Cuckolded At The Grand Canyon Pt 04

TRIGGER WARNING- If a long winded tale about a wanton wife who cuckolds her submissive hubby during a weekend camping trip offends your delicate sensibilities, you may want to read another story.

Cuckold Coffee Service

Slave slept fitfully the rest of Saturday night / Sunday morning, haunted and horny in equal parts, while contemplating the smutty proceedings in an adjoining tent. That plus Scott's foam sleeping pad wasn't nearly as comfy as the inflated number that he and Mistress were sharing.

As dawn broke over Havasupai Gardens, I was up, getting our breakfast provisions together. Mistress emerged briefly, on her way to the surprisingly clean nearby campground facilities. Thank you National Park Service!

On her way back she gave me a brief big and kiss, but did not linger.

"He's got some 'morning wood' for me to take care of Slave... this could take a little while."

So my morning coffee service was delayed as I waited patiently for the kinky commotion in their tent to die down. It was hard to ignore Mistress's barely stifled moans and labored breathing as she clearly enjoyed handling that "wood". Finally, when things settled down again, I mustered the courage to interfere.

"Are you two ready for coffee?"

"Go for it, slave."

That was Scott, earning my"Yes, Sir" in response.

Water boiled, I mixed their brews (Mistress takes decaf) and handed their steaming cups through the flap of their tent. What I was able to see were two barely covered bodies, reclining in post coital bliss. It seemed Scott's meaty paw was still lingering amidst Mistress's damp, clean shaven folds.

I was also pleased to see that our new inflatable sleeping pad survived their collective onslaught.

"Thanks, Slave," Mistress and Scott responded in near unison.

I suspect the two new lovers were tempted to linger longer, maybe for a round 3 (or 4?) in their toasty tent. But the trail called. So they soon emerged, Mistress in shorts for the trail, but with a warm fleece jacket to cut the morning chill. I boiled more water for additional coffee and then some rib sticking oatmeal. When Scott headed off to the facilities, Mistress shared a little more about her night and morning.

"I'm going to be a little tender down there today, Slave. Scott was pretty ravenous last night. And again this morning."

" Awww. . . Poor Mistress."

"I guess there is a price to pay for my 'free pass" after all.

"More cock riding?"

"That....and him from behind for a while this morning."

By then Scott was back. We stowed the food again and loaded light packs with some water and snacks for the trail.

Scott led the way down the trail. Within an hour as we walked deeper into the Canyon the sun rose over the rim. Temperatures rose and we shed layers. Mistress was fetching in her shorts and clingy top, drawing admiring gazes from both Scott and her slave. All that sex seemed to add a little more sway to her stride.

Stunning vistas were continuously revealed to us as we would our way toward the River . After about 2.5 hours we finally found ourselves on the banks of the Colorado. Instead of the wintery footing on the rim, it was spring down here.

It took us another two hours to walk east along the River to Phantom Ranch, a rustic collection of cabins and lodges where hikers who win the lottery can actually spend the night sans tent. We stopped at their canteen for some lemonade and snacks before turning around and heading back up the trail. Rather than the snow we encountered Saturday morning, the Canyon's base was all cactus and blooming cottonwoods.

Through the day, the trail had been busy. Some younger, fitter hikers were determined to make the rim to river and back again marathon all in one day. Others had spent the night at Phantom Ranch and were on their return trek. Some were cruising, others struggling. We could take a more leisurely pace over our 14 mile round trip, finally returning to camp around 5 pm. And while there were a few scattered PDAs between Scott and Mistress along the trail, all of us were primarily focused on the journey. It wasn't until we settled down at the picnic table at our campgrounds that conversation refocused on kink.

Slave had whipped up some more freeze dried meals - some sort of chicken stew concoction - not so bad. We all sipped some tea, resting fatigued legs. Then Scott launched into a new topic.

"So in scanning your blog on Friday night, I noticed something about 'switch day', when Mick gets to be in charge?

"Yeah. We put that in the contract to create a little 'balance of power'," I responded, wearing my lawyerly hat.

"And there were some photos of Molly bound, and with a riding crop?"

"Mick liked to post photos like that.... they always seemed to get a rise out of our readers...", Mistress added.

"And how did you respond to that,

mistress?

Getting bound and cropped isn't very Mistressy."

"Hmmm..... it was hot. Before this whole Mistress and slave thing, Mick was more into that sort of thing, and I must say it was a turn on for me."

"She once told me there was a college boyfriend who liked to tie her up and fuck her."

"Slave. . !"

Apparently I was sharing a little too much for Mistress's comfort.

"Is that true?"

"Yes....it was my first intro to that sort of thing. And it was pretty exotic for college sex."

"Interesting. I've had some experience with all that myself over the years. You'd be surprised how many women enjoy spending a night tied to their lover's bed, teased , denied, frustrated before getting their

reward.

Maybe we explore a little of that tonight before we head in different directions tomorrow morning?

S

COTT TAKES CHARGE

Dinner completed, I began stowing away our dinner gear for the night, all the while speculating about Scott's plans for Mistress. Would he really explore Mistress's bondage kink in their final night together?

It didn't take long to find out. As I washed our dinner plates and cups, Scott was digging into his back pack. He came back to the picnic table brandishing a length of belt like fabric webbing about 5 feet long. He apparently subscribed to that old Boy Scout motto: "Be Prepared".

"This should work," he commented, looking at Mistress, who remained seated at the table, still nursing her tea. Her expression reflected equal parts uncertainty and curiosity with just a smidgeon of anxiety.

"Hands," Scott directed.

"Really? Here?" she asked looking around the camp site. The grounds were not as crowded as they had been Saturday night, but there were still some other campers in the distance, maybe 50 yards or so away.

"Oh, don't worry. It's getting dark and I won't be parading you around for all to see. We can certainly keep things private. At least for tonite."

A promise of a reunion?

Mistress glanced at me, still uncertain. After all she could simply say "No". Would she?

"Are we really doing this in front of the Slave?"

"Seems it's nothing he hasn't seen before,

Mistress,"

Scott added with a slight touch of snark. "The only thing different from your 'switch days' is that I'll be the one in charge tonight. I'm sure Mick doesn't mind. Do you Mick?"

At this point, my own level of arousal was on the rise at the thought of witnessing Scott take charge of my Mistress.

"No. . . Sir. Who am I to object?"

"Exactly," he responded with a bit of a smirk. Mistress shot a dirty look at me, as if she expected me to be the Night in Shining Armor, coming to her defense. But I knew her well enough to judge her an enthusiastic participant in whatever mischief was to come. She was already squirming with anticipation as she made a show of finishing her tea.

"Hands," Scott repeated again a bit more forcefully, holding up the belt.

Mistress slowly stood in front of him, finally extending her wrists in front of her. It seemed her answer would not be "No."

Scott just shook his head, signaling with a twirling finger that Mistress should turn her back to him. He wasn't fooling around.

She hesitated, then complied. Slowly spinning around, glancing at me. By now it was almost dark, so it was hard to see her blush of arousal. But I could almost hear her racing heart beat.

Scott gathered her hands behind her, crossed her wrists, then wound the fabric strap around them, first vertically, then horizontally, tying it off with a knot that tightened all of the strands in a way that produced a slight gasp and shudder from Mistress.

"Too tight?"

Mistress just shook her head, indicating a "no."

She was twisting her wrists, testing her bonds. They held tight.

"What do you think, Mick, does it look like that will hold?"

"Seems a good job," was all I could muster, still in a bit of erotic shock seeing my wife so efficiently brought under such swift control by another man.

"Now it's your turn to help,

slave.

I'd like you to get down there, take off her hiking boots, and pull down her jeans. Around the ankles will do for now."

Mistress just looked at both of us with that "really?" look again. But her unsuccessful struggles with her bindings left her knowing her opportunity to resist had passed.

I knelt at her feet, a familiar place for me, and began unlacing her boots. She co-operated to the extent of sitting back down in the picnic table bench, lifting each foot as I worked off those boots. Her thick hiking sox remained to keep her toes toasty as the temperature dropped.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me, Slave?"

"Just following orders, Mistress", giving us both a quiet laugh.

Next, I unbuttoned her jeans. She lifted her butt slightly, aiding my effort to pull them down over her firm thighs and long legs to her ankles. She apparently had decided either that "resistance was futile" or she really did not want to resist. I was guessing the latter.

So there she was, hands bound behind her, jeans at her ankles further restricting her movement, her lacy forest green panties for all to see. A fleece jacket and T shirt covered her breasts and tummy.

"Is she turned on, Mick?"

To verify, I leaned in, nuzzling into the soft fabric of those green panties. It was hard not to miss the intoxicating aroma of Mistress in full bloom, or to feel the damp fabric with the tip of my tongue.

"Verified, Sir."

Mistress just squirmed on that bench, moaning softly from my tongue's gentle ministrations, confirming my diagnosis.

Scott leaned over, helped Mistress to her jeans hobbled feet, then sat in her place.

"Over my lap,

Mistress."

Mistress just shook her head, sensing where this was going. But Scott's strong arms soon had her by the arm, gently but firmly pulling her down with her firm bottom settled over his lap, her head dangling down, face obscured by her long dark hair. He fondled that bottom gently.

"Like the undies. Soft and sexy. But for what I have in mind, they're in the way. Mick, how about pulling them down to her knees?"

I looked at Mistress, who shook her head, giving me that dagger tossing glare. But she failed to order me to disregard Scott's command. Despite her sudden vulnerability, Mistress was going with the flow, seemingly prepared to "face the music".

I squatted down, gently took those green panties in two hands and slipped them down over her hips and around her knees.

"Thanks Mick. Why don't you stand over there, indicating the end of the picnic table, where I would block the view of any of our fellow campers who might wander by or campsite in the gathering darkness.

As Scott resumed his gentle rubbing of Mistress's exposed ass, Scott continued. "Now Molly, keep in mind that there are other campers not far off. Let's not make them think anything too nasty is going on over here. Can you keep your voice low through this ordeal, or is a gag in order."

Mistress responded in a surprisingly submissive voice.

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"OK, let me know if you change your mind."

With that Scott used his left hand to hold Mistress's bound wrists, securing her to his lap, while his right palm began to rain a slow but steady assault on Mistress's squirming bottom. Started with seemingly gentle slaps, that produced squirms and giggles from his 'Victim", he slowly built up to a firmer rhythm that had Mistress jerking, then moaning in response. Mistress was doing her best to "take her medicine", but I could tell her bottom was getting red and the pain was becoming real. Scott must have sensed it too, because his pace slowed, then stopped.

"I like the way you squirm," Scott told her. I was guessing Mistress was taking some satisfaction in sensing a hardening cock under her pelvis.

Now Scott's hand was between her thighs, sliding to her sex, fingers probing. This seemed to get Mistress's hips gyrating even more, rising up to meet her hand. Her faux struggles to resist Scott's gentle caress were, of course, fruitless, as he held her firmly in place on her lap.

By now it was dark, so I couldn't see what surely were glistening juices on Scott's fingers as he held them up for me to see.

"I think you're right Mick. This bondage and punishment thing seems to light your Mistress's fire."

Back on task, Scott spent some time with a sweet and sour approach to Mistress. Firm spanks followed by gentle but insistent fondling of her damp, clean shaven folds. I was hoping the aroma wafting from her arousal would not attract any of the local wildlife.

Of course, the outcome was inevitable: Mistress ultimately exploded into a throbbing, gyrating cum that left her breathless. Hopefully our neighboring campers were not listening too closely, or were otherwise inspired by her wanton performance to go at it on their own.

"Oh, God" was about all she could muster. She was both shaken and stirred by Scott's "punishment," her hair a disheveled mess, breath still a bit ragged from her "ordeal."

Scott helped her off the lap, and asked me to relieve Mistress of her jeans and panties. I was happy to comply as she sat on the bench that had been the locus of her comeuppance, and then helped her stand, with her resting her shoulder against my shoulder for support. Weak knee-ed was a good description of her state.

"Hands?" she whispered, clearly hoping for release. I looked to Scott for direction.

"OK, but redo them in front. We have more business to take care of in that tent."

I followed orders again, loosening Mistress from her bonds. She rubbed her wrists briefly, but submissively co-operated as I retied her wrists, palm to palm in front.

"Thanks, Mick. I think I can take her from here. "

Scott took Mistress under a strong arm, gently helping her into her tent, no doubt ready to take his "Switch Day" prize.

Mistress's good night to me included "Remember, Slave....no touching." The tone of her voice suggested that there might be a price for me to pay for my "complicity" in the night's activities.

To Be Continued...