My boyfriend Jack and I had just wrapped up another camping trip, the kind where we pitched our tent under the stars, shared a bottle of whiskey by the fire, and let the wilderness strip away the noise of everyday life. I'm Connor, about 1.80 meters tall with blondish-brown hair that catches the sun just right, and I hit the gym enough to keep my body toned but not overly ripped. Jack, my man, towers over me at 1.92 meters, his frame a mix of solid muscle and a soft layer of fat that makes him feel substantial, like you could lean into him and not break. He's hairy all over—chest, arms, legs, and down to that thick 18-centimeter cock that I know how to handle after years together. We're a solid couple, open in our own secretive way, always up for some side action as long as it doesn't mess with us.
We were cruising down a dusty backroad in our camper van, the engine humming steadily as the landscape blurred by—rolling hills, sparse trees, the occasional glimpse of a river snaking through the valley. It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low, casting long shadows. That's when we spotted them: two figures thumbing for a ride on the shoulder. One was an older guy, maybe in his 50s, with grey hair cropped short, a small belly straining against his faded t-shirt, but his arms and shoulders screamed muscle, like he still lifted or chopped wood for fun. Beside him stood a skinny young kid, barely 18 if I had to guess, blond hair tousled by the wind, his frame all lean lines and boyish slenderness—a twink through and through, wearing cutoff shorts that hugged his narrow hips.
Jack glanced at me, his big hand squeezing my thigh. 'What do you think? They look like they could use a lift.' I nodded, pulling over without a second thought. We weren't in a rush, and something about the pair tugged at us—maybe the dad's protective stance over the boy, or just the road-trip urge to connect with strangers.
We rolled to a stop, and Jack leaned out the window. 'Heading somewhere?' The older man—John, as we'd soon learn—stepped forward, his voice gravelly but friendly. 'Yeah, just to the next city over. Name's John, this is my boy Chris.' Chris gave a shy wave, his blue eyes flicking between us, cheeks flushing a bit under the scrutiny. We introduced ourselves, and after a quick chat, they climbed in. The van had a cozy setup: front seats for driving, a curtained-off living area in the back with a fold-out bed, mini-kitchen, and enough space to stretch out.
John and Chris squeezed into the back, John taking the bench seat while Chris perched on the edge, looking a little overwhelmed. As I got us back on the road, Jack started the small talk. Turns out they were father and son, out on some bonding adventure that had gone sideways—car trouble a few towns back, stranding them. Luckily, they were headed our way, same city as our endpoint. The conversation flowed easy: John talked about his construction days, his muscular build making sense now, and Chris mumbled about school, his voice soft and tentative. He was a freshman somewhere, with that innocent vibe that made Jack's eyes linger a second too long. I caught it, smirking inwardly—Jack had a type, and this kid fit it like a glove.
About an hour in, Chris yawned, rubbing his eyes. 'Mind if I crash for a bit? Long day on my feet.' Jack grinned, all helpful boyfriend energy. 'No problem, kid. I can set up the bed for you back here.' He pulled over briefly to adjust things, then drew the thick curtain between the cab and the living area, sealing off the back. 'Get comfy,' Jack said, his voice muffled through the fabric. John and I kept chatting up front—about camping spots, the best routes— but the air shifted when the first sounds filtered through.
It started subtle: a rustle of sheets, then a low murmur. But soon, it built—soft gasps, the creak of the bed frame. Then came the unmistakable rhythm: skin slapping skin, heavy breaths turning to moans. A deep growl from Jack, and higher-pitched whimpers from Chris. I could picture it—Jack's hairy body pinning that skinny twink down, his thick cock stretching the boy's tight ass, balls smacking against him with each thrust. John's face went pale, his eyes widening as he shifted in his seat. 'What the hell is that?' he whispered, leaning toward the curtain.
He tugged it aside just a crack, enough to peek. I heard him suck in a breath—shock, yeah, but something else too, a flicker of heat in his eyes. Jack had Chris on all fours now, the boy's blond head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry as Jack pounded into him from behind, that massive dick disappearing into the kid's hole over and over. Sweat glistened on Jack's broad back, his muscles flexing with every drive. Chris's slim body rocked forward, his own smaller cock hard and bouncing untouched.
John froze, hand trembling on the curtain. 'That's my boy... your boyfriend's... fuck.' He turned to me, face a mix of anger and confusion. But I wasn't shocked—not after last summer's camping trip, when Jack had secretly railed my little brother in the tent while I pretended to sleep. It was our thing, these stolen moments. Heat pooled in my gut, my own dick twitching in my jeans as the sounds intensified—Chris's moans growing louder, Jack's grunts deeper, the wet slap of flesh echoing.
I reached over, bold as hell, and palmed John's crotch. He was already half-hard, the bulge straining against his pants. 'Easy,' I murmured, pulling the van onto a secluded pullout, killing the engine. The curtain still cracked, giving us a view. John's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. I unzipped him quick, freeing his cock—thick and veined, not as long as Jack's but girthy, with a slight curve and a nest of grey pubic hair at the base. Precum beaded at the tip already.
I leaned down, taking him into my mouth without preamble. The taste was salty, musky, all man—his small belly pressing against my forehead as I bobbed, tongue swirling around the head. John groaned low, his big hand clamping onto my hair, pushing my face deeper. 'Shit, kid, just like that.' He thrust up, fucking my mouth in shallow pumps, the head hitting the back of my throat. I gagged a little but took it, slurping noisily, my own cock throbbing painfully now.
Emboldened, I straightened up, yanking the curtain wider so we had a full view. Jack and Chris were lost in it, facing away—Jack's hairy ass clenching as he drove forward, Chris's skinny legs spread wide, toes curling. The boy's ass was red from the pounding, stretched around that thick shaft, lube or spit making everything slick and shiny. I stripped my jeans down, bending over the console, ass presented to John. 'Do it,' I whispered, eyes locked on the show.
John didn't hesitate. He spat into his palm, slicking his cock, then pressed the head against my hole. One firm push, and he sank in—hot, filling me up as I bit my lip to stay quiet. He started slow, hands gripping my hips, his muscular arms flexing. The van rocked subtly with our movements, mirroring the frenzy behind the curtain. Chris was moaning openly now, 'Oh god, yes, harder,' his voice breaking as Jack railed him, that 18cm beast churning his insides.
John picked up pace, his belly slapping against my back, cock dragging over my prostate with each thrust. To keep me silent, he shoved two thick fingers into my mouth—rough, callused from years of work. I sucked them greedily, tongue lapping, muffling my own grunts as he fucked me deeper. The dual view and sensation had me leaking precum onto the seat, my body on fire. John's breaths came ragged, his grey hair damp with sweat, small belly heaving as he hammered away.
Behind us, Jack flipped Chris onto his back, legs over his shoulders, pounding down with full force. The twink's blond hair stuck to his forehead, face twisted in ecstasy, hands clawing at Jack's hairy chest. 'Fuck, you're so tight,' Jack growled, voice carrying. Chris arched, crying out as he came untouched, ropes of cum splattering his flat stomach. Jack kept going, relentless, his thick dick pistoning for what felt like forever—he could go an hour easy, stamina like a machine.
John's rhythm faltered, his fingers digging into my jaw. 'Gonna... fuck,' he muttered, burying deep and unloading. Hot spurts filled me, his cock pulsing as he pumped every drop into my ass. He pulled out slow, cum dribbling down my thighs. Then, surprising me, he dropped to his knees, tongue lapping at the mess—sucking the leaking seed from my hole, rimming me clean with hungry swirls. I shuddered, reaching down to stroke my cock, eyes still on Jack now flipping Chris again, ass up, continuing the brutal fuck.
John rose, pulling me into a messy kiss—tasting of salt and his own cum, tongues tangling as I jerked faster. The sounds from the back were obscene: Chris's renewed moans, the squelch of Jack's cock in that abused hole, balls slapping relentlessly. John's hand joined mine on my dick, rough strokes pushing me over. I came hard, biting his shoulder to stifle the groan, cum shooting across the dash in thick arcs.
Panting, we cleaned up quick—wipes from the glovebox, clothes readjusted. I eased the curtain shut just as Jack's pace hit frenzy, but John cracked it again, eyes glued as he watched his son take it. Secretly, he stayed there, hand subtly rubbing himself while I restarted the engine, merging back onto the road. The van's motion masked the ongoing action; Jack had at least 20 more minutes in him, drawing out Chris's pleasure until the kid was a whimpering mess.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of tension, the curtain parted. Chris emerged first, flushed and disheveled, blond hair mussed, a lazy smile on his face. 'Slept like a rock, thanks.' Jack followed, zipping up casual as ever, phone in hand. 'Watched a show while he dozed. Good episode.' John played it cool, though his cheeks were still pink, and I caught him adjusting his pants. We drove on, chatting lightly, the air thick with unspoken secrets.
We rolled into the city as dusk fell, neon lights flickering on. Dropping them at their spot—a motel on the outskirts—Jack clapped John on the back, then pulled Chris aside for a 'quick word.' I saw it from the corner of my eye: numbers exchanged, a sly wink. Chris blushed, glancing back at his dad, who pretended not to notice. As they walked off, John shot me a look—knowing, heated, like maybe we'd cross paths again.
Jack slid back into the passenger seat, grinning. 'Good trip, huh?' I leaned over, kissing him deep, tasting a hint of the adventure on his lips. 'The best.' We were still us—a loving couple who fucked others on the sly, no drama, just heat. The road stretched ahead, full of possibilities, and I couldn't wait for the next detour.
