Rain in the Bachelor Tent

The rain hammered the nylon roof like impatient fingers, sealing us inside a tiny two-man tent that suddenly felt way too small. I had wanted Sarah since the first time she slid my usual black coffee across the diner counter six months ago, her dark eyes lingering a second too long, her full lips curving into that knowing half-smile. Now here we were, soaked from the sudden storm on this so-called bachelor hiking trip I’d booked to clear my head before the wedding that was never going to happen. She’d been the waitress who listened to my doubts over too many refills, then shocked me by showing up at the trailhead with a backpack and a wicked grin.

“Thought you might need company, Mark,” she’d said that morning, voice low and teasing. “Or maybe I just wanted to see what a runaway groom looks like in the wild.”

Now her wet shirt clung to her breasts, nipples tight from the chill, and my cock was already straining against my hiking pants. The air smelled of damp earth, pine, and the faint coffee scent that always clung to her skin. We’d barely zipped the flap before the tension snapped.

Sarah’s fingers brushed my thigh as she shifted closer. “You’ve been staring at my tits for months across that counter. Don’t stop now.”

I swallowed hard. “Sarah… I’m supposed to be figuring shit out alone up here.”

Her laugh was soft, husky. “You brought lube in your pack, didn’t you? I saw it when you were repacking. Bachelor trip my ass. You were hoping for something.”

Heat flooded my face. She was right. I reached out, slow, letting my fingertips trace the curve of her collarbone where the rain had beaded. She shivered. I took my time, palms gliding down her arms, then back up, thumbs stroking the sensitive inside of her wrists until her breath hitched. The rain drummed harder, masking the soft sounds we were starting to make.

“Touch me, Mark,” she whispered, leaning in so her lips grazed my ear. “I’ve fingered myself thinking about your hands on me after every shift. Slow like this. Like you’re learning every inch.”

My hands moved to her soaked shirt, peeling it up inch by inch. The fabric stuck to her skin; I savored the way it resisted, the wet drag, the reveal of smooth stomach, then the heavy swell of her tits spilling free. No bra. Her nipples were dark rose, pebbled tight. I cupped them, thumbs circling without rushing, feeling the weight, the way they fit perfectly in my palms. She arched, pushing into my touch.

“Fuck, your hands are warm,” she breathed. “Don’t stop. Squeeze them… yeah, like that.”

I rolled her nipples between fingers and thumbs, gentle then firmer, listening to the little gasps each twist pulled from her throat. Her hands weren’t idle; she traced my chest through my shirt, then slipped under it, nails grazing my ribs, palms flattening over my heartbeat that was hammering like the rain. We undressed each other in stages, pausing to explore with fingertips and palms. My shirt came off; hers followed. Pants were trickier in the cramped tent, knees bumping, laughter breaking the heat for a second before desire swallowed it again.

When her fingers finally wrapped around my cock, I groaned. She stroked me root to tip with deliberate slowness, thumb spreading the bead of precum over the head in tight circles that made my hips jerk.

“God, you’re thick,” she murmured, eyes locked on mine. “I knew you would be. Every time you shifted on that stool I wondered how you’d feel stretching me.”

I slid my hand between her thighs. She was soaked, pussy lips puffy and slick. I didn’t dive in. I mapped her with two fingers, gliding along her slit, circling her clit until her thighs trembled. Then lower, teasing her entrance, feeling how she clenched, trying to pull me inside.

“Inside me,” she demanded, voice breaking. “Two fingers, Mark. Fuck me with them while you play with my clit.”

I gave her what she wanted, sliding two thick fingers deep into her tight heat. She was velvet and dripping, walls fluttering around me. I curled them, stroking that spongy spot while my thumb kept lazy circles on her swollen clit. Her hips rocked against my hand, greedy, chasing the pressure.

“Yes… right there… don’t you dare speed up. Make me feel every inch of your fingers.”

The tent filled with wet sounds, her pussy squelching around my thrusting fingers, her breathy moans mixing with the rain. I added a third finger, stretching her wider, and she cried out, nails digging into my shoulders. My cock throbbed untouched in her other hand as she pumped me in the same rhythm I was using on her.

We shifted. She pushed me onto my back, straddling my hips but not taking me inside yet. Instead she dragged her soaked pussy along the length of my cock, coating me in her juices, grinding her clit against the underside while my hands roamed her ass, squeezing the firm cheeks, spreading them so my fingers could tease her tight little hole. She shuddered at the new touch.

“You like that?” I asked, voice rough.

“Tease it… just the tip of your finger while I rub on your dick. Fuck, Mark, I’m so close already.”

I pressed the pad of one finger against her anus, not pushing in, just circling in time with her hips. The dual sensation made her grind harder, faster. Her tits swayed above me; I caught one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard while my fingers worked her pussy and ass. She came with a sharp cry, pussy clenching around my fingers, juices flooding my palm and dripping down my cock.

Before she could catch her breath I rolled us, pinning her beneath me. The sleeping bag was tangled around our legs. I hooked her knee over my elbow, opening her wide, and finally slid my cock into her still-spasming pussy in one long, deep stroke. She was scorching, gripping me like a fist.

“Oh shit… so full,” she gasped. “Move, baby. Fuck me deep and slow.”

I did, hips rolling in measured thrusts that let me feel every ripple of her inner walls. The rain eased to a patter, letting us hear the obscene slap of skin, the wet suction every time I pulled back. I kept my hands on her constantly, one tangled in her damp hair, the other sliding between us to rub her clit again. Her second orgasm hit harder; she grabbed my ass, pulling me deeper as she shook.

“Cum inside me, Mark. I want to feel you throb and fill me up.”

The words snapped my control. I thrust faster, the slow build exploding into raw need. My balls tightened and I buried myself to the hilt, pulsing hard as I pumped rope after rope of cum deep into her pussy. She milked me through it, whispering filthy praise against my neck.

Morning light filtered through the tent walls, soft and gray. I woke to the smell of instant coffee. Sarah was already dressed in dry clothes, sitting cross-legged by the open flap, two steaming mugs in her hands. She glanced over, that same diner smile on her lips but her eyes softer now, a little shy.

“Morning, runaway groom,” she said quietly, passing me a mug. “Storm’s gone. Trail should be clear.”

I sat up, sheet pooling at my waist, and took the coffee. Our fingers brushed. The touch lingered. She bit her lip, looking away toward the dripping trees, then back at me with a small, secret smile that promised we weren’t done figuring things out.