Naked on Summer Vacation Slut Summer SchoolChapter 33
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Naked On Summer Vacation: Slut Summer SchoolChapter 35 free porn video
The nice gentleman cleared his throat. He was wearing a Hawaiian Shirt and cargo shorts like a typical tourist at the beach.
I am not good at small talk. I must have one of those faces where people feel the need to come up and talk to me about their day and what is going on. I usually make it very clear I am not interested in conversation or shooting the breeze. I’d prefer people just get right to the point if they have a question or fuck right off.
I instinctively knew that was my old Blair behavior, and I was expected to engage this man politely. “Hi Sir, my name is Sugar, and this is Honey, and no, we aren’t doing Aerobics,” I said in what seemed like a very unnaturally bubbly and effervescent voice.
“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, then what are you doing?” he asked curiously and introduced himself as Stan.
I have always hated it when people say “if you don’t mind me asking” right before asking a question. It seems redundant because whether or not I minded they are asking the question. It is kind of like saying “no offense, but” right before you make a starkly offensive observation.
“We are getting an attitude adjustment, Sir,” I answered politely.
“Oh, you two seem so nice! I doubt you need any adjustments at all,” the man folded his arms and looked amused. Stan asked us what we had done that deserved an attitude adjustment.
He carried himself like he was a caring and well-educated man. He also seemed like someone who had way too much time on his hands and who wanted to shoot the breeze endlessly.
Usually, I would yawn or ignore someone like that. I was trying to behave submissively and politely according to the protocol my mother had been teaching us in Summer School.
“We talked back to our mom when she was trying to explain something to us, Sir,” I admitted politely.
“Oh? That is naughty, indeed!” he chuckled. “I would daresay that the teenagers of the 1980s have a propensity to talk back to their parents that was not tolerated in my generation,” he chuckled. He seemed to like using big words. “So your punishment was to hold your ankles with your feet planted in the sand like this? Does your mother know that some boys might find this particular view very entertaining?” he asked.
“Yes, I think she does, Sir,” I replied.
“You don’t have to call me, Sir, but that is appreciated. I am surprised your mother is so liberal-minded about that. Do you mind that I am standing here? I was walking past admiring the ocean, and I couldn’t help but notice the two of you holding this position, and I just had to ask what was going on,” he said.
Ordinarily, I’d call him creepy and tell him to buzz off. I knew very well that he was looking between my legs. My mother’s bikini bottom was just a string of material and did very little to cover my asshole and pussy flaps. I knew that Honey’s entire asshole pucker was visible when she bent over.
“No, sir, I am flattered you want to spend time talking to us,” I lied. I wasn’t flattered, but I thought it sounded submissive and coy. I was still struggling internally with the old Blair and the new Sugar. It had been easier to submit to Jake at the trailer. He was a handsome, popular boy, nearly my age. Stan was an older, distinguished gentleman, that made me uncomfortable because I found it awkward to behave submissively around him.
“I rarely get such a cordial reaction from girls of your particular age. What about you, Honey? Am I intruding on your moment of zen to reflect upon your misdeeds?” he asked.
“No, sir, not at all, what she said,” Honey giggled. She seemed intimidated by his well-spoken vocabulary.
“I also notice you are both wearing matching dog collars around your necks. Are you fans of punk rock, by chance?” he asked.
“No sir, I like the Cars, J. Geils Band, Madonna,” I listed off some of my favorite musicians. I realized after I said that he was asking me why we had on the collars in an indirect manner.
I would typically never offer information unless someone specifically needed to know something, or it benefitted me to tell them.
However, my mother’s protocol called for me to be honest and explicit in my speech. I wasn’t sure how that applied to strangers. I knew we could embellish if we wanted to make his day as long as no one would believe him if he told them. I decided to try honesty instead.
It was a strangely refreshing concept.
“The collars are a constant reminder that we are in Summer School and have to obey my mom,” I told him. He asked me what I meant, and I clarified. “At the start of the Summer, we had a big party and ruined my mother’s apartment. I did a bunch of other really rotten things. My mom started a Summer camp program to whip us into shape and keep us in line,” I said.
“Oh my, your mother sounds like a very interesting person,” he said as he looked around the beach. He asked where she was.
“On a date, Sir,” I said. I wasn’t telling a lie, although traditionally a date involved dinner and a movie and not just a rumble-tumble in the back of a utility van.
“So she wouldn’t know if you stood up straight?” he asked us.
“Kiwi and my brothers are over there playing, Sir. They would tell on us,” I answered.
“When are you permitted to stand up?” he asked.
“I suppose when Kiwi or my mother tells us we can, Sir,” I said.
“This may seem like an awkward question, but what if someone was to come along and accidentally touch you on the bottom while you were standing like this. I am not saying I would, but you do present a particularly inviting target,” Stan sounded amused but wary of seeming inappropriate as he asked the question politely.
“Then they would touch my butt, and I would smile and keep holding my ankles, Sir,” I said. I meant it genuinely. I had been answering some of his questions with what I thought I was supposed to say as a submissive, but the more he asked me questions, the more I felt comfortable answering them.
It felt a little like a very soft form of spanking affirmation except instead of physical pain I had the mental pain of being kind to someone who was simply curious why I was bent over holding my ankles with my nearly bare butt flashing the entire beach.
“You wouldn’t think they were rude or be angry?” he seemed shocked.
I would typically have felt that way. I had felt that way when some of the men or boys I didn’t particularly find attractive at Honey’s trailer had grabbed my butt. “No, Sir, I am supposed to be gracious, understanding, and generous,” I answered him.
“That is very generous,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he really was talking to us out of a fascination or curiosity with us or because it gave him an excuse to stare at our butts. It could have been both. I adjusted my string bikini top so that my nipple popped out and then put it back. “You say that this is what your mother is teaching you in a home version of Summer School?” he asked.
“Yes sir, she is using discipline to keep us from being sassy, selfish, hurtful, lazy, and prideful,” I said. I could have thought of at least a dozen other things I was probably guilty of doing wrong as well.
“Do you like it?” he asked me.
It was such a vague question. I wasn’t sure what he meant specifically. I tried not to knot my eyebrows and scrunch up my nose in frustration. I just went with the flow of the conversation and said the first thing that came to my mind. “Yes, Sir, I didn’t at first. I was very resistant to learning over the summer and taking responsibility for my actions. I begged my mother to let me stay in the program today,” I said.
It was strangely entertaining to be put on the spot and asked these questions because it made me think about why I was doing what I was doing. At the same time, it was intensely humiliating to admit to a total stranger what I was doing while I tried to hold myself in an embarrassing position on the public beach.
“What do you like least about it?” he asked. I no longer wondered WHY he was asking the questions. I naturally assumed anyone who was asking a bunch of questions wanted something or was trying to think of a way to use that information against me. Instead, I focused on the fact he had asked and what my response should be.
I could have said something snarky, but I told him the truth. “I suppose I don’t like eating off the floor,” I said.
“Oh my god, that is so fun! I pretend I am a puppy or a kitty cat!” Honey chuckled.
“Your mother makes you eat your meals off the floor?” He seemed confused by that and somewhat disgusted.
“Yes Sir, we don’t sit on furniture at home. We eat on our hands and knees out of a dog dish after everyone else finishes,” I admitted. I felt my pussy get wet when adrenalin raced through my veins. The humiliation of admitting this to someone else I didn’t know was intense. I think the fact that I might actually care what this guy thought about me enhanced it. In the past, I usually didn’t give a fuck, but now I was thinking about his reaction, and whether or not he’d tell us we were nasty girls and walk away.
“That is terrible! Surely, everyone deserves some respect and dignity! Even prisoners in jail are afforded a meal at a table! Nothing you could have done is as heinous as them,” Stan said. He seemed to actually sympathize with us. I hadn’t meant to make him feel sorry for us.
“I know it sounds strange, and I didn’t mean to make you feel sorry for us. We took our privileges for granted. Having no choice in what we eat, how we eat, and being required to finish our food quickly and completely has really helped me appreciate the opportunity to finally be able to choose my own food and enjoy it at my own pace,” I said.
“I can’t wait to have a sloppy, double cheeseburger at Wendy’s,” Honey smirked.
“So it sounds like you really don’t mind that? I thought you were saying it was what you least liked about your mother’s program?” the erudite man had made a valid point.
“It is hard to explain, Sir,” I started to say. Stan told me that he would love to be made to understand. He seemed genuinely interested in my well-being, which came to me as something of a surprise. “The fact that it is a hassle and humiliating to eat from the floor is what I don’t like and at the same time because it is a hassle is the only way I am actually learning from it. I like the end result, just not the process,” I said.
“That makes a measure of sense to me, young lady!” the man said. “You’ve found a bitter pill that is difficult to swallow, but it makes you feel better in the morning. Is that it?” he asked. I told him that it was exactly right.
“What about you, Honey? I will rephrase my question. Is there something that you really don’t enjoy, see no point in doing, and would rather it not be included in this summer school of yours?” he asked politely.
“I like it all,” She giggled. Honey burped and quickly apologized while laughing. “I guess if I had to pick something I really didn’t like,” she said as if she were thinking hard to find something to complain about. “It would be the protocol. We have to be polite and call all men, Sir, even my little brothers, and cousins. We have to call all women Ma’am, even people we think are rude. We don’t have to say it to each other, of course,” she said. “It sounds too fancy and formal,” she snorted derisively.
“Is it possible that the reason you chasten at the formality of using respectful titles is that when you must apply the title to someone you feel doesn’t deserve the title, it is challenging your emotional self-value and the last vestige of your freedom? And you prefer the freedom to say whatever you want to without thought or consequences because there were none?” he said. He was very sharp on the uptake.
“No, it isn’t that. It just sounds silly,” Honey chuckled like a dumb bimbo. “There are so many rules to learn, and it is hard to get them all right,” she said.
“I think you are right Sir that is why I don’t like using polite protocol in my speech. It feels embarrassing to address silly boys as Sir,” I admitted. “It is like they haven’t earned the right to be respected,” I said.
He was about to answer me when Honey interrupted and reminded him he hadn’t asked what she liked most about Summer Camp. He obliged her, and she abruptly told him that she loves really hard spankings.
“If you enjoy the application of them, then they may cease to be very effective at motivation,” he said with a trace of a smile in his voice.
“They just need to learn to hit a little harder or get creative and spank my tits,” Honey cooed as if she couldn’t wait to be spanked.
“You say they? I thought your mother was the one who put you in Summer Camp?” Stan seemed confused but remained calm and aloof.
“My mom is making us pay back all the damage we did to her apartment. One way we can earn our keep is if men donate a little money to be permitted to try and teach us a lesson we won’t forget,” Honey oozed sexy as she almost begged him to be the one to donate that money.
I could tell that Stan was rattled by the suggestion, and the well-spoken man was tongue-tied.
“I would say about fifty bucks would cover it,” My mom was walking up with Ann. She introduced herself and confirmed she was our mother. She laughed that we were holding our ankles and standing side by side. “I would have made Sugar keep her nose between Honey’s butt crack,” she chuckled.
Stan introduced himself and said that he had heard about her disciplinary measures to set her daughters on the path of the straight and narrow. He seemed to still think the program was a sort of Pygmalion finishing school where we practiced diction and walked with books balanced on our heads to become polite socialites.
My mom told him that we’d never hope to be refined ladies. The best she was hoping for with us were decent human beings. Stan chuckled and said that as far as he was concerned, she was doing a remarkable job, and he would be happy to assist in any capacity she might deem appropriate.
He didn’t come right out and say he wanted to spank our asses, but I took that as what he meant.
“I don’t know what I would do if not for the generosity of strangers. As you can see, I can make them stand like this, but I can’t spank them into submission or knock any sense into their heads. It would take a real man for that,” she smirked. Stan had a few more questions for my mother before he was all-in.
Honey winked at me and whispered excitedly, “Thanks, Wingman!” for helping her set up her first date. I hadn’t intended to do that, but I realized I had been trying to get something out of the man’s questions, and Honey had been angling to earn a little money.
Once Stan and my mom reached an understanding, she told him she knew a place that would be perfect to apply some old fashioned discipline. “Spare the rod, spoil the child I always say,” Stan chuckled. She told Honey to follow them in another direction.
Ann had her hands on her hips and watched me. “I see you connived your way back into Summer camp,” she looked disappointed.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered her crisply.
“I’m your momma for now,” she told me to stand up and turn around. “This suit looks ridiculous on you,” she pulled the straps. “Take it off,” she said. We were in broad daylight, and it was around 5pm. There weren’t many people at the beach. Kiwi, my brothers, and Jenny were nearby and could see me, though. They were playing with some other kids.
I hesitated, and Ann slapped my face hard. “We are past hesitation and backtalk. That may fly with your mom, but I am in charge of you right now,” Ann didn’t have to talk loudly or even grit her teeth. The slow, measured way that she spoke exuded a sense of danger like a snake that was going to bite me if I didn’t do as she said.
Ann may have looked like an angelic version of Olivia Newton-John in her prime, but inside of her was a devil woman that could command respect with just the flip of her eyes in my direction.
“Yes, Mom,” I answered her obediently and stepped out of my bottoms on the beach. I untied my top even though people obviously noticed. Ann didn’t care. She acted like someone who caught me fucking up, and she was going to punish me. I attempted to hand her my bikini, and she told me to throw it away.
“I don’t have any other clothes, mom” I reminded her stoically that I’d be stark naked wherever we were going.
“I don’t care,” she said as if it was perfectly normal for a girl my age to walk back from the beach nude. It was the 1980s, and that might fly for kids Buddy or Lewis’s age, but it was definitely not normal for someone my age.
I felt a fresh wash of humiliation churn up in my stomach, but I walked purposely next to her as if I didn’t care that my bare tits and naked ass were visible.
She told me where we were going I wouldn’t need them. She marched me up the stairs to the shower to wash off the sand. A couple going to the beach passed by us. The husband watched me carefully, and his wife glared at him.
“I can’t take her anywhere! I caught her flashing boys at the beach! Now she can flash everyone!” Ann lied. It was an entirely plausible lie for the 1980s, and the couple looked at me like I was a total slut/bitch who deserved everything I got. Ann spanked my wet butt all the way to her Volkswagen bug and threw me in the backseat.
“You aren’t getting your snail trails all over my front seat, Sugar,” she said sourly. She reminded me to buckle up politely (She was after all a School Nurse at heart) and then drove out of the parking lot.
“Where are we going, Mom?” I asked.
“You can call me Mistress or Ma’am when we are alone,” Ann said. She stopped me before I could ask again and said not to speak until spoken to. “You need to learn patience. You will find out when we get where we are going. You can chew on the uncertainty.”
The endless scenarios in my mind of what torments awaited me grew worse when I had less information. I squirmed in my seat and wanted to play with my pussy to stop over-thinking. I didn’t though. I tried to calm myself and resign myself to deal with whatever happened when I got where we were going.
“You promised Sam that you’d obey and learn all your lessons, but you haven’t got the foggiest idea of what kind of lessons I can teach,” Ann said as if daring me to confront her. I didn’t. I was intimidated.
Ann waited for me to bluff her and tell her I could handle anything she threw at me. I didn’t do that either. She pulled a wine glass out of her purse while she drove. When she was at a red light, she pulled her bikini bottoms to the side and began to piss in the glass very slowly. The piss was very clear, and when she had filled the glass almost halfway, she put it to her lips and sipped it.
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