The Good Dogging Guide (2 page)

  He duly obliged. And before he could stop me, taking my own torch, I plunged into the darkness of the field chasing those mysterious dancing lights.

  The lights led me to the middle of the field where two males and a female were cavorting together on a flimsy blanket.

  “Sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” I said, instantly knowing I hadn’t disturbed them, but just added to the fun and excitement.

  “Join us if you like?” One of the males said, I’m not sure which.

  I began to undress, but the female of the group broke away from the males and almost ripped my clothes off in her excitement.

  I’d never had my pussy lips sucked by a female before, but that’s what happened as I stood in that field on that starry night.

  My husband finally caught up with the action in time to see her just finishing her work on my lips and probing deeper inside of me with her fingers.

  I’d never played with a woman before, but I found it no hardship exploring her body with my tongue and fingers, much to my husbands and the other males delight.

  I ended up having sex with one female and three males that night, including my husband. It was the most people I’d had sex with. Of course I made sure condoms were used and we followed the country code and we took our rubbish home with us; or rather put our used condoms in a bin at the nearest service station. You should have seen the look one of the cleaners gave us as we made our not so little deposit just as they were cleaning out the bin. The moral of this episode is follow your dreams, or rather the lights in this case. And don’t dump a clump of used condoms in a bin at the service station as its getting emptied. You’ll only end up getting watched by security and your number plate taken.

Chapter Four

  My husband always used to hate caravans. He was always moaning about them when he saw them trundling along, holding up cars on the motorway.

  “They’re a bloody liability,” he’d snarl under his breath as soon as he saw one, which then turned into, “they’re a fucking disgrace and should be banned, they shouldn’t be on the road,” when he was stuck behind one for even a short amount of time.

  Now me, I quite like caravans. I used to go on regular caravan holidays when I was younger, first with family and then with friends. It had always been static caravans that I’d stayed in, but I’d always fancied having a touring holiday.

  My husband looked up from his morning paper with disgust when I mentioned a touring holiday to him. “You’re joking right?”

  “Just hear me out,” I said and smiled oh so sweetly, as I proceeded to try to get my husband to bid on a caravan I had seen going for a very reasonable price on the internet.

  “There’s no way I’m getting one of those things,” my husband snapped. “There’s no way I’d even get in one, never mind actually buy one and drive it out onto the road to piss other drivers off.”

  “Do you remember when I said I’d like to have a touring holiday in Scotland?”

  “Yes. I remember that. I said no.”

  “But I’ve had an idea that will appeal to us both. We could have a dogging holiday.”

  “Touring Scotland in a caravan?”

  “It’s perfect isn’t it?” Plus it could turn out to be one of the best and cheapest holidays we’ve ever had.”

  It didn’t turn out to be one of the cheapest holidays we’ve ever had. We ended up spending a small fortune making the caravan roadworthy. But on the plus side we did have one of the best holidays ever. A real dogging holiday.

  My husband wanted to take the low road but I wanted to take the high road and although he was in the driving seat of the car, I was in the driving seat as far as the holiday was concerned. I’d already been planning ahead. Little did my husband know, but I had dogging meets already in place at various points along our tour. The first meet though, was not planned and came quite unexpected.

  My husband has never been any good at fixing punctures and I don’t have a clue when it comes to anything mechanical or motor related, so we were pretty much in a pickle when disaster struck on a country road in the heart of Scotland. We tried to ring a garage, but being in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by trees, our mobile phone signals were blocked out. We ended up resorting to flagging down motorists, and after half an hour waiting, arguing between ourselves, three cars passed us by. The fourth car that came our way, luckily for us, stopped.

  “Can we help?”

  “I hope so,” I said to the muscular male who strode confidently towards us. His co-companion wasn’t so talkative, he was a little weedy and acted a bit shy, but he was a wiz when it came to replacing our tyre.

  “How can we thank you enough?” I asked the muscular male.

  “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

  I laughed, but my husband didn’t laugh, he was still sulking over the pig’s ear he’s made over the tyre.

  The muscular male smiled. “So, are you guys are on holiday?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Just taking in the sights and sounds and sensations around Scotland. And when we get the chance, enjoying a bit of dogging fun.”

  You should have seen the look on his face. His friend looked surprised as well, as did my husband which is funny really, because I thought he’d be used to all my little quirks and the tricks I pull out of my hat, without people expecting. “Would you fancy joining us for a little fun?”

  Neither male answered with words, such was their shock, but they both nodded their heads frantically.

  “Good,” I said. “We’ll start off and you can follow us. It shouldn’t take long now till we’re there.”

  “It’ll take as long as it takes, and that’s good enough for me,” the muscular male said.

  They followed us for another four miles until we reached our destination, a little picnic site where I had arranged to meet another two couples. One of the couples didn’t show, as does happen all too often, but the muscular male and his friend had been talking to their other friends over their mobile phones and soon enough, reinforcements arrived.

  It seemed only fitting that I undressed first as I had set the whole thing up. I lay naked on top of the picnic table ushering the muscular male forward. He hesitated, obviously nervous. But cometh the hour cometh the man. His weedy friend pushed him to one side and stood in-between my open legs.

  “I hope you’ll be as good at this as you are changing tyres.”

  “Better,” he said. He was a man of few words, which was fine with me and even finer when he dropped his pants. He was the proud owner of the biggest manhood I had ever seen. He was certainly no fingers and thumbs as he stretched me to my limits and the party really got started.

  “He’s not wearing a condom,” by husband said.

  “Just this once,” I gasped, “just this one time.”

  The weedy man continued to buck and thrust inside me bringing me to new heights of passion with his bareback frenzy.

  Soon I felt the warmth of his sticky love fluid shooting inside of me. It was a feeling I never wanted to let go of and probably would have held on to longer, if not for my husband, handing me a handy wipe.

  “If you can’t be too careful, at least you can freshen up” he said a little grumpily.

  He was right. It’s always good to be careful, but once in a while even the best of us can’t help throwing caution to the wind.

  That night I had eight men and one woman throwing caution, mostly to the wind. In my eyes it was the pinnacle of my holiday and my dogging experiences, even though I had other fun around Scotland on that holiday, from action with a couple of bikers, on a well-known supermarket car park, to fun just outside a famous castle, after midnight, with a first time swinging couple. That dogging, touring holiday had it all.

Chapter Five

  We started our exploits on a beach and that’s where we’re going to bow out, at least in written word. It was another northwest beach and, proving, like most people, we do break our own rules. The dogging in question took place in the daytime hours.

  It was a lovely sunny day in May when my husband and I went to spend the day having a picnic in the dunes at a Merseyside beach. We’d heard it attracted a few dogging fans, it was even seen by quite a few people as a kind of unofficial nudist beach. I could certainly see why when we got there. The sun was beating down and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Even if there had been, the dunes would have held ample opportunity to hide away.

  Almost instantly I decided to go topless, there didn’t seem any harm in it, seeing as there was nobody about, but after an hour of the sun beating down on my firm breasts, and my husband listening to god knows what on his headphones, a head popped up from nowhere, only to quickly duck back down when it thought it had been seen.

  “I hope it doesn’t offend you, my sunbathing topless?” I asked.

  The head began to rise up slowly. “No, it doesn’t offend me, it doesn’t offend me at all,” he said nervously. “I just didn’t want you to think that I was watching you.”

  “I wouldn’t care if you were,” I said with a giggle. “And don’t mind my husband. He’s in seventh heaven if he’s got his headphones on. He doesn’t care what I do. Why don’t you come a little closer? I don’t want to spend the day sunbathing and shouting.”

  He came closer, nervously eyeing up both me and my husband.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I won’t bite, at least not unless you want me to.”

  “I’m just taking in a bit of sun,” he said.

  “I can see that,” I said, admiring his lean tanned body. I put him in the age bracket of about mid-twenties, maybe a bit less. I didn’t even find out his name, but when I pulled my bikini bottoms to one side to allow him a peek at my pouting pussy, all introductions seemed to become irrelevant.

  “That’s wonderful,” he said.

  “Do you think? Would you like to touch?”

  He moved towards me, his hands outstretched, licking his lips and then stopped. He looked towards my husband.

  “I told you he’s okay.” I said, doing my best to assure him.

  Finally he was assured when my husband nodded and smiled.

  “How does that feel?” I asked as I took his hand and placed it onto my pussy lips.”

  “Brilliant,” he said, as he wasted no time plunging his fingers deeper into my wetness. But suddenly he flinched away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. And then I noticed the wetness seeping through his shorts. He’d suffered a premature ejaculation. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It happens all the time. We can soon fix that.” I undid his shorts and took him into my mouth. I soon had him back up to speed again and raring to go.

  We must have had a good hour and a half session that day. My husband even managed to prize himself away from his music for a bit to join in the fun. But all good things must come to an end.

  “We’d better go,” I said as I saw the kite soaring up in the distance. “We’ve had some fun, but there are others on the beach now.”

  The male nodded, smiled and went upon his way, as did my husband and I.

  And we’re still going upon our way now. Maybe sometime in the future you’ll bump into us while we’re on that way. Who knows what will happen in the future…..who knows…….

Bonus Story

It Wasn’t An Affair

By Heidi Flow © 2016

  My wife just won’t listen. How can I tell her it wasn’t an affair when she won’t listen? It’s not that I’m not familiar with banging my head against a brick wall when it comes to matters with her, but this time it’s serious. I need her to listen. But of course she won’t. No matter how I plead or try, my words simply fall on deaf ears. She’s got an idea in her mind and it simply won’t budge. It’s sat there like a giant rock from a cave in and no matter how I try to scramble over it; there simply isn’t enough room to get through, or rather to get my point through. No matter how I try to drag that rock in her mind away, it simply won’t budge, not an inch, which is just like my wife in general.

  She wasn’t always so obtuse. There had been a time when she would listen and see some kind of reason, instead of me just listening and seeing her reason, for whatever was wrong or right in her eyes at the time.

  Or maybe she wasn’t ever listening. Maybe I’ve been seeing everything through rose tinted glasses. There’s a part of me that always does that. It’s got me into trouble before and no doubt, it will do again.

  “Who is she?” my wife asked. “Who is the woman in the pictures?”

  “I can explain,” I replied.

  “Sure you can,” she said, but she didn’t allow me to explain. By the time she’d finished talking, or rather shouting, I’d forgotten what I was going to say, and even if I hadn’t forgotten, I would have been too scared to tell the truth. My wife can be a scary woman when she wants and sometimes when she doesn’t want. A scary woman indeed.