A couple of years ago, I drove to Cape Reinga, in the North of New Zealand. My wife and I had separated two years previously, and I had just bought myself a small Ford Transit camper van to travel the country in. In the previous six months, I had tripped around the East Cape and, on a second trip, had visited all the towns from Wellington to New Plymouth.
It was my third trip away in my van that I write about. I spent this particular day swimming and sunbathing at Matai Bay. At around 4:00 pm, I drove back down the peninsular to a free camping reserve called Ramp Road to spend the night. Ramp Road had a strip of mown grass, about half a mile long, alongside a long sandy beach. About thirty other motorhomes were already parked and set up when I arrived.
I drove along parallel to the beach, looking for a level space. Campers acknowledged me and nodded hello as I drove past them. But all the good spots were taken, and it wasn't until I reached the very end that I saw a spot, up on a knoll, that would suit. The spot I chose was on the other side of the track from the beach, but it had the advantage of magnificent views of the surroundings because of the higher elevation.
My closest neighbours were a couple of young surfers in a Toyota Lucida almost directly in front of me. I found out later they were two German guys on a year's trip around NZ and Australia. They were backed up against the dune, right next to a track leading down to the beach. The next closest neighbours were up on the same side as me, at least thirty meters away. But there did not appear to be anyone home.
I set about tidying my van, setting up my bed, and sorting out what I would have for dinner. As sunset was around 8:00 pm, I ate, then settled down to read my book. A little later, movement caught my eye at the Motorhome I thought was vacant. It was a couple setting up their camp table and chairs. Although they were quite a distance away, I could tell they were in their late forties or early fifties. I estimated he was about 5'8" and a little overweight; she was quite a bit shorter than him and not too hard on the eyes. I always take note of these things.
I looked towards the beach and checked out the two guys in front. They were both at least six feet and very fit-looking. Both were on their
phones; isn't that the case with all young ones nowadays? Having taken stock of my neighbour's, I returned to my book.
A little later, a movement made me look up. It was the couple parked to my left, walking towards me. My eyes immediately went to the woman, and I quickly assessed her. She was short, maybe only five foot, with dark hair and a slightly fuller figure, but definitely not fat. She would have been very attractive in her day and still retained all her good features. But what made me sit up and drop my book was that she appeared to be only wearing a man's shirt.
I doubt they would be able to see me, as the windows in my camper are tinted. So, I was able to stare without being caught. As they passed in front of my van, I checked them out more thoroughly and noted her nervousness and her hands gripping the bottom of the shirt. I concluded that she was not wearing anything under the shirt as there was no hint of any panty line, and her nipples were standing out hard against the white cotton front. I could see the darker shading of the nipples, which meant she was wearing no bra.
They were headed for the rough track that led off through the tussock at the end of the grass reserve. But before they got to the path, a gust of wind blew the tail off the shirt and revealed some tidy naked globes - no knickers.
I scurried around in the back of my van, getting the correct lens on my camera, then climbed into the front of my campervan, hoping to get a photo of her pretty little naked derrière, should another gust of wind blow. My driver window was down (our vehicles in NZ and right-hand drive), so I hopped into the passenger seat on the left, then leaned across the driver's seat, hoping to get a good shot of her naked butt. But at that point, they turned back, and her husband looked around to make sure no one was looking, then lifted her shirt above her waist. They were about twenty paces onto the tussock track, and I had to lean back quickly so as not to be seen. 'No photo'. Bugger! But the dark patch between her legs confirmed my assumption about her wearing no knickers, and my cock stirred against my shorts.
I had to lean back, trying to remain undetected, embarrassed about being caught perving. They were now walking back towards me, watching the boy's van. But there was no sign of the boys, and their surfboards were no longer on the grass, so they must have finally gotten sick of their phones and gone surfing.
Hubby made to lift her shirt again; she snapped his hand away but was laughing. They were now only ten paces away from my van and had still not noticed me. I dropped my camera into the footwell, slipped into my driver's seat, and called out a hello.
"Hi, I'm Dave. Nice evening for a walk."
They stopped; she was looking startled; he also got a fright but quickly recovered. "Hi! I'm Don, and this is my wife, Hazel."
I put out my hand in a gesture showing I wished to shake their hands. Hazel held back, but Don, now gaining confidence and looking excited about the situation, took Hazel's hand and guided her to my driver's door. I opened the van door and stepped down to the grass, leaving my arm resting through the open window. Don took my hand and shook it, asking where I was from.
"Just north of Auckland. What about you guys?"
As Don answered that they were from Wellington, I reached around the open door, took Hazel's hand, and raised it to my lips.
"Nice to meet you, Hazel; you look incredibly sexy this evening. Has Don dared you to walk in front of the boys wearing his shirt? I used to do similar things with my wife."
Hazel looked flustered and would have scurried off if I hadn't been holding her hand. Her face flushed red; she was obviously pleased with the compliment but awkward about her situation. Don seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment. He didn't step in to help her but just leaned on my open door window frame, watching her discomfort.
Don spoke, "It was Hazel daring me to let her walk in front of the boys with no bra on."
Hazel spoke up for the first time, "It was your idea, and you insisted I wore this shirt of yours."
"And beautiful you look in it, too," I replied.
I looked at Don, "Can I touch your wife?"
He had been standing there, relishing the look of awkwardness the situation had placed his wife in. But my question knocked the look of self-confidence off his face, but he recovered quickly and nervously nodded his ascent. So I drew Hazel closer to me so she was concealed from anyone walking on the beach by my van door, then dropped my right hand to her lower back to stop her pulling away and, with my left hand, reached between her legs and cupped her mound. As I expected, she pulled her hips back, but I held her and applied pressure with my palm on her hairy mound; my forefinger just naturally slid into her slit; she was dripping wet.
Don reacted instantly, lifted his arms, and leaned forward to grab me. Grabbing Hazel between her legs was definitely in his book of 'no-goes'. But he stopped short when he heard Hazel let out a groan. Well, it started as more of a startled gasp, then turned into a moan that was full of want and desire. I looked to Don, knowing I had pushed way over the limit. I would never have generally acted this way, but it was the situation. I'd just moved without any forethought or plan. Don's eyes were full of excitement, but his mouth was screwed up with a typical jealous husband's reaction.
The sound she made stopped Don dead. He just dropped his hands to the window frame. He looked at Hazel, hoping to catch her eye and see what she wanted him to do. But Hazel had closed her eyes and let out another hungry groan, and her hips moved forward, pushing against my palm. He looked at me then.
"I'll stop if you want," I said, taking my hand from between her legs and holding it up to show him the slick, viscous fluid coating my fingers. "She's incredibly wet; your dare has her very turned on. I don't think you'll get much rest when you get back to your van."
I saw a multitude of emotions move over Don's face. There was jealousy, anger even, but when his hand moved down to adjust his cramped cock, I knew he was hooked and would not stop me.
I returned my hand between her legs, hooked my fingers into her slit, and searched out her hole. I left them there, just touching her entrance, and waited until her hips thrust forward in an attempt to get my fingers deeper. Then, on the second thrust of her hips, I gave her what she craved and pushed two fingers deep inside.
"Don, I think Hazel's breasts need some attention."
He moved, somewhat in a daze, placed a hand on each breast, and started kneading them.
"No! She needs skin contact. Undo some buttons." I said, really just wanting to see her breasts.
Don looked a little disorientated, but he undid the top two buttons, slipped a hand inside the shirt and kneaded her glorious mounds.
"Undo the rest. I want you to watch what my hand is doing."
Don looked down, realised that this was in his best interest, but again looked to Hazel for her consent. She still had her eyes closed, and there was little doubt from her expression that she would not object to anything he did. So he proceeded to loosen the rest of the buttons. I lifted my hand from the small of her back and slipped the shirt from each shoulder. It slid down her back and hung at her elbows, as one of her hands was holding the door frame, and the other was on my upper right arm. For anyone coming up from the beach, her arse would have been hidden by the loosely hanging shirt, but for Don and I, she now stood completely exposed behind my van door.
Her breasts were large, with large dark aureoles, topped with fantastic hard nipples. I wondered at her ethnicity, as I expected small pink nipples. Maybe a bit of Spanish or Arab in one of her forbears.
Don looked around urgently, checking first to his left to see that the Boys had not returned, then to his right where two guys were sitting outside the closest Motorhome on the beach frontage drinking beer. The wives had been with them earlier. I guessed they were now inside preparing dinner.
