Honey Dare

"You certainly fucked me. That's for sure. I was ridden. I felt completely driven, in-fact you're a regular pile-driver."

Tom stirs. "OK, you're out of her, so move out the way, you're done."

Four of them. Three down. One more and he's clearly eager. Owen is still watching from beside me, close, and I can feel the warmth of him against me. He moved to be closer when he saw I didn't cum that time. Sweetie.

A thought arrives with a sharpness she had not expected: Owen is where he wanted to be so he can study how I react to being under each of them?

As for Trevor, he showed more urgency for himself than the others; Trevor's single minded thrusting grew till the end, not the measured effort and restraint of Frank's held-back thrusts. Trevor was raw not mutual, each movement a demand and simultaneously a response to my being here for them.

I was simply receiving his buffeting in a way Owen and Frank didn't demand of me. Different experiences so far.

Tom. He's Biggest

"Yes Tom. Your turn. I'm looking forward to taking you."

He is already positioning at the foot of the platform with an expression caught precisely halfway between terror and determination.

She smiles at him comfortingly. "Come to me here."

"Lie on your back again?" he almost instructs but for the tone of voice. "Yes I'd like that." she replies.

"You know you're big right? Let's do this slowly to start."

"Am I really? Is it a problem, will I have to be careful with other girls? In future."

"Oh no! In fact if knowledge were to leak to the gossips I think you'll have a queue of willing experimenters. We will all stretch to take you, just not instantly. May be give me a few experimental pumps before being as forceful as Trevor.

"I'm hoping you'll blow my mind once you start. I am well stretched and very very lubricated. More than most ladies will be if you've unwrapped a fresh one." Her humour broke through his tension. Frank repeats her "Unwrapped a fresh girl! I like that picture."

Tom drops beside her to all fours, head level with hers, the puts a knee between hers, an arm over and the hand beside her far side, the other knee between hers. She looks down between her body below and his above her. He is large.

She knew it from the afternoon but to see him erect just above her slit, the girth and length; she has renewed appreciation. She reaches for him. In her hand he feels substantial, looks more than the magazine's grass-cutter analogue.

She has saved him deliberately for when she is slick and loose and full of the others. Slippery seconds, thirds, now fourths.

The practical logic is very sound. The erotic appeal of it is separate, her own and she does not explain it to any of them.

I am full of three young men's glorious goo and about to take another to fill me too. Nobody is getting hurt. This is a completely perfect evening.

She guides him by his phallus. "Slowly. I will tell you when to push forward then you go on intuition and my expression."

She positions him at her opening.

"OK try entering me."

Tom's first push slides easily for maybe an inch and a half an inch then meets resistance despite everything. Not lack of lubrication just speed of stretch.

Oh. He is already more than the afternoon promised.

"Yummy! I am going to be full." She breaths once. "Go on, firmer push but still slowly."

He inches in with steady slow instance pushed by his weight behind his tool.

Claire relishes her deepest stretch, a breath matched to Tom's 'most-ness', a tight fullness that is more than the others had been, noticeably more, more than everyone before him, and she heard herself make sounds that was not performance.

"Slow. Don't move for a moment. I have to acclimatise."

He is absolutely still. The effort of that stillness is detectable across his whole frame.

He came with a huge first spurt in my mouth this afternoon. That he can hold himself motionless with the degree of provocation being buried in me is an act of determined will. I hope I am going to give this boy something remarkable. He definitely is going to give me something remarkable.

"Good. Is that all of you in me? Slowly. Start to pull back then push forward."

He does.

Her eyes go wide open, her mouth forms a silent "O". Her breathing eloquently tells of feelings. She shifts her hips to align his thrusts along her tunnel with her g-spot in focus.

"Oh my god. My god. You are the biggest girth of any man I've shared that pussy with. You have to last for me."

He stops moving, "Is it OK?" anxiously. "Its marvellous, the best. I can feel you're going to bring me off without my own hand; if you last long enough."

"I'll try", he says with a genuineness that makes her feel guilty. "No, no this is 100% for you. Give in completely to your own needs, your own want. I'm hanging on for the ride this time. I'll ask you to pace yourself next time but the first time is yours, you'll never have another first."

He moves. A whole repetition of a cycle. Tentative still. She encircles his neck with both arms, releasing Owen's hand. "Size is bliss". Who knew!

Tom is encouraged.

He starts a slow repeating virtuous circle of pleasures.

She hangs on, starts panting, hangs on, then changes to groaning. He senses her responding to him.

Tom's balls want to burst.

He concentrates on his school times tables to slow down his build up.

As their slick 'friction' continues and her cunt grips him, her arms and then her legs, including, incautiously the injured one has her almost hanging from him. Her hips are in the air, he pounds her in earnest. She calls for him to drill her.

"Oh nearly Nnnearly NNNNNnnnEARLLLYYY".

She's grunting with each insertion. His breathing tells its own story of early over the edge too.

The he shudders and his load rushes into her. NO! AWWWwww. Shame. I'm not quite there.She feels the particular fullness of him within her belly, holds him as he continues to shudder, head back, eyes screwed shut, then head bowed, then he collapses his full weight on her.

She pulls him in closer with her heels. Whispers "Let the waves wash over you. Savour me, us, this special moment."

He is still for at least a whole minute. Everyone is silent.

Then he takes his weight on knees and hands but doesn't withdraw. "Did you?" he starts. She puts a hushing finger to his lips "I'm full and very satisfied." "But did you come too?" "It's not all and only about the orgasm for me, so no. I did get total fulfilment from seeing you, feeling how filled I am. I'm going to gush when you pull out. You're the cork. Frank get the video in place."

"I'm ready" he replies. "I'm not" says Tom. "Good because I'm still loving being full of your salami."

He laughs, "My salami!". "Yes you're much fatter than merely a normal pork sausage and when you laugh while in my snatch that is delightful too."

Then she asks "Can you stay there will I stroke my nub? I was close and I think I can push over the hill with how you fill me." He shifts slightly "I'll try".

She starts rubbing her self. Owen contributes stimulating to her boobs, nipple pinches in escalating pressures tuned to her breathing.

Breaths become pants.

Tom stay in her longer than she would have guessed or given him credit for. His jaw is set and his eyes stay on her face the entire time, reading the same signs she had given them all as her releases have approached.

"You're squeezing me, I'm getting close again." He croaks. "Then fuck me if you can. Watch me cum." He does. He enjoys it, learns from seeing her euphoria. Studies with the intensity of someone memorising. His size is stretching her, her fingers dragging her fulfilment closer and closer

When she cums it pulls her whole body taut and she grips the ever-present Owen's forearm hard without meaning to and makes a low animal sound she had not made for the other times.

Tom feels it and his composure collapses into Neanderthal instinctiveness. Three extra thrusts and he cums again without restraint. Cums in a flood so sudden and copious that she feels it overflow and run immediately.

"God." He is barely articulate.

"Yes." She agrees with her voice lost to all but him with her face buried in his neck. Both have complete sincerity in their release.

Eventually Claire's embrace relaxes. Tom sits back breathing heavily and looking at her in the lamplight with an expression she can not fully read. Reverence, possibly. The word she finally decides on internally is: grace.

He is going to be a formidable lover in ten years. He has the equipment and the physicality. He just needs the time and the practice and the right women.

She is aware of herself; the warm interior flood of the four of them, Tom's twice in one go. Remarkable.

Still inside her, the slick sensation of spent jism on the insides of her thighs, the pleasantly undone openness of her body. She lay without moving for several minutes and simply feels at one with them all.

I am so happily full of mess. This is not a thing I will try to explain to people. It does not require explanation.

Trevor, sitting cross-legged on the far edge of the bed: "Is that, is she..., Frank is..."

Frank, dry as a stone: "Yes. Leave them to recover."

I have to love Frank.

"I'm well fucked. Thank you gentlemen."

Claire Washes

After perhaps 10 minutes Owen stands up. Moves to the edge of the settles, steps down and tests the tin bath's water temperature. Very warm but not painfully so.

Claire rises. Cups her dripping lips with one hand. "Wow I'm running like a tap."

Owen offers a steadying hand. She steps down with him still holding their cum inside.

He hands her a washcloth. She offers him her cummy fingers. He smiles, shakes his head. She licks them in a show of decadence. Goes back for seconds.

Offers the others "Anyone?" They all declined with shakes of their heads.

Then standing legs akimbo she takes the flannel, dips it in the hot water, wipes her self several times.

All four men watch their guide to eroticism in the intimate act of washing her self in the golden glow of the cabin's oil lamps.

She puts on a show. Groin and thighs. She gives a commentary "I won't be empty but I'll stop leaking like a running tap!" Cloth rinsed again, then breasts. Cloth rinsed again, then face, midriff again, cloth and another wipe of vulva.

She rinses the cloth a final time and swaps with Owen for a towel. He wipes himself and drops the cloth into the water. The others come forward and make use too.

"I'd like another beer and I'm staying naked and I'd welcome it if you do too. But we maybe need some sleep too, it is getting late."
Trevor, from across the room, in a tone of honest inquiry: "Is everyone finished? Can we sleep now?"

"All right Frank. Douse the lamps but leave one while I finish this beer. What do we do for a pee?"

"There's a big dark forest outside. At the edge of the clearing." says Frank. "OK understood. Anybody else coming."

"I'm good but can I watch?" Asks Trevor. "Sure, After all you've just fucked me in front of your friends. Watching a lady peeing doesn't seem so much more!"

The cabin goes dark as they extinguish all but one of the lamps.

Claire and Trevor return after some minutes. The others are settled on the bedding of the stage upon which she has performed.

The stove ticks as its dwindling heat causes contractions.

Four young men and a woman who will remember all of them lay in the warm dark and the forest's night songs' come and go outside. Eventually the breathing around her deepens and slows into sleep.

Claire lays awake only a short while longer reflecting on the journey through life, for her more than them.

That's possibly twelve orgasms between us today when I count my own. I hadn't planned on any when I got out of the car this morning.

Her last thought before sleep claims her body too is Richard, my enduring love. You are going to hear about this in some considerable detail. I think you will feel generous about it. I will have to tell you without the video first time so you get the emotions in full, and you will want to hear it more than once.

My ankle feels somewhat better too.

She closes her eyes.

The Morning After

She wakes first.

The cabin holds the warmth of the stove's embers and the smell of pine, male sweat and sex.

Grey-blue early light falls through the cracks in the shutters of the north and west windows. An oblique bar of early sunshine creeps in past the shutters on the east side.

Claire lies at the centre of the converted settles. Four young bodies in various states of sprawl surround her. Tom to her left, heavy-limbed and deeply asleep.

Trevor curled on his side facing away. Frank flat on his back with one arm across his face.

Owen is behind her, his warmth against her back, the one she is fully aware of before she is fully awake.

She is also aware of herself. The pleasant throb of use that runs from her inner thighs inward.

The dry tightness on her skin where they came on her and last night's flannel missed.

She had been right about the mess, and about enjoying it. The memory of the night moves through her in quiet warm inventory.

Owen, then Frank, then Trevor then, Tom last as promised. All of them once. Tom twice! She had orgasms from them, from her own fingers and from Frank's fingers.

That one was at leisure. The one from Tom's second effort was different. That needs a different word than the others. Let's park that for now.

She needs to pee.

The ankle is still a problem. Still tender but she finds that by keeping her weight on the outer edge she can manage a limping shuffle.

She wraps herself in the red and black check flannel shirt hanging nearest the door and steps outside, lowering herself carefully off the veranda step.

A picture in boots and shirt that doesn't quite cover her bum or her mons.

The morning air is sharp. It will be a warm day later. Birdsong is already layered and evolving with the day's growing daylight.

She relieves herself at the edge of the clearing around the cabin.

Afterwards, standing looking at the treeline brightening in the east. Her nails, the red of them, catch the pale early light.

The purple polish would have been a mistake. The red is right for this weekend as the Scarlet Woman. What a day yesterday was.

She hears the door.

Owen, also barefoot and wearing just boxers, comes down off the veranda without hesitating on the step. He carries two tin mugs of something hot.

"I made tea from what was in the pack." He handed her one and stood next to her, following her gaze towards the trees.

"How long have you been awake?"

"A while."

She accepts that without pressing it. They drank in comfortable silence for several minutes. The steam rising and dancing in curls then thinned in the cool air.

He doesn't feel the need to fill silence. That's unusual. Rare actually, at any age.

Eventually

"How is the ankle?"

"Manageable if I'm careful. Your friend was right, it wouldn't have been sensible last night."

"He's the sensible one usually." He said it without irony.

Claire turns and hobbles over to the veranda, appraises the table. Rustic and solid, its surface has been worn smooth by weather and use.

A thought arrives, unhurried but fully formed.

Outside, in the morning air, while the others sleep.

She looks at him sideways.

He said he owed her something. She has not forgotten.

"Help me up onto that table."

The Table

The mug of tea does down with a clink and a little spillage and Owen takes her hand, steadying her.

She turns and hoists herself onto its edge. The wood is cool and solid under her thighs. She keeps the flannel shirt around her shoulders and spreads her knees making her offer to him obvious.

The dawn light is magical. Softer. She can see the detail of him; the pale skin and lean muscle, the dark eyes that have stayed on her face for longer than most men manage with the alternative view.

"You're still thinking." she observed.

"About last night."

"Specifically?"

"Specifically about the bit I promised you more of and didn't fully deliver on."

So he remembers too. He had said it quietly and she had heard it and kept it too as a wish since. But I want you inside me instead.

"Come here then."

She tugs the boxers down. He lets them fall, Then steps out of them.

With the shirt falling open and sliding off her shoulders it makes her appear more naked. In the cool morning air; her nipples stiffen.

"Lie back." He steps between her thighs. "Nice" she says.

"Can't close them now." He 'threatens'.

"I can if I lift them up fully," She demonstrates. He encircles her ankles with an arm. His knob head aligns to her pussy. He pushes enough to make alignment clear "That's no protection I can still get in." "Oh yes please, now please."

He releases her legs. "No. Now lie back," She shows him a petulant face, lower lips stuck out in pantomime manner.

He waits.

She raises an eyebrow.

He waits more.

She lays back on the table.

The wood is solid and cool against her spine and the morning sky open above her, enormous and pale blue going to gold at the horizon where the sun is cresting the ridge. A single aircraft trail crosses it impossibly high up.

She watches the sky and lets him work.

Owen takes his time. Exploring. He's gently. In the sharp air the body warmth of him is extra nice.

His hands first, careful and deliberate. Covering skin and feelings he had only partially explored the night before; the inside of her thighs, the soft planes of her stomach, her breasts in the cold air. His mouth follows the same map at its own pace.

He's good at this. Better than good. How is that possible on a second attempt? He listens to what the body says. Most people never learn that. Or not for years.

Owen sits down on the wooden bench hands on her knees. She reaches forward and takes his chin in her hand "You know I'll be full of them still?"

"I guessed that. I was thinking about your pleasure."

"That's very kind and very thoughtful." She lies back on the table. "Before long I'm going to want you in me again. I do already."

Strong youthful hands glide up her thighs forcing them wide. Without ceremony he parts her lips. Moves forwards, take her flower into his mouth, teeth imprison the mobile flesh, tongue gently focusing on her clit exclusively until she is squirming. Then the pressure increases, and then more; Now she is panting, clawing at his hair with both hands.

"Fill me. Have me. Please yourself with my gifts."

He stands. His thumb maintains the stimulation of her.

Direct on her clit, nowhere else. Insistent, on the tip.

His erection naturally finds the entrance to her vagina and penetrates just an inch, there he stays.

She tries to force him deeper. He avoids her efforts. His fingers continue the concentrated attention.

She's whimpering. She has wants, has hunger. I'm your whore.."Fuck me now! OK?"

"Soon"

"No. Now, Take me deeper."

"When I judge it is time."

"It's time. Please. I need you to fill me."

"No, you need to cum if you want to be filled more."

"Not the other way around?" She asks through gasps.

"And the other way around afterwards." He says.

Owen is unhurried, in control, doesn't rush, and in reality she knows this will be stronger for it. He continues the direct stimulation while just shallowly staying within her.

She settles into watching the signs in herself of an inevitable slow build. There is a 'definitely too intense' quality about his touch that she would not be able to maintain if she was fingering herself. It's making her incoherent.

But while it's his fingers not hers she can resist, just, the urge to tell him to stop.

The pressure and the tension build. Her shoulders and bum on the table, her back comes off in an arch, that then includes her shoulders as her head goes back further offering her breasts to the sky.

He reaches up and takes both her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers; rolling them roughly back and forth without pity. Slowly he is filling her.

This is the one I want to really enjoy, and so far better than hoped. Last night was his first and he was extraordinary. This morning he knows what he is doing and so do I.

It crashes over her, She's vocal, with shouts of "YES" and "PLEASE Fill Me NOW." She tries to bring her legs together but he is in the way and as she feels the second pulse of orgasm consume her he pushes in another inch.

Her body recoils for another pulse and he withdraws a wet retraction followed by sliding in deeper. They do it again.

That is enough that he is fully within her and as she continues to feel aftershocks. He begins to fuck her with rhythm.

She tries to sit up and embrace him.

"Lie back." he says and pushes her back. Gestures for her legs to lift onto his shoulders. Using the seats behind him for stability he fucks her hard and fast. As hard as he can, as fast as he can, as deep as can be until he cums.

For him it's a complete frenzy, for her it's everything she'd wanted on his behalf since realising he had greater depths than properly belong to a youngster.

The cold air, the hard table, the sky above and him inside her and no one else awake. It is a particular kind of private that felt chosen rather than accidental.

Now he pulls her upper body to him, her legs slide down and are spread wide around his waist. Their pulses still racing but slowing. Her breasts are mashed between them, her arms around his neck and their kiss deep and passionate and long and soulful.

After a minute she nestles into his neck. After two minutes he pulls his head back. Looks at her with a deep smile "Oops that was supposed to be all for your pleasure"."

"Oh it was. Truly I was pleasured!"

They stay still for a long while. Joined.

The sun is properly on the way up now. Somewhere in the cabin she hears movement.

The others are up.

She turns her head and kisses his temple. He lifts his head and returns it to her mouth, unhurried, and then straightens up. She sits up and he pulls the flannel shirt up over her shoulders.

"Your tea will be cold."

"Get me a fresh one and I'll forgive you."

He smiles. A fully unguarded smile that transforms his face.

Oh. There he is. He heads inside.

A few minutes later he returns with replacement hot tea. "The others are stirring, still more asleep than awake."

"Any visible morning wood?"

"Strangely I didn't look! Given how open legged you are it will be on the rise soon."

The Others Follow On

The others emerge as a group almost blinking in the morning light.

Frank first, then Trevor, then Tom emerging last still boyishly dishevelled and carrying a heel of bread he is eating without apology.

The sight of Claire sitting naked and obviously used on the veranda table, bare feet swinging, new mug of tea in hand and Owen back in shorts and leaning against the rail lands differently on each of them.

Frank reads it immediately. He looks at Owen then away and a small private nod acknowledges the unspoken.

Trevor is direct. "Did we miss something?"

"Yes." Claire answers without elaboration.

Tom, still chewing, looks between her and Owen and grins. "Good for you mate." Then between her open thighs. He nudges Trevor and nods to direct Trevor's eyes. "Is that this morning's or is last night still showing up?" Trevor asks bluntly.

"Both" she replies while she watches Frank. He takes it philosophically and she likes him for it. He had been different in the night too; somehow the most experienced of the four in how he held himself and the least surprised by what she asked of him.

Frank must have done this before. Not specifically this, but something adjacent. He knows how to receive a woman's attention without turning it into something about himself. That's learned behaviour not instinct.

"Are any of you wanting more? It will be your last chance." She sets the mug down and straightens her back, the invitation as plain as the morning light.

Frank comes to her first. She appreciates the lack of hesitation. He stands between her knees and she works him with her hand, watching his face, reading the small tells she had catalogued the night before. When he's hard she admits him.

They move in sync until he finishes. He is quiet during it and close to her. Holding her shoulders, his head down, his breath on her neck. She enjoys 'having been his' again even if he's over too soon.

She looks past his ear, at the trees and then Tom and Trevor. "Orderly queue?"

Then back to Frank who seems about to speak. She puts a hushing finger on his lips then kisses his cheek. Then he is returning inside without further words.

He joined with me both times like it's personal. I like that.

Trevor is already hard. He uses her hole silently till he's satisfied.

He pulls out as he is spurting, sending ribbons of white evidence across her stomach and breasts. There is an honesty but no soul, nothing learnt, just something over and I'm marked. He is feral. Just youth?

She has given him another orgasm knowing from the night before the approximate shape of his urgency, adjusting expectations accordingly, not surprised by the lack of deeper meaning to their act. I played my role honestly and he was true to him self too.

He was faster this morning, more focused on finishing.

He says "Thank you." and signals to Tom. "All yours."

After he walks away, before Tom closes the space between them she tastes the residue from her breast. Its different; a sweet creaminess of him that was as distinctive as before but has a new overtone this morning. His hands on her body were for grip not caress. Not a surprise in retrospect.

Tom arrives last. Standing in front of her she works his considerable size with her hand guiding him to enter gently with a half a dozen incremental attempts. He's learnt how to enter.

When he is in he works steadily until his knees softened and he grips the table edge for support. He is loud and unashamed about his pleasure. She finds that endearing.

That was wonderful even though I didn't cum. I'm becoming a size queen.

"Right." she said when he's recovered enough to stand without gripping the furniture. "Someone help me to my feet and find me my shorts. I smell like a brothel and I'm absolutely starving for breakfast."

The lads laughed.

Owen fetches her the washcloth and her rucksack. The wet cloth has the last hint of warmth. At least I'm not washing in a brook today!. She does not make any ceremony of it. Just wipes herself, takes the offered shoulder as support, pulls on fresh knickers from her bag, her yesterday's shorts and sports bra and fresh singlet.

Balance on the ankle is precarious but she manages, shifting to an outside chair and does her boots.

Breakfast is eggs from their provisions, tinned beans from hers cooked on the log burner and eaten on the veranda in the morning sun.

The conversation is easy in the way that conversations are when between people who have shared something large and do not need to pretend otherwise.

Claire looks from one to another of them. At the four of them across the table in turn, wondering at their futures.

You'll remember this when you're forty, and eighty, probably forever, and I will too.

She did not say anything aloud.

Some things are better kept to the inside of the head, tidy and warm and entirely your own.

Authors Qn: What Next?

Should I continue Claire's exploits? Or call it a day on this one? Comment below?

If so should she visit the boys again, rendezvous with Owen, and or the others, their friends? Girlfriends?