~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
DAY 4, camped on a tiny island in Brule Lake, Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, northern Minnesota
BOOM!
My wife Cheryl and I are nearly blinded and deafened by lightning striking within mere yards of our tent.
Wait, no. Not quite deafened. Because we hear the next sounds all too clearly:
A wrenching creak as the incinerated tree starts to topple. A commotion of snapping branches and whooshing leaves as it falls through its neighbors. A scream of terror from Cheryl.
And a ground-shaking WHAM! as the tree lands so close that some of its branches suddenly poke against the tent walls.
Already tightly embraced with me through tonight’s vicious storm, Cheryl climbs on top, enveloping my surprisingly erect manhood in her silken chamber. “Joe, if we’re going to die tonight, I want the search party to find our bodies fused together.”
I grab my beloved’s (beloved) tits harder than usual, and gnaw her nipples harder than usual too. In response, she moans louder than usual – no, this is pretty much screaming again – as my dick pumps and flails inside her. Having probed many of our own limits together as we explored the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness these past few days, we feel renewed and united, our lovemaking defiant against the fury of nature outside. The strengthened bond we’re feeling is just what we needed. As long as it doesn’t kill us.
A few years earlier, we had confessed our deepest sexual fantasies, taken vows of mutual trust over strict monogamy, and thrown open the doors to our marriage. But, now in our mid-forties, had we started enjoying our other lovers too much? Were we both beginning to experience mixed feelings? It was time to reconnect and shore up that trust. We decided to take on a deeply immersive bonding experience together: a five-day canoeing adventure in this pristine million-acre Wilderness of clear, quiet lakes and streams.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back to Day One
As we launch on a remarkably warm mid-May day, with a heatwave predicted, we are struck by the sparkling beauty of Brule Lake, ringed by rocky hills, numerous bays and inlets, and forests of tamarack, birch and pine.
After much online research and (probably annoying) consultation with friends who had been to the Boundary Waters, we decided to try to grab an island campsite to use as the base for our explorations. So we leave the safety of the shoreline and paddle across this big lake, notorious for developing big waves that can swamp canoes. Even on a fairly calm day like today, the swells are enough to make us nervous as we paddle crosswind, but we soon get the hang of it.
We reach an adorable rock-strewn island no more than fifty yards long. Its campsite has a big flat area for our tent, a fire ring in a sunny clearing, and a couple of smooth logs for sitting. The perfect home for the next few days.
Given the unseasonable heat, Cheryl proposes that we set up our camp in the nude. Usually she is shy about exposing her (in my expert opinion) beautiful body, but not today. There are enough trees to mostly screen us from passing canoeists, but they may still be able to tell we are naked and get glimpses of her boobs. Also my dick, which I’m considerably less bashful about, though I’m sure it is of far less interest.
As we get ready to leave our island for the afternoon’s exploration, Cheryl dons her life vest directly over her bare, soft breasts, producing impressive cleavage and a bit of sideboob. So we’re going out on the water nude? Wow, my hot wife is taking things (and my dick) up a notch.
She eyes me seductively and adopts her seductress voice. “I’ll need you to enforce some rules today, Ranger …” This is a sign she wants to do some role-playing, something we’ve been doing for a few years to keep things spicy.
“Ranger … uh … Dong, ma’am, at your service. Forest Service, that is.”
“Mmm, nice federal-issue equipment you’ve got there, Ranger Dong,” she says. “First rule is I want you to leave your hardware out all day where I can see it. Likewise, I need you to keep an eye on mine all day.”
Then, eyeing my erection, she teases, “Second rule is no touching each other’s equipment until the end of the day, after I’ve gotten a few thousand strokes out of you,” handing me my paddle.
Cheryl continues, “Third rule is we need to keep everything in top condition.” She reaches her hand down to her pussy, then licks her own juices off her finger, which I’ve rarely seen her do. “So we should exercise our own equipment at regular intervals today.” With a devilish smile on her face, she sits down on the log, opens her legs to reveal her vertical smile, then starts blatantly jilling herself. “Watch me, Ranger Dong,” she gasps, “and get your first few hundred strokes in right now.”
We rarely masturbate in front of each other, but this is hot. I gamely swipe my finger across the tip of my glans and bring it up to my tongue, licking off precum, something she’s never seen me do.
The excitement of being in this new territory produces results, which at her urging I spew into the palm of my hand. Cautioning me that this is the only contact allowed until we return to our “Uninhibited Island” later, she slurps the semen off my hand and allows me to lick her delectable nectar off her digits.
We launch the canoe and spend a few hours exploring nearby Juno, Vern and Pipe lakes, my own pipe activated much of the time by the warm sun on it and the sight, almost like a real-life GIF loop, of her fine ass flexing and her compressed boobs jiggling while she paddles.
At one point on long, narrow Vern Lake, Cheryl turns in her seat to face me, spreads her legs against the canoe’s gunwales, and starts touching herself. Even though we seem to have the lake to ourselves, I’m astonished that Cheryl would masturbate out in the open, but I of course am powerless to resist jerking myself in kind. She seems amused by the strings of semen I squirt into the bilge of the boat, which I will have to clean up later.
Later, as we return to our island, the conversation turns to the fact that for reasons unknown to us, portages – the short overland trails between lakes, of which we’ve traversed several today – are measured in rods rather than feet, yards or meters. “How long is a rod again, Joe?”
“Sixteen and a half feet. Not sure why they added the extra half a foot.”
“Oh my!” she snickers as I start the dinner fire. “Most of the rods I’ve seen are just a half foot. Hey, maybe that’s why they added the half a foot to the sixteen. To make sure we think of the other kind of rod when we say it.”
“’Just’ half a foot? That’s how long mine is.”
“Oh baby, I didn’t mean ‘just’ like that. I love your half-foot rod!”
“Yeah, well, some are longer,” not meaning it to sound like a mutter, but that’s kind of how it comes out.
And unfortunately, Cheryl takes this the wrong way. “Really, Joe, it doesn’t make that much difference,” she sputters. “Honestly, sometimes bigger is a bit much.”
I’ve fucked this up, not to mention jeopardized what promised to be a spectacular delayed-gratification fuck. But her last response, which reminds me that she has been getting drilled by a much larger unit belonging to our friend Bob, doesn’t exactly help my feelings. Do we have deeper underlying tensions that we need to air?
In the awkward silence while I make dinner, I get a few minutes to ponder whether her relationship with Bob might be subconsciously bothering me. I acknowledge that while he and my wife have been spending plenty of time together, I really like him and truly am not jealous of him being with my wife. I do admit, however, that I am perhaps envious of Bob’s dick size.
As I serve up dinner, still naked, Cheryl gently asks if I am insecure about my size.
“Mostly not, but I think most average guys have that nagging feeling. It’s not like we can get dick implants like women can get boob jobs.”
“Good thing, too! You’d all sign up for ten-inch beer-can dicks. Women might get ridiculous boob jobs sometimes, but at least no one gets hurt.”
“Fair point. Variety can be exciting, which is why we opened things up in the first place, right? I know you’d never put Bob before me. And he’s a great guy. Even being straight, I totally see the appeal. I honestly am not jealous of him. And I think that’s because deep down, I still trust you.”
Cheryl bores into my eyes. “You know most women my age are anxious about getting traded in for a younger model, but I also will honestly say I am not jealous of Amy either. For the exact same reason.”
She’s not out of line to bring up my own side lover. While Amy’s short hair, perky little boobs, shaved snatch, twentysomething youthfulness and penchant for calling me “Daddy” when I fuck her are highly attractive to me, that’s mostly because of the contrast with my wife. I’d still take Cheryl’s attributes over Amy’s in a heartbeat if it came to it. And I recognize that the contrast with me may be part of the appeal for Cheryl of big, hairy Bob and his big dick. I don’t need to be threatened by him. Or by his big dick.
“Oh Chere, you know that you are truly my type, you are the one I have a history with, you are the one I trust, and you are the one I’ll always love.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Joe,” she says, leaning into me.
“Well, maybe I don’t say it enough,” I admit.
“Maybe I don’t either.” She draws me into a hug, then adds, “As long as we can keep reminding each other of that, Joe, I truly think the variety helps us appreciate each other and the love we have even more.” Taking hold of my manhood, which throughout this tense conversation has definitely not been erect, she adds, “I know I’m appreciating you right now.”
“I’m appreciating you too,” I counter, caressing a breast.
“Let me show you how much,” she offers seductively, taking me in her warm mouth. She uses her hand to stroke me while she sucks. I figure she’s planning to swallow my cum as usual, but as I approach orgasm, she pulls her mouth off and milks my output all over her face and tits.
“I thought you found that demeaning,” I gasp, puzzled. Pearl necklaces and facials are not part of our usual repertoire.
“No more demeaning than the fact that you will be cleaning it up. Now get licking.”
I’m not unfamiliar with my own taste, sometimes going down on Cheryl after cumming inside her, but she’s never seen me directly consume the stuff before. More previously unstated limits are being crossed.
First I lick her face clean, though she keeps her lips closed to reinforce that I will be swallowing it all, then I slurp my ejaculate off her boobs, catch a stray drop on her sexy belly, and lay her back so I can feast between her legs. I make sure to slip a couple fingers inside her and keep the other hand busy on her boobs while my lips and tongue pleasure her. She reaches what seems like a peak, but remains elevated.
She turns around and bends over the log nearby. “Would you lick my hole, Joe?” Neither of us has ever shown much interest in anal play, and we have certainly never gone so far as eating ass. But that ass has never looked hotter, so I get my tongue right in there, licking up and down the crack and then pressing against the star.
“Would you put a finger in there, baby?” she begs after a couple of minutes. I slick up a finger and ease it in, using my other hand to massage her pussy.
“Oh my God, that’s it!” she exclaims as she shudders in orgasm. “Maybe we should try your cock in there again sometime.”
We go to bed naked and satisfied, listening to the calls of the loons on the lake, and at one point wolves off in the distance. What better place to get wild than in the wild?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Two
“How long was that last portage yesterday, Joe?” Cheryl asks flirtatiously as we eat breakfast. Thankfully I’m getting a do-over on the rod conversation, but this might still be a test.
“Sign said sixty-five rods.”
“Hmph. I haven’t tried sixty-five rods,” she provokes, lifting her loose t-shirt to flash her boobies. “Yet.”
“Good to have goals, hon,” I encourage.
“Such a supportive husband.”
“I genuinely hope you get there eventually.”
“And I hope you get to sixty-five … uh, holes, too, sweetie.”
If this was a test, we passed. Unlike yesterday, Cheryl is up for morning sex and she mounts me cowgirl-style, right there on the log next to the fire, a position I love because it gives me great access to feed on her tits while we copulate. It is not the last time we go at it today. We even pull over the canoe at empty campsites on a couple of the Cone Lakes to bang ourselves silly.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Three
The day dawns almost hot, the heatwave seemingly intensifying. Not even launching our canoe, we spend the day on our private island. Naked. At one point we see a passing canoe and Cheryl waves, her titties wobbling luridly and the two paddlers gawking as they pass.
“Chere, what if they come ashore?”
“Then they’ll cum … ashore, won’t they?”
I’m half concerned and half excited. Cheryl has previously expressed an interest in having multiple guys at once. Maybe we should finally try to arrange that, with someone other than rando canoeists.
The awareness that I have a hot wife who gets pounded by other men, and is now teasing strangers in what may or may not be an attempt to get yet more dick, somehow sends me into a tizzy of lust. Sensing this, Cheryl lays me down on the camping pad and kneels between my legs, licking my pecker. “Joe, can I lick your ass? What’s good for the goose just might be good for the gander.”
It is. It takes me a minute to relax enough to admit entry, but the blowjob she gives me with a finger buried deep in my colon is among the most intense I’ve ever had.
When it is time for me to pleasure her, Cheryl asks me to slip two, then three fingers inside her pussy while I lick. “Hey Joe, remember when you and Bob both tried to get inside me?”
“Yeah, but we couldn’t quite fit.” Back when we initially opened our marriage, Bob and I once took on Cheryl together, trying to satisfy a craving she had for double-vaginal. But the squeeze had been too tight, at least with his big nine-incher. We haven’t made another attempt.
“I might want to try it again sometime,” she pants, her desires clearly ramping up. “I’ve been practicing.” Practicing? The surprises never end with this blessed woman. “And Bob has asked if you’d be willing to team up with him again to please your hot wife.”
“Count me in. Er, maybe both Bob and I can get in.”
“Oh God…” Cheryl moans. “Can you get further in?”
I try to scrunch up my hand, pressing gently inward, still licking her. After a couple of minutes, I feel her canal dilating slightly, allowing in a bit more hand, though not all the way.
“Oh my God, Joe!”
“You okay, Chere?”
“Better than okay, Joe. Oh, this is amazing.”
I adjust my hand slightly, provoking a deeper moan.
“Ohhh … that hit my cervix. Keep rubbing it. Very gently.” I gingerly do so. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God. Holy mother of all fuck, Joe, keep rubbing, keep licking.” She ends up climaxing as wildly as I’ve ever seen.
I ease my hand back out, gently caressing her face with my dry hand. She responds by kissing me hungrily, sucking the juices off my other hand.
“I need to tell you something else, Joe. I think the taste of cunt is growing on me. I want to try lesbian sex again.” This is something Cheryl has only done once before, and I never got the impression that she had much interest in trying again.
“But, no offense, I don’t want a man present. I really want to try one-on-one intimacy with a woman who already knows what she’s doing with a woman.”
My God, my cock is basalt at hearing this.
“Also, I think a woman’s smaller hand might be able to get all the way in.”
My God, my cock is so hard it might crack in two.
Instead, it finds its way into Cheryl’s crack for a quick but intense Missionary drill, which might not be boundary-expanding, but still very satisfying.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Four
After a busy day exploring some of Brule’s bays and lovely South Temperance Lake, thickening clouds chase us back to our island. We dive into the tent just as huge raindrops pummel the ground, lightning flashing in all directions and thunder alternating between sharp, close cracks and low, ominous rumbles.
After an hour or so, the lightning mostly lets up, but the rain and wind do not. By the time darkness falls, the exhaustion and excitement of a very full day have lulled us to sleep in each other’s arms.
And then …
BOOM!
Sex and death must somehow be linked together in the subconscious, because rather than making us shriveled and dry, respectively, the lightning strike turns us hard and slick. We can think of no response but to fuck. Maybe tonight we die happy, our marital and sexual bond stronger than ever.
By the time Cheryl collapses, sated and sweaty on top of me, the storm has started to ease. Ha! We outlasted that motherfucker. Cheryl falls asleep on top of me while I’m still in her. As much as she’s taken comfort in the warmth of my strong arms tonight, I’ve found her warm, womanly confines equally soothing.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day Five
“What, did we die after all, and go to heaven?” Cheryl muses, opening the tent door. The walls are incandescent with golden light.
“If we did, or if instead those are the fires of hell, I’m glad we made it together.”
The scene is otherworldly: mist is rising off both the cold lake and the saturated ground, so brightly illuminated by the rising sun as to appear on fire.
We take our time to enjoy this miracle, and the calm remainder of the morning, while our damp gear dries out.
By the time I light our lunch fire, the wind is picking up yet again. In the distance, we see a canoe working its way along the northern shoreline, none too steadily, its occupants seemingly in a hurry.
They’ll have to cross the lake sooner or later, and just before they reach our island, they indeed start tacking southward.
They don’t get far, though. About a hundred yards past us and acute to bigger waves, their flat-bottomed canoe capsizes, dumping them into the frigid water. Responding to their screams, Cheryl builds a couple of grab loops into a rope while I put in our craft for launch. We must act quickly, hypothermia a danger within minutes in water that was frozen two weeks ago.
We tow Ally and Mike to our campsite and our warm fire, Ally shivering uncontrollably and crying about how their trip has gone so terribly wrong, having forgotten to pack a couple of essentials, that they are leaving a day early. And now this.
Actually, Mike isn’t shivering. Nor is he speaking coherently. And he‘s blue.
“Joe, the fire’s not going to do it for Mike,” commands Cheryl. “You two need to strip down and share bodily heat in the sleeping bag, in the tent. I’ll take care of Ally out here.” Cheryl helps get Ally down to her underwear, wraps a wool blanket around her and snuggles up with her next to the fire.
In the tent, I press my own naked body against Mike’s clammy form and wrap my arms around him, holding him tight. Although our penises are necessarily squeezed between us, there is nothing sexual about this.
I keep him talking, knowing that this can stave off hypothermia and also help monitor the patient’s condition. He’s sluggish and confused in his replies at first, but I keep him talking about local sports teams, movies he’d seen recently, rock bands, pizza toppings, ice cream flavors, anything to keep his mind and mouth moving. Eventually he starts shivering, a welcome sign that while he’s still cold, his body’s self-warming mechanism has recovered, and I hold him tighter.
I hear Cheryl chatting comfortably with Ally, who sounds mostly fine now. Mike has a ways to go, however.
After quite some more time, Mike stops shivering, an even better sign, so I give the conversation a rest. His body no longer feels cold, nor does his dick feel like a tiny icicle against my belly. Still nothing sexual here, though.
In the quiet, I notice the women have stopped talking. Then we hear the soft sounds of … kissing? Low moans of pleasure?
In response, both Mike’s and my cocks start growing between us. The feel of another man’s warm shaft touching my own revives a buried memory from when Bob and I double-teamed Cheryl. While he and I were trying to squeeze into Cheryl’s slot together, he had tenderly held my shaft in his hand to try to guide it in next to his. And I’d found this enjoyable.
Did Cheryl pre-plan all the boundary crossings we’ve done this week? Or has the wildness of this place itself driven her to get wilder, taking me (as well as Ally, and potentially Mike) along with her? I’m not sure. Some of the limits we broke were simply casual, calcified habit, but I feel ready to cross what for straight guys is a much bigger line. I wouldn’t want to do anything heavy-duty with a guy, but I realize I am curious to check out Bob’s big unit for myself in our expected encounter with him.
Meanwhile, it now sounds Ally is eating Cheryl’s pussy. Then, Cheryl suddenly starts vocalizing really loudly, provoking us men to check things out.
The truly astonishing sight that we behold is Ally kneeling before a trembling, flailing Cheryl, sucking on my wife’s clit … with her hand fully embedded in Cheryl’s expanded cunt. “Oh my God, Joe, this is as good as I thought it would be! Come join us!”
At Ally’s invitation, I climb between her legs. At Cheryl’s invitation, Mike presents his cock for her to suck.
The action continues long beyond the first round of orgasms that ensue. Mike and Ally don’t have a place to stay tonight after we all leave this island together, but Cheryl and I have a hot tub suite reserved at a nearby lodge overlooking Lake Superior.
Which we don’t mind sharing.
