Two country girls wrap up their chosen man
Young women and squelch don't belong together unless it's fingers or cock working a pussy into a soft, mussy, creamy orgasm.
Dana and Molly felt the squish, but it wasn't attractive. They were traipsing, very unladylike, through boggy, muddy ground, difficult even in heavy boots and waterproofs. They had been in the sticky, muddy mess for a few minutes. Talk about drawing the short straw on the gridded areas to search.
"Thank Christ for these SES flashlights, or we would be fucked," said brunette Dana just before she nearly frickin tripped, tried to correct her balance and went backwards on her arse.
No problem with waterproofs. Still, the impact sent slushy gunge upwards over her in an unpleasant, smelly, viscous spray that left tacky splotches over her face and hair.
"Oh, fuck it," she let out as she dropped the portable stretcher bag they were carrying together.
Brunette Molly put her flashlight into her blonde friend's face and laughed.
Then said, "Geez, Dana, what the hell are we doing this for, sweetie?"
It was a good question: knowing their luck, they would find nothing or, even worse, only an old codger to bandage up and get back to the field search HQ.
They were volunteers, a pair of girlfriends participating in a mock search and rescue scenario. There were three missing people from a supposed light plane crash requiring first aid somewhere on the gridded zone on this half-moon night.
But it was Dana's turn to smirk a few minutes later as Molly tripped after negotiating a barbed wire fence and then went skidding through a ripe cow pat that splattered crap all up her pants and clung to her boots.
"Wow, great perfume there," said Dana, whose muddy whiff now had a covering scent.
Dana Leech and Molly Jones were up for this, though.
They were fun-loving, outdoorsy girls. They liked the rural life that had driven all their girlfriends out of a country town to the bright city lights of Sydney, the state capital, seven hundred clicks away.
And well, there needed to be more work or apprenticeships locally, so no guys stayed either.
Molly had enjoyed learning about sex in Sam's van, but he was now six months gone. Yeah, he said he'd keep in contact from the city but didn't the prick.
Dana had had fun with Joe by the weir, but that was last year, and she knew he poked at anything under fifty and probably did so in the big smoke.
Dana Leech and Molly Jones were fourth-generation farmers' daughters; they were handy with rifles and loved their quad bikes on Stacks Bluff. However, the lack of local country boy cock was starting to frustrate them. Staid-controlled old-time religious married farmers and three geriatric shopkeepers — their town and community were facing depopulation.
The girls weren't fussy; there just weren't any single guys.
The conservative god-fearing male chauvinist clique that had run everything for generations around The Stacks was in crisis: not enough blokes. Moreover, they faced a downgrading by those city mongrels of their Rural Fire and Emergency Service status because of an inability to suit up a team for State Emergency Service tasks.
Over a few beers in — The Palace Hotel — which had seen better days, they knocked back a few schooners and succumbed to the inevitable:
They would have to invite and train a few shelia's and the loo at their unit would need a unisex sign—so said those pesky city pen-pushers.
Still, would anyone volunteer?
Christ, the attraction of the fire and emergency training and the volunteer shed, was escaping their nagging wives into a man-cave world. God forbid their wives from the Country Women's Association joined!
They needed five volunteers to stay in their registration category, and they had some luck.
The new single-classroom school teacher signed up first. Then, two old blokes fossicking for opals out of town joined when they were offered free beers every Friday. The senior committee blokes weren't sure what they would have to cope with when — the towns assumed two dykes — Dana and Molly sauntered in off their quad bikes in heavy boots and offered to help.
Dykes was, truthfully, a very unfair label. They were only great friends in the touchy-feely girly way. But nothing overt or covert. They liked guys and wanted a guy—a guy for themselves.
As for the idea of sharing a guy, they weren't brought up that way.
As for what their fingers did when alone.
Hey, that's private girl stuff!
But it's clear they were farm girls and understood self-help. Get the fingers in the slit and no-nonsense, jill yourself off—intense, hard and direct self-management of all their erogenous zones.
They didn't talk to each other about their private proclivities; however, they were very similar. They both loved the self frickin finger fuck.
Get a finger in, moisten the cleft, get a second digit in, expand the enjoyment, stretch the muscle tissue, and build it until the juices seep.
And then: the delight of delights, a frenzy that only a girl can understand, the space-filling and creative third finger. And it's all dirty enjoyable action from there as they pounded their wet channels with a speed that a guy and his cock could only dream of.
Then, of course, the fingertips of their other hand got very comfortable and intimate with their clitties.
Well, the full-day training and refresher course got underway in and around the shed at a snail's pace, and it was by the manual — page after page — of protocols and procedures.
Jeez, some practical scenarios were needed here. The two gemstone prospectors looked like dried leather and had less hair than a well-worn doormat. They weren't technically sober either, just one drink short of inebriated at any time of the day or evening.
It was Friday. Otherwise, they wouldn't have started the course.
It was an excruciating three o'clock, and the girls questioned their commitment. It was all frickin boring; they could be fishing or trail biking.
However, Dana and Molly got excited when the new teacher, Peter Morris, made a late after-school entrance to the training day. He was probably thirty, give or take a year, and to two nineteen-year-old girls that made him young in their world.
He had hair on the top of his head, nicely cut too, and was blondish, with skin lightly tanned and blue eyes.
Dana and Molly couldn't keep their eyes off Peter, so they ensured they were a trio regarding CPR practice on the dummy.
Now, Pete was a guy and liked female attention, but he was an unknown prospect to Dana and Molly. He was about to marry his long-time girlfriend when she finished a contract job in a couple of months in Sydney. They would tie the knot, and she intended to move out bush with her steady.
Peter was friendly and engaged Molly and Dana with sufficient interest but wasn't responding to their accidental touch or kiss-of-life jokes as the trio took turns on the mannequin.
They got his status over afternoon tea at four o'clock and were disappointed.
He didn't sit with them during the final session, which started late. They nearly lost the opal miners who had to be retrieved from — The Palace Hotel — across the main street.
Anyway, here they were on a Saturday night, not partying; well, who the fuck was there to party with around The Stacks — bloody sheep!
Instead, they were civic-minded and participated in a search and rescue scenario. Still, the truth was they both needed rescuing sexually.
In the middle of the current paddock, there was an old giant dead stump. With flashlights, they made out a prone shape and carefully avoided cow manure stacks getting to the body.
It was Peter, but he didn't say anything as they both greeted him — stoney silence!
Then they realised he was frickin serious about his role-play.
Their training kicked in from the earlier scenario briefing: read the injury card pinned on the chest, apply the appropriate first aid and bandages, and bring the survivor back to the field scenario HQ tent using the correct stretcher technique.
Dana got the card. Molly held the flashlight.
The card read:
Broken tibia, bone protruding, swelling around the radius, and the patient is in shock, likely hypothermia.
"Geez, get the bandages and splints out. I'll check his pulse and vital signs," said Molly.
Well, the prick's pulse wasn't racing. He was a deadpan guy at this — thought Molly.
Then as the brunette knelt near his face to check his pupils and airway: their victim came to life outside of the scenario with — "What the fuck is that smell?"
Molly realised cow dung was everywhere — "Oh, sorry, we had a hard time getting here."
"Oh, okay. I'll get back into shock then," and he went catatonic: the sod.
He didn't have to ignore them. Christ, they were women under all this frickin SES gear and mock play.
Molly thought: this is no frickin fun — but like Dana, for the moment, she got on with the job of immobilising his leg and his arm in splints and bandages.
Then Dana looked at their excellent work and had one of those: who gives a fuck moments, with the little devil on your shoulder and started bandaging Peter's legs together and suggested quietly to Molly that she bandage both his arms to his torso.
It was too late for silent Pete to react: he was cocooned from his thighs, one arm pinned to his side, and the other constrained across his chest, already pre-slung.
"Well honey," said Dana to her girlfriend, "I'm starting with his pecker. You can sit on his face if you like or watch and wait your turn."
She had a guy trapped and wasn't wasting the situation, and hopefully, her girlfriend would join in.
Then she said to Peter: "Mmm, I know it's a bit kinky, but are you up for two?"
Peter was a guy. His fiancée was hundreds of clicks away — he was three months without sex.
Besides, Dana had already unzipped her bound guy and whipped out his nicely sized but still flaccid cock. Pete was murmuring in approval as her hand skilfully filled out his meat to a hard cock sucking length.
Pete was enjoying the sight of his pecker getting excellent lip treatment when there was a pungent hairy pussy over his face looking for his tongue.
His tongue hit Molly's lipettes, or her flaps swayed over his tongue tip.
Does it matter? They reacted very nicely to each other and bound as he was; Pete had his tongue working, and his rod was fully worked up.
Dana wriggled her clunky outdoor gear down, pulled her panties to one side and squatted over Pete's cock. It was sensational. It was nearly a too-good feel. God, had she missed pecker since Joe. But that thought disappeared quickly as the bound guy underneath her got super stiff despite his prone position. Man, oh man, was his cock up to attention.
"Ooh! Ooh!" she tweeted like a night owl.
Dana was happily riding meat in her squat. Easing up, plunging down. Her moisture rapidly seeping out, and there was the squelchy puck, fuck sound of their coupling.
There was a lot of slurping of Molly's pussy directly over Pete's face.
"Mmm, mmm," she moaned frisky like a jitty Bilby.
Whether it was the overload of moisture that trickled from her coochie or the copious excited spit Pete was spreading around her so sensitive parts, who cared? It was sweet, succulent, savoury fun.
Molly had to get her fingers down there between her fur to ease her clit out, so Pete's tongue could flick it. The teacher's tongue tip hit the bead; he felt its nubby shape and heard Molly moan and arch away with each direct brush.
"Ugh! Ugh!" a howl like a Dingo bitch!
Dana was luxuriating in pecker now. It was filling, a godsend of pleasure, and she was addicted to the pounding delight of the moment.
Molly moaned in pleasure as her clit delivered the goodies right through her young body courtesy of Pete's free tongue. But our lass needed the main course, some cock. The problem was that her girlfriend didn't look like she was in a sharing mood.
Still, the brunette gave it her best shot: "Honey, get a clit lick to finish off, eh. I need some cock too."
Dana wanted to share, but it was just so damn good that she kept squatting right down onto the base of Pete's cock repeatedly. Her pussy wasn't in a sharing zone with another pussy.
Molly had to physically get her friend lifted off and eased herself onto Pete's fem-cum glistening pole quickly.
"Aah! Oof! Aah! Oof!" she squealed like a feral Possum.
Dana made the most of it and rubbed her musky saturated pussy right into trapped Peter's face. She was grinding down so hard that the poor guy was nearly asphyxiated. It was frantic, flourished face-sitting.
Molly was gliding her sodden cunny in faster and faster waves of delight up and down Pete's still rock-hard shaft. But Molly knew he couldn't hold it much longer, and she went for tempo pleasure. The hard fast slutty fuck.
She was moaning. She was riding. She was plunging.
She was gripping — racing to her orgasm.
Dana finally let Peter get a gasp of air, but only when she was fully satisfied. She had the tingles spiking through her as she eased her body forward and gave him her arsehole to lick.
She didn't know where that thought came from, but once his tongue tip rolled around her tight pink rim, she was smitten for a proper deep probing job.
Molly's clit gave her everything with a little bit of personal finger work and plenty of pumping down on the teacher's cock.
The brunette got off just as Pete's cock exploded over her exposed furriness.
Where her next thought came from, who knows, but Molly's pussy was so sensitive from just having had a great fuck. Yet she found herself under the sway of her girlfriend's tongue, immediately accepting more as her blonde friend got her arse delicately licked out.
"Ughh! Ugghh!" she groaned as her friend burrowed faster than a wombat in her gaped hole!
Dana didn't question the cum covered pussy that appeared before her face under the moonlight.
Instead, she just greedily ate the sticky cum from the dark pubes and licked the sweet nectar that was her girlfriend's fluid around her leaking pussy and breathed her girlfriend's rich muskiness deeply.
Pete's cock felt incredible. His tongue was having fun. He could smell two distinct musky odours in the dark.
Both pungently sexually sated. He kept licking arse. The truth was he couldn't do anything else in his bound state.
Molly's rubbed her clit and pussy into Dana's face till she climaxed again. Dana was just as excited as the brunette was as she repeatedly moaned with intense, girly pleasure.
"Oorrgh! Aahh!" pitched higher than a Bush-Stoned Curlew.
Afterwards, the girls got their clothes back in place. Then, there was the unwrapping of a satisfied half-mummified Pete.
They remembered and completed the scenario exercise correctly, stretching their guy back to field HQ.
The exercise was a success. But more importantly, young sex lives were again active.
Needless to say, Pete's marriage was off, and discretion around town, in the bush and out by the weir was the go for many regular but kinky threesomes in the immediate future.
There was one town mystery, though — the old timers at the SES shed over drinks in — The Palace Hotel — couldn't make out: Why anyone would take the entire store of frickin bandages.
What the hell could anyone want with so many?