A Dirty Weekend

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Peggy told us this one evening after a very pleasant afternoon on Weymouth Sea front we had danced along, arm in arm, eight of us, like a bunch of hooligans, with the usual ‘kiss me quick’ hats, sticks of candy floss and a few games of bingo under our pinnies. Jenny had won twenty quid and we rounded it off with a gorgeous fish supper there on the quay side, by the bridge the conversation followed its usual path. Here are her words.

I know, I know, you disapprove of affairs, my only excuse is that my husband had been doing it for years, and I decided that there was nothing to stop me, the kids grown up, the youngest in his last year at school. Heck, young Darren was getting more nookie than me!

My fella was Terry, not a big man, well in height, in other places, more than adequate. Its electric, he only needed to touch me and my juices flowed. When we were together it was out of this world. We would find somewhere to park, nice and secluded. It always started as they say with a kiss, simple, then open mouthed, then tongues. Then, and it was always a part of it, he would breathe into my mouth…

“Do you want?”

Mostly, except on very rare occasions, I would breathe back…

“Of course.”

His hand then dropped to my breast and he fondled my tits, outside of my clothes at first, until he found my nipples coming up. That was a signal to him to open up my blouse or to slip his hand up from the waist, but usually I had chosen a button fastening blouse, expecting my pleasure. He slipped each little button exposing more of my lacy bra clad bosom to the freedom of the air. The chill giving me a slight shiver, or maybe it was expectation doing so.

Still he did not touch my flesh, our mouths gasping at each other as he stroked and fondled the brassier encasement. I obviously could not see but certainly could feel my erect nipples tenting the tips of my bra. He ran his finger nails across them with great effect, deepening my gasps and making my breathing yet more ragged.

“Please….” I breathed pleading into his mouth we rarely needed to speak aloud. Our kisses so sweet and essential, our tongues rested briefly at the moment of communication.

This was Terry’s direction to open my bra and allow the cool air to stimulate my erect nipples while they awaited his touch. Tonight, my mind raced, his fingers or would he break our mouth hold to touch his lips to my begging buds. Whichever, the gentle gossamer touch would be the very best.

Between my legs the expectations were driving the juices wild as I waited longing for the touch which would trigger the first of the events throbbing, pulsing orgasms. I was desperate for release, a release I knew was just moments away and which would flow through my very being at the greatest intensity.

His touch, a finger tip, the merest feather touch, my tongue lashed his mouth in appreciation as the waves of pleasure flowed through me. I was there, I was there, I was there. I knew, and so did he. Oh how sweet that sensation as he brought me to fulfilment.

His hand crept from my bosom, oh, how I wished it would stay, to my knee. I parted my thighs, in anticipation, the back seat of the old car was not the biggest bed in the world and we had to maximise our loving.

His hand rested on my knee.

“You sure?” he breathed

“Oh yes.” I responded “Please.”

His hand slowly, he had the lightest touch, stroked up along my stockinged thighs. There was no obstruction to his progress between them as my legs, of their own volition, parted before his gently caressing fingers, admitting this welcome intruder to my most personal place.

I creamed at the very first touch on my lips, my hair parted to expose my slippery juicy slit. I creamed again as he teased my clit, involuntarily thrusting my hips up at his fingers as they more urgently fondled my cunny area.

My knickers, I wore plain ordinary nylon briefs on this occasion, the legs stretched and tight cutting into my groin as his hand occupied too small a space. I raised up off the seat I was sprawled on…

“Get rid of them.” I pushed up my skirt and inserted my hand beside my arse cheek.

Terry removed his hand from the leg and tugging the gusset from me helped to get them out of the way. The back seat of the car was cramped enough so having contorted on leg free we abandoned the task of removing them leaving them damply around one ankle.

Lying back and now with the skirt backup around my puss, I stretched my free leg, only to painfully knock my ankle on the hand brake. The pain was dulled by the fervour of Terry’s kisses as he reclaimed both my mouth with his and my nether regions with his hand.

I groped for his zipper, knowing full well as I had since we had started, that I would find a satisfying treasure within. I released it from the constraints of his trousers and underpants and stroked full length from base to circumcised head, then over the top with my thumb. Terry always gasped at that point, and I could feel the moist sensitivity of the precum canlı bahis at the orifice. I must not go too far, before I had learnt caution with that touch, I had spoilt the moment and ruined a perfectly good blouse into the bargain as my touch caused an eruption. Thank god he was young and virile, the evening wasn’t lost as he didn’t wilt and we rejoined the fray, this time with a little more caution.

His hand once again probed me, gently exposing and spreading the lubricating juices about my sex. His head dipped to take my nipples one at a time between his lips, his tongue the one I love to suck so much, flicking fleetingly across the tips.

I groaned, I moaned, I sighed, as I pulled him by the cock, on top of me, aiming his knob in about the right direction. He knelt on the car floor, easing my buttocks to the edge of the seat and correcting the position of his knob right to the entrance to my hole. He nudged forward and we were engaged, his length full bedded in me. I clamped my self around it, daring him to withdraw, to deprive me of his treasure.

I am not going to be stupid and tell you it was enormous, and so long or any of that crap, because it didn’t matter. It was for me, it was in me and I was being satisfied. I lifted his face and regained his mouth, kissing him deeply and raping his mouth with my tongue.

Almost imperceptivly he started to move, his hips thrusting, sliding his cock up and down in me. I felt his knob parting the sheath of my pussy as it rose up within me, and his pubes pressing on my clit as he did so. I came vigorously

“Please, Please, Please,” I breathed with every fucking thrust of his hips.

Trying to force the rhythm, I sped up my chant, willing him to faster and faster thrusts.

“Near.” He murmered into my mouth. As I matched him fuck for fuck.

“Oh yes” I replied. Redoubling my own up thrusting hip movements.


His teeth gritted he drove the extra thrust deep into me, muffling the word, and sent me into a shattering, throbbing, clinging, gushing orgasm matching his own. His cum blasting up to mingle with my torrent of juice.

It never lasts does it girls? Gradually we come down, don’t we? From that ecstatic high, I am not saying, you know, I’m not saying it wasn’t very satisfying, not complaining, but you want it to just go on forever and it can’t, can it? He was always more than adequate, but it just naturally diminishes. Till, of course, the slackening cock slips from between your pussy lips, in this case leaving a snail trail on first my inner thighs, then the back seat of the car.

We scrambled about, half the time my naked bottom flashing at anyone with the misfortune to be in the area at the time, as we gathered my discarded knickers from beneath the seats of the car.

Terry was a reasonably considerate lover, our evenings spent in the back of the car usually ended with a juicy often dribbling pussy, well girls we all know don’t we, what goes up must come down. The first time we did it, having been delivered to the back lane, Terry was horrified to spot the wet marks on the back of my skirt.

Fortunately, he who thought he was it, had his head in the newspaper and didn’t notice as I nipped up the stairs and quickly changed. Anyway, after that episode, Terry always had a clean towel for me to sit on as we drove to my home, with my skirt or dress hiked up at the back so as not to get soiled. Then just before delivery I struggled back into my knickers.

My situation was somewhat different to Terry’s, I was earning, yes, so was he, but he had rent and stuff to find, and my money was all my own, so from time to time things were ‘my treat’, and that was by my choice.

Being here at Weymouth has reminded me, and its going to make you all laugh. About a weekend away that he and I shared. Just how much could go wrong with a dirty weekend, sorry, that sounds mucky, how much could go wrong with a weekend away with a lover… I suppose that sounds just as mucky. Looking back I have to laugh, come on, laugh with me.

My friend Wendy started it off, well she would, mucky bitch, showing me a copy of an advert in the local paper. ‘Long weekend in Jersey’ (Channel Islands), for our American cousins not Joisey (New York), super bargain – fifteen quid. Wendy had a bloke too. Neither of us was sharing that information with our other halfs, they didn’t know we were playing them at their own game.

“Shall we see if we can talk the blokes into a mucky weekend? We could make it our treat and get our nookie in comfort for a change.”

What could I say, she had covered for me a few times, I fancied the idea, and we could both afford it, me from my wages and her from the housekeeping money.

Terry and I had sessions in his car on evenings when I could get out, just about anywhere, but never anywhere comfortable, mainly, back lanes, or anywhere we could find. I remember tearing a favourite sexy pair of real silk knickers trying to get them off in a stubble field one evening.

To be perfectly honest, it bahis siteleri was a good job neither Terry nor I was very big, well if you didn’t count my tits which were more generous than some, because Terry’s car was an aging Hilman Imp the long gear stick I remember was a bloody nuisance. Clambering about in the car I nearly did myself a mischief a couple of times, when that stick nearly ended up where something else should be!

Wendy and I broached the possibility with the husbands that we wanted them to take us to Jersey for the weekend, knowing full well that they would not want to, and sure enough, it was a case of…

“Why don’t you and Wendy go together, I’m sure you would enjoy it much more?”

That was all we needed. On the next occasion Terry and I were out I made the suggestion. I suppose I could have handled it better. We were en route to a secret location, nudge nudge, wink wink, me with an itchy fanny and Terry with a stiff dick, bombing along the motorway, well as bombing as that old Hilman could achieve.

“Fancy a dirty weekend in Jersey.”

The car swerved across all three lanes of the motorway. It ran through my mind.

“Oh shit, we’ll both be killed. – At least I wouldn’t have to explain what I was doing there!”

Terry got a grip, and regained his composure.

“That would be very nice, not having to be watchful the whole time.”

“A good shag in a bed is my idea of bliss.”

“It would be very nice.”

“It would be my treat, the Evening paper is doing a promotion thing and it’s affordably cheap enough for me.”

“What about your old man?”

“Wendy and me, we asked mine and hers to take us, being fairly sure they wouldn’t want to. Aaand they both said for us to go on our own!”

“So he didn’t mind?”

“Probably thinks he can get a bit of freedom with is bit on the side if I’m away. I have applied for two tickets and so has Wendy.”

The agreement was reached! Done! So we continued about the evening’s nefarious business, my itch got scratched, and I managed to make Terry’s stiffie sick.

The deal was a coach trip from the city to here, Weymouth, boat across to Jersey, two nights accommodation in a small hotel, a couple of day trips if wanted, and an afternoon of shopping and return home on Sunday evening.

Now let’s face it, nothing could be simpler…or could it?

Wendy and I booked a taxi, to take us to the bus station; the idea was to pick up the two chaps on route.


The old man, bless his cotton socks, decided to drive us to the bus station, to give us just a bit more spending money! Likely story he just wanted to be sure we had gone so he could get into mischief. Wendy made a quick phone call to tell her Brian what was happening.

At the Bus station, the two chaps were hiding in the café, watching for us being dropped off and the coast to clear before joining us. A cup of tea, much chatting, and nerves all settling well, we were on our way.


The coach was late, a quarter of an hour.

We spoke to the inspector. The coach had started from Cardiff, should be here any time now.

The coach was 45 minutes late, there were seven of us standing waiting. We spoke to the inspector again. Not a lot he could do but he would contact Cardiff and see if there was a problem. He disappeared.

An hour and a half late. Find the inspector, stand over him while he contacts Cardiff. At Cardiff the travel company rep had gone home at the shift end. Has left a message with the manager.

A hour and three quarters, found the message. Rep forgot to tell the coach driver he had to pick up at a second point. Seven annoyed travellers start to give the inspector a hard time. Two hours late his manager joins the commotion. Terry, is a very sensitive person and I can sense all is not well.

Two and a quarter hours, the manager has arranged a Limousine to take the seven of us to Weymouth, best he could do and he could expect a row from his boss in the morning, but, all being well we would get to the boat in time. He would phone the port and advise them of the situation, and they would possibly delay the sailing for a few minutes in the circumstance.

Amid much muttering the limousine was soon on its way.

“Trust me.” says the driver, swinging the softly sprung car round sweeping bends as it raced through the evening light.

We were on our way, every thing was fine.


About half way through the journey, timing is everything; Terry tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Can you pull over please, I am getting car sick and I am about to throw up.”

“Not in my fucking car!” The limousine slid to a halt.

Terry was on the roadside verge shouting ‘huweee’ as the rest of us shouted to him, to hurry. Time, every minute was precious. Terry resumed his place; seating had been rearranged to enable him to travel with his head out of the window.

We swept into the harbour as they were standing at the gangway, preparing to take it in, Shouting bahis şirketleri our thanks to the driver as we slammed the doors and ran for the boat.

I am not too sure if Terry had actually stepped off the gangway as they started to whisk it away, the boat now twenty minutes late leaving Weymouth.

All was now well; we were on the sea, on our way.


It was the roughest crossing in living memory, our seat had to be near the toilet, for the obvious reason, poor Terry’s travel sickness, the doors banged continually throughout the night, all I could think, would there be any value to my thirty quid investment!

The flash of La Corbier light house signalled the approach to Jersey, and slightly calmer seas. Terry perked up, and by the time we docked was feeling very much better.

Well, here we were, about twenty now, including those who had enjoyed the coach journey to the boat, happily landed in Jersey, great, now we can start our fantastic weekend.


The rep, with transport to our hotel, didn’t show up. Still, no worries, we knew the name of the hotel, and the very helpful policeman at the harbour gates was happy to direct us. Half past six, and twenty happy folk, starting a weekend, for us, a dirty weekend, and the hotel not ten minutes walk, and a nice hot cup of tea, and breakfast before a quick ‘nap’, make that a shag, before the first of the day trips. So much to look forward to as we walked excitedly down the deserted streets.


The hotel was in darkness, the doors locked, not a soul in sight. They must have forgotten our arrival time, much banging on the door, and ringing of the bell did achieve a result after nearly half an hour. A gentleman in carpet slippers and dressing gown, very obviously not happy, spoke to us from the safety of the foyer, knowing that twenty folk, quite cross by now, were not the best thing to stand in front of when you have just got out of your bed.

The story even at this stage could have gone either way, but, you know what we Brits are like – tolerant. So this guy was not about to be hung from the rafters. He had an explanation, and to be fair, it was reasonable, just no bloody good to four horny people like us. Now I just know you will like the explanation, so here it is.

“It’s no blamed good you folk getting me out and about shouting and banging like that. Two weeks ago I contacted your travel company and told them that they shouldn’t send any more visitors to my hotel until they had paid the bill for the last three parties they had sent. They haven’t paid and I have relet the rooms.”

Booos, groans.

“If you would like to take a seat I will make a phone call and see what can be done.”

The situation was becoming farcical, but surely it couldn’t get worse?


Shortly after, a gentleman arrived from the tourist board, many apologies, the travel company wasn’t paying its bills and hoteliers were closing ranks against them. However, Jersey prides itself on looking after its visitors and wouldn’t see us on the streets. It would take a few minutes but he would arrange accommodation it could however mean splitting the party up. As it was not a fully organised thing anyway that wasn’t a great problem.

The valuable minutes of this much anticipated ‘dirty weekend’ were ticking frustratingly away unexploited, my itchy pussy, and Terry’s rampant stiffy still unsatisfied, I could feel it as we stood hugging close, waiting for the situation to be resolved.

We were delivered, humour gradually deserting us to a small hotel in one of the back streets of St. Hellier. We were made welcome by the proprietor and ushered in to the dining room.

“Its going to take a little while to sort out rooms for you, we’ll get you some breakfast while you are waiting.”

Now girls, I just know that you will understand, as welcome as the breakfast was, it was not what I was becoming more hungry for. I needed meat, the right sort of meat, and I was hung gree. It was about an hour or so later that the proprietor reappeared…

“Right! That’s sorted, if you will all follow me, we can allocate the rooms.”

Gradually, our numbers were whittled down until at the last there was just Wendy and her Brian and me and my Terry. And girls, if you think it was all over, you couldn’t be more wrong.

“Room twenty two B, you are all friends, I hope in the circumstances you won’t mind sharing.”

I could never be called prudish, heck, we have had some good laughs in our group, and I have been just as horny, and adventurous as the rest of you but…I draw the line at sharing my dirty weekend bedroom with my friend, my best friend, now in tears with disappointment. No, you could say I was a frustrated, annoyed, and still horny woman.

“Give me a few minutes.” Terry left the room.

The few minutes was ten, but who’s counting.

“Sorted! Come on, grab your bag, Wendy can have this room.” Terry took my hand, and lead me away.

“What happened?”

“The guy, the Frenchman, the manager, I just put it to him that he might find it less than conducive to a weekend with his mistress if he had to share a room with her friend and her lover, he quite understood, this room is a bit smaller but its all we need.”

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