As the steady drizzle started to increase in frequency and volume, I traced my fingers steadily across her clit, feeling her thighs shiver with lust and soft lips flush with heat under my touch.
I think it's fair to say I was surprised, if not astounded, at just how wet she was. I'm pretty sure she wasn't comfortable; I'd had a fit of gallantry and insisted she lie on the one sleeping mat I'd managed to extricate from the the general mulch in my loft the previous night (assuming that, as a Woodcrafter, I'd be perfectly comfortable on the floor of the tent without anything more than a sleeping bag), but it would be foolish to suggest that she could be considered "comfortable". My tent isn't really designed for two, although putting it up alone would be a stretch.
I sat up with a struggle, my head grazing the canvas ceiling as I did so, and worked her clit with one hand as I gently began to stimulate her perineum with the other, eliciting a long, soft moan. I began to insert one finger, her slick wetness allowing it to slide effortlessly into her sex, her inner walls contracting around it, surrounding it with warm, wet flesh. She began to move, softly but surely, in the cramped space of the one-man tent, against my hands as best she could, while I frigged her clitoral hood, kissing her neck, lapping at her ear a little.
She moved towards me, which was somewhat impractical, so I rolled her onto her back and positioned myself on top of her, sliding our bodies together, feeling our skin touch. Our lips brushed against each other and I felt myself being deftly enveloped in her folds, until I relaxed, fully inside her and feeling beads of sweat forming on my chest and back.
Without much space to manoeuvre or push against anything, I found myself a little lower down than I would usually be when making love to her, but still able to thrust and groan, moving my hips back and forth to dip my cock into her - over and over and over again - as we have done so many times before, the rain now abating to a light haze in the air outside (what was I expecting? a thunderstorm?). A little bump and a fair amount of grind, a sharing of body heat and a bucket of pleasure, and her poor back pressed against the ground maybe a little too hard... and it was over. I fell off her, naked, on top of my own sleeping bag, still hard but ready to rest.
Sex under canvas... at long last!
Overall, it was a fantastic experience, but the lack of space in my old faithful wasn't something I'd foreseen, what with my familiarity with orange Vangos and the like throughout my formative years. Still, there was enough room to move, and despite my initial misgivings, any doubt about that was thrown out of the gauzed window when I felt how wet she was getting.
Next time, we'll use a bigger tent.