I carefully crawled into the tent, and zipped it back behind me, not wanting the various bugs and other nighttime critters to get in. I looked down at my husband, who looked about ready to fall asleep. On a campout, he could fall asleep almost at the drop of a hat. He liked to sleep outdoors, and loved the quiet away from the big city. I crawled over him and smiled down at him. He looked back up at me, and we just enjoyed the dim images of one another as the sun sank below the hills. I told him I loved him, and he answered with kind and affectionate words of his own in that soft, relaxed and feathery voice he always has when he’s finally unwinding, and enjoying himself again. Work is rough, and just being in the city is not much better.
I straddled his hips, my hair, bound back in a ponytail through the back of a ball cap, pressing the top of the tent. It was just a two-man pup tent after all. I rubbed his shoulders softly, and he closed his eyes, just letting himself enjoy it. Finally, he put his hands on my arms, causing me to stop, and he rolled me on to my back. I gazed up at him with my jade eyes, mouse-brown ponytail draped over my shoulder. He leaned in slowly, silently and kissed me. This was the reason I loved to come with him on campouts, where a lot of girls would not. When John gets relaxed out in the forest, he gets romantic, and I always want to be there when he does.
Slowly, with long, languid strokes of deep and promising tenderness, his tongue slipped into my mouth, and touched tentatively against my own, pulling a positive sound from me, as I let him know I was not about to stop him. His warm, strong form pressed me into the bottom of the tent, which, plastic canvas, crinkled. I shifted under him, as he turned his head a bit, to allow himself to kiss deeper, with growing passion. There was no doubt in my mind, by the way he kissed me, that he was just as in love with me now as he was on our first campout together, on our anniversary six years ago. I looked up into his ice blue eyes, as he smiled down at me. His clean-shaven face glowed with youth and life, even though we were both nearing the thirty mark. His hair was a little mussed, but still thick, and as I reached up and ran my fingers through it, I was reminded of one of my favorite attributes for John. His hair was very soft and fine, fun to caress. He lowered his head, and kissed me on the collarbone as I petted his hair a bit more, and then embraced him, while wriggling my hips, and moving one hand down, to peel away my shorts, as the light faded. I didn’t want to have anything between us now. I wanted to feel his warm skin and firm body against my own.
After I did that, I felt one of his strong hands working up the length of my flannel nightshirt. He deftly unfastened the buttons, one by one, before pulling the shirt open, revealing my ample and creamy white breasts, pink nipples hardening with interest as he gazed at me, and then looked back into my eyes with anxiousness and adoration. I reached down and undid the button to his khaki shorts, and he wriggled his hips, letting them slide down with some effort, as I unbuttoned his shirt carefully. I licked my warm, well kissed lips again, and then watched as his already thick erection sprang into view, no less than eight inches of desire for his wife. This made the bug bites worth it. He sank back down on top of me, not a lot of room to move around in the tent. We didn’t need room though. We would stay this close, and closer, all night long… All weekend long if we could. So much stress went away through it all.
I closed my eyes as I felt his entire strong, masculine form against me. His muscles were not overabundant, but their lines were easy to make out. He had a physically demanding job, as he believed that, even as an architect, he should be willing to get his hands dirty and help build the things he designed, which gave him this strong body that I fell in love with. He kissed me again, bringing his hips up to mine, and I felt the first gentle, interested touch of that firm member against my already dewy wet labia. It sent chills up my spine, and if I had been worked up already, I am certain I probably would have climaxed at that touch. We had not been making out very long though, so he was spared my scream of pleasure, for now. My white, slender hands contrasted against his tanned skin as I traced over his shoulders, trembling with want, and rubbing my hips up and down, letting my body beg silently for what he was going to give to me.
Finally, I felt the slow and careful strokes, no to enter me, but to use that throbbing and swollen member, just the tip to spread my juices, and his, along my labia, to get me nice and wet. I arched my back, as my breathing became shallow and a little faster. Oh yes. This is exactly what I was here for. He slid forward against my prone body, and I groaned loudly, wrapping my legs around the small of his back and squeezing as he pressed himself, all eight inches, inside me. I held him tight a moment, as he looked into my eyes lovingly again, silently, and lowered his head to kiss me. His lips were firm, but gentle, like the rest of him, as he massaged my own lips with his seemingly never-ending kiss. I released him with my legs, and began to hold him in my arms, as he began to stroke himself along my trembling body, his thickness sliding in and out, with audible wetness. His pace slowly began to pick up, as my breathing became deeper, but faster. I raised and lowered my hips, wanting this even more than him at this point, I was sure. As the fading light of dusk gave way to the silvery light of a night with full moon, I felt his hips thumping against mine more solidly, the drive of sexual pleasure obviously setting in. John breathed fast and heavy now, as his hips rolled rapidly, his length slipping about four inches back and forth, hard, deep, and fast. I could not even speak at this point. My tight depths clung to him like a vice and he began to give those soft, pleasured, feral-sounding grunts that I had grown accustomed to, but which drove me mad with pleasure. I rutted against him, my hips bouncing, milking his shaft as it slammed in and out faster.
Finally, my body gave in, and pleasure took me to my highest point, and kept me there, as the world blurred, and my body did the very opposite. I felt sharp, defined, powerful and intense. Just then, with a resounding cry, I climaxed, my hands digging against his back, leaving pink streaks over his skin, as I rammed myself up against him. He pumped a little faster, even as I cried in sweet orgasm, and sped up. I rocked my hips against him, somewhat weakly, as afterglow was just setting in, and my body, brought well past that threshold, was rocked with another climax, shredding the gossamer blankets of my bliss for a second intense, mind-shattering release, and then doubly wrapping me in the warmth of tenderness and love, just before I felt a hot pulse inside me… Then another… And another. He slowed suddenly, and then held still, trembling, as he savored his climax, holding me tight in his arms, his heaving chest pressed to my own. The sounds of night rose from the outside, closing in around us, as our soft, but rapid breathing added to the various other sounds of the wild.