Bound for Camping Fun Ch. 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

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I perched peacefully on the top of a picnic table, my sneakered feet resting on the fixed seat. It was a bright and quiet morning in our camp ground, the morning sun not long up, with no movement and a fleeting soft breeze.

Across the way, my tent mate made her appearance and came my way. She plopped a cold bottle in my hand: "Sorry, no hot coffee for us. But are you still a happy camper?"

I smiled at her lame joke. Taffy and I had met very recently and had hit it off. We were compatible souls. She was a little shorter, and a bit heavier than me, sporting wonderfully feminine curves. A blonde, she had taken time this morning with her makeup. I had risen earlier but still felt grimy with sleep.

We were dressed similarly this morning: trainers, bare legs, shorts (hers in denim, mine khaki). We wore flannel type shirts over T-shirts, hers more tightly fitting. I sipped my drink and began to think about getting more properly attired for the day.

"Good morning!" A male voice, and we swiveled to see a man in the doorway of a huge RV camper about 30 meters away. "Good morning, ladies. It looks like a beautiful day."

We agreed, gave a vague wave, and went back to our drinks and private conversation. Taffy lamented again how lonely she had been since her recent break-up. We were camping this weekend in part as a restart for her, a recharge for returning to our citified lives and starting the dating scene again.

A few moments later, our camper friend reappeared. "Do you gals know the area?" he asked. We talked back and forth about some sights worth taking in. He did step out of the RV but kept a respectful distance.

"Hey, would you ladies know what to do with a couple of eggs?" he asked. "I'm all thumbs in the kitchen."

"I think it's called a galley, like on a ship or a plane, right?" Taffy teased him. "You have all that technology and you can't cook?"

"I can, but I'll likely muck it up. Big mess, bad taste, that's me," he laughed. "But if you are a fair hand with a skillet, there's plenty here. I think I've got 2 dozen eggs? Why not come in for breakfast?"

I immediately was guarded but Taffy sailed right on: "Oh I'm a terrific cook, and omelets are one of my specialties." I hissed at her, but she was dismissive. She told me, "I'll go over and see what it's about, then you can come over for a hot meal." She sashayed across the little road and extended her hand. He introduced himself as Rob. Or was it Ron?

She disappeared up the little steps of the big camper, followed by her new host. I sat at the table listening carefully from my distance. I soon became involved in my cold drink and working games on my phone. Poor cellular coverage out here, but who was I going to call on a Saturday morning?

After a time, R. made another overture: "Your friend has the eggs under control and there are plenty for all of us. She asked if you can come across and drop the toast for her?"

Truth to tell, I was hungry. And that hard tabletop wasn't doing much for my backside.

What the hell, live a little, I thought. I sauntered across the lane and followed him up into the big white camper.

Afterwards, in reconstructing it, I must have heard the noises. But I recall my eyes searching around the trim miniaturized cabin: the windows, a little couch, narrow doors, the kitchen cabinets, then dropping to the little dining booth:

Taffy sat across the table, her eyes as large as saucers. And across her mouth, a huge red ball gag.

Then I was pushed face first toward her, across the face of the table, and bent over at the waist. There were 2 sets of hands on me: one trapping my wrists and applying wind after wind of plastic tape around them. The other violater was at my head, roughly shoving a rubber ball between my teeth and hauling leather straps tightly across my cheeks and the back of my head. I pulled and resisted as best I could, but I was a victim to the element of surprise.

They dropped me on the couch across the narrow aisleway, then stood over us both, catching their breath. I struggled for relief, frustrated. I was thoroughly tied and gagged.

"No problem," one said. "Blondie was a tougher catch."

Taffy glared at him. Now I could see her wrists behind her, wrapped in black tape, and her ankles and knees under the table taped as tightly as my wrists were.

"I'll check their tent. Finish with the princess, ya?" And now Ron/Rob was gone.

The dark-haired man snatched up my legs and held them tight as he made quick work taping my ankles. He used the same black plastic electrical tape and secured my knees.

"You can pull on this all-day sweetheart, you aren't going anywhere. This isn't our first time." Taffy and I were both squealing loudly behind our gags, hoping some camper would hear us. "Just shut up, you two. You think we didn't scout this out beforehand? We've got you good, and you've got no chance. Don't give me a headache."

He stood menacingly over us. He explained that we were some 8 hours away from a remote mining colony. The men there worked hard, but the area was so inaccessible that it was difficult for the miners to keep a wife. These men were anxious for female companionship, and they were willing to pay for it. As if to punctuate his point, he squeezed Taffy's breast roughly; she pulled away in horror.

The blond man returned, our purses in one hand and an overnight bag in the other. Clothes were hanging out, as if hurriedly packed. They found our wallets and snickered at our names: Taffy and Candy. I pulled helplessly at my plastic bonds, wondering what kind of horror I had awakened to?

Our friend from the doorway said he had put our possessions in the car and pulled up our tent. The dark-haired man directed him to drive the car to the secluded area they discussed previously, and to cover our car with the branches they had cut earlier. They speculated it would be weeks before anyone found it. Taffy wailed aloud at this news.

We learned they were Rod and Dirk. The latter was the rougher of the two. As Rod was away attending to the car, Dirk revealed a folding knife and waved the blade menacingly at each of us. He knelt and severed the tape at Taffy's ankles, and then her knees. Her legs sagged as they were loosened.

"Come on!" he ordered and hauled her from the booth. In the small space, her turned her and shoved her face first at a wall. "Stand straight!" he commanded and marked a spot on the wall. "What's that, Five foot five? In tennis shoes," he muttered, jotting in a notepad.

Taffy pulled and pushed at Dirk, trying to bull him over or stomp one of his feet. From my position, I could only see his full back, but then I heard the unmistakable sting of skin on skin. "Stop it! Look, bitch, we can do this easy, or we can do this hard." Another slap. "I guess you want hard." After some more motion, he stepped to the side; now there was a wide collar around the throat of my friend. He pulled her leash taut through a hook high on the wall. She strained on her tiptoes so as not to strangle.

"Bitches are all the same," he groused, tying off the lead and keeping her stretched on tiptoes. He rechecked her height in this new position. Then, with a tailor's measuring tape, Dirk pulled it across her hips, and then her waist. More scribbling in the notepad. Next, Dirk struggled to measure her chest: Taffy wailed and shifted under his familiar touch. My heart was breaking for my trussed-up friend.

I watched as he wrapped the tape and captured her torso, jiggling her breasts in the process. Another note. Then it was her full bust, probing over her clothing for her nipples, trying to keep the tape level. Her face was flushed, being subjected to this attention.

"Weight," he announced, pulling around a flat bathroom scale. He set it by her feet, and simply pulled up at the taut leash. Taffy wriggled upwards on her toes and quickly stepped up on the platform as he loosened the tension.

"Bitches." he repeated. "What are these figures on your driver's license? From high school?"

A moment later she was on the bench next to me, Dirk retaping her ankles, snugging the material with each wrap. My poor friends' makeup ran in teary dark pools under her eyes. She chewed at her gag.

Dirk cut the tape strapping my legs. "You want the leash?" I shook my head violently 'no'.

He pulled me up in the narrow space. Obediently, I stood at the wall as he noted my height. Dutifully, I turned to make easier the process of measuring my hips. The bastard made more lewd comments as he positioned the measuring tape over the fullest part of my buttocks. Then my waist. His touch made my skin crawl and his breath was vile, but I wasn't going to incur his wrath as Taffy had.

"Tits," he said. He pulled the flannel shirt sharply down my arms, and I posed in the loose T-shirt I had worn last night for bed. "This is bullshit, there's fabric here for 2 of you." He gathered a fistful of shirt across my back; behind me he held the wad with plastic clips from the kitchen drawer. A few clips and my shirt stretched across my front like a second skin.

My embarrassment was heightened by the fact I wore no bra. Taffy had been ready to face the day with her gravity defying bra and a Maybelline face. I had not yet gotten to that step. I stood rock still as he measured my chest and then pawed at my breasts, taking much longer than necessary in recording his bust measure.

"You are just a C-cup, but your friend there is sporting D's or maybe Double-D's," Dirk admonished me. I stood red-faced, unable to speak or strike. I had always been so proud of my proportional breasts. Now this sadist was so dismissive, objectifying me with my T-shirt wrapped tight to my body.

He seemed to take a break, filled a glass with water and taking a sip — then he flung the contents at me, flooding the front of my shirt. I was his victim in a wet T-shirt, humiliated and dripping, tied tightly before him, truly his prisoner.

A flash: now he was taking photos of me. His picture: A slim brunette harnessed with a giant ball gag and leather straps. My sodden shirt molded my form. Arms behind me forcing my chest forward. He was delighted that his cold water was having the desired effect on my rather sensitive nipples. Tears were starting in my eyes, but I shook my head: I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Pulling me over, now we sat, him positioned between Taffy and me. After roughly taping just my knees, he began his horrifying game: groping us in turns. His arms around Taffy, massaging both of her large breasts from behind as she swung her bound hands at him with no hope of pushing him away. Then: my turn under his heavy nasty touch. My eyes searched out the windows, hoping for a stray hiker or passerby. No such luck.

This groping went on forever, my nipples making sharp points under my shirt despite my feelings of desperation. Then in a rush, I was tumbled on to my knees in the narrow space. He loosened his trousers and shoved his pants down around his ankles. Oh, gawd, I thought. He worked at the strap behind my head, and after a few false tries finally loosened the gag, pulling it from my sore mouth.

"Please - "I started.

"No, you please," he said, pulling my head into his crotch. His erection had stirred, but it was evident I needed to apply my skills to get him hard.

If my work colleagues could see me... I forced my thoughts away from my actions. In my minds eye, I could see the scene with the slim brunette on her knees, ankles splayed behind her for balance, knees tightly taped, wrists bound behind her, flannel shirt spilling over the legs. A t-shirt distorted and wet, showing every rise and wrinkle of her form. A red ball gag loose around her neck as the woman's head jerked forward and back, servicing the dick of her rapist captor. On the bench, a curvy blond woman, her body taped tightly at wrist, ankle, and knees, gagged like a slave, watching the pornographic scene in front of her with shiny bright eyes.

This wasn't my first blowjob, but it was the most violent and distasteful. I tried to concentrate on my task, my heart hammering in my chest. If i bit him — no, he would definitely kill us both.

After a time, I noted the effect my efforts were having. His dick had grown harder, more swollen in my mouth. I had to loosen my throat to take in his manhood. I gasped for breath through my nose. Hurry up, damnit, I thought. I wanted it to be over. I made the small animalistic sounds that I knew men loved.

I didn't expect a similar action from Taffy, now rocking back and forth. Her face was flushed, she was grinding her crotch on the couch. She made deep desperate sounds of her own, staring unblinkingly at me in my work.

The stereophonic effect of horny female sounds finally reached a primal place deep in Dirk's brain. He grasped my head tightly with both big hands; its a power move that I despise when men do. His cock blasted his demented seed down my throat, flooding then overflowing my mouth.

He pushed me away, scrambling his pants up, trying to recover his dignity. I lay fallen against the couch, disgusting fluid on my chin, working to pull myself upright.

"That's good," he said. "I'm going to send that on your data sheet. Good cocksucker. Those miners, they love a good cocksucker. "

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