Adirondack Hard

This story is by me, tough93013 (tough93013@yahoo.com.) Copyright 6/22/2004.

Some of these events really occurred, and all are true to my fantasies and desires. Several chapters are written and more are on the way. I hope you'll stick with it; subsequent chapters are more dense erotically. However, if you're under 18 you're probably not allowed by law to read this description of sexual activities. If you're in an enlightened place where adult reading is OK, go ahead. Otherwise, with deep regret, I must ask you to not read further and to go away.

This is a story of bondage, exhibitionism and humiliation, of sharing and fantasy-fulfillment, by and among friends, and largely out in nature. The central characters here are in their early twenties. The main character, Ted, is, basically, me. In another published story, "My Perv," I start much younger, telling of my earliest experiences with bondage and my developing fantasy life. There's much more to "My Perv," which will follow my development into adolescence and teenhood; so this story, "Adirondack Hard," is part of a continuum, but a later part. I'll be both moving forward and filling in the gaps. I'd like to say these stories are autobiography, and in a sense they are. Some of what I'm writing about actually occurred, and much is extended by my horny imagination. But then, I think autobiography is, really, fiction in the first person, based on the author's life. Who really can tell the whole truth? Like I said, I wish this were even closer to an objective recounting of events than it is, but the embellishments, I hope, are what makes it interesting; and all of it is completely true to my fantasy life, that rich, dark place in my mind where I can be stripped and whipped, or can tie and torment another, out of love and friendship and without doing irreparable damage.

I hope this story makes the reader very aroused and very eager for more. As much as possible I write naked, sometimes in chains. Feel free to read under the same conditions. There is more to come. I'd greatly appreciate reader feedback, either on the website or in e-mail to me.

I'd like to dedicate "Adirondack Hard" to two people I don't know, except through their writing, which has brought me to ecstasy, so to speak, many times. Their names are Crimson Dragon and Jym. They both write a lot about people resisting their submissive or dominant fantasies and then finding fulfillment through the love of a willing partner. May all of us find our fantasies, whatever they are, fulfilled in relationship with another.

Enjoy--If you want more, please let me know.

Adirondack Hard

Chapter 1: The Trip

Some time ago I was 22 and just out of graduate school in Upstate NY. I moved into a rented farm in a little community near Binghamton, where I hung out with ex-classmates who had settled in the area. I had just broken up with my wife of two years and was lonely and horny. The farm had a vast barn, unused except as hay storage. I never saw anyone enter it, but I went in regularly. It was gorgeous and romantic in there, a gigantic open room with light streaming through spaces in the board sides. Massive, exposed beams, horizontals and verticals, divided the space in regular patterns. Exposed beams have always excited me, because I can imagine my body, or someone else's, tied to them. The barn was built on a slope, and underneath it on one side was a long, low chamber with stalls, I assumed for cattle or horses. Leather straps and rusty chains hung everywhere, long-unused paraphernalia for tending large animals.

After walking past the barn and across the untended fields that were part of my rented 40 acres in this little, poor farming town, I would come to a copse of woods that took up about half of my property. Growing up a New York City boy with little privacy or space, I had always had a real affection for the woods. As a kid I played in Bayside Woods with my cousins and friends. As a Boy Scout I had gone on camporees all over the Greater New York area, and had gone to Ten Mile River Scout Camp for several summers. Now outside of Binghamton I was not that far from Ten Mile River, the Catskills and the Adirondacks I had loved.

Even as an adult I still had fantasies about the woods, fantasies that had begun before my puberty. The fantasies usually involved bondage, exposure, torture, being discovered tied helpless--those sorts of fun things. As a child I had friends who participated with me in playing out some of these scenarios--I'm writing about that elsewhere. But now, as an adult, companionship in this forbidden world was hard to find and I almost never tried to bring anyone else in. I loved the friends I had, most of whom were involved in relationships, and I certainly didn't want to alienate any of them by revealing my perverse fantasies and desires. Maybe I underestimated them. We were almost all politically liberal, smoked dope and occasionally tripped, drank beer and cheap wine. The girls mostly didn't wear bras and didn't shave under their arms. We made risque banter and the girls, even the married or involved ones, were available for hugs, affectionate kisses and casual flirting, but I certainly never tried to do more. When we were engaged in sexual repartee I would occasionally sneak in a bondage reference to see if anyone expressed interest or curiosity, but nobody did; and I certainly didn't pursue it. Though I was alone I had a good, supportive community, and I certainly didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it.

Instead, I would walk into my woods alone, find a thick tree, lean back against it and reach behind it, grasping each wrist with the other hand. I would imagine I was a bound captive. It was not quite enough for me, but it was better than nothing. Occasionally, when I felt very horny and very safe, I would strip naked and clutch a tree facing inward. My penis would erect and I would rub it against the rough bark until I ejaculated. Then instantly I would feel humiliated and ashamed. Coming often immediately broke the erotic aura hanging over me. I would quickly pull on my clothes, march out of the woods to the farmhouse, go to my room, a vast cold room in the attic that once was used for storing fruits and vegetables, and pick up a copy of Jane Austin or Edith Wharton so I could read about repressed lives and vivid imaginations other than my own.

Right after the Labor Day weekend I was invited by Jack and Sue, a married couple who were my closest friends, to join them for a long weekend of canoeing and camping in the Adirondacks. I had camped and hiked with them before; it was always wonderful. Sue was slender, brilliant, witty and very opinionated. Jack was tall, strong, quiet but very smart and dependable. He was a Viet Nam veteran, a little older than Sue and I, and was an undergraduate French major. Delighted to be invited into the woods with dear friends at a time when we all knew the Adirondacks would be quiet post-Labor Day, I happily agreed to go and we made plans.

The day of the trip Jack and Sue arrived in their VW Bus to pick me up--and along with them was Reba, another friend who had a boyfriend, Todd. Todd (who I thought was mean and patronizing to Reba) was away for the weekend and my friends had invited her to come along. I had mixed feelings. I really liked Reba; in fact, I had a crush on her. She was extremely sweet, very smart, and had the kind of body I loved: small breasts, pointy nipples (she never wore a bra and usually wore spaghetti-strap tops, so I could tell about the nipples), a large ribcage and a full waist with a big butt and strong legs. And she had curly, dark hair and sparkling eyes. I had seen a lot of Reba because she was Sue's oldest friend, going back to childhood days on Long Island. They had come to college together and were roommates until Sue moved in with Jack.

I would never make a move on someone who was in a relationship--just one of my moral standards. But, on the other hand, I hadn't desired another woman as much as I had desired Reba since I had first developed a crush on the girl who would later become my (now divorced) wife. I thought this might be a weekend of private torment for me (no pun intended), in such close proximity to this co-ed goddess with whom I would be sharing a back seat for several hours and then a tent. Nonetheless I was secretly thrilled to see her and off we all went.

Reba was a brand-new middle school math teacher and had just come from work where she had finished her first challenging week of orientation meetings before standing in front of a class for the first time. Because we wanted to get to the canoe launching point on Middle Saranac Lake before sunset, we took off right after her day was finished. Thus, she climbed into the car in her teacherly outfit of button-up shirt, knee-length skirt and sensible shoes, and we hit the road. About an hour out of town, however, Reba said she was uncomfortable in her good clothes and had to change. Her bag was in the back, so Jack pulled off to the side of the country lane and Reba hopped out. She ran around to the back, opened the hatch, pulled out her bag and removed denim cutoffs and one of her spaghetti-strap tops. I turned away as she started to open her shirt (wishing I had eyes in the back of my head), but I could hear her stripping, humming to herself. Jack and Sue both glanced back to check on her progress. Because he was married was Jack allowed to look? I kept my eyes front to give Reba space and to discourage the stirring I felt in my pants. All of a sudden, however, I heard a sharp clunk, followed by a yelp and moan from Reba. Instinctively I turned around and saw her, topless, clutching one of her hands with the other. She had smashed the back of her right hand against the raised hatch of the van and was very sore. Cursing, she grabbed her top, slammed down the hatch and padded barefoot around the side of the van, climbing in next to me with her little top clutched against her chest.

I was sorry for Reba's pain but very aroused at her more-or-less enforced nudity. She closed the door and we sped off with me looking away from my half-naked seat-mate. For a few minutes she continued to favor her sore hand while holding the top against her bare breasts by pressing it against her upper sides with her arms. I wanted desperately to stare at her but continued to look away. Eventually the pain abated and Reba was able to put on her top. Then she said "look at this" and showed me a welt on the back of her left hand. It was ugly and I sympathized. She also said "thanks for being a gentleman and not staring." I blushed and nodded. "Not from lack of interest, I assure you." We both laughed.

We rode on into the afternoon and eventually Reba began to doze. Sleepily, she asked if she could stretch her legs across me. I love sleepy-eyed women! Then Reba's beautiful, long, naked legs were in my lap. She was wearing only tiny denim cutoffs and a tiny top. As she slept, breathing heavily, I stole an occasional glimpse at her body. Her shorts were so brief I could see the edge of some pale blue cotton panties at her crotch. As she moved in her sleep her top rode up just a little so I could see her abdomen and belly button (no jewel--this was decades before that horrible fad began.) And as her legs moved over my lap I could feel them rubbing against my penis, which was by now partially erect. This was heaven and hell. I was afraid to move for fear of stimulating myself further, I was deeply embarrassed and I was, of course, very hot.

We sat and lay like this for about two more hours, at last arriving at the lake in the gorgeous Adirondack wilderness around 6:30 PM. We unloaded the car, took down the two canoes, loaded our gear, and made off into the broad, calm and empty water. We paddled for about 30 minutes, Jack and Sue in one canoe, Reba and I in the other, my eyes glued on Reba's delicious butt as it pressed against the front seating thwart. Finally we got to the campsite. We still had an hour or more of light and it was hot and muggy.