Speaker 1: I'd been looking forward to the trip for months, not
because it was somewhere exotic, not because it was expensive,
quite the opposite. It was just three days in the
woods with my husband, no work emails, no phones buzzing
every ten seconds, no responsibilities beyond keeping a campfire alive
and remembering where we'd left the coffee at forty three.
That sounded better than any luxury vacation. The drive took
nearly four hours. By the time we reached the camp site.
We'd listen to half a dozen old playlists, argued about
directions twice, and stopped at a roadside diner that looked
like it hadn't been updated since the Reagan administration. It
was perfect, or at least it would have been. Please
tell me they're not staying here, my husband muttered. I
followed his gaze. Two tents had already been pitched near
our reserved site. A pair of girls were sitting in
folding chairs beside a portable speaker that was blasting music
loud enough to scare wild life into neighboring counties. They
couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen. One had
bright pink streaks in her hair. The other was wearing
an oversized hoodie despite the heat. Both looked up as
we pulled in. Neither moved, neither smiled. One simply raised
an energy drink in our direction. I sighed, so much
for peace and quiet. My husband chuckled, maybe they're just
passing through. Five minutes later, one of them dropped an
empty soda can directly onto the ground. Maybe not. The
afternoon didn't improve much. Every time we tried to relax,
one of them seemed determined to create a new annoyance.
They shouted conversations across the clearing instead of walking ten
feet closer. They played music than videos, than music again.
At one point, they somehow managed to kick a football
directly through our campsite. The pink haired girl jogged over
to retrieve it. Sorry, she called, She didn't sound sorry.
The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon
wandering around the campground like they owned the place. My
husband and I exchanged several long suffering looks, the kind
married people develop after years together. Entire conversations conducted without words.
You see in this yep. Think they'll leave. Nope, we're doomed,
definitely doomed. By dinner, we'd started finding the whole thing funny.
What else could we do? We cooked burgers over the
camp stove while the girls argued loudly about a boyfriend
neither of them seemed particularly interested in. As the sun
began to sink behind the trees, the campsite slowly grew quieter.
For the first time all day, the girls seemed to
run out of energy. The music stopped, the shouting stopped.
One of them actually wandered over while we were packing
away our cooking gear. Hey, I looked up. It was
the pink haired one. She suddenly seemed much younger, standing
there than she'd appeared all afternoon, less intimidating, more awkward. Sorry,
if we've been kind of loud. I glanced at my husband.
He raised an eyebrow. The girl laughed nervously. Okay, really loud,
just a little, I said. She grinned. We don't usually camp.
That explains a lot. Yeah, for a moment, she just
stood there. Then she nodded toward her friend anyway. Sorry.
To my surprise, she actually sounded sincere. After that things
settled down. The girls disappeared back to their campsite. My
husband and I sat beside the fire, watching sparks drift
upward into the darkening sky. The woods felt completely different
at night. The noise of the day faded away. Crickets
took over, branches creaked softly overhead. The world slowed down.
This is what I wanted, I said. My husband stretched
his legs toward the fire. Minus the teenagers, definitely minus
the teenagers. We sat in comfortable silence, the kind that's
only possible after years together. Eventually, the fire burned low,
the temperature dropped. The girls had vanished into their tent.
The camp site was finally quiet. My husband stood and yawned.
Tomorrow we'll find a hiking trail and spend the whole
day away from here. Sounds good. We zipped ourselves into
our tent and settled into our sleeping bags. The fabric
walls glowed faintly silver beneath the moonlight. Outside. The woods
whispered with distant sounds. Inside, everything felt warm and peaceful.
My husband was asleep within minutes, typical. I lay awake
a little longer, listening to the wind moving through the trees.
Eventually I drifted off too. Hours later, something woke me.
At first, I wasn't sure what it was. I blinked
into the darkness. Beside me, my husband snored softly. The
camp site was silent. Then I heard it again, whispering,
followed by a burst of muffled giggling. My eyes opened fully.
The sound was coming from just outside the tent. The
tent zipper was too loud in the quiet dark. A
metallic raspied curse later. Right then, only the sound of
my own breath mattered, shallow and fast, because standing just
outside the mesh screen were two girls who definitely hadn't
been there when I'd crawled into my sleeping bag three
hours ago, giggling whispering. One of them pressed a palm
flat against the nylon, and the tent wall bowed inward
like a lung filling with air. I squinted the moonlight,
caught the edge of a lip gloss tube, the glint
of a belly chain, and then the shorter one, the
one with the sharp little chin and the sleep must bangs,
leaned forward and unzipped the screen. Herself. Hey, missus, camping lady,
she said. Her voice was a sticky, theatrical whisper. We're
like horny, we need cock, Can we like share your husband?
My jaw went slack. The air tasted of pine and
cheap body spray. I opened my mouth to say something, no,
what the hell, go back to your tent, You've been
a pain in our ass all day, But the words
never made it out because the taller one, the one
who'd been blasting music on her phone speaker while we
set up our stove, grabbed the hem of her oversized
sleep shirt and tugged it up. The shorter one did
the same. For a long, stupid second, I just stared
at the fabric bunching under their armpits, the way the
cotton peeled away from skin. Then I saw them two
sets of tits, young and pale and tipped with the
kind of pink that exists only in nail polished names
hip bones, sharp enough to cast shadows. The tall one
had a small tattoo of a crescent moon just above
her left thigh, and the shorter one's belly button was
pierced with a silver barbell that caught the light and winked.
Their bodies were lean and smooth and utterly devastatingly there,
my mind did a complete silent reboot the annoyance ide
felt all day, the way they'd trampled through our camp site,
the way they'd shouted across the clearing about some boyfriend
back home, The way my husband and I had exchanged.
That look of exhausted, middle aged surrender evaporated. Something else
took its place, something hot and curious and utterly irresponsible.
I looked at the two girls. I looked at the tent,
where my husband was still snoring softly. I looked back
at the girls. Fuck it, I said, surprising myself, Get
in here. They scrambled through the opening like giggling ferrets,
all elbows and knees and that same sticky whisper. The
tent warmed instantly, filled with the scent of strawberry lip
gloss and whatever vanilla sented lotion they'd slathered on each other.
I zipped the mesh shut behind them, aware of my
own heartbeat thudding in my throat. My husband woke up
the way I'd never seen him wake up before, with
a wet, eager mouth sealed around his cock. The shorter
girl had slithered into his sleeping bag like a snake,
and when he opened his eyes, all he could see
was the top of her head, head bobbing. The taller
girl was kissing his balls, her tongue tracing lazy circles
while her friend's cheeks hollowed and filled. I watched from
the side, my own hand moving to my chest, fingers
pressing hard against my sternum because the sight of two
teenage mouths work in my husband's cock in tandem was
doing something to my spinal column. What the he started
voice rough with sleep, Go with it, I said. My
voice came out lower than I'd expected, a smoke roughened
purr that didn't sound like me. He blinked up at me,
eyes wide, and then the shorter girl did something with
her tongue that made his head fall back against the
rolled up fleece we'd been using as a pillow. A
sound escaped him, a half grown, half question that nobody
bothered to answer her. The taller girl pulled off his
balls with a wet pop and looked at me, her
lips shining. He tastes so good, missus camping lady. I
didn't correct her. I just crawled closer. The next hour
unspooled in a fever dream of skin and sound. The
shorter girl climbed on top of him, first sinking down
onto his cock with a shameless little gasp that made
her belly ring shiver. The taller girl and I didn't
even discuss it. We just each took a tit, one
on either side, and sucked. My tongue circled a nipple
exactly as the girl on top started to roll her hips,
and the way her moan vibrated through the breast I
held felt like a secret I just learned. She came fast,
a series of high, startled cries that she muffled against
my husband's shoulder. The taller girl swea swopped places with
her without a word, swinging a long leg over his
hips and taking him in with a satisfied sigh. The
shorter girl, still trembling, crawled over to me and kissed
my mouth, her tongue still tasting faintly of my husband's
pre comb. I kissed her back, one hand cupping the
back of her neck, while the girl on top began
to ride with a slow, theatrical grind that made my
husband's knuckles go white on the sleeping bag. When the
second girl's breathing turned ragged and her rhythm stuttered, I
pulled my mouth away from the kiss and whispered my turn.
They both looked at me with identical expressions of dazed,
horny reverence. I straddled my husband, facing away reverse cowgirl,
my knees sinking into the puffy nylon of the sleeping bag.
His cock was slick and warm and achingly hard when
I guided it inside me, and I felt my own
body stretch around him with a familiarity that was suddenly
shockingly new. The angle pressed him deep right against that
spot that made my vision go briefly starry. Then the
girls got to work. I felt two tongues, not one.
One traced the rim of my asshole with a delicate,
exploratory flick, and the other lapped at the spot where
my husband's cock was splitting me open. They traded places
as if they'd rehearsed it, their tongues tangling with each other,
their mouths meeting and parting right there against my most
private skin. The wet, hungry sounds they made, the slurps
and sighs, and the occasional breathless giggle, were the most
obscene thing I'd ever heard. My husband's hands gripped my hips.
He was watching. I knew he was watching because his
fingers dug in harder every time one of the girls
moaned into my ass You see that I panted. You
see those two little bitches eating your wife's asshole while
you're inside me. He couldn't answer, his hips bucked up,
and the groan that tore out of him was answer enough.
The pressure built without warning, a hot, bright knot of
sensation that started at the base of my spine and
radiated outward. One of the girls, the tall one, I think,
because her tongue was longer, slipped the tip of her
tongue inside me just a fraction, and the feeling of
that tiny, wet intrusion, combined with the fullness of my
husband's cock, was a one two punch that stole my breath.
My orgasm was a silenceant, full body clench, a squeezing
of every muscle that left me arching my back and
gripping my own thighs. And then my husband stiffened. I
felt the pulse of his release deep inside me, a hot,
rhythmic flood that triggered its own aftershocks. He cried out
a single broken syllable, and I felt him spasm and
empty himself into me. I pulled off him slowly every
inch of withdrawal, a sharp, sweet ache. The girls were
already there, waiting, their faces upturned. I leaned back on
my elbows, spread my thighs, and watched as cum began
to trickle out of me, a thick white rivulet. Two
tongues caught it. The shorter girl lapped from the bottom up,
the taller one from the top down, and they met
in the middle, their mouths pressing together in a cum
slick kiss that they share right there in the v
of my open legs. The sound was wet and satisfied
and utterly shameless. I smiled down at them, my chest
still heaving, my husband's hand finding mine in the dark.
Best camping trip ever, I said. I hoped you enjoyed
today's sexy story. If you love this podcast, leave an
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Maybe we can make your dirty dreams come true. See
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