John Romero - Coed camp

Even when their bodies had quit jerking from the spasms of orgasm, his cock still stayed hard, held securely by her active cunt muscles. Then, after what seemed a long time, he felt it softening and shrinking, and her clinging muscles relaxed. He slid out of her and rolled over on his back with a deep sigh.

She reached over and stroked his cheeks, trailing her finger along his lips. "You're a wizard, man," she said admiringly. "You really got me. I think I must've come half a dozen times before I quit."

Dan hadn't realized that she had been having little orgasms all along before the final blast.

After a while he said, "Do you think we can make it into the lake for a dip now?"

During the first week Dan learned the names of all his charges. They were pretty decent kids, he found, in spite of the fact that he had expected the worst from such very rich youngsters. Most of them went to private schools; that was where they learned their courtesy, for all of them addressed him as "sir." He was astonished at the wealth represented by the toys and games they had brought along to entertain themselves. One kid had model sports cars electronically directed by very sophisticated devices that must have cost a small fortune. Even their casual clothes were from exclusive tailoring shops. Most of them elected to wear the Camp Arrowhead T-shirts, like the counselors.

The bug-eyed kid who had looked through him that first night, Pete Mordant, had a fortune in photography gear. Not toy cameras, Dan noted, but the finest in professional makes, from a tiny Minox to an expensive Polaroid. Joe Cole, the older married counselor, taught arts and crafts, and Pete hung around his shop a great deal of the time.

"He doesn't seem interested in any sports or other hobbies," Joe remarked one afternoon during free period as a group of the counselors sat around in the main office, discussing their assigned campers. "Just photography."

"I think he's a genius," said Joe's wife, Maisie, who also taught arts and crafts, as well as archery.

"He looks like an insect," drawled Annabelle Faulkner.

"We can't get him into the water for love nor money," Sonya Plummer commented. Sonya was the waterfront instructor, along with Buddy Young. She was a well-stacked auburn-haired girl, a college student like most of the other counselors. She was also the sports activities coach for the girls. Dan suspected that she and Buddy had something going already, although they tried to act with only professional cordiality toward each other.

Most of Dan's working day was taken up by his tennis coaching. In the mornings he had the boys for an hour, then the girls, and the same in the afternoons. As well as the specialized duties, all the counselors were expected to assist in other activities such as boating, hiking, and so on. On the tennis courts, Dan also got acquainted with many of the other campers. Out of the total of eighty campers, not too many elected tennis for a steady activity. Most of them went for waterfront activities, or for the heavier phys-ed games like soccer and volleyball and softball.

It was toward the end of the first week that he got acquainted with Carol. He had gone through opening volley practice with his class of girls, and they had paired off to play doubles on the two doubles courts. One pair of girls was left standing, with no game. One of them, a pale blonde, asked to be excused to go to the infirmary. Dan guessed that she was beginning to get menstrual cramps.

"Coach, would you give me some instruction in stance?" the other girl asked him.

"Sure," he said. "Come on over to the practice board."

The practice wall, a heavy wooden structure as wide as a court and about twenty feet high, angled off from the regular playing courts. It had a net-high white line drawn across it, and court distances were marked off in front of it.

"What's your name?" he asked, as the girl fell into step with him, walking toward the wall.

"Carol."

He glanced down at her. She had long red hair tied back with a large green ribbon. He didn't know how old she was, but guessed her to be no more than fifteen. Her little tits pointed out hard and round like tennis balls against her blouse, and her slim legs tapered down trimly from her shorts to her socks. As she glanced up at him, he saw that her eyes were a bright green, and she had a few freckles scattered around her snub nose.

"Okay, Carol, stand here just like this," he directed, taking a position several feet away from the practice wall. He dropped a tennis ball, and with a deceptively easy swing of his racket, he caught it on the bounce and hit it fairly hard so that it smacked against the wall a bare two inches above the horizontal line. It bounced back, landing a few feet in front of him and bouncing up about waist high, when he hit it again, solidly and easily, to smack into the wall at the same spot.

"There," he said. "You try it like that."

The redhead took her position, dropped the ball, and swung. The bail arced high, nearly going over the top of the high board.

"No," he said gently, "not quite like that. Here." He stepped behind her, placed his hands on her narrow shoulders and turned her so that her side was toward the wall. Then he ran his hand along her arm to cover her hand on the handle of her racket.

"Now. Together. "His other arm reached around her to drop the ball, at the same time drawing her racket back in a smooth motion, then forward to hit the ball. flat, so that it went above the net mark.

"You'll have to show me that again, coach," she said. turning her head and smiling up at him. Her front teeth were a trifle crooked, he noticed, but her rather small mouth was cute, with a permanent smile.

He put his hand along her arm again, sliding it down to grip her hand over the racket handle. His other hand was around her to drop the ball again. She pressed back against him, then before he could guess what was happening, her hand went behind her to seize his cock through his shorts and squeeze it gently.

Dan shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but nobody on the courts could see what was going on.

"Hey," he exclaimed softly. "What's up, Carol? You trying to get us both in trouble?"

"It needn't be trouble, coach," she said, smiling up at him sweetly. She still held on to his dong, and he didn't dare jerk away violently or dance around for fear of attracting attention from the nearby courts. And he felt a hard-on coming under the gentle squeezing of her hand.

"Look, honey," he stalled "let's wait for a better time and place. Okay? This way we're going to get into trouble and we'll both get kicked out of camp."

"All right, coach," she said. Christ, he thought, hers were the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Like gleaming emeralds. "Another time, another place. Now, how's that stance again?"

And before he could guide her hand again, she dropped the ball, swung her arm in a graceful sweep and smacked the ball solidly, placing it in the identical spot where Dan had hit his. When the ball came back, she hit it again, and again, and again, each time spotting it in the same place.

"You little devil," he said admiringly. "You're practically a professional."

"I'm good at many things," she said. "See you soon, coach." And placing her racket across her shoulder, she sauntered away, back toward camp.

My God, Dan thought, looking after her thin, leggy figure, is this happening to all the counselors?

That night he lay stretched out on top of his bed in slacks and T-shirt, waiting for the regular sounds of sleep to assure him that his dozen kids were safe for another night. He had decided to go over to the infirmary, on the chance that no kids were on the sick list, and he could get in to see Marsha. Norma had given him a quick wink at dinner that evening, but he had no way of setting up a place to meet her, and he wasn't sure about trying that same spot on the beach. It was wide open, in case anybody came wandering along after hours. They had been lucky that first time.