Trapped

It's about fifteen miles to our bungalow. For the entire vacation, Ann and I rented the most budget-friendly offer from the owner of the bungalow, old Joel, his equally old jalopy from faraway America for as much as two euros a day. By the way, this was the only option, so I didn't really have to choose. And anyway, I don't care - I'm on vacation. During the half-hour drive, Ann usually manages to snap about a million photos of local beauties, her camera is always with her. No, she's not a photographer, she's an accountant. Not far from our destination, we passed a nudist beach. This is the only place on the island where she doesn't take photos.

Oh, and I forgot to say that the island is French-speaking and there are no special boundaries in terms of beachwear. Usually, they don't wear it here, but there are those who do. We have rather conservative views, so when we are in public, we have some clothes on. The cool sea makes me feel small and pathetic. So, no swimming trunks, only short and slightly tight shorts. It's easier for Ann. A light summer shirt, long enough so that no one would know she was wearing nothing underneath, and with the buttons unbuttoned halfway through so that everyone would know she was wearing nothing on.

Damn speed limiters. We roll slowly, letting bare-assed pedestrians and cyclists pass.

Look, they're definitely selling something there.

Oh yeah, there's a decent crowd

Come on, park, I'll go get a melon or a watermelon.

There are no problems with food on the island, but when the locals bring fruit, a fight starts. Parking here is a special story. Our wide trough creaked as its wheels sank into the sand opposite a noisy gathering. Honestly, French is not my strong point. I understand some things, but I mostly rely on my companion.

What can you think about, seeing Ann approaching a crowd of naked bodies. I don't know how she feels about this, but I caught myself thinking that I find it funny that she's delicately touching some naked guy's shoulder with an apology and a request to let her through. Yes, a juicy watermelon at this pre-evening time is just what you need.

Not even a couple of minutes have passed, and she's already making her way back. The mission is to get through the crowd without bumping into anyone. Interestingly, I think her shirt was unbuttoned with a couple more buttons. There was no watermelon in her hands. Oh well, at least it was fun. I started the trough.

Turn off the car for now and give me the camera.

What?

Give me the camera, there's such a show there, you have to see it.

Ann, let's go, you're not going to film here.

Give me the camera, they rub their bodies with colorful oils there, it's beautiful.

What?

I was clearly irritating her. The camera was hanging on the back of my seat. She leaned into the open window of her door, reached for the camera and hit the window lift lever with her elbow. I honestly didn't know it worked, I'd never had to close the windows before.

Ann screamed, she was pressed quite hard just below her chest. I quickly unbuckled myself and tried to lower the window with my hands, but it was already slightly crooked and jammed. The man walking toward the beach showed past our car, hearing our exclamations, and looked back. His gaze slowly moved from top to bottom, and then I realized that now everyone around already knew that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Well, there are nudists everywhere, so what problems could there be?

Are you ok?

It's fine, it's not pressing too hard. Try tugging the lever, maybe it will go down.

It must be crooked. I saw some keys in the trunk, let's try to do something about it.

Come on, just straighten my shirt from behind.

I walked around the car. Nothing out of the ordinary. A beautiful naked ass from the door window of a classic car. Everyone walks like that here.

I love you. You're beautiful.

What? Straighten my shirt.

No way. There are no clothed people here, so it's fine.

And what if someone laughs at me or takes a photo?

You can't take photos here... it's karma, so pay with your naked ass from the window.

And what if...

Yeah, yeah, I'll go look for tools.

I found the keys. But how do I do it... How do I get it out of there... I was thinking standing by the open trunk and watching the scene that Anya was going to shoot. The guys had already dragged deck chairs from somewhere on which bodies of different sexes were laid out to be smeared with a multi-colored oily liquid. The group was of different ages, mostly older people. I can't say that there were very attractive ladies or men here, but among them I noticed a young guy who was standing alone to the side. If I had such an organ, I would also feel uncomfortable.

While I was dreaming, Ann tried to ask for help from a young couple who were also going to have fun. All in vain. They were quite amused by the situation. They were clearly joking, the guy ran his hand over her thighs, then they laughed some more, the girl lightly patted Ann on the butt and they went on.

I came up and tried to straighten your shirt. The red marks told me that it was pressed hard by the glass. After several attempts, I managed to pull the shirt harder and at least cover my nakedness a little.

How are you? Funny couple.

Yeah. She actually offered her boyfriend to fuck me.

Wow, and he...

He nodded approvingly, but... as you can see, it worked out

You are clearly upset about this.

Well, you know, I have a great ass and it is simply indecent to refuse, he probably likes boys more.

Okay, here is the plan. Let's open the door and then I'll try to take it apart.

We can't open the door.

Why?

Get in the car

I got in. Yes, that's a problem. When I pulled the shirt back, it slipped off Ann's shoulders and now her ample breasts were swinging freely, uncovered.

Well, that's okay now, balance.

I pointed to an older woman who was haggling over something in a tuck shop right across the street from us.

- Look at that lady over there, she also has a bare ass and breasts

- Yes, but she's not standing on all fours inviting everyone to try her

- Let's break the glass

- No, that's impossible, I promised to return the car intact.

- Then we need to open the door.

I saw that she was hesitating, but the swollen nipples that I touched just a little told me ok. We opened with difficulty. I laid out the keys and began to disassemble the door. Honestly, her breasts were in the way, they were blocking my view all the time. In order to unscrew the screws, I had to lift and support her. No matter how I tried to be more delicate, but nipples became hard from these manipulations.

The show because of which we were stuck here was gaining momentum. People were having fun and the edge of this crowd was slowly creeping up on us. Some of the passers-by tried to help us. One guy covered in oil came up to us and started talking to Ann. They chatted and then he quickly left.

Who is this.

This is Jean.

What did you want.

Wanted to help.

I don't need help.

He wanted to help me.

Ah, that's possible.

As soon as I said this, he immediately returned. He whispered something in Anya's ear, she nodded. While I was looking for a screwdriver in the trunk, he squatted in front of her, carefully unbuttoned his shirt and began to rub Anya's stomach with this blue oily liquid. No embarrassment or uncertainty. The breasts in front of his eyes did not bother this guy at all. His confident look and skillful hands turned her nipples into hard cherries. Naturally, he also smeared them pretty well and left. He probably thinks he can pull them out.

It seems to me that your breasts will not pass, especially now

I know, but let him try

It seems to me that I did not lubricate well from you and I need to add here - I lightly poked the screwdriver into the nipple.

Hee. I'm sure he will come back.

And where did he go

I think he will call a friend, you are not going to help him, are you?

Yes?

Yes, I told him that you are a mechanic... the one who disassembles the door. But your chest...

Before I could finish speaking, Jean returned with an assistant and more oil. His friend had climbed into the salon and now they were rubbing Anya's upper body with four hands. The gentlemen were not shy or ceremonious. Anya was moaning. I was feverishly trying to disassemble the door, but my hands were shaking and the tool was not obeying.

After rubbing her breasts with oil and several unsuccessful attempts to free the hostage, the guys took on the lower part. They smeared it completely. Their hands ran briskly from the buttocks to the heels.

How are you

Oh, this is so cool

They are rubbing your legs? Well, well, but how will this help?

Oh, it is already helping

I can't see them, what are they doing there?

Well. Now they are lubricating me from the inside.

Oh come on..

Oh yeah, - Ann was moaning.

I looked under the door. Between Ann's widely spaced legs, two guys were kneeling and judging by everything, they were caressing both of her holes with their hands.

I'm almost done.

Don't rush, wait, let it go on a little longer.

It's not fair and your shirt is dirty.

There are probably two or three hands inside me right now, ooh.

I kissed her and looked around. Several people had already gathered around us and some of them, like me, had a clear erection. Ann said something to her suitors and Jean entered her with his correct organ. The guy moved quickly. The second one replaced him, not giving Anya a chance to rest. Then someone else came up. The fourth one hit slowly but very powerfully, pulling out a groan with each blow. Then there was a big black guy, and someone else behind him.

I realized that there were a lot of people around and this circle could only be stopped by finishing the job. Ten minutes later the glass gave in. Ann was free. The guy who was working from behind at that time stopped and, as it seemed to me, hesitated a little and wanted to leave. It was that guy with the big organ. Ann grabbed his hand, pushed him down onto the sand and squatted over him. She called Jean over. He quickly realized what they wanted from him and generously lubricated his big cock. Ann directed it into her anus and slowly squatted down, completely immersing it inside her. She leaned back a little and asked Jean to caress her. While I was collecting the tool, Jean worked tirelessly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his small hand, like a piston of a sports car, flashing back and forth, penetrating the wet crevice, ... and I woke up. I still wonder how many of them there were then and why I was left out in the cold.