An Unexpected Hot-Dogging

Meryl had never felt quite so indecent, quite so lewd, and worst of all, quite so naked in her entire life. As she careened backwards into the workman, the entire scene seemed to slow before her eyes. She watched as Dwight stood there, trying desperately to contain the raging erection protruding out from his trousers, at this point pitching not so much a tent as a whole campground. His glasses were askew, and he wore an expression of barely-restrained lust. Meryl hadn't the time nor the dexterity to break her fall, nor even to turn her head to get an idea of where the workman was in relation to her — she could only fall, helpless against the pull of gravity, her breasts wobbling wildly like twin, unrestrained mounds of jelly, her nipples sharp and standing to attention. Down below, her skirt was still rucked up about her thighs at the front, teasingly fluttering beneath her fingers as if taunting Dwight with the promise of seeing that one final treasure located just a bit higher up; Meryl was so adamant on ensuring that didn't happen that she was using what little presence of mind she had left to keep a firm grip on the hem of her skirt at the front.

The back, of course, was a different story. Her seldom seen but (by the likes of Dwight and Peter, among others) often fantasised about bubble butt was very much on display. Before impact, the workman came to only the dimmest of realisations as to what he was looking at as he glanced up from his task. If he'd had a bit more time, he might have experienced mingling shock and a transgressive little jolt of anticipation at the knowledge that the pert, nubile hind quarters that was filling his field of vision was headed right for him. He didn't have more time, however, and so he barely had time to formulate a single, fleeting thought before Meryl crashed into him arse-first, and they both went tumbling to the floor.

"M-meryl? Meryl? Are you alright?" Dwight asked, approaching the spot where Meryl and the workman had gone down. What he saw as he got closer drew a shocked gasp from between his lips. When the dust settled, Meryl and the Workman were...entangled. In an eerily familiar twist, Meryl found herself having unwittingly mounted a complete stranger for the second time that day. This time, however, things were a little different. Well, maybe not so little. Meryl knew immediately she hadn't managed to fall onto this man's face as she had the boy from before, and she breathed a sigh of relief at that. What she had done, it dawned on her, as she shifted her weight a little and looked up at Dwight, was something just as bad.

She'd fallen, you see, in such a way that her tight, nominally virgin set of buns had parted, exposing her crack and providing a certain...easy access. It seemed that the Workman's body had begun to respond on some subconscious level to the sight of Meryl's half-naked body, and to that same naked body slamming into it, even if it's owner hadn't. The result was something Meryl could feel all too keenly. His cock had started to stir in his trousers, and those loose work overalls he was wearing were far too acommodating of the 'junior workman' and its sudden desire to migrate North. So it was that in the last few seconds before Meryl had hit him, the Workman's erection had gone into full swing and, when she'd taken his feet out from under him with her bum, it had shifted to point skywards. Meryl felt a certain lightness in her stomach, an ironic contrast to the distinct, thick weight she felt elsewhere — for the man's cock was now sandwiched lengthways between her arse cheeks, the tightly-knit pair all but closing around it to create a veritable hot-dog-in-a-bun situation down where the sun didn't shine. She heard him gasp, and as if on cue his prick pulsed, sending a shiver down Meryl's spine and causing her mouth to hang open in surprise.

Was that...had he just...inside his pants? The thought made Meryl want to gag, but she had more pressing issues to attend to first. The position he'd fallen into beneath her had left him somewhat wedged into place amidst the maze of pipework threaded just beneath the flooring, leaving him quite unable to move. Long seconds passed, and Meryl knew she had to get up, had to get his...away from her...but it was as if her limbs wouldn't obey her. Even through his trousers and boxers, she could feel the warmth emanating from his member, and for all Meryl's shock and horror, her buttocks seemed to like the arrangement well enough. She even — the very idea brought another flush to Meryl's features — thought she could feel another kind of response further up, past the 'entrance' where the Workman's cock was stuck as snugly as a cargo ship in an Egyptian canal, up where Cheryl had fondled and fingered — a little anticipatory twitch, right where...where she...

No. No, this wasn't happening. It simply couldn't be, she wasn't that kind of girl. She wasn't that kind of girl!