As mentioned in my story My Journey Into An FLR, here is a continuation which delves deeper into an episode that stands out in Jason and Anna’s shared history—a camping trip they embarked on to mark their anniversary. While some elements draw from truth, this narrative leans heavily into the fictional, offering a more vivid retelling of their adventure. During their stay in the wilderness, the couple encountered two women whose presence would, unbeknownst to them, enrich and solidify their relationship. The new friendships blossomed, influenced by a chemistry that neither couple could deny. Intimacy and adventure interwove, blurring the line between friendship and something more far more daring. Their time together explored the boundaries of trust, freedom, and love, setting the stage for nineteen immersive chapters that chronicle profound discoveries, and emotional revelations. If you haven’t read the Journey, I suggest you do before starting this new story. New to this story? Start with Chapter 1! Thank you for reading! – RG John
Chapter 7
We sat quietly for a few a while as the three women chatted about work, marriage, and other mundane things that I had no interest in. I zoned out, almost in overload from all that had transpired so quickly.
Then they dressed, and while I was still naked, I led the way back to the tower. We circled around the falls as we moved steadily uphill.
I could hear Molly and Sandra giggling from behind. One of them said, “I can see why you like to discipline his ass… it’s cute. Too bad he doesn’t have a penis to go along with it.”
I felt my face flush.
Anna turned and smiled at the two women. “His ass and good body are one of the reasons I married him. It is nice to look at, and do other things too,” Anna joked and the ladies laughed. I don’t think the ladies picked up on what Anna was alluding too.
Molly said, “I notice he is cleanly shaven… down there. I like that.”
Sandra agreed.
Anna smiled. “He started shaving not long after we started our FLR. But he doesn’t have to anymore.”
“Why, does he get waxed?” Molly asked.
“He used to, but I took him to get the hair removed with a laser,” Anna said.
“I heard that was more painful that waxing,” Molly said.
Anna looked at me with a smile and said, “What do you think, Jason.”
I said, “Yes, it hurt like a bitch, but once it was done I don’t have to have it waxed anymore. I am told it lasts a long time.”
“Do you have him done all over? I don’t see much anywhere else,” Sandra asked.
“Everywhere that counts,” Anna said, “but Jason doesn’t have a lot of hair elsewhere, and it is blond so it doesn’t show up that much. Everything was done from the waist down to his knees. I let him keep the hair below his knees so he would look weird wearing shorts. I let him keep it on his face because I like the scruffy beard look.”
“That is nice,” Molly said. “It looks like… you know, you did it… back there too.” She pointed to my ass.
“Oh yes,” Anna said with a smile. “That’s important.”
“That had to be painful,” Sandra joked.
“I am certain it was,” Anna returned. “But he has developed a high threshold for pain… necessarily so.”
“I suppose so with being disciplined weekly,” Molly agreed.
As we reached the crest of the hill, a collective pause settled over us, drawn to the majestic sight above. Multiple eagles danced effortlessly across the vast blue sky, their powerful wings slicing through the air as they engaged in a frantic feeding frenzy. With sharp precision, they swooped downward, almost daring the earth to meet them, before soaring high again in a graceful arc. It was as if the older, wiser birds played the role of teachers, guiding the eager young ones through their first hunts, their motions a silent lesson of strength and mastery. The scene was raw and awe-inspiring, a stark contrast to the silent, structured world of the city.
After we spent a long, quiet half-hour watching the eagles trace their serene arcs across the sky, Sandra and Molly moved with an almost rehearsed efficiency around to the back of the tower base. Without a word, they slid their heavy frame packs into a broad, weather-worn basket that dangled from thick ropes, its counterbalanced design swaying gently in the mountain wind. The groan of the old pulley filled the crisp air as they began the steady, methodical crank upward toward the cabin’s high deck.
Anna blinked in disbelief, her brows shooting upward. “Why didn’t we see that earlier? That would’ve made things so much easier.”
“Exactly,” I said with a wry laugh. My shoulders still ached from our earlier climb, and seeing their clever shortcut made it sting just a little more. Sandra grinned as if she’d been waiting for that reaction. “Yeah, we missed the lift the first time too. Dragged everything up those monster stairs. I thought my legs were going to give out halfway.”
We regrouped and began the climb, this time unburdened but no less breathless as we scaled the massive wooden steps to the lookout cabin. The boards were sun-scorched and creaked in protest with each footfall. By the time we reached the top, the wind whipped our hair into our faces and our thighs burned, yet the view stretched endlessly in every direction—a reward that almost erased the strain.
Inside, the upper cabin smelled of pine and dust. Sunlight spilled through the wide glass panes, catching motes in lazy swirls. Anna gestured toward the cot pushed against the wall, its thin mattress resting on a frame that still had visible metal springs. “You two can take the bed,” she offered offhandedly. “We’ll either bunk down in the lower cabin or just roll our sleeping bags out on the floor up here.”
Sandra and Molly both thanked her warmly and began moving toward the cot with sleeping bags in tow. But they only made it a few paces before both came to an abrupt stop. Their eyes zeroed in on something lying bold and unmistakable across the pale blanket.
Anna’s strap-on.
The world seemed to lurch in slow motion. Anna and I spotted it together, our eyes meeting for a split second of frozen recognition.
“I’ll grab that,” Anna said, moving forward with a completely unhurried demeanor, as though she were retrieving a misplaced flashlight instead of an object now radiating a strange center-of-the-room energy. She scooped it up without flinching, tucking the straps loosely into her palm.
Meanwhile, my face flared a deep, searing red that crept shamelessly from my collar to the tips of my ears. Molly arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
“Oh… so you brought your strap-on with you.” She tilted her head slightly, studying us both. “I mean, if it’s your second honeymoon and your husband’s… shall we say, out of commission… I guess that makes sense.”
Anna cast a sidelong glance at me, and I instinctively met her stare with a desperate look—pleading silently for her to let the subject die right there. But I should have known better.
Holding the strap-on now with a faint glimmer of amusement, Anna said matter-of-factly, “This isn’t for me… well, I mean, I use it, sure—but not on me. Mine’s at home.”
The air shifted almost audibly as both Sandra and Molly turned their full attention to me. I could see the dawning comprehension in their widening eyes, like two people who’ve just caught sight of an unexpected twist in a movie. My blush deepened until it felt like my very pulse was visible under my skin.
Unfazed, Anna went on, as incapable of self-censorship as ever. “Yes, I use it on Jason. His ass serves for more than just discipline—and honestly, it’s become one of my favorite things lately. We just started last week. Which is… kind of why we’re calling this our second honeymoon.”
Sandra clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a sharp, incredulous gasp. “Oh my God.”
“You’re kidding?” Molly asked, still staring between the strap-on, Anna’s perfectly calm expression, and my ever-darkening shade of crimson. Her smirk softened into something closer to fascination as she gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “Wow.”
The room felt smaller somehow, the distant sound of wind in the pines doing little to wash away the awkward, electric charge lingering in the stale air.
Molly shrugged and said, “I guess we can’t say much… we both like being fucked in the ass. My husband and I used to do it all the time. I even convinced Sandra to try it… and she likes it too. Maybe not loves it,” she added with a grin, glancing at her friend. She glanced at her friend with that half-smile that meant she was sharing a secret she wasn’t sure she should.
Sandra rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “It has its moments,” she allowed, the corners of her mouth lifting as if she were about to betray a private joke.
Then Molly turned back to Anna. “Have you ever tried it… you know, with the real thing? It wouldn’t be as much fun with a strap-on.”
Anna’s cheeks pinked, a rare flush that lit her down to the collarbone, and she shook her head. “No… never have.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Molly teased with a laugh. Then, more mischievously, she added, “Though I think it’d be fun to share the experience with someone.”
Anna got her composure back and said, “I just pegged him with it last night… leaning him over the railing. That was right after I had switched his ass.” Her voice lowered, as if she was confiding something not meant for the hallway.
“Oh, my that would have been a sight to see,” Sandra murmured.
Anna lowered her voice even more, as if I wasn’t right there. “If you two stick around until tomorrow evening… well, there might be a show on tap.”
“Really?” Molly and Anna said at once, the spark of curiosity replacing the casual banter.
I was shocked, to tell the truth. I hadn’t expected them to be so open, so unguarded about something so intimate. It was clear that Molly and Sandra were surprised too, caught in a moment of shared heat and humor that no longer needed to pretend.
Anna lowered her voice as if I wasn’t right there and said, “I generally give him two days to recover before I do it again… I don’t want to stretch him too much that would spoil some of the fun. If you two stick around until tomorrow evening… well, there might be a show on tap.”
The invitation hung between us, bold as a dare. Feeling the heat rising in my face again, I quickly changed the subject. “Anna, maybe I should go cut up some wood for tonight. Do you want the ladies something to drink before I go?”
Molly chimed in brightly. “We’ve got more wine.”
Anna gave me a little smile. “Wine sounds perfect.”
I hesitated. “Uh… can I put on some clothes for this?” “Sure,” Anna said with a smirk. “But off they come as soon as you’re back inside. That doesn’t change because we have guests.” She turned to Sandra and Molly. “He’s required to be naked while in the house. Always.”
“Oh really?” Sandra asked, clearly intrigued. “Why?” Anna didn’t miss a beat. “It keeps him in his place. Vulnerable. Submissive. Exactly where he belongs. And, more than that, I like to see him that way. I don’t wear much around the house either… just because it drives him crazy. His little penis stays rigid, at least as hard as it can get in the cage.
The women nodded, exchanging a glance that said more than words. A shared understanding passed among them, a quiet acknowledgement of the textures of control and consent that threaded through their friendships.
The air around us grew thick with it. As I stood there, listening, I felt the room tilt a fraction toward danger and delight, the kind of tilt that makes a person suddenly aware of every breath, every sound, every beat of the heart. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but a sharpened alertness, the sense that something unspoken hung in the air and waited for someone to name it. I realized that I was her with these three strong and independent ladies and had only a glimmer of what they might be capable of… and that scared and excited me.
Molly’s eyes flicked toward the horizon as if judging the weather. Sandra’s grin held a challenge, a dare to step closer to the fire and see how close to the edge we dared to push.
Anna’s gaze rested on me, curious and calm at once, as if she was measuring how far I’d let the moment take me before I stepped back. The scent of wine rose, a reminder of the simple indulgences that can carry a conversation into the territory of risk and desire. We stood on the threshold of something unspoken, a promise of tomorrow’s potential, a possibility that tonight there would be nothing but the quiet, deliberate unmasking of restraint.
The women nodded, and the look they shared was more telling than any sentence could be. I swear I felt the shift in dynamics. Anna was in charge, for sure, but suddenly there were two very independent women to deal with. I shivered at what they might be capable of.
Then Anna’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer, and I saw the shift in her eyes before she even spoke. “Shorts, boots, no shirt,” she said, her mouth curling just slightly into a smile. “I like to see your body when you sweat. But… you might want to put some sunscreen on.”
I gave a small nod, reaching for the spray and coating my skin in the cool mist, the sharp scent of it catching in the warm summer air. Pulling on my worn shorts and boots, I stepped out into the sunlight, grateful for the excuse to leave the cabin’s stuffy air behind and the sexual tension behind.
Down by the woodpile, I found a few large chunks someone had already split in half. The work was simple, rhythmic—lift, bring the ax down, watch the wood fracture cleanly into smaller pieces. The sun pressed its heat into me, and within minutes, sweat began to bead and slide along my skin. I’d always disliked that feeling, the way the rivulets traced unpredictable paths, tickling as they went, but there was no stopping it. The smell of pine resin and sun-warmed bark filled the air, grounding me in the moment.
One swing, then another, the sound of the blade biting into wood in steady cadence. After a while, I straightened, wiping at my forehead, and my eyes wandered up toward the cabin. There they were—Anna, Sandra, and Molly—all lined at the railing, their faces bright against the sky.
They waved down at me as if they’d been watching for some time, a small chorus of smiles and fluttering hands. For a second, the work faded into the background, replaced by the quiet awareness of being seen.
I lifted a hand in return to their wave, offering a polite grin before turning back to my task. From the sounds of their laughter drifting over on the breeze, it was safe to assume the wine at lunch had left them in high spirits, and the fresh bottle they’d popped open at the tower had only heightened the effect. Three women, already naturally bold, now with the loose warmth of drink flowing through them… Well, that could go any number of ways. Being the only man in sight for what felt like miles, a faint knot tightened in my stomach, part nerves, part anticipation.
Once I had a respectable pile of wood ready, I hefted it over to the lift, sent it creaking skyward, and made my way up the stairs behind it. The quiet hum of my work had grounded me, but as I collected the wood at the top and walked around toward the front of the cabin, something in the air shifted.
I rounded the corner… and froze mid-step.
The three of them sat in a loose semicircle of chairs, bathed in the warm gleam of the late afternoon sun. Bare from the waist up, they nipples hard from a tiny chill in the air. Molly’s nipples were what really caught my eye with her nipple rings sparkling in the sunlight. Each held a glass of wine, the crimson liquid catching the light, their gazes fixed on me in unison.
My face went hot, the sting of warmth spreading up to my ears. There was a playful glimmer in their eyes, but beneath it, something else—something that suggested I’d walked into a situation whose boundaries I couldn’t yet predict.
I froze mid-step, the weight of the woodpile in my arms pressing into my chest as my fingers tightened reflexively. The porch lay only a few strides away, but it might as well have been a mile, given who was sprawled out across its steps. There was no other path to the door—no quick detour or unseen entrance—just the obstacle of three women, half-lounging, half-sprawled, the warm lull of wine painting their cheeks and softening their speech. Their legs stretched out into my path, bare and careless, toes tapping lightly as they laughed at some private joke. I kept my eyes low, focusing on the tricky mix of stepping between them without knocking anyone’s glass over or, worse, tripping over an errant foot.
“Mm,” Molly purred, her gaze slow and brazen as it crawled up my sweat-streaked torso. “I love a sweaty man. Those pheromones you release… total aphrodisiac.”
Anna and Sandra both chuckled, their glasses clinking together as if sealing some toast between co-conspirators. “Here, here!” they chimed in unison. The burst of laughter that followed made their chests lift and sway, and I felt a sharp, involuntary pang of relief that my shorts—loose though they were—hid the telltale press of the metal cage between my legs. That humbling restraint was both a curse and a saving grace in moments like this.
They were in full-on wine-silliness now. That giddy, uninhibited state where every remark carried a teasing edge, designed as much for each other’s amusement as for my discomfort.
Inside, I deposited the wood by the hearth, brushing my hands together just as Anna’s voice trailed in from the porch. “When you’re done,” she called, “fetch a bucket of water and warm it up. I think the ladies could use a nice foot massage.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied automatically, though my mind was already planning the errand. “I’ll need to run down to the cabin for the water and oil.”
Molly’s brow quirked. “Wow, he gives foot massages too?”
Anna’s tone was light, almost bored, as though the idea was as commonplace as breathing. “Of course he does. And he’s very good at it. If I’d known you ladies might like one, I’d have had him bring his full pedicure kit along.”
Sandra’s eyes widened slightly, though her smile stayed fixed. “My, he is a full-service husband, isn’t he?”
That earned them Anna’s signature sly grin—the one that made my stomach twist in both dread and a little pride.
“Oh, you’ve no idea how much,” she said.
Heat bloomed in my face. I didn’t need a glossary to decipher her meaning. She wasn’t talking about anything as innocent as foot rubs or pedicures—no, her mind was on far more explicit territory, and the detail that instantly flashed in my mind made my shoulders tense and my head drop. The image alone was enough to remind me of my place.
