Final Night In the Canyon

 Dinner completed, we were all  still a bit fatigued after our 14 mile trek down  and back from the depths of the Canyon. As I began stowing away our dinner gear  for the night, I speculated about Scott's plans for Mistress.  Would  he really explore Mistress's  bondage kink in their final night together? 

It didn't take long to find out.  As I washed our dinner plates and cups, Scott was digging into his back pack. He came back to the picnic table brandishing a length of belt like fabric webbing about 5 feet long.  Apparently he subscribed to that old Boy Scout motto: "Be Prepared". 

"This should do," he commented, looking at Mistress, who  remained seated at the table, still nursing her tea.  Her expression reflected equal parts uncertainty and curiosity with just a smidgeon of  anxiety.

"Hands," Scott directed.  

"Really? Here?" she asked looking around the camp site.  While the grounds were not as crowded as they had been Saturday night, there were still some other campers in the distance, maybe 50 yards or so away. 

"Oh, don't worry.  It's gotten dark and I won't be parading you around for all to see. We can certainly keep things private. At least for tonite."

A promise of a reunion?

Mistress glanced at me, still uncertain.  After all she could simply say "No".  Would she?

"Are we really doing this in front of the Slave?"

"Seems it's nothing he hasn't seen before, Mistress," that added with a slight touch of snark. "The only thing different from your 'switch days' is that I'll be the one in charge tonight. I'm sure Mick doesn't mind. Do you Mick?"

At this point, my own  level of arousal was on the rise at the thought of witnessing Scott take charge of my Mistress. 

"No. . . Sir. Who am I to object?"

"Exactly," he responded with a bit of a smirk.  Mistress shot a dirty look at me, as if she expected me to be the Night in Shining Armor, coming to her defense.  But I knew her well enough to judge her an enthusiastic participant in whatever mischief was to come.  She was already squirming with anticipation as she made a show of finishing her tea.

"Hands," Scott repeated again a bit more forcefully, holding up the belt.

Mistress slowly stood in front of him, finally extending her wrists in front of her. Apparently her answer would not be "No."

Scott just shook his head, signaling with a twrling finger that Mistress should turn her back to him.  He wasn't fooling around.

She hesitated, then complied. Slowly spinning around, glancing at me. By now it was almost dark, so it was hard to see her blush of arousal. But I could almost hear her racing heart beat. 

Scott gathered her hands behind her, crossed her wrists, then wound the fabric strap round them, first vertically, then horizontally, tying it off with a knot that tightened all of the strands in a way that produced a slight gasp and shudder from Mistress.  

"Too tight?"

Mistress just shook her head, indicating a "no."

She was twisting her wrists, testing her bonds. They held tight.

"Haven't done this in a while", Scott remarked to me.  "What do you think, Mick, does it look like that will hold?"

"Seems a good job," was all I could muster, still in a bit of erotic shock seeing my wife so efficiently brought under such swift control by another man.

"Now it's your turn to help, slave. I'd like you to get down there, take off her hiking boots, and pull down her jeans.  Around the ankles will do for now."

Mistress just looked at both of us with that "really?" look again. But her unsuccessful struggles with her bindings left her knowing her opportunity to resist had passed.

I knelt at her feet, a familiar place for me, and began unlacing her boots.  She co-operated to the extent of sitting back down in the picnic table bench, lifting each foot as I worked off those boots.  Her thick hiking sox remained to keep her toes toasty as the temperature dropped.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me, Slave?"

"Just following orders, Mistress", giving us both a quiet laugh.

Next I unbuttoned her jeans, and she lifted her butt slightly, aiding my effort to pull them down over her firm thighs and long legs to her ankles. Apparently she had decided either that "resistance was futile" or she really did not want to resist.  I was guessing the latter. 

So there she was, hands bound behind her, jeans at her ankles further restricting her movement, her lacy forest green panties for all to see.  A fleece jacket and T shirt covered her breasts and tummy. 

"Is she turned on, Mick?"

To verify, I leaned in, nuzzling into the soft fabric of those green panties. It was hard not to miss the intoxicating aroma of Mistress in full bloom, or to feel the damp fabric with the tip of my tongue.

"Verified, Sir."

Mistress just squirmed on that bench, moaning softly from my tongue's gentle ministrations, confirming my diagnosis.

Scott leaned over, helped Mistress to her jeans hobbled feet, then sat in her place.  

"Over my lap, Mistress."

Mistress just shook her head, sensing where this was going. But Scott's strong arms soon had her by the arm, gently but firmly pulling her down with her firm bottom settled over his lap, her head dangling down, face obscured by her long dark hair. He fondled that bottom gently.

"Like the undies. Soft and sexy.  But for what I have in mind, they're in the way. Mick, how about pulling them down to her knees?"

I looked at Mistress, who shook her head, giving me that dagger tossing glare.  But she failed to order me to disregard Scott's command.  Despite her sudden vulnerability, Mistress was going with the flow, seemingly prepared to "face the music". 

I squatted down, gently took those green panties in two hands and slipped them down over her hips and  around her knees. 

"Thanks Mick. Why don't you stand over by there, indicating the end of the picnic table, where I might block the view of any of our fellow campers who might  wander by or campsite.

As Scott resumed his gentle rubbing of Mistress's exposed ass, Scott continued. "Now Molly, keep in mind  that there are other campers not far off.  Let's not make them think anything improper is going on over here. Can you keep your voice low through this ordeal, or is a gag in order."

Mistress responded in a surprisingly submissive voice. 

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"OK, let me know if you change your mind."

With that Scott used his left hand to hold Mistress's bound wrists, securing her to his lap, while his right palm began to rain a a slow but steady assault on Mistress's squirming bottom.    Started with seemingly gentle slaps, that produced squirms and giggles from his 'Victim", he slowly built up  to a firmer rhythm that had Mistress jerking, then moaning in response. Mistress was doing her best to "take her medicine", but I could tell her bottom was getting red and the pain was becoming real.  Scott must have sensed it too, because his pace slowed, then stopped. 

"I like the way you squirm," Scott told her.  I was guessing Mistress was taking some satisfaction in sensing a  hardening cock under her pelvis.

Now Scott's hand was between her thighs, sliding to her sex, fingers probing. This seemed to get Mistress's hips gyrating even more, rising up to meet her hand.  Her faux struggles to  resist Scott's gentle caress were, of course, fruitless, as he held her firmly in place on her lap.

By now it was dark, so I couldn't see what surely were glistening  juices on Scott's fingers as he held them up for me to see. 

"I think you're right Mick.  This bondage and corporal punishment thing seems to light your Mistress's fire."

Back on task, Scott spent some time with a sweet and sour approach to Mistress. Firm spanks followed by gentle but insistent fondling of those damp, clean shaven folds.  

Of course, the outcome was inevitable: Mistress ultimately exploded into a throbbing, gyrating cum that left her breathless. Hopefully our neighboring campers were not listening too closely, or were otherwise inspired by her wanton performance.

"Oh, God" was about all she could muster. She was both shaken and stirred by Scott's "punishment," her hair a disheveled mess, breath still a bit ragged from her "ordeal."

Scott helped her off the lap, and asked me to relieve Mistress of her jeans and panties. I was happy to comply, and then helped her stand, with her resting her shoulder against my shoulder for support.  Weak knee-ed  was a good description of her state. 

"Hands?" she whispered, clearly hoping for release. I looked to Scott for direction. 

"OK, but redo them in front.  We have more business to take care of in that tent."

I followed orders again, loosening Mistress from her bonds.  She rubbed her wrists briefly, but submissively co-operated as I retied her wrists, palm to palm in front. 

"Thanks, Mick.  I think I can take her from here. "

Scott took Mistress under a strong arm,  gently helping her into her tent, no doubt ready to take his "Switch Day" prize.

Mistress's good night to me included "Remember, Slave....no touching." The tone of her voice suggested that there might be a price for me to pay for my "complicity" in the night's activities.  

To Be Continued....