Same Route - 50 Years Later

by uksnowy

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, Humor, Voyeurism, .

Desc: Sex Story: Two randy old ladies embark on a driving venture across Europe having lots of experiences. Many characters. They meet voyeurs. Implied bestiality Implied voyeurism

Inspired by a news paper and TV item about two old ladies setting off on a repeat car rally, but only part of it and not in a rally event, just for fun.

Part One

“Look what I’ve got,” giggled Bron, Always the quickest of the two in spotting, noticing, thinking, doing and acting on things. Triumphantly she held up a noisily sealed package and tossing them to Tina, who caught them deftly.

“Gosh well done, Paper knickers, I’d forgotten about those” Tina snickered reading the blurb on the plastic and keeping the surprise package out of sight of several people around. “One size, fifty in there, that’s enough, we’ll divide them later. Cyril reminded me to pack some of those Te...” she stepped round the car to Bron and murmured in a low volume. “Those Tena pads, you know ... to deal with my leaking ... you know?”

“Good thinking Robin,” joked Bron. “I mean Cyril, he’s such a good egg to remember in his state. Luckily don’t need them ... yet.” she snickered. “S’not too serious is it, you know ... your fanny?” Bron gestured to her groin, her hand depicting a flowing motion.

“No just the odd dribble, but sods law always at the wrong moment and usually when I’m wearing stuff that shows it ... you know,” Tina said with a distasteful expression.

“Never mind old girl, we’ll be on our own most of the time and there’ll be enough remote places you ... and me, can stop and have a tree wee.” chuckled Bron, waving to a gentleman, strolling, aided by a stick towards the couple of elderly women at the side of their latest model Ford Mondeo. “Good morning Charles you old bugger,”

“Now Bronwyn don’t be naughty,” Charles Demauncey Borthwick Haverland called back in a mock Welsh dialect. “What will your gorgeous co-driver think, having to travel all that way in this...” The old charmer waved his stick at the obviously, to his mind, down market vehicle they were all clustered round.

Good grief, Tina thought, the Right Honourable Earl of Charensee has called me gorgeous. She smiled, preening and shaking his bony, liver spotted hand after Bron’s cursory introduction. He certainly was a handsome old duffer, with his crop of salt and pepper hair, fashionable bright blue spectacles, large hooked nose, flamboyant bow tie, Burberry check shirt, tweed jacket, dark red trousers and highly polished brown brogues. She could see why all those young ladies, including Bron 40 years ago, had fallen for him, in four highly publicised affairs and yet Lady Penelope had stayed with him.

Eighty one year old Charles sidled alongside Tina and groped her trim, denim clad bum, planted a garlic flavoured kiss on her cheek and hobbled away before she could complain. She wouldn’t have anyway, liking the feeling of being desirable ... no, that’s not the word ... attractive? Yes that’s it. Cyril used to grab my bottom but not now. His radical prostate surgery had removed any chance of him getting an erection, but they’d opted for that together, although Tina still would like to have sex, but Cyril had changed, still affectionate but not erotically and rarely touched her. However Norm their gardener/handyman had his extra-curricular moments and she had a feeling that Cyril knew and let her indulge. At her farewell to Cyril in bed that morning, she had indulged him in the only way he reckoned he could obtain any sensual pleasure and played with his nipples. Her idea to accompany that and give her the same feeling had been ruled out some years back by the ever increasing rheumatism in his wrists, hands and fingers. Other ways of pleasuring her had been ruled out soon after they met. He had never liked eating her fanny.

The previous evening had culminated with a lovely session of cunnilingus with Norm in his shed. She adored the rustic nature of the wooden building, masses of sacking on the floor and natural smells, appealing to her rural upbringing. Cyril would be well catered for while Tina was on this marathon trip driving across Europe. Various members of the family, neighbours and a couple of his ex-employees would look in and he was very capable of cooking and cleaning, being very fastidious in an organised life and work style. The multi channels available on TV would keep him happy, together with re-living old times and triumphs at the golf, rugby and snooker clubs he retained membership of and as a last resort he could revert to those weird videos on obscure websites. Tina knew all about them having found them on the history and bookmarks of the computer in his study. Just checking, she reminded herself, for his own sake, when guilty feelings coursed through her, but why on earth would he want to watch that stuff? It wasn’t porn in the true sense of the term but still an invasion of women’s privacy, whoever and wherever they were.

She had thought of suggesting he could watch her doing what he watched, but that would betray her snooping on his – no, the perpetrators snooping, and felt he would be happier getting whatever kicks he got in his own way, without hurting his feelings. Tina knew he couldn’t wank to the videos due to his surgery, so whatever pleasure he obtained was a mystery to her and let him get on with his harmless fetish. She was gratified to see he wasn’t in danger of being caught with illicit, juvenile material, as had happened to Finley Bannerman, the captain of the golf club who was headmaster of Bendale private school and until he was arrested recently, one of the senior magistrates.

Bron greeted Charles with an all enveloping hug, his hands not roaming to her nether regions as he had spotted Victoria, his daughter, near by and nearing him. The old charmer did have a tenuous grasp of propriety, exercised in this case by the chirpy presence of Vicky’s adopted daughter Millie who was in the family group approaching, complete with Victoria’s husband Stephanie McLaren. The lesbian relationship and subsequent high profile marriage had jarred on old school aristocrats like Charles and Penelope, but their daughter loved them dearly and had explained in sympathetic, patient detail her matching affection for the tall, cropped blonde, Geordie TV Breakfast presenter. The facts that she was a queer, a bloody Northerner, a left wing activist and to cap it - an anti-hunt protester didn’t exactly enhance her acceptance into the elite, rich, landowner’s domain, but Penelope had helped their daughter by bribing the head of the family. The simple task had been engaging young, nubile daughters of the estate employees as servants and paying them extra to let Charles have his evil ways.

Victoria’s attention was briefly distracted by Greg, a tall, lean, red haired Scottish mechanic under the bonnet of the Mondeo, making final checks of the windscreen washer bottle and such. He’d had a brief romance with her before the geeky, wispy haired, heavily spectacled, plain, scientist girl had tied up with Steph, finally outing herself and settling down.

“How’s it hanging Vic?” he chuckled, wiping his hands. His eyes flickered between her loose, cotton blouse which gave away the stout buttons of her nipples to her grinning wide mouthed smile. She always enjoyed his cheeky company, Victoria had eschewed brassieres from an early age, much to the chagrin of her full bosomed mother and secret delight of her randy, ex-Household Guards father.

“You can see quite well Greg and you know full well they don’t hang and as for Steph...” Vicky chided pleasantly, using a comfortable reference to her lesbian partner. “What was it you called them ... little paps?” She gave him a peck on his cheek, slapped his shoulder in a gesture of friendship and moved to her father who was showing Millie the size and shape of the car tyres. Steph stood by, bored out of her skin.

Greg thought of the pleasures of exploring Vicky’s tiny, cute, pearl drop breasts, almost overshadowed by her big pale nuggets of teats, thinking it’s still possible they might have to do their proper job – one day. He harboured hopes for that pleasure, thinking that a woman with a strap on wouldn’t be as good.

Lady Haverland sauntered up in her trademark pretty scarf, brown gilet over a green sweater, knee length tweed skirt, bare legs and brogues. “Something missing with that picture Penny, ‘ said Bron, enjoying her close relationship with the Haverland family and nodding down at the space beside the lady of the manor.

Penelope, looked down, realised, smiled knowingly and said, “Oh Molly is with Randy, It’s best she’s out of the way with this crowd around. Great attendance for your send off and by the way both boys emailed this morning. They are fully geared up and expecting you, but of course you won’t meet them en-route, but you have hotels fixed and Ford dealerships ready if you need them.” Bronwyn agreed and discussed the brightly stickered car as the two elderly ladies browsed round it. The two top bitches as Charles would call them, made sure sponsor leaflets, stuff prompting the estate were packed or adhered to the glossy metal surface.

“We won’t be needing those Greg,” said Bron glancing at Greg’s handful of leftover stickers. “I told Hendys we are unofficial, we’ll manage. It’s no problem advertising them to some extent and especially the estate.”

“Big decision,” Tina added, nodding and making a knowledgable face. “Just two old ladies going off into the wilds on a mission. The Ford crowd couldn’t believe it and have been nagging for ever. We’re both skilled with the car bits,” she added forcefully.

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

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Fiction / Humor / Voyeurism /