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Getting my aunty in the family way.
Kirsten danced with her head up, mouth open to the sky, as a full moon appeared above her, monstrous and meaningful, the energy pulsing through her as it came onto her and crashed into her.
Grooving. Moving. Kicking. Killing.
DJ after DJ. Record after record. Mix after mix. Highs. Lows. Bass. Treble. Rhythms harder than a hammer. Sharper than a knife. Like the knives cutting into her soul. Chemical Heaven. Kirsten pushed herself against Paul again, his own top thrown aside, pressing her hot hard breasts against his hot hard smooth chest, his pierced nipple occasionally slapping against her hot hard nipple. They shimmied and swirled and pirouetted and glided. Flesh against flesh. And Kirsten's hand on his hard cock under his shorts. So long. So thick. And such a good fuck. Kirsten smiled as she remembered their fuck last night. The four of them. Taking turns as the acid wore off and the E kicked in. Not like that shit time with K that time. Paul and Kirsten. Paul and Sophie. Barry and Kirsten. Barry and Sophie. And even for a few giggly awkward moments, while the boys ogled guiltily, Sophie and Kirsten. Was it fun? Maybe. But what the fuck! You're only young once.
Kicking. Banging. Thumping. Jumping.
And if not then, why not now? thought Kirsten, as the sounds got fast and furious, the lights flashing over the fields and the stage, dark silhouetted DJs behind decks, films synchronised with the beat on the backdrop. A deep contorted fucked-up beat squeezed itself through the four to the floor, twisted around in her belly, sank into her chest, and released itself as Kirsten pulled Paul's shorts down, his prick standing out tall and proud, pink and purple gloriousness, pride personified. A cock to die for. Paul was too far gone to care, but his dancing became reduced to twitching as his consciousness gradually took in what Kirsten's tongue was doing to his prick at that moment. Slurping, glurping, gasping, gulping. Saliva and sweat. And such a fucking big prick! Would Paul come on her tits? Did she want to waste such goodness?
Thumping. Pumping. Kicking. Banging.
Kirsten wasn't sure what she wanted. But the music made demands on her. All at once "Horny! Horny!" crashed the vocals from the mix. Cheesy but so vital. Without any more thought, Kirsten stood up and pulled her own shorts and knickers down, past her pierced crotch and its triangle of light brown hair which belied the truth of her blonde hair, down, down, eased over her bony knees and then kicked off into the grass. She was now naked, except for her light green pumps, a slim bare figure in the moonlight, the rhythms pulsating through her chemically electric frame. Naked. And not for the first time at a festival. Sophie rolled her eyes, but didn't stop her dancing. Barry looked nervous. And Paul looked positively terrified. A few other figures momentarily paused in their dancing. And one or two exchanged comments, but not wanting to look uncool. After all, it was only nudity.
And Kirsten enjoyed it. The chill air on her burning crotch. The sweat running free down her torso, onto her bare thighs without interruption or pause. Perhaps she was a naturist at heart. But perhaps she didn't go for all that shit. She wasn't going to be spending her time playing beachball and table tennis. She just liked being bare fucking butt naked, and she didn't fucking care what anyone fucking thought. If her parents could see her now. They could just get fucked like everyone else.
Scraping. Grinding. Twisting. Bumping.
And there was Paul still jumping and bumping opposite her, his prick slapping from side to side with the rhythm of his dancing.