1. Wild Riding to Dublin


    Date: 7/26/2016, Categories: True Story, Author: classicgal, Rating: 85.7, Source: sexstories.com

    could feel my sweater already soaking; my hair, arms and legs were dripping, but I had to keep working, there was no option. What a mess. I need to start loosening the wheel nuts next, but I could barely see them through the downpour. Then, in the distance, I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. I stood up and pulled my skirt down, smoothing the soaked satin in a vain attempt to tidy my appearance. I could see the headlights now; they were higher than a car’s and as it grew closer I could hear the rasp of a big engine. It must be a truck. While yards from me I made it out as an Irish Army truck with a canvas top, and as it pulled up beside me I could see the uniformed passenger in the front cab grinning down at me. “Looks like you could do with a hand, Miss,” he shouted out. The truck pulled in at the front of my car. The passenger and the driver, a big man, got out pulling on waterproofs. As they got closer to me, the driver’s eyes widened. “Jesus, you’re soaked through. You’d better climb up into the back and get dried off. We’ll change your wheel” Just so you know, James, I was almost crying with relief and felt so grateful that I opened my arms to him in an emotional thank-you and embraced his already soaking oilskin torso. “Thank you! Thank you,” I gushed. “That was turning into a nightmare!” I felt him pull me so close that his stubble scraped against my face and I heard him whisper, “Relax now, sweetheart. Just get into the truck. You can thank me later.” I felt ...
    his big hand grope my breast as he spoke. Yes, James, I was being rescued from catastrophe by a big full-blooded male and a surreptitious grope was a cheap price to pay. Anyway, such a scenario matched your occasional fantasy, so I didn’t feel guilty. I thought it might get you going later. By this stage the flaps at the back of the truck had opened enough for me to see a squad of soldiers clustered inside, illuminated by a weak yellow glow from a bulkhead light. Already hands were thrusting down to help me, while my saviour driver lifted me high towards the tailboard – his hand slipping up under my skirt in the process, whether by accident or design. Whichever, it lingered; in fact, he was still trying to finger me as the others pulled me inside. He jumped up on the footrest until his head and shoulders were above the tailgate and said, “Take good care of this lady, Corporal. Get her out of those soaking clothes and get a blanket for her. We’re going to change the wheel; you entertain her here meantime.” I looked around. In the weak light I could see about ten of them, all armed with rifles, which sent a peculiar frisson through me. They were all grinning. The corporal guided me down onto a slatted wooden seat beside him. “Sergeant’s orders, Miss,” he said grabbing the hem of my sweater and starting to lift it up. “Got to get these off you.” I struggled ineffectually against him for a moment but I knew he was just doing as he was ordered and surrendered. Then I remembered – I ...
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