Stepdaughters — Bush Pounded

Promises can reap rewards!

Ever had that nagging promise in the back of your mind you never kept? Well, I had one.

For years, I had promised my stepdaughter Sophie an outback camping trip. I looked back fondly to my freedom days in my youth with my best mate Tom, our Harleys, our sleeping bags under the stars and the great outback, all ours for adventures. Then there was everyday life: the corporate ladder, marriage, blended family and a painful divorce a few years ago.

Here was my gorgeous natural blonde Sophie at eighteen, having a gap year before going to Uni with her bestie Amelia, a dyed blonde, but it suited her, who just so happened to be Tom's stepdaughter.

And so, it was with Sophie and me; we hit that rare combination of both a father and a daughter having time to do what we should have done years ago. I was taking a break from freelance work, which paid shitloads without any management accountability. Sophie was reconnecting with me, no longer a stranger adult in her life and finally old enough to understand what a cheating bitch her mother was.

Tom, bundled out the door of his corporation three months ago but with a decent redundancy and nothing else to do between jobs, was looking for nostalgia too. Getting our girls off on the adventure of a lifetime in the great outdoors.

My mate and I had eyed off a significant walk in the Flinders Ranges but had never done it. However, we had our motivation now, our daughters. We both wanted to reconnect to the outback and were determined to share our love affair with our iconic landscape with the girls. 

A bonding trip needs a memorable location, and we had it. The Wilpena Pound is a natural corralling amphitheatre of ranges over four hundred kilometres north of Adelaide. It appears as one encircling range, but two sets of ridges meet, with a gorge and a gap at one end; otherwise, there is only a high saddle with a walking track or horse trail. 

In the local indigenous dialect — The Pound — means — Place of the bent fingers — and it does look like that in satellite images; the ridges resemble gently cupped hands, or if you want to be smutty, it looks like a scrotum sack or an open vulva. 

Before it became a part of a National Park, it made an obvious location for an attempt at pastoral leases in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Today, it's a bushwalkers paradise with both short days and full-on several-day lengthy hikes.

We hired a four-wheel drive in Adelaide and headed north. The girls were good, relaxed company. Nicely grown up and confident in themselves and relaxed with their college exams over and a gap year to enjoy. We registered our walking schedule as required at the entry to the Flinders Ranges. We set up our initial camp at the designated camping ground on the only access road leading into — The Pound.

The weather mustered hot and dry as we embarked on our first day of hiking. We all had loaded backpacks and two-person tents, intending to hike some of —The Pounds' — prominent peaks, the waterfall, and the gorges. It was all mature, 'grown-up' sharing of nature at its very best.

The girl's arses looked shapely in red and navy shorts as we made our way up a trail to a ridge lookout on day two. But only in a nice general guy looking at booty way; your stepdaughter and her bestie included as — purely feminine attraction — but way off limits.

The pair of lasses were enjoyably pally — frisky like the local yellow-footed rock wallabies and peppy like sun-drenched geckos. 

Tom organised our first night of opening camping. We dudes shared a tent and the girls the other. The girls both said they were a 'bit buggered' but had enjoyed the day and wanted a whole night's sleep, so they went to their tent. 

Sophie turned to me with a heartfelt, "Thanks for the day, Dad."

Tom and I did a bit of stargazing but then realised we had one of the higher peaks to traverse tomorrow, so early to bed and early to rise was a good idea, too.

Geez, were we guys up early? The break of dawn stuff and the view of the rising sun over — The Pound — ridges dazzled superbly. Nothing could likely top it for the day—a fantastic spectacle. Shadows, tree by tree, replaced by light. Stunning.

Tom and I thought the girls could sleep another hour before we needed to get organised with breakfast, packing up and heading off. 

However, Tom nudged me and said, "Luke, do you hear what I hear?"

"Yeah, Tom, I hear it all right, but I don't believe it; I know what we're hearing."

We were two mature men realising their stepdaughters were frickin bi-sexual tarts because the muffled exuberant sounds of sex were unmistakable. 

Mixed, "Ooh yes, aah fuck yes," and "right there, right there."

Unmistakable, whether seen or heard, or outside or inside.

 The moans and groans of joyful sex stir our groins, minds and libidos.

We want in. 

Sex does that; it makes you want sex.

I mean, we only intended to listen outside their tent. 

Whatever they did to each other was private; they — were our daughters. 

But curiosity. Oh curiosity. 

The noises were compelling us to sneak a peek. 

'Mmm's, Ahh's, sighs of satisfaction,' we heard them.

I thought it had to be a double muff diving sixty-nine. Nothing could induce such soft, muffled dual reverberations of delight. They had to be both fully sapphic aroused. 

I tried to picture them naked. 

Of course, I checked myself with Sophie's body. Hell — it was my stepdaughter. Still, I was picturing her tongue between Amelia's sweet arse cheeks, licking her shaved pink wet pussy lips. 

Then I realised my best mate was with me, and — it was his stepdaughter; I visualised getting her clitty licked. 

Oh hell. 

Then what was my mate thinking? His daughter — or — my daughter getting her pussy and arse fondled. 

However, I thought of it; it wasn't appropriate, but boy, was it arousing. My cock strained in my pants.

Tom was rubbing his crotch, the dirty bastard, as the sounds became more explicit. 

Well, we craned our necks at the tent flap. 

"Mmm, mmm, mmm," clearly Amelia.

"Ugh, yes, ugh, yes," added Sophie

Tom whispered, "You dirty sod Luke, I hope you're not touching yourself thinking of my daughter in there."

All I could do was smile at my mate as we released our cocks together from our pants. 

Oh yeah, we were being responsible here; of course, we weren't thinking of our daughters, well, not solely. We were picturing our stepdaughters at it together. 

Tom and I tried to make sense of gratifying sexual noise, but we required more. 

Guys always require the visual in sex.

Both Tom and I had it bad. We had to know. To see. Our cocks compelled us to engage in sin. 

I rationalised it perfectly, telling my mate, "We can look, but we will only look at each other's stepdaughter, not our own; promise, Deal?"

"Deal," he said.

But it was a promise we both knew we couldn't keep. We were about to pry directly on, 'we hoped' naked tandem girly flesh, writhing together somehow in the confines of a tent. We were both going to see arse, tits or pussy, or all of the aforementioned, both our daughters' and our best mates' daughter, as we peeked in the flap.

Body shadows replaced outdoor sunlight for a moment. Then there was the most stunning of sights. 

Flaps.

Well, yes, the tent flaps slightly back.

But nothing like my Sophie's spread pink flapettes surrounded by lush, crinkly blonde, full-bush pubes under the lustful licking of Amelia's tongue in the perfect fem-occupied side on sixty-nine. They positioned for our male gaze like they were porn camera-savvy bitches. Spread for male enjoyment. 

Almost simultaneously, I took in Sophie's tongue, flicking over Amelia's generous-sized hard clitty, erect and raised, exposed to pleasure, as her profuse dark private map of Tasmania spread, unveiled. A veritable nubile hidden forest. A superb snatch pack, bountiful, opulent and mesmerising. Of course, I saw my stepdaughter naked first, but then I was consumed in the sexual whole. Geez, this was intense girl-on-girl kitty action. 

They thought they were safely at it before we guys were up. 

How lucky were we?

The two eighteen-year-old girls were too much into each other; you could see their unrestrained lust. Bodies bonded in the flesh and conjoined sexual appreciation. Mutual orgasms underway. The visual magnitude rose to the stunning; we are talking front row positions, to the normally off-limits, up close and private, now the focused vista of two guys. Well, two dads, making it way filthier and stiff cock stirring than a peep show.

What happened had to happen, I suppose. Two young naked women, two over-aroused middle-aged guys. We just gave each other a look—the nod. Our tops were off—our jeans and underwear. We were going to try and join in and screw each other's stepdaughter.

We knew where to get, behind each girl, crush them in, squeeze them between us, and nuzzle cock into their needy bodies. 

Our daughters were true daughters of Eve, luxuriating in their naked muff-diving appeal. They were tramps. 

Yet halleluiah, if they liked each other's body, well, they thankfully liked cock even more. 

Yes, there were surprised yelps of; "Oh shit," followed by "Mmm, that's nice," as my cock nuzzled around Amelia's arsehole. 

And I didn't want to know what that bugger Tom was doing to my daughter Sophie as she mouthed, "Orrgh yeah… fuck me, yeah! Keep doing that, you prick. Ooh, ooh!" 

The girls untangled from each other but only to be entrapped by male hardness. Skin snared to skin. Touch dominant. Touch escalated to its filthiest debauched limits. 

I slotted a finger in Amelia's butt and two digits in her sopping, musty, pube-soaked, already climaxed pussy. Oh, she was more than ready for cock. Sophie had primed her to her primordial fem-sex state—three fingers of one hand in her excited coochie and two bent fingers deep in her arse. 

"Orrgh, yes, fuck yes, oh yes, fuckin' yes," as her head swayed.

Place of the bent fingers — yeah — The Pound — but Amelia's arse and my crooked, hooked fingers were presently the more fixated image.

I needed to do the bitch. 

It had to be base, innate, primate-thrusting sex. The tent space wafted, full of their heady, musky, dual girly, sexy release. It was primaeval how I grabbed her up, spread her legs and shoved my throbbing pecker in and out of her saturated enveloping pink wrapping slit.

Awesome pussy. Divine fucking. Cock bliss.

Appropriately, her young body was pounded in — The Pound.

The scene was more — naturally unnatural — as I saw my mate, Tom, dogging my stepdaughter right beside me. My cock was enjoying a stunning lubricated swathe of girly juices in the confined giving and taking femflesh tube that was Amelia's happy gorgeous pussy. 

But there was my daughter, my sweet Sophie, being a whoring slut, right beside me, mouthing off repeated expletives as Tom pummelled and jagged into her; well, I have to say, gorgeously shaped twat. 

"Orrgh, shit yeah, fuckin' yes, deeper, you bastard, fuckin' deeper!"

I had the moment when I wished I had contributed some DNA to the construction of something many a guy had already enjoyed, many more would, and my best friend was jagging into her with gusto right now.

As I gouged and scooped into Amelia's girly slit, I realised that I was actually enjoying watching my steppie get dogged too. And so was Tom, the bastard. He was sneaking peeks at me, rooting the core out of his delectable stepdaughter.

We were all there participating in each other's sexual euphoria, the sheer raunch of uninhibited open sex. Then the girlfriends, our daughters, kissed each other while both being shagged senseless; and their sloppy lush lust of meeting tongues drove us boys to mate like wild Brummies; we screwed the bejesus out of each other's willing daughter as they kissed repeatedly.

And that was the key, their compliant willingness; you don't know how smutty and lewd your stepdaughter is in sex. 

Oh, we might hear rumours. We might see sexting. But to see your daughter participate in sex. 

Ah, but here was the release. This was a sin without the confessional guilt — hell I wasn't screwing my minx.

I had her sweet bestie, my mate's daughter.

Tom was enjoying my daughter, while no doubt, like me, he imagined the forbidden — he was screwing his own…in his mind.

Still, what were the barriers to taking our stepdaughters right here and now?

Probably nothing to stop us guys from swapping and enjoying the ultimate forbidden fruit, but there was temptation enough for us middle-aged guys, each other's daughter, ready for the arse pounding of their life.

Well, hell, the two little bi-bitches deserved it. Wanted it. Needed it. Hell, maybe more than Tom and I.

In fact, they demanded it!

"My goddamn arse, my goddam arse, are you man enough? Take my goddam arse," said Sophie.

Amelia, the trollop, upped the ante, "Pound my fuckin' arse, bugger me, bugger my starfish, you randy sod!"

Oh, sweet heaven on earth, did Amelia have a tight arse. Her arse gave everything to my cock instantly. It's why guys love arse. The arse wraps tight. Buttholes cling to cock. Peckers have to force space, and still, the fuckin perfect backpack grips, hugs and smothers dick in its flesh-defining hold. In Amelia's case, tighter than a wrestler's chokehold. My knob was in love with her constricted squeeze. Her booty wobbled. Her bum contoured into our convex, concave motion. 

Yet, I had to look as Tom's cock, too, literally choked into Sophie's seemingly tiny pink balloon knot. She yelped and went guttural as my mate set about giving her arse a deep exploration using his cock as nature's natural butt plug.

Jesus, her patootie shimmy was the stuff of mesmerising wet dreams. Her vocalisation was the carnal diaspora of fem-heightened sexual release. 

"Ooh, yes, ooh yes, oh my god, fuckin' hell, ooh yes, oooh yes, ooh yes!"

God, her rim looked amazing as my mate's pecker plied in and out of her expanding, stretched, but narrow crack. Her starfish ring held cock tighter than a wedged cork stuck in a fuckin champagne bottle. 

Hell, it was tighter than a spurious politican's alibi!

Two arses in girdled tandem delivered everything they could back to the cocks shaping their blissful expanded satisfaction. The girl's arses manically pounded like butt cracks, insist on being pounded. 

The no mercy rule for young, excited women. 

Just what nubiles carnally crave. 

"Pump my fuckin arse, pump my fuckin arse, oh sweet Jesus, bugger my fuckin arse," from Amelia.

While Sophie, sweet angelic Sophie, delivered this spray which had to be obeyed: "Ram my arse, bang my arse, crack me fuckin' open, oh yes, oh fuckin yes. God, oh yes, oh yes."

Four bodies heaved and convulsed, locked in unconditional, immediate acceptance and giving. 

Giving pleasure as hardness enjoyed sensational, gripping arsehole wrapping — length finding depth, girth accommodated by perfect levels of puckered flexi fem-grip tightness. 

Unimaginable anal delight all-round. 

Divine sodomy was made all the more novel by two men seeing their stepdaughter comprehensively buggered. 

Plugged good.

Arse-shagged to perfection.

Nothing glamorous, just goddamn anal sex making everyone escalate to climactic heights. A voluptuous arse paradise that insisted on completion with an indulgent creamy male release, a goddamn stepdad duo! 

And the delectable accompanying nubile effusive orgasms. 

Everyone pounded in — The Pound.

The best sex belongs to the screamers.

"Uuh, uuh, uhh," rising in a pitch from the bowels of her being from Sophie.

While Amelia groaned, and I'm sure her shriek echoed the walled amphitheatre of Wilpena Pound, a response so pure — an actual climax not copyable by porn, the sweet, a capella, uninhibited release — "Orrrrghhh!"

Oh, where to next? 

We climbed — The Pounds' — prominent peaks over the next few days. 

As for the camp sex, well, some things remain — hush-hush— between fathers and their stepdaughters.