VACATION IN THE WOODS - Sex Stories

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VACATION IN THE WOODS

Date: 7/21/2015, Categories: Group Sex, Taboo, Voyeur, Author: brianbigdogsmith, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

delectable butt disappeared inside. Clyde and I had another beer and then headed to the john-boat to try our hand at fishing, but before I did, I had to get some relief. I went into my room to whip the lizard and got off in record time. The fishing turned out to be great. About every three or four casts near the shore produced a small-mouth bass. Very quickly we got very particular about the size of the fish we kept, throwing back a number of very handsome specimens and just keeping the true lunkers. Had we been in a fishing tournament, we would have kicked ass! As it was, it was the single best day of bass fishing I had ever experienced. We both hated to give it up, but decided that we had been gone long enough, and headed back to camp. On the dock I used an electric knife to filet the eight fish we kept. That night we had a fish fry. Both Cassie and Clyde thought my fish was best they’d ever had. I just admit, I can fry up a mess of fish and there’s nothing better to start with than fresh caught bass. My hush puppies were a hit too. We decided to hit the water again at first light. The only downside was that Cassie had put on her black Harley-Davidson nightshirt over her bikini, effectively ending the show for today. I consoled myself with the knowledge that tomorrow was another day. That night, we all hit the sack early. Thoughts of Cassie prancing about in that thong filled my mind with all sorts of salacious images, images that encouraged me to stroke myself slowly, ... savoring riding the cusp and endlessly protracting my pleasure. Then I heard it… a soft, “creeech, creeech, creeech.” I listened to determine the source and figure out what it might be. “Creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech.” It was coming from above, up in the loft. “Creeech, creeech, creeech.” “Holy fuck!” I exclaimed as I realized the true nature of the sound. “He’s fucking her! By god, he’s fucking her!” That did it for my careful self-control. I blasted a wad that shot up to my neck. “Creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech,” it went on endlessly. Then it stopped. I listened hard. A minute or so passed and started again, “Creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech.” I looked over at the digital clock, the red glowing numbers indicated that it had been going on for ten minutes since I first heard it. “Creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech.” Despite having cum three times that day already, my flagging hard-on revived as the soft sounds of what I took to be i****tuous fornication drifted down to my ears. “Creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech, creeech.” For the next forty minutes the rhythmic sounds continued, interrupted every so often by a minute or so of silence before resuming. I could only guess that the pauses indicated a change of position. Sometimes the sounds were louder, and sometimes the pace was faster. Finally the sounds were both louder and faster. A faint, “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” joined the creeching sounds. Then the sounds abruptly ended ...