the cumming of Rosie D....

There are two sisters who live on the outskirts of the village. I believe that they lived in the same big old ruin of a house for all of their long lives. I have made no particular inquiry of their ages, though i estimate them to be in their late fifties or thereabouts - or 'old enough to know better', as Mrs L informed me one morning as i purchased my papers.

Mrs L had been openly glaring at the sisters from the moment they entered her tiny shop. Her fists whitened as she pressed herself almost across the counter, craning her neck so that she could keep an eye on Rosie and Victoria D. If it was Mrs L's intention to hurry the sisters into making their purchase and leaving then her actions were wholly ineffective. The sisters, if anything, lingered longer than they might have otherwise - taking an almost amusing amount of time to look through a display of post-cards they clearly had no intention of buying. This so incensed Mrs L that she very nearly forgot to flirt with me - which would have been something of a relief.. if i'm honest.

'Is that everything you need?' she fluttered when she remembered that i was there.

Mrs L is a woman of few assets. Outwardly flirtatious, at times, but lacking the sincerity of purpose to really carry off her sometime girlish facade. Mrs L is a woman i recognise as one who would promise the sexual universe to a man, if she thought that would make her an object of desire, but who was singularly determined not to deliver on that promise. To Mrs L sex is a dirty thing... and not in good way.

She coldly serves the two sisters as i am leaving. Taking their money in silence (except for a disapproving throaty growl which she seems incapable to disguising). The sisters, for their part, grin and almost giggle, and make a great show of their general joy with the world. They are bright little creatures those sisters, and genuinely careless of their reputation in the village.

For as long as anyone can remember the sisters have been the object(s) of open disgust amongst the villagers.

'The village bikes,' as Mr M once took the time to inform me - unaware, perhaps, of his obvious arousal as he watched the sisters sashay up the hill and out the village.

Because i am rather intolerant of hypocrisy i told him that i thought he was a little prick and should keep his opinions to himself in future. To be fair on Mr M he now makes quite an effort to avoid me since.

The sisters' reputation for 'vice' is not wholly undeserved. In fact they take great joy in that reputation i think. I have watched Rosie D in particular in the local pub of a Sunday as she works her considerable charms on the young men of the village. Vicky D watches from corner, though seems, somehow to direct her sister's actions. Almost like a shepherd, and by signals that i have not yet deciphered, Vicky D somehow cajoles her sister to separate out some likely 'ram' and bring him to their table. By the plying of drink, the brush of thigh and the promise of something more Rosie D invariably succeeds in her endeavors. This is, i should make clear, no lamb to the slaughter, but an untamed 'ram' who, having the scent of 'heat' in his head, rushes willingly to the rut.

The look in the eyes of the other 'youths' is telling. There is nothing of ridicule in their stares but rather a sort of resigned envy. Whatever the sisters offer is clearly desired amongst that herd.

Having selected their prize for the evening the sisters leave, their laughter nipping on the heels of the village elders and making them wince.

One evening, as i was walking home, i came across the sisters 'at work' on one of their young men. I had taken a detour over the sea path and there they were below me.

Vicky D (i think... it was difficult to tell them apart at that time) was squatting over the the young mans face. Rosie D (if it was her) was squat over his groin. The young man himself, at this point at least, was almost obscured by the sisters shirts - which billowed as they rose and fell almost to the rhythm of the tide.

There was no rush about the sisters' movements. It was an almost languid scene, almost lazy how they rose and and descended on that pebble beach. Before too long and equally unhurried each of the sisters got their feet. The young man looked rather stranded then. His pale body rather fragile i thought - other than his cock which was.. substantial and clearly very engorged. He did, however have a rather stunned expression on his face.

They almost had to lift him to his feet the 'poor boy' looked so shaken. Rosie D (i was sure it was her) bent herself over... she was very limber for her age and her fingers brushed her toes easily. The boy attempted to 'mount' her immediately but Vicky D held him back for a moment while she carefully arranged her sisters skirt. Then, taking the young man in hand she guided his cock into her sister. She took his and and appeared to wet it on her own cunt before directing it into her sisters anus - at least i assume that was the action. Rosie D made the first noise i had heard as i begun watching - an almost animal squeal.. of genuine delight.

At this point her sister left the boy to his own devices and moved to stand in front of her sister. she took a handful of her sisters hair and pulled her head upwards. Carefully she placed her skirt over her sisters raised head and, tilting her hips, she began to rock.

It was quite a picture in the moonlight. The sisters joined and the young man fucking harder now that he aware of what was happening in front of him. Vicky, her sisters tongue buried perhaps in her cunt, looked almost serene. Though her arm was pumping hard then, driving her sisters mouth onto her.

A rustle further along the path distracted me. Though he thought i had not seen him the disapproving Mr M was 'hiding' in the shadows a few yards from me. He had obviously secreted himself their in anticipation of this, perhaps, weekly performance.

I do hate hypocrites. Having seen enough myself i made my way home - for once with some hope that this village would not turn to be as dull as i had sometimes feared.

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