Sarah: Festival Fun

Sarah (14yo) goes to Glastonbury Festival for the first time with her big brother and his two best mates...

"Right, I want to set a few ground rules for you two dickheads," James said, as he grinned back at Lee and Rob in the rearview mirror, rain drumming hard against the roof of the tiny Fiesta. "First, everyone keeps an eye on Sarah—second, I'm the only one allowed to give her any drugs."

Sarah snorted from the passenger seat, smudging her muddy boots against the glovebox. "Fuck off, James. If either of you lovely young men"—she twisted to grin at Lee and Rob crammed in the back—"wanna share your mandy, I'll take it with a smile and a polite thank you."

"I'm serious Sazzle, this is your first festival and I don't want you getting too fucked up." James sighed, as he ruffled her already wild curls as they crawled through the festival traffic toward the east gate.

Rob leaned forward, resting his chin on the headrest, breath warm on Sarah's neck. "I'll look after you young padawan. Got a stash of haribo if the drugs get too scary."

Sarah twisted in her seat and grinned at him, "why don't you keep them, you can use them to lure young girls back to your tent." Rob laughed and winked, "only the ones with big brothers I'm not scared of."

"Dude, what have I told you about being sleazy with my FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD sister?" James groaned, shifting gears as they crawled forward another five feet in the queue.

Finally the car lurched to a stop in the mud. Lee wiped condensation from the window and whistled low. "Christ. Looks like the apocalypse out there." Festival-goers trudged through ankle-deep mud, loaded down with camping gear, their wellies making obscene squelches with every step.
Sarah bounced in her seat, pressing her face to the glass. "It's perfect."
James groaned as he killed the engine. "Alright you lot—the only way to survive a wet year is to stay shitfaced the entire weekend, but lets at least get the tents up first."

An hour later, damp and coated in mud up to their knees, Lee and Rob’s brand new and expensive looking tent, stood slightly lopsided but miraculously upright.
"I'm so fucking glad you guys got a new one," James laughed, shaking his head as he wiped a smear of mud from his cheek. "Because honestly, if we all had to squeeze into that shitty two-manner you brought last year we'd be fucked."

"You're welcome, but you have to sleep by the entrance in penance for forgetting your tent, numb-nuts." Lee grinned, tossing an empty can of Strongbow at James's head. It bounced off his forehead with a hollow plink—James didn't even flinch. "Fair enough," he conceded, rubbing the spot absently.

The dance tent was a heaving mass of bodies, sweat and rain mixing in the thick air. Sarah swayed between Rob and Lee, the bass thumping through her ribs like a second heartbeat. James was off somewhere—probably flirting with some fucked up festival casualty—but she didn’t care. Not as the mix of booze and MDMA surged through her body in waves, turning her limbs loose and her thoughts syrupy.

Lee and Rob were acting like body guards—shielding her petite frame from the throngs of messy idiots stumbling through the crowd. The music pulsed deeper, dirtier, and she arched up on her toes, pressing her back against Rob’s chest while reaching behind to fist Lee’s shirt, pulling him closer. Their bodies bracketed her, warm and solid, and she could feel Rob’s surprised laugh rumble through her spine.

Then Rob’s hands found her small hips, holding her close—and she found she liked it. Liked the way his fingers dug in slightly, possessive but not rough. Liked how his thumbs brushed the strip of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up, damp from sweat and rain. Lee’s breath was hot on her shoulder, his lips grazing her ear as he murmured something lost beneath the bassline—as he passed her a joint. She took it, fingers brushing his, and exhaled smoke into the neon-lit haze.

She was shorter than everyone, lost in the press of bodies, but for once it didn’t make her feel small—just held. Safe in Rob and Lee's orbit, sandwiched between two older boys who smelled like wet denim and cheap cider. Rob rolled his hips against her bum, slow and absent, and she gasped, tipping her head back onto his shoulder. Neither of them stopped. Maybe because the drugs made everything soft-edged. Maybe because she arched into it instead of pulling away.

Rob was grinding slowly against her bum as Lee danced close, his fingers tangled in her curls, tugging just enough to make her gasp. The ecstasy amplified every sensation—the rough drag of Rob’s hips against her backside, the humid press of Lee’s chest against her's, even the ache in her feet from standing too long. She wanted to melt into them both, to wrap herself around their warmth and never let go. The tent was a wall of sound—bass like thunder, screams lost in the noise—but she barely noticed. Rob’s hands slid up her sides beneath her shirt, calloused thumbs skimming the sides of her boobs. Just as Lee’s lips met hers, his tongue flicking out to taste her, before pulling away with a smile.

Their eyes met over her shoulder—Rob and Lee—a silent question passing between them. Neither moved, neither spoke, but something shifted. Rob's fingers tightened on her hips, possessive now, as Lee grinned, slow and wicked, before dipping his head to nip at Sarah's collarbone. She whimpered, arching into the twin points of contact—Rob's hardness against her bum, Lee's teeth on her throat—and the boys exhaled in unison, some unspoken agreement settling between them.

Rob leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to get out of here?" He grinned, when she nodded—quick, eager—before catching Lee's gaze again. "One of the chillout tents, by the sacred space?," Rob half yelled, voice rough with something that wasn't just the drugs. "Quieter. Warmer."

After weaving through the sodden crowd they found a large yurt, strung with Tibetan prayer flags and draped in patchwork quilts. Inside, the air smelled of incense and damp wool, bodies sprawled on beanbags in various states of chemical bliss. Rob steered them toward a shadowed corner where an old sofa had just been vacated.

Lee pulled the pills first—tiny white parrots pressed into his palm—and Sarah didn’t hesitate. She swallowed hers dry before Rob could even joke about checking them. The joint came next, Lee’s fingers lingering against hers as he passed it, the ember glowing like a dying star between drags.

Sarah exhaled smoke toward the yurt’s sagging ceiling, watching it curl into the dim light. She was wedged between them on the lumpy sofa, thighs pressed tight against theirs, Rob’s arm draped behind her like an afterthought. Lee wasn’t pretending. His hand traced idle patterns on her knee, creeping higher with every pass, his grin sharp when she shivered.

"Are we really doing this? Rob's voice was barely a whisper, half-lost in the humid exhale of bodies and burning sage.

Sarah answered by twisting into his lap, her damp thighs straddling him, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against her inner thighs. She didn't need words—not when Lee's fingers were already sliding under her shirt, calloused palms skating up her ribs.

Lee grinned and yanked an old quilt from the back of the sofa—some moth-eaten relic of the '90s, reeking of patchouli and spilled beer—and tossed it over their tangled limbs with a magician's flourish. "Voilà," he murmured against Sarah's collarbone, his teeth catching skin. "Privacy in plain sight." The fabric settled around them like a collapsing tent, muffling the noise from the yurt, turning their little corner into something secret.

Sarah laughed—breathless, giddy—before twisting in Rob's lap to capture Lee's mouth with hers. The kiss was wet and messy, MDMA-dumb and cider-sweet, her tongue sliding against his with none of the hesitation you'd expect from a girl of fourteen. Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was the way Rob's cock strained against his jeans, hot and insistent between her thighs as she rocked down onto him, her tiny shorts riding up. Fuck she wanted them both—she wasn't a virgin but this? This was two grown men, and her brothers best mates—she felt dizzy with the danger of it.

Lee's hand slid up her shirt, palming one of her small tits with a groan. "Christ, you're perfect," he murmured against her lips, thumb flicking over her nipple—already hard—before pinching just enough to make her gasp into his mouth. Rob seized the opportunity, tilting her chin back to claim her mouth again, his kiss deeper, slower, like he was savoring her. She moaned between them, hips rolling in a slow grind against Rob's erection while Lee's fingers crept under the waistband of her shorts, slipping under damp cotton to squeeze her bum.

Sarah shared her kisses like they were the last hits of a joint—deep, greedy pulls traded between Rob and Lee, her lips swollen and spit-slick. She arched against Rob, her tiny shorts soaked through where she ground down on him, the rough denim seams catching on her clit with every roll of her hips. Lee’s fingers dug into the plush curve of her arse, kneading greedily as his other hand twisted in her curls, tugging her head back so he could bite a path down her throat. She gasped, writhing between them, the quilt slipping to pool around their waists—but no one glanced their way. The yurt was a haze of smoke and strangers, too fucked up to notice or care.

Rob’s groan vibrated against her collarbone, his hands tightening on her waist. "Fuck, Saz—we can’t—" His protest died when she rocked harder against him, her breath hitching as the pressure built. Lee chuckled darkly, his lips brushing her ear. "James’ll murder us," he murmured, but his fingers were already hooking under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down just enough to expose the swell of her arse.

"Not here, there's too many people," Rob muttered against Sarah's lips, though his hands stayed glued to her thighs. Lee pulled back first, pupils blown wide with lust and pills, scanning the crowded yurt—everyone was too blissed-out to care, but it still felt too exposed.

"Let's go back to the tent," Rob murmured against Sarah's damp temple, the words barely audible beneath the muffled thump of bass bleeding through the yurt's fabric walls. His fingers flexed against the bare skin of her thigh where her shorts had ridden up—half warning, half plea. "James'll be getting fucked with some crusty dreadlock types until sunrise, if he's not already back at some random's tent."

They wandered back through the maze of tents, the mud sucking greedily at their boots, the rain now just a fine mist clinging to their skin. Sarah stumbled once—just a slight wobble—but Rob caught her elbow without hesitation, his grip warm and firm. Lee walked ahead—somehow knowing exactly how to find their campsite in the dim tangle of canvas—glancing back every few steps as if to make sure they were still there. The tent loomed ahead, a lopsided beacon in the dark, its fabric sagging slightly under the weight of rainwater.

They stripped in the vestibule—peeling off mud-caked boots, sodden jackets, jeans stiff with caked filth—until they stood in their underwear, shivering slightly despite the humid night. The tent's interior was bathed in the eerie glow of a nearby campsite light—just bright enough to turn Lee's tattoos into shifting shadows, to highlight the taut lines of Rob's stomach as he stretched. Sarah hesitated—just for a second—before unclipping her bra and letting it fall to the damp ground. Her nipples pebbled instantly in the cool air, the drugs amplifying every sensation—the brush of fabric against her thighs, the way Rob's gaze lingered on the faint curve of her hips. Lee grinned—slow, wicked—and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pausing just long enough to make her breath catch. "Still sure?" he murmured, the words half-lost beneath the patter of rain and distant thrum of the crowd at the pyramid stage.

Sarah answered by stepping forward—her fingers clumsy with lust and mandy—and yanking Lee's boxers down in one sharp motion. His cock sprang free, already rock-hard, flushed red and twitching slightly in the humid air. Rob groaned, pressing against her back, his erection hot against her arse. "Fuck," he muttered into her hair, his hands skimming her ribs—hesitant despite the drugs, despite the way she arched into his touch. "We shouldn't—"

She silenced him by dropping to her knees, the air mattress cushioning the impact, and taking Lee into her mouth without hesitation. His hips jerked forward with a choked-off moan, his fingers tangling in her curls. The taste was bitter-salt, the weight of him unfamiliar but thrilling as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, her tongue swirling around the head.

"Fuck Sazzle— you're so wet," Rob's voice cracked halfway through the sentence, his thumbs spreading her wet folds wider as Sarah jerked against his fingers. She whimpered around Lee's cock, her hips bucking back onto Rob's hand, the sudden friction making her thighs tremble.

"Condoms?" Rob panted against the sweat-damp nape of her neck, his fingers still working her clit in rough circles. "Got some in my— ah— fucking Christ—" His words dissolved into a groan as Sarah arched her back, pressing her bare arse flush against his straining erection.

"Just fuck me already," Sarah gasped, twisting to look at him—eyes blown black with MDMA, cheeks flushed pink beneath the festival grime. "Just don't come inside me." She barely recognized her own voice—low and rough, the words tumbling out half-slurred. Rob groaned, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he lined himself up. "Fuck, fuck—" He slid halfway into her with one sharp thrust, her tiny body arching like a bowstring. Sarah screamed—not pain, just sheer overwhelming sensation—her nails raking down Lee's thighs where he knelt above her, his cock still slick from her mouth.

Lee grinned down at her, stroking himself lazily while Rob fucked her in slow, deep thrusts. "Fuck, feisty little thing, eh." His voice was rough with arousal, his thumb brushing her swollen lips before slipping back into her mouth. She sucked greedily, her tongue swirling around Lee's cock, as Rob’s hips snapped forward, driving a choked moan from her throat.

Sarah was on fire, every sensation made her skin goose pimple—Lee's thick length filling her mouth, Rob's cock stretching her wide, the damp tent air heavy with sweat and sex. She arched back onto Rob's thrusts, her tiny hands clutching Lee's thighs for balance, her body alight with the forbidden thrill of being taken by two of her brother's best mates.

She could feel every ridge of Rob’s cock as he bottomed out inside her, his rough hands gripping her arse. His fingers dug into the soft swell of her bum, pulling her back onto each thrust with a wet slap of skin, the rhythm brutal but perfectly measured—just enough to make her toes curl but never enough to tip her into pain. Rob’s breath came in ragged bursts against her nape, his teeth grazing her shoulder whenever she clenched around him. "Fuck, you’re tight," he groaned, hips stuttering as she rocked back to meet him.

Lee's hands gently cradled Sarah's flushed cheeks, fingers threaded through her damp curls as he guided her mouth back onto his cock with a soft murmur. "Easy," he breathed—though there was nothing gentle about the way his hips jerked when she took him deep, her tongue pressed flat against the under side of his cock. His thighs tensed beneath her fingertips, the muscles taut as bowstrings, his groan lost beneath the rhythmic slap of skin against skin behind her.

Rob's thrusts grew erratic, his cock dragging against Sarah's inner walls with delicious friction. One hand found her clit, rough fingers circling with just enough pressure to make her scream around Lee's length—the vibration earning a hissed curse from Lee as his grip tightened in her hair. The air smelled of sweat and sex, the tent walls trembling with each movement, rain pattering against the fabric like a frenzied heartbeat.

Sarah shattered first—her orgasm ripped through her with the force of a collapsing star, her back arching violently as her cunt clenched around Rob in rhythmic pulses. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just gasped wetly against Lee’s cock as pleasure burned through every nerve. Rob growled something filthy, his hips stuttering as he fought not to come immediately, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. "Fuck—fuck—look at her," he choked out, staring down at Sarah’s blissed-out expression— her head thrown back, lips parted, eyelids fluttering—as Lee's cock slipped from her mouth with a slick pop.

Lee was too close to stop, his hand wanking his length furiously as he erupted with a groan, hot ropes of come striping Sarah's flushed cheeks and open mouth. She gasped, taking his cockhead back into her mouth, her lips shiny with spit and spend. Rob cursed, watching the spectacle—Sarah's pink lips wrapped around Lee's cock as she suckled greedily—before his hips jerked erratically, but he somehow managed to pull out, spraying her lower back and arse with thick stripes of his own release.

Sarah continued to suck Lee's softening dick as she reached back between her legs to play with Rob's balls, her fingers tracing the tight, sweat-slick sac with lazy curiosity. The taste of Lee—bitter and salt—lingered on her tongue, mingling with the phantom ache in her jaw and the electric buzz of aftershocks still dancing along her spine. Rob shuddered against her back, his cock twitching against her thigh as her fingertips brushed the sensitive underside of his balls, drawing a ragged groan from his throat.

With a wet pop, she released Lee's cock and snatched Rob's discarded t-shirt from the tangled pile of clothes beside the air mattress. She wiped the sticky mess from her face first—Lee's cum smearing in streaks across her cheeks—before twisting awkwardly to swipe at the cooling trails drying on her lower back. The fabric smelled like Rob—rain and weed and something faintly musky—and she inhaled deeply as she collapsed backward onto the mattress, her limbs suddenly boneless with exhaustion. Lee chuckled somewhere above her, his fingers carding through her tangled curls with surprising gentleness. "Christ," he muttered, voice still rough, "James is gonna kill us."

"We are not telling James! Now skin up—I want another joint," Sarah mumbled, tossing the soiled t-shirt onto the growing pile of damp festival detritus in the corner of the tent. She stretched like a cat, every muscle humming with satisfaction, her bare skin prickling where Lee's cum had cooled in sticky streaks. Rob made a choked noise—half laugh, half groan—as he fumbled for his weed, his fingers still shaking slightly.
-----
James had a serious case of blue balls. The girl with the dreadlocks—Maya? Marnie?—had led him halfway across the festival before admitting she "just wanted to vibe, you know?" Now he was trudging back through the mud, soaked to the bone, and sporting an erection that just wouldn't quit.

He could hear the sex noises as he approached the tent—the unmistakable slap of skin, Sarah's high-pitched gasps punctuated by deeper male groans. His boots skidded in the mud. That wasn't... no fucking way. But the tent walls were vibrating, the entire structure swaying like a drunkard. A girl's breathy moan—definitely Sarah—was followed by Rob's unmistakable rasp.

James froze. He should of been furious and stormed in there, to drag Rob out by his fucking throat. But instead, his cock twitched in his soaked jeans, pressing against the zipper. Rob—his best mate since primary school, was, by the sound of it, currently balls-deep in his little sister. The image bloomed unbidden in his mind: Sarah's tiny frame pinned beneath Rob's bulk, her legs spread wide, her moans muffled against his chest. It wasn't the first time that image had flashed through his head—but previously it had just been fantasy, something to wank to when he was fucked up and horny. Now, it was happening—and the sickest part? He was fucking hard at the thought.

That's when he heard Lee's voice—low and rough, murmuring something filthy—and realized with a jolt that it wasn't just Rob in there with her. It was both of them. His little sister, sandwiched between his two best mates. The sounds were unmistakable now—wet, rhythmic slaps, Sarah's breathy whimpers, the creak of the air mattress as bodies shifted. James' cock throbbed painfully in his jeans.

The zip to the tent vestibule was open—and he quietly slipped inside, boots squelching softly in the mud-caked groundsheet. Through the thin mesh divider separating the vestibule from the main sleeping area, James could see everything—the dim glow of the campsite security light filtering through the tent's fabric, casting elongated shadows that moved in time with the rhythmic creaking of the air mattress. The rain pattering steadily overhead and the wet slap of skin—covering any noise he made.

Sarah was on her hands and knees—tiny body arched like a bowstring—Rob kneeling behind her, his thick cock buried to the hilt with every thrust. Lee knelt before her, gripping her wild curls as she sucked him deep, her cheeks hollowed around his length. The light wasn't great but he could see everything—the sweat-slick curve of her spine, the way her small tits bounced with each snap of Rob's hips, the obscene shine of spit and precome streaking her chin where Lee fucked her mouth. She moaned around Lee's cock, the sound muffled but unmistakable—pleasure, pure and unfiltered—and James's fingers twitched at his sides. Fuck. Fuck.

His cock strained against his soaked jeans—painfully hard, leaking precome that smeared sticky against the fabric. He didn't move. Couldn't move. Not when Sarah whined around Lee's cock, sucking so frantically, it was clear that she wanted it. James's breath hitched. His fingers crept to his zipper—slow, hesitant—before flicking it open with a quiet rasp. The cool air hit his overheated skin as he pulled himself free, his cock twitching in his hand, already slick at the tip. Christ. He was really doing this—wanking off to his little sister getting railed by his best mates while they didn't even know he was there.

The rhythmic slap of skin grew faster, Rob's grunts turning ragged. Sarah pulled her mouth of Lee's cock as she came—a high, keening cry as her back arched—and James' hand moved furiously over his own length, matching the pace.

Lee groaned—as he fisted his cock with quick, jerking strokes, his hips stuttering as the first thick stripe of come painted Sarah’s cheekbone. She gasped, and took him back into her mouth, suckling at his cockhead as he pulsed onto her tongue, her lashes fluttering at the bitter-salty taste.

It was too much for James—seeing Sarah swallow Lee's spend while Rob pistoned into her, her tiny body taking everything they gave her with greedy, drugged-up abandon. His own orgasm took him, his come striping the mesh divider in thick ropes as he muffled his groan against his forearm.

At almost the same moment Rob, pulled out—his cock glistening with Sarah’s arousal—and came across the small of her back with a ragged groan, his hips jerking erratically as he painted her skin in hot streaks.

Sarah remained there, slack-faced and blissed-out, still lazily suckling Lee’s softening cock while her fingers traced idle circles over Rob’s spent balls. Her body trembled with aftershocks, every nerve alight with the lingering buzz of MDMA and the raw, unfiltered pleasure of being used so thoroughly.

James knew he should leave—should stumble back into the rain like none of this had happened—but his feet stayed rooted to the damp groundsheet. His softening cock still hung heavy in his grip, the scent of sex and sweat thick in the confined space. Through the mesh, Sarah was sprawled between Lee and Rob like some debauched renaissance painting, her tiny body glazed in sweat and spend, the quilt tangled around their legs like a shroud.

Lee exhaled, "Christ," he muttered, "James is gonna kill us."

Sarah dropped onto her back, the air mattress crinkling beneath her as she reached to pull Lee down next to her. "We are not telling James! Now skin up—I want another joint," she said, her voice still husky from exertion.

That's when the tent flap rustled. Not from wind—from movement.

James didn't announce himself. Just let the silence stretch like a held breath while three heads snapped toward the vestibule's mesh divider, their drug-hazy brains taking a full three seconds to register the dark silhouette standing there. Sarah's mouth opened—no sound came out—as James unzipped the door, his fly still undone, his cock in his hand.

The silence was deafening—then Lee, ever the pragmatist, tossed a cum damp t-shirt at James' chest. "Well don't just stand there wanking, mate. Either come in or fuck off!"

Sarah lay across the air mattress—high on sex and mandy—blinking up at James's cock with pupils so blown they swallowed the blue of her irises. A slow, lazy grin curled her lips. "Is that for me..."