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Campsite Stranger Part 1 of 4 (M/f-teen, cons)
By Rzrsej

Lisa had never been so angry. Upset; frustrated; miffed. But at
the moment she was fuming. Beyond fuming. She felt she might
explode at any minute. As she walked down the empty gravel road,
she kicked angrily at rocks, looking around for squirrels that
she might aim for.

Her parents had no right, and she wasn’t going to just roll over
and take it this time. She was 16 and it was time they recognized
that she had rights, not to mention thoughts and opinions of her
own. It was bad enough they’d decided to take this lame vacation
in the first place. They’d never bothered before. She’d always
been free to roam the neighborhood as she pleased, catch some
rays in the back yard, and generally stir up mischief. And then
to have decided to do it less than a month after her birthday,
when all she wanted in the world was to tear up a little rubber
on the family car racing along back roads with the radio full
blast. And then, to have chosen of all trips, camping. And not
even “RV” camping, or camping is some shitty rustic cabin. Nope:
her family had to do it all the hard way. Tents, sleeping bags on
rocky ground, food tasting like charcoal, and all the mosquitoes
and flies you could wish for. All something about family bonding
-- forcing them all, she, her annoying younger brother Jake, and
her sister Kelli who seemed to do nothing but follow Lisa around
in mindless hero worship, to spend some “quality time” together.

But what her idiot father had decided to do this time was the
last straw, the one that had not only broken the camel’s back but
left it lying in a spineless heap on the desert floor. She’d only
tried to sneak a little actual civilization into this
god-forsaken place by bringing her cell phone. And she hadn’t
even been calling anyone when he’d caught her. Just a little
harmless texting to her friends back home. No reason to take it
away from her. Certainly no reason to have sent that rude text
telling her friends they were all “pathetic losers,” and beyond
question no reason to toss her cell phone, which she’d worked all
those weekends at the mall to save up for, into the lake. She
would get even, though, one way or another.

In the meantime, she wasn’t going to hang around that lame
campsite one minute longer. Her brother, normally ADHD enough to
keep the pressure off her at least some of the time, had actually
caved in to a certain extent and was out behind the tent chopping
down the forest or some such nonsense. Kelli had taken a 30
second break from keeping her nose up her sister’s ass to help
their mother unpack the food, and her father-- hell, she didn’t
know or care where he’d wandered his happy ass to. He wasn’t
keeping tabs on her for that ten seconds and so she’d taken off
while the taking was good.

The trouble was, her boots weren’t really made for this sort of
walking, slipping and sliding along the gravel, and she could
already feel the beginnings of a blister on her right heel. And
of course, they were coated in a layer of white dust now, her
fishnets as well. If only her parents weren’t such damn puritans.
Always insisting girls didn’t ask boys out on dates; boys didn’t
go out with red plaid skirts that barely covered their “behinds”;
girls didn’t give guys blowjobs behind the Dairy Queen. Her
father’s sermon put to shame those of the effeminate preacher at
the corner church they made her attend like every Sunday and
Wednesday. “You know God punishes wanton women. He turneth his
face away from those who give in to the lusts of the flesh and
follow Satan’s path . . .blah, blah, blah, blah.”

She rounded another corner to find only another dozen empty
campsites. As she should have known: no one with any sense would
spend two weeks in June in such a hopeless, Godforsaken place.
It’s a wonder this place could even continue to exist.

She had to admit, after close to an hour of aimless angry
wandering that she’s wasn’t really cut out for running away in
the middle of a forest. Her short dark hair seemed to invite the
heat of the sun as did her black top, even if it did hang off one
of her pale white shoulders. And if she wasn’t mistaken, her
three sets of earrings had begun to heat up and leave impressions
on her ear lobes. To tell the truth, she’d have given it up long
ago and headed back to her family. She was pretty good at being
sullen and letting people know how she felt generally. Except she
could still feel that white hot hatred, even more strongly than
the heat of the sun, and it kept her feet moving on and on. AND,
she really wasn’t quite sure where she was now. She was fairly
certain she could find her way back through trial and error, but
it was in all likelihood going to take a lot longer to sort out
her path back than it had simply to head aimlessly forward.

Even so, she had nearly decided to head back when she rounded
another corner and spotted a campsite -- an actual
inhabited-by-humans campsite. No one was immediately in view, but
the tent, however ragged, was clean and obviously well-kept, and
there was an impressive looking motorcycle parked a few feet from
it. Lisa saw herself firmly as “goth,” but she’d seen enough
movies to have decided that “biker chick” wasn’t so very
different in the larger scheme of things. Outsider was outsider;
rebel was rebel; and black leather was black leather.

Somehow, walking right up to the site didn’t feel quite right.
She suddenly felt awkward, shy, and oddly young. Exposed was the
word. Out here in the middle of the road, in the middle of
mid-afternoon June sunlight -- not even really knowing who might
be living here. After all, the only other people who had been
willing to put up a tent and lay on the ground were her own
parents, and if she ran into someone even remotely like them she
thought she might just slit her own wrists. But that was assuming
whoever this was wasn’t just some angry drifter who’d decided to
hang out in a campground because the woods made an excellent spot
to burying unsuspecting serial-killer victims.

Her skittishness made her head for the cover of the trees beside
the road, approaching the site at an angle rather than barging
ahead. She had no illusions that she was stealthy, but it felt
right to creep up, to be cautious, to scope things out. Her
stupid brother would be good at things like this. She’d just have
to do the best she could.

As she maneuvered closer, she could make out more details about
the site itself. Things seemed particularly tidy. A pack sat on
the picnic table, but it was done up tightly and there was no
food or any other sort of sign that someone might have had meals
here. There were the remnants of a campfire in a neat little
circle of stones, but they were clearly cold. A pile of fresh
wood was set to the side, though, neatly stacked. There was also
a single, solitary chair sitting beside the circle of stones --
only one person here.

She circled the site slowly, keeping to the shade but allowing
herself a view of the tent’s entry way. She had the impression it
had been recently swept -- no dirt, no leaves, no pine straw. And
sitting beside the zipper opening were a pair of riding boots,
black and well-kept, if slightly worn.

In the shade, it felt cooler now, and she could feel a soft
breeze for the first time. There was something instinctual inside
her that had no wish to return to the hot gravel road. Instead,
she found herself moving closer to the tent itself, creeping low
now, bent at the knees, her eyes alert. Maybe there was no one
here at all. An interesting adventure to spy out someone else’s
camp site. It seemed so . . .  Forbidden. And she was in such a
mood for breaking rules. It was almost as if her rotten father
was there wagging his finger at her, telling her young ladies
didn’t sneak up on strangers’ campsites.

She couldn’t detect any movement; or at least, she couldn’t quite
explain what she saw and felt. But she knew inside herself that
someone was in this tent. It didn’t move really, and there was no
sound, but there was life in it somehow. And she knew too that
the person inside was a man. It wasn’t just the boots she had
seen. She could just sense man. Not boy. Not guy. Man. And though
that should have sent a warning impulse through her nervous
system -- and maybe it did -- the most powerful thing she felt
was the urge to see him. To know who was in this solitary,
isolated spot.

It took her five minutes to move close enough to the tent to
touch it, and she found herself walking on tiptoes as she did,
without even knowing why. Was she afraid of what would happen to
her if she was caught? Or was it more about spying on someone who
didn’t know she was there? Or was it simply the quiet of the
woods that induced her to be quiet as well.

She knelt beside the tent then, the toe of her boot actually
touching it. Her breathing was fast, but she tried to keep it
quiet. In the side of the tent was a mesh screen, what passed for
windows in a tent, and she could tell from where she knelt that
it was open and low enough to look in on whoever might be inside.
Ever so slowly, she began to raise up, terrified at every moment
that she would encounter a face in the window staring back at her
accusingly and ready to run when she did.

There was no face in the window, but once she was high enough to
look in she could see a form lying in the tent’s shadow. She
couldn’t make out a face, only the outline of a body. She could
smell him though -- a musky, tough odor. She could hear him
breathing as well, slowly in and out. He was asleep on his back,
his hands crossed behind his head.

She wasn’t sure what drew her on, but some force surely did. She
felt herself creeping again, in tiny half steps now, but slowly
and surely towards the front of the tent. The breath she had
watched seemed to be matched by her own heartbeat now -- slow,
gentle, but firm and steady. She could feel herself now walking
almost on tip-toe in her boots, an inch at a time. When she
reached the corner she stopped for a moment, wondering at her own
brazenness. What was she doing, after all, stealing into some
random stranger’s tent while he slept? What was it she was even
after? There was nothing to take, nothing to achieve. But having
given time to that thought and taken a final breath, she moved on
once again, sliding the final few feet from the corner to the
zippered opening of the tent.

There were flaps to either side that could be let down to close
the tent from view, but they were tied neatly to the side.
Standing where she was on the center of the doorstep, she could
see through the gauzy mesh of the tent’s screened opening to the
sleeping form inside. The sun shone through the window she had
stood at only moments before, creating a bright square across his
belly. She could see from where she stood now the dust on his
jeans that led down to his bare feet. Above, he wore a plaid
shirt, but it was unbuttoned and she could see rough brown skin
covered in a mass of curly dark hair. She’d never really seen so
much hair on a man before. She’d seen her fourteen year old
brother Jake shirtless plenty of times, but he was only just
beginning to grow hair at all. And even her father, who despite
his prudery would occasionally lounge around the house on
Saturday afternoons in just a pair of shorts, only had a few
sparse patches in the middle of his chest, nothing at all like
this dark full growth.

Without thinking, Lisa reached down to the bottom of the tent’s
opening, grabbed the zipper and slowly began to pull it up. She
moved incrementally, a single track at a time, hoping to get it
open without waking the man within. She had just managed to reach
the top, only two or three inches from the end of the zipper,
when he gave a sharp grunt and half sat up.

“Who’s there?” he said gruffly. In the square of light that his
face now occupied, she could make out his features, the shaggy
dark hair, the sharply defined nose, dark brows and a week’s
worth of beard growth. He looked at her with eyes that were angry
and dark, that seemed to threaten violence if she were to make
even the slightest move.

She moved without thinking, only instinctually hoping to turn
away wrath. With both hands, she reached to the bottom of her
blouse, and in one swift motion raised blouse and black bra to
her neck. Her B cup breasts fell loose and hung naked for him to
see. She could not remember the last time she had been naked in
front of anyone; she supposed somewhere far back in her childhood
she’d played naked in the sprinklers, or taken baths with her
brother, but these memories were buried beneath years of hard
work to make sure no one was privy to how her body had developed.
She felt completely exposed, the skin of her belly going all
goose-pimply and her small pink nipples beginning to stand
completely erect. And yet she made no move to cover herself,
feeling somehow proud of her own body and her courage to show it
to these strange eyes.

There was silence in the tent for thirty seconds. Lisa could see
little from the shirt and bra bunched up under her chin, but she
could hear the stillness, feel his breathing, and sense his eyes
on her bare torso. Then, abruptly, she heard him lie back down.
He said nothing, and once settled back down on top of the
sleeping bag, didn’t move.

She lowered her hands slowly then, tucking her breasts back into
the cups of her bra and smoothing her blouse down over her
stomach. She could look him full in the face now, but his face
seemed to have no expression. He seemed completely at peace, his
eyes blinking slowly, his breathing almost the heavy even pace it
was when he was sleeping. And yet he watched her with what she
felt was intensity. It was clearly her move, if she cared to make
one.

She thought for several moments about turning around and fleeing
the campsite. He seemed in no hurry to chase her down, and what
had she been thinking in the first place, showing this man her
tits? Still, she felt rooted to the spot, stuck there as though
the tent opening were a locked door through which there would be
no escape.

She walked to him then, slowly, her feet almost gliding across
the tent floor. His eyes followed her as she stepped up so that
her feet were next to his head. Then, again in one quick
movement, not allowing herself time to think, she moved her hands
under her skirt, grabbed the sides of her black panties in each
hand, and pulled them down. She knelt a little so she could slide
them down her thighs and over her stockings, and then lightly
stepped out of them. She knew it was too dark for him to see what
lay beneath the skirt, that though he could look straight up, the
shadows hid her. And yet she felt exposed once again. Suddenly
her ass felt the cool of the summer afternoon and she was
startled by the way her breath suddenly quickened.

She lowered herself to her knees then beside him. He still made
no movement, other than to look into her own eyes with his. Her
movements were deliberate. She raised one knee and placed it on
the other side of his head, so that she was straddling his face
and then moved herself so that her pussy met his lips. She could
feel the stubble burn against her skin, and she was still for a
moment, letting him feel that she was completely shaved, bare.
Her skirt hid his face, which was underneath her at any rate, so
she had no idea of his expression, but she could feel the warm
breath from his nose against her clit. She’d never done this
before, never allowed anyone to eat her out, but she knew what
she wanted, and she wanted it now.

He lay still beneath her for a few seconds, and she began to
wonder if she’d made a mistake. What if he had no interest in
her? What if he was grossed out by her bare cunt? What if he were
to suddenly throw her off and order her away? And yet the
anticipation of what might happen overwhelmed her. She could feel
herself wet and warm inside, gooey with desire.

And then it happened. In a flash, his tongue shot out and deep,
deep inside her. The warm wetness of it met her own wetness and
seemed to drink it in. Startled, her body reflexively shuddered
and she drove her pussy even harder into his mouth. His tongue
continued to burrow deep inside her, twisting and turning into
every crevice. She bucked back then, and his tongue pulled away,
only to spread itself flat over the whole of her lips. Slowly, he
licked her from the opening up, the taste buds of his tongue
rough on her bare labia, until the center of his tongue engulfed
her clit. She ground her hips then, working his tongue over her.

She raised up on her knees away from his face, and reaching down
used one hand on each side to spread her lips wide. Her clit
sprung out between her fingers, and as she lowered herself gently
back on to him, his mouth was all around her, sucking, kissing,
and flicking everywhere.

They settled then into a rhythm. Using her right hand, she began
to work her clit with two fingers, making counterclockwise
motions with the tips. At the same time, he moved his tongue
inside her and began to work it in and out. He seemed hungry for
her, and she thought, he’s “eating me out,” and understood it in
a new way, as a giving of herself physically to someone else. She
felt her muscles tighten and relax as she fucked this stranger’s
face. She thought of how intimate it all was, his face buried
beneath her skirt, in the darkness of her most private parts, and
this only urged her on more. His tongue worked faster now, her
fingers moved more rapidly, and her hips ground themselves over
and over into him. And then it was on her, a wave of orgasm
unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She done her share of
masturbating, even in her dad’s rigid household, but nothing
compared to knowing that a man’s tongue was inside her, feeling
her quiver. It drove her ecstasy even higher, and she screamed
out breathlessly over and over again, “Oh, oh, oh, oh . . . Shit
. . . Oh my God . . .Lick that pussy . . .  Ahhhhh!!!”

Eventually, with a final gasping moan, she rolled off of his face
and collapsed in a fetal heap beside him trying desperately to
catch her breath. Still he made no move, either to hold her or to
push her away. He lay still, his hands behind his head, his eyes
opening and closing gently.

She slept lightly, unaware that it had even happened, and awoke
half an hour later feeling sluggish and content. Still he lay
beside her, making no move, and saying nothing. She could feel
her pussy wet and sticky, the juices of her own vagina and his
saliva coating the insides of her thighs. And instead of shame,
she felt only a ravenous kind of emptiness, a need for more.

Without getting up, she slithered her body so that she was closer
to him, snuggling up to his warmth, invited or not. She lay her
head on his naked chest and ran her fingers through the hair
there. His stomach was flat and hard, and it quivered slightly as
she moved her hand down. There was no hesitation in her
movements. While a piece of the back of her mind continued to
wonder how her body could be so bold, her hands seemed to take
over. When she reached the top of his jeans, she’d lost all
measure of caution and patience.

She had given blowjobs before, almost out of spite of her
father’s rules, but always before there had been a slow build-up,
a fumbling, stumbling movement of her hands, almost like spiders,
over the boy’s stomach. Usually she would move her flattened hand
under his belt so that her wrist rested under the buckle while
her fingers tentatively inched closer to the cock. Only after
some shy hand work did the boy -- usually with all his pent-up
sexuality behind it -- undo the belt, jerk down his pants and
present his cock for her mouth.

This time was different. So different. Reaching down confidently,
she unsnapped his pants herself and unzipped them. Then, hardly
waiting for his help, she grabbed the sides of his jeans and
began yanking them down his hips together with his underwear. 
Beneath them, his cock lay in the shaft of sunlight, a lump
covered by yet more dark hair. He was soft, and without even
using her hands, she bent over and took all of him in her mouth
at once, penis, balls, all of him. She held him there then, her
tongue working over all the softness, feeling the grit of his
hair. Slowly she could feel too, the blood begin to pour into
him, the head and then the shaft beginning to stiffen until she
could hold only the head in her mouth.

Grabbing the shaft with both hands, she moved her mouth from him,
using her tongue to lick up and down the underside of the head,
over the top, her tongue flicking into the strange opening at the
top. Keeping her left hand firmly on the shaft, she moved her
right so that it gently cupped his balls, while her mouth again
settled on the head of him and tried to swallow as much as it
could. She could work herself to the point where her lips
encircled the midway point of his shaft, feeling the head against
the back of her throat. She gagged slightly, but held on to him
with her hand urging him to stay put while her throat adjusted.

She moved her mouth then to his balls, licking and sucking, her
tongue flicking just under them. She swirled his hair with her
tongue, and allowed her saliva to coat him in a glistening wet
sheen. She moved back so she could look at his penis then, as her
hands continued to move up and down, working him. It was an
amazing sight, her own small, black-nail-polished short nailed
fingers working over this enormous thing, its blue veins standing
out, its purple head engorged. She saw then a tiny bead of
moisture seep out of the head and sit there on the tip. Bending
down again, she took the pre-cum gently on her tongue, then
rubbing it against the roof of her mouth so that the salty taste
was smashed flat against her taste buds.

She knew what this meant, and in a flash she had moved again,
this time positioning her hips directly over his groin, only with
her face towards his bare feet. She bent at the waist, with her
face almost touching his knees. With her right hand, she reached
beneath her to the penis, slimy from her own mouth and positioned
the head of it at the entrance to her pussy. With one sharp
intake of breath she sat up then, driving his cock into her. It
slid smoothly past her lips until it met with the resistance of
her hymen. Pushing back even harder, she felt him slip all the
way into her, felt the shaft against the walls of her, his balls
against the lips of her.

She sat for a moment, looking out the screen of the tent into the
sun-draped trees, just feeling her inside him. And then she began
to rock slowly back and forth, working her hips up and down. Her
skirts still covered the place where their bodies came together,
making of this a secret encounter, a private moment shared
between two strangers.

She knew, though, that her ass must be visible to him just
peaking out from beneath the hem of her skirt, and she moved her
hips, thrusting on to him so he could see. At the same time, she
reached her right hand down, below her legs, to find the soft
sack of his balls. She held them then, almost using the base of
him to push inside her as though he were a dildo.

Behind her, she felt his hand slowly move up to the hem of her
skirt, and then beneath. There was a moment of pride within her
that she had at last stirred some kind of physical movement, some
desire within him. She felt his hand on her ass and she moved
more rapidly, feeling her own passion beginning to build once
again. And then she felt his finger, pushing against her asshole.
He was gentle, allowing her to push back against it at her own
pace, and little by little, with each rocking motion she could
feel not only the length of his cock within her, but the length
of his index finger insider her ass.

His fingertip was pointed down, and as she continued to fuck, she
could feel his finger and cock pressing against each other
between the walls of her pussy. She realized with a start that he
was stroking himself inside her. This was far too much and she
began to come again, in waves this time, waves that seemed
never-ending. Her pussy clenched tight on his penis and she
screamed out yet again, a part of her hoping her whole family
somewhere could hear her, could know exactly what kind of ecstasy
she’d found far from them. And then he was shooting inside of
her, a hot wad of come, while the head of his cock seemed to
pulse to double its normal size. It filled her so completely,
every part of her inside seeming to be touched, and she screamed
yet again, and bucked wildly, no longer with any sort of rhythm,
but simply as her nerve endings and reflexes demanded.

It was dark when she left the tent. He lay there still, asleep
again, his breathing regular. She zipped up the tent smoothed her
hair with a distracted hand, and headed back in the direction she
thought she’d come in.