Joely’s Swim

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He didn’t return to the lake till Monday, a beautifully warm sunny day with a mild south-westerly wind, perfect for swimming. Alone, he plunged into the ice-cold water, crawling as far as the mass of tangled brambles, lichen-petrified trees, bushes covering the far bank. Treading water, he swivelled his body, breast-stroking back to the solitary bank where he left his clothes then heard a foreign voice.

‘Hi, I’m Joely. Mind if I swim here, too?’

She spoke in a deep southern drawl: Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi? And had the most achingly beautiful face he’d ever seen, clear blue eyes, a sexy snub nose, pursed fleshy cherry lips, surrounded with shade-upon-shade of fiery red hair: copper, chestnut, ginger, amber, flirty waves, delightful oaken ringlets. Her skin was as pale as clotted cream. His perfect redhead. He worried she might burn in the fierce afternoon sun. Still, he said yes.

She dropped her bag on the ground, stripping off her ash grey t-shirt, running shoes, and tracksuit bottoms, revealing her striking magenta basque. Standing, hands-on-hips, her pretty head cocked to one side, she watched him tread water with his muscular legs.

Joely stooped and splashed her face and chest with water, it was freezing cold, it felt great.

‘I think I should swim now, don’t you?’ she said fancying him, ‘Before I catch cold?’

There was a sunken bench, relic of long-lost summer picnic outings, before the crater was created by an enemy bomber shedding its payload after a midnight raid, then it flooded, forming a natural lake. He swam over and stood up on it. The water came up to his waist. He flexed his biceps, triceps, pecs, and abs in a valiant one-on-one attempt to impress her.

Her Darcy, Joely escort bursa imagined, flushing, only hotter.

She crouched on the bankside preparing to dive. He admired her perfect musculature, her poise, strength. Suspecting she worked out in a private gym to keep herself slim and fit. Suspecting, Joely could hold her pose, control her breathing, hold her body rigid for him. She was within in his grasp, touching distance. He thrust his pelvis at her needing her sex. A crude smile creased her face as she sized the big eel dangling between her man’s legs.

His face coloured, flame-red, ‘Sorry, forgot my trunks.’

‘That’s okay,’ she smiled, ‘I’ve seen a man’s cock before.’

I bet you have, he dreamed, ‘I’m Simon.’

‘Good to meet you, Simon. Let’s swim, shall we?’

Joely dived into his life headfirst, powering off across the lake face down in the water, her strong arms cutting thru the chill, throwing her head back every few strokes, sucking at the tepid air.

Admiring her from afar, Simon turned in the water, following her, calm, preoccupied with her. Joely’s body was well-toned, perfectly proportioned. He imagined her torso dripping.

Men, particularly lean, mean, charming men with huge cocks were hard to find in a rural setting. Joely took him into her own hands, swimming fifty lengths past two disinterested geese, exhausting herself, heading back to the bank. The water was deeper than her there. An orange lifebelt hung suspended over her head next to a sun-blanched sign which read:


With immense effort, she grasped the side and heaved herself out, falling flat on her face in the grass. Laughing, dripping wet, her pale skin coated in goosebumps, Joely bursa merkez eskort hauled herself out, and tugged a beach towel out of her jute bag. He was swimming towards her. She dabbed the sun’s glare out of her eyes. He watched her avidly as she pulled down her black see-thru lace basque exposing her bare creamy breasts, her ripe cherry nipples, their erect teats: her subtle invitation to him, ‘Come and fuck me, Simon.’ She wriggled out of her basque, shewing him her bald, hairless cunt, letting the wet lace slide, down her legs. Joely stretched her arms, raising her full fat pale breasts, her stiff teats, her intimate tattoo.

He clambered out of the water, embarrassed, reddening, looking away, drying himself as best he could. Other than fine hair on his forearms, a line of fluff running down his belly, his body was bare skin solid muscle. He shivered and all the veins jutted out of his biceps.

Joely encouraged him, ‘No need to be shy. You’ve got a lovely body.’

‘It’s been so long since I fucked a beautiful woman.’

‘I know how you feel,’ she sighed, ‘this recession’s been tough for all of us. Look at me.’

She was wearing a single pearl choker. He watched Joely cup her breasts, crane her head, lick her nipples. She held herself open for him, exposing her raw steak flesh, her love-hole, handed him her towel and murmured seductively, ‘Dry my breasts and cunt.’

He dried her roughly: tousling her red hair, rubbing her damp torso: kneading her breasts, feeling between her legs as he dabbed at her wet cunt.

Joely whispered, ‘Let me hold you.’

She held him tenderly in her soft hands. They kissed and embraced. They lay on her towel, he beneath bursa sınırsız escort her, Jolie facing the other way, reverse cowgirl. She mounted her stud, sliding the full nine inches of his rigid, throbbing, straining cock, fully inside her slick fuck-hole, impaling herself on his stretched-out cock, rolling back his tight foreskin so that she could clench his pulsing nub, the spurting slit with her birth muscle. Joely reclined, pressing her fleshy buttocks into her man’s underbelly, grinding the spurting semen out of his swollen sac, his slimy nub, as he fondled her heaving breasts, rising, ascending in blissful orgasm.

‘That feels fucking lovely,’ she screamed, ‘fill my cunt with your spurting cum, seed me, fuck my cunt, no, no, want to squirt, going to squirt, let me squirt, into your mouth, baby!’

Joely dismounted, letting her man’s spurting cock squirt his thick semen all over her arse, screaming, squirting her warm girlie jus over his belly, turning, floppy, splaying her cunt over his craving mouth, filling his mouth with her intimate body fluid, her salty, creamy mess.

After they’d fucked, he escorted Joely to the main footpath, past a freshly excavated ditch bordered by piles of stricken branches, hawthorn in bridal blossom. Joely told him she was single, unemployed, barely surviving on furlough, seeking excitement. She stared at the olive water in the ditch, messy vinaigrette leading nowhere, like her life, and asked if she could fuck him again by the lake.

He smiled at her lovingly, ‘If you want to.’

‘I do want to.’

They exchanged numbers as they reached three red fir trees where the path diverged: left for the church, right for the village. There was a crude wooden footbridge, planks over a muddy stream, steps leading to the school. They listened to the sound of children playing. Joely let go of his hand, kissed him on the lips, and stared him in the face. He felt guilty.

‘This is me I’m afraid, can’t help myself,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes, ‘This is me!’

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