The girl at the Paper Mill

Stories and fantasies about rainwear.
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rubbermackintosh
Posts: 171
Joined: September 13th, 2014, 7:59 pm
Location: Snowdonia

The girl at the Paper Mill

Post by rubbermackintosh »

The Girl at the Paper Mill

Many years ago, more than I care to remember exactly, I worked at a paper mill in Grimsby. The mill employed a couple of hundred people, hardly a major employer in a town where fifteen thousand worked in the fishing industry.

Now the paper mill has gone and so has most of the fishing fleet along with its supporting industries. No matter as this tale is not about fishing or paper making, just about a series of experiences that changed my life in the early nineteen sixties.

Grimsby was a town where there was a large number of married ladies who were deserted by their husbands for weeks at a time while they were off fishing the deep waters north of Iceland. Many of these wives felt that any man was fair game when their husbands were away. There was also a number of widows of trawlermen who had been lost at sea.

I worked the day shift at the paper mill processing the despatch orders through the outward goods warehouse. I commuted to work from a cottage near to Immingham, mostly on my old BSA motorcycle.

In those days motorcyclists were not required to wear crash helmets and there was hardly any bespoke motorcycling clothing around. I, like many riders, wore wellington boots, a rubberised mackintosh which was not unlike a riding mackintosh, gauntlets and a flat cap and goggles when the weather was inclement. On fine days I just wore my work clothes with the cap, goggles and gauntlets.

Around November 1963, I don’t remember the exact date, the old BSA broke down on the way home from work so I was consigned to commuting on the Lincolnshire Road Car bus until the bike was fixed.

The very first morning that I caught the bus it was absolutely pissing down and, being on the East Coast it was almost freezing too. Not having anything other than my biking gear to wear against the rain I donned my rubberised mackintosh and cap and set off to catch the bus. Along came the bus and, being a smoker, I found a seat near the back upstairs.

A few stops along the route the bus stopped. A lady came upstairs and sat down next to me. I recognised her as one of the ladies from the paper mill’s Accounts Department. She was wearing what was a typical raincoat of the time, green plastic (not pvc) with popper fasteners and a tie belt and a matching plastic rain hat.

“You’re from the mill” she said to me. “I’m Gladys in Accounts”. I told her that I was Fred and that I worked in the despatch warehouse. She cadged a fag off me and we chatted until it was time to get off the bus.

That evening we met at the gates on our way to the bus stop. It was still pouring down. Her plastic raincoat was fastened right up to the collar and her rain hat was firmly planted on her head. Along came the bus and she sat next to me again.

Fumbling in her handbag, she pulled out a packet of Woodbines and offered me one to repay the fag that she had from me on the way to work. She chatted away as the bus ground its way out of town.

I never knew whether it was an accident or not but her hand rested on my thigh for most of the journey.

It rained every day for the rest of that week and each day she wore the raincoat and hat. We met on the bus each morning and evening. I told her that I was single and she told me that she had been married but her husband had gone overboard from a trawler two winters previously some 500 miles north of Iceland and had never been seen again.

On the Friday evening, her hand sort of slipped inside my mackintosh and she rubbed my flies a bit and then left her hand there motionless as she continued to chat about this and that.

As we approached her stop I felt her give a quick tug at my flies and asked me if I’d like to come home for a bite. Well, I was only going to get fish and chips for supper so I thought “Why not”, not knowing what sort of bite she had in mind.

She lived in an end of terrace house with the front door straight onto the street. It was a fairly typical house for the area. As we had walked from the bus stop I realised from the draught that my flies were still undone.

We reached the front door and she invited me in. We went through to the kitchen and she put the kettle on. Then she turned with her back to the sink and reached for my open flies with one hand, closing her fingers round my cock. She pulled me to her and pressed her lips to mine. That kiss lasted minutes in which time she had my cock fully erect from her gentle stroking.

Standing back, she fiddled inside her still wet plastic raincoat and dropped her skirt and knickers to the floor. Then she pulled me to her again.

“Be gentle. I’ve not had a man since my husband went overboard”. So saying she hoisted herself onto the edge of the sink and wrapped her arms around me.

My rampant cock was nudging her cunt. Her cunt lips felt moist and I pushed gently in half an inch at a time. Her legs came up and wrapped round me and I was locked in. She wasn’t backing off from her first fuck in two years.

Not knowing where in her monthly cycle she was I tried not to climax in her when she had her first shattering orgasm.

“What’s the matter? Don’t I please you?” she asked when she realised that I hadn’t come. “I don’t want to get you pregnant” I said. “It’s okay, I’ve only just finished a period so I’ll be okay so fuck me hard” she said. Assured, I hammered into her and she orgasmed three more times as I pounded her before I shot an enormous load of spunk into her.

As I pulled out of her she squirted a gusher of my cum and her piss. Most of it went down the front of my mackintosh and over my wellies. Refastening the lower studs of her raincoat she said that I could repay the ‘compliment’ when I was ready as it wouldn’t harm the stone flags in the kitchen and bending down she gathered up her skirt and knickers to save them being soaked.

It wasn’t long before I was in need of a pee. As my piss started she pulled me close and it went all over her raincoat front and also over my mackintosh.

She said that she had asked me in for a bite. She dropped to her knees in the pool of our joint pissings and sucked my cock into her mouth.
The feeling of this, my first ever blow job, was exquisite and it wasn’t long before I climaxed in her mouth. She looked up at me with my spunk dripping from the corners of her mouth and dripping off her chin. I had never seen such a sexy sight in my life.

So that was the sort of bite that she had in mind, not what I had imagined after a hard day’s work. I was thinking more in terms of food.

Opposite her house was a traditional chippy. I suggested Fish & Chips, to which she agreed so I went over and bought two portions of Haddock & Chips for supper.

When I got back with the food she had changed and was sitting at the kitchen table in a tiny baby doll nighty and nothing else. I was staying the night!

After supper she took me to her bed and demanded that I repay her compliment by applying my tongue to her cunt. I didn’t need a second asking.

On Saturday I returned home to work on the BSA but I didn’t manage to complete the repairs by Sunday evening so on Monday it was back on the bus for another week.

She came and sat next to me on the journey to work on the Monday morning, just as in the previous week, but she pecked me on the cheek as she sat down and she put her hand straight on my thigh with her fingers gently caressing the inside of my upper leg not far from my manhood.

Most of this second week on the bus the weather remained dry and she wore an ordinary top coat but Friday dawned wet. Leaden skies with rain pouring down driven on a cold easterly wind. She was wearing her green plastic mackintosh and rain hat again. The coat was tightly fastened up to the neck and the belt was pulled tight around her waist. Again she pecked me on the cheek but her hand went straight inside my rubberised coat to my flies which got a gentle rubbing.

“Fish & Chips tonight” she whispered. I was on a promise. I went to the barber at lunchtime for “something for the weekend, Sir”.

That evening we got the back seat upstairs on the bus and she was all over me with her tongue down my throat. And her hand inside my trousers wanking me. I came in her hand.

It was still pouring with rain as we walked from the bus to her house. She had her arm around my waist and was chatting away as if we had known each other for years.

I went straight to the chippy while she went to open up the house. The lady behind the counter who served me gave me a knowing wink and said “Staying the night again, are you?”. I was.

I opened the front door and went through to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, still wearing her plastic mack and rain hat but nothing at all under them.

“Eat up quick. I want you for afters” she said. She gobbled down her fish and before I had finished mine she had my cock out and was gobbling that. I eased my trousers and pants down to let my cock have its freedom.

“I wonder if it tastes better with ketchup”. That said she shook a dollop from the bottle straight onto my cock and proceeded to lick it off again. I came on her face as she licked me. When she sat back up she was a picture of spunk and ketchup all over her face.

“Lick it off me” she demanded. I had my spunk and the ketchup for afters.

We went to her bed and spent the night there in each others arms.

I woke in the morning to a strange sensation. My cock was in her mouth and she was gently massaging it between her lips and tongue. “Cum for Gladys”. She started to pump me with her mouth and I soon blew my load in her. “Now kiss me down there” she demanded. I was dying for a pee but who could resist a lady like that?

Satisfied for the time being she went to the bathroom. Bugger! I was desperate for a pee so I followed her. She had grabbed her mack and put it on and was standing in the bath with piss running down her legs. She grinned at me. I turned to face her and let rip with my pee across her coat front. “Now fuck me silly” she said.

Around Saturday lunchtime I went home. The lady in the chippy waved to me as I passed.

By Sunday the BSA was fixed and ready for the road so, on Monday I rode to work. Gladys was at the bus stop as I passed.

I saw her in the canteen at break time and apologised for not stopping at the bus stop. I asked her if she had ever ridden pillion. “Never” she said “But I’m willing to try it.”

I told her that it looked like rain for later that day and that I had seen that she only had her ordinary top coat on in the morning. With just an ordinary coat she would get soaked through, to say nothing of the muck in the road spray. “I keep a spare mack and things in my locker at work in case it turns wet during the day so I’ll wear that” she said.

At 5.30 she was waiting at the works gate. She was wearing a black pvc hooded mackintosh and wellies. Sensible girl!

I made a great fuss of helping her to swing her leg over the bike to mount the pillion and told her to hold on tight. She put her arms round my waist and off we went into the pouring rain.

It took her a couple of miles to get used to leaning with the bike as we went round corners but once she had the hang of it she relaxed her grip round my waist a bit. Slowly her hands moved lower until by Great Coates ( about four miles out of Grimsby ) her hands were on my crotch.

Just up the road there was a puddle right across the road. I went for it and we disappeared in a cascade of water. She gripped my cock through my clothes as the water ran off us. “She likes it wet and dirty” I said to myself. Time was to prove that she did indeed.

I felt her head next to mine. “More puddles” she shouted in my ear. I went through every one that looked worthwhile and we both got soaked.

Her pvc coat coped with the soaking on the bike better than my old rubberised mackintosh. Something that Gladys noticed quickly.

“That old coat of yours is filthy and what’s more, it smells” she told me. “If you’re going to take me on your bike regularly I’d like to see you in something that is truly waterproof and easily cleanable”

Well I really hoped that she would become a regular pillion passenger so I decided to do something about my biking gear. Kit like Belstaff and even Black Knight were well into the future so the solution lay away from motorcycle dealers.

“Try the ships’ chandlers” Gladys suggested.

I did. I soon found that they stocked magnificent waterproofs for sailors but were they suitable for motor bikes. Sailors’ attire included rubber, oilskin and pvc coats, trousers hats and gloves and tough rubber boots in various styles and lengths.

I selected calf length rubber boots, black rubber trousers and three-quarter length coat and a matching hat. Gladys thought that my new gear would be fine for road riding but she had aspirations to go off road and the muddier the better.

“The trousers and coat will be fine for anything and the boots will be okay on the road but they could get flooded in deep muddy water” she decided. “Rubber waders would be more appropriate for off roading” she said. So I got myself a pair of rubber waders too.

“What about you” I asked her. “Yes, I know that my green plastic mack is not strong enough for regular wearing on a bike and my black pvc coat leaks through the seams.” “I’ll see what I can find that’s really suitable”

From then on I called for her every morning and she rode pillion to work and home again every evening. She didn’t worry about the weather and nor did I in my new waterproofs.

We arrived at her house one day after work to find a note through the door. “Parcel at the chippy” it read. Gladys went to collect it.

“Put the kettle on while I go upstairs and unpack this” she said.

Well, I know my place so I put the kettle on and made a pot of tea once it had boiled.

Gladys came down wearing a new black rubber mackintosh, thigh boots and a matching sou’wester. I could see her nipples pushing out the rubber fabric of the coat and guessed that beneath it she was naked. Soon she proved that by flashing her cunt at me.

“Like it?” she asked. She looked gorgeous in that sexy outfit and my cock stood to attention within seconds.

Swiftly she stripped me naked and then lay back on the kitchen table. “Fuck me” she demanded.

The tea went cold in the pot!

Fucked on the table she was, then up against the wall and finally on her bed.
“I’ve got some trousers and a rubber jacket too. I want to try them on the bike off road somewhere muddy” she said.

I knew just the place. An old, worked out and abandoned, iron ore quarry near Scunthorpe. The next Saturday I took her there on the bike.

As we rode over towards Scunthorpe the weather turned foul. Really foul. The heavy rain turned to sleet in the wind and we were sprayed with gallons of water from the road but inside our rubber clothes we stayed dry.

We reached the quarry and I opened the rusty gate. There before us lay acres of muddy pit with pools of water and tracks made by the works lorries when the workings were active.

The surfaces were really slippery and we slithered down to the pit bottom with mud spraying all over us.

At the bottom the tracks were fairly flat but very muddy and with some quite deep puddles.

I raced the bike round them for a few minutes getting both of us absolutely filthy. I could hear her laughing in my ear. She was really turned on by the filth.

All this water was making me desperate for a pee.

I stopped the bike and got off and so did Gladys. With the bike safely propped on its stand I got my cock out and started to pee. Gladys grabbed for me and I peed down her rubber trousers and boots.

She kicked my legs from under me and I landed on my back in a muddy puddle. Swiftly she rolled down the top of her trousers and climbed on top of me. Reaching for my cock she pulled a condom from her pocket and rolled it onto my cock before feeding it into her cunt and riding me and herself to a crashing climax.

“Where did you get the condom from?” I asked as we lay in the mud getting our breath back. “From a machine in the ladies loo at work. I’ve got a few packets now so that I’m always ready for you”

“Well I never! There was no such machine in the gents”

From then on, in modern parlance, Gladys and I became an item.

One day she asked me why we paid rent on two houses when we only needed one. It was a sensible question so we set up home together.

The road that Gladys’ house stood on ran down to the Humber Estuary. The banks were quite marshlike in places and there was a considerable area of mud flats when the tide was out. These flats were great for walking on in wellies or waders and they were good for muddy fun and games when there was nobody about provided that you kept an eye out for the incoming tide. We took advantage of them!

Gladys loved getting muddy and I must admit that I had no aversion to doing so either. We often walked down to the water’s edge in all weathers and there was never a chance of meeting anybody if it was raining or worse.

One night in mid-winter it was snowing quite hard.

“Get your mack and wader boots” Gladys said to me. We’re going down to the water for some fun.

I went to fetch my rubber mack and boots and sou’wester and Gladys got hers.

Out into the darkness we went. Leaving the lights from the houses behind we followed the pathway down to the edge of the water. It was snowing so hard that our footprints soon disappeared behind us. There was little wind and the inky waters rippled gently as we walked.

Gladys stopped and lay down on the fresh snow. Opening her legs she demanded a fuck and she got it in no uncertain terms.

By the time that we had both cum our macks were in an incredible state; covered in a mixture of mud and snow. The snow was stopping by the time that we walked home arm in arm and we left a tell tale trail of footprints from the river bank to our front door.

We went through to the back yard and hosed the mess off our mackintoshes, something which we had come to do as a matter of course and also for a bit of added fun. Gladys was not above sticking the hose up the inside of my mack or down my waders and I sometimes retaliated on her.

Next Friday on our way home from work we stopped at the chippy for two portions of haddock and chips. As usual, Gladys was already primed for sex. She always came home with her knickers in her handbag on Friday nights.

“Have fun down by the river the other night?” the woman behind the counter asked.

“Mind your own fucking business” said Gladys. She had the language of a fishwife when angry.

“I’ve seen you and I reckon fucking is what you’re at down there” said the woman
“Besides, you left footprints in the snow for all to see”

“You nosey bitch” shouted Gladys as she grabbed a fillet of raw cod and slapped the woman round the face with it.

Well, she wasn’t going to take that lying down. Grabbing a bowl of ready mixed batter she poured it over Gladys’ sou’wester. The batter ran down off her hat onto her face and her mackintosh.

Gladys went for her like an alley cat and I had to separate the two of them as they wrestled on the floor but not before I watched the two of them scrapping for a couple of minutes.

In that short time Gladys was taking no prisoners. She had the woman’s knickers off her and threw them in with the frying fish then she tore open her top and ripped her bra letting her tits flop out.

Gladys rolled herself on top of the woman and I knew what was coming next and I watched as she pissed herself all over the woman.

Behind me a couple of blokes in the queue cheered and moaned as I pulled them apart.

“There’s a couple of blokes here wanting their supper” I said.

“I’ll give them fucking supper” said the woman as she stood up with her large tits hanging out of her top.

After that we got no more comments about our activities from the woman in the chippy but we wondered how many others in the street knew what we got up to.

We decided to move to somewhere more isolated and to get married and I bought a new Triumph motorcycle as I now had to get two people to work regularly and reliably.

We found a very rundown cottage in its own field on the river bank. It was down a mile long unmade muddy lane off the main road. The only things that went past were ships going to and from Immingham dock which was about two miles up river.

It took several years to renovate the cottage which we still live in today. We’ve let the trees grow up for privacy so, apart from the postman, nobody knows that there is a cottage here at all apart from those who see it from the water.

We bought a small, outboard powered, boat to potter about on the river. We keep a set of waterproofs on it in case the weather turns while we are out but they often get used for sexual activity regardless of the weather.

One afternoon we were drifting along slowly, copulating in our waterproofs when the boat bumped into something. I was staring straight at the sheer sides of a moored super tanker. A couple of the crew were looking down on us and then the buggers turned a hose on us. The jet of cold water hit me in the back. Gladys wrapped her legs tight round me and climaxed making me cum in her in full view of the on-lookers above. They cheered.

The ship had its lower hatch open for the river pilot to get aboard when it was ready to move up to Immingham.

Come aboard called the crew. We tied the boat to the open hatch and climbed aboard. Two blokes took Gladys’ hand and helped her. “We’ve not had a woman aboard for months” said one as he took a sly feel of her tits. She wacked his crotch which was inviting trouble.

Well, I couldn’t have stopped them fucking her if I tried, which I didn’t.

Although I suspected that I wasn’t the only man that she had known apart from her late husband I had never seen her at it with somebody else until that day.

We returned to our boat and went home for an all-night mack session.
blackmacjay
Posts: 707
Joined: February 4th, 2010, 7:32 pm

Re: The girl at the Paper Mill

Post by blackmacjay »

If this story is fiction, then everything is OK.

But if it is fact, where was the paper mill in that part of the world?

Just wondered?
rubbermackintosh
Posts: 171
Joined: September 13th, 2014, 7:59 pm
Location: Snowdonia

Re: The girl at the Paper Mill

Post by rubbermackintosh »

Semi-fiction. Names changed but the mill was Robinson's - they made brown paper bags etc. in Cleethorpes but closed down around 1970.
Kinky-In-Scotland
Posts: 418
Joined: July 3rd, 2015, 7:38 am
Location: Dundee, Scotland
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Re: The girl at the Paper Mill

Post by Kinky-In-Scotland »

Loved this story, motorbikes, rubber rainwear and waders, perfect! if ever there was to be a part 2 I'd love to read it!
Wearer of Waterproofs & Waders - as often as possible!
hotwilly
Posts: 2339
Joined: March 17th, 2011, 9:03 pm
Location: Scunthorpe

Re: The girl at the Paper Mill

Post by hotwilly »

Nice story. From that srea so have an idea of old ironstone workings you use, Dragonby by chance?
Nice to know somebody else from the area on here
Broad minded enough to acknowledge we all enjoy different things:)
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