Crack Addict prt 2
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From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, Prt 2: Up In The Woods. free porn video
Joe is frantic to banish the image of Mike fucking Caroline, focuses instead on his memory of Kate between Caroline's legs. It is his only resource to stave off recurring fits of jealousy. In this way, he salvages some pleasure from the whole sorry mess.
It's seven a.m. the Saturday after Mike and Kate's attempted seduction of his wife. All day yesterday, Joe was plagued by flashbacks of Mike's bare arse powering his cock into Caroline. Joe fears today will be the same. Knowing that his old friend has had his wife torments him — no matter how briefly it might have been.
Joe and Caroline are home in bed. He turns on his side to talk to her. She is lying on her back with her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. He can't let it be and so asks her, "What was it like when you were with Kate?"
"You were there. You saw what she did."
"Yeah, I saw her head between your legs, but I want to know how it made you feel — what it means to you."
"My thoughts are my own."
"It would be such a turn-on, your telling me."
She sits up and rubs away her sleepiness, turns to check the alarm clock on the bedside table. She will be late for work if she tells what he wants to hear. "Yes, Joe, I'm sure it would, but it's Saturday morning, and I have to be at work soon. I don't want your cum seeping from me when I'm on the way in."
"Why don't you pull a sicky? We can stay in bed, and you can tell me every little detail."
"I'd love to, babe, but I'm not that kind of girl."
"Oh-yes-you-so-are."
"On a Saturday morning, I'm not."
She gets up and goes to the bathroom.
When she returns, she says, "I'll tell you soon. Perhaps tonight. I'll cook too."
She turns this way and that, absorbed in her preparations for the day. Wardrobe doors flung apart, a still-naked Caroline reaches inside, her outstretched arm leafing through hanging clothes like they're hanging from the racks at Chelsea Girl. Joe will never tire watching her, her movements as if choreographed have visceral elegance. He sees it clearly in the way her body appears to elongate as it follows the lead of her arm as it stretches for an item of clothing stored high. Her natural ease astounds him. He could watch her for hours. Her dainty feet strain as she goes up on tiptoes, the arch emphasised. His eyes travel up her legs, and he sees her toned calves, smooth and capable. Her breasts, though far from small, have an unfinished quality that is almost adolescent. It is as if there is to be a final unfolding for which they still wait. But her hips are in full bloom, a harvest moon of the smoothest pale abundance. His cock aches to be crushed between them.
He remembers Mike's face, how his old friend had stood behind Caroline, both his hands delving deep inside the cups of her bra. Joe's recurring jealousy surges up — like his erection from the sight of Caroline's buttocks. He pushes down the murderous hurt, thinks of what a fool he was that night when he put a stop to it all, to that something so intensely arousing. He wonders about what could have been, the fun they all could be having this weekend. If things had gone to plan, he would already have ploughed Kate's cunt, and god only knows how many more times he would have had her.
He watches Caroline lay out her clothes for work: an ageing black skirt, plain white blouse, and the little-girl cardigan with just one button. Her usual work clothes, though when she arrives at work — the record department at Woolworths — she has to put on an overall supplied by the company.
She stoops for underwear from a low drawer; quickly, items are chosen and taken out. Nothing matches-- plain white Airtex briefs and pale yellow bra with wire under the cups. Now she stands, pulling a medley of fabrics over limbs, her twists and bends a practised kata performed with ease and grace. Before putting on her skirt, she sits on the end of the bed and slips her feet into this morning's clean tights, and when both sheer legs are to her knees, she stands and heaves the stretching mesh high so that the seam splits her mons pubis through her panties. Lastly, her skirt. It is short, has plain black buttons up the front. She wraps the cloth around her hips, and from the top downwards she fastens each button in turn.
"Don't forget tonight?" Joe says when at last she walks towards the bedroom door about to leave him for her day. "You promised to tell."
She turns to look at him one last time. The covers are pulled back, and she scans his muscular body, sees the erection that calls for her to stay. It is a moment of remembering how much she loves him. He is her man. She cannot imagine a time he will not be her man. She walks back to the side of the bed and stoops down by his head and says:
"Here's something to keep you going until tonight. It's not a thought I have to tell, it's a real thing — a little something you would not have seen." She looks into his eyes and sees how they shine with expectation.
"What? What is it?"
She has been unable to rid herself of the breathtaking moment when Kate's tongue did to her what God never intended any tongue to do. When serving customers at work, its secret memory would well up to make her blush. That another girl had found Caroline desirable to such a degree that she was impelled to do such a thing — well, it has blown Caroline's mind. Nothing would be the same again.
She smiles for him, comes closer, whispers, "When Kate was between my legs..." her voice has gone all husky. Then silence. She waits.
"Go on," he says, his blood-engorged cock now enfolded by his clenched palm.
She continues, her tone perhaps even quieter, "When Kate was down there...you know, between my legs..."
"Yes," he croaks.
"Kate did something very naughty."
"What was it?"
Caroline looks, does not tell.
"Fucking hell, Caroline. Just tell me."
"Kate licked my bum. Not just the cheeks, her tongue right in there. Licking me like Mr. Whippy."
"Sorry, Caz. I don't understand." It is as if someone has told him UFOs are circling the house.
"I said: Kate licked my bum. I'll say it one more time: Kate was so into me that she licked my fucking arse." She leans closer, and her tongue slides over Joe's cheek. She takes his lips between her fingers and shapes them to a pucker. For the briefest moment, she allows her tongue flicker across the arse she has fashioned from them. She stops abruptly. Stands up. Says. "Just like that. That's how she did it. Do you understand now? "
"Ohhhhh! The fucking filthy cow!" he groans. "You pair of filthy fucking sluts."
He has cum into his own palm.
*
Until the contact mag, life had been simple: going to work, weekend drinks with friends down the pub, and every few weeks a rock band at the civic hall or in the Polytechnic student union bar: Be-Bop-Deluxe, Dr. Feelgood. Groups like that, you get the idea. Early evening telly on weekdays, except Tuesday for Caroline when she goes to her evening class, Psychology 'A' level. She intends to go to teacher training college the following autumn, hopes to teach at primary, eventually. So now they watch their money as they know they will struggle financially when she no longer brings in a wage. She is taking driving lessons while she has the money.
While Caroline is at night class, Joe rehearses with his band. He plays bass. Pub Rock. It's the latest thing. Soon punk will come, and then everything will change.
If he's home, Joe tries to catch John Peel on Radio One, finger on the tape deck, ready to record new bands to play in the car to impress their friends, get ideas. Cards on Sunday evening with Joe's brother and his wife, Ken and Amanda. Board games. Monopoly and Risk.
Life in a small northern town, ten years before the song.
Indian Summer mornings, all those years ago. She walks the half-mile to and from work each day. Sometimes she has to wear an older skirt, one now unfashionably short. She resents the expense it costs to replace day-to-day articles with anything fashionable, saves her money for going-out things and driving lessons. Necessity dictates, and sometimes the skirt she wears is three years old. Each day, she runs a gauntlet of wolf-whistles, the lascivious calls from men on scaffolding or windows of passing cars. All those men, telling her what they want to give her. She imagines what might happen if she were to accept one of the invitations so glibly called to her. She visualises herself replying to the shouts of 'Get'm'off' with her own retort of, "Let me see your cock first." She laughs to herself at the thought, tries to imagine their faces.
That week, Joe visits the newsagent. On the top shelf, tucked behind the big glossy ones, he sees magazines similar to the one Mike owns. He hands over his money.
In the evening, they methodically go through the pages of the magazine, speak of nothing else but meeting others. There is a rich vein of decadence that waits to be mined, has lain beneath their day-to-day world all this time undisturbed, neither one suspecting it was there. As each day goes by they open up, confess their needs. They revel in the fantasy that something stupendous will happen.
Only a week has passed but already time gives them the blessing of perspective. Joe has wrestled with his ambivalence for days, the tug back and forth; his jealousy on the one hand, and an all-consuming erotic intensity on seeing her with him on the other. If they do the swinger's ad — like he and Caroline have discussed — and find someone...Perhaps if they pair off in separate rooms, so he does not have to watch Caroline being fucked by another man, maybe only then there is the possibility that it might work. No more swinging with old friends. Yes, a stranger might be the solution.
Together since school, they had known only each other's bodies. Now they give each other permission. Caroline says it will be okay, is sure they will both be open and truthful, that he will tell her everything from now on — as she will him. Their experimentations will be possible because of the bond of love they share. Over the following weeks, a certainty blooms that beautiful others will appear, magical ones who will fill their lives with such sweetness. Joe and Caroline's world is like new love, and their minds soar.
Such a change in Caroline. There is a happy wildness about her that was not there before. Joe wonders about her, what she is like when out in the world every day, who she might meet, what she might do. Most of all, he wonders what stories she might tell him. He relishes every morsel Caroline feeds him of her moment with the couple, how it made her feel, the subtle things Kate did between her legs, those things hidden from his view. He has her tell it many times, but there is never enough to satisfy. To please him, she adds embellishments that never happened. When she does, he calls her a dirty slut. She likes the way he says it, is pleased her words move him to such intense emotion.
Joe wants a girl to join them, not a couple at all, but Caroline is hardly keen. She knows what she likes — and her first choice is not pussy. But just to please him, they scour pages to find the girl god-created only for them. But they see no such girl. It seems a young and pretty girl is what they all desire — all those couples in the magazine.
Caroline is relieved — at first. But over the week, the memory of her and Kate's moment together flares up like shingles. She finds herself longing for Kate's touch, her lips, and kisses. Caroline wonders if perhaps she has been too quick to end their friendship.
She blows hot and cold, one minute tells him a girl might be sweet and that she really is growing curious that way. But then the next day, she doubts she could ever cross such a line again. The thought of her own tongue exploring some girl in the way Kate had studied her...Well, it turns her stomach. But then the next moment, she thinks how pretty some girls are; the shape of them, their softness and how they smell so sweet. And more than those thoughts, she relives the way in which Kate's tongue slid and curled.
She cannot make up her mind. Joe keeps asking her if she's ready. Indecision torments her.
Joe buys more magazines. Still no single girl eager to abandon herself to a young, sweet couple such as they know they are. They compromise. Second best: they begin the search for that perfect couple. After days of looking, they still cannot agree.
They revert to their original plan. They will make their own small ad, be explicit about their requirements. He is sure some sensational girl will find Caroline irresistible and instantly reply. But Caroline doubts that is how it will be, that it will be only couples they will attract. She tells Joe it is his only chance to see her with another girl. This she will do because she loves him. Love overrules everything.
She uses her birthday money to purchase a camera, a self-developing Polaroid. It is a thing of such limited application, the images it produces, shit-poor. It is a luxury they can hardly afford.
The last Sunday in September and it's gloriously sunny. They drive to Hanger Woods for undraped shots. It has to be outdoors; the possibility of their household belongings captured in black and white for their friends to recognise is unthinkable. He knows a place, camped there with the scouts when he was fifteen. Very isolated, he says. No one will see them. It's a bit of a trek through the woods to the dell in the hillside he remembers.
She wears a full-length cheesecloth dress for the occasion. It is off-white and has tiny red flowers and leaves, is elasticated around her boobs. It looks almost historical, almost BBC wardrobe Regency drama and yet is not-- more Emma Thompson does Woodstock. She tells Joe it is ideal for taking off quickly as it is loose but stretches where it clings and can be easily removed, either down over her hips or up over her head. And once naked, if she needs to dress quickly, it is so easy to slip back into. For logistic's sake, she will forgo underwear.
There is a small car park in which they leave the car, between a minibus and another vehicle. He sees her looking at the other cars, reassures her that even if people are hiking in the hills, the place he knows is way off the beaten track.
The path they follow is uneven, once was cobbled but is now rough and pitted from subsidence. Joe tells her it is an old miner's track, long disused. She wished he had warned her about the terrain; her sandals are of no use, and so she walks on the grass by the side.
They take their time, enjoying the dappled coolness as they stroll through Hanger Wood. Then it is out into the brightness at the foot of Snowtop hillside. When they are higher, they stop to catch their breaths, turn back and see the path just travelled. Below are the woods from which they have recently emerged, and way down beyond the woods lies the Cheshire Plain that stretches away for twenty miles. In the opposite direction, If they look hard, they see the glimmering light reflected off the Irish Sea. "And there..." Joe says, "is Blackpool Tower. Do you see it, Caz?"
She looks but is not sure. She turns and looks at the crown of Snowtop Hill and tells him how as a child, from her bedroom in the town below, she could see the peak of Snowtop, and how in winter it was often white and how it reminded her of rum sauce poured on Christmas pudding.
High on the hillside, two paths cross. A figure emerges from behind hawthorn that lines the other converging path. It is a middle-aged man wearing boots into which his trousers are tucked, and a wax jacket and cap. Two dogs, agile and alert, race about, stopping, sniffing. Pointers, Joe tells her. The man is handsome, projects in his gait and demeanour inordinate self-assurance. She thinks of Mellors, Lady Chatterley's gamekeeper.
The man calls his dogs, and in an instant, they are by his side, and they stand aside to let Joe and Caroline pass. His eyes have drawn Caroline, and when he remarks on the weather, she is sure there is the hint of something uncouth. "It's fine now," he says, "but there's bad weather coming. You two would be advised not to go too far."
"Oh, thanks," Joe says. "We won't."
"And don't be straying from the path," the man calls after them. "It's all private land up there!"
When they are out of earshot, Caroline giggles, and then she mimics the man's posh accent, "'And don't go straying from the path'. Christ! It's like being in one of those slasher films you watch."
He lets her walk ahead — and then he roars like a monster and pounces, grabs her around the waist and holds her in a crushing bearhug. She screams, wriggles and twists until he lets her go.
When he relinquishes her, she turns and punches him hard. "You scared the fucking life out of me. Idiot!"
They walk on. Before the path rounds a curve as it follows the hillside's contours, Caroline looks back. There is no sign of the man and his dogs.
"That man, Caroline says, "was that a gun he had over his shoulder."
"Shotgun, I think. Single-barrel."
Out of sight of prying eyes, in the dell they have now reached, Caroline removes her dress, slips it down over her body. It is light and wafty, readily abandons her flesh. She kneels in front of Joe, and damp grass stains her bare knees as she gives him his blowjob — not to completion, just enough to get him hard for his candid shot. He wants it to be a close-up of his proud cock, but she refuses, says that cocks, in isolation, look so gross and will not entice a girl in any way. Girls want to see the person, don't you know. Is he stupid, or what?
After the click and flash, it's the standing and waiting for snaps to develop. The absolute silence of this place unnerves Caroline, and she continually looks about. When it is time, they peel back to reveal an image. Neither is happy with the what they see. They have to make do. Each polaroid shot costs more than they like.
When it's her turn to face the shutter, she strikes a pose, hand on hips, tries to smile. Joe tells her, "No," she has to look like she wants cock and not as if she is about to model swimwear. He explains what he wants to see. While she listens, the chilly evening air on her breasts draws out her nipples. He directs her, tells her how to stand. No. Perhaps if she lies down. There is a gentle grassy incline; that might work. She spreads her legs. "Wider," he says. She must show her gash, her dark, abundant pubes. The camera on her naked flesh makes her wanton. Instinctively, she touches herself between the legs. He tells her, "Yes! Good girl, Caz. Oh, fuck. Just like that!"
Afterwards, in a mossy hollow, they purge the arousal their photoshoot has stoked. Hidden by the spiteful shrubs, they fuck like feral things. Even though he has reassured her they will not be seen, being naked like this, out in the open, is too intense for Caroline. She expects to be discovered at any moment. She is sure eyes watch them from the undergrowth.
Joe is building up his pace and gooseflesh bursts out all over Caroline's backside, conjured by a chill the ground exudes as he rams down hard and into her. The mossy surface is porous soft, and his weight and determination push her buttocks down so that it feels as if the ground is absorbing her. With each thrust that he makes, further into the cushioning earth her buttocks go. She feels its rising chill, a damp caress that seeps into her flesh, and deeper still into her bones.
But the chance of their discovery thrills Joe as much as her cunt's wetness astonishes him, and he understands it has really begun, this new something that dominates their lives. As he fucks her, he feels like he's flying.
While he fucks her, she can't be rid of the feeling they are being watched. She opens her eyes and thinks she sees a figure at the top of the rise opposite — just a shadow, really. She focuses but is still not sure. It could be just a bush. She closes her eyes, tries to surrender to their lovemaking but it is impossible now. She opens her eyes again. The man from earlier is descending the slope, his two dogs racing ahead.
"Joe," she whispers. "it's that man." Joe, close to orgasm, pays her no attention. She feels the pulse of his cock as he empties into her, and the grip of her cunt that draws out his sperm.
The man looms over where they both lie. He begins clapping slowly. "Bravo," he says. "Encore! Encore!"
Joe is on his feet in an instant. His fists are clenched, though his pants remain around his ankles.
The man calls his dogs. "Darcy! Tilney! Sit. Good boys." He stoops down and pats each one as they settle at his feet.
Caroline sits up, clutches her dress like a rosary, trying to hide her breasts.
"Don't be shy, little lady. You've left it a little late for coyness." He looks at Joe who is hurriedly pulling up his jeans, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt.
"Put your dress on," Joe tells Caroline. He turns to the man: "Listen, mate. We don't want any trouble." Joe is reassured when he sees that the gun is still in its cover.
Caroline slowly stands, still trying to cover herself as best she can. There is a moment when she is wholly revealed before her dress slips over her head and falls down to conceal her body.
"Now that is a shame." the man says. His accent is all public school.
Joe is nineteen — a big lad. His work as a bricklayer has bestowed muscles where a gym never could. Caroline knows Joe could take this man, has seen him in a fight in town on Saturday night. She knows what her man is capable of. As to the gun, this man would never get it out of its case in time.
Joe is by her side, his arm around her shoulders.
"Do you know to whom this little plot belongs — the one you have chosen to do your rutting on?" the man asks.
"We don't give a shit who it belongs to," Joe says. His initial embarrassment is turning to anger.
"You're trespassing, boy." The way he says 'boy' irks Joe. " Anywhere off the path is not for your kind. You people come up here and think you can trample wherever you want to."
Caroline thinks it best if they try to placate the man. "We're sorry," she turns to Joe, her eyes begging him to behave "...Aren't we, Joe. We didn't realise it was private property."
"Yeah, sorry, mate. We'll get going then."
"Wait a minute. I never said you could leave."
"You never said what?" Joe says, his annoyance at the man's tone blatant.
But the man pays him no heed and says, "Don't you want to hear the proposition I was about to make you?"
"Proposition?" Joe says.
Caroline knows where this is going — or imagines she does — and her blood becomes a liquid gas in her veins. She looks at Joe as he asks the man again:
"What kind of proposition?"
"One that involves cash and your little lady friend there."
"She's not my 'little lady friend'; she's my wife — and what kind of people do you think we are?"
"I know exactly what kind of people you are. I've just had a ringside view of the kind of people you are."
"What's so wrong about two married people adding a bit of spice to their marriage?" Caroline says.
"Nothin' at all. I applaud it. It is so refreshing to find two young people embracing life's rich possibilities so fully. I only hope the person who gets to see your little experiment in photography is just as appreciative."
"What do you mean?" Joe asks.
"The good old Polaroid camera. The swinger's friend. As I said: I have a proposition for you, a proposition I'm confident neither of you will want to let pass you by."
"You taking the piss, mate?" .
"I can see, young man, that you are a rather literal person. I will speak accordingly."
He comes to Joe, puts his arm around his shoulder and walks him out of Caroline's earshot. Caroline watches them talk. She is agitated, wants to go home. This really is becoming like something out of those ghastly films Joe makes her sit through.
When they are done talking, Joe calls her over.
The man says to her, "Your husband is going to have a little chat with you now — I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I didn't catch your name?" Joe tells him Caroline's name. "Thank you, young man. Now, Caroline, I want you to listen to what your husband has to say, and then I want you to give it serious consideration."
And with that, he turns and calls his dogs, "Darcy! Tilney." They are up on the ridge of the dell, and on his command they rush to their master as he begins to make his way up the slope and back into the world.
"What did he say to you?" Caroline asks.
Joe's hesitant, not sure how to tell her. "He's willing to pay two hundred pounds."
"Two hundred pounds for what?"
He takes a deep breath, can hardly get the words to come. "He says he'll give you two hundred pounds if you go up to his house and allow him to spank you."
She can't believe his words, but she still asks. "And what did you say?"
"I said I'd ask you if you'd do it."
"You said what?"
"That I'd talk to you about it."
"Okay, Willie the Pimp. We're talking."
"So what do you think?"
"I think he can fuck off."
"Just think, though, Caz: it's a lot of money. More than three weeks' wages for me."
She thinks about next year when she starts her degree, how they'll need every penny.
Her tone softens, "You don't know if you can trust this man."
"He gave me twenty pounds. A gesture of goodwill, he said."
"So that makes it okay, does it?"
"He said I could phone from his house if we don't trust him, let people know we're up there."
"Who would you phone?"
"I'd phone Ken."
"You'd phone Ken and say 'I've just pimped out Caroline to a pervert'?"
"That's not the issue here. I'll think of something."
"And that's all? Just spanking?"
"Yeah. He just wants to put you over his knee and slap your bottom. He has this thing about people on his land. Especially hippies, he said."
"We're not fucking hippies."
"He thinks we are."
"More like he's got a thing about women's arses! Did he say how hard this spanking would be?"
Joe never thought to ask, does not know. "Probably...not very hard — I think we should do it."
"Where is the 'we' in all this? It's not you who'll get a sore arse."
"Come on, Caz. Two hundred quid. Just think..."
She is thinking, says: "And you could sit and watch a stranger do something like that. You couldn't even watch your best friend. So no, I don't think so."
"I've been working on it. That's what the photos are for. Remember?"
She thinks about the man who has made the offer. Was he just playing them? Is he really a lord? Aren't lords all old men sleeping their days away in the House of Lords? This man looked no older than forty, had a virile country air about him. And how handsome he looked, dressed as he was in his "Horse and Hounds" aplomb. She thinks it might be like the olden days when a lord could demand what he liked — only this time, the peasant girl will be richly rewarded.
"Yeah, Okay. I'll do it. Come on, Joey," she says as she takes his hand in her right hand, and with her left, she hitches up the front of her long dress so it does not drag. They walk hand in hand up the hill like Jack and Jill.
Clover
- 28.05.2022
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