The Literotica Xmas Bash

I went to the assigned car park and pulled up next to a big American convertible. Cadillac, I think, but with my knowledge of and interest in cars, it could just as easily have been an Oldsmobile. A man in a plaid sports shirt and khaki slacks stepped smartly over to us as I helped Cecilia out of the car.

'She's lovely. The gang's going to love her.'

I had my back to him, so was a little shocked. Cecilia laughed when she saw my expression. When I turned I saw he only had eyes for the car. It was another one of those. I stood back so he could get a good look. Cecilia extracted a foldable walking stick from her cavernous handbag and clicked it open. It was clear she had no intention of offering to help with the boxes.

'I'm Paul. She's my baby.'

He nodded to the convertible.

'John. Very nice. I'm only dropping some stuff off. If I'd known you were having some sort of rally I'd have given it a quick clean and polish.' 'No problem. Vanessa.'

He shouted the woman's name and a few moments later a six footer, thin as a lat, dressed in an ankle-length black leather coat turned up. She was wearing vertiginously high-heeled boots and smoking a cigarette in a foot-long holder. So far, so unusual. In her hand she had a dog lead which was attached to a collar around the neck of a chubby man in overalls. Oh, and he was wearing a full face gimp mask in shiny rubber.

'John here didn't realise we were having a little show, as it were. Any chance of Bonzo giving this little beauty a quick wash and wax?' 'No problem, lover. Go fetch, Bonzo, go fetch.'

The broad Birmingham accent ruined her whole look. She unhooked the little man from his leash and he ambled off with a half-dog, half-man gait. Cecilia was leaning back on her stick watching the scene with interest. My mind was racing as I tried to remember when I'd last cleaned the car myself. Having found an arbitrary date, I did a quick mental calculation of how much fast food packaging and the wrappers from used condoms poor Bonzo might be dealing with. It was a lot.

'Annette, shit.'

I'd forgotten all about her and the vital cargo she was responsible for.

'I'm so sorry. Here let me give you a hand.'

She had jammed one of the cartons into the driver's seat and was struggling to get out with the other two through the passenger door. She was never going to make it. We'd had to push them in on top of her one at a time. I took the nearest box from her and turned to pass it to Paul. He was crouching by the rear wheels and seemed to be examining the inside of the exhaust pipe. I turned to where Cecilia and Vanessa were watching with some amusement. I held out the carton. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it was very bulky.

'Would one of you mind?'

They looked at each other as if assessing their ability to stare the other out. Vanessa cracked first and, discarding her cigarette and stowing the holder in a pocket which seemed designed expressly for that purpose, took my burden from me.

'Where's Bonzo when I need him? I'll make him pay for this later.'

I turned back to the car, mostly to hide my amusement at the incongruous accent. I hadn't taken much of a look at Annette earlier, but I did now. The top half of her body was still obscured by a box. But she had managed to extend a long, shapely leg out of the car. Her high heel just touched the shining black tarmac. It was impossible not to notice that she was wearing stockings and suspenders as her tight woollen skirt bunched up as she stretched. The fact that she was knicker-less required a much closer examination. Her pussy was shaved and her pert lips almost seemed to be smiling at me. I took the box from her, trying to disguise my interest in her anatomy. I'm a journalist after all; I am paid to observe things. I offered her my hand and helped haul her out. She was about five foot nine inches in her heels, her hair was a deep chestnut brown, her skin pale as a vampire's. She had a slim frame, but I guessed her boobs were at least a C. In short, she looked fantastic.

If her snatch had been captivating, it took an extraordinary effort of will for me to drag my eyes from the rest of her. I rushed round the car to extract the other box. It took a minute or two for me to balance the two, one on top of the other. And then another five for me to master turning and walking without the top carton sliding. Eventually I manoeuvred myself in front of the three women. Bonzo was hard at work with a chamois and soapy water. Paul, still staring at the car, had retreated to a safe distance to save his clothes getting splashed.

'Shall we see what's happening up at the office then? Thank you very much for your help, Vanessa. Maybe buy you a drink later? And do reward Bonzo for us. I'm sure you know what he likes.'

She cackled and extended a long, thin hand. Her fingernails were painted black. I shook it with my little finger. I was terrified I might lose a box and incur her wrath.

'I'll most likely be up at the BDSM compound, number three. Please knock if you hear screaming.'

The three of us eventually made it to the office. At first, I kept tripping every few feet; I couldn't see a thing in front of me. In the end we worked out a system. Cecilia went in front shouting directions and identifying any major obstacles. I couldn't help notice she seemed to be moving without any assistance from the cane. Annette walked alongside me when there was room using her box to keep mine in check when we hit things like kerbs or steps which her grandmother found too insignificant to mention.

There was a large, bright pink pick-up truck parked outside the portacabin-office. It had towing gear bolted into the back; two muscle-bound men in jeans which looked like they had been painted on and tight, white T-shirts lounged against the door. They sneered at Cecilia and Annette but looked at me with predatory interest. These, I surmised, were the Gay Lit boys.

We found Kevin lying on the stained sofa with a tea towel stained with cup marks folded over his eyes. I could hear Cynthia in the inner sanctum shouting directions down the phone.

'If you're in Huddersfield you've gone too far. Turn round, get back on the M62 and follow the signs for the airport.'

She waved when she saw us and pointed to the free chairs next to the desk. Someone was obviously responding at the other end of the line.

'Leeds-Bradford. It's past Bradford but before you get to Leeds.'

She listened again.

'Look for the pictures of aeroplanes on those big blue signs. That's it, the blue ones. Got it now? Great. Call me again when you get there.'

She slammed down the phone and let out a string of expletives. I had never heard her properly swear before and was impressed by the breadth - and gender-neutrality - of her abuse. She took a deep breath and turned to us with a smile. She shook hands with Annette and Cecilia. They exchanged names.

'Bloody Simon's bloody Continental bloody Coaches.'

She let out a laugh which made it clear to all of us there was nothing funny about them.

'It's a wonder they ever find Europe, let alone the particular bit they're aiming for. Still, at least they're cheap. Those the condoms?'

She nodded towards the boxes. Cecilia responded.

'Three thousand and odd. The entire town's stock.'

Cynthia did a quick mental calculation.

'We've another three hundred Yanks arriving tonight. Assuming half of them will be knackered from the flight and some of them will have brought their own. That lot should last until...'

She wrote down a few numbers on the desk jotter.

'...some time tomorrow afternoon at the present rate.'

Annette's jaw dropped open. Cecilia wasn't phased at all. She looked up at the ceiling doing her own sums.

'So another ten thousand should cover it then? Am I right.'

Cynthia smiled at her.

'I should think so. Yes. TheLove For Sale people will have some as well that should cover any shortfall. Have you seen their stuff? Talk about raunchy. I gave Cyril one of their catalogues and he disappeared to his shed for the next hour. Looked proper flushed when he came back in for his tea.'

Cecilia dived a hand into her bag and pulled out a mobile phone. She pressed a few buttons and was soon chatting with someone who was clearly an old friend. We all listened for a minute before it got too technical. She was demanding all sorts of information about strength, size, chemical composition of lubricants and some other things which were a mystery to me and, by the looks on their faces, the other two as well.

'I'll get one of the boys to take you across to where you can set up, shall I? I'm sorry to be so hurried, but I'm run off my feet.' 'What happened to Kevin then? He was looking a bit pooped.' 'Him.'

She was clearly not happy with her boss.

'He went out this morning just after he called you. Said he was going to sort out the woman who'd drilled through her door. Didn't come back for two hours and he's been like that ever since.'

She laughed, but gave Annette and I a look that suggested there might be trouble if we joined in.

'Still, saves me a job I suppose. And stops him pontificating and messing everything up. These Literoticas are alright, you know?'

She spoke as if it was a surprise to her.

'They've pretty much started organising everything themselves. I'm just letting them get on with it and trying to help if they need anything.'

She sat quietly for a few seconds and then smiled again. This time there was no underlying threat of violence.

'You know, this might justnot be a total balls up.' 'So you're setting the bar high then?' 'For Sunnydene, yes. Right lovelies. Shall I see if we can get you some drinks? Or would you just like to get over to the main hall and get your stuff unpacked?'

Annette spoke up for the first time.

'Can I just ask a question? What sort of hours do you suggest we stay open? I mean there's just me.'

Cynthia tutted.

'That might be problematic. They've been at it pretty much non-stop since they got here. You saw those nice camper vans in car park B?'

As well as the convertible, there had been several old British cars. A couple more American models, I remembered reading stories in which Mustangs featured quite prominently. In one corner was a gaggle of original VW camper vans. One done up in seventies' psychedelic style had caught my eye, the rest looked pristine with original resprays. I nodded.

'When I knocked off last night one of them was shaking like a jelly; when I came back first thing, they were still at it. Don't know how their suspension takes it. We've got our catering and bar staff working round the clock.'

Annette groaned. She looked at Cynthia and I coolly and then obviously made a decision to trust us.

'I came up to see gran for some peace and quiet. My husband and I split up last week. I really don't know if I'm up to being around so many people having so much fun.'

I made sympathetic noises, but didn't really know what to say to her. My cock was making suggestions, but they were inappropriate in the circumstances. The ever-practical Cynthia came straight to the point.

'There's this group. Call themselves volunteer editors. They've started a newsletter, got stuff on Facebook, Twitter, WhatsAp and some other things I've never heard of. Tell you what, I'll dig one of them out and send them over to you. You decide what hours you want to work. They'll make sure everybody knows.' 'Sorted. Lets get set up shall we.'

Cecilia had finished her call and was already looking impatient, tapping her fingers on one of the cartons. As we trooped out of the office Kevin lifted one corner of his tea towel and recognised Cecilia.

'KY Jelly.' 'I beg your pardon?' 'KY Jelly. Know what it is?' 'Of course. Why?' 'They keep talking about it.'

She patted him on the shoulder.

'I'll get some delivered. If there's not enough I'm sure they'll be able to make do with Vaseline.'

He groaned and dropped the towel, going back to whatever corner of heaven or hell his mind was occupying. Cynthia giggled. At the door she joked with the under-dressed traffic controllers and persuaded them to take the boxes and Cecilia over to the main centre. She was about to get into the garish tow-truck herself when she remembered something and ran back into the office. She came back and handed me a small envelope. It was my press badge.

'Look after it. Apparently once things really get going there'll be strictly enforced rules about giving unaccompanied males entrance to some of the events.' 'Don't worry ducks. We'll always be able to squeeze you in.' 'I'll bear that in mind, thanks lads.'

I slammed the door of the pick up and watched it roar off down one of the narrow roads which divide the park (and spa) before turning to Annette.

'I guess that's us walking then.'

She slipped her arm into mine and we fell into step together quite naturally. We walked in silence for about a hundred yards. I was enjoying the warmth of her body and the easy closeness. I realised I hadn't felt this comfortable with a woman I had just met for a long time. Certainly not one who wasn't wearing panties and possessed a snatch that just called out to you to kneel down and lick it. I'm too old to fool myself into thinking I was love's young dream.

'Sorry to hear about you and your husband.' 'Don't be. You like to think you're unique, don't you? That no one else goes through what you do. That no one could understand?' 'I guess so.'

I'd had a couple of longish relationships and after both crashed I'd obsessed for weeks over the details of what went wrong. Annette told my stories with different names. The uncontrolled fucking of the first few months, the transition into easy comfort with each other punctuated with moments of great joy. We discussed how it was that no one spotted the first signs of boredom and the descent into bitterness and alienation that seems to legitimise unfaithfulness. I laughed.

'If a person wanted to screw the memory of their ex out of their heads, this might possibly be the best place ever.'

We looked at the signs pointing to the different areas of the park as we walked. Like most of the camps around Bridlington they normally bore the names of flowers or trees. They were there to split the anonymous mass of same-looking caravans and small huts into recognisable districts. Now, the old names were covered with laminated sheets and securely zip-tied. A lot of them were self-explanatory: erotic couplings, anal, mature and so on. We matter-of-factly speculated on where we thought BDSM ended and fetish began or what might be going on in the sci-fi/fantasy section. We both jumped when, turning a corner, we almost collided with two guys fucking against a wall.

'You ever done that?' 'What? Had my bum pounded by another guy in broad daylight?'

They both looked as if they worked out. There was a lot of flexing muscle on display. The man nearest the wall had braced himself and pushed his arse out. He still sagged slightly with each thrust of his partner's hips. For my part, I felt my sphincter tightening to the same rhythm. We walked on. Annette was laughing. I realised it was the first time I had heard it.

'No, silly. Just bumped into someone and found them so irresistible you had to have them straight away?' 'Not for a very long time.' 'Me neither.'

We walked a little further in silence. I was thinking of teenage parties and the odd afternoon when I'd unexpectedly found my parents out and the gods had deigned to send me home with a girl who wanted to copy my homework.

There was a small army of chambermaids moving between chalets and caravans fitting fresh sheets and checking the bathrooms were stocked. They seemed cheerful and greeted us as they passed. I guessed the overtime they were earning was already being mentally spent on taking their own seasonal celebrations up another notch. I felt a slight pressure on my arm from Annette and stopped. She was looking at the slightly-ajar door of the chalet which had just been serviced. She took her hand out of her pocket and opened it. She was holding two wrapped johnnies.

'I think I know now why I pocketed these when I helped Gran pack the boxes. Want to?'

There are times, we've all had them, when your brain kicks in and warns you to think through consequences. This was not one of them. We were both pulling at each other's clothes as we fell through the door. I spotted a sofa against the far wall of the open-plan sitting/dining room/kitchenette. Annette didn't take much steering. Our mouths had been clamped together since a microsecond after the wordswant to left her lips. She still, somehow, had managed to get my jacket off. Now she was clawing at my belt between bouts of grabbing my cock.

She made complaining noises when I pushed her down and eased myself up above her. I almost capitulated, but I had an unfinished fantasy of my own to fulfil. I'll say this for Annette, she caught on quickly. As soon as she felt my hands on her skirt, she cooperated fully allowing me to push it up over her hips. I was on my knees between her legs as soon as was practicable possible.

Annette's pussy was almost perfect. The lips were closed against each other as if they had been folded by a Japanese origami expert. I could feel her still wrestling with her skirt as I drew my tongue up from just above the perfect star of her anus to the smallest of bumps at the peak. I was barely touching her, just enjoying the tangy taste of the residue on her labia and the quiver which ran through her as my tongue grazed the area beneath which her clit nestled. I looked up and dragged her closer. The friction between skirt and sofa dragged it all the way up and I felt her grab two handfuls of my hair and force me back down onto her pussy.

Helping adjust her legs over my shoulders was a bit like putting on braces. When she crossed her ankles to force me harder down against her it felt more like a straightjacket. I had to struggle to get my hands underneath my chest and her butt. She was rocking her arse back and forth on the hard cushions but yanking my hair as if she was using my mouth to get rid of a particularly stubborn stain.

I had only just managed to fold back her outer labia and smooth back the hood over her clit when I felt her limbs go rigid, her rapid breathing stop and my mouth fill with her tangy discharge. She was muttering something in French between her clenched teeth and making a whistling noise with her teeth as she sucked in and expelled sharp breaths. When she relaxed I tried to take her clit between my lips. As you've probably guessed, I pride myself on my technique and, so far as I was concerned, I had only just started. My head was pulled back by the hair.

'Fuck me.'

She was already scrabbling from underneath me. By the time I had got to my feet and was undoing my belt she was in doggy position and was waving an unopened condom behind her back, just over her bum. I was going to make some crack about her looking like one of those people who direct taxiing aircraft around with paddles. I thought I'd better not though. Bitter experience has taught me that experimenting with humour during a first shag is seldom appreciated.

'Quick.' 'Hang on.'

It's amazing how difficult it is to perform mundane tasks under pressure. Somehow both button and zip were playing hard to get. I virtually castrated myself when, with the zip only half-way down, I tried to force tight jeans over my legs. The fact that Annette now had all her weight on her shoulders and neck so she could free her other hand and was frigging herself frantically was another distraction. When I took the condom from her she stretched her knees further apart and waggled her arse at me.

It was like fucking a boa constrictor. As soon as I fell into her - my jeans still had my knees pinioned - her pussy gripped me like a weigh lifter's fist. I gasped at the unexpected sensation. Usually when I make love to someone in this position I put my hands on her bum. Maybe even give her the occasional slap. It was still surprising to me how many women like it. If only I'd realised when I was younger. On this occasion I was soon hanging on for dear life. Somehow I had fallen across her back and took a grip on her shoulders. The extra weight did little to stop her bucking beneath me. Her fingers were still working hard between her legs and the French was getting louder. I almost laughed when my phone started ringing from somewhere across the room. Whoever it was would have to wait, there was still a chance I might get out of this alive.