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Subject: Camping Mg
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Date: Sun, 02 Jan 2005 00:27:56 +0000
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Camping Mg
--Leslie Schmidt
The cold snap was unexpected, we certainly wouldn't have
gone camping if I had known it was coming. We had sat,
cuddled under a blanket, and watched the sun set behind
the Blue Ridge Mountains, keeping a small fire going at
our feet. There were hot dogs, then samores, some heady
red wine for me, heated in a metal cup and a cup of hot
cocoa for her. We had escaped the city after I picked Carly
up from her daycare after skipping out of work early, I had
packed the car the night before.
Now, as the sun set, so did the temperature. There was ice
on the edge of the stream as we brushed our teeth and
washed our faces. Then, in the dark and with shivers, we
cuddled together in my sleeping bag, under a blanket. My
five-year-old daughter felt so comfortable as I wrapped
around her small frame. I nuzzled her hair which escaped
from under the knit stocking cap. She felt so comfortable,
her shoulder blades against my chest, her small rear
pushing into my crotch, her legs bent, matching my knees,
her feet wrapped together between my lower legs.
Through the knit long under ware shirt, I felt the smooth,
supple shape of her chest and ribs. As I ran my hands
across her, she snuggled closer and sighed. I moved my
hand down and pulled gently on the shirt tail, snaking my
hand underneath, then up along the soft, warm skin. She
giggled quietly, "Your hand's cold." With the pad of my
finger, I caressed one of her tiny nipples, she giggled again.
I rolled back slightly, pulling her with me and straightening
my legs some. Then, I pushed my other hand into her
crotch, pushing the stretched fabric of her long under ware
until I felt the shape of her. I moved my hand up and down,
massaging her pussy. Again, she sighed and humped
slightly against my hand. She reached up, over her shoulder
and onto the back of my neck, pulling my face down
against the side of her head. I moved my hand up, then slid
it under the waistband. Now, between the long-johns and
cotton panties, I could feel the shape of her vulva and trace
along her slit.
My cock was hard up against her ass, separated from her by
the soft fabric of our clothes. I rolled back further and, my
lovely preschooler knew what I wanted. My heart started to
pound as she insinuated her tiny (cold!) hand through the
layers of my fleece sweats and under shorts. Her little
finger wrapped around my head and started a practiced,
familiar stroking and pulling. As I pulled my hand back,
then pushed it under her panties, Carly said, "I love you,
Daddy."
"I love you too, darling," I ran my finger along her slit,
feeling the slight preteen wetness between the soft hairless
lips. Her clit was a stiff nub, I pushed further and she
opened her legs wider, groaning softly as my finger slid
into her tiny five-year-old vagina. As her ardor grew with
my strokes, so did her rubbing of my enraged cock in her
hand, her fingers wrapped around the head, the top against
her palm. I started to hump against her hand as she did the
same to mine. As she caught her breath, my finger probing
deep into her, as her wetness coated my finger, spreading
over her mound, I emptied my sack into her hand, smearing
my cum along her wrist and lower arm.
We calmed down, our hands still in each other's clothes,
our breath slowing. She turned around, curling into a ball,
her knees against my stomach, her head under my chin, her
feet between my thighs and we drifted off as the snow
started to fall on the tent.
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