Naked Walks Outside

Some time ago I was chatting with my ex-wife online, and the conversation drifted toward outdoor nudity. We started throwing out dares—like taking a long walk outside completely bare. I liked the idea, so we hatched a plan. I looked up trail maps for a nearby state park on the internet.

One day I left work early and walked one of those trails during daylight hours to get acquainted with it.

A few weeks later, she picked me up at my house around 10 PM and drove us there. She parked the car and dared me to strip right then and there. That was easy enough. Then she challenged me to step out into the night. I did so wearing just my tennis shoes. Walking over to the trail felt exhilarating, to put it mildly.

After a bit of chat, she decided she’d meet me at another spot along the trail about a mile away since she had some shopping to do before leaving.

Describing how that made me feel is tricky. There I was, totally naked, outdoors in an unfamiliar place with no option but to walk a full mile on the path. The route went through woods and alongside the road; at one point I had to leave the main trail to climb up a hill across the street into a parking lot—that’s where she said we’d meet.

I started walking and quickly realized my mistake. Instead of finding the curved part of the trail as expected, I was heading out toward an open field. Wrong direction! I walked back almost to the start and figured out what went wrong. Once I spotted it, I turned around again, found that one missed turn, and continued on to where she’d be waiting.

As the path brought me near the road, I saw a car several hundred yards away. Their headlights would easily catch my naked form. All I could do was drop as low to the ground as possible. They passed without noticing me. It was thrilling. Nearly an hour later, I climbed up that hill and found myself close to the crossing point. I stood there for about five minutes, assessing the situation. It should take roughly 20 seconds to walk up to the road, cross it, and move far enough over so any car rounding the bend wouldn’t see me. I hesitated, started walking, stopped again, thought some more. The odds were good that no vehicle would come hurtling down just as I committed to crossing. So off I went—quickly. No car appeared, and I was safe for now.

I passed through a small wooded area with the parking lot ahead of me. My ex-wife wasn’t there yet. So I stood in the woods and waited… and kept waiting. I started wondering if she’d set me up and was home laughing her ass off. Then I saw a car pull into the lot. In the dark, it was hard to tell what make or model it was. The car sat for a few minutes; when I decided it had to be her, it pulled back out. As it passed about 50 yards away from me, I realized it wasn’t her! It would’ve been nice walking up to a stranger’s naked in a public park.

Finally—mercifully—she pulled into the lot and parked. I studied the car closely and decided this definitely had to be hers. I walked over. The doors were locked and windows up, but she laughed as I begged her to let me inside. She eventually unlocked them, took me home,

and it was a great rush.

A month later, she convinced me to do the same walk again. This time, though, I wore some Velcro straps around my thighs with smaller cuffs holding my hands against my legs. She also added clover clamps. With those thigh cuffs on, there was no way out of enduring them for the whole duration. To add extra torment, the chain between the clamps had a weight attached to it, creating continuous pulling tension.

When she picked me up afterward, she greeted me holding a riding crop. She made me lean over the car and lashed my rear about 20 times with it. It hurt like hell, but she gave me a hand job afterwards too. Between the clamps, the cropping, and that final relief, it was a wonderful mix of pain and pleasure.