Quickie Sex Stories – Tent Sex

Sex in the rain…God, there’s just nothing quite like it. Enjoy the latest chapter in the Quickie Sex Stories series – Tent Sex.

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It’s Saturday and the sky has been covered in gray clouds since breakfast.  The rain has been looming, daring us to go out, to attempt the hike up the mountain we planned yesterday.  We have both been watching it, looking up at the patches of sky between the giant trees that surround us, and then back at each other wondering silently what the other thinks of the chances.

I am packing up breakfast when the first drops start to fall.  They plink on the frying pan in my hands and then start to thump around us everywhere.  I look over at you and you are already scrambling, grabbing the things we have had out since we arrived and moving them under cover.  The raindrops are those big ones, the ones that you can feel, four or five times bigger than normal, but they are falling slow, bombarding us.  They are the warning shots of what’s ahead, the scouts splashing here and there, one lands on my arm and explodes with a thump.

Thunder rolls across the sky and echoes through the trees around us.  You are moving this way and that, dashing around our little plot grabbing the first thing your eyes fall on and deciding where to put it.  You are like a cartoon character, everything is in fast forward.

I finish washing the pan and dash to the tent just as the sky lets go.  You are still moving the coolers, and cups, and paper plates but it’s too late, your shirt is already starting to stick to you, staring to outline the muscles of your back, the curves of your shoulders.  You look up at the sky and then at me sitting in the doorway of the tent.  You shrug and smile.  The rain is turning the air gray.  There is no wind but the sound is almost deafening.  You are soaked.  Your shirt has become gray cotton skin, clinging to every contour of you while the rain splashes what was dust a minute ago into mud around your tennis shoes.

You run for the tent and dive in leaving only your feet outside the little door.   You kick off your shoes and wriggle in while I close the tent flap behind you.  You giggle and the tones immediately disappear in thunder of the rain on the tent.  A little trail of water is already pooling from your clothes.  I sit beside you and push your hair away from your forehead.  We laugh.  There will be no hiking today.  We are prisoners in our little cloth home.

You sit up and I take your shirt off.  The cloth is heavy, it drips as I scrunch it my hands and lift it over your head revealing your true skin, the skin that is stretched tight over you, the skin that outlines the sculpture that is your body.  I let my eyes trail over you.  I love your body.

I toss the shirt beside the door and lay my hand on your chest.  I can feel your heat beating under the muscles.  A breeze passes around us.  It’s almost cold on my wet clothes.  You shiver under my touch and wrap your arms around me, pulling me close to you.

We tumble back onto the tent floor and our lips meet.  The thunder rolls across the sky and I slip on top of you, lay my body on top of yours, press myself into you while our tongues dance between our mouths.

You slide your hands along my back and under my shirt.  I love the way it feels, your strong hands on me, they way you move them and then grip me, holding me against you, the muscles of your arms squeeze me.  I’m so tiny compared to you.

Another breeze slips through the tent windows.  My back is cold except where your skin touches me.  I am warm against you.  I reach my hand down the front of us, I can feel you pressing against me, that bulge between my thighs.  I slip my legs onto the tent floor and lay my hands on the mound at your waist.  You are pressing against the zipper of your damp blue jeans.  I can feel you throbbing between my fingers.  Warmth spreads through me.  I almost shiver the way it moves down my body, stopping between my legs.

Your fingers run across mine and then you are unbutton the fabric and pulling down the zipper. I jump in and start to pull them down.  You wiggle back and forth, the denim is soaked and fights us.  I laugh at the sight of us while you grunt and groan and I pull the denim and your boxers free.  There it is, big and thick and throbbing.

The rain is thundering against the tent, the air is rushing around us.  Everything smells like damp leaves, the beginnings of fall, a million memories.  I can feel the twigs and stones on my knees through the tent floor.  I love the way it feels, being outside, here, with you.  I strip my shirt and toss it away.  I wrap my fingers around the base of you.  Your skin is so hot.  I want it.  I lick my lips and lower them toward you.  Even among the rain and thunder, I hear you softly moan.

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