First Time Camping

Hello, I’m Christina. I am 23 and have been wed for a year now. I married Michael, 27, and my parents disapprove of our match. 

My father is a well-known neurosurgeon, and Mother sits on the hospital board. Michael is a mechanic whom I met when my car broke down on my way back from Florida on spring break of my senior year of college. He was tall, dark, and handsome—cliché, I know, but true. We both felt the chemistry when our eyes met. A few hours later, after he’d fixed my car, I found myself in his tiny office, pressed against the wall. His greasy hands were all over me, and our lips and tongues danced with feverish intensity. I wanted him, and he wanted me, and I would have done anything he asked at that moment. 

Thankfully, my phone rang, and I pushed him off me because it was Daddy’s ringtone. Michael talked to him and got the bill handled, then I moved closer to Michael, trying to pick up where we’d left off.  

He wasn’t having it. “You better go, princess. Daddy’s waiting,” he said.

 I was devastated; e was tossing me aside! Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I was pissed and stormed out of his shop to my car. I got in, fixed my hair, and noticed my ruined clothes. I expected him to rush out any minute and beg me to stay. He didn’t. I found a piece of paper, wrote down my name and phone number, then got out of the car and laid it in his toolbox.  

For weeks, I was hopeless in class and at home; I couldn’t get him out of my mind and fantasies. But I had no way to contact him, as Daddy had the bill emailed to him, and I didn’t remember the shop’s name.

One day, as I left my last class, I got a text: “Hey. You look HOT in that tight little skirt.” 

I froze and looked around. I didn’t see anyone I knew and didn’t recognize the number, either.

“Who is this, and where are you?” I texted back.

“It would look even better with greasy handprints all over it,” came next.

My eyes darted frantically; where was Michael? Then I saw him—drop-dead handsome in his ripped jeans, leather vest, and with a beard instead of the scruff he had when we met. I ran over to him, jumped into his arms as if we were long-lost lovers, and kissed him long and hard until he took my upper arms and took a step back. 

“What are you doing here?” I asked. 

He held out a box. “You dropped this when you stormed out. I figured you’d want them, but no one called…” 

It was my jewelry case—how had I not missed it? I reached for it, but he took my hand and locked eyes with me. Then he got back on the chopper beside him, handed me a helmet, and told me to climb up behind him.

I’d never been on a motorcycle, but I donned the headgear and jumped on, not wanting to lose him again. On the back of his vest, I saw a cross emblazoned with the words “Soldiers for Jesus MC.” As we sped off, I wrapped my arms around his muscular body and felt the bike vibrating pleasurably against my sex. 

We rode for an hour until we reached a mountain overlook, where we sat on a bench and talked—not at all what I had thought he had planned. For the first time in my life, a guy I was more than attracted to was talking to me and not racing to fuck me. 

Michael told me his father was a pastor, as was his grandfather. Michael had rebelled, though, and eventually found himself in conflict with a guy who was a homeless drug addict. He beat the guy to a pulp but stopped when he heard God tell him to let Him handle him. From that day on, Michael was a changed man, a man of God.  

He then apologized for what almost happened in his office. He said his desire for me took over when I showed interest; he never thought he could have a girl like me. 

I started to cry, and he pulled me into his lap and held me. Soon, we started kissing again. I twisted to straddle him and felt his manhood swell fast against my hot sex. Wetness soaked through my panties. 

Then things suddenly stopped again—against my wishes. We stared at each other. 

Michael said we should go, so I held on to him tightly and yelled directions to my home into his ear as he drove. He didn’t kiss me goodbye, just drove off and left me aching. 

I went inside and got the third degree from Daddy. He couldn’t believe I’d do something so foolish as drive off with a man “like that” and said he couldn’t be up to any good.  

For the next month, I snuck around, seeing Michael every day. My schoolwork suffered, and I barely passed that semester, but we learned more about each other and grew closer. I found him to be a man of integrity and determination who cherished me but didn’t put up with childishness.   

When Michael asked to meet my parents, I knew he was serious about us. The day before he was to come to dinner, I wanted to buy him a suit and take him for a haircut and shave, but the suggestion offended him. I told him I just didn’t want to make Daddy angry.

“He’s your father, not your bankroll. So act like an adult instead of a daddy’s girl, and maybe he will respect your choices!” he ground out.

His words stung. I stormed off yet again, and he let me go. 

The next day, I didn’t know if he would show up, but he did—right on time and looking good! I got butterflies seeing him in new jeans and T-shirt, his hair and beard neatly trimmed. He showed himself to be a very upstanding and polite man toward my parents, though they drilled him in what I considered a belittling way. I was about to lose it, but Michael kept his cool throughout the evening and held his own with decorum. When he left, Daddy said he liked Michael a lot but that he wasn’t the right guy for me. I got angry and ran after Michael, but he was already gone.  

Over the next month, Michael and I expressed our love and sexual frustration for one another. Finally, Michael asked me to marry him, and I accepted. He gave me an engagement ring he had made of white and yellow gold he had melted down from old jewelry; the stone was of sea glass with a purple sheen. My parents objected and threatened to cut off spending and school funds, but I didn’t waver. Finally, I knew what I wanted—a life with Michael, money or not!  

We got married at the courthouse a week later. Then we jumped on Michael’s bike. (I’ve become somewhat addicted to riding behind him. The seat rumbling against my sex feels incredible.) Finally, we were off to our honeymoon, and I had no clue where to, other than that he headed into the mountains. 

When we pulled into a state park, I thought,” Camping? We’re going camping for our honeymoon?” I felt a  twinge of disappointment. But we stopped at a campsite with a tent already set up and fairy lights strung in the trees. I teared up to realize Michael had snuck away and done all this.

Michael smiled ear to ear as he helped me off the bike and saw the big wet spot I had left on the seat. Then, he scooped me into his arms and declared, “Time to make you my wife!”

Once in the tent, Michael laid me on a two-person air mattress as he turned on several battery-powered candles. Then he lay beside me, pulled me tight against him, and kissed me. His big strong hands slid down my back, and I trembled as they pulled my white lace skirt up and squeezed my bare ass for the first time.  

Michael’s rough middle finger traveled along my butt crack, and I jumped and whimpered as it touched my asshole. Then it slid along my hot, wet folds and between them to press firmly against my clit, and I moaned deeply. But when I pressed my hand against his hard, throbbing manhood in his jeans, Michael yanked my hands away, rolled me onto my back, and held them over my head with a warning shake of his head and a half smile. Then he released my hands, sat on his knees, and pushed my legs apart with his thighs. He stared at my smoothly waxed, wet pussy for a few minutes, then practically tore my stretchy lace overshirt over my head. I shivered with anticipation and a slight chill.

Michael leaned back on his heels again and started rubbing his finger lightly up and down over my clit and the wet pink folds that slowly opened with each stroke. Our eyes locked onto each other as he pulled my strapless bra down, exposing my small breasts and hard pointy nipples. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I dreamt,” he said. Slowly, he slid his finger into my hot, wet, tight pussy, his big finger stretching me. I shook and moaned, “Ye-e-e-e-es!”

 “Mmmmm, you got a tight little pussy!” he murmured. 

 I shuddered when he curled his fingertip upward, lifting me off the mattress a little as he pressed up firmly against my G-spot with his thumb on my clit. He rubbed both spots steadily until I screamed and spasmed around his finger. My juice gave a little squirt, then ran from my quivering sex. He pulled his finger from my body and left me tingling.  

I watched Michael remove his shirt, revealing his six-pack and a toned chest with tattoos everywhere. Then he stood and pulled his pants down. I moaned and rubbed my nipples as he pulled out his beautiful cock and knelt between my thighs again. I shook as he pushed into me, stretching me open—a feeling I’d never felt or expected. He paused once as his head opened me, letting me adjust. Then, with a moan, he continued until he filled me. 

“So tight,” Michael panted, “so good!”  

Looking down between us, I saw my lower abdomen bulge a little. I rubbed the spot, realizing that’s how far up in my body his manhood was.

Michael began making long, slow strokes, pulling back to my pubic bone before returning. After a while, he began to speed up, and I grimaced when he thrust a little too hard and deep. Immediately, he slowed down. But eventually, my muscles relaxed and allowed him to go at his own pace. Each time the knob of his manhood ran over my G-spot, I felt the tension build inside me. It didn’t take many more thrusts before I started shaking, and cream flowed all over his manhood. My orgasm was so intense that my eyes fluttered—that was new!

When Michael slowly pulled out, I gasped with disappointment. His manhood glowed, throbbing in the soft electric light; why had he stopped?

Then Michael rolled me over onto my hands and knees. I looked back expectantly, and Michael said, “I love you, wife!” Then he entered me again, and I pitched forward, my face in the pillow. It probably was a good thing because I couldn’t hold back my cries of pleasure as he took me. His working man’s hands pulled me back at the same time he thrust forward, over and over.  

My sex was so sensitive after my orgasm that I felt every wonderful inch of him inside me. Our bodies slapped together so loudly that it had to be audible to other campers, I thought. 

Michael started groaning. Soon he exploded with a bear growl, his cum shooting into me several times; I could tell from how he flexed inside me and pushed harder with each pulse of it. Then he collapsed over me as his cream mixed with mine and flowed out around his shaft.  

When Michael finally pulled out and rolled onto his back, I  snuggled up to him, and we hugged and kissed. Tears filled both our eyes as we expressed our love for one another. I lowered my head to his chest, then quickly looked back up at him, incredulous. “Your hard again?” 

He shook his head. “Still hard.” He chuckled at the shock on my face. “Well, it has been a few years, and you’re the hottest, sexiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He pulled my head back to his chest and whispered, “I doubt I’ll ever get tired of sex with you.”

Eager for more, I climbed atop him, and he grinned up at me. “Time for you to cream all over me and not the bike seat!” he said in his sexy, gruff voice. He grabbed his manhood and pressed it against my pussy.

With the silky lube from his ejaculation aiding me, I slowly took him inside me, inch by delicious inch, till I was fully seated…  

Oh! Michael just came home; gotta go for now. I’ll write more later.