The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It might seem a surprising idea—classic cars as a ‘babe magnet’ but I’ve certainly seen the phenomenon at shows. Some cars do just seem to attract the babes. The E- type Jaguar jumps straight out of course: did Enzo Ferrari, the founder of Ferrari, not call it ‘the most beautiful car ever made’? It’s not just the Jags., more usually it’s the sporty jobs with soft tops that appeal: Austin Healeys (perhaps more the bigger ones like 3000s, rather than Spridgets), MGBs and MGCs and, of course the Triumphs all the way from TR2 to 6. In tin-top format almost all Aston Martins seem to do the trick. Perhaps the Triumph GT6 and, bizarrely, the Ford Capri and certainly the big American jobs like the Ford Mustang and Chevrolet Corvette. It’s size that matters sometimes—oversexed and over here indeed!

Triumph 2500S as a babe magnet? I seemed to find it worked for me. There was something deliciously erotic, without anything being said or probably realised by the ‘babe,’ at being invited to sit on the Triumph’s old leather seats; perhaps the better if the ‘babe’ is in a skirt or shorts so the back of the thighs touch the leather. Nice to watch the ‘babe’ hold the steering wheel and reach for the gear knob if sitting in that seat. They always want to sit in that seat, always reach to hold the gear knob and cannot resist flicking that overdrive switch. I’ve even seen ‘babes’ fondle the knob like they might a penis. Subconscious? I don’t know. I’ve seen the odd one redden when she has seen me looking. And, seeing that touch and fondle… well, it does for me.

And when I say ‘babe’ I don’t just mean the young things. I recall a very nicely spoken woman, greying hair and a surprisingly smart outfit for a show, a blue two piece skirted suit indeed, settle into the driver’s seat, the skirt riding up and showing still very shapely knees and tops of lower thighs, me watching them moving as she pushed at the pedals, and then glancing at her hand, complete with wedding and engagement rings, as it settled atop the gear knob, as she said,

“I wouldn’t mind a ride in this,” and turning and smiling at me as her hand fondled the gear knob. There was no question the statement was not meant other than ambiguously, a double entendre sticking up in the air like the gear lever and its big knob. Her husband came up behind me, a big burly bloke in tweed and with a most remarkable moustache, and the three of us talked cars for quite a time as the woman sat there, fondling the knob. Did he notice her actions, was he as much erect in his tweeds as I was in my corduroys? Was there a manly fellow feeling at wanting our knobs fondled?

Nothing came of it that day, but I have often thought how good it would have been to have given her a ride. Perhaps alone, perhaps for her to suggest we parked up somewhere ‘quiet,’ perhaps to have sex in the back seat or, as I had with Jane, slip off into the countryside and find a secluded spot. Frankly, I would not have said no to giving them both a spin in the car, nice to imagine her becoming more and more aroused as she sat next to me, perhaps fondling the gear knob in a most suggestive way, my eyes flicking to it and perhaps, her husband, in the back seat becoming more and more aroused himself as he stared through the gap between the seats at her mobile hand. The suggestion finally made and me nosing the car into some secluded field gate or, better still, a track. Not my usual thing to have a ‘threesome’ but there’s always a first time. Probably all a great surprise to the husband, but how good to have a bit of variety, and how nice for the woman to be serviced by two men as she lay in a pose of abandonment across the warm bonnet of the Triumph. Completely naked, of course, undressed by two men, her sex so exposed. Two men taking it in turns to ‘poke’ her.

I had seen, indeed experienced, the seeming effect of Rob’s old car on both Jane and Heulwen but confirmation of my suspicions that it was, indeed, the car came when a new client appeared. I had always had a bit of a thing for those 1960s/70s girls in white mini-skirts and white leather boots jumping into or out of little sports cars. Mrs. Emma Peel and her 1965 Lotus Elân Series 2, Tara King in that 428 Spider, the closing credits of Dee Time—OK, all before my time but if you’re interested in classic cars of the period these things come up on ‘You Tube’ etc and I like the images! It was not, quite, that Susannah York drove into my garage, but it was certainly one sexy ‘babe.’ Literally drove in as I’d left the doors open—another hot day.

Not twenty, not eighteen, not twenty-four, more like thirty but with a figure as if twenty or so. Not a mini skirt but a mini-dress and, yes, white boots and a gold chain effect belt around her waist. Seriously Retro. Sex on a stick—and she knew it. A flash of white panties as she got out of her little sporty number. Somehow, I did not think she had not been taught by her mother how to get out of cars in a skirt—that was deliberate.

I’m not one for feminism, rather the opposite really. No problem with equal pay for equal work but average salary comparisons between the male and female workforces of a firm? Get real! Fighter pilots, coal miners, girls playing Rugby in a serious way? All a bit odd if you ask me. And there is so much cake and eat it about it all. One moment you have some woman complaining about being treated differently—as a woman—the next you have them using their sexuality to their advantage, twisting things their way by very clear flirting. This was a case in point. I rather thought the young lady was going to encourage me to offer a good price for the work she wanted, simply by being so very feminine. She was right of course, I would offer her a good price, I would be very happy having her turn up as a client! A woman’s wiles work for me.

Very nice to stand and talk to her about her MGC. Very happy to take a look and quote for the work. Could she leave it with me, and I would let her know? Most enjoyable just to talk to her, Fiona Prentice was her name. I like talking to women particularly pretty women and was she that! Blond to boot, blue eyes, full lips, just so right and her hair worn in that Sixties way with a curling inwards either side, the ‘Lovely’ Aimi MacDonald came to mind. Good to talk and be amused by how she was twisting me around her little finger, and I was very happy to be twisted.

It transpired she had not really thought ahead about getting back from my workshop and she talked me into giving her a lift back to her workplace. She could get a train home from there. It did not require much talking me into taking her. I was more than happy to see her get in the Triumph beside me, see that white dress lift further up her long thighs, almost showing those white knickers.

“Nice car,” she patted the old leather seat, “do like the walnut dash. What’s that switch on the gear knob for?”

I glanced over at the MGC. They had overdrives as an optional extra—hers didn’t. So, I explained. Nice car, the MGC, big 2912cc Austin C-series straight-six engine so a head-on rival for the TR5 during its production life. There was work to do: those big chrome bumpers had seen better days and I could foresee several hours to be spend bent over in the engine compartment under the raised power bulge bonnet.

I was more than happy to talk about the Triumph as we drove. Watched her walk away a little longer than was really necessary, but good to take in her rear view—and that was enough with a few ‘thoughts’ to give me an erection. I even let it out of my overalls as I drove back and gave it a few tugs as I imagined her leaning over and sucking it. I was rather getting into the idea women did that, you know. I opened the workshop doors like that (with it hidden away again, of course). I stood looking at her MGC and then got into it and sat where, half an hour before, she’d been sitting. That didn’t really help, thinking about her shapely bottom on that seat, perhaps wriggling a little. Fuck, she was quite something! In my head the thought of cumming in her mouth or ‘giving her one,’ knickers off and lowering herself in that dress onto my upstanding gear knob. Out of my overalls came my cock once more—exposed and rigid in her car. Yeah, ‘turgid’ is a good word—it was that. An interesting violation of her space—perhaps. Across the workshop a roll of blue paper towels. Should I? Or should I really get back to work? I was a good boy—work won, perhaps because the blue paper was out of reach, and I examined the MGC in detail preparing the quote.

“How long will it be?”

I smiled, my thought that it would be quite long! I always enjoy a double entendre intentional or unintentional. I was pretty sure this was the latter. “Really it’s going to take me a fortnight. Getting the parts, re-spray…” I was talking on the ‘phone to Fiona that afternoon. “You could have it back now and bring it in when it’s more convenient, but I wouldn’t leave it too long.

“Could I have it back for the weekend and then let you have it Monday morning?”

I’d be very happy to have ‘it’ Monday morning! Another possible double entendre. I arranged to pick her up after work and bring her back to the workshop. It would be good to see her seated in the Triumph 2500 again.

“Mmmm, I do like this car,” Fiona said as she got in, “I liked my ride this morning.”

On your boyfriend, I wondered… riding cowgirl?

What a nice little wriggle as she settled herself on the leather seat.

“A really comfortable ride. I like a comfortable ride,” she said when we got to the workshop.

Now that was intentional. I was sure of it, and equally sure the Triumph 2500 had a lot to do with it. He was a naughty boy!

I was half way through the job on the MGC when I next had the next real contact with Fiona. Yes, I had seen her when she had dropped the car off on the Monday, but I had been with a client, had just briefly spoken when she had driven it in and had seen she had someone else take her on to work. Another woman, I saw, in another sports job, a nice little MGB. Fiona just turned up out of the blue on the Saturday. One moment I was alone in the workshop, next she had walked in. Was it the same dress or a similar one? I was not that sure.

“Just dropped by to see how things are going.” The car was not ready to be driven, not with so many bits and pieces sitting on the steel workbench in the corner. The respray was booked for the following week. I rubbed my oily hands on blue paper and talked to her about it. My estimate held. The work was about what I had thought. I was interested to see Fiona seemed in no hurry to go. Indeed, I saw her hands a couple of times caress the yellow paintwork of the Triumph 2500. Was ‘he’ up to his tricks again? Something was coming. I was not just a visit to see progress, I was sure.

“I wonder, might you let me have a go in this?”

“Take it for a spin?”

“Mmmm. Not for sale is it?”

No fear! My answer clear: “It was a friend’s: I’m rather attached to it. If you want to have a run, I’m happy for you to borrow it. But sale, no. I don’t need it until, I suppose, five-ish if you want to go somewhere.”

I could see the excitement. “Oooh please, could I?”

The keys in her hand, the yellow driver’s door open, Fiona paused and then got in. I averted my eyes, not by choice but she was looking at me as she eased herself into the seat. That dress really was rather short: had I been able to look I am sure I would have seen more than I should have done.

“I do love these leather seats.” She patted the leather, “I like the feel on the back of my legs.”

I turned my head back to her. Up my spine a tickling sensation, not fear, not that at all, something quite different, a frisson of anticipation. That was a sexual allusion if I was not mistaken. I said nothing, just looked at her as if I expected Fiona to say something more… and she did.

Such a nice little wriggle of her shoulders, a coy, rather captivating smile, “it feels sexy, like an older man’s skin.”

Oh, crikey, where was this leading?

“Would you mind awfully if I didn’t wear panties, just had my bare bottom on the seat so I could feel the leather… please?”

“If… if you like,” I stuttered.

“Oh, I like.”

Did she, did she actually, purr?

“Well… you’d better be going.” Was I embarrassed to watch, I certainly did not turn away this time, as Fiona reached within her short dress, lifted her bottom and lowered a pair of white knickers. Done demurely if anything like that can be done demurely and in such a short dress, but suffice it to say, I did not learn whether she was shaven or unshaven down below. The foot pedals, on the other hand, would have gained a lot more information from their line of sight. She wriggled on the seat, not just a little wriggle at that.

“Would you mind looking after these for me?”

Fiona reversed out, her hand on the big flared knob—I didn’t miss that; and left me standing there in my oil stained overalls at the garage door with a pair of white knickers in my hand, watching Fiona changing into first and driving off. I closed the garage doors and looked at the flimsy white cotton in my hand. They were warm to the touch. It would though be a good idea to put them down, somewhere not oily and get them out of my hand with the risk of getting oil stained finger prints over them. Phew! I knew just how much I would like getting oily fingerprints over what they had contained just seconds before.

Warm to the touch—warm against my cheek. Warm against my nose with the scent of woman. She would know—know as she drove—that I would have done that—would probably know the sudden urge I had to whip out my cock and tie the cotton around it. Yeah, and wank with them, the soft cotton caressing my engorged prick. She would know the effect on an almost forty-year old, oil stained mechanic. Was she expecting to find her knickers soaked with semen on her return?

She might have been, but they were untouched by ejaculate, I did not risk that embarrassment. In fact, she did not even ask for them back on her return. They were in full sight, carefully placed on a clean footwell paper sheet, had sat, pristine white, on my workbench all day to the evident surprise of one client whose forehead had furrowed when she had seen them, but had said nothing. I’d certainly have tucked them away in a pocket if I’d thought Heulwen would be coming around,0 but I knew she was away.

Fiona returned about four o’clock, was gushing about the car, clearly in a state of sexual arousal and talked about how well it had driven, about her day, said she had even parked up on the Hogsback and sat and looked at the view from the hill. I wondered about that after she had gone off. Had she indeed admired the view or been rather unfocused with fingers in her dress playing with her ‘bits,’ having a nice little feminine ‘wank’ in the T2500. Had she perhaps looked longingly at the gear knob and thought what she might do with it in a (probably) less public space? Of course, once she went, I was on my hands and knees examining the driver’s seat leather for new stains. I hardly need to be that close. The wet patch, the oval wet patch was as obvious and visible as the Triumph’s yellow paintwork when out on the road. Tempting to get out of my overalls and lower my hanging balls slowly down onto the patch as I settled into the driver’s seat and then roll my cock in the wetness. That was probably as close as I would get to Fiona’s snatch. I had hoped she might want to move my gear knob on her return and get me to check her fluid levels. But not a bit of it, she would not even stay for a mug of tea, had things to do. Perhaps she was off to meet a boyfriend—well, he would be in for a busy time!

The knickers came home with me and whilst they did not end up soaked in semen, that did not mean they did not get tied around my cock, that they did not become a masturbatory aid or that I did not sleep with them warm inside my pyjamas. No, I did not put them on.

“I wondered… I’ve been telling some friends what a nice classic car you’ve got, whether you’d mind giving them a spin? We were thinking of having a picnic on Saturday if it’s nice, so would you like to come if you’re not doing anything else?”

Fiona and I were speaking on the ‘phone mid-week. The MGC job was going nicely and she could probably take it away on the Saturday. Could I spare the time to go for a picnic with Fiona and friends? Better if it was just her but that was a bit of wishful thinking. It would probably be a good day and I liked showing off the T2500. It might even be amusing to see it work his effect on Fiona. Work on the cars could wait. It was a Saturday, after all. I was happy enough to both come on the picnic and drive. What I hadn’t appreciated was there would be four of them, nor that all the friends would be female. A bit of a squash in the back seat but, alas, I was in the front.

A new thing for me driving a party of girls, well Fiona’s age girls. Gone her mini dress but denim shorts and tee shirt, instead, showed her legs to advantage. Fiona in the front, the other three in the back. Don’t girls talk! But I was happy to listen and drive—and take the occasional glance at Fiona’s long legs. It was a hot and sunny day, I drove with the windows open. No air conditioning of course.

Could he handle four at once? Was the old T2500 up to it? Was he going to work his—‘magic,’ was it?—upon all four at once? Would I notice, even? The four girls were seemingly excited just at the prospect of the picnic, the day out and being together. They were animated enough as it was. Would his effect be slow and, it might be said, insidious? A lovely idea, four young quims gently and subtly moistening all around me, skin drawing back to breasts as nipples hardened—all eight of them. Might legs start rubbing together or, instead, knees part and then close repeatedly as nether lips swelled and the wetness flowed?

We stopped on a piece of heathland, parking the car and all getting out to stretch our legs. The girls went off one way and me the other to ‘spend a penny,’ and then there was a couple of picnic rugs and the prepared picnic to unload from the back. Pleasant to watch the girls applying sunscreen to their arms, faces, necks and long legs. I was more than happy to watch girls stroking oil onto their bare flesh. I took a few photographs. The girls would probably be pleased to have a record of the day, I could upload them and send the location to them all by email and it would also be pleasant for me to have the photographs as well to review and contemplate at my leisure (very possibly in my pyjamas and, who knew, perhaps some of that workshop blue paper towelling to hand…).

Not a very long walk found us sitting under a few pines, admiring the view and unpacking the picnic. Eating al fresco has a certain something about it and the day was perfect for it. Gloriously blue skies, a slight breeze making it all pleasant rather than hot and, I have to say, these girls knew how to make a picnic. Good to sit with them on the blankets. I always find sitting on the ground slightly awkward and uncomfortable—not that I was in any way complaining that day, the girls though had that natural grace women have. Fiona sitting with her long legs half tucked under her, another sitting cross legged in her shorts, another in a stripy summer dress sitting with her legs straight out and ankles crossed, the third sitting like Fiona and the fourth kneeling. I can recall because, again, I took photographs.

“What shall we do, this afternoon, a walk?”

It was an excellent place to ramble, plentiful and clear paths through the heather and gorse, the prospect of a wooded valley not far off for shade. I would enjoy that.

“What I’d really like is a swim.”

“Oooh yes!” There was general agreement with Fiona.

“The coast is within reach,” I said.

“We should have thought of it. We should have brought swimming things, pity.” Again, there was agreement with Fiona’s sentiment.

“We could visit a castle or some gardens,” I suggested.

The idea of the walk won which I was more than happy with. The picnic things were packed and needed to be stowed in the car before we set off. The saffron paintwork of the Triumph showed clearly across the heathland, despite the mirroring by the gorse flowers, as we neared the parking place.

A sigh from Amalia. I had been admiring her moving buttocks from behind as the girls walked ahead of me. Up went one and down the other in her orange shorts. Shorts that went so well with her dark brown thighs—in my opinion. I had, as you do, been imagining her walking ahead of me naked, that mental undressing that men do as a matter of course, enjoying how the thoughts made my penis firm inside my, sensibly loose, khaki cotton and linen trousers. How good it would be to see those buttocks for real, in the flesh, gloriously plump and brown. Fat chance of that!

Another sigh. “I do wish we could have a swim. So good to run into the waves and launch into the water.”

“Be nice on the beach,” said another.

“We can go to the coast if you want,” I said from behind.

We were closing in on the T2500, it’s paintwork gleaming and the chrome brilliant in the sun. The wide radiator grill so looking like a big grin to me.

“It’d be so good to go to a beach. We should have planned that.”

“We could perhaps have a swim if the beach wasn’t too crowded,” said Fiona slowly.

“As in empty?”

“Um, yeah, really. Eric any chance of…”

An empty beach on a Saturday in mid- summer? Not likely! Even with local knowledge which I did not possess.

Four girls with smartphones whipped out. Four girls leaning against the paintwork of the Triumph engrossed in surfing the ‘Net.’ It made a good picture—and I took the photograph!

And so, half an hour later, we nosed down a track to a pebble beach with not an ice cream van in sight but certainly quite a few cars at the end. It had been an interesting drive. From the back I had caught interesting phrases like ‘skinny dipping’ and ‘would he mind?’ There was a lot of giggling. Was he having his seemingly usual effect of female arousal or merely a loosening of inhibitions? I had only Fiona next to me but I was sure those thighs poking out of her denim shorts were doing more moving than before, that there was definite movement as if there was an itch to be scratched.

The girls had found what they wanted. A clothing optional beach, even from the car I could see that, as I nosed the car into a space between another couple of cars right on the edge of the tarmac overlooking the beach. Not somewhere I had been before, at all. Very strange walking from the car along the pebbles for a good place to set those picnic rugs down and passing people with no clothes on. Saying ‘lovely afternoon’ to a couple who must have been well into their seventies walking the opposite way from us. It is strange how bodies can look a lot younger than faces!

No doubt the beach being shingle not sand kept a lot of people away and the northern end was devoid of people, perhaps having just been vacated by the old couple. We had it to ourselves, other people not too close. I could not really believe what was about to happen.

“This is perfect. Well done, Eric.”

“Yeah, well done. Isn’t this super?”

“Perfect. A lazy hot afternoon on the beach.”

I had done nothing, they had found the beach. I had just driven.

“Well, who’s going to be first?” Fiona looked at the other three girls, but they looked at me. I settled down on a rug and took my sandals off as if I was as unconcerned as anything at what they did, as if I was not at all interested in their idea of swimming and, importantly, taking clothes off. I looked back up the pebble strewn beach, up beyond the people, up above the beach to the car, the saffron paintwork brighter than sand, parked facing out to sea. His big, cheesy grin looked even wider than usual.

“Oh, come on. Swim time,” called Fiona, “last one in loses!”

She was not going to lose. Pulling up her tee shirt, revealing her brassiere and then unclipping that seemed to stir the others into action. My gaze wandered back and settled on the girls. It was perhaps like being in the ladies changing room at a swimming club. Bare breasts, bottoms and furry bits all around. Very nice. Lovely to see the four of them then scamper, buttocks wobbling towards the water. And ‘scamper’ was just the right word. Laughing, splashing and naked as the days they were born. I had seen other naked people on the beach, but this had something else. Four girls together and I knew them all. It was very pleasant sitting there in the sunshine under my baseball cap looking out to sea at the frolicking girls and enjoying the feel of my penis expanding.

“Come on, Eric, you too!”

“Oh, yes!”

Oh dear. I was not in the right state for exposing myself. Erections must happen on a clothes optional beach when away from the safety of clothes or towels, but it was just not the right thing to walk down to the water and the girls with ‘it’ up in the air from the start. I shook my head. A bit more splashing and then Fiona and Amalia came up the beach for me.

“Come on, in you come too, don’t be shy!” They were not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I didn’t look at them, rather I looked towards the rocks at the end of the beach, thinking of rock pools and anything but naked women as I rather slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Perhaps it was fright, but I was on the way down by the time I slipped off my boxers. Well below the horizontal, perhaps almost within the range of what could be described as non-tumescent—rather thick and substantial but not risen.

“There you are, that wasn’t too bad was it!”

Fiona and Amalia took me by the hands, and we sort of ran down the shingle to the sea.

Great fun swimming and splashing around with the girls. I was not the first to do it but soon found myself holding the hands or feet of a girl and swinging her to and fro with another girl before letting her go so she flew and then splashed under the water. Tomfoolery, but just so enjoyable. It would have been enjoyable with anybody though I would have found it rather odd to frolic with four naked young men, even if what was being done was just what any group of young people, modestly dressed in swimming costumes rather than nothing at all might well have done. Lovely to lift Fiona up, one arm in the crook of her knees and the other behind her back and throw her. Lovely to do the same with Amalia and the others and make full bodily contact. Lovely to see girls disappearing under the water with a flash of wide-open legs. I should really have been as erect as anything, but the water was perhaps not warm enough for me to have an ‘underwater torpedo’ all ready to fire at them!

And, of course, I was swung too. Captured by the girls and caught by hands and feet, swung with my now shrunken and floppy penis going this way and that, to disappear under the water.

Great fun. Good to come out, eventually, into the warm sunshine and run about a bit to warm. Not so easy on the shingle as sand would have been. Lovely to see such pleasing breasts on the move. Rather than sit on the picnic blankets we donned sandals and walked across and onto the rocks to explore. The tide was out leaving rock pools glinting in the sunshine as we walked further across the rocks, stepping carefully from one to another.

In front of me Amalia bent to look at a rock pool giving me quite a view of the smooth rounded skin of her outer labia, together with the crinkliness of her inner lips poking through, darker than the rest of her skin with hints of pale pinkness and, indeed, the long crack of her full bottom opening revealing her dark bottom hole. An inevitable exposure given her position but, the way she turned her head and looked back at me, showed her action was not simply a desire to examine what sea creatures might lurk in the water left behind as the tide went out. She was being deliberate in her actions.

There was a giggle from one of the other girls, and she jumped from one rock to another, sure footed in her sandals. It made her boobs bounce, and again, she was looking at me gauging my reaction.

“Isn’t this gorgeous,” said another, brushing a fly from another girl’s breast, her hand lightly touching her friend’s nipple. She too looked at me.

“Poor man. You’re teasing him.” Fiona to my rescue? Too late.

Giggles from the girls as I felt it happening. That involuntary action, that clear indicator of male sexual arousal. I was erecting there on the rocks with four girls around me and there was nothing I could do to hide it. They were giggling and pointing as I felt my foreskin retract. I did not look down, I knew what had happened, and it was not embarrassment I felt but a surge of excitement at being exposed like that and having four women looking at me. It felt as strong and upright as it ever did. I was standing there with as tumescent a penis as I could achieve. Not my doing at all. The full peeling making it the worse.

“Make it go down,” said Amalia.

That produced fits of giggles. “No, Amalia you make his cock go down… and how are you going to do that?”

More giggles. And the thought of Amalia ‘making it go down’ did nothing to lessen my erection. In the position I was in, away from the cooling water of the sea and with the girls all around me, the only immediately practical way to make it subside was to wank it to completion, and the idea of Amalia’s brown hand doing that had quite the opposite effect. It was not going down.

“Shall we go back, shall I go back? I feel rather exposed, um, like this.”

“No need,” said Fiona, “we like you like this, don’t we girls?”

A chorus of agreement.

“No let’s explore some more, we’re more than happy to have a decorative man with us, aren’t we girls. Nice to see you looking so… upstanding.”

More giggles, four pairs of eyes upon my genitalia.

“Let’s keep him up.”

“Yeah! Eric’s not allowed to go soft on us.”

And I wasn’t. Clambering around on rocks, stepping from one to another, even jumping from one to another, I did with an erection. The girls saw to it I didn’t soften. Not one of the girls did not touch and stroke. Not too much—I did not provide food for the fishes that lurked in the pools—but sufficient. Eyes keeping an eye on me, friendly fingers ready to clasp and squeeze, palms sometimes outstretched to hold and massage my balls. Remarkable to be standing with the girls looking into a pool and feel a finger gently stroking my knob and then feeling another sliding up the underside and tickling my ‘sweet spot.’ Me looking from the pool to my penis and seeing it was two different girls doing the actions. Remarkable to be standing talking to, perhaps, dark Amalia, with my cock pointing at her stomach and feel her fingers upon my knob. A ‘tut’ from her making me look down, and there she was, rubbing thumb and forefinger together with wetness between. A touch to my urethral opening and a sticky strand coming away still attached to her finger. My eyes followed her finger and thumb upwards as she looked at her wet fingers and saw her shake her head at me, before bending and washing her fingers in a pool.

Down below me the crouching black girl, her lovely breasts hanging. In my mind the thought of how good it would be if, on the way back to standing, she was to catch my knob in her mouth and taste what was leaking from me. No such luck—had she been about to do that then, surely, she would have licked her finger and thumb first?

Back across the rocks and then a problem, a couple of other people approaching, not paying much attention to us but rather the pools but, nonetheless, they were not going to miss a full-blown erection. I sat, hiding my erection between and under my thighs, but even then I was not allowed to subside. Fiona started a rather long and very sexual recollection about what she and a former boyfriend had got up to on a trip to Cyprus; or was it Crete? It was all deliberate with the other girls joining in with intimate questions, every so often giving me sly looks to see if their teasing was hitting home.

“They’ve moved on, you can stand now.”

Of course, as I stood, my cock was released. No weaker than before, released from the confinement of my thighs, it just bounded up into the air to the considerable amusement of the girls. And so back we went to the beach giving the couple a ‘safe’ back view of me. I flopped down upon a rug and closed my eyes. Was I willing my cock to go down or wondering if the girls, now settling themselves were still looking at it? Lovely lying there in the sunshine. There is definitely something really good having your penis heated by the sun’s rays.

“We should really have put sunscreen on.”

When I opened my eyes, a few moments later, there were four girls rubbing sunscreen upon their bodies—nice! I was very happy to see that.

“Might be an idea, Eric, to lie on your front. They are coming back.”

I did as I was told and heard the girls talking to the couple and as they did so I felt a squirt of sunscreen on my back and felt a hand spreading it. What a delight to have a young woman, I did not know which one undertaking that ‘chore’ for me. Hands on my buttocks. Naughty! The aim of the bottle of sunscreen had no doubt been deliberate—it certainly made me clench my cheeks. What must the couple have thought, if they saw? Relaxing—and sexual—to feel the sunscreen rubbed onto my legs as well as my bottom. I closed my eyes. What bliss!

“They’ve gone. You can turn over.”

I knew I was no less erect than before as I just rolled back over, and hands continued to rub the liquid over my body.

“This is all very kind.”

Giggles all around me. Good to lie there with eyes closed and effectively being massaged, but I was intrigued to see who exactly was doing the sunscreening. A fourth hand touched my right leg. Was it two girls with two hands or four girls with a hand each? It was indeed the four girls all kneeling around me. Hands advancing up or down my body to its sort of centre. Was my penis going to be oiled by them all or was I going to be told that I could do ‘that bit.” I rather thought the former and I was right!

I glanced away and up the beach, and there, just visible was the bright yellow paintwork of the Triumph between a line of rather grey or silver colours. Silver grey was indeed the new black. Was he really having his influence from all that way, had he just excited the girls that much or did they naturally, in a gang, spark off each other’s arousal in a cumulative way—a safety in numbers?

Hands and fingers, lots of them reaching, stroking and oiling, more than keeping my generative organs safe from the sun’s rays, certainly ensuring my foreskin was well covered as they tugged it to and fro.

“Careful, girls,” said Fiona, “we don’t want it doing anything it shouldn’t.”

Hands were removed leaving my cock just so shiny with the sunscreen and twitching away to itself, almost coming as I well knew. It was Amalia who started it. It was her hand who first touched herself between her thighs but that seemed to give the other girls carte blanche to do the same. I just lay there, penis hard and pointing up my stomach as my head turned and my eyes looked at one girl after the other. I was surrounded by girls frigging themselves and, of course, I reached to help—gentleman as I am—but was rebuffed and my hands slapped away.

“We touch: you don’t”

Wonderful to watch nonetheless, observe and remember technique, just lying there in pleasurable arousal. Clits rubbed and flicked, vaginas fucked with fingers and breasts stroked and pulled. No helping each other out and clearly no help from me but all successful. They all came, one after the other as I watched. Remarkable too to see their eyes were focused on my erection, the girls deriving a thrill from its appearance. I wondered what they were thinking, what they would like to do if released from whatever inhibitions held them back.

“I wonder,” said Fiona, “what men’s penises do?”

“Don’t you know, shall we find out?”

“I like a nice… cock,” said Amalia. Such a delightful emphasis on the word ‘cock.’ Such a short word and can be said in such a clipped way. A hint of a pause and then she just said. Very sexual! “Let’s see it do its thing.”

Again, fingers upon me, turns taken. They were playing with it, almost ignoring me, as if it was a toy they had brought to the beach or a pet that they could, well, pet! But it was not going to let itself be pet for too long before it reacted. All good things come to an end and it was obvious what would be the end result of this little game—even to the mock innocent Fiona. It was good—and visually stunning. Three matched forefingers and thumbs curled around the shaft and working up and down in unison plus Amalia’s brown hand cupping my balls.

“Yes!” And I was spurting away, flashing up into the air and down onto my stomach as the girls milked me dry. An orgasm and a half, made all the better for being watched by four pairs of eyes and with evident pleasure.

What an ordeal of pleasure, having been kept erect for so long and then wanked perfectly to ejaculation. Such a relief, and just so good.

“That’s a nice lot,” said Fiona, “didn’t the boy do well.”

And then it was, rather obviously, time for another cooling swim and a bit of a wash…

“Thank you, Eric, that was a lovely day. The girls really enjoyed it—and you were such a good sport, what with their teasing and them, us, making you walk around like that.” We were parked outside her house, having dropped the girls off earlier. I had received a peck on the cheek from each of them as well as their thanks.

Fiona leant a little closer in towards me, across the gear stick. “Was it a good cum. I bet you were hoping they would all ride you cowgirl one after another. They wouldn’t do that. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea… and a fuck? You deserve one—and a cup of tea.”

I like a nice cup of tea. Fiona’s house was one of those mid-terraced Victorian or Edwardian jobs, nicely modernized. A bit bijou but perfect for a single person or couple though whole families would have lived, and children been brought up in that very house. A sweet little garden too. Sweet as in pretty, but small, really quite small. We sat at a small cast iron table in one corner, where the sun still shone, drinking tea.

“I’m going to have a quick shower to wash the salt off.”

Very pleasant to sit and look at the garden, drink tea and review the day. Were we really going to fuck?

The reappearance of a showered Fiona but without clothes or even a towel rather demonstrated it was not just a cup of tea I was going to receive. She sat and crossed her legs, half hiding her delightfully blond sparse curls.

“Would you like a shower too? Don’t bother with clothes when you come back. I did enjoy being naked and free on the beach and you can’t be seen by the neighbours this side of the garden. Oh, why not come back as you were on the beach. I’d like to see you walking out of the door like that.!

I ascended the stairs, washed the salt off in the shower, a conversion of the second bedroom into a bathroom, towelled myself and peeked into the front bedroom. Nosy of course. A feminine room with a double bed and clear evidence of her ‘Sixties’ interest. She even had a pair of white thigh length boots leaning against a wall—sexy or not! On the chest of drawers, pictures of a young man about her age. Boyfriend, brother? I rather thought the former. A girl might have one of her brother, but not several! Outside the window, just visible from where I stood was the saffron paintwork of the Triumph. I looked back at those thigh length white leather boots and thought myself erect imagining Fiona naked with those on. It was an easy thing to imagine. It was an easy thing to erect.

Somewhat unusual to descend the stairs in someone else’s house both naked and erect. What if the boyfriend came through the front door? I reasoned Fiona knew what she was doing when she asked me to come into the garden naked and pointing. So, I just did it.

Out into the sunshine, just like on the beach. One girl, not four, but one was enough! So good to see the welcoming smile as I paused casually in the doorway leaning on the door jamb. Me pausing casually—posing perhaps—naked and with an erection? What a pleasant absurdity. Hardly pin up of the month for some girl mechanics garage calendar! Those calendars—not with men of course, but quite the opposite—are becoming rather a rarity. Heulwen had raised an eyebrow at mine but had smiled. ‘Big girl,’ she had said. ‘Collector’s item,’ I had replied.

Sitting down, Fiona had reached. “What did you think of having four girls in attendance on your cock today?”

“A wet dream! Couldn’t quite believe it. Do let me know if you all need a lift again. A fun day, even without…”

“… the wanking.” She said as she moved her fingers.

It seemed appropriate to reach out with my hand and tuck my fingers under her, as she sat there, and bring my palm up to cup her fur. Good to feel wetness with my fingertips. There was no brushing away of my hand this time. Next door the sound of someone perhaps hanging out washing, out in the street the siren of a police car but in Fiona’s sunlit garden, an oasis of tranquillity and sun, I was gently fingering a young woman and drinking tea. The hot tea in a cup at my lips, my finger slipping into a very different ‘cup.’

“Did you think we would all fuck you on the sand? I think they wanted to, really. Why did we all get so, um, aroused? It’s your car isn’t it, those leather seats, I told them they would like the car—and they did.” Fiona moved on her chair, making it easier for my fingers to enter. So warm inside. “Mmm, that’s nice.”

“It was, um, sort of in my mind but I don’t know that I’d have lasted the course!”

“Best one to one, then? Shall we go upstairs?”

We stood.

“Fiona, are you there?”

“Yes, Mrs Seaton, I’m here.” Fiona winked and her hand reached again for my upstanding penis, drawing down the foreskin, “my neighbour,” she whispered, “she’s a bit deaf.”

“I wondered, if you were going to the shops…”

“I can do later, Mrs Seaton, but I’ve got my hands full at present and am not really dressed…”

“Not urgent, Fiona, but if you could—later.”

A commonplace interlude. I was learning about Fiona. Clearly a kind girl who helped her elderly neighbour. Was she being kind to me, an older man to her? Certainly, her fingers were being very kind to my penis. Perhaps she was being naturally kind to older people—though I rather thought in my case it was that car.

I was led up the stairs, what an erotic experience, a young naked woman leading me by my erect cock—and so nicely done. Not simply grasped but forefinger and thumb curled around to form a circle and holding me in that depression before the cock flares out with the knob. An almost mechanical coupling, that depression looking almost like, in engineering terms, a place for a rubber ‘O’ ring to sit ensuring a tight connection when the male rod complete with ‘O’ ring was pushed into the female cylinder. I could imagine there might be some sort of sex toy where a man wore a ring in that depression, perhaps metal, perhaps rubber; loose when flaccid, tight when erect. But I have not looked into such things, have never seen the need to go into a sex shop or explore ‘on line.’ I was very happy with Fiona’s ‘ring’ of finger and thumb around me as we ascended the stairs.

“Nice boots,” I said.

“Would you like me to put them on?”

Well, that was somewhat the implication of my comment…

Wow! I’m not a great one for stockings and suspenders but white leather boots zipped (alas not laced) up to mid-thigh and rather clasping the flesh there… yes, I liked that.

The bedclothes were pulled back and Fiona bounced onto the bed and opened her boot clad thighs. “Like what you see? What are you going to do then?”

Fiona hadn’t sucked me yet but that did not stop me going down on her, drawn in by those boots, drawn into the soft feminine wetness, not at all hidden by the sparse blond curls all around. So lovely to push one’s face into, extend tongue, lap and explore. The sort of time when one wishes one’s tongue was a lot longer!

My hard penis pressed into the sheet, my hands reaching up to her breasts and my lips and tongue working away. It was perhaps lucky Mrs Seaton was a bit deaf, Fiona made quite a bit of noise. And I made her come.

She was blinking, smiling and looking a little spaced out when I surfaced. “Oh, I hadn’t expected that. Well, I’m sort of done and we’ve not even really started!” She looked at my cock which had lost a little of its strength, though just her looking at it seemed to have a restorative effect. “Would you like me to return the compliment?”

Now that is so what a man likes to hear. A girl asking if he would like her to suck his penis. She reached, held and brought her lips close. “You were hoping Amalia and the others would suck you on the sand, weren’t you?”

“And you.”

Her smile broadened, “And whose mouth would you like to have come in?”

“Not a fair question. I have to say you!”

“Perhaps, if we had been quick, we could have passed it around as you spurted away.”

“Might have caught one of you on the face whilst in transit.”

“Occupational risk! It happens. Bet you’d like to have seen our faces with your cum upon them. You men like that don’t you?”

A first lick, all the way up my ridge to the knob, a lingering tickle with the tip of her tongue to my taut little fraenum. “Mmmm, I like sucking cock.” And she sucked. “Have you ever?”

“No!”

“You should try. It’s nice.” A delightful bobbing. “So big in your mouth and so meaty. Are you going to cum in my mouth or fuck me? So that I know—should I be careful or not worried if I suck too much? Do you want to come on my face? I don’t mind.” Her mouth descended and her tongue was busy.

Torn—too many exciting options. I loved the idea of coming in her mouth, but I did want to see those boots in action. Fiona was certainly a woman in heat, a woman who liked sex—very much. “I’d like to fuck, please?” It did rather sound like a little boy in the sweet shop asking for a bag of Liquorice Allsorts or Sherbert Lemons or, perhaps, gob stoppers...

“I could suck you off now.” Her head descended again, “And you could come back at bedtime for a fuck.”

But she was unlikely to wear the boots to go to sleep.

“I could do that, (well, probably, that’d be three in a day) but I’d… I’d like to do the deed. You on top.”

A giggle. “OK,”

What a sight. Fair Fiona, naked but for those amazing boots mounted upon my midsection and her hips rising and falling on my upstanding cock. All I had to do was play with her breasts: she did the rest. She bounced up and down, pushing my knob up into her and then drawing it down, varying her tempo, all the while watching my face, judging me and keeping me from coming too soon. A wonderful sight—a 1960s dream of leather sex, mounted upon my penis. So good to watch until Fiona took me over and all I could do was spurt into her as she pounded up and down. Those soft thighs, clasped by the white leather of the boots, that so sexual transition from leather to flesh and that rising and falling triangle of fair curls as my penis delivered.

I settled back into the T2500 and drove off down the road. What a day. Two very pleasing and orgasmic sexual experiences in one day. Something I rarely achieve except on my own! Indeed, in the last few months sex had been just so much better than the last few years. I moved up to fourth gear and my hand lingered on the gear knob. ‘Now Eric,’ I thought, ‘don’t you start. Leave that to the girls.” I tapped the knob with my fingers and, absurdly, spoke to the car, “You and I are just good friends, you know’—and ‘he’ sure was helping me out, as a friend!