Cuckold, Revisited

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2020 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF/m; M/f; bond; rope; outdoors; oral; ravish; bagged; blindfold; car; gag; cuffs; creampie; cuckold; denial; D/s; first; hum; naked; tease; cons; X

Continues from

Part Two

With little choice I left Ken's side to check on my future husband, knowing this was something I had to do myself. Ken was nearly asleep anyway with all the energy he had expended, and truth be told I would rather have been sleeping myself - or for that matter doing almost anything else - rather than inviting this looming conflict that surely must be coming. I also had a mess to contend with, not to mention the lingering taste of Ken in my mouth, but my bound boyfriend had to come first.

"Are you okay out here?" I called out in the dark softly. It came out almost patronizingly I realized, but only after the words had left my lips. His eyes were staring toward our tent as I had approached, showing that he was still wide awake, as did his still semi erect member tenting his sleeping bag. He nodded his head, his eyes not showing any anger, nor even hurt. I could have dealt with the former far easier than the latter, and it was this that I prepared myself to find, despite his "green lighting" of my fooling around with Ken that had gotten so out of hand. I had even gone so far as to go over several bullet points in my mind on the short walk over to him, specifically as to why this was his doing, and not my own.

He looked me up and down in inspection once again. The last time he had done so I was still wearing his favorite bikini, and a "come and get me" smile, but for Ken, and not himself. I had been exclusively his just a few hours earlier, and I expected something profound from him in response to this new reality. If I had instead "cheated" on him discreetly, I could have perhaps lied and told him it didn't happen, but he had watched me himself, and had heard what Ken had done to me, and for me.

I watched his eyes travel from my neck - and the "love bite" Ken had placed there - down to my naked thighs, and the mess that was slowly escaping my abused box despite my best efforts. It felt like it would never be the same again. I knew I had to ungag him, and offer him some water so he wouldn't become dehydrated, but I at the same time preferred this conflict-free one sided "conversation" we were having.

On a whim I tried something, telling him I would ungag him, but with the condition that if he made too much noise I would have to put it back in again. He nodded his head in response, although it was unclear to me what that meant, other than he was willing to communicate with me on some level, and do as I said. He could have spit out his gag had he wanted to at almost any time, or at least I assumed he could have. This was again curious to me, other than it being Ken's condition that he remain gagged, and Ken the de facto alpha male of our trio.

When gagged, bound, and helplessly naked, you weren't responsible for what you did or were made to do under such conditions. It would have been hugely hypocritical for me to criticize him in the slightest way for wishing to remain so. It's what got me going, fantasy-wise, the boys from Crestmont always doing something similar to me before taking me where they willed... where I secretly willed them to. With Ken in the picture I might not ever need those boys again though, I thought to myself with a silent laugh. The "reality" of Ken and his hidden talents was far better than the "fantasy" of those lecherous boys, but I was still coming to terms with the real world emotional collateral damage this whole ordeal had generated for me.

My boyfriend hadn't physically gotten "there" yet himself either I thought, and I felt guilty for this, because I surely had, and Ken obviously had as well, many times over. But, I guess that all depends on where exactly "there" is, doesn't it? I asked in my mind reasonably, perhaps THIS is what he was really after, this bound, helpless, "make me watch" submission of his. Or, if not, perhaps this is what he expected might happen under these circumstances he had nurtured into being. In either case, it was time to more fully involve my boyfriend in this, to hear what he had to say and let the proverbial chips fall where they may.

I tenderly removed my damp and saliva soaked bikini bottoms from his mouth, the act feeling nearly maternal to me despite the eroticism of the whole situation. "Thank you" he croaked, I helped him to drink some water next as he was still bound, kneeling in close to him on his sleeping bag while doing so.

"Kiss me!" he commanded next, surprising me, as this was literally the last thing on earth that I thought he would have wanted from me at that moment, or perhaps even ever again. Could he not smell Ken on my breath? I wondered to myself. But, maybe he couldn't, or even maybe he could, and he still wanted to kiss me again anyway. He had seen my first ever terrible attempt at a blow job, but he hadn't seen Ken literally making love to my boobs and willing mouth in the tent, nor his big messy finish that I swallowed whole, still another first for me on this extraordinary night of firsts.

"Do you know where this mouth has been?" I asked rhetorically with a smile, more to remind him than anything else.

I didn't want to ‘fess up to what I had done for Ken inside the tent, although that was silly with all he had witnessed outside the tent. Truth be told, I intended to save both oral sex, and no-condom sex, for after our wedding as a kind of special wedding present that I would give to him privately. Saving myself for marriage in the traditional way hadn't happened, but I thought I could at least save this, right up until Ken had seduced me, repeatedly, and right in front of him as he helplessly watched...

"Yes," he answered solemnly, as if this was the whole point!

How could I ever deny my boyfriend a kiss, especially after all he had just watched? This was so far from what I had dreaded happening that I was off my game, but there had been a lot of firsts that night. It was also early morning by that point and I was exhausted from all I had been through, both mentally, and physically. A kiss still beat a screaming breakup fight, or worse yet tears, that would have killed me!

By reflex, I licked my lips to moisten them before leaning into him, as he wasn't moving all that far to meet me bound up as he still was. This put a little "essence of Ken" directly on my lips where my boyfriend couldn't help but to taste him, but not intentionally. I intended a simple "I hope you still love me" peck, but he snaked his tongue past my lips for a more intrusive taste of me, and by extension, Ken. I was taken aback, but I couldn't stop him. If he wanted that kind of kiss, who was I to tell him no?

We broke our kiss and I looked down at him, the surprise clear on my face. "You okay with this?" I asked softly, my question unintentionally open ended though, did he think I meant our kiss, or everything Ken and I had done together that night? By way of an answer he leaned up to me - to the limit that he could - inviting another kiss. This one left little question what he was after, tasting just about everything I had to offer, my lingering "residue of Ken," so to speak. It was wonderfully accepting, as if he were silently saying, "I don't care where you've been, or what you've done, I still want you back!"

"How was it?" he asked next. I knew from both his kiss, and his tone that I had to be honest with him. He truly wanted to know how it was for me, in an honest curiosity kind of way, and I was obligated to answer just as honestly.

"I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty awesome" I confided, something I was still coming to terms with myself. I felt guilty because of how good it actually was for me; there were a lot of reasons for this, but it wasn't the time to analyze them in detail either.

"The best ever?" my boyfriend pressed.

"Please don't make me say that!" I begged. I had only ever made love to him... and now Ken, and this brought on a rather obvious comparison that I didn't want to make. My boyfriend had been my first, and that was always going to be special, even if it had been terrible, which it most certainly wasn't.

"It would turn me on if I heard you say it" my boyfriend told me, and I heard the honesty in his words. There was no deception here either, and I decided to indulge him. It was the very least I could do under the circumstances.

"Thank you for lending me to Ken, that was the best sex of my entire life." I told my boyfriend honestly, the words like a burden lifted from my shoulders. Do you give a child a candy bar, instead of her vegetables with supper, and expect she won't want some more? I also wondered if my future husband had thought this entire adventure through to one of it's two obvious conclusions.

"I want to eat your pussy!" he then told me deadpan, the mere thought revolting to me, although with the fresh taste of Ken still in my own mouth this revulsion was a curious reaction on my part. He well knew where THAT had been though, and he also could plainly both hear and see that Ken didn't use a condom either time. Ken's cum filled me, and then overfilled me next, this messy feeling unique to me and not all that wonderful, now that the passion had finally abated.

"There's no way I could let you do that, I'm a total mess down there," I told him sincerely. My words had a double meaning, because while I was messy, I also felt different down there, as in "left hanging" from the extended pounding Ken had given me, and it even hurt just a little bit when I moved around. This was a first for me after traditional sex, but Ken had been massively large, and he even had the dual luxuries of both time and energy to take me more than once, and aggressively so too. My boyfriend was also intimately familiar with my nether regions. If he were to do this, it would showcase what Ken had done to me, physically.

"I don't want you to 'let' me, I want you to make me! I want you to force me to go down on you until you're as clean as I can get you. It's an entirely different thing!" he further explained, his tone needy and desperate. Added to this in my own mind was the fact that of the three of us, he's the only one who hadn't cum yet. As such, he was still "horned up," but he had no place to go with his desires, and I thought he might actually be up for going down on me, less the cum eating part, which would be just as new for him as it had been for me. It occurred to me too that he was foolishly setting himself for something here. What if it turned out that I liked him going down on me after no condom sex? I asked myself.

"Okay..." I said tentatively, thinking to indulge him further, but believing he would only take a taste to satisfy his curiosity, "'re still the best at something!" I quipped. I then knelt on his shoulders and pinned him submissively under me, although with his bindings he really wasn't going anywhere anyway.

My boyfriend first licked my left thigh, some of Ken's and my own juices flowing there as well, then going back for a second taste, and then a third. He symmetrically cleaned my right thigh next, and then worked up the courage to taste me THERE, his touch electric to me, despite my being sore. Here was the tender boyfriend that liked to do "for me" selflessly, even though I hadn't done "for him" in kind a single time. I caught myself holding his head reflexively and much less than tenderly as I directed his actions, my fingers deep into his thick hair and squeezing, this feeling much better than I envisioned it might.

He eventually took a long slow taste of me, from almost my rosebud to my very special spot, some of Ken's significant mess finding its way there as well. I then felt him sweetly explore my sore and hanging folds, they being tender like never before, sucking their hanging mass into his mouth soothingly. He couldn't help but to notice their distended and swollen condition while doing so, an obvious first for me. He kept such observations to himself, although the physical evidence that Ken had done something extraordinary to me - that he couldn't - was overwhelming. He then went deep inside me, I up until this point keeping most of what Ken had deposited inside of me... in. With his tongue's expert intrusion the proverbial dam burst through, my sore and relaxing womanhood yielding to my boyfriend's expert ministrations and I was "feeling" his sucking efforts messy reward.

If I had expected him to puke, or at the very least be revolted. I was happily mistaken, "essence of Ken" was apparently to his liking, or at the very least palatable, he noisily enjoyed this new "snack" of his. I had nothing with which to compare it myself, but I thought essence of Ken tasted just fine to me, certainly much better than I had been led to believe it would. He went back to the proverbial well again and again, with me working those sore muscles of mine and aiding him in his efforts, as did gravity and my body's upright position.

It felt wonderful, my boyfriend eventually consuming the two large loads of Ken's cum that he had deposited deep inside me plus all of what my own body had produced to aid in his efforts, I used him selfishly as nothing more than a soothing human cleanup tool. He then moved up to my special spot, after I had nothing left to offer him. It was raw from Ken's extended pounding. But here my tender boyfriend managed to coax still another orgasm from me, only because he knew my body like no other. It was no earth-shattering event like Ken had done for me while deep inside. Still it was a nice relaxing final thing before I had to say goodnight to him.

"Thank you" I told him sincerely, letting him know that I was too sore to want anything more.

"Thank YOU!" he responded, "that was awesome."

"What happens next?" I asked.

"That depends on you guys, but I did lose fair and square, and I 'so get off' on all this being made to do things shit."

"I meant like next week, next month."

"Same answer. Can I please cum now?" my boyfriend asked reasonably, although while changing the subject drastically... There were far reaching considerations here though, and to be selfish, I already had everything I wanted for the night, and then some...

"If I let you cum, you are 'so going to' lose the mood," I said, paraphrasing his own words intentionally. "So, to answer your question with a question of my own, what do you REALLY want?"

"...Goodnight sweetheart," my boyfriend said to me somewhat cheerfully, after a few seconds of thought on the matter. It was a good thing it ended like this, because I had no intention of allowing him to cum with what I now knew about his motivations. I did provide some slack on his wrist ropes though, but not so much so that he could take matters into his own hands...

I woke in an empty tent, the sun up. Peeking out on the silent campsite, I saw Ken wearing his shorts and bare chested. My boyfriend was now at least untied, but in contrast to Ken still just as naked as he had been last night. I grabbed a nearby flannel shirt and put my arms into it because of the chill in the air, and because I FELT exposed in the light of this new day, despite we three being alone. It was Ken's shirt, and it smelled like him, as did his sleeping bag that was right up against my own. The shirt had obviously been left out for me, both thoughtfully, and intentionally, but I thought no more to it than that.

The boys were silently working on breakfast together as I further peeked from the mostly closed flap of the tent, their backs toward me. I thought ironically that my boyfriend surely had gotten over his body modesty in front of his friend at some point during the night. He was flaccid and small looking down there too, the comparison natural to me with what had occurred, although I consciously tried not to make it. Before yesterday, THAT had been perfectly acceptable to me in every way, but now I knew what passionately making love could really feel like. Part of me loathed this new knowledge, and by extension those that had taught it to me. I think a part of me even preferred my ignorance of yesterday morning; that world view a much simpler one for myself with much simpler choices.

I assumed that the guys had likely talked, but I wasn't privy to what they had said. Everything seemed good between them - strangely so in fact - bearing in mind the extraordinary activities of the last few hours. I truly hadn't known what I was going to wake up to, despite my boyfriend's assurances, but this seemed like a best case scenario - for them - and I was relieved by this aspect of things at least.

... It occurred to me at some point later that my boyfriend's clothes had all been inside Ken's tent with me - as was his pack - and there was no way he could retrieve them without the risk of waking me. Had his continued nudity therefore been a voluntary concession of his own to ensure my uninterrupted rest, or a kinky condition of Ken's so that my boyfriend knew this lost wager of his continued on into this extraordinary new day as well? I wondered silently, Ken still in charge based on body language alone.

I watched them intently from the cover of the tent. Ken was fluid in his motions and seeming comfortable in his own skin. He had a right to be though, he had really rocked my world last night, and for an audience too, talk about pressure to perform. My boyfriend, in contrast, seemed to want to hunker down and make himself look as small as possible in Ken's half dressed towering presence, he down on his knees and cooking, his back rolled and hunched. Being naked in the daylight, and kneeling in front of both Ken and the fire, probably contributed to this "hiding" posture of his, but it was still something to see, body language wise. Looking at it a slightly different way, one man was half dressed and free to roam where he willed, presently with his crotch only inches from the other's face. The other, my boyfriend, naked, hunkered down, and cooking, as if he were chained to the very spot and nothing but our slave.

The sex part was an unfair comparison though, Ken was bigger, and stronger, and equipped differently, and more manly appearing overall, most especially with his bare and hairy chest. He had more experience too, with several previous girlfriends. This aided in his overall sexual confidence, and I think it was this that I picked up on the most. A quick inspection of my girl parts confirmed that things were mostly back to normal, or at the very least I was no longer "hanging out" quite so badly, Ken's sexual confidence and my own collateral damage both apparently linked logically in my mind somewhere.

I buttoned up the first half of my borrowed shirt and brushed out my hair, somewhat confident that I could cautiously continue this game of ours with what I had just observed. There was no hostility between the boys to be seen - as crazy as that sounds - such was the reason that I had silently watched both of them so intently for as long as I had. The last thing I wanted to do was walk into an argument, most certainly one that I had caused. This entire situation was so unreal though, but at the same time very real for the three of us, although with the over the top passion of last night behind us, I logically came back to, "what's next?"

How far should I go with this? I then asked myself practically, just before both guys turned to watch me fully unzip and exit Ken's tent, although that would have been a far better thing to establish before yesterday had ever happened, if, of course, I had actually known what was coming.

Until I hit some resistance. I answered for myself, suspecting how much my boyfriend really got off on all this "make me do things" stuff now if he were being honest with me last night. There was still the possibility that he was only acting all happy and submissive, so as to spare my feelings or avoid a friendship ruining argument despite what I had seen with my own eyes both last night, and this morning. If that were the case though, he was the best actor in the world and had somehow managed to keep such hidden from me up until this very moment. But, he HAD managed to keep hidden from me his desires to share me with Ken in the first place, even if his intentions had been instead for a threesome, so this wasn't as "out there" impossible as it might seem.

I stood fully once outside the tent, stretching reflexively, but neither guy had ever watched me wake up in the morning, so this was equally new for both of them. I reached for the sky and got up on my toes in my well practiced routine, it looking as if I were hung by my wrists from some invisible barn's beam by the fictional boys from Crestmont. My improvised shirt dress revealed quite a bit with the move and the guy's hungry stares fed my ego. One had just "had" me repeatedly hours before, and should therefore be happily sated for days, and the other wasn't likely to "get" me at all, at least anytime soon, due to both his foolish lost bet and my own "lack of need."

"Morning guys" I tentatively called out, still not fully believing what I had both seen and heard.

"Good morning" I heard back in unison with smiles from each, although Ken's looked forced. I was then left to wonder if they each expected me to pretend that last night had never happened, as if it were just some erotic dream of mine. How could I though? I asked myself, but I wasn't a guy either, their minds somewhat of a mystery to me at that point. My feelings led to sex, possibly, where their sex, possibly, led to feelings, or possibly just the desire for more sex. I had thought my boyfriend was different in this regard, and I had chosen him based on this, and a bunch of other reasons too that would be impossible to explain rationally.

My boyfriend WAS different though, different enough to want to share me with his best friend, but why? I asked myself in the clarity of this new day. Was he altruistically sharing what he had and Ken didn't, or intending to merely taunt his friend and show off the same, and his plans then scuttled by fate itself, or perhaps Ken's own interventions?

I chose to believe it was the former, just as Ken had alluded to himself the night before, my boyfriend not the taunting type, most especially with his best friend. Ken seemed sworn to secrecy on the subject though, or perhaps it was his Irish heritage, there being this notion - my boyfriend had told me once in the form of a joke - that the Irish didn't like to talk about "good fortune," for fear of chasing it away.

In any event, Ken had obviously found a shortcut to my proverbial bed. I did have feelings for him, and truth be told I did find something about him sexy and desirable. I had thought, up until last night, that I had managed to keep THOSE feelings hidden myself, but my over the top actions belied this notion. What to do now? I asked myself, I couldn't date and then marry both of them. The answer was not coming to me, at least at that moment.

The bacon, eggs, and camp toast smelled wonderful and tasted so as well. Apparently being ravaged half the night gave one an appetite, although Ken didn't eat all that much in comparison. My boyfriend served us and ate the leftovers last at his insistence, there being plenty if he had wanted to make more. He chose to have what was left though, and I found this curious, but of the three of us he had the most passive part in last night's adventure and therefore had likely burned the fewest calories. He had also had a rather unique midnight snack though, I thought to myself with a smile, discounting the fact that I had something similar, although not nearly in the quantities that he had.

Breakfast led to the need for clean up, and here Ken tasked my smiling boyfriend to handle things while we, meaning Ken and I, went to the campground's shower house to use a real bathroom and shower. Not having proper facilities was one of the things that turned me off about camping, but other than that I liked it just fine. This adventure perhaps complicated that feeling just a bit though.

Cleanup would require a trip to the river for water to boil, and Ken suggested that my boyfriend take a bar of soap with him and wash his stinky self up while there. I thought such was cruel, but after later reading my boyfriend's own brief account of this adventure - that he had sent to Gromet for publication - I realized that such was his true preference for all three of us, although that's not the way I remembered it happening. Ken also told him firmly that clothing was off limits for him until further notice, meaning to me that he had better get used to being naked and on display during this lost bet of his.

Ken and I both went into the tent to get our bags, Ken grabbing my boyfriend's as well, likely to remove the clothing option for him should he wish to renege on this lost bet of his. I'm sure I gave both guys an unintentional show with my front half inside the tent on hands and knees, and my naked backside hanging out somewhat under the cover of my borrowed shirt. I hesitated just a moment while inside though, reminding myself of something important that I had to do after breakfast, every day without fail. My birth control pills were hidden in my pack, I found the little round day of the month labeled pill container and confirmed the day of the week by calling out to the guys, "Is it Wednesday?"

My boyfriend answered first with a "yes." I was telling him with this, privately and between us, that everything was okay. I didn’t know at the time if Ken had understood what had just happened.

We took Ken's truck to the shower house. We could have potentially walked there, but that would have made it necessary for us to carry all three packs, and me dressing in - and smelling up - more proper clothes to do so. Wearing Ken's shirt only in camp, and for both guys that had seen me naked hours earlier - not to mention the intimate things we had done together - seemed somewhat appropriate, but walking hardly dressed as I was along a camp road was well beyond my comfort level, even if "nobody" was supposed to be here.

This day was thankfully cooler than yesterday. As a result the cold vinyl of Ken's bench seat where it met my naked ass gave me a chill, but it also excited me, especially when my boyfriend had stopped his labors to watch me flash my way into Ken's truck and then stare until we drove out of sight. The move reminded me of what could have potentially happened had he fallen off of the fictitious "boys from Crestmont" truck - the one from my backseat hand job story - their abduction of myself having a more predictable conclusion though. Ken was just taking the two of us to get some hot showers. Ken’s attitude was apparently back to one of a "do not touch" good friend again, as if this never happened.

I thought about that a little deeper, perhaps he was struggling with this new reality between the three of us himself, and he therefore was not thinking at all like a typical guy might. I found myself lost in thought on the subject. It was easy to discount Ken - from my shallow teenage perspective - as a useful tool himself, but he was a real man, with real desires, thoughts, and goals, and I found myself wondering about those, still again.

I perked up when I noticed that we had driven right past the shower house. I asked Ken where we were going, hoping he didn't have some sort of public detour in mind, as I obviously wasn't dressed for such. As it was, my modesty that usually had me dressing quite conservatively had taken a brief vacation on this trip of ours, but the enthusiasm I had received from both guys had me rethinking how I dressed in the future, at least for them.

"Just taking the long way," Ken responded, "so we can talk."

"Okay" I replied. Uh oh, here it comes!

"I thought you were going to stop me?" His words were halfway between a question, and an accusation, this entire episode obviously bothering him far more than he had let on at the campsite... in front of my boyfriend.

"I thought I was too, but I think we both got carried away in the moment," my words had the obvious ring of truth to them, because they were true. The over-the-top passion of last night for me just had no equal. Ken had taken me, body and mind, truly someplace I had never been to. What's worse, I didn't even know such a place existed!

"I usually pull out, but you just felt so fricken tight and awesome that I couldn't, and after that first time... I just didn't think the second mattered all that much," Ken gushed, almost like he was making some kind of confession to me.

"I will so do the right thing, don't worry about that," he further told me. "I just don't know how he'd take it, or what our friends and families will say, but this is totally on me." Ken being uniquely refreshing in his willingness to take responsibility for his actions, if such had been necessary.

True understanding flashed before my eyes, and while the boys had obviously talked this morning, a rather important detail had obviously been left out. This actually made me feel better about this whole adventure, because I had been toying with the notion in the back of my mind that it was Ken's true intentions to knock me up right in front of my watching boyfriend and then to steal me away from him out of necessity once the proverbial seeds had been planted. It wouldn't HAVE to work like that obviously, who could possibly know, other than us three, who had fathered any children I may one day have?

"Did your best friend happen to mention that I visited with him last night, after you got done raping my boobs in the tent and you fell asleep?" I asked with a smile, letting him know that I was just fine with the "raping" part.


"So, he didn't tell you that I made him go down on me, after you were finally through with me yourself, and that I basically force fed him everything you gave me, every, last, drop?" I left out both that it had been my boyfriend's idea and that he apparently liked the taste of Ken's cum, the latter seeming irrelevant at the moment.

"No, he apparently left that part out. Would something like that even work, you know... to keep you from..."

"I don't honestly know," I interrupted, "but I am on the pill, and I think it's highly unlikely that you just knocked me up, due to that fact alone... if that's what you're worried about."

Ken had stopped driving by that point on the empty camp road. He turned to face me, the look on his face suddenly quite different. "I thought I really screwed things up," he told me honestly, or at least I had hoped it was honestly.

"Not yet," I told him with a smile, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. "But, if you were to kick me out of your truck, dressed like this, right here and now, and then drive off and leave me here, that might get you close," I told him playfully.

"Would you like it if I did that?" Ken asked perceptively, the mood inside the cab of that truck instantly different, less about life altering consequences, and more about somewhat innocent teenage fun.

"Not necessarily, but we both know somebody else that might like something like that himself." I offered cryptically...

With that said we made our way back towards the shower house. The men's and ladies' entrances were each on their own side of the old-looking block building, and separated by a thick hedge to preserve the privacy of the campers while coming and going. The best thing I could say about the facilities on my end were that I didn't run out of hot water, but these things made the gang showers from high school gym class look luxurious by comparison. I felt wonderfully squeaky clean just the same after my hot shower, but my girl parts still felt different and still slightly sore this next day. Ken had left his proverbial mark on me there, as well as the more obvious one on my neck that was fading.

I dressed in my fitted white short sleeve blouse, with a plain white bra underneath, both were my size and fit me well, but weren't what you would specifically call "sexy." My little cut off denim shorts from the day before were quite short though, their white front pockets hanging down well past the jagged cuts I had made myself. A pair of simple white cotton panties completing the look, the latter rubbing up against my still protruding girl parts in another first, reminding me still again of the collateral damage Ken had done to me the night before.

I met up with Ken; he was wearing a pair of shorts and a pull over shirt, and carrying his pack, just like I was carrying mine. We looked like a couple dressed similarly as we were. Nobody was there to notice though, and Ken suggested we drive around a little to kill some time so that our "slave" could finish his chores. We really were not gone all that long ourselves yet.

"What do you want to do today?" Ken asked in open ended fashion as we drove.

"I don't know, what do you want to do?" I asked, probably like every teenager ever asked her friends a million times over, at least in our part of the world. This is how teenage plans were formed back home when nobody in the group wanted to take on the mantle of leadership and make a decision. But, if one in the group made too many decisions, even if they were good ones, she would be labeled as "bossy," and nobody liked a friend like that.

Teenage guys seemed to do things differently, or at least it looked that way to me. Ken was coming into his own with this leadership thing between us three on this camping trip. He in the past had just mostly gone along with what my boyfriend and I had decided to do. I found it refreshing and exciting, and I think my boyfriend did too, this possibly a contributing factor to our kink of the night before...

"I have an idea for a kind of an ordeal, it's a sort of way to give him what he seems to like doing, and it'll keep him occupied for a few hours." Ken went on to explain in detail what he had in mind, possibly to both ensure that I was on board with his plans, and that it was something my boyfriend would like being "made" to do, specifically with the hint I had given Ken earlier on the way to the shower house. Ken also confided in me that my future husband had begged him to be just a little "not so nice" to him today. Ken's ordeal plans would play into this nicely, even though he told me he didn't know how he felt about being a jerk like that with his best friend, most especially in light of everything that had happened last night.

I told Ken the ordeal part sounded like something my boyfriend would, in theory, like to be forced to do, but how did we know for sure? Compared to what he had watched and heard the night before, while tied helplessly by my own hand, this might almost be anticlimactic for him, not to mention his "after Ken" cleanup.

Ken assured me that he had walked the same trails and paths once himself a few years earlier, and that it was unlikely that he would be caught as nobody seemed to be here today, although the risk was always there and he would have to hide if he heard somebody. I offered only one additional suggestion to mitigate the risk of being caught, or more accurately, the risk of being arrested if caught. It played nicely with the "not so nice" request of my boyfriend. I wondered in my mind if this was part of some guilt driven "penance" of his for being caught trying to manipulate me into a threesome with Ken.

No matter the motivation, Ken liked and approved of my amendment to his kinky plans. We headed back toward the camp, each with a determined smile on our scheming faces, although I'm sure for different reasons... Left out of Ken's stated plans was what he envisioned he and I would be doing during my boyfriend's enforced absence, this proposed ordeal of his guaranteed to occupy several hours of my boyfriend's time at least.

When we got back my boyfriend was still apparently working on the camp cleanup and dishes. Heating enough water to clean things up over a fire was a time consuming task all by itself, not to mention first bathing himself in the cool river with a bar of soap, with the ever present risk of being seen by any boaters that happened by. He had watched us drive back into the camp, but from the cover of our tent, likely in case Ken's familiar sounding truck had been somebody else.

His hiding amused me, especially with what we had planned for him after his chores were done. He had asked for not so nice, and there were consequences for such requests, most especially after last night's proverbial kink bar had been set so high, or is that low? The consequences for myself were a little more vague, this extended alone time with Ken possibly leading in any number of directions, although at the time I expected he was still spent from last night's activities. "No" was always an option for me no matter what. Ken was still a trusted friend, even though he could apparently make a convincing brute when he wanted to.

The problem was that I didn't really want to exercise the "no" option with Ken should he somehow have the energy to go again. I didn't want to act all slutty with him either and "ask" for it directly. There was just something about Ken that pushed all my buttons, and apparently brought out the "inner slut" in me, the one that I didn't know even existed myself until late last night. One couldn't argue with the results, at least from my point of view, but the cause was up for debate in my mind.

Was this a one time thing? I asked myself logically, both of our over-the-top passion, and of the repeatability of this "experiment." A part of me wished it had never happened, but another much larger part wished it would never stop, consequences be damned.

Ken and I found ourselves sitting in our camp chairs close together, basically watching my boyfriend's naked labors while we talked. Both his chores and his state of undress further drove home his bottom of the pile social status among us three. The fact that Ken had "had" me last night, repeatedly and without a condom, had to be on his mind in some manner, but he was apparently a happy loser, or more likely just a guilty one, and thus needing "not so nice" from us to soothe his conscience and somehow even things up. This was counterintuitive to what one would have expected the "flow of guilt" to be with how far things had gone, but it was nevertheless a tangible thing that I had observed.

When my boyfriend was finally done with his chores he presented himself formally, standing humbly naked before us in our chairs as if we were his throne-seated king and queen and he was nothing but our naked serving wench, undeserving of even clothes. It was surreal, as only the day before he had been so body conscious in front of Ken that he didn't even want to get naked in front of him. Only the promise of a threesome - that didn't happen - convincing him otherwise.

It could be argued that I was only yesterday of a similar "body modest" mindset, and here my playful lust had played its own motivating role, but for Ken and not my boyfriend. This first happened at the river bank with my amateur bikini strip tease, and then later when Ken stripped me naked himself for real, before taking even greater liberties.

Ken eventually told my patiently waiting boyfriend that we were all taking a little drive together, and that he was to grab his sleeping bag and to hop up in the back of his truck with it, dressed just as he was, no more, and no less. He was then to lay down on his bag and await instructions. I watched incredulously as my boyfriend executed Ken's instructions like a puppet.

I noticed that Ken's taking control and giving him orders had my boyfriend's man bits perking up again. He had been quite flaccid and small during his humbling chores and even before while he had been cooking breakfast, this was impossible to miss because of his nudity. I took this as a sign that he wasn't enjoying this all that much at some level, discounting the fact that he had the equivalent of a sexually destimulating cool bath before his most recent chores had started.

At Ken's suggestion we left him to wait in the back of the truck for us, Ken toying with him, or perhaps just demonstrating the one's absolute control over the other in this environment he had inadvertently created. Truth be told, Ken had likely also noticed my boyfriend's stirring manhood, just as I had, he perhaps wanting that to deflate on it's own before Ken physically interacted with him again, less he become "contact gay" or something equally as foolish...

"I think we've left him in there long enough,'' Ken eventually told me with a smile, realizing at some point later that Ken had at the same time made me wait on his decision to act. "Now all we need is a water bottle, your handcuffs, and whatever you want to gag and blindfold him with," the last part left open ended based on our earlier conversation. I retrieved what was needed, both from my own pack, and from my boyfriend's. We cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded him in place before closing the cap and tailgate on the back of Ken's truck.

My boyfriend would be mostly out of sight despite the truck's cap having two sets of dirty small windows on its sides, unless he did something foolish like try to sit up; likely a pretty good trick while handcuffed behind your back in a moving truck on a rough road. We could still see him helpless back there from the cab of the truck, but the picture presented was mostly opaque through the two pieces of dirty glass, the front glass on the truck's cap much smaller than the truck's own rear window.

...This was a one way trip for my boyfriend, and more in keeping with his not so nice request. He was not only helpless and naked back there, but we had nothing for him to wear actually with us other than what was already on him should we inexplicably have a change of heart, or get pulled over by a curious cop...

We drove around together, Ken and I, talking and sitting close to each other like boyfriend and girlfriend, although with my real boyfriend was surreally trapped in the back of Ken's truck as if he were nothing more than human cargo. Human cargo that we were hauling into the woods to illegally dump off, with the further implication that this was the most normal thing in the world. My thoughts were a mixed bag on the entire subject, and I was more than comfortable with Ken taking the lead because of this.

We retraced our earlier indirect drive to the showers, and then we eventually left the campground proper, Ken, I think, was just making sure the accompanying state park part of this place was as empty as it was purported to be. We saw some people, but the large campground part was almost vacant, just as the ranger had suggested it would be. Yesterday's intense heat had likely chased many of the campers away, but this new day was starting off much cooler, despite the weatherman's promise to the contrary.

We eventually ended up at a hardware store after several extra turns, I was able to actually see where we were going and still confused as to where we were in relation to our campsite. Ken and I went in together once again as if we were a couple, I wondered what my boyfriend might be thinking and going through trapped alone as he was in the back of Ken's truck, most especially once we had parked and gotten out. We returned with a huge length of clothesline that had been on closeout sale, a small tube of crazy glue, and a single razor blade. Ken had modified his kinky plans slightly on the fly due to the rope's bulk availability.

Ken paid for all of it as my pocketbook was still in the truck, meaning he was "invested" in this ordeal. I suspected I might be the "yield" on this kinky investment of his in one form or another, but he had made no overt conditions as to such while we were alone. Ken had whispered quietly in my ear while we were in line at the hardware store, reminding me that his friend had asked for him to be just a little "not so nice" with him today. That had likely happened in the morning as I slept, so I wasn't privy to the exact words used.

I could see my boyfriend doing something like this now, especially if he got off on being "made" to do things. Ken's whispered words reminded me of what he had already told me once that day though, leaving me to wonder as to why. The only thing I could imagine was that Ken didn't want me to think he was being unnecessarily malicious and cruel toward his best friend, at least without just cause...

We drove back toward the campground, re-entering and slowly driving clear to the other side of it, and then to the trailhead Ken had told me about. He had hiked this same trail system back towards our campsite years earlier when he had been here with his family, and I could tell from his recount of that adventure that it had been a good one. It had been a first long solo hiking adventure of firsts for him back then, he had told me, but he had been properly dressed for it, including proper hiking boots.

My boyfriend would have none of these "luxuries" himself. I left him with but a single garment, should he wish to even wear that. Ken and I had a friendly wager on that, the details yet to be worked out, and I thought a rather devious way to know if I had either won or lost, but first came his ordeal.

Ken, apparently over his aversion to touching his naked friend, for fear of becoming instantly gay or something, helped my cuffed-behind-his-back boyfriend out of the truck. He left with little choice but to not only blindly go where Ken directed but do as he said. We were in the trailhead parking area; it was currently empty but we had no way of knowing if it would remain that way for long with the day's cooler temperatures. My boyfriend obviously had the most "skin" in this game, and was therefore the most exposed, but the cops would still be involved, for all three of us at the very least, if somebody showed up before we successfully got him out of sight and properly "dumped off."

That's what this was supposed to be, the proverbial dumping off on the side of the road, or trail; naked, cuffed, and helpless. It was a fantasy element of his from one of my hand job stories once where I threatened playfully to do so to him for real, he then left to find his own way home dressed as he was...

We walked him further into the woods and out of sight of the parking area. Ken was roughly leading my boyfriend with an iron grip on his upper arm like a cop might and I was carrying our large bag of supplies from the hardware store. Our progress seemed painfully slow, but my barefooted boyfriend was inadvertently setting the pace, unless Ken wanted to up and carry him. He easily could have, my thin boyfriend at the time only weighed maybe forty pounds more than I did, but this would have put both guys well into "skin on skin" contact of the kind to make both of them uncomfortable, especially if one of them suddenly developed a spontaneous "stiffy."

The spot Ken settled on was pretty thick with brush and small trees, mixed in with all manner of thorny things for good measure. The upside was that this spot was invisible from both the parking area, and the trail. My boyfriend obviously had the most skin showing, but all three of us could end up pretty scratched up if we weren't careful where we stepped, although two of us wore shoes and were protected above the pants line,\ and wouldn't be here all that long either.

Ken finally removed the blindfold, after spinning my passive boyfriend around several times and making him dizzy, establishing once again that he could do as he willed to my captured boyfriend, almost sadistically so. This at the same time possibly confused him as to which direction we had come, although I didn't see the necessity of this in practical terms.

My boyfriend's blindfold was nothing but one of my bandannas, although perfect for that simple purpose. His gag was a different thing, and on temporary loan from me, chosen specifically for several reasons. I had gagged him myself in the back of Ken's truck with a pair of my unworn panties, he not resisting in the slightest and I envious and secretly wishing somebody would do something similar to me one day. They were all cotton, thin, and fragile from their age, and childishly feminine with their little faded red hearts that had turned pink from too many cycles through the washing machine. Otherwise they were perfect for the task.

My future husband's man bits were once again super shrunken and flaccid, they almost sucked back into his body cavity this time and looked as if they weren't even there. This naked view of him was a first for me, as I didn't think the human male body could be made to do this, and even to my loving eyes this was about as far away from anything masculine that I had ever seen on a guy. This observation caused me to stop using his man bits as a barometer for his excitement level, at least with Ken in actual physical contact with his helpless self. Maybe that was the turnoff for him? I wondered, Ken's dominant rough handling perhaps not exciting that particular part of him... like it obviously did me.

That of course brought up the familiar question in my mind once again. Why had my boyfriend asked for this kind of treatment, if it didn't "do" anything for him?

With the handcuff's key from my cutoff jeans front pocket, Ken unlocked one cuff from my boyfriend's wrist, and then re-cuffed him again in front. He then tied one end of the rope we had bought to the center chain link on the cuffs. He tied a whole bunch of knots into the rope after that as both my boyfriend, and I watched, dripping some of the glue into the knots to prevent their being untied.

With that task complete, Ken threw the mass of the rope over the end of a stout tree limb we were standing under. He hauled up on the rope until our captive's hands were held over his head but well short of causing the cuffs to dig into his wrists. Ken then took off with the free end of the rope, winding it under, over, and through all manner of tree, shrub, and boulder, even tying several knots and multiple turns around several different trees just for good measure. The now much-shorter free end of the rope was eventually tied off to the limb of a tree maybe fifty feet from where my boyfriend was presently trapped standing, but Ken still wasn't done yet.

Taking the full water bottle I had brought with us, and the razor blade he had purchased, Ken then set to pace off the full measure of the rope's length from the fifty foot tree straight through the worst of the brush as my helpless boyfriend and I briefly locked eyes with each other. We then both turned to watch Ken, busy in his task, the smirk on my face likely misunderstood by my panty-gagged and ultra flaccid future husband.

Ken did this next part rather carefully, despite him wearing shorts and a shirt, but most critically sneakers, there to trample down the sharpest of things. When he was apparently satisfied with the distance, he placed the water bottle at the base of a large tree there and stuck the razor blade into the same tree, but at that great distance and through the brush it was hard to tell exactly which one, even with perfect eyesight.

Ken took a much easier route back to our position, he telling my watching boyfriend that it should be obvious as to what he must do to escape, the water bottle there not only to drink from, but to mark which tree held the tiny razor blade. Ken reached into his pocket and pulled out a short piece of the same rope my boyfriend was bound with, he standing behind me and then threading the handcuffs key's ring through it. He had, in this manner, fashioned a simple necklace from both, although one with an obvious link to my future husband's coming ordeal. He adjusted it's length so that the key rested deep into the cleavage that he had only yesterday made love to, all as I was facing my watching bound boyfriend, his naked and humiliatingly displayed body not exactly a commercial for masculinity.

"Have fun!" Ken told my boyfriend sarcastically with his own smirk, "I know I will." Ken was looking over my left shoulder while speaking. Not really intending to do anything I turned my head to "see" the smirk I heard in his voice. We then just sort of spontaneously kissed each other from that position, that kiss turning passionate as I felt Ken grow hard where he was pressed up against my butt. I also felt the short whiskers of his cheek on my own when we kissed, it felt just a little bit like sandpaper and drove home the difference between both guys, maturity-wise, my own boyfriend not having to shave but every few days at that age.

This truly was "not so nice," but for me, as in conflict-causing in my mind. My cuffed, thin, and helpless boyfriend was there on naked display right before me with not a thing to hide himself, his man bits even receding back into his mostly hairless body as if they weren't even there, hinting at something I didn't want to notice. This was possibly a worst-case scenario for him, courtship-wise, but he had inexplicably asked for this, although not necessarily this potentially humiliating scene exactly.

Behind me, in contrast, was muscular and virile Ken, the man that was the "in charge" alpha male of our trio, and even an excellent kisser. This shallow physical "want" of mine was easy to explain, at least in the short term. I again felt what my body desired, but this time it wouldn't be some "oops, I didn't mean for things to go that far" kind of thing. This time it was both planned, and expected, and Ken's words to my watching boyfriend couldn't have been more clear in light of this.

Ken took my hand possessively and led me away from the somewhat pathetic scene before me, perhaps before I had any second thoughts and empathy myself. He directed me in a different direction from the one we had come, but I trusted his leadership and fought the urge to turn and look at the scene I was leaving behind. Ken called over his shoulder toward his best friend almost as if an afterthought. "Keep the river on your right, the trails eventually lead near enough to our campsite that you'll know where you are. Be careful crossing the main road, and if you're worried about getting caught, wear your gag, it'll keep you out of jail."

Ken led me toward the camp road through the woods, and eventually to his truck in the trailhead parking area, his grip on my hand never wavering. I am ashamed to say that I had few thoughts of my naked boyfriend and his own impending adventure at that particular moment, my thoughts elsewhere.

"Was I a convincing jerk?" Ken asked me in a softer tone of voice, once safely back in his truck and us out on the camp road once again. Our human cargo was now safely dumped off in the woods and left to fend for himself. The cool key to his eventual freedom was now warm from being nestled between my boobs, it and the small piece of rope that held it there the only physical evidence of his existence at the moment.

"You convinced me!" I told him sincerely, wondering if I should confide in him that my kiss back there was no "act."

"What do you want to do now?" Ken asked me, "You know what he'll think we're doing anyway." Ken added, telling me, I thought, what he really wanted to do. "We have HOURS." Ken added lecherously, but with a playful eye roll.

Ken's apparent motivations were transparently obvious, but that doesn't mean he was mistaken. We WERE already guilty circumstantially, so why not be guilty for real?

I realized, much later on - when looking back on this moment as an adult - that there was no better negative motivation than low expectations, and mine were pretty low for myself at that moment...

I didn't know when, or even if, we would ever have the opportunity to do something like this again, but I was thinking in those terms now, and not that this was just some fluky one night passionate "mistake!" How such a relationship would even work out was beyond the scope of my reasoning at that point, but some of that would depend on my boyfriend, and how sharing and generous he really was after the terms of his lost dare bet were finally up. A further consideration was obviously Ken...

"Last night was very good for me, like the best ever by a fair margin," I further confessed, the words almost costing me physically, because of their painful truth, a truth that I was still coming to grips with myself. My boyfriend had made me say as much last night, but admitting such to Ken was a different thing, letting him know the "score" between both guys, so to speak. Ken beamed with pride at the proverbial job well done, his expanding sexual confidence exciting for me to watch, but I questioned how he couldn't possibly know how good he truly was at such things.

"I just don't know how to top something like that," I conditioned, implying aloud we might be better off leaving it a one night thing, although I didn't really want to myself. I had to make the offer though, it being presumptuous of me to assume that I had been that "wonderful" for him in return, or that he really needed a repeat after being so thoroughly sated the night before. I had felt him get hard where he ground up against me in the woods while tormenting my boyfriend, and several of his comments certainly implied that he wanted to do something more, as did his kiss. But, for fear of rejection myself, I didn't want to "ask" him, nor did I think I should have to, he being the "alpha male" and all that.

"You still haven't answered my question," Ken pointed out.

I then realized that he was looking for "permission." Couldn't Ken see that he didn't need "permission" with me, after the precedent had already been set, that taking what he wanted, from me, was what "I" was after? I thought this might be the lingering effects of Cathy's unique breakup rejection, or perhaps even his own second thoughts on the questionable morality of this whole adventure.

"I'm still thinking about it," I lied...

"What was the significance of your 'two hours' quip last night?" I asked, the phrase coming back to me time and again. I had to irrationally put my mind to rest on this one issue at least, before I was willing to take the risk and tell Ken just a little more directly what I might really like.

"You don't miss a trick, do you?” Ken replied. “It was a joke between he and I recently, him joking that I ruined perfectly good girls, after the whole Cathy debacle, and I told him in my cocky I'm-being-an-ass tone that I could do the same for you, if he'd let me... in like two hours or less. I'm surprised that he didn't tell you about all this. I was being a jerk then too by the way, but I still caught him smirking back at me, although I don't even know if he realized he was doing it. I suspected then that I was missing something."

"He didn't tell me any of this... What happened, exactly, with Cathy?" I asked. Ken had only alluded to the actual details during our swim the day before, and I could tell then that it was a sore subject that I didn't want to broach. I shouldn't have asked this time either, but curiosity demanded it, before I could go "there" with Ken once again, something invisible holding me back.

"She agreed to let me tie her up so we could fool around a little, kind of like a 'damsel in distress' kind of thing, but only her wrists. I was fine with that, and I thought it was a great kinky start... and things seemed just wonderful, she certainly was getting into it. But before we got all the way there, BAM!, 'let me go, and take me home... like right now!' I did obviously, but she called me a freak the next day, and that was that."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be" Ken told me as we finally pulled back into our campsite, the length of our drive back alone telling me my boyfriend's barefoot walk would be a long one. The mood in the truck had obviously cooled somewhat, and I was most certainly to blame, as was Cathy, a girl that I suddenly wanted to punch right in the nose.

"I think I've decided what I'd like to do, if you're still up for it." My tone alone suggested what "it" was, although there was more to it than that. I knew what I had to do now, but it was more than a "had to" kind of thing. I wanted to do something really special, such could even be good for me too, perhaps selfishly so, especially if Ken got anywhere close to one of my fantasies involving rope.

"Really?" Ken asked, his mood turning on a dime and reminding me that guys could be all hurt and sullen one moment, and laser focused on sex the next, where my "moods" could ruin a whole day for me if I let them. I also thought it foolish by then to have briefly doubted his teenage desires for me in the first place, but this whole kinky adventure was uncharted territory for the three of us, and my rampant hormone driven emotions and sometimes lacking confidence likely played their own part as well.

In any event, it was also no longer simply my intention to make him forget about Cathy, as my boyfriend had asked at the start of this trip, but to instead help him rewrite the entire Cathy incident in his mind. This time though, with a rather wonderful conclusion; at my expense, if necessary.

"I want the Cathy treatment, not what she let you do, but what you really wanted to do to her instead. Indulge yourself, call me Cathy if you even want to, I'll willingly play the part she should have been overjoyed to play for you."

"...One more thing though," I added, "and consider this a personal favor for me. DON'T ASK! Take and don't ask, asking is a huge turn off for me." I lied, but it was only half a lie, because I didn't like the concept of Ken asking, my boyfriend was another matter entirely.

I was generally uncomfortable back then talking about what I expected, sex wise - unless highly aroused - but my "you know”s and "whatever”s just weren't going to cut it that day. I was therefore well out of my comfort zone, verbally speaking, a rather strange state for a girl that just had done everything I had over the last twelve hours or so, not to mention my fictitious backseat hand job stories. Those had been presented as fantasy for my boyfriend though, a non judgmental guy that I had a deep emotional attachment to, where Ken was more of a like minded kinky playmate, but one with a competing emotional attachment of his own, if I wasn't careful...

"Don't ask?"

"Tell you what I'm gonna do, I'm going to slip into that little bikini again to cool off, and then I'm going to lay down in your tent and see what happens. Maybe we just talk a little, maybe we take a nap together, maybe even something else, but as you said, we're already guilty anyway, and in case you hadn't noticed, he's good with it." This last part I wasn't entirely sure was true, but I was committed, and I was convinced now that Ken needed this even more than I did.

"I'm dead serious about the Cathy thing, by the way," I added.

We were standing in front of Ken's truck by then, so I moved to make good on my offer to model my provocative bikini for Ken once again, knowing it would wind him up. Before I got a full step away though Ken pulled me back over to him by reaching his left hand into the top of my shorts possessively, the back of his hand inside my panties and up against my mound, and his thumb over top the button and zipper area, locking it in place. He pulled me close to him by my shorts and kissed me, I powerless to resist him like this. I passionately kissed him back, he in control of my hips and able to direct my body where he willed, lest he rip the tough denim shorts clean from my body or lift me bodily by them one handed as he easily could have.

The move was powerfully dominant, I his to do with as he pleased simply because of this alone. I felt my body respond to Ken's manhandling, thinking he finally "got it" with me, and finally realized what made me tick. This was unfair though, I had been struggling with this desire to be taken roughly for some time, where he had only fully entered into this game of ours yesterday. He had been experimentally rough with me then, playing the part I had asked him to, but I hoped he'd noticed how much that worked for me, although Ken wasn't one to miss a "little detail" like that. Simply stated, I needed this roughness from him, and other more tender and sweet things, with a great many "nos" mixed in for good measure, from someone else.

I thought of a hundred things to say, but I didn't want to talk and ruin the moment, Ken's passionate kiss telling me we were on the same proverbial page now anyway. My provocative bikini was hardly necessary at that point, but I had told him that I was going to wear it for him, and I intended to keep my word. Such was important to me, keeping my word, I had been raised with such values, believing they were the measure of one's character.

My boyfriend had washed out both our bathing suits, hanging them to dry on some convenient branches, but I couldn't remember if he had done this because Ken had told him to, or on his own initiative. It didn't really matter one way or the other, but the result was that I had a reasonably clean sun dried bikini to slip back into, which Ken seemed to like at least as much as my boyfriend did.

I stripped and changed privately in the tent, this "dressing for sex" specifically was new to me, this long before I owned any lingerie that wasn't almost one hundred percent utilitarian. Such "sexy things" were incompatible for a teen with a shared family washing machine, even though I did my own laundry back then.

I seductively beckoned Ken to come inside with me with my curled index finger when I was finished, I noticed several new snags in my old bikini's fabric from the branches it had been hung from. Ken was there in a second with my boyfriend's sleeping bag in hand, and a single piece of rope over his shoulders. I was just a little disappointed that he hadn't brought more rope - surely the boys from Crestmont would have - but perhaps this was more in keeping with the somewhat mild Cathy reenactment. This was obviously one of the four pieces that had anchored my boyfriend in place between the trees the night before though, and it seemed symbolically fitting to repurpose it in this way.

"You look so frickin hot in that!" Ken complimented.

"Thank you, but I think this is the last time I'll be wearing it," I confessed, pointing out the new snags I had just noticed as I felt myself blush from his compliment.

"That's a shame" Ken said somewhat sincerely, although his thoughts were obviously elsewhere at the moment as he spread out the open sleeping bag he had been carrying. Under it was our own two sleeping bags, the three making an almost soft faux mattress for us and I appreciated the gesture.

We made out a little once we got settled back down, Ken then kissing his way from my shoulders down, this far more tender and sweet like something my boyfriend would prefer, and truth be told, something I would instead prefer from him. I needed Ken to occupy a slightly different and rougher part in my life, especially if this strange three way relationship was ever going to work out, even in the short term.

To nudge him along in the direction I wanted, and also the direction I thought he really needed as well, I crossed my wrists and held them out to him in submissive invitation. There was just no way Cathy had freaked out with anything Ken had done to me so far, and I knew there had to be more to this crazy story.

In answer to my silent offer, Ken told me Cathy said he got "freaky" once he had her tied, although this didn't square with the timeline of his earlier account of that disaster, nor with the Ken that I thought I knew. At the same time, a naughty part of my mind wondered what a "freaky" Ken might be like, as in "I would just love to see that for myself." I trusted him implicitly, even though we were very much alone this time, and it was time to show Ken this...

"I'll tell you if you go too far," I told him softly, wondering myself if I would, and then how much fun "freaky" might actually be. "Unless of course you gag me with my panties, in that case I'll just have to ride this train to the end of the tracks, won't I?" I asked with a smile, my "train" analogy and my desire to play once on the proverbial "wrong side of the tracks" unintentional. It was an offer that I would just love for him to take me up on though, one that had a recurring role in many of my fantasies, but he hadn't been privy to those, so these expectations of mine were unfair to him.

Ken took my crossed wrists and tenderly wound several wraps of rope about them in a single direction, tying the mass off with two half hitches, the length of the rope he had used leaving an impossibly long tail. To be sure this wasn't great rope work, nor even truly effective "bondage" in the strictest sense of the word, this far more symbolism than actual substance.

Still, if I didn't try too hard to wiggle out and escape, I was actually "bound for sex," for the very first time, and in my mind I went with this version of events. Ken had to know that he could do so much more to me though, take further liberties in really making me helpless, long before he got anywhere close to something I might NOT like to be doing with him.

I decided I would tell him later, so as not to spoil this for him, and at that point I resigned myself to just go with Ken's rather tame version of bound sex and see how I liked it. This was still good, but pretty far from my "fantasies realized," and extraordinarily far from anything I thought I might ever be doing with Ken up until yesterday, except in my fantasies.

With one hand Ken pinned my newly bound wrists over my head, pinning the loose end of the actual rope to the floor of the tent and making me squirm against it under him. I struggled experimentally, and then more forcefully, I no match for Ken's strength in such a position. He resumed his kissing all over me, at least as far as he could reach while still holding my rope, but bound as I was this was still a quasi "against my will" feeling thing, and because of that it was seriously working for me. My back arched, and my toes pointed on reflex, even though I was nowhere near an actual orgasm yet, but to be under Ken's control like this and without an audience this time felt simply magnificent.

In my mind he could do anything he wished to my bound body, the feeling was liberating, I had some small idea of what my boyfriend got from being under such control now. Ken then told me sternly not to move my arms, he then started down at my bare feet kissing his way up my body, slowly, I his virtual prisoner in my mind. I was gushing by the time he kissed me there, on top of my bikini. He pulled it to the side so that he could taste me directly.

Ken was good with his tongue too, and I had my first noisy orgasm that day while riding it, anybody nearby clearly knowing what we were up to. The whiskers on his face scratched on my tender inner thighs, this a first for me as my boyfriend had always been cleanly shaven, or perhaps Ken just had sharper whiskers that needed more daily attention, more like a man might.

Ken came up for air after my big O had run its course and I had stopped tremoring, deeply kissing me after we had looked into each other's eyes for a long few seconds, forcing me to taste myself. Such didn't bother me, probably because I had done so the night before, although in that case as well, not directly from it's feminine source.

Ken then playfully wadded up the panties I had shucked, they laying in a heap on top of my shorts in the corner of his tent, his eye contact and smile telling me he wasn't serious in this playful threat though.

"Do it!" I dared him, "before somebody calls the ranger," despite the absurdity of anybody calling the ranger because somebody was heard "gettin it on" through the thin walls of a tent in a campsite. Ken wouldn't take the bait though, possibly so he could hear my own pleas of mercy should I too have a sudden change of heart, which I wouldn't do under the circumstances pretty much no matter what. A panty gag would have been closer to my fantasy abduction scenarios, but Ken just wasn't going there that day.

Ken then resumed his kissing exploration of my body, picking up where he had left off just above my bikini bottoms, paying special attention to my concave belly. He gave me a second dark love bite just above my panty line as well, sucking on my tender flesh once again and marking his territory, no doubt so that somebody else could see later, depending of course on what I was wearing. He eventually got to my chest, manhandling my boobs through my bikini top as he nibbled on my erect nipples through it.

My back was clear off the floor with that, the feeling deliciously rough and something my boyfriend just wouldn't do this roughly. I held my arms in place over my head as if they truly were anchored to the floor somehow. My bikini was in the way though. Ken pulling one of my boobs out over it's top experimentally to get more direct access, but this didn't feel all that good to me as I winced in pain.

"Rip it!" I squeaked in desperation, "it's junk anyway."

Ken didn't need to be told twice, he reached a hand each into the cups and jerking outwards, the fragile center string breaking easily and only slightly digging into the softer skin on my sides. Ken then attacked my boobs and I was in heaven at having something actually torn off of me for once, my sweet boyfriend just not capable of this kind of aggression, even in mock form.

If this is "freaky," bring it on! I thought to myself.

Ken was so into this now, not that I thought he was actually pretending that I was Cathy. In a way that told me this too is what he was after, if only for a willing playmate like myself to make it happen. I thrashed about some, just pretending that I was much more firmly bound than I was, and that this man on top of me was going to have his fun with my body pretty much no matter what.

My bikini bottoms were next, their strings not under me and easily untied, or the bikini itself just as easily slipped off of my hips and legs cooperatively. But, Ken thankfully didn't take either of these options. He instead reached into the top of it, almost like he had done to my shorts in front of his truck, and he jerked up and toward my legs, tearing it from my body while not giving me an overly intrusive wedgie.

Having my clothes ripped off, even though it was only an old threadbare bikini, was nirvana to me, Ken at the same time obviously enjoying being able to do something ultra aggressive like that himself. At that moment he was the hunter, and I the prey. I found out later that this was also a first for him, although his hidden desires had always leaned in this direction.

Ken was deliciously rough with me, entering more easily this time both because of my body's earlier acclimation, and my very high level of arousal. It felt magnificent, but it also felt unnatural to just be holding my arms over my head while he pounded into me, my ad-hoc solution to wrap my bound arms around his neck and pull him into me for some passionate kissing.

His staying power, with having cum only yesterday, was inhuman. Ken, I realized, much like pasta, was even better the second day, although this didn't feel like leftovers to me at all! Ken rode me through a mind-blowing, toe-pointing orgasm, and then another, although he didn't cum himself either time while doing so. He did withdraw after I stopped violently shaking the second time. I was acutely aware of my growing rawness down there at having this kind of "full contact" extended sex so soon after last night's ground breaking rough plowing.

"Not much longer lover" I cautioned while staring into his eyes, Ken obviously getting the message with my gritted teeth tone. I'm sure he'd had similar experiences with other girls not ready to go so soon afterwards. Ken's "big man" status was likely not always a good thing, if viewed from a certain point of view. My own boyfriend never had to worry about such things for two reasons. One, he was wonderfully average, size wise, and two, he was NEVER ready to go again, that day, or even the next, he truly a once and done kind of guy.

Ken then backed away under my arms and grabbed my hips in his large hands, flipping me aggressively onto my belly with my bound arms now out in front of me. This made me slightly more helpless, bondage wise, and then even more so as he picked me up by my hips and put me on my knees, kicking them wide with his own. I felt like a rag doll with his obvious strength over my own. I only repositioned myself slightly to make my boobs just a little more comfortable, crushed under me as they were.

With the side of my face now pressed into my boyfriend's sleeping bag I smelled his lingering presence on it, Ken and I were no doubt adding our own scents into that mix, even without the complication of making steamy love on top of it as we were, all inside a closed tent. Ken got himself quickly back into me from behind, but this was starting not to be so good for me at all, pain wise. I then opened my mouth and bit a big mouthful of the bag, in effect self "bitting" myself like a human show pony, my "ass in the air" stance aiding in the equine illusion.

Ken could tell that something wasn't quite right, but I told him past my improvised cloth bit that he could finish up, but quickly. To his credit he did, but he also pulled almost all the way out when he came, the position causing him to squirt his significant load of cum just at my entrance, the great majority of it dribbling instantly out of me and onto my boyfriend's sleeping bag in several big globs.

With the damage already done, I squatted back and pumped what I could from my very sore box, but in a slightly lower spot on the open sleeping bag from the first. Ken sat back on his haunches and watched me, I with not a secret in the world to keep, this perhaps the first time he had seen something like this in the clarity of daylight himself. Bound as I was I was still his de facto prisoner, he in no hurry to untie me so I could tend to my very sore self.

"I didn't know how far we would get here, just hours after last night," Ken told me understandingly, rubbing my sweaty naked back soothingly, although my back felt fine. It was a tender thing to do though, and I could tell he felt bad for making me hurt, even if it had been my idea in the first place.

"That probably wasn't the best for you, was it?" I asked, thinking his cumming while almost all the way out of me couldn't possibly feel all that good, at least as compared to being buried deep inside my clutching self like he had been only last night. I suspected he pulled out to ease what I had going on down below, even though I would have gone just a little longer so he could enjoy his own orgasm deep inside me instead.

"I was being greedy, but you were great... I know what you were trying to do too, but I can't possibly..."

"You still have some more in there?" I interrupted, this not going as I had envisioned it might, despite my best efforts. The words "trying to do" implied a lack of total success, and I was unhappy with that. Cathy had certainly left him wanting too, and I just plain wasn't going to do the same. I had fully sated him last night, and in my mind there was no reason I couldn't do so again... somehow.

"Yeah, but you're done!" Ken's words having a finality to them, as if there was no use arguing this point with him. This was new to me, my boyfriend could always be bent toward my wishes, it just a matter of how, and to what eventual degree, most especially when sexual things were involved.

"Am I?" I snapped back.

Ken looked at me, understanding I think coming to his face. He had given me three orgasms without taking one for himself, two of which were simply magnificent, and would have been a "best ever" all by themselves if not for last night, not to even mention the rope. This was apparently the new normal with him in my proverbial bed though, the new standard somebody else would have to strive to meet.

Ken eventually came himself, but I suspected it wasn't all that awesome for him, and I wanted him to have awesome too, he deserved as much.

"There is something I've always wanted to do, well to be honest, about a thousand things I've always wanted to do, with the right girl."

"Is it above the belt, or below?" I asked critically.

"Above, this time," clearly implying that Ken too thought there would BE a next time.

"Show me!" I commanded, I giving him permission, even though Ken hadn't really asked in the traditional way for such, just as I had asked him not to.

Ken then grabbed the long loose end of my wrist rope and pulled me upright by it, I eventually sitting on my haunches with my head trapped between my arms, I was not really able to turn the latter more than a tiny bit. My wrists found themselves behind my head and slightly below my neck, my elbows bent sharply. He then crossed my ankles behind me, the move spreading my legs obscenely so I could maintain my balance, causing still another drip or two to fall from my gaping womanhood, but the position for me there was almost soothing. Ken then pulled my wrist rope further down behind me and arched my back with it, the tension thrusting my chest out lewdly, but at the same time thrusting my belly out in what felt like a most unflattering way.

Ken then tied the long loose end of the rope about my crossed ankles behind me, the position like nothing I ever envisioned being bound in before. I was helpless though, and my nether regions were even relatively comfortable like this, although I thought the latter was likely more of an accident than intentional.

"Too tight?" Ken asked, to which I only stared back at him and refused to answer, abductees in my mind not having such choices, even pretend ones.

I felt the length of rope running between my ankles and wrists bisecting the cleft of my ass intrusively, it's presence reminding me of Ken's "interest" in me there too. It still felt erotic to have something rubbing me intimately "there," the symmetry of Ken's restraint not lost on me either. I was now fairly helpless, although not in a great position for sex specifically, but that was okay as I was far too sore to go again anyway.

Ken was again sporting a "stiffy," this tying me up further doing something for him. "Cathy Who?" I thought to myself with a smile. He then searched through my clothes laying on the floor, I for a moment, I thinking he intended to finally gag me, although this would have been counterproductive had his interests gone as I anticipated. He instead found the bandana I had blindfolded my boyfriend with earlier, it still tucked into the back pocket of my shucked jean shorts where I had left it. Ken then did the same to me, my helplessness exponentially increased by losing one of my senses.

"If you want me to stop... like ever, you just have to tell me." Ken advised me. I knew that I wouldn't, at least that day.

I felt him stand close in front of me, the heat from his body almost overwhelming inside a tent that was already warm and smelling of sex. He smacked me on the cheek with his hard cock, it close to my nose and smelling far more like me than him. I flinched in reaction, not that I was afraid of either him, or his cock, but because it had been a shock. This was again something my boyfriend just couldn't do, in this case "to me," but "for me" could also work, as I loved the "roughness" of this, his large cock wielded like a fleshy club.

Ken slapped me several more times with his cock, but I tried to "catch" it blindly in my greedy mouth each time in a perverse game of sorts. I was handicapped in this "game" in that I couldn't see my target, and I couldn't really turn my head either. Still this was no hardship in the traditional sense, I wanted to service his needs, and to have him use me in this way. Implied in there someplace as well was that I wasn't going anywhere until Ken was good and done with me. This was one of many times that I had felt this way around Ken already, his control of both my boyfriend, and I, as much a mental thing as a physical one.

I finally caught him, Ken telling me what to do, and what not to do, he in effect schooling me on his version of the perfect blow job. He had apparently had several, and between us three that made him the expert, not to mention his unique position to tell me what specifically felt good to him, and what didn't. I could tell certain things based on his felt reactions, these were intuitive things and they emulated what my sore box did naturally and by design, although this was still more "giving without getting." This feedback would have been easier had I not been blindfolded, or had I the use of my hands, but to use a poker analogy " have to play the hand you're dealt, not the one you'd like to be dealt."

I was seriously getting into it, my single focus mission to make Ken cum at all costs, although he seemed to be in no hurry to actually get there himself. "This next part we'll take slow, and if you do well I may NOT have to go searching for some campers for you to practice on," Ken threatened.

He was so pushing my buttons with that threat, it's just too bad that I knew it to be a bluff. Would the boys from Crestmount have passed me around to their friends, after they had their fill? I asked myself.

"Don't bite me!" Ken warned, telling me something just a little rougher was coming next. I wouldn't do so intentionally, obviously, but the fact that he had warned me told me I might reflexively want to anyway.

I had been bobbing my head and using all the other tips Ken had given me up until that point, but stopping just short of Ken going down my actual throat. He was both long and large, girth-wise, and I was convinced that he couldn't possibly fit, but I had at least grown comfortable with him filling my mouth completely. This unfortunately left at least half of Ken on the outside, and I suspected that part wanted in as well. This had to be an animal instinct kind of thing, as in "put that thing in there as deep as possible" just before cumming, so as to get everything as close to the target womb as possible, so that nature could then take its course. He had apparently fought that urge earlier when I had become sore, and I wanted to reward his restraint on my behalf.

Ken then grabbed my upper arms that were framing my head, and he pulled me onto him as I bobbed my head forward, upsetting my balance perched on my knees and toes as I was. He could have possibly grabbed my head instead, but I wouldn't have had the flexibility to NOT go where he pushed had he done so, and I think this aided in my gag reflex's muted response.

I was of two mindsets, the first was my desire for him to direct where he wanted me aggressively, and that part of me was willing to risk being strangled on his erect cock as he shoved it down my throat. Logic told me that it wouldn't break off and become stuck or anything foolish like that, and logic also told me that Ken wouldn't force me to do something I couldn't physically do, for both our mutual benefits. He was into this, but like a friend showing a friend a cool trick he had learned, not like a smash and grab jewelry store thief.

My other mindset was to go full on resistance, as if the boys from Cresmount had grabbed me for real, and I was fighting for my very life. I rejected this version outright although the bondage more closely suggested this version. Ken was no monster though, just a horny and curious friend with a high sex drive, more like myself than I cared to admit.

We collectively discovered that Ken's erect cock would indeed fit, if not "down" my throat, at least past my uvula, although my teenage self didn't know it was actually called that at the time. I made a strange gurgling sound the first time Ken had pushed past that barrier, and in reaction he immediately pulled me off of him. I don't know what made me make that sound, but to my ears it was amusing. Somebody watching, and obviously listening, would have been convinced that Ken was trying to strangle me with his cock though, but then would have been confused as to why I didn't just bite down hard and remove the proverbial threat.

"Try that again!" I commanded, once I caught my breath and got my head wrapped around what just happened. I hadn't been thinking that deeply, but my "try that again" prevented Ken from having to ask if he could continue, and I didn't want Ken to have to ask permission at all.

We got back to where we left off, instinct telling me to adopt a more "looking up" into Ken's eyes posture, had I obviously not been blindfolded. Ken had to let me fall forward further to make this happen, my ankles then pulling at my wrists and bending my back further, and driving the rope between the two deeper into the cleft of my ass. Ken also had adjusted his own stance accordingly, but I discovered that we were both learning new things that day.

Ken again pushed past my uvula, and I again made that strange gurgling sound for him, even hamming it up slightly now that he knew he wasn't killing me with his cock. We did this twice, the second time he broke the barrier I wiggled my head and forced myself forward, he getting deeper down my throat with the move. His "AAAAhhhhh" told me the tightness of his passage felt good to him, and this is all I needed to know for me to want to continue.

I was still making that sound, but it just sort of came naturally to me now, my focus being to take him fully and bring him off while down my throat. I assumed that the way the human body was made that would lead to my stomach and not my lungs, but I didn't know for sure, and there was nobody around to ask.

Ken and I were at that point working towards the same goal, I hadn't spoken to him about it specifically, but he was perceptive enough to know what I was trying to do for him. As a side benefit, whenever my boyfriend eventually earned his own first ever blow job from me, he would be the recipient of all my hard-earned education.

I couldn't breathe with Ken's cock impaling me orally, and he therefore had to limit his time deep in me there so I could take some breaths in between. We worked up to maybe ten seconds or so with him deep down my throat, my nose eventually right up against his hair at the base of his cock. My tongue was then just able to touch his man bits at the same time; I was quite proud of my slutty efforts on his behalf.

Bound, blindfolded, and teetering as I was, that ten seconds felt like two minutes at the bottom of the pool, although an irrational part of me wanted him to hold deep much longer, like long enough to make me frantically struggle for real. Maybe another day, I thought, as my throat was getting sore by that point, and Ken had yet to cum with his incredible second cum staying power.

The next time I came up for air I tried something, telling Ken NOT to cum, this always making my boyfriend cum almost instantly. When he plunged deep this time, with my nose up against him once again, I clamped down with my lips and tongue, applying pressure everywhere I could, all at the same time. I felt the difference this time though, my sensitive tongue feeling every pulse of his organ as he delivered directly down my throat, his man bits rising up against my chin, and his hold on my arms firm enough to leave bruises.

Ken held himself in there for what felt like an eternity, my throat burning with his seed, I determined to passively pass out if necessary from a lack of oxygen before I struggled against him. It never got to that though, Ken withdrawing and going soft, I dragging my lips and tongue on him on the way out so as to leave him clean...

Untied and cuddling, but still naked, we started to talk. My throat felt a little sore, but one might expect it to be:

"That was magnificent, all of it!" I told him with a slight rasp, letting him know clearly that I enjoyed his using me for his pleasure too. I had rope burns on my wrists and ankles, but I tried my best to hide these from Ken, they in my mind a small price to pay for this adventure of ours.

"That was absolutely over the top" Ken agreed. "But the being rough with you part I wasn't so sure about."

"Nine hundred and ninety nine to go?" I asked with a smile, ignoring his "rough" comment entirely.

"Something like that, but I just don't know how we're going to make this work." Ken's words brought me back to the proverbial eight hundred pound gorilla in the room, or tent as it were.

"I don't either, but that doesn't mean it can't, we all just have to be open minded" I told Ken far more confidently that I felt. "If you tell me something you'd really like to do, I'll tell you something I'd really like to be 'made' to do" I offered, changing the subject to one of a more optimistic future, at least in the short term.

Ken then told me about a leather bag that he had found while cleaning up his uncle's boat, the same uncle that let him use the cabin any time he wanted in exchange for looking after the place. We considered the cabin to be Ken's, even though it was technically his uncle's, but he only seemed to use it for hunting season these days. Both my boyfriend and I had been out on that boat before with Ken and his aunt and uncle, it was a thirty-something foot wooden=hulled cabin cruiser, with berths and a galley below. In its day it had probably been quite expensive.

These days it was just an older boat that Ken's uncle also hardly used, so much so that he was wanting to sell it, hence the need for a clean up before the next winter when it would have to be hauled out and stored still again. In the bag, Ken had told me, were chains and locks, and leather cuffs, and several other things all quite kinky. Ken's uncle hadn't owned the boat since it was new, and the bag had been stowed in a small forward compartment not easy for his large uncle to get to, so Ken theorized that it might not in fact be his uncle's own kink bag, but that of the boat's previous owner.

He had no way to ask one way or the other though, this was still his uncle, but his aunt was still a good looking woman herself and the concept of the two playing like that, perhaps even on the boat, gave acceptance to this newly discovered kink of Ken's. Ken told me his ultimate fantasy was to experiment with this stuff, with me, if I was willing to.

Ken then asked what my fantasies were, and I told him in general terms that I would like to be roughly taken, leaving out the part about it being against my will by a group of guys after they had abducted me. I didn't tell him about the "boys from Crestmount" specifically, because I thought that was a fantasy properly kept between my future hubby and I.

We then discussed our wager of whether my boyfriend actually wore the panties I had lent him on his long trek back to the campsite, Ken choosing "no" earlier, and I choosing "yes." What we were wagering was yet to be worked out though, and I suggested a blow job for Ken as the prize one way or the other. I clarified by telling him I had what I thought was a win win scenario for him. If my panties had been worn, my boyfriend would have to give Ken his blow job himself, sampling some "essences of Ken" freshly from the source. And if he hadn't worn my feminizing panties, I would give Ken the blow job, anytime, or anyplace he chose.

Ken balked at the idea, telling me quite clearly that his cock in any other guy's mouth would make him wilt pretty much no matter what, most especially his best friend's. He offered a compromise though, seeing how his friend had already consumed the elements, what if we went to a truckstop porn shop on the way home and he bought a lifelike rubber cock the same size, or bigger, than he is. He could give head to that instead, when I was alone with him. He could even be made to deep throat it as a condition of the bet.

Not lost on me was Ken's further investment in this kink of ours, and that I would be in possession of a lifelike reminder of Ken stature to use as I pleased, it a reminder of what I once had deep inside me myself. The further irony was that my boyfriend might potentially be "giving head" before he ever got such himself. Wearing panties had consequences though, I thought to myself flippantly with a smirk, and he was quite naturally talented with his mouth already.

Still the unfairness of the whole matter gnawed at me the more I thought about it, and seeing how Ken and I were having a very non-judgmental conversation in the afterglow of some extraordinary sex anyway, I decided to share my dilemma with him.

"My problem is that I wanted to keep no-condom sex, and my mouth, from him until we were married," I told Ken. "It was to be a special present from me to him, but now I've screwed that all up," I confessed. I didn't know what I expected Ken to do about that one way or the other, it's not like I could undo what we had done, and it had been his idea anyway. Just telling another person made me feel better though, but Ken saw this as a problem to be solved - I would learn over the years that followed that he saw most things like this.

"...So, what's changed?" Ken asked me.

I looked back at him bewildered, forcing Ken to explain his reasoning.

"If you don't want him to have those things, don't give them to him! Just because somebody else got there first doesn't automatically mean you have to change your plans. He can wait... it'll motivate him to buy you a ring and set a date."

"He can't afford a ring, nor a wife right now."

"Then he better buy rubbers in bulk, and thank his lucky stars that you don't want to trade up, or even cut him off completely." Ken offered with a laugh. He wasn’t specifically offering to be that "up trade" himself, but I could tell that under different circumstances he might like to be.

We laid there and talked some more, and eventually got dressed, I put on my denim skirt and a shirt to match, leaving my panties off as they just would have ground painfully on my hanging nether regions, Ken leaving me a mess down there still again.

When my boyfriend finally wandered into the camp hours later I could see in his eyes that he was spent, leading me to believe that he had done the deed solo sometime on the way back, but who could blame him? He was done playing for that day, but we all were by then, and I took the key from my neck and unlocked his handcuffs myself. I looked at the condition of the panties I had lent him, throwing them into the smoldering fire where we had thrown the tattered wreckage of my bikini some hours earlier.

I didn't want to tell him right away that Ken had ripped his favorite thing I had to wear from my body and destroyed it on him, all in his haste to get to my body and plunder it still again but I knew I would have to eventually. Ken had given me a taste of real-life roughness, and bondage, and I would forever be grateful for that at the very least. He had also taken me twice to a place that I didn't know existed. I wanted to get back there again, I just didn't know how or when.

We all talked into the night like the friends we were, and what we wanted to do in life. My future hubby kind of pretended that this maybe didn't actually happen, his kink drained by his likely epic self-inflicted orgasm on his hike back. Ken let him put some clothes on, likely so that he didn't have to stare at another guy's junk any longer than he had to.

The second to last laugh of the camping trip happened when we all went to bed, this time together in the tent as there had always been enough room in it. Ken had arranged the sleeping bags himself, and seeing how he was still the alpha male of the group he had also set the condition that sleeping in HIS tent would only be done in the nude. I liked to sleep that way anyway, most especially with my hanging girl parts, and Ken had no body modesty that I knew about. My boyfriend shouldn't either, most certainly after spending most of the day naked.

My bag was up against the left wall of the tent, with Ken's in the middle, and my boyfriend's about as far away from mine as it could by Ken's design on the right. The tent still smelled of sex, but we three had avoided that subject specifically, we each crawling into our bags, Ken with his back toward my boyfriend and looking at me, his smile ear to ear...

"GUYS, THAT'S JUST DISGUSTING, IN MY BAG...REALLY?" Apparently my boyfriend found the mess we had left inside his bag for him, although in my case not intentionally. It did clear up any misconceptions as to what we did in his absence, but the clues were all there anyway.

...On the way home the following day we stopped at the highway truck stop, Ken and I sharing a look between ourselves. We had a purchase to make, and my boyfriend had a new skill to master, when we were alone again. My thrown into the fire panties had been destroyed, the elastic waistband stretched out as well, and there was only one way such a thing could have happened, and gagging my boyfriend with them wasn't it...


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