It was the cottage I'd always wanted. Set at the head of a valley that sloped down towards the sea and surrounded by wooded slopes, it came with a decent-sized garden, a couple of fields (for which I had yet to find a use), and a swimming pool which I could use if I felt too idle to walk the mile down to the beach. I call it a cottage but in fact it's quite a substantial house with some outbuildings, but all built in the traditional local style. It was peaceful, quiet and private.
I'd been lucky. I'd written three or four books that had done well - none had reached the very top of the best seller lists but they came high enough up to earn me a very nice sum which I'd been able to invest in my little haven.
Uninvited visitors were few and far between. The surrounding trees kept the cottage hidden from the passing lane and the entrance to my drive was discreetly tucked away, masked by a bend in the road that distracted the attention of passing motorists.
I wouldn't want you to think that I'd adopted the life of a hermit, though. I was of that time in life that saw many of my friends divorcing. After years of focussing on careers, homes and children, they had suddenly come to the realisation that the person on the far side of the breakfast table was a stranger.
Fifty Shades of Grey
played its part too. Dreadfully-written book but it gave them an idea that maybe they'd been missing out.
I was unattached, reasonably successful and owned a house near the coast, so I'd found myself invited upon by more than a few ex- and soon-to-be-ex-wives. I got the impression, too, that word was spreading around that I was a more than acceptable fuck - better than ex-husbands, at least.
So, while it wasn't exactly an endless stream, I had an ample supply of sexual companions and the sex was remarkably good. Women who had spent the previous 20 years or more with one man - or with only the occasional transgression - tended to be ripe for variety and experimentation and it would have been churlish of me to deny them.
The week before, I'd had a couple of friends come to visit and it had quickly become clear that my role was to be marriage guidance counsellor and sex therapist combined. (Another problem with being a writer - people tend to assume that your works of fiction must have at least some basis in personal experience.) I did have to make it clear that any potential bi-tendencies on his part would be beyond the bounds of our explorations but, apart from that, they had a vigorous and enjoyable week with me. I can say without doubt that she was fucked more times and in more positions (both locationally and anatomically) during that week than in the previous year and both went home with broader smiles than they'd arrived with and, hopefully, a revived marriage.
After such a hectic and distracting week, I really did feel that I ought to be getting on with some work. The problem with being a fairly successful writer is that readers and therefore publishers want more and more of the same. When I was trying to concentrate, as I was that day, I particularly valued my privacy. I was trying to develop plot themes for my next book and it wasn't coming together at all well. Truth to tell, I was running out of ideas.
It didn't help that it was a hot, breathless summer's afternoon. The heat and the humidity were still rising and haze was starting to blur the distant views. It was one of those days when sound carried from far off and even the bees and butterflies seemed languid. I was tempted to move inside where it might be cooler and maybe have a doze when the voice came as a sudden intrusion.
'Hello', followed by a brief pause and then more insistently, "Hello, anyone around?'
I dragged myself up and walked round to the front of the house. A young couple stood there, dressed in hiking gear and carrying rucksacks. They were in their late 20s, possibly early 30s. He was dark, tall and some might have said athletically-slim though skinny was perhaps a better description; she was shorter with what I've been known, unkindly, to describe as mousy-blond hair reaching down below her shoulders. She had a good rounded figure - a tendency to chubbiness, perhaps, but not fat. If she'd been on her own I wouldn't have resented the invasion.
'We were wondering if there was anywhere here we could camp tonight?'
Her eyes traced the path leading down through my garden to the gate into the field beyond.
'They don't seem very keen on camping down by the beach', she continued, 'and it's getting too hot to keep on going.'
The girl was clearly taking the lead. The man seemed awkward, his body language making it plain that this wasn't his idea. I found myself warming to him. She looked at me appealingly, though.
I was in a quandary. I could have done without people around but it seemed rude to refuse them when they were clearly hot and tired. I looked them up and down, as if searching for something that would help to make my mind up, before my thoughts went back to the welcoming kindnesses I'd received in the days when I used to hike and camp.
'I don't suppose it can do any harm if you're really stuck and it's just for the one night. You should be able to find a good spot to tuck yourselves away down in that field. Just be careful not to set fire to the grass if you're cooking - it's very dry.'
I immediately felt bad that my words must have come across as reluctant. I decided to be a little friendlier.
'There's a tap over there by that door if you need water', I indicated, pointing to one of the outbuildings around the pool. 'There's a shower and a toilet in there, too. Feel free to use them. You'll find some towels in one of the cupboards. Have fun - if there's anything you need, let me know.'
They both looked suitably grateful and I watched as they set off down towards the field. It didn't take them long to unpack their tent and soon they were busily putting it up and making themselves comfortable. A babble of animated conversation floated back towards me but I noticed that it was mostly one-sided.
A while later I happened to be looking out of my kitchen window as I prepared my evening meal. It looked out over the garden and the pool area and I watched the girl make her jaunty way up from the field, wash bag swinging idly from one hand. She waved to me as she passed. She disappeared inside the building and closed the door behind her, but in the next instant the curtains at the window were thrown back. She took hold of the hem of her t-shirt and, in one swift movement, pulled it over her head. She then reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, revealing a gorgeous pair of breasts.
They weren't large but they were full, plump and well-separated, tipped by light brown nipples. They hung slightly and swayed as she moved. When she leaned forward, presumably to take off her trousers and panties, they fell away from her chest and dangled deliciously. I could imagine taking them in my hands, enjoying their weight, lifting the nipples to my lips. Then she looked in my direction and blew me a kiss before turning towards the shower cubicle.
Fortunately she'd moved out of my sight before I had time to react. I felt like a peeping tom but I reassured myself that it was hardly my fault. She'd known that I was at my window and she'd pulled back the curtains to reveal herself but, even so, I made sure I was occupied on the far side of the kitchen by the time she emerged from the shower.
*****
Later that evening I stood at the darkened window of my bedroom and looked down towards the field. There was a light on inside the tent and it cast silhouettes of the occupants on the thin fabric. I could see a female head bobbing up and down and then, when it stopped, the figure sat upright and shifted over. It took no imagination at all to know that she had mounted astride him and had taken his cock in her cunt. The air was still enough for sounds to carry and the sounds I heard were of male and female moans and groans in unison. I slipped a hand down to below my waist and touched myself until I heard the scream of feminine orgasm accompanied by the long, low grunt of a man.
I was restless that night. The heat and lack of breeze didn't help but it was the urgency in my loins that was the real problem and that wasn't going to be solved by a simple act of masturbation. I was still tossing and turning in bed when the first flashes of lightning began to appear in the west.
Within ten minutes the thunder was rolling and crashing around the surrounding hills, the sky lit up with vivid flashes that seemed to be getting closer and closer. I leapt out of bed to close the window that I'd left wide open to dispel the heat. To say that the rain had begun to fall would be a classic English understatement. It was coming down in torrents. The steps leading down into the garden were like a cascade and the path down to the field had turned into a fast-flowing river. In my several years at the cottage, I'd seen nothing like it.
The light came on inside the tent. It shone on two figures desperately trying to get into clothes, seizing belongings. Then the two figures burst out of the tent and were illuminated by the next flash of lightning, running - almost wading - through the flood water towards the house. I reached for my robe and ran down the stairs, pausing only to grab a couple of bath robes and large towels from the airing cupboard, and flung open the back door.
They burst in through the door, bedraggled, water pouring off them, hair plastered to their scalps. The girl's t-shirt clung to her, offering a perfectly-sculpted vision of breasts and belly. It was a highly erotic sight in the midst of devastation. One more I found it hard to resist the thought that, if she'd been on her own, I'd probably have torn her wet clothes off her and fucked her then and there.
They began towelling themselves briskly and then the girl turned partially away from me and peeled off her sodden t-shirt, followed by her equally wet trousers. As she bent forwards to disentangle her trousers from her feet, I had an unimpeded view of the tight slit of her pussy, framed between her legs, accentuated by the firm mounds of her outer labia. He paused in ridding himself of his wet clothes to notice my gaze and his eyes followed its direction. He tossed the girl one of the bath robes, a look of displeasure on his face. She slipped it on, but with a distinct lack of haste.
I poured each of us a glass of brandy and placed all three on the kitchen table. Then I collected up their discarded clothing and put it to one side before joining them at the table. He had wrapped his robe tightly around himself; she had wrapped her towel round her hair but the front of her robe remained parted, revealing the swellings of her breasts.
We talked about the storm, the rain, and the impact it had had. Then, with brandies finished, I suggested that they take themselves upstairs and make themselves comfortable in the guest room. Tiredness was beginning to overtake them and they followed me up the stairs.
After showing them to their room, I went back to my own and looked out some spare clothes for them to wear in the morning; a t-shirt and a pair of shorts for each of them. Luckily I'm one of those people who hang onto clothes that no longer fit, in the vain hope that one day I might lose weight. I was about to knock on their door when I heard the sound of voices. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but the words caught my attention.
'I can't believe that you stripped off in front of him.'
