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By *ikeEx OP Man
14 weeks ago
Near Alfreton, Derbyshire |
Inspired by our new hobby..
One of Mike's employers gave him a tent for his security work, when he worked at the Download 2024 event in the East Midlands.
The weather was horrible, the food was causing people to be ill and suffer with the effects of Ecoli.
Mike left a day early, yet he wasn't missed by his boss, as most of the crowd were already subdued and fed up themselves.
The year afterwards, Mike was asked to go back and work Download 2025, which he declined, and was given a last minute security job at the Isle of Wight festival 2025 with his (then) 15 yr old son Adam.
The event was amazing, the camping was a pre-erected Bell Tent, the weather was fantastic, dry and the temperatures between 21 at night and as high as 31 during the day.
Mike was asked to cover Download 2026, which he declined, but he offered to return the 2024 tent he had.
After various to'ing and fro'ing conversations, Mike was asked to return to The Isle of Wight 2026 again.
In the meantime, he was also give two UK based shows where he would need a tent, one of the shows, he could take his dog with him, and the other show, his (will be) 17yr old son.
After asking around, his boss, who had given up camping offered Mike a Tent.
Initially, Mike declined, but his boss brought it to work anyway.
Berghaus Air 400 Night Shelter. an inflatable tent...
Mike showed Candy what he had, by going into GoOutdoors, on several weekends.
Candy was getting excited and they decided to look for some Swingers Camping in the East Midlands and possibly further north.
Mike wanted to set the tent up somewhere, but neither Candy nor Mike had room for a 3m by 5m tent. They couldn't practice, so Mike searched and came across Wallace Lane Farm with facilities in the Lake District and decided to Book for Mid May.
In the meantime, they would look at testing the Extra deep air mattress, waterproof covers, extra large double sleeping bags and other core camping utensils and facilities which made them look like they had a Pickup truck with a permanent Glamping setup build into it. The air mattress was so deep that when Candy sat on the edge, her feet couldn't touch the floor. When Mike sat on the edge, his feet could barely touch.
The mattress was so deep that they both had to literally climb into bed, climbing in from the head end and sliding down into the plush, supportive embrace of the mattress. The extra-large sleeping bag created a cocoon-like space that amplified their intimacy, making every touch feel more deliberate, every breath more shared. The preparation became its own form of foreplay, each item tested and approved with a shared glance, a quiet smile, a lingering touch as they imagined how it would all come together in the wilderness.
As the booking confirmation for Wallace Lane Farm arrived, a tangible excitement settled between them. The Lake District in mid-May promised lush green hills, misty mornings, and the kind of privacy they'd been seeking. Mike printed the booking details, adding them to a growing folder of camping research, while Candy researched nearby walking routes and pubs with good food and real ale.
Their conversations shifted from "what if" to "when." They discussed logistics with the same practical approach they applied to everything, but beneath it ran a current of anticipation. Mike found himself watching Candy as she scrolled through camping websites, her expression focused, occasionally breaking into a smile at some particularly appealing glamping setup or secluded campsite listing. He noticed how she'd absently rub her lower back when she'd been sitting too long, a subtle reminder of why they'd chosen the deep air mattress and why comfort wasn't just a luxury but a necessity.
One evening, as they were folding the waterproof groundsheet after testing it in their living room, Mike paused, looking at the pile of camping gear that had gradually colonized their hallway.
"Never thought I'd be this excited about sleeping in a field," he said, his dry humor barely masking the genuine enthusiasm in his eyes.
Candy laughed, her movements fluid as she helped him fold the groundsheet. "It's not just sleeping in a field, Mike. It's our field. For a weekend. No neighbors, no noise except what we make." Her words carried a double meaning that hung between them, charged with possibility.
Mike's response was to pull her close, his hands resting on her hips as he looked down at her. "Our field," he repeated, the words tasting right on his tongue. "I like the sound of that."
The weeks leading up to their trip became a countdown of sorts. Each new piece of equipment tested and approved brought them closer to the reality of their adventure. The inflatable tent, with its promise of easy setup and spacious interior, became a symbol of their approach to this new shared interest—practical yet indulgent, efficient without sacrificing comfort or intimacy.
As May approached, they found themselves talking more about what they'd do once they were there. The conversations often started with practicalities—walking routes, meal planning, weather contingencies—but inevitably drifted toward more personal territories. What it would feel like to wake up together in the wilderness, the tent walls their only boundary to the world outside. The freedom of being away from familiar surroundings, the thrill of exploring not just a new place but new dimensions of their relationship in a setting that stripped away the familiar and left only the essential.
Mike, ever the planner, created a checklist that grew more detailed with each passing day. Candy, ever observant, noticed how he'd sometimes pause while adding items, a distant look in his eyes that told her he was already there, in the Lake District, with her, under canvas.
The night before they left, they laid out everything they were taking, Candy's recently tidied living room transformed into a staging area for their adventure. The tent bag, compact yet heavy, stood like a silent promise against the wall. The sleeping bag, unrolled and inviting, took up most of the floor space. The air mattress, deflated and neatly folded, awaited its inflation in a field miles from home.
Candy ran her hand over the sleeping bag's soft fabric, then looked at Mike. "Ready?"
Mike's answer was to take her hand, his thumb stroking her wrist in that steady, reassuring way of his. "Ready."
The drive to the Lake District was filled with easy conversation, the kind that comes from years of knowing someone's rhythms and responses. They stopped for lunch at a country pub, sitting outside in the unexpected May warmth, discussing their plans for the weekend with a comfortable familiarity that belied the newness of the experience.
As they turned off the main road, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills gave way to more rugged terrain, the green deepening to an almost emerald in the late afternoon light. Wallace Lane Farm appeared as a collection of well-maintained buildings nestled against a backdrop of fells, the kind of place that looked like it had grown from the land rather than been built upon it.
The reception area was warm and welcoming, the owner providing them with a map to their pitch and recommendations for local walks. As they drove to their allocated spot, Candy caught her breath. The pitch was spacious, bordered by a dry stone wall on one side and open views across the valley on the other. It was private yet not isolated, exactly what they'd been hoping for.
Mike parked the car, turning off the engine. For a moment, they just sat there, taking in the view, the silence broken only by birdsong and the distant bleating of sheep.
"Well," Mike said, breaking the quiet. "Time to see if this inflatable tent is as easy as they claim."
The setup process became their first shared task in this new environment. Mike unpacked the tent bag, laying out the components with methodical precision. Candy watched, offering assistance when needed, her movements economical and efficient. The tent, once unpacked, revealed itself as a series of interconnected tubes and a durable outer shell.
Mike attached the pump, beginning the inflation process. Candy stood back, arms crossed, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the tent gradually take shape. It was like watching a building rise in fast forward, the tubes expanding with each pump, the fabric stretching taut until what had been a flat bundle on the ground became a spacious shelter.
"Okay, that's impressive," Candy admitted as the tent reached its full height. "Even I could manage that."
Mike wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Told you. No poles, no fuss." He unzipped the door, gesturing for her to enter first. "After you."
Inside, the tent was even more spacious than they'd imagined. The 3m by 5m dimensions created a room-like feel, with enough headroom for Mike to stand comfortably. The darkened interior created an immediate sense of privacy, the outside world muted and distant.
They worked together to lay out the groundsheet, followed by the deep air mattress. Mike attached the pump again, the mattress inflating with a soft whooshing sound that seemed to absorb the outside noise. Candy tested it with her palm, pressing down to feel the firm yet yielding support.
"Perfect," she declared, her approval clear in her tone. "No backaches this weekend."
The sleeping bag came next, unrolled across the mattress, its extra-large dimensions creating a plush sleeping surface that dominated the tent's interior. Pillows were arranged, their familiar domestic presence creating an immediate sense of home in this unfamiliar setting.
As they worked, their movements became more synchronized, a silent understanding passing between them. When Candy reached for a corner of the sleeping bag, Mike was already there, smoothing it out. When Mike adjusted a pillow, Candy fluffed the other, their actions complementary rather than duplicated.
Once everything was set up to their satisfaction, they stood back, surveying their temporary home. The tent, with its inflated beams and carefully arranged interior, felt like a sanctuary, a bubble of comfort and privacy in the midst of the wild landscape.
Mike wrapped his arms around Candy from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Not bad for our first attempt."
Candy leaned back into him, her body relaxing against his. "Not bad at all." She turned in his arms, facing him. "Now what?"
Mike's answer was to lower his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both familiar and new. The tent walls seemed to amplify the intimacy, the outside world fading away until there was only the two of them, the soft fabric of the sleeping bag beneath their feet, and the promise of a weekend stretched before them.
The kiss deepened, Mike's hands moving from her waist to her back, pulling her closer. Candy responded in kind, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. The anticipation that had been building for weeks finally found its release in this moment, in this place they had created together.
Mike broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "I've been looking forward to this."
"Me too," Candy whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "More than you know."
They stood there for a moment longer, the silence comfortable, charged with unspoken possibilities. Then Mike took her hand, leading her to the sleeping bag. "Let's test this properly."
Candy laughed, a soft, intimate sound that seemed to fill the tent. "I thought you'd never ask."
They settled onto the sleeping bag, the deep mattress cradling their bodies. The tent's darkened interior created a cocoon-like atmosphere, the outside world reduced to muffled sounds and filtered light.
Mike's hands moved to the hem of Candy's shirt, lifting it slowly, deliberately. Candy raised her arms, allowing him to remove it, her skin tingling in the cool tent air. His gaze was appreciative, his touch reverent as he traced the lines of her body, from her shoulders to her waist, then back up to cup her breasts through the fabric of her bra.
Candy arched into his touch, her breath catching as his thumbs brushed against her nipples, already hardening in response. She reached for his shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons in her haste, her impatience a stark contrast to Mike's measured approach.
Mike helped her, his movements unhurried even as his own desire grew. When his shirt was finally off, Candy's hands explored his chest, her touch light, teasing, mapping the familiar terrain with renewed interest. She loved the solid feel of him, the strength in his shoulders, the softness of his stomach that spoke of comfort and contentment.
Mike unhooked her bra, his fingers deft, practiced. He slid the straps from her shoulders, his gaze intense as her breasts were revealed. He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the sensitive peak before sucking gently. Candy gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders, her body responding with an immediacy that surprised even her.
He moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands roving her body, learning her responses all over again in this new context. The tent seemed to shrink around them, the outside world disappearing until there was only the sensation of skin on skin, the soft fabric of the sleeping bag beneath them, and the growing urgency between them.
Candy's hands moved to his jeans, her fingers working at the button and zipper with a newfound determination. Mike lifted his hips, allowing her to slide the denim down his legs, followed by his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and ready, and Candy wrapped her hand around him, her touch firm, confident.
Mike groaned, his hips thrusting into her grip. "Candy..."
She smiled, a slow, sensual curve of her lips. "Yes, Mike?"
Instead of answering, he shifted, lowering her onto the sleeping bag, his body covering hers. He kissed her again, deeper this time, more demanding. His hands moved to her jeans, undoing them with the same efficiency he'd shown with the tent, sliding them down her legs along with her panties.
Candy spread her legs, an open invitation that Mike didn't hesitate to accept. He settled between her thighs, the tip of his cock nudging against her wetness. But instead of entering her, he moved lower, his lips trailing kisses down her stomach, his hands parting her folds to reveal the sensitive bud beneath.
Candy's breath hitched as his tongue touched her clit, a direct, deliberate stroke that sent sparks of pleasure through her. He explored her with a focused intensity, learning her responses, adjusting his technique to maximize her pleasure. His fingers joined in, sliding inside her, curling to find that spot that made her gasp and arch against him.
The tent filled with the sounds of their lovemaking—Candy's soft moans, Mike's appreciative murmurs, the wet sounds of his mouth and fingers working their magic. The air grew thick with their combined arousal, the scent of sex mingling with the earthy smell of the tent and the fresh air outside.
Candy's hands tangled in Mike's hair, guiding him, encouraging him. "Don't stop," she breathed, her hips moving in rhythm with his ministrations. "Right there... oh, god, right there..."
Mike increased the pressure, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers moving deeper. Candy's back arched, her body tensing as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. With a cry that was half surprise, half release, she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves, leaving her breathless and trembling.
Mike didn't stop, drawing out her pleasure until she was completely spent, her body limp against the sleeping bag. Only then did he move back up her body, positioning himself at her entrance.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
Candy opened her eyes, her gaze hazy with satisfaction. Mike's expression was intense, his desire evident in the flush of his skin, the hardness of his cock pressing against her.
"I want to look into your eyes when I enter you," he said, his voice low, husky.
Candy nodded, her hands moving to his hips, pulling him closer. Mike entered her slowly, deliberately, watching her face as he filled her. Candy's breath caught, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation both familiar and new in this setting.
He began to move, his strokes slow at first, then faster, deeper. Candy met him thrust for thrust, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper still. The sleeping bag rustled beneath them, the sound adding to the symphony of their lovemaking.
Mike's control began to fray, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. Candy encouraged him, her words a mix of praise and encouragement, her hands exploring his body, her touch igniting sparks wherever she caressed.
"Harder," she begged, her nails digging into his back. "Mike, harder..."
Mike responded, driving into her with a force that sent pleasure ricocheting through her body. The tent seemed to shake around them, the outside world completely forgotten as they lost themselves in each other.
With a final, powerful thrust, Mike came, his orgasm triggering another wave of pleasure through Candy, Candy felt his warmth push against her cervix. They collapsed against each other, breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat.
For a long moment, they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the silence comfortable, intimate. Then Mike shifted, rolling onto his side, pulling Candy with him.
"Wow," he said, his voice still rough with emotion.
Candy laughed, a soft, contented sound. "Yeah. Wow."
They lay there for a while longer, their bodies cooling, their breathing returning to normal. The tent walls seemed to breathe around them, the fabric expanding and contracting with the gentle breeze outside.
Mike's hand moved to Candy's back, tracing the lines of her tattoo, the bat and geometric spinal elements that represented so much of who she was. His touch was gentle, reverent, a silent acknowledgment of her strength, her resilience.
"You okay?" he asked, his concern evident even in this post-coital haze.
Candy nodded, shifting slightly to ease the pressure on her lower back. "Better than okay." She turned to face him, her expression serious. "Thank you for this, Mike. For everything."
Mike's response was to kiss her, a slow, deep kiss that conveyed more than words ever could. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
"We're just getting started," he said, a promise in his tone.
Candy smiled, a slow, sensual curve of her lips. "I'm counting on it."
As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the tent floor, they made love again, this time with a slower, more deliberate rhythm. Mike explored every inch of Candy's body, his touch both worshipful and possessive. Candy responded in kind, her hands and mouth mapping the contours of his body, learning him anew in this intimate setting. |
