Poppy Cherry's lost weekend

It was not just a boring village, it was the most boring village in the province. It was the most boring that the village had ever been in its time, in the most boring time of all. It was so boring it didn’t even have pig-catching competition. It didn’t have feasts, it didn’t have parties, it didn’t even have dances. All it had was dozens of rustic bumpkins with eyebrows on their cheeks. Hicks in the sticks.

Poppy Cherry knew this because she was **** to live there and the awfulness of it all had compounded itself over and over and over for every one of her eighteen years. It was simply not right to grow up here as a scorchingly hot girl and then an eligible teenager. There was nothing to do, there was no-one interesting around, and the work was hard and unforgiving.

As she made her way back into the village, Poppy once more reflected miserably on the weekend that she had just had. She had saved for weeks to be able to take the weekend off to go and celebrate her birthday in Riyabelot, the nearest small town, at twenty miles away (but at least a town!). She had been determined to enjoy herself on the occasion of turning eighteen and resolved to get away from the countryside and go somewhere more exciting. And there was Walter, a young gherkin merchant from the town who had taken a shine to her as she had served his drink in the tavern when he was stopping over in the village on a vegetable fact-finding mission in the area. Over a few snatched kisses in the evening, Walter had promised her much. Poppy had found her hands straying downwards to touch at his cock through his trousers. It had felt like mince packed into a long tube sock, and wound its way down his leg. Giving her his address, Walter had made Poppy promise to look her up when she could get away to Riyabelot, and offered to show her a weekend of delight.

In common with 99% of Poppy’s life experience so far, it had been a disaster. Walter was a washout. Not rich, successful, kind, or handsome in a good light. Actually quite mean and offhand with her. And when it came down to it and he’d lured her up to his fairly squalid quarters, the promise of a monster schlong which had so enraptured Poppy had been just what it was, not what it had been advertised – a prosthetic dong, in fact, a sock packed with mince. Confused, lied to, let down, ashamed, Poppy had fled. Not to put too fine a point on it, despite some near misses, Poppy was still a virgin, and had been looking forward to getting her cherry busted. The only thing broken, it seemed, was her dreams of getting away from the village.

She’ spent the rest of her weekend the way she wanted to. She’d gone for an image change, based on what the rest of the girls in town were wearing. She’d got a undercut on one side of her head and had the rest of her hair dyed pink, then a sleeve tattoo up her elbow and a septum piercing. The rest went on clothes. Black tight shiny thigh length boots with platform soles, a matching black shiny thong with straps that went over her hips, a minuscule leather skirt that kept flapping up and barely covered the cheeks of her pert, jutting teenage ass and a short black tight leather jacket which she wore open to expose the black bra beneath. Then she’d partied in taverns until the early morning.

But that was it. Out of money, out of time, she had schlepped back to the village, increasingly anxious about getting back in time on Monday morning at the tavern to work her shift. There was no time to get home, there was not time to get changed, there was only time to scamper over the stone bridge into the village to get back to her usual life. It would be her usual life, but with a new her. No doubt the village bumpkins would scoff at her new fashionable affectations, but she didn’t care. No doubt her boss at the tavern would scold her for turning up wearing the scanty and provocative attire she was dressed in.

As she turned the corner of the street to the tavern Poppy barely noticed how the town was even quieter than usual. How there was literally no-one about at all. How the sleepy village seemed so much sleepier. Perhaps it was by virtue of contrast to the metropolis that she has just sampled a taste of. She opened the door.

‘FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!’

The expletive that escaped her lips sounded exceptionally loud in the interior of the main room of the tavern. The place was an absolute mess of upturned tables, smashed crockery, and male bodies piled high. She recognised them all – her boss, the innkeeper, several members of the local militia, the farmers, the blacksmith… all arrayed around the room, completely naked, exhausted and seemingly insensible.

At the bar, a gorgeous, naked blonde slut was sitting at a stool with her massive round booty perched over the side of it, the cheeks jutting out as an enormous, muscular, rugged and handsome man stood behind her and ploughed her ass with what seemed like an impossibly huge dick. She couldn’t see all of it because it was entrenched right in the blonde’s asshole, but she could see the base of the trunk, a ridiculously fat and girthsome tube brimmed with thick, angry veins. The blonde was drooling onto her huge round tits that were propped on the bar and moaning sexily.

Behind the bar, another blonde woman, devastatingly beautiful and with a sensational physique, completely dripping with cum, was sipping clear fluid out of a pint glass, with another staggeringly gorgeous woman, this one with black hair was on her haunches in front of the man and the first blonde, a glass in her hand.

‘Yeah, you slut. Milk his fucking meatstick with your ass,’ the dark-haired woman was saying enthusiastically.

If Poppy had been able to think clearly, she might have reflected it was the wrong weekend to choose to go away. She just simply stood stock-still in the doorway, eyes bulging out at the scene of debauch. It was all too much to take in – the piles of naked men seemingly laid low with sexual exhaustion, the trio of huge-titted sluts, and the hugely endowed, brawny guy... she pushed both hands to the sides of her mouth.

‘OH… MY… BIG SCHLONGED GODDES!’ exclaimed Poppy, who hadn’t yet expunged her vocabulary of rustic expressions.

At her second exclamation the huge man started to grunt, and animalistic roar that emanated aggressively from the back of his throat as he seized the pair of spherically inflated asscheeks in his large hands and squeezed them, thick, cable-strong fingers becoming embedded in the juicy golden flesh. Using his hands to heave, he began to extract his ballooning dick from the blonde’s asshole, and Poppy gawped in alarm, eyes bugging out wider, as the huge shaft slid slickly into view from the sexy slut’s rectal passage, inch on in on inch of thick, bulging, brawny dickmeat being relinquished until it finally came free, a smooth, purple, fist size cockhead crowning the column of flesh. It juddered in the air for a second, throbbing, but that was all the time that the black-haired slut was prepared to waste before she grabbed hold of it under the glans and pointed it into the glass she was holding. Instantly, a welter of clear, gooey fluid splattered into it, frothing and shooting in a thick ray of liquid that sloshed impactfully around the container.

It didn’t take long for the glass to become full, and when it was, the black-haired knockout rose from her haunches, clinked the class against the one held by the blonde behind the bar.

‘Here’s mud in your eye, Galiana,’ she said, before taking a deep gulp of the precum, and then, without any warning at all, set it on the counter and slid it all the way along to where Poppy was standing, who just had enough wit to come out of her daze and catch the glass with her hand.

The man’s immense monstercock was now levelled at her, dripping precum onto the floor at his feet, and Poppy Cherry suddenly had the feeling that her weekend had suddenly just begun.