Camping fun

I could see the beads of sweat starting to form on his bare torso, even through the flyscreen flaps of the tent. They acted like a soft focus filter in old movies, making the moisture sparkle in the sun like a starburst. He still looked good for his age. Though I know he worries about it. His physicality. His beer baby as he calls it. He shouldn’t. There’s some parts of him that are probably working better now than they ever did. I love when he’s bulging in to my back at this early hour of the morning. His morning wood, prodding me awake. I love to tease him by playing with it even though I know he can’t do anything until he has his ritual pee visit. Cute. Natural.

Camping is fun. We slept naked and he’s had to slip on his casual hemp fisherman pants, the loose-fitting ones, which he wears commando, to venture out on to the wet grass to relieve himself. He shouldn’t have bothered, no-one is up. Though it is hot, early 20’s I’d say, so people are probably stirring early. Still, they wouldn’t care, not here at this festival. They are all hippies and free-loving anyway. She was certainly still asleep when he decided to do the chivalrous thing and re-set her tent. He said last night it was going to fall down if she didn’t peg it properly and wanted to help her. When she declined she was looking directly at me, instead of him. I wondered if she thought I might be jealous of him helping her. But there was something else in her look. I knew it in an instant and even though I wanted to glance away immediately, I couldn’t.

Now as she crawls out from under the collapsed tent laughing she looks hot. In both senses. He has hauled up one pole already and heeled in the peg of the guy rope, barefoot. I love that. Why doesn’t that hurt his feet? How can some guys do that? Her giggling is the first sign of femininity I have seen in her. The short hair, the boyish looks and the slightly androgynous body gave her a bit of a butch look. Though now in the peach coloured boy legs and very short cropped cami top, there's a whole other side to her. He’s seen it too. I have no idea why those nipples are so pert in this warm weather but he’s seen those too. She actually has a larger set than mine, hidden the previous evening under her fleece as she made camp.

He glances over to me and I don’t think he can see through the gauze to notice I’m watching. His mumbles are inaudible and I raise myself on to my elbows to observe easier. These air beds are bouncy, makes for some fun acrobatics but not the most comfortable to sleep on. At least the inside of the double sleeping bags are soft and cosy, not too hot, not too cold, just right, as Goldilocks would say.

He’s getting her to hold the second pole up while he tightens the guy rope and fixes the peg. She’s naughty. I can tell she’s working him. Subtly. It could be the way she is easing her tush ever so gently closer to his perfectly positioned face as he kneels to push in the peg. Or maybe the rub of the back of her foot against her other calf. Who does that? Well, I would, if I was flirting with a man whose head is the same height as my waist. Yep, she’s good. She knows I’m here. She too has glanced over. And probably can’t see me. Or maybe she hopes I can see her. I can. And I’m enjoying the show. I’m still not sure if she is teasing him, or teasing me.

I often wonder if other women find me attractive. I know men do. And I find other women attractive. Sometimes I dress for them, and not the men. The scent, the manicure, the jewellery, half the time the men only see the whole picture and miss the subtleties. But my girlfriends, and others, see it. That's why I never outright flirt when I know another women is watching. Because they know what I’m doing. Which is why I think this performance that, hot, young, female of questionable sexuality is doing, is much an exhibition for me as it is for him.

He’s on the last pole, the one that holds all the rest in place. If it falls, they all fall. This time he is holding the rope at the top, arms elevated to give it stability and she is to hammer home the peg. God he looks good. When his arms are up like that his torso stretches and you can see the breadth of his shoulders. Those pecs are great and those muscles under his shoulders, the anteriors? I don’t know, but they are sexy. I can feel them holding me tight and making me feel wanted, and safe. As he stands there he looks like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. A small cute Atlas. Though those hippy, baggy, harem, fisherman pants don’t do him justice. They are starting to give away that he is commando. And he is a little excited. Now it’s her turn to notice. They are erecting tents in more ways than one. As she crouches down, to tighten the rope I’m not sure if her orientation was chosen to direct her cleavage right at him or her tight spankable butt right at me. But I am starting to feel as hot as they look. I can’t help but kneel up and look closer thorough the veiled view. My hands now hang down by my side. But not for long.

She is struggling to hammer the peg in to the ground forcing him to continue holding the rope high at the top of the pole. I think she is entertained by his self-inflicted bondage. He is sweating now, hot and bothered, as she turns on her knees, her head is aligned with his stomach. In a moment of sheer cheekiness she looks back at our tent and I swear our eyes meet, though it’s impossible to tell from my side. She looks back to him and licks the moisture from his belly button. As he recoils, or ripples, from surprise, or pleasure, she falls backwards on to the ground. Her loose top stretching to partially expose one of her soft pale breasts. At least from my angle, as if by chance. As if. It glistens. My left hand is now between my legs as I reach for my own breast with the other.

I’m sure he could let everything drop and start again, and yet he stands there. God-like, persisting in the game. I know what is going through his head. He is debating whether he should take pleasure, deny himself pleasure or whether I am watching and taking pleasure myself. All three would be acceptable conclusions for him. He loves to indulge, He enjoys the denial and the pain it brings. And yet he loves the most the fact that I find pleasure in all of these things, especially when there is a third party involved, preferably female. He is hoping I am watching and yet he doesn’t know. That is almost as much torture as what the little minx is dishing out to him now. As she leans back on the ground and slips her hand down her between her thighs she looks up at him smiling. It’s killing him I can tell. And it is awakening all the senses in me. I am loving the show. I love a good fantasy but as it actually unfolds in front of me it sends ripples through my whole body, the energy ending at my fingertips as they circularly entertain my moist clit. Pussy. Cunt. I am now in need of a good seeing too and not sure if I want to interrupt to bring him back to satisfy me or…

As I think this she is raising her leg to rub her foot against his obvious hard cock which now creates a small wet patch that I am sure is not the result of his early excursion but a sign that he is ready for more. The question is, where will it find purchase?

She’s now rubbing hard, one hand slipped in sideways and the other stretching her pants away to the point of tearing. I’m fascinated by her action, different from mine, as I make slow anti-clockwise circles, and she is frantically up and down. Hard and fast vs slow and long. Her foot was rubbing his hard cock against his hip bone but now it is tensing and still as she is nearing her goal, almost flicking sideways on her clit. Her head is bent back towards me but her eyes are closed. It’s as if she wants me to see her taking pleasure but her own eyes see something else. Does she see me, or him, or another? I suspect she is just in the moment and can’t visualise anything. And it makes me want the same.

She’s now almost pushing him away with her foot as it tenses and he has to brace himself to not fall backwards. He is pushing her back, with his cock, and holding a tent up at the same time. It’s all too much for me and I am about to cum. But she beats me to it. Her back arches, her chin hits her chest, her eyes scrunch, and she emits a long slow "fuuuuuck” as she squirts all over him. Yes, gushes. I have never seen it before in real life, I thought it was a fake porn star thing but no. She squirts 3, 4 times maybe, like a man ejaculating, rhythmically. It’s incredible, large spouts of clear fluid hitting on him, and it makes me cum in an instant. As I exclaim out loud trying to swallow the pleasure I’m emitting, I can see her smile, quickly, as if she has heard me. But without giving anything away, she doesn’t acknowledge with a look. I’m staring directly at her face, enjoying her pleasure, but she denies mine by not seeing me. I shudder. I’m still rubbing. Slowing. Slowly. Easing. Drowning in the moment.

As I fall back on to the airbed, not caring what is happening merely footsteps from me, my eyes close to soak in the pleasure of the moment. My body is tingling. I have had a new experience. Voyeurism. Involving my lover. I am a cuckold. And yet he too has been denied. Or has he? My mind shifts instantly and I wonder if even now he is suddenly inside her. My body changes and tenses. Is this jealousy or lust? Do I need to know more, or have more?

I hear the sound of the zip on the tent flap as it is ripped open. And there he is. Impassioned, almost angry, animalistic, and hungry for me. He struggles to even lower his watermarked pants over his hard cock as he rears down on me. I was in for a pounding. And god how I wanted it right now. I’d already climaxed and now wanted him to fill me like no one else could. He was perfect for me and he loves being inside me so much that sometimes it hurt in a different way.

For I knew I could never have him, permanently. But now he took me. With lust and love he was inside me as I crouched on all fours, on this wobbling airbed, in our music festival campground of love. I could feel his pelvic bones against me, hitting hard. I knew he loved this position, denied to him by his wife. It was one thing I could give him that she couldn’t and it was like he took that frustration out on me. And I loved it.

As I looked out though the flyscreen once again, I could see her looking back at me through hers. There was no doubt we could see each other this time. As she smiled, biting her bottom lip, it was obvious she was continuing where she left off. Starting again on her road to sensual pleasure. Our eyes stayed locked as he pumped me like he hadn’t had me in months, and my hand slipped back between my legs, to hopefully work in unison with hers. Between hers. This was going to be one amazing holiday.