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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Summer Camp - Chapter 02 (voy, mast)
Date: Sun, 15 Dec 2002 12:10:03 -0500
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Author: Nick Scipio
Title: Summer Camp - Book 1: Susan
Part: Chapter 02
Universe: Summer Camp
Summary: Coming-of-age story about a teenager whose family spends
their summer vacations at a nudist camp.
Keywords: voy, mast
Revision: 1.3
Archive: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/SummerCamp1
Mailing List: Scipio_Stories-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
FAQ: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/scipio/www/faq.htm
*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT
entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL
nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or
language, please DO NOT read any further.
All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse
any of the activities described in this story.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio
(imperatorSPAM@BLOCKmindspring.com). This story may be freely
distributed with this disclaimer attached.
Copyright (c) 2002 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.
*****************************************************************
Summer Camp - Book 1: Susan
by Nick Scipio
CHAPTER TWO
The next two days passed quickly, and even though I paid close
attention, I didn't catch my mom staring at my penis again. Each
morning, I made sure I got out of bed before my morning erection
had fully subsided. I guess I was kind of showing off, but she
kept her eyes firmly averted. I don't know why I'd thrown caution
(not to mention modesty) to the wind, but I'd done it. Mom didn't
say anything to me, though I know she must have noticed.
-----
Three days after my father left, a late-afternoon storm was
brewing. The skies were getting dark and the wind had whipped up.
The first fat raindrops began pelting the roof of the clubhouse
shortly after dinner. The clubhouse was crowded that night, since
it was raining, and there was a lot to do. I was starting to get
tired, however, and was trying to decide if I wanted to go to bed
or play another game of ping-pong. Mom came up to me about then
and said that she and Erin were going up to the cabin to get
ready for bed. I decided to join them, and we went to the screen
door to look out into the storm.
The wind had abated somewhat, but it was still raining steadily.
We waited for a few minutes, to see if it would slack off, but it
didn't. Finally, we decided to go ahead and run for it, and the
three of us streaked off into the rainy night. There were a few
streetlights up the sandy road, so we could see where we were
going, but in the storm, their light reached only so far. So we
had to move carefully, and the rain beat down on our unprotected
skin as we ran up the hill.
With a last sprint, Erin surged ahead of me (I had already passed
Mom) and bounded up the cabin stairs. I came up shortly, winded,
and turned to watch Mom run the last bit. When she reached the
stairs, we all stood in the light of the single bulb on the
porch, panting with exertion and grinning at each other.
Mom stepped back out onto the porch steps and held first her
right foot, then her left, under the water sheeting off the cabin
roof. The cascading water washed the wet sand off her feet and
calves, and Erin and I quickly followed suit.
Mom, still dripping, stepped into the cabin to get our bath
towels--our beach towels were soaked from where we'd left them on
the railing earlier in the day. When she stepped back out into
the light of the porch, she handed us towels and began to dry
herself. We toweled off quietly and listened to the sound of the
raindrops hitting the roof above us and the pine forest all
around us.
Erin finished drying off and went inside without a word. I was
vigorously rubbing my head, drying my hair, when Mom threw her
hair forward over her head and bent at the waist to dry it.
She had been facing away from me when she bent over, and in the
light of the single bulb, I could clearly make out her pussy
lips. The hair around her pussy was sparse between her legs, and
her plump labia were plainly visible. She ran the towel over her
hair as I stared at her exposed sex. I was so transfixed by the
sight, I had stopped drying my own hair.
With a wave of near panic, I realized that my penis was quickly
becoming erect. With a strangled squeak, I dropped the towel to
cover my nearly erect dick, pretending to dry my pubic hair.
With a lurch, I pulled open the screen door and ran inside. As I
entered the cabin, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mom
standing up with a quizzical expression. The screen door shut
with a bang as I quickly rushed to the bathroom to hang up my
towel and then turned, headed for the safety of my top bunk. My
heart sank as I came out of the bathroom and saw Mom just
stepping through the screen door.
I decided there was nothing I could do, and quickened my pace
towards the ladder, my cock leading the way. I kept my gaze
focused on the ladder, and once again, out of the corner of my
eye, I saw Mom look at me curiously. She didn't say anything
though, and I climbed the ladder in relief, slipping under the
sheet and rolling to my stomach to hide my erection. I knew she
had seen the divining rod that was my hard-on, however, and I was
once again overcome with a feeling of embarrassment mixed with
exhilaration.
-----
That next morning, I woke early. I don't know what woke me, but
the cabin was bathed in the same half-light as the world outside,
and it was still raining lightly. I lay awake for a few minutes,
listening to the sound of the rain and breathing in the smell of
the damp pine forest around us.
I heard a low sound, almost like a moan, and I realized what had
woken me. Very quietly, very slowly, I rolled over so I could
look over the edge of the top bunk. I looked down at Mom's bed
and what I saw there made me pause.
The sheets were still covering her, but as she lay on her back, I
could see the outline of her form quite clearly. She had her eyes
closed, and as her head gently rolled from side to side, I saw
the sheet moving at the junction of her legs. As I watched, I
realized that she had her right hand pressed against her pussy
and was moving it in small circles. Her left hand was at her left
breast, and she was squeezing her nipple.
With a start, I realized she was masturbating, and I once again
felt a familiar hardness between my own legs. I gazed down in
wonder, watching my mother pleasure herself. With her left hand,
she would alternate cupping her breast and kneading her nipple.
Her right hand never let up its relentless motion as she moved
her fingers in little circles.
I watched for perhaps five minutes, gently stroking my erection
with my right hand, as Mom brought herself closer and closer to
her climax. Suddenly, she tensed up and her right hand froze. Her
legs stiffened and she rolled her head to the side to bite into
the pillow, stifling any sound she might have made. She brought
both legs up, with her knees to her chest, and rocked back and
forth for ten or fifteen seconds. She did all this in complete
silence. Once her orgasm subsided, she quietly rolled to the
side, her legs still drawn up. I could see her softly panting
with the exertion and pleasure of the moment.
She lay like that for quite a while, unmoving, as she slowly
regained her normal breathing rhythm. I don't know how many
minutes passed before she straightened her legs and rolled back
onto her back. When she did, I saw that her right hand was still
pressed against her pussy. She slowly pulled it away from her sex
and cupped her breasts with both hands. I watched as she
languidly kneaded them, caressing her nipples with the tips of
her fingers. Finally, to my disappointment, she put her hands
back down by her hips and took a deep breath.
From my perch on the top bunk, in the slowly lightening morning,
I had just watched my mother pleasure herself. As she lay
motionless on her bed, I rolled over as quietly as I could,
putting my back to the exposed edge of the bunk bed. I wanted to
stroke my erection, to bring myself to orgasm as my mother had
just done, but I couldn't. I knew Mom would see or hear me if I
tried.
By the time I heard her quietly get up and begin to move about
the cabin, the sun had come up fully and its light had began to
filter through the fragrant pine trees behind the cabin. The rain
had also stopped entirely, though a fine mist still hung in the
air, almost aglow with the sun's light. When I stopped stroking
myself, my erection slowly shrank. It was still tumescent,
however, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and felt for
the ladder rung with my toes.
Outside, birds had begun singing after the rain. The storm had
knocked a few degrees off the temperature and the normally cool
morning was downright chilly. Without a word, Mom and I left Erin
sleeping and walked down to the clubhouse in companionable
silence.
Earlier, in the cabin, when she had bent over to brush her hair
out, I had noticed that her labia were swollen and dark pink. It
excited me thinking about her masturbating, but I ruthlessly kept
my thoughts and emotions in check, and we made it to the
clubhouse without me getting an erection.
As we neared the clubhouse, we saw that the storm gusts had done
a lot of superficial damage. There were smaller, as well as some
larger branches down all along the road to the clubhouse. When we
approached the side door, there was a big branch, six or eight
inches in diameter, almost touching the back corner of the
building.
Once inside, through the screened windows on the far side of the
clubhouse, we saw that many of the lighter lawn chairs on the
side porch had been blown about and scattered by the force of the
storm.
As Mom and I headed to the kitchen area to fix some breakfast, we
saw Aunt Susan drinking a glass of juice at one of the tables.
One of the odd things about Aunt Susan was that she always wore
bikini bottoms. That wasn't unusual, in and of itself. Women and
girls at the camp wore shorts or bikini bottoms during their
period. So seeing a woman partially clothed wasn't surprising.
What was odd, at least to my mind, was that Aunt Susan _always_
wore bikini bottoms. I'd seen her in several different pairs, but
she was always clad in something. They weren't prim either, like
she was simply old-fashioned; they were usually trendy bikini
bottoms. She just always wore them.
I had always thought that maybe she was just self-conscious. I
didn't think much more about it, however, as Mom headed for Aunt
Susan's table and I offered to fix breakfast.
"Thank you, Paul. I'd like just a piece of buttered toast and a
glass of orange juice," Mom said as she sat down across from Aunt
Susan.
"Would you like me to fix you anything, Aunt Susan?" I asked,
trying to show off how polite I was.
"No thank you, Paul," she said. I headed for the kitchen to toast
some bread and fix myself a bowl of cereal.
When I returned with Mom's toast and juice, and my own bowl of
Fruit Loops, Mom and Aunt Susan were talking. Mom had a concerned
look on her face, and as I seated myself, she recounted their
conversation to me.
"Aunt Susan's house suffered quite a bit of minor damage in last
night's storm," Mom said. Susan's house was surrounded by a lot
of pine trees, and was set away from the rest of the buildings at
the camp. "She's got branches, including several large ones, on
her roof and in her courtyard. She was also telling me that the
fiberglass roof over her back patio had many pieces simply
missing."
"That's too bad," I said, not knowing what else to say. I covered
up by digging into my cereal with gusto.
"It'll take several days to clean it up," Aunt Susan said, "and
with the boys away for the summer, I'm on my own."
Mom knew a set-up for an enterprising young man when she heard
one. "Paul would be happy to help you, if you need him."
I froze, mid-bite, and lifted my head to look at each of the
older women at the table. Words cannot express how much I
desperately wanted to avoid schlepping around picking up
branches, or anything else that smacked of volunteer work.
"I could pay you, Paul," she said, looking at me. "Three dollars
an hour."
That got my attention. Three dollars was better than minimum
wage! For a cash-strapped 15-year-old, it was good money. I
chewed the mouthful of Fruit Loops I had just scooped up and
raised my eyebrows in interest.
"It's a couple days' worth of work," she cautioned. "But I'll
feed you breakfast and lunch."
"Oh, Susan, you don't have to do that," Mom said.
"It'll be nice," Aunt Susan replied. "With both the boys away
with college, the house is too quiet. It'll be nice having
someone around to fix a meal for. Besides," she said with mock
severity, "I insist."
"I'm sure Paul would love to do it," Mom said, neatly
volunteering me. "Just make sure he's back in time for dinner at
six."
I was a bit peeved at being summarily volunteered, but the money
took the wind out of any resentment that I might have felt.
I quickly did the math in my head and thought to myself, "I could
make more than fifty dollars!" That was a princely sum, and I
eagerly nodded.
"It's settled then," Aunt Susan said. "There's nothing pressing
that needs to be done today, Paul, so why don't you come 'round
tomorrow morning and we'll make a clean start of it?"
I scooped another spoonful of cereal into my mouth and nodded
with enthusiasm.
-----
The next morning, Mom made sure I was up on time, and I headed
down the hill towards Aunt Susan's house.
At 38, Aunt Susan was only two years older than my parents. She
also looked quite a lot like my mom. Her hair was darker and her
breasts were different, but otherwise, they had very similar
figures.
The differences between their breasts were mostly cosmetic--they
were roughly the same size and shape, although Aunt Susan's were
a little rounder than Mom's. But where my mother was tanned a
golden bronze, Aunt Susan was fair. She had dark pink areolas, a
little larger than Mom's, that were perfectly round. Her nipples,
however, were less pronounced than Mom's. She had the same
hourglass figure and blue eyes that my mother had. I realized
with a start that the two of them could have been sisters.
As I strode purposefully towards her house, set about a hundred
feet away from anything else, I saw that the thick stand of pines
had taken a beating from the previous night's storm. There were
branches, some larger around than my arm, littering the ground
underneath the pines. Before I got to the trees, I could see only
glimpses of the house itself, but as I imagined the work in front
of me, I cringed inwardly, wondering what I had gotten myself
into.
As I approached the house, I saw branches large and small on the
low roof too. When I got closer, I could also see that the
corrugated fiberglass panels that had covered half the back patio
had also been blown about quite a bit. Once I got to the entrance
to the walled courtyard, I found plenty of storm damage and
debris there too. I would have my work cut out for me over the
next several days. Thoughts of easy money fled my mind: I would
earn what I got paid.
Oh well, it was easier than spending the summer working at
McDonalds!
-----
I walked through the debris-littered courtyard and approached the
screen door. I didn't see a bell, so I simply opened the screen
door and knocked on the kitchen door itself. I waited a minute or
so and knocked again, louder this time, and let the screen door
close. When the kitchen door finally opened, I saw Aunt Susan
through the screen door. With a white towel wrapped around her
head, she greeted me with a smile.
"I'm so sorry, Paul," she said. "I was just getting out of the
shower. I didn't expect you this early."
"I can come back later, if you like," I said by way of apology.
"No, no. Now's just fine." She pushed the screen door open.
"C'mon in."
She stepped back as I grasped the screen door myself and swung it
wide. I stepped past her, into the kitchen, and immediately moved
to the left towards the corner where two counters met. The
kitchen was dim, since Aunt Susan had apparently rushed straight
from the bathroom to the back door without turning on the lights.
As I leaned back in the corner, the cool Formica chilled my bare
skin, and I realized with a start that her house was air-
conditioned. After enough time without air conditioning, I had
gotten used to the heat of South Carolina, and my skin raised
goose bumps in the cool, dry air.
Aunt Susan stepped forward to shut the door, and then flipped the
light switch next to it. The kitchen light came on and she turned
toward me. What I saw then is one of my fondest memories. What
happened next is one of my most embarrassing, yet humorous,
memories.
As she turned, I saw she had only the towel around her hair. In
the light of the kitchen, I saw what the screen door and the
dimness had prevented me from seeing earlier. Aunt Susan was not
deeply tanned (I knew she didn't lay out in the sun by the lake)
although she did have a slight bronze color to her skin. She was
a very pale alabaster where her bikini bottoms blocked out the
sun, with sharply defined tan lines. And suddenly, I realized why
she always wore a pair of bikini bottoms. As my eyes quickly
flicked over her body, they stopped and I suddenly stood
transfixed by the sight before me.
She had no pubic hair, and I could clearly see the smooth skin of
her lips. My penis betrayed me, and I got an erection so quickly
that I'm amazed I didn't pass out from lack of blood to my brain!
It happened so fast that I didn't know what to do; I couldn't
very well stand there with my cock standing at right angles to my
body. I did the only thing my panic-stricken brain could think
of, I spun around and faced the counter, hiding my erection in
the corner.
"Are you okay, Paul?" Aunt Susan asked, her voice suddenly very
concerned.
I knew she probably hadn't seen my erection, since I'd spun
around so quickly, but I'm sure she easily deduced what the
problem must have been.
I mumbled something incoherent and stared into the corner.
"Are you okay?" she repeated, still concerned at my lack of
coherent response.
I mutely nodded, willing my erection to subside. I could feel the
flush of embarrassment on my neck and face, but I simply didn't
know what to do. In the end, Aunt Susan's gentle voice came to my
rescue.
"You got an erection, didn't you," she said soothingly,
reasonably, in the same tone of voice that she might've used to
say "you have blue eyes."
I didn't respond for several moments, and she let the silence
draw out. Embarrassed as I was, I couldn't deny the obvious,
especially since she'd put it out in the open so plainly. I felt
my neck and face heat further and nodded jerkily.
"It's okay, Paul. It's natural. It's nothing to be ashamed of,"
she continued in the same reasonable tone. "You can turn around,
your erection won't offend my sensibilities."
I couldn't! My traitorous penis was still as hard as steel. I
shook my head, still not trusting myself to speak.
"Paul, I've run the camp for a long time. Besides, I have two
sons of my own. I've seen a young man with an erection before,"
she said soothingly. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed
about."
I shook my head again, not daring to move.
Her tone took on a firmer quality, "Paul, an erection is a
natural thing. It's nothing to be ashamed of. If you stand in the
corner all day, we won't get much work done." She paused for a
moment to let that sink in. "Turn around, I'll cook us some
breakfast, and before you know it, you'll be fine."
She was so reasonable. She was so matter of fact. Embarrassment
or not, I decided it was stupid to stay with my nose, not to
mention my erection, stuck in the corner. Besides, it wasn't like
she didn't know what the problem was.
Reluctantly, I turned around to face her. For the first time in
my young life, I stood in full view of another person with my
dick as hard as a steel rod. I hung my head in shame, not daring
to look at her.
"Paul," she said, her voice brooking no objection, "look at me."
I slowly raised my face, but wouldn't make eye contact with her.
"Paul." The one word was tantamount to an order.
When my eyes finally met hers, I could see that she was neither
embarrassed nor surprised. In fact, she seemed completely at
ease.
She looked me in the eyes and said, "Now that wasn't so hard, was
it?"
At her choice of words, I blushed furiously... all evidence to the
contrary. She saw the expression on my face, realized what she
had said, and let a short burst of laughter escape her lips
before covering her mouth with a hand. Her eyes were smiling, and
I could tell she was trying very hard not to giggle. It was
equally obvious that she was laughing at her own poor choice of
words, and not at me. Her mirth was infectious, and I found
myself grinning like an idiot in return. Her self-control finally
deserted her, and she began laughing helplessly. I couldn't
resist, and despite the absurdity of the situation, I laughed
right along with her.
The tension banished, she took a step back to the kitchen table,
pulled out a chair, and gestured for me to sit.
"I'll fix us some breakfast," she said, her laughter having
subsided enough to speak.
-----
Aunt Susan fixed eggs, link sausage, and toast, and poured us
glasses of orange juice. The whole time she was fixing breakfast,
I silently watched her. She bustled about the kitchen, the
awkwardness of earlier completely forgotten. Every time I could,
I sneaked glances at her smooth pubis and wondered why she had no
pubic hair. My erection, hidden by the kitchen table, swelled
almost uncomfortably as I sat in the chair.
The only conclusion my young mind could come to was that she had
cancer. People with cancer lost their hair, right? I was
profoundly ashamed of the fact that I was so aroused by something
as deadly as cancer. At the time, it never occurred to me that
she still had a full head of hair, and that cancer itself doesn't
cause people's hair to fall out. _Cancer treatment_ causes
people's hair to fall out, and if I'd thought about it, I'd have
known that she wasn't driving into town for regular cancer
treatments. But my thoughts were awhirl, and I didn't think that
far ahead, as enthralled as I was by the sight of her beautiful,
smooth pussy.
As she turned around to set the breakfast plates on the table, my
curiosity finally got the better of me and I blurted out, "Do you
have cancer?"
"Cancer?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. She looked
confused. "What in the world makes you think that?"
"Um... well... uh...," I stammered. "When people have cancer... um...
doesn't their... um... hair fall out?"
To my complete chagrin, she laughed. Her laughter was tolerant
and unconcerned, and directed at me as much as herself. She
pointed to her towel-wrapped head and raised her eyebrows. I
mentally slapped myself in the forehead. Of course her hair
hadn't fallen out! At my look of recognition and then subsequent
confusion, she laughed again. It was a bright, musical laugh that
didn't embarrass me more than I'd already embarrassed myself.
Without thinking, I forged ahead, "Then why do you... I mean... uh...
why is your... um..." I darted my eyes towards the junction of her
legs as words finally--and thankfully--failed me.
Looking down at herself and finally realizing what I was
blathering about, she rescued me from my stumbling almost-
questions.
"No, Paul, I don't have cancer." She gave me a searching look,
and I could see her come to a silent decision. "I shave my pubic
hair," she said gently, still smiling at me to ease my obvious
distress.
The look of astonishment on my face couldn't have been plainer.
Why in the world would someone shave their pubic hair? I hadn't
even thought of that.
"Why in the world would you do that?" I can't believe I said that
out loud!
It was her turn to blush as her comforting smile transformed into
a wry grin. I watched her try to decide how to answer my abrupt
and awkwardly forthright question. Finally, I guess she settled
on the truth.
"My husband liked me...," she said, then paused to marshal her
thoughts. "He liked it that way," she said simply. "I discovered
that I liked it better too, so I've kept... things...," she said with
a smile of avoidance, "smooth ever since he died."
"So that's why you wear bikini bottoms!"
"That's why I wear bikini bottoms," she said simply. "At least,
when I'm away from the house. Around here, I don't bother much.
Although," she said with a teasing grin that punctured my hard-
won self-control, "if the erections continue, I might have to
rethink that policy." With that, she pulled out her own chair and
sat down.
Once again, I blushed furiously, but she laughed gently to take
the sting out of it. I began to seriously apply myself to eating
breakfast, thankful for the welcome diversion.
"When did your husband die?" I asked, washing a bite of eggs down
with a swig of juice.
As long as we'd been coming to the camp, I'd never known Aunt
Susan to have a husband. She had two sons, 3 and 5 years older
than me, and I guess I'd known she must've been married. But I
hadn't thought much about it. I had been too young to hang around
with Kirk, her older son, before he left for college. And while I
knew Doug, her younger son, I didn't know him well. And now that
he was also away for the summer, she was all alone in the house.
At my question, she set her fork down and took a sip of her own
orange juice, apparently composing her thoughts. I belatedly
realized that I might've brought up a painful subject.
"He was killed in Vietnam," she said simply, without emotion.
Though as I looked at her, I realized that her emotions were very
tightly controlled.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It's been almost 10 years," she said, and picked up
her fork again. "He was a pilot in the Navy."
"Oh?" I asked, suddenly interested.
"His plane was shot down in 1968," she said with the same tight
emotional control.
"What did he fly?" I asked, trying to change the subject, but
still intensely interested.
"A-4s."
"Really? My Dad flew A-4s too!"
"Mmm hmm."
Her look prompted me for more, but I was at a loss for what she
wanted me to say. Then it hit me!
"Did my dad know your husband?"
She smiled at my sudden understanding. "Why do you think your
family started coming here?"
"Oh," I said simply, chagrinned again.
She smiled at me again. "Jack and your father were very good
friends. Your mom and I met when we were all stationed in
California. We've kept in touch ever since Jack was killed."
I blinked at her. Dad never talked much about his time in
Vietnam, so I knew very little about that part of his life. I was
as clueless about things outside of my immediate interest.
Besides, I was too young at the time to remember much about when
we lived in California.
"We'd better get to work, though, so we can get as much done as
we can, while it's still cool," she said, standing and collecting
her plate and glass.
During our conversation about her husband, my erection had abated
a bit, but when she stood and I saw the slit of her smooth pussy,
it returned full force. I gulped as she looked down at me. I was
too embarrassed to stand up and reveal the fact that I was still
erect.
"Do you still have an erection?" she asked with gentle sympathy.
I swallowed hard and nodded at her, blushing again.
She smiled and shook her head in wonder. "The stamina of the
young," she teased me. She got serious quickly, though. "It's
okay. Once we get to work, it'll go down." She nodded to reassure
me. "Now, bring your dishes over to the sink and let's get to
work."
Her tone said she would suffer no objections, and I complied. But
when I stood up, the tip of my penis caught on the edge of the
table. When I pulled back slightly to free it, it flipped up and
then bobbed gently. Aunt Susan saw the motion and dropped her
eyes to my dick. I blushed again (I had been doing that a lot)
and she stifled a giggle. With a pained and forlorn expression, I
looked up at her and she burst out laughing. Her laughter was too
contagious, and too sympathetic--I couldn't help but laugh at my
own predicament as I began gathering up my breakfast dishes.
Still smiling, she looked at me across the table. "I guess I
should be flattered. It's not every woman who has such a...," she
nodded to indicate my penis, pausing to consider her words,
"loyal... admirer." Susan smiled at me mischievously, taking the
punch out of her words, and turned towards the sink.
As I walked towards her with my dishes in hand, she turned.
"You rinse off the dishes while I go dry my hair."
I nodded wordlessly and she turned to go into the back of the
house.
-----
When she returned, she carried two pairs of work gloves. She
tossed me the larger pair as we headed towards the door to the
courtyard.
We worked hard all morning long. There was lots of storm debris
to pick up, sweep up, and pile up to be burned later. By
lunchtime, we had managed to clean out the entire courtyard,
righting tipped-over and damaged flowerpots, dragging off pine
branches, and generally picking up.
The entire time, my erection never completely subsided. When I
was concentrating on something, it would shrink a little. But
then I'd catch a glimpse of Aunt Susan's shaved pussy and my
penis would surge to life again, seemingly with a will of its
own.
I could also tell that she was stealing glances at my penis. How
could she not, when it was swelling and bouncing every time I
looked her way? Whenever I looked her direction, I'd saw her
quickly avert her eyes. Her earlier protests to the contrary,
perhaps she hadn't spent much time around a horny teenager with a
constant, and very visible, erection.
For my part, I tried to ignore it as best I could. And I tried
like hell not to scrape it with anything like the rough bark of a
pine bough.
I was also surreptitiously admiring her body as much as I could.
Constantly seeing the flawless alabaster skin of her ass and her
smooth-shaven pussy slit was almost too much. I began to
appreciate how attractive Aunt Susan was. Her breasts were
similar to Mom's, and were very appealing. I laughed to myself at
the thought. All breasts were appealing! I was mesmerized,
watching as they swayed when she bent over to work on her
flowerpots.
It was the constant glimpses of her body, and her exotic shaved
pussy, that kept me in a constant state of excitement.
When it was time for lunch, she brought out a clean towel and a
spray bottle of Formula 409. At her instruction, I cleaned the
glass top of the wrought-iron table and wiped down each of the
chairs as she was fixing lunch.
In a few minutes, she came out with a tray of ham sandwiches,
potato chips, and tall glasses of lemonade already beginning to
bead with sweat in the heat. We ate in comfortable silence, my
erection visible through the glass of the table the whole time. I
had sort of gotten used to the fact that it wasn't going to
oblige me any time soon (at least until I was finished for the
day and could find someplace quiet to masturbate like a fiend).
Aunt Susan seemed to be squirming in her seat a little, but she
stopped when she saw that I'd noticed. At the time, I remember
thinking that she must have an itch. As it turned out, I was
right.
-----
The rest of the afternoon was spent dragging branches from the
area surrounding the house. By the time we were done, we had
quite a pile of them. Aunt Susan said we'd just leave them behind
the house to dry, and then use them for a bonfire next week for
the Fourth of July.
True to form, all the rest of the afternoon, my erection eased
very little. My poor young balls had begun to ache at their lack
of release, and I couldn't wait to leave for the day. I was
thinking about where I could go to find some privacy, but I was
drawing a blank. Oh, I could simply wander off into the woods and
find someplace to jerk off, but I'd have to go far enough to
avoid any casual observer. And that would mean I'd be late for
dinner. Besides, I wanted get back to our cabin to shower before
I met Mom and my sister at the clubhouse.
Aunt Susan knew I had to be back for dinner with them at six, and
by the large clock hanging under the eave of the house, we quit a
little after five. We each collapsed into a wrought-iron chair,
tired from our exertions.
"Are you... okay?" she asked as we sat across from each other at
the table.
I was oblivious to what she was really asking, and I nodded.
She realized that I didn't Get It and pressed the question. "No.
I mean... are you... _okay_?" she asked, nodding towards my erection,
which she could clearly see through the glass top of the table.
"You've been," she paused and I could see her come to an internal
decision to be direct, "hard almost all day. That can't be
comfortable."
I looked at her helplessly, at a loss for words.
She realized my predicament and rescued me, a sympathetic and
knowing expression on her face. "You can use the bathroom in the
hall if you'd like to...," she chose her euphemism with care,
"...wash up... before dinner."
I was confused for a moment. One corner of the courtyard, by the
house, was covered with rich red terra-cotta tiles under a shower
spigot that stuck out of the wall. The shower had no drain, and
the water would simply run off to be soaked up by the sandy soil
of the courtyard. There was a concrete bench to the side of the
showerhead, but otherwise, there were no surrounding walls. There
were pegs along the house, to hold towels or other gear, but
nothing in the way of cover. I could just as easily have "washed
up" in the courtyard shower. But I would have no privacy. And for
the kind of "washing up" that Aunt Susan had suggested, I wanted
the privacy the hall bathroom would provide. So I nodded blankly
and headed for the door to the house.
In the hall bathroom, the door was barely shut and locked before
I wrapped my right hand around my erection and began to stroke.
After the day's constant stimulation, I quickly felt the surge of
my rising come as I frantically pumped. I felt my release
approaching quickly. In a near panic, I realized that I didn't
have anything to catch my come.
I madly searched for something, anything. By the time I spotted
the Kleenex on the back of the toilet, it was too late--a white
geyser of come spurted out, arching upwards, and I squeezed my
eyes shut in ecstasy. I felt the next surge shoot from my cock as
I rhythmically pumped the base. All the day's pent-up semen came
gushing out in a torrent.
My legs, buttocks, and back were taut as I thrust my hips
forward, basking in the warmth and pleasure emanating from my
penis. When my spurting finally diminished to a dribble, I
relaxed and let my breath out explosively. My chin dropped
against my chest as I opened my eyes. Glistening white droplets
of semen coated the sink and vanity.
When I finally did extract a few tissues from the box of Kleenex,
I gently wiped my come-covered hand and penis. I then began to
wipe my seed from the counter. When I finished cleaning up all
the come droplets I could find, I realized with a grimace that I
was still hard. The insistent pressure in my balls had eased with
my release, but my dick evidently hadn't gotten the message that
enough was enough.
I waited for several minutes, but my erection didn't subside the
least bit. The problem was that the whole time I was waiting, I
was thinking of Aunt Susan and her beautiful pussy. In my mind, I
replayed scenes from the day spent working together. I
reluctantly decided that my erection wasn't going away until I
did something about it. So I wrapped my fingers around my shaft
and began to stroke. Again.
The second time I came, I was ready. I had a wad of Kleenex
clutched in my left had as I felt the first surge coursing up my
shaft. When I finished coming, I cleaned off the head of my penis
and it finally began to shrink. My poor, abused cock was red and
shiny, but it wasn't sticking out at right angles to my body. It
wasn't all the way soft yet, but it was close enough.
I suddenly realized that after my release, I had to pee. I
stepped over to the toilet, and no sooner had I raised the lid
and seat than I felt the stream of urine begin to flow. I leaned
my head back and luxuriated in the feeling of release, so closely
following my earlier releases of an entirely different kind. When
I was done, I shook the remaining droplets, put the seat and lid
back down (my mother trained me well), and flushed.
By that time, I imagined I'd spent the better part of half an
hour in the bathroom. I hastily washed my hands in the sink,
dried them on the towel by the light switch, and rushed out into
the hall, without even looking at myself in the mirror.
As I emerged from the living room into the kitchen, I saw Aunt
Susan blithely sitting at the table, counting out dollar bills.
When she looked up and saw me, her smile was bright but tired.
Her eyes dropped to my crotch, taking in the sight of my abused
cock. She smiled again, this time with wry humor, and looked back
up at me.
"I'm glad to see that everything... came out... okay," she said mock
seriously, her eyes laughing with her gentle teasing.
I blushed furiously and could only nod.
She collected the bills she'd laid out on the table and stood up,
extending her arm to me.
"Here's your first day's pay," she said, holding the money out.
"That's okay. You can just pay me when we've finished
everything." I knew there were at least two more days' work,
perhaps three.
"Are you sure?"
"Yep. Besides, what am I going to spend it on here," I said,
waving my hand to encompass the entire camp.
"You've got a point there," she conceded and shifted the money to
her left hand. She held her right hand out to me. "You worked
very hard today, Paul," she said seriously, as I stepped forward
and shook her hand.
I could tell she was trying to bolster my ego, and even though I
knew that's what she was doing, it worked. I blushed again and
thanked her.
Her tone immediately lightened as she said, "See you tomorrow
morning for breakfast?"
"Yep."
"Okay. I'll see you then."
I nodded and headed out the door to the courtyard with a wave. As
soon as I was out of the courtyard, I broke into a trot as I
headed back to our cabin. I had 15 minutes or so before I was
supposed to be at the clubhouse, and I still wanted to shower.
-----
Copyright (c) 2002 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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