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theGreatxIam

Scout's Honor 
Chapter 6 (of 10) 
By theGreatxIam

THE STORY SO FAR: A childless couple devotes themselves
to a Girl Scout troop. The wife dies in childbirth; the
surviving child dies soon after. The husband goes into
a funk, relieved only when the couple's old troop asks
him to drive the bus for its last camping trip. But the
trip takes a surprising turn when the troop seduces him
and reveals its plan to fuck him out of his funk. After
a day and a half of hot sex, he takes a break by
accompanying some girls on a forest hike. Soon he's
enlisted as the judge for a friendly competition.

--- --- ---

The look on Sami's face was unmistakable. Feebly, I
protested my incapacity. This time, I said, even
slipping me a Viagra wouldn't help. After sex with nine
young women, I was too pooped to pop.

"Sex? With you?" Sami laughed. "Who said anything about
that? Now you think you're a prize?"

Sereka, one of the rivals, cut her off. "Oh, don't be
so swift to reject the idea. I think he'd make an
excellent prize."

"Hey!" Sri, the other combatant, was indignant. "Don't
you try to curry favor with the judge! I'd be just as
happy to fuck him as you would!"

"Tsk, tsk. The mouth on you!" Sereka tilted her head up
and turned away.

I broke into the debate. "Don't I get a vote?"

Sue grabbed my arm and tugged me back toward camp.
"Sure you do. You get to vote which one wins. But, come
on. Let's get back and let them get to work."

We left Sri and Sereka to gather whatever edibles they
could while the rest of us returned to camp. When we
got there, Traci seemed none too pleased to hear about
the cooking contest. It would ruin dinner, she said.
The others assured her I'd only have to nibble to
decide which one was the better chef du bois -- a
phrase Sereka came up with, for forest cook. I'm not a
French scholar like she is, so forgive me if I got the
spelling wrong.

It was at least an hour before Sri and Sereka returned,
hair askew, clothes snagged with thistles, scratches on
their arms and legs. And determined looks in their
eyes. Sereka was a classic older sister, certain of her
superiority. And Sri, who felt confined at home by her
parents' insistence on traditional Pakistani culture,
had always been insistent on proving among the scouts
that she was "normal" as any of them -- which, of
course, meant a drive to be above the norm in
everything the troop tried.

But, competitive as they were, they also had the vanity
of youth, so they refused to begin the contest until
they'd cleaned up and changed.

While they did that, I renewed the argument over
whether I was to be the "prize" for the winner.
Grudgingly I won the girls over. "You win," Sami said.
"You won't be the prize. We promise." But she said it
with a smirk. I'd have to be on guard.

With that out of the way, and with some of the girls
acting as seconds for the rival chefs, we also agreed
on rules. Both cooks would have to work in the open;
they had to finish in under an hour; my judging would
be based on taste alone. We'd just gotten to a
discussion of tiebreakers when Sri and Sereka
reappeared.

As the expression goes, they cleaned up real good.

Sereka wore a bathing suit, a one-piece, that
apparently was created by removing a stained glass
window from some French chapel on a sunny day and
putting in a few strategic stitches. Its jewel-bright
panels came in every color, and they shone even more in
contrast to her polished ebony skin, to which the suit
clung tightly. The high cut on the hips emphasized her
height. A wide choker of gleaming enameled squares drew
attention to her long, regal neck, with a matching
headband drawing her short, kinky hair back from the
sweeping curves of her oval face. A small, silver ball
shone on one side of her wide nose. As always, she
walked stiffly erect, like a queen reviewing the
troops.

From the other end of the camp, Sri arrived, seeming to
glide more than walk. She wore what I guess I'd have to
call a sari, but I'm no fashion expert. And no sari I'd
ever seen showed what this one did.

It was a single piece of cloth, a pale blue that
shimmered yellow or green as well, depending how the
sun caught it. It draped over Sri from head to toe, the
folds of soft cloth framing her dark face. Ethereally
blue eyeshadow highlighted her deep-set brown eyes, the
lids outlined in black. Everything below her face, to
her wrists and ankles, was covered -- technically.

But Sri had done something with the way she arranged
the cloth that made it the sexiest garment ever seen.
When she walked, her thigh flashed through the folds.
Any movement might reveal a patch of bare flesh -- a
flat stomach, smooth arm, the gentle arc of the small
of her back. When she bent forward I could see skin
stretched tight over her sharp clavicle. And any time
she turned her side to me, there was the merest hint of
the swell of her young breast. The allure was far
greater than if she'd bared all. My mind took in all
the glances and peeks, assembling them into a picture
of perfection all the more intriguing because
imagination had to fill in the gaps.

When Sri and Sereka stood in front of the assembled
troop, with me front and center, I guess no one could
help noticing my eyes taking in their beauty.

"Remember," Carrie called out, "you're only judging on
the food." Her twin seconded the motion. "No marks for
presentation. This isn't one of those figure-skating
circuses." Lana, predictably, took umbrage at that.
Then Tishana, taking her sister's side, suggested
Sereka's suit showed much more "taste" than Sri's
get-up. Sue and Sue Two defended the sari. The whole
thing threatened to degenerate into chaos when Traci
pierced the shouting with a brass whistle. "Enough! If
you don't really want to go through with the contest
..." (Shouts of "No! Let's get to it!") "... Well, all
right, then settle down. Are we all agreed on the
rules? Ready? Set? Cook!"

Sri and Sereka flew to the tables that had been
prepared for them, laden with the bounty they'd
gathered and various other foodstuffs they'd
requisitioned from the larder Traci had assembled in a
fleet of coolers and baskets. I thought I saw some
mushrooms on Sri's table and my stomach got a little
queasy; I hoped those had come from the supplies, not
the forest. I didn't want to bet my health on Sri's
mycological knowledge. Before I could ask, though, a
debate arose over how much of the supplies could be
mixed with the forest produce. Sri was doing a veggie
dish, and her supporters said Sereka's use of a chicken
breast downgraded her harvest to a mere supporting
role. I was forced to arbitrate and decided that taste
would decide; the forest would have to be the
predominant flavors in whatever they did. With that
settled, the girls got back to cheering for their
favorite and commenting unfavorably on her rival's
technique.

Both of the dueling chefs had opted for hot dishes, so
when the chopping and mixing was done, each set her
dish above the campfire and sat back.

We killed some time with a volleyball game. Claire
opted out, saying she wasn't feeling well, so I was
forced to play to even out the sides even though I
insisted anyone saddled with me was being handicapped.
The girls were more concerned about the twin towers
tipping the scales, so they insisted Carrie and Terry
take opposite sides. That meant they spent most of the
game spiking in each other's face off sets on one side
by the enthusiastic Sues and the other by the game Sami
and Lana. Sereka and Sri balanced each other out by
avoiding the ball as much as possible to preserve their
couture, and my klutziness equalled the misses of
Traci, who had been pouting ever since she got picked
for the other team just after I went to the Sues.
Stacked up so evenly, the difference came down to
Tishana and Baby. Tishana was quicker, Baby more
willing to dig it out of the dirt, so the game seesawed
back and forth until Baby went up for the ball and left
her baggy shorts behind. She made the tip, but as she
came down right in front of me she stumbled, looked
down at her shorts on the ground, up at me -- I
couldn't help staring; she wore no panties -- turned
bright red and doubled over, covering up. Well,
covering her front from me, that is. In the process she
exposed her naked butt and it was a target Terry
couldn't miss. Her spike sent Baby tumbling into me and
giving the other side the victory.

I tried to help Baby to her feet but when she realized
whose hands were on her she fell back down and crawled
away, head down. I was ushered back to my seat as Sri
and Sereka declared their dishes ready for judging.

Lana set a table before me and turned to the chefs.
"Who goes first?"

Sri spoke first. "Age before beauty," she said,
sweeping a hand to indicate Sereka had the honors.

"Pearls before swine," Sereka said as she lifted her
pot from the fire.

She had made what she described as a French farmer's
soup, with bits of chicken floating enticingly in a
pale broth filled with wilted leaves. It came off the
fire steaming and Sereka ladled my portion into a thick
white bowl. Her supporters lined up eagerly to get
their samples as Lana brought mine. Everyone stared as
I dipped a big silver spoon into the bowl and brought
it to my lips. I blew on it to cool it, tentatively
touched it with my tongue. Satisfied about the
temperature, I tipped the contents into my mouth.
Around me, Sereka's supporters swallowed their first
spoonfuls.

My lips pursed automatically. I could see the other
tasters struggling to avoid doing the same.

Sereka's soup tasted ... green. Grass green. Which is
not a bad taste -- if you're a cow.

"Well?" Sereka's arms were crossed. "How is it?"

I hemmed and hawed and finally said it would be only
fair to hold my comments until I'd tasted both entries.

"Very well," Sereka said, "but you have barely tasted
this one. Go on, eat!" I took another spoon, staring it
into my mouth. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw
Sereka's fans discreetly setting down their bowls. Only
Tishana bravely joined me in a second taste. Her sister
demanded of her, "So? What do you say? You are not a
judge. You can speak. How is it?"

Tishana looked up, startled, spoon sticking out of her
mouth. She turned her head from one girl to another but
they looked away or down at the ground. Sereka demanded
an answer.

Tishana pulled the spoon out. Clicked it against her
teeth. Stared into space. "Ah," she said at last, "the
plants in France are different, you know. And we don't
have all the herbs, of course. And --"

Sereka snatched the spoon from her sister's hand. "Stop
dilly-dallying. What is so difficult about this? It is
soup. Just soup! Why can you not ..."

I suppose, if you took a time-lapse film of a lily
wilting at the end of its season, then speeded it up,
you could come close to capturing what happened to
Sereka's expression. But, really, you had to be there.

Sri and her supporters cheered and laughed as Sereka,
lips pressed tight, swung the pot up, heaving its
contents toward the trees. She sat on a log, chin in
her hands, glumly awaiting Sri's triumph.

The Pakistani girl had prepared a veggie burger to be
topped with a yogurt sauce. She flipped one onto a bun,
ladled the sauce and handed it off to Lana for
presentation to me. Just as I was to take a bite, Sue
Two called for a glass of water, insisting I "cleanse
my palate" before I tasted the burger.

Lucky thing I did. Without the water, I probably would
have choked to death on that first bite. Was it dry?
Hmm. Do they get any snow in Saskatchewan, do you
think? Does it ever shower in Seattle?

As it was, I could barely swallow. When Sri asked for
my opinion, I tried to talk but nothing came out except
bits of food and a mumble: "Id's a liggul dwah." I
poured the rest of the water down my throat. "It's a
lit--"

Big mistake. The dryness, it turned out, had been a
blessing in disguise. When water hit the burger bits in
my mouth, it activated the spices. Hot spices. Spices I
believe it is now illegal to take aboard planes in your
carry-on. Spices that are not under the jurisdiction of
the FDA, but the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and
Firearms.

I was forced -- when I recovered the power of speech --
to declare the contest a draw. Predictably, this
pleased no one. Some of the girls hung around debating
while others drifted away. Somewhere in camp, a boombox
started up.

"That's it," Sami exclaimed.

Sri looked up. "What's it? What's what?"

The music, Sami explained. "That's how we'll break the
tie. We'll have a dance contest."

Sereka was not amused. "How does dancing relate to our
outdoors skill?"

"It doesn't," Sami said. "It's just fun!"

Sri actually joined Sereka in disapproving of the idea,
but Sami was persistent and soon there was a cleared
space ringed with observers -- everyone in camp except
Claire. Again, I was to judge.

Now, this, I thought, was more like it. No potential
poisoning. Entertainment. This, I could handle.

But, of course, first they had to squabble over the
rules. Both dancing at once, or separately? To what
music? Sue wondered if Sri had a CD of Pakistani music
so she could do a traditional dance. Sri shook her head
vigorously. "No, and I won't charm a snake for you,
either."

After that comment, no one was going to suggest African
music for Sereka, either. By acclamation the troop
agreed on a single dance, one on one. I will spare you
the details of the discussion over a choice of tunes.
They ended up picking a CD from a box everyone
contributed to. However, no one would confess to having
brought along the chosen song. Still, "Dancing Queen"
it was.

Sri and Sereka stood several steps apart in the middle
of the clearing, glancing from each other to the
audience. The music started.

They didn't.

At first everyone was silent. Then there was murmuring.
Finally shouts. Still the two were immobile.

Sue shut off the CD. Sereka and Sri each said they were
waiting for the other to go first. They were told to
start with the music. Sue hit the play button.

They didn't move.

"No one said 'start,'" Sereka said. "Yeah," Sri agreed.
"Who was supposed to do that?"

"No one!" Sami shouted. "Just dance!"

Sue did her thing.

Sereka and Sri did theirs.

I may have seen more awkward dancing once. There were
these two storks at the petting zoo. But, on second
thought, the storks had rhythm.

Sereka and Sri have threatened the lives of all of us
who were there that day, if we ever divulge the
specifics of their performance. I saw the look in their
eye when they said it. I'm not talking.

So let's just skip ahead, shall we, to the end of the
song. The last notes faded away in stunned silence.

Sri and Sereka stared at us. We stared back.

Sereka was the first to speak. "This wasn't my idea,"
she said.

"I never said I could dance," Sri added quietly.

"My god, Sis," Tishana piped up. "Do we come from the
same family?"

"Sri, Sri," Sami giggled, "Do we even come from the
same continent?"

That's when they threatened our lives. By mutual
agreement, we declared the contest a draw.

Sereka and Sri were ready to call the whole thing a
draw and forget it, in fact. But Sami was sure they
could find something to settle the matter. Sue Two
suggested singing. Sereka said no, and after the dance
debacle no one was willing to argue. Carrie proposed a
troop trivia test, but Sri pointed out that, with four
years gap, she would be at a significant disadvantage
in "ancient history."

Then Sami said only one word: "Kissing."

If you're thinking that's where this was heading all
along, I won't argue. Not that I can prove it, but
there was something suspicious about how quickly
everyone agreed. And, naturally, I was to be the judge.
And kissee.

My chair was turned around so I was facing the rest of
the troop. This time Sri went first. Hers was a
tentative kiss, a brush of the lips, standing in front
of me and bending stiffly at the hip.

Sereka stood closer, put an arm on either side of the
chair back, leaned down and planted a solid kiss that
had me almost rising to follow her lips when she moved
back.

They had agreed to five rounds, so it was Sri's turn
next. She sat in my lap, her soft ass rubbing into my
crotch. Her hands cradled my face gently as she
approached slowly. She nuzzled my neck before making
her way to my lips. There was a feeling like an
electric shock when our mouths finally made contact.
When she got off me after a minute or more, I felt
dizzy. Maybe it was her patchouli scent. Or maybe those
mushrooms were bad; I never did ask where they came
from.

I was still a little woozy when Sereka came up for her
second attempt. She straddled me, pressing her body in
its tight, flashy bathing suit against me. Her crotch
ground into mine, making my cock struggle against my
shorts into full erection. Her hands ran up and down my
sides. My shirt got pulled out and a couple of buttons
popped open as the tall black woman snuggled closer.

Her face hovered over mine here or there, just out of
touch, close enough for me to feel her hot breath
steaming my pores. At last her arms slithered over my
shoulders and down my back, underneath my shirt, flesh
on flesh, as she pulled me to her in a crushing kiss.
Our tongues met, tangled, pressed deep. Our nostrils
flared as we struggled for air, mouths welded together.
Sereka's legs swung up and closed on the back of the
wooden chair, forcing our bodies even closer together.

Sereka extricated herself from me to tumultuous
applause from her backers, and maybe even from some of
Sri's partisans. She walked back to her seat in the
audience, flinging the younger girl a "top THAT" smirk.

Sri remained seated for a bit, just looking at me with
a serious expression. I saw her nostrils pinch as she
seemed to come to some kind of decision and she stood
up to begin the third round. By then, the other girls
were quiet. A titter broke from someone behind her as
Sri approached me; she froze.

Only when all was silent again did she take another
step. Her bare feet scuffed on the dirt as she shuffled
forward, a light breeze ruffling the folds of her sari.
Time seemed to slow down. After what seemed an hour but
must have been seconds, she stood before me. A flap of
her wrap brushed my leg.

Staring into my eyes, staying ever so close, Sri
circled the chair. I almost twisted my head off when
she moved behind me; it felt as if she had a tractor
beam on my eyes. As I snapped my head to the other side
to catch up with her, she was licking her lips. They
were a deep pink with a painted rim of some darker
color, as subtle a transition as on an exotic flower.
While they transfixed me, she moved in front of me
again.

Her fingers, sparkling with golden rings and
many-faceted stones, flew around her, doing something
to the sari that looked like a magic trick. Next thing
I knew, the cloth parted in the middle and she stepped
forward, a smooth brown leg on either side of me. She
lowered herself as lightly as a feather drifting to
earth from dove flying far overhead. Her hands floated
toward me, unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way,
pushed it off my shoulders and down my arms. I could
hear the blood coursing through my temples, white water
in a narrow canyon.

With her eyes still bewitching me, Sri took hold of my
hands. I was aware of it vaguely, as if it were
happening to someone else. I felt them slipping past
folds of cloth. And then she pressed my trembling
fingers to flesh. Smooth, soft, yielding. My hands
molded to sensual curves, closed on rounded delights.
Thick nipples pressed into my palms. Sri's sari had
fallen back from her head and long, black hair, with a
sheen like mica, cascaded onto my bare shoulders as she
brushed my cheeks with the gentle caress of her own.

When she began to kiss me it was the merest touch, like
a memory tickling your brain, there but not there. And
then she pressed further, her tongue probing
insistently. My hands squeezed her breasts, traveled to
her back, enveloped her. Sri's kiss was a flame inside
me, unquenchable, spreading throughout my body. It left
me limp, barely able to stay in the chair. She gathered
her sari around her and padded back to her spot, head
held high. The rest of the troop sat looking almost as
stunned as I felt.

Sereka sprang to her feet. She stalked me, long legs
taking giant steps, prowling from side to side rather
than approaching directly. She didn't even look
straight at me, only in sidelong glances. I wondered if
that was what a gazelle saw when a lioness moved in for
the kill. It seemed very hot in the chair, and I lifted
a hand to tug at my collar before I remembered it was
no longer there. I picked up a sleeve dangling down the
side of the chair and wiped beads of sweat from my
brow.

Sereka stepped closer. I could see individual muscles
rippling along her dark-skinned legs. Her turns were
sharp, kicking up small clouds of dust. She reached me.
Turned away, faced Sri. I had a view of her sleek back
and of her trim but well-formed ass cupped by her suit.

I saw a hand appear over one of her shoulders. She
pushed the strap of her suit down to her arm. Then a
hand on the other side, and that strap fell. Her arms
went out like wings, spread wide. From behind, I could
see the top of her suit fall away. Sereka's arms folded
back, hands coming in like knife blades, slipping
between her skin and the sides of her suit. Still
facing away from me, she pushed her hands down, peeling
the suit away. It came down, down past her narrow
waist, down to her swelling hips. Down. At last she
spread her legs slightly and the suit dropped to the
ground.

She turned. Faced me. Completely naked. Breasts like
full wineskins, small nipples set in ovals slightly
darker than the skin around them. Or perhaps that was
an illusion, for how can anything be darker than
Sereka's skin, a shade darker than midnight, as dark as
the shadows of midnight. And yet there has to be a
blacker black, for that is the color of the short,
curled hair that guarded the approach to her passion
spot. A spot that opened as she straddled me, hot cunt
pressing against my erection. She leaned forward,
breasts flattening against my chest. Began to sway from
side to side, her body touching mine. Still, though,
she had not looked me in the eye. Her head bobbed first
to my left, then right, never touching mine. She was so
close I could count her eyelashes, so close I could see
every pore on her nose. So close, but no closer.

Unbidden, my arms wrapped around her, felt her pulse
beating fast and strong. And then all at once she
kissed me, mouth open, eating me alive, a kiss that
took my breath away. Her body still moved against mine
and my cock struggled against its bindings, yearning to
break free. I felt her kiss all the way to my groin, a
kiss so powerful that I wondered why I hadn't been
knocked over backwards. A kiss so passionate it almost
drove me to orgasm right there and then. A kiss that
left my chest heaving when Sereka stepped back, picking
up her suit and tossing it over a shoulder as she
sauntered away.

Sami, who had moved to a spot front and center, was
open-mouthed. "Wow," she said. "I thought I knew about
sex, but ... Wow." She looked around. "Where's Claire?
She shouldn't miss this!" Sami ran off to look for her
sister.

Meanwhile Sri had stood up. She walked toward me
casually but stopped halfway. Her hands rose to her
face, fingers splayed, rings glittering. Facing me, she
covered her face and then pulled her hands apart. There
was a smoldering look in her eyes. Her hands floated
over her body, just above the folds of her sari. Their
motion drew my attention to her breasts, her waist, her
hips, her legs. She was almost completely covered, yet
following her hands, it was as if I could see through
the cloth around her. Maybe it was the way her fingers
outlined every curve; maybe it was the memory of what
her body had felt like. Whatever the cause, it was a
mind-bending experience.

It had me so entranced that I didn't notice when she
approached me. It was only when she was right in front
of me that I realized what a close-up view I had. I was
still adjusting to that when something flew in front of
my face and I couldn't see anything but a pale blue
blur. I had a glimpse of brown skin and then the blur
again, a flash of flesh and then blank. Eventually I
understood that Sri was unwinding her sari, swirling it
around -- sometimes it would block my vision, sometimes
flutter over both of us like a canopy.

As more cloth unwound and spun faster, more and more of
Sri's body was revealed until she was stark naked and
flung the sari high into the air, letting it float
down, falling onto her shoulder and then sliding to the
ground. Her body, nut-brown, had a curious mix of lush
curves and sharply defined edges. Her breasts didn't
flow into her chest; they rose straight out. Her waist
was as abruptly narrow as a wasp. The tan line from the
thong she must have worn only when her parents weren't
looking followed ridges at the top of her hips that
seemed as if they'd been carved. Overall, it created an
overwhelming desire in me to touch her, to see if it
was real.

I reached out, touched. She was real. Hot and real. And
as she bent forward and pressed her soft lips to mine,
the mere nearness of her was intoxicating. I tried to
pull her closer, bring her to my lap, but she resisted.
Even as she freely let me sweep my hands over her firm
young tits, she held her ground. She pressed her
breasts against me as she got up on tiptoe to kiss my
forehead, but she wouldn't move forward. She fluttered
kisses on my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips, but would not
sit down. Not when her lips pressed hard to mine,
tongue pushing into me, forcing my head back, making my
fingers reflexively dig into her sides.

As Sri's lips continued to journey down my body, to
nuzzle my neck and lick my chest, she bent at the knees
until, as she poked her tongue playfully into my navel,
she was kneeling before me. I was so enjoying the
attention that it took me a few seconds to understand
why her fingers were fumbling in my lap. By then it was
done; the zipper open, my stiff penis extracted and
bobbing in the open.

Sri kissed it from root to tip. She kept her lips
pursed tightly as she grasped my cock and pushed it
into her mouth; it was like entering the tightest pussy
you've ever known. The next eight minutes can only be
described as bliss on a stick -- or, rather, on a
prick. Sri's cheeks sucked in as she inhaled half my
shaft, her teeth teasing at the sensitive tip. I tried
to grab her head, desperate to force her to go faster,
but she fended me off and stuck to a pace that was so
excruciatingly sensual it made my eyes water.

My orgasm, when it arrived, sent a blast of cum
thundering out of me. Sri swallowed the load. When she
pulled away, a blob of jism clung to her lip. Her pink
tongue snuck out, scooped it out, slipped back inside.

I had recovered just about enough to recognize Sami
front and center again, looking vaguely angry, when
Sereka flung her bathing suit to the ground and came to
me naked. There was no subtlety to her approach. She
marched up boldly, eyes flashing.

My mind was certainly willing to entertain notions
about the tall black woman, but my flesh was woefully
weak. Even more, my cock was painfully sensitive. When
Sereka merely put a hand on it I was jolted and had to
push her away. She was undaunted. Touching me
everywhere but there, she pressed her body, front and
back, to my bare skin. Her butt cheeks rubbed my side;
her arms rolled over my chest; her ample breasts were
two soft pillows cradling my head from behind. As she
circled me, her face would suddenly swoop in for a deep
kiss, then pull away.

Every once in a while she would let her fingertips
brush my cock. At first I would flinch, but that wore
off, though my shaft remained soft. Sereka had been
waiting for her opportunity. She got to her knees and
took me into her mouth. Soft as I was, she could take
it all easily. In her hot orifice, though, I soon was
restored. Her lips' gentle massage made my cock ease
back to life, lengthening and thickening.

I had assumed that she, like Sri, would suck me to
climax. Sereka had other ideas. When I was once again
stiff, she pulled her mouth off me. Without formality
she straddled me, put my cock at her cunt and sat down,
impaling herself. For starters, she left me inside her,
content to offer her breasts to me on the platter of
her crossed arms. I suckled eagerly.

In time, though, she decided to move, and she fucked me
like a jackhammer. Her tits bounced against my chest as
she rose and fell, pounding me into the chair over and
over. It held up to the beating, but don't ask me how
-- I consider it a miracle that I did. Sereka was
pogoing so fast that I didn't even try to match her
strokes. It was all I could do to keep still, because I
feared that if I moved at the wrong time she might come
down on me at the wrong angle and squash my pecker
flat. As it was, she was almost faster than my nervous
system could handle. I had the distinct impression of a
lag between her actions and the time my reaction to
them reached my consciousness, so there was some of the
disjointed feeling of watching a movie where the
soundtrack is out of sync.

The only thing that may have saved me from being
literally fucked to death is that it was taking a lot
out of Sereka, too. I huffed on every stroke; she
puffed; soon we were both gasping and she was forced to
slow down. Almost as soon as she did, though, a wobbly
orgasm wracked her body. She squirmed against me,
trying to push me as far into her cunt as possible
while she rode the wave. At last she sagged onto me.

Unnoticed by me, Sri had come up to us. She tugged on
Sereka's shoulder, urging her to move. I was still
erect as Sereka lifted herself off and Sri took her
place, sitting down with her back to me and my cock
firmly embedded in her tight twat.

She took a more leisurely approach to sex, giving me
time with every stroke to enjoy the ride. I took
advantage of the relaxed pace to hug her from behind,
grabbing handfuls of her tits, and to push my cock up
to meet her every downstroke. I can't say that one fuck
was better than the other, because they were so
different. I can say that I remember much more of Sri's
technique because she gave it -- and my dick -- more
time to sink in.

At some point -- it blends erotically together in my
memory -- Sereka recovered from her orgasm and joined
us, kissing and nuzzling Sri in front while I continued
to fuck her from behind. That added a special passion
to Sri's movements -- and to mine, for that matter. I
even got some more tongue action from Sereka myself, as
I licked my way around Sri's neck while Sereka kissed
her way down the younger girl's cheek and our mouths
met in the middle.

The added fascination of all that was too much to bear
and my cum burst out again, jetting into Sri's cunt. I
softened only a little afterward, so Sri could keep me
inside. With help from Sereka's finger on her clit, Sri
soon reached her own shattering climax.

And so it was done. No one asked, but I would have
declared the kissing contest a draw.

Several of the scouts helped me back to my tent. "Take
a nap," someone said. "You'll need your strength
tonight." I went to sleep with my mind swimming with
possibilities.

To be continued ...