Mounted - Sex Stories

Mounted

... open space. Here, several caravans were parked. As we approached one of the vans, she turned to us.

“Jumping needs a lot of kit; I’m very lucky Daddy pays for all this.”

Then she unlocked the door, stood inside, and beckoned us in.

Inside, it was comfortable but cramped. We sat in the lounge area in the front. Kirsten went to her fridge, pulled out a champagne bottle, unwrapped the foil and wire, and then popped the cork with ease.

Three flutes came out of a cupboard, followed by packets of crisps and nuts.

She left us with our bubbling glasses and sat down in the open doorway, engrossed in unbuckling and discarding her riding boots.

Once she was done, Kirsten stood facing us. She looked incredibly sexy; her tight riding top and tight breeches showed off her young body to perfection. My mind went back to the time in her bedroom when I had seen the wall poster of her in similar clothing sitting on her horse and the effect that vision had on my body. Then my reverie was interrupted by Angelica’s voice.

“I propose a toast to our winning host.”

The chatter and the champagne both flowed easily, perhaps too easily. We had been there about an hour when Angelica stood up, and I watched her swaying side to side, back and forth.

“I don’t feel well; I need somewhere to lie down.”

Kirsten went up beside her, and then gently led her to the back of the caravan, where they went into another room that I assumed was her bedroom.

I still had my glass and a ...

... bottle of Bollinger for company, so I settled down to wait, but the alcohol was having an effect on me too, and I drifted off to sleep.

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3: Kirsten’s Caravan: Angelica’s Story

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We were having a fantastic day out, but the bubbly had gone to my head. I felt woozy and asked Kirsten if I could lie down somewhere. She led me to the bedroom, and I sat on the bed. Kirsten kneeled and started to unlace my dirty trainers, occasionally looking up at me with a soft smile.

“Lie down, Angelica,”

I dropped onto my back, feeling the soft duvet envelope me in its embrace. Kirsten sat on the edge beside me, then reached across to my midriff and started to unbuckle my trousers.

“You’ll relax better without these.”

She carefully slipped them down over my hips, then I lifted my legs to help her take them off completely. The van had been warmed by the sun all day, so I did not feel cold; in fact, one of the alcohol’s effects had been to make me perspire, and I was glad to be free of them.

One of Kirsten’s hands was stroking my brow. She sat there, looking so concerned about me. I was totally relaxed in her company. Nineteen years old, perfect skin, perfect looks—how I envied her those things.

The stroking fingers moved a bit to include my hair. Her fingers slipped over my scalp, then over my brow again, before sliding down my cheek to rest on my chin. Then she repeated the same sequence over and over. I was mesmerised by her attention.

After a while, her other hand ...