John Romero - Coed camp

She leaned her head against his shoulder briefly for comfort, then they took their places by the door, to watch through the tiny opening.

They didn't have long to wait. Pete Mordant came into the office and stood in front of Marsha, gazing at her with his disconcerting eyes.

"You sent for me, Miss Wilson. What do you want?" he asked, his voice level and calm.

"I just got a call from your doctor in New York, Pete," she said with professional coolness. "He said it's time to begin your allergy shots for hay fever."

"I don't want to take them," he said. "They hurt my arm."

"I'm afraid you must," she said with cool firmness.

He gazed at her a moment. "I don't have to," he said. "You remember the picture I showed you."

Dan had to admire Marsha more than ever. He could only guess what the incriminating picture of her might be. But she didn't turn a hair.

"Peter," she said, "this is something different. Your doctor will check you out himself when you get home, and he'll give them to you if you don't take them now. And I promise it won't hurt you. I'll give you a pill first that will keep you from feeling the shot at all."

Dan felt the cold sweat trickling down from his armpits as he watched the youngster stand for what seemed an eternity, gazing fixedly at Marsha.

"All right," he finally said. "Give me the pill."

Marsha shook a tablet from an envelope on her desk and got a paper cup of water from the water fountain against the wall. She handed them to him. He popped the tablet down his throat and drank the water.

"Sit down there for a moment, Pete," she said, pointing to the chair beside the desk. "I'll get the other things." She got up and came toward the bedroom door. Dan and Annabelle moved out of sight to let her in. She closed the door behind her and motioned them to follow her to the bathroom. They crowded inside and she closed that door, too.

"You stay in here," she whispered to them. "I'm going to bring him in to lie on the chaise lounge where we won't be interrupted. I've just given him a hypnotic tranquilizer powerful enough to calm a mad elephant. When I get him in here, I'll give him a hell of a big shot of scopolamine. Then we'll see what's what. Keep quiet, now." She slipped out and they cracked the bathroom door just a trifle so they could watch the inside of the bedroom.

"What's sco-sco-whatever she said?" Annabelle whispered, her lips right against Dan's ear.

"It's truth serum," he whispered back. "What the police use to get confessions."

The bedroom door opened and Marsha entered, followed by Peter. He was already looking a bit dazed.

"Just relax on that chaise lounge," Marsha said.

Obediently he lay back on the long chair, while she prepared a syringe for the injection. She swabbed his upper arm with an alcohol swab, then briskly jabbed the needle in. He didn't even flinch. She was right about the tranquilizer. She removed the needle, swabbed the spot again with alcohol, and put the syringe out of sight behind her. She sat on the edge of her bed, partly facing the reclining boy, and partly facing the bathroom door.

"How old are you, Pete?" she asked, and now she altered her voice so that it was slower, soothing, and lower pitched.

"I'm twelve," he replied drowsily.

"Do you like to go to school?" she asked.

"It bores me," he said and giggled. Coming from him, a giggle sounded strange, and this particular giggle sounded like something rusty.

"Well, that's too bad," Marsha continued, her voice like syrup. "What do you like to do?"

"I like to take pictures with my cameras," was the reply.

"Do you take good pictures?"

"Yes, I do."

No false modesty there, Dan thought, straining his eyes and ears so as not to miss a thing.

"What do you do with your pictures, Pete?"

"I keep them in albums, in the city."

"All of them?"

"Almost all of them. But I have some here, at camp, some very nice ones." Again the rusty giggle sounded, but Marsha kept her cool.

"I'll bet they're very nice," Marsha's velvety voice said. "I'd like to see them all. Where do you keep them?"

Without a moment's hesitation, the drugged youngster replied, "They're behind Mr. Acres' locker in the cabin."

Marsha's eyes flicked toward the bathroom door, as if she wanted to see that Dan had heard this last. Of course, he had heard it. What a chump I am, he raged silently. But how clever the little bastard was, putting the pictures in the last place Dan would think of looking for them. Naturally he was too smart to put them in his own locker.

Moving slowly and still talking to the relaxed boy, Marsha picked up another syringe and went over to him. He didn't seem to notice as she inserted the needle in his arm and thumbed the syringe empty into him. She had barely removed the needle when his head flopped over to the side. He was out cold. Marsha motioned for Dan and Annabelle to come out.

"He'll be out all night," she said in her normal voice. "Dan, carry him out in the ward for me. I'll stay with him, just in case anything goes wrong. You heard what he said. You and Annabelle take care of those prints and negatives. I mean, take care of them," she repeated with tight-lipped emphasis.

"Right, Marsha," Dan said, patting her arm. He picked up the featherlight sleeping boy and carried him out into the ward and placed him on the bed Marsha indicated. She pulled a chair up near the bed.

Followed closely by Annabelle, Dan hurried up to his cabin. He looked inside and saw that three or four youngsters were lounging around. "Come on," he said to Annabelle. They hurried over to the main office. Luckily, Stein was in.

"Coach, we've got a plan going. We're about to destroy the pictures and the negatives," he said rapidly. "But we've got to get the kids out of my cabin."

Without a question, Stein bounded up from his desk and went over to Dan's cabin. "All out!" he called to the youngsters inside. "A special activity over on the playing field."

When the boys were all out of the cabin, Dan and Annabelle rushed in. "Stand by the door and watch," he told her. He went to his tall upright locker, and noticed that it stood about an inch from the wall. He dragged it away and looked behind. Sure enough, he reached behind it and lifted out a thickly packed nine-by-twelve manila envelope.

"Hold this a minute," he said, thrusting it into Annabelle's hands. Then he went to Pete's bunk and pulled his, footlocker out from under the bunk. It was not locked. Quickly and thoroughly he checked it for any extra prints that Pete might have held out. Not one was in the footlocker. He closed it and shoved it back under.

"Come on," he said.

He and Annabelle ran up to the parking lot and jumped into his car. In seconds they were roaring down the forest road away from camp. When they came to the camp site where they had fucked on the table, he turned in and parked. She handed him the packet as they got out. They sat down side by side on one of the benches at the table, and Dan opened the packet. A pile of glossy color photos and darker negatives slid out onto the table top.

Their keyed-up nerves relaxed as they looked at the pictures together. They giggled over some of them, and Annabelle gasped over others. He saw the one that Peter had been threatening her with, and like the others, it was an excellent photo. The gangling Andy was relaxed comfortably in a chair in the main office, and between his wide spread legs Annabelle knelt, her long blonde hair spilling gracefully over his thighs as she slid her mouth down over his erect cock. They were both naked.

Everybody was naked in the photos.

"Ah ha!" Annabelle exclaimed. "And look at you, mister." She held up a picture of him with his cock deep in Norma's black bush, and expressions of extreme ecstasy on both their faces. "Looks like he got you both just as you got your jollies," she giggled.