Sheila Lane - The Tutor_s Suitors

Do you see them, sweet boy? Do you see the lips of womanhood that some day you might be able to put your strong young shaft between? Can you imagine what it would be like to have them squeezing your flesh? To find yourself trapped, deep in those fervid depths? To feel the tightness of me milking you of your lust!

Paula squatted on the sand, using one hand to hold the gateway of, her femininity open while she scooped up water with the other to thoroughly rinse the soap from her pubes and douche as well as she could. Over the sound of splashing, she heard more rustling of the bushes and wondered if there wasn't more than one watcher. For some reason that thought set her fevered imagination on fire again, and she moved out of the water, spread her towel out and laid down as though to sun herself. But almost as soon as she stretched out, she began to twist and roll sensuously. Caressing her tits with loving fingers, she raised her knees and flexed them slowly, opening and closing the pink crevice between them to further titillate those who were watching.

Her ass was lifting up and down, her back arching as though she were moving upward to meet the thrust of a man into her. Her thighs spread wide as though to accommodate a man's body. She wondered if the watchers could see the liquid evidence of her excitement, if they knew how ready, how available she was.

Suddenly there was a muttered curse from the bushes and a stage-whispered, "Jesus, I creamed my pants! I couldn't stand it anymore"

Muffled laughter followed from at least two throats, but as Paula sat up and looked in that direction, there was a collective gasp and another whisper.

"She's heard us! Let's get out of here!"

There was a mad scrambling, then the sound of pounding feet that gradually faded into the distance. For a few moments Paula sat staring blankly, then shook herself angrily. What kind of a nut was she to put on such a display? She got to her feet; ashamed of the hot wetness between her thighs, and reached for her clothes. Looking longingly at the cool water, she thought of going back in but one glance at her watch convinced her she'd better get back to camp. After all, she was in charge until Muster got here, and it was almost noon.

She dressed rapidly and hurried back along the path through the trees, wishing fervently that the Muster's would put in an appearance – all this responsibility in addition to her own problems was too much.

Trouble greeted her the minute she stepped from the shelter of the tall pines into the camp ground proper. One of the rules posted by the lake was that boaters and swimmers were not to use the lake at the same time, but every lifeguard they'd ever had at Mountain Grove was lax about enforcing the rule. Just this morning Paula had reminded Steve Tarbel about it, but apparently the minute she was out of sight he had let the kids do as they pleased. With youngsters rowing and diving from boats and others swimming and wading among them, there was bound to be an accident sooner or later, and now it had happened.

Paula heard the screams and shouts for help, and broke into a run toward the half-dozen or so young people milling frantically on the beach.

"Miss Swan! Miss Swan!" Cindy Davis yelled through cupped hands. "It's Billie Skokie! He was hit by an oar when the boat overturned! It looks like he's drifting in the direction of the spillway!"

"Oh my God!" Paula gasped, looking out over the lake as she ran. She was a fairly good swimmer but wasn't trained in lifesaving and hoped she wouldn't be called on to administer artificial respiration. She could see an overturned rowboat -in the middle of the lake with several boys clinging to it. The other rowboat and.the single sailboat were drawn up out of the water on the far side of the dammed-up river. The tow-headed Billie was drifting slowly but steadily toward the edge of the dam.

"Oh, no, no!" Paula felt personally responsible for the whole thing. If she hadn't been off playing sex games in the woods, this probably wouldn't have happened. "The lifeguard – where's Steve Tarbel?"

Valerie pointed silently back toward the cabins. The long-haired youth was walking cockily out of the woods on that side of the camp with a couple of giggling girls trading after him. Obviously he had been playing games, too. He was still so far away that Paula didn't see how he could possibly be of much help with the boy in the water.

"I'll have to try to save Billie myself," Paula said as the boy drifted closer and closer to the spillway with its ten-foot drop and the possibility of being sucked underwater and held there by the pressure.

She kicked off her shoes, stripped off the skirt and blouse and leaped into the water clad in panties and bra, striking out toward the floundering youngster as fast as she could swim.

She had gone only a few hundred feet when she realized she couldn't make it to Billie. She was already slowing, her breath coming in short gasps, and there was still quite a way to go. In fact, she knew that if she didn't turn back soon she might be in trouble herself.

I've got to go on! Got to! It's my fault, my responsibility, and I've got to get to him.

She risked a quick look back over her shoulder. The boys around the boat were clumsily trying to right it. Steven had taken off at a run across the narrow footbridge, heading for the other boats. There wouldn't be any help from those two sources in time to do much good.

"It's up to me… I've got to make it!" she said aloud, but her breath was a rasp in her own ears and her stroke was falling off noticeably. Even if she could cover the remaining distance to the boy, who was now only a hundred feet or so short of the spillway, she wouldn't be in any condition to help me. But she had to try. There was no one else to help… no one.

It was then she saw the tall, tanned young man racing along the shore carrying a surfboard. He was much closer to the drowning boy than she and was making better time. She breathed a sigh of relief and slowed to a crawl although still continuing in the direction of the spillway. From the young man's mop of reddish-brown hair and the athletic look of him, she was almost sure it was Rod Taylor, the park ranger from the station a mile or so up the hill from Mountain Grove.

"Oh boy, he'll really read us out about this," she said, recalling the previous year when they had been in constant conflict with the ranger about the way the camp was being run. He had been extremely critical of their lack of safety precautions, the fire hazard posed by the old buildings and the inadequate training of the volunteer counselors. He and Paula had clashed several times, even though she knew he was right about Mountain Grove. She had thought him such a know-it-all that she couldn't stand him despite his undeniable good looks and physical attractiveness.

She watched his graceful glide into the water on the surfboard and the flashing heels and paddling hands that moved him toward the almost unconscious Billie.

By the time the ranger reached the boy, Paula had stopped swimming. There were pains in her chest, and her arms and legs felt as though they were made of lead. All she could do was keep herself afloat by treading water. Maybe in a few minutes she'd get her breath back sufficiently to reach shore. The important part was that Taylor had reached the boy and was hoisting his limp body up onto the surfboard.

Thank God! At least I won't have his death on my conscience! If he had drowned because I was off in the woods behaving like an oversexed fool, rd never have forgiven myself!

"Can you hold on for a few minutes, Miss Swan?" Taylor called.

"I'm all right! I'm perfectly all right!" she shouted back. "Take Billie ashore, I can make it."

She went under for a second and when she came up sputtering, she began to get scared. Her tired legs no longer seemed able to keep going and her, arms almost refused to move.