It was late.
The stars blinked silently above the quiet camp, casting pale light over the dusty clearing. Crickets chirped. A breeze carried the faint smell of ash, pine, and sweat.
In a tucked-away tent just out of earshot, barely, Pip and Lula were making the kind of noise that no amount of canvas could muffle. The tent rocked ever so slightly with every rhythmic motion of Pip's polished pelvis.
Lula's moans rose in pitch, mingling with the occasional slap, slurp and giggle, while Pip glowed faintly with divine heat.
The tent's fabric shook, a silhouette of tangled limbs and metal gleaming in the dim firelight. A burst of steam hissed. A low chime followed… beep-beep-whistle… and then the sultry sound of Lula giggling breathlessly.
