Exploring New Terrain

Group sex in the bush

You can't know precisely what will happen before it does.

But there is always a sequence to any outcome. The points, however random, where events could have panned out way differently, and the day ended as just another great off-road experience.

However, the Goddess of fucking had an agenda, and my body felt like it was in the middle of a Roman orgy.

I couldn't see everything that was happening to me. Still, boy, was my body full of escalating envious, hole-filled delight and rowdy male happiness pressing into me.

But I am delightfully ahead of myself.

The day started as usual: finding an exciting location and getting there. Which takes a couple of hours these days, with off-road areas increasingly limited by council committees in cities, who never get up off their arses. 

Today, we used a linking section of fire trails on a densely bushed ridge. It was exciting to use new tracks.

The guy's dual-cab four-wheel-drive Colorado Utes got us to the barrier gates below the ridge. 

I had travelled up with Toby, who only lived for his bike and these weekend opportunities. He had his music, and I might as well have slept through the winding dirt road trip. He didn't see me as anything but another biker.

Alan and Mitchell were equally more excited about their bikes and the building adrenalin rush as they dropped their jeans, pulled up their leather pants, and strapped their boots tight.

They didn't even look at me as I was down to my bright red undies and pulling up my leather pants. They were in the off-roaders zone, and it was all biker talk.

Instead of gearing up, I could have stripped naked, but most likely, they would have only got on their bikes and revved up the track — leaving me to frig my pussy solo.

My quality leather pants, with triple stitching, were up over my panties; I value my bum, and it is not designed for bouncing over rough tracks if I come a cropper. 

Next, my flexible, quality, high-protection boots, at six hundred dollars a pair… on sale…were strapped securely. 

My tight hugging leather jacket that presses my small boobs into near-flat chestedness was zipped up. My new, latest-design gloves, fully supple for bike controls but not sexy, were covering my slender fingers. 

Then the full-face helmet was on, and I became just another androgynous track rider.

And our machines—sleek, loved, and ready to go—depends on how you're raised with what you choose. 

Two Yamahas, a Suzuki and my Honda, were at our trail party.

Preference, ribbing, and banter about better chassis, weight distribution, and feel were all these guys endlessly talked about. 

God, these guys knew more about bike parts than a young woman's clitoris. 

They talk about handling!

Boy, I could do with some personal handling, especially since my prick of a boyfriend cheated and moved on three months ago and now rode with a completely different group. 

At twenty, believe me…ninety days…is a long time celibate …but who's counting… except me.

I needed to burn up some new terrain and get my highs elsewhere, so I was focused not on my body but on the upcoming adventurous ride.

The track was demanding, but Allan and Mitch had a great time. 

They were pushing the limits of their skills and headed off with increasing recklessness and bravado, not a care or other interest in the world — male bonded. 

Fixated on speed, energy and apparently calculated risk. 

The; you only live for today, motto.

Tony has a newer bike and wanted to ease it in a bit and get the feel of it before he pushed it. 

We teamed up behind our two breakaways.

There were a few muddy sections from recent rains and deeper ruts full of puddly murky water to be avoided—the depth was unknown. 

Then we came to a fork and needed to figure out which way Allan and Mitch had gone. These tracks usually crisscrossed back into each other, so we took the right for the moment.

There was a muddy quagmire entirely across the track. It didn't look deep, just gungy and awkwardly stony.

I could see the evidence where Allan and Mitch had successfully negotiated it, so I went for it, more to the left than the centre.

Choices — and then I felt the lack of traction and my bike's stability being displaced and the moment of unbalance — and the skid towards the centre, and I was fuckin off my bike —and a crappy mess.

Toby had gone to the right and was through but was now stopped and looking back.

His helmet was off, and he was laughing. 

Then he asked: "Tanya…Tanya …are you okay?"

My helmet was off, too, but I wasn't laughing.

I was grimacing — fuck, I had a twisted ankle. 

I couldn't tell how badly, but my boot needed to come off.

"Yeah… I'm okay…but my ankle… I'm not sure?"

Toby got my bike up and balanced me so I could get riding as we headed back to his Ute for an ice pack.

Riding back was okay.

 But stopping was always going to be painful. I tried to avoid pressure on my right leg as I halted at the barrier but felt a twinge.

Toby got the ice pack.

I got my boot off and sock. It wasn't too bad; there was no noticeable swelling, but the ice was soothing.

I was perched on the flat tray of his Colorado recovering when Toby asked to take a look.

What is it about hands and bodies and skin that diverts one action into another? 

Toby seriously!

I'm sure he only wanted to check my ankle for damage, but, on the point of touch, he was actually fondling my skin and then flexing my toes in a raunchy, lust-filled way. 

His eyes gave him away.

"Mmm," I moaned, and he stopped and backed away.

"Shit, sorry…I shouldn't have…I lost it," he said, embarrassed.

I looked at him, so confident with his bikes and their parts but lost with a woman, not sure about them and how the fuck to get them to fuck you — yet he had the instinctive touch right on my foot.

"Relax…Toby…I liked it…keep going."

Toby removed my other boot and sock, then at my insistent urging — my leather pants. 

I was splayed across the back of his Ute's tailgate.

Only my scarlet knickers between Toby's growing desire and my overdue girly need.

Like most young guys around my age, Toby had had wham bam sex occasionally in the dark, at The Esplanade, on the back seat of his car, when he got lucky with a half-drunk chick after a party who then remained perpetually embarrassed about the event. 

Young guys like Toby were caught associating sex with getting lucky — and a fuck: with their cars, parties and drunken chicks. 

Not opportunistic randy girls in full daylight in the bush on the back of their Utes.

But like any guy, Toby was a fast learner once, I told him to take off all my gear.

Nothing is better for it with a slight ankle sprain than to go the reverse sixty-nine on the Ute's flat tray. Toby's hairy balls were in my face, but his swollen erectness was nicely filling my mouth while my hand was easing up and down his shaft. A generous wad of spit had his cock glistening and sliding in and out of my gob very nicely.

I could tell he was enjoying it because he worked his tongue through my fur patch to the bits that excited me. He had his tongue hitting my clit and slapping my labia — just good general wandering tongue work — no expert.

Still, he was finding the right spots often enough to get me aroused for cock in my pussy.

"Nice work, stud," I said as he kept going and going, not fully knowing where he was going down there, but I was ready to be filled.

"Stick in me…now," I insisted.

Well, Toby finally took control — there is something about that hard, aroused pecker pointing directly at a soft furry mound that excites guys. He took my legs gently over his shoulders and then eased himself into me. 

God, had I missed cock. 

"Ugh! Ugh!" I moaned in appreciation.

Filling, fat, expansive, pussy defining cock. 

The thrust and the movement, the shaping of my avaricious wet hole. He was doing fine. Any bloody cock would have done, actually.

Toby then got his pace up. He was into wham bam, hard male thrusting to orgasm, but I wasn't into a delicate romantic girly coupling today.

Hard, fast and frickin indecent was friggin fantastic. I was moaning how I imagined a whore would moan.

"Haah! Haah! Haah!"

And boy, did that get Toby pumping piston fast.

I was in the excitement zone. I knew I was going to cum, which surprised me. I always needed clit stimulation to orgasm, but I realised I was so cock starved, and Toby's deep angle was combining with my rabid lust, and I was about to have my first vaginal climax.

I shut my eyes, luxuriating and savouring the moment.

"Orrgh! Ugh!"

My eyes weren't shut for long as a decent pecker was easing into my mouth, and another pecker was encouraging my fingers to wrap themselves around it.

Well, talk about how your life changes in a moment.

Three naked studs were around my body when I couldn't even attract one fucking cock for three shitty months.

Qualitative thoughts about what's right for a girl don't even pass through your mind at times like this…well how often does it happen… it doesn't …yet it was — Of course, you wouldn't deliberately do this —Or would you?

But it was happening, and I wanted to know. I wanted cock. I had cock. I was taking all this cock.

I was sucking Mitch's long dick. 

Great cock.

I was stroking Alan's thick pole. I could feel the slightly tacky, sticky precum pleasure as he groaned.

Meanwhile, Toby continued pumping into my slit like a maniac.

I was so excited, surrounded by pressing male bodies. I had a genuine vaginal orgasm with a cock now in each of my hands at the side of my writhing body. My moans mixed with Toby's creaming groans.

"Orrgh! Orrgh!"

Toby — the bastard got that post-coital male beaming relaxation.

I just gasped as Mitch started fingering my arsehole — dragging my cummed pussy secretions and the dribbling jizz around my girly crevice into my arse crack — to lubricate it.

The prick wanted my butt hole.

Alan was making sure I was sucking him off ball deep.

It was Mitch who raised me off the tailgate, and I was squeezed between two pressing male bodies.

I both knew what would happen — but couldn't believe it, as it did.

"Fuck …Yeah…Oh my God," I exclaimed as I was doubled dicked in a searing instance of unexplainable mind-blowing and body-energising pleasure.

I was the filling in the sandwich press. My body was pliant between two squeezing, rigid male bodies.

I felt shaped by cock. Held by cock. 

Fuck, their pricks felt so close together. Fuck they were creating distinct points of pleasure, but the double delight blurred the sensation with an overarching pinnacle of self.

I was amazed at my body's delight.

"Hngh! Hngh!"

Then, I stole each pleasurable defining moment as it unfolded. There is happiness in sex, there is wondrous enjoyment at an intense orgasm like with Toby, and then there are moments of fucking slut filled rapture. 

I had the latter and wasn't letting it go.

And fuck did the two guys in me — have energy. 

Mitch was banging away in my over-sensitive soppy coochie. Alan was ramming his hard rod into my tight pucker. Cock filled and bodily squeezed.

I moaned and moaned and surprised myself as I excitedly climaxed again, and it steadily coursed through my body as the two pricks in me unloaded their wads.

"Orrgh! Orrgh!"

Alan groaning as he filled my arse. Then Mitch, supporting my weight on his knees, added to my creamed-out furry crevice.

Yeah, my ankle was sore but hardly registering as my body and mind imbibed the incredible sequence on the Ute. 

But I had that butt-naked moment surrounded by three pricks steadily retracting to their flaccid size.

Well, guys automatically seem to know not to stand around with limp dicks; staring at a cummed filled and butt-creamed naked woman.

It's best to get on with something or roll over and sleep.

They got their bike gear back on. All three of them. They weren't wasting these trails.

They bluntly asked if I was okay…meaning my ankle — and I said, "Yeah."

And off they burned. It was like forms of enjoyment were compartmentalised in a guy's mind.

Cock satisfied but not their bikes — yet.

I was left to myself for a couple of hours. 

Hobbling around and then resting in the cabin of the Ute with the icepack — listening to music.

They were back for lunch, discussing gears, traction, and obstacles on the track. Sharing sandwiches and thermos coffee with me — like nothing had happened.

Yeah, guys are simple. 

Just occupied with the toy in front of them. 

Pussy.

Mouth.

Boobs!

Arse.

Then bikes.

And off they went for another couple of hours, their heads full of dust, mates, fuel, and immediate concerted action.

And I was just another off-road biker — albeit a girl; wondering if I would be okay to join in on next week's trail as my ankle, I hoped, was only rolled. 

But I had time to think through a life-defining experience: my body exploring undreamt limits like the buzz when a biker explores new terrain.

Wow, I felt good.

However: I realised on the drive home if I wanted a fuck —I had to get in these rev heads — head.

I casually asked Toby if he would bring some beer and take me to The Esplanade on Friday night.

"Sure," he said, hardly processing it and focusing on his driving and the beat of his favourite music pounding through his top-of-the-range stereo system.