“If, um, I want things to stop, what’s the word again?” Faith whispered.

Her throat was dry, and the tremors refused to slow as gentle hands guided her down the metal steps of the rental camper. A tight blindfold blocked the beauty of Willowshash State Park, the pine-covered slopes below glittering white peaks. Given it was late evening, they’d be glowing the most gorgeous, rich shade of russet.

With sight removed, every other sense was in overdrive. The singing of the night bugs. The fading of the sun’s warmth on far too much skin. A gentle, humid breeze from the nearby lake, bringing the hint of a chill; not that anything could dent the heat pulsing within her.

“Watermelon,” Colin, her husband, replied, helping her to the ground.

His deep voice made her grin, and she turned to him as the crushed rock shifted beneath high-heels. Her grip tightened on his corded arm.

“You, um, won’t leave me, right?” she asked.

“Of course not, babycakes. I’ll be there the whole time.”

When his hands arrived at her waistband, she huffed. The skirt was already short, and he was folding the black pleats higher.

“B-babe—”

Her voice became a moan. His fingers were drifting over much more of her rear than the dragging hem.

“You’ve got the cutest little butt, sweetie.”

Amid the shivers racing along her spine, she murmured, “Oh, God, can you see my panties?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Uh, I’m gonna get arrested.”

“Nah, nobody’s paying attention.” He chuckled. “Well, I am.”

He’d been paying the most wonderful attention to her for hours.

Both young, but he was two years older. The trip was a gift for her twenty-second birthday. Already having an enjoyable time, they’d been even more energetic than usual since an invitation from their neighbors, a couple in their fifties.

With an easy smile, a quick wit, and a voice like slow-tumbling boulders, Ron was a wiry, tall man. Enjoyed his whiskey and let everyone know about it. Marge was a bubbly “blonde from a bottle,” her words, and doted on him. She loved good wine and better weed. The “recovering hard partiers” had been more than happy to explain how to set-up the rental vehicle when the younger pair had arrived.

She and Marge had hit it off, sharing giggles at an overpriced bright yellow chicken in a snow-globe and other kitschy tourist crap in the entrance shoppette. Still possessing both shapely legs and a curvaceous, slim-waisted figure, the older woman was an energetic whirlwind. She loved wearing, if not the smallest and most colorful dresses ever made, micro-shorts or tiny skirts. Bandeau tops—the giggling blonde’s self-declared favorite—or daring crops and chest-hugging blouses. Never a bra.

At first, all seemed normal, meeting strangers with a wilder life behind them. One evening, after juicy, grilled brats, a lot of cold beer, plus some damn good, hand-rolled ganja, Ron flat-out asked if they wanted to play.

Heart thumping and confused—her command of English sometimes wavered—she’d glanced at Colin. Cards? No, the vibe was weirder. Had her hubby mentioned their other pastimes? He’d only grinned, and she found herself nodding along with him at the older couple.

With a squeal like a little girl, Marge had swept a shock of golden-streaked hair behind an ear and leaped to her feet. First, she’d bent to kiss Ron, letting a healthy chest sway forward under a too-small T-shirt, then spun to plant a smooch on Colin’s cheek before finding her mouth.

The world-wobbling shock over the blatant kiss vaporized when the giggling blonde’s hands found her back and the softest lips continued to press. Pulse soaring, Faith had run shaky nails along the rear of the woman’s shirt. No tongue, but the older beauty had mashed that curvaceous figure into her before darting away, leaving her shaking.

Thus, now she was crossing between the vehicles, clutching her hubby’s arm while dressed like ... Again, Colin hadn’t offered any clues, no matter how hard she’d sucked on his dick, but the outfit was something else. He’d only laughed and eased her lips from him while continuing to pull clothing from her suitcase. No, not the more appropriate camping attire resting in the drawers.

Without a bra meant her tits, tiny though they were, jiggled as she moved. A white crop, made even shorter by Colin with swift snips of scissors, left most of the perky underswells bare. Although the thinnest material, it swung from both prominent tips ... pure torture. Her nipples had been angry pebbles all damn day.

As the gravel crunched, her knees wouldn’t stop wobbling. Now much shorter, the skirt was designed to be worn with an insert to cover undies. Her husband had tossed the cloth aside, then, laughing like a sex-crazed maniac, had placed a pair of white cotton briefs on the little bed beside snowy stockings and shiny black pumps.

At least the sleek satin blocking her vision was familiar and kept her grinning amid ceaseless flares of heat. Memories of wearing it inside clubs ... those types of clubs. Plus, into movie theaters, not the Disney-showing kind, the ones with rooms smelling of disinfectant. Long, sultry afternoons spent practicing her technique on whatever cocks appeared through small holes lining the walls while Colin made frenetic use of her smaller hole. Yes, they enjoyed some fun hobbies.

Yet, she’d voiced concerns. “Babe, these aren’t strangers. They’re Ron and Marge. They know us.”

“No, they don’t.” He’d flashed that soul-melting smile before giving a fury-tipped boob a gentle lick, sending sizzles through her. “We can roll outta here tomorrow. Besides, they’re leaving in a week for Colorado.”

Any further argument had vaporized when his “Wand of Infinite Pleasure” had glided deep once again. Another primal fuck session had left her sweat-slick curves crammed into the corner of the bed at the rear of the camper, with black hair matted to her face, gulping lungfuls of air, and shaking. He’d been lying on his spine, panting to an ugly tan and green ceiling with a shiny dick softening amid a puddle on his belly. The usual.

The chilliness of his touch brought her back to the gravel-covered ground beneath trembling pumps. His fingers roamed her spine, bringing a strange mix of calmness and rising tension. With the skirt so short, the cooler night air felt wondrous, sweeping over the thicker bands atop the white thigh-highs and swirling around a bare underside.

“You look sexy as hell, Keiko.”

At his using her Japanese name, she purred. Any time he called her that fun was in the offing. A grin in his direction was chased by a quiet giggle.

“Horny, babe?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied in the husky voice that made both nipples scream for attention.

Her fingers drifted across to give the front of his shorts a gentle rake. Tented material scratched beneath her nails, and he moaned under his breath.

“Growlll, nice boner,” she murmured.

He chuckled while removing her hand. “Tease.”

They both fell silent. Her mind was whirling ever quicker with every steady crunch of the ground beneath her feet. Was that iteration of the “Wand” for her? What kind of play awaited them? A show for Ron and Marge? Several times, the former had been very explicit, describing what he imagined was happening whenever the rental camper was rocking. Colin had spoken to the older couple, but no amount of teasing could get him to spill the beans.

The sound of muffled laughter flung her attention to the darkness ahead. A few more careful, torturous steps took a million years until at last her husband’s hand shifted to press on her belly. She halted with a staggering drag of both heels. The heat of his splayed fingers snapped a tense wire far inside, and she whimpered.

He chuckled. “Ready, huh?”

Rather than wait for a more than obvious reply, his knuckles rapped on aluminum. From beyond the door, that familiar girlish squeal, deep laughter, and muffled voices, then rushed footsteps. At the creak of hinges opening, her pulse soared.

“Wow! Aren’t you the most adorable little thing,” exclaimed Marge, sending a heated jet of wine-tinged, minty breath into her face. “And you! Oh my, what a handsome stud, um...”

“Marge! Get yer tits outta the way! Let ‘em in.”

“Ah, right. Sorry, kids. Come on inside. Uh, watch your step, sweetie.”

Clicks, muffled by a carpet that memory said was a deep blue, moved backward. Colin, hand on Faith’s back and the other on a wrist, helped her up into the vehicle.

More memories flickered. The older couple’s RV was spacious; made more so with the slide-out panels deployed. As usual, the interior smelled of lilac and freshness. Marge kept the place spotless, despite—by his own chuckled admission—her husband’s best efforts to be a slob.

A hint of that delightful weed also hung in the drier, cooler air.

“Bring that little cutey over into the light.”

At the older man’s direction, Colin guided her further. Though soft, the thump of the door closing made her jolt. The abrupt jostling of both tortured nipples sent sizzles across every nerve.

“Damn. Ain’t you just adorable?” Ron’s gravelly words brought the potent aroma of his favorite booze. “Don’t she look like one o’ them little Japanese dolls? The TV show kind.”

“Yes, dear,” Marge replied, before adding in a breathier tone, “She certainly does.”

“A-anime?” Faith murmured.

“Yeah, that’s it, anime.” He chortled.

“More like hentai,” Colin offered with a chuckle.

“Huh?” came from Ron.

“The, um, adult version,” she muttered, heat racing up both cheeks.

“Ah, yeah. That’s about right.” The older man’s voice rose. “Don’t just stand there with them big ol’ titties heaving. Get ‘em something to drink.”