0 comments/ 10079 views/ 10 favorites Keira Knightley Goes On Holiday! By: RichardDickensAlcock Note from the author: All characters used in this story are a parody of any real or fictional person, including a completely fictionalized version Keira Knightley. I wrote it for the sake of erotic art. I would also like to try my hand at every genre Literotica offers. Hope you enjoy! I am in a perfect state of nostalgic intoxication, tipsy enough that I don't even know where I am with certainty; only sure I'm sitting sideways with my right arm curled behind the back of a chair surrounded by my peers... To the best of my knowledge my name is Mark Rose, I think I'm a modestly successful folk musician. We all seem to be in similar states of oblivion, all positioned in this very odd circle, telling tales. I have been doing OK playing with Bourgogne, the name of this little folkie, folk-rock band, for a little under five years. A sextet today, it used to only be a trio when I joined. I still look alright for a man approaching his forties, getting better with age. But I used to be very slim, baby-faced, with a thick mane of long brown hair which I would bleach blonde every summer. Collectively the stories I'm hearing tonight have been intimidating. One of band is in the middle of a story where he barely escaped getting thrown off a three story building naked by a lesbian. Everyone seems to have enjoyed the way my band mate Brayden was able to end the story using his own brand of funny. The fact that we never got along makes it worse because now I have to at least tie. They will want to hear what I have to contribute soon; a wild narrative or an anecdote. I look at them. I mentally sift through my life. I look again. I know they're expecting something wild since most of the stories have been pretty hot given we're all wasted. Even the women in our group all shared something darkly provocative. Yet I don't know what to tell them. Finally one story comes to mind, something that happened to me more than fifteen years ago; I don't really know if it's the best one I got, but decide to pass it on. While stumbling through the west coast I made a sudden turn toward the treasure state til I could save enough money to travel to Illinois. I was happy staying there at the time because people there held a special appreciation for folk music. I was making progress, rehearsing for the right to play in private spaces, paying dues, meeting new friends, some dollar bills and some change here and there kept me playing my music in heavy rotation with other local musicians; I was twenty-three years old. I was very happy back in 2004, even making up my mind to stay in Montana a bit longer. The only drawback out there for a starving musician used to be the living conditions. Although motels were a bargain, petty theft had been spiking, and a consequence of being a travelling musician was that just when I had the means to leave Montana for good, my motel room was broken into leaving me stranded and worse off than when I arrived. A friend suggested I lease an apartment, he even offered to help me start over. But since I planned to leave within a few months anyway I felt it was better to look for a room. I asked everybody among the various circuits for help waiting for my request to reach the right person. It didn't take long for something to come my way. My friend happened to be the owner of a country club where I played on weekends and he warmly handed me a note one evening with an address. He said they were a kind, well-off couple with a comfortable room they rented out sometimes. He noted I was lucky if I got it because they were picky. He put in a good word for me, he claimed. I drove out to the address the next day, way out. I was very pleased because it turned out to be a cozy cottage in the country. The interview went smoothly with Terrence and Wendy Hob who had just returned from church. They were a middle-aged couple with a daughter away at college. Both were forty-four at the time. Boring, to say the least, they were deeply religious. I eventually found out that despite being right-wing conservatives they weren't complete stiffs though. Terrence went to AA meetings and he was about twenty years sober. At least at one time the man enjoyed life because he had also overcome major issues with substances. Wendy seemed caring and funny; but physically, almost a female carbon-copy of Terrence. The Hobs were both attractive, and gosh did they command an impressive network of friends; some in high places from names dropped in subsequent conversation. Apparently the room they had available was sitting there. They told me they rented it out from time to time, but practically spelled out very strict rules involving overnight guests and my hand in the upkeep of their cottage. After the initial interview I heard from them on the same evening via our match maker friend at the country club. We messengered them their deposit so that I could put a claim on their room just in case. It was my hope was to move in fast, which I did within days. That was the easy part. The first few weeks were wonderful because I was encouraged to use all their belongings in the kitchen and elsewhere in the cottage like one of the family. Both of them were kind, loving, and they carefully listened to me when we chatted. The downside was that rent was a lot higher than expected and I was forbidden from bringing any women to the house overnight; they even frowned at the prospect of visitors, barely allowing it. I figured in the least I had started saving my money again so that I could go home. But I figured out that I was going to have to live under frugal circumstances where I felt like the antichrist in some form or another with those Hobs. The positive side of the situation was that the house was quiet, they also often left on extravagant trips on weekends leaving the cottage completely empty, not totally unattended though, as their neighbor and friend Celeste who owned nearby farm property would stop in. Celeste kept their cottage in order when they were away. She even cleaned their home for them if she had time; being a widow she often did. When they weren't traveling the Hobs had plenty of out of town friends come stay with them, notably; some were artists. Another neighbor at a nearby cottage confided in me that the Hobs were snobs who had a liking for artists. Celeste said they most likely took me an interest in me because I happened to be a musician. Most of the guests visiting them were as uninspiring as the Hobs. Most only made me flee to my quarters as quickly as I met them. Among the bunch of them there was this fortyish, loud-mouthed, heavy-set, broke filmmaker, slash painter, slash sculptor from Connecticut named Oliver who was, well, crazy. He wore his long hair tied in a bun or pony-tail. I grew tired of sitting near him at breakfast or dinner trying to make conversation to keep him from having a nervous break-down because the guy couldn't be bothered about absolutely anything. Even slight conversation disturbed him. I think he was learning Swahili at a local upscale college. Having flown in from Tanzania, the place where Oliver planned on returning to soon, his girlfriend had apparently shipped him back to the States first class. Because Oliver had known Wendy Hob, I saw pictures of their wedding and Oliver was present, they offered to help him out. He stayed in the room next to mine which was a real blast. The only thing that was interesting about him was imagining his girlfriend in a bikini. A marine biologist, the girlfriend obviously supported him. Oliver mostly did local restoration work and couldn't afford to pay the Hobs anything. Having seen phone pics of his girlfriend which he proudly shared, the girlfriend looked incredible in a bikini. Their breakup had been nasty based on calls I overheard from my room. His systematic pleadings for the girlfriend to take him back and pay for his expenses made me want to try out several belly-whops from every rooftop in town. There was also a twenty-one year old named Ava. She was a violinist from Europe. Her father had been close to Terrence Hob when he was at art school at Lancaster. Ava was taken in as a favor for a few weeks. She ended up with them because she spread-out her vacation across clusters of states. Ava attended a liberal arts college in Eastern Europe and it was her first time visiting America. I enjoyed smoking cigarettes with her behind the cottage. She made me promise not to tell on her since the Hobs were so religious. I even noticed love in the air. Despite all that though, Ava was the epitome of a "butter face", Ava had a nice body, but her face resembled a Pekingese's. If the casting director for a new Gremlins movie saw her, he might have considered her for a role as a Mogwai; only not one of the cute and furry ones, one of the other ones. Added to this, although we had lots to talk about, some of her narrow-minded opinions made her one-dimensional. I didn't jump at the opportunity. Apparently smoking cigarettes was only the tip of the iceberg because when I had gigs in town I saw her around a local stoner crowd. When I asked people about her I was shocked to learn she sold herself occasionally, for drugs. She had no qualms, they told me. Prostitution being legal in more than a few European countries was "interesting," but Ava seemed so gifted with lofty ambitions of forming part of a major orchestra. She was soon called away by some boyfriend she met in Wisconsin who apparently was a kind of drug-runner, slash gang-banger, slash hustler, slash drifter. I don't know if she even made it back to Europe and was afraid to ask. The Hobs were responsible for her so I avoided the subject. Positive I had sensed a very strong sexual vibe between her and Terrance Hob days before she took off; maybe Wendy Hob was glad to feed her to the wolves. I strongly suspected Terrance Hob cheated on his wife at every turn. After she vanished things returned to normal and I was alone with the Hobs again. In the days that followed I found plenty of work because summer had arrived. Those weeks at the cottage were very uneventful. Then I accidentally happened upon another woman. She was barely nineteen years old at the time. She would be flying in from Nagano, Japan. From what the Hobs told me she was an athlete who was an acquaintance of their daughter. They added that their guest was ranked four in the world and had competed in figure skating in the winter Olympics that year. There was something off about that, but I went along with it. To my disadvantage, or maybe advantage, everyone always thought I was really dumb; your male version of the dumb blonde. I enjoyed winter sports and sometimes followed winter sporting events closely, but hardly worried about it when I learned the news, much less because this guest competed in free dance ice skating. But our paths, for some reason, were meant to cross. I was pleased at the prospect of meeting someone like her but still more interested in leaving Montana. Very gentle knocking on my door woke me up on a random morning. I assumed it was some new roomie. I was used to meeting them by then. The Hobs were in town so I had this funny feeling we had company. The Hobs let me rest during the day because they knew I worked nights, I knew it couldn't be them knocking. Wendy Hob told me that particular visitor arriving from Japan would be moving in in the middle of the night that weekend, but not to bother since I had to work late, that I would meet her in the morning for breakfast. I forgot all about what they said until I heard the knocking and it all came rushing back. I reached for the doorknob. I saw a tall young woman, around 5'7'' in height; she seemed close to my age and her looks won me. A doppelganger for Keira Knightley, she was stunning. The young girl had lively brown eyes that glimmered behind long wispy bangs. Her chestnut-brown shoulder length hair down about her shoulders was quite wonderful but a bit frizzy. Our young guest had remarkable cheekbones despite an average complexion, poor posture and cooked teeth. Given her sensual jaw which made her dangerously sexy, her lips, so naturally red they didn't need any lipstick teasingly pouted whenever they weren't smiling. She possessed a mischievous look to her because her vampy eyebrows and silky lips made her smile look like a sly grin; she reminded me of feisty sexpot pinup girls you saw on seedy magazine covers in those days. The girl was wearing black running shorts that were barely there and were making my cock twitch. My new roomie wasn't wearing any make-up at all when I met her, but she could have used some because her skin was a bit pocked with what looked like mild acne scarring. She appeared to be very tom-boyish because I distinctly remember her wearing a milky tummy-top with blue and claret stripes riding along both of its short sleeved tattered ends, and there was some kind of soccer logo on the chest. Small breasts, tight abdominals and the flesh on her bony upper arms added to her androgynous, waifish allure. "Oh, you the one stumbling in at 3AM then, heh?...If the Hobs hadn't said you were a musician I would have thought you were completely sloshed or a drunkard!" She initiated with a smile. Her voice carried an animated tone, the way she spoke almost melodic. She spoke in a British accent that was very pure. "No, I was working." "What type of music do you play, mate?" "Folkie music I guess you could say..." "Ahhhh, yes, smashing!" "Is that your room then!? This one??" She probed, curiously peeking in. I paused, adjusting to her affect. I had been to the UK running after my drunken, has-been playwright old man whom I met with only a year before he died. I became familiar with the English. "Yes..." I responded, sort of adjusting my boxers. "Mine's right by yours," she remarked pointing, "but it's still at sixes and sevens, I haven't even gotten to fixing it up. Perhaps you can come round later and see it. I can't move this naff sort of hope chest that belongs to Wendy. Maybe you can teach me how that coffee machine works, I think I broke it, that is, if you're ready to join us. The Hobs stepped away to buy groceries and I was rather bored. They said you work nights, hope I didn't wake you. Anyway, didn't want you skiving me off, so thought I'd introduce myself first...I'm Alexandra." "Hello there, I'm Mark," I replied shaking her soft hand. I walked into the kitchen where apparently everything was fine. It seemed I was following her legs. Her gazelle-like body was driving me nuts in the kitchen. Nothing was wrong with the coffee machine except that she didn't know how it worked. I made us two cups with some toast while ogling her body from a kitchen-top. She seemed to enjoy the attention, walking in front of me, seemingly looking for excuses to move around; notably moving back and forth between kitchen and dining room. She was setting the table in the dining room. "You know, you look familiar but not in the athletic department. Have you been in films?" "That sounds quite unusual. Didn't Wendy tell you who I am??" "She did. Sometimes people want to remain anonymous though..." "Don't be offended but you might be a bit knackered from last night because now you're talking bullocks, Mark." "Well, you look like that new actress. What's her name? Keira Knightley?" My remark shook her, but she recovered almost immediately responding with a barrage of words delivered with such conviction that I was reduced to feeling like I was less than a germ under a microscope. Her natural beauty was so icy, her manner so sharp, that I felt like a fool for doubting her. After I recovered, attempting to mellow things out, to flatter her, she shot me down although she didn't reject me altogether. When I told her she had nice body and should consider becoming a model she got defensive" "Don't try to chat me up! You think you can shag any bird visiting here just cos' you're a lodger here, mate? You think this is your own personal dating service?? Are you that pathetic!?" "Why? Do you date? Do you have a boyfriend??" "Right, mate! I'm not interested...I'm just on holiday here!" "OK" I responded. Soon the Hobs arrived with a basket of groceries and we all had breakfast. Our new roomie became especially animated when the Hobs let their cat Marcus in the cabin by opening a narrow window in the dining room, then she focused her attention on them and began to generally ignore me. I paid little attention knowing games women played could be endless. I needed to leave because I had been promised an audition at a live music pub that catered to a lot of the more renegade locals, a spot where cops, criminals and bikers who were into folk and country music somehow managed to congregate. It was a steady job if I made an impression. As the Hobs and their houseguest yammered on about plans for the rest of the weekend, I could also perceive that this mystery girl named Alexandra was speaking in code. She was upset over a dance which she had had her heart set on that hadn't been allowed in her ice skating act. It was a medieval pagan ritual dance. Wendy had been into dance and briefly got into a discussion about dance during the Middle Ages. We all requested a demonstration from Alexandra which she agreed to, although with much dilly-dallying. With Terrence grinning sloppily, not to mention myself, we both drooled at the sight of her bare ribcage sinking and rising under her sporty tummy-top. The undulations of her lower skinny body had us all in a trance staring at her flawless bosom and abdomen, at her delicate ribcage dinting against warm flesh. Wendy caught onto how spellbinding she was. "Okay enough Ke...um, Alexandra! You're stealing the show again, honey. Enough! My husband's ready to leave me and Mark is ready to marry you! No wonder they didn't allow that! Weren't you playing Guinevere?" The girl sat down again meeting with heavy eye contact from Terrence and yawning, yet all I could sense was fuck off body language directed at me. There really wasn't anything I could contribute anymore since she seemed like such a tease and a snob. "Excuse me guys. I have this audition that might be what I was waiting for. I can finally go home to Illinois." "Well, we hope you get it!" our guest cried out. "Will give it a try..." I got up and put my plate in the sink. She acted like she hated me, but stealing a glance or two as I walked away I noticed she was staring at me from far away as the Hobs talked of other things. Our roomie spent most of her time riding horses on Celeste's ranch or with the Hobs on fishing and hiking trips in Absaroka and Beartooth range, as well as making several visits to Glacier National Park, or watching boring programs with the Hobs on their couch in the living room. I barely saw her and sort of avoided her. We both generally ignored each other. In the early morning I often heard her on the phone where real facts and information about her began to surface. Phrases like "My manager can wangle anything!", and "I'm usually swotting all the time anyway on scripts!", and "I splashed out on that gold and pane diamond collection in Milan last month..." belied the earlier explanations about her identity; especially one morning when I distinctly overheard her complaining about a movie that happened to feature Keira Knightley and had tanked at the box office. There was never a dull moment though, even as alone as she seemed; and away from wherever it was she came from. I often heard amusing expressions that I found charming like "that's brilliant!" all the time. Because she was somewhat clumsy she would often cry out "blast it!!!" and it always bring out a chuckle. I assumed that she probably heard all of my phone calls as well, along with me writing my songs, or singing, or whatever else. Such was life. Keira Knightley Goes On Holiday! Then just when I assumed I was a non-entity to her I spotted her one afternoon at the country club where I worked. She was sort of underdressed but her haunting good looks still allowed her to blend with the crowd. It was summer so there were a lot of out-of-towners. She was wearing scruffy clothes, you could say. Along with a beanie she wore this skintight black greyish t-shirt of some vintage metal band, her tiny boobs perfectly outlined under it like a hard core rocker chick, she also wore jeans better fit for a biker held up by a brass belt suited for John Wayne, the tiny curve of her ass under rough denim. I was transfixed at the pulpy city-babe way she dressed. "Wow, this is quite a surprise! I thought you couldn't stand me, Alexandra." "Was mostly going off for a gander...no point in being by myself," she answered. She suggested that she was incredibly bored that evening, that the Hobs didn't even trust her with a spare key to the cottage. If she went out alone she had to be back early enough so that they could open the door for her before they went to bed, and on evenings all they did was watch boring telethons and outdated sitcoms. After our evening together, in between my sets with some of the other performers, I had made enough observations to once again conclude she wasn't who she said she was at all. I thought; here I am, a starving musician, yet my life is deeply fulfilling and exciting for me. Here's a movie star, yet her life seems so sheltered and lonely. It had to be for her to come chasing after me of all people. "You're not just a dead ringer for Keira Knightley. You are Keira Knightley. The Hobs think everyone's stupid. They think I'm just a dumb musician. I never studied at Lancaster, but I'm not blind." "I think you're off your trolley, mate!" she shot back, again attempting to tear me down. "Well, let's see if I am; the most recent winter Olympics were not in Japan this year, they were held in Salt Lake City, Utah in 2002. The summer Olympics will be held this year but they haven't started yet and those will be held in Athens, Greece." I ranted back. She looked at me quizzically. I unmasked her. I knew my winter sports. Because I missed my appointment at the local bar the day I met her. I always forgot aboutt that long never ending line of cars ahead of me at the gas pump, due to gas shortages. I asked if she'd like to accompany me. My audition at the live music bar was at closing time, around nine P.M. When got there it was eight fifty-six. Upon entering the owner was kicking some drunken cowboy out, literally. In the midst of cleaning for the night the owner said it was better for him to audition at night because he was more focused at night. He had been auditioning many acts but could only fit one more in on a trial basis and wanted to give everyone a fair chance. The bar was inviting but old when I appraised it. With scuffed wooden chairs and dilapidated tables all around and a small stage for their entertainment, it was hardly intimidating though. No matter how rough the crowd, I knew I could sing. The tough old man was overjoyed after he heard my audition, not to mention my mysterious friend. The pub owner told me he had already gone with locals who were very good but thought I was better. He agreed to fire the other musicians if I did a double shift on weeknights and locked up for him after clearing the ashtrays and bottles on the tables and bar every evening because his son was in the hospital. I would also have to be there early to open the gates and tidy up for his early-bird regulars. Why he trusted me so blindly, I couldn't tell you, except that I suspected it was because of my companion. He offered more money than expected. I said yes and we both signed a contract. The old man entrusted me with the keys to the establishment, carefully showed us how to lock up, got in his car, and drove off into the mountainous night. With my roomie graciously helping we both combed through table tops down to every last stray bottle, can, or ashtray. All that was left was to mop up a little which I could do the next morning. We both sat by the stage at the nearest table where she let me sing to her alongside a bowl of pretzels and two beer bottles of our own. I remember I loved how she said the word "pretzel." Then she switched places with me. Keira sat on a tall stool with my guitar on her lap and played a few strings. "So, what shall we do now? Have another pint?? It's not really healthful, you know. Maybe we should go back now. I'm getting tired." "How about you suck me dry? I like those pussy-lips of yours, Keira?" I remarked. She reacted with a gasp. She looked at me as if I were an alien and didn't even know what I was alluding to. "In other words, I wanna' fuck you silly," I reiterated. She just stared at me. Reading her eyes I knew I had turned her on, but she needed a couple of more little shoves to get her to give herself over to me without regrets, to convince her I was worth fucking. "Why?" she challenged... Leaning in close to her face, pointing at her I very bluntly declared, "Because I want your pussy..." I said it with a drunken conviction that made her blush. "So, you think you can just shag me in a bar? Just shag me here in a bar, like that? Do I look that fuckin' easy?" She protested, maintaining eye contact. I realized I needed that perfect line that would get me into her pants, that was the next step. And unlike other situations where I had embarrassed myself trying to come up with one; the perfect line came. It was at once provocative and true. I looked her in the face and delivered it like a lawyer earning $5,000 dollars an hour. "Because being who you are, as gorgeous as you are, with all this glamor bullshit and all the money bullshit all around always, you will never be able to find real love...or much less descent sex..." She looked down. I hit a nerve. Her eye-lids were retaining tears, "You can't hurt my feelings. You can't!" She groaned back, her lower lip quivering. Before she could even begin to break down her stool fell over and instantly chucked her on the beer soaked floor. She skidded a bit looking up at me with a self-pitying "fuck me" stare. My cavalier approach had turned her on. "Just come here" I responded, holding her up by the hand, leading her to the darker corner of the bar near the wall and stage, a table with three chairs close by, a bulky pinball machine against the wall. Smiling, she let me push her against the pinball machine, then I lowered down her pants halfway over her ass. Her powder-blue undies were so stretched that when she bent over I could see the outline of her pussy. I could tell she was aroused from the odor. I pinched her panties back with my fingers snapping them against her tight little ass a few times. I drew her hand to her crotch prompting her to masturbate. Once she was doing it a bit I pulled her underwear aside and began eating her ass out, helping her rub her bare pussy with the undies still on her, I spread her cotton candy–like cheeks apart and buried my tongue in her back-door. We both stared at each other. I removed all my clothes sooner so I could watch. I watched Keira Knightley peel off her snug pair of jeans, unfurl her top raising it against her bust; her socks, which she slowly unrolled followed. The last two articles of clothing she removed were her matching powder-blue bra and lastly she stepped out of her soft panties. I carefully appraised her in the nude. Her body looked exquisite. It was incredibly well proportioned. Keira's breasts were brown tipped ripe and alive; it came as no surprise she never bothered with augmentation. Her pubic hair was dark-brown, fine, soft, and trimmed; her pussy looked good enough to eat. I coarsely sucked one of her breasts into my mouth, then the other, ravenously tasting and manipulating their rawness. I coated them with saliva and touches making her tremble and snarl. I spun her against the pinball machine behind us. "Guide it in!" I whispered behind her, my erection patting her sexy ass. Her hand slowly moved from between the backs of her gazelle-like ivory thighs. Keira carefully held the top portion of my shaft lining it against her wetness. "God, that's it, put it in you, Keira, I pleaded feeling her feed it. I felt the swollen tip rubbing up and down her pussy, painting her slit, lubricating us with my pre-ejaculate and her vaginal juices. I had to shove and push into her as she guided me to break her pussy in. The walls around her slowly tightening, Keira's squirting pussy was like a ripe peach dividing in two as it gradually accepted me. The way she cupped my scrotum in her hand when my shaft sunk deep into her told me she was no amateur. I held her hips and we both began fucking each other. I was soon fucking her with long strokes. She swayed and rolled her hips with arms clasped on both sides of the pinball machine making me lose sight of my cock. The pleasure she was giving me had me growling and moaning like an animal. I outstretched both hands against the front panel of the pinball machine for maximum leverage and started ramming her. I could only hear her heart-shaped flesh flapping fiercely against me. The machine was bulky enough to crush somebody's foot, but we still managed to rock and tilt it, almost knocking it over on either side. "Let me have it HARDER!!!" she demanded. "Ohhhh, yeaahh??? FUCKKK!! You want it hard, YOU UPSCALE BITCH!? YOU GOT IT!" I shouted, nailing her with my cock repeatedly. Keira's little English ass was so plump I couldn't resist disciplining it. I knew she would probably enjoy a nice spanking. I stunned her with a slap. Her head turned to look back. Keira released kittenish gasps, her soft dark eyes gazing passionately on me. "...Knew you'd enjoy that, Keira!" I said, giving her more, watching her peachy ass-cheeks reddening. My cock had her pinned against that sturdy pinball machine like a lemon reamer. "You naughty, naughty, naughty girl!!!" I repeated exacting eight more slaps. "You're making me soooo fucking wet, Mark!" she cried. For a while I lifted one of her legs sidelong railing her, then grabbed it by her back knee joint bending it forward on top of the machine. From a mirroring effect under the pane of the pinball machine I saw the pink color of Keira's moist swollen pussy as it recieved my long rod. I was so hyper-aroused that my member grew three times as large. It occurred to me to really have a go at her since the Hobs weren'tt around. As she looked back at me fucking her like an Adonis I stretched my arm. With middle and pointer fingers I took hold of Keira's nose as if it were a snout. I dug my fingers inside each of her nostrils clenching them in my hand, then when her neck was straight I pulled her head back folding her nose against the dorsum. "That's it!" I cried as her knees buckled and my cock kept nailing her. I spurred her on with a dozen more slaps on her ass; they were making her upper thigh quiver, the final ones made her whole body jostle. "Ohhhhhhhh!!!! Ohhhhhhhhh!Yes! Fuck! I'm gonna come!" she declared. Her face was matted with sweat, her skinny body lifting itself by the toes and barely touching the floor. I let go, licking along her shoulders, then began sucking on her neck leaving her in lust's embraces. With a light shove her hand pushed my hips backward. I kissed her shoulder and let my hand flatten the beads of sweat on her trim waist. "Like that piggy-girl?! Hmmmmmm...?" I asked twisting Keira's soft chestnut locks around my fist and yanking back while thrusting back in faster and harder, crushing her tiny cheeks with my hairy pelvis. "MMMMMMM. FUCK ME HARD, YOU NAUGHTY BOY!!!!" "Like an all-American cock in you, Keira Knightley??" "Yes! U-hm! ahhhhh fuuuuuckkkk! Nothing fucking better!" she said, her eye-lids coupling together, getting lost in another orgasm. "I know this is what you wanted since I met you!" I uttered driving balls-deep. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she utttered in between squeals. I walked to an old chair with no arm rests that I scraped from one of the many stained sparse tables. I noticed a hard red line across the middle of her nose when she turned to look at me. She looked surprised when while ignoring her I plopped down into the chair and lit a cigarette. "Why did you stop?" she snapped. "You were going too fast for me..." I answered. "At least let me have a fag, forgot how to share," she cried sitting on the floor on her bare ass. "We can share this one," I answered. She watched for a while like a naked pussycat ruminating, plotting, curling warmly against a cornered pinball machine, then she rose from the sodden wooden tiles sashaying drunkedly like a model on heroin. I turned the chair to face her with my legs open. Keira's eyes had me again, however glazed her eyes loooked didn't matter. Her face was synonymous with sex. She hopped on my lap, her bony back to me; I reached for the tender milky skin on her long legs. I resumed our fucking on the chair as she smoked. She puffed away like a corner prostitute. By a happenstance my cock slipped in the process and the head of my cock got trapped in her ass crack. Neither she nor I balked for one second. My left hand rested on her hip steadying her down the tip of my erection as she carefully sat on my meat; with my right hand I cupped her left buttock and finished stuffing the length of my cock pushing her crap in as I squeezed the flesh on her cheek. She adjusted to the very last inch I shoved in her letting me drive entirely inside her second hole. Her body winced and stiffened but I kept holding her tightly with kisses on her neck. In reverse cowgirl I lifted her body and lowered it back, slowly at first. Soon she seized the moment and with her weight lowered her ass upon me with me fondling, cupping and pinching her sweaty breasts in my hands. The impetus to fuck her perfect little ass as hard as I could kept on building and building. I could feel her pussy quivering, and from her own fingering she was squirting all over my thighs and down my legs. Her body was made for men to use it seemed. Soon our bodies were slimy, reeking and familiar. At that point I knew I had this one in the bag. I planted her bare feet over my knees sandwiching her scrawny body on top of mine. I took her ass as streams of sweat trailed down my back. She held onto a waggling table and side wall for leverage giving me her ass for at least ten minutes. "I WANT THAT HOLLYWOOD, SERIOUS ACTRESS, BEAUTIFUL, FILTHY ASS YOU FUCKING SCREEN WHORE!!!" "YES, TAKE IT!! IT'S YOURS!" "So, you like to dress like a dude, do you? I'll fuck you like one tonight Keira!" "Yes! SODOMIZE ME!!! OH YES! OHHH MY GOD!!!" "YOU SEXY TOM-BOY BITCH!!" "YES! UMMM OHHH AGGGHHH YESSSS!!!" she hollered in reply. "FUCKING THAT LITTLE MOVIE STAR ASS!!!!" I bellowed back getting close. She turned toward me and we began to French-kiss from the side. Holding her hips I sat back admiring her determination to ride mee cock. "You want my load in you or on you, baby?" I tempted. "ON!!!" she answered, continuing to aggressively shift her creamy ass against my lap. "OK, I'll be sure to 'Bend it like Beckham'... baby" With that, I brusquely shoved her anorexic body forward prompting her to plant her bare feet on the floor again. "HERE IT COMES. TAKE MY GIANT LOAD ALL FOR YOU, KIERA!!!!! NOW!!" "OH GODDDD!!!" she cried. From around her I pulled out taking my throbbing member in my fist, rubbing it. I aimed it upward against her toned midriffl; furiously I tapped its meaty length against her stubbly pubis. Like a diesel engine revved up with 1600 bhp's of pure horse power and torque, the slit on the bulbous end of my glans dilated and my cock pulsed like a fire hose blasting it hot white creamy sperm. It was cannonballed all over her body. Energized with endorphins I profoundly relished every monstrous, vaulting jet. When I was done I could barely catch my breath. "Oh God, you came all over me, you fiend!" "I'm sorry..." "No, love...How scrumptious," she cooed, her hot kisses traveling along my neck. Reaching over I felt my thick seed thrown against her body in thick pools and lines of come over her small breasts, abdominals, neck, even sprinkled against her face. I rubbed some of my semen in her. She sat obliquely on my lap with her warm arms around me and we both dozed off. When it was over we got up realizing how long we had been at it. I watched her spine dinting as she leant forward toward a tin napkin holder on the next table. With giant wads of tiny napkins she began wiping away at my parched semen. "Don't interrupt, Hunter!" I complained realizing that I had everyone in the palm of my hand. Hunter was the eldest member of our band, he played the banjo. He told me I had made the story up or was the luckiest man in the world. "I think that was the hottest thing I ever heard" His daughter Sophia answered, her eyes beaming at me. Sophia, who was in her late twenties was apprenticed by her father, she played the mandolin. "Pretty good story, Mark!" said Brayden, the man I hoped to tie at the onset. Brayden is the guitarist, pianist, harmonica, and songwriter for our band. "But since you're not together, I assume it didn't end well between you," he said. By his tone I could tell he was defying me. But he was right. "No, it didn't end well" "What happened that ended the affair," enquired Betty who played the ukulele. "Yeah we're dying to find out," said Sophia in her soft voice. "We had a fight within ten minutes of leaving the pub. I was also too freaked out to stay for much longer. Keira told me in later on in confidence that the Hobs were not in fact husband and wife but really brother and sister. "Oh shit!" said Hunter. "That's gross!" remarked Heidi who had mostly been a listener throughout the evening. Heidi was the fiddler for our band. "We'll wait for that...for now just tell us about the fight, Mark" Sophia interjected. I rubbed both palms against my jeans trying to warm up before I began to speak again. Having sobered up I finally remembered we were in New South Wales. I never thought it could get cold in Australia but it did from June to August. After Sophia fetched my vest and helped me put it on I continued. On the way home we enjoyed some time together at an all-night diner over coffee but had a fight when I went to the restroom to clean up a bit, she walked up the cashier and bought a pack of cigarettes. The man at the register was buff and seemed to be flirting with her. When I got back I saw her laughing at his jokes and shoved him back leaving with her on my arm. On the walk to the car I asked why she was flirting and as why she didn't let me pay for the cigarettes. "What are you on about? I was just fooling about...I am knackered. I hardly know you! Oh, well it's horses for courts I suppose!" "Why didn't you let me pay for the cigarettes?" "You're blinkered, Mark. I wanted to buy them, it costs me peanuts!! You were busy; I couldn't just nick them...This is just beastly. I'm brassed off, mate! Cheers!" she ended, walking away. "Let me take you out again..." "Not bloody likely! You prat, nancy boy!!!!" She cried. The fight ended with me tossing the cigarettes when she told me I probably couldn't afford them. Upset she quietly picked them up and waited by the car. She had smoked a few in the car not to mention a few more after we parked, walking way ahead of me on the hike home from my car. The Hobs had their own bathroom in their bedroom. They always forbade anyone else from using it. Every other house guest and tenant had to use another one in the hallway connecting some of the rooms. Whenever a person entered it a fan was automatically activated. It was tacky and annoying. You got used to it though because it happened as soon as the lights were flipped on. Keira Knightley Goes On Holiday! Although annoying, I was grateful later since it was so noisy it blocked out noises from inside. I later learned that, like me, Keira also used it to take refuge in when she needed a cigarette. It was the only room in the house without a smoke detector. She sprang out of her room just as I was entering the bathroom, I switched the lights on. Turning to see her, and still upset, I noticed that she was wearing a new pair of black cotton panties and red slipper socks aside from the same tee she wore earlier. She walked with a loose cigarette dangling from her lips and matches in her hand. They were the cigarettes I threw away. I could smell the funky sting of sex and tobacco on her body and clothes. She even smoked a few in her room; it was obvious she didn't care. When the smoke detector in her room didn't go off I figured she must have disabled it. I sensed that any animosity toward me could be a problem. The Hobs would always side with her over someone who paid them to live there. "I'm going in first," she ranted. "I pay rent!" I returned. "You cunt!! Fucking bast... What!!" Before she could finish ranking me out I slid my hand between her legs finding her wet pussy with my fingers. I then slid my hand under the front waist band of her warm panties and inside her crotch. I hooked two fingers in her cunt finding her g-spot, stimulating her. She stuffed the pack of cigarettes in the band at the back end of her panties and they fell inside against her bare ass. Maybe she planned on chain smoking in there all night. I took the cigarette away from her lips and kissed her hard on the mouth against the edge of the door. I moved my hands sliding them around and under her undies caressing her warm bare ass, then I took hold of her black panties from the inner crotch and ass seams. I pulled her in toward the bathroom with me by the ass. She embraced me and we both rolled inside together. The carton of cigarettes fell on the floor. "So, you got seconds, you lucky bastard! Tell us what happened. We want to hear everything..." said Brayden. "You know this girl might have been lying through her teeth. Laurent, remember the singer you replaced? He told us once how he swore he banged Carmen Eelectra in Ohio before she was famous. Everybody in that cottage could have been putting you on... " "I doubt it," defended Sophia "Very unlikely," seconded Hunter. "I agree, and maybe next week you'll run into Penelope Cruz!" replied Hunter, basking in a few chuckles. "Yeah, we know you love her, Hunter" I answered "Well, we went at it again in the cottage, but I almost got caught," We left her t-shirt on the whole time we fucked in the bathroom so she must have woken up to come stains all over it. "That sounds hot," cried Sophie. I continued with the story... We heard the door at the end of the hall open and I quickly shut the lights off leaving the door ajar. It was Terrence Hob. He walked past us. It must have been four in the morning. He walked to the end of the hall and I asked Keira to hide. That I would tell him I was sick. My eyes instantly fell over the carton of cigarettes which I forgot. "Was that you in there?" He asked. "Did you let Alexandra in? Poor girl, sorry if she was a burden. She asked us where you played your music on the weekends. We let her use our table at the country club. Hope she wasn't a distraction from your work." "Oh, no. it was my pleasure..." I said sarcastically. "I'm back from work...long hours," I responded, crushing the carton under my foot. I always hated my feet but was grateful at that moment. There must have only been a few cigarettes left because it gave easy under pressure, "I was just not feeling well" I said gasping. "Well, you don't look drunk," he said, smelling my breath sneakily and reading my eyes carefully. "Alcohol is the work of the devil," he said. "I know that, sir, don't worry. I hardly ever drink. Satan is always plotting, but his tricks never work on a righteous man..." "See you tomorrow. We'll miss you when you leave but you'll always be welcome." "Goodnight sir. Thanks." When he stepped in and shut the doorto their bedroom I saw Keira slipping out dressed in just her dark tee, panties and red socks again. "Till tomorrow, baby" I said petting her head, ruffling of hair, and slapping her on the ass hard. She snickered back in return scurrying to her room. I stood there thinking to myself. Then I stepped quietly into the kitchen and poured myself some milk from the refrigerator, I poured it into a tall glass. As I drank I stared at the Hob's cat Marcus. He always hung out either outside or inside of the window sills all around the cottage. He looked a mess after what I imagined to be a night of wild mating. I stood there in a staring match with him by the light of the moon.