Barb Braves the Bondage Bus

For the

Summer Lovin'

contest, see

Auto Erotic

for the precursor tale.

****

"How about tomorrow afternoon?" I hoped my inner excitement, along with an ardent wish for a positive response, wasn't obvious in my tone of voice.

Barb turned to me from the pantry and raised an eyebrow. With her dark hair, streaked in a couple places with gray, held back in a suburban ponytail, and steely hazel eyes that didn't miss much, she was never an easy person to surprise.

The apogee of summer was here in all its glory. Saturday at 9 a.m. was too early to be uncomfortably warm but heat was on its way, sun slanting sharply through the kitchen windows of our 19th century farmhouse, the grass still green out in the backyard.

I wasn't sure what she would say, although we had talked about this event enough over the last few weeks.

Timing, as usual, meant everything.

She looked at me with those level eyes which for twenty years had seen my best and worst. Seen me not only completely unclothed but also all gussied up for our sons' graduations. She'd watched me accidentally bang my thumb with a hammer and cuss wildly in the garage but also raise a memorable toast at her sister's wedding.

The corners of her mouth barely crept upward, but it was a good sight. The gears had turned in the right direction.

"In the bus." A question that was a statement.

"Yes."

"With your new rigging." Right again. I nodded.

"Roger's okay with this?"

I had to laugh at this one. "I think he's more excited than a passel of puppies."

"It might rain. July sun doesn't go on forever and Sunday's forecast doesn't look near as nice as today." She gestured towards the sun speckled backyard.

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We'll be set regardless of the weather, that's the whole idea."

She paused, striking a dramatic pose, and looked at me.

"Yeah. Okay." A twinkle of the eye and she turned back to sorting spices in the pantry.

I went outside and called Roger.

"Can you talk?"

"Just a moment, let me go into the next room."

"She's good for tomorrow." I spoke breathlessly.

I heard him inhale deeply.

"For sure?"

"Yep."

A long pause.

"I'm going to be thinking, hard, for the next twenty-four hours, Clay. Tomorrow's gonna take forever to arrive."

"Don't imagine you'll mind, bud. I'll wager not just the thinking will be hard."

So it was just after noon when we picked up Roger the next day, pulling himself up into the ancient VW cab. Untucked plaid shirt, jeans, your regular Berkshire backwoods schlump. But he had a broad face and an easy smile. Besides, I knew what treasure he carried underneath his briefs.

Barb slid over on the bench seat right next to me, I'd have to reach over her left knee to get to the gear shift. Uncharacteristically, and truly a sign that summer was in full song, she was wearing shorts, so her knee was bare. Overhead the New England cloud cover was low, humidity high, but the air was not uncomfortably warm.

It was the first time Barb had deigned to ride in our "project" car, the archaic 1966 red and white VW microbus that Roger and I had restored. She always thought it was just a guy thing, car stuff, an indulgence that she allowed but could not fathom herself. I likened it to knitting and sewing, two of her own amusements, but I wasn't able to make the comparison work for her. But of course the "project" embraced multiple facets, as she would discover.

I tried to do small talk as we drove out of town and to a favorite trysting spot, off a bumpy fire trail up in the Berkshire hills.

But neither of them put much effort into responding, and we each settled into our own private thoughts. We'd indulged as a threesome exactly once before, but today's adventures would be quite different and bring us to the edge of our imaginations. My own mind was crowded with the possibilities. The air in the cab felt charged with silent electricity.

"This thing rides like a truck," Barb finally said as we hit a rut in the road. Roger almost chuckled.

"That's what I said the first time I rode with Clay."

I suppose I should have been defensive, since the whole project had been my idea.

But I just said, "Well it's over fifty years old and was basically meant to be a truck anyway. Unlike most other 60s vans and trucks, it's got full four-wheel independent suspension."

Barb shot me a dubious look and peered out one of the front split-windshields.

"Well, at least it doesn't have a hood up front. You can see pretty good."

Indeed each lump in the rutted fire road was clear enough to spot and avoid as best I could. I sawed the steering wheel back and forth.

After we'd parked, behind a hemlock grove maybe fifty yards off the road that mostly screened sight of the bus, I tried to keep my excitement in check.

This would be the second time the three of us would all be together and intimate. And wildly different from the first. Daylight for one thing, in the back of the van for a second, with some new equipment, only just bench-tested a couple weeks ago. Not a bedroom, but outside, with some risk, however slight, of being discovered.

After moving to the back of the bus, closing the windows to keep the insects out, and drawing the curtains, Barb examined our rig with both an amused smile and a wide-eyed look of wonder, the first time she'd seen our latest handiwork.

I spread out the thin camping mattress with its cotton casing we kept in the bus, which pretty much covered the middle section of the vehicle, long enough to stretch out on, thick enough to be comfortable, thin enough to roll up easy and stow to the side when unneeded.

She'd seen the inside of the bus before, and the sweet wooden cladding Roger and I had crafted to overlay the otherwise spartan VW interior. She'd even sewn the window curtains that Roger had now pulled closed, shielding the view from any prying eyes, not that there would be anyone here off the trail.

But she hadn't seen our new additions, the eye-bolts we'd installed at the corners of the inside to hold the restraining ropes.

She looked up at each of us, wonder written all over her face. I don't think she'd ever have imagined that me and my meathead buddy would get this carried away and creative with our sex life. But wonder had been a big part of her world for the last six months. Roger and I were now "above-board"—with some limitations—and Barb had become tolerant, even intrigued, by the sexual diversions me and my man-buddy had managed to concoct.

She was in for an even greater surprise when I removed the cover to the long, full-length mirror I'd found at a yard sale and attached to the interior left side of the van. If you were lying down on the mattress you could see yourself and whatever your partner in lust was doing to you. Maybe watch his cock waving around, view your own from a different angle. I found the doubling of imagery great fun—Four erections instead of two! Eight sperm-filled balls not four!—Roger less so. He said it was sorta like being a voyeur on yourself. But of course that was exactly the reason I enjoyed it.

Her eyes got big when she examined the mirror and deduced its purpose.

We were all a bit nervous, like the first time you're going to jump off a three meter diving-board. Not tense, but not relaxed either.

We had a brief talk about ground rules. She was astonished that we hadn't developed "safe words."

"I thought that was an elemental, essential part of this sort of activity? BDSM and all that?" She gestured at the eye-bolts and the coils of rope.

Roger and I looked at each other. I had a sense that she was right and probably knew more about this whole business in the abstract than the two of us. We'd never considered anything like "safe words." We were as green at this as the tree leaves outside the van.

"I maybe shouldn't speak for Roger, but I guess we just figured if someone was doing something we didn't like, they'd just say so."

Roger nodded in agreement like an over-eager golden retriever.

"Not like we're using gags or anything."

As soon as I said that I knew how ridiculous it sounded. If someone was gagged there weren't going to be any "safe words" uttered anyway.

I waved a hand. "You know what I mean."

Barb looked at us like we were daft but was okay with this.

"So if I just say 'no' or 'stop' that will be enough for you guys? What if, say, I have something in my mouth?"

We knew exactly what she meant, an exciting enough image in its own right, but were able to convince her that a little love-bite or some other subtle body sign would be enough to cause a halt to whatever was troubling her if she were unable to speak.

"And we're both a couple of honorable men." I tried to convey conviction but Barb looked at me dubiously. I had a feeling Barb was going to mention the fact that Roger was married, but not to us, and maybe that put a dent in the "honorable" part of the deal, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

We took off our clothes together, a little awkward and cramped in the van, and carefully folded everything into tidy piles at the back.

I liked how Roger kept his eyes on Barb as her shirt came off, her bra got released, and those wonderful heavy, soft breasts ushered themselves forth to settle on her ribcage in the still air of the bus. Her groin triangle of hair was thick and still mostly dark, more so even than her head hair.

When his own jeans and briefs came off, he was already half-hard. I almost laughed.

His own excitement, the excitement that any male has when aroused, is a glorious sight. Men are such uncontrollable beings, maybe even sentient every once in a while.

Heavy oval balls dangled there underneath his crotch thicket, sturdy legs, that taut full belly of his, a body anxious for sex.

Clothes removed, we each looked at each other. A nice sight. Middle-aged bodies, maybe not attractive to anyone under thirty, but plenty arousing to us. One half-hard cock, as mine was still fairly limp, a handsome woman with a heavy chest and succulent thighs, best of all with a just discernible smile of anticipation on her face.

Her breasts, once firm and meaty, after forty years of life and an interval of nursing two baby boys, now skewed off to the side, nipples pointing down and out. I still liked them and Roger couldn't keep his eyes off them.

All of us with a little gray around the temples, some streaks in Roger's close-cropped beard. None of us very tall, Roger the biggest at maybe five foot ten, but we were all solid, with the big northern European bones and shoulders of our ancestors.

I am not sure how we decided the order. Barb did not want to go first.

So it ended up that I was the start of our adventure. I was amused and excited to watch Barb at my feet, lashing my ankles to their restraints with some careful knotting, and Roger, prick already stiff and waving from side to side, inches from my face, as he fastened my wrists with rope to our carefully installed rings.

They sat back on their haunches to admire their work.

I looked over at my friends, then the reflection in the mirror with me stoked out, cock just beginning to stir.

My thoughts were all over the map. My two best friends in the world had just tied me up and were hovering over my stretched out body.

Barb with her heavy chest, that soft and welcome belly, enchanting pubic hair. Roger with an erection sticking up out of his crotch, an amused grin on his face. They looked at each other.

Somehow it was decided that Barb would attend to my lower half, Roger my upper.

I was treated to the sight of Barb's dangling breasts move while she stroked my lower legs with fingertips, then my inner thighs, lovely ripples of pleasure running along my skin.

I couldn't move. Much, anyway, and the feel of the rope on my wrists and ankles was ever present.

Roger ran his fingers over the insides of my exposed arms, even tweaked my nipples, making them erect, something he never did. Was he doing this for Barb's benefit? So he could do hers later? Or just because the idea appealed? Regardless, it sent as jolt of electricity to the base of my prick.

And then ran the underside of his prick across my nose, along my cheeks, dragged his balls across my face and forehead.

Barb had stopped to watch, enchanted. She had gotten over the awkwardness of seeing me and my buddy doing sensual things to each other. Once repulsive, such actions had become an arousal itself.

Neither of them had come within a foot of my cock and I was already uncomfortably hard.

Roger straddled my chest and pushed his cock into my face. I parted my lips and closed my eyes.

And licked. And sucked. And ran my tongue along his hairy scrotum when he dropped balls into my mouth.

Barb teased my inner thighs with her hands, although I couldn't see her with Roger's bulk in the way.

They had judged correctly, that I was far too excited to keep up this level of attention for long, and retreated to my side.

Roger was looking at Barb like he could not believe what was happening. Barb had the stupidest looking grin on her face.

But she reached over and began to caress Roger's erection. Right in front of me.

This took him by surprise, and his face broadened into a smile while she gently rubbed and fondled. What was it like for her to have two erect cocks near her? Each of them dying to have something sweet happen to them? Maybe do something with her?

Her eyes were shining.

To the surprise of both us two males in attendance, she leaned over and began to fellate Roger. I quivered as I saw his cock disappear into her mouth, her nose buried into his crotch thicket while she worked her lips and tongue over him. My penis twitched in sympathy with his pleasure.

She lingered just for a couple minutes and withdrew. All eyes went to his prick, now all slick and shiny. His balls had risen up, each egg sitting aside his prick shaft, a detail I never failed to enjoy viewing. Barb had a gleam in her eyes.

The two of them sat back, looking at each other. Roger grew bold enough to reach over and heft Barb's left breast, soft in his big hand. He shot me a glance, almost as if seeking approval. I nodded. He flicked a nipple, then pleased with the results, leaned over to take her nipple into his mouth for a suckle.

I watched to see if he would snake a hand down to Barb's crotch, but this apparently was not in the cards for the moment.

All was silent in the van except the sounds of breathing and skin contact, sometimes wetly slick when the right surfaces were getting touched. They played with each other for several minutes, my own prick barely subsiding from its tortured state of hardness.

Then a sudden clunk from just above roused us out of our focus. A sound from the top of the van. All activity stopped, and startled, we looked at each other.

"Pine cone hitting the roof?" I ventured.

We exchanged glances, but I think they agreed with my diagnosis. Took us right out of the moment. Just to check things, Roger got on his knees, pushed a curtain aside and looked out one of the windows. His actions reminded me of what a Marine peering out of his foxhole might look like. Barb's eyes lingered at his round ass, not sure she had registered how hairy those curved, meaty chunks of flesh were.

"The wind's come up. It's gotten awful dark out there," Roger reported. "I bet there's a storm coming through. Maybe Clay's right, the breeze had picked up and dislodged a pine cone. No other sign of anything."

Indeed, we hadn't noticed until now, but the wind had increased, enough even to shake the bus a little, sheltered as we were behind the clump of hemlocks.

He sat back down, the momentum diffused. The wind grew and the first drops of rain began hitting the roof of the van, like a scattering of buckshot.

Roger laughed. "Well, that means the chances of any hikers seeing us has just decreased."

"Unless they are looking for shelter and think the bus is a good bet," I said.

Barb gave me an uncomfortable look, of course she didn't know the territory like Roger and I did. I suspect she hadn't calculated the probability of being discovered out here in the forest.

An unwelcome thought intruded. If it rained hard enough, driving home might become an interesting proposition, with a muddy rutted road and all. I shook my head. No turning back at this point.

There we were, all naked and worked up, with a storm overhead. But it didn't keep us from our amusements for long.

Inevitably, attention returned to me. The next stretch is fairly blurred in my memory. I remember looking over in the mirror while Barb sucked the top of my cock-head and Roger awkwardly licked my balls while the rain came down. I wanted terribly to reach over and fondle Barb's right breast but couldn't do so.

My penis was excited enough that attention wasn't extended for too long at a time. Barb had left off my penis and was stroking my chest.

Roger continued to suckle my scrotum something lovely, holding my prick in his work-hardened hands. Then Barb had to take a turn. Despite the now staccato drum of rain on the roof of the bus, we tuned it out and regained our original focus.

It felt great. Bizarre but great. I couldn't do a damn thing about anything but just lie there, not quite comfortable and indeed in some tension, while registering the lovely skin sensations my two friends were causing, watching their own various middle-aged sexual parts move about, Roger's penis wagging, Barb's breasts jiggling while she stroked me.

Almost as quickly as it arrived, the rain let up.

Barb straddled my chest and pushed her cunt into my face for a licking. Roger, nestled in behind her, his belly squashed into her back, fondled each breast with an appropriate hand. This I could only see by looking to the side into our boudoir mirror. It all looked so natural, just what was supposed to be happening. I couldn't quite tell where his erection was pressing.

But those paws cupping Barb's breasts weren't mine.

A pubic hair got loose and I somehow managed to signal Barb. It felt so strange to have someone else fish a hair off my tongue, unable to use my own hands. This highly amused both of them.

Eventually, my excitement couldn't be prolonged any further.

Positions were exchanged. Roger had put his prick in my mouth while Barb sucked me. I had to pull away from him when I got close, I didn't want my teeth doing anything untoward to Roger in my thrashings.

With a soft active hand rummaging my balls, Barb brought me off good with her lips, and I pumped a good six spurts of sperm into her mouth. It was eerie to have no control. Just my body doing involuntary actions, my anus clamping shut while my hips jerked and my penis spasmed semen into Barb's mouth, her deft ministrations draining my desperate balls.

But my hands and feet were stuck in place, my thrusts were kept minimal, my mind the only thing that roamed free and lovely.

Roger watched intently as my sperm was drawn into Barb's innards, and it seemed to me, his face reflected some envy. I had been the only one to ever do this sort of thing to his own prick, and here was my wife doing the deed right in front of him.

My hip thrusts grew weak and subsided. The same for my cock, softening in Barb's mouth while she continued to nurse, until some retreat hip movements on my part told her to leave off.

Everyone stopped to watch my own penis deflate.

Barb and Roger shared a pleased look, and I was released from my rope restraints.

I rubbed my wrists and looked to both of them. Who was next?

We weren't talking, any of us. Barb decided, I guess on her own, to stretch out and allowed her two male companions to tie her up. We were both gentle, checking with eye glances, no words, about whether we had pulled the knots too tightly on her wrists and ankles. She nodded, the strangest expression on her face.