Ann Griffin - Skin summer

When Linda tugged off her faded jeans, pulled them down her long tan legs and dropped them on the floor beside her rumpled bed, she was clad in only a bra and a very brief pair of yellow panties. Through the thin amber silk, Sam could see the dark patch of her bush. In a few moments, she would be offering that sweet rounded hillock of flesh between her lags, and he would be accepting what she so badly wanted to give. This was the third time in two days they had met in her cabin to make love – always at her suggestion. It was that way with him. He very seldom needed to do the seducing.

Sam Walker was a beautiful boy, only twenty, but very much a man where it counted. His body was smoothly muscled, tawny. Afterwards, when he laid in bed with his women, they could never resist feeling his body with the same tenderness and passion a man usually feels toward a lovely woman. He had the face of someone you were certain you had seen in the motion pictures, and he would keep his boyishness, like Gary Grant or Hudson, keep it well through middle age. But it wasn't these things alone that drew women to him. He had an air of sensuality about him that was undeniable. He radiated a male virility that a number of types of women could not resist. Fortunately for him, he could come through in the bedroom well enough to insure that his original impression remained when the women left him. It was this talent with his male baggage that had gotten him spending money, a used car, and any number of other little luxuries during his first few years of college. It had also come in quite handy in one or two courses for getting better grades than he deserved.

"Get undressed," Linda said from the bed where she sat, her long, well-formed legs stretched out taut before her.

"You first," Sam said from where he stood by the door, still fully clothed. "I like it much better when you're naked first. Then you can undress me."

She shrugged her shoulders, pushed a strand of long, brown hair back from her face. He knew she would agree. Women always agreed with whatever he had in mind – especially after he had banged them once before. She reached behind and unclasped her bra, shrugged it down her arms, and dropped it on top of her jeans. Her breasts thrust out proudly, handfuls of warm, white flesh, a violent contrast to the darkness of her tan. He could see that the nubs of the nipples were standing high and tight in the middles of the huge pink-brown roseates. She was ready for him now, wanting him badly now. She would do anything to get him in her.

When he had first come to Daley-Hanover Camp for this summer job, Sam had been momentarily worried about being able to work his racket as he wished. It was essential that he be able to bind the camp director to him as insurance against being prosecuted for what he planned to do – and, more simply, as insurance against being fired. But the director had been Mrs. Amanda Worley, in her early sixties and well past the point where he could use his baggage to make her his tool. He had been about to abandon the entire idea, when Linda Mock had come into old lady Worley's office, and he had discovered that it was Linda who actually ran the camp, supervised the labor. Mrs. Worley was a figurehead and did a little paperwork, nothing else. She owned the camp, but she knew little or nothing about what went on in it.

And he knew he was going to be able to make it with Linda Mock, for she had given him the familiar cow-eyed look the first moment she had seen him, the look that said he could crawl into her pants any time he wished without any dues being involved. It was a great relief, for it not only meant he could keep his job and work his racket when the camp opened, but it meant he could enjoy Linda whenever he wished – and she was certainly an enjoyable enough female.

She had her panties off now, and was massaging her pubic thatch. "Come on, now," she said to him. "I want you quick."

Sam stood by the door a moment, making her wait. It was no good to do anything her way, for that put her in charge. He must always be the dominant partner if he were to keep her as a tool. At last, he crossed to the bed and stood before her, looking down at her thirty-eight size breasts, further to the curling black hairs at the bottom of her belly. She had been working her cunt with two fingers, and there was a trail of her sweet juice through her thatch.

"I want you to take my clothes off," he told her again, and he stood waiting for her to move.

She dropped to her knees before him and worked at his belt, then the snap on his Levi's.

"My shoes," he said.

She worked his shoes off, loafers, and his sox, then drew down his jeans. When he stepped out of those, she pulled down his white cotton shorts as well, helped him get rid of those, then turned back to the thick penis that hung in front of her face, bloated, red, throbbing with a hot rush of blood. She took it in her hands, feeling the heat of it, marveling at its size. It was between seven and eight inches long, but very much wider than most organs she had seen. She closed her eyes, kissed the knob of it, then stood and helped him out of his shirt.

She ground her bush against his crotch, pressed tightly against him, the curves of her luscious body molding into him, her heavy knockers hard against his chest. "Now?" she asked.

He smiled. She was possessed of some understanding now: she had no say and she realized it. She must do what he wanted of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed down. "Suck my cock," he said. "For starters, anyway."

She went down before him and pressed her face between his legs, smothering herself in the heavy equipment nestled there. She was breathing heavily, excited. A moment later, she pulled back and grasped his penis in her hand, held it like a banana, looking at it with very wide eyes. Then she bent her head and slid the knob of his beast between her full, wet lips.

He started at the warmth and slickness of her mouth, felt his balls jerking on their cords. But his great talent had always laid in his ability to keep from ejaculating for excessively long periods, and he soon had a firm grip on himself.

She pulled back, letting the beast bobble before her, glistening with her saliva. "It's long," she said, still looking at it, unable to pull away her glazed eyes. "But that's not so important as the thickness. It's so wide, so thick."

He did not say anything, merely pushed her head nearer his aching rod.

"Wait," she said. "Can we move to the bed? Lay down, and I'll suck you then."

"Sure," he said, lifting her, cupping her large breasts and squeezing them, kneading them. He felt his prick jump between her legs like an animal with a life of its own. "Come on," he said, turning her to the bed. He stretched out, his head on a pillow so he could watch her work over him, then smiled at her.

She kissed his chest and belly, then his heavy penis. She slid the brute into her mouth, stuffed it back until she gagged. She tilted her throat at a slightly different angle and was able to get more of it in, tonguing the underside of it, pumping it in and out as if he was really buried in her cunt and not her mouth.

Sam gripped the sheets and concentrated on getting the most out of her soft mouth without spitting any precious cream. He was going to need every ounce of vitality starting tomorrow, and he would have to conserve on his fluids from now on. Daley-Hanover Camp was a summer retreat for the daughters of extremely wealthy families. The parents went to Europe or South America, and their daughters came here where they would be out of the way. The staff of the camp was female, except for the handyman needed for heavy work. This summer, Sam Walker had landed that post. He was confident that the paycheck he picked up from the camp would be secondary to the money he could get out of some of these wealthy little bitches.