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2013/09/23

Black Leather BDSM Camp, Part V: Hi, Diddle, Diddle, Piggy in the Middle

Saturday, 5:30 am – 9:30 pm

I awoke four hours later.  It was pitch black out, but I had to pee… again.  Something about beer must affect urine production, and being one who doesn’t imbibe all that much, this caught me by surprise.  I’d been up almost every hour to urinate.  Instead of running all the way to the restroom, I opted for the woods behind my tent.

No one else was up.  I sat on my picnic table and enjoyed the view, as night turned into dawn.  I didn’t feel all that bad; a little sleep deprived.  I hit the OJ and downed some water, flushing my system.

Day three at the NCN Campground.  I was planning on leaving around noon on Sunday.  The weather had been exceptional thus far, and according to the forecast, would remain so for the duration of my visit. 

Revisiting the events of the previous night, I had a few regrets.  But then, I was there to experience whatever presented itself; to be social and open.  I vowed to remain so.  When given the choice of being nasty or nice, I almost always opt for nice.  Nice may get you into situations not to your liking, but it also doesn’t ostracize others or hurt people’s feelings. 

I felt a tad bad about ditching Tom, the tall dude with the six inch dick and bird-like features, the previous night, but there was something brewing there that made me very wary.  Some waters one should not wade in.

I assumed that the day would pretty much play out like the day before: a few new dudes would arrive, I’d wander the trails in the afternoon trolling for some man flesh, and  then I would end up at the bar around 8:00 pm. 

Newly hydrated, I returned to my tent and fell into a deep sleep, not waking for a good hour and a half, at which point, yep… I had to pee again.  At this point, Bob, my campsite neighbor was up and active.  I decided that shouldn’t make a difference, and hit the woods to relieve myself.  I was wearing a pair of shorts and a white tee again – something about being naked in the morning, with dew on the ground, just struck me as wrong. 

Bob announced that he would be leaving.  I didn’t waste my breath trying to dissuade him, though I did point out that you never know what might happen.  He remained resolved.   Convinced that he could be doing something more useful elsewhere, he felt there simply wasn’t enough going on to warrant his time.  He didn’t offer coffee, so I made my way, first to the restroom and then, the restaurant, laptop in tow.

I had two eggs, hashbrowns, toast.  The price was right and the food more than adequate.  Powering up my laptop, I hit the wi-fi, checking my email and blogger stats.  I contemplated starting to write about my experiences at NCN, but decided to allow the experience in its entirety to influence me. 

Back at camp, Bob was already breaking down his campsite.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing him go.  It would be lonely over on my side of the quad without him.  Gathering up my shave kit, I hit the restroom.  Shave, shower, trim, douche, etc.  A few dudes walked through, but nothing that enticed me in any way.

Fresh for the day, and still wearing my shorts, I plopped my ass down at my picnic table and began finishing the task of sorting files.  It had become the chore from hell, but the end was in sight. 

Bob, all packed up, said his good-byes.  He thanked me for being the highlight of his time at camp, before launching into his litany of complaints, solutions, and reasons for leaving early.  He was a good guy and I wished him well, advising him to check out ManCamp the next year, because, based on what all the regulars were saying, that was the event to attend.

Just as Bob was pulling away in his car, up walked Tom.  He’d found me.  He looked like he had just crawled out of bed and, not surprisingly, he held in one hand, a cigarette and, in the other, an alcoholic beverage.  He sat next to me at my picnic table.  In the light of day, he was no more appealing to me than he had been the night before, but I remained friendly.  Not that he was unappealing; the energy was simply all wrong.

He tossed his mostly smoked cig in the general direction of my spent campfire. 

This is a pet peeve of mine.  While I dislike smoking, I really dislike littering.  Hey, smokers? The world is not your ashtray.  Those ciggie butts of yours?  Not completely biodegradable (http://www.longwood.edu/cleanva/cigbuttbiodegradable.htm).  This small act also irked me, because I had spent quite a bit of time picking up a ton of cigarette butts around my campsite.  (Yeah, I know – a tad anal retentive, but I like a clean campsite.)

As we made small talk, he started playing with his dick and soon was reaching for mine.  I kept indicating that I was in the middle of getting some work done, but he didn’t take the hint.  After a few minutes he shot his load on my abs!  WTF?  Okay, I was friendly, but did not encourage this behavior in any way.  Maybe it was payback for ditching him the previous night. Whatever the case, I was kind of pissed if only for the fact that I’d just showered. 

However, I also didn’t protest or leap up and make a big deal of it, so that was on me (literally).  I must find this kind of behavior enticing on some level, because I keep allowing clueless clods like Tom to do whatever the hell they want around me. I need to find a way to communicate my dissatisfaction with people like this.  Grow a pair.  Protest.  Yet, any time I do protest, I always end up feeling like a fool and a villain, as if I’m overreacting and being a total asshole. Just where is the line?  What is the defining reaction between standing up for yourself and saying ‘no’ and being a dick about something?  That delineation continues to elude me in this life.

Once Tom shot his load, I didn’t encourage more conversation.  He got up, grabbed his drink, and headed back to wherever he’d come from, promising to fuck me later in the day. 

Yeah, fat chance buddy.

I got up, picked up the offending ciggie butt and tossed it in the trash.   Then I grabbed my wet wipes to clean Tom’s jizz off my stomach.   I decided not to dwell on it.  The day was proving to be a true beauty and I was excited by its potential prospects.

As I was finishing up on my file sorting, a very tall, thin, tan man walked by.  His posture was not good.  He, like I, suffered from the stoop that results from hitting one’s head on the top of doorways and such, due to being over six feet tall.  I would have estimated his height to in the neighborhood of 6’4”/6’5”. 

He smiled in my direction.  A handsome face, strong chin, sandy blonde hair, and a mouthful of oddly fitting teeth.  He reminded me of myself, before I had my teeth fixed.  He was about to pass me by, when he did an about face and headed right for me.  I stood up and we shook hands.  Name was Paul.  He was a farmer who every once in a great while got a break from his routine and bee-lined it to the NCN campground for a weekend of debauchery. 

Paul turned out to be a real nice man, though a little on the shy side.  Other than his posture and maybe his teeth, he was quite attractive. As we talked I kept not looking at him, because he reminded me so much of me before I got a clue (and, yes, there are those that would argue that I never got much of one). I left things very open-ended, and proved fairly non-committal when it came to what I was going to be up to throughout the day (though I did mention a possible hike in the afternoon) and evening (although I did mention that I would be at the bar).

Here’s the thing – it was obvious to me that Paul was looking for a boyfriend, or at least a regular bud.  He was simply so sweet and nice and kind from the get-go.  He also reeked of loneliness.  And trust me, I know lonely.  I’ve learned to embrace mine, but I still recognize it in others.  Those that exude it tug at my heartstrings, because, like everyone else with half a heart, I want to fix it, I want to make it better. 

But I know better.

So, I kept him at arm’s length and distracted myself by stealing looks at his dick, which, even in its relaxed state looked, ummm… promising. And I must admit, the idea of fooling around with a farm boy/man?  Pretty damn enticing. 

We concluded our conversation and Paul shuffled away, stealing the occasional puppy dog look over his shoulder accompanied by a sheepish grin.  Hmmm.

The afternoon zoomed by.  I ate lunch at my campsite, went for that hike (no one, anywhere), took the whole campsite tour again to see if anybody new had arrived (nope), and finally finished sorting the files on my laptop.  I tried to take a nap again, without success.  As dinnertime approached, I lit a fire and cooked myself up some tasty vegan treats using three pie irons that I have had since I was a kid.  I loaded them with butter, nine-grain bread, and filled them with vegan chili, cheddar cheese, and sliced cherry tomatoes.  In theory?  A great idea.  But I hadn’t used the pie irons in ages and was totally out of practice; burned the crap out of the first two and undercooked the third – only one was inedible.  Oh, well, everything (even poorly prepared food) tastes better in the outdoors.

After I cleaned up the pie irons, I waited for my fire to die before hitting the restroom, where I prepared for my night.  It was nice and warm and I was really anticipating having as good a time as possible.  Earlier that day, I had run into Mick the DJ, handing him a couple of mix CD’s that I had made.  He promised to listen to them, and, while one should never tell a DJ what to play, I rather hoped he would spin a couple of the songs on one of the CDs.

As I dressed, I contemplated wearing a regular jock strap instead of my Pistol Pete, but something about it felt wrong, and I ended up wearing exactly what I had the previous night: leather vest, black boots, grey and red socks and the Pistol Pete.  As soon as I entered the bar, the vest was stowed behind the bar, where it would remain all night except when I needed cash for beer, of which I would buy two.

Overjoyed, I discovered Mick was playing a song on one of my mix CDs.  I ran over and he told me how much he liked the music I had given him.  We bonded a bit over music, as he strapped one of those glow rings around my wrist.  From there, I wandered about and checked out the scene. 

Dr. Tickle and his henchwomen were in full swing.  Dr. Tickle was running feathers, fire, and various other things over a prone man on a massage table, while his wife and lesbian slave flogged Jerry the elf.  I must admit, there was nothing about any of this that appealed to me in the slightest.  Dr. Tickle had a weird vibe I could not relate to, so there was no way I would ever trust him to do things to me.  And the idea of being flogged by a couple of large-bodied women pretty much turned my pee-pee from an ‘outie’ to an ‘innie.’ 

I moved on to the dungeon area.  There was a crowd in the main hall surrounding the boy-too-beautiful, who was letting a couple of dudes suck his dick.  I envied those suckers, because the dude had a beautiful cock.  His partner, the retired executive, stood by, sucking on a couple of others, including that dude that reminded me of a creepy Jim Varney.  It looked fun, but I was not about to bogart anybody’s scene.  They all looked pretty content and were doing just fine without me.

A couple of young recent arrivals, a Hispanic dude and his taller Caucasian partner, were busy in the aluminum fuck swing, with the white dude eating the Latino’s ass.  Again, other than establishing eye contact with both, I saw no reason to get involved.  They were rather cute and I watched for a bit before moving on.

At the end of the hallway stood another grouping.  I moved around them, checking out the two back areas before deciding there was nothing there for me.  As I started to make my way back to the front, out of the corner of my eye, someone in the back group caught my eye.  He was very tall, with a nice strong chin.  I couldn’t make out his full face and for a couple moments, as I continued to move down the hall, glancing occasionally over my shoulder, I was thinking it was a new arrival.  Then it occurred to me that it might be Paul, and sure enough, as he disengaged from the group to follow me, that was who it turned out to be.

We met up in front of the first pair of booths and kissed.  Worked for me!  His dick, which was every inch as large as I’d hoped (a good nine), was hard, so I wasted no time going down on him.  He was thick, too, which made for a tight fit.  Fortunately, the bit of beer I’d had acted as lubricant, enough so that, while I struggled a bit, he went down easy; it made for a nice, full throat.  I swallowed, as held him deep; that got a reaction.  But based on the fact that he was already leaning over me to finger my pre-lubed hole, I had to think the dude had something more in mind.  Fuck, yeah! 

We began drawing a crowd, including a rather handsome bald dude with a nice sturdy, muscled body. He rang a bell for me; I’d seen him somewhere before.  He smiled appreciatively and I couldn’t help but notice his whole body was covered in that light blonde fur that my body used to be covered in – until I got older and it turned weirdly wiry.  I loved his legs – nice and thick.  The crowd started to move in too close for me.  I made my escape, dragging Paul with me.     

Moving into the booth with the large, leather-covered massage table, I positioned myself at the far end of it, because I wanted to limit access. Paul and I kissed once more, and I was about to resume my duties as a cocksucker, when he surprised me by turning me around.  Dude wanted my ass! 

Only too happy to comply, I bent over the end of the table and presented my ass. Fortunately, I had the good sense to bring my poppers with me.  Eager, Paul attempted to enter me before I’d a chance to even uncap the damn bottle.  I asked him to slow down and he complied.  Wow.  Amazingly enough, even with his girth and length, my hole was as receptive as a pre-fucked one; there was no pain.   I hit the poppers anyway, figuring what the hell.  Once my ass met the base of his cock, I knew I was in for a good ride. 

And the farm boy did not disappoint!

That dick felt great and felt like a total slut, bent over that massage table taking it.  Being fucked by a dude taller than me for a change was really fun.  The position I was in accommodated both of us perfectly, so I saw no need to change it up.  And it was a good thing I didn’t, because soon, standing in front of me, smiling down, was the good-looking dude that had seemed so familiar to me moments before.  He climbed up on the table and stayed on his knees; his perfectly-furred thighs spread, presenting my other main orifice the opportunity to nurse on his sweet seven inch cock.   Yep, this pig was about to be spit-roasted!  

Needless to say, I was loving it.  I concentrated on the various sensations in my ass and mouth.  As soon as I took the other dude’s dick in my mouth, Paul began maximum poundage.  I must confess, the slut in me couldn’t have been happier.  Other guys gathered around drawn in by the sharp sound of my ass cheeks meeting Paul’s pelvis.  I couldn’t really see who they were, because my face was getting nice fucked at the time. 

The dude I was sucking began talking, telling me: to take that dick, what a fine mouth I had, how much he loved seeing that big cock ramming my cunt, etc.  I love it when dudes talk shit like that.  It made it seem even hotter.  He fed me my own poppers at one point, something that also trips my trigger.  

Given my position, I was pretty impressed with myself – even with the pounding I was taking and the constrained manner my body was held, I still managed to change up my sucking and fucking techniques and concentrate on giving both dicks some premium service. 

How long did this go on?  I’m going to say at least fifteen minutes.  And I kid you not.  Paul must have saved up a lot of energy during his time alone on the farm, the man would not let up.  After quite some time, the dude I was sucking began to falter.  He pulled away and got off the table, walking over to the side, still encouraging me to take Paul’s dick.  This allowed others to crowd in, and in my mind, I had plenty to keep me occupied as it was, I didn’t feel the need to take on all comers.  I arched back and found Paul’s lips.  We kissed as he held me; his dick, now still, pulsing inside me.  I could feel it surge and expand as the sensation resonated in the space between my ears. 

Paul and I reached the same conclusion.  Smiling at me, he asked if it was okay if we took a break.  Needless to say, I was only too happy to come up for some air.  Grabbing my beer, Paul followed me to the small stage where the floggings had been taking place.  Sitting side-by-side, we talked. 

I kept an eye out for who was going in and coming out of the dungeon, but only out of habit; I had what I wanted, right next to me. 

And it looked like he wasn’t going anywhere!

End Part V 









  








4 comments:

SEAN (The Jeep Guy) said...

How you you leave us hanging there?

O!Daddie now at http://smokeyandme.typepad.com/ said...

amazing - next installment please!!!

whkattk said...

Farm-boy sounds mighty, mighty intriguing! Reminds me of my own hook-up with an honest-to-goodness Iowa farm boy. Nice hard cock and sucked mine like he'd never get another!

Stan said...

I'm glad to see this camping trip paid off for you.