The trip was originally meant for the two of us, my girlfriend of two years and me — a romantic camping trip over a long weekend.

We made a list of supplies and I even bought a new tent. Then, two weeks before the trip, I found out she was fucking her boss and had been for months. Maybe to spite her or just to get the hell away from the world and pretend she didn’t exist, I decided to take the trip anyway. I stocked my cooler with a liter of bourbon and a case of beer to keep me company.

I arrived at the campsite around 9 a.m., and by noon I’d killed off six of the beers. With the tent and the rest of my gear locked inside my car, I decided to put off unpacking until later and go for a hike to the park’s most popular attraction, a waterfall. Alone on the trail, I began complaining to the wilderness about my girlfriend. My ranting grew louder, and by the time I reached the waterfall I was raging. I was so consumed by my anger that I failed to notice the woman sitting on a large flat rock at the edge of the river.

“Whoa! You okay?” she asked warily.

I was so surprised by her presence that I jumped, which set her off giggling.

“No. Actually, I’m pretty goddamn far from okay,” I admitted.

“I may have something for that. Come sit down and tell me about it.”

When I was seated, she pulled a tightly rolled joint out of her pocket, lit it, took a deep drag, and passed it to me. As I inhaled the smoke and started exhaling my tragic story, I noticed how sexy she was. Vibrant eyes stared at me and long hair spilled down her back and over her braless chest. Her tank top was tied up, revealing her smooth, flat stomach, and I could see the outline of her nipples. I finished my story and took another hit. “Thanks for the weed. You really did help me.”

“I wasn’t really talking about the weed.” She grinned, sucked in a long breath of smoke, and leaned over and kissed me, gently blowing the smoke into my mouth. I exhaled and then grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her. Our tongues met, twisting around each other. She straddled my lap, and as we kissed she began grinding her hips against mine. My cock was so hard I felt like it would burst out of my pants. I moved my right hand down her stomach, toward her cutoff jean shorts.

I could feel the heat coming from her pussy before I even unbuttoned them. Her panties were soaking wet when I pulled them aside and stroked her shaved lips with my middle finger. When I slid two fingers inside her, she let out a soft moan and arched her back.

She unzipped my fly and pulled out my dick. I begged her to suck it, but instead she teased me, flicking the head of my cock with the tip of her tongue. Finally, she sucked me in slowly, her mouth contouring to every inch of my cock. I had never felt anything so good in my entire life. She played with my balls as her mouth moved up and down, gently squeezing and pulling. Then she climbed back onto my lap and guided me into her tight, wet pussy. Unlike the leisurely and gentle blowjob, she rode me like a bull at a rodeo, pumping up and down, twisting her hips. Every few seconds she whipped her hair and it would brush my chest. All of the sensations were overwhelming, a sensory tornado of erotic pleasure, but I wanted control.

I picked her up and flipped her over onto her hands and knees and fucked her doggie-style. I grabbed her hair like reins and, with each thrust, tugged it back, eventually bringing her to a gushing orgasm. A few seconds later, I pulled out and sprayed jizz all over her back.

We collapsed, basking in the sun and our post-orgasmic glow. She got up first, slipped back into her clothes, and began walking away. I wanted her to stay a while longer, but before I could say anything she glanced over her shoulder and said, “By the way, my name’s Ashley and my tent is yellow with a red rain fly.”

I spent three days in the park, but my tent never made it out of the car.

— I.N., South Carolina

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From the September 2015 issue of Penthouse magazine.

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