The Whore's Locker

"They are back," Abu informed his commander gravely.

"Allah preserve us," groaned the new head of Al Qaeda, feeling the sweat break out on his forehead.

***

Hassan stood in the crowded market place. His hands shook and his heart pounded in his chest. This was his moment. This was his last moment. His backpack was stuffed with C-4. In ten minutes he would be in the Promised Land and fifty or more people who were currently going about their business in blissful ignorance would be dead.

***

Patty and Siobhan emerged from the shadows. They were disguised in traditional arab dress. They surveyed the scene from beneath their transparent veils.

"Here we go again," said Siobhan with a wicked smile that nobody could see.

The girls threw off their robes and walked forward into the busy market place. All around them faces turned and eyes shot wide. Patty was the language expert. She understood every prayer and profanity which dropped unbidden from the lips of the men and women on all sides.

Patty and Siobhan were members of the Pink Berets, also know as the Slut Squad. They were mercenaries. Currently they were working for the United States government, but they would sell their services to anyone who met their asking price. They were above politics and patriotism. All they cared about was the money and the cock. Patty was born in America. Siobhan in Ireland. But the Pink Berets base of operations was on a privately owned island in the Azores.

What caused all the commotion in the market place, as it did everywhere they went, was their uniform. It consisted simply of a military-style helmet with camouflage pattern and a tight-fitting black t-shirt with the message : "What part of 'Yes' don't you understand?" Siobhan also had a satchel over her shoulder filled with bomb disposal equipment. Below the t-shirt they were both naked, their smoothly-shaved pussies glistening wetly in the bright Middle Eastern sunshine. The sweat dripped down their firm buttocks, which quickly became begrimed with dry red dust.

"I know what they have promised you," Patty called out in Arabic.

"I will be a martyr for the glorious Jihad," Hassan replied nervously.

"You can take the gamble if you want, Hassan," she told him. "You can blow yourself to smithereens and trust that you'll end up in Paradise with 20 virgins, who probably don't even know how to suck a cock, or I can blow you right here and now. I'll take you to Paradise and then you can get on with your day, no harm, no fowl." Of course it sounded quite different in Arabic.

"I can't change my mind," whimpered Hassan. "The bomb is already programmed to go off."

"Don't worry about that," Patty reassured him. "Siobhan will disarm the bomb. She's good at that. And, if all goes well, she'll help us both out by pulling apart your butt cheeks and licking your asshole. She's also good at that."

Siobhan didn't know much Arabic, but she knew enough to shoo back the crowd that was standing around them. The women had fallen back and were looking on anxiously, but many of the men couldn't make up their minds which was worse - to run the risk of being blown up or to miss out on getting a really good look at the bare Infidel cunts which were stiffening their cocks.

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

"Wow! This guy's got a real weapon of mass destruction in his pants," laughed Patty, setting free seven proud inches of dusky dick meat. She happily grasped it in her sweaty hands and licked off the bead of pre-cum that had formed on the head.

"Three and a half minutes left on the timer," declared Siobhan. "Should I have a wank first to steady my nerves."

Patty would have told her she was a cheeky bitch but she had her mouth full of throbbing dick. Just as some women are gourmets who like to eat exotic meals, Patty liked to eat exotic males. She took his cock out of her mouth and crouched down to suck on his balls. She hoped those balls were bursting with cum. Suicide bombers were generally virgins who didn't masturbate anywhere near enough. (A life without sex? Who wouldn't want to blow themselves up?) Every guy's cum tasted a little different, and every guy's cum was delicious to Patty.

"Now was it the blue wire and then the green wire, or the green wire and then the blue?" asked Siobhan. "I get confused when I get horny. And watching you suck cock always makes me horny."

"This isn't a game," Patty scolded her, as she grasped Hassan's hard prick and jacked him with a firm stroke.

"There we go," Siobhan cried proudly as she snipped the correct wire.

"Business over and now the fun begins," Patty replied, laying back in the dust and pulling Hassan between her wide spread thighs. His dick slid easily into her hot wet pussy. Siobhan crouched down behind him and licked his asshole while fingering her dripping wet pussy. The danger always left her feeling rampantly horny. And all around them men were pulling out their cocks and jacking off.

"Hey, you," cried Siobhan to one of the watching masturbators. "I just saved your life. The least you can do is fuck me." He was unlikely to understand her Irish-inflected English, but he understood when she grabbed him by the cock and pulled him into the fray.

Patty and Siobhan kissed each other hungrily as each was fucked doggy style. Eventually they were pumped full of jism.

"It's raining man juice!" exclaimed Siobhan as the surrounding masturbators spurted streams of hot cum all over their sweaty bodies.

As they were walking away, Siobhan handed out business cards to some of the onlookers. They read :

There is no need to love your enemies. We'll do it for you.

"I can't wait to hit the showers," enthused Patty. She knew that the rest of the squad would be meeting them there. They would have a long relaxing shower together and then there would be an all-girl orgy until late into the evening. Pussies would be licked and strap-ons would be squirted over. And everyone would be satisfied by the time the desert sun sank among the dunes.

***

The leader of Al Qaeda did not take the news well.

"When they used guns and bombs against us, it stiffened our resolve," he pointed out.

"I'm pretty stiff at the moment," Abu confessed.

"Death and destruction are good for recruitment," explained the leader. "But what can we do against blow jobs?"

"My resolve would be tested," admitted Abu.

In the next room one of the leader's wives was watching the report on Al Jazeera and fingering her pussy beneath her burkha.

The End

Jette and Keilyn from Girls Out West

Native Love : Wank Wednesday

Time to get back to a bit of Wank Wednesday wantonness. Today's prompt is #grace. For more info on this near legendary writing challenge and to read the rest of the entries, check out the Word Ejaculation blog.

Native Love

It was a bright summer's day in the Cotswolds, the daisies in full bloom, when news reached Prudence Butterworth that her husband had been mauled to death by a leopard.

The year was 1910 and Prudence, who had just turned fifty a few weeks earlier, was not particularly surprised at the news. Reverend Bartholomew Butterworth had been the Presbyterian pastor of Puddleby-on-the-Donk when she married him. She had been a good respectable pastor's wife and had born him a son, Archibald. But when Archibald graduated from college and took passage to Australia, Bartholomew found himself suddenly fired by missionary zeal. No longer could he content himself with a life of jumble sales, tea parties and organ repair fund-raisers when he knew that the Dark Continent was just chock full of naked heathens living a shamefully carefree existence in complete ignorance of the peril hanging over their eternal souls. He kissed his devoted wife goodbye and, armed with a trunk full of Bibles and a copy of Teach Yourself Swahili he headed off for the Congo.

He had been gone for six years when the grizzly news of his demise reached Prudence. She hadn't really missed him all that much. He'd always been a bit of a wet blanket, but he was a good provider. Prudence was a dreamer. She had always longed for a man who would take her in his strong arms, ravish her soft wet mouth with rough kisses and give her a long hard poke in the whiskers. She knew she shouldn't really think about these things, but she couldn't help herself. She was far more hot-blooded than her husband who seemed to view sex as some kind of regrettable necessity much like blowing one's nose. She paid close attention to the men of the village. She daren't flirt with them. That would not be proper. But if she saw a finely chiselled muscular workman with his shirt open spilling water down over his chest as he drank from the water pump in the town square, she would discreetly run her eyes over him and store up the image to be enjoyed in the realm of fancy when she was curled up in her warm bed. One reason she didn't mind her husband's absence was that it gave her the freedom to do what she wanted in her bedroom. One day, while unpacking a box of books for the jumble sale, she had discovered a copy of a magazine called The Oyster. My did that open up her imagination to new possibilities! The magazine was full of stories of wicked men and women engaging in every kind of debauchery. Prudence read it over and over again, and then she would lie in her bed naked (something she could never do with Bartholomew beside her) and she would recast the orgies from the magazine with herself and the men of the village as she fondled her stiff nipples and frigged her wet pussy, sailing away on a sea of salaciously saucy sluttiness. That, she was afraid, was the only word for her - a slut. Well, maybe not the only word - trollope, whore and jezebel would do just as nicely. But this was only what she was in spirit, not in deed. There was no reasonable opportunity for a secret slut to live out her desires when she was trapped in the body of a pastor's wife.

The letter which informed Prudence of the death of her husband also asked what she wanted done with his body. To send it back to England would be expensive, and she knew that he would prefer to be buried in the wild land that he had come to love.

"If he can travel to Africa, I don't see why I shouldn't do the same," she said to herself. "It is only right that I be there to put his body to rest."

And so this was how, three months later, after a long sea voyage and a long and dangerous trek into the dark interior she found herself in the village of Utambi.

Her husband had done an amazing job of civilizing the natives. She had to give him that. They all spoke perfect English. The men were all dressed in neatly pressed black suits with white bowties, and the women wore brightly coloured dresses which hung down straight over their bodies and reached to their ankles. They didn't seem troubled by the demise of their benefactor, in fact they were all smiles. The men grinned broadly and their eyes had a naughty twinkle, and the women giggled shyly and reaching out to touch Prudence.

"We are most honoured to meet the good Reverend's charming wife," announced Chief Ngobla with a deep bow.

"I can understand now why my husband was so in love with Africa," she replied. "Such a charming congregation."

"May I dare to suggest," put in Ngobla, "that he might be alive today if his love had not extended to the wildlife."

"Poor Bartholomew," sighed Prudence. "It must have been dreadful. But tomorrow we will bury him and have a proper funeral."

"A funeral we shall have," agreed the chief, "but we cannot bury him."

"Why not?" she asked.

"A week after the leopard killed him," he explained, "the Goona tribe from the next valley stole him for their cooking pot."

"That's terrible!" cried Prudence. "You can't mean that there are still cannibals in this area?"

"It is most regrettable," he nodded. "We too ate the first three missionaries sent to our village."

"But you have learned to be good Christians now, haven't you?" she replied, a bit nervously.

"Oh, yes," he reassured her, with a big toothy grin, "we are good Christians now. We no longer eat missionaries. Only athiests. And we say grace first."

"Oh, my!" cried Prudence, not sure if he was joking or not. It was so hard to tell when he grinned all the time and the women kept giggling.

"Now that the Reverend has been taken from us, what can we do for spiritual guidance?" asked Ngobla.

"I'm sure the church will send you another missionary," she said.

"Yes," he replied sadly, his grin suddenly gone, "but there are missionaries and missionaries."

"You stay and be our missionary," said one of the women enthusiastically, grabbing her by the arm.

"Yes!" cried Ngobla. "We like you! It is decided!"

"But I can't be a missionary!" exclaimed Prudence. "I haven't had any training."

"We'll train you," explained Ngobla. "The Reverend trained us so well, we can train you and then you can train us back again."

"Well, I must admit the prospect is much more appealing than going back to boring old England," she admitted. "I'll stay until a proper missionary turns up anyway."

So Prudence was shown to the Reverend's old hut where she stowed away her luggage, and then they sat around and ate a delicious zebra hot pot cooked by Ndooboo, a short chubby man who was Ngobla's chef as well as the village witch doctor. (The Reverend had had a hard time persuading him to stop telling people with various ailments to sacrifice two chickens and see him in the morning.)

Prudence had never felt so welcome anywhere before. It was as if she had instantly been adopted into the tribe.

That night as she lay in her tent, thinking about how handsome Ngobla and the other men of the tribe were, and quietly fingering her wet pussy, she began to hear the sounds of passionate love-making in the other huts. The growl of marauding lions, the laughing bark of the hyena and the crash of rhinoceroses through the undergrowth - these background noises were now drowned out by groans and grunts and feminine squeals as the flimsy walls of the village huts trembled and shook.

Prudence didn't sleep well that first night. She came about twenty times pleasuring herself to imaginings of what was going on just feet away from her, but she didn't sleep well. She awoke with a plan.

"Ngobla," she said, when she emerged from her hut shortly after dawn, "I've been thinking. I think perhaps my husband made a mistake."

"I would say so," replied Ngobla. "Stepping on a leopard cub when its mother is sitting on a tree branch over your head would generally be classified as a mistake."

"No, I don't mean that," she insisted. "I mean when it comes to cultural sensitivity. I'm sure he meant well by dressing you all in these fancy clothes, but it isn't really appropriate for the climate, and it shows insensitivity to your culture, which, in its own way, is just as legitimate as English culture."

Ngobla's face lit up with his trademark grin.

"You would not be embarrassed if we went naked?" he asked.

Prudence blushed.

"Well, off course, I might feel a bit embarrassed, but it is the right thing to do, to let you be comfortable," she responded, though she couldn't keep a cheeky grin of her own from creeping across her face.

"I think you want to be a bit embarrassed," Ngobla replied. "The Reverend was very embarrassed when he arrived in the village. He was so embarrassed when he saw the ladies of the tribe that the front of his trousers became insubordinate."

"I wish I'd been here to see that," she replied. "Now get out of those ridiculous clothes, all of you!"

Ngobla tore off his coat and shirt and yanked down his trousers and undergarment. In less than a minute he was nude. And what a fine figure of a man he was, tall and muscular, his ebony skin shining in the sun.

"Wow! I can see why you're the chief of the tribe!" cried Prudence, as her eyes fell upon his massive cock which hung about a third of the way to his knees.

The women, who were all now naked as well, giggled.

"You like it?" asked Ngobla with a wink as he fondled his big soft penis. "You can touch it if you like."

Prudence blushed a deep red, but she reached out as if in a trance and began stroking Ngobla's cock, which slowly began to stiffen.

"We love it best of all!" shouted Mboobla, the prettiest of the women, and all the rest giggled. "We love his big thing and we all like him to put it inside of us."

"Your English is very good," said Prudence, her voice quivering with passion as she stroked her soft hand up and down Ngobla's now rigidly erect rod, "but my husband left some gaps in your education. There are other words you need to know. Say it along with me - 'We love Ngobla's huge cock and we love it when he fucks us with it!"

"We love Ngobla's huge cock and we love it when he fucks us with it!" they giggled.

"'We want him to fill our juicy wet cunts with jets of juicy jism!'" she added, her head spinning as Ngobla's proud prick throbbed in her fist.

"'We want him to fill our juicy wet cunts with jets of juicy jism!'" they agreed.

Ngoba suddenly pushed her down onto her hands and knees in the dust and pulled up the back of her dress.

"No! No!" she cried. "That's not the way to do it. Didn't my husband teach you anything?"

"I never did this with your husband," replied Ngobla.

"He didn't teach you about the missionary position?" she gasped.

"Missionaries have their own position?" he wanted to know.

"No, its for everybody," she tried to explain. "Look, I'll show you." She rolled onto her back, pulled up her dress and pulled down her wet panties. "Now you lie on top of me this way and we fuck."

"OOOOooooh," replied Ngobla with a wink, "kinky!"

And then he slid his huge black cock deep into her pale pink grey-haired pussy.

"That's right," sighed Prudence.

"Do all women make such faces when they are being fucked?" asked the chief as one of Prudence's eye-lids began to flutter and her mouth hung open in an idiotic expression. "It is most amusing. I like this missionary position better."

The women giggled as they watched. Some were playing with themselves, some were playing with someone else.

"I love your pale skin," said Ngobla, tearing off the rest of her clothes. She felt embarrassed to be revealed in this way, especially since she was older than the rest, her breasts soft and droopy and her belly less than firm, but it was an exciting embarrassment. After all her years of hiding her true nature, here she was completely naked being fucked senseless by a black man with a massive cock as a whole tribe of horny savages looked on aroused by the novelty of her pale flesh.

"Oh, God! You don't know how I've longed to be properly fucked!" she sighed, running her fingers over Ngobla's sweaty chest as his cock slid deeper into her very being than she ever thought possible.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" groaned the chief as he spurted over and over, before collapsing on top of the missionary's wife.

"Did he fill your cunt with jets of juicy jism?" cried one of the women.

"He did! He did!" grinned a satisfied Prudence.

Later as they were laying beside the river after a swim, Ngobla covered her body in tender kisses.

"Your flesh is tender and pale," he sighed adoringly. "It makes my mouth water."

"Now, now," replied Prudence anxiously, "we'll have none of that."

"All the men adore you," he replied. "They all want to fuck you very much."

"I assure you the feeling is mutual," she smiled.

"There is also much mutual feeling going on amongst the women," Ngobla laughed, pointing towards a lesbian orgy that was taking place further up the bank.

"You have some very horny women in this tribe," she replied. "I feel very much at home."

"Yes, they were very troublesome for your husband. He was always having to scare away the poachers," Ngobla explained.

"There are tribes which poach women?" she asked.

"No, the elephant poachers," he said.

"What do they have to do with the women?" she wanted to know.

"These poachers, they were always trying to egg the women on to buy their ivory dildoes," he explained.

"Ah," she replied, pulling him close for a long slow kiss.

"Can I eat your pussy?" he asked, looking down at the spot were droplets of water clung to the silver hairs which crowned her tender pink slit.

"Only if you say grace first," she smiled.

"For what you are about to receive may the Lord make you truly thankful," laughed Ngobla.

The End

Bare-Assed Baywatch : Wank Wednesday

It's storytime once again. Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #buoy. For more information on this writing challenge, and to find the other stories, check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

Bare-Assed Baywatch

"She can give me mouth-to-pussy resuscitation any time she wants," purred Sandy as she looked up at the tanned and busty lifeguard who was sitting at the top of a watch tower a few metres behind us wearing nothing but a bright red bathing cap and scanning the sea with a large pair of binoculars.

"Damn, did you have to say that," I complained.

We were at the nude beach, sunning ourselves beneath the lazily circling gulls, the sea gently caressing the sand in front of us and the wind softly teasing our pubes.

I'd had to learn a special kind of mental discipline for occasions like this. I'd had to learn to block all thoughts of sex from my mind, lest the sight of swinging boobs and wiggling bums and cute little pussies, some bare as a bald man's head and others as hairy as hamsters, cause my wee willie winky to transform into Bonerman. Sharks aren't the only kind of white pointers that strike panic into the hearts of nude beach patrons.

Looking over at Sandy, pushing back her long blonde hair, and grinning a grin that was the universal sign language for "Please fuck me" as she pointed down at the yellow cornsilk that surrounded her pink Percy-gobbler, there was no way the levee was not going to break, flooding my mind with images of fucking and sucking, bum-spanking and boob-squeezing, and causing my cock to swell and stiffen like an inflating balloon animal.

"Meat missile in the launching position," giggled Sandy when she had finished ogling the lifeguard and turned back to me. She gently placed her finger on the head of my cock and pushed it down. When she let go it sprang back to attention and quivered like a tuning fork.

"I'll be in trouble if anyone sees it," I told her. "I better get into the water and cool off."

"I'll join you," she replied.

As I ran down toward the water, with my cock swinging back and forth stiffly like a conductor's baton, a slim young redhead with firm breasts was rising from the water and coming in to the shore. Droplets of water ran down over her pink nipples, stiff from the cool water, over her firm belly with its cute little button, and ran in a river from the fiery forest of pubes that sprang from between her lithe and lean thighs. One look at me advancing upon her with my generative organ rampant and she screamed and ran off down the beach. I tried to tell her I was sorry as I watched her soft pink bottom jiggle away from me, but the sight was just not helping and what came out of my mouth was not intelligible.

"Scaring young women," Sandy scolded as she ran up beside me. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Me!?!" I cried. "You started it. It was your dirty fantasies about the lifesaver chick which turned Mr. Floppy into Mr. Stiffy."

By now the water was about our waists and the offending appendage was no longer on public display. It wasn't getting any softer though. The invigorating coldness of the water against its heat just made it all the more achingly rigid. Sandy pushed her soft body up against me and began stroking my cock with her right hand.

"It's not safe to bring you to the nude beach," she giggled. "You're too much of a perve."

"It's just not fair," I pointed out. "I'm sure you popped a little girl boner over that lust-inspiring lifesaver lass, but you can get away with it, because it isn't obvious." I reached down below the water and, sure enough, discovered that Sandy's clit was stiff too. It was no surprise that her pussy was wet, but it was slippery with more than water.

"Sounds like you're suffering from pussy-envy," she laughed.

"Very funny, Miss Freud," I replied, "but what are we going to do. I suppose we could have a wank here in the water before going back to the beach."

"No," she decided, looking out to sea. "Let's swim out to that buoy and fuck. With that to hang onto, I'm sure we can manage it."

I'm not all that fit, and it was a long swim, but the prospect of sliding my cock into Sandy's sweet juicy little pussy in such a public place was enough to drive me on as I dog-paddled for all I was worth.

Eventually we arrived at the buoy, a little yellow metal tower with some kind of warning sign on it that was floating on a round raft-like base and bobbing in the tide. From the beach we would have been almost invisible. I was sure we would be able to copulate without drawing attention to ourselves.

"We'll have to do it doggy-style," Sandy explained, throwing her arms around the buoy and pulling herself up higher in the water. "Or should we call it 'porpoise style'?"

"Sure beats patting the porpoise," I laughed as I pulled myself up behind her, feeling my sensitive stiff prick slide over the wet skin of her bottom.

"Don't put it in the wrong hole," she warned.

"I thought you loved it that way," I replied.

"I do," she explained. "But my bottom-hole is very tight, and if you get your willy stuck up there we won't be able to swim back to shore and we'll drown."

"Good point," I agreed, grabbing hold of the legs of the tower and lifting myself so that my cock slid smoothly into Sandy's slippery pussy.

"Nothing like feeling the Good Ship Lollycock sailing into Pussy Harbour," she sighed.

I pulled myself up and down and she pushed her arse back against me. It wasn't the most comfortable way to fuck, but it did the job.

"I just hope some shark doesn't come along," I panted as my hot stiffness slid in and out of Sandy's twitching cunt and the cool water swirled around us.

"At least he won't be able to bite off your dick," giggled Sandy.

Lifting myself up out of the water over and over again with Sandy's delectable bottom slapping wetly against my belly was giving me quite a workout. I was puffing and panting before too long. But I was as horny as a brass band and our unusual location brought on a tremendous adrenaline rush. The water was churning up around us like a scene from Piranha.

It came as quite a shock when we suddenly found we were not alone.

"You really shouldn't come out this far," yelled the lady lifesaver who had been the unknowing catalyst for the whole adventure. "But don't worry, I can save you. Just don't panic."

The next thing I knew her nude body was pressed up against my back. She had lovely big soft boobs with stiff little nipples like pencil erasers.

"I'll have to take you one at a time," she explained, pulling me back off of Sandy.

"Anything you say, Miss," I responded, deciding that it was best to cooperate lest she discover what we were really doing.

She had one arm under my right arm and across my chest. Her other hand came around the other side and collided with my rampant cock.

"Oh, I see," she said sternly. "You were too far out and not waving or drowning, but fucking."

"We were just looking for a bit of privacy," explained Sandy.

"Well, it's not allowed," pointed out our would-be rescuer. "My name is Hester. I'm the only lifeguard on  duty at the moment, so you'd better hope nobody drowns in the next twenty minutes or it will be all your fault."

"We could swim back by ourselves," I suggested.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," she insisted. "You might escape."

"Escape?" queried Sandy.

"That's right," Hester told her. "You are both under citizen's arrest for lewd and lascivious behaviour in a public place."

"It's not all that public," Sandy pleaded. "The only reason you could see us was because you had binoculars."

"I'm not the only one with binoculars," Hester responded. "There is a whole bunch of guys who hide up on the cliffs. They have binoculars too."

"Sounds like maybe you should be arresting them," I said.

"Outside my jurisdiction," she explained. "I deal only with what happens in the water."

"Well, I suppose we have no option but to surrender," I sighed.

"I won't be able to lead you up the beach in this state, though," she mused, stroking my submarine stiffy.

"Maybe we could finish what we were doing and then you could arrest us," suggested Sandy, hopefully.

"I can't let you do anything illegal," Hester declared.

"I could have a wank," I told her.

"Still illegal," she pointed out. "There is only one course of action open to me. Much as it disgusts me, I'm going to have to masturbate you myself."

"I beg your pardon!?!" I exclaimed.

"Then neither of you will be engaging in sexual activity," she explained. "Your role will be passive not active. And it won't be sexual activity for me, as I will take no pleasure in it. I hope that you will try not to also. Remember this is nothing personal."

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm only human. Having a sexy girl like yourself wank me off is something I'm incapable of not enjoying."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she warned me. "I'm going to get you off, but I'm not going to let you off."

By now she had a firm grip on my cock and was sliding the loose skin up and down. I could still feel her  stiff-nippled boobs pressed into my back and every so often her wiry pubes brushed against my bum.

Sandy let go of the buoy and swam up behind Hester.

"Stop stroking my bottom!" Hester ordered. Sandy just giggled.

"I bet you didn't know you started all of this," Sandy informed her.

"What do you mean?" asked Hester as she continued to stroke my stiffness.

"Patrick only popped a boner because I told him I was fantasising about you giving the kiss of life to my cunt," she explained.

"I may have my hands full," Hester threatened. "But if you don't take your finger out of my bum, I'll fart on it."

"Please, Sandy," I pleaded. "Don't make things worse for us by sexually molesting an emergency worker."

"O.K. I'll stop playing with Hester's bottom," huffed Sandy. "But it's O.K. for you. At least your getting wanked off. I'm still horny."

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" I cried out as the jism spurted out of the end of my cock and floated to the surface like a Man-o-War jellyfish.

"You wait here," Hester told Sandy. "I'll be back shortly."

Then she got me to put my arms around her neck and we swam to shore with her bare bottom pressed tenderly against my belly.

My body felt heavy as we rose from the shallow water and trudged up the beach. Everyone was staring.

"I'm going to lock you in here," Hester told me, and she pushed me into a storage room in the lifesaving club. I sat down at the table in the middle of the room and waited.

About twenty minutes later the door opened and Hester came in leading Sandy.

"My replacement is here now," Hester explained. "So I'll be able to wait with you until the police arrive."

"Are you really going to hand us over to the police?" asked Sandy nervously.

"I might," Hester threatened. "If you aren't good to me."

"Good to you?" I wanted to know.

"Well, I have to do the right thing in public, and when I'm on duty," she explained. "Apart from wanking you off, Patrick. That was very naughty of me. And I did enjoy it. My cunt got all gooey feeling your stiff cock in my hand. And knowing that it was thinking about me that made it that way in the first place. That's true isn't it? You weren't just trying to get off lightly?... er... so to speak."

"No, that was true," smiled Sandy. "I saw you sitting up on your lifeguard tower all nude but for your cute little cap and I started fantasising that you would pull me out of the water and revive me by parting my thighs and applying your lips and tongue to my cream-dripping cunt." As she said this she reached down and began masturbating leisurely.

"Well," chuckled Hester, walking over to her. "CPR is the more conventional method for reviving people. I won a prize for my CPR."

"For your Cock Provoking Rear?" I suggested, coming up behind her and fondling the soft cheeks of her bottom.

"No, silly!" she smiled. "Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation. For getting people's hearts started."

"Your rear could get my heart started again," I told her. "I'm sure of it." And then I spanked that part of her anatomy with my newly stiffening cock.

"Well, I'm almost as good at pussy-sucking as I am at CPR," Hester bragged. "So I think I can make your dream come true. My only condition is that I get fucked while I do it."

"You drive a hard bargain," I said sternly as I pushed her head down between Sandy's spread legs and slid my cock deep into her cunt.

"She's not kidding," swooned Sandy. "I think my pussy's died and gone to heaven."

"I'm not there yet," I replied, as I watched Hester's soft brown butt-cheeks jiggle in time to my pussy-pounding, "but I can see it from here."

Some time later, Sandy started quivering and quaking and curling her toes. I slammed my cock one more time into Hester's pussy and coated it liberally with spunk as she squirted all over my cock and balls like she was pissing herself. Sandy cried out in ecstasy and fell off of her chair.

"You know it is a real hassle when people misbehave at the nude beach," Hester told us after we had regained our composure and were sitting at the table having a casual chat. "If you want to sunbathe nude, and you don't think you can trust yourselves, come over to my place and lay out in the backyard. If it's my day off that is."

"That's very kind of you," Sandy smiled.

"But I have to warn you," she explained seriously. "They don't call me Hester the Molester for nothing. Working here at the nude beach, seeing spunky guys with their cocks out and hot gals in the all-together makes me very frustrated. When I'm on my own I spend most of my time molesting myself. But if I have company, I don't take "no" for an answer. Cocks get sucked, pussies get licked, and faces get ridden by my salty wet cunt until they get bathed in a tsunami of twat-juice. But don't worry, I'm a lifesaver, I won't let you drown."

The End