Tent

Literotic asexstories – Tent by safeinherwomb,safeinherwomb All characters in sexual situations are fictional and 18 years of age and older.

“Hmmph… Hmmph… Ugh… Ugh… Ugh…. Oh… Oh… Oh………Ahhh……”

Some couple next door are rutting – grunting, squeaking their air mattress, rustling their tent – and it’s really distracting you.

You’re trying to sleep, but this intense copulation has you all sticky, as if preparing you for the same intense breeding – which is awkward, because you’re sharing a tent with your dad.

You reach a hand down to address your fragrant, swollen sex, and just hope he doesn’t wake up. You bring yourself towards completion quickly, and (you hope) quietly, only letting out little squeaks as you imagine being stuffed in the same way, having some man force his love into you, hold you down and grind his lust into your flesh, flood his commitment into your womb.

You reach your peak, stickier than ever, your own scent reaching your nostrils, but (you can only hope) not his – and you tense and squirm a little, trying to keep yourself under control, as your mouth opens involuntary imagining a man knocking you up with a belly full of his shiny, happy babies. You’ve been having more such fantasies of late. Your womb feels fertile but empty, and your whole soul feels like it lacks the weight and purpose carrying someone’s child for them would provide. You’d hug them, even in your belly – cradle that precious gift, carry around that enormous reward, that sign that someone found you beautiful, and trusted you with their bountiful blessing and bearing their family line. You want someone to choose you, and breed you, even bending you over impromptu and deciding then and there that you’d earnt a womb full off their warm and potent seed.

You drift off, one hand still in your sodden panties, the other having moved some of that stickiness to your nipples, which are fully at attention and equally ready for a baby to give them purpose and fulfillment. You imagine a warm mouth clamping on each, suckling you gently, bringing a rise in your heat again as you hope for a man who can give you his kids to grow and raise. As you fall into slumber, you remember where you are, and that your strong hairy father is only a few feet away, on the same air mattress even, only separated from your fertile body by the two zips of your sleeping bags, the flimsy cotton of your panties and his boxers, and any qualms in his head.

You wake, to the sound of birds chirping, earlier than you normally would. Your hand and juices have now dried to a crust, and you need a pee, so you sneak outside trying not to wake your father. As you unzip the tent, you see a streak of bare skin, as the girl from the tent next door, who had so much more fun and fulfillment than you last night, scurry across from her tent towards the bathroom too – but she’s completely nude, and her figure is revealed to all. She cups a hand over her cunt as she rushes through the brisk air, and you follow out of curiosity and jealousy, deciding not to grab any clothes either, apart from the now-stiff double triangle brushing your own sex.

You reach the bathroom just after her, and see her in an open stall, of which she didn’t close the door. Her bare cunt is leaking excess cum, from her mystery man no doubt, and the white chunky torrent has you envious again. “Save some for me”, you want to say. “You’re pretty, and I’m glad someone breeds you, but I want the same.” almost reading your thoughts, she looks up from staring at her overfull canal and sees you, “It’s a lot, huh?” She beams. “I don’t know where he thinks I’m gonna put it. It dribbles down both our legs when he stays inside me after, or just mine if he pulls out, leaving all my insides at bursting point [she laughs], having taken in more than they could ever use. I feel so full, and so proud, that he loves me so much that I get him so worked up to churn up all this and flow it all into just me – but we do have to wash the air mattress with a hose each day [she laughs again].”

God, this gets you hot and bothered, having someone in front of you who has satisfied all your life goals, who has a masculine man (by his grunts, and his copious cum) pump her full like a fuel tank every night, to the point of overflowing into their shared bed and into the local water supply. So much she can throw it away, that stuff you want more than any other.

“Yeah, he does me good, I guess you heard – I saw your breasts poke out of that tent next door and you following me. What about yours – is this a relief to be finally out in the open, amongst like minded people, able to make love in the moonlight without worrying about anyone finding out?”

You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure what she means. “I don’t… I don’t have a boyfriend.” you confess, to this stranger.

“Ah, that makes it even easier then [she laughs once more]. No nosy young guy getting jealous. Now, if only moms weren’t in the picture, we could do it on the kitchen table, am I right? Though I do, actually, I’ll tell you that now – and that leaking has risked staining her nice oak surface, but I guess she can’t complain too much, as she took in the same thing all those years ago. Her being a cum slut like myself is why I’m here at all, under my hunk of a man, getting filled up every night – just like she used to be – when she’s not there to listen or catch us, even though I think she’d secretly enjoy knowing and watching, as her little girl is filled to the brim with the cum she so loved.”

You wish you had her boyfriend, he sounds great. You want to be treated like the slut you are too, plowed over the kitchen counter, inseminated in the garden for all to admire, taken roughly in a changing room to show you don’t need new clothes to get him going, your breasts pressed up against the mirror as he impales you and impregnates you, not caring who hears or has to clean up your joint juices, you feeling like the luckiest and fullest girl in the world.

You snap back, but have forgotten the thread of conversation, so awkwardly leave. You clamber back into bed, scrape off your now-cardboard panties, and drift off again to hot dreams.

When you wake, you notice something different, and freeze as you try to process it. Your sleeping bag has ridden down, as it did slightly before, but even more so now – maybe due to your increased internal heat after that girl dribbled from her cute cunt the excess of her man’s cum in front of you. But that’s not what you notice first. Your dad’s hand has wrapped itself around one of your bare breasts, as he spoons you from behind through both bags. As you breathe, quickly, shallowly, you feel your perky nipple brush against his palm. Your Dad hardly hugs you, and now here he is, claiming you as his own.

You suspect he doesn’t know it, and it’s just subconscious – maybe he thinks you’re mom. But still you leave it a beat, stirring in the sensation, wondering how you feel. Your needy chasm is in no doubt what it wants – it has swollen along with your nipples, and is telling you that it’s ready to receive. It’s soaking wet – your thighs are flooded with your readiness to be bred, which luckily he can’t feel through the plasticky sleeping bag – but he may be able to pick up your rich pheremonal scent.

“Take me”, your body is saying, and you involuntarily grind against where your wetness imagines his raging hard-on should be, moving into him, fruitlessly you think – until you feel it, he is hard, your bottom touches something stiff and unmistakable. Your daddy is riled up by the womanly flesh he’s gotten hold of, and who has herself pressed against him – even if only in his sleep – though you have no such excuse.

Still you grind a little, moving in circles, liking having this effect on a big attractive man – attractive? – you catch yourself – yes, he’s always been there for you, always provided for you, your own personal superhero to protect you from all hurt. Even if he doesn’t show it enough, you know he loves you, and his body becoming aroused shows another response too. You are a woman, he is a man, and he – at least subconsciously – finds you breedable, his sperm being mobilised for your hungry hole alone, his whole being wanting to take you as much as (you realise) you want to be taken. You’re enjoying this confidence boost, feeling sexier than ever, having undeniable proof that you can bring a man to the point of putting his babies in you. You love the power you have over his slumbering self, but also hotly shiver at the thought of taking him in, allowing the beast access to your cave, letting what is clearly quite large poke is head into your slipperiness, letting him fill you up with both cock and cum as a tribute to – and final proof of – your validity as a breedable woman, leaking out for the world to see.

You quietly decide just to test at least part of this theory, and without wanting to wake him up, start to slowly unzip first your sleeping bag then his. You open them up like presents, staring at your two pale bodies in the very pale light, you dad’s boxers constraining his monster cock, by what you can see now. You gingerly reach down and scoop some of your juices, before moving them gently across to his animal, very carefully undoing the button on its cage, before delicately coating just the head in your fragrant fluid, wondering whether he can feel your wetness in his sleep, or whether the smell or chemical signals he absorbs through his glans will give away that this is daughter – his own flesh and blood – and that your most intimate nectar is now mixing with his precum, your wetness is now marking his cock, as if he had already done the deed and taken you himself, as if he was resting after plunging your depths, proof to any jury that he had impaled his beautiful daughter, that your shared wetness proved his lust had overcome him, and that he’d gone where no father should, driven by his need for your hot cunt and womanly form.

“Ummm…” he moans lightly, presumably in his sleep, but still you freeze.

After a few moments’ suspended breath, you assume he is probably still sleeping, and very slowly and subtly (you hope) continue your little experiment. This time you brush your finger along his length, swipe up his precum (and some of your own juices, not absorbed by his head, and bring them towards your own hot and ready sex. You tilt your hips so you can watch your slit, and sink your finger straight in, needing no warming up when you’re already so aroused. You try to push down on the backside of your finger to not lose any of daddy’s precum from the front, and it all goes in, the small amount of sperm which precum contains going with it.

You feel you’ve broken a barrier, in your head at least, and now picture his brave little swimmers trying to swim against the tide, on their journey upstream to where they belong. You’re so hot now, as you imagine your cunt walks coaxing, helping them in their quest. Your single egg lies waiting, after making is own journey, and you wonder now whether they’ll meet. To fuse, to divide, to create life – to swell your belly, to make you proud, to make your dad (you hope) as proud as you’ve been of him your whole life. If you can carry his babies, you’d be paying him back – you’d be doing some work, to ensure his succession, to try to make up for all the work he’d done for you. You want to bear the weight he’s held, and bear his children too, the man of your dreams for as long as you can remember. You want him to stay with you, and hold you, and keep you safe as long as you can produce for him – you want to grow old with him, nurse him, nurse his offspring, nurse both from your breasts as a final way of giving back all you have to this man who’s given you all he is.

“Well, not quite everything yet…” you muse. Incredibly slowly, you turn your backside to him again, inching it towards his purple goliath once more – you just want to feel the tip, what it’s like, and it will slip in so easily to your greased depths that he may not even know the difference. You tilt your hips back, and reach your hand down, gently guiding him towards his target, your bullseye, your warm socket of bliss, which you hope he has already long since claimed in his dreams.

“Oh…” you slip out without meaning to, as his hot head makes contact, just at the entrance to your secret place.

The only thing separating him now from your cervix is how far apart you still are, as you know he’d glide in without effort if you moved back at all.

You stop to consider the situation, how far you’ve come, how hot this is, but also how much you’ve surprised yourself. Was this really your aim, all along, deep down? And why was that girl naked, and who was she really talking about?

Flashes come back to you… Father’s day… Naturist camp… you’d meant to drive further, but got too tired, and had this place in your head as ‘on route’ – daddy putting in the long shift as usual, and you floundering, hardly even managing a short time on the stick, pulling in here instead, popping up and pumping erect the one small tent and mattress they’d had left, grateful for even that as you had nothing but your sweaty clothes, planned for your chalet (with machine) further south.

It was late, and dark, and you’d peeled off your now clinging and translucent sundress, before working off your dad’s top and bottoms in the midnight heat, hoping he wasn’t conscious enough to see his daughter stripping him in her panties with her breasts free to the air. You’d slid him into his sack, and yourself into yours, holding onto an image of the man behind you for a while, not having seen him in his underwear for as long as you could remember, which (though it shouldn’t be) was different to seeing him at a pool. You passed out sensually, to sticky dreams you couldn’t control, and didn’t know if you wanted to if you could – your fingertips dancing lightly, just touching your lips and clit, reminding yourself they were there – through the thin fabric keeping them locked away.

“So that’s what’s happening here” you come to realise. It’s a naturist camp… of course.

Even as you think this, your daddy shifts a little, poking a few millimetres further up inside you – yes, now inside, you think to yourself, there’s no denying it. You still don’t know whether he is asleep, but think he must be, as his breathing and the seemingly random movement seem to indicate. Still, you’ve begun to be impaled on him, there’s no turning back now, and you move ever so slowly back to meet him. Tiniest fraction of an inch at a time, but God it’s good, his large head splitting you but your slippery mess well lubed and starving for further intrusion. It’s almost suckling him in now, pulling by itself, as you shift along the mattress as it wallows under you, keeping it controlled with your arms as your hole swallows more of his hardness. You wonder how it feels for him, which beautiful girl’s treasure chest he’s dreaming off plundering, who he’s sinking into in his head. Must be someone nice, you think, because you feel him move again, this time more purposefully.

“Urhh…” he reverberates, as he sinks fully into your cunt.

You are shocked at his size, you really can’t move, he has you stuck like a suckler on a spit. Your insides try to recalibrate, even as they both throb and pulse around this welcome invader. Your muscles contract in waves, trying to milk what he has to give into your deepest core, as his soft head rests against your cervix, his delivery point perfectly aligned with the entrance to your womb. If his body doesn’t want to give you his babies, it’s doing a damned good job of pretending otherwise – and if yours isn’t ready to receive a womb full of miniature hims, it (in its heat, and sweat, and wetness) is doing a damned good job of convincing him otherwise too. Two animals in heat, now conjoined at the hip, as close as man and woman ever get – his body so ready to leave a permanent testament to your union by planting the seed of your, his own daughter’s, pregnancy. You want this too, you don’t really know why – he’s a good man, but a man too, and that animal part of you smells his lust and feels his strength and gives him access to your reproductive parts to carry forth those strong genes. You want your daddy’s descendants, while also being excited to meet your new brother or sister.

In one still-perhaps-sleeping move, your beloved father issues both a primal “Aarh…”, and a torrent of baby-making batter floods toward the tiny contracted entrance to your womb.

Your own deep orgasm is triggered, at the very same moment, dilating this cervical entrance to take in all he has to give – to no other man are you open, just him, just right now as he has you held fast – by his hand still gripping your breast – and your body still wrapped around his almighty shaft. His hundreds of thousands of tiny soldiers start their march, to pillage your insides, to leave you marked as his, everywhere you go, for all to see as you wrap your arms around his future child.

What the nude girl said floats back to you… “like minded people”, “anyone finding out”, “the cum she so loved.”

Was that her… F…? No. But maybe. Then you think back again – Father’s Day Special – on the website…

You look back, your big strong daddy is asleep. Was he the whole time? You can’t be sure. All you know is the next nine months will be a rollercoaster, but one you’ve wanted for so long. Will you even tell him? Or just swell up slowly, and lay the blame on someone “he doesn’t know”, then let him help you anyway – step into the role as ‘substitute’ father, give a strong relieving suckle to your teats when you tell him they need unblocking, and that “no one else can help” – coming to all the doctor’s appointments, holding your hand and staring at your splayed labia, as you push his progeny from your womb?

You decide.