Chapter 1
The boy sprang after the girl, missed his hold, then ran after her. Laura Stockland giggled and ran wildly toward the ski shed. She slipped at the door, giggled louder, rose, achieved a hold on the door, then was abruptly turned around by the boy, who had grabbed her by the shoulders.
Laura's body stiffened. Her eyes lost their expression of laughter. She felt Ron Bolton's fingers pressuring at her shoulders as he faced her and she knew that the pursuit that had started as a game had ended. Now, desire and denial were parts of reality and not a game.
"Ah, come on, Ron, stop it," Laura said, irritation making her tone sound nervous. "You're hurting me. Besides, I told you when we came up here that I didn't feel like staying."
"Feel?" Ron questioned. "What didn't you feel?"
She hesitated, then looked into his eyes and said, "I didn't feel like doing it like making-out if you want me to be blunt."
"Lately you don't 'feel,' period," he replied. His tone was angry. His expression darkened.
"I feel plenty," Laura replied. "But I'm not in the mood now I've got things to do."
"Then why in hell did you come up here with me?" Ron asked.
"Because, because I don't like to hurt your feelings see you pout like a little boy. And because I believed you when you said you wanted to see how good the ski slopes looked."
Ron grinned. He was tall, very strong looking, and handsome in the rugged way that girls preferred. He pressed a little closer to Laura, brought one hand away from her shoulder, then ran it behind her and quickly opened the ski shed door. He pushed her inside and slammed the door behind them.
"All right, you've got me inside," she said. "What are you going to do now? Use force?"
He did not answer. He brought both hands behind her and gripped hard at her buttocks. He pinched hard, at the same time drawing her close, making her thighs cuddle to him.
Laura felt much less resistive with Ron that close to her. She marveled at how quickly it could happen. Then she wondered if she now desired to cooperate with Ron Bolton's sexual wishes because she had something to tell him something that would cause hurt and upset.
Suddenly, Ron jerked her very close. Laura could feel the press and throbbing of him clear through their tight black ski pants. She raised her arms and let them rest lazily around his neck. He took the action as a signal for love. He lowered to find her mouth.
"Ron, please . " She turned her head. "Yeah, please," he mumbled, his voice thick with passion. He tried again to capture her mouth.
Laura allowed it. Their bodies strained harder at the precise moment that Laura opened her mouth to receive the boy's shooting tongue. And if she had not wanted to give herself in love to Ron Bolton, it could not be detected by her kiss. It was hot and fervent. She drew madly upon it, making little cries of pleasure as she moved her head from side to side.
It was very easy for Laura Stockland to lose her resolve. There was the heat of Ron's mouth, the pressure of him against her thighs there was this and also Laura's own wish to please him before she hurt him, to make amends before, not after, she caused him upset.
They traded motions, Laura gave up her hold on Ron's tongue and plunged her own deep within the hollow he offered. Her sense of taste changed when Ron nibbled upon her offering. She liked it and wondered how it could happen. Then she noticed that it changed again as Ron released his grip on her buttocks and brought his hands under her sweater to find bare breasts. Laura did not draw back. She remained tight against him. It was not necessary that her buttocks be held for closeness. She created the tight contact between them of her own will. And she could not help but tremble slightly as Ron kneaded her flesh, pressured her nipples forward, bloating them to near-bursting, then relaxing his hold for an instant before pressuring them forward again. Laura felt the nipples grow hard. She knew from past experience that they were now hot and cracked, had become that way from her own yearning.
As Ron's kisses and moving hands became more intense, as Laura felt new strength pressure forward at her thighs, it occurred to her that sex should be reserved for a bit, that she should first talk to Ron, make him unhappy with her words, then give herself to him as a kind of bequest a gift. This, she suddenly reasoned, would be much better. Then he would become relaxed. Then his upset could be calmed. But if she gave this gift now...?
If she cooled his heat immediately, there would be the new heat of his anger later.
Laura brought her mouth away from his. It was a sticky withdrawal. She turned her face to the side, buried her lips into his neck for a moment, then pushed back, hesitated, and with considerable effort, finally brought herself completely free of his body.
"Ron I want to talk to you," she said quickly, turning and walking to the center of the small room.
The boy's hands went out from his sides in a motion of disbelief.
"I've got something to tell you," she said, hurrying the words.
"And I've got something!" the boy pleaded.
Laura could not keep her eyes from the projection of his tight ski pants. It seemed a sign of her powers and pleased her. But that, she thought, could be tended to a little later. Now, she had to tell Ron about her plans.
Ron's hands dropped helplessly to his sides. "All right, Laura, let's have it. I know that once you make your mind up to talk, there's no stopping you. So shoot. Maybe you'll explain why you've been acting so goddamn strange the last few weeks. Why you've been avoiding me why you seem to have your mind miles away all the time."
Laura lowered her eyes. When she raised them she looked directly at Ron, noticing how dark his hair was, how tall he was six feet, at least, and a good head taller than herself. It seemed right that she should view all these good qualities, for she did feel guilt for her behavior of the past several weeks.
"Come on give," Ron coaxed. .
"I'm I'm going away, Ron. I I need a rest."
"Going away," he exploded. "Need a rest? The hell you do. You're not going away from this college or me. As I see it you've had plenty of rest every day in math and English and all your courses. And you had better watch it, girl, 'cause a freshman can flunk out here as easy as anything."
"Maybe so," she said, lifting her chin a bit. "But I'm going away. When I come back I'll be rested ready for classes for anything."
Ron walked closer to her. "And just where in the hell do you propose to go?"
"I'm going south to Fort Bixdale for spring vacation." She said it fast, like a confession.
"The hell you are!" he stormed.
"But I am," she insisted. "Ever since high school I've planned on going to Fort Bixdale for spring vacation. So, I'm a college freshman now and I'm going."
"Listen," he said, low and tense. "No girl of mine is going down to that whore's nest not for spring vacation or anytime."
"Sorry. My plans are all made." Her voice carried a new tone of confidence.
"Like hell you're . "
"Ron," she interrupted, sounding a little like a school teacher stopping a naughty child. "There's simply no use arguing with me. I'm going. Besides, Fort Bixdale isn't as bad as the publicity about it claims. You just believe too much what you read in the papers."
"Don't tell me that place isn't like I know it is," he shouted. "Hell, it's jammed with thousands of guys looking for chicks everybody mills around without clothes on there's the damn beach parties, all that singing sex games! Oh, I know about that place, all right. Hell, even the Fort Bixdale police department can't keep that mob from surfing at night and raising all kinds of hell. And you I know you! You'd be in the middle of all of it!"
"Yeah," she breathed sweetly, forgetting for a moment that Ron was even there.
"See see what I mean? You're dreaming about all that jazz already."
"It's going to be a great experience, Ron," Laura said. "Just great."
She stopped and lowered her eyes to the floor again, suddenly conscious that she was letting her enthusiasm get the best of her. She reminded herself that she must play it cool.
Ron snorted like a bull, and Laura had the impression that it replaced words that he could not immediately find.
She saw an advantage. She plunged ahead. "Besides, I'm not going to be all alone in that great big horrid place."
"I know damn well you're not, and that's what bothers me.
"Silly," she reprimanded. "I mean my roommates are going with me."
His fists clinched and he raised them before him like a frustrated fighter. "Oh, Jeeez, not those bitches," he exclaimed. "Now I know damn well you're not going."
"Stop being rude," she said crossly. "You're talking about my roomies my very best friends the best darn girls on the campus."
"Yeah, best," Ron said. "Best and easiest lays." He moved to her. His expression softened. Then he said, "Please, Laura, don't go to that hell's nest. All sorts of things will happen to you there."
She was about to breathe another sound of happy agreement, but caught herself in time and instead said, "No, Ronnie, honest, I won't let anything happen to me. Really. I couldn't, 'cause you know how I feel about you."
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "You you still feel that way?"
"Of course I do."
"Honest?"
"Honest."
"Then why have you been acting funny with me."
" 'Cause I knew you'd be mad when I told you I was going to Fort Bixdale."
"I am, too," he said.
She raised her hand and pressured at his hard shoulder. "Don't be."
"Well-
"Please," she purred. "You'll be good?" he asked. "Very, very good, just for you," she said. "And you won't let Pixie or Margie or that goddamn, oddball Kay Faubus get you into anything?"
"They couldn't," she exclaimed.
"They could and would," he said, his voice rising a bit again.
"But they won't because I just won't let it happen."
Ron relaxed his hold on her shoulder. His forehead pinched tight lines together. Then he said, "Maybe I could arrange to go."
Laura felt a moment's fear; then she said quickly, "Ronnie, you can't, you know it. There's track practice and the Olympic tryouts coming up next year you couldn't I wouldn't let you, not even as much as I wish you could."
"I'd miss the big meet," he still pondered.
"And I won't let you miss it you can't the whole school's depending on you for that one."
"Yeah, I'm afraid so," he said slowly. "I'm I'm sorry, Laura."
"I am, too, darling. But I'll be back before you know it."
"It'll seem like years," he said sadly. She moved toward the door. The matter was settled. Now she was disinclined for sex, anxious only to leave. She turned and smiled at him and said, "Come on, I'll race you to the bottom. Come help me with my skis first."
"Hold it a minute" he said grinning.
She cocked her head to one side.
Ron went to the door. He raised one hand to the back of Laura's neck. She raised her green eyes to him. They looked inquiringly into his.
"We've still got time" he said.
"But I've got a make-up lab hour tonight," she said, hedging.
He brought his other hand up to her breast and gripped it, held it fully, but gently. "So, you've missed them before. Miss another. After all, baby, I can't send you down to those wolves in Fort Bixdale without without well, putting my final claim check on you."
She smiled, sighed, lifted her mouth, and immediately lost herself to his mouth, his tongue, his nibbling lips. And warmth swept over her and her decision to leave without first attending Ron faded. But she would attend him in a different way, she thought, would give enough to hold him, keep him peaceful without new eruptions about her plans for Fort Bixdale. Would give him enough without the immediate inconvenience of full sexual giving.
"Ohhh, Laura," Ron breathed into her mouth.
"Ron, Ron," she whispered, still kissing, plucking the words to him with her sharp tongue, popping them from herself to him.
Ron's body stammered madly. One hand lowered from Laura's neck to her back as the other left its hold upon her breast long enough to lower, raise up within the sweater until it gripped the bare flesh of her hot, moving and wild. He clasped her breast, then relaxed his hold to bring thumb and forefinger into play at her long, hard nipple.
"Ummmmmmm," she moaned.
Ron played harder with her breast end as his tongue continued to whirl and play with her tongue, at her under lip everywhere.
Laura moaned again. She heard it coming from herself and thought how similar the sound was to all the others she expressed with Ron, and then she wondered if the sound came from true feelings, emotion, and rising passion, or whether it was merely well-practiced, something expected of her with which she complied. And in spite of concentration upon Ron and his closeness, she could not help thinking again of warm Fort Bixdale and wondering what she might find there, if she perhaps would discover thrills she had still to experience.
Ron tore his mouth from Laura's. He released his grip on her bare breast, then staggered back a step.
"Laura Laura, I can't stand it. I've just got to, baby," he said, his voice shaking.
Laura breathed deeply and looked into his eyes. She saw the yearning there. Then she glanced at his tremendous physique, at his chest and waist and the muscles of his thighs and legs as they were greatly revealed by his tight ski pants. She felt a wave of compassion for the nineteen-year-old boy. But her mind shot to the practicalities of love-making, those involved with winter clothing and their ski shed setting on top of a hill back of the college campus. Her mind wondered to these practicalities but only for a second. Then she banished them. She could not do otherwise. Ron dropped to one knee in front of her, pushed her sweater high again and mouthed furiously at her right breast. Laura clutched her fingers into his hair, arched and strained, loving the feel of his wet tongue pecking at her nipple, the sensations that were caused by his pauses which accounted for quick little nips at her flesh by his teeth. She jammed his head closer, tried, it seemed, to lose him completely within the fullness of her breasts.
Ron brought his mouth away from her. Laura felt a sudden chill where his mouth had been. Then the boy grabbed her and pulled her next to where he quickly lengthened upon the floor.
Laura liked the feel of them embracing in a prone position. It allowed for a fuller closeness. Her breasts could jam hard at Ron's strong chest; even their bellies could grind together, and it was especially exciting at their thighs where their bodies, though clothed, stabbed in a hard undulation that was like being truly joined and moving together.
But such an action of their bodies could not endure. Their heat demanded the closeness of naked flesh. With a tragic sound of frustration, Ron pulled away and grabbed for the zipper tab of Laura's ski pants. It was then that she forgot, to some extent, the cold and cumbersome clothing. She forgot it less because of desire than for the converging of thoughts in her mind. Now, sex immediate sex with Ron meant something else to Laura Stockland. She thought of it now as both a gift to Ron, a good-bye gift, and as a prelude to the excitement that awaited her at sensually oriented Fort Bixdale. Yes, it was a prelude, she thought, a time for practice, a time to test her sexuality, judge it, see if it was properly tuned for the new thrills that would soon be hers.
Ron nearly ripped the zipper free from the garment that held it.
"Wait a minute," Laura exclaimed. "I can't ski back without a zipper to hold my pants up."
Ron grinned. Then, as she more cautiously finished the zipper's journey to the bottom, he rose and went to a corner of the room where various athletic equipment was stored. He wrestled a tumbling mat free and dragged it to Laura, who had just succeeded in pulling the ski pants from her body. She was bare and delightful from the waist down.
She looked up as Ron flopped the mat next to her. She smiled wantonly, then scurried onto the mat. Ron, made more anxious by the bare sight of Laura, hurried out of his ski trousers, then went bolder against the cold that whistled through the shed and banished the remainder of his clothing.
Laura looked at his naked body, feeling greater admiration for his masculine build, and at the same time considering that if she were different she would be satisfied with a boy such as Ron Bolton. But she was Laura Stockland. She was different. Her need was for variety and excitement, for crowding all that it was possible to crowd into her youth. And so, Fort Bixdale awaited. But now now there was Ron.
Laura held her arms out for the boy. He went to her. They crushed their bodies together. They kissed again. And this time nudity had its effect, compelled that their hands move to each other and play, play in that delightful pause that precedes ultimate union.
Laura touched Ron at the same moment that his hand pressed between her thighs. He made a slight penetration. And Laura, as if to answer his call as if to trade equally one erotic touch for another wound her fingers in a tight clutch, then moved all that she held from side to side. She felt Ron's heat, his pulsation, and she wondered if it beat in tune with the new thumping of her heart, if perhaps in some remarkable way both of them had adapted to a single rhythm one that had as its origin the pulsation that burned at her thighs.
Ron again lavished kisses upon her breasts, still bunching the sweater high around her neck. She almost smiled as she recognized Ron's intentions. She knew them well. Ron, from time to time, liked to express his skill as a lover. He was going to do it now, Laura knew. And she knew that it was because they would soon be parting. This session was to be his mark, his "claim check," as he had called it this was to be his expression of love and skill that was meant to leave her immune to the offerings of others to those others who awaited in the hot South, at lustful Fort Bixdale.
Ron kissed his way from Laura's breasts to the span of white that was her belly. Here he dallied. He swept his tongue back and forth across her flesh, each sweep lowering a bit, bending just a tiny fraction closer to the dark shadow of her that, Laura now admitted to herself, stammered and pinched in urgency and desire.
But Ron was not to immediately bequeath this exceptional gift, at least not until he was positioned for a similar attention. Slowly, as he kissed, teased, tongued fast, then slow, then fast again, Ron shifted his position, stretched harder on his side and lengthened himself in a direction that was opposite that of Laura. He did not signal his wishes. Laura knew them. She regrasped the hardness of him that she had given up while he changed positions. She moved him harder. As a gift for her fervor, he kissed lower on her body, at the same time lurching his hips forward, trembling them at her face, doing it, she knew, in the hopes of a new, more vital contact from her one that would be open-mouthed and hungry. Laura did not give it. Ron now sought to encourage her. He kissed into the depths of her, even brought one hand to play upon that portion where he kissed, to play and open, to spread and make smooth as a runway for his sweeping tongue. And he moved up and down that runway, creating a new stammer in Laura's body, bringing forth her hips in a hard lurch that seemed destined to bury him, to make him an eternal captive of her deviational need.
Soon, however, Laura knew that Ron was not to settle for single-sided orality. He moved one hand to her head, locked his fingers into her hair, then rocked her toward the arch he presented. But she would not go. She sought to substitute his wish by a faster movement from her hand. She bent and twirled and jerked him madly, but with himself buried to her in utter giving, jerks and twirls and hard, hard pulling were not the components of his immediate desire. He forced Laura harder. She still resisted. And then, accepting this pre-love rejection, he raised from her.
"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered. "I just can't can't do that. I I can't now now."
He did not mind. "Shhhhh," he said. "Just let me love you."
Laura rolled to her back, braced her feet flat upon the mat and opened her arms for the muscle-quivering boy.
Now, Ron did not delay. He did not dally. He rushed to the cradle she presented, paused, adjusted, knee-walked a little closer, then rammed himself deep within the channel that swallowed him.
The pre-play had had its effects. Their bodies lashed hard from the very beginning. Laura rose in a high arch to meet his every plunge. She squeezed and held him until he drew back, then bounded to meet him again. And they moved faster and faster and speed alone seemed to ignite them. Laura strained and hated the sweater that was bunched at her throat. It inhibited her, kept her from complete freedom. She hated it, but would not could not delay to remove it. And then Ron moved with a new fury and struck that secret chord of her that sent her chest to pinching out strange, rasping sounds from her throat.
Ron paused. But only for an instant. He bent and gathered Laura's buttocks in both his hands, paused again, much as if readying for a sprint to the finish, then moved, moved, moved, moved endlessly and speedily, bouncing her to him as he descended and found new depths of her to conquer.
"Oh, Ron!" she suddenly cried. "Ron Ron Oh, Ron, it's I'm Oh, yes, I am. I am, I am, I am, I'm I'm going to...! "
Her head bounded forward and her teeth clamped hard on Ron's shoulders as the feeling within her gathered strength, was nurtured along by Ron's hard movements, then erupted with the fury of the mightiest sudden storm. She bit into his shoulder and hung on tight as her body stuttered in a hard strain of frantic sexual completion.
Their bodies went soft at the same time and they rolled apart. They rested as their breathing quieted. And as she rested on her back, Laura thought of the immensity of the experience just past. She thought of it, realized its great achievement, then wondered why she wished for more wished so hard for new sexual episodes that she had contrived a spring vacation trip to the South. She found no answers. She knew that she would have to wait and see.
Soon, Ron and Laura were dressed and at the door of the ski shed. He looked at her lovingly.
"I'll die before you get back from Fort Bixdale," he said. "And I'll die again if you come back changed."
"No, you won't," she laughed.
They exited the ski shed. They secured their skis once again, moved slowly to the edge of the hill, then, together, pushed off and zoomed down the steep slope which ended at the far north end of the college campus.
Ron led the way. Laura followed. And as she felt the flakes of snow rioting in a swirl around her, flecking at her face and body, she thought not at all of the trail she followed, of its end, or of anything that concerned Whitfield College. Instead, she thought of sand and beaches, of ocean waves, and of the hot caresses of strangers. She thought of Fort Bixdale, of her spring vacation, and of how the two, merged together, would bring her excitement and thrills beyond any of her greatest, most erotic dreams.
Ron and Laura separated at the circular compound that divided the women's dorms from the men's. Laura, after pecking a kiss at Ron's cheek and waving good-bye, decided against attending the make-up biology lab. She was much too excited to have interest for rats and mice and all the silly reactions compiled from generations of rabbits. She went immediately to her room in the girl's dorm.
As she threw open the door, a bare-skinned clutch of femininity greeted her. Margie Winters, very pretty, very large busted, and nude except for tiny, bikini panties, lounged crosswise on one of the four identical beds. Pixie Thomas was propped at the head of the same bed. She was very blonde, a dynamic contrast to Margie Winters, who had dark, auburn hair. And Pixie was comfortable. She wore lounging pajamas. They were transparent and showed all of her young, vital body. The blouse of the pj's showed considerably more. It was open down the front and displayed both of Pixie's small, hard, nipple-indented breasts.
"Wow, what a gruesome twosome," Laura said, entering the room and slamming the door shut behind her.
"Not for long, baby," Pixie said. "Fort Bixdale get ready here we come."
The three of them laughed gleefully as Laura moved to her own bed across the room, stood by it and began disrobing.
"Hey, honey-bun," said Margie to Laura. "We've got news."
Laura finished pulling her sweater over her head, dropped it on the bed, then, while her bare breasts jiggled a bit, she turned and said, "Good or bad?"
"Depends how you look at it," Margie answered. She tossed a glance to Pixie, then said, "We're going to have more company on the trip to Bixdale."
"Male or female?" Laura asked.
"Female. So very, very, damn it. Carla Torro wants in for the trip, the ride down, the motel the works."
"Carla!" Laura exclaimed. "Uh huh."
"I'm shocked. Does she really know what Fort Bixdale will be like during vacation?"
"She does. And she wants in. Okay with you?"
"Fine," Laura said, wishing she had hesitated a moment.
"We figured it would be. We told her to get ready," Margie said.
"And as efficient as Carla is," Pixie added, "she's probably got her luggage by the door."
Laura turned toward the bed, skimmed the ski pants from her body, then discharged her bra. She turned and looked around the room, giving the impression of one who had just remembered something important.
"Hey, where's Kay?" Laura asked. "Is she all set?"
"Not quite, I'm afraid," said Pixie. "At this moment she's probably fighting like hell to get permission to go."
"She still needs permission?" Laura inquired.
"And how, baby," Margie said. "Uncle money-bags is very fussy about where little Kay goes, and with whom she goes."
"Oh, oh," said Laura.
"Oh, oh, is right, my friend."
Laura stretched her arms high over her head. She felt her nude breasts bloat and discovered that they felt warmer than they had when Ron had caressed them less than an hour earlier. Then she smiled. She knew the cause. It was anticipation for vacation, for Fort Bixdale in the hot, hot South, for everything she would encounter there, for love and life and sex for everything and anything. She swung her arms downward, thinking that she was ready for it more ready for excitement than at any time during her eighteen years.
Laura turned, then ran naked in the direction of the shower.