Leaving on a Jetplane
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 32: Riding the Pony
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 32: Riding the Pony - Ian, the son of British immigrants, finds his life changed after a family tragedy and decides to make the best of his ambitions and dreams. And nothing gets you to new adventures as fast as your own airplane...
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Sharing Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Exhibitionism Massage Oral Sex Nudism
I found Lydia on a deck chair on the artificial beach. I commandeered the one next to her. I had fetched myself a beer from Lyuba’s bar and I noticed that quite a few people were trying not to be too obvious, but we had attracted some attention.
“Does it bother you?” I asked her. “By the look of it, most people seem to know who you are, and you’re lying stark naked on a deck chair.”
Lydia chuckled. “Ian, millions of people have seen me naked over the years. Why should it bother me?”
“Well, it was obviously enough bother not to go to Prerow any more,” I said. “I was there with Sofia last August and it is a beautiful place.”
“It was mainly the children,” she admitted. “They only saw the sports stars they had seen on TV and just ran up to us, which then required their parents to follow suit. We ended up endlessly writing autographs because we didn’t want to disappoint the kids.”
“Figures,” I said. “Must be a bummer. We really liked it there.”
“So did we,” Lydia agreed. “But with Nadja’s new job as a racing driver, we wouldn’t even find two consecutive free weeks in summer anyway. We’ll be here for a week after the Olympics.”
“I know, Esther already told me. She offered us to come too.”
“That would be fantastic,” Lydia told me with a smile.
“Jenny will stay with Bea then, I guess? I don’t think Esther would allow her to come here.”
Lydia chuckled. “No. She’ll be thirteen next month. She’s old enough now to look after herself. By October Mario and Ilka will be living across the street too. Ilka can check in once in a while to see that Jenny and Feli are okay. I doubt she will come with us, because Mario is too young for this place too.”
“So my eyes didn’t deceive me when we flew you to Switzerland. They seemed to have quite an age difference. At least seven or eight years.”
Lydia chuckled. “Mario is fifteen and Ilka is thirty-two.”
“Well she definitely didn’t look thirty-two. Is there something in the water in that town of yours?”
Lydia laughed out loud, but quickly caught herself, because people were looking at us.
“Ira is still trying to find out if we have some secret?” she asked with amusement.
“To be honest, on some days she can really go on my tits with her panic about turning thirty one day,” I admitted. “For Christ sake she’s twenty-four and looks like a goddess. Heaven knows why she gets her knickers in a twist about it.”
Lydia turned serious and rolled over onto her side to face me.
“I don’t want to offend you, Ian, but you are part of the problem.”
I gasped.
“I think the 110 degree sauna is free right now,” she continued. “Let’s go there for some privacy.”
“How exactly am I the problem?” I asked, but Lydia didn’t answer once we had made ourselves comfortable in the small wooden cabin. There was a lengthy silence until I realized that I had been staring at her beautiful tits all the time.
“Oops,” I said with embarrassment.
Lydia chuckled. “You and Mark are so alike. And for the record, both Ira and I actually like it when you nearly zone out admiring our assets. The problem is that Ira fears she won’t be as lucky as I am.”
“I’m not a shallow oaf, you said so yourself last year,” I defended myself, slightly upset. “Does she think I’ll leave a contrail as soon as the first wrinkle appears on her face?”
“Of course not,” Lydia said. “She’s more afraid of herself. Ira can give every other woman an inferiority complex, including me. The problem is that it is quite a height to fall from once nature starts doing its thing.”
“So you mean she is more afraid of not liking herself any more, rather than fearing I would turn my back on her?`”
“Exactly,” Lydia said. “And that is where you can help her.”
“By telling her to wear bras more often,” I said with a sigh, and Lydia smiled, which meant I had not managed to keep all of the consternation from my voice, which I had hoped to achieve.
“Depends on the type of bra,” she explained. “There is a bra type called a quarter cup. It supports the breasts, but still leaves them exposed enough to be admired by, let’s say, a boob fetishist boyfriend.”
I felt a slight blush on my cheeks.
“I’ll show you what I mean in the evening. I have one of mine in my bag,” she said and kissed me on the tip of my nose.
“So you wear those too?” I asked. “I’m not at your place too often, but I can’t remember having seen you wear anything most of the time.”
“That’s because you usually show up in the evenings,” she said. “During the days I wear open-cupped bras most of the time.”
“So that’s the actual secret,” I pointed out. “Not letting them hang free all the time.”
“It’s not a panacea, but it helps a lot,” Lydia confirmed. “Mind you, going naked for a week isn’t going to make a difference, but if I had done that all the time over the last years, my boobs would look different now.”
“I’m not sure they would,” I argued. “I know it’s impolite to mention a lady’s age, but bloody hell, them looking like that at age forty is unreal.”
Lydia laughed softly. “With me it’s purely genetic. For most of my life I was a walking lottery ticket. I would either look like an old hag at age thirty or I would hardly age at all. On my father’s side nobody reached the age of seventy, and they all aged horribly. On my mother’s side it is the exact opposite. They all live forever. My grandmother Aurelia died comparatively young, and she was eighty-nine. There is one great grandfather of mine, who is still alive in a nursing home in Dortmund somewhere. I’ve never met him, but he must be one-hundred and three now. Just think about it, Mark has a great great grandfather who is still alive, if only barely. That man was born in 1897.”
“Bloody hell, well you’re definitely lucky that you ended up coming after your mother’s side,” I said with a chuckle.
After another stint in the sauna, we cooled off and went back into the lagoon hall. The test period seemed to wind down and I got myself a last beer from Lyuba’s bar as she was already in the process of cleaning it up. She gave me another happy smile and a shy kiss, which made Lydia giggle.
We sat on a bench in between the lush vegetation, waiting for me to finish my drink. Esther walked past us a few times while she was overseeing the end of the test.
Once I had finished my beer, I returned the bottle to the bar and took Lydia by the hand. It was time to go to bed as I had to return to my day job the next day.
Once we reached the suite on the top floor Lydia modelled one of those open-cupped bras she had told me about and I had to admit it looked rather fantastic, because the flimsy fabric pushed her already fantastic breasts together slightly. The perv in me made a mental note that such an arrangement would come in handy to facilitate a boob-job.
She took off the bra again and my eyes went wide when she fished a blindfold out of her bag after storing the discarded bra in it. She smiled at me as she started to smear some lube into her rear-end and coated my rapidly growing erection with it too.
She put on the blindfold, found the bed and laid down on her front. She slapped one of her buttocks.
“Saddle up, buster,” she demanded.
I positioned myself on top of her and I still remembered from my birthday, how easy it was to enter her petite rear-end. Lydia had amazing muscle control and I slid into her rear opening almost effortlessly. With gentle thrusts I probed deeper and deeper until I was fully buried in her tight rear-end.
I remained still to give her some time to get used to the intrusion and soon the groans of initial pain subsided.
“Now, cowboy,” she told me through clenched teeth. “Ride that pony, ride it hard!”
It was not my preferred method to go hard on women, but since this wasn’t my first tryst with Lydia, I had a good idea what got her going. I drew back quite a bit and slammed myself back in hard. Lydia moaned and groaned in obvious pain and I had to find just the right mixture of pain and pleasure now, trying to match the rhythm which which she had ridden me on my birthday last year.