Paul Sutherland - Girl_s camp counselor

That made the pain more tolerable to her. With the shadow of a smile, she moved her body up and down, getting as much of my throbbing cock as she could. Kathy lay down beside us and began to masturbate furiously, her eyes on the spot where my cock entered Ingrid's blonde cunt.

I pulled her down over me so that her body was on mine, and then rolled over to mount her. Her legs spread instinctively, her long thin legs way up in the air as she abandoned her newly broken-in cunt to the wiles of my prick.

The heaving of my loins pushed her through the grass each time I delivered a power stroke, and so we moved through the small clearing, me in pursuit of her and catching her at every lunge. Kathy rolled behind us, breathlessly jamming fingers up her little cunt, changing position whenever she lost sight of my prick ripping into the tender pink flesh of Ingrid's snatch.

What an epic scene it must have been for an innocent onlooker. I hunched over little Ingrid like a ravening bull, ploughing into her and shoving her through the grass like a barrow without wheels, while Kathy pursued us like a hot dog, beating off in a fury.

I took out all my frustrations on Ingrid's newly initiated cunt, ramming home my dick knowing I would, this time, be allowed to complete the act. So I hung back, fucking her in different positions and from different angles. Then I gave her a little rest while I fucked Kathy as an interlude, and ate out Ingrid's relaxed, wildly wet box.

Back to Ingrid, Kathy pressing her cunt against my face while I mounted her from behind and rammed my dork up between her tightly clenched ass cheeks. Eating and fucking, lost in space, tasting Kathy's fresh juices, still smelling Ingrid's horny fumes.

I rammed home the final strokes, that set Ingrid groaning like the demons had possession of her, and caused Kathy to roll in the grass, high up on her back, her legs waving in the air, while three bunched fingers forced their way into her cunt.

We reached the vinegar stroke together and pushed on through the flimsy barrier between dream and reality. The orgasms were fine and consuming, hurtling us into the zone of bliss for a period.

Then we came down, gulping and panting, our eyes closed with exhaustion, tumbling back into the grass and resting, me on the bottom, two slight bodies prostrate over me. Ingrid's hands were over my cock, rubbing it, and spreading the white sperm over my belly among the curling blond hairs absentmindedly.

I don't know how long we lay there. It grew cooler and the sun disappeared, a soft rain descended on us, and still we didn't see the need to move. Only when we heard thunder in the distance did we stir and begin the long walk back to camp.

What a difference in the reception I got when I walked inside the cafeteria that evening! Girls smiled at me, their eyes checking out my crotch once more, and the promise of much sex dangled before my eyes like a carrot dipped in the most intoxicating champagne!

Elsa sat down beside me and reaffirmed that all had been forgiven. She even went so far as to grope for my balls under the table cloth, but I knew she didn't like to so I told her it was okay.

It was okay, sure enough. Those shining young eyes upon me, and all those pre-pubescent cunts on the long benches, shifting uneasily as the anticipation of harsh fucking grew in their subconscious minds – I'd made sure it was okay!

Despite the grandiose evening the girls treated me to that evening, I still went into town the next day to have my photos developed privately. It took me some time to find a photographer who could be bought for a sum I could afford. Finally I found a man who required little more than a masked set of his own copies.

Because I didn't trust him, and because he understood why, I was in the darkroom with him while he developed them, and scratched out the faces on the copies meant for his collection. The other copies, and the negatives, went to me.

They were perfect shots, every one of them. Gloating, I sent the negatives to my private post office box, and tucked the developed prints into my wallet. To celebrate I went into a bar for a quick drink.

The day stretched out before me. I was free till I chose to return to the camp. If the director, or anyone else for that matter, wanted to take me to task for it, that was fine with me. But I felt pretty sure no one would jeopardize his future just to slap me on the wrist.

The bar was quiet. All decent folks were at work. Only myself, a few local characters, and a middle-aged woman were in there drinking. The middle-aged woman took an interest in me, and considering the kind of competition I had in that bar, I didn't blame her.

After downing my drink and ordering two more, I sat down beside her and slid the spare glass over. She smiled gratefully and we struck up a conversation. The usual talk, was I at Camp Good Health, yes I was and what did she do for a living, stuff like that. The whole talk was just a preamble for bed, and we both knew it.

It turned out she was married to a sailor who was, at that moment, somewhere in the Mediterranean. Her children were at school, she was lonely, looking for distractions, perhaps I could help? I said I would sure try, if she would only take me to her place.

She drank her drink down in a flash and was on her feet before I even had the whole sentence out of my mouth. It was only a few blocks before we reached a neat suburban house with a two-car garage. She opened the front door and showed me into the living room. Then she excused herself for a moment.

Actually, seen in the light of day, she wasn't nearly as middle-aged as she had seemed in that bar. In her thirties, I guessed, maybe she'd had a hard life. But she was a well-built woman, full-breasted, full-hipped, and she carried herself well.

I relaxed with the drink she'd set up for me, and enjoyed my holiday away from the camp. It was good that I had met her, perhaps screwing with an older woman would make it easier for me to readjust to my wife when I got back home. Because I realized how dangerous this new appetite of mine was. I only had two hopes of escaping its deadly pincers: to fuck my way through and out of it, or to find a more alluring alternative.

Her name was Bertha, not provocative, being more reminiscent of Big Bertha and Boxcar Bertha, but one didn't fuck the name. She led me up to her bedroom. I noticed she smelled very sweet, and that her ass wobbled freely. So that's what she had been doing while I relaxed over a drink – taken her corset off, and put on that cloying perfume.

She smiled broadly when I embraced her and pressed her ample loins into mine as her mouth found my lips, and we kissed. There was something peculiar about kissing her, not just the taste of cracking lipstick or the smell of nicotine on her breath, but its loose wetness. I didn't like it, it was too sloppy, too worn for me.

And yet I kept it up, feeling the faint stirrings in my prick as if it was willing to give it a try. I caressed her back, feeling the yielding flesh of her big ass, a real woman's ass, round and fulsome and that more than anything else got me aroused.

Clothes were scattered about the room, our flesh appearing from layers of civilization. Her full bosom turned out to be two enormous sagging jugs with stretch marks running down them like wood grain. Her stomach was full and rounded, tapering down into a triangle of bushy grey curls. Big thighs pressed together above her knees, the flesh off-white and shot with blue veins, the bulges of her ass visible even from the frontal view – I hesitated.

But my prick seemed undaunted. It stood up from my belly and bobbed restlessly in the direction of her cunt. She grabbed it greedily and sank down on her knees before me to stretch her red painted lips wide to accommodate all of it in one frightening gulp.