James Wheatfield
CAMP FOR LITTLE GIRLS
Chapter One
Iris Harrault stepped back and surveyed the summer porch. It was all ready — newly dusted, the plants all green and thriving, the small wicker table intimately laid for two. The whiskey sours were in the refrigerator and the cold supper prepared. She glanced at her watch, and then out the porch screen which looked out over the wooded drive. No sign of him yet. I'll just freshen myself up, she thought, and then he ought to be here.
She walked into the bathroom, and hurriedly combed her short dark hair and applied a natural lip gloss to her lips. Casting a critical glance over her figure, dressed in yellow — her best color — she nodded to herself in satisfaction. Then she heard the sound of the car.
Running out to the driveway, she was just in time to see her husband John step out of their station wagon.
Happily, she ran right up to him and he hugged her, lifting her small frame right up off the ground.
"Mmm, good to see you again, honey," he murmured, kissing her soft scented hair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him lingeringly on the lips. Arm in arm, they went inside.
Iris immediately got out the frosted glasses and poured them both a drink. They sat on the cool porch, sipping their drinks and chatting about John's trip to New York City.
"Boy, am I glad to be back here!" he said, shaking his head. "How anyone can live in that city in the summer is beyond me!"
"Try running this place by yourself for a week, and then you might be glad to get back to New York!" Iris retorted, only half-joking.
"Oh come on, honey, surely it isn't that bad!" John answered.
"Keeping eight teen-age girls in line is never easy!" Iris said, looking at him steadily.
"Oh, I think I could handle them… heh… heh…" John joked.
"I bet you could, you dirty old man!" Iris laughed.
This was the third year they had been running Endwood Camp. Ever since they were married, it had been their driving ambition to purchase some land in upstate New York and start a summer camp for young girls. Finally, three years ago, they managed to, acquire some land in the Catskills. It was a beautiful area, and they had built the main house and the dormitory building right on the edge of the forest. That had decided the name, "Endwood," and a short walk through the woods lead to a beautiful lake, not very big, but excellent for swimming, created by a tributary of the Delaware. The first two years, they had had only six girls, but this year, they had eight. Actually, their financial status at the end of the summer would determine whether they could continue the camp in the future, and they were very anxious to make a success of this summer, in the hope that the present boarders would telegraph the word and result in even more applicants before the season was over.
But now, pressing as they were, their minds were not on the business troubles of running the camp…
"I've missed you, darling…" Iris murmured, "after all, a week's a long time!"
"After ten years of marriage," John kidded, "you should be sick of me, not wanting me back!"
"Want me to prove it?" she asked teasingly, looking at him through long dark lashes.
"Yes," he answered lightly. "Come to think of it, I do want proof!"
Iris got up from her wicker chair, and slowly walked over to her husband.
"Come with me, lover," she whispered huskily, taking his hand.
She half-pulled him into the bedroom, and he, continuing the game, pretended not to know where they were going.
"What the…" he said, smothering a laugh.
In their bedroom, Iris placed her drink on the bedside table and then, slowly, deliberately, unzipped her sundress. The cotton dress slipped down her lithe, tan body and fell in a heap on the floor. With a flick of her fingers, she released her breasts from the confines of her bra, and stood there, her bronze skin glowing against the whiteness of her brief nylon panties.
John sucked in his breath at the sight of his wife's naked body. He was still awed by the perfect symmetry of her frame. Even though she was only five foot three, she was perfectly proportioned. Her firm breasts were still upswept even at thirty-two, and her slender waist flared to gracefully molded hips.
The past several years of physical activity had kept her legs in trim athletic condition and there was not a trace of excess fat on her sinewy thighs.
Aware of her husband's admiration, Iris slowly walked over to him, hands on hips.
John was sitting on the bed, his drink in his hand. As he saw Iris approaching, he took a long gulp from the glass and sat it down on the table.
Iris sat down on his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She immediately began to blow softly into his ear, and John could feel himself flush all over. His cock leapt into half-erection, and pushed painfully against his pants, demanding release. The heady scent of Iris' perfume filled his nostrils and he inhaled it. It seemed to waft into his lungs and up to his brain until his entire being was intoxicated by the musky fragrance. Iris nibbled at his ear, and played with his hair, twisting her fingers through the strands, pulling and tugging it gently. He could feel her full, firm breasts digging into his chest, and the nipples were already beginning to rise from the friction that Iris was voluntarily creating by rubbing them against the nylon of his shirt.
He pulled her closer to him, and crushed his mouth down on hers. He stroked her heart-shaped face, and his tongue slipped in past her guardian teeth and joyfully united with hers. As they kissed, John could feel a gnawing beginning in the pit of his stomach, and his cock was even more painfully erect. He could feel Iris quiver beneath his touch as she returned thrust for thrust with her own agile tongue. She slipped her hand down and cupped his bulging genitals, massaging them softly with an expert motion. The gnawing in his stomach was spreading to his loins as he probed frantically with his tongue in the warm softness of her mouth.
"Oh, honey…" he moaned. Her stroking of his prick had become more rapid, and her other hand was creeping down under his shirt collar and tracing light feathery touches on his back. Suddenly, he couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed her away from him, and she fell onto the bed. He ripped off his clothes and stood over her, his erect cock jutting out proudly, thankful for its freedom.
Iris lay spread-eagled on the bed, and looked up at him, her hazel eyes half-closed. John could see her dark pubic hair through the diaphanous material of her panties, and he noticed that the crotchband was already moist. A sheer film of perspiration coated her inner thighs, which were spread invitingly.
With a groan, John lowered himself over the prostrate figure of his wife and once more clamped his lips down on hers. Her arms encircled his neck and drew him even closer to her. His hands closed in on the shivering orbs of her breasts, and he rolled the turgid nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, eliciting little mewls of pleasure from Iris. He felt the budding nipples grow under his manipulation until they stood out tautly from the dark circled areolae. His hands dropped down to her nipped-in waist, and still further, caressing the firm flesh as they went. They came to the confining waistband of her panties, and with an almost angry tug, tried to pull them off.
Iris raised her hips off the bed and John was able to slip the flimsy nylon covering from her quivering thighs. He ran his hands joyfully over her smooth hips, and cupped her pubic mound in his left palm. Iris flexed her loins up and pressed her ebony-colored pubic triangle against his palm, and began to gyrate slowly, grinding herself up mercilessly. John probed and searched and finally parted the soft throbbing furrow down between her legs.