Paul Sutherland - Girl_s camp counselor

We fucked up a lather. She was shaking, dribbling, gulping hysterically for air whenever she forgot to breathe, and climaxing wonderfully. Finally I blew my wad into her snug little cunt and lay on top of her.

When I looked up, the elder Julia was on the chair, rubbing her head and looked very pissed off with both of us. She ordered her daughter to bed without supper, and she told me to get the hell out of her house before she could fetch the shotgun from her closet.

I can take a hint if nothing else. Dressing hurriedly, I bade my young love goodbye, thanked my hostess, and ran out of the front door while she made threatening motions from the closet. Out in the street I just kept going, trying to guess what sort of a range a shotgun had.

After a quick drink, I got back into the car and sat there for some time before I turned the ignition and drove slowly back to Camp Good Health. My heart was still beating wildly with the excitement of the afternoon, and I felt the die had been cast for good. Older women were out, younger girls were in.

And when that truth finally established itself in my mind, I could hardly wait to get back to the camp to take my pick of the spring chickens walking about in there with nothing to do but provide pleasure.

What a life – a couple of weeks ago nothing and in that short a time I could fuck myself silly without the slightest risk of apprehension, or of the supply running low.

Somewhere, some time, I must have done something right, I figured.

After two weeks, Camp Good Health had declined into a running orgy. The director had heard about my snapshots and had instantly withdrawn into his cottage, thus creating a power vacuum. No one else dared fill it, in case they should earn my wrath. The photos hung over the camp like the sword of Damocles and the result was chaos.

Organized hikes and physical exercises just weren't in it anymore. The girls were quick to take advantage of the relaxation of discipline and scoffed at any attempt to get them to do things for their own good. Instead, they hung out in the huts and on corners, smoking and playing cards, forming gangs and terrorizing other gangs.

As for us leaders, we cut our little morsels off the bunch and consumed them in the privacy of our cabins, living high and sleeping late, with occasional runs into town to replenish supplies of liquor and beer.

I got kind of tired of this wholesale debauchery, and at one stage contemplated taking over the reins of the camp myself, till Elsa showed me some indelicate photographs of me cavorting with a troop of little girls. So we were all equal!

For a few days I went along with the riotous goings-on, walking into huts late at night to play blind man's buff, also known as blind date. This was amusing mainly because you never knew who you would screw beforehand, and some of the plainer girls got their oats this way. But then the cheating started, prior arrangements, attention-getting gimmicks, and quarrels.

Besides, much of the pleasure had gone out of fucking. With everyone doing it all the time, it had become like brushing your teeth under orders, or passing a qualifying test. I felt fucked out and listless, nothing excited me anymore, and as the days went by I began hiding out in the woods with a good book.

One day I gathered a beach towel, a transistor radio, and a book, and traipsed off into the forest, headed for the lake. Behind me, girls screeched with laughter while watching Elsa and her Little League lesbians perform a symphony of sucking, and further down were Lester Phipps and his maidens demonstrating a number of tricks designed to intensify sexual delights. Mark had disappeared long ago with about twenty girls and enough food to keep them in the woods for a week.

I felt tired, a little heartsick. It had been such fun before, why did it have to get gross? Mumbling to myself, I walked through trees and shrubs, soon lost in the silence of the forest. Suddenly I heard snapping twigs. I stood still and pricked my ears up. I got the direction, then saw the vague flash of a figure coming towards me.

It was Sandy. Tall, lithe, her black skin shining with sweat, and her little tits heaving from the exertion, she stumbled up to me and fell around my neck while trying to catch her breath. In a strange way I was pleased to see her. Ever since the time we fucked, I had often thought about her, recalling her panther-like body and the supple muscles under her smooth skin.

Finally, she found her voice and said, "Let me stick around with you, James. I'm so pissed with those girls I could throw up."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"Ah, they're all giving me the treatment. You know how they are, all mouth when they're in a group. Besides, I hate girls, they're nothing but bitches."

"Why do you say that?" We began walking, following a faint trail towards the lake. "You seemed to have a lot of friends last time we met."

"They were just out to get you, not to look after me," she said, looking straight ahead with a touch of bitterness appearing in her voice, "and then that Southern bitch, but forget it. You don't mind if I hang out with you, do you?"

"I'm glad you found me." I said. "Let's get away from all the others, right away. Maybe we'll never come back. What do you say?"

"Oh, that's too good for words!" she cried, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me with her wide, full mouth. "Man, I could really dig to see the last of those assholes!"

We walked hand in hand through the deeply-shaded woods, and reached the lake early in the afternoon. There were a few girls swimming on the opposite shores. They were a small minority who didn't like the others either. And, since we left them alone, they stayed clear of us.

It was warm and sunny, a cool zephyr blowing across the rippling surface of the lake. We stretched out in a dense patch of grass and unwound into the relaxed atmosphere of the place. Sandy had on shorts and a halter top, her long legs drawn up so I caught the beginning of her rounded buttocks just below the wide shorts. Faint tingles ran up my insides like air bubbles in an aquarium.

She saw the look in my eye but didn't respond. Her face struck me in all its beauty, the high cheekbones and the turned down almond-shaped eyes, the skin stretched taut over her firm jawbones and down over her long, finely-muscled neck. Just looking at her took my breath away. But then she turned to me, and her queenly, aloof beauty became friendlier, more approachable.

"Do you like me, James?" she asked. Her voice was high and silvery, young even for her tender years.

"I like you very much," I said huskily, the words catching in my throat. Her lips caught my eye, full and wide, the brilliant white teeth flashing behind them, lips that I recalled in minute detail from our one night together. How I longed to kiss them again.

"Why do you like me?" I wondered if she was teasing, or just looking for reassurance.

"Because you're beautiful and you're yourself," I said. She smiled and came a little closer to me. I took her hand and she squeezed mine. She told me how horrible she had felt when the vigilantes had rent us asunder, and she had found it impossible to get to sleep that night.

"Maybe this time it'll end differently," I suggested.

"Oh, I hope so, James. You made me feel so good last time and then, just as I was near to feeling perfect, those bitches interrupted and I felt like I had a broomstick up my cunt for the whole night."

"Let's take a swim," I said. She nodded and took off her clothes. Once again, she charged me up as if the sight of her jumped me. Those smooth long limbs, the blackness of her cunt with the tiny curls just pushing up out of her skin, and those hard titties with the dark nipples, all of it combined into a potent brew. Then, as she walked towards the lake, I saw her dimpled buttocks, round and pressed together into a razor-thin furrow, rolling smoothly as oiled bearings.