My engorged penis rested on her bum flesh, shaft curving upwards, a thick fleshy scimitar, glans a dull red poking through my foreskin. As the flow of erotic input coursed through me, it would jump up and plop softly down again on her firm flesh, forming a faint pink line on her whiteness.
She was kneeling forward on the picnic blanket, balanced on her forearms, offering up those most intimate regions to the late afternoon sunshine dappling through the branches.
Her anus glistened pinkly, a thin film of secretions covering the regular striations dipping down into the tightly shuttered opening.
The anal aroma rose powerfully to my nostrils. The baseline component was earthy, overlaid by fart residues and the sharply acidy smell of her secretion - essentially a fluid formed by the breakdown and repair of the inner lining of the bowel that collects in the rectum and leaks through to the outside.
I glanced down at her vagina, my penis hopping up and thumping down again. The outer lips were swollen, inner lips red and moist. Her vaginal entrance was hanging open, beefy red tissues visible inside. Beads of thin clear liquid gathered and coalesced, a tiny stream beginning to travel down the inner thighs on the way to her panties pulled down to mid thigh. This was her initial gout of lubricant, to be followed in due course by a creamy white viscous deep vaginal ointment, teased to the surface by vigorous penile thrustings. Her hood had retracted and the clitoris gleamed , wet and fat.
The vaginal aroma was strong, though more subtle. It was tinged by a ghostly whiff of dried pee from the wiry blonde hedge framing her genital area, a legacy of three days of travel with no means of washing herself.
My penis twitched again, decidedly urgent. The glans was now a dusky purple red and a thick string of prostate ooze joined a little pool on her buttock. With a sense of foreboding I realised the bell was ringing and that I was too damned close to climax and would leave her hot , wet and disappointed after a few strokes - what to do?
I'd first met her in excruciatingly embarrassing circumstances about three days ago.
My girl friend had left camp with a group of girls, travelling to a town thirty miles away.
They intended to visit a leisure centre and slough off the grime of primitive camping, returning with vast amounts of wine and beer.
I decided to strike out well beyond the camp environs and hike towards the distant hills. Light pack on my back , I strolled through lightly wooded country, largely unexceptional.
An hour on, my bowels became vociferous, demanding immediate release : two days travelling by boat and train to this remote area of Spain had bunged me up.
Choosing a spot between two verdant bushes, I dug a hole with my collapsible trench tool and squatted down, confident in the knowledge that there couldn't possibly be anyone around.
