Content warnings in the tags.
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The tailgate dropped, and Dave pulled me out of the tarp-covered darkness. My bare thighs slid easily across the truck bed's corrugated plastic lining, but I still arched my back as best I could because I knew there was a gap between the tailgate and the bed. Since I was tied up--hands behind my back, and frog-legged--my mobility was quite limited, and the bump was still jarring. But I managed to keep my nipples unpinched, which was the important thing.
My husband stopped me at the end of the tailgate, my bent legs sticking out into the crisp evening air. He made an annoyed noise and tugged at some part of my complicated rope harness. It was a thorough tie that night, and I found it hard to believe it had loosened during our short drive, yet Dave's adjustments cinched me tighter still. I wiggled my fingers and felt the corresponding tickle on the soles of my feet. Another tug. This one pulled my knees apart too--a clever trick, I couldn't quite picture how he'd managed it.
I groaned my embarrassment around the ball gag. Tucker's driveway, where we'd parked, was in the middle of nowhere. But there's something primal about the wind tickling at your pussy, how could I not feel exposed? I was also confused. Dave wouldn't usually stop at the bottom of the drive.
That question was soon answered, though. Dave's big hands kneaded my butt cheeks. He spread them. More cool air--both my holes, this time. Plus, I knew Dave was treating himself to quite the view.
That
, I did feel silly for blushing over. My husband had seen it all, time and time again. But, somehow, it still made me shiver. Which made my asshole clench. Which I knew he could see.
It was a relief to feel his hands explore lower. Thick fingers teased at my opening to see if I was wet. I was. And with familiar motions, they dipped and rolled themselves in my arousal until Dave deemed I was ready, and entered me.
He always liked to enter me hard. Whether with his cock, or with his fingers, like now, the first penetration was fast, sometimes rough. When we first started fucking I'd thought it was boyish fumbling. But he'd soon corrected me. He did it on purpose. He liked to hear me squeak.
I wondered if the muffling of the ball gag ruined that for him. Or maybe it added something. Who knew? I'd given up trying to understand why Dave liked tying me up around the same time I'd accepted how much I liked it.
Dave's cock head, sliding along my channel, giving my clit a teasing kiss, broke my chain of thought. Out with the finger. I readied for the next hard plunge. Dave's finger had slicked me. But now I was about to be opened. I knew I had to relax, let the shock of it flow through me, and just yelp it out.
It hurt, but only a little. And the delicious filling warmth was worth it. Still, I cried out. Since I knew Dave liked it, I'd never learned not to. The ball gag seemed to catch it though, keeping the tension trapped inside me.
"Damn Izzy, you're tight like this," Dave groaned. I think he was attributing it to his ropes, and not my complicated relationship with red rubber stoppers, but that was fine. I liked the way he fucked me when he was worked up like this. He slowed down a little. I could feel him savoring it.
Enjoying me
, like a dessert he didn't want to end.
Eventually I felt Dave's control break and his pace speed up, along with his breathing. That was okay with me. For all its impressiveness, my hogtie wasn't made for sex in this position. Dave's hips spread mine even further than the ropes did, and that translated to a growing strain on my ankles.
All that to say, I was surprised, but not altogether disappointed, when my husband grunted and started pulsing within me.
My shock only increased when he unceremoniously zipped up his pants and shoved me back into the trunk! The tailgate closed with a reverberating
thunk
, and accompanying darkness.
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The final stretch of Tucker's driveway was a steep quarter-mile to his house. The incline slid me to bounce off the tailgate. So I was distracted from wondering what my husband was playing at by the irrational fear that the latch hadn't closed correctly and I was about to take a gravel-filled roll down the hill.
But we arrived safe, of course.
"Hey, Tuck!" I heard Dave say.
"You know mail won't deliver up that hill? And here's my best bud hauling fragile cargo like it ain't nothing."
Dave laughed. "Nothing a
'this side up'
sticker won't fix."
There was a pause in the conversation. It wasn't awkward. Dave and Tucker had been best friends since school, and this wasn't the first time I'd been
'delivered'
like this. But I do think Tucker found it hard to turn the conversation to the topic of handing me over, and Dave liked to make him sweat.
"So, same as usual?" Tucker asked.
A boot scraped on gravel. The tailgate popped open. Having just been smashed up against it, I had to arch not to tumble right out.
Hands reached in. They were Dave's. He found a makeshift handle where the hogtie came together, above the small of my back, and hoisted me out.
"Mostly usual," Dave said. "But she's being punished. She's got to keep the gag in. Oh, and I wrapped her up nice for you."
I hung in the air, Dave holding me like a duffel bag. His jean-covered thigh fit nicely into the gap at my side. My field of view swayed gently like I was rocking on a boat.
"Hi Tucker," I tried to say. But it was no use through the gag. At best, it sounded a rude homophone. A part of me wished Dave hadn't picked such a deep gag. But at the same time, it was kind of fun not being able to communicate. The sore jaw and drool down my chin though, that I could have lived without.
"Izzy!" Tucker said. "I am just-- you're really making my day."
Dave handed me over. Tucker was the smaller of the two and my world spun dizzyingly while he tried to situate me one-handed like my husband had. I whined my displeasure until he settled for two hands on the handle, in front of him. I tried to imagine what he'd be seeing from that angle. Was my booty spread enough to give him a view? That was embarrassing, far more than with Dave.
I was pretty sure that my pussy was hidden. Which was conflicting. Dave's creampie had survived the truck ride, and as long as Tucker didn't dip me too far, it'd stay put. But I wasn't sure how obvious any, uh, external evidence would be to Tucker, and I didn't need the humiliation of hearing him point it out to Dave. At the same time though, what was Dave even playing at? He couldn't have forgotten about it, could he?
The two men managed a surprisingly normal conversation, despite the fact that I was hanging naked between them. They discussed when Tucker should drive me back--two hours--and that I should stay tied up and gaged the whole time--
ugh!
Then Dave was gone, and I was alone with Tucker, listening to the fading sound of my husband's truck down the drive.
"Well," said Tucker, "let's get you inside. And don't you worry, I just changed the sheets."
I should probably explain, this was not the first time Dave had loaned me to Tucker. It had started slow, just a husband encouraging his wife to give his friend a cheeky flash, or a smack on the ass that I didn't correct. One day, after we'd all had too many drinks, I found myself blowing the guy. Things progressed from there much as you probably expect, with Dave's interest in tying me up, slowly creeping in.
Tucker was a nice guy. But a little stuck in life. He'd worked construction alongside Dave after they'd graduated high school. From what I understood, they both lived together like hermits for five long years, saving up to build two backwoods homesteads not five miles of dirt road apart. It was a cute story. Only, it seemed like that's where Tucker's story had ended. As if to demonstrate, my head knocked a couple beer cans off the coffee table as he tried to maneuver me to the bedroom. They were empty, at least.
That's what the
'changed the sheets'
comment was about, by the way. The first time Dave had dropped me off at Tucker's, it had been fun, but I'd confessed to Dave that Tucker's place had reminded me more of old college hookups than I'd have liked. I should have known he'd share my
'feedback'
, and also that it would be only half understood. So now Tucker washed his bedsheets. Which I appreciated. But there were still piles of clothes on the floor.
I was plunked down on the bed. Tucker knelt so he was eye level with me. "Weird, you not talking, huh?" he said.
I said nothing, of course.
"I could take it out. Put it back in later. Dave wouldn't know."
"Mmmhmm!"
Tucker stood up, reached over me, and smacked my ass. "Yeah, right! I won't go against the big man like that. From what I hear, you're being punished."
"NuuuUhmNu," I said. Which was supposed to translate to,
"No I'm not!"
Because I wasn't. Or if I was, I didn't know what for. Dave had just pulled that out of the air. Maybe to keep Tucker in line with the gag thing?
My eyeline was right at Tucker's crotch level. So I got an up close and personal showing of him undoing his belt. "Hey, I'm disappointed too." His zipper came down. Then his pants. He had to stretch the elastic of his boxers over his cock, and once free it jutted out, straight and eager, almost poking me in the nose. "You know I love your mouth."
Tucker got on the bed with me. The mattress sagged with his weight, helping me track him as he positioned behind me. His hands roamed. Starting at my back, they moved down. There was a tension in them. I got the sense it took Tucker some effort not to go right for my pussy--or maybe my booty. He did linger when he got there, kneading me like bread before finally spreading me apart exactly how Dave had done.
I held my breath, sure Tucker was about to find the surprise Dave had left for him. But it must have stayed more
internal
, because Tucker didn't react, and though his fingers roamed pleasantly down my pussy they didn't dive inside me. Instead, he found my clit.
"Seems to me if you're not allowed to talk, you'd not be allowed to cum either," Tucker mused. "But Dave didn't say nothing like that."
"Mmmh," I agreed, luxuriating. Tucker had a working man's hands, even more so than Dave, and sometimes they could be a little scratchy. But he was either doing a good job using my clit's hood as a shield, or I was just too horny to care.
I half expected Tucker to stop when I started to get excited. That would have been Dave's move. But even after he'd coaxed a hot spot of pleasure into me, and I was grinding back against his fingers and making shameless whimpering sounds, Tucker kept rolling my clit between his fingers. "God you're something, Izzy," he muttered. Which would normally make me slightly uncomfortable, but in that moment just encouraged me to whine louder.
He kept going, "I can't wait to fuck you. Cum on my fingers. Then it's my turn. I'm gonna
use you
."
Yep. That was my love language. The throbbing heat inside me tightened, it promised to soon explode out and wash me in warm, delicious, waves. My whole body squeezed in anticipation, so hard that something slippery got pushed out of me. It slid down my labia.
