Damp Start

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Copyright Oggbashan April 2003

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

This story involves some of the characters in “The Silver Vixens” series although it can be read on its own. The women in my stories take control and love their men with mild bondage and sexual use of women’s clothing.

* * * * *

The first time I went away with Sheila I underestimated her. I still do. Now I know what to expect. Then I didn’t.

We both play football. I play for “The Glossies” formally the Silverbridge United Football Club First Team. Sheila plays for “The Silver Vixens”, the Ladies’ First Team. I am a back and the largest member of the Glossies. Sheila is a winger and although she looks a reasonable size beside me she is actually only slightly smaller than Lisa, the Vixens’ formidable goalkeeper.

I suppose it is because we talk the same language and have the same enthusiasms but Glossies and Vixens seem to pair up frequently and often marry. I am the son of such a marriage. Sheila is the daughter of another. We had known of each other from when we were very young. We went to the same schools and were equally unremarkable for achievement. Not that we are stupid. We just aren’t in the same intellectual league as Lisa or Harold, for example. Sheila wasn’t the girl next door but she might as well have been for the notice we took of each other. Until we were in our early twenties we were just friends who had known each other for ever.

That changed at one of the Football Club’s dinner dances. We all went to them. I thought they were a bore but as team members we were expected at attend. All the older club members and former players came so they were usually fairly sedate occasions. No. Perhaps not so sedate. Even the older members were still fit, no matter what their age, so the dancing was much more lively than say the Chamber of Commerce’s dinner dances.

This event was the end of season one which was usually the liveliest because the playing members, including the veterans, could break training and have a few drinks. I had a few too many which is very unusual for me because I have a large capacity. In my elevated state I asked Sheila for a dance. I think I thought, if I was thinking at all, that she would be a suitable partner because she is closer to my size than any other Vixen except Lisa. I rarely ask Lisa to dance. She expects her partners to dance well and expresses her opinion forcefully if she is disappointed. Even sober I am barely good enough a dancer for Lisa except for Rock and Roll. As I was that night I didn’t dare ask Lisa.

Sheila looked closely at me.

“You are drunk, John.” she said.

“Probably,” I replied “but I would still like to dance with you.”

She stood up.

“OK, John, but if you tread on my feet you will get my knee in your …”

” … I understand, Sheila,” I interrupted. “I don’t think I’m that drunk.”

“You are the one at risk,” she said “one false step …”

The first dance was a slow waltz. Sheila and I could have danced it in our sleep. The next was another slow number and Sheila fitted into my arms as if she was made for them. We stayed on the dance floor until the end of the evening. I realised that the girl I had known all my life was someone I wanted a closer relationship with. I walked her home and she invited me in for coffee. Coffee and a goodnight kiss was all I got except a date for next week.

From then on we became closer but I wasn’t getting any more than a few hugs and goodnight kisses. I wanted to go further so one Thursday evening I suggested a weekend away together. To my surprise Sheila agreed but only if we went camping tomorrow night until Sunday evening.

I had never been camping. I had done many things but sleeping in a tent had never appealed. But in a tent with Sheila – that was very attractive. She told me to buy a sleeping bag and a backpack. She would provide everything else.

I bought a double sleeping bag. I hoped; but even if I did not get to share it with Sheila the single bags looked much too small for me.

I ought to have known better. I had forgotten that Sheila was a “Vixen”. They always control their men. I was going away for a weekend expecting intimacy. Sheila was intending a very different weekend for me. I would be on her territory, where she understood the rules and I did not. It wasn’t an equal match but when are “The Silver Vixens” ever fair when they want something from a man?

After work on Friday I loaded my car and collected Sheila. bakırköy escort She loaded several bags into the car. The sun was shining brightly. It would not be dark for several hours.

“OK, John, aim for the A303. We are going to Devon via Exeter.”

In a couple of hours fast but legal driving we were in Devon.

I tried to get Sheila to talk about camping. She would talk about anything else. After an hour as we drove West the weather got worse. By the time we reached Exeter I had the windscreen wipers on their fastest speed. The rain was so hard that it was drumming on the car’s roof.

“A30 towards Okehampton,” said Sheila.

After a few miles she directed me off the main road down some miles of very narrow lanes that seemed more like streams than roads. Eventually we came to an inn set in dark woodland which had a large car park out of proportion to the size of the building. We dashed through the rain so fast that I didn’t see the inn sign.

In the bar there was a wood fire burning in the large fireplace. Yet this was nearly Summer.

I bought drinks for us. We sat down at a table by the fire. After a few minutes Sheila went to the Ladies. On the way back she stopped to talk to the landlord. I couldn’t hear what they said but in retrospect I realise he gave me a pitying look. He produced a book from under the bar. Sheila wrote something in it. I thought that she had decided not to camp and had booked us into the inn for the night.

I was wrong.

“Come on, John, drink up,” Sheila said “we have a way to go before it gets dark.”

I blinked. She meant it. We were going camping in this foul weather. I finished my drink.

I was going to get in the driving seat but Sheila stopped me.

“We are leaving the car here. Get everything you need out of the boot. Have you got a waterproof coat?”

“Er … I think so.”

She was rummaging in my backpack while I scrabbled around under the driver’s seat to find a torn old plastic raincoat.

Sheila didn’t laugh at me – then.

She put on a bright blue cagoule and matching waterproof trousers. I hadn’t noticed before but she was wearing strong boots. I had driven in an old pair of trainers and had some street shoes in my pack. I left the trainers on.

Sheila threw masses of equipment at me.

“Put these in your backpack.”

It was an order. I didn’t argue. Sheila knew what she was doing. I didn’t.

She had given me the cooking stove and its fuel, the pans, the food in tins and foil packets, the water container, the tent poles and pegs and other things. It was weeks later before I realised that what she gave me could get soaking wet without damage.

I rammed everything into the backpack. It barely fitted and was very lumpy. I had to tie the pans on the outside. Sheila loaded her backpack. There seemed to several bags left in the car.

Even with the plastic raincoat I was getting wet. My hair was plastered down. Water was running down the back of my neck. As the water ran off the raincoat it soaked my legs. I was really miserable and we hadn’t even left the car park.

“Ready?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“Put the pack on.”

I tried. I couldn’t. She had to adjust the straps for me. Even then hard lumps dug into my back.

She set off up the lane away from the inn. I followed. After a hundred yards my trainers were squelching. I gritted my teeth and plodded after her. Shortly after we had left the woodland she climbed over a stile into a field, then another stile that led to open moorland. I could not see very far because the rain was so heavy.

The moorland sloped down to a stream. We splashed through its cold water and climbed the hill beyond. Over the hill was another valley, another stream this time running through a boggy area. I nearly lost my trainers in the bog. Sheila was skipping across the bog as if it was dry land. I was floundering through it finding every soft patch of mud. After wading the water, which came up to Sheila’s knees, we turned upstream. I was vaguely pleased that I knew we were going upstream. Perhaps I wasn’t such a novice after all. That was the only consolation. I was cold, miserable, soaked through and really wondering if Sheila was worth this.

My pack seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds. Each time I moved it banged against me and it wasn’t soft. Either a tent pole or peg was digging into me.

Eventually the stream stopped. Or I think it did. Everything was so wet that the grass was floating even when there wasn’t a stream. We crossed the ridge and soon found another stream to follow. Even though I am fit I was getting tired. I was shivering. It wasn’t really that cold but the driving bakırköy eve gelen escort rain and wind were incessant. I think we had walked about five miles before we came to the edge of a wood. A small stream joined the one we were following. Sheila turned upstream then jumped across it. I just plodded through the water. I could not get any wetter.

Sheila pushed her way through the undergrowth into the wood. There was a clearing with two walls of a ruined stone built house. She walked to the angle of the two walls and put her pack down on the turf.

“We are here.” she said.

I took my pack off with a groan. My back ached and I could feel the bruises from the items that had been banging against me.

“Leave the pack,” Sheila said “I’ll put the tent up while you get some dry wood.”

Dry wood? In this rain nothing was dry, least of all me.

I searched around in the woodland. I found a few dry sticks sheltered by fallen trunks but as soon as I picked them up the rain soaked them. I realised that I had an impossible task so I just grabbed any loose wood. It was nearly dark when I tucked the butt of a large branch under my arm and staggered back to Sheila with an armful of wet wood.

She had erected the tent. I didn’t know how. I couldn’t have done it, not in the driving rain. I looked longingly at it. It would be dry inside. I’d give almost anything to be dry.

Sheila poked her head out of the tent, keeping under the extended flysheet.

“There’s a flat stone just there,” she pointed “Lay a fire and light it, please John. You have got a lighter?”

“Yes.” I growled. How could I light a fire in this weather? I piled the sticks together, tried to shield them with my plastic raincoat and flicked my lighter. I kept flicking until the flint was soaked from my wet fingers.

“Sheila!” I shouted. Her head popped out again.

“I can’t light this ****ing fire! It’s wet, I’m wet, my lighter’s not working and I’m freezing!”

Then she laughed at me. I glared at her.

“It’s not funny.”

“Yes it is. Come here.” she replied.

I squelched over to the lighted tent.

“Stop!” Sheila said as I came under the flysheet. I stopped.

“I don’t want the inside of the tent as wet and muddy as you are. Take everything off.”

“Everything?” I protested.

“Everything!” she insisted. “You are not coming in until you are naked.”

I stripped. My clothes were plastered to me. I had to struggle hard to untie my trainers before I could get at my wet jeans and peel them down. I left my clothes where they fell. I shivered in the darkness.

“Get out in the rain and rinse the mud off,” said Sheila.

I stood and shivered in the rain as it sluiced the mud off me.

“Come here.” Sheila ordered. “Sit down and push your muddy feet out.”

I did.

“Now in you come.”

I crawled inside the tent on to a large dry bath sheet. Sheila wrapped it tight around me. It was warm and felt wonderful. She took another towel and rubbed my hair dry. She fitted the towel round my head like a turban.

“Roll to your left,” she ordered.

I tried but I was too well wrapped. She had to roll me on to my open sleeping bag.

“Keep still.”

I couldn’t do anything else. I was mummified in that bath sheet.

Sheila pulled the sides of my sleeping bag together and closed the zip. She slid her legs under the bag so that my head was resting in her lap.

“There,” she said “isn’t that better? You are warm and dry.”

I was. How? My sleeping bag should have been as soaked as I had been. I had put it unprotected in my backpack which couldn’t have kept out a light shower. The heavy continuous downpour I’d been through should have saturated the sleeping bag.

I lay there luxuriating in the warm dryness. Sheila was doing something beside my head but I was happy again. Then Sheila bent her head down beside me. She bit off a loose thread.

“I’ve done.” she announced.

“Done? Done what?” I asked idly.

“Sewn you into your sleeping bag.”


“I’ve sewn you into your sleeping bag.” she replied.

I wriggled my head. She had. The sleeping bag was closed around my neck. Even if I had my hands free I couldn’t have squeezed a finger between the bag and my neck. I struggled uselessly.

Sheila laughed at me again.

“You aren’t going anywhere, John. Relax. Aren’t you warm and dry? Isn’t that what you wanted? Or did you want something else this weekend? Me, perhaps?”

How could I answer those questions? Of course I wanted Sheila. Now she had me exactly where she wanted me to be. This weekend was to be on her terms or not at all.

“Well bakırköy grup yapan escort …” I started.

“Well …” she echoed.

“I would like …”

“I know you would. But will I let you? That is the question. I have made sure that I get the choice. What will you do for me?”

What could I say? Before I could think of an answer Sheila asked another question.

“Would you like a mug of warm soup before dinner?”


“Soup before dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

“Stay there. I’ll get it.”

Stay there? Of course I’d stay there. What else could I do? I was imprisoned in that sleeping bag. Sheila slid out from under my head and lowered it on to a bag stuffed with clothes.

She was back in seconds. She propped me up against her and carefully fed me the soup. She drank hers. The rest of the meal followed from one pan with a spoonful for me and one for her. At the end she made coffee.

Now I was warm inside and out. I appreciated the feeling and I was laughing at myself. I had planned to seduce Sheila and failed.

Sheila saw me smile.

“What’s the joke?” she asked.

“I am. I should have known better. I asked a Vixen away for a dirty weekend. It has started much dirtier and wetter than I imagined.”

Sheila hugged me.

“Never mind, John. This weekend has only just started. If you give the right answer to the question I asked earlier things might improve.”

“Which question?”

“What will you do for me?”

“Oh. That one. What do you want me to do for you?”

“That is the right answer.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Shall I tell you what I want?”

“Yes, please.”

“You have just eaten dinner. For dessert I want you to eat me … until I have had enough.”


“OK? Just OK? No questions?”

“No. If you want to be eaten, here I am, willing and able.”

“Thank you, John. Get ready.”

Sheila lowered my head to the groundsheet. She pulled off her track suit bottom. She rolled up the track suit trousers and pushed them behind my head. A leg swung over my face revealing a cute shaven pussy which lowered gently across my face. I extended my tongue and started to work on her.

I tongued, nibbled, tongued again. Soon Sheila’s pussy began to glisten in the lamplight.

I know that I am skilled at eating pussy. I gave Sheila the full treatment. I pushed her to the limit and let her wait. I brought her so close again and again. She was yelling for it before she had her first orgasm. After that first one I couldn’t hear the rain beating on the tent. Either I was buried so deep between her legs that I couldn’t hear anything, or she was screeching so loud that I was deafened.

Eventually she was satisfied. She lay down beside me and pulled my head against her bra-covered breasts.

“Thank you, John.” she said. She went to sleep leaving me frustrated. I was wrapped and cuddled so well that I couldn’t even get release myself. Sheila’s breasts are wonderful. All I could do was nuzzle and kiss them through her bra. Sheila moved slightly in her sleep. I had more breast to play with so I played.

After a long while I looked at Sheila’s face. She was looking at me. The devious bitch hadn’t been asleep at all.

“That was nice, but aren’t you frustrated?”

“Yes,” I growled.

“I can’t have you frustrated, can I? Hold still.”

She produced a small knife from her pack. With a couple of passes she cut the threads holding the sleeping bag closed. She pulled the zip down to my thighs. I was still wrapped in the bath sheet. She loosened it until my erection sprang out.

“That’s what I want,” she said “You want me to have it too, don’t you, John?”

I grunted. I couldn’t trust myself to reply.

She ripped open a condom packet with her teeth. I winced as she rolled the condom down my erect shaft.

Then she threw herself at me. She had been kneeling beside my wrapped body and then she straddled me. She impaled herself on my erection in one swift thrust. My back arched to meet her. Just a few short movements and I shuddered into a climax.

“Sorry John, that was too fast. The next time will be slower …”

The next time? So there would be a next time. That was enough for me. Sheila unwrapped me before we spent the night wrapped in each others’ arms and together in my sleeping bag.

The next time was as the light of a brilliant sunrise filtered through the tent. I awoke to find Sheila lying on me and I had already penetrated her or she had engulfed me. As it had happened while I was asleep I suppose she did it to me, not me to her.

Unlike the shattering explosion last night this time we made love slowly and gently, exploring each other with our hands and lips. After a long session of mutual arousal we began a slow crescendo towards orgasm. I restrained myself as much as I could to allow Sheila time but her first orgasm triggered mine a couple of heartbeats later.

We lay together in that sleeping bag reluctant to start the new day but it would have to come.

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