Midsummer Celebration

We all stood there for a moment, admiring the wreckage of Justine's pussy, which was now a swollen, angry shade of crimson, glistening with tears and sweat. The woman herself was currently splayed out on the grass, sun beaming down on her naked body. She had her eyes closed, silent tears streaming from them. Her hands trying to sooth the ache in her center, but each touch only pronouncing the pain more. Irene was currently standing over her sister-in-law, watching her with interest.

“You can sooth her, if you want”, I said to her as I went back to sit by the table and opened another beer. The brunette nodded meekly and immediately bent over Justine. She started at the blonde's feet, her small pink tongue darting out to lick the sweat and grass stains from her sister-in-law's ankles. She worked her way up Justine's calves, her submissive demeanor a stark contrast to the abuse we had just handed out. Justine lay limp, eyes closed, flinching slightly every time Irene's wet tongue passed over a tender bruise, but otherwise accepting the grooming like a broken animal.

The brunette worked her way up the blonde's trembling body, her tongue tracing a meticulous path over the blonde’s knees and inner thighs, lapping up the salty sweat that had gathered there. Justine let out a low, shuddering moan, her hands gripping the grass as Irene's careful ministrations teased her overly sensitive skin.

Anthony and Robert came back to where I was sitting. Each opened another bottle of beer and took in the lovely sight before them on the grass. “Too bad”, Rob said looking thoughtful.

“What’s too bad?”, I inquired as I placed a cherry in my mouth and spat the pitter as far as it would go to see whether it would hit either Irene or Justine. Unfortunately, it landed just shy of both targets.

“There’s three of us and two of them”.

“Yeah, end?”, I asked failing to see the problem.

“Well, it got me thinking, that one of us will always be left out of the games, unless you fancy some double teaming like some fag”.

“Uh-huh”, 'Tony added, “While double teaming might not be fag like per se, but I don’t fancy mingling my pecker with any of you”, Anthony said watching Rob's wife service his own. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin.

"Fair point," I admitted. "Double teaming is a bit close quarters for my taste."

"Exactly," Rob grunted, scratching his chin. "We need a third set of holes. Balance the scales."

Anthony took a long swig of his beer, his eyes scanning the garden wall as if a solution might climb over it. "We could head into the village later. Find some drunk tart wandering home from the pub. Or maybe that new cashier at the mini-market, the one with the vacant look in her eyes. Bet she'd be up for a 'private party' if we convinced her right."

As I nodded along, a light bulb switched on in my head. Oh, wow, I hope that she’s still alive, would be a shame if the cunt suffocated from the heat, I thought to myself.

“Guys, yeah, thanks for reminding me”, I said jumping to my feet and going towards my car, which has been parked in a sunny spot ever since I drove here.

“Where you going?”, 'Tony shouted after me.

“To get the third cunt out of the trunk!”, I shouted back as I went to the trunk to open it.

*

Click. Clack. The latch released with a heavy metallic thud, and I heaved the trunk lid open. A wave of hot, stagnant air washed over me, smelling of stale vinyl and female sweat. There, curled into a tight, claustrophobic ball amidst the darkness, lay the third guest. She was a stark contrast to the lean, athletic frames of Irene and Justine. This woman was soft and yielding, her pale skin dimpled here and there with a natural, plush chubbiness. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead in sweaty strands, a tangled halo around a face flushed deep crimson from the stifling heat.

Her breasts were magnificent: heavy, pendulous udders that were currently mashed against her knees, spilling out around the ropes that bit viciously into her soft flesh. She was trussed up tight, the rough hemp digging deep into her wrists and ankles, forcing her into an uncompromising fetal position. Her chest was barely moving, the rise and fall so shallow it was almost imperceptible.

I reached in and grabbed a handful of her sweat-slicked hair, hauling her head up. Her face was slack, her mouth hanging slightly open, but I could feel the faint, ticklish warmth of her breath against my wrist. She was alive, at least for now, just knocked cold by the oven-like temperatures of the trunk.

“Huh”, Rob said placing his hand on my shoulder and peeking in to the trunk. “So, your mom decided to visit us, eh?”. He then shouted to his wife, who was busy teasing Justine with her tongue to a point that any residual pain that Justine might have felt was now replaced by arousal. “Get your ass here, dumb cunt, your best friend is here!”.

Irene's head snapped up at the mention of her best friend, eyes wide with a mixture of relief and carnal excitement. She didn't need to be told twice; the prospect of a third body to absorb the men’s brutality was a godsend. Scrambling away from Justine, who let out a disappointed whine at the loss of attention, Irene practically sprinted across the garden. Her naked feet pounded against the grass, her breasts bouncing freely as she rushed toward the driveway, desperate to welcome the new diversion.

“Virginia! Oh, thank God, you’re here!”, Irene chirped, her voice high with the thrill of shared misery being diluted. She skidded to a halt beside the open trunk, leaning over expectantly, a bright smile plastered on her face as if she were greeting a guest for a tea party rather than a bound captive in a trunk. “We were just talking about how we needed another set of holes....

The words died in her throat the moment she looked down. Irene gasped, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a cry of shock. The woman lying in the suffocating heat was indeed Virginia, but she looked far worse than her best friend had anticipated. The older woman’s face was a terrifying shade of beet-red, her features slack and unconscious, sweat pouring off her in rivers. The tight ropes had bitten deep into her soft, ample flesh, cutting angry grooves into her wrists, ankles, and the heavy, squashed softness of her thighs. Her massive breasts were purpled and trapped against her legs, looking painfully constricted.

“Yeah”, I said sheepishly looking at Irene apologetically. “In all the excitement I forgot that I placed her in the trunk early in the morning. Luckily, though, she’s alive, only suffering a heat stroke and some dehydration”.

“I see…”, Irene said looking down at the tightly bound body of her childhood friend.

“Well, don’t just stand there”, Rob said smacking his wife upside the head. “Help us get the cunt out of the trunk”.

Robert and I grabbed the unconscious form of my mother under her arms, our fingers sinking into the soft, sweat-slicked flesh of her armpits, while Irene took a firm hold of her bound ankles. She was a dead weight, her body limp and heavy as we hauled her out of the trunk. With a coordinated heave, we lifted her free and carried her across the short distance to the lawn. We dumped her unceremoniously onto the grass, where she landed with a soft, fleshy thud, still curled in her tight fetal position. Her chest continued to barely flutter, the only sign of life amidst her stillness.

"Looks like she’s baking," Rob observed, nudging my mother’s hip with his foot. "We need to cool her down, if we want her alive." He pointed toward the old shed down the slope near the riverbank. "The water pump is set up and ready to go down there. We just need to haul the hoses up here. Give her a good, cold shower to wake her up."

“Hey, 'Tony”, I yelled to him. “Grab a knife, will ya, we need to cut those ropes”.

"Ugh, sure, whatever", the man said grabbing the knife and walking towards us. He crouched down and with a swift motion cut over the ropes binding my mother down. We watched as her limbs splayed out on the grass. "There you go," 'Tony grunted, folding the knife and going back to his beer.

Rob pointed a thick finger down the grassy slope toward the riverbank. A narrow, overgrown path snaked its way through the greenery, disappearing into the brush. "You heard me, slut. Get down to the pump and drag the hoses up here. Virginia isn't going to wake up by herself, and we aren't going to carry buckets."

The path was deceptively innocent-looking from a distance, just a ribbon of green cutting through the tall grass, but we all knew what lay in wait. The nettles grew tall and wild down by the water, their leaves serrated and coated in thousands of microscopic, stinging hairs. To walk through them in full clothing was a nuisance; to walk through them naked, with soft, sensitive skin already abraded was absolute agony.

Irene looked down the slope, her eyes darting from the innocent-looking greenery to the expectant faces looking at her. The brunette swallowed hard, throat clicking audibly. Justine, limping slightly from the abuse her pussy had endured, shuffled over to stand beside her, lower lip trembling.

"But... the nettles, Rob," Irene whispered, trying to reason with him. "They're waist high. We'll be covered in welts."

“That’s sounds like a you problem”, 'Tony said nursing his beer, as I chuckled at this.

“Or, you can do nothing”, I added, “And we could always see how you like fucking a corpse. I mean, you have experience with it, maybe you could give pointers to Justine here”, I said alluding to her being left naked years ago in a closed casket with Rob’s deceased father. Even in her condition, Justine snickered at this as Irene's face turned beet red.

“It’s a job for two, unless you fancy hauling that heavy hose all by yourself”, Rob added looking pointedly at his sister who nervously gulped.

"Look at it this way," Anthony said, his voice bubbling with malicious cheer as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked directly at his wife, whose pussy was still throbbing and red from the earlier discipline. "Think of those nettles as long-lost lovers waiting down by the river. They’re just eager to see you." He gestured expansively toward the overgrown path. "And if they deign to caress you with their little stinging hairs, you should be polite and let them in. Let them kiss your pussies, let them tickle your asses. Maybe even reach down and caress them back. Show some gratitude to nature, right?"

Robert let out a loud, boisterous guffaw, slapping his thigh, while I chuckled darkly at the imagery of the two women trying to fuck a patch of weeds. Even Justine managed a weak, terrified smile, knowing that refusing was not an option.

*

The humor of the situation was lost on the two women as they stood at the top of the slope. With a shared look of resigned misery, the two stepped off the manicured lawn and onto the narrow, overgrown path that led down toward the river. The tall grass brushed against their thighs initially, but it wasn't long until the terrain shifted into the dense thicket of stinging nettles.

They hadn't even made it ten yards before the first gasps escaped them. Irene was leading the way, her slim brunette figure flinching as the serrated leaves brushed against her hips and stomach. She tried to dodge the larger patches, but the path was too narrow, forcing her to wade through the green ocean. Whenever a leaf brushed her sensitive inner thighs or the underside of her breasts, she couldn't suppress a sharp intake of breath, her skin erupting in immediate, angry red bumps.

Justine followed close behind, her ordeal even more acute. Her pussy, already raw, swollen, and hypersensitive from the slapping, was completely defenseless. As she navigated the thicket, the nettles seemed to reach out for her with malicious intent. A tall stalk brushed directly against her labia, and she shrieked, nearly losing her footing and clutching at Irene's shoulder to steady herself.