And we told them, described something of our sexual adventures at our universities. Jen was certainly inquisitive, seeking intimate details. The details certainly kept Mike up and firm without his cock being touched. The senior, and hairy woodman enjoying tales of young men and girls, away from home, at university. Virgin tales. Pete and I saying more than we might have done to each other - again.
"Not with two girls at once or other boys, then? Not a bit of a group game -- like us today. My favourite of course, more men than women! Spare cocks aplenty."
No, nothing like that had happened. Just girl and boy stories. Boy meets girl and from kissing other things happen. Tentative touching over clothes leading to hands and fingers getting beneath clothes. Male fingers eventually being permitted to sneak under knicker elastic and find things a lot wetter and hotter than might have been expected. Feminine hands drawing down zips and stroking rather firm and bulging organs through the denim, before getting inside and grasping. If not done before then perhaps an unexpected handful -- more than anticipated!
My own first experience with Kay. We had been to a disco, the third that week, and were standing together in the dark outside her hall. It had not been me but her who really started it. Yes, we had been kissing, but it was Kay who put my hand on her breast, me feeling it beneath her shirt and jumper, feeling the hard nipple in my palm. I took the hint, and it was not that long before my hand loosened the bottom of her shirt out of her jeans and made its way over her tummy and upwards within the shirt. Nothing stopping me, no hand preventing mine curving over her bra. Perhaps I was a little more emboldened from having manipulated Jen's breasts -- at least I was experienced in that. My fingers slid under Kay's bra and over her so smooth breast flesh. Warm, soft and so rounded, though not as big by any means as Jen's.
From there, and after a lot more deep kissing, my fingers risked undoing the brass button of Kay's jeans. The two of us delightfully there alone in the dark. Her brass zipper lowered and my fingers slipping not between denim and cotton but straight down within that cotton, curling around, fingertips travelling through curls to find her slit. Again, experience from Jen made my finger-work sure, no fumbling nor tentative, exploratory movements, just doing what I had done with Jen. Doing it right, curving my hand well down with fingers teasing and stroking in an assured and practised way. I knew where everything would be -- and it was! My Jen-practice paid off. Confident in what I was doing, I played Kay very much better than my early attempts at learning to play the guitar were going. My fingers better in Kay's knickers than on the fretboard!
"We've missed you," said Jen sliding both Pete and my foreskin up and down. Very like Kay had done to me after I made her come. Kay and I did not have sex proper until a few days later. Her bed not mine. Both sleeping naked -- well, after we had copulated of course!
As Jen stroked me, she went on to describe what Mike and she had been doing, particularly sexual doings. And they had been active, very active. Jen described how face to face was simply not possible any more -- her tummy too in the way. But from the rear or 'cowgirl.' Jen described all that -- including riding her man.
"This has been such a busy little chap," she said moving her hand from my penis and stroking her husband's instead. Just as well, as I was about to suggest she paused, or I was going to cum. There was nothing particularly 'little' about Mike's 'chap.' Thick and with that purple banded coal scuttle, it looked all the bigger in Jen's little hand. Her gloved fingers stroking, moving the rubbery skin as they had mine moments before. Purple gloves rather matching Mike's band; Jen's purple woolly hat rather matching his knob too, not too dissimilar in shape either.
Jen made a funny little noise, her eyes going distant for a moment. "Sorry, the baby moved. Such a funny feeling -- one you won't have. Would you like to feel?"
It was not particularly sexual pushing my hand between the buttons of her coat and placing the palm on her extended stomach but so interesting -- and strange -- to feel a foot, probably, pushing from the inside out. A ripple under the taut skin.
"Would you like to feel the rest of my body?" A pleasing invitation to slip my hand in between other buttons of her coat and feel -- feel the warm body of the woman naked inside. Breasts and hard nipples, her fur and thighs beneath her thick coat; and when the thighs opened, opened for me, I knew I was permitted to delve into feminine wetness -- Jen was, of course, wet.
Pete's turn, but I saw no reason why I should not then crouch and approach not as he now was, between the buttons of her coat as I had done, but up from below, my hands on her bottom cheeks, my fingers sliding down the divide and meeting Pete's coming the other way. Our fingers had, I recalled, met before in Jen's vagina -- they were meeting again. And we brought her off together; two woodmen working. Good to feel her shuddering orgasm -- a standing orgasm what was more.
I had not lost my erection, of course I hadn't, and, despite it being out of my jeans, did not feel it cold at all. Not so my fingers now outside Jen's coat and not playing within her thighs. Wet fingers get cold easily on a cold day! I slipped my hands back into my pockets.
"I'd better do something about those."
And, as usual, Jen did. Three cocks out of trousers, three upright organs out in the cold air. Jen did us all, two hands to three cocks so she changed and changed about. I had not done it myself and, actually, I haven't since and don't think it has happened again by anyone else! Being wanked by woollen gloved hands. Not skin to skin or lubricated at all, but a soft touch and a warm one. Wool warmed from within
"Shall we move, my feet are getting cold." Best on a cold day to keep moving and I was happy to go with Mike's suggestion particularly as it prolonged the wanking. I was very happy to be led by the penis, cock sticking up from my fly and two thirds of the time being held, warmed, and stroked in Jen's woollen gloved hand. She led us back to that stile, the stile we had almost been surprised by the dog walkers when totally naked similarly erect and with our hands tied behind our backs.
Easier this time climbing over, with hands free, though it was rather strange and amusing watching both Mike and Pete climbing over with their hard penises sticking up, being careful not to get them caught under the stile's bar. I helped Jen up and over, standing behind her, with Mike helping her down the other side. What a pleasing glimpse as she hitched her coat up a bit and swung a leg over, me seeing up into her coat.
Nobody in sight, no dog walkers, and this time we walked along the footpath, Jen once more wanking us. There comes a time, of course, when wanking a man's penis is going to produce a result. I did wonder if, as we wandered along, all of a sudden, one of us might suddenly start producing but we walked quite a way like that and reached a rather good view, pausing there to admire the winter landscape, all rather stark with the leafless trees, but still pretty in the sunshine.
A happy groan to my side and I looked down to see Pete's knob appearing out of Jen's encircling purple wool clad fingers and spurting. A dash of cream out and then a really long rope flying. As Pete had originally boasted -- or perhaps just been factual -- he did fire a distance. Jen had speeded up and was giving him quite a handjob. One down, two to go. Mike and I now either side of Jen looking at the view as our penises were exercised by Jen. Mike's purple fringed knob appearing and disappearing within his skin and my rather paler but still respectably sized pink acorn doing much the same. I don't know if Mike or I came first, my eyes had closed as I gave myself up to the feeling of being masturbated to climax. I spurted, no doubt my stuff falling from my knob to the ground rather than projecting like Pete's -- there was certainly some on my leather boots when I looked!
I opened my eyes and there was Mike's purple and lilac plum, dripping away. Dripping his, no doubt, hot stuff down onto the ground. All the cocks had been done.
We walked on a little way with Jan and Mike, penises now tucked away, and then they turned back leaving Pete and I to walk on and around the wood back towards our path and home.
It was even colder the next week. Not just frost but snow on the ground, yet the sun was out with not a cloud in the sky. A perfect winter's day. Cold but the sun warming -- ish. Pete and I scrunched through the snow across the fields, thick woollen socks within boots, woollen gloves to our hands; around our necks scarfs and upon our heads, woollen hats. The snow some four inches deep or more in places but not soft for snowballs. It had turned to ice.
We were warm enough. The sun and the complete stillness so helping. Toasty warm in our clothing. It was perhaps just as well, given what was to happen.
