Chapter 2

Mike Taylor felt vaguely dissatisfied as he sauntered along Fall Creek. He was a young man, tall and well-built, very energetic, very attractive. In spite of his youth, he had already built up a successful business in Los Angeles, a furniture business that this year had grossed over two hundred thousand dollars, most of which, admittedly, had gone back into the business. He had money, leisure time, and women, and he was working in a business that he loved. He loved the activity, the wheeling and dealing; he loved to persuade other businessmen into buying his product, to extend his power out farther and farther, to build up a little empire that would survive him.

And yet he was dissatisfied, and he was ashamed of himself for not being contented.

Again and again he had examined his feelings, trying to figure out what it was that was disturbing him. And it all came down to one thing. A woman. It was ridiculous, really it was, for at the camp were women enough for any man.

There was Shirley Wilson, a stunning redhead with lush breasts out to here and a full rump that twitched and wiggled exotically when she walked. Shirley had the habit of leaning toward you, her head up, her lips parted in a taunting smile, until her breasts touched your arm lightly - just brush- ed against you, the nipples hard little bumps under the soft fabric of her blouse.

There was Honey Farraday, a bouncy blonde with an incredibly slender waist and full breasts. Soulful, giggly, with a wacky sense of humor and a cheerful disposition, Honey had fallen in love with Mike right from the beginning, and Mike, while not an especially vain young man, was quite aware of it. He didn't avoid her; she was great fun to be around But he felt he had to make it clear to her that their romance would lead to nothing, and he felt guilty when he flirted with her. Because there were other women too.

There was Yvonne Daley, dark, full hipped, and daring. The first night of Mike's stay at the camp she had arrived at his door, a smug look on her face, and proceeded to seduce him.

He had resisted only briefly, for Yvonne had a smoldering sexuality that made men stop upon seeing her and gawk foolishly until she was out of sight. He felt briefly aroused as he thought of her all-over tan, the bush of black hair humped up below her belly, the large, full lips of her vagina, creaming with an eager sexuality. They had made love until late in the night, again and again and again, until Mike was exhausted, but Yvonne, smiling smugly the whole while, ripping at his shoulders with her long fingernails, had never worn out, and the next day Mike received the knowing looks of all the other men who had been seduced by Yvonne.

Restless, hypersexed, Yvonne moved from man to man, always on the search for new experiences, always trying new ways. Sometimes she spent whole days making love, moving from man to man as she exhausted the men of the camp. She was known for her willingness to try anything, and it was whispered around the camp that she had gone up Spindler Creek to one of the orgies there and had fucked not only Bobo Tolbert, a strange, short man, who lived in the nearby town and came to the camp for these orgies, but also a huge Great Dane that someone had brought along. When he had heard this story, Mike had struck Yvonne off his list, for he was just fastidious enough not to want to share his women with dogs.

But none of these women was the woman; none of them had the qualities he looked for.

Dorie Shanklin, a tall, splendidly built brunette, twenty-one years old, probably came closest, but she wasn't it, either. Dorie was not as eager as the other women, which accounted, perhaps, for some of her attraction. But she was a splendid woman, mature for her years, and after a few dates she had suddenly turned passionate out by the pony corrals. Leaning on his shoulder, she had suddenly drawn him to her and caused the two of them to tumble in some loose barley hay. She had wrapped her legs around him and drawn him up against her, seemingly unable to wait even until he got his pants off. When he finally unzipped and entered her, she clasped him, gouging him with her fingernails, drawing him into her, then made him fuck her for at least two hours, moaning and groaning and licking his ear the whole time.

It was a pleasant memory, but Mike Taylor had other ideals; the women he liked were the quiet ones, the sensitive ones. He didn't like them too aggressive. And most of the women at the camp, lacking male partners, had become involved in the Spindler Creek orgies, where Burt Conroy and two or three other men kept them occupied, satisfying as many women as came, with the help of the insatiable Bobo Tolbert.

The women Mike liked were young, around eighteen years old, and voluptuous, with good muscle tone. They were modest and had hair of a burnished gold color, hair that was long and fell in thick strands over their shoulders. They had bright, friendly eyes and lovely smiles and friendly voices and did not swear, at least not too often, or screw, except with a man like Mike Taylor who would respect them. He had, in short, very old-fashioned ideas about his women, very specific ideas. In fact, his idea of a desirable mate was so specific as to exclude every woman in the world but one. Ellie Brighton.

Mike felt a kind of squashed feeling in his chest at the thought of Ellie Brighton, as he imagined her the way she was around the pool, talking with her friend Cindy, always animated, always friendly, always just a bit shy. She was lovely, friendly, and somehow unavailable. No one knew why this was, but Ellie did not seem to respond to the men around the camp. Mike had caught her looking at him from time to time, as if she might be interested, but she invariably responded to his invitations to a date with refusals - very pleasant refusals, to be sure, but refusals nonetheless.

He was hopelessly in love with her. It was so ridiculous, really, the idea of being in love with the one unavailable woman in camp. He had actually had the experience of coming back to his cabin and finding a beautiful woman in his bed, waiting for him, wanting to make love to him. The air up here seemed to have a stimulating effect on the women. But that wasn't enough for him; he had to fall in love with Ellie Brighton. Everyone was in love with Ellie, and Ellie wasn't in love with anybody.

He sat down by Fall Creek and stared moodily up Spindler Creek, which, much smaller than Fall Creek, joined it here above the camp. In spite of everything, he found himself unable to think of anything but Ellie. Ellie was so lovely, Ellie was so tender. He sat moodily by the creek and tried to remember her down to the last detail.

As Ellie came down the creek she was aware of the wind, the smell of the trees, the feel of the hot sand under her feet. She wasn't even as distressed as she knew she should have been - was, in fact, ashamed of herself for her relative comfort, her inability to be as horrified as she should have been. She had been attacked, had been forced to witness a scene of the utmost depravity, and yet, in spite of all this, she felt a kind of excitement.

What she had seen had, it seemed, opened her senses to a multitude of impressions. She heard the whirring wings of a grasshopper, smelled the smell of damp dirt and thick, steaming vegetation, and felt the breeze as it played over her young body.

She thought of the men in the camp. Burt Conroy was attractive, but for all his awesome power, his personal magnetism, he had proven himself evil, and she would avoid him from now on. The one she was really interested in, though, was Mike Taylor, a tall, athletic young man that all the girls were after - even more so with him than with Burt. But Ellie felt that she had no chance with Mike. Yvonne, Dorie, Shirley - they all flirted with him outrageously, and they were all such splendid women, not gawky teenagers. They were self-assured and lovely. And so she refused his invitations. He was just trying to be nice, after all, and she knew she would never think of anything to say to him.

Curiously excited and tense, she tripped on down the trail beside the stream, feeling the squish squish squish between her thighs, where a hot puddle of sticky liquid had secreted itself, against her will, while she watched Burt and Liz making love.

Mike just sat there, watching Ellie come down the trail from Spindler Creek. He felt a sort of heavy feeling in his chest, mixed with rage. He was not angry with Ellie, but with himself, for having thought her different from the other women. But to see her now, here - to see her coming down Spindler Creek, which, through a tacit agreement by the members of the camp, was reserved strictly for sexual adventures - was more than he could take.

He sat staring dully before him. Just before Ellie had come down, Burt and Liz had come by, quite disheveled. Liz's cheeks had been flushed, her lips were parted. In every respect she had the appearance of a woman who has just had a most satisfying orgasm. She had stared at him defensively, a little arrogantly, as if to let him know that she didn't need him.

But Ellie! She came tripping down the path, almost running, her lovely breasts bobbing gently under that horror of a one-piece bathing suit, and when she saw Mike she stopped abruptly, blushing. She has that much decency then, he thought grimly. She can at least still blush. He felt weighted down; his heart felt as if it was being squeezed by a giant hand. Flushed and angry, he barely responded with a nod to her greeting.

As for Ellie, Mike's shortness convinced her that she must be visibly changed since her encounter with Burt and Liz. She stopped in front of him, scuffing the dirt with her bare feet. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "Was it nice up there?" he asked.

"Up that creek? Sure, I guess so. I hadn't been up there before. There's a good swimming hole."

Uh huh, thought Mike wryly. And you haven't been there before, either.

"Anybody else swimming up there?"

She hesitated, then said, "No." It wasn't really a lie, she thought to herself, for Burt and Liz hadn't actually done any swimming.

"Was the water cold?" he asked. He was staring directly at her breasts, thinking to himself that if she was this kind of girl, then he might as well make the most of it and take advantage of her sexuality.

Ellie shifted uneasily. Mike had always been so friendly, but he wasn't being at all friendly now. She couldn't figure out his attitude. And that stare. He seemed to be looking right through her, to be watching, the hard little nubbins that were her nipples. She folded her arms across her breasts, embarrassed.

"No, not especially. I didn't stay in very long, though. It's nice up there. You can smell the nettles in the river. It's a very strong smell, a little like - like - " She dropped her gaze, her thoughts suddenly disrupted by the boldness of his stare.

He seemed hardly to be listening to her.

"Yeah, I suppose it is. I bet that's your favorite I place of all the places around here."

"I - " She hesitated, not knowing what to say. "I guess so. It is nice." Shyly, hands behind her back, she drew designs in the dust with her toe. She felt mortified, wanted to get away.

"Let's go back up there," he said suddenly, roughly.

"I - " She looked at him in surprise. "I think I'd better be getting back to the camp now. It's getting late."

"You had enough already?"

"Enough? Enough hiking, you mean?"

"Sure. Hiking."

"I think I'd better be getting back now," she said hastily, "it's getting late, it really is. We're going to miss dinner. I - " Mike had turned away. Staring over the creek, resting his head in his hands, he ignored her and was angry with himself for feeling as if he was on the verge of crying. He hadn't realized how much he had staked on his acquaintance with Ellie, how much he had built her up into a kind of goddess, how much he had worshipped her. He turned around, hoping that somehow things would turn out to be different than they seemed.

But Ellie was two hundred yards down the trail, running fast. She was holding her hands to her face and running blindly, her billowing hair trailing after her.

Mike Taylor sat there for a long time, occupied with his thoughts. In his mind he saw Ellie stripped, her golden skin clear, her breasts humped up proudly, with hard nipples, hard with passion. He saw himself raping her brutally, ramming his cock between her legs, slamming it up the flowery hole in her crotch or into her mouth.

He shook his head. It couldn't be that way; it wasn't true, what he'd learned about her. She was too pure, too lovely, to be running around with degenerates like Burt and Liz. He had heard Burt brag that he never screwed a woman the usual way; he always aimed for the mouth or the asshole. Burt, though, had also made it clear that, for whatever reason, he hated women, thought them all whores. He even bragged that, as a six-teen-year-old, he had taken his own mother down and raped her in the anus, from behind, while she screamed at him. It was easy to believe. A few of the other men at the camp, too timid to participate and too curious to stay away, had gone up Spindler Creek and had seen Burt rape a thirteen-year-old girl whose small vagina had been split and broken by Burt's huge cock. He had then turned her over - she had fainted, mercifully, and lay there slack and motionless - and had plunged his cock into her asshole, enjoying the feeling of dominance while everyone watched, horrified and yet afraid to interfere.

He could easily hate Burt Conroy, Mike realized, especially after today. He got up, shaking his head moodily. Then he heard someone behind him, a voice, a female voice. For a brief moment his hopes took over; he thought it was Ellie and turned around eagerly, hoping against hope that she had returned, that they could talk things out, that they could still get together.

But it wasn't Ellie. It was Yvonne. She was giggling and doing a little dance step in the path, wearing nothing but a preposterously slight bikini top that fought to contain her full breasts, and a tiny string bottom that bunched out where her full growth of pubic hair grew black and dank and luxuriant. He stood there with his mouth open as Yvonne reached behind herself and fiddled with the string holding the bikini top to her.

"Wait a minute - "

"You game?"

"Well, I - " But then he thought of Ellie with Burt and Liz. Maybe Burt was right, after all.

Maybe women really were sluts, maybe they really did deserve the treatment they got.

"Sure," he said. He moved toward her.

Yvonne moved away, still dancing, her sensuous hips writhing as she looked over her shoulder, smiling slightly, watching him as he followed her.

He followed her to a nearby cave which was outfitted with old sleeping bags. By the time they got there, she had let the bikini top fall. It lay in the dust of the path. She reached down and stripped the bottom from her full rump and kicked it off.

"There's - "

"What is it, lover?"

"Just a question I wanted to ask you, but I don't know how. They say, well, that you've done a few really out of the way things. Sexually, I mean."

Yvonne watched him, not saying anything.

Embarrassed, he went on. "I was just wondering. I mean, just how much truth is there in these stories? Or is there any?"

She smiled, coming over to him, naked, her firm body lush and brown from the sun.

Kissing him gently on the cheek, she let the nipples of her ripe breasts brush against his arm, then looked down to watch them where they touched. "I've done a few things," she said, smiling. "I've done it with more than one man, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah, well, that's not exactly what I was thinking of. They say that you - "

"What!" she demanded sharply. "What do they say about me?"

"Well, that you, I mean you and Burt and some of the people - anyway, that you did it with a Great Dane up Spindler Creek. That's just what I've heard, I don't think it's true, of course - " Yvonne slapped him hard. "You filthy pig! You scum! How could you say such a thing about me? How could you believe that?"

"I didn't really. I mean, I just thought you might be amused by the - "

"Oh! Men! You're all pigs, you're all swine! And I was going to let you - oh!"

"I didn't mean anything, really I didn't." Mike felt miserable. Knowing what he did about Yvonne, the story about the Great Dane didn't seem at all unlikely. But now he realized how incredibly gauche it had been of him to bring it up.

Yvonne was crying. He went over to her and touched her on the shoulder. She turned to him and buried her head on his chest, clutching him. Her fingernails dug into his skin. "I need somebody to lean on," she wailed. "I can't stand this, living like this, having all these stories told about me, all these unfair stories. They say things like - like I'd do it with a burro, that I'd suck off a dog - all of it's so untrue, so unfair. You have to make them stop telling these stories, Mike."

"Sure, sure I will," he said. "Only, let's go back now, I don't want to take advantage of - "

"No, please, I'm all right now. I was just shocked, that's all. I need a little bit of comfort when I'm depressed, a little bit of love."

She fumbled with his belt, loosening it. Then she took his trousers down and pulled down his shorts as well. Watching her tanned, sinuous body in front of him, half crouched there, he got an erection quickly. He yanked off his shirt. His cock, a thick, reddish-purple staff, pointed upward, hard and throbbing, the head thick and hard. Yvonne suddenly moaned and took the head of it in her mouth, sucking hard, making the blood pulse harder. Mike leaned back against the sloping side of the cave, leaving everything up to her. He watched her full, brown breasts as they hung down below her, flaring out to a perfect roundness capped by large, hard nipples set in large areolas. She reached under his cock and hefted his heavy, hairy balls in her small hands, fondling them gently. Then she touched the underside of his cock, tickling it gently, until Mike felt as if he would scream, the sensation was so intense, so supremely satisfying. Her mouth had settled with a soft sucking sound over the head of his cock, far over, until it seemed as if he must be deep in her throat, and she had somehow managed not to bite him, so that the sensation was somehow comforting and soft.

At the same time she began to masturbate him gently, using both hands, while sucking rhythmically on his cock. He looked down and couldn't take his eyes away from the hump of her full breasts and the vee of bulging, brushy pubic hair that he could see if he leaned over slightly. Yvonne was a woman of strong desires, strong passions, even a strong, musky smell, the smell of a woman in heat, a woman lusting. Legs held apart, she sucked rhythmically at his cock while the bulging lips of her vagina, large, like petals of some exotic flower, hung down between her legs, flanked by large, stiff curls of wet hair. She had creamed copiously - was, in fact, capable of creaming just from thinking about sex.

Mike noticed that the slick substance between her legs was dripping down the inside of her thighs, wetting her thoroughly and causing the dank, musky odor to permeate the cave, until it seemed as if it would drive him mad with desire.

Legs buckling, he felt his climax arriving. He wanted to stop Yvonne, to make it last longer, but consoled himself with the thought that they could do it again. And again. Until late in the night, laying in the coolness of the cave, fucking and fucking and fucking and forgetting Ellie, Ellie of the soft hair and the gentle eyes - Ellie, who had deceived him, or at least had proven to be something far short of his idea of her.

The stuff shot up with a rush, a creamy, clotted mess of jism that entered Yvonne's mouth and burst out on both sides, surprising her. She smiled and leaned over again to suck on it, to drink it up. She licked it up where it ran down the side of his cock, then squeezed his cock until it all came out in short bursts.

Then she stood up. Standing there in front of him, her lips parted, her face voluptuous and hungry, she looked as if she might eat him up. She held her breasts in her hands, spread her legs. "Go on, eat me. I did it to you."

It seemed only fair. Mike, still gasping from the force of his ejaculation, got down between her legs. She stood there. Her legs were far apart. He looked up and saw that giant vulva, the clots of sticky hair. He could smell the thick, musky smell of her secretions which seeped through the cave to the farthest corners. Still he hesitated. She was such a woman, such an intensely sexual woman, the sight in front of him almost made him back off. It was all so huge, so intensely hungry.

"God, hurry up before I come down on you."

He touched his finger gently to her cunt. Convulsing, her cunt came down on his finger, squeezed it, while he came very close, breathing in the dank, heavy scent of her cunt. He touched his tongue to the lips and felt her hands on the back of his head, drawing him up against her, shoving him hard against the moist and clutching surface of her vagina. He stuck out his tongue and felt it sliding easily into the spacious lips of her cunt as he tasted the secretions there. Groaning, she tugged on his head, shoving it harder and harder against her crotch. Suddenly she fell back on the soft sleeping bags underneath her and, slackening, letting herself relax, lay motionless while he slurped and sucked at her vagina and the throbbing clitoris above it.

He plunged three fingers into her vagina, then, discovering that there was still room, experimentally squeezed his fist up against it. Incredibly, it settled into her vagina, up to his wrist. Now she looked at him, startled, and then laughed to see the expression of chagrin on his face as he saw his fist disappear into the roomy, greedy opening there. She squeezed down with the muscles inside her cunt, and he felt the smooth, slick wall of her cunt tightening on his fist, while the sloshing liquids squeezed forth past his hand.

Then she gasped, and he felt the way her cunt went into helpless convulsions, squeezing rhythmically on his fist while he touched his tongue to her clitoris.

Her orgasm was overwhelming, like the other aspects of her sexuality. She thrashed back and forth on the sleeping bags, whipped by her orgasm. Clutching Mike's hair, she yanked his head hard against her crotch, smearing her juices against his face.

Mike, stimulated intolerably by this display, came up quickly. His cock was throbbing and hard again. He lay on her, moving slowly because she was still clutching his hair. But when his cock met that gaping slot between her legs, where the hair was curling back on itself, wet and stiff, he thrust his hips forward, hard, sending his thick cock flying up the slick passageway of her cunt, while the lips, as air was expelled by the entry of his cock, released a flabby sound. He clutched her hard, furious now at her roughness, and dug his fingers into her back, jerking his hips upward, out of control, feeling his orgasm arriving.

Then it was over. His cock twitched and flexed and suddenly spewed out a thick load of cream into Yvonne's cunt. He held to her, keeping his hips hard against hers. Yvonne was still gasping, still having her orgasm. It was as if she would never stop; her orgasm went on for minutes, while she clutched Mike, groaned, and squeezed down uncontrollably with her vagina.

Finally it was over. He looked at her and saw that she was slick with sweat; her hair clung in bunches to her plump breasts, sodden and thick. She was gasping for breath. The two of them flopped down side by side, no longer even touching each other, exhausted, not caring about anything, ready to sleep.

Eventually Mike spoke. "Yvonne?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I mean about that story. I didn't really believe it or anything, but you, well - "

"I know, Mike. I don't hold it against you. People talk all the time, just because I have a normal sex drive. But it wasn't true, none of it."

"Yeah," said Mike. He still felt ashamed of himself for mentioning the story.

But then she looked at him demurely. "Because I never did it with a Great Dane, not ever in my life. It was a Newfoundland, not a Great Dane at all."