Everybody rushes into things. It's part of what makes us human to be impulsive. Certainly some of us are more impulsive than others, but all of us at one time or another have done something because we have felt the urge, not the intellectual, rational necessity.
So it was with Lorraine Kemper of this story. She married for love, but she married a man she did not know, who was going to take her to a place with which she was unfamiliar. Even though it was only a scout camp, it was basically a masculine environment, and a new experience for Lorraine.
The lesson she ultimately learned was a hard one.
But people are not what they seem. Everybody she meets at Camp Bernhardt, a mountain retreat, conveys one image when they are in reality something else. But Lorraine is a naive woman, and she accepts her impressions of everybody. v
She is unable to accept that beneath every human exterior there lies a dark side, and in the end, Lorraine is corrupted by her innocence until her darkness is greater than the darkness of those who corrupted her.
Lorraine Kemper's tale can serve as a warning. Look beneath the surface of people, and do not try to shield your eyes from the truth of what they are. Look at the world through real eyes, and you will prevent yourself ending up like Lorraine.
Of course, Lorraine's fate is an extreme, and it isn't an outcome likely to happen often. Still, the moral can be translated to any phase of life, from romance to friendship to business.
So read Lorraine's story carefully, and understand that nobody is what they seem.
CHAPTER ONE
Barry Jameson sat with his knees drawn up under his chin atop the roof of the maintenance shed, watching the road that wound down into the camp. His eyes were filled with worry and anticipation, and he chewed his lower lip from anxiety. His mind was half on the car he expected to see any minute driving down the road, and half on the remains of the car shrouded by a paint-splattered sheet in a dark corner of the shed beneath him.
His heart skipped a beat as he saw the car for which he was waiting turn the corner and burst into view, kicking up great clouds of brown dust in its wake. It passed the sign that read CAMP BERNHARDT and disappeared behind a cluster of trees, then emerged again, closer and larger. Barry closed his eyes and uttered a futile prayer that it had never happened, but when he opened his eyes again, the car was pulling to a stop in front of the camp director's cabin, and the wreck was still in the shed beneath him.
He suddenly wished he were hiding someplace, that he had never signed up to be the handicraft director at this godforsaken summer camp, that he was back in the city and had never heard of Gary Kemper or his damned dune buggy. But none of that was possible. Gary had already stepped out of his sedan, gone around to the other side and opened the door for his wife of three days, Lorraine. She stepped out, and Barry momentarily forgot his worries. She was stunning, long blonde hair flowing down to the small of her back, forming curls in the front that framed an expressive, tanned face. She wore a t-shirt, and her breasts pushed against the material, hard enough to show their outline clearly. Her short pants hugged her thighs, and directed one's attention to the long, tapering smoothness of her richly tanned legs.
So that's Gary's new wife, Barry thought, then his mind returned to Gary. He and his new wife were breathing deeply of the fresh, clean mountain air, scented of pine and ice. Then Gary saw Barry, and waved. Feebly, Barry waved back. Well, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest. It's now or never.
He stood and walked gingerly along the sloping roof of the maintenance shed, found the storm drain and shimmied down it. When he hit the ground, he turned to walk up the dirt path to the camp director's cabin, but stopped when he saw Bob Shuster standing in front of him, blocking his path.
"You must be scared shitless," Shuster said.
Barry laughed nervously. "You could say that. It's not every day you get to confront an old friend and tell him you've totaled his favorite car."
But Shuster didn't seem interested in Barry's problems. His eyes were locked in the direction of Kemper's cabin, and Barry noticed it after a minute. "Cute, isn't she?" he asked Shuster.
"Cute isn't the word I had in mind. How does a jerk like Kemper rate a fox like that?"
"Gary's no jerk," Barry said defensively. "But I did hear that they only met two weeks ago. It was a whirlwind romance, and all that. That's why he's three days late for the opening of camp. They needed some time for a honeymoon."
Shuster continued to drink in the sight of Mrs. Lorraine Kemper with lascivious eyes. "I'm sure it wasn't enough time. How the hell does he expect to keep her here all summer, one gorgeous woman with all these horny men?"
"You're exaggerating," Barry scoffed. "Most of the guys up here aren't old enough to even think about it. I mean, consider that I'm one of the oldest members of the staff this year, and I'm only seventeen."
"I'm thirty," Shuster said, his tongue flicking over his lips. "And I'm old enough to do more than think about it."
Barry had had enough of Bob Shuster. The husky maintenance director of Camp Bernhardt had always had a one-track mind, locked permanently on sex. Barry didn't mind the dirty jokes and the stories Shuster told, but when it came to slurring Gary Kemper and his new wife, Barry did take exception. Gary was one of the nicest people he'd ever known, and any woman he married was probably equally saint-like.
He hoped Gary would be saint-like when he learned about the fate of his dune buggy.
He passed several people on the way to the camp director's cabin, a route that took him down into a wide gully, through the camp parking lot and into the staff section of the camp. Most of them wore their official khaki uniforms, with short pants and boots made for mountain work. He knew several of them from summers spent at the camp in years gone by; others were there for their first summer, and he either didn't know them at all or had just met them recently. It was only the fourth day of camp, and only the staff was there, readying the place for the onslaught of young boys who would be there in another three days. They would stay a week, turning the place upside down, and then leave, making room for another round of campers. It would go on for twelve weeks, and Barry and the rest of them would be there for the whole experience.
He passed Stewart Roberts, a tall, muscular veteran staffer, the same age as Barry. He wore swim trunks and unlaced tennis shoes; but his uniform was appropriate, since he was one of the waterfront crew. He was on his way from the staffs tent city to the lake, about a quarter of a mile away. "Hey, Barry," he said. "Attitude adjustment at Royce Creek, nine o'clock."
Barry acknowledged the invitation. He was glad there was something happening today. After confronting Gary about the car, he'd probably need it.
He climbed out of the gully, and was about twenty feet from the back of the camp director's cabin. Lorraine Kemper was stretching, taking in the mountain air, and Barry had to look away to keep from staring at the perfect roundness of her firm breasts. Gary had done all right, he thought.
Gary noticed him then, and waved again. "Just like you, Barry," he said, his clean, even teeth shining in the clear sunlight of the flawless afternoon. "Perched on top of the shed." Gary turned to his wife, who had dazzling green eyes. "Barry likes to perch. During staff meetings in the rec hall, he sits on top of the rafters, above everybody else. I think he should have been a bird."
Barry turned slightly red and looked down. "I'm sorry," Gary said. "I ought to introduce you. Barry Jameson, an old friend of mine. This is my wife, Lorraine."
Barry thrust his hand out, and Lorraine accepted it. Her cool, dry touch made him shiver, and he did not hold her hand very long. "Gary exaggerates," Barry said. "We're good friends, but I'm only seventeen. He used to be one of my assistant scoutmasters."
"If Gary says you're a friend, then you're a friend. That's good enough for me," Lorraine said, and her slightly high, soft voice raised goose pimples on his back. Christ, he thought, it's going to be a long summer.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm sure you're going to like it here, although I don't imagine when you got married you knew you'd be spending your first few months together with a bunch of boys in the mountains."
"I love the mountains," she said throatily, and Barry felt something inside of him stir.
But he pushed it aside and turned to face Gary. "I've got some bad news," he said.
Gary's face fell. He knew instantly what it was. "My buggy---"
"I'm real sorry, Gary. I was coming around Brush Creek when some asshole was coming the other way, taking up two lanes. I didn't have any choice but to go off the road."
"Are you all right?" Gary asked. Just like him, Barry thought. I've ruined his car, and his first concern is for my welfare.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "But your car.. . I rolled it, all the way down to the river. They had to use a crane to get it out."
Now Gary's face looked ashen. "How bad is it?" Barry shrugged without meaning to. It was a bad habit of his, and it made him look like he didn't care when in fact he cared a lot. "Totaled," he said. "A complete loss. Jesus, Gary, I'm real sorry."
But Gary wasn't listening. He was running his hand through his fine, sandy hair, mussing it from his consternation. He exhaled through thinly pursed lips, and the air sounded like a whistle. His pale blue eyes had glazed over, and his tall frame sagged a little.
"It wasn't even insured," he whispered, his voice cracking. Lorraine put a hand on his arm to comfort him, and it succeeded a little. He looked at her and she smiled.
"Why don't we go look at it?" she said. "Maybe it isn't all that bad."
The sight and sound of her lifted his spirits, and for a moment he didn't even care if it was all that bad. "Where is it?" he asked.
Barry pointed across the gully that separated the staff area from the rest of the camp. "In the maintenance shed," he said." God, Gary, I knew I shouldn't have driven it up here for you."
"It was my offer," Gary said. "Just as long as you're all right."
Arm in arm, Gary and Lorraine began the brief trek to the shed, and Barry followed about ten paces behind. He wanted to be away from Gary, away from the torrent of shouting he knew would have to come, but the distance also gave him the advantage of viewing Lorraine's sexily swiveling hips, wiggling through the short pants and above her creamy thighs and sloping legs. The faintest hint of her cheek bottoms peeked through the tight legs of the shorts, and again Barry felt himself getting excited.
Oh Lord, he thought suddenly. They're headed for the maintenance shed, and Bob Shuster's there. Then he shrugged, meaning it this time. Oh well, he thought. They have to meet sometime so it might as well be now.
The path was fairly well deserted now, most of the staff having gone to their assigned areas. Barry's domain, handicraft, was set up on a concrete slab beside the long, modern commissary, and he had already covered it with tarps, moved out all the tables and equipment and put things in order. He had a lot of free time on his hands, most of which he spent helping other staffers in their areas, but today he spent waiting for Gary to arrive. He followed his camp director up the other side of the gully, and to the maintenance shed.
When they arrived, Barry continued to hang back until Gary crooked a finger at him, indicating he should come along. He moved up beside him, and felt strangely calm under Lorraine's innocent, beautiful gaze. 'There's nothing to be afraid of, Barry," she said. "An accident is an accident, that's all."
Gary peered into the darkness of the maintenance shed. "Bob?" he called.
Shuster's voice rang out of the pitch. "Yo!"
"Mind if we come in?" Gary shouted.
"You're the boss," Bob called back, and Barry recognized the cynicism in his words and the innocence in his voice. A crafty bastard, he thought.
Gary entered, followed by Lorraine, and then Barry. Gary fumbled in the darkness for a light switch, but nine months had elapsed since he had been here last, and the maintenance shed had never been part of his domain. The camp was dissected into two distinct functions; program, which Gary was responsible for, and maintenance, which was Bob Shuster's job.
In the darkness, Barry could smell Lorraine. She was soft and sweet, without perfume-just her natural body scents wafted to his nostrils and sent his senses reeling.
Finally Gary found the light and flipped it on, flooding the cavernous shed with light cast from naked, dangling light bulbs. It was a dirty place, coils of rope piled here and there, machinery, tools, old pieces of stoves, wheels, tires, anything that might possibly fit in a maintenance shed was there.
And in one corner, under a paint-smeared tarp, was a looming shape that was once a dune buggy.
Bob Shuster was in the opposite corner, rocking back in an office-type chair, his feet in cowboy boots resting on top of a sawhorse. An unlit, hand-rolled cigarette was resting carelessly in a corner of his mouth, and a straw cowboy hat was pulled over his eyes. "Something I can help you with?" he said.
"Just want to see what's left of my buggy," Gary said, and flipped back the tarp. If he had held out any hope for his vehicle, it fled him now. The dune buggy was a complete wreck. It's smooth fiberglass sides which had been finished with candy colored flake paint were mashed in and crumpled like paper bound for the waste basket. The engine was a heap of twisted metal, and all the glass was shattered and smashed out of its framing. The steering wheel was bent, squishing down into the driver's seat. The passenger seat rose a full two feet above the driver's seat, bent completely backwards. The rear of the car virtually did not exist.
Gary studied the car, then whirled and walked briskly from the shed. From beneath the brim of his hat, Bob Shuster watched him, and after he left a faint smile crossed his lips.
Garry started to go after his friend, but Lorraine held his arm and pulled it at, keeping him from moving. Her grip made his throat go dry.
"Let him go," she said. "He spent two years building that thing from scratch; he told me all about it. You've got to allow him to be upset and disappointed. But he won't blame you. He won't even get mad. I've only known him a couple of weeks, but I know he's a wonderful man, and he's very fair."
"I know that," Barry said, shaking her grip off. He didn't care for the sensations he was feeling from her touch. Gary was one of the men in the world he admired most, and the last thing in the world he wanted was to long for his wife.
Wife! It sounded funny, the word wife in association with Gary Kemper. But here she was, and.. . .
. . .and he felt Shuster's gaze on them, and he turned to face it. He was just scratching a match across the rough surface of a pack of matches, watching it flare up and then touching it to the end of his cigarette. His eyes watched the flame.
Lorraine turned to look at whatever Barry was watching, and for the first time she paid attention to the presence of Bob Shuster.
"Hello," she said. "I'm Lorraine Kemper."
Bob tipped his hat and said his name. "I'm sorta your husband's equal around here," he said, and drew deeply on his cigarette. "He's the top honcho officially, but we share pretty much down the line." As he spoke, his gaze wandered to Lorraine's legs, where her delicate, creamy thighs were pressed together. He stared hard at the hem of her shorts, hoping for a glimpse of something more than the flesh he saw; perhaps a single strand of blonde, velvety pubic hair. But there was none.
Lorraine began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other then," she said.
"I'm sure," Shuster said, and smiled, looking deeply into her eyes. They were green, and Shuster knew about women with green eyes. Perhaps they were innocent and naive, perhaps they had little experience with men of his sort, but they could be trained. Green-eyed women always wound up loving excesses, particularly sexual excesses. The summer is young, he thought.
Barry noticed Shuster's wicked, lustful look, and he dared to touch Lorraine's arm. She looked at him with a start, then remembered he was there. "Come on," he said. "I'll bet we can find Gary at the camp store, in the commissary."
"You lead the way," she said merrily, and gratefully followed him out of the shed. The daylight was bright, and their eyes closed to narrow slits and their hands went over their foreheads to shield them from the brightness. Across a vast expanse of gravel and dirt was the commissary, all gray brick and red tile roof, to withstand the weight of winter snows.
"I know I've only been here a short while," Lorraine said, "but somehow that Bob Shuster doesn't seem to fit in."
"He does and he doesn't," Barry said, choosing his words carefully. "He's been up here ever since he was a kid, younger than me. He came up for a week to swim and fish and hike, like all the kids that come up here. When he was old enough, he joined the staff. First he was a counselor, and when he was old enough, he took over as maintenance manager. I guess he's been coming up here on staff for six, seven years now."
"But why?" Lorraine pressed. "He just doesn't seem the type."
Barry shrugged and said, "Beats me," but he frankly did know at least one of the reasons Bob Shuster was a regular summer inhabitant at Camp Bernhardt. It was due to Lake Mildred, named after Mildred Bernhardt, wife of Eric Bernhardt, whose generous endoument had made Camp Bernhardt a reality. Across the lake, about a mile of icy blue water, was a narrow dirt path. It you followed it for a mile, it led to Camp Sorenson, which was the property of Our Lady of Smithtown, a church located about eighty miles south, in a cradle of trees and hills at the very foot of the mountains. It was an all-girl camp, and Shuster had an arrangement with the camp's senior counselor, Joanne Halter.
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of," Barry had said to Shuster when he first heard of the arrangement. "You come up here to get paid half of what you make in the city so you can get laid? Can't you get laid in the city?"
"It's not just that," Shuster had said candidly. "There's nothing like sex under the stars, in the mountain air, at night. There's something cleaner and more exciting about it." Then he winked. "Besides, there's no authority of any kind up here."
"Why are you afraid of authority?" Barry wanted to know.
"Afraid? I'm not afraid," Shuster scowled. "You just got to be careful is all. Especially when you're messin' with girls who aren't of age yet."
"Jail bait?" Barry asked, a little shocked.
"Hey, bud, if you were a girl, you'd be jail bait. Ain't you ever been laid?"
"Sure, but.. . . "
"But nothing," Shuster said. "Those little girls are about the best time in the world, and as long as they're there for the taking, I'm here to help myself. This is our little secret, right?"
Barry had said right, but he knew he wasn't the only staffer who had shared Shuster's secret. Any of the guys who had been up at Bernhardt continuously were let in on his reasons for returning. And alone in his tent at night, Barry had to admit a certain thrill at knowing Shuster was rowing a canoe stealthily across the shiny, glasslike surface of Lake Mildred so he could enjoy the tender charms of the under-aged, fresh women on the other side.
But he was too nervous, too childlike in the presence of an angel like Lorraine Kemper to mention any of this. It seemed corrupt and dirty, and the ears of such a beautiful woman should never be scorched with such knowledge. So he said nothing, except, "Beats me."
Then he saw Gary coming out of the trading post, three ice creams dripping from his hands. He saw them and smiled.
"See?" Lorraine said cheerily. "He's not mad."
Gary handed one of the dripping bars to Barry, the other to his wife. Barry noted the tender, loving expression in the new husband's eyes and felt warm and happy for the couple. "C'mon," Gary said. "Let's take a walk. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to show Lorraine what Camp Bernhardt is all about."
"Sure," Barry said. "And I know just where to start." He led them around the side of the commissary building to his handicraft area. "This is where I hang out," he said proudly. "Kids do all kinds of crafts here.
They make lanyards and neckerchief slides, easy stuff like that. Or," and here he opened a large display case, "they can try their hand at the rough stuff." Gingerly, he lifted out a scale model of a paddle wheel river boat that he had constructed over the course of a year from odds and ends.
Lorraine was earnestly impressed. "That's a marvelous piece of work," she said. "You're certainly in the right department here."
Barry's chest swelled with pride at her words. He showed them the rest of his area, and was happy when Gary gave it his seal of approval. Then they moved down the dirt path toward the lake, passing several camping grounds and counselor areas along the way.
And Barry felt Shuster's gaze following them until they disappeared over a knoll, and the lake shimmered in front of them.
"It's beautiful," Lorraine said, her breath taken away by the sight of the sky-blue lake. Several older boys, including Stewart Roberts, were stripped of all but their tight-fitting swim trunks, and worked feverishly on the docks and the change area on shore. Some were hauling heavy rowboats and canoes off a truck, and settling them in place-canoes on racks onshore, rowboats tied to the dock. Their tanned bodies glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. Lorraine watched as Stewart, acting on an impulse, dove from the dock into the water, a smooth, knifelike dive that raised barely a ripple or a splash.
Gary pointed along the length of the lake, to the tall concrete dam that kept it filled with water. 'The camp goes about a mile beyond the dam," he said. He turned and pointed the opposite direction. "About two miles up that side of the lake-altogether about 120 acres. And this time next week, it'll be swarming with kids from eleven to fifteen years old."
"And you're in charge," she said, admiring him. She also admired his job during the non-summer months-science and physical education teacher at a junior high school in the city.
She squinted into the sinking sun across the lake, and pointed. "What's that?" she asked.
Gary and Barry both looked in the direction of her outstretched finger. Through the glare that reflected menacingly off the water, they saw a canoe skimming across the surface. Three girls were in it, stroking fiercely at the water with their paddles.
"Church girls," Barry said finally. "From the church camp inland. We don't have much . . . much to do with them," he said.
But Lorraine did not answer. Gary's arm had slipped around her and he had pulled her close, and their lips brushed just a hint of a kiss. "I want you," Gary whispered in her ear, "Now."
She felt a chill pass over almost all of her-all of her except the dark, moist cavern of her pussy, which flooded with heat at his whispered voice in her ear.
She nodded, and Gary smiled. He turned to Barry, who was holding the dripping remnants of his ice cream bar. "We'll see you at dinner," Gary said.
"We've got a lot of unpacking to do."
Barry nodded and muttered an okay, and watched the girls in the canoe as Gary and Lorraine walked arm in arm back toward the camp director's cabin.
Bob Shuster watched them pass, too, and smiled knowingly as they disappeared inside the cabin.
CHAPTER TWO
Outside the thin walls of the camp director's cabin, some forty-five young men worked to prepare Camp Bernhardt for the onslaught of campers. Inside, Lorraine stood alone with her husband, this stranger she had known for only a few short weeks, preparing to embrace him and make love to him.
It seemed strange to her somehow. She had not yet grown accustomed to the fact of her marriage. She was only twenty-three, and had had different plans for her life. Then Gary had come along, unexpectedly, and everything had changed. Instead of being in Europe on her own, as she had planned, she was in the mountains, at a scout camp, wedded to a man she hardly knew. She was still getting used to his looks-it was difficult to conjure his image in her mind's eye when they were apart. Yet when they were apart, she longed for him.
Gary slipped the bolt of the cabin door home, locking out any interference, then turned and smiled at her. "God, you're beautiful," he said.
He closed in on her, and eased his arms around her waist. Playfully, she resisted his gentle urgings that she embrace him, then finally gave in, throwing her arms around his neck. Their lips met, and he parted hers with his tongue, which sought the warmth and moistness inside her mouth.
Like swords their tongues fenced, and he shivered at the softness of hers, the way it molded and moved around his, curling his inside of it and easing it back and forth. Her hands massaged his neck, smoothing away knots of tension brought on by the sight of his demolished dune buggy. She continued the massage with one hand, allowing the other to slip down to his belly, caressing it, then further down to his crotch, where a solid bulge had formed. As she enclosed her hand over the stiffness in his pants, he groaned, and the groan vibrated inside her mouth, and she squeezed gently.
He broke the kiss off, but her tongue remained out of her mouth, anxious for the taste of him. She licked his lips, then saw his gently closed eyes, and lay the flat of her tongue over his eyelids, one at a time. She licked a line from his eye to his ear, then burrowed her tongue inside his ear, hot breath expelling from her hot mouth, flowing inside his ear and sending hot shock waves through his brain.
He allowed his hands to glide from her waist to her ass, each hand filling with a cheek, perfectly sized for his grip. Her cheeks were firm and round, and as he squeezed them, she raised herself up on her toes, pulled by the urgency of his kneading hands.
Through his pants, she felt the strong, solid shape of his cock, and felt the soft, roundness of his sperm-bloated testicles. She wanted him badly; she wanted him inside of her now.
She was amazed at herself. Prior to meeting Gary, Lorraine's interest in sex had been next to nil. Not that she was a prude, far from it. It was just that she had always been a dreamy girl, too busy with her plans and her thoughts to care much for the here and now.
She had always had a healthy interest in men, but they always came on too strong. They seemed more interested in her pear-shaped, fleshy breasts than in her hopes and aspirations. That turned her off. Even on those occasions when she felt horny, she relieved the tension with images in her mind, because that was so less urgent and real than finding a man to satisfy her. She liked keeping reality at a safe distance.
But Gary had been different. He had wanted her body, true, but he had been equally interested in what she thought, and what she wanted out of life. And on top of that, his own hopes were not far from hers.
There was a special connection between them, and on their third date, she decided she loved him and had to have him.
Like she was about to have him now. Her head was tilted back, and his lips were pressed firmly against her milky, soft throat. His lips parted and the hard tip of his tongue darted out, leaving a warm, wet mark on her neck, then his teeth clamped down gently on her flesh, and she moaned. As she stood on her toes, relishing the manly grip of his hands on her handful-sized cheeks, the legs of her shorts strained upward, and she felt the pressure of the material against her own crotch. He hugged her tight, her aroused little pussy, and the crotch seam rubbed hard against the slippery slit of her cunt, like a thin, soft finger. She moaned again, the sound coming from deep in her throat.
The fabric of her shorts felt good against the inner, pink skin of her vagina, but it frustrated her as well. Being new to sex, she didn't want it terribly often, but when she was ready, she wanted it without hesitation. It was a new world to her, and when her mind was focused on her husband's thick, long cock, it was all she could think of and all that she wanted.
His member had grown larger in her hand, but was still trapped by the confines of his clothing, as was her own cunt. She pressed her thighs together, and felt moisture between her legs, and she knew her excitement had brought forth a geyser of female lubricants, flooding her pussy and making it hot and itchy.
Gary took his hands away from her ass and brought them to the bottom of her tee-shirt, and shoved it up over her breasts. The bunched-up shirt remained suspended below her neckline, supported by her milky, smooth tits, and Gary knelt halfway so his face was confronted by her nipples, pointing erectly at him, urging him to manipulate them. He took one breast in the cup of both hands and held it up, so the tense nipple was aimed at him. His thumbs flicked over it for a minute, stiffening it even further, and raising ripples in the brown circle of flesh that surrounded the nipple. Then he opened his mouth and took the solid tit onto the tip of his tongue, and closed his mouth over it.
Lorraine clutched handfuls of Gary's hair and closed her eyes, feeling his tongue curl around her hard nipple, his teeth close gently over it, nibbling lightly, his lips sucking gently and steadily. "Oh, God, Gary, it feels so good," she groaned. "So good, so very good." She held his hair with one hand; with the other she massaged the breast left unattended by Gary's mouth, her fingers pulling that nipple to erection. Her head hung back, her long hair cascading down like a shiny, blonde waterfall, and her glistening lips were parted just a crack, her tongue gliding sensuously over her upper lip.
Gary slid his hand under her breast and held it up, so he could free his other hand. It slid down her belly, which was incredibly soft, like a baby's bottom; his hand touched the top of her shorts, and fumbled for the button. He found it and undid it, then slowly dragged the zipper down, revealing the tight, soft curls of her triangular pubic mound.
The tight shorts did not slip down the length of her sinewy, tapering legs, though even with the zipper pulled down to its bottom. Biting a little harder on her stony nipple, eliciting guttural mews from his young, undersexed wife, he slipped two fingers into the opening created by the separated zipper, and burrowed them into the downy curls of her cuntal hair.
Her hands stopped moving, stunned into stillness by the touch of her man's fingers. He pried gently at her sizzling vaginal lips, pulling them apart without hurting her, without tugging at the curls of hair that were now damp from her juices. His fingers turned warm and wet, making it easier to glide between her lips, and he ran his digits up and down the slit of her pussy, opening the lips farther and deeper with each tender stroke he took.
Lorraine's hands became active again, both of them on his head, clenching fistfuls of his hair, pushing his head down. Wanton arousal overtook her, and she yearned for his face to lavish its attention on her sensation-ridden cunt.
Gary allowed himself to be pushed, manipulated downward.
The closer his face came to her loins, the stronger the scent of her inflamed pussy became. He inhaled it deeply, and the odor swam in his head, making his brain light and his thoughts far-off and confused. His nose finally connected with her fleecy pubic hairs, and he jutted his tongue out, and droplets of female lubricant that had settled on the hairs danced on his taste buds, arousing an animalistic desire inside him.
As he had done with his fingers, he used his tongue to force her pink pussy lips apart, then thrust it between the moist, creamy slit and dug deeper inside. He heard a hiss escape her lips as she felt his serpent-like tongue explore within her vagina, licking down into the depths of the cavernous cunt, then pulling up and finally locating her tiny clitoris. He curled his tongue around the miniscule button, and tugged at it. His lips meanwhile pressed tight against the slippery inner skin of her cuntal lips, and sucked, putting pressure from the suction on the clitoris trapped in the curl of his tongue. She felt her clitoris enlarge, throbbing with delight and anguished pleasure as he pulled and sucked, his hands reaching up between her obscenely spread legs and clutching her cheeky buttocks once again.
She was unaware of it, but she was grinding her hips, mashing her vulva into Gary's wet, active mouth. He could hardly breathe, but he didn't care; all that mattered was the tantalizing, delicious cunt he was eating. If there was no oxygen at all, he thought, I could live on Lorraine's sweet, sweet pussy.
She bobbed up and down, virtually fucking her husband's face, delighting in the activity her clitoris was being put through. Her moans were more frequent now, and she pressed her soft, milk-white thighs against his cheeks when she felt the climax building up inside her. It mounted like artillery fire, pounding in her ears and pulsating through the dark recesses of her tight, sopping little hole, and finally exploded like a nuclear weapon, bringing on waves of shudders as she nearly tore tufts of Gary's hair from his head.
She slowly allowed her breathing to return to normal, and relished the long, stroking licks Gary gave her as he drank in the fluids she discharged in the course of her orgasm. She realized by the shaky unsteadiness of her legs, the jelly-like consistency of her knees, that she was still standing, that Gary was kneeling between her lewdly splayed legs. She released his hair and replaced her hands on his shoulders, and eased herself down, until she was laying on her back. The tee-shirt remained hiked over her breasts, her legs remained spread wide, the folds and curls of pink-red inner-pussy skin clearly displayed for her husband.
She could count on both hands the number of times he had gone down on her, and there weren't many more instances that they had engaged in coitus, since they hadn't been together too very long. But she wanted him now, another notch in the belt, another finger to add to the count. "Take your cock out," she hissed, her eyes closed and her hips arched so high up that her buttocks were poised in mid-air, inches above the floor. "Take it out and put it in me. Oh, God, Gary, fuck me hard."
Gary, on his knees, fumbled with his own pants, and when he had released the belt and the button and the zipper, his meaty shaft sprang free, rigid and quivering. Lorraine reached out and wrapped her long, i .elicate fingers around the thick width of the member, and felt it pulsate as hot streams of blood gushed through it. She traced a light line along the underside of his penis, and felt it dance in response to her touch, then cradled his sperm-laden balls in the palm of her hand, mesmerized by the motions they made. They twisted and twirled and turned and curled, and she closed her hand around both of them and felt them throbbing in time with the pulsating of his long, lovely shaft.
She looked between her splayed legs as though sighting down the barrel of a rifle, and examined with lustful eyes the spear poised and ready to penetrate her. She used both hands to peel back the layer of foreskin, then with her thumb she wiped away the drop of seminal fluid that had formed over the pinhole at the crown of his cock, and thrust her thumb in her mouth, sucking the salty stuff from her hand and swallowing it, languishing in the ecstatic sensation the taste sent through her.
Then she fell back, her head arched backward so her chin pointed toward the ceiling. "Now, for God's sake, now."
He towered over her, his bulk looming like an ominous shadow, and as he settled down toward her, covering her, she almost cowered. But the warmth from his body, the moistness from his sweat touched her, and it was familiar and it comforted her. She reached between her legs when she felt the hairs of his chest touch her sensitive nipples, and grasped his cock once again, guiding it directly between the already-lubricated walls of her hair-fringed fissure.
She whimpered as its thickness impaled her, driving deeper and deeper inside of her gaping hole. When he stopped penetrating her, she wrapped her legs around his ass and squeezed them, driving him in that extra inch, and she felt the crown of his solid prick jut against the upper roof of her cunt.
She relaxed her legs and let him slide out, only to fall on her again, his belly slapping against hers, his testicles bouncing off the end of her buttocks, where her cheeks ended and her pussy began. His cock rammed into her, stroking along her revitalized clitoris, then withdrew, again caressing her rocky little pleasure button.
She squirmed against the cold linoleum floor, and raked Gary's back with her long, exquisite nails as he pumped her, filling her with his cock and then vacating her dark, moist cavern, only to thrust in again and occupy her, making her feel like she would surely burst from his fullness.
Her sensitive pussy felt his cock expand, thicken even more than it had, and she knew he was near orgasm. She placed her cool, dry palms on his cheeks and turned his head toward hers and kissed him, digging her pillowy tongue into his mouth and licking at his gums, the roof of his mouth, his own jiggling tongue.
He tried to wrench his head away as he came, so he could cry out from the pleasure he felt, but she kept his mouth locked to her own, their tongues intertwined, tasting each other's wetness. His body was racked with shudders as he pounded his cock even deeper into her, shooting a load of hot, sticky semen into her that she felt flooding the insides of her cunt. It filled her, and oozed out around his slowly shrinking penis, dribbling warm and thick down her buttocks, on her creamy thighs.
Her own climax was near, and she released his head but kept her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, keeping his weakening erection buried inside her. At first he tried to pull away, pull out, but when he saw the expression on her face, he mustered what strength he had and pumped her again.
Her face looked as though she was about to cry, that tears were welling up behind her lightly closed eyes, that weeping was trapped behind her slightly parted, moist lips. Her breathing quickened, and Gary urged her on by whispering to her, "Come on baby. Squirm, and feel that cock inside you. Feel it, Lorraine, can't you feel it jammed up against that little clit of yours?"
Now her breath had sound to it, high whimpers of anguish, and her hips were rocking in motion with his thrusts. Then, suddenly, she thrust her hips up, lifting Gary off the ground, and she screamed as her orgasm burst through her, like fireworks going off in her pussy.
She settled slowly back on the floor, and let her legs slip limp to the floor. Gary rolled off her, but lay next to her, his arms around her. His cock, coated with her juices mingled with his own cum, lay flaccid on her belly, turning cold. She held him and loved him. Things were so good.
Barry had found it difficult to keep his eyes off Lorraine Kemper during dinner, so he moved to a table where he would have his back to her. He would drown his flaming desire for her, he knew, that night at the attitude adjustment. He ate without appetite, and didn't look terribly interested when Gary sat down across from him and looked at him with parental concern.
"I've got it figured out," Gary told him. "Got what figured out?"
"The dune buggy. What we're going to do about it."
Barry watched his older friend, waiting for the die to be cast. It would take him years to save enough money to pay Gary back for the wreck. But that wasn't what Gary had in mind. "We're going to rebuild it, you and I. From scratch."
"Here?" Barry said, his interest peaked and his voice incredulous.
"Right here. We'll arrange to have the same days off, and we'll do one hell of a hang-up job. Lorraine thinks it's a good idea, too."
Barry mulled it over. "Man, I thought you were going to make me buy you a new one."
Gary shrugged. "It's my own fault it wasn't insured.
You interested in giving me a hand?"
Barry smiled. "Sounds great," he said. "It even sounds fun. Christ, we'll make it even better than it was!"
"That's the ticket," Gary said, and they shook hands. After dinner, Stewart Roberts, still wearing his swim shorts but with a long-sleeved shirt over it, nudged Barry and said, "Don't forget."
"I'll be there," Barry said.
He sat in his tent, trying to ignore his tent partner, until it was time for the attitude adjustment. His partner was a first-year staffer, a snot-nosed fifteen-year-old kid who was on the verge of tears because he was homesick, petrified at the prospect of being away from home all summer. That disgusted Barry, who looked forward to Camp Bernhardt every year simply so he could get away from home for a few blessed months.
The staff tents stood about six feet high at the center beam, and sloped down to about four feet at the side walls, then fell straight to wooden platform floors. There was room enough for two cots, two lockers and a lot of junk, including stereos and other necessities. There was also room enough to pace in small circles, which Barry did until the sun had set and a chill had filled the mountain air.
He donned a light jacket with his name stenciled over the left breast and headed out. "Where ya goin?" his roommate asked.
"Fuck off," he said. First-year staffers weren't good for much except verbal abuse. They didn't know the system, they tended to rat on you if they caught you breaking the rules, and they were generally goodie-goods. It took a full summer at camp before a staffer could be truly accepted among those who were back for a second, third, fourth or even fifth term.
Barry wound his way through the camp, following one of many dirt paths, and finally he was outside the boundaries of the camp. The air was crisp, and he buried his hands in his jacket pocket as he crossed a paved road, then scurried down an embankment to where water was running. The water was a creek, and Barry skipped across it, and followed a trail about half a mile up the creek, to a series of rocks. On one huge, flat rock, eight staffers were assembled, along with a number of bottles.
"Aw, so you started without me," Barry said sarcastically.
"Couldn't wait," Stewart Roberts said. Roberts was now wearing jeans and a jacket similar to Barry's, and held a pint of whiskey in his hand. Most of the liquor was gone, but Stewart did not seem drunk in the least. He was renown for his cast-iron stomach; Barry once watched him chug-a-lug a fifth of mescal, and not show the effects at all.
As Barry sat down, Stewart passed the bottle to him, and he finished it off. Immediately, a warm glow filled him.
Ahh, he thought. Nothing like an attitude adjustment.
Conversation turned instantly to Gary Kemper's new wife. Stewart said he'd like to get into her pants. So would I, Barry thought, somewhat ashamed of himself. So would I.
Not everybody took part in attitude adjustments. Most of the staff lay around in their tents, reading or listening to music or bullshitting. Gary was deep in conversation with Bill Matlock, the camp's program director, and Lorraine was bored.
Her pussy was still alive from the balling it had taken a few short hours ago, and it had been too recent an encounter for her to enjoy dinner. Now she was finding it hard to sit still. Drops of semen still dripped occasionally from between the lips of her cunt, making her squirm. She could have watched television, but they were too high in the mountains for decent reception, and the camp ranger had the only television in the vicinity.
She opted to take a walk. Unfamiliar with most of the camp, she got her bearings and just started walking, unaware that she was headed in the direction of the staff area.
She strolled between the rows of tents, her arms folded across her breasts, listening to the sounds of the staff. They laughed and sang, and music of a variety of kinds poured out of the tents, and she smiled at the innocence and carefree sounds.
Curiosity suddenly gripped her; she wondered what it looked like inside one of those tents. Several were dark, and she guessed because of the early hour that the occupants were out carousing, or still working as diligent scouts have been known to do.
She selected a dark tent and approached it, and pulled open the flap. It was not, as she had expected, unoccupied.
A girl was on one of the two cots, naked, her auburn hair flowing over her shoulders. She was on her knees, her elbows on the bed, her hands clawing the sheets of the cot. Her ass was hoisted high in the air, and her legs were spread.
Between them, on his knees and hovering above and behind her, was one of the staffers she had seen. His erect penis was invisible inside her spread cunt, and he was hammering it into her. She was moaning softly, a piece of blanket clamped between her teeth to keep her from making too much noise. Her spherical breasts swung freely beneath her, and each time he slammed his glistening meaty member into her vagina, she shoved her ass back, doubling the impact of his thrust.
His hands were latched onto her cheeky buttocks, and the cot squeaked and groaned from their exertive efforts. "My God," Lorraine said.
The boy whirled, and his penis slipped out of her pussy, and at the same instant he came, shooting a jet of his viscous male sperm in her direction. It splattered on the carpeted floor of the tent.
The girl he was fucking opened her eyes and Lorraine saw they were glazed and hazy. "Hey.. . " the girl said, objecting to the disappearance of the erection that had been pummeling her.
Lorraine turned and started to run, but stopped when she saw a familiar figure. Bob Shuster, the maintenance director, was walking up one of the rows toward her, unaware that she was there.
"Mr. Shuster!" she cried. Bob saw her, smiled, his white teeth shining in the moonlight, and waved.
"This is no place for one of the ladies," he said. "This is the staff area."
"Mr. Shuster, one of the young members of the staff . . . I caught.. . I found him engaging in sex with a girl in his tent!"
Shuster frowned. "Where?" he said.
Lorraine pointed out the tent, where a light had gone on.
"Don't worry," he said, patting her reassuredly on her shoulder. "I'll take care of it. But take my advice. If you want to know anything going on in the staff area, send your husband. It's restricted to males, you know."
"Tell that to the young lady in that tent!" she said, shocked.
"Oh, don't you worry, Mrs. Kemper. I certainly will. You go on back to your cabin now, and I'll handle this."
She turned and left the staff area, but not before looking over her shoulder to make certain Shuster was as good as his word.
He was. The last she saw of him before returning to her cabin, he had his head poked in the tent. Young scouts should set an example, she thought. She knew sex was prevalent among teenagers, but not at a scout camp. That was unthinkable!
She felt a flash of guilt, remembering suddenly that she and Gary had engaged in passionate lovemaking not more than a couple of hours earlier. But then again, they were married, even if it didn't feel like they were. And they were old enough. She would not allow herself to be smug about the pleasure she could have and the youths at the camp could not, but by the same token, she would not deprive herself of those pleasures on their behalf. Fair was fair.
Feeling better, she went inside her cabin, where a fire had reduced itself to hot coals. Settling beside the fire, she pulled an afghan over herself, switched on a bare light bulb attached to the wall, and opened a book. Soon, she was dozing peacefully.
Bob Shuster watched Lorraine walk back toward her cabin, admiring the wiggle in her walk, and the shape of her long, bronze legs. When she was far enough away, he opened the flap of the tent she had pointed out. He noticed her looking to make sure he would do something, and he watched her nod approvingly and shuffle off. In a minute, she was out of sight.
Goddamned prude, Shuster thought. Well, I'll just have to do something about that.
In the tent, the staff member was hastily pulling on some pants, and the girl was huddled under blankets on the cot. "It's all right," Shuster said, leering at the girl. "She's gone. You're from the church camp across the lake, I take it?"
The girl, nearly frozen with fear, nodded.
"Well, don't let me stop you," Shuster said. "Go on and finish what you were doing."
"I . . . er . . . I already finished," the boy said sheepishly, nodding toward the cum stains on the carpeted floor of the tent.
The girl, who looked slightly older than him, whipped her head around at him. "Good for you," she said, acid in her voice. "I didn't."
"Well," Shuster said, grinning widely, "maybe I can do something about that."
He stepped into the tent, hunched over just slightly; his long frame was taller than the tent, and he made his summertime home in a corner of the maintenance shed.
"Wait a minute," the boy said, but Shuster shot him a cold, hard look that shut him up instantly. Most of the boys liked their jobs at Bernhardt, and they all knew that Shuster was one of the men who could lose those jobs for them.
He whipped the covers off the girl, and admired her body. The sweat she had produced during her intercourse with the boy had started to dry, and looked like a shiny coat of lubricant covering her. Shuster unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, tugging on it with his big, calloused hands as he looked at her squirming on the cot. He pulled on it until it was large, and the blue veins stood out and the blood coursed through them, throbbing with wanton desire.
"Turn over," he said.
The girl was staring awesomely at his prick, his hand wrapped around the base, holding it steady. Shuster turned to the boy and said, "Now watch how the men do it."
The girl turned over, partly out of fear, partly out of desire, the need to finish what she had begun with the boy. She hiked her buttocks into the air, her head rested on her arms. Shuster walked to her, steadying his meaty shaft with his fist, and walked the spear-like member directly between the two quivering pussy lips that awaited it.
She sucked breath in as he slid his thick, pulsating cock deeper up her vaginal cavern, stunned at its size and the way it filled her, stuffed her.
Each of her buttock cheeks made for one handful of flesh, and Shuster grabbed them, and used them as handles to push her away and drag her back; he stood still and maneuvered her hot, aroused little cunt back and forth over his stiff penis. Her lubricants flowed, and made sucking sounds as he fucked her steadily, like a machine. She moaned low and throatily, and felt her sopping pussy heat up even more when she opened her eyes and saw the boy she had been balling originally was stroking his newly-erect cock at the sight of her and Shuster.
She shuddered at the combined sensation, Shuster pumping her like a jackhammer from behind, her boyfriend pulling on his own stiff shaft in front of her. The shudder increased, and she fell into a rhythm with
Shuster's manipulation of her, until she came with a muffled scream as she buried her head in the pillow on the cot.
The boy came too, at the sight of her orgasm, and his fresh load of sticky, hot cum sprayed out across her hair and forehead, and the feel of it prolonged her ecstasy, sending waves of quivers through her spine.
But Shuster was not finished. He continued to pummel her well after she had climaxed, and his stiff, thick cock was beginning to hurt. She whimpered, hoping he would get the message and finish quickly, but it encouraged him only to hammer into her even harder. She clutched the sheets of the cot as her agony increased, and Shuster smiled as he saw it, and intensified his pumping. Finally, he felt his cock swell with blood and semen, the flood of warmth flowing from his testicles up the base of his penis and along the shaft, glimmering from its coating of pussy juice.
He came hard, slamming his pelvis against her ass, shooting his creamy cum far up into her. She cried a little, as she felt it invading her, but sighed deeply when Shuster withdrew his cock with a lewd plop.
"Now I suggest you get back to your camp," Shuster told her, slapping her buttocks and leaving a red mark where he hit her.
She rose, covering herself with a sheet, and nodded. Shuster grinned again as he hitched up his pants and left the tent.
It's going to be a good summer, he thought contentedly.
CHAPTER THREE
It seemed that every year it was the same routine. At the last possible moment, all the camp preparations had been made, and Bernhardt was ready for the first onslaught of young scouts.
They began arriving Saturday morning, and the flood did not begin to dissipate until well into the afternoon. Since it was the first week of camp, the registration process did not resemble the well-oiled machine it would become in later sessions. There were troops sent to the wrong areas; some set up their tents in campsites designated for other troops. There were food and staple foul-ups at the commissary, and complete chaos at the waterfront.
Bob Shuster sat back in his rocking chair in front of the green maintenance shed and watched the confusion with amusement. His staff of six rough, older boys were working smoothly, as they had from the day they arrived. He chose his staff carefully, making sure they could handle anything from a collapsed sheepherder stove to a clogged urinal.
They hauled trash to the nearby dump, they fixed broken pipes both above and under the ground, they maintained the dam at the lake, they did all the dirty, difficult work that was beyond the abilities of the kids who ran the rifle range and the trading post. Their jobs were being well taken care of, and Shuster found himself with little to do. He arranged it that way; it was how he liked it.
He held a beer inside a paper sack and guzzled it contentedly, rocking back and forth as he watched confused scouts running around like chickens whose heads have been recently lopped off.
He chuckled as one youngster tumbled into the dirt and began crying, and he made no move to go help the boy. Another scout finally came along and lifted the boy to his feet, dusted him off, examined his skinned knee, and helped him find his unit.
Only one thing made Shuster sit up with extra interest. That was Lorraine Kemper. As the camp director's wife, Lorraine had access to the entire camp, with the exception of the staffs tent city and the individual troop campsites. She could go anywhere else her heart desired. And now, as Shuster watched from behind mirrored sunglasses, she seemed to desire something at the trading post. She trundled down the hill from her cabin, wearing a tee-shirt with the camp's insignia on it, and very short pants. Her small feet were covered with canvas deck shoes, and Shuster whistled softly through his teeth as he watched her walk, one long luscious leg in front of the other. Her firm, round breasts, without the support of a brassiere, bounced freely as she came down the hill, and the late afternoon was turning slightly cool, and her nipples were extended and hard, poking at the thick fabric of her tee-shirt.
She had passed Shuster a good twenty yards away, but his expert cock responded to the sight of her by tingling, and then he felt the blood flushing it, warming it, tightening the skin over it, as it began to harden.
She disappeared inside the trading post, and came out a few minutes later with an ice cream bar, licking at it with her long, pink tongue. Shuster closed his eyes and sucked in some air to try to clear his system. He was unsuccessful. When he opened his eyes, she was still there, proceeding up the hill toward her cabin. Now he saw the fine sculpture of her buttocks, as one cheek lifted and the other settled, bobbing one after the other like two firm apples in a bucket of water.
Shuster crossed his legs now to hide the stiff, meaty erection trapped inside his pants. He felt slightly ashamed; he couldn't remember the last time he had responded like that to a woman's mere presence. He'd always been able to be horny without being hard.
When she was out of sight, he shifted his gaze back to the dwindling number of scouts, and his erection shriveled back to its normal, limp size.
Still, his heart beat a little faster, his breathing was just a bit accelerated. He felt suddenly unsatisfied, lustfully hungry. Even though it was flaccid, his cock quivered with excitement, and he knew he had to find a cunt to slide it in.
That would do, for now, he thought. He would paddle across the lake and hit on Joanie tonight, and quench the fire for the time being. But he had come to one important realization; he had to have Lorraine Kemper. Before the summer was over, she would regularly and willingly spread her legs for him. And the sooner the better.
The mountain air and the exercise required to walk up and down the hill from the cabin to the commissary-trading post left Lorraine with a voracious appetite. Her own personal craving was vanilla ice cream-it had been that way ever since she had been a little girl. Yet when she finished the bar she had purchased at the trading post, she was still hungry. More than hungry. Famished.
She supposed it was the walk up the hill that made her that way. But she didn't want to tramp back down there again. Partly because it was a long ways off, partly because two ice cream bars in the space of a half hour was not the best thing she could do for her figure. And partly because Bob Shuster had obviously been watching her, and that made her feel queer. Didn't he realize she was newly married, that she was the exclusive property of Gary Kemper?
She blotted from her mind the itching she felt between her legs as Shuster's gaze bore into her. Only natural, she thought. It's up inside your vagina that you feel all kinds of things, like fear and glee and tension. Why not feel uneasiness inside you when a man who gives you the creeps watches your every step?
She didn't once think it could be that Shuster's gaze turned her on. It was not possible. The only thing that turned her on now was Gary's thick cock, and what it did to her when it was stuffed inside her, filling her to overflowing.
So she would not go back to the trading post. And yet, she was hungry. It occurred to her that she was only a short walk away from the staff kitchen. She turned the possibility over in her mind, and decided it was worth a try. Yes, she had been told like everybody else that the kitchen was off-limits to all, but the kitchen staff and anybody bringing supplies in. But her stomach was growling and she was, after all, the wife of the camp director.
She finally gave in to the urgings of her stomach and walked outside again. It was turning into twilight, and dinner was only half an hour off, but she figured she could use the excuse that she was new at Camp
Bernhardt and wanted to meet the cook.
She expected to find a burly old woman inside the shed-like kitchen as she walked toward it from her cabin in the chilling evening. She wished she had put on a sweater, or her jeans, because her tee-shirt and shorts were not keeping her warm enough. And suddenly she felt another chill pass over her.
She looked down the hill, and saw Shuster. He was in his rocking chair, a cigarette burning carelessly in the corner of his slightly parted mouth, his head turned in her direction. She could not see his eyes because of the mirrored sunglasses, but she knew he was watching her.
All right, she thought. Give him a taste of his own medicine. She stopped, faced him, and stood still, her legs apart and her hands on her hips. She wore no sunglasses; there could be no mistaking what she was looking at.
But Shuster responded in a way she had not expected. He smiled, and even from that distance she could see the shimmer of his even, white teeth, and then he waved at her as though they shared some great secret. Frightened and cold, she turned and moved on.
Still feeling the stab of Shuster's piercing eyes, Lorraine mounted the steps that led to a porch-like platform outside the front of the kitchen. Since the kitchen was on a hill, there was no similar porch in the rear. A large rectangular area had been carved out behind the kitchen, and a concrete slab laid down. Tarps were rigged over the slab, and tables were there; it was there that the staff assembled for three meals a day, except on Saturday when there was a large barbecue for the troops and the staff.
Hesitantly, Lorraine pushed on the kitchen door and stepped in. She was assaulted immediately by a flood of warmth-no, it was more than warmth. It was out-and-out heat. She was in a sweltering room, and sweat began to bead up on her forehead and her upper lip.
"Something I can do for you?"
Lorraine turned at the voice, and saw the cook. She was surprised, for what she saw was not what she expected. The cook was a tall, trim woman of about thirty, with short-cropped, raven-black hair and black eyes. She wore baggy jeans and an army fatigue shirt under her greasy apron, but the clothing could not mask her figure, which was just short of stunning. The apron draped down off her huge, out-pointing breasts.
She leaned against a large basin, a ladle in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Her eyes, black as night, were filled with sarcasm, and her full, moist lips held a crooked smile.
"I thought I'd come over and . . . introduce myself," Lorraine said after she had finally collected her wits. "I'm Lorraine Kemper."
"I know who you are," the cook said. She tossed the knife over her shoulder into the basin, and Lorraine heard it splash, and some sudsy water leapt out of the basin onto the floor. "Anyway, now you've met me. Now what?"
"I still don't know your name," Lorraine said. For some reason, she could not take her eyes off the cook's breasts. Despite the layers of filthy clothing that covered them, they were so large and stood so healthily jutting out from her chest. There was no sag to them at all for all their obvious weight. She felt no desire for them, since she knew there was nothing lesbian about her, but she was altogether intrigued by them. She doubted she had ever seen breasts so large.
'The name's Garcia, Grace Garcia," the cook told her. "And if you want to talk to me, then talk to me. Not my tits."
Lorraine felt herself suddenly flush, and she knew her face had turned at least the shade of fresh, red beets. Nevertheless, she looked up into Grace's birdlike black eyes. "I'm sorry," she said.
Lorraine's honesty must have touched something inside Grace, because her expression softened, and her smile became more genuine. "Look, kid, I'm sorry, too. Can I be honest with you?"
"Sure," Lorraine said.
"I don't imagine Gary said anything to you about me," Grace said. Something fluttered inside Lorraine's chest at the mention of her husband's name. "We used to have a . . . a thing together. It was not recently. It was a couple years back. He decided I wasn't his type after about a month, and I never got over him. I knew who you were and I suppose I got a little green, you know? It wasn't right, and you seem like an okay kid, so will you accept my apologies?"
"Sure," Lorraine said, feeling as though she had just made a friend. It didn't bother her-yet-about Gary and Grace, since she rationalized that Gary was entitled to his flings before having ever met her. "And will you accept mine?" she said.
"For what?" Grace said, honest confusion covering her face. Then the clouds parted and she understood, and laughed. "Oh, for staring at my boobs. Yeah, sure. It's something I'm kind of used to. They are larger than most you see."
A fragrant aroma had drifted to Lorraine's nostrils, and she was sniffing with delight as her stomach gurgled. "What's cooking?" she asked.
"Dinner," Grace said. "Beef stew. Want a taste?"
It was precisely what she had come for, and she nodded eagerly. Grace lifted the cover off a pot and dipped a clean ladle in, then brought it out dripping brown, thick gravy. "Come over here," she said.
Lorraine obeyed, crossing the now-comfortably warm kitchen and standing next to her. Grace's breast grazed Lorraine's arm as she carried the ladle over to the blonde's mouth, and Lorraine shivered as she felt its fleshy firmness. But she was hungry more than anything else, so she ignored the sensation and opened her mouth. Grace poured some stew inside, and Lorraine closed her eyes as it burned her tongue and slid down her throat.
"Mmmmmm," she said. "It's no wonder you're cook. Why don't you work in a restaurant instead of a place like this? They can't pay you much."
"I like it here," Grace said. "It has its rewards."
"For instance?" Lorraine asked.
"For instance, mind your own business," Grace said sweetly. "I don't mean to be unfriendly or anything, but some things that go on around here are not meant to be public. You're married to Gary Kemper, and I know from personal experience that he's about the best fuck in the entire state. Stick with him, honey."
Lorraine didn't at all like the way Grace was talking, and she had an itch to get out of there, to go to Gary and find out precisely what this busty woman was talking about. Yet something compelled her to stay. That something was Bob Shuster, still in his rocking chair, looking up the hill at the kitchen. Lorraine watched him uneasily from the kitchen's screen door as he fished in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, and lit a fresh one.
"Something bothering you?" Grace asked.
"Him," Lorraine responded, pointing down the hill.
Grace joined her at the door and looked down, saw Shuster, and laughed deep and throaty. "Shuster? He bothering you? You let me know when he gets on your nerves and I'll give him what for."
"I don't know what it is," Lorraine said. "Something about him gives me the shakes."
"For one thing, he's a womanizer. Bob Shuster would rather screw than breathe. And he no doubt has the hots for you. It's not such a bad thing, since he is awful good in bed. But I swear, he'd stick it in anything that was female and alive. Just don't encourage him, and he'll be putty in your hands."
Lorraine turned and looked directly into Grace's black, piercing eyes. "Tell me, what does he do about women in a scout camp?" She felt suddenly stupid and regretted asking such a question. First of all, there was Grace, of course, who had obviously liked sex and wasn't ashamed to admit it. Undoubtedly, she was right up Shuster's alley. And then there was the girl in that boy's tent.
The image flashed in her mind, and she felt suddenly hotter than the temperature in the kitchen would have accounted for. She saw the boy's young, stiff erection pumping into the girl's quivering pussy, her ass hoisted up in the air, her legs spread as far apart as she could spread them and still keep her sopping pussy high enough to meet the boy's cock. The girl was clutching the sheets, and her face was contorted in the agony of her pleasure, and she shoved her buttocks backward hard into the boy's pelvis with each thrust into her he took.
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of the image. In a minute, it was just a hazy imagining, something unclear and vague. She opened her eyes; Grace was stirring something into the stew, her back to Lorraine.
Lorraine took a deep breath. "I suppose I'll head on my way," she said.
"Nice chatting," Grace said. "Stop in any time."
As Lorraine walked outside, covering her bare arms with her hands as the chilly evening air engulfed her, Grace stood at the screen and watched. She also watched Shuster, still rocking and smoking, watching her walk back toward her cabin.
"Keep your scummy hands off her," Grace muttered in Shuster's direction, and as though he heard her, he turned his head and looked at the kitchen. Grace noticed that Lorraine had disappeared into her cabin, and Bob's gaze was now directed at her. Well, she thought, I'll be damned if I'll play second-best to an asshole like you.
She went back to her stew and stirred, her mind about a million miles away. She didn't notice the rear door open and one of the older scouts enter. He was of medium height and a good build, with acne that was clearing and muscles already well-formed. He came up behind her silently, and took one of her meaty cheeks in each of his hands.
She started, and whirled around, pulling her buttocks out of his grasp. Then she saw who it was. "Jesus, Larry, you scared me."
"Sorry," Larry mumbled. He was one of the staff members assigned to the kitchen; Grace had three staff members in her charge, ranging in age from Larry down to fifteen-year-old Steve Richmond.
Larry continued to look at her sheepishly, and Grace shook her head.
"Now, now," she said. "We'll be having dinner in an hour."
Larry smiled. "It won't spoil my appetite." And without waiting for an answer, he reached around her curvy hips and unbuttoned her pants, then pulled them down in a rough jerk.
"Dammit, Larry, I said no," she said, reaching down to pull her pants back up. But Larry had already hooked his fingers into her underwear and was pulling them down, and before Grace could respond, his hand had slipped between her thighs and pressed up against her vulva.
"Larry, you haven't even closed the doors," she said. She tried to make her voice stern, but her eyes were closed at the feel of his hand, the simple touch of which turned her numb pussy into a cavern of hot delight, lightning bolts shooting up her spine.
"Fuck the doors," Larry said. He had lifted his middle finger toward his palm, and the finger rose and separated her pink, dry pussy lips. She moaned and whimpered at the same time, pain ripping her cunt as his finger twisted into her dry hole. "God, watch it," she said.
"You'll be wet soon enough," Larry said. She gritted her teeth and spread her feet a little as she felt his finger navigate through the folds of skin, poking and stabbing her, until suddenly it emerged free into the depths of her vagina, releasing a reservoir of lubricant that spread through her as though a valve had been opened.
She felt the fluid gushing through her, and his finger became a wonderful thing, teasing her and flicking against her hidden clitoris. She whimpered from pleasure now, and she could tell without seeing that Larry was unzipping his own pants as his finger probed the depths of her.
The finger came out suddenly, with a wet sucking sound, and she felt vacated. Her cuntal walls burned for the touch of something solid rubbing against them, and she could feel the lips of her hair-fringed fissure jiggling involuntarily in anticipation of the cock she knew she would soon have stuffed inside her.
She was not disappointed. Larry's solid cock head touched her pubic hairs, and shock waves soared and sizzled through her. The weapon-like crown, feeling rubbery and hard, next pressed against her vulva, ready to spread her lips apart as it dove inside her. "Make it fast," she whispered. The way she felt now, she knew she could fuck the scout all day long, but dinner was cooking and there would be about 100 people ready to eat in less than an hour, all clambering around her kitchen. It would not bode well for her job if they peeked in and found her humping a teenage staff member.
Yet it was just those teenage staff members that prompted her year after year to return to Camp Bernhardt. There was something thrilling about coupling with a boy, something inexplicably delightful about feeling their hard shafts inside of her, those shafts that have experienced so little. On full-grown boys, she found they tended to be harder, and fuck with greater intensity and enthusiasm.
Like Larry, all of seventeen, whose cock was now past her lips and pushing her cuntal walls apart as it burrowed deeper inside her, filling her. Despite the heat generated by her own aroused pussy, she could feel the heat from his cock as her cunt devoured it with wanton, reckless lust. "Deeper," she moaned, and wriggled as she felt her buttocks being grabbed in his strong, young hands.
The cock kept coming, sliding into her, as though he could ceaselessly unroll its length; she felt it would climb through her body and up to her throat. Finally he stopped, and Grace grabbed the kitchen sink wall with both hands and bent as low as she could; against her vulva, she felt his blood-bloated testicles resting before he withdrew for his first thrust.
She chewed on her lower lip and shuffled in small steps, awaiting his moves. He withdrew slowly, pushing her buttocks away as he slid his cock out of her, until all that remained was his lubricated, red cock head just spreading the outside of her cunt.
She tightened her grip on the sink, and waited. He came. He slammed his cock back into her like a freight train, and his balls slapped hard against her. For the first time, his stiff member had brushed against her clitoris, and she gasped with pleasure, then grunted as his cock was pulled hastily away. It rammed into her again instantly, and the pressure it put on her rock-hard little pleasure button increased. She moved her legs closer together once again, tightening her little hole, and she felt his thickness intensify in response.
He thrust into her continuously, without mercy, in a steadily increasing rhythm. His hands kneaded her cheeks, and his thumb found its way to her rubbery rectum, and pressed against its starfish-shape.
Grace let her mind wander as her assistant fucked her, his cock rubbing regularly now against her clitoris, making it grow and generate shivers and Shockwaves.
Her mind wandered four years back, back to the one time she had spent with Gary Kemper.
God, how she had wanted him, for the two years they had known each other she had lusted for him. She spent evenings in bed, her finger between her quivering thighs, bringing herself to shuddering orgasms as she pictured Gary atop her, his cock planted in her vagina, making passionate love for hours.
But Gary was exemplary; he never expressed interest in her, and knowing the rules of the dangerous game she played, she never made advances at him. But there was that one night when he showed up well after dinner, when she had been alone in the kitchen, cleaning a few odds and ends.
"Got a bottle of wine?" he asked.
"That's against camp rules," she told him, not expecting anything.
'The hell with camp rules," Gary said. That came as a shock to her, that he would be opposed to anything established by the scout leaders, but when she approached him, she saw he looked upset-extremely upset. She pushed the back door of the cabin open and let him in.
"What's the matter, Gary?" she said. "This isn't like you."
He shrugged. "I've got a lot on my mind. To be honest, I want to get drunk."
"There's always attitude adjustments," she said, but Gary only smiled, a bittersweet smile that tore at her heart.
"How would that look?" he asked. "The camp director up drinking beer and wine and whiskey and smoking pot with the staffers when I'm the one who's supposed to enforce the rules against that?"
She looked deeply into him, and decided to give him her stashed-away bottle of Southern Comfort. He threw back several swallows, and she watched in awe as his Adam's apple bobbed. He had consumed half the bottle when he stopped, wiped his lips and handed it back to her.
She drank some herself.
"So what is it?" she asked when she was done, noticing the warm glow that had come over Gary's face. "What's the problem? You can tell me."
"I suppose I have to tell someone," he said. "It's hard you know, being in charge. That sounds silly, this being only a scout camp. But it's just like being captain of a ship. Everybody looks at you as authority, and it's hard to share anything that you feel deep inside."
"What do you feel deep inside?"
"Pain," he told her. "I just found out my grandmother died. She practically raised me, and I wasn't even there with her. God, I feel lousy."
"I'm sorry, Gary," she said, and handed her bottle to him. He all but finished it off, and she took a last swallow, then discarded the bottle in the trash. "It's tough, I know. My Dad and I were real close. I was away when he died in a car crash. For years, I thought it would have been better if I'd been with him, in the car. I felt so guilty. That was years ago, and I still miss him."
"Then you understand."
She stood close to him, close enough to feel and smell the warm liquor on his hot breath. "Yes," she said. "I understand."
He grabbed her then, pulled her close and mashed his lips into hers. The Comfort and his wet, hot kiss made her dizzy, and she grabbed onto him to keep from reeling over, and his tongue snaked inside her mouth.
All the desire she had ever had for him welled up inside her in that single moment, and she reached immediately for his cock, cupping his genitals in her hand through the fabric of his jeans, squeezing and pulling it, rubbing it as though that would make it come out of his pants.
As she had hoped, it grew in her hand, she could feel it through his crotch-seam. Her own genitals were producing a gush of lubricant, and she sensed her wetness escaping the confines of her pussy, saturating her ample mound of cunt hair, and dripping down into her underwear. Her moist underwear began chafing against her, the edges of the crotch digging up into her cuntal slit.
They fell together to the tile floor, and she tried to undo his pants, but he had his own plan of action in mind. He pushed her down and hastily unbuttoned her shirt, revealing her alabaster orb-like breasts, quivering on the surface like jelly as she shook inside from the excitement of his touch. But he did not touch her huge, firm tits-he ignored even the nipples, protruding like pointers in their erections at least half an inch high. Instead, he turned and lifted the simple peasant skirt she was wearing, lifted it up over her belly, offering him free and clear access to her sopping underwear.
The panties he shoved down to her knees, and his head shot between her warm, creamy thighs. His face burrowed in the soaked hairs of her cunt, and his tongue had no difficulty spreading the well-oiled edges of her entryway apart.
He began a long, slow lick at the bottom of her crack, four inches of tongue inside her, and dragged the thick, strong muscle up along the crack. She heard him swallowing her juices as he lapped them up. His tongue reached the top of her slit and she gasped as he dug all of it into her. As he withdrew it, he curled it, and caught her distended clitoris in the curl. He drank her juices in then, and each swallow he took pulled his tongue, which tightened around her stony little clitoris and pulled at it. It felt like a marble being rolled between two palms, and she clamped her thighs over his head like a vice.
She burst into a climax that lifted her ass off the floor, jerking Gary around mercilessly. It went on and on, because despite her orgasm, he continued to keep his tongue locked over her clitoris, pulling at it, and when it shrunk from the exertion of her cumming, he nibbled at it, drawing the last throes of ecstasy from her spent pussy.
She relaxed against the floor, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. But Gary wasn't done. His face shining from her sticky moisture, he straddled her belly and pulled his cock out.
Still breathing hard, she looked with amazement at his stiff, thick cock, shaped as though chiseled by a master sculptor. He pushed the head against the bottom of her breastplate, and immediately understanding an unspoken agreement, she pushed her massive globes of flesh together. Gary pushed his cock between them, slowly guiding it up, until just the head poked out from the cleavage line. Then he withdrew it and stroked upward again, moaning softly and sucking his air into his lungs as he felt the baby-soft flesh of her tits against his ultra-sensitive penis.
He came in minutes, a geyser of hot, viscous sperm spewing out of his open cock head, splattering against her chin and crashing like a breaking wave up over her face. She rubbed it in with her palms like face cream, luxuriating in its warm, intoxicating feel.
His cock was still stiff, and he lifted himself up and settled it on her lips. She hungrily licked away the cum that stuck like snow to the crown of his penis.
"Put it in me," she begged.
"I can't," he said. "Nothing left." He, too, was gulping for air.
"Please, just for a minute. Oh, God, please."
He crawled between her lewdly splayed legs and achingly guided his slowly deflating shaft inside her. It was enough, though, to feel his flesh turned hard against the anxious walls of her pussy. She had dreamed of it for so long, and just that single sensation was enough to bring her to another climax, the most satisfactory she had ever experienced.
He pulled out of her when she was finished, and rested his head against the pillowy softness of her breasts, and almost fell asleep.
That had been four years ago, right here, in the exact same location that a teenage scout named Larry was now banging her with youthful intensity. Thinking about the one time she had fucked the man of her dreams, Gary Kemper, stiffened her clitoris, and it burst against Larry's eager cock,, and she ground her buttocks into him and cried out loud. Larry responded by unloading a bucketful of young sperm into her, and she could feel it splatter against the walls of her pussy.
He pulled out of her, and she hastily pulled her pants up, and smoothed out the apron.
"See?" said Larry as he cleaned himself with a kitchen towel, and hiked his own trousers back up. "Worth it, wasn't it?"
"Yes, but the next time I say no, I mean it, understand? You'll get plenty of my pussy this summer without making me miss a meal."
"Okay. From now on," Larry said.
"Good. Now hustle down to the commissary and get me a pound of beef. I need to add some to this stew in a hurry."
"Won't be but a minute," Larry said, and he burst out the front door and hurdled off the steep porch, landing safely on the hill and running on down without missing a beat.
She watched him go, and saw Shuster, still sitting, watching. Didn't that bastard have anything better to do with his time?
Shuster saw Larry Collins jump from the porch, and knew what he had been doing for the last several minutes. He knew all about Grace Garcia and her preference for younger boys. Too bad, he thought. She'd be an excellent steady fuck. He had nailed her a couple times before, but she had an image of the adult male she wanted, and it was somewhere off in fantasyland. So she stuck to young boys and only encouraged him when she was too horny, and no boys were available.
Bob Shuster appreciated women who loved to ball.
He wondered if Lorraine Kemper loved to ball, and knew he had to find out. He had to have her whether she wanted him or not.
It wouldn't be long before he had her. All it would take, he knew, was one simple phone call. Then it was just a matter of time.
In the meantime, he would row across the lake tonight, and have one of the church girls. Just biding his time, until he could sink his teeth into something truly worthwhile.
Something like Lorraine Kemper.
He laughed out loud, lit a cigarette, and headed up to dinner.
CHAPTER FOUR
A downhearted look on his face, Gary pushed the door to his cabin open and stepped inside, and fell into a chair.
Lorraine was on the couch, an afghan pulled over her legs, a book in her hands. A fire flickered in the fireplace. She was full from dinner and tired from a full day. It was the second week of regular camp sessions.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"I got a call," he said. "Council wants me down in the city for a couple days. Something about some requisitions somebody made to beef up camp supplies."
"So? We'll go to the city."
"We can't. You have to stay here."
She was about to ask why, but she knew why. Gary had given up his apartment when they got married, and she had given up hers. They had signed a lease for a larger place, effective in September, after camp, but in the meantime, they had no place to call home except the cabin at Camp Bernhardt.
"Won't they rent us a hotel?" she asked.
"They're too damn cheap," he answered. "I'm staying with Ed Golbert, in his spare room. And it's a damn single bed. I'm sorry, baby."
She was disappointed. Since their arrival at camp, she had grown accustomed to his loving on a nightly basis, taking his muscle between her legs and wringing all the cum out of it she could. She almost lived for the pleasure with which he provided her.
But she had to be adult about it. He was a man with a job, and when the job called, there was nothing she could do but accept it, and await his return.
She was madly in love with him.
"When will you be back?" she asked.
"I have to leave Thursday," he said. Day after tomorrow, she thought. "I'll be back Saturday for the campfire."
She rose and put her arms around him. "It's okay, I'll be all right."
"You?" he said, jokingly. "Who cares about you? It's me I'm worried about. I think I'll go crazy without you."
"You mean it?" she smiled.
"Boy, do I mean it."
'Then let's go to bed. Now.
His smile faded, even though he was holding her by the buttocks, grinding his pelvis into hers. "I can't," he said. "There's a staff grievance meeting in 10 minutes."
"I can give you some head," she whispered in his ear.
"It'll take 10 minutes to get to the rec hall," he said. The recreation hall was a ramshackle wooden facility beyond the staff area, at the top of a hill.
"Well," she said, truly disappointed. "Hurry back."
"You can count on it," he said.
He was gone for hours.
She watched him go, his car leaving a trail of dust as it sped away. Barry stood beside her. "You're gonna miss him, huh?"
"I'll say," she answered.
"He's a great guy, one of my best friends. I suppose he's a great husband."
"We haven't been married long enough for me to be able to tell," she said. She liked Barry, and since he and her husband were so close, she felt comfortable talking with him. "But I love him. A lot."
"Lots of girls always fell for him, but he was never really interested. But you're a nice lady. I'm glad he married you."
"Why, thank you, Barry," she said.
They watched until the car was gone, and then
Barry went off to his program area, and Lorraine walked back to her cabin.
She wondered about what she would do today. It was only eight in the morning, and the day was fabulous. Maybe she would take a hike, or find a private area and soak up sun. The one thing she knew she would not do was lay that night with Gary.
That frustrated her, because the last two nights, something had been wrong. It wasn't something she could put her finger on, but Gary seemed to lack the spirit and conviction of his lovemaking. And last night, he had told her he was too tired. Oh, he had been sincerely apologetic, but still, it made no sense.
She wasn't worried about him. She had no fear that the magic had gone out of her marriage, or that the honeymoon was over, or some crazy garbage like that. It was just that she had spent so much time wrapped up in her aspirations and dreams that now, when she was finally engrossed in something real, something else spoiling it was an annoyance of major proportions.
She rationalized herself, out of it. Two days in the city, away from her, and things would be fine, just fine.
But that had nothing to do with the way she felt as a woman. Unsatisfied. She was like a kid who had just discovered candy-she wanted more of it.
She showered in icy water, and dressed lightly, for the weather had turned hot. She had decided to go up to Pine Flats, a three-mile hike. Off in the distance to the side of the Flats was a trail, that led to a series of potholes filled with water, icy cold water flowing from the melting snows in the higher altitudes. The pots were surrounded by flat rocks, and the sun shone directly down into the area.
But she decided to stop and have coffee with Grace first, if she wasn't too busy. She climbed the front steps and knocked on the screen; the sun was too bright to see at all beyond the screen door.
"Come on in!" Grace called, and Lorraine pushed her way in.
"Got any coffee?"
"Plenty, and some time to drink it, too," Grace said. She poured two cups, and they went out back to the deserted staff area. Only one of Grace's staff was there, wiping down tables.
"So you got some time on your hands. What're you going to do?"
"I thought I'd take a book up to Pine Flats, to the potholes," Lorraine said. "It's such a lovely day."
"Wish I could join you," Grace said, "but lunch awaits. You just finish one meal when suddenly it's time to whip another one together."
"Maybe I could pack a lunch," Lorraine suggested.
"Of course." Grace assembled a tuna sandwich, apple and bag of chips, and put them in a paper bag. Lorraine added her paperback and finished her coffee. "It is nice out," Grace agreed. "Maybe we'll go up there together on my day off."
"I'd like that," Lorraine said. She left, headed for the trail to Pine Flats.
Grace poured herself another cup of coffee, and contemplated. But her thoughts were almost instantly interrupted by a voice, a deep voice filled with sarcasm.
"Made friends, did you?" the voice said.
Grace turned and saw Bob Shuster leaning against the wall of the kitchen.
"Morning, Bob," she said. "What are you sticking your nose into now?"
"Just minding my own business," he said, approaching her and seating himself across from her. "But I know what I'd like to be getting my nose in."
"What's that?"
"Lorraine Kemper's pussy."
Grace sat bolt upright, stunned at Bob Shuster's bluntness. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
'This camp runs like a finely-tuned machine. I got all kinds of time. And I have a proposition for you."
"I don't think I'd be interested in any of your propositions."
"And I don't think you really have much of a choice. You see, I want you to help me get Lorraine Kemper."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. "You're out of your mind."
"I don't think so."
"Why would I do a thing like that? She's a nice girl, and Gary's a good guy. They deserve each other, and she certainly doesn't need to be involved with a loser like you."
"You never minded."
"I was never a nice girl," she said. "And girls who aren't nice girls use bad language. So fuck off, Shuster."
"No, I don't think I'm going to do that. You see, you are going to do what I say. Because if you don't, I'm going to Council to fill them in on your extracurricular activities."
Grace's heart missed a beat. "What do you mean?"
"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Your particular taste for young cock." He watched her as her face collapsed. He had her. "You see why I'm able to sit here and say what I want to you? You love that child-cock, don't you?"
"You're a shit."
"Maybe. Where'd she go?"
Grace didn't say anything.
"Tell me, Gracie, or I'll have your ass. You'll never work a camp again, and then you'll have to hit the street for that young stuff. You can get arrested that way. So answer up, Gracie. Where'd she go?"
"The potholes," Grace said reluctantly.
"Did I hear her invite you to go?"
"Yes."
"I suggest you go. There's a story I want you to tell her."
"I can't, and you know it. Lunch has to be done, too. I have to be here."
"You've got three young boys working here. They can handle a lunch. I'm sure you wouldn't object to putting them to work at more than tickling your damned clitoris."
"I can't.. . "
"You will, or I talk. Dig?"
She swallowed, hard. "Yeah, I dig."
"Have a nice trip to the potholes. I think I'll work on some pipe, myself." Eh stood and wandered away, his hands in his pockets.
Lorraine threw her cup, and watched it shatter against a rock. Why did things always have to be so damned complicated?
Lorraine skidded down the embankment to the first of the potholes, then picked her way over the rocks down three levels, and lay her blanket out over a flat rock. It was covered with blinding sunlight, and she slipped sunglasses on to cut the glare, then shrugged out of her robe.
She knew it would be warm, so she had worn only a bathing suit underneath her robe. She kicked off her canvas deck shoes, and stretched out on the towel. She read her book, laying on her belly, for a while, but the warmth of the sun on her skin tired her, and she dozed off after half an hour.
She awakened on her back, and saw the sun had risen considerably-it was at least one-thirty, she gauged, since she did not have a watch. She checked for sunburn, but she had apparently done enough turning in her long sleep to keep tanning evenly in the thin atmosphere, and she was in no pain. She opened the bag Grace had given her and unwrapped the sandwich, and began eating. When she needed to quench her thirst, she wandered to the sparkling clear pothole, knelt, and cupped her hands in the near-frozen water.
Her body did not hurt, but it was warm, coated in sweat, and the water from the pothole on her hand felt marvelous. She had only the towel she had been laying on, but she could not resist a swim.
A steep cliff rose above the opposite side of the pothole, accessible only by ginger climbing. But she had done things like that as a little girl, and she could not resist the temptation of such a climb now. She picked her way across a rock bridge, through which water cascaded from one pothole into another. Once across, she began working her way up the moss-covered cliff. Finally, she found herself on the shelf, and she leapt out into the clear air, and fell forty feet into the pothole.
The water splashed up several yards, and she went under a good five feet, and broke water after relishing the icy freshness of the pothole. When she blinked the water out of her eyes, she saw a figure standing by the pothole.
It was Grace. "Hi!" she called, and Grace waved back.
"That looks good," Grace said. "Why don't you come on in and find out." Grace shook her head and laughed. "Afraid not. I don't have that kind of courage. It looks good but it looks cold as hell, too."
"It is," Lorraine said. "I thought you couldn't get away."
"I . . . I didn't think I could. But my staff insisted they could handle a lunch. At any rate, they wanted to try it themselves once, so I got them started and headed on over. I was afraid you would already be gone."
"I fell asleep," Lorraine said, treading water. "Besides, it's so relaxing here. It's funny that the camp seems to be so full of hustle and bustle in the middle of such peaceful surroundings."
"It is hectic. You planning on staying in there until you turn into a prune?"
"Just coming out," Lorraine said. "Oh, God!"
"What is it?"
"I've lost my top."
Grace looked down into the crystal water and saw that it was definitely true. Her breasts were floating free in the water. "It was so cold I didn't even notice," Lorraine said, her face turning red. Grace saw her brief top floating over a small waterfall two potholes down.
"I see it," she said, and leapt up to get it.
"Hurry," Lorraine said. "I'm freezing."
Grace was gone for a few minutes, and came back empty handed. "Too late," she said, out of breath. "It went over the big one. No way I could get to it." She grabbed Lorraine's towel and held it out. "There's nobody here but us chickens. Why don't you come on out?"
"My.. . my hands are numb." She couldn't grasp the slippery wall of the pothole, and Grace saw her teeth chattering. Her lips had turned a startling shade of blue.
Grace bent over and pulled her out of the water by her arms, dragging her with every ounce of strength she had. She heaved, and Lorraine was out, floundering on the warm rock surface. Grace wrapped her in the towel and began vigorously rubbing her warm and dry. She turned her over and briskly ran the towel over her belly and breasts.
Her tits were soft and pliable, and Grace felt an old chill reviving itself deep within her. She tried concentrating on the half-frozen girl beneath her, her friend, the wife of another friend, but her breasts just felt so good.
Almost as though guided by another mind, another willpower, she let the towel slip away and caressed her breasts with her bare hands. The chill from the icy water had raised her nipples and hardened them to tiny pebbles, and Grace rolled them between her fingers.
Lorraine wasn't sure at first what was happening, since she was too wrapped up in the aching numbness that had stiffened her arms and legs, hands and feet. Now she knew something was amiss. "Wh.. . what are you doing?"
Grace didn't know how to answer, so she said nothing and continued kneading her breasts. Lorraine started to make her stop, but could not find her voice. She was repelled at the thought of sex with another woman, but what Grace was doing was so warm, so much warmer than the towel or the sun-heated surface of the rock.
Without thinking about it, Lorraine put her arms around the black haired, black eyed girl who was working so hard to warm her up. Grace acquiesced, allowing herself to be pulled close. As Lorraine hugged her, she wriggled her hand between their bodies and unbuttoned her own sport shirt, allowing her huge breasts to expand in their new-found freedom.
Lorraine had been fascinated by Grace's tits all along, and now they were pressed up against her own, and she felt wanton desire, and none of the attendant shame she knew she should have felt.
She rolled Grace onto her back and lay her head atop one of the breasts, and settled in the cushy softness of it. Against her cheek she felt one of Grace's nipples stiffening, and not from the iciness of the water. It was strictly from excitement.
Could she do this? Lorraine's mind was in turmoil, even though her body continued to react entirely to its instincts, its desire for Grace guiding her blindly.
Her lips closed over the nipple, and her eager tongue flicked over the distended pebble in her mouth. It turned moist but remained hard and hot. Lorraine used both hands to encase the other breast, and molded it with her moving fingers.
"Move . . . move over," Grace moaned. She had dug her fingers into Lorraine's rich, thick hair, but wanted to put it below her belly, where she had seen the bare outline of the blonde's luscious cunt.
Lorraine rolled off of Grace's sleek thighs, and Grace immediately dove her hand beneath her panty-like bathing suit, grabbing in a handful of her pubic hair.
Lorraine yelped as she felt her tender, delicate hairs pulled from her sensitive pubic skin, but then Grace's hand was pressing against her chilled pussy surface, rubbing and drawing warmth from deep within her.
The warmth turned to heat, and she felt her juices welling up. "Oh, no, we can't . . . " she hissed, but at that moment, Grace turned her hand so the flat was against Lorraine's pussy-slit, and guided it like a living dildo inside of her.
"No . . . mmmnmmph . . . ahhh," she moaned, and when the moan was out of her she took Grace's other nipple in her mouth.
"It's been a long time since I've had a woman, or even been interested in one," Grace muttered as she rubbed her hand against Lorraine's cunt, "but you brought it out in me. And I'm sure you'll like it. Nobody knows what pleases a woman better than another woman."
She pulled her breast away from Lorraine's hungry mouth, and slid down along her belly, rough with goose-flesh from her spell in the water, and down to her pussy. She pulled her hand, which had been almost entirely immersed in the wet pocket of her cunt-crack, out of the warm flesh, and licked it momentarily before dipping her tongue into the slit, between the pussy lips.
Lorraine arched her back as Grace sucked at the flesh between her lips, pulling the clitoris to the surface and capturing it between her teeth. She nibbled gently as her index finger glided up inside her vagina, and began pumping her.
She knew exactly what to do, because all she did was exactly what she would have wanted done to herself. Lorraine rolled and rocked, her nails digging into Grace's scalp, her teeth gritting and her throat gurgling with uncontrolled noises.
She climaxed in sudden jerks, her buttocks slamming against the rock as her entire body quivered and shook. And as she came, she muttered, "Fuck me, Grace, fuck me."
The words that fell from her lips seemed strangely alien, but they thrilled Grace to her core. She pulled her face away from Lorraine's climaxed-out cunt, and lay atop her. "You like my boobs?" she asked.
"I love them," Lorraine said, her voice a hoarse rasp accented by gasps.
Grace ground her own sopping cunt into Lorraine's, and pressed. The pressure of cunt against cunt passed through both of them like electricity being exchanged, and they held each other by the hips and pulled. Grace found Lorraine's lips, and forced them open with her own, her tongue furrowing into the wet cavern of her mouth.
Lorraine tasted her own cum, and tightened her grip on her lover. They rolled over so Lorraine was on top, and she raised herself off the rock, increasing the friction between their grinding pussies.
"I'm going to come again," Lorraine gasped incredulously, "Oh, God oh.. . . " She shivered, and the vibrations from her orgasm shook through Grace, her own clitoris exploding thousands of fireworks throughout her cunt, and up her entire body.
They rested together, the sweat of their bodies mingling.
'That was wrong," Lorraine whimpered.
Grace stroked her hair and shushed into her ear. "It's all right. It just happened. Things like that do sometimes. We'll just forget it, okay?"
But Lorraine had started to shake, shaking not from the chill of the water this time, but from the realization of what she had just done. Her mind was uncontrolled; she had never even considered having a woman before, and now that she had, she was dumbstruck by the fact that she liked it. Not as much as she liked having Gary, but it was completely different. There wasn't as much activity involved in her lovemaking with Grace, but there was more sensuousness, more tenderness.
Yet it was wrong, her mind told her. Absolutely, irrevocably wrong. And the two feelings warred with each other, pulling her apart, and she shook.
Grace wrapped her arms around Lorraine again, blowing softly in her ear and caressingly her back slowly, relaxing her gradually until she was just a sobbing bundle in her arms.
"It's okay, not a word," she said. She knew what she had to say next, and she loathed herself for it. "Listen, you'll feel better at the party tonight."
Lorraine looked up at her, pulling herself out of Grace's arms. She wiped her tears away and looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Party?" she whimpered.
Grace took a deep breath and launched into the lie Bob Shuster had prepared for her. "Sure, didn't you know about it?"
Lorraine shook her head, and it looked to Grace like the face of a child being comforted by a grown up. She wanted to shout, go home! Get the hell away from here and away from Bob Shuster while you can. But she couldn't. Not even after making love to her.
"I guess Gary forgot to tell you. I suppose he was in kind of a hurry, huh?"
Lorraine nodded.
"Well, down the road about 10 miles, there's a steak house, right by the river. About 15 of us are heading down there for a party, and you're certainly invited. We thought you were going, anyhow."
"You'll be there?" Lorraine asked.
"Not me," Grace said, laughing and despising herself. "I've got to prepare for tomorrow's cuisine. But the folks who will be there are good people, and you'll like them a lot. You'll have a good time, trust me.
She nodded again. "I guess we'd better be getting back," she said, and she stood and pulled her swim panties back on, then closed her robe around her, covering her breasts which now bore the impressions of Grace's probing fingers. It would take a few hours for the red marks to fade.
Grace clothed herself as well, and they walked back together, in silence. Grace left Lorraine when she got to the kitchen, closing herself in and leaning against the wall. She choked back tears.
Larry came in, a sack of flour in his arms, and settled his load on a storage shelf and smiled at her. "I've got a hot cock for you to suck," he told her.
"My God, you're an impudent little boy," she smiled at him cynically, and it took him aback. "Get out of here, just get the hell out of here!" she screamed, and he wasn't about to argue with her this time like he had the last. This was different; something was really wrong.
Lorraine, in the meantime, showered and then had two glasses of wine to calm herself down. Then she dressed, looking forward to mingling with a lot of people at the steak house.
She found Barry at the handicraft center, teachings homesick scout how to make a knife sheath. "It helps," he told her. 'They get homesick, and they come to me. The waterfront, the rifle and archery ranges, stuff like that is for kids who like it here. But Joey here misses his mom and pop, and doing stuff like this takes your mind off it and gives you something to think about." He ruffled Joey's hair, and the sad-looking scout mustered a smile for him.
"You're a good kid, Barry," Lorraine said "Do you have a car here?"
Barry turned red. "I did, but I kind of wrecked it."
Lorraine was sorry she had brought it up; she'd forgotten that he had rolled her husband's prize dune buggy.
"But I can borrow one, no sweat," he said, perking up. "Where do you need to go?"
"Some steak house down by the riverside, 10 miles or so down the road."
"Oh, sure, that would be Lester's," he said. "I'll take you. Come on."
Barry borrowed the keys to his tent partner's car, and they tore off down the road, in the same direction Gary had gone that same morning, so long ago.
CHAPTER FIVE
Barry pulled to a stop in the gravel parking lot of Lester's by the River, got out and opened Lorraine's door. She stepped out and surveyed the place; she had seen it before, coming up to the camp, but had only had the chance to catch a glimpse of it before rounding the curve and passing it.
There were several sections to the establishment-it was actually much more than just a restaurant. To the far end, down the road, was a small gas station (two pumps) and a gift shop. Then there were a series of cabins, available for rent, that overlooked the river which rushed by behind them. Then there was a banquet hall, a bar, and finally the restaurant itself.
Across the street was a coffee shop and a picnic area, along with a small general store. "Everything you could ever need," Barry said, mimicking the neon sign.
"I suppose," Lorraine agreed. "Are you coming to the party?"
Barry shrugged. "I wasn't told of any party. But then again, I'm under eighteen."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"It means I can't drink, so I don't get invited to parties at Lester's. But don't worry. I have something to occupy my time."
"What's that?"
Barry blushed a little. "I've got a girlfriend down in the town." She knew he meant Lancer, a small town about another 10 miles along the road. It's principle industry was tourism, and there were more sporting good stores there than there were gas stations and restaurants combined.
"Well, have a good time," she said. She was about to ask if perhaps he wasn't a little too young to have a girlfriend, but stopped herself in time to keep from making a fool of herself. He was, after all, only five or six years younger than herself.
And she, after all, had a girlfriend of her own.
Her bowels turned to water and her knees to jelly as she thought of it with shame. Yet there was no getting rid of the fact that she had enjoyed it-immensely. She could still feel those massive globular breasts jutting against her own, the steel-point-like nipples digging into her flesh, and the flat of Grace's hand buried lengthwise in the slit of her pussy.
She shook the memory off and watched Barry drive away. She hadn't been paying attention, but he had said something about being there to pick her up at eleven, and if she wasn't there, he'd assume somebody else had given her a lift.
When Barry's car had disappeared, she turned and went into the restaurant. The sun was still peeking above the mountaintops, and the darkened dining hall was deserted except for a few waitresses running about setting tables.
"Excuse me," she said, but nobody noticed her and she had to repeat herself with greater volume. Finally, one of the waitresses saw her and came over to her.
"We don't serve dinner for another hour yet."
"I'm with the party from Camp Bernhardt," she said.
The waitress nodded. "There's always a party from Camp Bernhardt, but nothing's scheduled tonight that I know of. Check the bar."
Lorraine was about to ask something, but the waitress was called away, and Lorraine was left standing alone. Mildly confused, she shrugged and left the restaurant, blinded somewhat by the bright sunlight after having been in the dimly-lit restaurant.
She walked along a boardwalk to the bar, the entrance to which was a set of saloon-like doors. She pushed through them, and tried to readjust her eyes once again to this new darkness. There seemed to be about a dozen people in the bar-certainly no party from camp. She was about to turn away when she saw Bob Shuster at the end of the bar, concentrating on a brownish-colored glass. He didn't seem to have noticed her.
He was the only Bernhardt person in the bar, and if she was to find anything out, he would have to be the one she asked. Something inside her begged her not to, but she was stranded here until at least eleven, and if there was no party, Shuster might be her only way back. Had Grace gotten the day wrong?
Gingerly, she approached Bob, not wanting to startle him out of his reverie. She stood behind him, watching him, but he only lifted the glass-scotch, it looked like-to his lips, and sipped, then set the glass back down and returned to his daze.
She tapped him on the shoulder, and he started, then turned around. "Why, Mrs. Kemper," he said cordially. "What a surprise. What are you doing here? Oh, pardon my manners, won't you sit down?"
She didn't want to, but he held his hand out to the bar stool that sat vacant beside him. She slipped into it. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Please," she said, since she didn't know what else to do. "Gin and tonic, please."
"A real drinker," he said admiringly. "So, tell me, what brings you to Lester's while your husband's away?"
"Grace Garcia said something about a party here." The bartender appeared, and Bob ordered her drink, making it a double, then ordered himself a fresh one. When the bartender had gone to mix the stuff, Bob said, "Yeah, there was supposed to be a party, but it was cancelled. I guess nobody got word to Grace, since she couldn't have made it anyhow."
Lorraine hung her head in disappointment. She also worried about how to spend the time between now and eleven. "Are you going back to camp?" she asked, hoping he was.
"Not until later," he said. "I'm planning on having dinner and then a few more drinks, then I was thinking of sitting by the river for a while. Sort of a Thursday routine with me."
"Sounds nice," she said. The bartender set their drinks before them, and Bob hastily polished off his last one.
"Cheers," he said, holding his drink up and clicking her glass, which she lifted with some reluctance. She swallowed some of the drink, and knew instantly that it was much more gin than tonic, but it felt good as it burned down her throat and warmed her insides. She took another long slip then set it down.
"I guess I'm stuck here," she said.
"How's that?"
"Barry Jameson gave me a lift here, but he went on down into Lancer," she said. "He's not picking me up for hours."
Bob sipped his scotch. "A lot of the guys hitchhike around these hills, but you're not a guy, so I wouldn't recommend it," he said. "Perhaps you'd care to join me for dinner."
"Oh, no, I couldn't.. . . "
"It would be my pleasure," Bob said. "And my treat. As long as you have to stay anyhow."
"Well. . . " She didn't want to, really, but what else was she going to do for several hours? Besides, it seemed her initial impression of Bob Shuster was wrong. He wasn't crude at all, he was, if anything, very gracious. She felt slightly lightheaded from the drink, since she had had little to eat, and dinner-a steak in particular-sounded excellent. "Okay, you're on," she said.
Bob smiled. "Great! You about ready for another drink?"
"Oh, God, I haven't even made a dent in this one."
"That's all right. Better stock up. Jack!" he called to the bartender. "Another round."
He turned back to her, and asked, "How do you like Bernhardt so far? Or Heartburn, as we who have been here several years call it?"
"It's just beautiful," she said, her tongue loosening as she swallowed more gin. She wasn't truly much of a drinker, and on those rare occasions that she did have one or two, they hit her like a ton of bricks. "But it is a little boring," she said. "You know, Gary's off doing his job, and Grace has.. . . " she paused as the image of Grace formed in her mind, but she forced it out just as quickly. "Grace has meals to cook most of the time."
"And a hell of a cook she is, too," Bob said, lifting his glass.
"But I figure it's only for the summer, and it is so lovely in the mountains. I've been hiking and swimming. I've never been fishing before, and I'd like to try that."
"I have a rod and reel you're welcome to borrow any time," Bob said.
Lorraine admonished herself. She was talking more now than she had intended to, more than she wanted to around this man she did not know or trust. But she sipped her gin, her liquor intake increasing like a wheel spinning downhill, gaining ever more momentum and unable to brake to a stop.
"Have you ever been here before?" Bob asked. She shook her head, drained her glass, and started on her second double.
"It's a great old place. You ought to walk around, look at the walls."
She turned on her stool, and looked at the walls. They were covered with display cases, filled with antique memorabilia of eras gone by in the region. "Oh, my!" she said. "I think I will. Watch my drink for me, okay?"
"Okay," he said, and he caught her by the elbow as she stood and toppled a little, dizzy and giddy from the booze.
"Watch yourself," he said.
"I'm fine," she insisted, pulling her elbow away. She didn't like the way he had held on to it. But she forgot that as soon as she began looking at the display cases. They were filled with pistols and rifles, stuffed animals, Indian diggings, photographs and diaries of pioneers who had lived there. Occasionally, she glanced back at Bob, who was smoking a cigarette now, and he would nod and smile at her.
She wondered only once why he wore his mirrored sunglasses in such a dark place, and wrote it off to either habit or macho. Probably a combination of both.
She circled the bar, and returned to the stool and plopped into it. "Whooo," she said. "I.. . think . . . I'm . . . getting . . . drunk!"
"That's one of my favorite ways to be," Bob smiled. "Drink up," he said, indicating her awaiting gin and tonic.
"You know," she said, not meaning to, "you're a nice man after all."
"Yeah," Bob said. "Drink up."
She hoisted her glass in the air. "Here's . . . mud in yer eye," she said, laughed, and drank. It tasted different than the last one, and she looked through her inebriated gaze to see if the bartender had changed. He hadn't. Oh, well, she thought. Must be that you're drunk. Still, she had never tasted so bitter a drink before.
"Something wrong?" Bob asked.
"What could be wrong?" she said. "When do we eat?"
He looked at his watch, smoke from his cigarette drifting up and mirroring itself in his glasses. "Restaurant opens in ten minutes," he said. "I've only got a reservation for one, but I'm sure they can accommodate us."
"I hope so," she said, and laughed. She drained that drink, too, and when she set the glass on the bar top it fell over and the ice cascaded onto the vinyl. "Ooops," she giggled. "I made a mess."
"Don't worry about it," he said.
"Okay. How about another drinkie?"
"No, I think you've had enough," Bob said in a friendly tone.
"You're mean," she pouted. "But I guess I'll just have some wine with dinner."
"I think we can arrange that," Bob said happily. "Why don't we mosey on over to the restaurant now?"
She never made it that far. They went out of the bar, and twilight had fallen over the sky. She stepped carefully, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. After about five steps, though, that became impossible, and she felt as though somebody had stolen all of the bones from her body. She collapsed.
Bob caught her, saying something like, "Whoa, watch your step," and guided her away from the restaurant, toward the cabins.
"Hey," she mumbled, "the restaurant's that way," and she jerked her thumb over her shoulder, but Bob ignored her. She saw him unlocking one of the cabins and tried to get away, but she had no strength, no willpower. She let him close the door behind them, lock it, and set her down on the bed.
"Hey," she said, and giggled involuntarily at the sound of her own voice. Deep inside, she was petrified.
And she knew that bitter taste she had tasted was more than alcohol. Her had done something to her drink. For she was surely more than just drunk now.
She looked up at him from the bed; he seemed to tower a hundred feet above her, the effect of whatever it was he had slipped in her drink. He was reaching down to her, in slow motion; it seemed to take forever for his hand to get to her blouse, but it finally did, and he tore it away. She felt that in slow motion, too; the agonizingly long time it took for her body to roll, the rip as her blouse gave way seemed to last an eternity, and then she watched as he yanked the material away from her, like a magician's handkerchief, ceaselessly passing by.
Then it was gone, flung to the floor, and his long, long arms reached to her again, and his hands formed the shape of her breasts over her mounds, still encased in a brassiere of lace and satin. He rolled the softness of her breasts in the palms of his hands, and she felt something like disgust when she saw him licking his lips. But the disgust faded as she felt his paws on her, sliding her tits up and down, rolling them, kneading them, squeezing them. He seemed to have such expert hands. Against her own will, she arched her head back, and felt her eyelids droop shut. She moaned, surprising herself.
Something tugged at her back, and she tried to open her eyes, but couldn't. It took her a minute to realize he was pulling at her brassiere from the front, trying to break the snap in the back by sheer force. She lay still and let him pull, thinking it was ridiculous to try. But when the pressure against her back died away, she knew he had succeeded. She felt cool air against the soft, white skin of her firm breasts, and realized they were free; the brassiere was gone. Her nipples hardened against the chill in the air. "Do it," she whispered, then tried to remember exactly who it was that was going to do it.
Bob's hands were back on her breasts, and he had caught hold of her distended, pebbly nipples between his massaging fingers. Lorraine was gyrating now on the bed, no mind left of her own at all. Everything she knew was sensation, touch, feel. There was no right and wrong, good and bad. Bob Shuster could have been Gary Kemper, Grace Garcia or even Barry Jameson for all she cared. All she wanted was to feel, to experience.
Every motion of Shuster's hands was new to her, something she had never felt. As his thick fingers squeezed her alabaster breasts, they sang with electricity that shot down to her bowels, squeezing them, then zinging up her spine and bursting like a keg of powder in her brain. Her nipples were particularly sensitive, buttons to be pushed. He pushed them often, and she felt her inflamed pussy begin to rage with genital heat.
Bob fumbled with the button of her pants, and she nearly screamed from impatience. Actually, he had only been trying for a few seconds, but all was slo-mo to Lorraine, and it seemed an eternity. She pushed his hands away and undid her own pants, pushing them down over her knees and then kicking them off. She was ravenous for Bob's attentions, and she managed to open her eyes to see him, sunglasses finally off, his small, beady eyes locked on her slippery cunt. Through the waves of her blurred vision she saw the bulge in the crotch of his pants, and reached for it. But her depth perception was askew, and it was farther away than she thought; she groped futilely.
"You're cock-hungry, ain't you?" Bob said.
"Yesss," she hissed. "Give it to me, give me your cock."
"It's all yours, baby," he said, reaching down to his own button.
Even the sounds she heard were now intensified, with echoes behind them, and in synchronization with the speed with which she saw things happening. She heard the button of Bob's pants pop out of the fabric hole into which it was fitted, and then the slow, loud dragging of the zipper as he pulled it down, one painful notch at a time. The sound amplified even more as he pulled his pants down, the rustling of the jeans against his skin nearly deafening her. Then he dropped the lighter, softer boxer shorts, to reveal his stiff, blue-veined member, pointing like an accusing finger at her.
She wasn't sure if it was the aphrodisiac he had administered to her, the gin, or reality, but Bob's throbbing cock looked huge, larger than anything she would dare take inside her tight, small, little-used pussy. It moved in small jerks as Bob's excitement mounted, and she watched the sperm-bloated balls dancing beneath the base of the shaft, dropping out of a patch of thick, brown hair.
But Bob wasn't interested in putting his massive penis inside of her cunt. He reached over, his arm stretching toward her as though made of rubber, and then his hand was closed over a thatch of her hair, and pulling her toward the other side of the bed. She knew he was being rough, but it did not hurt; instead, it seemed she floated on a pillow of air, or on a cloud, toward his cock. It loomed like a telephone pole in front of her eyes, and she realized she was supposed to put it in her mouth.
Could she do it? It was so large, so thick. But she opened her mouth, trying if possible to unhinge her jaws, and felt the hot, pulsating meat against her lips. It seemed to sizzle against her own flesh, and she could feel the tight skin of his shaft crawling in response to the touch of her warm, wet, full lips.
She was laying naked on her back, and Bob stood above her, the length of his meaty shaft settled on the pillows of her lips. The underside of his cock was in her mouth, and she ran her tongue along the length, back and forth, then lifted her head and did her damndest to swallow the spear-like muscle.
Bob held her by the ears as she took more and more of his length inside her, sucking and nibbling as she went, careful never to hurt him, but anxious to have it all.
She found she was playing with her own tits. Her hands were massaging the soft muscles, pulling at the nipples and rubbing the two breasts together, filling her with sparks and flame.
She was surprised when she felt the thick meat being pulled from her mouth, and wondered if it might not be some sort of hallucination.
Then she realized Bob was pulling it away, readying it for a thrust into her throat, for which she would most certainly have to be prepared. His cock was not as big as it had seemed, but it was big enough. She left one hand to continue massaging her tits, and held his heavy, curling testicles with the other, partly because it felt good, and partly because she wanted to know when he was going to shove his cock into her.
The hand massaging her tits had a mind of its own, and she found it rubbing her belly, then moving down to the downy curls of her pubic vee. It rubbed there, feeling the damp, velvety hairs, and teasing at the inflamed cuntal lips. She ached to have her pussy satisfied, but she waited, to make it feel as good as it possibly could.
Two fingers crawled between the tender lips, and turned like a drill as they entered her. She stiffened as she felt it, and groaned; the sound vibrated against Bob's erection, and he forsook delicacy and ground his fingers in, deep. She arched in her back in response, and his cock slipped easily down her throat. She gagged, but did not feel or notice it; she was thoroughly numb but for the sensations of her sexualness.
Her teeth nibbled along the length of his stroking shaft, and her lips applied and released pressure as though she knew where lay every nerve in the long, meaty shaft.
She wrapped her fingers around the cheeks of his tight, muscular buttocks, and took only an instant to gingerly locate the puckered ring of his anus. He gasped as she pressed against it with her fingertip, and redoubled her cocksucking efforts.
He felt his penis begin to burn, and he knew if he did not withdraw from her mouth, he would come there and he was too drunk to be good for just one shot in her mouth. He wanted all of her, and knew he would not be satisfied until his cock had been wrapped in the turgid folds of her tight pussy. His will was sapped, though, by the treatment she was giving him.
He mustered strength and pulled his cock away, and she bent her head forward to keep sucking until he had it pulled away far enough that she could no longer reach it.
She began to sit up to go after the meaty member, having grown used to his warm hardness between her lips, on her tongue. He turned her completely around on the bed, dragging her mostly with the fingers in her cunt. She sucked in air and held her breath until he had her in place, and then he roughly pushed her legs apart by the thighs, his hands placed just below the hairline of her lower pussy.
He fell on her. The quivering head of his cock found Lorraine's spread pussy lips as though a magnet drew it there, and he was inside her, tearing apart the walls of her cunt, pushing the pink curls of vaginal flesh aside as it dug its way to its maximum depth.
Once there, he lifted his ass and plunged again. Lorraine screamed, a piercing shriek and her nails raked his back, drawing four fine lines of beaded blood as her hands dragged along his skin.
The muscles in his body tightened as he reacted to the sharp knifelike pains. "Bitch," he said, but a smile was on his face, and he contracted the muscles in his buttocks when he thrust into her, and he felt his spongy cock head met resistance at the ceiling of her vaginal cavern.
She was lost in a wonderland of sensation, not even aware of who she was, or even that there was a world existing outside. All that existed was her burning cunt, and the penis that filled it.
He was bigger than she was; as he fucked her, his body covered her, but she had found hidden strength in her raging passion, and her jerking movements rocked him, and he almost slipped out of her once or twice despite the impressive length of his penis.
She did not await orgasm, for the entire experience was one long orgasm, or short climaxes heaped one atop the other. Yet when he came, long, gushing spurts of his viscous male sperm, her body tensed, then shook from an earthquake epicentered in her ecstatic clitoris.
The orgasm wound down, and Lorraine wound down with it. When the climax ended, she was asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
Bob sat in the coffee shop across the road from the lodge, drinking coffee and enjoying his first cigarette of the day. Seldom did a smoke ever taste as good as that first one in the morning, and he took long drags, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, and exhaling slowly, tasting the tastes of the tobacco as it glided out across his tongue.
He had just finished three eggs, hash browns, four links of sausage and toast, along with a large Bloody Mary and he felt stuffed and satisfied. The large breakfast was in addition to the filet he had wolfed down the night before, after leaving a drugged and slumbering Lorraine sprawled and spent in the bed in the rented cabin.
He laced his fingers together over his belly, and let the smoke drift into his nostrils. He closed his eyes to relish the aroma. When he opened them, he saw Lorraine, dressed, walking across the snakelike highway toward the coffee shop. She had already spotted him through the plate glass window beside which he sat, and Bob only smiled when he saw the murderous look plastered to her face.
She was angry, filled with hatred and humiliation and a variety of confused, jumbled feminine thoughts. Her uncontrolled lust for Bob did not mesh with her fervent love for Gary. Once she had awakened, and knew what she had done, she forgot entirely about her episode with Grace. Bob consumed her, and each time she drew his image to her mind, her hatred and disgust amplified.
She sobbed as she showered, as more thoughts raced through her muddled mind than she could possibly deal with. She wept as she dried herself, and calmed as she dressed. She would have to deal with it, as simple as that. Crying won't make it go away. All she could do was cope with it.
So she replaced her emotional state of despair with one of unbridled hatred. She decided the first thing she had to do was confront Bob Shuster, do to him mentally what he had done to her physically. Then, when Gary returned, she would have to tell him. How could he blame her? She was certain she had been drugged.
Perhaps it would result in Bob's being fired.
She asked at the front desk where Bob had gone, and was disturbed that there existed still a quiver, a trembling in her voice that displayed her emotional state. But she firmed up her resolve when she was told her enemy awaited her directly across the street, and she stormed to the coffee shop.
She saw Bob in the window, and a chill ran through her when she saw, behind his wicked mirrored sunglasses, he smiled.
But her intentions did not change. She shoved the front door of the restaurant open, and flew in like the first storm of winter. She sat down across from him, her fists clenched together through intertwined fingers, and she stared daggers at him. Her lips were thin from tension, and her entire body was shaken with tremors as her nerves sent ripples through her muscles.
She simply let the words flow from her mouth. "You bastard, you conniving, sex-hungry, depraved son of a bitch. You may have had me last night, but now I have you, you scum. I want you to pack your things and be out of camp before Gary gets back, or I'll ruin you, so help me God."
Bob sipped his coffee nonchalantly. "Mind if I ask how you plan on doing that?"
She smiled at him, willing to plot his downfall; more than willing. "All I have to do is tell him, that's all. My husband loves me and trusts me, and he'll believe me. You'd at least get kicked out of camp, and at most, I could have you arrested for rape."
Bob laughed, and the chill returned to her.
"I don't think you could do any of that, frankly," Bob said. "You might find, in fact, that there are a few more favors you have to do for me before you're no longer in any danger."
Something caught in her throat. "What do you mean, danger?"
Bob settled back in his chair and said nothing; just played with the smile on his lips, adjusting it, letting Lorraine sweat out his answer. When he had decided she'd had enough, he leaned forward, but still did not speak until he lit a fresh cigarette.
Finally ready, he told her, "You go ahead and tell Gary what happened, if that's all your marriage means to you. In fact, if you don't tell him, I think I will."
Lorraine shuddered. "What in the world are you talking about?" Her voice was just a raspy whisper as fear gripped her.
"You haven't even been married two months. Hell, you haven't even known Gary much longer. He goes away and leaves you alone the first time, and you run right out and fuck one of the people he really despises. Me." Bob grinned at that. "And you think he'll be understanding? I think he'll kick your ass all the way down the road to the city, and find out how he can go about annulling the marriage. That's what I think."
Lorraine tried to think of something to say. All she came up with was, "What I tell him will be the truth.
He'll see that."
Bob laughed. "Sure, he might. But not if somebody backs up my story. That we came down here together, agreeing that it would be best to get away from camp in order to do what we wanted to do."
Lorraine's spirits lifted. Triumphantly, she said: "It won't work! Barry Jameson drove me down here alone, for the party."
Bob shrugged. "Okay, so we came separately, to avoid suspicion. And by the way, there never was any party."
Her triumph dissipated. Only this time she was left with more than fear. This time she felt betrayal. "Grace told me there was a party," she whimpered.
"Ann, Gracie," Bob said. "She certainly does have a pair of huge knockers, huh? Gracie does what I tell her to do. For instance, I told her to tell you there was a party."
Lorraine could hold it back no longer. She burst into fresh tears that coursed down her cheeks and fell from her face to the polished table. How could she? After they had made love, impulsive, honest, serious love, she lied to Lorraine.
But through her veil of tears she looked at Bob, and knew she could not blame Grace. Bob had something on her, just like he now had something on Lorraine, and Grace had most certainly been put in a position of having no choice.
Just as Lorraine was now. "What do you want?" she asked, defeated.
"You," Bob said simply. "Whenever I want. There'll be no complaining about the situations I set up, since there may be some scenes you've never been into before. One word of complaint, one slip to your husband, anything I don't like, and I spill it. And Gracie backs me up. And there goes your marriage. Dig?"
She nodded, hating him but not even capable any longer of showing her hatred. Only her defeat. And her fear.
"That's fine," Bob said. Now that he had her, most of the thrill had gone out of the hunt. She had been his ultimate challenge, and now that she was caged, the challenge was gone. But he could still use her well, and his limp cock jumped slightly at the thought. She had been like a lynx in bed. He could have that again. And more.
He looked at his watch. "I guess we should be heading back to camp," he said.
Lorraine said nothing. She had nothing to say.
Bob rose, and tossed a quarter to the table. It rolled around, then fell flat with a clink that made Lorraine's head hurt. She looked up, and saw Bob walking out of the coffee shop. If she didn't want to be stranded there, she would have to follow him.
She rose just as the waitress appeared to ask if she wanted anything, pushed past the waitress and followed Bob outside. He did not look back at her, but clambered into his old, green pickup, actually a piece of camp equipment. He started it, and the old motor groaned and died. Bob started it again, and Lorraine hauled the passenger door open and jumped in. The motor kicked over and roared and Bob pressed the accelerator to the floor. Lorraine pulled her door closed, and the instant it was shut, Bob pumped the old truck into gear and in a cloud of dust it rumbled out into the highway.
Bob whipped the wheel around and the tires screeched as the truck turned the right way on the road. He jimmied the stick into first and floored it again, letting the clutch pop out, and with a jerk that nearly slammed Lorraine's head back into the window of the truck, he took off toward camp.
His face remained impassive during the entire operation. Neither of them said anything, or looked at each other, during most of the ride. In her mind, Lorraine tried to work out some things. Like where she had been during the night, why she hadn't met Barry when she was supposed to, why she had returned with Bob Shuster. She wished she had sunglasses like Bob's, to hide the guilt in her eyes.
As they turned into the dirt road that led into Camp Bernhardt, Bob looked over to her and said one word.
"Tonight."
Her heart leapt into her throat. "I can't.. . I can't tonight. Oh God, please don't make me."
"Tonight," he repeated.
"Gary's coming back today," she said, nearly shrieking from hysteria. "I have to be with him tonight. I have to."
"Make an excuse," Bob said, threats ringing in the tone of his voice. "Lie to him. I don't give a shit. Just be down at the maintenance shed at ten." He swiveled his head to look directly at her, his eyes behind the mirrored glasses boring into her with fire. "And don't be late," he said.
The truck braked to a stop, and he reached over her and pushed her door open. "Ride's over," Bob said.
She sat, riveted to the seat, unable to move. "Please don't make me," she cried, but it did not come out in words that could be understood.
'Ten," he said, and gave her a hard shove against the shoulder. Lorraine tumbled out of the truck, and had to swing her arms hard in order to keep from falling. By the time she had regained her balance, the truck was already far down the road, leaving her in its cloud of brown dust.
She stood alone in the road, still not moving. When somebody tapped her on the shoulder from behind, she jumped up so far she nearly launched herself into orbit.
She whirled, ready to lash out at whoever was behind her, but she saw it was Barry and she held back her anger. He wore his full uniform, and also wore a concerned expression. "I was there at eleven," he said.
"I know," Lorraine said, spinning around so she didn't have to face the boy.
"Was the party still going on?" he asked.
It was an innocent question, but Lorraine couldn't see it that way through the heat of her emotions. "You know damn well there was no party last night," she yelled.
"Hey! What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she hissed. "Why don't you just.. . just go do your little scout things."
Barry shrugged, but inside he was confused and upset. He liked Lorraine-he'd liked her the minute he saw her. She appeared to be the perfect type for his friend Gary, and Gary had seemed very happy with her.
And when things had progressed, Barry had found Lorraine easy to talk to, easy to be friendly with. He even suspected she had helped ease the difficulty he had explaining the rolled dune buggy. Alone, at night, he imagined she told him, "It's not his fault, darling Be easy on him."
But now she was like a different person, an un leashed animal in a frenzy. "Okay," he said, and did not see her squeeze her eyes shut from the pain she felt. "How come you came back with Bob Shuster just now?" He hadn't meant to ask, but her manners forced it from him.
"It's none of your damned business," she said quietly.
"Fine," Barry said sharply, his own temperature rising. "Just fine." And he stormed off.
Lorraine still did not move yet, trying to use the solitude of her aloneness to regain her composure. It wasn't easy. Barry had upset her; she had not intended to read him out, or anything bad. She liked the boy, and it hurt her that she had been unable to control her raging torrent of emotion.
There was Bob in her mind, Gary, Barry, Grace . . . and from there her thoughts took strange and dangerous directions. She thought about things she had not thought about in years, like trouble she had been in with her parents and at school. Not serious trouble; they were incidents most people would never remember, except the turmoil in her brain dredged it up and paraded it in front of her eyes.
She thought she would scream.
The thought of suicide played fleetingly before her, but she dropped it and did not resurrect it. She believed in life. She believed that no matter how bad things looked now, in 10 years none of this would matter at all.
It saved her from doing anything crazy. But it did not ease the pain and guilt in her.
She wondered how long she had been standing there, and decided however long it had been, it had been long enough. She walked on jelly legs to her cabin.
From the porch, she looked across to the kitchen, and wondered if she should talk to Grace. It occurred to her she might have as little luck controlling her temper with Grace as she did with Barry. But perhaps the two of them together might be able to do something.
It was true, she thought. There is strength in numbers; they don't come up with silly, catchy phrases like that without a reason. If Bob had been honest with her-something she could in no way be sure about-and he did have Grace over the same kind of barrel she had Lorraine, then perhaps together they could take him on. Both their words would be much more powerful than just hers, or just Grace's.
But she would talk to her later. Right now, she needed to sleep. At least rest. She went into her cabin, which had been vacant all night, and lay on the neatly made bed.
The day outside was bright and cloudless, but the cabin bedroom was dark and she shivered from the remnants of the night's unbattled chill. But she made no move to cover or warm herself. The cold felt strangely comforting and good.
Shivering, she fell asleep.
In her sleep, she had nightmares. One after the other, all of different sorts, all with Bob Shuster as the heavy. One after another they came, first a hideous monster with Shuster's face, then a slasher lashing out at her with a strap-razor, next she was falling and looking up at Bob who had pushed her from the top of a skyscraper, then she was being run over with Bob at the wheel of the offending car.
None of the horrible dreams awakened her, though. She tossed and turned, bunched up the sheets and blankets, screamed and sweated, but did not awaken. It was her lot, she seemed to tell herself. You deserve it. You must accept it.
Only reality could snap her out of it. Reality came in the form of her husband, opening the door to the bedroom and flipping on the light. "Why's it so dark in here?" he asked happily. "You okay?"
She sat bolt upright in bed, pulling the sweat-drenched sheet up over her exposed bosom. "Of course," she said, her voice still shaking. "What could be wrong?"
"It looks like something's wrong," Gary said, furrowing his brow.
"Oh," she said, trying to be light as she brushed away the hair that had fallen in front of her face. "I'm tired and I . . . had a nightmare."
Gary sat beside her on the bed, and draped his arm over her shoulders. "I'm sorry to hear that, babe," he said comfortingly, pulling her close. She was like putty, easily manipulated, offering no resistance, but likewise offering no assistance. Her arms dangled at her sides, and her head rolled uselessly on her shoulders.
Still, she closed her eyes and felt his warmth, his strength, his comfort. He would not hurt her. Only Bob could do that. "Feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes," she lied, and smiled for him. But in truth she was terrified. She loved this man she had known for so brief a time, she loved him with every fiber of her being. And she knew she had most likely lost him. She had grown up believing that everybody pays for their deeds, that nobody escapes from their actions unscathed.
She was frightened, and she shook while he held her. Gary figured it was only a bad dream, and it would fade; he took pleasure in knowing he had a calming, soothing influence on his beautiful, innocent wife.
"There, now," he whispered into her ear, bathing it with hot, liquid breath, "everything's going to be all right."
She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, not wanting to ever let go.
She finally did, though, realizing she had to begin acting normal if she was to have any hope of salvaging her marriage. "How was your trip?" she asked.
"Horrible," Gary said. "It was almost as though somebody made an excuse to send me to the city. It was all busy work, nothing pressing or urgent. I don't understand bureaucracy, and I guess I never will. It really pisses me off sometimes, though. I could have been doing a lot of good here, but instead I have to waste two days taking care of bullshit work."
"Why don't you quit?" she asked, hopeful that he was angry enough to take her suggestion seriously.
He didn't. He only chuckled, a little disbelieving. "Quit? You're not serious."
"I am," she said, doing her best to control her emotions so he would not see that her crying a minute ago had anything to do with her desire to leave. "Why should a smart man like you have to put up with that kind of treatment? You deserve better."
He hugged her. "That's true," he said, half-kiddingly. "I do deserve better. That's why I have you.
But you don't really want to leave this. I mean, the city is fine, but spending every day there, year after year, in the smog and the heat, looking at pavement and tall buildings.. . the only trees in the city are in parks and some that stick out of holes they've made in the pavement. I love it here," he said.
"I know you do," she told him sincerely. "I just want what's best for you."
"Besides," he added, "a teacher only gets paid when school's in session, and all those tax-cutting initiatives that have passed mean there's no summer school. That means there's no paycheck for me during the summer. We need Camp Bernhardt's money."
"It's okay," she said, putting her finger to his lips. "I was only suggesting. I would never force you to leave. Just.. . . "
She paused as she nearly choked on her words. He looked at her, tilting his head like a dog in a state of confusion. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Just hold me and tell me you love me," she said, fighting back the sobs.
He did. His arms closed around her and her head nestled against his strong, broad chest. His muscular arms tightened around her and squeezed her, and she felt at least temporarily safe.
His big hands caressed her back and stroked her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to block out all thoughts, simply taking refuge in her husband's embrace.
But he wanted more than to hold her. He began caressing her with a fervent desire, and she heard his breath accelerate. Oh, God, no, she thought. I can't. I can't take a man right now, not any man, not even my husband.
Especially not my husband, she thought with shame.
Yet there was nothing she could do. It had been she who had complained about their last two nights of lovemaking before he had left-the lack of it on one of those nights-and now he wanted her. He did, after all, have every right in the world to want her.
She would have to give in to him, make love to him, and let him know she enjoyed it whether that was the truth or not.
His hand slipped under her chin and lifted it so she was looking up at him through tears she tried to blink away. Gary thought they were an expression of her feelings. "I love you," he whispered.
"I know," she said back, hoarsely. Then his lips covered hers, and his tongue instantly dove into her mouth, probing with intensity, seeking her own soft, wet mouth muscle. Her tongue was retracted toward the back of her mouth, and she thrust it forward, summoning courage to make this good for Gary.
Their tongues met and fenced violently, and Gary finally caught his young wife's serpent in the curl of his own tongue, and began pushing his tongue deep into her mouth, then retreated back toward his own.
Lorraine closed her eyes and locked her hands around his neck, and hung there for support as his tongue fucked her mouth with a steady, even rhythm.
She still sat across his lap, and felt his cock harden beneath her, pressing against the crack of her round, supple buttocks. She moaned, surprising herself that the sensation of his stiffening member would arouse her at all.
But I do love him, she thought. He is my husband. She squirmed in his lap and pulled his head closer, tighter against hers, and aided in his tongue-fucking by pulling her own tongue away every time he did, and thrusting it into the depths of his mouth when he pushed his into hers.
Her fingers roamed anxiously through his hair, and when he broke off the long, wet kiss, she began dragging her lips over his face, her tongue-tip flicking occasionally out of her mouth to leave a warm wetness on his skin. She kissed him furiously, occasionally dipping back to his mouth to gently kiss his lips, and taste his tongue briefly before moving back to his face, his eyes, his forehead, his neck.
She didn't stop planting hot kisses on his face when she slid off his hardening lap, but once she was off she undid his pants with trembling hands, peeling the unzipped pants back and extracting the thick meatiness that had been kept hidden beneath.
His blood-gorged genitals jumped and quivered in her hand, and she squeezed it, until the spongy cock-head turned a rich purple, and then she released her grip.
Gary had reached across her and managed to get his hand between her thighs, which she kept pressed together. Urgently he pushed them apart, inching toward her well-used pussy. As soon as he touched her hot, aroused cunt, he pushed her back on the bed and fell on her with a plop. His cock dangled between her legs as he used his elbows to prop himself above her so as not to crush her. As he settled his waist atop her, his two-pronged cock nestled in the silky pubic hair that was damp between the cracks of her sizzling fleshy lips.
Lorraine did not think well of herself. Her hands moved in rapid, excited circles on Gary's back, and her hips gyrated, grinding into his as she lifted her ass off the bed in response to the touch of his cock so close to the forbidden entrance to her tight, burning little hole.
No, she thought, it is not different. What you feel now for your loving husband is close, so very close to the same wanton arousal you felt last night for Bob Shuster.
She shivered at the thought of Bob, and Gary took it for intensified excitement, and he lifted his cock from the comfortable rest of her vaginal slit, and nestled the crown of his thick, blue-veined stiffness in the wet, oozy entrance to her cunt.
That's the way it is, is it, she thought. You're just a lust-filled horny lady who wants to fuck anything that's willing to lay between your legs. She could hold back the tears no longer, but it did not matter because Gary now rested his chin on her shoulder as he prepared to plunge into her.
She listened as the cock-head of her husband made slurpy sounds against the juice-filled cuntal aperture, and she spread her legs wide, until they were almost a straight line perpendicular to the rest of her body. Lewd, she thought, her tongue licking and moistening the lips with which she had been kissing him moments before. You're lewd and horny and cock-hungry. There's a cock, a big, thick, expert one poised like a dive-bomber just over the target of your pussy, so why don't you get him to shove it in?
She was depraved with the intensity of her self-loathing. Into his ear with her hot breath she stammered, "F-fuck me, Gary. Fuck me hard!"
She pressed her hands against his buttocks to add power to his initial thrust, and when he smashed into her, tearing apart the membrane flesh of her vaginal cavern, she groaned, and pushed her long nails into his buttock flesh.
"Ball me harder," she whispered, feeling her clitoris growing larger under the pressure of his sliding erection. "Ah . . . ahhh, Christ, harder, damn you." She pounded on his back and he intensified his efforts, pushing his stiff member deeper and faster into her aching cunt.
"Yess," she hissed, raking his back now with her nails. She rested one hand on his humping ass, and felt it rise and fall in rapid rhythm. "That's right, yes, that's the way," she said. She used muscles she did not know she had to expand and contract the walls of her cunt, increasing and reducing the pressure of her wet, pliable pussy flesh against his stiff penis.
"Oh, my God," she said as she sucked in breath, gyrating her hips and grinding her pelvis into her husband's. "I'm cumming, Christ Jesus, I'm cumming hard!"
Gary slammed into her with powerful thrusts, and her body began to tremble, the entire length of it, shaking and quivering from the intensity of the building orgasm inside of her.
She came suddenly, unexpectedly, exploding and rocking and nearly throwing Gary from her body.
But the length of his skewering thickness remained connected with the pasty inside of her cunt, and he unloaded a wad of creamy, thick sperm into her, the warmth of which prolonged her climax. "I'm cumming," she whimpered, her voice subdued because despite the fact that she was in the throes of intense orgasm, the face she saw above her in her mind's eye was not her beloved husband's face.
It was Bob Shuster, leering at her as he fucked her, his eyes red and his mouth open and dripping saliva. His chest heaved as he pummeled her, his incredible cock butting up against her delicate cervix and it filled her, pushing the walls of her desire-filled pussy beyond the limits they were meant to be spread.
"I'm cum. i. cumming," she whimpered again, then suddenly shouted, "Aaaaghghh!" as the tail of her climax flooded her, the nerves in her now-experienced pussy singing and jumping, the flesh inside of her crawling and her spine zinging with electricity.
Then it was over.
Little of the sensations she had felt seconds earlier remained. Gary's still-hard penis was yet inside of her, but it felt more like an unwelcome intruding rock than a delicious male member. His weight as he lay on top of her made it hard for her to breathe. The sweat that coated her was itchy, and the semen inside her cunt was uncomfortable.
All that remained was the fading image of Bob Shuster's leering face.
She closed her eyes and sighed dejectedly. There was still tonight at ten o'clock. And whatever else came after that.
Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nine o'clock.
Nervously, Lorraine glanced at her watch, then drummed her fingers on the table at which she sat. She had been drumming her fingers for over an hour, waiting for Gary to return, hoping with half her heart that he would hurry back, and with half her heart that he would not.
She had no idea what she would say to him at nine. I hope you don't mind, darling, but I've got to go down to the maintenance shed to play slave for Bob Shuster. Sure, she thought, that would go over real well. Or: Sorry to leave you alone for the night, but Bob Shuster wants to borrow my body.
She stopped drumming and buried her head in her hands. She wanted to cry, something she had been doing a lot of recently, but no tears would come. She did not even feel sad. Just empty.
She looked at her watch again. Nine-oh-three. Time passes so slowly, she thought, agonizingly slowly.
She could not wait around any longer. There was no way in the world she was going to the shed early, but she could not sit at the small table in the cabin and wait for Gary to return when time ticked by so painfully slowly.
It had been hard enough during the day. Gary had sat beside her at both lunch and dinner, talking animatedly with friends, squeezing her thigh under the table, looking at her with those loving, wide-eyed looks she used to love but now hated. She hated them because they made her feel cheap, and like she was doing something to Gary. Something awful.
And it had been hardest when Gary had come up behind Barry Jameson and slapped him on the shoulder. "Ready to work on the buggy on Saturday?" he asked.
"Yeah," Barry said. "Sure."
Her husband looked at his friend strangely. His words were spoken in monotones, without feeling. His eyes watched the ground instead of Gary, and there was none of his usual enthusiasm in his demeanor.
"Something wrong?" Gary asked.
"Guess I just don't feel good," Barry told him, then turned to walk away.
"Hey," Gary said. "Why don't you join Lorraine and I for dinner? There's a space at the table."
"Nan," he said, still looking at the ground. "I already told Stewart I'd eat with those guys. You know, guys my own age." There was nothing insulting in the boy's tone, but Lorraine could tell from the look in her husband's eyes that the remark had hurt him.
But being the kind of person Gary was, he made the look on his face evaporate as soon as he knew it was conspicuous, and returned to his usual jovial self. It was an act, Lorraine knew, but it was a damned good one. He smiled and chatted through dinner, squeezed her leg and acted as if he was not disturbed. But even though Lorraine and Gary had not known one another long enough to be sure of each other's feelings, Lorraine knew Gary was upset. She loved and knew him that well.
It was for that reason she had considered leaving him, hitching down to the city and then disappearing among the thousands of faces never to be found again. That, of course, was impractical. She had family, and she could not discard them so simply. It was not in her makeup to assume a new name, a new identity, disappear to another place and never be heard from again. She needed her ties, and she needed to know she had a family that cared about her. No, she would have to do the best she could to hang on to Gary. That would not be easy, since her opinion of herself was one of hostility-why should anybody as decent as Gary want anybody like you, assuming he knew what type of woman you are?
There was no choice. At dinner, she had glanced fleetingly at the maintenance shed, which loomed like an omen of disaster down the hill from where she sat. To her surprise, she saw Shuster emerge from within and start down the trail that led to the campsites occupied by Camp Bernhardt's individual troops.
What's he up to, she wondered, then scolded herself. He does work here, she thought, and his work would regularly take him out to the troop sites. What he does with you he does in his spare time. Oh, stop being so damned paranoid.
Then she forced herself to turn her attention back to her adoring husband, and pretend she was happy.
When she looked back at the trail Shuster had been on, it was deserted.
Bob took long strides along the path that led from his combined place of work and place of residence. He knew where he was going, and the thought of it made him happy.
His mind was entirely on ten o'clock that night. His loins ached and his head burned for thinking about it, and in order to try not to, he turned his mind back to the night before, with Lorraine's luscious, full lips pressed firmly against the taut skin stretched over the bone of his erect cock.
He remembered her nibbles, her firm sucking, and he wondered if she had ever gone that crazy for Gary
Kemper, little wimp of an asshole that he was. Probably not, he guessed.
A dozen screaming little boys brushed by him on the way from the waterfront back to their camp, and he weaseled his way through the crowd they made, cursing them a dozen times in his mind.
He felt better when they were gone, and he resumed his long, sure steps as he walked toward the waterfront, and he smiled when he topped the rise and could see the lake and its finely-painted white docks below him. Even from this distance, he could make out the figure of Stewart Roberts, his hairless chest glistening in the sunlight that remained and reflecting stunningly against his bronze tan. The air had already begun to chill from evening's approach, but Stewart wore only his speedos, those brief, tight-fitting swim trunks worn by racing swimmers. They were of the revealing nature they were for a simple reason-speed. Water glided off them quickly, and they clung to a person's body and created no resistance. They were of the same principle as shaving one's body-body hair created pressure against the water, and slowed a swimmer down. The less body hair, the faster you raced. The same was true of speedos-the less clothing hanging off you, the better your chances of winning.
Stewart was the fastest, strongest swimmer in camp. He could not only outrace anybody in the water, he could outrace them in any of the camp's boats, particularly canoes and rowboats that demanded strength more than cunning. He was also the camp's all-time champion gully-whumper, the art of driving a canoe forward by standing on its rear gunnels and jumping up and down, making the boat propel forward from the pumping action.
Yet it was not Stewart Roberts' prowess in the water that attracted Bob Shuster to him. It was what he saw through the speedos.
Stewart Roberts undoubtedly had the biggest cock in camp. With some mixed feelings, Bob had noticed that through the form-fitting trunks. He hated to think of himself as possessing even the smallest degree of homosexual tendencies, yet he had found himself many times unable to tear his eyes from Stewart's crotch.
Now he had found a use for the strange yearning he felt toward Stewart. In his mind, he pictured Stewart and Lorraine locked in the bondage of fornication. His cock began to stiffen again at the thought and he forced himself to return his mind to the task at hand.
He trundled down the trail to where it widened and then vanished, and he was at the entrance to the waterfront. "Yo!" he yelled, conforming to waterfront rules: nobody enters without permission. Far too many times there had been exhausting searches of the lake when it had been figured that somebody might have drowned because nobody had kept tabs on him. It was also the reason they used the "buddy" system, by which everybody who went swimming was teamed with another swimmer. When "buddy check!" was yelled by the waterfront staffer in the guard tower, all swimmers had to find their buddies. If somebody turned up alone, it meant trouble, and another tedious search of the lake.
Phil Lancaster, the waterfront director, ushered Bob in and they walked together down to the docks. "What's shakin?" the pot-bellied Lancaster asked. "Somebody say the dock needs repairs?"
"The dock looks fine," Bob said. "But if you want, I can get rid of all those pests in the water."
Lancaster looked into the lake and tried to identify the pests about which Shuster spoke. Then he realized Bob was referring to the scouts, dozens of them splashing like brainless animals in the cordoned area of the water, and Lancaster laughed. "Not a bad idea, he chuckled. "Sometimes I'd like to get rid of 'em myself."
Bob laughed with him.
"But seriously," Lancaster said, sounding woefully like a bad comedian. "What can we do for you?"
Bob shrugged. "Just came down to see what's cooking." But his eyes were still shifting uneasily to Stewart Roberts, who stood with his fine, strong legs spread far apart on the dock, shouting instructions to a couple of kids working on their swimming merit badge.
"Well, make yourself at home," Lancaster said. "I got things to do." With that, he clambered up the lifeguard tower and replaced one of the younger staffers perched up there. He stretched his legs out luxuriously, and wrapped a pair of dark sunglasses around his chubby face. Then he began to smear sun-tan lotion thickly on his jiggling flesh.
Bob looked away with disgust. A man should keep himself in shape, he thought. He eyed Stewart again. Like that, he thought. Roberts keeps himself in fine shape. Bob decided there was no time for action like the present, and began walking along the slippery dock to where Stewart stood.
"Hey," Bob said to him. Stewart eyed him suspiciously, then turned his attention back to the kids in the water.
"Kick harder, you little bugger!" he yelled, and one of the youths began to thrash at the water with his feet. "Kick, I said, not drown." Then he muttered to himself, "Jesus."
"Tough to work with, aren't they?" Bob said.
Stewart looked into the water and yelled, "All right, that's enough for now. Take five. " Then he turned around to face Shuster. "Is there something I can do for you?"
Bob smiled. "Nope. Something I can do for you, though."
"I doubt it," Stewart said, making no effort to hide his contempt.
"I understand you have access to white lightning," Bob said, "the real thing. I'd like to get my hands on a case. I'd like to make a trade."
"Sorry," Stewart said. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay," Bob said shrugging. "I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. But let me tell you, boy, you're passing up one hell of a deal."
"Like what?" Stewart said, just out of curiosity.
"No point in whetting your appetite, is there? Now, if you happened to know where some of that white lightning might be obtained, we could talk."
Stewart shook his head, then looked over at the panting, dripping boys seated on the dock, their feet dangling in the water. "All right, back in!" he shouted at them, and they obeyed immediately, diving headfirst into the icy lake from their seated position.
"I been up to some of those attitude adjustments," Bob said, trying to sound like he was making idle chatter. He wasn't, though. He knew Stewart had what he had been told he had, and he meant to have some for himself. Bathtub alcohol; Christ, there's nothing like it to take a man's mind off his troubles.
"I've been there too," Stewart said.
"Sure, I know that. I've seen you. Man, I've seen you drink like nobody I've ever seen before. How do you do that?" Stewart was known throughout the camp, and had been for several summers, as the man with the cast iron stomach. Once, he had tilted a full bottle of mescal back to his lips and drained half of it; Bob had watched his adam's apple bob up and down as the fiery liquor bathed his throat and cascaded down to his stomach. Yet his eyes remained open, and he never so much as flinched. He may as well have been drinking water.
"Practice," Stewart said in response to the question of how he was able to consume so much hard liquor. Not only could he drink several times what the other staffers could drink, and do it without a cough or a choke, but he remained perfectly sober. When the rest of them were stumbling around in a drunken stupor, some terrified that they would be unable to negotiate the obscure trail back to Camp Bernhardt, Stewart would lead them.
It had been an attitude adjustment ritual. Stewart would take the lead, and the staffer behind him would grab his belt, then the staffer behind him would take his belt, and so on, until they had formed a long train, and then Stewart would begin walking. He would lead them safely co camp.
Not that any of them wanted to be there the next day. Hangovers were not approved of at Camp Bernhardt, and having a hangover was rough enough without having to cover it up.
Only Stewart Roberts escaped hangovers. He was always chipper and alert the following morning, despite the vast quantities of various liquors he had consumed the night before.
Only somebody with a constitution like that can have access to white lightning, Shuster reasoned. And that was only confirming in his own mind what he had already learned from two other sources. One was another staffer-the one he had found balling the church girl in his tent after Lorraine had pointed an accusing finger. The other was an old man down in the town, who claimed to receive a weekly supply from Stewart. "He don't even make me pay," the old man had gleefully related to Bob. "He's a real sport, yes sir."
Bob watched Stewart call out exercises to the boys in the water, and considered whether or not he wanted to follow through with this. So far, Bob had not been given an inch in his conversation with Stewart the Bootlegger.
Might as well, he finally decided, and he walked over to the edge of the dock where Stewart stood. "Careful," Stewart said threateningly. "You might fall in."
"I might," Bob said. He had already decided to play his ace in the hole. "Then again, you might get to fuck Lorraine Kemper."
Stewart registered no reaction. "Stretch your arms out!" he shouted into the lake, then turned and appraised the man who had just offered him the camp director's wife. "That's your trade?"
"That's it," Bob said.
"I suppose I should be surprised, but I happen to know you pretty well. So I'm not surprised. Just sort of disgusted."
"Why's that?" Bob said, not really caring.
"Because you deal so lightly with human beings. I can't help but wonder how you managed to arrange Mrs. Kemper's availability."
"Let's just say I keep my professional secrets to myself."
Stewart looked out in the water, but his attention was no longer focused on his young charges splashing up water before him. "You're a bastard, " he finally said.
"Lot of people tell me that," Bob smiled. "Is it a deal?"
Stewart thought of Lorraine, her long tapering legs and the firm breasts she so proudly displayed in tight tee-shirts. "It's a deal," he said.
"Good. Be at the maintenance shed at ten o'clock with a gallon. Just walk right in. Everything'll be waiting for you."
"It better be," Stewart said, and then he dove gracefully off the dock, barely raising a ripple in the water as he sliced into it. His muscles protruded from his arms and legs, and his obvious strength was apparent.
No, indeed, Bob thought. I'd better not fuck with him. I may be bigger and stronger than anybody else in this camp, but Stewart Roberts is the exception. He could break me over his knee like firewood.
But I won't let him down, he thought, and a smile played on the corners of his mouth. I can't, and I won't. She wouldn't dare to break our appointment. If she does, Im'll ruin her forever.
Smiling happily, he walked off the dock and headed back to his shed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lorraine could not wait around any longer. She pulled a coat over herself and walked out into the chilly night. She was going to go straight to the maintenance shed and get whatever lay ahead over with, but something tugged at her and guided her to the kitchen, where a light still burned.
She mounted the steps to the kitchen and knocked on the screen door. Grace's voice boomed out from within, "Who is it?"
"Lorraine," she said firmly.
There was silence for a few seconds, then Grace, her voice now subdued, said, "Come in."
Lorraine pushed the screen door open and walked in to the warmth of the kitchen, heated by the great pilot lights in the series of ancient stoves and ovens. Grace sat in a stuffed chair in the back of the kitchen, he knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees.
Not sure of what to say, Lorraine simply stood there, watching the woman huddled in her own sort of cocoon. Grace did not look at her. "Well?" she said finally. "What do you want?"
Lorraine didn't know. She had come here on instinct, and had nothing in particular to say. She did not necessarily blame Grace for her predicament, for she was succumbing to the same type of pressure Grace had given in to, and it would have been the height of hypocrisy to read her out for it.
"I'm going to the maintenance shed in a few minutes," she said. "He made me. I don't have any choice."
"Those are the breaks," Grace said, bitterness heavy and thick in her voice. "Hope you have fun."
"I won't," Lorraine said. And even though she already knew the answer, she could not stop herself from asking. "Why, Grace? Why'd you do it?"
"For the same reason you're walking down there. Nobody's got you in chains, nobody controls you but you. Yet you're going, because you have to. All right. Nobody made me trap you into going down for that 'party', but I did it, because I had to."
"Did he make you make love to me too? Was that part of it? Was he up above watching the whole time, licking his lips like a hungry dog?"
Now Grace looked at her, and Lorraine was surprised to see Grace had been weeping. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks were wet where the tears had fallen.
"No," she said, without the anger that had been in her voice before. "That was between you and me. I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did."
Lorraine's confused feelings for Grace Garcia jelled in that moment, and she knew what she felt for the woman. It was pity. "What's Bob got on you? How does he pull your strings?"
Grace dropped her head back down. "You don't want to know. You hate me enough already."
"I don't hate you," Lorraine said honestly. "How can t hate you?"
Grace looked up again, and this time her face was contorted with anger. Only it was clear the anger was not directed at Lorraine, nor even at Bob Shuster. It was directed inward. "You really want to know?" she said. "I'll show you if you really want to know."
"I do," Lorraine said, not sure why she did.
"You wait here," she said. Grace rose hastily and pushed the back screen door open and was gone. Lorraine shuffled about the kitchen for a few minutes, then, when she realized Grace would not be right back, she sat down in her chair.
Her watch told her it was forty-five minutes from the time she was to meet Bob. She trembled with fear, fear of the unknown. What awaited her? What in God's name did that man have planned for her?
She unconsciously drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, a twin of Grace as she had been seated moments earlier. She sat like that and tried to get a grip on her emotions, but her heart was racing despite her best efforts.
She heard the screen door open, and she looked over her shoulder. Grace was back, and she had a young staff member in tow. He was one of the kitchen aides Lorraine had seen before, but had never learned his name. He was blonde and had a smooth face, and was only about as tall as Grace. He couldn't have been older than fourteen, fifteen at the most.
"He caught me, that son of a bitch," Grace said, whirling the boy around, into the center of the kitchen. "Shuster found me one day, and he won't let me go."
The boy stood in the middle of the floor, looking scared and confused. But he did not say anything, or try to get away. "What's he got to do with it?" Lorraine wanted to know.
"Don't you understand yet?" Grace said, almost screaming. "He's the latest in a long line. Watch!" And to Lorraine's astonishment, Grace ripped her clothes off, wrenching them from her limbs and body, until she stood naked in front of the boy. "Fuck me," she ordered the boy.
"Right here?" he said. "Larry told me.. . . "
"Larry's going to get his ass kicked. I told you to fuck me. You like it, don't you? Haven't you enjoyed it before?"
The boy shifted nervously, his eyes darting to look at Lorraine, who had turned ghostly white in her chair. "Don't worry about her," Grace said disdainfully. "I can see your little crotch, I see you're as hard as they come. Now I told you to do something. You've put your little prick in me ten times already this summer when you wanted to, now I'm telling you." She impatiently reached over and grabbed the youth by the belt, and yanked his pants open. They fell to his ankles despite his effort to grab them, and then Grace ripped his flimsy underwear from his midriff. His firm young cock stood erect and bobbed up and down as the blood coursed through it. He wanted to fuck her, all right, but a vestige of propriety restrained him. Lorraine was in the room.
"I said forget her." Then Grace's eyes lit up. "Or maybe you want both of us. Are you a greedy little bastard? You want us both?"
Now it was the boy's turn to be shocked. But his pulsating erection grew larger at the thought, and his eyes flirted over to Lorraine more often now.
"No-no," he said. "Just you."
"Then take me, damn you," she hissed at him. Lorraine watched as the boy pushed Grace against a wall of the kitchen. She crouched slightly by bending her knees, and her pussy lips parted with a sloshing, juicy sound. Lorraine felt herself warm up from more than the heat in the kitchen as she saw the slit between Grace's legs part, and the sensitive, pink flesh within became visible beyond the fringes of hair that protected her fissure.
The boy stood in front of her, and Lorraine saw he was actually somewhat shorter than Grace. Standing before her, his upward-pointing penis was aimed at the opening in her pussy like an arrow on its way to a target. With a small step forward, the blood-gorged crown of his meatiness impaled her, skewering between the party entry to her ready cunt.
His buttocks muscles turned his ripe, young ass into a flat surface as he crammed his shaft inside of her, and Grace's hands draped over the boy's shoulders. She stood now a head taller than him, and her eyes were screwed shut and tears welled in the corners of them.
The boy withdrew, his buttocks taking on their full, round, smooth shape again, then he slammed in again, and Grace moaned. Then her eyes opened, a pathetic look on them, aimed directly at Lorraine. Lorraine could not watch, but she could not move. The boy had wrapped his arms around Grace's waist, and was pulling her pelvis toward him with each stroke his erect penis made against the interior of her burning, sopping vagina.
Grace shuddered, and moaned, then closed her eyes again. Her knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on the boy's shoulders, and Lorraine watched his ass muscles contract and loosen more quickly as he increased the tempo with which he buried his cock inside of her, removed it, then burrowed in again.
"Ggaaahhooaah," Grace groaned, then her eyelids snapped open again, only this time she was not looking at Lorraine. Her eyes were vacant, staring at the stars burning in her brain, at the colors and lights that were turned on by the strong, young erection between her legs. Her breath came quickly and audibly, brief rasps as her chest rose and fell. Lorraine wasn't sure, but it looked from her vantage point like the boy's mouth was clasped around the nipple of one of Grace's awe-inspiring tits. Grace lowered her hands from the boy's shoulders to his cheeks, and she grabbed one with each hand, obscuring the hypnotic vision of his thrusts.
"Ohh-ohh-ohhhh," she moaned, and squeezed the flesh she held, trying to pull it into her harder. But unexpectedly, suddenly, the boy stopped, and with a young man's strength, he pulled away from her, and turned around.
His cock was huge now from the blood pulsating through it, the blue and green veins stuck out like ridges on a map. And his face had changed from a nervous boy's face to an alien caricature-a boy's face with a man's expression and a man's desire.
"I changed my mind," he said, holding his glistening cock by the base and pointing it at Lorraine. "I do want both of you. I am a greedy little bastard."
Grace stood erect, and glared at him; the lips of her cunt quivered like jelly, anxious to be filled again with his glorious, straight spear, but her eyes held only anger as her nostrils flared.
"Why, you little shit. Just who in hell do you think. . . . "
But Lorraine stopped her by slowly raising her hand. "It's all right," she said.
The boy smiled triumphantly.
"What? You . . . want to?" Grace said, incredulous.
"Yes." Her voice was a monotone, her eyes wide and blank. The steady, even rhythm of the boy's fucking motors had reduced her to a trancelike state, and her own pussy itched from a desire to be fulfilled. She did not think of Gary, or even her impending appointment with Bob Shuster. All she saw was the boy's sturdy penis, and Grace's familiar globes of flesh and her hairy, sticky pussy.
The boy with the man's desire stretched himself out on the warm linoleum floor, still gripping the base of his throbbing shaft. He wagged it at Grace. "Sit on this," he said.
"Don't you tell me what.. . . "
But the boy only raised his voice, which oddly made it deeper. "I said sit on this!"
Unsure of what to do, Grace obeyed. She swung one long, tapering leg over the boy's waist, and squatted until the spongy cockhead made contact with her dripping orifice. Then she slid down, taking the length of his meaty cock inside of her, until her exquisite ass was settled on the cushion of blonde male pubic hair.
Through the agony of her pleasure, Grace smiled, then lifted herself off the lad only to fall back on him with a lurid plopping sound as her cock-hungry cunt swallowed all of his length.
Still in a daze, Lorraine slipped slowly, fluidly out of her pants, and pulled the flannel shirt she wore off. She straddled the boy's face the same way Grace had straddled his waist, and lowered herself, the flesh of her outer pussy jumping and crawling in anticipation of the young mouth that would presently be pressed against it.
She lowered herself until her cunt covered his face, her slit opened for him. She felt his lips quivering against the exposed inner flesh of her delicate vaginal cavern, and she moaned. She adjusted her position so she was on her knees, her cunt lifted just an inch from the youth's anxious mouth-he had to raise his head a little to get to it, but it was worth the effort. His pink serpent of a tongue darted between the slightly parted cuntal lips and flicked gingerly at the dangling ball of her clitoris. It jumped to life instantly, hardening and shooting messages of erotic ecstasy through her spine and into her brain, where they were translated into gushes of heat and tingliness in her cunt, and warmth and relaxation in her bowels.
She felt the boy's hands creep around her thighs and hold on as his tongue continued to fence with her hard little clitoris, and she groaned again, and settled her pelvis against his face hard, unable to hold herself up any longer against the throes of ecstasy she felt.
Tired of toying with her pleasure pebble, the boy's tongue darted inside her cavernous cunt, and licked around, lapping up her intoxicating vaginal lubricants.
Lorraine squirmed as her breathing became more rapid and raspy, pushing her gaping hole hard against the eager face and active mouth beneath her. Her hands roamed over her own breasts, mashing them against her chest, then letting them fill out to normal before she pinched the nipple of each in each of her hands, pulling on them and rotating them between her fingers.
Grace had opened her eyes during a rush of orgasmic-intense sensations, and saw Lorraine kneading and fondling her breasts as the boy's chin jutted out, rotated and shook from the work of eating Lorraine's delectable pussy.
The sight was more than she could bear. Without relinquishing her cuntal grip on the boy's stiff member, she lunged across the length of her body and enclosed Lorraine in her embrace. Lorraine was startled at first, but that gave way almost immediately to the pleasurable sensations that one warm female can have upon another.
Lorraine wrapped her own arms around Grace, and then brought one hand back between them to cradle her alabaster orb-like breast. Her mind raced between the soft, silky touch of Grace's flesh to the mouth making love to her gushing cunt, to the sight of the boy's penis emerging from the furry patch between Grace's legs and then plunging back into its forbidden depths.
Grace held her two breasts up and apart for Lorraine, and the small blonde woman slid one of her own smaller tits between them. Grace pushed hers against Lorraine's and began massaging her breast with the two huge, warm mounds of her own. The boy beneath them quivered, shaking both of them, and Lorraine grasped Grace's head and pulled it to her breast, and Grace began sucking as voraciously as though milk could be extracted from Lorraine's gorgeous mammaries. Her nipple grew greatly distended from the sucking, but she wanted more-she wanted it all. She pulled Grace unwillingly from her tit, and lifted her lips to meet her own.
But Grace's tongue was out of her mouth before their lips pressed together, and Lorraine jutted hers out to meet it, and their female mouths batted against each other, mingling saliva and tasting the tastes of each other's mouths.
Grace stopped suddenly, looking up at the ceiling but seeing nothing. "Mmmmmphh," she sputtered, and then her body began to shake. "Oh, dear God," she whispered, and the shaking intensified until a minor earthquake took possession of her.
Then she screamed, and Lorraine looked down at the spear of solid flesh that was impaling her. She reached around Grace's curved ass cheeks and beneath them, feeling the sliminess of the cock that was coated with the cook's cunt juices.
She held the cock by its base, squeezing tight to try to keep the semen from squirting out, but she had no impact. She had pictured the cum from his sweet, long cock splattering across her face, but instead it gushed into Grace's cunt, and leaked from there around the thickness of his shaft onto Lorraine's hand, which still gripped the meat.
Unexpectedly, the boy trapped her engorged clitoris with his tongue and pulled it entirely into his mouth, and clamped down on it gently with his teeth. "Aaaahhh!" she gasped, and then poured her climax liquids onto the boy's awaiting face. His tongue lapped it all up, and drank it with gulps that made his adam's apple bob up and down.
Lorraine licked her hand, coated with a generous helping of his.
Grace and Lorraine rolled off the boy, who lay on his back gazing contentedly at the ceiling. He looked like a mad scientist's mistake-half-boy, half-man, a warped dwarf with adult appetites.
Slowly he sat, and was startled but pleased when Grace dove on his limp cock to lick away the combined juices of his scrotum and her pussy. When she was finished, a speck of slimy male sperm on her chin, he pulled his pants on and looked at the naked women on the kitchen floor.
Suddenly he reverted to boy, and blushed a deep, rich red, and bolted from the room. With hungry, sad eyes, Grace watched him go.
"That's why," she whispered, still panting. "I love them, the boys. They're so strong, so impulsive. They fuck the way nature intended them to fuck, without machismo or expertise. They haven't read manuals or developed hang-ups. They just.. . fuck."
"And Bob caught you," Lorraine said.
Grace nodded.
Jesus! Lorraine thought, remembering her ten o'clock appointment. She looked at her watch, and it was already ten after. Bob would kill her, or tell Gary.
Her pussy was warm and ready for whatever degrading activities Bob had conjured, but she still loathed Gary finding out.
She pulled her clothes on hastily, knowing they would be removed shortly, and bolted out the front door.
She stopped, and her heart turned to ice. Barry Jameson was standing on the porch. He had obviously been watching, listening.
"You bitch," he hissed at her. "How could you do this to Gary? What's he ever done to you? You're.. . you're sick!" he shouted, and leapt off the porch, disappearing into the darkness.
She wanted to go after him, to explain-and keep him from going to Gary. She did not want the boy to think badly of her.
But what else could he think?
And there was nothing she could do. Already she was late for Bob Shuster.
Her emotions warring inside her, tearing her brain and her soul apart, she started walking slowly down the hill toward the maintenance shed.
CHAPTER NINE
The shed was cloaked in complete darkness, and when Lorraine opened the huge barn-like door, the light from outside-the intense brightness of the stars and the floodlights from the kitchen and commissary-cut a swath on the wood-planked floor.
She could see the floor, but not Bob. She heard no sounds other than the usual settling sounds of old buildings.
She stood, her heart hammering, waiting for whatever would happen. A voice suddenly pierced the dark stillness. "Close the door," it commanded. Her eyes darted around the shadows of the grand ballroom-sized shed, but she saw nothing, nor could she locate the direction from which the voice had come.
She obeyed, though, heaving her shoulder against the door until it swung shut, rocked for a second from its own weight and mass, then was still.
For an instant, she was bathed in a darkness so thick she seemed to be floating in a sea of nothingness. She heard nothing so clearly as the echoes of her smashing heart inside her head.
Then the lights came on, and the shed was illuminated as though in daylight. Lorraine had not been inside the shed since her first day at camp, when she had followed Gary and his wasted dune buggy inside.
The place had not changed; and, she noted with some satisfaction, Bob Shuster isn't much of a housekeeper. He sat on an army cot shoved unceremoniously against the back wall. A few girlie pinups were tacked to the wall above the cot; about four feet away from the cot was a steamer trunk, with a pile of clothes heaped over it. More clothes were scattered on the floor and on the cot.
That was all of Bob's in the shed, except for a small old bookshelf with some old magazines and a radio stacked in it. The rest of the cavernous building was given over to the tools needed to keep a place like Camp Bernhardt in repair. There were ropes, hoses, pipes and other plumbing materials, lumber, hammers, saws, electrical equipment, cement, wheelbarrows, shovels and enough other equipment to keep a hardware store in business for ten years.
A huge dump truck was parked in the garage-door entrance to the shed, and one of the camp's pickup trucks, broken down for two summers, was also kept inside. And there, beside the far wall, not far from Bob and his quarters, was the demolished dune buggy belonging to her husband.
It had been worked on now and again by Gary and Barry, and it looked better than it had when she had first seen it. The engine had been removed, and dangled as though it weighed no more than an ounce from the engine winch. The hood had been pounded nearly flat and smooth, and fell in its familiar slope from the windshield.
Lorraine stood viewing this sight, still waiting. She had learned nothing of what fate awaited her; only that Bob was here and so was she. No clues. Nothing.
"You're late," Bob said.
"I'm here," she responded. Bob didn't seem to have any argument with that logic, and he nodded. Satisfied.
"Come over here," he said.
She hesitated, but only for a minute. Her legs moved like cement pylons as she crossed the floor. Her mind tortured her with images of a smiling Gary, in his innocence and boyish charm. She was doing this to him, she seemed to be telling herself. But she was doing it. She was committed now, no backing out.
She stood in front of him, looking down at him with his legs crossed on the filthy cot. The usual cigarette dangled carelessly from the corner of his mouth, but he wore no sunglasses. His red eyes stared up at her, at the pear-shaped breasts that loomed above him, within grasp of both hands. He knew them, he knew what they felt like and how tightly the nipples were capable of swelling. He hungered for them. But he did not reach out to her. He just inhaled on his cigarette and watched her. "Well?" she said.
"You're an impatient cunt, aren't you?" he told her.
"I just want to hurry up and get this over with."
"Oh, we won't be hurrying," Bob said. "This is going to be long and sweet. You're going to have a wonderful time." There was no problem detecting the heavy sarcasm in his voice.
"All right," she said, her voice reduced to a monotone. She sat beside him and reached into his shirt pocket, pulling his cigarettes out. She fished for one and settled it between her lips, and lit it with Bob's, which she pulled from his mouth. When she was done, she put it back.
"I didn't know you smoked," Bob said.
"I'm just starting," she said.
She inhaled, and forced herself not to cough. But Bob slapped the cigarette out of her mouth, and left a red mark on her cheek from the force of the slap. She recoiled, then lashed her open hand at him, but he caught her wrist in his massive fist, and pulled her to her feet by it.
"You're a bitch, and you need to be taught some manners," Bob smiled. "Fuck you," she hissed.
Bob smiled wider, and she knew she had said the wrong thing. Not that it mattered that she said it, but that was precisely what he intended to do. He flung her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, and hauled her across the shed. Hanging upside down, she could not get oriented and had no idea in which direction she was being carried. But she knew soon enough. Bob dropped her, and her back slammed into something smooth. One glance and she knew she was laying against the sloping hood of Gary's dune buggy.
She lay there, panting, and felt Bob pull her wrist. Something rough was around it, more rough than his calloused palm, and she turned her head. A bolt of pure fear shot through her. He was tying a quarter-inch hawser rope to her wrist. She tried to pull it away, but he pushed her down and secured the rope to the vehicle's rear view mirror, mounted just inside the topless car.
She thrashed, and reached over to try to untie it, but Bob pushed her hand down again, and tied it to the left-side view mirror. She could not free herself; she was splayed across the hood of the car, able only to kick a little, not enough to do anybody any harm.
Bob undid her pants without delicateness, yanking at the button until it snapped, then forcing the zipper down. He yanked them off by the legs, then literally tore her panties from her waist. Her recently-used pussy quivered and jumped, the downy curls of pubic hair flattened from moisture. She reeked of sex, and Bob unconsciously licked his lips.
"Well, go ahead," she said to him. "You've got me where you want me; I can't do a damned thing to stop you. Here, does this help?" She spread her legs wide, lifting her feet off the floor and holding herself up by the ties that bound her to the car. She slit of her pussy opened, revealing the interior membrane flesh, pink and oozing with syrupy fluid.
"What's the matter?" she said. Her eyes were closed. Her legs were hoisted, her pussy vulnerably open. "Am I too much for you?" she said. "Or can't you get it up?"
"I can get it up fine," Bob said. "Fact is, it's already up. But I think I'll put it on hold for a while and see what you think of Stew's."
Her eyes whipped open like window shades. "What?"
"Stew. Stewart Roberts. He's been invited to the party."
Her mind tried to comprehend what her ears had heard. "You can't be serious." She relaxed her legs, and let her feet support her from the floor once again.
"Might as well spread your sexy thighs again," Bob said. "You can come out, Stewart," he called.
Something moved above her. She tilted her head back, her chin pointed toward the ceiling. Stewart Roberts' face hovered above her, the lips spread back over his teeth in an obscene grin, his eyes bright and clear.
She thought she would scream, but she didn't. It was the shock he caused that gave Bob much of his thrills, and she would not give him that satisfaction. But her eyes nearly popped out of her head, and a blue vein in her neck throbbed visibly.
"Hi, Mrs. Kemper," Stewart said easily, as though greeting her on the trail to the lake. "How you doin?" He clambered out of the dune buggy and stood before her. She tried to control the gyrations her aroused pussy was going through, but could not. "Well now, would you look at that?" Stewart said, his hands on his hips.
He was wearing canvas deck shoes, the type they wore on the dock at the lake, and a terry cloth robe, the type they put on after climbing out of the water when a chill was in the air.
He kicked the shoes off, and shrugged out of the robe. Beneath it, he was clad only in speedos, and his crotch bulged from the strain of his cock. Yet, he had no erection! She gaped at his crotch, so fascinated with it that she ignored entirely his muscular chest, rippling as his muscles worked. His legs were lined with taut stretches of muscles, and he bore a perfect bronze tan. Yet she could only watch with a kind of fascinated horror the movements being made under the flimsy material of his swimming briefs.
Slowly, relishing the look in Lorraine's eyes, Stewart pushed his speedos down. Bob stood leaning against the wall, the biggest smile on his face he ever remembered having. Stewart's huge cock sprang out as the tight waist of the trunks slid over it, and Lorraine mewed involuntarily. In her fear, it seemed as thick as an arm to her, and as long. Stewart stepped out of the briefs, and stood again before her.
As she watched, his penis grew. First its thickness began to expand, and as she watched it suddenly stood erect, and like a telescope, it began to lengthen. When it was fully extended, it reached out to her like a grasping hand, meaty and crisscrossed with blue veins, each of which seemed to pulsate from a heart of its own.
She still refused to say anything, but oh, my God was on the tip of her tongue, aching to come out. Speaking casually again, Stewart said, "You ready, Mrs. Kemper?"
She started to say something, not knowing what to say, but no sound would come out. Not even a gasp, or a choking gagging noise. He walked to her, and her muscles rippled as she watched his masculine, assured step.
His rock-hard cockhead touched her, rubbed her like sandpaper before he reached her. She sucked in air, hard, but could not deny that rush of heat that swept through her at the touch of his cock. He backed away a little, and then she saw the drop of love juice that was perched over the opening of his thick penis. He leaned forward and encircled her thighs with his long, sculptured fingers. When they were wrapped completely around, he lifted and parted them, until they were spread as far as they would go.
Lorraine did not want to watch, and she squeezed her eyes shut, but they would not remain closed. An instant later, and they were open again, staring at the cock that was approaching her.
A wave of prickly heat spread through her as his spongy cock head caressed her vulva, drawing even more sticky female lubricant from her depths. Her head jerked back again, and her eyes closed involuntarily this time. Now she wanted to watch, but her mind would not exert its will over her body. It was passive, all thoughts and emotions were passive, only her body was alive.
The cock head forced apart the outer walls of her cunt, pushing them farther than Gary had ever done even with his fingers. She felt the skin stretching, and thought certainly it would tear. It didn't, though, and Stewart continued walking toward her, walking his throbbing erection into her.
It separated her cuntal walls, pushing them to limits she would have thought she could never endure. Gurgling sounds came from her throat, and Stewart released his grip on her creamy, milky thighs-he no longer needed to hold them up. She was doing that on her own now, and her feet rested on the curve of his ass cheeks. When he had five inches in her, she began pulling him with her feet, urging him into her. Never before had she been so filled, even though not half of his erection had entered her.
Still it continued to come. Her anus tightened and she gasped when he kept entering her well after she was sure there was no more room inside her small cunt.
Stewart was entirely inside her now, straining her tight little hole but also causing ripples of ecstasy to run through her.
Stewart reared back and thrust his weapon-like member into her, and her round ass cheeks lifted off the hood of the car as a million feelings rolled through her. She moved to put her arms around his massive shoulders, to run her sharp nails over his back, to squeeze his hair and pull it, to dig her nails deeply into the fleshy cheeks of his humping ass. But they were tied securely; there was no escape.
Stewart fucked her hard, mercilessly slamming his incredible thickness up her battered pussy.
Bob could not watch any longer. His own virile penis was stretched into a full erection, and he needed to be satisfied. He pushed his pants down, and released his cock into the open, and began to stroke it tenderly. But he would not masturbate, not while Stewart was ramming his blue-veined stiffness into a woman who looked like Lorraine Kemper, impaling her. Stewart would shoot a load of hot cum into her anxious cunt, and Bob would simply not spill his own creamy load onto the cold, wooden floor of the shed.
He jogged to the back of the dune buggy and clambered inside, then hung his head over the windshield and watched Stewart coupling with Lorraine from that new vantage point. Her legs were wrapped around his ass, urging him deeper inside of her with each stroke he took against her flaming cuntal walls.
But he could only watch for so long; it all conspired to make him want her. Her firm, lovely breasts were mashed against his chest, her legs were splayed obscenely wide, the soft, pliable flesh of her thighs jiggled with each of his jarring re-entries into her pussy.
Bob hoisted himself over the windshield and swung his legs over either side of her head, settling down so his cock dangled erect before her parted lips. Her eyes were closed but moved with anguish beneath the eyelids; her nostrils flared and she uttered whimpers and groans without interruption.
"Oh, Christ!" she suddenly shouted, arching her back and straining every muscle in her body. Bob took advantage of her wide-open mouth to shove his cock in again. She gagged and nearly vomited, but as soon as she was aware of what was inside her mouth, she took to nibbling and sucking at it. Again she wished her hands were free, so she could grab his taut, dangling testicles, and feel the hot blood curdling through them.
Bob hung on to the rim of the dune buggy and shoved his cock in, then slid it out. Lorraine did not know why or how they managed, but they were fucking her in time-Bob in her mouth, Stewart in her cunt. She had never felt such feelings as those running through her. She was filled with wanton arousal, desire made her blood boil, and she kicked and gyrated and twisted around as much as she could, considering her restraints.
Suddenly, all motion ceased. She tried to suck on Bob's cock, but he had withdrawn it. And through her eyelids, she could tell there was new light in the room.
She opened her eyes and turned her head. Her life ended.
Gary was standing in the doorframe of the huge shed, his eyes ablaze, the air he breathed too thin because he nearly hyperventilated. Barry Jameson stood behind him.
"I told you," Barry said.
"Get out of here," Lorraine's husband told him. But Barry was frozen as he surveyed the scene. "I said get out!" Gary shouted, and this time Barry fled, from fear and adolescent confusion.
Gary stepped inside, his nostrils flared like an attacking bull. He looked ridiculous in his scout uniform, but nobody laughed. Lorraine was petrified.
She did not expect Bob to do anything other than try to weasel his way out of it. Stewart's cock was stilled, but still stiff and rigid inside her, and she burned to have it reactivated.
"Gary . . . " she said, and it came out as a croak. She did not have the chance to say more; Bob had used both hands, clamped to the side of her head, and shoved his cock back in. She gagged seriously this time, but in a minute she had grown accustomed again to his rhythm. She was tied to the hood of the car, pinned to it by Stewart's weight, so there was nothing else she could do.
Tears flooded from her eyes, and she wondered what Gary was doing. She knew her marriage was over.
She was not ready for what Gary did do, though. He came up to the threesome, hoisted Lorraine's ass far above the car hood, and slid beneath her, facing her ass. Her weight nearly suffocated him, but he managed to get his pants down, then his underwear. His cock free, he grasped it by the base with his fist, and angrily shoved it into her rubbery gripped rectum.
She gasped, but almost choked on the cock in her mouth. She knew Gary was fucking her anus out of anger, out of hate, but.. . but.. . .
But it felt so goddam good, all of it!
She came, an orgasm that made her believe she must have never truly experienced orgasm before. She jerked and quivered, sunk her teeth into the meat in her mouth, squeezed her cuntal walls against that in her pussy, contracted her anal walls against the one up her asshole.
They all shot their wads of creamy, hot male sperm at once, filling each of her orifices with the vicious stuff. Then, one at a time, they fell away.
Gary was the last to slip out, and he collapsed in a heap to the floor, racked with sobs.
Bob cut her loose with a long knife, and she rubbed her wrists. She was still trying to catch her breath, and she was horrified at the welts on her wrists.
She could not stay. Not for an instant. She grabbed Roberts' robe and flung it on, and darted from the shed.
She didn't know how long she ran. She heard, at first, the sounds of the men running after her, but they faded after a while.
She ran out of camp, and along the highway until she could run no longer. She lay there then, collapsed by the road.
After a few minutes her breath returned to her, and she looked around. She was near a river campsite, and a fire was going. She heard voices, young men and women, laughing.
She gathered herself up and headed toward them. Perhaps they would give her food, water, shelter. She did not know who they were or what they had to offer.
