Our Welsh Holiday

by Lord John Thomas

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Rape, Heterosexual, Fiction, Wimp Husband, Interracial, Black Male, White Male, White Female, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: This is a story of how a simple young married couple's life is changed for ever. And the catalyst for the change was a traumatised man who had retained the mental age of ten years old.

All of my stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.

“It looks like we could be lucky with the weather.”

“Well it isn’t raining yet, so I hope you’re right.” I replied, as our little Morris Minor turned into the pebble drive that led us up to the reception of the camp site. My name is Elena, and my husband is Walter, I’m twenty two, and he’s twenty–nine. Who are we, and what is my story about?

Well I’ve told who we are, but from that description we could be anybody, but how do you describe yourself without feeling like your being immodest. And even more difficult; how can I describe my husband without you wondering why on earth I ever married him? I think I’ll start with how we met; he was twenty-six, and the son of one of my mom’s best friends. They’d just recently moved into a house just a couple of blocks away from my mum’s house. I have always been shy with boys, and even at the age of nineteen, had never had a boyfriend. He arrived one day with his mother, and as they talked, my mom told me to take him to my room and show him my art work. I was still at art school, and had a room full of mostly paintings, but also some other stuff. Well I took him, and he seemed genuinely interested, unlike most people my mom showed my work to.

Then two weeks later I accompanied my mom on a return visit to her friend, and he showed me his collection of model gliders. These were all made by him from balsawood and tissue paper, so they were very fragile, and I thought just how clever he must be to make them. To cut a long story short, we just felt comfortable in each other’s company, and within a year we were married.

My husband is a lovely man, so don’t get me wrong when I say the following. Since we married two years ago, I’ve come to realise, just how feeble he is. I knew before we married, he hadn’t got the body of Charles Atlas; and although he was tall, five foot eleven, he was very skinny. But even though I am only five foot two; if ever there is any problem to be resolved, it is him who stands behind me while I have to be the powerful dominant one.

A typical example would be when a new washing machine arrived, and as the delivery men lifted it from the lorry, it slipped. We were watching them through our front window, “Look, they’ve dropped it. Go and tell them we don’t want that one now.”

But as they started to carry it to our door, he said, “But it might be alright.”

“I know it might! But we’ve just paid for a new machine; you never know what damage that could have done.”

By now the door bell was ringing, he turned and as he made his way out of the room, said, “I’ll go and see what it looks like.”

I followed him to the door, and it was obvious from the crumpled packaging, the machine must be dented, never mind what damage it had done to the workings inside. I looked up to him and said pointedly, “Walter!”

“Err, will that be alright?” He asked the man as he pointed to the damaged packaging.

“Oh don’t worry about that squire, it’ll not be much, and its round the back, so you’ll never see it.”

“Oh. Ok then can you carry it through to the kitchen for me?”

I stepped from behind him and pushed him to one side. “Don’t you dare! Get that back on your wagon, and if you haven’t delivered a new one by five O’clock tonight, I’m cancelling the order.”

“But...”

“Don’t you but me, I’m paying for new goods, not damaged rubbish. Now get it out of here.”

“You’ll not get a replacement for at least two weeks.”

“In that case you’ll lose a sale. Five tonight or I’ll be down to that shop and want my money back.”

So from that I guess you’ll realise, it always fell upon my tiny shoulders to sort out our problems, while Walter was just prepared to go along with anything I decided. But this holiday, was something he had arranged, he’d apparently been going to this camp site with his parents for as long as he could remember.

“It’s only half a mile from a lovely beach. The locals are all friendly. And if we book in May, you can usually get a good week weather-wise, and because it’s out of season, it’ll be cheap.”

This was his sales pitch to me, and although I’d never been camping before, our meagre budget didn’t leave us much choice. So two years into our marriage, and our first holiday was to be at a camp site. Once I’d sent for the information, I found out they had a choice of renting facilities. You could supply your own tent and just rent the plot. Or you could hire a tent, a caravan, or even a chalet. These chalets looked so nice in the brochure. Little wooden buildings, and they had a living room, toilet, and bedroom. The cost was slightly more than the caravan, but when I said that was what we were going to book, he just agreed.

I guess that was him all over, if anyone suggested something, he’d just back down, to avoid the conflict. Even our marital relations were governed by this attitude. I’d have to make the first move, and when he penetrated me, it was only just the first inch or so of his cock. I’d tried to get him to push deeper, but just because on one occasion, I’d squealed or let out some kind of yell, he’d taken this as a signal he was too big for my Marylou; as he called it. So although I’d heard of women having an orgasm when having intercourse, I had no idea what one was. And even this pathetic form of intercourse, was something I’d only get once or twice a month after me making the first move.

So back to the actual story, or at least the beginning of my sexual education. Now what you have to realise is that as we entered this camp site, I hadn’t even considered our sex life was in anyway abnormal, it is only now with hind sight, I can see just how tense and frustrated my body must have been.

We rumbled along the gravel drive, some hundred yards or so up to what was a very large house. This had a large extension built onto one side, which by its signs, was obviously the club house and entertainment facility. The state of the building was shabby to say the least, and looking to my left, the rows of chalets; one of which I’d been looking forward to spending my next two weeks in, were just as bad if not worse. And then I saw him, the man who would ultimately bring about such an earth shattering change to my life.

Kinga.

How do I know this man’s name? A man I’ve never seen before. And this is before anyone has pointed him out to me.

Well in the course of Walter talking about his previous holidays, he mentioned this man; Walter had known him since they were boys together. It appears the couple who ran this camp site had adopted this lad of ten years old, through some Christian society they belonged to. He was an orphan, from somewhere in one of the many African countries where a tribal war was taking place. His father and mother had been killed in front of him, but not before he’d witnessed his mother being violently raped by a gang of marauding soldiers.

Walter had explained that back then when they first met and they were both just eleven, Kinga had seemed normal to him. But as the years went on, he soon began to realise Kinga never got any older in his mind. There was also some kind of problem about five years ago, Walter didn’t know what the problem was, but the last two times he’d been to the site, Kinga hadn’t been there. His father had just said he was away from home, but not explained why. Walter did find out that Kinga’s adoptive mom had died around five years ago, and he thought this might have some bearing on Kinga’s absence. He also said the last time he’d seen him; his mental age was still no more than he’d been back all those years ago when they first met. But of course, he was physically now a man, and what a man. He stood six foot six plus, big broad shoulders and a body rippling with muscles.

This last part of the description of him was mine, not Walter’s. You see as he’d seen our car pull into their site, he’d recognised Walter. And then like an excited ten-year-old who’s just seen his favourite uncle arrive, he’d ran the length of the site; and was now no more than a few feet from our car. He wore a pair of loose torn jeans, a ripped tee-shirt, brown leather sandals (no socks), and a big beaming smile showing a mouth full of pearly white teeth. Oh; and yes he is black, so the white teeth stood out all the more in contrast.

As the car stopped we climbed out and Kinga threw his arms around Walter’s neck, and went on like an excited child, which I guess with his mental age, and considering they hadn’t seen each other for over five years, was an understandable reaction.

Walter was plainly embarrassed, but he just stood there until Kinga had calmed down. Then he pointed to me, and said to Kinga, “This is my wife; Elena.”

Kinga dashed to me and took hold of my hand, “She’s pretty. I wish I had a girl like her.”

He was holding my hand using both of his and my little hand was so small and soft in comparison. But his grip was so gentle; it didn’t feel in any way threatening.

I told Walter to go and sort out the registration, while I found the toilets. Water did as he was instructed, and Kinga pointed to a sign for the ‘Ladies’. When I returned, Walter was still in the reception, but Kinga was at the back of our car with a small hand trolley.

.... There is more of this story ...

The source of this story is Storiesonline

For the rest of this story you need to be logged in: Log In or Register for a Free account