of feminine orgasm accompanied by the long, low grunt of a man.

I was restless that night. The heat and lack of breeze didn't help but it was the urgency in my loins that was the real problem and that wasn't going to be solved by a simple act of masturbation. I was still tossing and turning in bed when the first flashes of lightning began to appear in the west.

Within ten minutes the thunder was rolling and crashing around the surrounding hills, the sky lit up with vivid flashes that seemed to be getting closer and closer. I leapt out of bed to close the window that I'd left wide open to dispel the heat. To say that the rain had begun to fall would be a classic English understatement. It was coming down in torrents. The steps leading down into the garden were like a cascade and the path down to the field had turned into a fast-flowing river. In my several years at the cottage, I'd seen nothing like it.

The light came on inside the tent. It shone on two figures desperately trying to get into clothes, seizing belongings. Then the two figures burst out of the tent and were illuminated by the next flash of lightning, running - almost wading - through the flood water towards the house. I reached for my robe and ran down the stairs, pausing only to grab a couple of bath robes and large towels from the airing cupboard, and flung open the back door.

They burst in through the door, bedraggled, water pouring off them, hair plastered to their scalps. The girl's t-shirt clung to her, offering a perfectly-sculpted vision of breasts and belly. It was a highly erotic sight in the midst of devastation. One more I found it hard to resist the thought that, if she'd been on her own, I'd probably have torn her wet clothes off her and fucked her then and there.

They began towelling themselves briskly and then the girl turned partially away from me and peeled off her sodden t-shirt, followed by her equally wet trousers. As she bent forwards to disentangle her trousers from her feet, I had an unimpeded view of the tight slit of her pussy, framed between her legs, accentuated by the firm mounds of her outer labia. He paused in ridding himself of his wet clothes to notice my gaze and his eyes followed its direction. He tossed the girl one of the bath robes, a look of displeasure on his face. She slipped it on, but with a distinct lack of haste.

I poured each of us a glass of brandy and placed all three on the kitchen table. Then I collected up their discarded clothing and put it to one side before joining them at the table. He had wrapped his robe tightly around himself; she had wrapped her towel round her hair but the front of her robe remained parted, revealing the swellings of her breasts.

We talked about the storm, the rain, and the impact it had had. Then, with brandies finished, I suggested that they take themselves upstairs and make themselves comfortable in the guest room. Tiredness was beginning to overtake them and they followed me up the stairs.

After showing them to their room, I went back to my own and looked out some spare clothes for them to wear in the morning; a t-shirt and a pair of shorts for each of them. Luckily I'm one of those people who hang onto clothes that no longer fit, in the vain hope that one day I might lose weight. I was about to knock on their door when I heard the sound of voices. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but the words caught my attention.

'I can't believe that you stripped off in front of him.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, you whining moron, I was fucking soaked and I wanted out of my wet clothes. In any case, I don't suppose he saw anything he hasn't seen before.'

I was tempted to correct her there - I'd only seen her tits till that point - but I knew what she meant.

'But you could have...'

His words tailed off as he realised the argument was going nowhere. She wasn't ready to relent, though. I knew enough of her by then to know that that would have been out of character.

'You didn't mind when I stripped off in front of Mike', she went on, 'and you were happy for him to fuck me.'

My eyebrows raised themselves of their own accord.

'We had too much to drink that night', he replied in what I can only describe as a whine. 'And in any case, he's almost old enough to be your father and we don't know him from Adam. You don't want to fuck him, surely?'

I resented his emphasis.

'At least he might appreciate me', she came back, determined to have the final word.

I tiptoed away to my bed.

*****

The next morning dawned fine and bright; it was as if the storm had never been, except that there were two campers in one of my spare beds. I woke them with cups of coffee and left the dry clothes for them to dress in. They emerged about half an hour later, no doubt tempted by the smell of a cooked breakfast wafting up from the kitchen. He'd put on both t-shirt and shorts but either her shorts didn't fit or she'd decided that the t-shirt was long enough. He didn't look best pleased and his eyes kept glancing down to see how much it revealed.

Breakfast finished, we all set off down to the field to sort out the night's devastation. Fair to say, it was a mess. The water had receded but everything was wet through and muddy. She and I began to sort things into piles; he seemed only to want to moan about the fate of precious and not so precious belongings. He brandished a map that was clearly going to be of little further use.

'But I'd worked out the whole of our route on it.' It was almost a wail and it earned him two looks that were lacking in both sympathy and concern.

We retrieved the things that needed a wash. Their sleeping bags made up a first load for the washing machine as they would take the longest to dry, a pile of clothing standing by as a second load. Anything that could get away without washing went out on the line or was hung up in my drying room. Other things we spread round and about on the ground, including their rucksacks and their sodden walking boots, which we put out to dry slowly in the morning sun. Fortunately, their precious possessions - watches, phones, sunglasses and the like - had been in a zipped waterproof bag, hung from the tent roof, and had survived unharmed.

We talked about their plans. Most things would dry during the course of the day but their sleeping bags and boots would need a longer, gentler drying time if they weren't to be ruined. It looked as though they would be spending another night with me.

With everything in hand, there was little for them to do but enjoy the sunshine. I told them to enjoy themselves but asked them to excuse me as I had things to be getting on with indoors.

'Do you mind if we use the swimming pool?' she asked, before pointedly reminding me that their costumes were among the clothes waiting their turn for the washing machine.

'I'm afraid I don't happen to have any spare bikinis lying around - my female visitors don't usually bother bringing them', I laughed. 'You certainly won't be the first to swim naked here.'

I went back indoors and retreated to my study which was upstairs at the far end of the house. The sun was streaming in so I partly pulled the curtains to keep the bright light off my computer screen. Even so, I found it hard to concentrate. A while later I got up, thinking I would get a drink. Girlish giggles emanated from the pool. I glanced out as I passed the gap in the curtains. She was floating on her back, her gorgeous body on full display. She kicked her legs, giving me my second glimpse of her slit, and I found myself giving some serious thought as to what it would be like to prise open and penetrate.

He was standing at one end of the pool, looking awkward and furious. She suddenly turned on her front and dived under the surface, heading straight towards him, aiming torpedo-like for the region below his waist. He pushed her off with his hands and she broke surface.

'Not here, not now', he insisted. 'He may be able to see.'

'Are you afraid he might get ideas?' she questioned him. 'Are you afraid he might want me? Are you worried I might like him fucking me?'

She turned towards the house and waved with both hands but it wasn't in my direction and was purely opportunistic. She was doing her best to wind him up and the look on his face said that she was succeeding. She swam over to the steps and hauled herself out of the water. She stood at the top for a couple of moments, holding onto the handrails, allowing the water to stream off her body, her breasts thrust out in front of her, her legs parted, facing towards the house. She glanced around to see if I'd noticed her but I was out of sight. She ran her hand down her front, ostensibly brushing a few more drops of water from her body, but the message it conveyed was one of 'look at me, what do you think?' I was happy for my cock to provide the answer.

She wandered over to the shower room and disappeared inside. I heard the brief sound of running water as she rinsed herself off and then she emerged, towelling herself down. She walked back across the poolside, unabashed by - indeed, revelling in - her nakedness. Her backside was curvy but firm and led down to sturdy thighs that were wicked in their delight. I wondered if she knew for certain that I was watching her; I wondered how arousing that might be for her. I longed to spread her legs and feel between them, exploring the secrets they hid.

As if to answer my thoughts, she took one of the sun loungers and lay down on it. She'd found a bottle of sun lotion in the shower room and began to apply it to her body. She'd placed the lounger parallel to both the end of the pool and the house, making sure that he would be able to see precisely what she was doing. So would I if I happened to be looking.

She rubbed the lotion over her breasts, chest and tummy and then moved down to her legs. She finished by running her hands up the insides of her thighs, ending between her legs. She rubbed lotion into the creases where her thighs joined her body, across her outer labia and into her tight slit itself. She moaned slightly as she did so, whether through pleasure or to draw attention to herself I couldn't tell. The sound certainly made him look up but he tried to ignore her.

I looked at the two of them, trying to weigh them up. They gave all the signs of one being the dominant partner and one the submissive but I doubted it was as simple as that. Without doubt he was verging on the wimpish but she gave a clear appearance of being a bully, determined to get her own way. She was playing games and, as far as she was concerned, he and I were both toys to be played with. That didn't suit me and I had no intention of taking on the role she was trying to carve out for me.

But there was no reason why I couldn't have some fun on my own terms.

Lunchtime was beckoning, so I slipped down to the kitchen, and laid out some plates of cold meats, cheeses, and salad, and poured a couple of jugs of cold drinks, perfect for a hot day. I served myself, with the intention of taking it back up to the study, before calling out to them.

'Lunch is here, come and help yourselves.'

I was out of the kitchen before they could respond. I didn't want to give her any unnecessary opportunity to develop things in an unhelpful direction. When I looked out a while later, the two of them were enjoying their meal at a poolside table, both naked, under the shade of a sun umbrella. Eventually, I heard them bring their plates back into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher. This was followed by the sounds of sun loungers being rearranged, and when I glanced out he was laying on his front reading a somewhat bedraggled book and she was laying on her back, taking in the sun. There was a space of several feet between them and scarcely a word passed.