We had been married for ten years, and my parents agreed to look after our two boys aged nine and six for a week so we could have a second honeymoon. Our first had been okay but a bit disappointing, as we were not well off, so a cheap hotel in London had to suffice. Right now, we were not much better off but decided to take our caravan to a remote site in mid-Wales.

The weather was glorious as we set out, and with our caravan being towed behind my (company) 4x4, we headed for the hills. We knew that the boys were being spoilt rotten in our absence, so had no qualms about leaving them behind.

We turned up the muddy forest track that led to the field surrounded on three sides by a forestry plantation on the side of the hill. We had been here before as a family. The state of the track discouraged casual visitors, so we were pretty sure that we wouldn’t be disturbed. Apart, that is except for a daily visit from one of the farm dogs, who had taken a fancy to us. When we paid a visit to the farm, about half a mile across the side of the hill, the dog remembered us and started to come over to visit on a regular basis.

The field was on two levels and quite steep with a sort of plateau alongside the hedge. The track, not so muddy at the top, curved round the sides of the field to give access to the top bit where we always set our camp. As it emerged from the heavily wooded section it ran alongside a pond that had been dug many years ago by the farmer. The pond, whilst not particularly deep, only about four feet at the middle, was about a hundred feet long and about twenty feet wide at its widest. It was fed by the spring that provided all the water for the farm. It was sandy at one end but otherwise surrounded by reeds and bulrushes. When we had previously brought the boys here they had spent many hours paddling and digging in and around the pond.

We were in good spirits and looking forward to a relaxed (and sexy) week. Perhaps a little information about our relationship, would not go amiss. During our courtship, we had indulged in a little mild naughtiness in public, but like many marriages, we had settled down into a routine of life that had become a little mundane. We (I) were hoping to break that usual cycle in the coming week. On the journey over, following a bit of joshing on my part I certainly got the impression that Rebecca, my wife was up for it.

The first evening we spent over at the farmhouse, renewing friendships with both the family and the animals. This was when the junior sheepdog, Bob, (all working sheepdogs have single syllable names, it save time when working more than one) clocked fact that we were back. Bruce the farmer, regretted that we would have to entertain ourselves for the week as his son was away and he wouldn’t have time to conduct us around the farm as he usually did. As he said this, I felt Rebecca squeeze my hand as we sat on the sofa in the kitchen, surrounded by cats.

As we walked back across the fields to the caravan under a starry sky, we happened upon Eric the bull. In fact, we almost bumped into the back of him in the dark. Perhaps I wasn’t concentrating as I had my hand inside the unbuttoned front of Rebecca’s dress, caressing her breasts and teasing her alert nipples. We knew Eric of old and he knew us; we were not bothered by him and he not by us. But nonetheless, we didn’t want to surprise him, so we deviated from the well worn path that the cows trod across the side of the hill.

As we stepped off the path, I slipped on the damp grass and fell down onto my backside. My hand was still inside my wife’s dress, and I heard the sound of cotton being torn as my hand pulled apart the front of the garment.

“Terry!” she scolded me. “Look what you have done to my dress”!

“It’s a good job it didn’t happen on the way over the farm.” I suggested. “Although,” I mused, “it might have given Bruce a thrill!” I laughed.

“I’d have told them exactly what happened!” Rebecca laughed.

“Would you have carried on and not turned back?” I asked her.

“Would you have wanted me to walk into the farmhouse in a torn dress?” she responded.

I thought for a moment. “Yes I think I would have,” I told her.

“Then, this week, I would have done!” she said, kissing me as we lay on the grass, “With no kids about.” She rolled over on top of me, and whispered, “Now make a job of it. I can’t wear it down the pub after that!”

I looked at her, a smirk on her face, her breasts hanging loose. She was supporting herself on straight arms, placed either side of my head, her dress open to her waist. “I dare you!” I challenged her.

She shook her head. “Not this one. It is too badly ripped, I need you to ruin it completely. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed, tonight or down at the pub!” Needless to say, her dress was rent from top to bottom in a flash, and we made love with Eric standing watching us.

As we rolled apart, giggling, Eric farted and walked away.

The next morning after breakfast, I carried out the ritual that would be done by one of us every day whilst we were there. I walked over to the farm to get fresh milk. The family (and us) drank raw unpasteurised milk drawn directly from the tank in the dairy. I have to say that it is absolutely delicious, although I can almost hear some people shouting “RAW MILK?” Anyway, the upshot was that I would be gone for about half an hour even without meeting anyone from the farm.

It was a lovely hot summer’s day, and I enjoyed the walk, wearing walking boots, shorts and a tee shirt. I ambled slowly back and forth, stopping to look at the cows, now back in their field after morning milking, so I suppose I was gone longer than I was expected to be. When I got back to the caravan, my wife was not there, but I found a note. “Gone to the pond”. I put the milk away and strolled over to the pond to see Rebecca sunbathing topless on the sandy bit we called the beach. Even after two children, she had regained her figure, and I stood for a moment or two, admiring her lovely body. A body that I had drooled (and more) over for the twelve years we had known each other. She was lying on her back, with only the tie-sided bikini bottoms offering any cover at all.

“You’ve been a long time,” she called when she eventually saw me standing on the bank about twenty feet or so away from her.

“It’s too nice a day to rush,” I told her as I climbed down the bank to join her. “Why are you topless? – Not that I’m complaining, I hasten to add,” I asked.

“As you say, it’s such a nice day, would you have preferred it if I was covered – or even naked?” she enquired, squinting at me in the strong sunlight.

I knelt above her my knees just above her head, bent over and kissed her, our faces upside down to each other. “Naked, every time.” I whispered.

She licked the end of my nose. “Then get naked yourself.” I wasted no time stripping off my shorts and shirt, I knew we were safe from interruptions because if anyone was coming up the track in a vehicle, we would hear them well before they arrived. I sat down beside her and removed my boots.

“Now it’s your turn,” I announced.

“Mmmm, you do it for me,” she murmured. I slid my hand into her bikini briefs and found a surprisingly damp labia.

“What have you been doing, while I was away?” I asked her, with a grin on my face.

“Thinking about last night,” she began. “I can’t tell you how much of a turn on it was to have you ripping my dress open.” In the past, I had despatched to odd pair of panties in that way, but never anything else. She continued, “I know I told you to do it, but it was just the moment that you tore the cotton that keeps coming back to me, and you can feel the result.” Indeed I could, she was getting wetter and wetter and my fingers were getting soaked in her juices.

“Would you like me to do it again? Some time when you’re not expecting it?” I was fingering her with some vigour.

She reached down, undid the ties at the sides of her bikini pants and said, “Yes I would! Now fuck me!” I climbed aboard and did as I had been told. She writhed about beneath me, her shoulder length hair becoming covered in damp sand, turning it a golden brown from her natural brunette. “Come over me!” she gasped between kisses. As I felt my sperm rising, I pulled out of her and sprayed her belly and breasts with my white creamy seed. “You dirty bugger!” she exclaimed. “I wish you had more!”

So did I, so did I! I wanted to smear my cum all over her, belly, tits, face, hair, everywhere. “I will completely cover you next time,” I told her and explained in some detail exactly how I intended to do it.

She groaned and murmured, “I’d love that! I wish you would!” Afterwards, we bathed each other in the tepid waters of the pond, then lay in the shallows holding hands. “Shall we go out tonight?” she asked.

“We can, there are the two pubs in the village, or we can perhaps find a restaurant a bit further out,” I suggested.

“There’s no point in going too far,” she said, then with a glint in her eye, “no-one knows us here anyway.”

I immediately picked up on her mood and asked her, “What have you got in mind?”

“That rather depends on what you want me to wear.”

In the past, before and just after we were married, I could sometimes persuade her to go out in the evening without wearing a bra. On one occasion, she wore no underwear at all under a calf length sun dress. More in hope than expectation, I asked, “Why not wear the dress you wore last night?”

She laughed and said “In your dreams buster... Oh, I don’t know, why not? I could wear a matching bra and panty set with a belt to hold it closed!”

“I would prefer it without the bra,” I told her.

“People are going to see my underwear, so I want them to match. I don’t want to display my bare tits in the pub!” she explained.

“Why not?” I asked, “because, as you say, no-one knows us here.”

“Well, you’ll just have to see what I put on and like it or lump it!” she retorted.

We lay in the cooling water for some time, before hunger pangs announced it was getting near lunchtime. We walked, still naked up the field towards our caravan, carrying our clothes and bits and pieces. We remained naked whilst I prepared lunch. Rebecca took the opportunity to pose sexily for me, putting me off. I was really beginning to enjoy this holiday, and I got the distinct impression that she was enjoying it too. Isn’t it amazing what a few days away from the humdrum and pressures associated with raising a family will do? Suddenly she sat up. “We must ring the boys.”

We both held fairly lengthy conversations with our sons, during which, as I was speaking to them, my dear wife was sucking at my penis. I considered this to be very unfair, because when she was speaking to them I did not touch her. You just wait until she’s speaking to her mother!

We lazed on the grass alongside the caravan for most of the afternoon, listening to the natural sounds of the countryside. Later, Rebecca prepared a meal for us before we planned to head into the village to see what was happening at either of the two pubs.

When the time came for us to get ready, Rebecca asked, “Casual or dressy tonight?”

“It’s only a village pub on a Monday night, perhaps dressy might be a little over the top,” I suggested.

“Okay, then its denim,” she declared. “Shorts or skirt?”

“You choose,” I told her and began sorting out my own clothes for the evening.

When she finally announced that she was ready, she was wearing a white blouse and denim skirt. The skirt was one she had had for a long time and was showing it’s age. Some in the past she had shortened it by simply cutting it off with scissors. Naturally over the years it had begun to fray and whenever the threads hanging down became too long, they were snipped off. I had not seen her wear it for a while so was pleased to see that it was now about mid-thigh length when she was sitting down, although a little longer than that when standing. Her blouse was open to below her breasts allowing her white wonder-bra and lots of cleavage to be seen.

On the drive down the forest track, she curled up on the front seat of the car, causing her skirt to ride up her thighs. “Although I love them dearly, it’s nice to be away from the kids for a while and be teenagers ourselves again,” she told me.

“Are we going to do some of the things we did as teenagers?” I asked.

“I certainly hope so!” she exclaimed, “I feel like being naughty.”

“Then take off your bra and panties,” I told her.

“Certainly not!” she retorted, “At least not yet,” she added with a cheeky grin.

We arrived in the village centre and parked the car in the high street. We could walk to everything that was likely to be open from here. The first pub was just across the road, it had the advantage of having a beer garden behind it which looked over the nearby hills. We walked through the bar where I ordered the drinks, Rebecca flashed a brilliant smile and her cleavage at the barman, a slightly scruffy individual in his fifties. It cheered him up quite a bit and he engaged us in conversation. He could not drag his eyes away from Rebecca’s breasts, something that amused both Rebecca and I. Sadly for him, another customer arrived, and we took the opportunity to slide away into the beer garden.

“Did you see him ogling your tits?” I asked her.

“Of course!” she said with a giggle, “I was contemplating getting them out for him.”

“Were you?”

She laughed and said “No! Not really, but I would have loved to have dared do it.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “What would you have done if I had?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to do much about it if you stripped off in the pub, could I?” I explained, “Other than physically restrain you, and I wouldn’t have done that, it would have looked too much like a fight.”

“What would you have thought?” she pressed me.

“I think I would have thought that I’d never seen you do that as a teenager,” I told her.

She laughed. “Well, not that exactly; there were times, however, when I was tempted to do something like that for a bit of fun, but I never had the confidence.”

“You, my darling, or should I call you my dareling, have a body worth displaying,” I told her, holding both her hands in mine. “And I would be proud to see you doing so.”

“I remember the night you half stripped me in that alley behind the nightclub.” She mused, “I thought you were going to have me naked there and then. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

“Despite those drunks who spotted us?” I asked, grinning.

“Especially because of them,” she said quietly.

We finished our drinks with me sliding her skirt up her thigh with my hand as we sat at the picnic table in the garden. “Do you want another?” I asked, indicating her empty glass.

“Let’s try the other place,” she suggested.

As we walked to the other pub about a couple of hundred yards away, it became clear that this one catered for a younger, livelier market, it looked much more fun. When we got inside, there were a few teenagers and customers in their twenties and thirties about. “I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” Rebecca announced as we entered the pub. “I’ll be over there.” Over there turned out to be near the juke box terminal, on a bench along the wall.

There were a crowd of lads standing by the terminal, ostensibly trying to make up their minds what music to play, but in reality, they were looking down my wife’s cleavage, something of which Rebecca was fully aware. It didn’t seem to bother her in any way, indeed, she appeared to be lapping up the attention, without being too obvious about it. The boys had not clocked that she was with anyone, so when I arrived with drinks, they assumed a more discrete observation but still had all eyes on Rebecca’s opened blouse. I had also noticed that, miraculously, the next button on her blouse had somehow undone itself.

With her blouse now virtually open to her waist, Rebecca twisted round on her seat, to greet me hiking her skirt just a little further up her thighs. When one of the boys plucked up enough courage to ask her what sort of music she liked, her action of turning towards them to answer the question, added a bit more thigh to the display. “You’re enjoying this attention, aren’t you?” I asked her.

She turned to me, smiled and winked. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

After we (together) had discussed a music choice with the boys and they had selected it, I leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Do you think you can arrange your skirt so you are not sitting on it?” She nodded and began to quietly and slowly move back and forth, trying not to attract too much attention, with the intention of sliding the hem of her skirt from under her buttocks.

The attracting too much attention bit didn’t work, as the boys pretty quickly realised what she was at. To be fair to them, they tried to not make it too obvious that they were watching, but watching they were. Frankly, I do not blame them. I was getting turned on by the sight of more leg than I thought Rebecca had, coming into view. In addition to that was the fact that this was all happening with a very attentive audience. I was immensely proud of my wife - I still am - as she is a sexy, good looking woman and, best of all, she loves me!

“Do you think that will do?” she asked. The back hem of her skirt was still just trapped between her bum and the seat, but the front was now pulled tightly across the top of her thighs.

I was sure that anyone seated opposite would be able to see the crotch of her panties.

“I am sure that they don’t get this entertainment usually on a Monday night in here,” I confided in her.

“Good!” she said. she picked up her spritzer, took a sip and pulled a face. “I think I am in need of something stronger than this. Can I have Vodka and something, please?” I went to pick up her discarded drink, but she stayed my hand. “I have plans for that,” she whispered.

I returned from the bar with a double vodka with a very little “something” in it and placed it before her. She too a big gulp, coughed a little and exclaimed, “Wow!” She smiled and added, "I think we may have to leave after I’ve finished this.”

“Too strong for you?” I asked.

“Not at all, I need this to pluck up the courage to do what I am thinking,” she whispered.

“Are you intending to take something off?” I asked, amused and excited.

“No, but I hope you will like it,” she said quietly.

She finished her vodka with a second gulp and slammed the glass down on the table with some force. This caused everyone to look at her. “Here goes!” she murmured. Then she picked up the Spritzer with one hand, raised it in salute to her audience, then with everyone in the bar watching, pulled one of the cups of her bra away from her breast and poured the Spritzer into the resulting gap. There was a gasp from several of the lads and young women watching, as the drink soaked through her white blouse, causing it to become transparent, and a dark blue stain ran down the front of her light blue skirt. She smoothed the bubbly drink into her thighs as they were wetted by the spillage. She took my hand, squeezed it and said, “Shall we go?”

We walked across the now fairly busy bay towards the door. As we got there, she turned and said in quite a loud voice, “Did you like that? Keep watching, we’re here for a week!”

I pulled her, giggling, from the pub into the street and demanded, “Rebecca! What on earth go into you?”

“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, now suddenly worried.

I swept her into my arms. “Of course I did! I loved it! – er… what have you got planned for the rest of the week?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she told me, “I hadn’t even got that planned. I just came to me in an instant. I just want to do some of the things I should have done when I was a teenager!”

“Then I’m right with you,” I announced. “Now about those undies….”

“When we’re in the car,” she replied.

We got to the car and climbed in, she pulled her blouse out of her skirt and slipped off. “Here,” she said, “hold this.” Then she handed me the wet blouse. She pulled the shoulder straps of her bra down her arms, slid the fastening round to the front and tossed the discarded item into the back of the car. She struggled to put wet blouse back on as it kept sticking to her skin, but sort of managed to get it round her. “Phew, I didn’t realise it would be that difficult.”

I helped her get her panties off and then suggested we did a bit of window shopping before we went back to the caravan. She looked at me first as if I had gone mad, then laughed, relented and gasped, “Hell! Why not?”

The outfit looked as though it had been in a water fight, but I thought she looked as sexy as hell. It was now getting dark, and not many of the shops in the village had left their window lights on, so we just strolled along the quiet streets with our arm around each other. Rebecca’s free hand had undone my jeans zipper and was feeling around inside to see what it could find. Needless to say, it did not have much of a problem locating something of interest. Indeed, the stiffness of it indicated the level of my interest in the searching fingers stroking it.

Meanwhile, I had already undone the buttons on her blouse and was cupping and caressing one of her lovely breasts. This was turning out to be a great evening. But suddenly, Rebecca gave a shiver.

“Feeling cold?” I asked her, and she nodded. “Let’s go back to the car,” I suggested and we wheeled round to slowly make our way back the couple of hundred yards or so to the centre of the High Street, where the car was parked. As we neared the car, she undid the waistband of my jeans. “What are you doing?” I stupidly asked.

“I want full access, because on the way back, I’m going to give you a blow job until we arrive at the caravan,” she answered hoarsely.

“It’s five miles, what if I ejaculate?”

“Then come in my mouth,” she said in such a matter of fact way that I almost didn’t believe it. It was such a long time since that had happened, I nearly came on the spot. We reached the car. “A-ah!” she said as I went to climb into the driving seat. “Take off your jeans, I want unrestricted access – and your pants, please.”

I started to drive back though those narrow Welsh lanes trying to concentrate on keeping us on the road. One thing about driving there at night is that you can see the lights of any other vehicle well before you meet them. Rebecca was not only sucking me off she was wanking me hard at the same time. “I shall be coming soon if you’re not careful!” I hissed at her.

She looked up, saying, “Don’t tell me, surprise me!” and resumed her work at my penis. I did surprise her, in fact I surprised myself at the amount of seed I could feel rushing to free itself. I shot what seemed massive amounts of semen into her mouth. She coughed, but kept going until I was spent. She had taken so much that when she coughed, some had gone into the back of her throat and had come down her nose. “Stop the car! Stop the car!”

“We’re in the middle of the la...” I protested.

“I don’t care, stop the car!”

I thought she wanted to be sick, but instead, she smothered her cummy face all over mine. I tasted my own cum as she forced some of it into my mouth. Then, wouldn’t you know, not having met another car all the way, one came round the corner. We were blocking the lane, so they had to stop. They also illuminated our activities with their headlights. We both laughed at our predicament, but I had to reverse the car back about twenty yards or so with their lights on full beam, no doubt enjoying the spectacle. “Are you glad you came?” she asked, knowing full well the double entendre that she had uttered.

“Not half!” I exclaimed.

“It’s a good job no-one round here knows us.” She giggled.

As soon as we got going again, her head was in my lap, wetting my tools with saliva. I was in a right state, but nothing compared to her face when she sat up. A mixture of cum, saliva make up and sweat was smeared all over her lovely face. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, she looked as sexy as hell. As I turned into the entrance to the forest track, we found the gate was shut. Bruce must have been past. “I’ll get it,” she volunteered and leapt out of the car, her bare feet landing in the soft mud at the side. She nipped round to the front of the car and unlatched the gate, pulling it open. I drove through and she closed the gate behind me. Expecting her to climb back into the car complaining about the mud, I reached across and opened the door on her side of the car.

Suddenly she was standing in front of the car in the middle of the track. She still had her blouse on, although it was undone and her skirt was all rucked up, but did not actually show her pubes. Then she started dancing. She was doing a striptease in the light of the headlight beams. First she dropped her skirt and stamped it into the mud and, pulling her blouse this way and that, variously hid or exposed different parts of her body until that too was dropped in the mud. Then she stood there with her arms at the ten to two position, bowing, graciously accepting my applause.

She picked up her clothes, climbed on to the bonnet of the car, hooked her feet into the bull-bars and pointed up the lane. Thus I arrived back at the caravan with my own naked figurehead on my car. I have to say the drive (about a third of a mile) took longer than normal, because I was petrified that she would fall off and I would run her over.

“I’ve got some washing to do today,” she mumbled as she woke from a deep sleep the next morning.

“I’ve started it,” I told her, having been up for about an hour. I had picked up the skirt and blouse from the grass outside, where she had dumped them the night before, and washed them by hand in a bucket.

“You’re so good to me,” she said with a mouthful of breakfast, still not dressed, and I was in no hurry to have her put anything on. I looked quizzically at her. “Well,” she said, “You’ve washed my clothes, got me my breakfast and last night filled my mouth with the sweetest tasting cum I’ve ever had!”

“There’s more where that came from,” I told her, “but not just yet, it’s your turn to go and get the milk. I’ll top up the water. This was no mean feat as I had to pull the Aquaroll (a plastic drum which rolls along the ground) up the hill to the tap fed by the spring.

“Okay. You’re on,” she agreed.

So I started tidying then van, washing the dishes and any number of small but essential chores, before trundling up the hill dressed in just a pair of shorts. My bare feet cooled by the dew on the grass. I was back before Rebecca and when I saw her coming, went to meet her. “You know, this place has quite an effective grapevine,” she told me. “I met Bruce in the yard, and he gave me a queer sort of leery smile. When I asked him, 'What?' he told me he understood I gave quite a show in the Market Tavern last night!”

“Wow! That was quick!” I remarked.

“He’s invited me to join him for the milking one afternoon, so I can give him a special show!”

I laughed. We had known Bruce and Hilary for many years and had always enjoyed a bit of banter with them. We had come over one New Years Eve and had very nearly had a fumble with each others’ partner, but just at the right (wrong?) moment we were disturbed by one of our boys wanting a drink of water. “Are you going to do it?” I asked.

Rebecca grinned. “You know, I think I just might, say give him a flash or something. But not today, the relief milker is on this afternoon.”

“Go-on!” I urged, “you know you want to fuck him.”

“I definitely do not want to fuck Bruce!” She almost shouted at me. “You’re the only one who will ever put a thing like that into me!” With that, she pushed past me and flung herself “sobbing” on the couch. I was not fooled for a minute. I started to tickle her, and soon she was in floods of tears, but tears of laughter. In the ensuing struggle, I managed to pull off her tee-shirt and reveal an “almost nothing” bra.

“A-Hah!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “You little hussy! You went over there dressed in this sexy bra under an innocent looking tee-shirt, in order to have your wicked way with one of the farm hands! I forbid you to wear this bra over to the farm ever again! In fact I forbid you to wear a bra over there at all!” At this, we both collapsed with laughter, hugging each other.

We were really blessed with the weather. After lunch, we decided to take a walk up the big hill and get a 360 degree view of the surrounding countryside. It is only a couple of miles to the top, but it feels like twice that because it is all uphill and in some places quite steep. When we arrived at the top, we needed a rest. Rebecca had prepared a picnic, and we spread our repast around us. After a while a bottle of wine to the good, she asked, “How high is this hill, anyway?”

I looked at the map. “According to the Ordnance Survey, 1180 feet.”

“So it is technically a mountain,” she mused.

“Yes,” I replied, “If it is over a thousand feet, it is classified as a mountain.”

After some minutes of silence, she quietly asked, ”Have you ever made love on top of a mountain?”

“Has anyone made love on the top of this particular mountain?” I asked in return. Then, answering my own question, “probably not.”

Rebecca lay back, staring into the blue sky. “Do you think we should break its duck?”

“On one condition,” I told her.

“What’s that?”

“We have to be completely naked.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” she asked.

“Someone might be scanning the view from somewhere else with a powerful pair of binoculars, and see us.”

“They’d need a really powerful pair to actually see what we were doing,” she replied.

“I think they’d get the general idea.”

“Then undress me,” she told me.

“I thought you’d never ask!” said I and moved in her direction.

There followed a good hour of gentle caressing, touching and feeling. I ran my fingers over her flat abdomen, spreading my hands wide so my thumb almost reached her navel, whilst my little finger teased the hair of her pubes. She ran her fingers over my chest like little spots of rain. I did a similar thing to her belly, barely touching the skin. Eventually we kissed, gently at first and then slightly more vigorously, until overcome with passion, we thrust our tongues into the other’s mouth. After a few moments of this, I slid on top of her and settled my prick at the drenched opening of her vagina. Her legs opened wide to accept me, then clamped themselves over my buttocks, pulling me into her.

Gentle slow strikes at first as her juices lubricated the contact point between my stiff engorged penis, purple with rage and her soaking labia and more importantly her prominent clitoris. Several times I stopped thrusting, enjoying the sensation of being so far inside her. She did nothing to try to hurry proceedings along other than tell me she loved me. Eventually our blood was up, and we engaged in a fierce copulation which has us both groaning and sweating. Much to my disappointment, I came first, filling her uterus with my seed to the extent that my own nether regions were covered in it too. I tried to continue in and out, but my erection dissolved and my prick was a limp thing no longer useful as a mean of producing progeny. I was determined to give her an orgasm, at least one.

I slid off her and inserted my fingers into the wet and sticky hole that only a few seconds ago, was taking the full length of my penis. I found her clit, and to my immense relief, she shuddered as her orgasm wracked through her whole body. I did not stop, and thrice more she came.

We both relaxed and fell back. “That was lovely!” she exclaimed.

“But you didn’t come,.” I muttered. “Not as we made love.”

“Yes I did!” she countered. “If you don’t think the whole experience was actually making love, then I’m disappointed in you!” She leant over and kissed me on the cheek. “It has been a perfect afternoon, and I am very happy.”

We lay back and enjoyed a bit more sun on our naked bodies, and perhaps dozed a little. I woke up to a throbbing sound, almost in my head, somewhere far away. As I became more awake, I realised that the throbbing sound was a helicopter. It was still some distance away, “Look!” I shook Rebecca. “We might be seen after all.”

“Let’s give them a wave,” she suggested, so we did, standing up and waving both arms.

The pilot responded by turning on our direction and doing and performing an orbit with us at the centre. They as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. “I wonder if he drinks in the Market Tavern?” I mused. This earned me a punch on the shoulder.

We started to collect our things together when I dropped the wine bottle on to a plate from which we had been eating. Both broke. The pieces of glass and broken crockery happened to be laying on top of Rebecca’s tee shirt, so it seemed logical in order to ensure that no glass should be left behind, to carefully fold the shirt over the pieces and wrap them in it. This was achieved, and a search produced only a couple of shards that we had missed. These were collected and packed into our rucksack. “You’ll have to wear my shirt on the way down,” I told Rebecca. She nodded, rubbing her shoulders, since the sun was setting there was a definite chill coming down.

So having made sure we left nothing behind, we set of down the hill towards the caravan. As we walked, I noticed that my shirt, which was a bit longer than usual, even on me, completely hid my wife’s shorts. “You could wear that shirt when we go to Welshpool tomorrow,” I suggested.

Rebecca inspected herself. “Hmm... Not this one, it’s too sweaty. But the length’s okay, although it’s a bit big round the hem, a bit billowy.”

The length on her was just above mid thigh. Indeed she had worn dresses in the past which were shorter than that. “You know I have another clean one the same style in the van, don’t you? I’d love you to wear it with no panties on.”

“To go shopping in Welshpool?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” I intoned.

“You are awful – but I like you!” she said and gave me a sharp push so I almost fell over. “Well, all right. As you gave me such a lovely afternoon today, I will. But don’t blame me if I get arrested!”

We arrived back at the van, and I was given the job of disposing of the broken glass and crockery. I walked over to the rubbish bin and carefully picked out the glass and chips of earthenware from the shirt. I noticed that in a couple of places the glass had damaged the fabric, causing two or three small tears in the cotton. I was about to consign the shirt to the bin when a thought occurred to me. I thought that shirt might just come in handy shortly.

“The shirt got damaged by the glass,” I announced on getting back to the van.

“Rather that than leave anything behind up there,” Rebecca replied.

“I was thinking...” I began. “You said you wanted to give Bruce a flash, you could always wear this shirt for the occasion.”

“He won’t see much through that, it’s hardly torn at all,” Rebecca rejected the idea.

“We... we could always make the tears a bit bigger...” I suggested and waited for a reaction.

She thought for a moment. “Okay. But I decide by how much!” She agreed!

We settled down in the van after dinner with some Rachmaninov playing on the stereo, (2nd Piano Concerto, I love the second movement, so melancholy, but relaxing at the same time.) It was the perfect end to the day. I was really looking forward to shopping in Welshpool, with Rebecca dressed only in my shirt.

There is a lot more to come on this story if you like it; It gets sexier as it goes on.