Jen and the Post Roast Duck Fuck [MF]

A (self-described) fan of my writing has coerced me into a challenge. To write up a short-ish story which includes my good friend Jen.

For those unfamiliar, previous stories including her:

[https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ld68mg/sexy_skinny_dipping_with_a_friends_girlfriend_mf/](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ld68mg/sexy_skinny_dipping_with_a_friends_girlfriend_mf/)

Sexy Skinny Dipping with A Friend’s Girlfriend – The Sequel [MF] from gonewildstories

I am, above all things, a pretentious wanker – brevity is not my strong suit. But let’s give it a go.

For those who care, this story takes place nearly a year after my previous one. I know that for a fact as I was once again in the halcyon days of post-exam bliss, free to enjoy early Summer and get up to as much mischief as possible. Unfortunately, my wicked brother had dibs on our Cornish bolt-hole, so my group of friends were confined to the luscious green Home Counties for the break. Thankfully for us, we had some free houses in which to hang out and pretend like we were adults – holding dinner parties and soirees which inevitably ended in some variation of student debauchery.

The heroine of this story, Jen, was one person whose house was free during this time. And what a house it was – a mock Tudor cottage, miles from anywhere, with acres of rolling fields surrounding it. I’ve been thinking a lot about Jen these past few months, and, upon reflection, I really was in love with her back then. Whilst a year had passed since out first fuck, we had met for clandestine nights of passion on multiple occasions since then. Last time you had all heard about Jen, she was attached to a good friend of mine. They had ‘consciously uncoupled’ when university started up again, if memory serves, because he had cheated on her and couldn’t bare the guilt (yikes). Luckily, mine and Jen’s nocturnal tumbles remained secret, so we all remained friends.

I have always described Jen as Valkyrian, and I continue to believe that is the most apt description of her. She was a statuesque beauty, with an ass that you would conquer Wessex for. Her long blonde braids was now stained purple at the ends in a (fooldhardy) attempt to experiment with her looks. Her emerald eyes burned with passion and her beautiful pale lips framed her square jaw perfectly.

Oh dear, this isn’t very short, is it?

To cut out some gumf, my friends and I were camping in a corner of Jen’s ‘garden’ (aka a bloody field of sheep, those randy bastards) in a vainglorious attempt to set up a music festival. However, the English summer (by which I mean horizontal rain) had driven us inside the cottage. Which was much more like a stately home than a cottage. I was not upset by this change of plans. Camping in the rain is for masochists and Northerners (often one and the same).

To celebrate and/or commiserate, Jen had planned to throw a spectacular Sunday lunch. As we both shared a passion for cooking and entertaining, I was swiftly enrolled into the scheme as sous-chef to Jen. I often wonder what our friends made of our closeness – did they suspect that we had been fucking? Probably. But at the time, I imagine they thought nothing of us cooking together – we were always the chefs of the group. It only matters for the title of this post – but we were going to have roast duck.

Little did I know that this was the start of my torture. It struck me later that Jen had planned this as soon as the first drizzle of June had landed on our tents. You may not think prepping food as a particularly sexual endeavour, but you have never met Jen.

Firstly, whilst Jen’s house was huge, the kitchen was essentially something you’d find on Jack Aubrey’s ships. Small, cramped and centred around a huge Aga which belted out swathes of heat.

Secondly, Jen had amassed a carnal knowledge of my turn ons. In particular, she knew that I had a fascination with her glorious ass, and that I was a huge pervert for all kinds of underwear.

I’ll admit, whilst I had hoped for some summer-Jen-linked-hanky-panky, I was utterly clueless to her designs at first. She later told me that I had ignored her sitting on my lap, lewdly sucking a banana at me and her mouthing ‘fuck me’ over a drinking game. In the words of Forrest Gump, esq. – I am not a smart man.

But one thing I could not ignore was, in the middle of lunch preparation (when our friends were too busy watching a film [southerners] or out for a walk in the rain [northerners] ) was Jen hitching her small, tight denim miniskirt up around her waist, exposing her impossibly perfect ass contained nearly by lacy, black panties.

The blood rushing from my brain to a separate organ meant I couldn’t really process what was happening when Jen swayed over to me, placing her beautifully framed rump in front of my crotch and bending slightly forwards. She turned her head to look at me, smirking with the knowledge that she was driving me wild.

Instinctively, after grinding my swelling erection against her, I wrapped my arms around her. As I kissed her neck (which itself elicited soft moaning from Jen) my right hand dove deep into the delicate lace, past the pubic hair to find a soaked, sticky pussy. Meanwhile, my left hand had reached under Jen’s jumper to cup her be-bra’d tit.

As I continued to kiss and lick her neck, my fingers parted her pussy lips and searched out that wonderful little clit of hers. Two can play at your game, my sweet, I thought to myself, and I began to firmly press against her clit, drawing slow, small circles. Jen’s moans and whispered encouragements grew more and more impatient as our world shrunk to the two of us. Fuck the duck.

By this point, I was as stiff as a rock. Jen’s deft fingers were now reaching back to fumble with my erect cock, which was now pressed against my own jeans and leaking with precum. She was trying to find the zip, but (for some reason) couldn’t find it, so was just batting around at the front of my trousers.

Frustrated, she span round. Face to face, we paused for a moment to look into each other’s eyes before we kissed with rampant fervor. As we wrestled tongues, she finally found the zip to my jeans and, rather impressively, whipped out my erection in one swift move. With another smirk (which I swear she had somehow invented to get me as randy as an old goat), she again span around, pressing her ass into my exposed cock.

I may not be a smart man, but I think I could tell what she wanted at that moment. Peeling her panties to the side, I pushed my cock into her soaked pussy. Well, I did eventually. It took us an embarrassed couple of moments to quite figure out how exactly the mechanics of standing doggy worked. However, with a bit of maneuvering, my throbbing erection was now inside her glorious soft pussy.

As wonderful as it was, it was brief. When we fucked, we had an established routing wherein as soon as I entered her, we would pause and enjoy the moment before we would get down the business (not to defeat the huns, but to fuck). Alas, as soon as I had grabbed her hips and had begun to wind up my first thrust, Jen pushed herself forwards. My cock slipped out of her pussy, and Jen’s miniskirt came down, like the curtain at the end of a dramatic first act.

I was left, rather confused, with a raging, sticky erection on display in Jen’s galley kitchen. I looked at her quizzically.

‘That was your amuse bouche! You’ll have to be a good boy if you want more.’ She giggled.

By god, I thought, that strumpet had planned all of this. She was teasing me!

I now realise that this is becoming particularly lengthy, so I’ll skip on a bit. Suffice to say, it’s very difficult to prepare, cook and eat a Sunday roast with 20 or so guests whilst your mind is consumed with thoughts of galloping the host. The meal was (of course) delightful, and by 9 o clock in the evening, most of our friends had either fallen asleep, were watching a movie (I think it was 300) or out at the local pub.

Jen and mine eyes met across the remnants of a treacle tart. We didn’t need to be telepathic to know that we had decided now was the time. Her eyes flitted upwards. I understood the message. Her room. Now.

Undetected, we stole away upstairs, her first, followed swiftly by me as I bounded up like a racehorse in the National. By the time I had reached her bedroom, she had flumped herself onto her cloud like bed, stripped down to her underwear. Her pale porcelain skin framed gorgeously by an ethereally lacy, black bra and panties. I thought I couldn’t get more erect, but I was dead wrong. She looked stunning.

Surprising myself with my own swiftness, I was soon buck naked and upon her, kissing her deeply as her hands wove around my back and pulled me closer to her. My cock, leaking with precum, pressed against her panties.

I broke the kiss and believe I said something dreadfully cheesy such as ‘now let me amuse your lower bouche’ or ‘time for dessert’ (cringe), as I began to kiss her body, starting with the neck and ending just below her belly button. I remember her skin tasted of an ideal English summer’s day – of strawberries and cream.

Peeling those wonderful panties off, I took a moment to admire her beautiful pussy. The dark blonde pubes, the plump lips parted ever so slightly to reveal a sticky vulva and a clitoris, begging to be licked. Delightful. Her hands entwined with mine as I flicked my tongue over her clit, lapping up her juices and pushing my face into her sex. I could have spent all day eating her out, but it wasn’t long until she shook me off and murmured:

‘I want you up here’

Not one to disobey a lady, I wiped off my face and positioned myself over her. She took my cock and began to rub my head against her clit. This was new to me, but entirely pleasurable, so I was happy to take a moment and enjoy watching Jen as she used me as a human vibrator. Her face became flushed and her little pre-cumming mantra of ‘ohgodohogodohgod’ began. She came hard, and I was concerned she might squeeze my penis off from the way she pressed it firmly against her soaked vagina.

After a moment’s rest to magic a condom from seemingly thin air (in reality her bed side table) and for me to put on said condom, I finally pushed myself into her once again. As much as I wanted to wildly fuck her, I was slightly concerned about squeaking bed springs, so our fucking became oddly tender as I deliberately slowed myself down, taking time to tease the both of us with deep, rhythmic pumping.

Jen had begun to melt into her little puddle of orgasms. She had this rather cute way of closing her eyes and shaking slightly with each wave of pleasure, before her lips would inevitably search for mine to kiss.

Eventually, I came with a powerful orgasm which would have had me grunting and moaning with pleasure had Jen not buried my face into her neck at the last moment. We lay there, gasping for air with our bodies entwined for a couple of minutes before Jen pushed me onto my back. Peeling the condom off my rapidly deflating cock, she placed her lips over my penis and sucked on me for a few seconds.

I tell you this for completeness of the story. She told me later she wasn’t sure why she did it, she just thought it would be sexy. It was.

‘Now Rotty,’ she purred ‘What shall we have for breakfast?’

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/mcyzgw/jen_and_the_post_roast_duck_fuck_mf