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Chapter One
Iris Harrault stepped back and surveyed the summer porch. It was all ready — newly dusted the plants all green and thriving, the small wicker table intimately laid for two. The whiskey sours were in the refrigerator and the cold supper prepared. She glanced at her watch, and then out the porch screen which looked out over the wooded drive. No sign of him yet. I'll just freshen myself up, she thought, and then he ought to be here.
She walked into the bathroom, and hurriedly combed her short dark hair and applied a natural lip gloss to her lips. Casting a critical glance over her figure, dressed in yellow — her best color — she nodded to herself in satisfaction. Then she heard the sound of the car.
Running out to the driveway, she was just in time to see her husband John step out of their station wagon.
Happily, she ran right up to him and he hugged her, lifting her small frame right up off the ground.
"Mmm, good to see you again, honey," he murmured, kissing her soft scented hair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. Arm in arm, they went inside.
Iris immediately got out the frosted glasses and poured them both a drink. They sat on the cool porch, sipping their drinks and chatting about John's trip to New York City.
"Boy, am I glad to be back here!" he said, shaking his head. "How anyone can live in that city in the summer is beyond me!"
"Try running this place by yourself for a week, and then you might be glad to get back to New York!" Iris retorted, only half-joking.
"Oh come on, honey, surely it isn't that bad!" John answered.
"Keeping eight teen-age girls in line is never easy!" Iris said, looking at him steadily.
"Oh, I think I could handle them… heh… heh…" John joked.
"I bet you could, you dirty old man!" Iris laughed.
This was the third year they had been running Endwood Camp. Ever since they were married, it had been their driving ambition to purchase some land in upstate New York and start a summer camp for young girls. Finally, three years ago, they managed to, acquire some land in the Catskills. It was a beautiful area, and they had built the main house and the dormitory building right on the edge of the forest. That had decided the name, "Endwood," and a short walk through the woods lead to a beautiful lake, not very big, but excellent for swimming, created by a tributary of the Delaware. The first two years, they had had only six girls, but this year, they had eight. Actually, their financial status at the end of the summer would determine whether they could continue the camp in the future, and they were very anxious to make a success of this summer, in the hope that the present boarders would telegraph the word and result in even more applicants before the season was over.
But now, pressing as they were, their minds were not on the business troubles of running the camp…
"I've missed you, darling…" Iris murmured, "after all, a week's a long time!"
"After ten years of marriage," John k**ded, "you should be sick of me, not wanting me back!"
"Want me to prove it?" she asked teasingly, looking at him through long dark lashes.
"Yes," he answered lightly. "Come to think of it, I do want proof!"
Iris got up from her wicker chair, and slowly walked over to her husband.
"Come with me, lover," she whispered huskily, taking his hand.
She half-pulled him into the bedroom, and he, continuing the game, pretended not to know where they were going.
"What the…" he said, smothering a laugh.
In their bedroom, Iris placed her drink on the bedside table and then, slowly, deliberately, unzipped her sundress. The cotton dress slipped down her lithe, tan body and fell in a heap on the floor. With a flick of her fingers, she released her breasts from the confines of her bra, and stood there, her bronze skin glowing against the whiteness of her brief nylon panties.
John sucked in his breath at the sight of his wife's naked body. He was still awed by the perfect symmetry of her frame. Even though she was only five foot three, she was perfectly proportioned. Her firm breasts were still upswept even at thirty-two, and her slender waist flared to gracefully molded hips.
The past several years of physical activity had kept her legs in trim athletic condition and there was not a trace of excess fat on her sinewy thighs.
Aware of her husband's admiration, Iris slowly walked over to him, hands on hips.
John was sitting on the bed, his drink in his hand. As he saw Iris approaching, he took a long gulp from the glass and sat it down on the table.
Iris sat down on his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She immediately began to blow softly into his ear, and John could feel himself flush all over. His cock leapt into half-erection, and pushed painfully against his pants, demanding release. The heady scent of Iris' perfume filled his nostrils and he inhaled it. It seemed to waft into his lungs and up to his brain until his entire being was intoxicated by the musky fragrance. Iris nibbled at his ear, and played with his hair, twisting her fingers through the strands, pulling and tugging it gently. He could feel her full, firm breasts digging into his chest, and the nipples were already beginning to rise from the friction that Iris was voluntarily creating by rubbing them against the nylon of his shirt.
He pulled her closer to him, and crushed his mouth down on hers. He stroked her heart-shaped face, and his tongue slipped in past her guardian teeth and joyfully united with hers. As they kissed, John could feel a gnawing beginning in the pit of his stomach, and his cock was even more painfully erect. He could feel Iris quiver beneath his touch as she returned thrust for thrust with her own agile tongue. She slipped her hand down and cupped his bulging genitals, massaging them softly with an expert motion. The gnawing in his stomach was spreading to his loins as he probed frantically with his tongue in the warm softness of her mouth.
"Oh, honey…" he moaned. Her stroking of his prick had become more rapid, and her other hand was creeping down under his shirt collar and tracing light feathery touches on his back. Suddenly, he couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed her away from him, and she fell onto the bed. He ripped off his clothes and stood over her, his erect cock jutting out proudly, thankful for its freedom.
Iris lay spread-eagled on the bed, and looked up at him, her hazel eyes half-closed. John could see her dark pubic hair through the diaphanous material of her panties, and he noticed that the crotchband was already moist. A sheer film of perspiration coated her inner thighs, which were spread invitingly.
With a groan, John lowered himself over the prostrate figure of his wife and once more clamped his lips down on hers. Her arms encircled his neck and drew him even closer to her. His hands closed in on the shivering orbs of her breasts, and he rolled the turgid nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, eliciting little mewls of pleasure from Iris. He felt the budding nipples grow under his manipulation until they stood out tautly from the dark circled areola. His hands dropped down to her nipped-in waist, and still further, caressing the firm flesh as they went. They came to the confining waistband of her panties, and with an almost angry tug, tried to pull them off.
Iris raised her hips off the bed and John was able to slip the flimsy nylon covering from her quivering thighs. He ran his hands joyfully over her smooth hips, and cupped her pubic mound in his left palm. Iris flexed her loins up and pressed her ebony-colored pubic triangle against his palm, and began to gyrate slowly, grinding herself up mercilessly. John probed and searched and finally parted the soft throbbing furrow down between her legs.
Iris gasped as she felt his fingers come in contact with her sensitive inner cuntal lips, and then began to moan as the ceaselessly working fingers teased the delicate tissues.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhh," she sighed softly as the index finger came into contact with the throbbing button of her clitoris. Expertly, she thrust her pelvis up and John's finger stroked the acme of her desire, sending chills rippling up and down her greyhound-like back. She could feel the hardness of his prick digging into her lower stomach and she felt an overpowering desire to have it crammed deep into her hot pussy. John's middle finger found the star shaped entrance to her body, and plunged into the warm fleshy folds. The contact with her hidden recesses seemed to set off a spark in Iris' body, and she thrashed about, desperately trying to engulf more of the fingers deeper into her hungry body. She wrenched her mouth free from John's, and began to toss her head from side to side.
"Oh, God, fuck me, darling, please fuck me now…" she moaned, digging her fingernails into her husband's back. Her a****listic clawing touched off the dynamite of John's week-long abstinence and he lowered himself slightly, until his prick was poised teasingly at her tight quivering cuntal opening. Withdrawing the lubricant-soaked fingers, he hesitated just a second before plunging his enlarged rod into her waiting orifice.
"Ohohohoohh," Iris groaned, her body leaping up off the bed in frenzied passion. She raised her legs and locked them tight up around her husband's back, imprisoning him in a desperate love-grip. Immediately, John began a slow fucking in and out, drawing the long prick out until just the head was still enclosed, and then ramming forward until the entire length of it was buried deep in her hungrily grasping cunt. Iris began to answer his downthrusts with an upsweep of her own, and tantalized his withdrawing cock by a slow, clasping downsweep. Their years of lovemaking had honed their reactions to a razor edge of precision and their bodies fucked in perfect unison, each completely familiar with the other.
Iris moaned softly, her entire being engulfed with sensuous desire, and John's gnawing had erupted into an all-devouring hunger, reaching for complete lustful satiation.
Carla Stafford walked along the woodland path, her shoulders slumped in dejection. Two weeks — two weeks she had been here at Endwood Camp, and it seemed like two years!!
Why did Daddy have to send me to camp again this year? she thought bitterly. Why can't he see that I'm grown-up? I'll be fifteen in two months, and he still treats me as if I'm a baby!
Oh, God, how I wish I could spend the summer with him, meeting all those interesting people, instead of here with these silly schoolgirls!
She looked up, and found herself in the driveway to the main house. She noticed the Harrault's station wagon and knew that John was back. Curiosity lead her up the driveway. There was no one in sight. The office door was locked so she couldn't even go talk to Mr. or Mrs. Harrault. Shrugging her shoulders, she was just about to turn and go back towards the wood, when she stopped. What was that strange noise? Silently walking closer to the house, she listened. There it was again! A whimpering, moaning sound! She tiptoed around the side of the house and the moaning sound got louder. There was an open window a few feet along the wall, and holding her breath, Carla crept up to it. Standing upright, she was able to see over the edge of the window and into the room.
Carla drew in her breath and gasped! Her eyes were riveted on the nakedly entwined couple in the bedroom. She had never seen anything like it! She knew she should leave, refrain from watching this private scene, but she couldn't tear herself away.
She feasted her eyes on the writhing figures on the bed. Iris' hands were digging hungrily into her husband's back, leaving deep red scratches on the smooth surface. Her face was grotesquely distorted, and her shiny dark hair was tangled and mussed. Her legs were kicking furiously in a wild staccato into his lower back, urging him on to greater and deeper surges. John's entire body glistened from his exertion, and occasionally he dipped his mouth down, and planted leechlike kisses on his wife's body, leaving a black and blue imprint of teeth on her soft flesh.
Carla dug her knuckles into her mouth to try and stifle the cry that was threatening to erupt when she first caught sight of John's huge penis as it withdrew from Iris' hot moist cunt. Her eyes bulged as they drank in the length of it. She couldn't believe that it could be so thick, so huge. She had never seen a male penis before — not even a picture of one and she had no idea that it could get so big. A strange new sensation caught hold of her body as she gazed at the skewering instrument — the blue venous underside, the angry red blood-engorged head. She noticed his balls dangling obscenely down between his legs and she thought she could see them throb with the weight of their lewd liquid. She watched in amazement as she saw John suddenly grasp Iris' legs and raise them up till they dangled over his shoulders. For a moment, he gazed at the salacious view of her unprotected crotch that this position afforded him, and as he did so, Carla could also see the whole of Iris' upraised pelvis.
Even from outside the window, Carla could see the hungry clasping hole of her cunt, opening and closing, trying to suck in anything that ventured near. She could see that the outer lips were swollen in passion, and the tip of her reddish clitoris was visibly quivering through the hair-lined flanges.
Then John plowed forward once more, sinking his rod all the way into Iris' upraised cunt.
"Hhhhnnnn," Iris moaned as the hardened head of her husband's prick slammed against her cervix, now exposed to assault from the unnaturalness of this new position.
Mesmerized, Carla watched as John surged forward again and again, his hands digging into Iris' buttocks, holding her in a love-locked vise.
Carla ran her tongue over her lips. Suddenly, her mouth was dry, and she felt hot and clammy all over. There was a curious burning sensation between her legs and she clamped her thighs together in an effort to quench it. Beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip, and she felt dizzy. But she couldn't bear not to watch the lewd sight — she had to see everything. Her eyes still glued to the frantically fucking inside, she began to sway slightly in time to their furious rocking. Of its own accord, her hand flew to her small budding breasts, as yet unconfined by a bra, and gently began to massage the tiny nipples, which were beginning to involuntarily throb and ache. With a slow circular movement, she moved her palm over her awakening buds, bringing a little relief to her trembling body.
But her relief was short-lived. Yielding to the ache in her breasts had only served to increase the fire that was now suddenly burning like wildfire down between her legs. Frantically, she dropped her hand to her pubic mound, and pressed it against the quivering flesh.
She knew she should go now — that the scene inside was too much for her. But try as she would, she could not convince herself to leave the sight of the couple hungrily fucking inside. The fire raging between her legs was all-consuming. Casting a quick look around, she was relieved to see no one in sight.
Hastily, she dropped her hand and raised the hem of her short summer shift. Inch by inch, her hand crept up to the passion, moistened point of her desire. She slipped a finger inside the leg of her panties, and then gasped with relief as it made contact with the already moist flesh. Tentatively, she probed through the sparse, baby-fine hair, and stroked the outer lips gently. She stroked in time to the rhythm of the bucking bodies in the bedroom, and her eyes never left their wildly writhing figures. But she knew that what she was doing would never be enough. She would have to go further — she had to do something to control the burning searing fire raging out of control deep in her white young belly.
Sometimes, at night, or in the bath, she had played experimentally with her genitals, not really sure of what she was doing, and once or twice, she had touched the electric button of her clitoris. But always, fear of discovery and fear of what would happen had prevented her from going any further. Now, she knew that she wanted to go further — she had to have the relief that additional probing would bring.
Carla's breath was coming in short gasps as she searched in the warm hidden folds of her virginal cunt. With a tiny moan, she found the throbbing hardened tip of her clitoris, and began to stroke the erotic button. Shivers of ecstasy raced through her as she caressed the tiny fleece hidden bud. Her eyes dimmed and she could only make out the blur of Iris and John as they jerked against each other. Through the mist of her eyes, she could see Iris thrust her pelvis up, arching her back and raising both their bodies up off the bed. Every muscle and cord was tensed in her supple body as she rose to meet John's insurge. John was perspiring freely now and his breathing became a series of heavy pants.
A warm flush enveloped Carla's young body as she stroked her awakened clitoris in time to John's rhythmic sawing, and her other hand freely manipulated her breasts through the material of her dress. Rivulets of perspiration ran down her inner thighs, and she felt damp patches on her miniskirt. She could barely control the countless mewls which were escaping from her throat. Suddenly, angered by the impeding material of her dress, she bunched it up around her waist, and reluctantly removing her hand from her aching breasts, held it there. Impatiently, she eased the wet panties down over her slender hips, until they fell to just above her knees. All caution left her — nothing mattered but the fiery tingling deep in her young loins.
Tentatively, she tested the tight resisting ring of her cunt with her middle finger. The tender flesh felt moist and elastic under her touch and she pushed gently at the unwilling entrance. She winced from the pain as she probed the fleshy petallike opening, and slowly, she insinuated the tip inside the warm, wet little hole.
Chills and shivers ran up and down her back like icy fingers, raising goose bumps all over her, which created a tingle over her entire body, and contrasted almost painfully with the warmth of her skin.
The cries from the bedroom were now more strangled and more intense and suddenly, Carla could stand it no longer! With a deep-throated grunt, she rammed her entire finger up into the virginal orifice between her legs. Gasping from the novel contact, she rotated her finger harder up inside the steaming sheath. She felt the warm walls of her pussy close in on her finger and sighed as her rummaging sent new spasms of joy shooting through her. Then, she inserted another finger, and then another, until all three were stretching around in her secret depths. The fire was quenched at last, but a new, more searing sensation took its place — growing hunger reared up and threatened to overpower her. Desperately, she finger fucked herself and tears of frustration came to her eyes as she realized that they were not enough — she needed more inside her. Greedily, she stared at the huge fleshy pole which was tearing into Iris' cunt, and anger welled up in her. She wanted that cock inside her, that's why the ache would not go away; she wished, oh, how she wished that it was she who was twisting and flailing nakedly wider the man's rod!
Closing her eyes, Carla tried to imagine what it would be like to have him fucking her — to feel his weight rocking above her. But all she could feel was the inadequacy of her own fingers, and she moaned softly outside their bedroom window. She could feel the waves of heat gathering momentum inside her. She was out of control now. She didn't know what was happening and she didn't care. She opened her eyes again, and fastened them once more on the monster cock plowing into Iris. She saw her cunt cling hungrily to its width as it withdrew, the delicate pink hair-fringed edges pulling out with it, unwilling to let it go, even for a moment.
Again, she closed her eyes, thinking only of John's engorged cock, sawing in and out, his balls pounding against her anus, his fingers digging into the flesh of her buttocks, her arms locked around his neck, her legs hanging over his shoulders, her naked vagina, upraised and defenseless before his ceaseless surging…
"Aaaaaaggggghhhhh! Oh, God, I'm ccuummiiinnnggg!"
Carla's eyes flew open. The unearthly shriek had come from the bedroom. She saw Iris bucking and jerking like a wild woman, her head flailing from side to side, her mouth wide open, her eyes rolling. Another groan pierced the twilight stillness — this time a low, male groan and then she saw John lurching uncontrollably into Iris as spasm after spasm overtook him, his testicles jerking as they pumped their hot, scalding sperm deep up into her belly.
Something was happening to her, too. The heat was a furnace now and cloud after cloud of it swept through her. Her hips were jerking strangely, and she felt as if she were drifting… her head spun around, and involuntarily her fingers dug deeper and deeper into her. And then the head cloud burst, raining sparks on her. She heard a mewling — was it herself? — and she felt a warm wetness on her fingers and running down her inner thighs. It felt so good — she wanted this new feeling to go on forever. Finally, it stopped, and a strange peace took over. Her body still quivered and she opened her eyes. It was quite dark now — as if it had turned dark suddenly when her eyes were closed. She looked into the room. John was lying over Iris, whose legs were still spread. They seemed to be asleep. Carla could see a thin stream of sticky white liquid seeping out from between Mrs. Harrault's legs, and there was a look of utter tranquility on her face.
Carla smoothed down her dress and pulled up her panties. Hardly daring to breathe, she crept back towards the dormitory building. She felt different — more knowledgeable, more grownup. She knew she would never be the same again, but she didn't care.
Maybe camp won't be so bad this year after all, she smiled to herself as she let herself quietly into the dormitory.
Chapter Two
It was a scorching hot day and Endwood Camp was still. It was Saturday — the "Do Your Own Thing" day at the camp. The girls were all in the nearby village, with the exception of Carla, who was swimming.
The camp was dedicated to providing as free an environment as possible, and the girls' days were virtually unstructured. Of course, riding instruction was available from Iris, who was an excellent horsewoman, and swimming was taught by John, who had been a college 100-meter champion.
A woman from the village came every day to cook and clean, and she left every evening at six. There was a good library in the lounge, plus television and records. Occasionally, Iris or John organized nature walks, which were popular, or they all played tennis or handball on the lawn. But the favorite pastimes were swimming and riding.
There were six permanent horses at the camp — all mares, all part Arabian. There was one other horse, Conquest, a stallion, which belonged to Iris, and no one else ever rode him. He was completely Arabian, and only stood fifteen hands. But he was the joy of Iris' life, and this morning, she happily lead him in from the pasture. John didn't want to ride with her, so she decided not to saddle Conquest. She put on a simple snaffle bridle, and set off towards the woods.
It was much cooler in the shade, and Conquest trotted briskly along, interested, as usual, in everything. Iris wore only her swimsuit, a blue two-piece, and was glad she did, because even in the forest it was still warm.
A sense of well-being pervaded her — she always felt that way after a night of lovemaking with John. She thought it was worth it, sometimes, to be without John for a week. Homecoming was so good!
Iris breathed in the cool redolent air of the forest. Everywhere, life was bursting out. Birds sang in the treetops and flew back and forth. Chipmunks chattered on the ground, scurrying for nuts. The edges of the bridle path were dotted with clumps of daisies and milkweed, and Iris could see here and there the brilliant blue of early gentians nestling among their leaves. Deep in the forest as far as the eye could see, the peach-colored leaves of the swamp roses brightened the many shades of green.
She patted Conquest's gray neck as they trotted along, and he, sensing her increasing relaxation, slowed to a walk. She smiled to herself when she remembered how John had objected at first to her keeping a stallion. He was afraid she couldn't handle him, and wanted her to have him gelded, but she couldn't bear the thought. She knew that he wasn't good enough for a stud, but somehow, keeping him whole made all the difference to her.
A familiar feeling of warmth and peace stole over her. The rhythmic motion of the horse lulled her into a hazy fog, and she shifted slightly and pressed her crotch further down onto the horse's bony back.
Smiling to herself, she reached back and unbuttoned her swimsuit top. Her firm breasts leapt happily into the cool air, and the nipples hardened immediately. Resting the reins on Conquest's neck, she fondled her breasts, aware of their tanned beauty. She lay forward, stretching her body along the a****l's neck. Her breasts hung down, one on either side of his neck, and his wiry mane tickled the valley between the full, down-hanging orbs. Conquest walked very slowly now, and whickered softly as he felt their feathery warmness brush against his furry skin. Iris raised her hands and pressed each breast in towards the smooth gray sides of his long neck.
"Mmmmmmm," she sighed, his slow jaunting motion stroking her breasts tantalizingly. She flexed her pubis and the horse's dorsal bone made delicious contact with her clitoris through the fabric of her swimsuit. A tremor ran through her, from head to toe, and she murmured softly: "Good boy, Conquest, good boy…"
Her eyes still closed, and her mind in a sensuous daze, rider and horse drifted aimlessly through the woods.
John was busy with the accounts. He would liked to have gone riding with Iris, although he couldn't stand the way she was always talking to and petting her horse, as if he were human. But the nagging thought of all the paperwork he had to do weighed heavily on him and he knew he wouldn't enjoy the ride, no matter what the circumstances. He was dressed only in loose-fitting Bermudas, and sipping a can of beer, he settled down to his task. He knew that everybody was away, so he had hopes of getting all his work done before dinner.
He was deeply engrossed in debits and credits when he heard a slight knock on the door. Without looking up, he said: "Come in!"
He went on calculating, and completely forgot to look up, until he heard a sultry voice say: "Boy, you sure look busy!"
He glanced up and saw the young girl, Carla.
"Hello Carla!" he said cheerfully, smiling at her. "Yep, I'm busy all right, trying to make ends meet!"
"Am I interrupting? I can come back another time…"
"No, not at all!" he answered, closing the accounts book.
Carla was wearing only a bikini coral-colored crocheted one, which barely covered her nipples and pubis before turning into open-work lattice.
He couldn't help noticing how the bright color contrasted with her long dark hair, which hung over her shoulders, and her tawny young skin.
She gazed at him with clear blue eyes, and her lower lip was stuck out in a small pout.
His eye wandered over her lithe f******n-year-old body — she was tall, but very slender, her breasts barely there, but with the promise of full voluptuous womanhood. Her hips were softly rounded and her legs were long and coltish. She looked like a young Aphrodite and John felt a faint, uncontrolled stirring in his loins as he looked at the lovely girl.
"Can I help you, Carla?" he asked softly, averting his eyes.
"I think perhaps you can!" she answered.
He waited for her to continue, thinking she had some problem she wanted to talk about.
"Well," he said finally, "what is it?"
"Can I sit down?" she asked, still staring boldly at him.
"Sure," he said, clearing the remaining chair.
To his surprise, she pulled the chair up beside him, instead of leaving it where it was, across the desk.
Another silence, and then Carla crossed her legs. This action stretched the brief bikini bottom even more and John could see the flesh of her buttocks and hips bulging slightly through the holes of the lattice-work on the sides.
"May I have a cigarette?" Carla asked.
John gasped. He couldn't refuse her one, not when the policy of the camp was "natural growth" but he couldn't really condone a f******n-year-old smoking. Still, not knowing what else to do, he offered one of his menthol cigarettes.
She waited for him to light it, and as he reached over with the flaming match, she touched his hand lightly and guided it to her cigarette. A shiver coursed through him at her touch. The hand holding the match began to tremble and he was afraid she would see it. But she didn't seem to notice and thankfully, he extinguished the match.
She was still staring at him, and casually blew the smoke from her first inhalation into his face. John was on edge now; he didn't know what to do. What's the matter with me, anyhow? he thought, getting nervous around a mere c***d!
Finally, John said again: "What's bothering you, Carla?"
"I don't know the facts of life!" she answered slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
John blushed beet red. Oh God, he thought, why am I behaving like a teen-ager?
Trying to regain his cool, he said: "Don't you think you'd better talk to Iris about that?"
He tried to sound authoritative and fatherly, but he knew he was acting more like a k** brother.
"I thought you'd be able to explain them better!" she said coolly, leaning forward to flick ash into the ashtray.
Immediately, John's eyes dropped to her breasts, and he could see their faint swell as she brushed past him.
Her arm grazed his naked chest, and sent ripples of delight surfacing on his skin. His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and he tried to see more of them through the crochet.
"What are you staring at, Mr. Harrault?" Carla asked, a mocking note in her voice.
"Nothing!" he answered quickly. "I was just thinking. About how to start, I mean."
He raised his eyes with an effort, to look at her face.
"Would you like to see them?" Carla asked, raising her hands behind her back, as if to open her bikini top.
"Good God no!" John said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Just then, Iris walked in. She was still wearing her swimsuit, and she was running her hand through her tousled hair. She stopped short when she saw John, his hand on Carla's shoulder.
"Excuse me!" Carla said, suddenly rising. "I'll talk to you later about my problem!"
Without another word, she left.
"Wowee!" John said, when she'd left. "What a cookie!"
"What kind of problem can she possibly have?" Iris asked icily.
"Can you imagine? That brat wants me to tell her the facts of life!" John said, laughing.
"Tell her? Show her is more like it!" Iris spat, her eyes flashing.
"What's wrong with you anyway?" John said, noticing her anger.
"When will you learn to keep your hands off the girls?" she hissed.
"For Christ's sake, Iris, will you come off it? I'm sick and tired of you imagining things. You should be glad the girls come to me with their problems! After all, I'm supposed to be the counselor!"
John was really angry now. This wasn't the first time his wife had become angry and jealous over the boarders, and he was sick of it. As if he'd touch one of them — they were his bread and butter — he'd be a fool to mess around with them. Minors, too.
"What facts of life did you tell her? Did you give her a demonstration?" Iris taunted, her fare twisted with bitterness. "No wonder you didn't want to come for a ride!"
"Damn it!" John snarled, "I've had enough of your c***dishness!"
He got up and slammed the door, and locked it.
Then he turned around to face Iris.
She stood there, hands on hips, an angry, mocking look on her face.
John reached out and grabbed her by the waist. Angrily, she tried to yank her hand back but he held her tightly. Pulling her over to the chair behind the desk, he dragged it to the center of the room, and then sat down.
"W-what are you going to do?" Iris asked, frightened.
"I'm going to give you what you deserve!" he said, pulling her down over his lap.
"No, no, stop it! Stop it!" Iris cried, struggling desperately.
John turned her over, until she was lying across his knees, face down. Her legs were kicking and her hands were doubled into fists and she was pounding in mid-air, trying to strike him.
Holding her firmly by the waist, he slowly inched her swimming suit bottom down until it was halfway down her thighs.
The golden moons of her soft, well-rounded buttocks stared up at him. He noticed that they were almost as brown as the rest of her, and he could see them quivering, as if in terror of what was to come.
"Oh, please, John, I'm sorry," she sobbed. "Don't do anything to me!"
But John didn't answer.
Whoooosssshhhh! His hand made a whirring sound as it sliced through the air and landed with a resounding smack on her bare buttocks.
"Owowowowowowowwooww!" she sobbed, wincing from the sharp tingling pain. She began to struggle again, and almost succeeded in toppling them both over on the floor, but John caught her just in time.
Her buttocks retained the whitish imprint of his hand, and then it turned to red, before it faded away.
He slammed his palm down on her again, harder this time, and again Iris cried out. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was babbling incoherently, all the while struggling like a fish out of water.
John began to rain slaps faster on her now, until her buttock-cheeks turned a red color without change. Each slap sent her loins pressing down into his lap, desperately trying to escape the harsh stinging pain.
"Oh, please stop, John, please stop! I won't be jealous anymore, I promise!" Iris sobbed.
But John went on unheedingly. He seemed mesmerized by the up and down movement of his own hand, and with a fixed grin, sadistic and cruel, was pasted obscenely on his face.
An unaccustomed new feeling was taking hold of him. A strange, almost eerie sensation, that made it impossible for him to stop his punishing task. The slap-slap sound of his hand against his wife's bare backside, her cries and pleas for mercy, the pounding of her loins into his crotch, all sparked an unnatural flame deep within him. He felt his cock lurch, springing into semierection. Each hard, cruel stroke of his hand sent his member jerking into greater size, until it was pushing painfully against his Bermuda shorts.
Iris' voice was now a steady whine, interspersed with almost unintelligible pleas for mercy. But John was untouched by her anguish.
Hypnotically, he slashed on and on with his hand, until he began to feel a dull ache in his palm, but still he could not stop. There was a connection between the rising and falling of his hand and the churning that was increasing in intensity in his balls. His cock was rock-hard and throbbing and jerking as Iris' naked crotch pushed down on it, trying to avoid the blows from above.
Perspiration was pouring down John's face, and his chest was heaving. His knees and thighs felt numb and sore from the weight of his wife's body. His upper arm began to ache and felt as heavy as a sledgehammer, but still, as if guided by an unknown demoniac power, it kept rising and descending. His eyes were closed now, and nothing mattered to him, but the great swirls of heat that were building up in his balls. He was like a man possessed — his wife's pleas were drowned out — he heard nothing and saw nothing.
Iris was terrified. Try as she might, she could not escape her husband's punishing hand. His other arm gripped her tightly and her whole body ached from the strange position but mostly from the cruelty he was inflicting on her buttocks. Every slap sent fresh pain shooting up from her ass to her back, and worse still, she could feel his cock, risen to tumescence digging into her lower stomach. It felt like granite and she didn't know what he was going to do next. He was acting like an automaton — nothing seemed to penetrate his iron skin. Her head was spinning and her eyes, long since dry of tears, began to water. She felt she was going to faint, when suddenly, she felt her husband's loins jerking upward.
John had tried to control it — to fight it when he had found that he was on the point of cumming. But he couldn't! The floodgates were open, and his pelvis was grinding upwards, uncontrollably. He mesmerically continued the spanking, buffeting Iris unmercifully between his downward hand and his upward loins. His back arched and his hips thrust forward in a mighty surge — and he was there!!!
A bearlike snarl erupted from his throat as he spewed his hot white liquid out of his trapped cock. It gushed out, staining his Bermudas, and trickled down his leg. Finally, when he had spurted out his last drop of semen, the mechanical spanking ceased. His head sunk down onto his chest and his mouth hung slightly open.
Iris fell off his knees and onto the floor. Her face was crimson — she had never been so humiliated in all her life. There were traces of her husband's cum on her stomach where it had soaked through his Bermudas, and her buttocks were red and throbbing. She felt as if every bone in her body was broken, and she sobbed — harsh dry sobs that wracked her whole body.
Slowly, painfully, she raised herself up and using the chair John was still sitting on, hoisted herself up. Without even retrieving the bottom of her swimsuit, which had fallen from her flailing legs, she limped out of the office and into the hall that led to their bedroom.
Carla and Nancy ran until they were halfway between the lake and the main house. Finally, they stopped, their hearts thumping, and their faces red from exertion. They sat down under a tree, glad of the shade. After she had her breath, Carla broke the silence.
"Well, what did you think of it?"
"It… it frightened me!" Nancy confessed timidly. Her golden hair fanned out like a shining veil and framed her small, pale face, making her look like a cherub. Her large gray eyes were opened wide, and she looked like a scared rabbit.
"Fraidy cat!" Carla taunted. "What's there to be frightened of?"
"We shouldn't have been watching! Suppose he'd looked up and seen us?"
"He wouldn't have noticed us if he'd been staring right at us! He was way out of it!" Carla said triumphantly.
"Why did he do that to her?" Nancy asked, wonderingly.
"I guess she musta deserved it!" Carla drawled.
"I bet it hurt… I feel sorry for her…" Nancy said timidly.
"Well, don't," Carla said. "At least she gets his thing in her every night! Did you see the look on his face when he came?"
"Y-yes…" was the whispered reply.
"I'd sure like to see his thing again!" Carla mused.
"What? Have — have you seen it? When?" Nancy asked disbelievingly.
"Sure! He showed it to me!" Carla answered.
"I bet he didn't! You're making that up!"
"Like hell I am! I can describe it for you. It's about this long," she gestured, measuring an exaggerated distance, "and when it's big, it's all red and…"
"Stop it!" Nancy said, her face scarlet. "I don't want to hear any more!"
"Oh, all right, you're just a baby anyway! You're too young!"
"I'm not, I'm not!" Nancy said indignantly, "I'll be f******n in October!"
"That's too young!" Carla said jeeringly, walking on ahead.
"Oh, please, tell me about it again!" Nancy begged, catching up with her. "How big is it? Please tell me…"
Chapter Three
"Ssshhhhh… don't make a sound!"
The two figures crept stealthily along the gravel path towards the main house. It was a cloudless night, but the moon was a mere crescent, so the shadowy figures were not immediately discernible to anyone looking out into the night.
They approached the wall of the house, and then skulked along until they came to the back window of the bedroom. There was a light on, and they tiptoed right up against the screen.
Carla could see clearly by straightening her hunched figure, but Nancy had to stand on tiptoe and crane her neck.
Iris had her back to the window. She was hanging her shift up in the closet, and John was sitting on the side of the bed, still in his Bermudas, but with a sportshirt. He was looking across at her.
"I'm sorry, honey! I don't know what came over me!" he said. "Let's make up!"
"No sir!" was the hard reply. "You've had your fun with me!" She turned to look at him, and Carla drew in her breath. Iris' normally soft pretty features were cold, giving her a look of callousness, which in turn made her look like an ugly harridan.
She was wearing a bra and panties, and with her back turned to her husband, she slipped off her bra and put on a cotton nightdress over her head. Then she removed her panties.
Without another word, she walked over to the bedside lamp and turned it off.
The room was plunged in darkness, and the girls heard John sigh loudly. The sound of the bedsprings creaking was followed by footsteps and the slamming of the door.
"Quick," Carla whispered, "he must be in the bathroom!"
Hastily, they slipped around the other side of the house, and Carla gave Nancy's hand a squeeze when they saw that the bathroom light was on.
Sneaking up to the window, they were grateful that the ground had risen in that area and they could see clearly into the bathroom.
John was looking at his face in the mirror over the washhand basin. He peered intently at the reflection of his eyes, and examined his chin and cheeks minutely.
"Christ," he said suddenly, "now what am I going to do?"
With a deep sigh, he began to peel off the sportshirt he had on. His muscles flexed as he pulled it off over his head, and Carla and Nancy were able to see his biceps rippling as he raised his arms. They noticed the long straight dark hair under his arms, and the profuse hairiness of his chest.
"I've seen his chest already!" Carla whispered impatiently, "I want to see the rest of him again!"
As if in answer to her demand, John began to ease off his shorts. They slipped down to his legs, and he stepped out of them. His penis lay flaccid, nestled against his dormant balls, and looked like a harmless little worm. The dark pubic curls sprouted out around it, framing the sleeping flesh.
"I thought you said it was big!" Nancy whispered.
"It is, wait until you see it!"
John surveyed himself in the full-length mirror which was on the back of the door.
Carla and Nancy had an excellent side view of him, and they pinched each other as they peeped in the window, barely able to suppress their giggles.
John ran his hands up and down his sides. His stomach protruded slightly, but his buttocks were firm, and all in all, he was in fine shape for a man of thirty-five. His chest was muscular, and as he stood with legs slightly apart, he looked taller than his five foot eleven.
To their amazement, they saw him take his deflated penis in his right hand, and tug playfully on it!
They gasped as they saw him roll the protracted organ in his palms, and Nancy blinked her eyes in disbelief as she saw the member increase in size before her very eyes!
They nudged each other as they saw him cup his balls in his left hand, and weigh them gently in his palm. They could see the wrinkly skin squirm and contract fin his hand, as he pulled gently on them, and then began a soft pumping movement.
"Wh-what's he doing?" Nancy whispered, her eyes round like saucers.
"I don't know — maybe he'd going to jack off!"
"What does that mean?" Nancy asked.
"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!" Carla retorted, her eyes still glued on the strange sight.
John now turned around and his back was facing them. They could see from the mirror that he was still cupping his balls in his left hand stroking and massaging his prick with the other. They saw him look over his back and buttocks and to their amazement, he flexed his buttocks, clenching and flaring the ass-cheeks rhythmically.
Carla felt hot all over. Little beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lips, and her hands felt clammy. There was a moistness growing down between her legs, and a tingle was beginning deep in her stomach. Her breasts were beginning to throb and it was all she could do to stop herself from ripping off her clothes and running into the bathroom to John.
Nancy was mesmerized by the sight of the naked man. She had never seen anything like it. Even the sight of John spanking his wife didn't have this strange effect on her. She felt hot and cold all over, and she felt as if her entire body was bathed in sweat. Tremor after tremor shot through her and there was a strange gnawing in her breasts and between her legs. What was happening? Tentatively, she raised her hand and touched her small breasts with the palm of her hand.
"Mmmmm," she sighed, barely audibly, "it feels so good."
Closing her eyes, she drew the palm over the jutting points again and again, murmuring from the delicious contact. She raised her other hand, and timidly touched the burning spot between her legs. She barely brushed it with her hand, but the split-second touch caused the sparks of fire to leap into a Pentecost of flaming tongues. Glancing over at Carla, she was amazed to see that her hand was groping at her breasts, and her eyes were still glued on the bathroom.
Raising her eyes, Nancy was just in time to see John step into the shower. She suppressed a pang of disappointment as he drew the shower curtain, shutting off the wonderful view of his manhood from their eager eyes.
"Oh damn!" Carla murmured. "Why did he have to do that!"
They saw the water spray down over him, and they could see his silhouette through the shower curtain. The shadow was distorted, and to their feverish eyes, his prick was twice as long, and jutted out like a bayonet held aloft.
John soaped himself thoroughly. He was trying to wash away his desire, soap off the degradation the memory of this afternoon's vile action made him feel. He wished he hadn't been so hasty. After all, what was his wife to think, when she'd walked in and seen his hand on an almost-naked girl's shoulder, and a damned pretty one at that! God! She'd better not walk around like that too often, barely covered, and asking about the facts of life! She didn't look or act as if she were too ignorant of them either! Bitch! What was she up to, anyway?
Carla and Nancy watched as they saw his shadow soap his still erect penis and rub it lovingly. Nancy stroked her tiny breasts in time to his circular soaping, and Carla ran her tongue over her parched lips. She had a cottony feeling in her mouth, and her whole body throbbed and ached. She didn't know what to do. She was afraid to touch her pussy, for fear she would cum on the spot — her nerve endings were a quivering mass of sensation, ready to ignite at the merest touch.
Her glance fell on Nancy, who was stroking her breasts, oblivious to everything except the silhouette of the man in the shower, and Carla was surprised to see her palm cupped down against her pubic mound.
Just then, John stepped out of the shower. The water dripped down, running in little streams down his face. His hair was plastered down, and Carla felt little shivers of excitement run through her as she drank in the sight of his wet body. He began to dry himself, rubbing his body briskly with the towel, and Carla stifled a cry of disappointment when the large bath towel engulfed and covered almost his entire body. She knew that soon the wonderful sight of his naked masculinity would be denied her, and she wanted to prolong it forever. She wished it were she who was in the bedroom, instead of Iris. The throbbing between her legs intensified at the delicious thought and she pressed her inner thighs closer together, to block out the warning ache.
Suddenly, the light went out. He was gone!
For a moment, Carla stood there. She saw that Nancy was still gently stroking her breasts, and didn't even seem to notice that John was no longer in view. She reached over and grabbed Nancy's wrist.
"What…" Nancy began.
"Sssshhhh… c'mere!" Carla hissed.
Protesting, Nancy stumbled over to where Carla stood.
With a rough gesture, Carla pulled Nancy's hand towards her dress and began to force it up her dress.
Nancy, woken by force from her sensuous reverie, was seared. Whatever Carla had in mind, she didn't want to do it.
"I want to go back to bed…" Nancy began to whimper.
"Shut up!" Carla snapped.
"No! Stop, Carla, stop it!"
Carla's only answer was to jerk Nancy's wrist, which caused the smaller girl to stumble. She almost fell, but held onto the redwood wall of the house.
"No, I don't want to do it; it's wrong, Carla, don't make me do it…" Nancy whined.
"I'll tell Iris if you don't…" Carla said warningly.
Nancy blinked back her tears. "Tell her what?" she sniffed.
"I'll tell her about you, spying on her and John!"
"But-but you were too!" Nancy blubbered.
"I'll tell her you made me! She'll believe me…"
In her distraught state of mind, Nancy was unable to think. All she could think of was Carla telling Iris, and Iris sending her home, with a letter telling her mother why she was returning before the end of the season…
It was too much.
"Oh, don't tell her… I'll do it… I'll do anything you want…" Nancy sobbed, clutching at Carla.
Carla loosened her grip on Nancy's fragile wrist, and guided her hand, more gently now, up her dress.
Nancy gasped when she felt the wetness of Carla's panties.
"Take my panties off!" Carla hissed.
"But Carla…"
"No buts! I'll tell Iris…"
Slowly, Nancy began to tug at the damp panties and inched them down over Carla's hips. When they were halfway down to her knees, Carla once more grabbed her friend's wrist and pushed her hand up towards her heated young pussy.
"Oh, hurry, Nancy…" Carla mumbled through clenched teeth. "I can't stand it much longer…"
Tentatively, she began to stroke the other girl's moist, desire-quivering pussy, and probed slightly at the swollen fleece-lined folds.
"Aaaaaaahhhhhmmmmmmmmm," Carla sighed, as shiver after thrill tingled through her.
Nancy felt the hardened, engorged button of Carla's clitoris and jabbed her finger experimentally at it.
"Uhhhnnnhhhhh," Carla moaned, her hips beginning to jerk.
Nancy was afraid. All this was new to her. She knew that what they were doing was wrong, and she hoped that Carla wouldn't make her do it again.
"Ohhhh, Nancyyyyyyy," Carla moaned again, as she spasmodically jerked against Nancy's probing finger.
To her surprise, Nancy felt a gush of warmness flowing down over her fingers, and drew them back. Carla's mouth was open, and her eyes were closed. Her head was thrown back and her hands were clutching frenziedly at her breasts. Nancy gaped at her friend, and began to cry softly.
"Carla, Carla…" she whined.
Finally, Carla opened her eyes. She looked at Nancy, who was whimpering, staring back at her with frightened eyes.
"Oh, Nancy, that was so good!" Carla said warmly.
"Good? Oh, Carla, I was so afraid…"
"Why? You were great!"
"Oh, Carla, you won't tell on me, will you?"
"Of course not, Nancy," Carla answered. "You're my friend."
"You're my friend, too, Carla. My very best friend."
Hand in hand, the two girls slipped back to the dormitory.
Chapter Four
John and Iris had just finished breakfast, and it was another silent meal. The warm sun filtered in through the kitchen window as they sat drinking their coffee.
"Look, Iris," John said suddenly, "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry! I don't know what else to say or do, but we can't go on like this!"
"Maybe you can't, but I can," she said icily. She looked at him with loathing, her eyes burning into his face, causing a flush of embarrassment to rise. Her every look seemed to emanate disgust, and John felt himself squirming under her cold stare.
"Oh, please honey… it'll never happen again. I don't know what came over me!"
"I'm not interested in your explanations, and that's that! Now, excuse me," she said, getting up. "I'm going for a ride!"
Her iciness and cruelty really angered John.
"That's right!" he yelled, "Go for a ride. You'll probably get that nag to fuck you!"
"If I did," she replied coolly, "he'd probably be a damn sight better than you!"
"You fucking bitch…" he shouted, starting after her. But the door slammed in his face. Dejected, he slumped back in his chair, and finished his coffee.
Four days had passed since the day he'd lost his temper and spanked her — four long, cold unbearable days. He didn't know what he was going to do; he just knew he couldn't keep on like this.
He walked slowly out to the office, and wearily sat down in the chair. His dispirited frame of mind had accomplished one thing, though — all the paperwork was up to date. But now he had nothing to do! Christ, why did this have to happen to me, he thought glumly. What's wrong with her anyway? Was what I did so horrible? She had it coming! Making a big thing out of nothing, just like she always does. Well, who needs her?
A knock on the door shook him out of his angry thoughts.
"Come in," he said wearily.
"I'd like some help with my backstroke, please, Mr. Harrault."
It was Carla.
This time, she was wearing a more modest yellow two-piece bathing suit, and her dark hair was pulled back. She looked young and sweet and innocent — could this be the girl who was willing to strip for me a few days ago? John thought as he glanced at her.
"Sure, Carla," he replied, "I'll go change and be right back."
Minutes later, he came out, wearing checked swimming trunks.
They walked silently out to the pasture. They caught two bay mares, and decided not to bother saddling them. They set off at a trot, and then cantered when they got to the shady woods.
John felt himself beginning to relax. A swim would be good after all the days he had put in at the office and it was fun to be with someone who would at least talk to a guy! They reached the lake, and John dismounted.
"Oh, let's not swim here! The rest of the girls will be here soon, and I don't want them to see how bad my backstroke is!"
John hesitated. They had a rule that all the girls were to swim in this area, but, hell, he thought, what's the harm in going somewhere else, especially since I'm with her. I can understand how she feels about not wanting the others to see her.
"Okay Carla! Let's try further down the lake."
John mounted his mare again, and they set off, cantering through the water.
When they had made almost a complete half-circle of the lake, Carla, who was leading, stopped.
"Let's try here, Mr. Harrault. There's a waterfall!"
Sure enough, a small waterfall cascaded over some rocks. The area was shaded by pine trees, and the opposite shore of the lake was not visible from the little grove where they dismounted. Tying the horses to a tree in the shade, they walked down to the water's edge.
John was beginning to feel really good. The ride in the fresh air had revived him, and now he welcomed the solitude of the spot they had chosen.
Running on ahead, he splashed around in the cool water and turning to Carla, called: "C'mon, last one in's a…"
He gasped. He couldn't believe it! Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He blinked them, but it was still the same. She had taken off the top of her swimming suit!
His mouth hung open. He tried to speak, but no words would come out. His eyes were fixated on her firm young breasts, sweeping up proudly, the nipples still dormant in their brownish-pink beds.
"Carla!" he finally managed to say, "what do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going for a swim, silly!" she teased.
"Put your top back on!" he ordered, sounding as gruff as he could.
"Oh, John," she pouted, "don't be a spoilsport! It feels wonderful to swim with my breasts free!"
"Oh, all right," he said reluctantly noticing her use of his first name. Turning, he dove into the clear water, a precise shallow dive, and surfaced many yards beyond the shore.
Looking around, he saw that Carla was swimming out to him, using a very practiced over arm stroke. When she finally reached him, he said: "Okay water baby, now let's see how bad your backstroke really is!"
Her reply was to press firmly on his unsuspecting head, sending him sputtering underwater. Skillfully regaining his breath, he swam silently and then suddenly pulled at her dangling legs, yanking the shrieking young girl under water with him. Her arms thrashed wildly as he pulled her, and he could see the hardened points of her breasts protruding from the firm water-buoyed young orbs. Her mouth was open, sending clouds of bubbles to the surface, and her long hair had loosened itself from the confining band and now billowed sensuously around her head. Finally, he released her madly kicking legs, and they rose to the top together.
Gasping, Carla said: "You jerk! What a lousy trick!"
"You started it!" John laughed back.
Then he froze. He had felt a hand brush against his groin, so fleeting a touch that he was unsure of whether he had really felt it. Carla's dripping face revealed nothing, and she continued to mildly berate him.
No, he thought, I must have imagined it! The sight of her young underdeveloped naked breasts, bobbing in the water, was affecting his brain!
"Race you back to the shore!" Carla said, suddenly.
"But what about your backstroke?"
"We can get to that later!" she called, already flashing by him, swimming madly.
Shrugging, he followed her, uninterested in racing her, his thoughts still wandering over that phantom touch. Whatever it was, he mused, it sure put some life into me! He could feel the first tendrils of life beginning to grow in his prick, and a dull ache, barely noticeable, was starting in his balls.
Swimming idly, John noticed that Carla had already reached the shore, and was walking up onto the beach, the water still at her hips, reminding him of the pictures he had seen of Venus rising from the sea! Quickening his pace, he finally touched bottom, and began to wade the last few feet to the beach. He could see Carla, lying sunbathing a few yards in, and he made his way over to where she lay.
"Boy, are you lazy…" he started to call, when his voice caught in his throat. Was he seeing things? It looked — it looked as if she were completely naked! Walking a few steps, a clearer view of her did not contradict his initial thought. With a strangled gasp, he saw that she had removed the bottom of her swimming suit, and was lying completely nude, soaking up the sun.
His feet felt rooted to the ground. He tried to call out, to warn her that he was within distance, but his voice died in his throat, and he could only gaze at the incredible lust-inciting sight before him. Her arms were flat out on either side of her, and her tanned skin was already dry from the hot rays of the sun. Her legs were slightly apart, and the dark shadow of her sparse young pubic triangle glistened invitingly in the sun. Her eyes were closed, and her dark hair fanned out, rapidly drying.
"Hi John…" he couldn't believe the throaty voice. She had opened her eyes and was staring at him.
"Why don't you sunbathe here beside me… it's a perfect spot!" she continued languidly.
His legs led him over to her of their own volition, and he found himself standing directly over her. Was it his imagination or did her breasts heave a little more rapidly? He ran his eyes over her slender body, feasting on the enticing sight. His hands, guided by some primordial instinct, began rolling down his swimming trunks, over his hips, and when they fell to his feet, he absently kicked them aside.
Carla's eyes immediately darted to his cock, which was rising to tumescence rapidly, spurred on by the loveliness of her tempting body.
His brain had ceased to function, and he had become a mindless a****l, acting purely by instinct, guided by primeval urges alone.
Falling to his knees, he stretched out a hand, and tentatively laid it on a bronzed shoulder.
Suddenly, his head was buried between the glimmering cones of her breasts, and he was whispering.
"Carla… oh, Carla…"
His cock fell on to her taut, smooth young stomach and immediately jerked against the smoothness of her abdominal plane. He felt a tremor run through her and he grasped her by the shoulders. Looking into her eyes, he read acquiescence there, and even more prominent, desire.
Slowly, he lowered his lips on hers. An electrifying chill shook him as his mouth touched hers. The soft pliant lusciousness of her lips awoke new sensations in his own, and he eagerly ground them down on the willing young mouth. Gently, he pressed his tongue against her teeth, firm in their custodianship of her mouth, until he finally felt them give and he slipped his probing organ inside. Immediately, tip touched tip, and he felt her tongue timidly respond to the advances of his. Then they entwined, slipping and darting together in play, and he began to jab deeper and deeper into her throat. Her mouth felt like velvet, and her tongue was gaining in expertise as it probed and prodded experimentally.
Her arms crept up around his neck, and drew his head tighter down on her. His hands were gripping her shoulders, and u*********sly, he dug his fingers into the naked flesh, opening and closing his grip automatically. He could feel the vibrations of the first mewls of pleasure beginning in her throat, and nothing mattered to him now but the feel of this hot young body beneath him. One hand began to caress her hair, already matted with the pine needles which formed their bed, and their pungent odor mingled with the freshwater smell which was clinging to her hair.
Slowly, he lowered his lips and began to tenderly kiss her doe like neck, trailing down to her throat and her shoulders. He could feel a gentle undulation begin in her body, and her flesh cried out in desire, every nerve-ending sending a message to his own lust-aroused senses. He closed his lips over one of the ruby nipples, and he began to pull on it, rolling the tip between his lips, and gently pressing his lower teeth into the crinkled outer skin. The nipple rose to an even greater length, like a root reaching for water, it reached out for further caresses. He gently kissed the other rosy young bud, tweaking and teasing it, until its length corresponded with its greatly erected twin.
His lips wandered over the finely grained periphery of her burnished body, tracing a moist shower of kisses which the love-parched skin seemed to soak up instantly.
Carla's hands were grasping his shoulders now, and her long nails dug unmercifully into his skin, leaving reddening nail imprints on the unprotected flesh. Her mouth was open, and her red lips were framing words which he never thought he would hear from a young girl.
"Oh, John, do it to me please… oh, please kiss me all over… John…"
Tenderly, he stroked the firm curves of her hips, and ran the tip of his tongue over her flat youthful stomach. His hands dropped to her smooth inner thighs, and played there, caressing the sensitive flesh with his fingertips, awakening each erogenous area in turn.
Almost reverently, he kissed the sparse young curls of her raised pubic mound, and breathed in the faint female odor of her which was beginning to rise from the moist awakening entrance down between her squirming legs.
His fingers played along the inside of her thighs, and gently he eased them further apart. He could see a faint sheen of moisture there, as he pressed aside the soft fleshy portals of her tight little vaginal mouth.
He could see the faint pink of her slit, lying under the dark immature fleece like a half-open magnolia. The tiny tip of her clitoris was barely discernible, peeping out like a vermilion needlepoint through the teasing fuzz of her outer cunt lips.
The trembling young girl began to whimper, and her hands, no long