Stanley Steamer Ch. 06: Mari & Frieda

"Are you saying my tits are too small and I talk too much?" Tina's voice was ominous.

Beto slapped his own face. "I misspoke. That's three outa four." He leered again.

"I'll tell your papa on you," Tina warned. "Then you'll be back renting jet-skis to tourists."

"If you were as quiet as Tilly you would be just perfect."

"Tourists crap all over those toys, right? You'll get to wipe them off again."

"I rest my case." Beto clasped his hands. "Anything else, folks?"

"Better bring bags of tortilla chips with the sodas," Stan said. "Where's that table?"

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Tina's mini-laptop was even smaller and pricier than Stan's. Both caught the office WiFi and accessed databases. Maps were marked and re-marked. Routes were re-routed. Jorge and Allaire pointed out unseen details. They skipped the tortilla chips. I should have, too.

"Are you sure about this?" Stan asked. He pointed to map marks. "These are awful close to the tribal boundary and that's federal wilderness on the other side. They don't like sites like that intruded on." Stan knew something about feds.

"We have been there," Allaire insisted. "With a GPS device. We are sure of the plotting. That is reservation land. The tribe explicitly wants us to go there. We shall go there and disturb nothing." She did not need to cross her arms.

"There's still time before we leave," Stan said. "Hey Beto, where's the taco truck?"

"It just left. We've got some cheese sticks in the cooler. You want any?"

Jorge, Allaire, Tina, and I all shook our heads NO!

"Just a couple, then," Stan said. "Don't worry, I won't feed the horses."

=====

Tina and I found a quiet office with soft chairs to doze in until departure time neared. Then, all documents and devices were secured. The Gunthers chivvied their horses into the trailer behind their big pickup. Our convoy rolled the miles to pavement's end at a gravel parking lot with a horse gate leading to the vast desert beyond, and stark mountains not so far off. The sun was not yet low.

The Gunthers on their mounts, trailing their spares, led our backcountry convoy. They traveled light; other than saddlebags, their personal gear was in duffels in Tilly's bed. Tilly followed nearly silently. The horses seemed unbothered by their tall, quiet follower.

We reached the first destination well before deadline. Frieda set up her camera gear, the tripods and reflectors and every necessary piece. I helped her and dictated notes and data. Jorge watered and tended their horses. Allaire oversaw Frieda and me with severe eyes. Stan read maps.

The magic hour of light ended. We packed up. The Gunthers led us to tomorrow's dawn site. Camp setup meant unfolding the table and chairs and serving a hasty dinner after erecting two of our three tents. Stan had an extra for the Gunthers but they would rather sleep out under the stars. Their fuckings were noisy. Tina and I grunted more quietly. Stan slept alone and did not snore much.

The pre-dawn wakeup. The hasty breakfast. The magic hour photography. The horse-tending. The camp tear-down. The slow march to a daytime shoot site, some exposures, and then on to the next dusk's shoot nearby. Rebuild camp and crawl in for a nap or whatever. The Gunthers accepted a tent as a sunshade this time. They still fucked loud but did not frighten the horses.

Tina and I talked. We decided. We invited Stan into our tent that naptime. We could fuck loud too although Tina and I tried to muffle our shouts and Stan did not roar much.

The same that night and the next day except to camp near a spring to replenish water. (This gave us opportunity for misty showers. The Gunthers semi-politely sneered at our softness and merely sponged their very fit middle-aged bodies.) Then repeat a dry-camp run the next day, and the next, then to that spring or the other one. Now do it all again.

We appreciated those stops at springs. Our naptime lovemaking after a shower was sweet. Tina and Stan lay between my clean thighs and licked my pussy oh so nicely. Then Tina swung a leg over my head and gave me her sweet pussy to kiss while Stan mounted me, fucked deep into me, and kissed and fondled Tina while his pace increased. Tina and I came but Stan did not. So next, after Tina sucked my cunt clean, Stan was on his back. I rode his tongue. Tina rode his cock. We bounced and kissed. She slurped my tits. I pinched Stan's nipples. He bucked and came hotly into trembling Tina. His roar was muffled by my muff.

We fell apart, kissed, and whispered. But I always slept embracing my partner Tina. Was Stan our fuck-toy as well as chauffeur? You can decide.

The camp-and-shoot pattern broke a few days later when monsoon weather blew in from the Gulf of Mexico. Stan climbed down from Tilly's cab before morning camp breakup. He looked worried.

"This weather pattern wasn't supposed to arrive for a few days, after we're done here," he told us all. "The forecast is for heavy thunderstorms before long, depending on upper-level winds. I've set Tilly's smart weather radio for emergency bulletins for the Havasu area. We could have flash floods at any time."

Allaire scoffed. "We have seen desert storms. We know how to deal with it."

"Whether you and your horses survive is your affair," Stan replied. "Whether the ladies and I survive is my concern. Tina, Frieda" - he looked at us - "if you hear a horn blasting, drop what you're doing and run to Tilly. I'll make sure we reach high ground. Jorge, Allaire" - he looked at the Uruguayans - "I'll signal a warning when I see fit. How you respond is up to you." Stan could be as stiff as the Gunthers.

I took the warning to heart. For the next shoots, I put wide zooms on the Pentax 35mm and 645 cameras and only carried a belly-pack of films and filters, one light tripod, and a roll-up reflector for Tina to hold when needed. All my other gear stayed in Tilly's cargo holds. I had trained to shoot simple but accurate under stress, and to run when needed. Our school expeditions had sometimes crossed into Zapatista rebel territory. We all made it out alive.

The late morning shoot, sun overhead, was in another slot canyon, not far in, thankfully. Stan was skittish about the location He brought Tilly as close as possible and stayed in her cab to monitor radio reports. When Tina and I left for the site, I saw Stan mounting his little satellite dish atop Tilly's cab. Maybe he would see something in orbital imagery.

I finished that shoot as soon as possible. I saw dark clouds on the southeast horizon. How long until they got here? Our expedition stopped at a spring to water horses, replenish Tilly's barrels via her pump and siphon, and for we Norteamericanos' fast, unsexy showers.

Stan parked Tilly on a flat ridge above our dusk destination. We popped no tents for the afternoon nap. Stan, Tina, and I dozed on pads under Tilly's high bed. The Gunthers took their horses to a green patch down the ridge and did whatever they did there. I did not hear any loud fuckings.

After naptime, Stan drove Tilly closer to the site, up the walls of a dry barranca.

"Stay alert," he warned.

I shot primitive. Basic cameras and zooms, few filters, no reflector - not needed, as high leading clouds softened the sunlight. I barely noticed lighting in the distance. Tina and I heard no thunder so I kept shooting; this site was very rich in details and the "magic hour" seemed to extend.

I had just finished shooting, folded the tripod, packed my exposed film, and was dictating notes into Tina's recorder, when we heard a horn blast. And blast. And blast. And then we heard thunder. Tina and I glanced up together and then ran down the barranca's slope.

Tilly's horn blasted; lights flashed from all sides; she was a great beacon. Nothing of camp gear was around her. She was ready to roll. So were we. Tina pushed me up into Tilly with my belly-bag and strapped cameras on me, and then climbed in, with my tripod. Whew.

"The Gunthers?" Tina yelled. Tilly's horn continued blasting as we climbed to that ridge top.

"If they took me serious, they're doing what's needed right now," Stan yelled back. "If not, well..." He shrugged.

I smelled rain on the wind. Then I heard thunder. Then a lightning flash, and thunder right after. Damn, that was close! Stan drove further up the ridge, next to a towering boulder. I sure hoped any lightning hit that and not us.

I knelt on Tilly's front seat, my ass right in Stan and Tina's faces. I wrapped a blanket around my cameras and bag and tucked that into a corner on the back floor. I hoped that would stay stable if we dashed off.

Stan had parked Tilly fairly level below the boulder with a view down the ridge. Her horn still blasted. Then Stan shut that off. Above the increasing wind noise we heard and saw the Gunthers riding bareback on two horses, leading the others on long lines.

"I hope this is no clever trick," Allaire shouted angrily. "We left the saddles and tack when we heard your horn. This is not funny-"

She was interrupted by a close thunderbolt and a sudden rain blast that almost swept her from her unsaddled mount. Jorge rode beside Stan's window.

"Will you move from here?"

"No, this looks a safe as we can be. We'll stay here. Tie your horses to Tilly and climb in here with us."

"No, not inside," Allaire yelled over the storm's rising noise. "We must be with the horses."

The Gunthers tied their horses but stayed beside them during the thunderous downpour, stroking their necks, talking to them, closely watching their wildly flashing eyes and frightened whinnies.

These guys are crazy-brave, I thought. Rain ran off the horses' skin and tails but their clothed humans were totally drenched.

Then came the loud rumble. A wall of wind blasted down the barranca's steep walls, carrying dust and litter. The rumbling increased. And then came the two-man-high wall of water carrying rocks and woody debris from upslope. The barranca floor and all below our ridge seemed scrubbed clean. I understood why our site was so far up the wall; it had survived many such events.

Faster than the storm cell came upon us, it moved on. The downpour stopped - here, anyway. I saw savage clouds beating against peaks further along the range and into the barrancas and canyons below. I hoped boaters on Lake Havasu had been warned.

The storm was led by a cold front. Rain and lightning had stopped here but the wind was cold. And the Gunthers were draped in soggy horseback clothes. They shivered even as their breaths and the horses' exhalations formed steamy clouds.

Wind chill and hypothermia, I thought. I had seen this on school trips. Lowlanders did not understand weather on the altiplano. Get wet at elevation and let a cold wind hit you. Or even bicycle hard in wet cotton clothes in a cold wind. Hope medical help is not far.

"They're in bad trouble if they stay wet out there," I said.

"Yup," Stan agreed.

I climbed over Tina and down to the ground. I ran to the drenched couple. I grabbed a soggy arm of each.

"The horses are safe now," I said sternly. "You two are not. You must get dry and warm NOW or you will be very sick. Do you understand?"

Allaire started to protest and pull away from my grip. Jorge took her other arm.

"She is right, mi corazon. We are in danger. But what..."

Tina ran to us carrying towels and blankets. I pulled the Gunthers' arms again.

"Off with your clothes. NOW! We will dry and warm you."

Allaire hesitated but Jorge did not delay. He pulled his wife to sit beside him on the ground to remove boots and socks, then riding jeans and underwear. Tina and I helped them back upright where their remaining clothes were pulled off. We toweled their fit, taut, shivering naked bodies, toes to heads, with extra care to dry their hair as much as possible. Then we wrapped two blankets around each. They were covered neck to ankles.

Stan was busy beside Tilly. He popped a bigger tent and attached a flexible duct to a fitting on her chassis. Tilly would pump hot air directly into the tent! He unrolled the pad on the tent floor and threw in our opened sleeping bags.

Tina and I led the stumbling couple across bare rock to the tent. She pushed them inside.

"Get in there. No arguments. You need good body heat soonest. You guys know the drill, right?" She looked at Stan and me. "For fast warming, it's nude full-body contact. C'mon, let's do it. Keep these people alive a little longer." She was already out of her clothes except socks that did not stink too much. "No delays," she ordered, and crawled into the tent.

Stan and I followed suit a little more slowly. I crawled in next. I saw that Tina had unwrapped the blanket-clad Gunthers, now on their backs. She had spread the blankets over the pad, and zipped-together the sleeping bags as covers. Damn, she was fast. She sat on the far side of the tent beside Jorge.

"Get in between them," she told me. "We'll sandwich them."

I sat between Jorge and Allaire on the other. Stan came in and zipped the tent door shut.

"Okay, time for Operation Hot Sandwich Spoon," Tina announced. "That means we spoon together to sandwich the survivors. Make sure the covers are over us. Stan, that hot air from Tilly feels great!"

Tina spooned into Jorge's cold back. He coldly spooned into my butt as I spooned into icy Allaire. Stan rolled around and faced Allaire. "Better heating this way," he said. He held her tight against him. We all held tight. Jorge held my waist, not my boobs, We stayed that way.

The heated tent became almost steamy. Stan reached to the vent, pushed something, and the hot air stopped. We still held tight. I felt the bodies sandwiching me warming. The only sound was our breathing. And then quiet crying. From Allaire.

"Oh I am so sorry, so sorry. I have been so harsh to you and yet you saved our lives. I have been such a bitch. You are all so careful at the sites. Then you offer us shelter when we have nothing to give in return. And Mister Stanley has been so solid. Ohhh..." She softly sobbed.

Jorge reached over me to rub his wife's naked shoulder.

"My dear, my Allaire, we are alive, we are safe. We should be happy, not sad."

"But what I have done... We are indebted. We owe these people our lives. We owe Mister Stanley our lives. Ohhhh..."

We all heard her kiss him. I felt her body shift into his, which lined her warming butt into my groin. I moved. Jorge moved slightly, and Tina behind him. All our bodies warmed.

Allaire shifted again. Her arms moved from Stan's torso to lower, between their bodies. I think her hands had warmed enough to hold his cock.

"Mister Stanley, Mister Stanley," she whispered between kisses.

She shifted again, out of my spooning, onto her back with her legs open and Stan upon her.

"Oh Jorge, forgive me, please forgive me, but I must, I must..."

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear. No wrong is done."

"Oh Jorge. Oh Stanley. Oh. Oh ohhhh..."

I felt her hands move to guide Stan's cock into her. I felt her deep sigh as he entered her. I felt them fucking beside me. Tina and Jorge, looking over shoulders, watched the fucking beside me. Jorge's hands moved from my belly to my boobs. I did not stop him. I felt Tina's hands move to his cock and push it away from my ass. I was grateful.

I remembered Stan's philosophy. Never refuse the offer of a fuck. That worked for him.

The covers had slipped off them. We all saw and heard their fucking. Stan was not kind. He fucked hard. He was intent - on receiving payment? On revenge? On returning her ill-will through his cock? He fucked harder not kissing her mouth or breasts, only fucking, fucking, until she bit his neck and he grunted his climax inside her. It sounded like a long, satisfying flow. I was jealous.

She pushed him off her. "Give me something to wipe myself." I found a towel for her. I felt her wipe her pussy. "But for you, no," she told Stan. "I do that myself." She twisted around and took his sloppy cock into her mouth. Tina and Jorge and I watched her lick him clean.

She wriggled again, facing me, but she looked over my shoulder into her husband's eyes.

"You must taste the man who has saved us."

She kissed him wide-mouthed. She delivered Stan's cum to his tongue. He accepted.

She wriggled again. Now her face was in mine. Her hands held Jorge's on my boobs.

"And you girls. I owe you so much also. And I have nothing to give but myself. Will you accept me?" She kissed my throat. Her hands moved down to my pussy. She massaged. "May I... oh but I must. I must! It is only right!"

She pushed us into a position, with Jorge still handling my boobs and her face between my thighs. Her head, blonder than mine and real, nuzzled my brushy muff. She kissed my groin. Stan kissed my face. My philosophy rarely refused kisses and licks, either.

Her hands stroked my legs. Her mouth stroked my pussy. Her tongue, and Stanley's tongue, and Jorge's hands, and my high adrenaline levels anyway, all worked together. I came, wet and strong, my yell drowned in Stan's mouth.

Allaire's tongue delved into me, gathered all my juices, emptied me. She pushed back from me, slid up me again, and over my shoulder again, to Jorge's face.

"You must taste this woman who has done so much for us." She smeared my secretions on her face. I doubt he had any objections.

She pushed him aside and crawled between Tina's legs. She did not object either.

"And this Indian girl who gave us this chance, and was so patient. I am so sorry, girl."

Allaire expressed her sorrow with her tongue in Tina's snatch. Jorge started sucking Tina's near boob until I pushed him over to her far side and took her for myself. Allaire's hands stroked my legs. I did not mind. She stroked Tina's legs. I doubt if she minded.

No cock or tit or pussy blocked Tina's mouth to stifle her scream. I heard the horses rustle uneasily. Do not frighten the livestock! That was a basic rule.

Stan unzipped the tent door. We were warm enough. I think the Gunthers' hypothermia problem had been solved.

Allaire moved her face from Tina's lower lips to her husband's facial lips. "Taste her," she ordered. He complied again. He was a bit more hesitant at her next order.

"I have paid my price. Now it is your turn."

So Jorge orally satisfied Stan and Tina and me. Allaire sucked his cock while he blew Stan, for motivation, I think. She also sucked him while he ate Tina and me to loud orgasms. I think she liked sucking his cock. She sucked Stan's cock again too, just to be thorough.

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This storm blew by. Weather forecasts warned of more monsoon action in a few days. We would be finished and gone by then.

Our next camp-and-shoot sessions were more relaxed. The Gunthers' saddles and most horse tack had washed away in the flash flood so they carefully rode bareback like Indians. Sometimes they rode nude. That must feel good. They guided us to our sites, tended their horses, and then joined us for misty showers.

Naptimes became more free-form. We rotated with a woman on her back, Stan and Jorge at either end before they switched, and the other women sucking tits and fondling and otherwise being friendly. Good group dynamics there. But both Gunthers thought they owed us oral sex. They teamed up on us. Some naptimes saw both their faces between our thighs, both tongues licking at Stan's cock, or my or Tina's pussy. That is hard to refuse.

The expedition's last day returned us to the Gunther pickup and horse trailer in that end-of-pavement parking lot. Their stuff was safe. Because there were no white men around to steal it, the Indians would say.

We said our goodbyes. The Gunthers would go to one tribal office to file a claim for their tack lost to natural event while doing tribal work. Stan, Tina, and I would check in with Beto and then restock for our return. The Cahuillas wanted more coverage of their northern Mohave area, so we would drive trails looping to those sites.