When you are young and your whole life moves …it moves. When you’re older your life can seem stuck and static. Poppy was static and knew it. This was a shame at eighteen; at that age life should be dynamic and a buzz of action and new experiences.
As a primary school aged youngster the adventure was all there. Moving to a home with the strange name of Rendell Creek Junction. The water part of the name sounded great. Poppy always liked swimming. The creek however was nearly perpetually dry. Rendell Creek was two thousand clicks from the sea. A desert stopover point for fuel, food and rest. It was a roadhouse business with a rundown basic minimum two and half star accommodation rating. A ‘welcome’ strategic break in any person’s journey where the main north south highway met the only sealed route east. To the west a less used harsh dusty corrugated four wheel drive adventure desert track.
Poppy was ‘okay’ through the passing years while her older sister was still at home. Her three years away studying at University and a boyfriend to boot…meant they had drifted apart. Her parents had only two days ago taken the long drive south for Melanie’s graduation and their first break in years.
Poppy was okay running the small business alone. Besides there was Dave: retired but …general maintenance and fix anything man… just hanging about…living in a trailer on the site. That was till yesterday when he had headed off to help a mate fix a bloody leaking roof …the last thing you wanted as a rare low wet trough came through…making Rendell Creek look like a creek… for the first time in years.
So Poppy was alone. Alone with herself. Alone in this unexpected bloody muggy, out of place sub tropical rain. No one stopped at the shop or for accommodation it was so fucking wet. It dripped incessantly hard on the galvanised roof. Drumming and pelting down…non fucking stop. The water tanks were full for once…now overflowing.
Poppy had washing to do…it would have to be done in the camp site laundry… the only place with dryers. It was eight o’clock in the evening before Poppy got the washing in the dryers. She would collect it later. Time for dinner.
Poppy heard the microwave beep and knew her meal was ready. Solo frozen dinner cheater in action…when the tinkle of the late reception bell went off repeatedly.
‘Shit late arrivals…in the bloody rain. Had to be tourists…the roads would be closed in all direction if it kept pissing down like this for a couple more days.’ Poppy knew her pasta and veg dish would get cold…’Oh well…let’s see the grey nomads’…she thought.
The two guys drenched to the skin outside the locked door looked like limp pricks. Poppy let them in to a drier space where they both pooled puddles on the lino.
“Christ I though this bloody outback was hot desert” said one. Poppy detected the clear Irish accent.
“It is…normally” said Poppy… “Do you want a caravan or a cabin?” it was a business after all she had been left to run.
“Christ…we can’t afford that Miss…We have our tent and gear …on the back of our bikes” said the one with the three day rough facial growth.
“Are you going to set the tent up in this downpour…it could rain for hours…or days… you know?”
“No choice…so its fifteen dollars for a tent site…” The rates were on a board behind Poppy’s head. “There you are” said the taller of the two…placing a tenner and fiver in Poppy’s extended hand.
Poppy didn’t hesitate:” No look…take a cabin for fifteen ok…there’s no one else on site…its fine”
“Cor…thanks Miss” said the taller.
“Look bring your bikes around the back of this building… and I’ll let you garage them…okay”
Once the bikes were in a dry place the guys headed off. Poppy went back to her cold dinner and the heavy incessant rain on the roof. So loud you nearly couldn’t think. Let alone sleep later.
…….
“Did you check the sweet butt on that ‘Colleen’ Shamus” said Patrick to his mate as he stripped off his wet jeans.
“Mate “said Paddy… “I didn’t get past her hooters…that’s a stacked rack man…” as the taller guy removed his wet shirt and t-shirt.
“Anything else to go in the washer …let’s make this load worthwhile… not many two dollar washes around mate”
“Yeah… here’s my jocks …that’s it”
So two male cheapskate travellers sat naked…washing everything they had… while reading old magazines … all their kit getting the full wash cycle. The raining tumbling down incessantly outside.
…….
Poppy was in her skimpy pj’s when she remembered the fucking washing…’Shit …the dryers’.
She grabbed an umbrella and put on her thongs and headed over to the laundry next to the ablutions block. Fuck it was slippery and puddly. Poppy was in a hurry and went the ‘big slide’ straight onto her arse…soaked through to the skin…drenched from head to toe…covered in wet red earth…’shit…shit…shit’ was all she thought. The umbrella busted.
Shamus and Paddy were now teamed up … Patrick tossed the washing to Shamus standing farther away… at the only available dryer…the rest were full of dry sheets…looked like the cabin linen.
Both guys were in their birthday suits focussed on wet clothes for the dryer.
Poppy came through the door only intent on getting her wet pj’s off quickly and drying herself with one of the sheets she was collecting.
Poppy was naked…full frontal… full dark bush.
Both guys became aware of Poppy…stark naked…holding dirty dripping pj’s.
Poppy became aware of the guys…full frontal… well hung dudes.
All eyes in the laundry below the waist for that indecently decent lingering look.
“Fuck” said Poppy
“Certainly “said Shamus
“Here?” said Paddy.
“Fuck it…yes” said Poppy.
Shamus didn’t give a rats about his wet washing. He grabbed the nearest sheets out of the closest dryer …and sort of spread a lumpy pile of them on the floor …keeping one for Poppy… but basically body heat and triple friction dried our Poppy very quickly. She didn’t bother with the sheet. Her hands were both full anyway …prime Irish meat massaged up very quickly. No handshake introductions here. It was hello cocks.
Paddy was rapidly occupied with her awesome melons…rubbing his face right between them and then getting deliriously happy with a temporary nipple fixation.
Shamus was exploring her cute rear end and its adjacent butt hole. One finger nestled nicely in her warm tight arse. The bitch was murmuring ….she liked it rapid and prodding.
Patrick’s face headed south and his tongue caressed Poppy’s cute crimpled cunt lips after parting her fur garden.
Poppy literally popped like the pop in her name… the Irishman’s seemingly clairvoyant tongue speedily struck her erect engorged exposed clit…the delight rapidly roller coasted through her bliss filled body… making her heart race, her breathe extend deeply in, then fully exhale out and finally it swayed through her mind in fucking implosive and explosive self happiness…trilly spiky warbly quivers of intense pleasure building…she was ready for a decent fuck.
Before she could control what she wanted…though beyond cock now….Poppy didn’t actually think or plan…cock sounded right…cock in her now…that was the agenda…cock. Shamus had the country girl half bent over with his pecker ready to probe her exposed willing cavities.
Patrick’s head was in her mouth and Christ she was good. She sucked deep and teeth free. Her tongue working a special treat every now and then as a delightful pleasurable surprise to his pink engorged glans.
Shamus took in her glistening wide lipped revelation resting on its fur carpet. In its eye opening natural beauty her cunt promised immediate pleasure. In touch it delivered ego delight two ways. Then in the promised delivery of immediate and continual delight of shared pecker penetration and pussy embracing…it took them both to a promised land…the refuge of the soul…the haven of self really discovered…the promise of our human capacity… in other words… they were jointly fucking themselves senseless. **remaining on** [Dirty Laundry](https://thebestsexstories101.blogspot.com/2019/10/dirty-laundry.html)
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