…It was nothing but a Sunday morning summer hike, or at least that's the way we had planned it. We like to get out together, away from cell phone signals, and the hustle and bustle of everyday life. These little day hikes are almost like therapy for a married couple like us, and I truly like spending time with my husband, he's a great guy, very giving. He generally likes to be the one doing the giving, but every now and then he surprises me, reminding me that there are two of him inside that one body, just like there are inside myself.
But, enough of that mushy stuff…
Anyway, this is a state forest, so we can hike anywhere on it, but others have access too, and apparently the state had allowed some select-cut logging to thin the dense woods for fire prevention, and to no doubt make a buck too. This isn't a complaint about such things, our home and deck are made from wood just like this, as is some of our furniture, so this is a win-win from my point of view; simply a harvest of what nature has provided. Getting the heavy equipment and logging trucks back to the trees they're after makes narrow "jeep" trails that are more than wide enough to hike, and long before these people leave they even put stone down on them so that if there is a fire the forest fire people can get to it quickly. All in all good forest management, something done all the time on the east coast, but apparently not so much on the west.
Anyway, this trail leads to a massive yellow machine with huge tall tires, much taller than I am, and to make this big yellow thing look even more impressive, it has big heavy chains on each of its four wheels. These are apparently for traction in the mud, and to perhaps protect the tires from sharp rocks too for all I know. It's called a skidder, and it has a blade for pushing dirt and stumps on its front, and a scarry massive clamp looking thing in it's back, for dragging the fallen trees. Or, perhaps they're called "felled" trees. I'm not really sure of the proper grammar here to be honest, but I'm no English major either…
I only know what this thing is called because I looked it up later on; I'm just naturally curious like that, and smartphones and the internet makes this easy. Anyway, this skidder machine is locked up with metal plates over all the windows, and we obviously have the place to ourselves, and to play with my giving husband I pose with my back to one of the rear tires, looping my wrists into the dirty chains over my head at ten and two o'clock, as if I'm bound in place.
He takes a few pictures as I ham up the damsel in distress thing, spreading my legs playfully, although still wearing my clothes. This is a pretty good standing spread eagle position, and I know such things drive him absolutely wild. They do something for me too, to be honest.
"Strip," he tells me, it's a command, but the nature of our relationship has me giving far more "orders" like this than he ever has. So, I obviously don't have to do this, but I want to, and seeing how it's summer and I'm not wearing all that much, stripping is easy and quick, throwing my stuff at him playfully, after looking around one last time to make sure we really are alone. There is a job trailer there, and a porta potty too, but this is Sunday morning, and nobody is working. To add comfort to the situation, we'd hear somebody drive up the long winding trail before they ever saw us, so in a risk vs reward scenario it's a good risk.
Stripped by my own hands I pose again, the muddy tire now getting my back muddy instead of my shirt, but it's mostly just dry mud on the side of the tire itself. I can be like a big kid when I want to be, and kids just LOVE playing in the mud. It's much wetter under my feet at the base of the tire, it even squishes between my toes as I'm barefoot now, and it's not until later on that I ponder the people who run that equipment finding my little bare footprints next to that tire, wondering what exactly happened when they weren't there.
Anyway, I love being nude in the woods, the sun shining on my bare skin, there only being one or two things that could make this even better. My husband is right there with me though, and he playfully pulls my leather belt from my cut-off jean shorts that I've tossed to him, I for a moment thinking he wants me to turn around so that he can playfully whip my bare ass, as if I'm bound to this tire for this exact purpose.
I don't know that I want that at the moment, but if he wanted to I would let him, and even ham that up too, because I know he'll take good care of me afterwards, and he won't really hurt me with the belt either, he simply couldn't. He's good like that, he always gives way more than he takes, the rare times he takes anything at all. More times than I can count I've woken him from a dead sleep on a work night; not for sex, but so that he can service me by going down on me so that I can sleep. Sex leaves me messy, and I can't usually sleep afterwards, wthout a shower, and that wakes me back up. So, in selfish fashion I wake him up so he can get me back to sleep after a wicked dream, or just because, all without the expectation from him of getting off himself. He's told me specifically to do this if I can't sleep, he's just like that, very giving, but I digress…
Anyway, he pulls his own belt from his shorts too, and in short order my wrists are belted to the massive chain links at ten and two o'clock over my head, and I find myself bound naked with my back up against a machine tire in the woods. The belts are tight enough to make me feel trapped, but not so tight that I couldn't slip out of them if I absolutely had to; they allow for blood flow to my wrists while not crushing my carpal tunnel nerves, something we all have to be careful of when we play like this.
He's not done though, as he finds a huge roll of yellow plastic "caution" labeled tape, although "tape" is a misnomer as that implies that one side of this stuff is sticky, which it isn't. Somebody has dropped this, or perhaps tossed it angrily for some reason, but there is just so much of it that the logging people won't miss a few feet of it. I spread my legs cooperatively when he tells me to, and in short order the cold and clammy wide plastic "tape" binds my spread ankles to the lower tire chains at 4:30 and 7:30 respectively, in other words, widely spread with not a secret to be kept.
I tug at my bonds experimentally, and my husband backs away and snaps some more pictures. He also gets a short video, but I didn't know this at the time. The plastic tape is like four inches wide, and wrapped half a dozen times around my ankles and then tied off to the heavy chains, it's quite a bit stronger than it looks. I'd have trouble getting out of this part on my own to be honest, my husband is a creative evil genius when it comes to improvised bondage, or so I had learned over the years. Such is the irony, as we have some wonderful things for this exact purpose, but we left those safely home, as I at least had no intention of playing like this when we set out this morning. I assume he had no intention of this either, otherwise he would have packed our day bag differently… and I might have even worn matching underthings too, or brought a change of clothes, or made sure I was freshly shaved bald…
"Imagine if I left you here just like this, wouldn't the logging guys get a surprise when they came to work on Monday morning?" he playfully threatens. He'd never do such a thing, and who knows if these guys are even coming to work on Monday, as I assume logging isn't a 9-5 Monday to Friday kind of job. He then walks around the machine and out of my field of view, and I struggle just a bit more, trying to feel alone here, just to get into the proper headspace. In a slightly different situation I'd ask him to abandon me for a bit, maybe a half hour or so, and then earn my freedom from him when he came back, but here that just doesn't feel wise, and he apparently feels the same way, otherwise he would have offered such, or already walked off.
This is still kinky though, and my body is reacting; this is not the main event for me though, but just foreplay. I have my eyes closed as I'm looking into the rising sun, and I'm well lit and exposed feeling as a result. I then feel a shadow in front of me, occulting the warm sun, but I keep my eyes closed, my husband is here and a part of my brain knows this is him. He tenderly kisses my elbow first, probably so he doesn't startle me too badly and I jerk my head and headbutt him accidentally; I've done this before, it kind of kills the mood!
Anyway, he kisses his way from my left elbow towards my lips, and we then make out like teenagers, very passionately. I'm pretty wound up here, and he knows me well enough to know this, but if he somehow missed the memo, he's got it now, my probing return kisses and little hungry mewing noises confirming such. We don't have all day though, but I'm far more exposed and committed than he is. He works his way down my neck as I mock struggle, and then onto my boobs, which he loves to play with almost as much as I like him to.
I'm stripped and bound like I'm ready for a dungeon torture session by the head executioner himself though, and he's being all sweet and gentle with me, and I need something just a little different for all this to work out in my mind. "Rougher," I tell him, while he slobbering all over my breasts, I have to tell him this all the time, as "they" like rough, at least most times of the month anyway. This is better, I suppose, than having to tell him to back off a little, as hurting me in the slightest way is something that crashes him cold; switch off, game over.
Rougher works, and I'm making all kinds of noises as I twist my body this way and that against my bonds, really holding onto the massive links near my wrists, but this is just so working for me now, on so many different levels. He's seriously manhandling my boobs, two hands on each alternately, molding them into shapes with his clenching hands that nature never intended, but it feels so wickedly good. He's suckling them, nursing on them and getting something for his efforts, and it feels just magnificent. It feels so good that my body locks up and I squeal through a tiny orgasm, although he hasn't even touched me down there yet. My breasts are a huge erogenous zone for me though, and his aggressive nursing on them can even make me pop off if I'm wound up enough.
I am just SO ready, and I want him to get to it. I don't orgasm reliably when he makes love to me on a normal basis, sometimes I do when the passion is high enough, or the stars are all aligned, or whatever it is; but most times not. Back in my teens and early twenties we had a very good friend - friends with benefits for me - that could get me to pop off like pretty much every time, many times several times in a row. One could quickly come to the erroneous conclusion that the young man was doing something that my husband wasn't, or couldn't, although I'm now convinced that the taboo nature of our relationship was what was making it so extra special, as in "in my head" special, as in "naughty and wrong" special, but I digress…
Anyway, my husband could strip down and take me just like this, although the position isn't exactly perfect for such, but with enough motivation he could easily make it happen, and I already technically had my orgasm, so we'd be even. Except that cumming from down below is just so much more intense for me than any other kind of orgasm, but I'm also bound and at his mercy, so I expect him to sate himself like this. I'm fine with this, it had been a hell of a kinky and fun morning up until this point.
Instead, he resumes kissing his way slowly down my body, and when he gets to the part between my belly button and my more womanly parts, I feel my hips thrusting all on their own. Kissing or rubbing me there is a second erogenous zone, and while not likely to make me cum, it's a clear precursor to his going down on me, a learned reflex as it were. He's extremely good at such things though, as if he's mapped out every millimeter of my body and knows all the right buttons to push, but he's had a lot of practice over the years, and even one quasi tutor, but that's a separate story all by itself.
Down he goes, and I'm gushing, and he gets into me like a starving man, and I'm squealing and not being too quiet at all, pulling myself up by the chains I'm holding. My feet are even leaving the mud I'm standing on, but his shoulders are half under my thighs at this point, and he's half supporting me as a result, with half his body awkwardly inside the rim of the tire. I cumming one right after another, I'm gushing and making his face a mess, and my own thighs too, he doesn't even let me come down from one before he has me back on top of the next.
I reluctantly tell him he HAS to slow down, I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack; I feel the blood thumping in my temples in time with my racing heart, it sounds like somebody driving a nail into a heavy block of wood right next to my ear, his blows far too quick though. He resumes after a quick break, every touch to my button has my bound legs twitching in time, and when he touches off on my back passage with his thumb I squeal and launch off once again, trying to pull myself away from his talented mouth and tongue.
Despite all the natural lube my body is producing I'm still getting sore, there is so much of it that I think I've squirted. I've done that before, but it's rare, and even more rare for me to do so with him. One of my husband's pet names for me is "Honeypot" because I taste sweet to him. I've been told this by one other too, and that young man had several partners before we hooked up that first time, so I'm inclined to believe him when he tells me that I'm very sweet.
At this point I'm thinking I'm going to have to do something for him yet, and I'm pretty orgasmed out for such, but I owe him too.
"What about you?" I ask sweetly of the man that just took me to "squeal town" like eight times in a row. I'm sore, but I'll give it a go so that he can get off too, but hiking back to the car with the sticky essence of husband slowly filling my panties isn't all that exciting. I love no-condom sex, but I don't love that after feeling; a shower, hottub, or even bath right afterwards is my preference. There is always the fourth option of getting your selfless husband to go down on you one more time to clean you up though, but that's way easier when it's not him that just popped off; ask me how I know?
"I'm good," he tells me, getting off his muddy knees and showing me the huge wet spot in front of his shorts, soaking through and looking wet and uncomfortable. I feel for him, this is almost the exact feeling that I was trying to avoid myself, not to mention that we'll have to go right home now, instead of getting lunch somewhere. Everybody who sees that mess will know he just "creamed his jeans," something I have some experience with, with more than one man.
A part of me wants to ask him when exactly that happened, but I have something else in mind first though. My once and done husband is at least sated too now, "kind of," because he's told me in the past that his cumming like that isn't the same as making love and cumming. I don't have a frame of reference on the whole concept of "ruined guy orgasm" first hand obviously, but I've done this to him before, both intentionally, and otherwise, and it seems less than satisfying. I feel like I've maybe shortchanged him here this morning, but he doesn't seem to feel like this at all, although this goes back towards his whole giving personality.
…Several times while we've been laying in bed - after he's done exclusively for me - he's told me that he'd gladly do that for me like three times a day, every day, for the rest of his life, and never cum once himself ever again, and he'd be perfectly happy with that. And the crazy thing is, he means it…
Anyway, I couldn't "do" anything for him right in the moment even if I wanted to, and we both know it, but I have just a bit more left if he's willing. I'll be too sore for sex of any kind at all after, but that doesn't look to be a problem now.
"I'm feeling greedy," I tell him, snaking my body for him in it's bonds, telling him I have just a little more, sore or not.
And there we go, off for another trip to squeal town…