Ann Griffin - Skin summer

It did not surprise him that she was AC-DC, that she could use that marvelous body with women as well as men. Linda was oversexed, and she probably rarely ever received as much loving as she wanted. As long as Jenny Sansom wasn't able to turn Linda against him, he didn't care who ate her cunt.

He fixed a broken window pane in the dining hall door and replaced the washers in a cold water kitchen sink tap in one of the cabins. It was on the third job that he met Susan Calderwood-Logan, and that was to change just about everything.

The water that had been coming out of the taps the last two or three hours had been somewhat muddy. Linda wanted him to drive up to the small reservoir on the mountainside above the camp and check the pumps and filters to see what was malfunctioning. It was only a mile, but he did drive rather than waste energy walking.

The reservoir was kidney shaped, the second lobe invisible from the first, screened by a copse of trees and brush. He checked the pumps in the first lobe of the kidney and found the intake pipe had slipped off its mooring post and was lying on the floor, sucking up mud from the reservoir bottom as well as water and weeds. It was a simple matter to reset the pipe and secure it. When he was done, he heard the splashing noise from the other lobe of the kidney, listened a moment, wondering whether deer were down to drink. He worked his way along the shoreline, around the trees, and carefully peered out, looking for the deer. He saw nothing at first, for he had been so certain of animals that he had not been adjusted to the sight of a girl. She stood in two feet of water, half facing his direction, completely nude.

It had to be one of the girls from the camp, for no one else could have reached the reservoir. He watched her, admiring the absolute beauty of her body. Despite the experience with Brenda Markwell only hours before, he felt his penis stiffen and nudge at his shorts, anxious to be free.

For a fleeting moment, he was amused at the way sex could so easily slip into his mind. It seemed that he was perpetually ready to plunge his meat into anything female, like a stag without sense. Yet sex was what life was all about, wasn't it? Men and women welded together, making it in a million homes at any given moment. Sex was a shout of endorsement to life. In times like these, when war and hatred and ugliness seemed to bloom everywhere, sex was perhaps the only good activity left. He felt a moment of guilt when he thought how he had used and was still using his body – for profit, not for love – and he doubted his actions. But he had handled himself this way for too long to let that guilt establish itself. Rather than lose confidence in his body and the tightness of his use of it, he stepped out from concealment and walked along the beach toward the naked girl standing in the water, splashing it with her legs, bending and throwing it up over her.

He came to the edge of the water before she saw him. He had time to examine her closely, and his breath was taken away by what he saw. She was, without question, the most madly, wildly beautiful chick he had ever seen. She stood about five feet nine. Her legs were very long and lovelier than any legs he had ever seen. He could feel them pressed against his back as she writhed beneath him, and he knew he must have her. Her hips were ample, her ass so ripe that it made him ill. Her waist was tiny, which made her already large tits seem absolutely startling. Her face, framed in pitch black hair, was a vision. Wide lips, small nose, green eyes, smooth, clear skin. Her mouth had a constant sensual pout to it, and he wondered what it would be like to plow his meat into it.

She looked up, gasped, and went into the September Morn pose.

He laughed and said, "You've nothing to worry about. Besides, I've seen everything you've got anyway."

She dropped her hands from her breasts and put one on each hip, immediately transforming from modesty to brazenness. "Do you always sneak around looking at naked women?"

"If they parade around in the open," he said.

"You're the handyman here," she said. "I know that, so don't try anything funny." She laughed to show she meant it.

"That depends on what you mean by funny." He watched her luscious, creamy knockers. "Are you coming in?"

"Why don't you come out?" she asked.

He stood, watching her, looked around at the thick trees on all sides, thought about the isolation of the reservoir, and said, "Fine." He took off his shirt, dropped his pants and shorts, and went out to her.

"Well, well," she said, eyeing the hobbling, steel prick between his legs. "So you did have nasty thoughts."

He objected: "They were beautiful thoughts."

"Well," she said, "the cold water will take care of that."

He looked down at the protruding lance, took it in his hand and tested its stiffness. He looked up and grinned. "I don't think so."

She bent, her dizzying breasts even larger as they hung away from her, the nipples as big as chocolate drops, and splashed water onto him with her hands. She backed, laughing, as he tried to catch her, still splashing, make it impossible for him to close the distance. At last, when he was totally drenched, he dashed forward oblivious of her attack, closed with her, grabbing her, bearing her down into the sand and water.

He splashed her, then, until her lovely raven hair was plastered tightly to her head. Unlike most girls, she was unable to take exactly what she had dished out, and she sat in the water, her beautiful tits specked with sand and water droplets, laughing. He saw that she had perfect teeth, white and not so small that they looked like the teeth of an animal. When she was as wet as Sam, he stopped splashing her, and they sat in the water that came up to the bottom of her breasts, and laughed and joked with each other until she said, "Well, I bet that cold water worked, huh?"

He stopped laughing, only smiled now, and stood up in front of her. His great prick was still as stout as a wooden club, blood gorged, throbbing, aching along its length for a taste of her jelly.

She looked up at him, slightly shocked. "Are you the mythical God Pan?" she asked. "You must be."

"Someone once told me I was Jesus Christ," he said, laughing, watching her, wondering if she would react favorably if he tried for her now, tried to plunge her sweetness now. God, she made his balls throb and hurt with a physical pain! He had never seen any woman before who was so absolutely perfectly built, so designed for sex.

"To have a perpetual erection must be an attribute of a God," she was looking different now, more sensual. He knew that she could not take her eyes off the bloated organ, and that the longer that she looked at it, the more chance there was of having her.

"It's not perpetual," he said. "It takes a helluva chick to keep it up through all we've just done." He reached down and took it in his hand, toyed with it, held it toward her, the blind eye winking at her in the hot red knob.

"You're only trying to excite me when you play with it like that." She made no move either to come to him or to leave. Her indecision, he decided, was a good sign.

"Does it excite you?" he asked, still holding the lead like lump in his hand, milking it.

"Yes!"

"Well, you can hardly expect me to stop."

She raised her shoulders and shivered, making her king-sized boobies jiggle and tremble, bounce up and down. The nipples were swollen an inch and a half beyond the rest of the breasts. He felt his mouth go dry as he considered the delight of chewing and sucking them. "I've never seen one that size," she said, eyes still on the meat log in his hand.

"How many have you seen?" he asked. God, she was going to make him spurt right now, without even touching her. He slowed his hand and brought the trembling organ under control.