Lizzie Under Canvas Pt. 01

I am not particularly fond of camping, and before Lizzie and I went on an organised hike when we first moved to Spain, I had spent precisely two nights under canvas in my entire life.

However, one of the reasons we moved to Spain in the first place was to make the most of the shorter winters and spend more time outdoors, having spent most of our working lives behind desks in London.

Lizzie arranged for us to join a guided group on a beginner-friendly hike in Sierra Norte, not too far from Madrid.

The trip would take four or five days, depending on the pace, which I hoped wouldn't be too rapid, given that I hadn't walked in anger for more than an hour in the previous twenty years.

We met our group at the muster point, and a small coach was provided to take us all to the start of the trail.

When we disembarked, we gathered around our guides for an introduction and an initial brief.

Our guides were both women.

Angela was a tall, heavy-set twenty-five-year-old with an infectious laugh and a stunning smile, which she used almost constantly.

Nikki was a local and older, perhaps in her early forties. She was small and lithe, with deeply tanned skin and jet-black hair tied into a tight ponytail under a faded baseball cap that had seen many hours of bright sunshine--every inch a daughter of the Mediterranean.

Nikki, too, had a brilliantly white smile and huge dark eyes. Always a sucker for romance languages, I was immediately in love with her accented English and animated way of speaking.

We each introduced ourselves, and I was interested to see such a varied group of people.

There were fourteen of us, six of whom, including Lizzie and me, were couples, including two older French women whose looks, demeanour, mannerisms, and speech had me convinced they must be sisters--maybe even non-identical twins--until they explained they were married to one another.

This earned me an eye-roll from Lizzie, as I had quietly been adamant about my theory.

The other eight were split between one single guy and two groups of friends. There were eleven women, three men, and two female guides.

The men were heavily outnumbered, but we weren't likely to complain.

As I said to my wife when we set off, two or three abreast in small groups, everyone chattering away happily, "If I have to spend four days staring at someone's ass as they walk ahead of me, I would much prefer it to be a female ass."

In the general hubbub of our group and the rattling and clanking of sixteen overloaded backpacks, it was easy to have a private conversation.

Lizzie finally told me why she was so excited about sleeping in a tent.

When we were deciding what kind of entry-level nature adventure to experience, Lizzie pushed very hard for anything that involved camping.

When I asked her why she was so enthusiastic about it, she repeated that she'd explain when we were there.

I had managed to drag out of Lizzie that it was something exciting that I would be sure to like, and at that point, I decided to live with the anticipation and contain my curiosity.

It meant that the question of why we were doing this particular activity when we had a choice of so many other non-camping-based alternatives had been constantly in the back of my mind for six or seven weeks since my wife made the booking.

"At university, I must have been nineteen or twenty," Lizzie began. Her tone was neutral, but my ear, trained by so many years with her, detected some underlying excitement.

"My group of friends and housemates and I went camping in Wales," she continued.

I glanced over at her in surprise. I knew most of those women and could not imagine any of them being more than ten minutes from a Starbucks these days.

"What about the potential damage to their nails?" I asked.

Lizzie ignored me and continued, "We decided to do it when we were drunk, and then it became one of those things that gathered momentum, and before we knew it, we were in a rented minibus with rented equipment and only a vague idea of how to use it, in the middle of nowhere."

"Why have I never heard this before?" I asked.

"There are many things you don't know, darling. Many, many things," said Lizzie, laughter in her voice.

Conceding the fact and feeling the familiar early stages of arousal, I gestured for my wife to continue.

"There was a lot of fun associated with the alcohol-fueled erection of tents, which I won't bore you with now," Lizzie said, "but I will tell you what happened that night when we retired to our tents."

Now I was very interested, and my cock was starting to push against my trousers.

"Go on," I murmured.

"I was sharing with Meg", she continued, "You remember Meg?"

I did indeed remember Meg.

I hadn't seen her for years, but her stunning ass, hugged by tight white jeans and the waistband of her black lace panties riding up as she danced drunkenly the last time I had, popped immediately into my mind.

I made an affirmative noise.

Lizzie continued, "Well, we managed to get ourselves organised and into our sleeping bags without too many problems, considering it was only a two-person tent. We were both wearing t-shirts and sleeping shorts--almost identical pastel blue, which we had both bought in a hurry the day before when we realised we couldn't sleep naked in front of each other. We laughed; we may have bought them at the same shop. Meg told me she only wore clothes in bed when she knew someone would take them off."

I sighed quietly, picturing it. My wife looks hot in anything, but the thought of Meg dressed in the same way, the removal of her bra allowing her nipples to show a little through the thin cotton of a t-shirt, was making me practically salivate.

Lizzie carried on.

She said, "I was woken."

I looked sharply at Lizzie. Her pace had slowed for a moment, and she stopped talking abruptly. I was concerned that she'd hurt herself, perhaps had something sharp in her shoe.

Picking up the pace again and reaching for my hand, she said, "Fuck, sorry, it's been a while since I talked about this, and it's made me a little wet."

My wife had paused because she was so distracted by her recollection, feeling the sudden dampness in her panties.

Lizzie gathered herself, "I was woken up by Meg groaning softly. I thought that maybe the meal we had all cooked so very amateurishly over the fire earlier had made her ill, so I turned my head and asked her if she was OK."

Another pause. I squeezed Lizzie's hand, unwilling to speak in case it broke the spell I was under as I listened to her.

"As my eyes adjusted to the dark," Lizzie continued, "I could see that Meg's knees were drawn up inside her sleeping bag, and there was rapid movement inside--the bag rustling loudly as Meg's upper body--only her shoulders and chest were exposed--squirmed and wriggled, and the material stretched as her legs moved apart and together as if she needed a pee. There was a clearly audible buzzing from her vibrator, which got alternately louder and quieter as she fucked herself with it. She was looking directly at me."

"Fuck... that's so hot. Don't stop, tell me," I said.

Lizzie took an audible breath and began speaking again.

"There was a dim glow through the canvas behind Meg caused by the little moonlight that there was," murmured my wife dreamily, "and the sharply defined silhouette made her look like an erotic shadow-puppet as she thrust her hips and held herself off the ground, almost touching the canvas of the tent roof, her weight entirely on her shoulders and the balls of her feet."

"Oh my God, really?" I asked.

"I remember every detail," said my wife.

Lizzie continued, "As we looked at each other, I heard the zip on the side of Meg's sleeping bag rip partly open as Meg forced her legs further apart against its constraint--I could see the bag's material stretched taut between her knees. The vibrator became very quiet for several seconds as her cunt muscles squeezed hard and muted it. Meg groaned, held herself motionless, swore loudly, and came."

Neither of us spoke for a full minute.

"She came looking into my eyes," Lizzie said, more quietly now as we were all slowing down, our crocodile of walkers bunching up.

As my wife told her story, the guides--whom I had been oblivious to for the last few minutes--seemed to gather us into a semicircle.

"Fuck... Lizzie. Is that where it ended?" I asked.

Lizzie waited for long seconds as we came to a halt, and we all looked expectantly at the guides, standing together and smiling broadly while they waited for us to settle.

"No," Lizzie practically whispered. "Wait. I'll tell you when we move off."

I must have made a slight involuntary noise because the older guide, Angela, glanced quizzically at me, an eyebrow raised.

I smiled weakly and then saw her do a double take as she noticed the bulge in my shorts.

Fuck, I hadn't realised it was so obvious.

I looked down--my zip fly was at serious risk of exploding.

Hurriedly, discreetly rearranging myself to make things less obvious, I glanced back up as Nikki started speaking and saw that Angela was still watching me.

When she dragged her eyes away, Lizzie spoke softly next to me.

"That was subtle, darling. I should have just waved it at her", she chuckled.

Reddening slightly, I listened as Nikki pointed out an interesting feature of the landscape--something related to fossils and a dinosaur discovery in the 1970s.

Honestly, I paid very little attention, still lost in thought.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, we set off again in twos and threes; I was irritated when one of the solo guys fell in with us, keeping pace on my wife's left as I walked on her right.

The man--middle-aged, shorter than Lizzie, balding, handsome, and wiry--moved like a man used to this kind of outdoor activity. I noted that none of his kit looked like he'd just bought it--he was more experienced than we were at this type of thing.

He introduced himself as Clint, Cliff, or something similar and spent the next half an hour blatantly flirting with my wife.

Lizzie enjoyed this for two reasons.

First, Lizzie loves to be flirted with by anyone at any time. Second, she knew I was getting more desperate by the second--for her to put me out of my misery and complete her story.

Eventually, Lizzie took pity on me. Having ignored my repeated hints that I wanted to stop for a pee for at least ten minutes, she told the man that she had better keep watch for me.

Rolling her eyes to imply what a baby I was, she stepped off the path about twenty feet into the woods with me.

Immediately pushing me against a tree, my wife reached between us, her face close to mine, hot breath on my throat as she looked up at me, pushed the elasticated waist of my hiking shorts down to my thighs, and dragged my cock into the air.

"My God, you're like iron," she moaned, breathing hard as she started to stroke my cock.

Putting her knee between my legs, Lizzie pushed my ankles apart, stretching the fabric of my shorts to the limit and making my legs tremble as she ran her hand quickly over the length of my cock, jerking me off expertly as she spoke in a soft, husky voice.

"Where was I? she said, "Oh. Yes. Meg came hard; it seemed to take her forever to stop. After she relaxed and allowed herself to slowly lay flat on her back again, like she was deflating, the breath leaving her in a long sigh, I held her gaze and told her she was beautiful when she came--which she was."

My breath hitched a little as I moved my hips toward her fist.

Taking her hand off my cock for a second, Lizzie spat heavily into her palm and wiped her saliva over my shaft and purple head, then began to stroke me again--smoother now from the lubrication, squeezing at the base and very tip each time.

"Meg hadn't turned off her vibrator," Lizzie said, "and it got louder as she pulled it slowly from her cunt."

This was so hot; I could see it clearly in my mind. My cock was twitching now--I was trying not to cum, but it was getting more and more difficult with each passing second.

My wife knew it and dropped her left hand inside my shorts, lifting my heavy balls out of my boxer shorts and holding them very firmly, which helped me postpone the inevitable for a few moments.

"Fuck," moaned Lizzie, the images vivid in her mind too.

"Meg slowly unzipped her bag, letting her naked thigh flop to the groundsheet--unrestrained now--and offered the vibrator to me, her arm outstretched", my wife said, excitement at the recollection evident in the husky edge to her voice.

"It was soaked. I could see Meg's cum dripping from it to the floor, running down to her fist as she held it up at a slight angle," Lizzie said.

"Oh God, please tell me you took it..." I groaned, closing my eyes, my head falling back against the tree behind me.

"I took it," breathed Lizzie, her lips now brushing my neck as her hand worked quickly on my cock.

"I took it from her", Lizzie went on, "It was slick and warm--so slick I almost dropped it--and I sat up, pulling my legs out of my sleeping bag and laying on top of it. I shuffled my sleep shorts and took one foot out, leaving them on one ankle. Still looking into Meg's eyes, I opened my legs wide, my knees bent to allow me access, and pushed the buzzing vibrator all the way into me."

I knew I wasn't going to last, and my pre-cum was starting to drip from me.

"Don't stop, please, Liz, don't fucking stop," I moaned.

I meant don't stop jerking me off--but also, don't stop the story. I wanted to hear how it ended before I came.

Lizzie didn't stop.

"Meg was even more excited than I was," my wife said. "Her hand was between her legs as she watched, and she was humping it so hard that I could hear the sucking noise her fingers were making inside her as I fucked myself with her vibrator--so turned on by the fact that it was wet from not only my cunt, but from Meg's cum too."

Lizzie went on, "Reading my mind, Meg said, "Oh fuck... my cum is inside you, Lizzie. My cum is in your fucking cunt."

"I couldn't answer," said Lizzie, breathless herself. "I couldn't answer. I just kept my eyes on hers until I felt myself start to cum. Then I turned my head and stared up at the roof, my back arched, legs closing tight on my arm, cunt clamping on the vibrator as I came. As my orgasm washed over me, Meg reached out and touched my cheek, gently pulling my face round so that we were facing each other again."

With a grunt, I felt myself start to cum. Lizzie held my pulsing cock tight and clamped down hard on my pumping balls, delaying the explosion.

I experienced that incredible half-pain, half-ecstasy as I felt myself cumming but wasn't allowed the relief of my sperm flying from me, my cock staying hard. Lizzie is an expert at this and can edge me for hours till I'm frantic. She can even stop me cumming by gripping my cock with her cunt, sometimes.

"Meg had cum on her fingers watching me," said my wife, who was now struggling to breathe freely, "and as she watched me cum, she gently ran her wet fingers over my cheek and lips. My mouth was wide open as I came, and she slipped them between my lips where I sucked them clean."

There was no stopping it now.

Cum exploded from my cock--thick and heavy. Lizzie dropped quickly to her knees and took me in her mouth, swallowing, her hands on my thighs as I finally felt the release I had been desperate for.

When I eventually felt my heart rate slow, I relaxed my rigid muscles. I fell weakly against the tree behind me, dropping my hands from the back of my wife's head.

Lizzie allowed my softening cock to fall from her mouth, a little cum dropping to her tanned thigh, her shorts ridden up as she rose to a squat and stood.

When she kissed me, her tongue briefly flicking into my mouth, I could taste my rich, salty cum.

Pulling my clothing back together, I remembered my manners and looked enquiringly at my wife.

"Oh God, don't worry about me, darling," she said, "I came twice--at least twice."

During the rest of the hike, we spent four nights under canvas, and on two of those, we had spectacular adventures--which I'll write about in part two of this series.