His Aunt Nicole

[Simonssister]

Chapter293.

Things were getting critical now.  She debated telling Miss Laidlaw she wasn’t feeling well, and walking Crumble home.  But she had been supportive, and spoken words of encouragement, and to do so now would just look as if she were chickening out.   She was pondering the problem when the traction between leather and latex suddenly gave way, and her behind slipped forward.  Looking down, she saw that she was leaking from her zip flap again, and quite effectively lubricating the saddle.  She had some tissues in the belt pack behind her back, but Crumble was still too keen for her to take even one hand off the reins.  The new sensations were no less arousing, with the complication that the saddle was getting slicker by the minute.  By the time she had gone another half mile, the regular back and forth of her crotch was becoming intolerable, and the motion of her upper thighs against the leather was generating a sticky, slimy froth.  Fearing that Miss Laidlaw or someone else would ride up again, she let Crumble trot on till she had put a good distance between her and the group, then reined him back to a walk, and managed to extract a handful of tissues, and clean things up a bit.  Unfortunately, as soon as she moved on, the ripples of pleasure were redoubled. 
They were on a single track with no forks which went right through the forest for about three miles, so there was no reason for her to remain in touch with the others.  She pushed on at a steady trot until they were out of sight.  Then she surrendered to her arousal, letting Crumble have his head while grinding her crotch desperately against the smooth leather.  Crumble, quite unused to such behaviour, and sensing something was about to happen, broke into a canter.  Thomasina, distracted, let him alone and focussed on her own agenda, holding onto the reins for no other reason than to keep her seat.
“Nearly there…” she gasped, as they rounded a slight right-hand bend.  “Almost there…”
“Yesss!....” 
Her eyes closed in ecstasy, but inside her head she saw exploding stars, an orgasmic firework display.  Waves of intense pleasure shook her body.  Crumble stopped dead and turned broadside across the track, as if in instinctive sympathy with her climax.  Thomasina gave herself up utterly to her orgasm, thrusting, moaning and spasming in a frenzy of uninhibited passion.
“Oh…my…god….” 
She had never before experienced such intense pleasure.  She couldn’t tell how long it lasted, but eventually it subsided, leaving her drained and panting.
She gulped, groaned, and collapsed on Crumble’s neck, patting him gratefully.
“Good boy…  You’re a good boy, Crumble…”
It occurred to her the pack might be catching up.  She glanced to he left, but the track was clear.
“Thank goodness.”  She smiled.  “What would they have thought…”
She sat up in the saddle and gathered up the reins.  She turned Crumble to the right to resume their journey.  She froze.  An icy chill ran through her.  She was face-to-face with three smartly dressed riders.  So that was why Crumble had stopped like that!  She recognised them from Pitt’s Wood.  They were known as the Posh Triplets, because they always hung out together, and thought themselves too important to mix with the hoi polloi.
One of them, who was in the process of slipping her phone back into her pocket, regarded her with a triumphant sneer.
“If you’ve quite finished, perhaps you’d like to let us pass…”
Thomasina opened her mouth, but couldn’t articulate a word.  Trembling, she pulled Crumble to one side.  The trio ambled past.  The last one stopped briefly.
“What’s your name?”
“My n-name…?”
“Your name.”
“Th-Thomasina…”
“Thomasina what?”
“Th-Thomasina M-Middiford…”
“We’ll be in touch, Thomasina Middiford…”