The Best Erotic Stories.

Triked, Tricked, Trolloped
by David Shaw

This story was split into 5 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
Note: This story was originally submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into 5 parts for faster page loading.

The trike began turning and turning, presumably over the place where he intended to land. With my head craned back as far as I could get it I could just manage to look straight down into a frustratingly narrow field of vision. There were the slopes of the ridge, littered with large stones, then some trees close together, an open expanse of grass, a kind of large wooden framework which must have been the base of the firewatching tower. What looked like a sheet of canvas had been tied between the stunted wooden legs to cover the ground between them.

I saw something else as well, small differently colored scraps of material fluttering gently from the sides of the four legs, like bunting outside a used car lot. The difference was that I was sure this bunting was exclusively composed of girls' panties. Not bunting, but little flags of triumph, two or three tied to each leg.

"Can you see our windmarkers, Sandra? You're not the first flying fuck up here, not by a long way."

"You're the most arrogant man I've ever met!"

"Yes, but am I the most arrogant man ever to fuck you?"

"You haven't done it yet."

"Well, Sandra, I hoisted up most of those panties myself, and yours are definitely going to be the next pair to go up."

"And did you have to blindfold the other girls too?"

He laughed: "Every one a blind date, Sandra, every one of them. Until it was time for them to suck my cock. Then I let them see what they were doing."

I would have given my life's savings for a chance to get some of my own back on the bastard. Even just to scream abuse at him, but it didn't seem like a good idea while he was landing the trike. Nor did it seem sensible to have my head twisted over to one side as the grass came nearer and nearer. Better to sit upright and straight in case it was a hard impact. Staring into the black depths of the material over my face plate, I sat ramrod stiff and waited for the thump. There was one, hardly noticeable, then the same vibration from the wheels as had happened when we were running along the beach. Guilty, my feet came off the foot bars, where I'd been resting them without remembering Brett's instructions to keep clear of them as we landed.

Then the vibration ended and the engine stopped. No more wind blowing past, only the chilled skin on my breasts as a reminder of it and the hot sun warming them already. The pod creaked as Brett got out.

"Hold the control bar, Sandra."

This time, after he'd taken the wing tip ground pin out from under my seat, he put his hand right up between the legs of the flying overalls and rubbed me slowly. I think what he enjoyed most about it was that I made no protest, no effort to stop him. The truth was that I was unable to make up my mind what to do. I hadn't resisted Brett in the air because I'd been afraid of us crashing. I couldn't do much to stop him now, even if I wanted to, not being almost totally blind. Even if the mask and the helmet were taken off, I'd still be on my own with him way out here in the bush. But the first thing to do was to try to persuade him to undo the stifling mask, no matter what I had to do for him afterwards.

"Please, Brett, let me take this helmet off. It's like having my head in a bucket with it on."

"Later, Sandra, later. When you ask nicely enough I'll let you give me a blow job. Tilt the bar now and hold it while I secure the wing tip. Gently, gently, that's far enough."

His shadow across my legs moved away as he went to secure the wing. Now I could feel that was a breeze blowing up here in the hills, a hot gentle breeze fluttering around the open flying suit and the tee shirt drawn up tight around my throat, almost as tight as my throat was inside. It would have been wonderful to have felt the wind on my flushed face. Something hit the ground, probably Brett's helmet. He'd wasted no time in taking his off, I noted angrily.

"Put your hands down by the sides of your seat, Sandra. I want to take a good long look at the scenery."

He was standing next to the trike. He had to be for me to hear him through the helmet - anyway, I could see his shadow falling across my knees again. God, he must be loving this! I imagined myself as he was seeing me, helpless and undone, my big boobs scrunched up and hanging out like ripe fruit in the sunlight, ready for the picking. Brett's shadow blotted out everything else as he bent lower and I was surprised when his hands went down to unfasten my seat straps, rather than further up or lower down. It occurred to me that perhaps he wouldn't risk a struggle anywhere near his precious microlight. He helped me out of the pod anyway, then led me away by the hand as I stumbled along behind him, trying to keep my eyes on my feet as we stepped through the rough grass. Spears of it stabbed through my beach sandals and made me gasp in pain. One thing was certain, I wouldn't be running away, even if there had been anywhere to run to.

"Almost there, now, Sandra. A few more paces. Incidentally, the way your tits are bouncing around is making me blush. Can't you keep them under better control?

"You bastard, the zipper teeth are cutting into me like hell."

He laughed at that complaint: "It won't be a problem much longer, my darling, believe me."

A few paces it was, into the shade that I felt more than saw on the ground. No dapples in it, no flecks, but a total shield from the sun. We weren't underneath a tree, so we must be below the canvas sheet I'd seen flying overhead in the trike. The wind was still fluttering over my boobs though, so it wasn't like a tent, there were no canvas walls. We were still in the open air, standing in the remains of the old fire watching tower. The ruins decorated with all those intimate feminine articles presumably left behind by other visiting trike fliers. My knees began trembling.

"OK, Sandra, shake them for me."


"Put your hands up underneath your tits and shake them up and down for me. Now we've stopped I can really enjoy the sight."

I tried to summon up my remained of my self respect. "And what if I don't?"

Even with the thick plastic dome over my head I heard his chuckle: "Then the helmet will have to stay on until you decide to do what you're told."

It was the obvious response, an easy and effective one. He knew how much I wanted to take it off. I sighed and did as he wanted, gently juggling myself for his benefit. Brett had won at every deal in the game and now he was starting to claim his winnings. And he was probably sighing too, if he really thought I was as fuckable as he kept on saying I was.

"Now that's a job I wouldn't mind helping you with. In fact I think I will help you with it."

Yes, he did sigh, with satisfaction, as he put his hands back on top of my nipples and plucked them into hardened points. It was skillfully done work which had me holding them up to him for the treatment to continue. He obliged with his tongue, his lips and his teeth. A very odd experience, not to be able to see but to be seen, to be almost blind and yet to be right out in the open air. I wondered if there were any bush walkers in the area with binoculars held to their eyes as they watched the performance. Especially when Brett suckled me so fiercely that I had to hold onto his shoulders to stop from overbalancing.

"You bastard, Brett, you bastard . . ."

"I think it's time we stripped you off some more, Sandra."

I felt his hand finishing the job of unzipping the flying suit, all the way down to the bottom. He was moving around me, behind me I thought, then knew I was right as he tugged at the collar of the suit and pulled it down along my arms and off over my hands. The suit fell down, leaving me with the tee-shirt still hauled up over the tops of my breasts and my panties. I felt their waistband pulled back behind me and then I yelped as he twanged the elastic against my spine.

"Beautifully posed, Sandra, beautifully posed. Just one slight adjustment and you'll look perfect."

One fast tug and the panties were down where the flying suit was, below my knees, with Brett laughing aloud at my instinctive and totally useless attempt to grab them as they were plucked away.


"Christ, Sandra, you're built like a brick shithouse. Love those legs, you must be a bloodstirring sight in a miniskirt. Now let's see if your cunt feels as good as your tits do."

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that I out in the middle of the bush, naked between the pulled up shirt and my knees, with a hand creeping up between my legs, another on my right nipple and a mouth over the left one. And what did I do about it? What I did about it was to grip Brett's shoulders again to keep my balance while I stood there like a knocked kneed cowgirl so the exploring fingers could have all the room they needed. Oh, and as a final touch of encouragement, he must have been able to hear my grunts of satisfaction coming from beneath the helmet. Even to my own ears I sounded like a pig snuffling through garbage. Brett snorted too, he snorted with laughter when he stopped sucking my nipple because he knew I was shivering with eagerness for everything and anything he wanted to do with me.

"OK, Sandra, take two steps forward and put your hands out in front of you." His voice was brisk and commanding.

"There's a table there, a wooden one we found here. On top of it there's a mattress. Don't worry about it slipping, it's tied to the table. Turn around and sit on the end of the mattress, then lie down on your back and spread your knees out to show off your cunt."

"You're a real charmer, Brett, aren't you?"

"Right now, I'm not interested in massaging your ego, Sandra just the rest of you. Get your arse on that table and spread them, because I'm coming for you, ready or not."

I did as he wanted. The edge of the table appeared underneath my chin as I shuffled forward, and the mattress as well. It seemed low enough for me to able to lift myself up on it without much difficulty. It was also thin, and old, and dirty, and sticky. None of which was surprising considering what it was used for. Yet although I'd reached the stage where I needed to have the same thing done to me, it was still a humiliation to be sitting there with my clothing twisted up around my legs as though I was sitting on a toilet bowl.

"On your back, Sandra."

There was no point in trying to argue. I leaned back on the tacky mattress cover, to find that the helmet supported my head quite comfortably. Through the gap underneath the hood I peered down my body, but my tits blocked out almost all the view, except for an occasional glimpse of movement at the end of the table. Then I saw his dark hair for a second as he lowered himself between my legs. His hands spread my knees even wider apart than they already were.

"Hmm. . . my favourite food. A gently simmering cunt ready for a long slow steaming."

I shuddered and squealed as I felt his tongue press against me. It seemed strange he would bother when I was already spread out helpless in front of him, stranger that he seemed to be taking an incredible amount of time and effort to bring me on heat. Well he was and I was. The only real trouble was that the helmet was on the wrong person - I could hardly find the breath to encourage him underneath it, and he must have needed it badly as I pinned his ears back with my thighs. Big, big licks, with an occasional halt while he took off my sandals, the flying suit, and then my panties, leaving me seething with impatience for him to start again. Another pause, then as he used his fingers to make sure I was ready for the main course after being the well nibbled entree.

"I've got you where I want you now, you big titted bitch," Brett gloated as he worked me, the table creaking underneath my spine. I wondered if I was the heaviest girl that had ever been laid on top of it and whether it was going to collapse when Brett started fucking me.

"Now I think we'll take that helmet off so I can watch your face while I'm sticking my cock into this mincing machine yours." His fingers were doing the mincing, churning around inside my inner muscles as I began to go crazy. "But we have to go by the rules here, so there's one little job left to do."

He seemed to more self control than I did. Probably because he was older. I didn't care what rules he was talking about. Not until I felt a tingle from a length of thin metal links thrown over my stomach.

"Before you ask, sweetie, I'll explain what I'm doing. There's a length of fine chain looped around the table top with a small padlock securing it. I've undone the padlock and now I'm going to refasten the chain again, around the table and around your middle. There's no way you'd ever got hips or tits like yours past it, so you'll stay on top of the table until I undo the padlock. But I will leave it slack enough so you can turn over, or crawl up to the end of the table to give me a blow job."

"I think they're satisfactory arrangements, don't you, Ms big tits? Because there's no way you're ever getting off this table until I decide to let you off it."

"God, yes, anything you want, Brett, anything you want."

He didn't answer. I tried to look around and saw nothing, though I heard movement. I guessed that Brett was taking off his flying suit. Afterwards he put his fingers underneath my neck and undid the knot behind the hood. It seemed to take a long time before it came loose. It seemed to take even longer for him to snap open the chin strap and to ease the helmet off. The light was dazzling and the rough material of the mattress was scratchy against against the back of my head. Above me the canvas was flapping gently.

"Well, hello, Nurse Pearson."

I screamed in shock as hands grabbed my wrists and elbows. There were men, naked men, all around the table. But the only one I had eyes for was the one between my held out legs, the swarthy man with black hair all over his body who was carefully sheathing his cock inside me as if he was slipping into a hot bath.

"Doctor Gottlieb," I whimpered. Only the most detestable medical man I'd ever met, the one with the ugly cow of a wife who was always trying to make up for his miserable marriage by trying to chat up the nurses. I despised the ugly creep and now he was fucking me in front of an audience!

"And the doctor is in!" He jammed everything he had into me and I gasped. The bastard had more to him than I'd ever expected, but when it came to bastards. . ."Brett!"

He was at the end of the table, looking down and laughing. "Don't worry, Sandra, I'm next. But when I called all the guys up on the radio and told them I was going up to the tower with a red hot nurse one of my mates said he had a passenger who was a doctor at the Kilkenny hospital. We thought it might be a good gag to have you meet like this - the Doc was all for it, especially when he found out who you were. Of course I didn't let you see the parked up trikes when we landed but you'll get to meet all the guys pretty soon. You're our Christmas box."

Two of the guys had already grabbed hold of my tits, as a convenient way of encouraging me to rub their cocks for them. Two more of them were holding my legs as Gottlieb ploughed away between them and I writhed away under his increasing weight as he spread himself on top of me. Never, never, never would he allow me to forget this and all the other things he was to going to see. And they'd all been standing there with their hands over their mouths, nearly bursting with laughter as I'd shaken my tits for Brett and let him strip and lick me. If it had been his tongue! I burned in anger, and in fear at the thought of Jeff finding out about this.

"Brett, you fucking bastard!"

"Sorry, Sandra, but that's not really my name. I'm really Monty Python, the pilot with the big cock, and this is my flying circus. . . ."

He had a can of coke in his hand, he held it up. "Can't drink when I'm flying, but a Christmas toast everyone. Here's to a happy time stuffing our Christmas turkey." The men guys cheered and wooped in encouragement. "And God bless us all, everyone. . ." Brett leaned forward, watching what Gottlieb was doing with a sardonic smile on his face ". . . even Tiny Tim!"

The End

This story was split into 5 parts. Jump to any of the segments from here:
Note: This story was originally submitted as one long story
and it was only broken into 5 parts for faster page loading.

Please send comments and feedback to David Shaw.

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