Camping

By 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 Jenny 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, Jenny 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.

END

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