This is a new departure for me, as I have not written anything really autobiographical before – a few incidents in my stories are based on real events (not the coercive or violent ones, of course), but only loosely. However, this particular happening on our summer holiday was so sexy that I have been longing to write about it, and in the end my partner has agreed to me posting this. The title comes from those junior school essays we used to have to write when we went back to school after the summer, or we did when I was a girl anyway.
copyright: Lesley Tara, 2009
I am 38 and my partner, Claire, is 34. She is both a bit taller and slimmer than me, taking a 30C bra size to my 34D. She has light brown hair which is streaked with blonde highlights, bright eyes and laughing lips, long legs and an ass to die for – I swear she’s stolen it from some 18 year old! She is fit and feisty – we go to the gym fairly regularly, and she works out on the cycling and rowing machines, whilst I just swim. We have been together for nearly five years, and for the last three summers have taken our main holiday at a villa in the south of France, in an quiet country region a bit away from the usual tourist areas. This is the story of what happened one day, an amazing fuck that still gets me wet every time I think about the memory ... which is why I’ve decided to write it all down.
The villa is great in lots of ways, and perfect in one particular respect – it’s completely private. The nearest small village is about two miles away, and no other dwelling is close to it. It is also on the top of a small ridge, and so it is not overlooked from anywhere else. At the back of the villa, the french windows of the master bedroom, living room and kitchen open onto a paved patio, beyond which is the well-kept lawn of a fairly large garden. All of this is surrounded on the other three sides by a brick wall about three metres high, and at the further end there is a row of cypress trees planted a few feet in from the wall, which tower above it and give a welcome area of shade when the patio gets too hot to sit out on.
One morning in the middle of the first week, I was relaxing on a sun lounger on the patio, reading a novel (a C.J. Cherryh, actually), and wearing – more from habit than any need – a string-tied bikini top and bottom. Claire had taken the car into the village to get fresh bread and croissants, and I heard her come back and park in the garage. However, it was quite a few minutes before she appeared, carrying a large dark green canvas bag as well as the bakery goods. She dropped the latter off in the kitchen, and then came over to me in a mood of bubbling enthusiasm.
‘Babe, look what I found at the back of the garage,’ she said.
I put my book down, and looked at the bag – which was not very informative. ‘Yes?’, I enquired.
‘It’s a croquet set!’ she answered, and proceeded to empty the contents out. There was a set of curved metal hoops, four clubs (I learned later they are actually called mallets), several balls, a centre peg and a wooden hammer; it all looked fairly new, and I guessed it had been acquired since our previous visit.
‘I don’t know, honey,’ I said rather doubtfully, ‘maybe one evening – it’s getting hot now’.
She pursed her lips for a second, looking at me as if there was some joke which I hadn’t understood, and laughed. Then she leaned forward, cupping one of my breasts in her hand and squeezing gently, and gave me a brief kiss on the lips.
‘No – you’re hot, and I know what I want to do about it!’ she said, and there was that mischievous look in her eyes that always turns me on, not least because it is often the prelude to great sex – and so it proved.
‘OK,’ I said, not quite sure where this was going. It turned out to be going to the lawn, as she took me by the wrist and led me out into the middle of it. The day was warm, but the sun was not yet high enough to make it scorching, and there was a welcome light breeze. The lawn must have been tenderly cultivated since the Romans, for it was close-mown but still soft, springy and lushly green – like a wonderful thick carpet.
It turned out that Claire’s idea of playing croquet was nothing like the usual rules. She instructed me to lie down, spread-eagled in a X-shape with my legs and arms apart. Then she took a metal hoop, placed it over my ankle, and knocked it in with the mallet. She had little difficulty sinking it into the soft ground, and was careful with the final strokes – but in a few seconds the cool metal was enclosing my ankle and my leg was firmly pinned to the ground. She did the same for the other ankle and then put two hoops in to hold each arm – one at the wrist and one at the elbow, so that I could raise my shoulders three or four inches off the ground, but otherwise had no freedom of movement at all.
Now, I should tell you that we don’t often play games of restraint, at the most enjoying a bit of light bondage sometimes for a spicy change. But this being staked out on the grass under the summer sun was so dammed sexy, it was giving a new meaning to getting hot – and it was turning both of us on. I was writhing (as much as I could) in the hoops, not to get free but from sexual frustration – I couldn’t touch myself, of course, and my lover wasn’t yet doing her duty. Instead, she stood at my feet, looking up between my spread-open legs, with an expression of lustful glee.
‘Oh, yeah!’ she breathed softly, ‘I do like you like that!’ To look respectable for going to the village, she had put on a cotton wrap skirt in a colourful floral print, a really pretty short-length camisole top in white cheesecloth, and underneath a pink T-shirt bra and a matching rather skimpy pair of string panties. Now, as she admired my prone and pinioned form, she slipped a hand inside the wrap of the skirt, and was clearly giving some attention to her own pussy. What about mine?!
‘Hey!!’, I said, as I struggled a bit more. Then I relaxed and watched with pleasure, as she did a slow, sexy, teasing strip in front of me. First she kicked aside her flip-flops, then the straps of the cami top came down from her shoulders and she pulled it down over her hips, and despatched that as well. With some sinuous twirls, the tie of the wrap skirt was undone, and she held it open to show the underwear beneath. Finally, off came the bra and down came the panties, and my lover stood there in the nude, hands jauntily on her hips, looking very pleased with herself.
Next she knelt between my spread legs, and spent a couple of minutes letting her hands roam over my body, concentrating first on my breasts and stomach, and then tracing her fingers deliciously up my inner thighs. This was so stimulating, and more so because I was imprisoned in the croquet hoops, and the wetness between my legs had little to do with the Mediterranean sunshine.
Claire undid the halter string of my bikini top, pulled it downwards, and then removed it altogether. I gave a sigh of satisfaction as her mouth descended on my breasts – that girl really knows how to suck a tit, and mine were firm and pointy within seconds. Then she sat back on her haunches, and untied the string at each hip which held my bikini briefs in place. It was like unwrapping a birthday present, and I felt so exposed and aroused when she gently pulled the front fabric downwards to reveal my pussy. She fingered me for a moment, getting my juices flowing even more, eliciting from me the first in a series of moans.
Now Claire moved on to what she had really had in mind all along, the idea that had swept her away the moment that she had found the croquet set. She swung round, lowering her ass and pussy onto my face for me to give her some eager oral attention. I was straining in my bonds to get my tongue into her vagina, seeking the prize of her clitoris, when I felt an amazing sensation in my cunt.
I had assumed that Claire would go down on me, as 69 is just about our favourite way of making love. Instead, I was being penetrated by something hard and firm and – as I discovered with a squeal – also very long. It took a moment to register what was happening, and then I realised that Claire was fucking me with the handle of one of the croquet mallets! And it was an amazing feeling, as I sucked in her smell and the taste of mingled sweat and pussy juice, to have my lover sitting astride my captive body, and ramming this phallic pole in and out of my vagina, with deeper and longer strokes.
‘Oh, jeez, honey, yes!’ I moaned, muffled by having a face full of sweetly opened labia. A further thrust made me arch my back, as far as I could do so. I started to shriek (knowing that no one could hear us): ‘Oh, fuck! Give it to me! give it me good, give it me!! Do me, babe, now – NOW! – FUCK, YES, NOW!!! And I came massively, bone-shakingly, breathlessly, with a long shudder and tremor, my buttocks clenching, my hips thrusting, my back arching as much as the metal hoops would let me. I felt like the world was whirling around me, dizzy and a bit faint. ‘Fucking amazing,’ I thought, ‘and what an amazing fuck!’
I still had to finish her off, and she sat back further on my face, shifting her hands to my breasts, kneading and rubbing them. I gathered a bit of strength from somewhere, and applied myself to the task eagerly. Before long, she was rising up and down, hands spread out to keep from toppling over, her pussy wide open and her eyes squeezed shut. She shifted her hands suddenly to her own tits, and I knew she was about to come – she often pulls on her own nipples as she approaches orgasm. And so it was, and she climaxed with a series of deep rasping grunts, their rapidity and pitch increasing as she approached that golden moment of ecstasy and relief.
Spent and satisfied, Claire rolled off me. For a moment she lay beside me on the grass, and then she kissed me softly on the lips. She rose to her feet and, before I could grasp what she was intending, she gave me a wave, blew me a kiss – and walked off into the house, leaving me pinned on the lawn, legs wide open and arms stretched above my head. I called out to her, but she disappeared into the kitchen, so I shifted to yelling.
‘Claire? Claire! let me go! – what’s going on, what are you doing? Claire?!! Claire, you cunt, you can’t leave me here like this!! Let me go – please!’ I shouted and pleaded for several minutes, wondering what she was up to. Then she came into my view again, having restored her bra and skirt (but not the panties). She had a bottle of beer in one hand, chilled from the fridge, and I watched in mounting disbelief as she took a long swig from it.
‘Don’t I get any?’, I asked, trying for a wheedling voice. ‘C’mon, babe, let me out of this – please?’
‘Sure, you get some’, she said, and she held the bottle to my lips to let me take a mouthful. But then, she poured the remainder over my pussy, and lapped it up with her tongue. I’m really not into the food thing – and thank God, Claire isn’t either – as I’ve never found it to be erotic, but I must admit that her oral attentions to my cum-drenched, beer-soaked vagina were tantalisingly different from usual. I came again under her attentions, though not with the volcanic eruption of the first fuck with the mallet.
As if she could read my thoughts, Claire picked up the mallet that had been the substitute dildo, and re-inserted it. I was thoroughly wet and loose now, and it sank in even further than before. Claire pistoned it in and out half a dozen times, until I climaxed again with something like a banshee wail. Then she left it in there, well inside me, and to my disbelief she got up and walked away. I shouted at her again and again to come and remove the mallet and hoops, but she just laughed and gave her impish smile – and then she sat on the swing chair, shaded by its awning, and flicked through a magazine.
‘I like the view as it is, sweetie,’ she shook her head, and teased: ‘maybe later ...’
I couldn’t believe it, the nerve of it. I had hugely enjoyed the amazing sex, and the erotic sensation of being staked down, submissive to my younger lover. But this was not so funny, and how long did she intend to leave me here anyway? I began to get a bit cross, which of course was exactly what Claire was intending to happen.
Of course, the croquet hoops were not that firmly embedded into the soft earth, and once I realised it was down to me to get free, it really was not too difficult. The slowest part was getting the first wrist hoop pulled up enough to slip out of, and then the elbow one on the same arm. After that, the other arm and the ankles were quick and easy, and I slowly pulled the mallet handle out of my vagina – getting quite a delicious sensation as I did so. I was a bit stiff and had pins and needles as I got to my feet, naked and a bit cheesed off. I advanced up the lawn menacingly towards her chair, as she dropped her magazine and jumped to her feet.
‘It’s payback time, I’m gonna have you!’ I growled, admittedly hamming it up a bit – I wasn’t really that cross, but I didn’t mind her wondering for a minute or two. She gave a squeal that was half-alarmed and half-delighted, and scuttled behind a sun lounger.
‘Mmm, yes,’ she said with a wicked grin, ‘but, first – you gotta catch me!!’, and with that she took off at a run, barefoot, first down into the garden and then – as I raced after her – back up onto the patio, through the kitchen (dodging around the big oak table), through the sitting room, and into our bedroom. This was a dead end, but – of course – it was where she had always intended that I would catch her.
I was aroused by the chase, but also still just a bit mad at her, so I was a bit firmer than I would ever normally be. I grabbed Claire and flung her face-down, with her top half on the bed and her ass sticking out over the edge, her knees and feet on the floor. I pulled the wrap skirt roughly open and up around her waist, exposing that sweet fantastic firm ass of hers. I was going to make it tremble with ecstasy – but first, lesson time!
‘You are a naughty, naughty girl!’ I said, as sternly as I could, but nearly breaking down into laughter. To cover that up, I gave her a firm smack on each butt – not really painful, but enough to sting and produce a very satisfactory yelp of protest. That only encouraged me to give one more to each cheek, as she squealed and wriggled. Then I put my hand on her back, swiftly undoing her bra, and ordered her in a no-nonsense tone of voice not to move.
Quickly, I reached into the nearby dresser drawer and found my strap-on, and buckled it into place. Then I pushed her legs further apart and ran a finger along the length of her pussy cleft. As I thought, she was almost dripping wet, and her labia were already slightly parted. So, with no more ceremony or foreplay, I gripped her firmly above the hips, lined the knob of the plastic dildo up and plunged it into her, all the way home so that the backplate gave a firm smack against her buttocks. Claire gave a shriek of mingled shock and delight, raising her ass up off the bed to give me a better alignment for ramming it into her again. I was riding a wave of lust and excitement, and I lost all restraint, giving her a harder, faster fucking than we ever usually do (and doing her doggy-style is one of my favourites, her ass is just so neat). I was getting off on this as much as she was, and we were both nearly screaming, mounting rapidly to climax. It exploded way too soon, and I collapsed on top of her. We lay together on the rumpled sheets, out of breath, but laughing and kissing. After that, only one thing was possible – a long soak in the bath together, and another good thing about the villa is its positively sybaritic bathroom, which features a large oval whirlpool bath in white marble which has plenty of room for two.
We played “croquet” a few more times during the holiday, although by agreement we didn’t again leave whoever was pinned down to get herself free. A couple of times, as a prelude, we actually played the proper game itself – it’s quite fun, on a good lawn like that – with the prize being that the winner got to stake out the loser. I hope, when we go next summer, the croquet set is still there ...
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