This is a seven-part story. I have completed all seven parts and will be releasing them over the next few weeks. The tags refer to the entire story and not necessarily to any particular episode. Crotch Lake is a real place, and my then-wife and I did camp on an island there with another couple. All names have been changed. I leave it to you, gentle reader, to determine which, if any, events in this story are factual and which are imagined.
Day 1—The Drive—Sunday
We were two hours into our ten-hour drive from Kentucky to Crotch Lake, Ontario. (Yes, it is a real place. Check Google Earth: 44°52’10.30″ N, 76°48’0.37″ W.) I had just started my first two-hour turn at the wheel of Ken and Karen’s Escalade, with their twenty-foot runabout in tow. Cindy and I had provided most of the camping gear that filled the boat and most of the Escalade’s cargo space. Ken was riding shotgun. My wife Cindy was sitting behind him, and his wife Karen was behind me, complaining.
“Eight more hours? This is boring. We need to do something. Anything to liven things up. Any ideas, anyone?”
Cindy said, “When I was a kid, we played a bunch of travel games. You know, license plate bingo; I spy; I’m going on vacation, and I’m bringing…”
Karen said, “Those are crap! I’d rather count telephone poles.”
I couldn’t resist. “You know who was the first telephone Pole—Alexander Graham Bellinski.” I was answered with three groans.
Karen’s knee jammed into the back of my seat as she said, “Dave, I sure hope we’re not going to have to listen to your crappy puns all week.”
Ken jumped in, “Hey Karen, why don’t you read that new Dan Brown book to us?”
Cindy and I both agreed that sounded like a good idea.
“I’m not sure I want to,” Karen said.
“Three to one,” Ken said.
“Okay, I’ll read. But I get to pick the book. I’m already four chapters into the Brown and don’t want to start over.”
“Deal,” three of us said at once.
Karen dug around in her tote bag, rejecting book after book until she triumphantly pulled one out. “Ah. This one will be perfect.”
She began reading.
My husband had been on a business trip to Boston and was due back Friday night. So, you can imagine my surprise when he walked into our bedroom Thursday afternoon. Imagine his surprise when he saw our neighbor, Arthur, balls deep in my snatch. What was I to do? Arthur and I were both about to cum. George was standing there in the doorway, his body shaking, and his face turning red. What else could I do? What should I say? What could I say but? “Oh Arthur, fuck me hard. Fuck me hard. Deeper! Harder! Oh, yes. Just like that. Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!”
Oh my God, did he ever fuck me. Arthur pounded my pussy so hard I thought he was going to break the bed. My pussy throbbed and squeezed his cock. If it hadn’t been gushing so much pussy juice, it would have clamped Arthur’s cock so it couldn’t move. Luckily, it was at its juiciest, and he pounded and pounded. It started. The clamping turned to twitching. The twitching turned to spasms. The spasms got stronger and stronger and spread over my whole body. My toes tingled, and my orgasm exploded. I almost blacked out. Just then, Arthur screamed, “Oh my God. I’m cum-mm-ming, too!” I felt his cock fill my pussy with a fire hose load of cum.
Once I could see straight again, I saw George standing beside the bed—naked. He looked me in the eye and said, “Is this a private party, or can I join in?”
Karen didn’t pause until she finished the first chapter. A quick glance around the car proved that the drive was no longer boring. Ken and I both had bulges in our pants. I couldn’t see Karen since she was directly behind me, but from the sound of her voice, she was either a great actress or very turned on. I glanced over my right shoulder and saw Cindy squirming around on the seat with her hand in her lap. I’m pretty sure that she had been rubbing her crotch until I turned to look at her. That first book continued graphically from that scene to all the couples living on that cul-de-sac becoming a neighborhood swingers club and everyone fucking almost everyone else.
For the rest of the drive, except for stops, we took turns reading from Karen’s porn collection. I lost count of how many of those fuck books we finished in the final eight hours of the drive. My dick almost hurt from being erect so long. If I had been taking little blue pills, we would have needed to stop so I could see a doctor. But then, I’ve always maintained that the marketing department demanded the four-hour warning rather than the product safety people.
# # #
Around five that afternoon, we arrived at the lodge on the south end of the lake. The distinct aroma of aroused pussy permeated the car. We negotiated a fee with the innkeeper for parking the Escalade and using their boat ramp and dock. For the next hour or so, we ferried our gear to a two-acre island about a mile from the lodge. We finished setting up the tent, the kitchen area, and the latrine just in time to start dinner at dusk. It wasn’t anything special, just hot dogs cooked over the campfire and a few Molson Goldens.
After dinner, Ken and I were sitting by the fire debating the Red’s chances to get the pennant. Across from us, Cindy and Karen were whispering and giggling.
“Look at you, two twenty-seven-year-olds giggling like schoolgirls. What are you giggling about over there?” I asked.
Cindy answered, “You know how you kept going on this morning about my needing a suitcase of my own in addition to space in our shared bag?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well, Karen and Ken had almost the same conversation.”
“Okay, so what? I still don’t see why you needed extra space. All we’re likely to need is two changes of clothes, a swimsuit, and rain gear. All that for two people should fit in one duffle with room left over.”
Karen interrupted. “Dave, you just don’t understand women. We also need our beauty potions, and this trip we needed space for some special things. Cindy and I planned to keep you guys interested.”
“I think we’re plenty interested,” said Ken.
“Oh, yeah? Dave, light that big lantern of yours, and we girls will show you some of the things in those extra bags as you guys called them.” Karen grabbed Cindy’s hand and dragged her toward the tent
“Okay.” I got up, lit the big Coleman, and hung it a few yards from the fire to keep the bugs away from us. The girls disappeared into the tent amidst more giggling.
Whispering and giggling continued for a few more minutes, then Karen announced, “Welcome to the inaugural Crotch Lake Fashion Show. First this evening, the lovely Cindy wearing a selection from the redneck collection.”
The tent zipper separated, and Cindy stepped out in a blue bandana-print halter-top and a pair of Daisy Dukes. She walked over to the campfire, pausing under the lantern for a slow turn so we could see the outfit all around. The halter-top was tied around her neck and behind her lower back. It covered her chest but hinted at her erect nipples. The Dukes stopped a couple inches above the bottom of her ass, showing off the bottom of her butt cheeks. At the campfire, she did another slow turn to give us a close-up look. We applauded as she retreated to the tent.
When Cindy reached the tent, she turned and said, “Gentlemen, we continue with another outfit from the redneck collection. Please welcome Karen.”
Ken and I responded with more applause while Karen took the same path that Cindy had. Karen was wearing a white tube top, a pink mini-skirt, and pink cowgirl boots. The tube top clung delightfully to her tits showing the size and shape of her erect nipples. The mini might even have been a micro-mini. I’m not sure that I know the dividing line, but I do know that the hem of that skirt couldn’t have been more than an inch below her crotch. I kept hoping that she would bend over so I could see what was under it. She did bend over once to give Ken a quick kiss. But damn it, her backside was pointed the wrong way for me to check it out.
When she got back to the tent, she paused at the door. “That concludes the redneck portion of our show. Cindy will open our bikini show wearing a cover-up and a yellow bikini from the designers at Target.” She pronounced it Tar-jay to make it sound French.
The tent zipper separated, and Cindy stepped out in a modest yellow bikini showing clearly through an almost transparent white cover-up that came to just under her ass. She walked over to the campfire and did a slow turn under the lantern so we could see the outfit all around.
We applauded and cheered. Cindy returned to the tent, poked her head out, and said, “Next, with another Tar-jay bikini, our very own Karen.”
Cindy disappeared, then Karen wiggled out of the tent in a tiny white bikini so thin that the color and shape of her nipples were visible as she slowly twirled under the Coleman. As she got closer, I was mesmerized by the way the bottoms clung to her ass and by the camel toe in the front. She walked over to Ken and said, “Care to touch the fabric to examine the quality, sir?”
“Yes, I would, ma’am. Please step closer.” Ken reached out and cupped her breasts with both hands. “Very nice, very nice indeed. Of course, I’ll need to be sure that both pieces are the same quality.” He put one hand on her ass and the other on her pussy, rubbing her through the thin cloth.
“Please, Sir, I think if you do that any more, we might stain the merchandise. I must return so the show can continue.” She wiggled her butt back to the tent. Just before she stepped in, she turned back toward us. “Welcome the return of Cindy in our third bikini, a very special number from a famous Hollywood designer.”
Karen entered the tent, and Cindy stepped out. She took the usual path toward the lantern light and slowly turned; it became apparent that the famous designer must have been named Fredrick. Her bright red bikini consisted of two triangles about the size of Tostito chips and a very tiny bottom that in the front was a ‘V’ surrounded by wisps of brown pubic hair; the back was a slightly larger triangle that covered about half of her ass. The sight woke my dick and caused it to take notice. Needless to say, I had never seen Cindy in a swimsuit like that, especially not in front of other people. She came over to my chair and did another slow pirouette.
I reached for her boobs. “This requires an inspection of the fabric.” I gave them both a thorough rubbing, then moved to the minuscule bottom. I gave it a rub and slipped a finger behind the ‘V,’ searching for her nether lips. “Please turn around. I need to check all of it.”
She turned as I asked. For form’s sake, I rubbed the tiny bit of rear fabric between my fingers—as if I had any idea what that meant. Then I used both hands to rub her delightful ass cheeks. “Oh, yes. This is excellent material. I’ll need to examine this even more closely later.”
“Sir, please. You’re delaying the show. I need to return to the dressing room. But this will be available for further examination later.” She returned to the tent and, at the door, said, “And now for Karen in the final bikini. I’ve always wanted to say this about my friend. She makes her own clothes.”
I don’t know if Ken had seen this one before or not. It was stunning in more ways than one. It was not one of those super thin, unlined types that disappear when wet, nor was the cut skimpy; it was a traditionally cut bikini. However, it was crocheted lace and didn’t matter if it was wet or dry. The lace had openings that ranged from the size of a pencil to the size of a quarter, with her nipples poking proudly through two of the quarter-sized loops. The crocheted fabric, if you could call it fabric, only covered about ten percent of her sweet ass and pussy. It also left absolutely no doubt that she was a natural redhead.
Ken said, “I think I need to examine the fabric, please.”
“No, Sir. I don’t think that would be a good idea. You gentlemen have been getting much too carried away with your examinations. Mr. Dave was examining places where there was no fabric when Cindy was last out here, and you weren’t much better yourself, Mr. Ken. No, Sir. I need to go announce our next entry.”
With that, she returned to the tent door, whispered to Cindy, and turned to face us.
“That concludes the swimwear portion of our show. We will conclude with lingerie from Victoria’s Secret. Here’s Cindy showing off a teddy.”
Well, it was pretty much the other way around. The teddy was showing off Cindy. The first thing I noticed was the neckline that, except for a small clip holding it together at her collar bone, the opening plunged to just below her navel, leaving her boobs exposed halfway out to the nipples. As she got closer to the pool of light below the lantern, I realized that it was all white lace. Unlined white lace. The remainder of her boobs, erect nipples included, were clearly visible through the lace. The same for her pussy hair and the top of her slit. Then as she turned under the lantern, I notice the third surprise. It had a thong back, and my wife’s gorgeous ass was on full display. Ken and I hooted our approval.
She walked over to the campfire and announced, “To finish our Crotch Look, I mean Crotch Lake, fashion show, Karen in a babydoll from Miss Vicky’s secret closet.” Cindy came to me and sat on my lap, where I got a really close look at her tits and rubbed her ass.
Karen stepped out of the tent to more hoots and hollers from Ken and from me, even with my nearly naked wife on my lap. Cindy gave me a look and shook her finger at me. It wasn’t my fault. Karen’s babydoll was very sheer pale pink. The top tied with a single bow at the bottom of her bust, over her bare stomach, and a matching G-string panty. This gave an even better view of her titties and crotch with red pussy hair poking a little out the sides, and let’s not forget her perfect ass. She came over to the campfire and settled onto her husband’s lap.
Karen and Cindy had been best friends since junior high and had many times been mistaken for sisters even though their coloring was different. Karen was the typical green-eyed redhead, while Cindy had brown hair and eyes. As I looked at them as I’d never seen them before, I realized that in the dark, with only touch to rely on, I’d have a hard time telling them apart. Karen was about two inches taller than Cindy’s 5’ 2”, had slightly bigger nipples, and her red bush was probably softer than Cindy’s wiry pussy hair. Cindy did have the advantage of a cup size or maybe two over Karen. Their asses might not be quite the same, but as the Duke said in a couple of movies, “I’d hate to have to live on the difference.”
I guessed Ken and I would be even more challenging. We were both about the same height, weight, hair, and eye color. The most significant difference between us was that I had a mustache.
I was brought back to reality when Cindy cleared her throat and stood up. “Gentlemen, please put out the fire, shut down the camp for the night, and join your wife in your sleeping bag.”
Karen joined her, and they paraded to the tent, bare asses wiggling all the way. Ken and I set a new speed record finishing our chores so we could join our brides. We hustled into the tent and stripped to our underwear. The sleeping bags were on opposite sides of my family-size tent. Both wives were still in their sexy lingerie. Ken and I each snuggled into a sleeping bag with our own wife. I switched off the battery lantern and plunged the tent into darkness.
# # #
I snuggled against Cindy’s naked ass and murmured in her ear. “Cindy, are you as horny as I am?”
“Why do you ask?” she whispered
“Between the fashion show, you girls did and all of Karen’s books, I think I could hammer nails with my pecker. Also, I think I can smell your pussy.”
“Maybe you do. I think the thong is damp. Yes, I’m a little horny, but we can’t do anything about it. Karen and Ken are only a few feet away. They might not hear what we’re saying, but they’re sure to hear us if we have sex.”
I tried to hide my disappointment but couldn’t hide my erection. “Okay, but you owe me.”
“I promise. We’ll do it as soon as we can find some privacy. I want you, too.”
I rolled over so my prick wouldn’t rub on Cindy’s ass and distract me from my unwelcome celibate night. I thought that I heard mummers from the other side of the tent. I listened closer and heard the zipper on the other sleeping bag, followed by Ken or Karen moving around. Then the sound of what I guessed was a hand slapping another hand.
Karen whispered, “Stop it! They’ll hear you.”
“But you’ve spent nearly the whole day teasing me. First, with your dirty books, then by you and Cindy flashing Dave and me with your sexy clothes. Before you say I can’t touch you, feel this.”
“Oh, my. Did I do that?”
“You sure did. Now, what are you going to do about it?”
Their conversation suddenly stopped, but there was a rustling like one of them was moving into a new position. Silence for a bit, then I heard a little sucking sound and Ken’s voice, “Oh, oh, ah.”
Ken, “Just like that. Oh, yes, yes. You do that great.”
“Shut up and eat me.”
More wet sounds and Karen’s, “Huh, huh, huh, huh, huh.”
A few minutes later, the wet sounds transitioned into a rhythmic movement. Cindy’s hand came over my hip and started stroking my cock. Her other hand moved down my back between our bodies, and I heard the snaps on her teddy open. She rolled onto her back and pulled me toward her. I gladly rolled on top of her; she grabbed my cock and pulled it toward her pussy. I guessed she changed her mind. I pushed it in and couldn’t stifle my moan as her pussy squeezed me.
Another moan answered mine from the other side of the tent, and the rhythm over there kicked up a notch.
Cindy pulled her knees up. My dick made a squishing sound every time I plunged into her sloppy wet pussy.
Something changed over there too, and they were making similar squishy sounds. But it sounded like theirs were from both the in and the out strokes. Karen’s moans got more frequent, and each one seemed a bit louder than the last.
Cindy started doing the same, and soon unrestrained feminine moans filled the tent. That apparently got to Ken as much as it was getting to me. We both added grunts to our strokes. The tempo picked up again. I’m usually good for about ten minutes. That night it had to have been fifteen or twenty already. That didn’t matter. It had become a competition. I wasn’t going to admit that Ken could fuck Karen better or longer than I could fuck Cindy. He must have had the same thing in mind. We were each pounding our wife harder and faster, and everyone sounded like they were really enjoying it.
Karen was the first to get there. “Oh, my God! Ken, don’t you dare stop. I’m cumming. I’m cummming. OHHH!”
Damn it. He brought her off first. Then I remembered they started with oral sex, and we got a later start. I doubled my efforts to give Cindy her chance. I kept pounding and added my thumb on her clit. Ken was still pounding. I felt Cindy’s pussy tightening its grip on me. Her clit got harder. It started to throb. Her pussy was throbbing along with it. Her breathing got faster. Her butt bounced as she met my thrusts.
“Dave, slam me harder. I’m almost there.”
I did my best. Her body went tense all over, then suddenly went limp. I couldn’t take the rhythmic squeezing from her vagina anymore and shot my load and fell on top of her.
“Fuck, that was a big one,” she said, “My toes are tingling like that woman’s in the book.”
Squishing sounds reemerged from the other side of the tent, followed by Karen shouting, “Oh, God. That’s perfect. Oh shit! I’m coming again!”
I wondered how Ken could recover so quickly as we all tried to catch our breath. Rapid breathing and the smell of sex filled the tent.
“Guess we’ll have to air out the sleeping bags tomorrow,” I said to no one in particular.
Cindy said, “Damn it. I got the wet spot again.”