EDITED Pants Down. Inspired having watched a voyeur video of many women pissing in a wood, near a road.
I’d had a nice snooze, taken my rest according to the law and was ready to move on with the truck. However it was my business and I was under no pressure to get back to base, satisfied with the days takings. This lay by was nearly always quiet as I knew from my many travels, apart from the odd bloke who dashed up in a car, the space wasn’t big enough for vehicle much bigger than mine, disappeared into the woods unzipping and emerging a minute or so later with a satisfied look on his face.
This beat up old Volvo, with foreign plates, Belgian I think, slowly pulled round in front of me and parked and I could see a couple and what appeared to be a right old argument going on. There was a lot of hand waving and with my window down I could hear their voices from about twenty yards away. They did sound angry. Suddenly, it went quiet and I saw them both be very still until I saw the woman lean from her seat then she shrieked and clambered out of the car looking frantically both ways and wailing, running her hands through her mousy looking thick mop of hair. Not wanting to get involved, I studied her from my cab and saw that she was a medium height, sturdily built and wearing a purple, knee length, fitted dress of a shiny material, with sleeves short of her flabby biceps, black sheer tights or maybe stockings and a mauve silky scarf loosely draped round her neck and shoulders, which didn’t hide the fact that the neckline was quite low.
She wore heavy framed but elegant spectacles on a square and jowly face; I guessed she would be in her mid fifties. She had black court shoes with two inch heels on her feet. The fact I have described her attire in some detail, will tell you that I am a true pervy voyeur, so any opportunity to view the female form in all its glorious stages of development from preteens to matures is always welcome, dressed or undressed or somewhere in between. This route is not busy and is my favourite way of getting home off the manic driving on the motorway and she was prancing about looking up and down in both directions, looking very distressed, obviously hoping to see a passing car or something, but also agitated - hopping from one foot to the other, stooping slightly and nipping her legs together.
Then she spotted me and trotted towards my Merc Sprinter truck. I swiftly hid the porn magazine I had been having a lazy wank to and zipped up my jeans. My hard on decreased slightly as she neared, as all thoughts of the open wet and big flapped cunts I had been viewing left my head. I would catch up at home with some videos on the computer anyway, now that the wife having left me a few weeks ago, gave me complete freedom to indulge in my porno voyeuristic adventures. She peered up at me and was beckoning to come with her, by using gestures but still spouting in French. Before opening the door, I got a tiny glimpse down her neckline of what looked like a white bra, but it didn’t seem to be bolstering any great bulk of bosom; there was no cleavage.
That alone was enough to tense my cock – a down blouse is always worth a look, however meagre. Verbal diarrhoea spilt from her in French until I held my hand up. ‘English eh?” I told her pleasantly. “Ah help please,” she gabbled, heavily accented. “Hospital. husband he is ill, please help.”
“Er let me see,” I told her, gesturing towards her car and indicating we should walk there. She hopped about during her walk, after I locked the van, ahead of me letting my eyes roam over her swaying, tightly encased butt and the definite signs of panty seams carved across her cheeks. Another trouser tense, was manageable before we reached the vehicle. With distress and concern all over her non-pretty face we neared the Volvo and I could see the man was bald, small, in a grey suit and lying back in the drivers seat, his mouth open, eyes closed; he looked for all the world asleep, he wasn’t and I knew why. She opened the door and then tapped my arm. I looked back and her face was screwed up with concern and something else, but I ignored her and felt for a pulse.
I am the trained emergency member of staff in my employed crew of ten and whilst I didn’t intend to move the frail looking guy, I could at least check his functions. He was dead, but before I could explain, she tapped my arm again. ‘Excuse please, I go toilet, it is urgent,” she explained, splaying her hands palms up and shrugging and trotting off to to the bushes. Now I am always horny and my mind clicked to pervy gear, as I realized I had a chance to watch her having a piss. One of the favourite type of voyeur videos for me is when guys with cam-corders have been hidden in woods and captured women of all shapes and sizes dropping their drawers for a piss and this seemed to a moment I could see in the flesh.
I didn’t have my camera with me, although it was in the van, but I reckoned I would lose time. Even in her desperation, she had inadvertently chosen the less used path and not the well trodden one used by the bulk of the wild country pissers who frequented this place. I closed the car door, adjusted my semi erection under my jeans and slid after her, watching her glance around at her chosen very small clearing.
I flitted quietly round behind her as she hitched up the dress to round her waist, revealing black sheer tights over a pair of large white knickers, which in one swift and urgent movement were down round her lower legs as she squatted. Seconds later, steam arose from under her large white butt and I altered my stance to allow me a better look. I was maybe six feet away and could see the gusher of urine. I love that sight, whatever their age and I slipped my zip down, dropped my jeans a couple of inches and my cock rose hard in my hand with a few strokes.
I hadn’t had a good fuck for a couple of weeks now, so wanking was my usual outlet while seated in front of the computer, often watching voyeur videos of just such a scene and being amazed at how the guys with the cameras capture the views. Many of them were from Eastern Europe, primitive areas behind wedding halls in some cases. Even the brides in all their white finery had to resort to the bushes for a piss. A scenario started to whirr through my dirty mind. Her husband was dead and looked like he was taking a snooze if anybody looked at him. She didn’t know he was dead and was just so relieved to empty her bladder. There had been no one around when I followed her. She couldn’t run with her underwear round her legs. Surprise would be a major factor. Her cunt was open and wet. My cock was rigid and I could do with a shag.
I watched the flow, it was a long piss, but I spotted the signs she had nearly finished as she peered down between her legs and started to wobble her bum up and down to shake off the drops. I lurched forward onto her back and pushed her off balance, at the same time grabbing the mauve scarf and covering her mouth with it, pulling it tight and knotting it. She tried to struggle, her hands planted on the prickly, piss fouled earth from previous visitors, but she was no match for my strength as I dropped to my knees between her feet, forcing her legs apart as much as they could, restricted by her tights and knickers until I ripped those away and aimed my knob at what I could see were some ragged, very black hairy thick flaps round her cunt.
She was slack as I expected and I slid in easily and started to shag her hard. Her cellulitic pitted rump with the telltale marks of knickers and tights imprinted on her white floppy flesh, nearly lowered to ground, but I insinuated my hands under her hips and hoisted her upwards as I shafted into the mire of her elderly snatch. I held her up as I explored her butt crack, spreading it to expose her arse hole. It was surrounded by a thatch of black hair and I jammed my thumb into the greasy pucker. She started to beat her forearms and hands on the ground, whether in protest or pleasure – I didn’t give a fuck, as I rammed quickly, giving her full length of my six but very thick inches.
.... There is more of this story ...