Joely's Swim - Sex Stories

Joely's Swim

... squirting her warm girlie jus over his belly, turning, floppy, splaying her cunt over his craving mouth, filling his mouth with her intimate body fluid, her salty, creaming, lathering, mess.

After they’d fucked, Joely and Simon washed each other’s bodies standing in the shallows, only a bar of coal tar soap between them, kissing some more, Simon loving the sensation of scrubbing Joely’s breasts, Joely thrilling insides as she scrubbed her intimate residue off her man’s cock and balls. They climbed up onto the bank, lay naked on their towels, and let their bodies dry naturally in the heat of the high noon sun. Simon noticed a red blush spreading over his woman’s buttocks as she lay on her front, happily kicking her legs.

‘You’re burning, Joely,’ he said, ‘I think we should get dressed, don’t you?

She rubbed her sore buttocks with the palm of her hand; Simon’s heart leapt into his mouth. She was so sensual; every time she moved, his heart skipped a beat. He felt his cock twitch and pulse.

‘Think we should,’ she said in her sultry, sensuous southern drawl, ‘Time I left for home, Simon.’

He donned his white t-shirt, tight black running shorts and trainers. She dressed in her ash grey t-shirt, running shoes and tracksuit bottoms. He escorted Joely to the main footpath, past a freshly excavated ditch bordered with piles of stricken branches, hawthorn in bridal blossom. Joely told him she was single, unemployed, barely surviving on furlough, seeking excitement. She ...

... stared at the olive water in the ditch, a messy vinaigrette leading nowhere, like her life, and asked if she could fuck him again one day by the lake.

He smiled at her lovingly, ‘If you want to.’

‘I do want to.’

They exchanged numbers as they reached the three red fir trees where the path diverged: left for the church, right for the village. There was a crude wooden footbridge, planks bridging a muddy stream, steps leading to the school. They listened to the sound of children playing. Joely let go of his hand, kissed him on the lips, and stared him in the face. He felt guilty. He hadn’t told her he loved her after they had made love. And he did love Joely, with an intensity that pained his heart.

‘This is me, I’m afraid, can’t help myself,’ she said, tears of love welling in her eyes, ‘This is me!’

Simon gripped her arm, 'No, I love you. I’ve a cottage in the village, an open-hearth fire, and a comfy rug. Will you come with me?'

Won’t be needing a fire to stoke my passion, she mused. She kissed him and embraced him; Joely smiled and said, 'I will come with you. A comfy rug, an English country cottage, a well-hung stud like you. How can I refuse? Won’t be needing a fire to stoke my passion tho’ Simon, I’m too hot.’

‘Never was a truer word spoken in love,’ he said, trying to sound romantic, ‘Do you love me, Joely?’

She blushed, and held his hand, ‘Might do! I’ll let you know tonight…’

*****

There were no coals in the hearth. Warm evening sunlight ...