"So, let me get this straight?" I asked the teenager that would one day become my husband, notably while giving him a hand job in the backseat of his own car. It was my time of the month and I wasn't feeling the least bit sexy, but he begged me, telling me he needed to cum with his great big puppy dog eyes pleading his case for him. "No" was always an option for me though, and I had said so often enough during our time together, but this time I was feeling charitable. I suppose it could have been worse, he could have snuck off someplace to do the deed solo. While that would have been less work for me, I would have wondered what, or who he was fantasizing about while doing so.
The saying "one cheats in their mind before they do it for real" ironically popped into my head, the phrase from a teen magazine article I had read on the subject. "The ten ways you know your boyfriend is thinking about cheating on you" or some such nonsense. The premise of the article seemed at least logical, but I knew this particular young man never would. Strangely enough, the concept of me cheating on him seemed to excite him though. He had actually brought it up, often and playfully, telling me more than once that I needed a boyfriend. I wondered at the time if this was his way of telling me that he wanted to try out something fresh and new for himself.
Such presented a dilemma with how well I knew him though. We were childhood sweethearts, although at the time it could be argued that we were still children. We were both in possession of a driver's license but in my case no car as of yet.
I'm sure my boyfriend would have been perfectly happy with my mouth instead of my hand, he had asked for such often enough but I flat out refused each time. These days he rarely even bothered to ask. This likely made me a hypocrite because I absolutely loved it when he did such things for me. He became very good at it, with some gentle coaching by the friend of a friend, but that's a story all by itself. This eventually became a "go to" activity when I didn't want to make love in a more traditional way. It was also the very definition of safe sex, as in impossible to get pregnant doing it. He was a giving guy, often doing these things selflessly for me until I was too sore to go on, and sometimes I was even so orgasmed out and exhausted that I didn't have the energy to take care of his needs afterwards.
Back on our very first serious car date, that young man - whom I had known casually since we were children - told me the way it was going to be, but not in the way one might expect. Quite simply, he told me that if I didn't want to do something, meaning anything from making out in the back seat to whatever two teens can possibly dream up doing alone together; we just wouldn't do it. In other words, a "no" from me, absolutely, positively meant no!
That also meant he was very safe to be alone around, and I was quite comfortable trying all sorts of new and fun things with him because of this. We both were new to this intimacy thing, and almost equally inexperienced. It was a true adventure, we even won a pair of fur lined steel handcuffs once after several tries with a beach-side claw grabber arcade machine. But almost two whole years of intimacy later, and many times exercising my "no thank you tonight" prerogative on a date, it became routine.
This particular early evening however, we were actually taking care of my boyfriend's needs after our ice cream shop date, rather nontraditional (for most people) in his backseat while parked in a secluded trail. He was wearing our handcuffs this time, behind his back, and by his own hand at my request. I had not worn them myself a single time, although there was something about the concept of doing so that made me tingle right behind my belly button. He had never pushed me to put them on though, and truth be told, I don't know that I would have appreciated it - at the time - if he had.
"You think it would be hot if I let another guy take me out on a date, maybe then, after that date if we, that is, he and I, ended up in his backseat, instead of yours?" I prodded in my best, sexy, come hither voice. I didn't necessarily feel sexy at that particular moment, but I was still reluctantly getting into this, trying to see this from his point of view. My boyfriend responded that while wearing our cuffs if he wanted to actually cum he had but a single way to achieve such. He was literally at my mercy, and by his own hand to boot.
We had played with rope together before too. He begged me to tie him up so he could test his escape skills, and he always ended up highly aroused by the time he escaped.
I felt his cock twitch in my hand as I stroked. His breath becoming short, his hips rolling as he reflexively tried to thrust himself further into my stroking hand, his own hands uselessly trapped behind his back. I was learning things about this guy of mine, the things that really tripped his trigger. There were never any names associated with these fictitious dates of mine though, and on a whim, I decided to contaminate his perfect fantasy orgasm scenario story with some elements from one of my own.
"What if instead of going on a date, what if my car broke down?" I asked, seeing his interest in where I was taking this hand job story, although in real life I had no car of my own yet that could do so. I had fantasies of my own though, and most of them didn't involve permission, nor even consent...
"Or, better yet, what if it was your car that broke down? What if we were on our way out on a date of our own, and your car broke down before we ever got there... and we were forced to hitchhike to get a ride? What if we were offered a ride by two farmer boys from Crestmont High School? They’re known for being just a little big and rough during our football games, y'know? What if theirs was the only car that had happened by, on that desolate county road? No other options... and no other witnesses either."
"What if those two, big, muscular boys from Crestmont then looked me up and down on the shoulder of that road like a found winning lottery ticket and their thoughts and intentions clearly visible on their leering faces... to the both of us? Or, better yet, what if they were instead in a pickup truck, like Ken's, and there was no room in the cab for all four of us to ride? You'd have to ride in the back, or wait with your broken car while I went off alone with them to find a pay phone."
My boyfriend's guy hardware began twitching again, in fact his entire overstimulated body gave little spasms on and off as if I were tickling him. The mention of our friend Ken's pickup truck was not derailing this fantasy for him in the least. It perhaps even added something to it, although Ken himself wasn't in the story at all.
We were playing a game now, I on again and off again stroking him, seeing how far I could prolong this before he exploded. My story's elements and delivery kept pace with my hand. It was teasing in a most cruel way, but he was so into this story that I had fabricated, and he most certainly wasn't complaining. He was engaged in this kinky story too, agreeing with the direction of it with little vocalizations not even really speech in the traditional sense.
"They'd make me sit in between them obviously, the passenger farmer boy picking me up by my hips and effortlessly placing me onto the high bench seat next to his buddy, the move hiking my innocent dress, but looking to anybody else like he was gallantly helping me up into the cab. The reality instead was that he and his buddy were helplessly trapping me between them, and you left with little choice but to hop up in back with the hay bales and other farmer stuff in the truck's box."
"You'd then have to watch their hands collectively explore my hiked dress, and beyond, you reduced to nothing more than a helpless through the rear window spectator. Eventually you'd get to see the surprise I had planned exclusively for you, my little, almost doesn't fit any more white string bikini, worn in place of more proper undergarments."
"They'd almost left without you, once I was stuffed into the cab and helplessly sandwiched in between them, the driver gunning the powerful engine in the hopes that you would be left behind, or perhaps even fall off..."
That did it! I was not even getting to the best part of the story I had made up, the part where I was told that I had to pay for this ride I was being given, by giving one of my own in return.
The boys in the pickup truck were borrowed from my own erotic fantasies, the rough and tumble farm boys from Crestmont and always in possession of massive lengths of rope, at least in my daydreams. In my most personal fantasies, they, or characters just like them, always stripped me naked, roughly tearing my clothes from my body and rendering them useless to be worn again, perhaps even gagging me with my own ruined panties in the process. After that, the imaginary boys from Crestmont always tied my nude and struggling body in any one of several positions, they then forced me to do the things that I specifically refused to allow my watching sweet boyfriend to do, with or without a condom.
When my boyfriend had erupted, his cum hit the headliner, the back of the front seat, and several other places. It was just incredible, the built-up pressure releasing itself in messy wave after wave. I was fascinated with the obvious results of my erotic story. Perhaps these loss-of-control, against-my-will kinds of fantasies were universally exciting, male and female. Or perhaps I was bored and needed something fresh and new for myself, maybe someone like those fictional Crestmont boys who would selfishly take what they wanted from me and not necessarily ask first.
My boyfriend was safe, impossibly so, but in that safety lay a certain amount of routineness. Before I eventually got married to him, I thought I wanted to try something just a little not so safe, at least once. I just wanted to see how I liked it, just to walk on the other side of the proverbial tracks at least one time, all by myself. I didn't necessarily want to be abducted and gang raped by some farmer boys for real though, but there just had to be something in between that horror, and my very safe future husband.
My hand as well was left a mess from my boyfriend's eruption. I removed it from his deflating cock and held it to his face so he could see what he had done. Such was unnecessary, he turned his head in disgust and wrinkling his nose comically. The smell was pungent, I not appreciating such as he exclusively came in condoms, ordinarily even during our hand job backseat "sex." Such made the cleanup easier, his mess not touching my bare skin a single time up until that point. He had run out of condoms though and was in no hurry to buy more during that particular week for obvious reasons.
Had he done something else though - something courageous, if not necessarily masculine - I might have even rewarded him in the future. I would likely have to be really wound up to do so, as I intend to save such for after our wedding. As it was, how did he expect me to do something for him that he refused to do for himself? I ignored the implicit hypocrisy for myself obviously, but such were the prerogatives of being a teenage girl with raging hormones.
My boyfriend came down hard after his big squirt, his post cum motivation completely lacking, as always, but he still breathlessly thanked me for the story, and for bringing him off. This was necessary, as I still had the keys to the cuffs in my pocketbook, and had he not properly thanked me I might have kicked him out of his own car with his pants around his ankles and driven away in it. I had suggested such a scenario to him once to bring him off. He came instantly, and then later confessed that it would be incredibly hot if I actually did so for real some time...
Ken, my boyfriend, and I had become quite the thing in the months following Ken's most recent breakup, we hanging out perpetually, often enough that it even felt like I were dating both guys, except for the sex part. It was flattering for me, but intrusive at the same time. Our sex life had gone to almost zero as a result, but that was a bigger problem for my boyfriend than it was for me... or so I claimed.
Ken was a friend to the both of us though, and we were worried about him, and that was a far higher calling than fogging up the windows on a Saturday night parked in the woods someplace. It was with this "higher calling" in mind, I assumed, that the boys suggested a camping trip to the state park, all three of us going together in a very significant first. Ken had a big enough tent, and we all had sleeping bags of one kind or another. Summer camping was more about bugs and heat rather than cold weather night time sleeping anyway.
The forecast was for extremely hot temperatures, so shorts and bathing suits would be necessary no matter what. Only after I agreed to go did my boyfriend share his desire for Ken to see just a little bit more of me than that. He wanted me to find an excuse to wear my string bikini for Ken too. It still fit me, but just barely. My boyfriend loved it like that though, so much so that I tried to find a way to include it in any erotic hand job stories I told him, the mere mention of its existence helping him along toward orgasm.
"Anything else?" I asked, my tone telling him this was already too far, as far as I was concerned.
"Yes, just make him forget about being single for a few days."
"Where was this going?" I should have asked all those years ago, but even more importantly, "Were we all going to the same place together, with the same expectations once we got there?" Those were adult concerns though, and between the three of us it seemed like there were few deep thoughts to be had leading up to that first camping trip together.
The ride to the campsite was long, we took Ken's pickup truck, with me sitting in the middle between both boys in a Deja vu kind of story moment. The truck had a bench seat, but a removable cap on the back to keep our stuff dry back there in case it rained, unlike the truck from my hand job story. Ken's old truck also had a three speed on the column manual transmission, commonly called a "three on the tree" and dating this truck to the late sixties vintage-wise. It was a hand me down old truck from his favorite uncle, with no air conditioning, nor even seat belts, but everything else worked properly.
I flirted with Ken on the trip up in another first, more to break the monotony of the trip rather than comply with my boyfriend's wishes. Nothing overt, mostly double entendres with vague sexual overtones, which I discovered Ken was very quick with. I was reminded of the recent story I had used to bring my boyfriend off, the one involving me sitting in the middle between two rough boys in a pickup truck, after our hitchhiking had turned into a quasi-abduction. Those fictional boys were dangerous brutes though, nothing subtle about their desires at all, where Ken was simply commanding in comparison.
I hadn't paid attention to the dominant aspect of Ken's personality before, but the deck was stacked in his favor on this little adventure. It was Ken's truck and gasoline taking us to a campsite he had rented, a place where he had even camped before. Ken even knew the way there without looking at the map, this way before GPS and cell phones were a popular thing, most certainly for less than wealthy teenagers like us.
My boyfriend sat about as far away from me as he could, ostensibly to get the airflow from the open passenger windows, but I suspected he wanted to allow Ken and I to have this time together, as if he temporarily wasn't there. He likely couldn't clearly hear the one-upmanship of our banter this way either, or the progressively more randy direction of our taunts. If my sitting intimately close to Ken on that trip made it hotter for him - in either way - he didn't complain about such in the least.
This was also a side of Ken that I hadn't seen before, a playfully confident side, and I liked it. At the same time something just felt different about him, and not just because his hairy bare leg occasionally rubbed up against my own freshly shaved smooth one while he shifted and drove his old truck. Ken was hairy like a man, where my boyfriend was mostly not, something else I had never really paid attention to before that particular drive together.
My unintentional abstinence didn't help with any of these observations either, my randy mind without its usual outlet because of this. And, as much as I liked to tease my boyfriend about needing it often, the truth of the matter was that I needed it too.
I don't know exactly when I came to this conclusion, but it hit me sometime before we ever got to the campsite. I realized that Ken was the de facto alpha male top dog of our little group, at least on this trip. Every other time we three had gone out, he had come with us, even if he had driven. This time we were with him; we didn't even have a ride home from this unfamiliar place if we should suddenly find ourselves not getting along with each other.
Did my boyfriend come to this conclusion before I had, allowing Ken to take his verbal liberties with me to ensure we didn't all have an argument? Or, was there some guy code kind of thing going on here, Ken the unchallenged alpha male - with certain unspecified perks - this time by default, as it was his truck and gasoline that had brought us both here?
I imagined that instead of a truck, what if Ken's vehicle were instead a boat, and he was the captain? What if he had then taken us with him to an island, an uninhabited island, perhaps in the center of a large lake? If that were instead the case, and if we expected passage back home again, we had better be very nice and accommodating to the captain, lest he maroon one, or even the both of us on the island.
It was a kinky kind of daydream scenario and Ken would never do such a thing either. Yet such was indicative of the direction of my randy thoughts, with little overlapping flashes of my sex stories told to my boyfriend in his back seat to make him cum, popping into my head. But, were these kinds of thoughts at the same time popping into his head as well? And, if so, were these welcome thoughts, or dreaded ones? We were actually riding in a pickup truck. I knew for a fact that there was rope in the back of the truck, one can hardly set up a campsite without it. My boyfriend had even packed our handcuffs as well, although not any condoms that I knew about. Not that I had any plans for the use of either.
We arrived at the campsite, and after signing in at the ranger station the nice ranger lady told us we would pretty much have the place to ourselves until the weekend, if we stayed that long. She looked at the three of us quizzically, but had the good manners to keep her thoughts to herself. My own body language, I think, was not clearly telling her which boy I was here with.
Having the place to ourselves was welcome news, not that I had any plans to exploit our privacy with Ken in attendance. Such would obviously be counterproductive to our goals of making Ken forget his single dating status and seem just a little ungrateful and trashy at the same time.
I would say that there was a difference in the boys’ moods once we had arrived at the actual campsite. Ken looked exhausted from the drive and asking his friend rather directly if he didn't mind setting up the campsite. But, looking back on things from the comfort of time passed this just seemed like more of a continuation of the power exchange that had started on the drive up, or possibly even well before that.
There was just something in the air, Ken seeming to want to be as far away from his hot truck as possible - the engine itself ticking and radiating heat like a furnace. All three of us, I think, were feeling the heat in earnest with the wind no longer blowing in through the truck's windows.
Had I not known my boyfriend like I had, or had Ken not known him as well, one might have expected a blowout argument over the subject of setting up the campsite. But there was no mistaking the submissive posture and tone my boyfriend had assumed, not to mention that Ken's request - that really wasn't a request at all - was completely reasonable, for the both of us.
My boyfriend then went into what I call "full appeasement mode." This is something he did with me when I was having my bitchy time of the month. I usually find it impossible to start an argument when one side isn't arguing back. He was great at this, and this was still another reason that he was a keeper, his tone almost always stopping just short of patronizing, something that infuriates me!
I had never seen this with another though, and most certainly not another guy. But possibly Ken had, because he just rolled with it, my boyfriend's next words hardly ambiguous at all.
"I know it's hot," my boyfriend started in a soft tone devoid of any challenge at all, "and I really appreciate you driving. How about you and Deb go find someplace to swim and cool off in that river you told us about, and you tell me exactly how you want things set up, and what you want for lunch, 'whenever' you get back?"
This meant that my boyfriend was basically inviting Ken to direct his efforts, to take further charge, while at the same time offering me up as company so Ken wouldn't be alone. His "whenever" timeline was clearly implying that this should take just as long as Ken wanted it to. This as well was different but not in such a way that set off alarm bells in my head yet it was more of an incremental kind of thing, just another step closer...
Ken then gave his best friend a verbal list of things to do to set up and where he wanted the tent and other things placed. I took notice that giving commands came naturally to him. I also noticed that following those commands came just as naturally to my boyfriend. Ken wasn't rude or anything, just clear about what he wanted.
My boyfriend's appeasement strategy had the desired effect though. Ken was actually smiling again while grabbing his swim trunks and Tweetybird cartoon themed beach towel from his pack. It would have been hard to act all pissed off while holding such a childish thing in the first place.
I had my bikini on under my cut off shorts and half shirt, but I didn't know if either boy realized this at the time. Ken was particularly interested when I didn't grab anything from my own pack for our swim. Did he think I was considering skinny dipping with him, or as a second option perhaps not swimming at all?
If either were true, he played it very cool on the subject. My boyfriend was suddenly paying attention and catching my eye though I couldn't clearly read his face. Was he excited at what I was about to do with Ken or regretful that things had gone this far this quickly despite his earlier requests for Ken to see just a little more of me?
As if to calm his fears - or perhaps stoke his fantasies - I flashed my bikini top to him when Ken was looking the other way. Telling him, or perhaps reminding him, that I had worn my bikini under my clothes. Ken and I walked toward the trail that led in the direction of the river with him several feet in the lead, my boyfriend left behind with a list of chores from Ken to keep him busy.
The concept seemed erotic to me, doubly so in fact. Ken was, for all intents and purposes, borrowing me and at the same time keeping my boyfriend occupied with his bidding. I realized at some point later that this had been the actual tipping point on Ken's active participation but participation in what exactly I didn't realize at the time. This was still just another cautious incremental step in this adventure of ours from my perspective.
The trail eventually led to a nice sandy river access point. There even being grass to lay out Ken's cartoon beach towel. All in all, a magnificent little place and we had it all to ourselves, other than any canoes that might happen by on the water. There was no place to change though, but that was more of a problem for Ken than it was for me as all I had to do was strip out of my over clothes.
I felt - rather than saw - Ken watching me, his attention very good for my ego. I relished it despite the relative physical distance between us. We were also alone together in another almost first, this camping trip full of "firsts." I decided to ham up the stripping part of stripping off my outer layer of clothes in preparation for our swim, although I would be lying if I said I had planned it that way, it just sort of spontaneously happened.
I intended my stripping to be far more comical and exaggerated, rather than lusty, but I still had Ken's undivided attention. I first worked the snaps on the front of my little shirt in slow motion, each lower one down taking a second or so to "pop" in little jerking motions with my increased tension on the shirt's neckline. I then wiggled my shoulders and arms out of it, rolling the former in what I thought was a sexy manner to do so. Lastly, I unsnapped, unzipped, and then rocked my hips out of my tight shorts with my thumbs in the waistband, ensuring that I didn't pull the strings on the bikini underneath and really give a show.
Throughout it all - and it really was a very short show - he hardly blinked, nor even breathed. It had even looked as if he were about to pop out of his skin in anticipation when I started to wiggle out of my tight shorts, his desires likely that I had nothing on under those.
Ken was a good friend, and best friend to my future husband, so I thought he was safe enough to taunt like this. I discounted the fact - at the time - that there was a horned-up teenager inside there someplace though, one that had been getting even less than my boyfriend and I had been lately.
Ken also liked the way my bikini looked when I had finished stripping for him. It was obvious, he was struggling for the right words suddenly, his tongue tied in my nearly naked presence. It was a cute little quagmire I had inadvertently constructed, and just to foolishly tweak him a little, in a continuation of our randy banter on the drive up, I asked him what he thought of it, meaning my bikini.
"I think I'm going to be dreaming about you in that little thing for months." He offered deadpan, but with a smile to tone down his compliment and make it humorously acceptable. The raging, horny, testosterone pumped teenager was held at bay, at least for now.
I knew I looked good enough, with or without my little cut off shorts and half top belly shirt that represented a departure from the more conservative things I ordinarily wore in public. Having Ken independently confirm such only further inflated my ego.
"Mission accomplished" I thought to myself. Ken had definitely forgotten that he didn't have a girlfriend of his own. Or, was I completely mistaken, and had I just inadvertently reminded him of what his best friend had and he didn't?
"Your turn" I told Ken with a smile, I stared just as intently as he had at me, almost comically so. In his case though he had to strip naked to put on his swimsuit. I was rather curious to see what his hairy and manly body looked like "in the flesh." He was more muscular than my boyfriend, and taller too, "manly" I think most accurately describes his general build.
This WAS a show, and I could see why the boys liked such things when we did them. The only thing better, in my mind, being when my boyfriend stripped me instead which was always a prelude to sex of one kind or another. There was just something... submissive, about having another fumble with your hooks, snaps, buttons, and zippers while stripping you. Not to mention that having my clothes taken off against my will - or better yet, ripped off and destroyed - always seemed to seep into my darkest erotic fantasies in one form or another. With my help lately, my boyfriend's too.
First Ken removed his shirt, I had seen him shirtless before but not lately, and not one on one like this either. He was more muscular from his part time physical jobs these days but his hairy manly chest is what caught my attention the most. I had an almost uncontrollable desire to run my fingers through it, to touch and feel it for myself, as if to confirm that it was real.
Next, he kicked off his sneakers, then he turned his back to me and slid his shorts and boxers down in one move. I looked square at his pale naked ass, only the second guy's naked ass I had ever seen in the flesh up until that point. He had to bend over further to grab his overly large swim trunks from the ground, and it was then that I really noticed the other very manly part of Ken. He was hard and erect, no doubt from my comical strip tease, and it struck me at the time that I could do that to another guy. I don't know why I expected I couldn't, I just didn't put together that my actions would have this kind of real-world effect on Ken.
In a word, I was naïve.
I only caught a glimpse of Ken's guy hardware, from behind him, but sufficient to say that Ken had nothing to be ashamed of in that department. I was struck by my own brashness, evaluating another guy's man parts like I was examining fruit at the grocery store for purchase. Why had my mind drifted further in that direction? I asked myself, I at least realized that there was something unique going on here, belatedly.
I had to cool this off, I reasoned, although when Ken turned back around I could tell that such might be hard for him, pardon the pun. His loose swim trunks did nothing to contain his excitement, I looked down at such and got caught myself.
"Sorry about that" I offered, to which Ken just kind of sheepishly half smiled in reply, he was apparently ashamed to be sporting a stiffy "inspired" by his best friend's girlfriend.
I walked over to him then - we had been several feet apart this whole time - and gave him a peck on the cheek like it was his birthday all over again. He had to put his arm around me and turn his head to accommodate the move, his hot hand feeling electric where it touched the bare skin of my shoulder. He purposely turned his body as well so as not to grind his erect man parts up against my bare leg, I wondered what would have happened then and there if Ken wasn't such a nice guy though.
"I REALLY didn't mean to do that to you... You must think I'm a terrible tease." I told him hoping my kiss conveyed the sincerity of my apology.
Ken and I swam in the cool and slow-moving river. We were together and talking; together as in submerged and less than a foot apart. Most of the time we weren't actually swimming strokes. The cool water had the desired effect, cooling not only Ken's sex drive but my own. Things had gotten tense there for a bit but it all worked out ok.
He and I talked without interruption about every subject under the sun, from past girlfriends, to my boyfriend who was also his best friend, and the only serious boyfriend I had ever had. Nothing was taboo and it was surreal to be having this kind conversation with a guy who wasn't my boyfriend.
"You know," he started off, the humor in his voice clear. "You got to see a lot more of me than I got to see of you." Ken then playfully grabbing one of the left strings on my bikini bottoms between his right index finger and thumb, as if to accentuate the point.
I felt my face light up and smile in reaction. I didn't pull away either, the act certain to strip my bottoms at least partially off if I had. He wasn't serious but this was getting dangerously close to my "clothes ripped off against my will" fantasies and I hoped Ken didn't see that spark in my eyes from his playful threat. He was looking into my eyes and watching my face intently though, so it was at least possible that he had noticed.
This was only possible because his eyes had eventually stopped drifting toward my boobs like they did when I had first stripped for him. During our candid conversations he had explained - unnecessarily - that his past girlfriends were not quite so well endowed. I had met each of them, so this seemed a curious thing to point out although I will admit that another girl's boobs aren't the first thing I notice when meeting her. Still, this interest in my chest is something he had successfully concealed up until now and I wondered what else he had hidden at the same time.
A little fast-moving snippet of a deja vu daydream then went racing through my mind: in it, Ken moved even closer to me and kissed me fully on the lips, and I passionately kissed him back! This was no peck on the cheek either. His kiss, and the many more that followed, melted my resistance. Ken then kept his playful threat, stripping me bare, pulling all my strings as we embraced in the water and made out like the oversexed teenagers that we were. He then tossed my bikini out into the faster moving center part of the river where it floated away as I watched out of the corner of my eye...
"I think we missed lunch," I told Ken unnecessarily, while startling myself out of my daydream. I was wondering what my boyfriend might be thinking happened to us. If this were one of my back-seat hand job stories it would be obvious, and I wondered if his mind might be drifting in a similar direction. Still, he had seen the direction we had walked and if he were curious to see what we were up to he could have always checked up on us and seen for himself.
But he hadn't!
Ken had released my string when I had pointed out the time. It was now late afternoon, and we needed to get back to the campsite by unspoken consensus.
"Do you think we're in trouble?" I asked Ken rhetorically.
"I doubt it," Ken replied. "Do you have any idea how kinky he can be?"
"I do, but I didn't know you did," I confessed. There was no good way I could probe the depth of Ken's knowledge of his friend's kink nor what exactly that had to do with our being late. Such things made me wonder though, and made me wonder at the ease at which Ken had assumed command back at the campsite.
"I know you guys play with ropes and handcuffs, that's pretty kinky," Ken observed, it being my time to be embarrassed now.
I could have responded in any number of ways, but I instead elected to silently carry my clothes and wear my wet bikini back to the camp exclusively. I also wanted to save my shorts and shirt for another day, if possible, as I hadn't packed, nor did I own, all that much extra "skimpy" clothing. Ken used his towel, after offering it to me first, and put his shirt back on, covering up his magnificent chest in the process. We walked and talked like the better friends we were on the way back. I asked only one favor of him before we got back to the camp proper.
"I know you guys razz each other sometimes, but please don't do it this time if he's upset about our being gone so long."
"He won't be," Ken stated confidentially, as if quoting some law of physics that I should have known.
Ken and I made sure we were talking loud enough for my boyfriend to hear as we approached the camp. Other than a rather excited expression on seeing my wet bikini and nothing else on my body he seemed unfazed by our long absence. Ken looked at me as if to say "I told you so" and then looked around and complimented his friend on the setup. On initial inspection all apparently looked in order, or more precisely, as per Ken's rather detailed directions.
My boyfriend was playing it very cool in Ken's presence. I was surprised that he didn't want to rush right over and "reclaim" me from my extended time away from him. Ken was still in charge though, I FELT it, perhaps even we both did, and such an overt action might challenge that perceived command. As a general rule though neither my boyfriend nor I ever did anything physical in Ken's presence; no personal displays of affection, or PDA. It just seemed so out of place to be doing so in front of a friend that struggled to find and keep a girlfriend of his own.
This failure to reclaim me was curious, but then I had to remind myself, reclaim me from what, exactly, as nothing happened!
Two possibilities then popped into my head. Both were related - in a way - to the stories I had told my future husband to pop him off: Did he think it "impossible" that a man like Ken would find me attractive and desirable, most certainly one on one in my little string bikini, a garment designed specifically to entice members of the opposite sex? And, did his lack of desire to reclaim me therefore stem from his assurance that nothing could possibly happen - under any circumstance - that would cause Ken to chase after me, let alone catch me?
Or, did my boyfriend and future husband think something already DID happen, and he so submissively accepted such that he couldn't summon the courage, or desire, to protest and wish to take back from the dominant alpha male of our group what had been exclusively his only a few hours earlier? Furthermore, was this such a casual gift, my body, that the loss of its exclusivity was something of little note?
There was actually some circumstantial evidence to support the latter theory, from his point of view at least. We both were wearing different clothes than we had left in, and we were rather exhausted from our swimming, but that could look exactly like another kind of exhaustion to a dominated kinky boyfriend busy with chores. We had also been gone far longer than one might have expected for "just swimming."
Ken and I also had been walking closer together physically and talking more freely together than we ever had before as we approached the campsite earlier. That was only because this one on one opportunity for such between Ken and I hadn't presented itself before. Had my boyfriend noticed this too, and then came to an erroneous conclusion as to its cause? If so, I would have to conclude that he was more than ok with this, I further concluded that my backseat hand job stories for him "might" just be something more than mere fantasy... for him.
A third option that never occurred to my teenage mind that night was that my boyfriend trusted both Ken and I and suspected nothing happened because of this fact alone.
There was a way to test either theory, but Ken would have to be "on board" for it. The overall risk - as in a risk vs reward kind of way - would be heavily skewed toward the risk column, but my teenage mind didn't evaluate that clearly back then, nor did it take into account that teenage lust can have a mind of its own at some point.
In two camp chairs - placed next to each other - I whispered my vague intentions to Ken, asking him to really just play along a little with me. I told him he would know when I wanted it to stop. I remember it clearly to this day, the words profound to me years later, but I hadn't any such deep thoughts at the time.
Ken had placed those two chairs we had been sitting in himself, and these had been set out of the smoke of the fire ring that was smoldering from an earlier fire of my boyfriend's. The wind's ever so slight blowing had likely changed directions, hardly a first, and I thought no more to the placement of the two chairs than that. Had Ken some ulterior motives of his own, other than keeping us out of the smoke? This I couldn't answer at the time but upon reflection this was just another step closer...
The placement of the chairs so far from my boyfriends seemed significant to him though. This would have been an easy thing to correct by moving "his" next to "ours" if he had wanted however. Was Ken sending an overt signal to my boyfriend, one of possession, or just not thinking too deeply himself? No matter the reason, my boyfriend cheerfully went along with the placement, this the "new normal" between us apparently.
We collectively worked on dinner after the fire was re-stoked and suitable coals for cooking were present. Ken and I were still in our swim clothes, my boyfriend stealing glances in our direction every now and then but not saying a word on the subject. Was this the kind of exposure he had in mind when he had asked me to show Ken just a little more skin, or was this well past his own comfort level?
After dinner and cleanup, which my boyfriend mostly did, I suggested truth or dare. Ken enthusiastically agreed to, either as part of our little "innocent" conspiracy, or because he truthfully liked the idea. My boyfriend went along, cheerfully. If he had a complaint about anything he had seen so far, or what we had done, he failed to voice such in the smallest of ways and I think this submissiveness of his emboldened both Ken and I.
I just "knew" there had to be a tipping point with my boyfriend, a point where this was no longer fun for him. This wasn't a fictional backseat hand job story where he got to cum and then everything went back to normal in a kind of "reset" afterwards. At the same time, I liked flirting with Ken; he was very charming and attentive. My ego was soaring at being so sought after by two boys, although only one of them had much closer to the body of a man as I recently came to notice.
It was getting dark by then, and I was just a little chilly in my still damp bathing suit. My nipples came alive with my goosebumps and I think both guys were noticing. A couple of logs on the fire eventually took care of that and gave us some much-needed light as well. The first truth or dare question went to my boyfriend. He choosing truth with Ken asking the question:
"What did you do while we were gone?" and, implied in Ken's tone, were the extra unspoken words, "so long?"
"I set up the camp as you wanted" (not asked, I specifically noticed) "and then just basically puttered around gathering firewood. I even had time to build a fire, and take a nap." My boyfriend's answer not rising to the bait Ken had left.
It was then my boyfriend's turn to ask a question, this time to Ken, he as well choosing truth:
"Did you want me to come down and join you when my chores were done?" The implications of his question were far reaching, as was his ultimate decision NOT to intrude on us even though he easily could have. The choice of the word "chores" was likely no accident either, chores in our part of the word having the connotation of being busy work given to children... to keep them occupied.
"No," was Ken's friendly one-word answer, but delivered with a big smile, as in, "I have a secret that you would just love to know."
This meant it was my turn for a question, and Ken was asking it to me:
"What size are those?" Ken talking and looking directly at my boobs like a brute while asking, so as to avoid any confusion on the subject although he was still smiling. My boyfriend squirmed in his seat, as if making room for his erection, although his baggy blue jean shorts hid that successfully; Ken's swimsuit not so much. I apparently was getting a rise out of him a second time in the same day. What's worse was that my boyfriend, sitting almost across from us, couldn't help but to notice this.
I blushed just a little, but we were all friends, Ken was asking basically the same question in a different way as when we were swimming together. That meant that this question was for my boyfriend's benefit, and not his own. Not that my boyfriend didn't know my sizes, but to let him know that Ken was privy to these kinds of more intimate things now too.
Ken had just moved his chess pieces further across the board, and it was up to my boyfriend to respond, or withdraw...
"My bikini top, or my boobs?" I asked crudely. I was feeling randy with all this attention and there was just something about the setting as well. Here I was camping, in the dark, with two guys, each of whom might like to get into my panties in some form or another although only one of them was strictly speaking "allowed" to. But I was almost completely naked except for the presence of my threadbare bikini, that both guys seemed to be fixated on. One of them I had made love to countless times although not lately and the other was fresh and new and ever so slightly dangerous and off limits. We also had chemistry, Ken and I, but I wasn't looking for another future husband as I was quite happy with the present one.
The dangerous one had constructed a fence around himself, proverbially speaking, but this fence was wobbly and its barriers not clearly defined. To make matters worse this fence also had a gate and earlier I had even teasingly swung the gate open just a little with me on one side of it and he safely on the other only for me to swing it closed again abruptly. In this way I was like a child, tormenting the powerful dog on the other side of the neighbors’ fence, not clearly thinking through what would happen when that dog broke free...
"My bikini top is a thirty-four C, but I'm much more like a thirty-six D these days. Strings are great though, and infinitely adjustable" I added, so as not to sound like I was flaunting my bust. Truth be told, I was at times self-conscious about them; it's why I hid them far more than I showed them off except for select company. Ken was now included in that group.
I realized that we were now leaving my boyfriend out of this game, as if he weren't there. He seemed not to mind, or perhaps that he was transfixed might be a better way to say it. He was more like a voyeur at that point, secretly watching but not making a sound for fear of getting caught. The sexual tension was building between Ken and I at the same time; it was obvious to anyone with a brain but my boyfriend's was preoccupied. I would only find out later on what exactly.
"Have you ever played with rope?" I asked Ken, my own voice sounding softer, more inviting, although I hadn't intended such. He had broached the subject with me earlier, and I thought turnabout was only fair play.
"Could you be more specific?" Ken asked, his words perhaps hinting that he wanted me, and except for this little problem of his best friend being present and watching - and his good manners that were being challenged - he was just a few moves away from calling "checkmate!"
"Like... tie up a girlfriend, or handcuff her, something like that... before you would..." I couldn't bring myself to say "make love", or "screw", or anything like that, but the general feeling was definitely in the air, so I didn't have to.
"Yeah! Cathy was pretty wild. I talked her into being tied up once, just her wrists though. It was fun while it lasted." I had unintentionally reminded him that he no longer had Cathy to play with, although that seemed not to be a problem suddenly.
It was then Ken's turn to ask a question again, he being rather opportunistic in his choice. "Same question to you buddy" Ken asked.
"I've only been on the receiving end... but it's a huge turn on for me" my boyfriend added unnecessarily, telling Ken he perhaps liked the loss of control such games provided.
That meant it was my boyfriend's turn, and he asked the question to me this time, although it came out as a "dare only" kind of question, the rules for truth or dare quite flexible though.
"I dare you to do something kinky."
"Okay." I got up and motioned for Ken to stand. I moved up against him tight, body to body, with my bare right leg between both of his, my upper thigh and mound grinding right up against his engorged cock. I then put my arms around him, and pulled him even tighter to me, Ken not resisting at all. I then kissed him passionately right on the lips, this most certainly NOT a peck on the cheek. I felt his hard and large man bits grind up against me, and my boobs where they pressed up against his magnificent chest, my hard nipples also grinding into him through my bikini top, and his own arms pulling me in and crushing me in return.
It was perhaps the most passionate embrace and kiss I had ever had, made all the more so by my state of undress, and that my boyfriend had sort of asked for such and was watching it all. We reluctantly disengaged after perhaps fifteen seconds of some very passionate kissing and we then both sat back down again. Ken had gone with my brazen move fluidly, his erection prominent as were my straining nipples that always gave away my excitement. I was feeling just a little squishy as well, and for a guy other than my own boyfriend in another significant "almost" first.
"How's that?" I asked breathlessly, Ken's passionate bone crushing kiss had broken down my barriers more than I expected it might but the desire to kiss him had been a teenage impulse decision and not well thought out. Ken had a smirk on his face. This may just be a little less of a friendly game for him than it was for my boyfriend suddenly. Not lost on my boyfriend either was that this was a far greater level of PDA than he and I had ever engaged in by silent mutual consensus, in front of Ken at any rate.
"That was fuckin hot!" my boyfriend cursed as he absentmindedly rubbed at his crotch. If it was my intention to make him jealous, I had failed miserably. If, however, it was instead my intention to further inflame Ken's simmering lust for me I would have to say that it was a smashing success. Truth be told, I didn't have any intentions one way or the other that night, I just wanted to kiss Ken, but from the comfort of time passed I know what it must have looked like to both guys.
Truth or dare as well had only been an excuse to learn what might be motivating my boyfriend towards this new submissive attitude of his while at the same time whittle away the night and provide a distraction before we all awkwardly crawled into Ken's tent together. This particular game had morphed into a kind of foreplay, but foreplay with Ken and not my boyfriend...
"How about you move your sleeping bag out of 'our' tent tonight? There's hardly room in there for all three of us anyway," I lied, "and it's not like it's going to rain or anything." I offered reasonably but as if negotiating with a child not fully understanding what the adults in the room were after. It came out patronizingly and truth be told I was getting very horned up myself and as a result the words that left my lips were far more honest that I may have intended.
I continued. "In other words, how about you sleep under the stars tonight, while Ken and I share his tent?" I asked my strangely also horned up boyfriend, but just a little more directly this time. Surely if he liked watching Ken and I make out he might like to watch just a little more of it from outside the tent.
I couldn't get my head wrapped around both boys taking turns making out with me at the same time although I was horned up enough to try almost anything at that point. My body was telling my mind quite clearly what it wanted me to do. Would they want to share me and take turns, or both try to kiss all over me at the same time? And, which one of the two in such a scenario would eventually get left out? I don't know that I was actually after "that" though, My offer went straight to my lips rather than being processed and filtered through the thinking part of my brain first without a care in the world about what happened next. I had even said basically the same thing twice, so I couldn't claim later that there had been some huge misunderstanding if it didn't turn out so well.
"What's in it for me?" my boyfriend asked with a smile, my over the top suggestion to kick him out for the night not having anywhere near the effect one might expect. This was real, and Ken a real flesh and blood man, not some fictitious "boys from Crestmont" that are easily fabricated and just as easily forgotten after the dirty deed was done.
Would either Ken, or I, be happy with just "making out" once alone? I asked myself reasonably, as if there were two people inside my one body each trying to take control of the other. One was quite soft spoken, but logical and thinking in the long term. The other was loud and horny, and thinking in terms of "right now."
"Okay. How about this?" I asked while upping the ante, my simmering in-the-middle-of-the-night teenage lust making something impossibly taboo seem somehow like a good idea. "How about you put your sleeping bag over there by the picnic table, between those four trees, and I tie you up, nice and tight, right in front of Ken. If you get out, you get to do anything you might like to me, anything at all, for the entire time we're here, Ken included." I added, after making eye contact with Ken.
"BUUUUT!” I added quickly. “And this is a big but, if you can't get yourself out, we, meaning Ken and I, get to do whatever 'we' want, as in to you, or with each other."
"How long do I have?" My boyfriend asked seriously. He was actually thinking about doing this, surely knowing what might happen next, and then possibly after that the way I was feeling. I was incredulous, my body language alone should have told him clearly what may well happen, if not at the very least hint at the struggle going on inside of me. But, despite all that, even in my present horned up state, I was still willing to call his bluff. It was surreal, like I was watching the actions of another...
"An hour, but we get to distract you in any way we want."
"Naked and blindfolded" Ken added, bumping this game of ours up exponentially. Naked meant sex. Everything we had done to that point could possibly be explained away as quasi-innocent. A kiss could still be just a kiss, even while wearing a bikini in the middle of the night with a man's erect cock grinding up against you...
"Too late to be shy now," Ken advised his friend. This was it, my boyfriend's last out. He could still claim he was too embarrassed to strip in front of his best friend and put a stop to all this madness. I at the same time found it hard to believe that the two hadn't seen each other in the buff before. My girlfriends and I all had.
"And no regrets either. I don't want to hear 'boohoo, I lost my... g... bet...' like ever" I stuttered; I almost saying "girlfriend" instead of "bet" in a Freudian slip of colossal proportions.
"Deal," my boyfriend answered, I then realized that he thought there was no way he could possibly lose this bet, and I concluded quite the opposite.
I watched him get his sleeping bag from the tent, I noticed how he had them laid out inside there, mine placed in between both guys. It was another clue, they all led to one of two possible conclusions. Ken walked one way to get the rope from the back of his truck as I went the other to follow my boyfriend to the spot I had indicated he should lay out his sleeping bag for the night.
I then pulled his tee shirt over his head once he got into position, he passively allowed me to start stripping him in preparation for our "dare." I then took his shirt and blindfolded him with it, thinking this might make his stripping before his friend just a little easier and give him a last second "out" on this dare as we stood close to each other, if he should want one.
He didn't ask for one... and I didn't offer one either.
"STRIP!" I ordered in a commanding voice that sounded just a little over loud to my ears. With little choice anyway he did. He was shortly left standing before the both of us completely naked. His hard self sticking straight out from his body like a weapon leaving little doubt as to whether he found this whole situation exciting or not. I left him standing there on display before his friend with a raging hard on as I opened his sleeping bag's zipper. In this way he could be covered up inside it when he didn't escape my rope work as I expected would happen.
My boyfriend had always escaped my knots in the past but that's because I had allowed him to. Struggling and then escaping, I realized, were a serious turn on for him. I knew this and always played along, and I had thought he had realized this at the time, but...
I helped my boyfriend to blindly lay down as Ken watched. He obviously did not want to interfere, nor even touch my naked boyfriend in the slightest way, as if touching a naked guy made you instantly gay or something. The fact that I had to help him reinforced his helplessness with me and made him temporarily something less than the other "man" in our company, to my teenage eyes at any rate.
His wrists were first, Ken silently cutting his long rope, bisecting it into the four equal lengths I had silently indicated, I first tied one wrist and then the other independently, to two different trees that he lay between. The trees weren't very large, but they didn't have to be to keep him anchored in place. My rope work was about as tight as it could be without cutting off his circulation. I tied five half hitch knots in each just to be sure.
I had also run the rope along the back of each of his hands as opposed to his palms. Not that he would be able to untie his wrists with just the fingers of one hand anyway, but it was an extra level of security just in case. I wanted to prove to him what I could really do and that I didn't need Ken's help either although I realized that he had thought I did after reading his account of this little first of ours.
Next came his ankles. I tied off to them first using several wraps of rope there and five knots each, just like on his wrists. Ken then helped me to drag both my boyfriend and his open sleeping bag downwards, pulling tension on his wrists until they were almost taunt. I didn't want to hurt him, but I couldn't let him have enough slack for one hand to reach the other either. I then tied off his ankle ropes to the other two small trees. I was confident he wasn't going anywhere unless of course one of us had a change of heart and let him escape.
"Deb and I are going to get to know each other just a little better in the tent buddy, if you want to stop that, or even maybe join in, you better hurry up and get yourself out," Ken taunted his friend.
"How long do I have?" my boyfriend asked, while suddenly sounding just a little less confident in himself. Either that, or this had suddenly become very real for him, with the addition of being forced to strip, the bondage, and the blindfold. Ken was here as well, unlike in our back-seat hand job stories, and he was real as well, with his own goals no doubt.
"Take all the time you want, but I think after two hours or so it won't really matter all that much, will it?" Ken further taunted, although the exact nature of that particular taunt escaped me.
Ken and I then kept his threat and we walked toward his tent, his hand in mine and him gently pulling me. It was a possessive "taking charge" of me that started to turn me on again. I had cooled off sexually while binding my boyfriend to the trees but I still had no specific plans either, as crazy as this sounds. I had taunted Ken sexually more than once on that particular day and making out with him had been fun. I wasn't quite "there" yet as far as Ken was concerned, but I was getting closer once again, and my willpower was getting weaker at the same time.
Why had my boyfriend surrendered so easily to Ken? I asked myself, I just knew I was missing something here, something profound.
"So, what do you want to do?" Ken asked me with a sexy smile as we each laid on our own sleeping bags in the dark tent, facing each other, hands on heads, and just talking like the even better friends we were.
"Before I answer that, tell me one thing. What are you guys up to?" I asked Ken in a soft tone not likely to carry back toward my bound boyfriend. It wasn't meant to be an accusation and I hoped it didn't come out that way, but my smile, if he could even see it in the dark, should have made that clear. I had a feeling, whatever it was, that my boyfriend, and not Ken was the architect this particular time and that it obviously involved me.
"I don't know for sure, but I have a pretty good educated guess. If I share it with you though, you have to promise not to rat me out, I mean like ever. We're friends, he and I, and what I think he's up to is kind of really nice and sharing, if you get my drift. The only question is if you're up for it. Because if you're not..."
"HEY, WHAT YOU GUYS DOIN IN THERE?'' We both clearly heard from my bound boyfriend, his voice interrupting Ken, and it sounding like this wasn't going quite to his plans.
"Why don't you come over and see for yourself?" I answered back in a normal conversational tone. We had no campers even close to us, but yelling out in the middle of the night might still bring the ranger around to check on us.
"You mean like a threesome?" I asked Ken seamlessly, as if we hadn't been interrupted, and in the same soft tone as before. This was pretty far from just making out with Ken, but I couldn't argue with the effect I had seen on either guy. This is something my boyfriend might actually consider with how close both guys were. I was not nearly as shocked as one might expect because of this, and truth be told I did find Ken desirable although I had placed him solidly in the "do not touch friend's zone" before that particular night.
"See, you already had it figured out yourself but I guess that all depends on whether he gets out of your little trap or not, doesn't it?" Ken asked reasonably.
Unless my boyfriend's real plans were for a twosome instead, with him "forced" to watch? I thought. Such would be closer to the stories I had brought him off with numerous times in the past. And, who better to share me with than his best friend, presently without a girlfriend of his own to complicate things even further? If he had asked me I might have even helped, or at least considered helping. As it was now he had to be taught a lesson, even if his ultimate intentions were wonderfully altruistic. In my mind I had a "hall pass" with Ken no matter what, but I wasn't sure that I wanted to use it or not. I still had more of a mindset to see what happens and just let nature take its course.
"Let's have some fun with this, you and I? And, if it doesn't go so well, just blame me. He can't stay mad at me for anything, you know that."
"Okay, what do you want to do?" Ken asked again, but this time, hopefully, I at least had a very rough idea of what to do.
"He so gets off on the idea of being forced to watch." I hypocritically left out that I just got off on just being forced, with or without him watching.
Ken nodded, either telling me he already knew this about his friend, implying that he also knew about his latent submissiveness, or telling me he was intently listening and didn't want to interrupt me for fear of ruining the mood.
"How about we go back out there and put on a little show for him, let him hear us fooling around a little? But do me a favor and be just a little aggressive with me, kind of like a brute. I'll tell you when to stop." and as if to accentuate my point, I leaned over and gave Ken a very friendly kiss. I had no idea, before that night, that Ken was such a good kisser.
With the matter settled - although in reality it was anything but - Ken and I decided to keep my boyfriend company as he struggled for escape. It was my intention to torment him just a little as a distraction, with Ken's help, so as to make him confess his kinky plans one way or the other. What exactly would happen after that I hadn't considered; my teenage mind was only after a confession and truth. I was fixated on that alone as far as he was concerned.
Ken and I walked back toward the picnic table near where he was tied, my intention to allow Ken to take ever greater liberties to see if I could use this as leverage to discover which of the two options my boyfriend was after; twosome with him watching, or awkward threesome that was likely to leave someone left out with hard feelings? I didn't necessarily want a threesome though, fantasies aside, and didn't think I could handle one even if I did...
I had a thought buried in the very back of my mind, just the spark of a very naughty idea really: If my boyfriend was really after a twosome instead, with him watching, and he was tied and naked already, and in the perfect position TO watch, why not give it to him, just this one time? I could have my boyfriend almost any time I wanted but this opportunity, with Ken, I thought was a one-time deal. It would be, at the same time, so good for Ken and his own ego with all his girlfriend problems...
I couldn't help but to notice that my boyfriend wasn't struggling to escape when we approached, as if he was happy where he was. But that could have just as easily been surrender, his proper assessment of his situation telling him he wasn't going anywhere, without help.
"Do you think we should leave him blindfolded?" I asked Ken with a giggle once close enough to my boyfriend that he couldn't help but to hear us. My deference now was obviously to Ken and not my boyfriend. Conspicuously absent was my asking my boyfriend for his preference either, nor even using his name. My boyfriend was bound and helpless before us, and therefore at our mercy. This no choices option drove that point home as it did his lower status. There was a part of me that liked having him like this, as if it felt like the more natural mode for him.
"MAKE HIM WATCH!" Ken commanded, he clearly relishing his role as the alpha male brute once again. "And, if he makes one more peep, gag him!" Ken further conditioned. He spoke as if we had already won our wager with my boyfriend. The strange part was that I was willing to unconditionally follow those orders, this temporary power of Ken's extending over me as well as my boyfriend, as if I were in his trance.
I removed my boyfriend's blindfold as Ken commanded, bunching up the shirt and making an acceptable pillow out of it for him as it looked like he might actually be spending the night where he was. I then touched his hands and feet next to make sure they weren't cold or anything. I was satisfied that he was okay where he was for the night if Ken wouldn't "let" me untie him and it actually came to that.
My boyfriend and I then caught each other's eyes. His had been searching for mine but I had avoided his gaze, fearful at what I might see. With little choice I eventually locked eyes and just looked back at him, his face, to my astonishment, showing guilt. This suggested that his idea for Ken to see "just a little more of me," was really just a part of his plan to both inflame Ken's lust and trick me into a threesome with both guys. He didn't have to say so, I could see it in his eyes. He was oh so caught and he knew it and there would have to be some consequences...
I didn't realize it at the time, but this "guilt" of his was the ultimate gift, unconditionally releasing me from any guilt of my own for what was to happen next, or even on and off for the next several years after that.
I looked back for a long few seconds while pondering those same "consequences," the unintentional big "come fuck me" smile creeping to my face of its own accord. I couldn't hide it, even if I had wanted to. Could he see my playful thoughts? I wondered foolishly. Surely he could, he knew me soooo well. Could he possibly not know that this look wasn't exclusively for him any longer? That was a second question, and about to be answered one way or the other.
I then blew a kiss to my bound boyfriend but with my back toward Ken and the picnic table, I was also feeling Ken's competing stare on my bent over ass illuminated in the firelight at the same time. Did my boyfriend notice this as well?
I was about to give into temptation, with fate playing its role as it sometimes does. Both guys wanted me, perhaps even at the same time, I could see this now, but it was a foregone conclusion that only one of them would succeed on this trip. I saw it in my boyfriend's eyes too. He knew it was going to happen, and still he didn't move to stop it, even though I now was almost certain that his preference was for the threesome. He looked me up and down in my bikini one final time and then smiled back at me, green lighting whatever was to happen next. I took final notice of his guy parts as I stepped away from him. They were still erect and hard, his cock sticking straight up like the lonely bare flagpole on some now deserted island.
Ken saw that very same smile on my face as I walked over to him. He, even as a teen, likely knew what it meant. I still didn't know how far things might go, but fate and lust... and obviously Ken, were now in the driver's seat. I was just along for the ride.
"I dare you to kiss me" I challenged softly in intimate tones, but keeping with the format of our truth or dare games of earlier.
Ken did, and I responded, my boyfriend silently watching his best friend and I make out while seated at the picnic table just a few feet away from him, but well out of reach. When we eventually came up for air Ken dared me to do the same. Ken was an excellent kisser and had my body boiling in response.
Ken's hands were rubbing all over my shoulders and arms, avoiding my more intimate areas. He was not yet privy to the quasi confession I already had from my bound and watching boyfriend and ostensibly the entire reason for this "act" of his. Ken was smooth though, what I had thought were "innocent" touches on my arms, were instead the seamless migration of his large hands and the moving of my own wrists behind my back with them.
Even stranger, I let him do as he wished. He crossed my passive wrists behind my back, one over the other, then used his large left hand to trap both of them back there. I opened my mouth and moaned in response - we had been closed mouth kissing up until that point - he then took the opportunity to explore my open mouth with his tongue. I reciprocated, our kissing bumping up a notch or two on the passion meter, like no mere friends would ever do. We were noisy with each other, but I didn't hear a peep out of my boyfriend on the subject. Perhaps he was taking Ken's threat to gag him as serious.
There was no way Ken, even as a teen, could have mistaken both my moan, and my failure to stop him as anything but encouragement. His improvised restraint felt just wonderful to me. My nipples were about as hard as they'd ever been and were poking through my thin bikini top almost painfully. Ken, being a big boob man, couldn't help but to touch one exploratively, his left hand trapping both my own at the small of my back and forcing my chest up and out as if I were offering it up to him.
We were seated next to and facing each other, my left boob the most accessible to his free right hand. Either by accident or design it was also the most visible to my watching boyfriend. Ken first traced around my areola with his finger, over top of my bikini top, that alone causing me to goose bump and groan in response. We were still making out, but I could feel him looking down and toward my helpless boyfriend while doing so, as if to say "look what I'm doing to your girlfriend buddy!"
With no obvious response from my boyfriend Ken then upped the ante and got just a little rougher with me. I generally liked my boobs treated roughly when the passion was high enough and this being one of those times. This was also in keeping with my earlier request for Ken to be just a little brute like with me. He was only doing as I had asked and only, theoretically, just waiting for me to tell him to stop.
In keeping with this ever-rougher trend he then cupped my whole boob in his hand from down low. He was squeezing and shaping the mass of my flesh like he was kneading dough. As he lifted his hand it ever so slowly moved upwards. When he got to my distended nipple he pinched it playfully between his fingers... and I arched my back on reflex and orgasmed right there next to him. All from his manhandling alone! I had never cum from something like this, even though my boobs are quite sensitive, but that being said, my little orgasm was a surprise for all of us.
It took a few seconds for me to regain my composure, and for Ken to release my wrists, after the shock of being forced to perform like this for him abated. An uncontrollable urge soon washed over me, displacing my shock; I had to have Ken's manhood in my mouth. I needed to taste the man who had just made me orgasm, just from playing with my boobs with a single hand, I needed him to be the recipient of my first ever blow job.
I had initially intended this to be one of two exclusive wedding presents for my future husband, but those thoughts were gone now, replaced with the immediate and overwhelming desire to do something wonderful for Ken in return for what he had just done for me. I knew intellectually that my boyfriend was watching but that didn't matter to my lust fueled mind. Ken had something that my body wanted and it was going to get it!
I pulled Ken's shirt off over his head, just as I had done to my boyfriend not twenty minutes earlier. In Ken's case I ran my hands up his chest afterwards, feeling the manly hair there, just as I had wanted to do earlier. I then told him to stand with a husky voice that I didn't even recognize as my own. He nevertheless responded, likely knowing instinctively that something wonderful was about to happen for him.
I knelt submissively before Ken not ten feet in front of my bound and watching boyfriend, I then pulled down his large swim trunks. The cock that had been on and off tempting my will to resist all day springing to life and slapping me square in the face. It caused me to flinch backwards comically. The thing was monstrous, easily the biggest one I had ever seen, but to be fair, I had only ever seen one other in the flesh. My boyfriend's was wonderfully average, or at least I had thought so compared to what we had learned in health class, but Ken's in comparison was truly large. If my boyfriend had a banana, Ken had a cucumber in comparison!
At that particular moment I needed a cucumber though, but I inexplicably kept my hands on Ken's thighs as I attempted to first kiss my moving target, although why exactly I don't know. It almost felt like a perverse version of bobbing for apples, sans teeth. I eventually succeeded. I then opened my mouth about as far as it would go to fully receive him, but I only got the first few inches of him inside. I bobbed my head up and down on Ken's cock but so little of it was inside my stretched mouth that I doubted it felt all that good for him. My first ever blow job was likely an abject failure.
Ken, to his credit, told me not to waste it, meaning what exactly I didn't know. He had helped me back to my feet directly afterwards, either because he wanted me to save face, or because he wanted to explore my body further while my future hubby was forced to watch.
It turned out to be the latter, Ken easily picking me up and sitting me on the top of the picnic table. He took a seat in front and faced me like I was his dinner. He then pulled the strings to my bikini top and roughly stripped me of it, almost reminding me of what he had playfully threatened to do to me earlier when we had been swimming together. I then watched Ken wad up the scant garment and toss it directly at my helpless boyfriend, landing it square on his bare chest, just in case he had somehow missed his girlfriend getting stripped almost completely nude just a few feet away. My boyfriend stared back at both of us, transfixed and speechless.
Being a firm teen, my bikini didn't hold my boobs up, quite the opposite as my boobs held my old bikini up, and as a result their being freed from the confines of my top did nothing to spoil their shape. Ken noticed this, his comment that I had fantastic tits perhaps a bit crude, but he was still likely playing a part here, and that character was purposely just a little rough.
Ken pulled me closer towards him and attacked my chest with both his hands and his lips, squeezing and nursing one, and then the other as I grunted out my approval. It felt magnificent, my own boyfriend afraid to be this rough with me, as if he would break me if he tried. Ken had no such fears, perhaps he even learned this from past girlfriends that he had been intimate with. No matter how he had learned it, my boyfriend was being schooled by his best friend, and I hoped that he was taking mental notes while sitting at the front of the proverbial class. Ken was experienced, perhaps not for a thirty-year-old, but to me, at that time, he was wise beyond his years.
I put my arms around Ken's head, pulling him into me further although he didn't really need the encouragement. My boyfriend noticed but he was still speechless, just looking and watching the show. Ken then broke from plundering my naked breasts but only to take a further liberty.
Ken savagely grabbed both my wrists, his power over me to do so intoxicating. He pinned them once again behind my back helplessly, but this time with both of his hands. I groaned, this position doing something magical to me, I was turning into a squishy mess right before his eyes. He then pulled me even closer, nuzzling up to my neck right under my jaw with his lips that I knew so well, I turned my head cooperatively but instead of a sweet kiss as I expected he instead sucked on my tender flesh there, sucking hard and not letting go, even when I squealed and struggled for escape. He easily overpowered me, taking what he wanted from me as I was helpless to stop it.
Eventually he let me go. I felt like I had just been victimized by a modern-day vampire but in reality the only casualty was a dark love bite. Ken was simply marking his territory, simply because he could, all as my boyfriend was forced to watch.
"Okay, you guys win, let me go now!" My boyfriend pleaded, breaking the trance he had been in. Either my struggling or Ken's stolen love bite had broken through the fantasy aspect of this for him.
Ken was still in full domination mode though and I had yet to tell him to stop.
"That sounded like way more than a 'peep' to me Deb! Are you going to gag him, or should I?" Ken asked, using his best menacing voice.
I knew it would be better if I did it, so I told Ken I would, I stood on the seat he was sitting on in preparation to walk over to my watching future husband for the purpose of gagging him to prevent further interruptions while his best friend did what he willed to me. It was surreal, but I didn't say a word of protest to Ken, I not so secretly wanting what he was giving, rough treatment and all.
My move presented my covered snatch to Ken's face as he held my hips immobile, he then buried his face into it on top of my bikini bottoms. They were already soaked from my excitement. He nibbled on me there anyway, making me even more juicy, slurping and tasting me nosily through my only remaining garment. His only comment was "delicious."
It was a simple thing for Ken to slide his hands up my bare hips and to the strings holding my bikini bottoms on. He then grabbed each and pulled the little knots out and relieved me of it. I stood before him as if on display, his face only inches from my bare sex. He kissed me on my steaming mound before telling me what to do.
"Take the wet crotch part of this and push it into his mouth first, so that he can taste what he's missing. Tell him that we won and he lost and if I hear another peep out of him, or if he spits out his gag there will be some very serious consequences." Ken told me this softly, for my ears alone.
Ken then wadded up my bikini bottoms as well, and he tossed them at his best friend with a smile. They landed mostly on his face. If this bothered my boyfriend, he managed to keep such to himself. Despite his, or anybody else' words on the subject this was about to really happen, it was inevitable; there was no stopping this now.
I walked over to my boyfriend, brazenly nude. I snatched my bikini from his face as I straddled his supine body, one bare foot on either side of his chest right under his outstretched arms. I crouched down, my naked womanhood inches from his face. I told him to open up while I basically repeated what Ken had told me to, but to be honest I don't remember the exact wording I used. I pushed my soggy bikini bottom into his cooperatively open mouth, packing it in so he could get the whole muting effect. In my fantasy daydreams I usually ended up gagged with my own panties. In this I was jealous of my boyfriend, but not so much so that I wanted to trade places with him.
Before I could even walk back to the picnic table Ken came to collect me, effortlessly tossing me over his strong shoulder like a fireman. My last look at my boyfriend over Ken's shoulder confirming that he was still hard, and therefore apparently still enjoying the show. I didn't, at the time, know how long he could maintain a stiffy without doing actual damage to himself but I assumed the time was measured in hours and not minutes.
Ken laid me down naked on the tabletop, my ass at the edge, Ken trading his hold on my body for one on my ankles instead. A part of me still couldn't believe this was about to happen, but everything that had happened up until this point had be nothing but a series of little steps, all leading to Ken standing before me just as naked and aroused as I. He bent down to taste me, I gushing and more than ready already. His taboo touch felt electric to me. My button, when his talented tongue brushed it, caused me to twitch in response. It was a great tongue but I could, and did, have tongue all the time. My boyfriend had one of those as well and he was supremely talented with it from two plus years of constant practice.
Ken had something unique though, actually two unique things: his larger cock, which I'll admit that I was curious about, and his take charge attitude, which is what really excited me about him. It was his confident leadership and persistence that had earned him the prize; the fact that he was well endowed just icing on the cake for me.
All Ken had to do now was roll on a condom and take his prize while my boyfriend laid there gagged, bound, and naked and watched. It was over the top kinky, but I was past the point of caring about such. Instead, Ken lined up his bare cock and pushed it up against my tight snatch. The proverbial doors were closed though.
"Rubber!" I stated frantically.
"They don't fit me, and I don't have one anyway," Ken replied, removing his left hand temporarily from my left ankle. He used it to rub his massive cock up and down at my entrance, lubing me with his precum. It was also my intention to not let my future husband inside my body without a condom until we were actually married, I was saving this as well as a second wedding gift for him, but apparently Ken had different ideas. I could have said "no" or "stop" or anything like that but I didn't.
Ken rubbed and pushed at my entrance with patience. He had several girlfriends that he had been intimate with and with the size of him he likely had to do things like this before. I felt myself relax in a "this is definitely going to happen" kind of moment, the head of him forcing its way in but this also meant the boundary had been crossed. I felt everything in exquisite detail, not knowing if this was because Ken was bare, as in no texture robbing condom or if this was because he was just that much larger than my boyfriend. In any event, I felt Ken push into me, slowly, filling every inch of me in every dimension. The feeling of something this big going into me was hard to describe except that it felt as if I were losing my virginity all over again.
Truth be told it hurt just a little but the desire to take him fully overrode that, right up until he bumped into something deep inside me. I yelped just a little and Ken pulled back slightly. He held himself deep inside me, allowing me to grow accustomed to his large self as he looked down at me. Ken was smiling, but he had every right to be. I wasn't smiling myself, but biting my lower lip to keep from really making some noise. Ken thankfully was NOT acting like a brute at that particular moment.
Ken had at some point released my ankles and traded for a hold on my hips instead, easing out of me slowly, my clutching womanhood trying to instead hold him in. It felt like I was being pulled inside out but when Ken pushed back into me all was again right in the world. He did this slowly at first, then picked up speed. I was no longer biting my lip, but instead making little yelping noises.
This was already starting to feel very good indeed with Ken picking up the pace. I locked my free legs around his waist and pulled him into me, with not a care in the world at what my watching future husband might be thinking. I eventually felt his swinging man bits slap my ass when he went all the way forward, the feeling like nothing I had ever experienced before. We were already apparently over whatever he had been bumping into inside of me. Ken was truly where no man had ever been before and only the second man I could even call a lover.
The texture of him was awesome. It added so much to this that I felt guilty for not allowing my boyfriend to have the same experience earlier. With every thrust I also felt my breasts roll on my chest, Ken was looking at that and smiling; girls with small boobs had not responded anything like this I'm sure. My boobs had mass, and this mass in motion had a unique feel to me as well, like waves on the ocean.
"ARMS!" Ken commanded, moving my hands from where they were hanging onto the tabletop over my head, and placing them where he could reach them. He then pinned them to the tabletop forcefully, pulling me onto him by my wrists in the same move, and causing me to struggle for an escape that I didn't really want.
This struggle took me to an even higher plateau. My back arched before Ken as if I were a wild animal he was taming, or one trying to escape some horrible torture. I then felt my approaching orgasm, I almost never was able to cum from intercourse alone with my condom wearing boyfriend; this even better than I had hoped for. I felt it slowly approach, like a train slowly rolling into the station, everybody around not only seeing it come, but hearing and feeling it as well.
It was epic when the train finally made it into the station, I panting and squealing and bucking as Ken held me down, my own orgasm tripping Ken's trigger. He had no intention of pulling out and making a mess anywhere BUT inside of me. I felt him hold himself deep inside my convulsing body, and then his hot cum painted the walls of my womb with squirt after squirt after squirt of baby making seed, I was thankful for being on the pill.
Did Ken even know I was on the pill though? I asked myself later, not remembering if I had ever told him.
The feeling of being totally filled for the first time, both with cum and cock, was just indescribable. I wondered if this is what it felt like to get knocked up. At the same time I was feeling like I had not only been short changing my boyfriend by not allowing him to do to me what Ken had just done, but short changing myself for the same reason. This "deep inside me without a rubber" orgasm I had just had was the best one ever, this soooo much more intense that my boyfriend's "playing around with my button while going down on me” orgasm that the two were only distant cousins.
Naturally, I thought the show was over. Objectively speaking it was a great show, but for Ken this was merely the first act. My own boyfriend was a once and done kind of guy. I assumed that meant most guys were the same, but in this Ken was apparently atypical as well.
Ken eased his still half hard self out of me and helped me up onto my shaky legs, my clutching womanhood mostly scraping his cum from his cock so as to biologically make it even more likely that he were to knock me up, except of course for the pill that I was on. I felt what he had left behind inside of me and for his part he looked rather proud of his efforts. He had every right to be, he had easily manipulated my boyfriend as if he were a child and then had taken his proverbial candy away from him. To make matters worse, or better, depending on one's point of view, he then enjoyed that candy right in front of my boyfriend as he was helpless but to watch. It was in some respects a lessening of my boyfriend, but only temporarily in my eyes.
Despite Ken's size, my nether regions managed to contain Ken's mess which surprised me, I expected he had perhaps ruined me. Ken then laid out his shirt onto the tabletop I had just gotten screwed on, repositioning me as if I were a doll to be posed as he pleased. He had earned this though, and I was more than willing to see what he had in store for me next. His first act had been pretty awesome.
Ken then laid me face down on the table, my boobs pressed down onto the tabletop, and his shirt likely there to prevent me from getting any splinters in my more sensitive areas. My hips and everything lower were off of the table. Ken gently bumped the insides of each bare leg with one of his own to get me to spread them, almost as if I were being searched by a cop before being arrested. Being arrested and strip searched, and then put in a jail cell naked and cuffed, was another ultra-hot fantasy scenario of mine. It looked as if getting abducted by the boys from Crestmont were the more likely of the two to actually happen in real life and that was near impossible.
I ended up on the balls of my feet as if I were wearing heels, with my legs spread obscenely wide, everything I had clearly visible to both guys who were positioned more or less behind me. Ken told me to place my hands behind me, crossed, and I instantly complied, totally under his spell. He then used one free hand to spread my ass cheeks, and the other to slap me back there with his hardening cock, this man was like superman as far as sex goes. He was ready to go again in seconds, and he pushed his cock in the direction of my ass, to which I tensed up and shook my head no.
I had less that no interest in anal sex, and less than that with a man the size of Ken. To his credit, or just because he was toying with me, he repositioned himself lower, again sliding himself up and down my slippery entrance. We had never tried this position before, my boyfriend and I almost exclusively having "quick as we could" back seat sex, and as a result we had little experience with positions, or even the time to really enjoy sex for what it was in a non-hurried environment, like this camping trip provided.
This time the proverbial doors opened easily for Ken and he eased himself back inside. He was mumbling something about my being tight, I perhaps missed him saying such the first time he had penetrated me. It was easier this time though, as if my body knew what to expect, but the squishy sounds as Ken's large cock displaced the cum he had just deposited inside me seemed to add some unintentional humor to this silent night of firsts.
Ken was moving slowly, savoring this position, perhaps because it implied a greater level of control over my captured body. I liked it too, not only because I didn't have to stare into his eyes as I cheated on my boyfriend but because he bumped my button with every stroke, tormenting me sexually. I made little sighs with every stroke; the train this time was a long way from the station, but eventually was due. I felt both displayed and used, and it was magnificent.
That train eventually "came" and went, this another first, as Ken didn't cum with me this time. I almost never came by intercourse alone with my boyfriend, and never, ever first. This was a nice one, and easily would have made for a wonderful night of back seat passion all by itself. It would have been the perfect finale for an ice cream shop date with my boyfriend, if he had been the one to give it to me. If that were the case, I might have even been up for more "sex" with him, and less oral sex from him as a substitute.
After working me through my "lesser" orgasm - for lack of a better word - Ken then grabbed my still crossed hands and pinned them there, giving me the go ahead to ramp up my struggles against him, which I did. This was right on the heels of my last orgasm, but still somehow working for me, the depth of my "well" astonishing to me. My struggles turned more intense, but I was pinned to the table helplessly, and not going anywhere until Ken was done with me. The thought was profound; I was nothing but a toy for his amusement.
My feet had left the ground since my struggles were so intense. Instinctively I wrapped them around him, trapping him as he trapped me, this next train now much closer, and much louder, I almost perpetually howling with every stroke. This was an extended ride, the longest one I had ever been on by a fair margin, making love with my boyfriend measured in minutes, before we possibly got caught. There was always that ever present feeling that we were about to get caught and it affected the quality of what we did together back then so this was an uneven playing field to Ken's advantage.
I don't know how long we were going at it. I was hot and sweaty and getting sore down below, wishing for Ken to just finish the job. I felt him eventually approach his own orgasm, I learned the signs, he would hold his cock deep inside me, longer than out, and his whole body seeming to flex at the same time.
It seemed as if Ken was determined that we cum at the same time. To force this he freed one of his hands from my own struggling ones and pushed his thumb onto my back door passage, but not entering. That immediately "did it" as I thrashed about with my legs flailing as if trying to escape. The mere threat of him taking such liberties with me drove me over that magnificent edge, I howled and squealed loud enough for others to even hear in the dark and quiet night. This HAD to include my watching and gagged boyfriend only a few feet away. These noises I were being forced to make well in excess of what he could do for me, even with his skilled tongue. This was a "from deep inside my body" orgasm. I did not appreciate the difference between these and the expert tongue lashings of my boyfriend, although there was even more to it than simply that though. This orgasm was even more intense than the first he had given me, although I will remember that one always.
Ken held his cock deep inside my pinned body as he emptied himself into me for a second time. I was feeling every twitch and squirt in magnificent detail, he eventually collapsing onto my back. We were both exhausted from our lovemaking. I was sore, and I thought there was no way Ken could possibly want to go again. As if confirming this he helped me up and led me to his tent on shaking legs, we only took the brief detour to throw the sleeping bag top over my watching gagged boyfriend, his own cock still hard, his face in awe at the show he had just been forced to watch.
I had to consciously try to hold Ken's significant mess inside of me, mostly succeeding, but feeling different down there with all the pounding I had just endured. I would be sore tomorrow, or more accurately later on in the morning, it surely was after midnight by then. Had my head not been spinning I might have felt guilty, a good portion of my pent-up lust drained by Ken's expert ministrations, likely while I had drained his at the same time! Once spent I started to think about the consequences, my pre and post orgasm mindset always strikingly different.
My boyfriend had pushed for this, had likely even fantasized about it based on our back-seat hand job stories. He had hardly complained while being forced to watch, other than a small token amount. Had he been caught up in the lust and kink of this night as well, and could the fact that he had yet to cum himself ensure he was still on that sexual "high," he willing to still do anything we desired because of this?
I then concluded that we couldn't let him cum, if this were in fact the case. But, how would I know one way or the other? It seemed so cruel not to go out there and at least give him a hand job, or possibly as a second option even to untie him and let him do it himself as I watched.
Ken and I were each laying on our own sleeping bags by that point, each looking up at the tent's ceiling, each likely with our own thoughts on the subject. I thought to ask Ken's advice, he was still "in charge" so to speak, still the unchallenged alpha male of our group, and co-recipient of my boyfriend's lost dare compliance. Instead, he reached over and kissed me, oblivious to, or not caring, that I had his cock in that same mouth earlier in the night. That little kiss soon turned into several deeper ones, then playing with my breasts as if trying to get me going again. This man was a machine with a one-track mind.
"AGAIN?" I asked over loud from our tent, which my boyfriend surely had heard. My box was sore, messy like it never had been before. It felt like it had been stretched out by Ken and ruined although I thought that impossible in the real world. Ken snaked his hand down between my legs, my thighs clamped shut. I told him I was way too sore to go again.
Not to be deterred, he switched his efforts toward my chest. I knew he had a thing for big boobs, and mine in particular. He kissed and sucked on me there, and despite myself I started to get into it again. I pulled his head into me, my body squirming around on my sleeping bag sinuously, my vocalizations also clearly heard outside the tent. It seemed as if Ken was pretty quickly learning my special spots, but I hadn't considered that my boyfriend might have shared these with him, boasting at what he had discovered got me going.
Did guys even talk about such things? I asked myself. These two probably did, I concluded, they very close lifelong friends.
He then licked between my boobs like a man with a mission. I had real cleavage like no other girl he had ever known making this possible. He then rolled over on top of me, straddling my body, and pinning me in place once again. His once again hard cock then fell into perfect alignment between my slobbered-on boobs, his intentions a first for me, although predictable bearing in mind our relative positions.
"I can't believe you can cum so many times in a row!" I told a smiling Ken incredulously.
"It's been a little too much for my previous girlfriends." Ken confided, his smile slipping ever so slightly. This was a sore spot for him obviously, his over the top sexual energy a deficit in such context, rather than an asset. I then assumed that his overly large self might as well be a second "handicap" any girls he may wish to be intimate with would have to get over, and I wondered at what such things did to a man's confidence.
I knew then that I had to do whatever it took to make Ken forget about those past girlfriends, for his own good at the very least. I then watched as he pushed his messy cock between my boobs that he was holding together for himself, making himself a slippery tunnel with which to get himself off still again. The feeling as he thrust between my boobs was unique to be sure, but not terrible, although had he not slobbered all over me there first as a kind of lubricant I could see that tender skin getting sore quickly.
In order to see better and to prevent Ken from stabbing his cock near my throat I then bunched up my pillow so I could watch. Ken was being overly gentle with my boobs so as not to hurt me, which I appreciated. My boobs liked rough treatment though, at times, and to show him how rough he could be I replaced his hands with my own, I mashing them together on his slowly thrusting cock. Ken groaned and told me it felt wonderful, this apparently more like what he was after. I adjusted the pressure on his thrusting member based on his verbal feedback.
On a whim - or possibly to subconsciously make up for my own terrible first ever blow job attempt - I moved my boobs up further on my chest, and closer to my watching face. Ken adjusted his own position reflexively, thrusting his member deeper into my cleavage now, and closer to my own lips. I kissed the head of him whenever he was close enough.
He held himself "stroked in" when I had done this the second time, the first I had actually managed to surprise him for once!
"AAAhhhhhhh" Ken exhaled, I now wanted to do this thing for him alone, me giving, and not receiving a thing in return. But he had given me at least three earth shattering orgasms in a row and by my way of thinking I owed him for that, with interest. Why my thoughts on this "debt of orgasms" didn't extend to my boyfriend with his own oral efforts in my regard is anybody's guess though. Again, I was, at times, a sexual hypocrite where my boyfriend was concerned, but not intentionally so.
Those kisses turned into tentative tastes, our combined juices which were not unpleasant at all. I wanted more though, I was curious as to what I could do, and Ken was apparently more than happy to allow me to experiment on him. He started thrusting just a little more aggressively, rocking my body back and forth, I in response, moving my partially open lips and tongue to the trough I had created between my own boobs, but with my eyes closed as watching the action from so close made me go cross eyed.
Now Ken's every thrust ended at my warm and wet mouth, my saliva lubricating his passage between my pressing boobs, an apparent acceptable surrogate for my very sore and messy box.
It might not have been technically a "blow job," but it was almost a certainty that Ken would at least be coming in my mouth. This was another significant first that he would beat my bound boyfriend to, although not intentionally so on my part. An intended benefit of this position was avoiding a mess like we had in my boyfriend's backseat with his condom-less hand job, I not wanting to sleep on a cum covered sleeping bag, nor pillow, nor obviously having that mess all over my face with the shower house a good walk away.
Cooperatively, Ken grabbed my head with both hands, I had been straining with the position I was trying to hold, and his hands actually helped to relax my neck muscles. He also could hold me more where he wanted me, taking charge again and directing me where he wished. This, I discovered, came naturally to Ken, it was just who he was, the man I had known previously the masked softer version of the real him.
I asked myself: Did my boyfriend know this about his friend beforehand?
I felt the tempo of Ken's thrusts reach their peak. I learned some things about Ken's body, and how it performed. I felt him tense up, and felt his man bits rise up at the same time he started squirting, but not nearly as ferociously as he had filled my box the two previous times. I assumed that guys lost some pressure once they came, and for Ken this had been number three in less than two hours or so. It made sense, once that sexual energy had been drained, the pressure wouldn't be so great. I wondered what that "pressure" felt like to a man if not drained regularly, and those thoughts took me to my bound and listening boyfriend, no doubt following our actions in Ken's tent vicariously, with his own pressure that needed attention.
Ken did cum in my mouth as he groaned repeatedly, telling my boyfriend that something wonderful just happened, again, but this time out of his sight. I sucked and worked his head with my tongue to ensure nothing escaped, milking him dry in the process. He tasted pretty good, or at least not as terrible as I expected such things might taste. This was easily something I could do again, and again after that, his smell not as pungent as my boyfriend's either. I didn't "get" anything from the act though, this exclusively giving, without receiving, in the most traditional sense of the word.
Ken eventually kissed me on the forehead and rolled off of me, flaccid and spent, he telling me he's never been sated like this before. I felt proud to be able to do this for him, and for myself, but I also had another that needed something from me now, even though I had no energy, nor desire to do so...