My husband and I always looked forward to the NASCAR season. This goes back to the day we met while camping in Rock City for the race at Charlotte. Every season we tried to make it to as many races as we could, camping out in the off field campgrounds and enjoying the total NASCAR experience. As time went on, and we became more successful, our camping equipment went from tents, to pop-up trailers, to a fifth wheel trailer then on to our current luxury motor home. While we had the means to afford infield camping, we preferred to stick to the roots of NASCAR that first brought us together and camp in the off field campgrounds, many of which aren't campgrounds at all, but businesses and private properties who rent their space to NASCAR fans for "dry" camping. For those of you who don't camp, a "dry" site has no water or sewer hookups. This usually isn't a problem for us in our motor home as we have mastered the art of water conservation and have a large tank capacity allowing us the use of our clean bathroom rather than use the porta-johns set up throughout these make shift campgrounds.
Four years ago, we headed to Richmond for the fall race, setting up our camp at a nearby business who had several acres of "campsites" available. Having been regular customers for several years, we got a pristine site complete with shade trees and a little privacy. By far, we got the best site available, far better than some of the others who parked amongst broken buildings and junk cars and other trash. We arrived on Wednesday in order to watch all the races - the truck, the Busch, and the final race of the Chase. Things were going great. Our motor home was equipped with all that we needed, and as my husband has a very successful internet business, he was able to stay on top of "things at the office" from his lap top. As usual, we met some old friends and made some new ones. We ate like bar-b-que kings as NASCAR fans are some of the best camp fire cooks in the world. Drinks generally started flowing around 8 AM (or whenever you woke up from the alcohol induced slumber) with the morning mimosas and bloody Mary's, and didn't stop until bed time with the final jello shot or tequila shooter. All the recipe for a perfect NASCAR long weekend. Our weekend attire consisted of jean cutoffs, skirts or shorts and tank tops or t shirts or just a bathing suit; a far cry from the stuffy business suits we normally have to wear when working our office jobs.
We watched the Truck Series race and saw Kevin Harvick win the Busch race on Friday night.
The night following a Busch race and before the Nextel night race is usually the best party night for NASCAR campers, and this year at Richmond was no exception. Shortly after we got up that morning, my husband approached me with the bad news, something clogged our toilets and we needed to use the porta-johns or we would have a very messy flood in the motor home. I took this in stride, and remembered seeing a secluded porta-john about a 5 minute walk from our site. This porta-john was off the beaten track and not overly used. First thing in the morning, I went to check it out. It was cleaner than most and didn't quite smell as bad as all the others which by Saturday night would probably be near overflow. While it wasn't clean, it definitely wasn't filthy like the others. It also had a couple of extra touches the others didn't have like a waterless hand cleaner dispenser, a stick-up air freshener which did little to hide the smell, and a battery operated push light. This one didn't make your wretch when you were 10 yards away as most of the others did. However, it was a porta-john and the stench was still evident once I got inside. After fighting off the gag reflex, I took care of my business while listening to Metallica blare from the camp grounds. Funny, I never listen to that stuff unless I am at a race, then I love it, though I couldn't imagine being in the camp site where the music was playing as it was plenty loud from where I sat.
I finished my business and headed back to the camp site. We drank and partied throughout the day and I made a few more trips to my porta-john. I could tell it was being used by others, but not nearly as much as the others. Following the race, we made our way back to the camp site where my husband quickly engaged in a game of Texas hold-em with some other campers. There was a mix of old friends and some new faces. One of them, Ricky had partied with us for several years. I never really cared for him much as he was always hitting on me and other women right in front of his wife and he basically treated his wife like shit.
I stood by and watched them play, enjoying their banter, but not understanding the game at all. The drinks were flowing heavily when one of the guys needed a break and said they should move the game to his trailer on the other side of the "campgrounds" as he had more liquor and a working bathroom there. They asked if I wanted to join them but I said no, it was already 1:30 AM, and I was tipsy and tired. I told my husband to go ahead and go, I would just run down the porta-john and then go to bed. They went off to go play and I grabbed my flashlight and headed back to the porta-john. I took a deep breath before entering and tried to hold it as I pee'd. However, my alcohol fueled bladder far outmatched my lung capacity and I soon had to breathe in the stench. Fighting back my urge to gag, I finished up and pulled up my panty and straightened my denim skirt. I went to un-latch the door and push it open, but the latch was jammed on something.
Thinking I had drunk too much to even be able to open a door , I giggled to myself as I tried again, taking my time as I listened to Master of Puppets blaring from beyond. I looked down at the latch in the fading light provided by the dying battery in the push lamp. Going step by step, I turned the lock to open, pushed down on the handle and pushed the door. Everything worked fine until the push open the door part; it wouldn't budge. This time I actually laughed, and as any good drunken person talked out loud to myself, "OK Krista, you can handle this, you're not that drunk!." I told myself" then laughed again. My laugh was quickly cut short as I heard another laugh from outside.
"Ok, you got your laugh . . .open the door now please!" I said thinking some drunk prankster was getting his kicks. I banged on the door again and said "Open the door PLEASE!" giggling a little at my situation. Hey I would have thought this to be hysterical if I were on the outside, so I could see some humor in it now. The laugh outside turned and went from amusing to a sinister one and the porta-john shook a bit, almost knocking me off balance.
"Come on . . .you've had your fun . . Open the damn door!" I pleaded. The porta-john shook again requiring me to put out both arms against the hard plastic sides to maintain my balance. This caused my flashlight to fall in the john making a sickening splash in the mix of piss, crap, vomit and who knows what. "STOP IT" I yelled as I heard and could see in the failing light of my flashlight the contents of the toilet sloshing beneath the seat coming close to over flowing on to the floor. I just heard more laughter, followed by a scratching sound from the side of the porta-john.
A shaft of bright light came in from the side and I saw a hole in the side through which whoever was outside was shining a bright flashlight. I leaned down to look through the hole only to be blinded by the light in my eye. "Please!" I said, "This has gone far enough. You've had your fun now let me out."
From outside beyond the shaft of light I heard "I have just started, and my fun hasn't yet begun!" The porta-john shook again this time some of the contents from below oozing over the top.
I screamed "STOP IT! PLEASE!"
From outside I heard "Sit down!"
I looked down and saw the mess had just oozed out of the top and under the seat. The seat itself was still dry. I slowly sat. The bright light shone through the hole and went over my body as I sat there shaking a bit. It shone on my orange tank top, and focused on the "20" which was curved over my 36c breasts. "Tony Stewart Huh?" I heard from outside. "I hate Tony Stewart! Take it off!"
"What?" I blurted, "are you fucking crazy?" The only answer I got was a hard shake of the porta-john which required me to brace myself against the sides to keep from falling off the seat. "OK, OK!" I yelled. The light shone on the "20" again as I reached down and started to pull off my top. It's just like a bikini top I told myself as I pulled the top over my head. It's ok.
"Much better!" I heard from outside as the light shone over my breasts now clad in just an orange scalloped lace push up bra. My dark nipples were pushing out at the bra in the chilled air and were otherwise partially visible through the lace top half of the bra.
The light played over my breasts for a few minutes as I sat there. "There, are you happy now? Open the door!" I said sternly.
"Lose the bra!" came the voice from outside. I shivered.
"Come on" I said, "this is enough, just open the fucking door!" The porta-john shook violently and I fell off the seat and on the floor. Some of the vile contents splashed on my arm and I screamed.
As the porta-john settled the light came back through the hole focused on my breasts. Calmly but, with authority the voice simply said "Lose the bra." Hands trembling, I reached up and undid the front clasp. I shrugged off the bra and covered my breasts with my arms even though I knew what was coming. "Drop your arms!" I hung my head as my arms fell to my sides then pushed my self back up and sat on the seat again. The light ran over my breasts focusing on my nipples which were fully stretched out in the chilled air. Grabbing some toilet paper, I wiped the vile mixture from below off my arm. Feeling like throwing up and crying, I sat there trembling on the seat, hoping this guy would just get his rocks off quick and leave me alone.
"Bring them over here" came the voice. It wasn't a command, but a statement, which I knew I couldn't deny unless I wanted the entire contents from below all over me. I turned to face the hole where the light was coming from and held my breasts in front of it.
"Bring them closer." I moved to within a couple of inches from the hole. I could feel the heat from the light on my left nipple as he shined the light on it. "Put it in the hole!" I slowly pressed my breast against the hole, The hole was about a 4 inch circle and about half of my breast fit through. The cold hard plastic scraped my breast a bit and I winced. The outside air was a bit colder than in the porta-john and my nipple stretched out further. I braced myself not knowing what was going to happen next.
My nipple was rubbed, and then pinched between his fingers. As hard as it was in the chilled air, I shivered as it was rolled between his fingers. My nipples are very sensitive to begin with. When my husband and I have sex, he usually plays with them for a while which gets me very wet and very ready for sex. The tightness of them just intensified their sensitivity. He continued to roll and pinch my nipple then I felt his tongue flick over it. A shiver went through my body as his tongue and fingers worked it. I thought to myself Krista! There's no way in hell you are getting turned on by this. A man you don't know is humiliating you! You can't be getting turned on by this! Can You? His tongue rolled and flicked over my nipple while he pinched it. I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud as he lightly bit it. Knowing he couldn't see inside with my nipple in the hole, I slid a hand up my thigh and over the satin of my panty. I could feel the warmth from within, and it felt a little damp. You can't be wet from this! I slipped a finger under my panty and immediately felt the wetness of my pussy. I let my finger slide along my lips and tickle my clit as he continued to lick, flick, and pinch my nipple. He sucked my nipple in his mouth hard as my finger pressed inside of my pussy. I bit my lip harder to keep the moan inside. Then he released my nipple from his mouth. With my finger still sliding in me, I waited for what was next, wanting him to go back to my nipple.
