Back To Nature
written by:
Naughty Miranda

Maybe it was the wine talking; perhaps it was the way the shadows fell. But, from where I was lying, watching, it was the sort of prick you only read about in the most literary erotic anthologies... you know, the ones where the writer is so concerned with convincing the world that she's a poet ("on that dark and stormy night, his penis arose like a rosebud breaking forth, its unblinking eye proudly pledging to flood my sex with foamy lust") that the only person who could get truly turned on would be her English professor. The rest of us simply look on in abject horror. Read too many stories like that, and it could put you off sex for life. And reading.

But Peter had one of those cocks that could make you go all poetic; that really did leave you rummaging in the back of your mind for something to say that was not a mere gasp, followed by an intake of breath and a "mmmmmm" of approval. Something that wasn't "yummy." Except it was yummy and the only problem was, it was over there, I was over here, and there was 20 years of non-romantic, non-sexual, and not even mildly flirtatious friendship standing between us.

Peter's one of those guys that every girl knows. He's been around forever, but never as more than a face in the pack. He's usually somebody's brother (Rosemary's, in this case), and he's always there if you need a chaperone. You've never slept with him; in fact, you don't know anybody who has, although there's usually some girl hanging adoringly off his arm, and you never catch her name.

Good, solid, reliable Peter. He'll make somebody a wonderful husband one day, although that probably doesn't explain what I'm doing in a tent (a tent! I hate camping!), in a forest (I hate forests!), halfway up an upstate mountain (guess what I think about mountains), admiring - yes, well you know what I'm admiring. Maybe I should tell you why.

It was Rosemary who suggested we come here. She'd lend me the tent, lend me the sleeping bag, and even lend me her brother so we'd both have a man within reach while we slept... meaning (in case you get the wrong idea) that there'd always be someone else in the tent in the event of wild bears attacking, psycho killers emerging from the darkness, or any of the other horrors with which a city girl automatically associates the wilderness. Her boyfriend Kevin had his own camping gear, so she'd be sharing with him; I could have hers'... and, when she showed me some photos from her last expedition, and I realized that tents have come on quite a way from the days when I was Girl Scouting... you can actually stand up in them now!... "okay, I'll give it a go."

We got here last night, Rosemary and Kevin in his cute little Volkswagon Bug, Peter and I in style aboard his SUV, and it's been a non-stop laugh; indeed, by the time he and I actually turned in for the night, with our sleeping bags resolutely lined up against opposite walls of the tent, I was asleep before Peter even put the light out. Tonight, on the other hand... I was still drifting when I heard a movement; and opened my eyes to catch him swinging his bare legs out of his bedding, reach for his trousers and then stand up butt naked. Except it wasn't his butt that was facing me.

I was lying on my side, my face squashed in the pillow, and hidden within enough shadow that he'd never have known my eyes were open. It was the sound of me catching my breath that he heard, and one hand shot down to cover his modesty, even as he breathed an apology. The maneuver didn't work; at least an inch of his cock was still tantalizingly visible, peeping out from behind his hand.

"Sorry Chrissie, I thought you were sleeping."

"Yummy." Oh God, I can't believe I said that. Fortunately, neither can he.

"Sorry? What did you say?"

"Uh... I said ‘not yet.'"

"Okay..."; he zipped up his jeans. "I'm just running to the bathroom. Is it alright if I leave the light on till I get back?"

"Sure." I watched him leave, feeling my heart pounding in my chest, and trying to recreate what I'd seen in my mind. He wasn't huge... or, at least, I've seen bigger. And he wasn't hard... halfway there, maybe, and I think that was part of the attraction, the knowledge that he could have been going either way, so it hung uncertainly in-between, straight out with just the suggestion of an upward curve. But the head was full and the flesh looked smooth, a kind of reverse silhouette against the dark patch of his pubes. I hoped I'd get another look when he returned; and I wondered whether I'd ever get a closer one.

He came back and I could tell from the shape of his trousers that things had calmed down a little. He was also a lot more careful taking them off than he'd been putting them on, killing the light before getting undressed, then diving back into his sleeping bag just in case I could see in the dark.

"You tired?" I asked.

"No, it's just good lying here, listening to the night."

I listened. Bugs, birds, mysterious rustles and grunts. Wild bears. Psycho killers. "I've not been camping since I was a kid," I told him. "I can't believe it's so noisy out there." I lightened my voice as much as I could; I don't care how much I wanted him... and the wet warmth spreading between my legs suggested that I wanted him a lot... I wasn't going to snare him with the silly frightened girl act.

"You get used to it." He paused. "Of course, there are some sounds that you can never escape from." I listened and heard the rhythmic creaking of a metal-framed camp bed, as Rosemary and her companion took their own selves back to nature in the next tent. "Can't be too comfortable," I replied, but Peter laughed. "I lost my virginity on a camping trip," he said. "In the pouring rain, in a pile of dead leaves. Now, that was uncomfortable."

"For both of you, I'd imagine," I said. "Wet leaves... yuk."

"Ah, so you've done it as well?"

"Haven't we all? Still, at least if it was your first time, you didn't know it got better. For me, I remember wondering if it was possible for it to get worse. And I was sure I was going to get poison ivy."

"Nowhere awkward, I hope?"

"Knowing my luck?" I chuckled. And then, daringly, "especially as you can't even ask anyone to kiss it better."

Now it was his turn... I think... to catch his breath. "Now, that is a shame."

Yes, isn't it, I thought, as a loud gasp rent the air from next door. "Either he's finished," I said, "or the camp bed collapsed."

"That's why I like sleeping on the ground," Peter replied.

"What, so no-one has to wonder what's happened?" I shot back, and he laughed loudly... and then another chuckle as we heard Rosemary hiss - far more audibly, I'm sure, than she ever meant to - "now lick me... pleeee-ase... I'm so close."

"That's what I love about these trips," Peter whispered. "You learn so much about people." And then, shouting, "hey! Keep the noise down over there. Some people are trying to sleep."

"Well, more fool you," his sister's voice floated back. "You should try..."; before her voice faded, presumably, as her lover hit the spot. We still heard her orgasm, but it was delicate, quiet... and her gentle gasps made me feel so horny that I came close to cumming myself.

We lay in silence, neither of us trusting ourselves to speak. I wondered whether Peter was as turned on as I was; then wondered if he was wondering... the thought of his erection pressing hard against his bedclothes was so over-powering that I almost leaped out of bed and joined him. Instead, I let my hand drift gently down to graze my thighs, before slipping surreptitiously to the tips of my lips, moist through the fabric of my panties.

I was drenched; if I raised the covers a little, the scent of my sex would flood the tent. What would Peter do if that happened, I wondered... then, hearing something, I held my breath. It seems I wasn't the only one whose fingers were feeling fidgety; straining my eyes in the darkness, I could just make out a rapid up-and-down movement beneath his covers, and I felt my nerves cry out in protest.

You can't do that... it's mine! Or, at least, pull the bedclothes back, so I can see. There's something so exciting about watching a guy jerk off, especially if he doesn't know you're looking. Men are always so shy about masturbating in front of their partners; start pulling at it casually, as though it's really no big deal. Catch them at it on their own, though; resist the temptation to jump in and help; and it's one of the sexiest sights on earth.

Well, it looks like I'm just going to be picturing it in my mind, tonight. Holding my breath to catch the sound of his breathing; training my eyes on the tenting of the sleeping bag... damn it, this is so unfair! "What are you doing?" I whispered.

Silence. Then, "nothing."

"Neither am I," I replied, and I sat up. "Maybe we should do nothing together?"

His breathing was still heavy, and I wondered whether he remained hard down there, or if I'd shocked him out of the mood. "Depends what sort of nothing you have in mind," he said.

Oh, for Heaven's sake, were we going to spend the whole night playing coy? "Well, you tell me your nothing, and I'll tell you mine."

"I was just trying to remember the first time we met."

Really? And that's the effect it had on him? I never knew. "And did you... remember?"

"You and Rosemary were sunbathing in the yard all summer, and you had that tiny little bikini on. I used to hide behind the drapes in my bedroom and watch you."

"You what?" I thought back to the house where he and Rosemary grew up; how his room overlooked the yard and, now I came to think about it, how his drapes were always closed. And there was I thinking he was simply a gloomy Gothy teenager, afraid to let any sunlight in. "Come on, how old were you? 13 or 14?" - he's two years younger than I am; that'd be about right.

"So? You were the first girl I'd ever seen that much of. Aside from sis, but she doesn't count."

I feigned shock. "Well, I hope you didn't see much."

"Not as much as I was hoping for," he replied and I laughed, remembering how the top half of that particular bikini... my first... really didn't fit too well. "Well, maybe you weren't looking in the right places," I said, well aware of just how coquettish I must be sounding. And then, "so, is that all you did... look?"

Now it was his turn to be playful. "Maybe."

"Come on, what else did you do?" I demanded and, when he replied with a too innocent "nothing," I saw my chance. "The same nothing you were doing just now?"

I heard him moving in the darkness; could just discern him standing and moving across the tent, then crouching down beside me. I placed a hand where I thought his knee might be; my aim was a few inches out, and I was virtually in his lap, feeling his loins kick their heat out towards me. He groaned lightly, and I stretched my thumb out, until it came in contact with his penis... it was still hard after all, even after (or maybe because of) all the chatter. "Doesn't feel like nothing to me," I said; then I folded him in a gentle fist. "In fact, it feels like a lot of something."

He moaned, and his hand fell onto my belly, shifting down the bedclothes until it lay heavy on my pussy. "I think I need to get out of this sleeping bag," I determined. "Watch out for flying limbs."

I pulled my legs up, and almost cried out as he grabbed them both, then placed one foot upon each of his shoulders. "Now, what was that you were saying about poison ivy?" he asked. "Something about kissing it better?" His head bent and he grazed my thigh with his teeth, biting gently first on one side, then the other.

It was an uncomfortable position to be in, but I didn't want to break the mood; not when his breath was so heavy on the wetness of my panties. His mouth closed over my groin, one cheek wedged against my mound as he sucked on the crease at the top of my leg. It tickled and I squirmed a little, but he clung on, before switching his attention to the other side. His fingers were pulling at my panties, lowering them over my thighs as he ducked his head and dragged them towards my knees, the fabric stretching to breaking point when he squeezed his head back between my legs.

"I'm not sure who's the most trapped," I said. I certainly couldn't move, and I was fairly sure he couldn't either. I wriggled my legs, finally extracted one from my panties, and then hoisted myself a little higher, my puss just inches from his face, my knees bent over his shoulders, my weight more comfortably distributed now on my arms. His fingers were pulling at my labia lips; in the darkness, I could imagine my juices trickling down his hands, and dripping onto his tongue as he held it poised just a breath away from my flesh.

His hands were on my breasts now, pulling at the nipples, twisting them slightly, and I squeaked in surprised pain once or twice, as his strength got the better of him... then forgot all that as his tongue finally penetrated me, delving deep inside me as his mouth stretched wide around my vagina. I felt the heavy weight withdraw, then sink back inside me; again and again, faster and faster; with a flash of surprise, I realized that he was literally fucking me with his tongue.

It was a strange feeling, like the post-coital embers of a once proud penis suddenly given fresh impetus and strength - delicious, but infuriating at the same time... so close, yet so far. I squirmed a little, trying to guide his thrusting towards my clitoris; and then froze as the tip of his tongue fluttered against another patch of glorious sensation entirely... I hated the term, but Christ, he'd found my g-spot. And he knew it.

My hands gripped his bended knees, my nails sank into his flesh, but he did not waver... thank fuck he didn't waver. I prayed he wouldn't tire; that his driving, flicking tongue would continue working its heart-stopping magic... oh my God, this is a-ma-zing.

I dared not move, scarcely dared breathe, just hung and clung there, paralyzed with pleasure and feeling the most incredible rush building - where? From the pit of my stomach, from the depths of my sex, from the tips of my toes and the top of my head... I was cumming, and cumming hard; and, when I did, the fountain of fluids that squirted out of me seemed to pull my very insides out.

It slapped into his mouth, forcing him to break his miraculous hold as he tried to swallow, catch his breath and shield his eyes, all at the same time. I heard a cry long before I realized that it was coming from me; heard him swear in astonishment at the burning shock of the torrent; knew that I was crushing him between my bent legs and arching torso. And I didn't care. Only as I felt his fingers... then his entire hand... slip into me, a fist opening and closing deep within that suddenly miraculously massive place, did I come back to earth; realize that somehow, he had laid me flat on my back, to coax my return to reality. And I still couldn't speak.

I reached out a hand; his face was damp, his hair was wringing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought about the times I'd taken a load in the face from a guy. Sorry, fellahs, but there's no competition. You might be able to spatter my cheek, but I can soak your whole head. Clutching the back of Peter's neck, I pulled him down for a kiss, breathing in my own scent as our lips met, tasting my cunt in his mouth.

His hand was still inside me, his wristwatch tangling in my pubes, pulling at the hair in tight pinpricks of pain; I had to break our kiss to gasp aloud as his movements grew faster, wondering how far the squelching... no, the full-on splashing sounds... might carry in the still night air; if Rosemary and Kevin could hear them - and the thought that they could made me hotter still, losing myself in the rhythmic slamming of Peter's fist, wincing occasionally as he banged against my cervix, but absorbing even that sharp pain into my ecstasy.

His teeth were pulling at my nipples; that sting, too, simply melted into the whirlwind of sensations that were tearing me apart, as I felt another massive orgasm coming on, pounded out of me by his punching fist. Oh God, Peter, when I get my hands... my mouth... my teeth on you... the thought shattered in my mind, dispersed in a thousand shards of ecstatic semi-consciousness as I came again - and, this time, I knew they must have heard me next door. They probably heard me in the next town.

His mouth was on my belly now, his sharp teeth pulling at the flesh; for a moment I thought he was going down again, and I really didn't know if I could take any more. I rolled away, "ouch"-ing as I broke his bite, then reached down for the penis, that magnificent penis, that had started all this in the first place.

He'd lost his immaculate hardness, but that didn't matter; hot and heavy, his cock lay in my one hand, as I brushed the other around its head. I was rewarded with an immediate stirring, as the blood rushed back where I wanted it; raising him, marveling at the solid weight of his tool, I took him as deep into my mouth as I could, thrilling as he continued expanding inside me, filling me with his salty, musky thickness.

No hands. I grasped his ass with one, pulled his tight balls together in the other, then bit down and twisted at the same time. He yelped in surprise, but made no move to escape, and I released my grip a little, sliding my mouth up his pole until the head was barely resting on my lower teeth. It dipped away; with my hands still busy elsewhere, I sought it out once more with my mouth, held it a little firmer this time, gently working my lips back and forth across the fleshy tip, savoring the stickiness that was leaking out of him, feeling it drying tight on my lips.

Again he fell away; again I snatched him back up, holding him in my mouth as his hand snaked down to steady the ship. "Stand up," I whispered and, as he did so, I knelt upright before him, my hands gripping tight on the backs of his legs, as I closed my mouth again upon his cock. His hand still held it; reaching up, I took his wrist and began to move it back and forth along his shaft. He took the hint, slowly jerking himself as I started to suck, trying to time my own motions to the rhythm of his fist... damn it, I wish we had some light in here; this was a picture I could carry in my head forever - or at least as long as he walked around with my teenaged bikini burned into his brain.

There was no shyness here, no sense of self-consciousness, just a beautiful man relaxing into the unparalleled joy of jerking off into a happy, hungry mouth. "Oh Chrissie..."; his voice was a low growl, his movements were speeding up. I lowered one hand to my pussy, slid in one finger, slicked it with my still-flowing juices. Then I placed it on the puckered lips of his anus, teasing the tender flesh while his hand blurred on his penis, swiping my nose as his actions grew greedier, swamping his cock in his huge hand.

"Chrissie... babe, I'm...."

I paused another moment, then jammed my finger up his ass - harder than I intended, but with exactly the effect I expected. His legs buckled as his cock spurted, his cum showering me in hot, heavy bursts; my mouth wide open, it spattered onto my tongue, my cheeks, my chin, flowed down onto my breasts. I swallowed what I caught, then lowered my head as I raised up one tit, extending my tongue to lick the drops off my nipple, collecting every drop I could reach while Peter knelt alongside me, one hand on my shoulder to prevent himself from collapsing altogether, the other squeezing the last ounce of pleasure from his climax.

I kissed him hard on the mouth, passing his cum from my tongue to his. There was a split-second of uncertainty as he realized what he was tasting, but that was all; I felt him swallow as our bodies melted softly together, slipping into one another's arms, rolling onto the closest sleeping bag. I wrapped myself around him and we slept - until morning brought a howl of laughter from the entrance to our tent, and I awoke to find Rosemary angling her camera towards us.

"And you told us to shut up," she admonished cheerfully. "Good job we're both heavy sleepers."

Peter threw a shoe at her... one of mine, unfortunately, which sent me hopping half-dressed and barefoot across the wet grass in order to retrieve it, but fully intending to return to bed once I had. Rosemary, however, had other ideas - a hike through the woods, a meal in the town, then back to the campsite to pack up before dark.

All day long, Peter and I were casting rueful, lustful, glances at one another, but not until evening were we alone again, climbing aboard his SUV for the couple of hundred miles journey home. It would be midnight before we were back in the city, and we'd probably be so tired by then... okay Chrissie, I told myself; if anything at all is going to happen tonight, you're the one who'll be doing it.

I thought about the dirt road we'd taken to get down to the campsite, the miles and miles of potholes and ruts that sent the suspension singing, and the gear on the backseat bouncing all the way. Years ago, fresh out of college, I sucked off a guy in the cab of his truck, and I kept him from cumming for 93 miles. And I couldn't believe how great it felt, as the lorry sped over the bumps in the road, and his cock was jogged harder and deeper in my throat. I came twice myself. Peter had barely nudged the engine into life before I was unzipping his fly. And, as we skimmed across the first of the countless rocks that lay between us and the interstate, I positioned my open mouth above his stiffness. This was going to be one hell of a ride....

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