Tension in the Tent

The rain hammered the nylon roof like a thousand impatient fingers, turning our little two-man tent into a steamy cocoon that smelled of damp earth, pine, and the sharp musk of two sweaty bodies. I lay on my stomach, shirtless, every muscle in my back and legs screaming from the brutal twelve-mile hike. My client, Jake—my ripped, thirty-two-year-old personal trainer—knelt beside me, his big hands already slick with the warming oil he’d pulled from his pack. The air between us had been thick with unspoken want since the trailhead; now, trapped by the storm, that want was about to break wide open.

“Fuck, your traps are knotted like rope,” Jake muttered, voice low so the rain wouldn’t carry it. His thumbs dug into the meat of my shoulders, slow and merciless. I groaned into the sleeping bag, hips shifting involuntarily.

“Harder,” I breathed. “Don’t be gentle tonight.”

His laugh was rough, almost a growl. “You sure? Once I start, I’m not stopping at your back, man.”

I turned my head, cheek pressed to the cool fabric, and met his dark eyes. “Then don’t.”

Jake’s hands paused only long enough to squirt more oil across my spine. The liquid felt indecently warm as it trickled down my sides. He spread it with long, firm strokes, palms gliding from the small of my back up to my neck, then back down again, each pass bolder than the last. The rain kept drumming, masking the wet sounds of skin on skin. I could hear my own breathing getting ragged.

“Lift your hips,” he ordered softly.

I obeyed without thinking. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of my soaked hiking shorts and dragged them down in one smooth tug, freeing my thickening cock. It slapped against my stomach, already leaking. Jake made a low appreciative noise.

“Look at you… getting hard just from my hands. That’s my good client.”

He poured a thick stream of oil directly onto my ass, watching it run into the cleft. One broad palm followed, spreading my cheeks, his thumb circling my tight hole with teasing pressure. I bit my lip to keep from moaning too loud; the tent walls felt paper-thin despite the storm.

“Jake… shit, that feels—”

“Relax,” he whispered, leaning over me so his chest brushed my back. His own shorts were tented obscenely against my thigh. “This is your erotic massage, remember? I’m gonna work every tight spot you’ve got.”

Two thick fingers pressed inside me without warning, slick and insistent. I gasped, pushing back onto them, the burn blooming into liquid heat. Jake scissored them slowly, curling, stroking that spot that made my cock throb against the sleeping bag. The rain roared louder, drowning my choked whimpers.

“Quiet,” he teased, biting the shell of my ear. “Don’t want the other hikers hearing how much you love getting your ass played with.”

He added a third finger, stretching me wider, his free hand reaching underneath to wrap around my slick shaft. He pumped me in time with the thrusts of his fingers—slow, filthy, perfect. My balls drew up tight; I was already close.

“Not yet,” Jake said, pulling his hand away. I whined at the loss, but he was already moving, stripping his own shorts off. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, the head shiny with pre-cum. He coated it liberally with oil, then knelt between my spread thighs.

“On your side. Face the wall.”

I rolled, heart hammering. Jake spooned in tight behind me, one strong arm banding across my chest. The blunt head of his dick nudged my hole, then pushed in on a single, smooth thrust. We both groaned—mine muffled against my forearm, his hot against the back of my neck. He was huge, filling me completely, the stretch exquisite.

“Goddamn, you’re tight,” he panted. “Gonna fuck the soreness right out of you.”

He started moving—deep, rolling strokes that made the tent creak softly on its poles. Every thrust slapped our oil-slick skin together with a quiet, obscene sound the rain almost hid. His hand found my cock again, stroking in lazy counterpoint while his hips drove harder. I reached back, gripping his ass, pulling him deeper.

“Faster… Jake, please—”

He growled and gave it to me, pounding my ass with short, powerful snaps. The sleeping bag bunched beneath us; the scent of oil, sweat, and raw sex filled the tiny space. My prostate sang with every pass of his fat cockhead. I felt my orgasm barreling up fast.

“I’m gonna come,” I gasped.

“Do it. Shoot all over my hand while I fill this ass.”

His words tipped me over. I came hard, cock pulsing, thick ropes splattering his fist and the sleeping bag. My hole clenched around him in waves. Jake buried his face in my neck, hips stuttering, and unloaded deep inside me with a strangled moan. I felt every hot spurt, his cock twitching, pumping me full until it leaked out around his shaft.

We stayed locked together, breathing hard, the rain slowly easing into a soft patter. Neither of us spoke for a long minute. His softening cock slipped free, followed by a warm trickle of cum down my thigh. Jake pressed a lazy kiss to my shoulder blade, then pulled the edge of the sleeping bag over our sticky bodies.

We lay silent, listening to each other’s breathing slow and the last drops of rain slide down the tent. The storm had passed, but the heat between us hadn’t.

CATEGORIES: [Erotic massage, In the Tent, Big Cock, Rough sex, In the Woods]