Encounter in the Deep Woods

A rustle of wind blows in from the surrounding trees,
making me look up expectantly to the deep blackness of
the night. I yearn that HE might appear. I dream of his
gorgeous, tanned body. I imagine him walk out of the
darkness and into the clearing of my campsite, the
campsite of this frail and very anxious young woman. But
instead, I see only shadows, cast by the swaying
branches, illuminated by flickering flame of the burning
campfire at my feet.

The wind blows hard and cold, hard enough to sway my hair
over to one shoulder and cold enough to form a momentary
chill in the air. It tingles as it brushes against the
skin of my naked feet, legs, and bare thighs. Two drops
of cold water, one on my red, possibly sunburned shoulder
and the other at my knee, percolate down from the moist
leaves above, still moist from a brief and relaxing
thunderstorm from just an hour before. This causes me a
shiver and I am tempted me to reach for the blanket at my
side, but then I remember the heat of the day.

As Papa liked to say, the day had been “hotter than a
roasted jalapeno in Baja.” The sun shined bright and the
humidity made it unbearable. It was a typical hot
Midwestern summer day, one of those days when the air so
heavy you just knew it was going to storm. And then it
did! Just as the sun went down, a thunderstorm roared in
from the northwest, bringing with it the wind and thunder
of an angry God through the trees.

I retreated into the confines of my stifling tent to let
it pass; praying all the trees remained upright and no
water gathered to flood my campsite and wash my little
body away. I found myself wishing HE sat with me,
protecting me, calming me as I sat helpless and alone,
listening to the thunder crack, the wind roar, and the
rain pound on the sides of my little tent like a thousand
angry fists.

And then it was over. It lasted only a few minutes, and
then it passed.

I crawled back out of the tent and into a different
world. Small branches lay strewn around the campsite. My
bare feet became wet on the soggy grass. It was a wet,
muddy, but also a much more comfortable world. I think
the storm dropped the temperature by a good 20 degrees,
enough to cause a chill in the air as I…

…now sit alone in face of the fire. The chill, however,
lasts only a moment before the roaring flame of the
campfire rises to my protection. It swells upward in the
breeze, flames leaping into the air and seeming to nearly
touch the overhanging branches. It radiates increased
warmth as though to apologize for the chill caused by its
misbehaving cousin, the wind.

I feel proud of the campfire; even a little surprised at
the ease it took to build. The last time I camped was as
a child, probably ten years ago. We used to camp often as
a family. I wished we still did, but the outings sadly
came to stop after my parents needed start paying tuition
for my five older brothers. Papa promoted education above
all else. His own experience as a southern immigrant
working in the farm fields of California and Arizona
provided ample reason. He said we had to “cut the
corners” in his own imperfect English, and the summer
camping trip up from Chicago to the beautiful forests of
Northern Minnesota, Wisconsin, and the Upper Peninsula
were one of the saddest cuts I had to endure. It took a
surprising lot of money to go camping with a family of
seven, or at least that’s what Papa said.

I discovered the campfire was surprisingly simple to
build. “Kidder must first remember,” I still remember
Papa instructing my older brothers. “Must let fire
breath. Gotta make open at bottom to suck air.” I still
remembered his words, and it was a lucky thing I did, for
Papa never let me build a fire myself. I grew up in what
could best be described as a traditional Catholic family
where men did the hunting and the women stayed in the
kitchen. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that bad, but Papa
and Mamma did teach us very clear lines of division
between the sexes. This applied to the summer camping
trip as well as our everyday lives. The making of a
campfire clearly lay on the “manly” side of the fence, as
did grilling, fishing, and maybe even a little hunting if
Papa and my brothers got the chance. The more mundane
tasks fell under the woman’s domain, like setting the
picnic table and washing dishes.

I shuffle my chair back to escape the waves of heat from
the first just as another breeze blows through the trees
and makes it roar with increased vigor. Flames leap high
into the air, this time high enough I think to burn of
the leaves of the overhanging branches-or at least that’s
what it looks like when I gaze upward from my seated
thrown-a lawn chair. Now I worry over too much fire. In
my zeal to make a fire, any fire, I wonder if I piled on
too much wood in my first attempt. Not that it had any
chance of causing a forest fire, not in a green forest
and certainly not after a thunderstorm. My concern
revolves around the light.

I worry someone might see me. Although I sit alone and
the campsites are spaced far apart, I can’t help but
recall the two-hundred-some other campers who also occupy
the park. Some of them I can make out in the distance
from the evidence of their own campfires. One sparkles
through the trees on my right and another ahead of me. A
closer campsite stands on my left, I knew, but everyone
appears to be in bed.

The anticipation that HE might arrive and the knowledge
of so many people creates natural, embarrassing thoughts
in my mind. I can’t help but think of a religious old
woman (a woman very much like my own Momma, I can’t help
but consider) casually strolling into my camp. Maybe she
comes in need of some kitchen ingredient. Or maybe she
just wants to stop by to talk. The people in this part of
the country-unlike Chicago, or any other big city for
that matter-are known for their friendly attitudes. It
would not be uncommon for someone to walk over to a
neighbor’s camp simply because it was the neighborly
thing to do. Or even worse, a dirty old man might notice
me from one of the surrounding camps or the gravel road
that serves to connect the various sites. He might notice
my top and my top-heavy proportions, and sneak up to
catch me from behind.

My imagination shifts into high gear as I consider who
might walk innocently into camp and discover me. I cannot
risk being seen, not in my present state of undress. For
last-ditch protection, the blanket sits beside my chair.
It lay on a few remaining pieces of wood to keep it out
of the mud. I can grab it if necessary and quickly wrap
its protective fabric around my waist. If too late even
for that, I think about using sunburned thighs as an
excuse, but the excuse sounds too ridiculous for anyone
to believe.

No matter what I say, it would be hard to explain my
dress, for I am hardly dressed at all. I feel naked and I
practically am. The only thing I wear is the top from my
bikini; the bikini top HE complimented me so graciously
on earlier in the day. The bottom half drips soaking wet
from a makeshift clothesline tied between two trees.

HE is the reason for my present state of undress. It is a
gift to him; a reward. It is a hint of what I desired.

Part 2: A Hot Body

I first met him by accident earlier that day. It was just
after lunch and at the peak of the noonday sun. The
campsite boiled in unbearably heat and humidity; hot
enough to drive me towards to the cool water of the lake.

The lake was Lake Michigan, where the water’s vast depth
kept it cool and isolated from influence of the blazing
sun above. Three miles of continuous beach hugged the
state park, all of it covered with a gradual drop-off of
sand that made it perfect for swimming. People to jump in
anywhere along the 3 mile stretch, but a protected area
stood roped off in the center of the park. It had locker
rooms, showers, lemonade stands, ice cream fountains, and
everything else associated with a public beach.

I stayed away from the public beach, deeming it too
discomfiting to approach. My habitual morning walk showed
me a more appropriate place. My walk took me along a
hiking trail to a more private spot of sand. The trail
came within sight of the lake, to a place where I figured
I could cut through the forest, walk between the trees,
and reach the water will little problem. That is where I
hiked after lunch, and that is where HE first saw me.

I judged the bikini gave me good reason to be discrete. I
originally bought it for William, my ex-boyfriend, or now
more properly loathed as “The Bastard.”

He originally came up with the idea to go camping.

“How about taking a trip up north to one of the state
parks?” He suggested over our regular Thursday night
pizza feast. “Couple times you mentioned camping with
your family. How about a revival? I think I know someone
who’ll lend us the equipment.”

I thought it a wonderful idea. Neither of us wanted to
stick around a deserted campus over the long 4th of July
holiday weekend. A camping trip sounded like a lot more
fun. Just the two of us, alone up in the big north woods,
going hiking, swimming, and whatever else caught our
fancy. At night, we would sleep together in a small tent
or maybe under the stars. It sounded so romantic; even
kind-of daring and erotic. I couldn’t help but wonder
what it would be like to do it outdoors; under the
stares. The thought of it sent a shiver of excitement
down my spine every time I considered the possibility. I
am sure it excited William too. I think that is why he
suggested camping to begin with, but I didn’t mind. I
liked William. He was special-or at least I thought he
was-and I thought he liked me too.

We had been dating now for a solid three months and not
yet “done it.” He wanted to, of course, as did every guy
who ever took me out on a date. Men, I’ve noticed, like
to stereotype. When they see a short girl with big boobs,
they automatically type her as a bimbo and assume she is
easy. That may often be true, but the assumption did not
apply to me. Momma raised me to be a traditional girl.
That meant a guy had to earn his reward. And with the
threat of AIDS and all the other sexually transmitted
diseases going around these days, the passage of time
only served to increase the sensibility of her advice.

Now don’t get me wrong! I’m not one of those fridged
Catholic girls that Billy Joel sings about either; the
type that remain virgin until marriage. I’m proud to
admit I’ve had sex with a half-dozen guys over the years,
and I really enjoyed it too. I fooled around with William
too, but only with innocent games like titty feels. The
furthest it ever got was when I once allowed him see me
topless. Immediately after-and after he lifted his jaw
back off the floor-I bid him good night. I allowed him
nothing more.

With William, I waited a little longer than usual. I
liked him well enough and didn’t want to let him go, but
there was just something about him… I don’t know what
it was. I’ve tried to put my finger on it many times, but
I can’t quite pin down the issue. Part of it came from
his drinking. He drinks a lot of beer and booze, but then
the same can be said of most of the guys in college-and
even a lot of girls. Drinking is part of the culture of
college life. I think I maybe even liked William a little
better because he drank. The guy became a hilarious
comedian when he got drunk.

Another part of my caution, I know, came from his anxious
attitude towards sex. He really worked at getting me into
bed. All guys did, but William worked at it harder than
most. He even got seriously physical with me once,
holding my hands with one hand and grabbing one of my
tits with the other. I screamed, but he just laughed and
quickly let go as though it was all a joke. I’m pretty
sure it was, but I still wonder. There is just something
about him…

In the end, I decided to ignore my paranoid reservations.
Three months of dating was long enough, so Sunday night I
called to give him my answer. I told him I wanted to go.

The next day I went to see him. I walked up to his dorm
room unannounced, anxious to tell him about the
reservation I made that morning and to find out about his
latest progress on the camping gear from some friend of
his. And more importantly, I also wanted to show him a
little present I bought myself for the trip. I anxiously
wanted to show him the tiny article of clothing now wore
cleverly disguised under my blouse; a present for me to
wear but for William to see.

“But how will we know if you drilled Diane or not?” One
of his friends asked from the other side of the partially
opened door as I was about to push it open the rest of
the way. I recognized the voice as Moog’s, one of the
rudest, biggest jerks on campus. The guy once grabbed one
of my tits on a crowded dance floor.

“It’s not as if we can go right up and ask her,” Another
voice spoke. This one I didn’t recognize. “Say Diane, I
have a question. You let William to fuck you on that
little camping trip or not?”

I automatically stopped outside his door at the
recognition of my name and the sound of four men laughing
at the remark. I could tell they were drinking.

“Damn, you are so lucky,” Moog spoke after he recovered
enough to speak. “I can’t believe that hot bitch even
agreed to go along with your plan. Everyone I talked to
says she’s fridged as ice.”

“She is,” William agreed. “Why else do you think I’ve
been going out with her this long? I’d drop that bitch a
long time ago if she’d put out some. Her cunt just better
be worth it.”

“Worth a hundred bucks?”

“Worth a lot more than that,” William countered. “The
hundred bucks is just the fringe benefits. Her cunt is
going to be the real prize.”

It took me a moment to comprehend the words. I understood
everything the moment I heard the words out of Moog’s
mouth, but it took several seconds longer for the idea to
sink into my head. My boyfriend was taking bets on me. I
caught him in the process of making a bet on weather I
would let him fuck me or not.

It was terrible. I ran away crying. I cried all the way
back to my room, and then cried for a long time into the
night as I explained what happened first to my roommate
and then to my best friend. William left me devastated,
especially the way he called me a bitch, but at least I
discovered the real man.

I slept little that night and lay in my room numb most of
the next morning. The telephone rang a couple of times
and there were two knocks on the door, but I refused
answer any of them. I just wanted to think.

My roommate and best friend thought up a cruel, but very
simple way to get back at him. They talked me into
calling Moog the next night and simply telling him that
he was a hundred bucks richer. Predictably, William tried
to phone me immediately after. He called several times,
but I hung up on him every time. Then even more
predictably, he sneaked into the girl’s dorm after hours
and tried to apologize through the closed door. At this
point, my roommate called Campus Security, lying to the
police and telling them that William was some kind of
pervert who she thought had been following her the last
couple of weeks. I vouched for her validity, telling the
police I thought I recognized the face from the one I
caught looking into our window late the night before.

It was a mean, nasty little trick. But I have to admit,
it bought me a tremendous sense of release. I felt a lot
better after I heard the police try to question a
confused William out in the hallway and then drag him off
to jail. I wanted nothing more to do with the guy.

Meanwhile, the problem of the campsite reservation and
the present remained. My first reaction was to return
both, but the reservation was non-refundable. And as for
his gift, well, I’m sure I could have returned it, but it
seemed like such a waste. Growing up with five older
brothers had always limited my options when it came to
fashion. No words ever needed to be said; no directions
given. I just knew what was expected. I always bought
conservative clothing and made sure to hide all that
might be of interest to a man. The most profound example
of this was swimsuits. I just knew I was expected to wear
a one-piece suite.

His present looked small and very hot. It was a two-piece
string bikini made even smaller by my big boobs. I bought
it because I thought it would be fun to get William a
little excited and aroused. What did it matter if a man
saw me wearing it at a campsite? So what if a stranger
gazed down on me lying on the beach? The chance of
meeting someone I knew at a campsite 300 miles from home
had to be exceedingly rare. And besides, lots of girls
wore string bikinis.

Well, maybe not too many young, good looking brunettes
with a double-D cup size strolled along the beach every
day, but I certainly was not going to be the first. So
what if I happened to be one of them?

* * * * *

Glancing down at my own body illuminated by the fire, I
almost feel sorry for William and at what he is missing-
almost, but not quite. I see a tiny bikini package that
seems to cover close to nothing. Two large orbs swell out
of my chest, touching slightly in the middle, and then
rounding around like two big melons to the outside. The
only fabric is the strap that stretches down from behind
my neck to the little white cups that serve to cover the
furthest extent of my big boobs. The cups start so low I
fear my nipples may become exposed, which they almost do.
The top fails to cover perhaps half my boobs, and with
boobs as big as mine, that is quite a lot.

This is what HE saw me in the first time we met. It is
also the reason I chose to take the long way around to
find a deserted stretch of beach. The public beach might
have been okay if William was along, where I could use
him as cover-like a safety blanket. But alone it was
different. I knew my body well enough to realize I would
get no rest. As soon as I sat down, every young guy on
the beach would take turns trying to pick me up, and
probably a few of the older men too. It happened whenever
I wore a one-piece conservative suite, and I am sure this
little bikini would amplify it a hundred fold. I looked
easy, and that is exactly how the guys would treat me.

For this reason I took the hiking trail. For this reason
I wanted to find a more isolated spot. And it was for
this reason, luckily, I encountered HIM.

* * * * *

HE presented himself just as I turned off the trail and
started the walk through the trees. Lake Michigan lay off
in the distance, peaking through the trees, not more than
the length of a football field away. I walked in my
sandals and hung onto a cheap plastic bag with sun block,
towel, hat, and a book inside. The bag also contained the
matching cover-up to the bikini, the one I elected to
remove while still on the trail. I wasn’t too worried
about meeting up with anyone. No one was mad enough to go
hiking in this kind of weather.

I failed to notice him because I was practicing being an
environmentalist. I was stepping cautiously, being
careful not to step on and kill any of the new saplings
that might be trying to peak their way through the soil.
I was paying attention to the ground at my feet instead
to where I was going.

It was obvious why HE didn’t see me. He stood busily
concentrating on other things.

Half way to the beach I saw him, up against a tree, not
more than ten feet away. He was a big man, more than six
feet tall and budging with muscles. I could tell he spent
a lot of time in the sun because his skin was tanned a
golden brown that made him look like one of those
gorgeous hunk lifeguards that spend half the day working
out in the gym and the other half on a surfboard. The
first thing I noticed was his handsome face and the blond
hair that came down to his shoulders. And the second
thing I noticed was that he was butt naked nude.

“Oh my God!” I screeched in surprise, and then said it
again as I realized what he was doing in the deserted
spot between hiking trail and beach. His hand extended
down between his legs and pistioned twice before
detecting me.

To my utter amazement, he turned down the opportunity to
cover himself. He declined the opportunity to turn away
out of embarrassment or run away in shame. Instead, the
guy just stood there, naked, right in front of me. He
hand stopped its pistioning action and he simply held
himself there for me to see.

And I looked. I am not sure why I looked, but I think it
formulated from his good looks and then from the
awareness of his size-and I am not talking about the size
of his body or the size of his muscles. Although he had a
big hand, I noticed it could not cover the thing. It did
not even come close! His fingers did not encompass it
either in width or length. His prick swelled out both
from the ends of his fingers and from both sides of his
closed palm. And it was such a nice, shiny prick. I could
see it had pre-cummed quite considerably. With his organ
shinning brilliant in its own wetness, it looked as
though he was about to eject.

And it wasn’t just his organ, but my eyes wondered down
to his balls too. They refused to hang straight down like
an ordinary set of nuts. They looked to be very firm
instead, standing out and upward at attention. I’ve
always found myself attracted to a man’s nuts, which I
know a lot of other girls find very odd. The nuts on this
man were quite impressive.

“Hi,” A deep voice spoke from the gorgeous hunk before
me.

“Don’t you know that you are supposed to stay on the
trail?”

I felt like telling him the same thing, but I couldn’t
speak. I guess the surprise and shock at seeing him left
me too frozen to do anything. It was as though I had
stage fright.

“Nice tits,” He went on to compliment me next. “Your suit
does an excellent job at showing them off, and you sure
have a lot to show off.”

I remembered my lack of clothing and all he could see.
Most men discretely looked or made a sly reference to the
size of my boobs, but just came right out and said
exactly what was on his mind. It made him look so
comfortable; so powerful. He surprised me and made me
feel intimidated.

What he did after surprised me even more, for he started
up again.

He resumed his stroking action.

“Oh my God!” I cried out for the third time, taking a
step back and getting ready to run away from this
pervert. The thought of a guy jerking himself off while
admiring my bikini clad body raced through my mind. It
left me feeling momentarily confused. I knew the thought
should have disgusted me, but he was such a handsome,
big, and sexy looking guy. To my amazement, I found the
thought actually exciting me.

“Don’t,” He stopped both me and his own stroking action
in unison. I distinctly remember counting each pump of
his hand. It looked great, the way he ran his hand up and
down his wet, slimy, and very long dong. The thing seemed
to look even longer when his hand pumped along its
length. “I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid. Don’t you want to
see my outfit?”

I momentarily feared he might come after me. He looked to
be in great shape and could probably catch me long before
I reached help. Hell, we were so close that he probably
could have caught me before I even made it back to the
trail. It reminded me of the time William grabbed by tits
while hold my hands behind me.

I again got ready to run, but then he removed his hand
and I couldn’t. I couldn’t take my eyes away. It was
huge. It was gigantic. It was easily twice as big as any
cock I had ever seen before. Full and erect, it stood up
at attention like a long shaft from between his legs.
Especially impressive was its head. His member looked to
be nearly the thickness of my forearm, but the
mushroomed-shaped head was more like the size of my fist.
And the whole thing was so bright and shiny that it
gleamed in the noon-day sun.

He did not face me directly but at an angle, which made
me appreciate even more his length. I guessed his cock to
be ten inches in length, or possibly even a full foot
long. It extended up past his belly button.

Further stimulation came from below; his balls. I
couldn’t get over his balls and the way they stood out so
firm and hard. They looked to be too big for his sac to
contain, swollen as though about to erupt-which I suppose
they maybe were. I figure he had been masturbating for
quite a while. His whole cock looked magnificent.

“Well?” He finally spoke some time later. I am not sure
how long I stood there and with my eyes transfixed on
him. I knew it was wrong. I realize I must have looked
like a horny slut for not running away, but it was too
magnificent to pull away. “What do you think of my
outfit? You look as though you enjoy your men harnessed.”

I looked closer and suddenly realized why his nuts looked
so ridged. They were tied! A single string, very thin and
almost invisible, encircled his waist and went under his
cock and balls. The string looked as though it looped
around the back of his nut sack and pulled them out. He
stood not quite naked, not like I first thought, but with
a harness to place his nuts on better display.

Then he turned. “And notice the rear too,” He next showed
me his naked ass. “Notice how the harness does not run
between my cheeks like a tong, but leaves the crack
exposed for your admiration and possibly for your later
use.

I took in his words but did not realize the significance
of what he said. I was too busy admiring his ass instead.
It really was terrific; a hard, muscular, strong ass. One
strap went around his waist and two others came up his
thighs to join it. No thong traveled up his crack, just
like he said. I couldn’t help but have naughty thoughts
about spanking it and maybe doing other things to it too.
I occasionally heard what other girls did to a man’s ass.
I wanted to try some of their ideas for myself, but none
of my old boyfriends ever allowed it. His ass was not as
erotic as his cock, of course, but the sight of a man
turning around to show off his naked ass sent a burst of
heat though my acing loins.

“It’s revealing,” I answered as soon as he turned to face
me again.

“It’s very revealing.” I almost choked on my own words.

“Thank you, and so is yours,” He showed his gratitude.
“But I suppose I don’t have to tell you how aroused you
make me. You can see that for yourself.”

He certainly was right about that!

“Double-D is my guess,” He said next. “I mean your tits.
They look as though you take a double-D cupped bra. Is
that right?”

I nodded. He was right. I suppose it wasn’t difficult for
him to guess correctly, considering how much he could of
see.

“Double-D but not quite a triple. You do not quite have
the biggest size they make, but very close.”

He appeared to stir right at my tits, but then I realized
he had been doing so the entire time. That was why his
prick stayed hard. As I locked my eyes on his substantial
assets, he in returned locked his own eyes on mine.

“Not quite the biggest size they make, but close,” He
interrupted this disturbing thought to give me another.
“Not like me. Not quite the biggest size they make.”

I nearly stumbled upon hearing his words, knowing what he
meant. He was referring, of course, to his own cock. He
was effectively saying that his cock was the equivalent
of a triple-D cup size for a woman, and I supposed he was
right. It was the biggest prick I had ever seen, even
bigger than the pictures my girlfriend once downloaded
from the Internet. I couldn’t help but fantasy what it
would feel like to experience it, to stroke it myself, to
suck on it, possibly even to be fucked by it-even though
I knew there was no way he would be able to fit the thing
into a short, petite, young girl like me.

“You better get going,” He interrupted this disturbing
thought. “To the beach, I mean, assuming you are still
going. It’s just over there.” Amazingly, he pointed, but
not with his finger. I noticed how his hands remained
behind his back and he pointed with his erect cock.
“Provided, of course, you still plan to go to the beach?”

I briefly considered it. For a moment I thought about it.
What would be the harm? A voice questioned inside me.
What if I stayed and allowed him to jerk himself off to
the sight of my bikini clad body?

Memories flooded into my mind of the first time I got to
see a man jerk off. It was an old boyfriend, my second
serious boyfriend back in High School, made after I
refused to allow him to fuck me. It was his idea to play
this game where he got to stroke himself in front of me,
but only after I gave him a command to do so. He relieved
himself with a with a single stroke only after I first
allowed it with the single word “stroke.”

The game had been enormously fun, and now I couldn’t help
but want to play it with this man. Later, with my
boyfriend, I came up with the naughty idea to tease him.
I said “stroke” several times in a row to bring him to
the edge, and then I refused to allow him to go over. I
cock-teased him with his own hand, and now I wanted to do
the same with this big man.

It felt so wrong, but at the same time if felt so right.
I shook my head in bewilderment. I can back to reality.
What kind of girl am I? I asked the good, wholesome
little girl somewhere inside me. What am I doing?

“No thanks,” I took a deep breath and answered him with
extreme difficulty. “I think I better keep going, at
least for now.”

I nearly ran the rest of the way to the water.

Part 3: The Cool Beach

I needed water. I needed it bad. After the encounter with
HIM, I desperately needed to dive into some cold water to
bring myself back down to earth. I not only felt hot, but
I think I was in heat.

I collapsed into the lake as though I had just run across
the Sahara Desert, and it was my first sight of water in
a week. I ran down the beach, stumbled out of my sandals,
and haphazardly dropped my towel and bag onto the sand. I
ran in without looking, never bothering to look around to
see if anyone might be watching. The inhibitions about my
new bikini left me. My only thought was of HIM and the
waiting water.

I ran in up to my knees, and then I dropped in face
forward like I was still a little girl. The shock of the
cold water felt refreshing against the hot skin of my
body and the heated beating of my heart. And not only
that, but I’m shameful to admit that I could even feel it
radiating out from my sex. I found myself horny as hell,
probably the horniest I had ever felt in my life-or at
least the horniest without actually in the process of
receiving intercourse.

Memories of my second boyfriend flooded back into my
mind. At the end of my little cock-teasing game, after
maybe a half-dozen journeys to the edge, I finally let
him do it. And did he ever do it! The guy squirted and
sprayed like an erupting oil well. I discovered if you
make a guy wait awhile and tease him for a few minutes,
in the end he will cumm a lot more. It was one of the
important lessons I had learned about sex.

I’ve played the game many times since then and have
enjoyed it every time. There’s something about an
erupting cock that I find really exhilarating. And if
only I had stayed to play with HIM, I could have
witnessed it one more time.

I felt a desire to slip my fingers down inside my panties
as I thought about the sight of him squirting, until I
saw the others…

Coming along the beach, not very far away, a couple
strolled hand-in-hand as though they were on their
honeymoon. My inhibitions returned as they walked towards
me, making me remember my bikini.

“Hi,” the man waved when he got close. His girlfriend
also waived but remained silent.

“Hi,” I returned the greeting, kneeling in the soft sand
to keep my big boobs from his sight.

The sight of the two of them made me think about HIM
again. I imagined just the two of us, the big man and me,
walking along the shore just like this a couple. I
fantasized his hand in my own, but then I glanced over to
see him naked and hard, his huge member sticking up
nearly a foot into the air.

I think I swam a hundred yards along the beach until I
calmed back down enough to keep my hands out of my
panties. My muscles ached and my body felt as though it
had just run a marathon by the time I again walked upon
dry land. By the look of my wrinkled fingers, I think it
had been close to a half hour.

The bright sun made it unnecessary to dry off. By the
time I made it back to my belongings, sweat had replaced
the water. I rubbed on sunscreen and then lay down to
enjoy myself-or at least I tried to. HE refused to leave
my mind. His image remained, especially that of his cock.
As I put on the sunscreen, I dreamed what it would feel
like for his big hands to rub it onto me instead. And as
I lay down to enjoy the burning rays of the sun, I
couldn’t help but think what it would be like for HIM to
lay down on top of me.

I found myself getting curious about what he was doing
now. He certainly had to be finished with what he first
set out to do. I figured he hurriedly continued just
after I left while the picture of my sparsely clad body
remained fresh in his mind. The thought of it should have
made me feel queasy, but instead I felt-I have to admit-
it actually made me feel a little proud. I couldn’t help
but picture him standing up against the tree with his
eyes closed, stroking himself with my picture on his
mind.

Images of his pistoning hand kept playing in my own mind.
It was just so big, so huge. Trying to think about it in
more detail, I realized his hand covered only about half
the length of his shaft. And then I couldn’t help but
imagine my own hand in his place. My smaller hand could
only cover perhaps one-third his length. If I ever got to
stroke on anything of such size, my hand would indeed get
quite an exercise.

Then the naughty thought of him doing it formed in my
mind again. I wondered what it would be like to watch him
when he finally did cumm. With such a long length and
with such obviously big balls, I knew it had to look
terrific. I imagined his cock throbbing, pulsating, and
then shooting out a huge load of sperm. And then it would
do it again, and then again. Instead of spurting two or
three times like an ordinary man, I imagined him shooting
it a dozen times before he finished. One of my
girlfriends jokingly told me that long men could shoot a
longer distance. It had something to do with a longer
barrel. I thought it a joke at the time, but now I found
myself wondering if this was true. I wanted to find out
for myself and cursed myself for not staying to watch,
even though I knew it would have been so slutty, so
wrong.

It was then when I saw him again; or rather, I first
heard him.

“Hello,” I recognized the voice before he appeared.
“Feeling a little more relaxed now?”

He crept up from behind while I lay with my back against
the towel, eyes closed, dreaming of HIM. For a brief
moment, I thought his voice might have been part of some
amazingly vivid dream, but then I quickly came back to
the real world. I sat up and turned, looking at him as he
looked back at me.

He wore cloths, but still did not wear many. He stood a
few feet away in a Speedo bikini. In the center, a large
budge poked out, limp but still substantial. I found
myself wanting to question if he still wore the harness,
but of course he did not. The bulge didn’t poke out that
far!

“Sorry if I scarred you back in the forest,” He spoke
apagogically. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for causing
you any fright. I didn’t mean to, you know. I thought the
place was deserted, but you just happened to walk by at
the wrong time.”

He kneeled and held out his hand to me.

“That’s all right,” I took it, not knowing what to say in
reply. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you too. I guess we
were both just caught in the wrong place at the wrong
time.”

His hand felt hard and calloused. I couldn’t help but
realize this was the same hand that had just been beating
his meat.

“Don’t worry about me,” He let out a big smile. “You
didn’t much embarrass me much at all. I work as an exotic
dancer so I’m actually kind-of used to it. …just not
quite to that extent.”

I turned away out of embarrassment, thinking about him
performing as an exotic dancer, gyrating his hips in the
buff, naked, up on a stage, and with a hundred screaming
women all around. I am sure HE would be the main
attraction of any show. I found myself tempted to ask
where he worked. I wanted to go to take a look for
myself.

“Listen,” He spoke with a lot more calm than I felt
inside. “The choice is up to you. I can leave and go back
to the public beach if you want, but I would really like
to stay awhile and talk. It’s not every day some gal
comes by and catches me jerking off.”

I continued to turn away, not knowing what to say. I
didn’t want to appear like I was some kind of slut, but
at the same time I did not want him to leave.

He stood without saying more and started to walk away. I
looked up to see his tight ass facing me; an ass only
half covered by his tiny Speedo bikini, again making me
wonder what it would be like to spank him.

“No, stop,” I heard myself say. It came out
involuntarily; my hormones speaking instead of my brain.
“Stay, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?” His bulge faced me again.

“I just want you to know I’m not that kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl is that?”

I couldn’t think of an easy way to explain it, so I
decided to just be honest. I admitted this was the first
time I ever wore a two-piece bikini, and I told him the
reason I sat on this deserted part of the beach was out
of embarrassment. I wanted him to know that I wasn’t a
big boobed bimbo looking for a good time.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” The smile on his face
betrayed his thoughts. I could somehow see that my words
had intrigued him. “You look great and there is nothing
wrong with showing it off a little, especially when
you’ve got it.”

I felt myself smile back to him. His words could equally
apply to himself. His was the first compliment I received
on my bikini.

“Let’s start with names,” He offered his hand again. “I’m
Robert.”

“Hi, I’m Diane,” I shook his hand a second time. “Glad to
meet you more formally this time.”

I repositioned the towel so he could sit down next to me.
He sat close, right up next to me. I distinctly remember
our thighs touching. His body towered over me. Even in
this seated position, he was so tall my eyes only came up
to his neck.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He asked. “You must have a
boyfriend or maybe a husband around here somewhere. I
don’t want to piss someone off when they see me talking
to you.”

I laughed. “Certainly no husband, and no boyfriend
either,” I told him. “I used to have a boyfriend, but we
broke up a few days ago.”

He asked, but I refused to get into the details. “Let’s
just say we got into a big fight, and I came to the
conclusion that he wasn’t right for me.”

“I suppose he fucked you over real good?” Robert
questioned.

“I guess you can say that,” I had to agree.

“Must have,” He nodded. “To give up a girl as good
looking as you.”

I had to smile.

“So you just decided to come up here all alone?” He
wanted to know.

“Well, yes,” I felt almost fearful to admit it.

“That could be dangerous,” He spoke with seemingly
genuine concern. “A beautiful woman such as yourself, all
alone, out in the wilderness. I mean, what if some guy
sneaked in your camp tonight and try to rape you?”

I gasped, but not in fright but in delight. I knew his
words should have scarred me, but instead they only
teased me. I couldn’t help but think of him being the
man, sneaking into my tent, and forcing himself upon me.
Well, not quite forcing. I knew I would be very willing.

“What about you?” I tried to quickly change the subject.
“You must have a girlfriend around here someplace too.”

He shook his head and then shrugged his shoulders. “Why
else do you think I was jerking myself off in the trees.”

“Oh, I see,” I felt like an idiot. It was a stupid
question.

“I was supposed to go on this 3-day hike along the Lake
Michigan Trail,” He rescued me. “A few of us dancers from
the club get together a couple of times a year. Either go
hiking or cross country skiing up here in the North
Country, depending on the season. It’s a good break from
tedium of the gym.” He shrugged his shoulders. “In our
line of work, we naturally need to keep in shape, you
know.”

I understood but was curious. “Where are the rest of them
now?”

“Screwed up my knee when I took a bad fall in the gym,”
He explained. “Not bad, just a small sprain.” He looked
at his own foot. “Not even limping on it any more, but
decided it best if not go on a 50 mile hike. So I’m
playing the part of designated driver-so to speak.
Dropped them off down south and now waiting for them to
join me tomorrow night.”

My arousal grew at the thought of three more. I couldn’t
help but picture three more exotic dances walking into
camp. I naturally wondered if all of them were just as
talented as Robert.

“What do you do for a living?” He suddenly changed the
subject.

I told him about my college life south of Chicago. I
majored in psychology and was in my third year.
Surprisingly, he had Masters degree in a related
discipline, sociology, and was actually familiar with
many of my classes. He obviously had a brain, which
surprised me. Just as men tend to stereotype big boobed
women as ditzy, I surprised myself by stereotyping Robert
as a dim-witted hunk because of his own features.

“What about you?” I decided to return the question. “I
mean, you said you worked as an exotic dancer. I’m just
curious, what kind of dancer do you do?”

“A stripper,” He told me point blank. “I work in a strip
joint, a male strip joint in Milwaukee. You ever been to
a male strip joint?”

“Once,” I had to admit. “During a bachlorette party. A
few girls talked me to one.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

I shrugged my shoulders and felt my face turning red. “I
guess so. It was different. Certainly a big change from
the usual night on the town.”

“Did the men strip all the way down?”

“Yea,” I nodded my head.

“Well, so do we,” He surprised me. “You’ll have to come
up and visit some time. I could probably even sneak you
and a few of your friends through the backstage entrance
if you want.”

The thought thrilled me. It was thrilling not only
because I would get to see him naked again, but also
because of my friends. They were never going to believe
me! I could almost picture them already, laughing at my
story. “A stripper on the beach?” My classmates would
say. “Yea, right! We believe you.” And then they would
fall over themselves laughing. They were never going to
believe my story, but then I would show them the tickets
and we would drive up to Milwaukee over the weekend. The
thought made me excited.

Robert and me talked for a while longer. I no longer know
how long we talked, but the more we talked the calmer I
became. My heart slowed and my panting stopped. Soon, I
almost forgot about our nearly naked bodies. We talked
about the campground and then about the weather. I told
him some more about my school and he talked more about
his job. I felt tempted to tell him about the details of
what happened between Robert and me, but never did.

Our conversation eventually turned into just another
ordinary conversation between a man and a woman sitting
on the beach. We slowly got to know one another.

The normality, however, did not last for long. He soon
wanted to leave. “My stomach’s starting to growl,” He
placed his hand on the bands of tight muscles traveling
across his nearly flat tummy. “Went without breakfast and
could really use a bite to eat. You care to walk down to
the club?”

I wanted to, but hesitated. I thought of all the people
who would see me; see both of us. Glancing along the
shore, I saw many more bouncing specs playing both on
shore and swimming in the water. It looked crowded, as
though everyone in the camp was now at the beach. I did
not want them all to see me.

“I think I’ll stay here,” I turned to him. “I think I’ll
jump back in the water and soak myself for about an
hour.”

He chuckled at this remark. “If not now, then what about
tonight. You interested in doing something a little wild
tonight?” He asked curiously.

I knew what he meant and was very interested, but I
didn’t want to admit it. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” He leaned closer. “I was just thinking about what
happened before. You know, when you saw me in the forest.
You seemed very much interested in what you saw. I know
you told me that you’re not that type of girl, but you
still looked as though you impressed with what you saw.”

I felt myself smile with embarrassment. “I guess you were
kind-of impressive.”

“You mean large.”

“Yea,” I had to admit. “I mean, I don’t think I ever saw
a guy who was quite so big before.”

Robert smiled back to me, and then he leaned even closer
and spoke more softly into my ear. “I’m glad you liked
it, and I assume you are aware of what I was trying to do
to it when you caught me.”

I felt myself smile with embarrassment again. I couldn’t
give him an answer.

He didn’t bother waiting for me to regain my composure. I
only felt his strong hand around me. He put it around my
shoulder, pulled me in closer, and then whispered the
most erotic words I ever heard into my ear.

“I want you to know Diane that I never finished.”

I jumped with a start, almost leaving his grip.

“I just wanted you to know,” He continued. “Just in case
you were interested, I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

I jumped again, this time hard enough to leave his grasp.
I found myself off the towel, sitting direct on the hot
sand but hardly noticing it.

He shimmied closer. “You don’t have to and I don’t mean
to be pushy. It’s totally up to you, but I want you to
know that I’m still available tonight, if you’re
interested.”

I felt my face grow red with embarrassment and shock as
he put his hand around my shoulder once again and held me
tight. And then he leaned closer, whispered into my ear,
and made it even worse.

“I want you to know,” He spoke quietly. “I want you to
know, Diane, that my balls are really swelled up with
semen right now, especially after seeing you. By tonight,
I think they are going to be ready to burst. And if you
want, if you desire it, you can use my shaft to milk them
dry.”

He backed away and stood up. He left me sitting there
motionless, speechless; not knowing what to say to such
an offer.

“If you wish it Diane,” He spoke louder now from his
standing position. “If you want, you can have my cock
tonight, and you can have it however you want. We don’t
have to fuck if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do
anything at all. You can even just watch if you’re into
that sort of thing. We can do anything you want, just as
long as you empty out the gallons of sperm acing to be
milked out of my balls.”

He bent down to plant a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t answer right now.” He put a single finger up to my
lips to hold my voice, although was no need. I did not
have the ability to respond. “If you’re interested, just
put the number of your campsite in the corner of the
public bulletin board where you drive in. That will be
our secret little message.”

Part 4: The Hot Fire

The wind rustles again, and then I see you. You appear
suddenly, like a ghost out of the dark mist. I jump and
force myself awake, thinking it only a dream.

It must be a dream. Your broad chest, your muscular arms,
and the way your blond hair falls down to your shoulders.
You are a sexy hunk of a man. I think this is all part of
some erotic dream, but then I realize I am awake. You are
real! It is a dream come true. It is you Robert, and you
came to me as you promised.

The sight of you fills me with desire. The clothing you
wear tell me your intention. Everything I have ever
learned tells me to be afraid and run from a man like
you, but I am not afraid and I do not run. All I feel is
desire.

You stand before me, Robert, on the other side of the
campfire. The smoke obstructs my view, but it does not
obstruct it enough to provide you with cover. The light
of the fire glows too bright to overcome. The flames bath
you in plenty enough light to show me your desire.

I see you do not wear the Speedo bikini from the beach.
Neither do you wear the even smaller harness from that
morning. Instead, you stand before me with nothing. I see
no article of clothing around your waist or upon your
chest. You stand before me nude.

And even better, I see you bring me what I desire. I see
a raging hard-on standing upright and at attention; a
long, thick, giant erection of such proportions my eyes
have never witnessed.

“Good evening Diane,” You greet wearing only a smile.

I still wonder if it is a dream, but then the dream
becomes more vivid. You walk around the fire and clear of
the smoke. I see you do not even wear shoes or sandals. I
hear your bare feet sloshing in wet grass of the camp.
You are not only naked, but you are absolutely naked. And
even better, you are hard.

“Hi Robert” I answer shyly, unsure as to what I am
supposed to say to a naked man who casually walks into my
campsite. I wonder where you placed your cloths. Did you
strip as you watched me or did you walk all the way from
your own campsite in your current condition? The thought
intrigues me, but the answer does not matter. The only
important thing is that you are naked.

I make no hesitation and boldly stair right at it. I knew
it impolite to stair at a man’s crotch. I know it only
makes my eyes give away my desire, but I can’t help it.
It is so big. It is so magnificent. You have the most
magnificent cock I had ever seen. I have this tremendous
desire to grab it and squeeze it with all my strength.

“I’m glad you’re the type of girl who’s not embarrassed
about starring,” You smile valiantly down on me as I
shyly look up at the comment. “Lucky thing I don’t mind,
so go right ahead. I bring it for you, your own personnel
sex toy. You are free to look upon it as much as you
want.”

The release of the words “sex toy” from your lips sends a
hot wave of ecstasy up my spine. It starts in my sex and
radiates out to the rest of my body. I can’t help but
take you up on your gracious offer.

Like a polite gentleman, you remain hard for me. You keep
your organ hard and long for my viewing enjoyment. It is
as though I am getting a personalized strip show, but a
show with a hard man.

“Like it this way better?” I watch as you turn to give me
a side profile. “Or like this?” You turn in the opposite
direction to allow me to gaze upon the other side.

I don’t answer. I can’t answer. Both sides look
magnificent. You cock looks even longer when I see it
from the side, as unbelievable as that may sound.

The more I look, the more I fantasize. I wonder what it
will feel like to touch. I picture myself stroking up and
down its long length, and then perhaps tasting its
succulent tip with my tongue. Then I imagine myself being
fucked by it, provided I can even be fucked by it. It’s
mushroom head looks to be nearly the size of my fist. I
can’t imagine being able to accept a thing of such
enormous dimensions.

“I hope you like my outfit,” You interrupt my pleasant
fantasy with another. “I certainly like yours. The top is
very sexy, but the bottom looks even better. Why don’t
you move your hands and show me the bottom too?”

I briefly glance down and see my hands rest in my lap. I
can’t remember moving them down there. I suppose that’s
where they just automatically moved to provide cover when
you walked into the camp.

I then think about your request and know what you want.
You want to see my sex. You want me to show you my pussy,
but I don’t mind. It makes me feel so dirty, so slutty,
but I actually want to do it. I want you to see.

First my right hand and then my left, I pull them up and
out of the way. I uncover my sex and rest my hands on the
armrests of the chair. Between, there is nothing. There
is no clothing. I wear no panties and show you everything
I have to offer.

“Very nice,” You compliment as I briefly glance down as
though needing to confirm it myself. “That’s a very nice
pussy you have there, Diane. I like your pussy. Why don’t
you show me some more? Part your legs a little.”

I am speechless. You want me to behave like a whore. I am
to part my legs and show you my pussy. It gives me an
arousal and makes me very willing.

“Even nicer,” You compliment as I do as you say. “Very
nice clit, but more Diane. Show me more.”

I am forced to crunch down in the chair to open my legs
even further, and then I open them even more.

“Excellent cunt,” You tell me more sharply. “Oh Diane,
you have a very nice little snatch there. Small and
tight, just the way I like it.”

I have my legs spread as wide as they can go. The
position makes me feel like a slut, but I really don’t
care. As long as I can see your cock, I really don’t care
at all. It seems to have grown even bigger as I opened my
sex, or perhaps it is just my own hormones. Despite
another wisp from the cold breeze through the camp, I
feel myself sweating with excitement.

“I must say Diane, you have an excellent choice in
fashion. I think you have the perfect outfit to wear for
tonight’s festivities. We’re going to have lots of fun
and games.”

I can’t help but wonder what kind of fun and games you
have in mind. I can think of quite a few. Most, of
course, involve your cock. Others, I fantasized, will
further require my pussy and tits. I sit anxious for the
games to begin.

“I’m glad you like my outfit,” I finally say something.
“I wore it just for you.”

You smile and give me a node. “And I wore mine especially
for you too.”

I feel myself smiling back; almost panting with desire.
“It’s very nice too, I mean your outfit. I appreciate
your outfit too.”

“Oh, you noticed,” You recognize gracefully. “I wore it
just for you. Do you like my ring?”

I am confused. I thought you were naked, but apparently
you wear a ring on your finger. But then I look at your
fingers and see no ring.

“No, not that kind of ring,” You seem to read my mind,
glancing down at your own fingers, first at one hand and
then the other. “I guess you failed to notice. I was
talking about my other ring, if you care to take a closer
look?”

You take two steps closer and then take a glance down at
your own organ. I automatically follow your eyes and see
it.

“Oh my!” I gasp.

A ring of gold surrounds the base of your erect member.

“Oh my God!” I gasp in surprise at the sight of the cock-
ring.

“Yes, you see it now,” You again read my mind, although I
suppose that is now easy to do. “Have you ever seen a man
with a cock ring before?”

“No,” I choke out an answer. “It’s very nice.”

You stand now not more than two feet away. And you stand
at an angle to me, giving me a side-profile of your
member and a better view of the cock-ring. It appears
even bigger now. The giant has grown into a monstrosity.

“I’m glad you like it, but do you realize it is not just
for ornamentation?” You speak casually. “It is not like a
ring on a man’s finger. It actually serves a useful
purpose. Do you know what that purpose is?”

I shake my head out of confusion. I do not know what you
are talking about.

“Let me explain,” You change the tone of your voice to
that of a teacher giving a lesson (a lesson in sex
education). “There are two reasons for a cock-ring. The
first is to trap blood in the length of the male organ,
thus making it slightly longer, wider, and harder for
your pleasure.”

I cringe with each word. “Longer, wider, harder,” The
words echo in my mind. You member indeed takes on all
three delicious properties, and it takes them on in
abundance. Your cock is already magnificent, but now I
look closer and see how the ring fits tightly around the
base. It looks as though it even digs into the skin
slightly, wanting to crush the base of your member.
Clearly, its installation took place under flaccid and
soft conditions. There is no way I could pull it off now,
making me realize your words are true.

“Well?” You question. “Do you see how tight it fits and
how it swells my member, trapping the blood in my
length?”

“Oh yes,” I quickly answer with a little more enthusiasm
than I want.

Thankfully, you do not seem to notice my heightened state
of arousal. Or maybe you do and just ignore me.

“Go ahead and feel it for yourself,” You offer. “You
don’t have to, of course, but if you want…”

My hand is already half way there. I do not consciously
move it. It approaches by itself, obeying my ecstasy and
not my mind. It is as though it no longer belongs to me
but follows the instructions of another.

“Go ahead,” You prompt me when I stop. “I know you’re not
that type of girl, but I know you want to.”

You take another step closer, and it is too late. You
bring yourself to me, and it visibly flinches as the tips
of my fingers rub against it. Your member moves on its
own, which is erotic to watch. I cannot help but want to
touch it some more.

It filches again as I rub the tips of my fingers along
its long length. I start near the tip and move down to
the base. It feels even longer than it looks. It is also
harder. When I move back up again and touch your mushroom
head, it flinches a third time and then starts to pre-
cumm.

“Oh my!” I can’t help. You are obviously very horny. I
realize what you said earlier was true. You really did
hold out and wait for me. Your organ feels like it is
desperate to be jacked-off, and I realize I am to be
jacker.

“Good Diane,” You prompt me to go on. “That’s very good.”

I need no prompting. I run my fingers over the tip of
your cock-head. I run them through your cream and spread
it down to your shaft. As soon as I am done, it pre-cumms
some more and I repeat the process.

You are incredibly hard. You have the hardest, firmest
organ I have ever felt. I try to pull it down, and it
hardly moves. It wants to stay ridged and hard in the
fucking position. Especially exciting is your mushroom
tip. It is like any other cock-head, smooth and slick
with juice, but it is so swollen. The folds of skin
around your mushroom head feel as though they are made
out of bone. I wonder if it is you or the fault of the
cock-ring.

I hear you pant with excitement and decide to concentrate
on it there; on the head of your cock. The motion of my
hand makes you pre-cumm some more. Each time you do so I
take advantage of it. I make sure to use it to spread it
down along your shaft. It takes a lot of cream to cover
your extra long shaft, but you are a good creamer. You
pre-cumm as though you are desperate for me to masturbate
on you, and soon I do.

I take hold of your massive bulk and squeeze it. The
motion makes you cry out and pre-cumm even more.

I squeeze it again, and then yet again. You reaction is
less intense each time. I think about stroking it. I feel
even desperate to stroke it, but then I remember
something else.

“No Diane,” You react when I let go.

I move my hand down, down the length of your shaft, down
to your crotch, and then down even further to your balls.

“Very nice,” My bravery increases the more I touch you. I
take your balls in my hand and feel them. Even your nuts
are big.

“I want what you have inside these,” I tell you, shocking
myself with my own words.

“You may have it,” You respond. “You may have all I have
to offer.”

And I do. I move my hand back up to your shaft and begin
stroking.

“Oh yes,” You almost cry out.

It is so long. I can’t get over how long it is. I feel my
hand needing to travel much further than it is accustomed
it. And as I stroke, I feel it pre-cumm some more. It
takes a lot of cream to cover the length of your organ,
but you are up to the task. Soon, it is soaking in its
own juices.
I stroke on it again and again, up and down along the
length of your member. I masturbate on the member I
accidentally saw in the woods, wanting to see it squirt.
But you do not squirt. Instead, you appear to calm down
even though I continue stroking.

“There is also a second reason for a cock-ring,” You
suddenly speak. “A reason I am sure you will find even
more pleasurable.”

I do nothing except continue my strokes.

“For as the cock-ring prevents blood from flowing out of
the male shaft,” You continue, speaking more slowly now.
“It also prevents cumm from traveling into the shaft,
extending the length of time the male can remain
aroused.”

It takes a moment for this fact to register into my mind,
but as soon as it does I immediately realize its
implications.

“I am very happy and am pleasantly honored to inform
you,” Your voice seems to come out of a dream. “Diane,
I’m afraid you will, in fact, have a very difficult time
in getting me to cumm for you tonight. It will take you
considerable time and substantial effort to make me eject
as long as I continue to wear this cock-ring.”

I almost fall over in the chair with the shock of your
words. If not for the strong cock I hold in my hands, I
might have fallen into the fire.

And then you make it even worse. “And when you do make me
cumm, the spent up sperm is going to make me explode like
a cannon. I hope you are well rested for tonight’s
activities because I do not expect you will be getting
much sleep before morning.”

* * * * *

He was right. I hardly slept at all that night, for there
was a third item I would like to add to Robert’s list of
reasons to enjoy a cock-ring. In addition to keeping a
man stiff and making it difficult for him to eject, I
presently discovered a cock-ring was very good at keeping
a man hard even after I finally did get him to eject.
Despite the cock-ring and the extreme difficulty it took
to get him to cumm, he did so in various positions and
locations three times more morning.

And by the way, he was able to fit inside me after some
considerable effort. Now I can’t wait until tomorrow
night when his friends plan to entertain me too.

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