Whiskey in the Tent

The rain hammered the nylon roof like impatient fingers, and every crack of thunder made my pulse jump. Inside the tiny two-man tent, Sarah knelt inches from me, her waitress uniform swapped for damp hiking shorts that clung to her thick thighs and a thin tank top already translucent from sweat and drizzle. Her dark eyes locked on mine with that same flirty hunger she gave me every Friday night at the bar when she slid my usual whiskey across the scarred wood.

We had ditched the group hike an hour ago, claiming we needed to “set up camp early.” Now the bottle of cheap bourbon between us was already half empty.

“Thought you only got this bold after your third pour, Jake,” Sarah whispered, her voice husky. She took a slow swig straight from the bottle, throat working, a drop escaping to trace down her neck and disappear between her breasts.

I laughed low, the sound swallowed by the storm. “You’ve been teasing me for months with those little hip wiggles when you walk past my stool. Figured the tent was private enough to collect.”

Her grin turned wicked. She set the bourbon aside and crawled forward on her knees until her palms pressed to my chest. “Then collect, regular. But we gotta stay quiet… the others might pitch camp any minute.”

My hands found her waist, yanking her straddling my lap. The tent was so small her back brushed the low ceiling. She rocked once, grinding her pussy against the hard ridge already straining my shorts. The wet heat of her seeped through fabric instantly.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” I breathed against her ear.

Sarah nipped my jaw. “That’s your fault. Watching you hike in front of me all day, those tight calves… got me dripping since the trailhead.”

She reached down, shoved my shorts and boxers to my knees in one impatient tug. My cock sprang free, thick and flushed, veins pulsing. Sarah wrapped her fingers around it, stroking with a practiced twist that made my hips jerk.

“Goddamn, it’s even bigger than I imagined when I’d fantasize behind the bar,” she murmured, eyes gleaming. “Gonna feel so good stretching me.”

I hooked two fingers into the crotch of her shorts and panties, pulling them roughly to the side. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips puffy and glistening. The scent of her arousal mixed with the sharp bite of bourbon in the humid air. I rubbed my thumb over her swollen clit in tight circles until her breath hitched and her thighs trembled.

“Jake… put it in. Now.” Her voice cracked with need.

I gripped her juicy ass with both hands, spreading her as she sank down. The blunt head of my cock parted her slick folds and slid inside in one long, wet glide. Sarah’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling back. She was tight, scorching, her inner walls fluttering around every inch.

“Oh shit… so full,” she gasped, forehead dropping to my shoulder. “Move. Please.”

I thrust up hard, bouncing her on my lap. The wet slap of skin on skin competed with the rain. Sarah bit her lip to keep from moaning too loud, but little whimpers still escaped every time I bottomed out and ground against her cervix.

“Harder,” she begged in a broken whisper. “Fuck me like you wanted to do every time I bent over your table.”

I flipped us in the cramped space, pinning her on her back. Her legs wrapped high around my waist as I drove into her pussy with deep, punishing strokes. The tent shook. Bottles clinked. Sarah’s tits bounced under her tank top; I shoved the fabric up so I could watch them jiggle, nipples dark and stiff.

She reached between us, frantically rubbing her clit while I pounded her. “I’m close… don’t stop, Jake. Fill me up.”

Her pussy clamped down suddenly, pulsing in hard waves. A gush of wetness coated my balls as she came, back arching, teeth sunk into my neck to muffle her cry. The sensation dragged me over with her. I buried myself to the hilt and unloaded, thick ropes of cum flooding her clenching cunt until it leaked out around my shaft with every twitch.

We stayed locked together, panting, sweat-slick and trembling while the storm raged on.

Morning light filtered gray through the tent walls. I woke to the smell of instant coffee and the soft clink of a metal cup. Sarah sat cross-legged beside me wearing only my oversized flannel, hair a wild mess, cheeks still flushed. She handed me the steaming cup with a shy little smirk that was nothing like her confident waitress smile.

“Morning, regular,” she said softly, eyes dropping to my mouth then away again. “Last night was… a lot of whiskey and a lot of bad decisions.”

I took a sip, letting the bitter heat wake me. “Didn’t feel like bad decisions when you were riding me and whispering how big my cock felt.”

Her laugh was quiet, almost embarrassed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Keep it down. The group’s making breakfast twenty feet away. I can still feel you leaking out of me every time I shift.”

I reached over, brushed my thumb along her bare thigh under the flannel. “Good. Means you’ll think of me all the way back down the trail.”

Sarah’s gaze met mine again, heat flickering behind the morning-after awkwardness. She leaned in, voice dropping to that teasing lilt I loved from the bar. “Next Friday at the usual time… maybe I’ll bring the bottle to your place instead of the tent. If you can handle round two without an audience.”

I grinned, stealing a quick kiss that tasted like coffee and last night’s bourbon. “Deal. But only if you wear the little shorts you had on yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed as she sipped from her own cup, stolen glances passing between us while distant voices laughed outside in the dripping woods.