FPS-183  Lorraine's Summer Of Sin
(Rod Strong)


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 kakhi 
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 staff's 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. "Totalled," 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, hut 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, 
handrolled 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 grey 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 endowment 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 jailbait. 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, delicate 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 bang-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 parry 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," tarry 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 to 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 vicious 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 
reaction 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 staff's 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, gs 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 stun)ling. 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. 

"Mmmm," 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 clammering 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 hic 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 sand 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 along, 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 stoney 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, vicious 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 
limpening 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 hussle 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 deckshoes, 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 refreshiness 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 Grate 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 hussle and bussle 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 pantie-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 arid 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 
caressing 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, teaching a 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 bartop 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 vicious 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 
then 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. 

"Ahh, 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 trembled 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. 

"Yey! 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 unleashed 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 cockhead 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 ... 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." 

"Nah," 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 gullywhumper, 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 inthe 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 suntan 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 to 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, her 
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 hierocracy 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 I 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 motions 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. 
"Mmmphh," 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 
hangups. 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 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 hauser 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 terrycloth 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 criss-crossed 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. 

But she was out of choices. 

And she could not go back. 


End
