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As he moved nearer, Jill felt the first obscene flames of desire flickering through her body.Oh no... Oh Cod, no! It's happening again, and I don't think I can even move, the distressed young redhead thought to herself. Nevertheless, she did not try to pull away from Erik as he once again licked the back of her hand and sprinkled salt on it."I'm taking you to Marrakesh ooooooonnnnnnn the traaaain, ooooooonnnnnnn the traaaain."Jill began to giggle, her serious introspective thoughts dispersed by the second swallow of tequila. "We're already in Marrakesh," she laughed, "but we came in a taxi!"Erik laughed with her, overjoyed that she had not tried to pull away her hand which he still held after assisting her with her tequila. He was feeling pretty loose himself, this was some place Lars had set up all right!"After we finish this drink, let's go upstairs and meet my friend, Lars Jensen," he suggested, glancing at his watch. It was almost time for the show to begin! "Jensen?" Jill asked. Luckily, she came down faster and flatten back down to earth, causing me slight pain, but not more than a wince. Her bikini-clad pussy was slightly wet, and slid down the shaft of my dick when she came down. But she backed into me to regain her balalence, causing my cock to surge even more towards it desire.The reel was losing line fast. I grabbed the pole and stopped it from going any further, involuntarily making me squeeze Chrissy with a lot of force, who was still clutching the pole too. My bear hug pressed the sides of my arms against the exposed sides of her full breasts from the bikini top. Her skin was so smooth it drove me crazy. The pressing brought her breasts together and emphasized her cleavage, only increasing the fullness of those wonderful globes, as I felt her hardening tits against my forearms. This also brought my cock to life and through my swim trunks, grinded hard against her ass. I tried to sound casual but excited for the fishing. “It feels like a big.
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”At this moment a well built lady sailed around the corner of a barn.“Cedric! You can piss off yourself! Go and do something with your sheep, and take your mutt with you.”This, I thought, sounds like a happy marriage.“You must be Diana’s husband, I’m Annie Woodward,” and she held out her hand.“George Smith,” I said shaking her hand.“I would apologise for Cedric, but there’s little point, he’s always been like it and he’ll never change. Come in and I’ll make coffee.”I followed her into a large kitchen, typical of what you would expect of a farmhouse, stone flagged floor, ‘ware sink with taps mounted high enough to get a bucket under, beechwood drainers and a couple of kitchen cabinets that were undoubtedly pre second world war, a large pine table and chairs, and above all an air of being cleaned and tidied as and when needed, and it wasn’t needed very often. She shifted a big kettle onto the hob of an ancient Aga. Probably I thought, as I sat at the table, old enough to have kept Noah.

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