Sunday Quickie: How to Quench the Campfire Blues

 

Every summer, after the Fourth and before Labor Day, I go camping with my coworkers. Sort of a company sponsored trip, for team building or whatever the fuck they really want us to do. Somebody always brings keggers, others bring acoustic guitars, and a big ass bonfire is lit. Most of the women wear skimpy bikinis, the guys walk around shirtless. Three days of rowdy behavior before back to the cubicle farm.

Last year, I sat near the bonfire, toasting a s’more on a stick, a half empty beer bottle in the other hand. I wore tattered denim booty shorts, a halter top, and little else. The fire warm against my skin, the booze warm in my stomach, I was peachy, content to just listen to the bad guitar players strum off key. Every summer camping trip was the same. I would’ve preferred a team building exercise. At least I’d have an excuse to interact with people outside my circle of friends.

Well, I was content, until Rob strolled by the bonfire. A real piece of eye-candy, he clearly took advantage of the company gym benefits. Taller than me, even in my shiny black high heels, Rob had dark shaggy hair and two day old five o’clock shadow. One of those men who cleaned up nice, but out in the wilderness he was a wolf on the prowl. He walked barefoot, and wore loose khaki pants and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.

My s’more melted off the stick and dropped into the fire. I tossed the stick in the fire, pretending nothing was wrong, and sipped my beer.

“Hello,” Rob said, cool smile spread on his lips. I said something back, might’ve been hello too, at least I didn’t stutter too much when I told him my name is Sharon. He didn’t take the hint that I’m shy and don’t like to talk. Nope. Rob pulled up a folding chair and sat his fine ass next to me.

It’s no secret that this camping trip is an excuse for everyone at the office to get laid. Or at least have the chance to get laid in a place that won’t get you fired for sexual harassment.

I, being the angel I am, have only taken advantage of this situation once. My first year with the company. Seven years since, nothing. Didn’t help the guy was a douche-royale who later got fired for embezzling. So I’ve kept my distance, waiting for the perfect fuck-buddy who doesn’t seem to exist.

“You’re in accounting, right?” Rob asked. I answered yes, and find out he worked in marketing. Our conversation turns mundane quick, like an awkward first date cursed to end early with no chance of a nightcap or a second date.

And then he said something that blew my mind away.

“You’re the girl who plays D&D, aren’t you?”

I looked him in the eye, to see if he’s just making fun of me. He suddenly avoided eye contact, and shrugged one shoulder. I told him, yes, I played Dungeons & Dragons with a group of a three girls in accounting. Before that, I played in college with a group of twelve guys. Before that, with my cousins as kids.

And then we had a long fireside conversation about beholders, liches, and asshole DMs who set up ghoul encounters for level one characters. The fire died down to embers and burned sticks. Our fellow revelers went to their tents for sleep or sex. And this sexy, geeky guy couldn’t shut me up about my battle with the red dragon in the Underdark.

Except when he took the last swig of his beer, dropped the bottle to the grassy ground, and looked me in the eyes. “You are the sexiest woman here,” he said, words slurred together in a cute way that’s rare for drunk people. He nudged his chair closer to me.

No clue what I said, if anything, but next I know I’m clutching a fistful of his shiny black hair and my tongue is in his mouth. So much for shyness. We fell off out folding chairs and rolled around on the ground. At some point, I tore away from him, slipped off my halter and tossed it in the dying fire. Office scandal of the month, waiting to happen, and I flat don’t give a shit. Cold air caressed my nipples, which contrasted nicely with Rob’s hot hands all over my skin.

And his hot cock poking me in the stomach through his pants. I pinned him underneath me, straddling him, and massaged his member with my body. Panting, clearly bothered to all hell, he overpowered me and pushed me off. And then he unzips.

Rob wasn’t as big as I imagined, a bit stubbier than average, but he’s got a fat mushroom shaped head and tight ball-sack that looks heavy enough to do some damage. I clutched him by the shaft, rubbing the tip with my thumb, which made it difficult for him to take off his pants.

But he does, and he fishes a condom out of the pocket before tossing them aside, away from the fire. I fumble off my shorts, and throw them onto my ruined halter. I’m not going to sleep in the clothes I woke up in.

And then I knew it was real, and this was happening, right here next to the remaining embers of the bonfire. I can barely see him put on the condom, just the outline of his chiseled arms and shoulders.

Rob played with my clit and tunnel for a few minutes, making sure I was good and wet. I begged him to enter me.

And when he did, I wasn’t disappointed. That fat dick stretched me in a way I had forgotten about, it’d been so long. Like he was made to fit inside me, and I was made to fit in his arms.

Perfect.

Rob made slow love to me. I barely noticed the gawkers and passersby, enjoying the show we were putting on. Didn’t even care. In that moment, I felt so free, liberated in ways I never imagined.

I let out a moan. Then a scream. Pretty soon, I heard other moans and screams from nearby tents. The orgies going on everywhere turned me on even more. I dug my nails into Rob’s shoulders, begged him to fuck me faster.

Instead, he flipped me over and did me doggy style, fingers gripping my hips as he pumped me. It was everything I could do to keep from passing out.

A warm rush filled me from head to toe. When the orgasm hit, I collapsed under Rob. I just couldn’t keep my head up anymore. He pulled his cock out, and I heard the condom snap. A warm, wet stream hit my back, a few drops at first, and then a torrent of spunk covered me.

I laid in his arms for a few minutes, and enjoyed the afterglow. Later, I spent the night in his tent, making out. My only regret was being too tired to properly screw him again.

Next year, I plan on doing something about that.

***

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Author: D. Anthony Brown

Writer of speculative fiction.

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