Vacation in the Catskills

Special Note: This is my entry into the Summer Lovin 2021 contest. Five star ratings will be greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Based on past comments (primarily from the Loving Wives readers), it’s possible that this story could cause nausea, indigestion, constipation, and unrepressed desires to see the author kick the bucket. It may cause dizziness, a relaxed mental state, slurred speech, or intense abdominal pain. Do not read if you are pregnant, or thinking of becoming pregnant, know someone who is pregnant, or know someone who is thinking of becoming pregnant. Do not read if you are allergic to stories of this ilk; If this story provokes an allergic reaction involving cartwheel rashes, diarrhea, bloating, double vision, delusions, or hallucinations, homicidal or suicidal thoughts, or simply a desire to lose consciousness to drink, consult a medical expert in all due haste. Hopefully, though, you’ll read and enjoy this story. It’s not connected to your A1C levels, despite the big “O” in Ozempic® (semaglutide). It’s based purely on the imagination of the author alone; may said author write in peace.

Extra Warning: There are brief non consensual sex scenes in this story.

**

“God, it’s hot,” I said to Sally. We were having one of those heat waves the weather people attribute to climate change. “I slept naked last night, and my body became a dining table for the mosquitoes.”

“Same here,” Sally replied. “I’m tempted to have a baby just to feed the mosquitoes, so they’ll leave me alone. My sister says her baby little Joe’s mosquito bites heal in only hours, since his skin cells are so active as he grows, minute by minute, fueled by her breast milk every three hours or so.”

“We need a baby to attract the little blood suckers and keep them away from us,” Melissa said.

“Hear, hear!” I added.

“Well, if you want a baby, Joanie, you know what to do, right?” Sally remarked.

“Very funny,” I said. Sally knew I had sworn off men until the first freeze, which, incidentally, would also mark the end of mosquito season! Getting a man to share my bed seemed cheaper, and potentially more pleasant, than buying a second blanket, or acquiring a dog, for the cold nights. There were other benefits to having a man, too, of course. Right now, however, I wanted simplicity in my life, and that meant no men for a while.

Sally, Melissa, and I had planned on a girls only vacation. I wanted the beach, Sally wanted Canada, and Melissa wanted the mountains. Melissa hailed from Eastern Australia, and so the beach, and another commonwealth country, both had little allure for her; the mountains, however, well, she could never get enough of the mountains, and the bigger the better.

Sadly, for Melissa, we did not live in Colorado (where the mountains are spectacular), but in New York; so, Melissa had to settle for the Catskills. This is because the system we used to decide the deadlock was rock, paper, scissors. Very mature, I know. Our trip was all set, but then came the Delta variant of Covid. Sally had procrastinated getting the vaccine. She wasn’t against it or anything, like the anti-vaxxers, she just procrastinates about everything she can. It’s part of who she is. Of course, as luck would have it, Sally got a non-trivial case of the Delta variant of the virus. We couldn’t help her; we weren’t even allowed to get near her! She was really sick, and beginning to have trouble breathing.

Not knowing what to do, we gave our phone numbers to her Mom, and left for the Catskills. The Three Musketeers had devolved into the Terrible Two. Still, we were determined to have a good time.

When you live in the concrete jungles of New York, you can forget how wonderful it can be to see greenery, genuine greenery, and to fill your lungs with its oxygenated air. The Catskills were at their best at our time of year, providing all the lush, forest green that our eyes could handle. I was drinking it up, as Melissa drove the rental car. The smells too were wonderful, except for that patch where a skunk had despoiled the odors of the innocence of nature. It’s amazing how powerful, and lingering, is the scent of a skunk. We were a little less than three hours out of New York when we reached Roscoe, a tiny village in the heart of trout fishing country, and summer camps for adolescents, that dot the surrounding countryside.

We got to the cabin we rented, moved in, and the first thing I noticed was there was no cell phone service. No internet, either, of course. Well, maybe forced isolation, and a vacation from the tyranny of checking Facebook and Instagram would be a good thing? The only worry was keeping track of Sally and her declining health.

I proposed a hike. I was so excited to be among all the trees and little streams, the wonderful smells and fresh air. I was also kind of hoping some of the trout fishermen might be nice eye candy. Melissa had handled the driving (it was her rental car) and she wanted just to relax. That meant, of course, that I got the first look at our surroundings, and found them to be nice, indeed. I even found a small pond, with deep, cool water, and I indulged myself with a little skinny dipping, since there was nobody around. Except for the birds, there was absolutely no sound at all! Quite a change from New York City.

There was a small sign, giving its name: Miller’s Pond. After my swim, and without a towel, I lay down on a small circle of grass, and let the sun dry my naked body. It did a good job, and was surprisingly fast. I quickly got dressed, lest I be discovered, even if that was highly unlikely. Still, you never know, and the risk of exposure I had just taken had me more than a little aroused. I enjoy being aroused; it makes me feel alive, somehow, and I returned to the cabin with a light spring to my step.

The cabin was dark, and I noticed right away the rental car was gone. We had come with supplies, and had bought a few more when we drove through Roscoe, where there’s a charming food cooperative, straight out of the 1960s. I figured Melissa might have thought of something and gone back, although what it could be, I had no idea. Maybe it was her time of month and she needed tampons? After all, she had complained of mild cramps on the drive up. Melissa always was a bit scatterbrained, and she could have forgotten tampons, or Midol, or whatever. Had there even been a drugstore in Roscoe? Not that I’d noticed. Wait a minute: Roscoe Medicine Shoppe. Yes, I remember now — I had seen it!

Our rental car that was now missing had been parked downhill, a good 100 yards or so from the house, because that’s where the dirt road had ended. As I trudged up to the cabin, I began to get a feeling of foreboding. The cabin was dark, and okay, that’s consistent with my theory that Melissa had left to go into town, but then why was the front door left wide open? Melissa would have closed it and locked it, she was that kind of girl. I knew my friend was scatterbrained, but she’s a little OCD when it comes to closing and locking doors. Something wasn’t right.

I entered the cabin silently, my heart filled with trepidation. The place looked undisturbed, although I didn’t see either my purse nor Melissa’s, in the places I remembered we had left them. Melissa’s missing purse didn’t cause alarm, since she was probably in town, or what passed for a town. However, where the eff was my purse? Just then, however, a voice emerged from Melissa’s bedroom; the closed door muffling the noise a bit.

“Ethan? Is that you? What took so long?” came the voice, and even though it was hoarse, and baffled by the close door, I knew it was Melissa’s voice. This just made things more confusing, as obviously my working hypotheses as to what was going on were wrong. And, who the fuck is Ethan?

“No, it’s Joanie, your best friend and cabin mate, remember?” I said as I opened Melissa’s bedroom door and entered her room. I was not at all prepared for what greeted me. “Jesus Christ! What happened?”

Melissa was on her back, naked, blindfolded, tied up spread eagle, and awash in the cum of a man, or men, there seemed to be so much of it, and some of it was clearly draining from her pussy. Maybe it was draining from her ass, too, but from my angle I couldn’t tell.

“Oh, thank goodness! I was beginning to wonder if Ethan and Ray were ever coming back!” Melissa said as I removed her blindfold and untied her. “They’re into kinky sex,” she said, guiltily.

“I can see that,” I said, trying to sound neutral, and wondering as well who Ray was. When it comes to sexual practices, I try not to judge others, and in return, I hope they don’t judge me. Boy, do I hope that! Since when did Melissa take on two men at once? And where did these men come from? And where is my bleeping purse? Or our rental car? Or my cell phone, and for that matter the cell phone charger? Oh shit — where are our suitcases with all of our clothes? Oh Melissa — what have you done?

Melissa was only borderline coherent. It took over an hour of constant effort, but I finally calmed her down, using booze, my patent-pending comforting voice, and by stroking her hair, which works on most women I’ve known, including myself. Neither of us had any Xanax. Too bad!

Now both calm, or at least outwardly so, I asked Melissa to tell me what had happened. After all, I had been gone only for four hours!

“How did you meet the two men?” I began. Start at the beginning, right?

“They came to the cabin and knocked on the door. How else? They were looking for someone named Stephanie,” Melissa said. “Probably a former tenant.”

“And?”

“Well, Ethan was kind of cute, so I explained, and then invited them in for a cool drink, since it’s so freaking hot today, you know?”

“Does Ethan have a last name?” I asked.

“Of course, silly. Everyone does. He’s Ethan Allen-with-an-e, and his friend is Raymour Flanigan. Ethan is the cute one, but Ray is sexy as all get out,” she replied.

“Ethan Allen and Raymour Flanigan? Your new boyfriends are furniture stores?”

“You know, I knew there was something off about their names. You’ve nailed it. I guess maybe those are not their real names,” Melissa said.

Exasperated, I said, “Then what happened?”

“Well, we talked some, you know, just the usual banalities strangers exchange in such situations. I asked them about this girl Stephanie they had been looking for, and then Ray asked for another beer. I think I hit a sore spot with the subject of Stephanie. I guess Ray had been sweet on her. Anyway, I do wonder if they drugged my drink, or something? The next thing I knew I was naked on the bed, tied down, and blindfolded. Then one of them entered me. I objected, quite strongly, but it was as if I were yelling at the wall.”

“So, they raped you??” I asked. I was horrified, and much more upset it seems than was Melissa!

“Yes, the first time was rape, I suppose, but the sex was divine, and all the times after the first time, I was begging them to fuck me. They used condoms; I insisted,” Melissa said. “Except for the first time, of course, which happened when I was only halfway awake.”

“Uh, about the condom situation…” I began.

“Oh, I know. Believe me: I know. They didn’t have any, of course, so I told them to look through our purses for some. We had only four between us, but I was fucked at least six times; maybe as many as nine times? I wasn’t really counting. As I awoke from my daze I became alarmed at all of the unprotected sex, but they couldn’t get it up anymore, anyway. They left, saying they were driving into town for some more condoms,” Melissa said. “I was in no shape to argue with them, being naked, blindfolded, and tied up.”

“So, you didn’t know which man was fucking you at any given time. Was that a turn on, if I may ask?” I asked. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine,” I confessed.

“Oh, but I did know,” she replied.

“But you were blindfolded!” I said.

“Yes, but Ethan washes with Irish Spring soap, and Ray doesn’t wash as often as he might, if you get my drift,” Melissa said, and I saw her smile for the first time that evening. “You know, they may come back, and if they find both of us, and there’s two of them, well, we should have a plan, right?”

“Right,” I replied. I was surprised Melissa could tell what brand of soap Ethan uses, but then she always was good with smells. “Look, Melissa, when they left to go to town to look for more condoms, they took our car, both of our purses, our two suitcases, and all of our clothes — even the clothes we had already unpacked. About the only things they left are our bathroom toiletries, and our food supply. I don’t think they’re coming back. They fucked you quite thoroughly, then fucked us over, and then left, never to be seen again.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized. I guess you’re right,” Melissa said, still seeming a little dazed.

“Do you want to report your rapes to the police?” I asked.

“I don’t see how. We don’t have a car, our phones don’t work since there’s no signal, and …”

“They took our phones, too,” I said.

“Shit,” Melissa remarked. “How far is it to walk to the police?”

“Far. It’s an hour driving,” I said. “We could try to find another cabin; maybe someone there could help us?”

“I don’t know; it’s kind of embarrassing. Shameful, really,” she said. “Oh my God! Did the men leave me any of my clothes?”

“As near as I can tell, they left only the clothes you were wearing before you were raped,” I said.

“Please don’t use that word anymore,” Melissa said.

“You mean rape?” I asked.

Melissa shuddered, and said, “Yes,” in a barely audible voice.

We sat in silence for around an hour, nursing our drinks, and refilling them as needed. We were both lost in thought, thinking about our situation, and trying to discover how it wasn’t hopeless. We now had no money, no credit cards, no change of clothes, and no wheels. When the knock on the front door came, it was a complete surprise. Melissa hid, and I went to answer the door, carrying a cast iron frying pan, as the only weapon at hand. Opening the door, I realized from the descriptions Melissa had given me, that whoever it was at our door, he was neither Ethan nor Ray. The guy at the door was only 23 or 24, maybe 25, with shocking red hair, and he introduced himself as Roger O’Neil. Melissa figured Ethan and Ray were both in their mid to late 30s.

I returned his polite greeting. I was around two to four years older than him, I figured, since I was 27. “How may I help you?” I asked.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“My cabin mate is getting dressed, so please stay in the main room. Say, do you have a working cell phone?” I replied.

“Nobody does. There’s no signal around here,” he said.

“So, how can I help you?” I asked again.

“Well, mostly, I wanted to see you in clothes. You’re just as pretty as I imagined,” Roger said.

Okay, I thought, that’s a strange thing to say! Before I could follow up, Melissa made her grand entrance, wearing the only outfit she still possessed. It was a thin cotton T shirt, and a mini skirt. She looked stunning, and her appeal was not lost on Roger. She was washing her bra, soaking it in the sink and trying to get the cum off of it, and since the T shirt was thin, Roger and I could see her boobs, nipples, areolas, and all, through the thin white fabric of the shirt. Melissa seemed not to care at her exposure, but I figured she was putting on a brave front, in a tough situation.

“Roger O’Neil, meet my cabin mate and best friend, Melissa Penney. Melissa, this is Roger, who just showed up for some reason,” I said.

“I work at one of the camps up here, as a counselor, and I happened to see Joanie hereabouts earlier today, although she did not see me, I believe. I came over here to warn her, and since you’re here too, Melissa, to warn both of you. There are two guys who are terrorizing the cabins around here, forcing women to have sex with them, and then stealing from them. They keep changing their names, and the last time they called themselves Don Drysdale and Sandy Koufax. The names are those of Hall of Fame former baseball players,” Roger explained, since we were two women, and statistically he was right to assume we’d never heard of Drysdale nor Koufax. In reality, he was also right.

Melissa and I exchanged looks. Ethan Allen and Ray Flanigan were obviously the new incarnations of Drysdale and Koufax.

“Tell us about Stephanie, who lived here before us. For example, did she put the bars on the windows, and the extra locks on the doors?” I asked.

“Stephanie is a beautiful woman, much like the two of you,” Roger began, as Melissa and I blushed at his compliment. “She used to skinny dip at Miller’s Pond, and then lie in the sun to dry.” He looked directly at me as he said that. “Many of the camp counselors, and some of the campers, used to hide and watch her. I think she knew we were there, but didn’t seem to mind,” Roger said. “You reminded me of her, earlier today,” he continued. “Quite strongly, in fact,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. “Did you know I was there, watching you?”

“Quite definitely not,” I said, in a tone intended to end the subject.

“Well, you have a beautiful body. I hope I haven’t ruined Miller’s Pond for you. It’s one of the highlights of the area,” Roger said.

“I can imagine,” I said. I stood, the international symbol that it was time for Roger to go. Melissa stood, too, backing me up. Roger took the hint and stood himself.

“Look, before I go, I’d like to extend an invitation to our campfire and cookout this Friday,” he said. “You have to like hotdogs, however.”

“Wouldn’t we be crashing it?” Melissa asked.

“No, Joanie can come as my date, and you can come as John’s date,” Roger said.

“Who’s John?” Melissa asked.

“He’s my best friend up here. You’ll like him,” Roger said.

“Thank you for the invitation. We’ll discuss it and let you know,” I said.

“How will you let me know? We have no phones nor internet,” he said.

“Good point. I’ll see you, I expect, at Miller’s Pond tomorrow. Right?” I said. “I’ll be the one who’s skinny dipping.”

Roger’s face broke into a smile that lit up the room. God, the man had totally white teeth. Doesn’t he drink coffee? “I’ll bring some friends for the show,” he said.

“Please don’t,” I replied.

“Wait, Roger, before you go,” Melissa piped up. “What happened to Stephanie? Do you know?”

“Not completely. Drysdale and Koufax stole her car, money, and credit cards, and most of her clothes. Worse, they kept returning and they raped her repeatedly. She was their favorite victim, apparently. She finally got a ride into town to report it to the police, only to find out that Drysdale is the brother of the police chief. She tried the state police, and one of the prominent local guys in the state police is the cousin of Koufax. She gave up and then nobody heard from her again. We hope she fled town back down to Brooklyn where she was from, maybe using her thumb, hot body, and long, blonde hair to catch a ride, but nobody knows for sure. Not a pretty story. That’s why I wanted to warn you,” he said.

“Thanks. We appreciate it,” Melissa said.

“Roger come here,” I said. He did, and I planted a big kiss right on his smacker. I wanted him to feel it in his toes. “That’s my thanks, too,” I said, once the kiss was done.

**

It took some convincing, but Melissa joined me the next day as we hiked over to Miller’s Pond. It was still hot as blazes, and the pond looked so welcoming, and refreshing, that we both could not resist it. We also both had no bathing suits, all our clothes having been stolen. We figured Roger and maybe some of his friends were hiding nearby and spying. If they were, though, we sure couldn’t figure out where! So, encouraged by our apparent lack of voyeurs, we stripped down and went skinny dipping.

I fully expected Roger and friends to join us in the water, but happily, they did not. I began to think they truly were not around! Melissa and I splashed around and had a wonderful, playful time. It’s really liberating to skinny dip in nature. After the obligatory dunking, and racing across the pond a few times (I won all three times, but then I had swum competitively in high school — not in college, though), we had enjoyed ourselves enough, and retired to the small grassy knoll where we could let the sun dry our wet bodies.

Lying there nude, two best friends, lying side-by-side, I couldn’t resist. “Race you to see who climaxes first?” I whispered to Melissa. Somehow, whispering made it more conspiratorial.

“You’re on,” Melissa whispered back, and without wasting time her fingers went straight down to her snatch. I was simply playing with my nipples, taking my sweet time, enjoying a slow crescendo to the main event at the center of my erotic being, somewhere south of my boobs. Which tactic would prove to be quicker? Hard to tell, a priori , you know?

I tried not to look at Melissa, concentrating on getting myself off. This wasn’t just mechanical jilling off; no, this was mental. I decided to believe Roger and maybe some of his friends were hidden, and watching us. That wound up the Eros to a large extent. Thinking about Roger, in particular, watching me as I stroked my labia, spreading my legs a little farther apart, teasing my vag by sticking to the outskirts, I noticed my breathing began to change. When my fingers finally explored my sacred tunnel, I found it was already nice and wet, and the moisture wasn’t water from the pond. Oh, no, it was my very own juices preparing me for a fuck that I knew was not to come.

Then, cliché squared, my fingers migrated north to my tiny, little erect clitoris, practically invisible to any of the voyeurs (if there were any) without my index finger basically pointing at it. The juices from my kitten made the rubbing of my clit all the more exquisite. This is the life, the Schrodinger’s Cat aspect of the possibility of the existence of Roger and other voyeurs, perhaps in hidden in the pile of rocks across the pond, with Melissa and I enjoying our naked bodies in full nature. Exquisite.

Melissa climaxed first. She won by only around ten seconds, but she clearly won. My eyes were closed as I finished myself off, cumming, as did Melissa, with a nice, loud, lingering, cry of pleasure. That’s when our exquisite serenity came to a screaming halt.

“Well, well, well. Look at this, Ethan. What we have here? Do you remember Melissa and her sweet pussy? Well, it looks like she has a friend to offer us too,” the man known as Raymour Flanigan said to his friend Ethan Allen. “Nice of them to prepare their pussies for us. They’re both obviously nice and wet.”

It’s never pretty when two naked women panic, and I do mean full blown panic. We both began to scramble to our feet, not completely easy to do after having just had wonderful orgasms, but adrenalin can work miracles. As I began to run away, Flanigan grabbed my legs and basically gave me an open field tackle. Ethan analogously subdued Melissa. We both began to scream at the same time, kicking and clawing at our would-be rapists. We were not going to make it easy on them.

The two men produced knives. They were a good ten inches long, resembling Bowie knives. Maybe they even were Bowie knives? The two men looked to be at ease with the knives, and Melissa and I, both subdued and naked, were terrified.

“Spread your legs, girls,” Raymour ordered. His tone of voice brooked no dissent. Melissa, shivering with fear, immediately complied. I did not. Ethan, now undressed, immediately pounced on Melissa who, thanks to her masturbatory efforts just before, was now wet and ready for some cock, just not in this way!

“You know, asshole, this is rape. I’m only cooperating due to your threats,” Melissa said.

“The threats are real, bitch. Watch what happens to your friend,” Ray said, his voice oozing with menace. He then moved over me, aiming his knife at my tummy. “She’ll slowly bleed to death when I’m through with her!”

I kicked him, trying for his groin, but hitting his thigh. Ray stood up, his look now becoming murderous, as I scrambled to my feet and began to run. Ray began to run after me, and then screamed. He was wriggling around in a spastic kind of manner, and I saw a long arrow sticking out of the middle of his back, exactly where he could not reach it. “Help me, Jack!” he screamed, revealing that Ethan’s real name is Jack.

Ethan got off Melissa, threatening her not to move, and I heard the ‘pop’ as his member disengaged from her kitten. He stood up and admonished Ray to stand still, as he grabbed the arrow, and then he too, suddenly screamed, as an arrow also went to the middle of his back. Somebody was one hell of an archer! I recovered enough presence of mind to wrest the knife from the injured hands of the so-called Raymour Flanigan. Once I had the knife, the archer made her entry.

She was tall, at least compared to Melissa and me, maybe 5 feet, 10 inches (around 180cm), with long blonde hair, and a rather spectacular figure, even if she was flat chested. I looked at her. Somehow, I knew she would not aim her arrows at Melissa and me. I figured out who she must be, too.

“You must be Stephanie?” I asked. Stephanie nodded her head. “I’m Joanie, and my friend is Melissa. Thank you!”

“Did they rape you, too?” Stephanie asked.

“They both raped Melissa, shortly after we arrived. I was out walking around and discovering this pond. They also stole our car, our money, and all our clothes and belongings, except what we were wearing. I guess they returned for some more sexual pleasure,” I said, “if that is what rape is for them.”

“That must have been horrible. Melissa, have you recovered? I guess you never fully recover, but anyway, are you dealing with it okay?” Stephanie delicately asked.

Melissa had emerged from the shock of déjà vu, and as she scrambled to her feet, she gave thanks to Stephanie, too. The two men were still screaming in pain, and at each other. “Just a minute, please,” Stephanie said.

Stephanie took out a blow-tube, loaded a small dart in it, moved close to Ray, and blew the dart into his neck. In seconds, Ray crumbled to the ground, his eyes wide and moving around wildly in fear. Ethan tried to run, but Melissa tripped him, and he got his own dart.

“Will they die?” I nervously asked.

“I wish. No, it’s only a temporary paralytic, giving the arrowheads time to work,” Stephanie said.

“What will they get from the arrowheads?” I asked. I figured she had dipped them in some kind of evil solution.

“All manner of things, including Covid, and a pretty bad case, too, unless they’ve been vaccinated, which I doubt. They’re not the type,” Stephanie said. “I used the Delta variant.”

As the two men lay there, groaning, we collected their clothes, wallets, keys, basically everything they had, and the three of us left for the cabin. I noted that one set of keys were mine, and another was probably Melissa’s, since it contained the rental car keys. Sure enough, the two rapists had driven our rental car to the cabin. We found our two suitcases, still full, in the trunk of the rental. The only things we didn’t have were our cash and our credit cards. Damn! The tank of the car was almost empty, so how far could we get without more gasoline? The answer was clear: Not far. Still, we were much better off than before.

We were cooking ourselves up some dinner when there was a knock at the door. It was Roger, together with his friend John, as we learned when he introduced us. John was around Roger’s age, both about 25, to our 27 years, and they were both decent looking, young, strapping men. Roger explained the cookout was for the seniors in the camp, and they’d all be 18 years old. They were about half of them men, and of course the other half were women. There would be guitars, hotdogs, marshmallows, and basically just a fun time. Many of the campers were paired up, but quite a few were still unattached. Why he felt obliged to make these observations escaped me, at the time.

We told John and Roger about what had happened at Miller’s Pond. “We both went skinny dipping,” I said, not adding that we hoped they had been watching. “But after, while we were drying our bods in the sun, we were surprised by Drysdale and Koufax, now calling themselves Ethan Allen, and Raymour Flanigan. Ethan raped poor Melissa again, and Raymour was trying to rape me, when Stephanie showed up and shot them both with arrows. She followed up with paralyzing darts. We took all their clothes and stuff, and left them there, at Miller’s Pond, naked and temporarily paralyzed,” I recounted.

“Being nice girls, we gave them to the mosquitoes for their dinner,” Melissa said, and she giggled. “Hey, insects gotta eat too, you know.”

**

The cookout party began really well. Everything tastes better when cooked over an open flame, outdoors in the woods, even hotdogs. (I don’t much like hotdogs, myself.) I was pleased to see that Roger, John et al were careful with the fire, all the more so after all of the horrific fires a continent away on the West Coast. Indeed, we were still experiencing air pollution in New York, thousands of miles from the fires! The last thing we needed was a forest fire in the Catskill Mountains.

Roger was sticking close to me as if he were afraid I’d get away. He had a sidekick with him, a really cute guy, maybe a camper (and therefore only 18 years old) named Leopold, but everyone called him Leo. I didn’t understand what was going on. I had been fairly sure Roger was going to make a move at some point, especially since he had seen me skinny dipping, and sunbathing in the raw, but how was that supposed to happen with Leo always there?

John was behaving the same way with Melissa, but without a sidekick. We ate some hotdogs (well, I only had one), drank some beer (five cans for me!), smoked a little (well, maybe a lot; Roger had some dynamite weed), and basically were feeling no pain. No pain at all.

I realized, as I tried to pass along the joint to Melissa, that she was no longer there. I looked all around, and she was gone! So too was John. Hmmm. “Melissa and John went into the woods a little while ago,” Roger remarked, answering my unspoked question. “Presumably for some privacy. About six campers, boys and girls, went in after them, presumably to spy. There’s a lot of curiosity around here.”

I smiled. Melissa wouldn’t mind. The girl was not shy. No, she wasn’t even a little bit shy. Indeed, if she knew there were voyeurs, she might even get turned on! Now, I was even more curious about Roger not making a move on me. Given the example of Melissa apparently putting out for John, just like that, in classic slutty fashion, wasn’t I desirable enough for Roger to at least make a run at me?

It was then that the epiphany hit: was Roger more into men? If so, it meant I was going to be frustrated, unless Melissa was willing to share John, and maybe I didn’t even want that. All in all, it was a tricky situation. After all, beer and weed, combined, make me hornier than a two dicked billy goat. I didn’t really need some release, I’m not like that, but I sure as hell wanted some release!

Suddenly, from out of nowhere it seemed at the time, Roger took my hand and gently pulled me to my feet. I was a bit dizzy from all the pot and beer, but I got my sea legs quickly enough. “Come on, Joanie, there’s a special place in the woods I want to show you,” he said.

“By moonlight?” I asked, the sun had set, and the moon was in its first quarter and providing precious little light. Roger nodded and pulled me along, followed like a puppy dog by his sidekick Leo. Maybe Leo was his gay lover? If so, what was my role going to be?

Roger’s secret place was, in fact, quite magical in the moonlight. It was a small clearing, with green grass, and a brook babbling nearby. The moon made it seem ethereally magical, the way it lit up part of the trunks of the trees and the grass, creating an overall silvery effect. I found it enchanting. The setting relaxed me.

In a surprise move, Roger kissed me. It was a sexy but sweet kiss. I was charmed. Four hands came to my body, and as Roger and I continued to kiss, in less than a minute I was quite efficiently rendered stark naked. Probably I should have protested, but I remained silent, curious where this was going. In retrospect, I attribute the whole thing to the combination of beer, pot, sexual need, and — quite simply — surprise.

The sidekick Leo undressed Roger as Roger and I continued to kiss, and once Roger too was naked, I discovered that the four hands fondling key parts of my own naked body did not all belong to Roger. One of the two men was doing a fabulous job below my very own Mason-Dixon line. Roger broke off the kissing to my regret, but as it turned out it was only to get me down on the grass. I was placed on my hands and knees, Roger behind me, Leo in front.

My mind was in a drug induced miasma — well, we shouldn’t exaggerate — let’s say it was a haze. The point is, difficult it is to explain or even believe, I had no idea the two men were planning to have sex with me! It became clear, however, when suddenly Roger’s cock slipped inside me, just like that, and I gasped, crying out, “Oh!” I say it slipped inside me, because even though my thinking and reason had dulled, my body had seemed to know, nevertheless, and lubricated my passage rather thoroughly, in anticipation.

Roger began quickly to pump inside me, and you know how marijuana heightens the sense of touch? Well, Roger had my cunt firing on all cylinders, there was no question about that. I pushed back, groaning in pleasure with each and every thrust. I felt he was not so much Roger as he was The Mighty Quinn. It was wonderful; a truly wonderful fuck.

I figured Leo was into watching, and realizing I was somewhat wrong about Roger’s sexual proclivities, I quickly discovered that I was also wrong about Leo. He too had stripped naked, and some kind of giant appendage was sticking straight out of his body, and heading right for my tightly closed mouth. I’m not usually a casual sex kind of girl, and I had never before had sex with two men at once, but hey: there’s a first time for everything, right? Okay, that’s the inebriation talking, I’m sure. Or, I hope it is. Leo poked at my mouth with his anaconda, while his hands lustily tormented my boobs, especially my nipples, and he said over and over again, “Open sesame, sweet Joanie.”

I was not into being spit roasted, and I kept my mouth glued shut, despite the heavenly ministrations Leo was doing to my boobs and to my nipples, in particular. Frustrated, Leo’s hands moved to my ribs, and as he tickled me, all the while Roger was pumping away, I simply began to giggle. The truth is, I open my mouth when I giggle, and lightning quick Leo’s cock snaked into my mouth, and the spit roast began. Leo didn’t force the issue, only inserting enough to completely fill my mouth. He didn’t know, after all, my reputation of being the deep throat queen of Jefferson High School, where my motto was, The Bigger the Better.

Well, if I was going to blow Leo, I wanted to blow him so that he would never forget me. I gave him the best blow job I could, in difficult circumstances, since Roger’s powerful fuck was causing my body to move all over the grassy knoll. Finally, Leo decided to see if I could deep throat him, and he pushed more of his anaconda into my mouth. I took it down my throat. He fed me more, and I took more. He kept giving me more, and I took all he could give. I wondered if his cock was actually going to reach my tummy! It felt as if it were that long. At long last, his pubic hair began to tickle my nose, and I realized I had swallowed the whole thing. I felt like a naked, fucking, sucking, ad for Alka-Seltzer®.

I gave myself away when I had the mother of all orgasms. To say it was intense does not do it justice. I didn’t scream, as I had enough presence of mind not to have campers running to see what the scream was about, and besides both my mouth and my throat were full of cock, thanks to Leo’s ridiculous endowment. However, I could no longer support myself on my hands and knees. I slumped to the ground, with Leo’s cock exiting, but of course Roger was still fucking away. Boy, that guy surely did have stamina!

Roger kept fucking, and fucking, and fucking, and sure enough, climax number two eventually swept over me. Roger then pulled out and squirted all over my backside. As I collapsed onto the grass completely, on my tummy, hands rolled me over, and the snake Leo had attached to himself, no doubt from a visit to the Amazon jungle, now knocked at the door to paradise every woman possesses. Roger had ensured it was wet and ready for Leo.

Now, I’m not a size queen or anything, but I suppose many women wonder what it’s like to have some fucking huge cock fill them up. I found out that very evening, didn’t I? Well, like anything, I suppose some women like it, and some don’t. It turns out I belong to the former. Being fucked by Leo was an experience I’ll never forget, and remember fondly for the rest of my life. It was just sex; I didn’t even know Leo so there was no affection, and certainly not any love involved, but as just sex, it does not get any better.

I began with an orgasm once he was fully inside me, and then the orgasms just kept coming, one after the other, until I thought I could take it no longer. Maybe God was being merciful, I don’t really know, but when I was at my wit’s end, Leo pulled out and squirted his cum all over my boobs and my tummy. I was glad he was an anaconda, and not a python, since a python’s cum could be poisonous, right? Anacondas kill their prey by dragging them under water until they drown. I was about to drown when I was coated with delightful, copious amounts of teenage cum.

I lay there panting, as Roger and Leo stood up and slowly dressed. I felt the presence of others, and as I looked around, about six voyeurs applauded the sex show performance they had apparently just witnessed. I was embarrassed, but also turned on at the realization that they had watched me debase myself with these two talented men. The voyeurs were four men. And two women, all campers and therefore 18 years old.

You’d think I’d be embarrassed; humiliated, even, to have been exposed to all those people at my most intimate moments, and still lying there naked on the grass; but I wasn’t. I slowly got up, standing on knees weak due to my climaxes, and I looked around for my clothes. Finding them, I slowly got dressed, studying each piece of clothing as if I were seeing it for the first time. (That was the pot; it does that to me.) I must have been quite the sight. At last, dressed and as collected as I could be under the circumstances, I stumbled my way back to the campfire, where the remaining campers and counselors were singing their hearts out.

Melissa had been worried by my absence. Her face had a look of relief, combined with the after effects of sexual bliss. I knew the look well. We got through the rest of the evening and slept in, indulgently late, the next day. Roger and John came by in the afternoon, and we fucked them again, and then they traded women, and I got to experience what Melissa had been raving about, nonstop, as regards John’s sexual prowess. Melissa had a point, as it turned out.

The next morning Leo and a friend of his, a certain Ben, stopped by, bringing us scones. I had no idea where they found them, but we invited them into our small cabin, or course, and one thing led to another. You know how it is. I had told Melissa all about Leo and his anaconda, and well, she was much too curious. I took care of Ben, and believe me, that was no sacrifice or noblesse oblige on my part. Ben was a master of the bedroom.