Chapter 5
From the air, when the pilot banked the plane to come in for a landing on the small packed-earth strip, the University expedition camp at San Felipe had been almost indistinguishable - with the beige and green tents blending in perfectly with scrub brush and sand.
Carolyn earlier had sensed that her professor-scientist-father had some reservations about daughter and wife joining the expedition, but she was not prepared for his words as he opened the plane's door from the outside.
"Margaret . . . Carolyn," he nodded curtly, his troubled face already deeply burned from the unrelenting sun that shone like a brassy atomic fire in the Mexican desert sky. "Look, I don't think you'd better get out. We're having a bit of trouble with some of the locals. Nothing that can't be taken care of, once more of the expedition gets here next week, but a trifle sticky right now. Why don't you go back to Ensenada, and I'll send the plane for you just as soon as it's safe. Four - five days, a week at the most."
"What kind of welcome is that?" Margaret asked, half teasingly, but unable to hide her unhappiness at this unexpected greeting.
"I'm serious."
"Tell us about it," Margaret said, as she spotted his secretary, Jean Peppers, sitting in the jeep, waving at them. Margaret waved back, then added, "It can't be too bad, or you would have made Jean leave."
"It happened only this morning. Paul discovered one of the turtle hunters trying to steal a gas generator. The man wouldn't stop. Paul fired at him. Then, about two hours ago, we were visited by six of the hunters; they've demanded money to protect us from bandits. The man who tried to steal the generator was the leader of the group. They're armed. We've sent for police and the military, but it may be several days before we get any kind of secure setup here."
Margaret, having come this far, showed a marked reluctance to retrace her steps. The two-hour flight from Ensenada had been unbearably hot, she and Carolyn had given up their hotel rooms and considering the season there seemed little likelihood of getting any kind of accommodations should they return, and finally if the camp was secure enough for John's secretary, it was probably safe for Carolyn and her. "Darling," she said coaxingly, "I'm not questioning your evaluation of the situation, but Carolyn and I can both take care of ourselves. If necessary, we can each even handle a gun. And, surely, you must know that six of us here is better than just four of you. Safety in numbers, eh?"
John had to admit that his wife did make sense. Six people would be safer than four. An honest man, not given to self-deceit, he also knew that one of the reasons he didn't want Margaret underfoot at the San Felipe camp was that Jean and he had been getting closer and closer. Last night he had walked down the beach with her in the moonlight, and she had fervently returned his kisses. There were no objections when he ran his hands up and down her back and cupped her ripe, firm buttocks as he pulled her willing body in hard against the penis throbbing beneath his tropical shorts. Her hand dropped, probed, then began stroking his cock through his clothes. That had been when Paul Ford had yelled from the camp, saying there was a radio message coming through for John. He and Jean had broken reluctantly, and the moment was gone. Now, if his wife remained, there would be no further opportunity until Margaret left in three weeks, and Jean would not wait that long. She would take up with Paul or George Henry.
John noticed the perspiration pouring off Carolyn's face as she patiently awaited his decision. It was stifling hot in the plane. A wave of tenderness washed over him - for wife and daughter. Suddenly he nodded and said, "I'm concerned only with your safety. I wouldn't want anything to happen to either of you."
"Of course, darling," Margaret said sweetly. 'Then we can stay?"
"Yes." He grinned at Carolyn, stepped back, and made a mock bow. "Welcome to Camp Sand Flea."
As members of the advance party for the expedition, John and his group had rather primitive - by modern-day standards - accommodations. Carolyn was to share a tent with Jean Peppers, which pleased the young girl because she and the secretary had always gotten along well together; they both were photography enthusiasts and would be in charge of the darkroom until the professional photographers arrived in September. Too, Jean had a surprising amount of knowledge about pop singers and rock groups for a woman almost thirty. Actually, Carolyn thought of her as an older sister or a well-liked cousin, a family allusion that held together until one noticed the marked physical difference between the tall lithe young blonde girl, her mother, and the rather short, full-breasted, full-buttocks, little brunette secretary. She wasn't fat, just pleasingly plump. Whereas Margaret's figure could be described as emitting an almost tangible aura of sensuality - in spite of everything the female judge could do to suppress it - Jean Peppers' figure was "cuddlesome," or as some of the graduate teaching assistants in John's department referred to it, "a very nice little handful."
Jean had always maintained a good tan, even in winter, but now her legs, arms and face were burned a dark chocolate brown after only a week under the hot Mexican sun. She was wearing a pair of rather tight tropical shorts that were indented slightly into the crevice of her buttocks and at the Y of her crotch. Her breasts strained against the confinement of a sun bra, which looked skimpy enough to have been the top part of a bikini bathing suit. The entire outfit looked cool and comfortable, and Carolyn immediately decided she was going to cut off the legs of the new hip-hugger pants she had brought along.
As they drove the five hundred yards from the airstrip to the camp, John explained the routines and safety precautions. Margaret and Carolyn had already been briefed about the snakes they might be expected to encounter, as well as the poisonous scorpions and the relatively harmless, although frightening, giant tarantulas which abounded in the region. "Harmless" or not, that was the one thing Margaret feared worst - spiders - and when they were ten inches across and covered with black fur, she almost died of fright.
"We breakfast at six," John said. "Seems a bit early, I know, but you won't be able to sleep after the sun comes up anyway. Too hot! Too bright! Until we can hire some reliable camp helpers, we all share in K.P. duties. That means everyone," he said, looking out of the corner of his eye at Margaret. She nodded her acquiescence. "Cold lunch. Hot dinner. Until the big diesel generators get in, we're short on ice, so cold drinks and ice are limited to cocktail hour only - between six and eight. We have a water bag for drinking water, salt water showers for cleaning up. Two major rules which can't be broken. No swimming alone and no hiking alone. After that incident this morning, we're adding a third admonition: One of the members of any hike or swimming party must always be armed. I know you're both bushed and hot, so we won't start with your duties until tomorrow. Carolyn - K.P. for you at breakfast. Margaret, you're down for lunch tomorrow ... sandwiches and salad."
John continued his briefing as they bumped their way back to the camp, leaving a thick brown cloud of dust hanging like a veil in back of them. Carolyn, already knowing most of the instructions and orders, listened with only half of her attention. Her quick green eyes took in everything about the area that her father had facetiously referred to as "Camp Sand Flea"; the name was a sobriquet for Camp San Felipe, the misnomer coming naturally about because of the large number of sand fleas infesting one part of the beach. The "camp" itself stood on a small sandy hummock about fifty feet up from the shores of the lagoon. The rise was not high enough to see the Pacific, which lay about three miles away behind another ridge of sand dunes, but it was high enough to catch the beneficial evening breeze that arose at dusk each nightfall. That same breeze, which permitted them to sleep under a blanket at night, also acted as a deterrent for the mosquitoes.
Paul and George, the other two members of the expedition, were standing in front of the large headquarters tent, shading their eyes from the late afternoon sun's glare, when John stopped the Jeep in front of them. The cloud of dust caught up with the vehicle and, for a moment or two, there was little said as everyone tried not to inhale and waved arms in front of them to hasten the cloud's departure. Both scientists were likable, possibly because of their gregarious personalities and inveterate love of practical jokes. Around the Oceanography Department at the University, the two were referred to as "Mutt and Jeff," Dr. George Henry being almost 6' 2" tall and as thin as a pipe pole, while Dr. Paul Ford was not quite as tall as Carolyn. Each was in his late twenties, both were acknowledged to be among the best men in their respective fields, in spite of their youth and occasional lack of academic decorum. It had been these two brilliant scientists responsible for the San Diego Sea Monster incident two years before when they "borrowed" the University's two-man submarine, decked it out with a long, plastic, hump-backed body of a dragon with a forty foot tail, and rigged up a smoke machine that emitted a terrifying cloud of sulfurous dioxide. The "monster" had surfaced alongside a party boat of 27 drunken albacore fishermen returning from a day's fishing, and the resulting uproar had brought out the Coast Guard, scientists from over half the world, in excess of five hundred newsmen and television cameramen, and a squadron of search planes. Paul and George had been so badly frightened by the unexpected success of their practical joke that they had, in panic, filled the plastic body with ballast and sank it in 150 fathoms of water before slinking back to the University wharf that same evening. Since that time, neither had ever mentioned the incident again - not even to each other . . . although the Sunday supplements and some of the men's adventure magazines still ran stories about the monster, and more than one of their colleagues at the University expounded serious theories about the "prehistoric" origins of this denizen from the deep.
Carolyn liked them both, mainly because they were frequent dinner guests at the house and because they treated her as an adult . . . not as a teen-ager. Now as she climbed out of the Jeep, she caught Paul Ford's speculative gaze on her. For one moment she thought perhaps something she and Charlie Webb had done was reflected on her face or in her expression. Then she realized simply that her culottes had slid up and were gaping open showing her sleek, milk-white upper thighs and thin nylon panties. She blushed and tugged at the hems, but when she glanced up again, Paul was talking animatedly to her mother.
Ten minutes later, dressed in a blue polka dot bikini swim suit that Margaret had described as "bordering on the indecent," Carolyn was standing under the salt water shower. The cool spray felt absolutely delicious, and she was comfortable for the first time since early that morning. Afterwards she wore the suit when she went to join the other members of the party. She found them seated at the picnic table and two benches in the "dining room," a large tent with its canvas sides rolled up and tied so the breeze could blow through. Paul greeted her boisterously with a wolf whistle. "Hey . . . hey. It's cocktail time, Little Chicken. We're starting thirty minutes early tonight in celebration of your arrival. What's your poison?"
Carolyn looked at her mother for permission and received it in the form of a nod. She was permitted an occasional beer or a glass of wine with her meals and, on special occasions, could have a very weak mixed drink or cocktail. "I'd like a rum and Coke," she said. "Not too much rum."
"Righto." Paul quickly poured the libation, then made three more vodka tonics for George, Jean, and himself.
Carolyn sipped her drink, watching the others talk back and forth, listening to the conversation swirl in patterns of laughter and solemnity. Gradually, though, as the sun sank lower and lower in the west and the sky began taking on the colors of fire, the talk became desultory before finally fading away altogether as everyone sat and watched the sunset paint the sky and clouds with fantastic reds and yellows and magentas.
The peaceful mood remained during dinner as they ate oven-baked fish, caught only two hours before, dining by the dim light from one overhead bare light bulb.
Paul and her father had the cleanup chores; Carolyn volunteered to assist them. Margaret, wearied by the long day's journey and debilitated by the earlier heat, excused herself and went to take a shower before going to bed. Jean yawned loudly and said she thought she would hit the sack herself.
The-gangling George stood. "I've-got a-new suspense novel I'm into. See you all tomorrow."
With the three of them working together, cleanup was completed in twenty minutes. John kissed his daughter goodnight, then slowly trudged through the darkness toward his tent. He gazed once, covetously toward Jean Pepper's tent, then shrugged ruefully and continued on his way. He had absolutely no expectations of Margaret's willingness to perform her marital duties ... so he wasn't disappointed or too surprised when he discovered she was already sound asleep or pretending to be asleep.
* * *
Paul Ford leaned back against the tent pole, lit his pipe, drew deeply on it, and grinned at Carolyn. He inclined his head to one side in tribute. "You've really grown up, Little Chicken. I didn't realize how much until I saw you in that teeny-weeny bikini."
"Thank you." His compliment pleased her, and she gazed openly, without embarrassment, almost boldly at him. He, like the rest of the males at the camp, was dressed in tropical shorts, tennis shoes, and wore no shirt. His shoulders and chest were heavily muscled, and Carolyn knew that at one time he could have been an Olympic swimming team member if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his oceanography studies. Her eyes moved down his figure, taking in his muscular legs and thighs, then moved rapidly back upward again, flickering momentarily at the crotch of his shorts. There was an unmistakable bulge there where his penis should be. Carolyn found herself wondering what it would be like to lie nude next to him as she had Charlie. Paul wouldn't be inexperienced! He would know what to do. She quickly suppressed her thoughts, and when she glanced back up to his face she saw his narrowed eyes watching her half-open mouth.
Carolyn licked her lips nervously. That action seemed to have broken the spell, for he awkwardly fished in his pockets for matches to light his pipe again. She heard him swallow, then say, "I'll walk you back to your tent, then I'm going to turn in." He turned from her, and in silhouette, Carolyn saw that the bulge in his pants had grown considerably larger and elongated. Instead of embarrassment, she felt a certain breathless excitement . . . bordering on anticipation. Once again the forbidden thought crept back: I wonder what it would feel like to have that shoved deep inside of me, making me cum, cumming up inside of me where I could feel it. And one part of her mind knew that before the summer was over, she might very well know how it felt.
If she could-have read, or peered into, Paul Ford's mind, Carolyn would have found it churning with strongly suppressed sexual desire, confusion, and a slight tinge of fear. And she would have known his thought: Jesus, take it easy, Paul. You must be out of your mind to start getting the hots for John's daughter, even if she is practically begging for it. That's not only jail bait, but could ruin your career as well. And, as an afterthought, he knew that he was going to have to order some condoms from somewhere. It was all very well not to worry about knocking up Jean Pepper, who was on the pill, but if something did happen and he got carried away with this luscious little package, he wanted to take all the precautions necessary for he was positive she didn't have the slightest notion about how to take care of herself. Christ! That's all I'd need-to - knock up the sixteen year old daughter of the Department Head. Then, looking at the half moons of her breasts pushing up, struggling for freedom against the confines of her bra, he had one final thought. I'd better order those condoms right away.
Carolyn walked back slowly to her tent, smelling the rich aroma of his pipe tobacco, the acrid odor of the mesquite brush, and the pungency of the lagoon. She shivered, feeling more alive and sensitive than she had in weeks. A slight breeze carried with it the far-off sound of the surf pounding against the outer reef three miles away across the lagoon and sand dunes. It sounded faintly like a heart beating in the darkness, a heart that was echoed in her suddenly shamelessly aroused vagina. Abruptly, she wished she were back home . . . with Charlie Webb ... for she could feel that familiar need rising inexorably inside her. It was possible to relieve herself by masturbation - and she had done it several times in the past - but it might be difficult to do it without making enough noise to alert Jean.
"Sleep tight, Little Chicken," Paul said, and held open the flap of her tent for her.
"Good night," she said quietly, not wanting to go in ... wanting instead to stay out here in the open air and close to him. One look at his stern face, however, and she ducked her head and entered. Paul closed the flap behind her. She saw the ghostly shapes of the mosquito netting over the two beds. Carolyn lifted hers and sat on the edge of the bunk. There was no acknowledgment from Jean, and the girl did not think the secretary could have gone to sleep that rapidly.
Mystified, she went over and stared through the nearly opaque netting. It didn't look as if anyone were in the bunk. "Jean?" she asked softly, straining her eyes in an effort to see better.
There was no answer.
"Jean?" This time she lifted the netting and reached a hand out toward the pillow. She gasped as she realized the bed was empty, but then almost immediately scolded herself for imagining things. Jean probably had just gone for a walk, nothing to get excited about. But, still, the camp order was that no one walked alone. Carolyn abruptly decided to go look for her, join her so she wouldn't be breaking the rules. Besides, it was hot inside the tent here; the night air would be refreshing.
Quickly, Carolyn darted outside. The moon, which had been shining brightly only moments before, was now partially obscured by a cloud. By the time she got to the camp's perimeter at the edge of the beach, it was completely under the cloud, and the darkness, warm and a little frightening, closed in on her. For a second she thought about going back to the tent, but then valor overcame her reluctance to walk alone. Which way should she go - right or left? Which way would Jean have gone? After a moment's hesitation, Carolyn decided to go left, away from the part of the beach infested by sand fleas. She had gone approximately fifty meters in the darkness before she heard a low groan coming from the opposite side of a small sand dune in front of her.
The sound brought an immediate ball of acid-like fright to her throat and caused her heart to begin beating so rapidly that she was sure it was about to fly right out of her chest. That noise came from a female's throat, a female in pain! Carolyn had opened her mouth to call out Jean's name, when she heard the sound repeated and then the hoarse comment, "Oh God, George. That's so wonderful . . . don't stop. Your mouth feels like heaven on my breasts."
The sudden realization of what she was hearing made Carolyn's breath freeze in her throat. She must get away from here so George and Jean wouldn't think she was eavesdropping or spying on them. She had started to move noiselessly back when the moon crept out of its cloud cover and the night was suddenly almost as bright as day. She could not move or they would see her. There was no alternative; she had to stay here, but she didn't have to witness it. Still, though, she found it impossible to keep her eyes turned away; they kept returning to the scene of their own accord, as if they demanded to see this salacious sight, this wicked spectacle, acted out in full. Carolyn could distinguish the completely nude bodies of the two expedition members locked in an overpoweringly sensual embrace of lovemaking. Jean was flat on her back on a blanket with legs raised high in the air, and even as Carolyn watched, George slid down until his crew-cut blonde hair was between her wide-open thighs. His face pressed forward as his arms reached around and lifted the secretary's hips from the blanket to his mouth.
Carolyn stood mesmerized by the perverted scene she was witnessing. As Jean began babbling incoherent exhortations in her wild wanton passion, Carolyn found herself listening and then began feeling once again her boyfriend, Charlie's, tongue at her own fevered vagina.
"Oh, God . . . Geeeeoooorggeee! Lick it ... lick it. Eat my cunt. Eat me alive. Devour meeee-eeeee!"
In spite of the fact that this same wicked act of perversion had been lavished on her own heated loins only three weeks before, Carolyn could not give credence to her eyes and ears. A wildly swirling sensation of tightness had begun building at the pit of her stomach and she realized that she, herself, had moaned wantonly at the exact same moment Jean had reached down, grasped George's ears, and began desperately grinding her hot quivering pussy into his wide open, omnivorously sucking mouth.
In the moonlight, the aroused young girl could see his tongue flicker out snake-like and repeatedly disappear into the moist, hair-lined slit of her open vagina.
The loud slurping sounds from George's hungry mouthings up between her legs were almost drowned out by Jean's loud animal-like mewling. The combination of the two sounds - both incredibly lascivious - brought the young girl to her senses momentarily. She took a step backwards, trying to turn and run blindly away from this evil spectacle of sheer, unadulterated lust.
"Keep going . . . don't stop, George. Oh God, don't stop! I'm going to cum. . ." Carolyn heard Jean groan heavily. She must go now . . . leave while their attentions were locked on each other. Turn around. Walk away. Then run! But even as her mind was issuing commands to her body, she found herself drawing in even closer . . . feeling the overpowering desire - the hungry need! - to witness the older girl cumming with her legs open wide that way. She had never thought before about watching other people making love, had somehow imagined she would be embarrassed to tears. Now, though, as she watched this salacious sight which had completely paralyzed her, she found her body coming back to life in a way she had never believed possible. Instead of being repulsed, she felt a delightful, light-fingered tingling begin between her own thighs. She wanted to run forward and join them. She squinted, trying to see it all - everything - as George began bobbing his head up and down, tongue-fucking the wildly squirming secretary in earnest.
"Ummmmmm," Jean crooned lewdly. That groan, together with the vile, wet sucking noises coming from George's devouring mouth, caused a shiver of excitement and anticipation to shake Carolyn's body. She knew goose-bumps were rippling like wind against water all over her body, running now like a gasoline fed fire across her bare abdomen and up to her rapidly rising and falling breasts that strained against the skimpy bra top of her bathing suit.
Down there in front of her, George's tongue was working in animal-like subjugation at the wide spread tightness of Jean's cunt. The girl could see the contorted expression of sheer, implacable lust etched on the woman's face above the full white mounds of her heaving breasts. Suddenly, George brought his hand down into the furrow separating her buttocks, and Jean jerked her trembling legs back higher, bending them at the knees until her kneecaps pressed hard against her excitedly distended nipples. The entire upturned plane of her defenseless loins was exposed to him and George hungrily flicked his tongue along the thin, hair fringed vaginal crevice, then, without warning, began worming it into the tightly puckered little lips of her anus.
"Aaagghhh. Beeee-uuuuu-teeee-FUL! Don't stop, baby. Ohhhhhh. Aaaagghhh! God . . . God . . . God . . . That's wonderful!" Jean panted as she clenched her eyes tightly shut and bared her lips back over her teeth at the obviously delightful sensations that were arcing throughout her entire body. She whined, grinding her cunt up lewdly, her firmly rounded buttocks making furious little elliptical circles as though it was a cam on a racing engine.
Carolyn was almost afraid to breathe now because the loud rasping escaping her own throat and lungs seemed even more audible than Jean's mewling and grunts. The girl's throat was hot and tight, her mouth dry, as if all the moisture in her body had now concentrated itself at that drenched and seeping junction between her thighs. She could not remember ever being this wet down there without anyone having touched or caressed her. Unconsciously, she slipped her hand beneath the elastic waist band of the bikini swim suit and began sensuously stroking her middle finger through the center of the thinly curling strands of her pubic mound. Little jolts of wickedly growing pleasure wracked her body. Never before had she been so fascinated by anything; the perverted sight and obscene language of forbidden love held her in its grip. She was spellbound. Her own heaving breasts were throbbing with a fevered desire that made them painful beyond measure, like some poor cow with a full udder needing to be milked. She wished Charlie Webb were here now, remembering the afternoon she had held his thick virile cock in her hands while he licked and ate at her vagina. He would fuck her; she would do anything - give anything - if he were here! She wished he had fucked her then, even though it would undoubtedly have made a difference in her mother's understanding acceptance of her behavior. It would have been worth it though, even if she had been thrown out of the house - banished forever.
Almost without thinking about it, Carolyn dropped her left hand to the waist band of the bikini bottoms and held it out in front of her stomach to give her right hand freer access to her cunt. She went into a half-squat position, her knees obscenely splayed. Immediately, she began teasing her outstretched middle finger through the blondness of her pubic curls and up and down the hot, moist slit beneath them, cringing and shivering in delight each time she brushed against the erect little clitoris that reverberated softly in ever rising excitement.
The aroused young girl watched as her tent-mate Jean's hotly writhing figure suddenly speeded up tempo and saw it stiffen as though an electrical jolt had surged through it. Jean began groaning, "Oh . . . Jesus Christ! George . . . George . . . GEOORRGE! I'm ... I'm ... Aaaaiiieeeee ... I'M CUM-MEEEENNNNGG!" The words were muffled in sexual delirium, her unrecognizable voice croaking off into a pathetic little wail as she choked and sputtered in the convulsive throes of her climax.
George's tongue motions gradually died away as Jean relaxed. Then he lowered her legs to the sand and raised himself so that his knees were right under her armpits, alongside her breasts. His long, rigid prick throbbed in the air as though it were reverberating to savage drums. "Now do me, Jean, baby," he said, his voice husky with lust. "Now do me. . ." He put his hand around his cock and rubbed the glistening head softly around her half-parted lips.
Carolyn saw Jean's face come forward eagerly as her hands wrapped themselves around his waist, fingernails digging into the white globes of his ass. The elongated, pulsating shaft of heated cock flesh slowly disappeared deep within the confines of the woman's warm wet mouth as he entwined his fingers in her hair, and she began a gentle sucking motion that caused her cheeks to indent grotesquely. Carolyn could see everything, and she desperately fingered into her own love-starved pussy as she dimly saw the tiny ridges of soft pink flesh pulled from Jean's widely ovaled lips as George partially withdrew his cock from her mouth. She watched, trying to reproduce his rhythm with her probing fingers, as he began a regular fucking back and forth, never pulling the huge, rubbery head all the way out from the warmth of her voraciously sucking lips.
Now Jean dropped one hand from his thrusting buttocks and reached up between his wide spread thighs to cradle the softness of his testicles in her palm. She began stroking them gently as she pulled her head back completely from the cock and began a hungry little nibbling at the entire length of the sensitive underside of the massive fleshy pole. George groaned in delight, then moaned loudly as her hand left his testicles and used an outstretched middle finger to probe at his tiny hidden rectum.
Jean had just taken almost the whole expanding length of George's long saliva-glistening cock back into her throat when the capricious moon was extinguished again by a cloud. A low moan of disappointment bubbled from Carolyn's throat. She glanced up frantically at the sky, praying that light would return and she could once more view this perverted pageant of forbidden lust.
It was then her heart stopped beating as she glimpsed the dark figure crouching right next to her. She had opened her mouth in a primeval scream of terror when she recognized Paul Ford's face. He put his finger to his mouth in a charade of silence, then grasped her trembling arm and began leading her away. It was only then that Carolyn realized she still had her right hand buried in the soft, sable-like fleece of her pubic hair, with her middle finger pressed deep into the hotly clasping walls of her vagina. Guiltily, and with a gasp of dismay as she realized what she was doing, she withdrew her hand and attempted to yank her arm away from Paul's grip. "Be quiet," he hissed, "or they'll hear you."
Carolyn let herself be led down the beach about fifty yards. It was only then that Paul released her arm. For a moment the girl alternated between the very real desire to weep from shamed embarrassment and the thought that perhaps she should display some righteous anger. Then, because the heat of sexual arousement still burned with a bright relentless hot fire between her loins, she attempted to brazen it out. "What's the big idea?" she demanded.
"Come on now," Paul said coaxingly. "I don't have to tell you that it's unbecoming to be a peeping Tom."
"I was not," she replied heatedly. "I just got there, and I was afraid to move because they might see me."
"Little Chicken, don't lie to me. You have been there for at least ten minutes. I followed you when you left the camp."
"Well . . . well then," she sputtered, feeling foolish now, "you're the one who was spying!"
"Just tagging along to make sure you didn't get into trouble. You know you're not supposed to be wandering about alone."
"I can take care of myself." She saw his sudden grin and knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
"Yeh! I noticed you 'taking care' of yourself."
"Oh, you're hateful!" She spun around, refusing to look at him.
Paul laughed, but his laughter faded into an uncomfortable silence as she turned back to him and he caught her staring hungrily at the front of his tropical shorts.
Carolyn's mind was churning in indecision. She needed someone to relieve her. She wanted him, wanted him now! And she startled even herself when she heard her own bold, brazen voice begging, "Paul... do it to me."
He drew back as if she had hit him with a barbed wire whip. After a second, he laughed nervously. "You're kidding."
"No ... I'm not. Please?"
"If you're not kidding, you're out of your mind then."
"I'm not a little girl any longer," she retorted.
"Yes. That's rather painfully obvious."
"Am I ugly?"
"No ... you're a nice little package."
"Then do it to me. Please?"
"You know I can't. You're underage and to compound the situation, your father is my boss."
"If you don't make love to me," she said defiantly, "I'll get someone else to do it." She realized that she had spoken the truth, and not only that, she could tell by his expression that he believed she was sincere too.
"I doubt that you'll find anyone tonight," Paul replied, then mentally added to himself; "Jesus Christ! The kid is acting like a damned nympho. She's ready to throw herself at anyone who will have her. She isn't playing a game, either." He stared at her figure; the moonlight had deepened the shadowy cleavage between her young breasts. She looked surprisingly mature and very desirable. For a moment he fought a battle with himself. Why not, he thought? She's going to get herself laid one way or the other. Why not me? She would be better off with me than some kid who might knock her up or give her a dose.
As if sensing his indecision, Carolyn boldly reached behind her and unfastened her bikini bra top and let it fall, revealing the luscious white mounds of her firm little breasts so perfectly formed. If she could get Charlie Webb so hot, she could do the same thing with this man. After all, he'd had a partial erection earlier in the dining tent and he, too, had just witnessed the scene between Jean and George. He was a man. She was a woman. She saw him now, staring in fascination at her bare breasts. Quickly, feeling a sudden surge of power and knowing instinctively he wanted her, she placed her hands beneath them and lifted them up in offering. "Please, Paul?" She heard him swallow, then he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head violently.
"Put your clothes back on," he said gruffly. "Right now!"
"I won't." She had begun struggling out of her bikini panties when Paul said, "George Henry and Jean Pepper will be along in a couple of minutes. They should find your naked little ass quite interesting. Good night." He turned and walked away, but not before Carolyn saw the awesome bulge in the crotch of his tropical shorts.
"Paul . . . come back," she wailed, wanting to scream, to shout, to weep! He did not answer.
With a deep sigh of trembling frustration, Carolyn pulled her flimsy bikini panties back on, then replaced her bra. What was wrong with him? Why did he pretend he wasn't interested? She knew he wanted her, his erect penis had signified that.
Slowly, on rubbery legs and weak knees, she walked back to her tent, and with each step her determination grew. Paul Ford was going to fuck her, even if she had to blackmail him!
Five minutes later, completely nude between the sheets, her finger teased hotly at her moist young cuntal slit and erect little clitoris until she experienced a puny little orgasm that neither relaxed nor relieved her. It was, she decided, as she drifted off to a restless sleep, a really lousy substitute for the real thing.
Her last fading thought was: "Tomorrow night I am going to be fucked." She had no way of knowing how ironically true that statement was really going to be...