A View of Much Dribbling

Len disturbed her fantasy with a groan and clutched his ankle, glancing at her moist armpits, a little stubble evident, he loved armpit creases and folds, all intimate and subdued parts of a woman. She suggested lowering a sock, it looked tight and would constrict the swelling which she told him, guessing, that would exacerbate the injury. Len agreed and she bent, her high vis jacket slid away, her tee-shirt slid up and it exposed the lower part of her bare back and a sliver of black lace briefs above the waist band of her shorts. She sorted the sock and knelt up, wondering what she could next, he seemed to be in some pain, but there would be no one around at this time of the morning, not even dog walkers. Where they were wasn't far away from the main road through the area, she could hear the traffic. She couldn't resist getting another sneaky look at Len's todger, she wondered why he hadn't tucked it out of her sight, but he was an old man and maybe didn't think about that. Kelly pondered whether to tell him. She asked Len maybe he could stand and he thought that yes, maybe.

She bent to push upright as he slung an arm round her shoulders. Yes that's a good idea, Kelly thought, I can give him some help, but when Len had twisted slightly, his big ballocks had also come adrift from the slip. The simple country girl had never seen smooth globes like his. All the fuckers she had up her cunt were hairy and these was different. Len's arm hadn't detected a brassiere under Kelly's shirt. She took another lingering peek at his exposed genitals and started to suggest he might do something about - you know down there, indicating with her eyes, her tongue between her pursed lips, the whole collection looked very tasty and it had been a while...

The so-called injured, randy old man, thinking and hoping this young slip of a girl had evil in her mind, ignored her, making as if he was struggling to get up, holding round her back and with an extra pull, his head rose to meet hers and he kissed her. Len's timing couldn't have been better. Kelly initially pulled back but her lips were locked to his and their tongues were mingling. He was a fucking good kisser she mused and for all his year, how old was he? At least his breath was sweet, knowing how her dad's was all day. She realised this was the first sexy encounter she had had for some weeks. Automatically her hand filtered down his hard stomach and found his stiffening cock, which had started to twitch.

Wow! He was getting big quickly. She manoeuvred round a little, knocking his had off, amazing her with how much wispy grey hair he had and sign of going bald. Expertly she wanked Len as his hand traced lower into the back of her Lycra. It was tight in there and she shifted slightly, letting him find some flex in the material. Kelly snogged Len, thirsty for male lust, she was now gagging for it as the village lads would say, and maybe if she suggested it she should take her jogging gear off after all this was too good to pass over. Len's hand was stuck in the close fitting material, wiggling his finger as if to search. Fuck it she thought, straddling over the old man, so that she could give serious head to his stiffy. Len was faced with her bottom, so he took the hint and eased her Lycra down, but her legs either side of him prevented a total removal, which Kelly had already thought of. They managed.

About a mile away on the A31, Gordon on the way round his parish was being mooned at by a city group of college girls in a slow overland coach. The fact that he was clearly wearing his church gear of black cassock and dog collar, they were happily dropping their undies and he carefully slowed to get close and get a good view. There was a lush black bum, two very thin white ones, a chunky white one and a light chocolate coloured arse whose probably delectable owner had briefly pulled her buttocks wide and he'd got a flash of her bum hole. He got an impatient honk from the driver of an enormous articulated lorry that was tail gating him, so he looked behind, checked his mirror and pulled out, overtaking the bare bottoms leaving them no doubt for the ...yes, a Belgian lorry driver.

Herbert Brook didn't normally work on pigs this old he mused, but Mrs Bogworthy had asked him to cut hers, having forgotten the task. Ronald her deceased husband would normally get done. When he arrived at her small holding a few miles out from the village, he was first of all surprised to see the diminutive, old fashioned - as he thought widow, dressed in a blue and green thin plaid shirt which was open necked to show the red, white spotted neckerchief. A calf length dark green cotton skirt flapped around her legs. She had well worn Doc Marten boots on her small feet, no socks. Her springy white hair was tied back in a severe bun.

Herbert noticed there were no other men about, but at least the old dear had penned the white Landrace male and she had a stout pole through the ring in it's nose. He told her that it would mean at least two pairs of hands to deal with the lively pig and she'd immediately offered her assistance. He was knocked back but he knew she was an able country woman and still managed the day to day happenings on her three acre establishment, with two horses, a herd of pigs and numerous chickens.

Hermione Bogworthy was cooing to the big white boar, they obviously were at one and she stroked the huge globes between it's back legs in a soothing motion. Herbert, who thought he'd seen everything with pigs, secured ropes round the boar's feet to two widely spaced stakes. She held the pole and he administered an injection into one big ear. The pig soon flopped to one side and the experienced herdsman rolled it, legs up. Hermione watched as he disinfected the swine's genitals and got to work with his knife. Herbert asked if she was OK, getting an affirmative nod. She knew this boar had mega balls and how she would love to borrow Herbert's knife on spotty faced Nigel in the choir. That would surely cure his high voice - oh no silly me, she mused, it would make him squeakier. She told Herbert that she held poor Donald's testicles in his memory at prayers every night, the retired surgeon having requested one his colleagues to remove them after his death for Hermione's desired remembrance benefit. This old boar was one of Donald's favourites she told Herbert, therefore she would love to have a memorable pair like these as memorial handfuls too. She had prepared for this and had researched the preservation process. The kind and baffled Mr Brook agreed to extract them and hand the coconut size, slimy grey, purple veined, blood spattered ballocks over. He cleaned the wound, stitched it, wiped his hand down his grubby brown corduroy trousers and released the squealing animal. He refused payment and left.

In the Spar convenience store, Yvonne was ogling Colleen the tall, slender, ginger haired, bespectacled Irish delivery driver who was managing a trolley loaded with stuff from the supplier. Her thighs looked strong in the uniform olive green shorts, as were her arms and her smile was ravishing. Yvonne followed Colleen into the store, having closed the shop for lunch. Trolley unloaded, the two women sank into a urgent embrace, kissing frantically while tearing off their upper clothes. Colleen's nipples were hard and sharp like thimbles and Yvonne hungrily devoured them as the Irish lass hoisted Yvonne's store smock, fiddled into her knickers and frigged her wet cunt.

Len had offloaded Kelly from straddling him and was thrusting as deep as possible into her hungry snatch, her panties unknown to her were worn gusset in, on his face. The sun beat down on the mismatched pair, Great Tits tweeted, a pony wandered by swishing its tail, traffic rumbled, sirens blared and a cow mooed. Human grunts, squeaks and sighs fitted in nature as did the animal snorts, neighs and roars. Now a slapping was added to the gentle chorus of sound as Len's orgasm peaked and he came in Kelly's slightly more satisfied quim. The old man was fit enough not to collapse over the heaving trembling young girl. He thought he heard what sound like an electronic beep but ignored it, maybe it was Kelly's mobile in her jacket.

Maurice, rushed from the bar, his bleeper informing him of a pile up on the A31 and donned his part time uniform, rushing out as his colleague in a paramedic car screeched to a halt outside The Swan,. A foreign articulated lorry had ploughed into a tree.

Nigel grinned as he peered into his camera, having Kelly and Len unlatch from the slow thoughtful fuck he had just peeped and recorded. She smiled happily, then with a cheeky grin and eye roll, retrieving her panties, noticing in close proximity how long his eye lashes were in his feminine features. Kelly told Len he reminded her of someone she seemed to know very well. Len hoped to carry on with the deception as long as possible. They arranged to meet again, likely at the same grassy knoll - although she told him that her mum and dad were going on a coach trip to Longleat next Tuesday, so - if he really wanted to - he could come to the cottage that day. She would have to make sure her shift pattern suited that. Len agreed, sure to himself he could organise that. They jogged together for another mile until splitting as they reached the village. She was chuffed she had a new fuck partner, so what about his age, he was fucking good, gentle, cultured and not bad looking, but maybe not to accompany her to a karaoke/disco at the village hall next month.

His bird watching trip over, luckily allowing him to voyeur the sexy scene, Nigel trudged home with his back pack and binoculars. His mother who ran a small B&B in the village gave him lunch and he went to his room to download his secret video and edit it. The Great Tit, the Wet Snatcher and Cock Creeper were useful sightings, but the addition of a Greater Brook Arse was a true "lifer" as his mates in the county ornithologist club would say, but he knew he couldn't show them that catch. The counter tenor browsed the internet for bird watching and stumbled on a bird site new to him. The vulgar use of the word bird was used as an alternative to girl and a whole new world suddenly opened up to the shy, single accountant. He studied a lot of videos, bashing his bishop (most appropriate for a chorister) and realised if he could blur their faces, the forest sex scene could be shown to the world and he might make some new friends.

Life rolled on the sleepy village of Much Dribbling.