She patted Conquest's gray neck as they trotted along, and he, sensing her increasing relaxation, slowed to a walk. She smiled to herself when she remembered how John had objected at first to her keeping a stallion. He was afraid she couldn't handle him, and wanted her to have him gelded, but she couldn't bear the thought. She knew that he wasn't good enough for a stud, but somehow, keeping him whole made all the difference to her.
A familiar feeling of warmth and peace stole over her. The rhythmic motion of the horse lulled her into a hazy fog, and she shifted slightly and pressed her crotch further down onto the horse's bony back.
Smiling to herself, she reached back and unbuttoned her swimsuit top. Her firm breasts leapt happily into the cool air, and the nipples hardened immediately. Resting the reins on Conquest's neck, she fondled her breasts, aware of their tanned beauty. She lay forward, stretching her body along the animal's neck. Her breasts hung down, one on either side of his neck, and his wiry mane tickled the valley between the full, down-hanging orbs. Conquest walked very slowly now, and whickered softly as he felt their feathery warmness brush against his furry skin. Iris raised her hands and pressed each breast in towards the smooth gray sides of his long neck.
"Mmmmmmm," she sighed, his slow jaunting motion stroking her breasts tantalizingly. She flexed her pubis and the horse's dorsal bone made delicious contact with her clitoris through the fabric of her swimsuit. A tremor ran through her, from head to toe, and she murmured softly: "Good boy, Conquest, good boy…"
Her eyes still closed, and her mind in a sensuous daze, rider and horse drifted aimlessly through the woods.
John was busy with the accounts. He would liked to have gone riding with Iris, although he couldn't stand the way she was always talking to and petting her horse, as if he were human. But the nagging thought of all the paperwork he had to do weighed heavily on him and he knew he wouldn't enjoy the ride, no matter what the circumstances. He was dressed only in loose-fitting Bermudas, and sipping a can of beer, he settled down to his task. He knew that everybody was away, so he had hopes of getting all his work done before dinner.
He was deeply engrossed in debits and credits when he heard a slight knock on the door. Without looking up, he said: "Come in!"
He went on calculating, and completely forgot to look up, until he heard a sultry voice say: "Boy, you sure look busy!"
He glanced up and saw the young girl, Carla.
"Hello Carla!" he said cheerfully, smiling at her. "Yep, I'm busy all right, trying to make ends meet!"
"Am I interrupting? I can come back another time…"
"No, not at all!" he answered, closing the accounts book.
Carla was wearing only a bikini coral-colored crocheted one, which barely covered her nipples and pubis before turning into open-work lattice.
He couldn't help noticing how the bright color contrasted with her long dark hair, which hung over her shoulders, and her tawny young skin.
She gazed at him with clear blue eyes, and her lower lip was stuck out in a small pout.
His eye wandered over her lithe fourteen-year-old body — she was tall, but very slender, her breasts barely there, but with the promise of full voluptuous womanhood. Her hips were softly rounded and her legs were long and coltish. She looked like a young Aphrodite and John felt a faint, uncontrolled stirring in his loins as he looked at the lovely girl.
"Can I help you, Carla?" he asked softly, averting his eyes.
"I think perhaps you can!" she answered.
He waited for her to continue, thinking she had some problem she wanted to talk about.
"Well," he said finally, "what is it?"
"Can I sit down?" she asked, still staring boldly at him.
"Sure," he said, clearing the remaining chair.
To his surprise, she pulled the chair up beside him, instead of leaving it where it was, across the desk.
Another silence, and then Carla crossed her legs. This action stretched the brief bikini bottom even more and John could see the flesh of her buttocks and hips bulging slightly through the holes of the lattice-work on the sides.
"May I have a cigarette?" Carla asked.
John gasped. He couldn't refuse her one, not when the policy of the camp was "natural growth" but he couldn't really condone a fourteen-year-old smoking. Still, not knowing what else to do, he offered one of his menthol cigarettes.
She waited for him to light it, and as he reached over with the flaming match, she touched his hand lightly and guided it to her cigarette. A shiver coursed through him at her touch. The hand holding the match began to tremble and he was afraid she would see it. But she didn't seem to notice and thankfully, he extinguished the match.
She was still staring at him, and casually blew the smoke from her first inhalation into his face. John was on edge now; he didn't know what to do. What's the matter with me, anyhow? he thought, getting nervous around a mere child!
Finally, John said again: "What's bothering you, Carla?"
"I don't know the facts of life!" she answered slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
John blushed beet red. Oh God, he thought, why am I behaving like a teen-ager?
Trying to regain his cool, he said: "Don't you think you'd better talk to Iris about that?"
He tried to sound authoritative and fatherly, but he knew he was acting more like a kid brother.
"I thought you'd be able to explain them better!" she said coolly, leaning forward to flick ash into the ashtray.
Immediately, John's eyes dropped to her breasts, and he could see their faint swell as she brushed past him.
Her arm grazed his naked chest, and sent ripples of delight surfacing on his skin. His eyes were fixed on her breasts, and he tried to see more of them through the crochet.
"What are you staring at, Mr. Harrault?" Carla asked, a mocking note in her voice.
"Nothing!" he answered quickly. "I was just thinking. About how to start, I mean."
He raised his eyes with an effort, to look at her face.
"Would you like to see them?" Carla asked, raising her hands behind her back, as if to open her bikini top.
"Good God no!" John said, laying a hand on her shoulder.
Just then, Iris walked in. She was still wearing her swimsuit, and she was running her hand through her tousled hair. She stopped short when she saw John, his hand on Carla's shoulder.
"Excuse me!" Carla said, suddenly rising. "I'll talk to you later about my problem!"
Without another word, she left.
"Wowee!" John said, when she'd left. "What a cookie!"
"What kind of problem can she possibly have?" Iris asked icily.
"Can you imagine? That brat wants me to tell her the facts of life!" John said, laughing.
"Tell her? Show her is more like it!" Iris spat, her eyes flashing.
"What's wrong with you anyway?" John said, noticing her anger.
"When will you learn to keep your hands off the girls?" she hissed.
"For Christ's sake, Iris, will you come off it? I'm sick and tired of you imagining things. You should be glad the girls come to me with their problems! After all, I'm supposed to be the counselor!"
John was really angry now. This wasn't the first time his wife had become angry and jealous over the boarders, and he was sick of it. As if he'd touch one of them — they were his bread and butter — he'd be a fool to mess around with them. Minors, too.