Ann Griffin - Skin summer

Linda squeezed her more tightly. "But he is so good. He makes me come so often."

"I'll make you come," Jenny said. "And I don't have any big ugly organ to hurt you with. Just my tongue." She pulled down Linda's body, worked her out of her shorts, and began kissing her between the legs. "You smell of him," she said. "I'll lick you clean."

Linda laid back on the rug, her breath catching in her throat, and let Jenny prove herself.

The next day contained two major events in Sam Walker's life. First, he obtained his initial money as a camp hustler from Brenda Markwell. Second, he met Susan Calderwood-Logan. In the end, he would find the second girl was a much more important moment in his life than receiving money from the first.

When he came back to his cabin after lunch, most of his assigned chores already completed, Sam found a note from the Markwell girl. It was cryptically written so that no other eyes would understand it, but he knew what she meant and wanted. Her roommate was going to be gone until three, and that would give them the time they needed. He washed his face and hands, put on a touch of shaving lotion, and left for her cabin.

He was careful to be certain no one saw him go to or enter her cabin. Even though Linda was bound to him, word might get back to old lady Worley, and his ass would be grass.

Brenda Markwell was waiting for him, dressed only in a light blue robe. She pressed against him, asking for a kiss, and he gave her one she would not likely forget while his hands divested her of the robe. Her body was vibrant and exciting as he remembered it, and his swelling prick tented the front of his pants. He caressed her breasts, ran his hands down the marvelously curved back, clamped her buttocks, squeezed them until she whimpered, then continued toying with her breasts.

"You too," she said. "Undress."

It was time to make her grovel, to bind her to him with her own desire, the way he worked with all women. "You do that for me," he said.

She didn't mind. She took off his shirt, socks and shoes while he sat on the bed, then worked him out of his jeans and shorts, his prick springing free and bobbling heroically before her face.

"You couldn't fuck a virgin," she said playfully, squeezing the huge tool. "You'd kill her."

He pushed her head down, and she willingly licked his organ, starting at the hairy base and running her sharp tongue up the underside of it, then back down. It was a delightful sensation. When she tired of that, she stuffed him into her mouth while petting his heavy nuts.

At last, when he could take no more, he took his prick out of her pretty little lips and drew her onto the bed with him. He mounted her with skill, and she gasped as she was penetrated. It was no chore to hold down his cream, for his supply of the stuff had been quite depleted when he had shot onto Linda's face the night before. He slid his massive prong in and out, withdrawing all but the very tip, then slamming it in to the base. She convulsed twice before he pulled out of her.

"You haven't made it," Brenda said.

"I'm trying not to, baby. I want to give you a good ride."

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

From her expression, he could tell that she was asking for some special service. It might be unpleasant if it were some freaky hang-up of hers, but he did not dare reject offhand – or he could almost stop counting on ever prying a dime out of the little cocksucker. "Anything you want," he said.

"I…" She was embarrassed now. And this was the girl who never blushed, supposedly.

"Yes?"

"I like to be mistreated," she said, her voice stiff, as if she were asking a very proper question. He could tell that she expected to be refused offhand.

"You mean you want me to beat you?"

"No," she said. But she did not elaborate.

"Look, Brenda love," he said, "I can't read minds."

"You'll hate me," she said.

"God! Hate you for a hang-up. Hate these beautiful tits and that hot little box? Never. I don't care what turns you on. Tell me."

"Would you… could… piss on me," she said, not looking at him, trying to be as small and miserable as possible. "I don't like beatings. The pain lasts after the fun. But if you could…"

He had trouble controlling his face this time, for the first time in his life. At the same time as he was disgusted, he was also excited. There was something about the idea that appealed to him immensely. He liked his women debased, and there could hardly be any more humiliating act he could perform on her. And when he saw how bad she wanted this, he knew it was the key he needed.

"Okay," he said, watching as her face lighted and she became more animated than ever before – more than when he had eaten and screwed her. "Before we get carried away," he said quickly, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"What?" she asked.

"I haven't gotten my first paycheck. And I have some bills I just have to pay or get jailed for. I was wondering if I could borrow some money from you."

She looked at him out of lowered lashes, just flecks of her brilliant blue eyes showing. She flipped her blonde hair out of her eyes and smiled at him with a mixture of impatience, anger, humor, and irony. "It's like that, is it?"

"Like what?" he asked.

"You're hustling me."

"I want to borrow…"

She leaned forward and grabbed his stiff pecker. "No, sweets. What you've got here and what you're willing to do with it are worth paying for. Without you, I'd die in this ghastly hole. How much?"

"How much have you got?" When she laughed, he got off the bed and went to the dresser, opened her purse and found the wallet. There was a hundred and twelve dollars inside. "Can you get more whenever you want it?"

She laughed again and said that she could.

"I'll take fifty then. Does that sound fair." When she agreed, he laid the bills on the dresser and closed her purse, went back to her. "Where do we do it. Not in the bed?"

"No," she said. "On the floor where I can clean it up later. In the living room. There's no carpet."

They went into the living room, and she knelt before him, then stood up. "You'll never manage it all stiff like that. You'll have to lose your hard." She went away, came back with a cold washcloth. He jumped when she wrapped his dick in it, but he soon wilted as she wanted him too.

"Hurry," she said, "On my face. Please on my face." She closed her eyes, waiting.

He knew that he would grow hard again soon, and he strained his bladder. "I've never heard of this," he said.

"You don't hate me?"

"No. No, but why?"

"I don't know why," she said impatiently, and he realized any further questioning would only infuriate her.

Then he felt the warm urine coming up his limp staff. A moment later, it streamed out, struck her face. He raised and soaked her hair, then trained it on her breast, back to her face. Yellow liquid dripped from her nipples, her nose, her full lower lip. She licked her lips and hugged herself. He saw her contract, quiver, climax twice. He had not realized a masochist could have an orgasm just from being debased and humiliated.

Then the fluid would not come anymore, for his prick had grown again, larger than ever before. Brenda scuttled forward and began sucking it. The unusualness of the situation had brought him to an apex of sensuality from which he saw only one way down. He slammed his hips into her urine slimed mouth until his cream charge spattered down her throat and there was no more male milk in him.

"You can go now," she said. She looked him in the eye, unashamed. "I'll clean this up before my roomie gets back."

He dressed and left without a word – but with his first fifty dollars.

He checked in at the office to see if Linda had any work to be done. He noticed that she seemed to be dragging this morning. There were large dark circles under her eyes, and her face was drawn. When he came into the office, Jenny Sansom rushed over as if guarding the younger girl. When he saw what there was between them, he only smiled, took the three job sheets Linda had for him, and left.