Caravan Park Conquest

British summer holidays were basically gambling. You paid for a caravan at Haven, prayed for sun, and inevitably spent five days watching rain batter plastic windows while your nan got pissed on cheap wine.

This year's gamble wasn't paying off. Day three, solid rain, and I'd already exhausted the arcade, the pool, and my will to live.

Then I went to the evening entertainment.

The main hall was packed with families, all trying to squeeze joy from organized fun. Kids ran screaming between tables, dads nursed overpriced pints, mums filmed everything for Instagram.

And on stage, leading the chaos with the energy of someone genuinely enjoying themselves, was Saffron.

She couldn't have been more than twenty-three, tiny thing with pink hair in space buns, wearing the standard Haven polo in a way that made it look like a fashion choice. She had the kids doing some dance routine, but her eyes kept finding me at the back, alone at my table, nursing my own overpriced pint.

After the show, she found me.

"Not dancing?" she asked, dropping into the seat opposite.

"Two left feet. You?"

"I'm on break." She stole my pint, took a sip. "You've been at every show since you got here. Starting to think you're a superfan."

"Maybe I just like the entertainment."

"Maybe." She leaned back, stretched. The polo rode up, revealing a sliver of toned stomach. "Gets old, though. Same songs, same dances. Same families who think shouting makes their kids dance better."

"Why do it then?"

"Money. Experience. And..." She looked at me properly, something shifting in her expression. "...occasionally, interesting guests."

"Am I interesting?"

"You're not trying to film your kid doing the Macarena. That's interesting enough." She stood up. "I've got another hour until my next show. Want to see something cool?"

"Always."

"Something cool" was the staff caravan area—a row of beaten-up vans hidden behind the main complex, invisible to paying guests.

"Home sweet home," Saffron said, unlocking hers. "For the summer, anyway."

Inside was cramped but personal—fairy lights, posters, the smell of something floral. She kicked off her trainers, sprawled on the narrow bed.

"Make yourself comfortable."

I sat on the edge, suddenly aware of how small the space was. How close she was.

"So," she said, "why are you really here? Alone at a family park."

"Nan's sixtieth. Extended family thing. I'm the single one they all pity."

"That sucks."

"Bit, yeah."

"Want to give them something to actually talk about?"

She was on me before I could answer, straddling my lap, her mouth finding mine. She tasted of the beer she'd stolen and something sweeter.

"Been wanting to do this since you walked in three days ago," she admitted between kisses. "Something about you. Can't explain it."

"Same. The dancing helped."

She laughed, grinding down against me. "Yeah? You like the dancing?"

"Very much."

"Then let me show you some moves."

She stripped off the polo—underneath, a sports bra that she removed in one motion, revealing small, perfect tits with nipple piercings that caught the fairy light.

"Like what you see?"

"Love it."

She pushed me back on the narrow bed, worked at my jeans with practiced hands. When she freed me, she whistled low.

"Okay. That's impressive."

She went down on me with the same energy she brought to kids' entertainment—enthusiastic, dedicated, surprisingly skilled. Her tongue did things that made my eyes roll back.

"Fuck—Saffron—"

"Not yet." She climbed up, positioned herself. "Condom's under the pillow. Don't ask."

I found it, rolled it on. She sank down with a moan that filled the tiny caravan.

"Yes—God—finally—"

The caravan rocked on its supports as she rode me, space buns bouncing, fairy lights swaying. She was vocal—moans and gasps and explicit encouragement that probably reached the neighboring vans.

"So deep—yes—harder—"

I grabbed her hips, thrust up to meet her. The bed creaked dangerously, the whole van shook, and neither of us cared.

"Close—touch me—"

I found her clit, rubbed while she rode. She came with a scream that definitely reached the neighbors, her whole body clenching around me.

"Your turn—inside me—fill me up—"

I came hard, pulling her down, feeling her shake through aftershocks.

We collapsed together on the narrow bed, tangled in fairy lights, both catching our breath.

"Well," she said eventually, "that's better than the Macarena."

"Much better."

"Same time tomorrow?" She was already checking her phone. "I've got a break between the kids' disco and the adult quiz."

"Wouldn't miss it."

I spent the rest of the holiday splitting time between family obligations and Saffron's caravan. By day five, the rain had stopped and I genuinely didn't care.

Best Haven holiday ever. Five stars. Would recommend.